how a resurrection really feels

by LiarsandThieves22

Summary:

“We saved the world,” Robin said, softly. “And that had some side effects.”

--

On July 5th, 1987, Steve Harrington bleeds to death in the Upside Down helping his friends defeat Vecna.

Four days later he wakes up in his bed in Hawkins, in a world where the Upside Down never existed.

Notes:

i've had this idea kicking in my head since the finale and i am finally giving up and indulging in it. thank you all for being here.

Chapter 1: been disappeared for years (today she finally came back)

All told, bleeding to death was not as bad as Steve thought it would be. He’d seen a lot of movies — days spent bored in Family Video, bickering with Robin over what did and didn’t count as good cinema, mostly just to hear her scream in frustration at everything he said — and they always made bleeding to death seem terrible, prolonged, dramatic. Flashes of cold, horrible pain, cheeks wet with tears, etc.

Steve felt nothing, not really. No pain. No cold. Maybe a bit of wooziness. That was probably a bad sign, actually. He could tell if he focused that his pulse was weakening but he wasn’t focusing on that. He was very pointedly not focusing on that.

The demodogs had made Hamburger Helper out of him, he knew that much. Every beat of his heart pulsed oozing blood out of a series of wounds on his chest and stomach and legs that he refused to look at. He didn’t feel too bad about it, though. This had been the plan. Or, well, not The Plan officially, but Steve’s plan. He knew he wouldn’t beat the dogs. He just didn’t tell anyone. They needed a distraction and he’d volunteered and no one had questioned it. No one else had to get hurt. He hoped no one else had gotten hurt, at least.

He felt bad, a little — he hoped it wasn’t Robin or Dustin who found his body, if someone found it. Well, really, he hoped no one found it. The next step was meeting back up at the Upside Down version of the Wheeler House, but Steve was nowhere near there – he’d made it practically halfway across town before the dogs mauled him. When Steve didn’t show up to the rendezvous — well, hard to say. Robin and Dustin would want to look for him, maybe. But Nancy would be pragmatic. She’d know he was gone. She’d move them along to the next step, and leave him behind.

It was for the best. Really. It was always how he knew it would end — there were only so many times you could throw yourself into the fray and emerge with only surface wounds and a concussion to show for it. He’d been lucky before, and the luck had run out. It had been bound to.

He shifted himself up a little on the wall he was slumped against, felt a tinge of something. More blood oozing. But not pain. He had no feeling in his legs at all, actually, which if he thought about for too long made a small edge of panic set in. It would be any minute now. Death. He was losing too much blood. He was too far away for anyone to find in time. And he couldn’t move himself. He did not look at his chest. Better not knowing.

He wondered if this was how Eddie felt, or if Eddie’s was more painful. The thought made him feel a bit sick, still, over a year later. It should never have been Eddie Munson who died. That was fucked up on the universe’s part, cosmically unfair. It was one thing to lose assholes like Billy Hargove or, like, adults, the people who were supposed to be taking care of them — but Eddie Munson had deserved to live. To graduate. To be someone outside of this shitty, stupid little town. And Dustin hadn’t deserved to watch him die. Steve should have done more, he knew. Should have thought the plan through, better, should have stayed behind with the two of them, or gone with Lucas and Max to stop Jason. Should have saved Eddie. Should have saved Max. Should have saved the world.

At least he was doing it now. Fixing things. Stopping Vecna. Or, well, helping anyway. He was never going to be the real hero of the story, he knew.

And at least Eddie hadn’t died alone. Steve was going to, he realized. Die alone. But that was for the best, really. No need to traumatize anyone with his battered corpse, certainly no need for Dustin or Robin to see whatever bloody mess the demodogs had made of him. And anyway, it was always how he’d imagined it. Steve would leave the world the way he spent most of his time in it — in a big, empty building, all by himself.

Exhaustion waved through him. He closed his eyes. Just for a minute.

And then he was gone.

---

Steve woke with a start, launching out of bed like he was in a movie, breath heaving. He glanced around. He was in his room, in his parents house. It looked the same as it always had — clothes strewn around a bit haphazardly. The same posters he had put up when he was, like, fourteen and that he’d never bothered to change. The same truly, deeply ugly wallpaper he’d been looking at his whole life.

What the fuck?

He died. He remembered dying. Or he. He remembered something like dying, something near it. It was possible, he supposed, that the kids and Nancy and Robin had saved him, but shouldn’t it hurt more? He glanced down at his chest. He was in his normal sleep clothes — a pair of old basketball shorts and no shirt. His chest was bare.

Not just shirtless bare — scarless bare. Gone were the giant chunks of him the demodogs took out, alongside the mottled pink scars from the bats a year earlier, the varying nicks and scrapes he’d acquired over the years of fighting monsters. All vanished, replaced with smooth, untouched skin. He shoved himself out of bed and towards the bathroom to look in the mirror and — yeah. The slight bump on his nose from when Billy or one of the Russians broke it was gone too. (Even if Robin claimed no one else but him could see it, he knew it had been there. And now it wasn’t.)

He was breathing very hard and he registered dully that if he didn’t calm down he’d probably hyperventilate. But, man. What the fuck? What! The fuck! It couldn’t have been a dream — maybe just the last bit, maybe him dying, but the whole thing? The bats and the dogs and the whole Upside Down? He couldn’t have imagined that. He wouldn’t have imagined that. He wouldn’t have dreamt a world where his best friends were Robin Buckley, a girl he’d barely registered in high school, and Dustin Henderson, a literal child he’d only known as a friend of his girlfriend’s little brother. So what was this? Vecna again? Some strange dying vision?

Or. Shit. Was he in heaven?

No. In no universe was heaven the Harrington house. This had to be hell. A very weird, extremely calm hell, but hell nonetheless.

He tried to calm down, to focus his breathing. It wasn’t working.

His doorbell rang.

He ignored it. Whoever it was — whatever it was, could wait until he figured out what was going on. Blindly, he stumbled back into his room, reached for the TV remote, clicked it on. The news blared to life, the too-white teeth of the anchor grinning widely back at him. “Good morning Indiana, it’s Thursday, July 9th and here’s your news for—"

He clicked the TV back off. July 9th. He’d gone into the Upside Down on July 5th. He’d died on July 5th, 1987. So he’d lost, what — all of his scars and four days time? What kind of weird hell was this?

The doorbell rang again. This time, he heard someone furiously banging on it too, and a voice shouting from just outside. “Steve, STEVE! God damnit, if you’re in there stop panicking and OPEN THE DOOR.”

Henderson. The voice was Henderson.

He moved to go downstairs. Henderson. Okay. Dustin was . . . also in hell? That wasn’t great. Not ideal. If Henderson had died — Steve swallowed down the flare of horrible guilt churning in his stomach. Steve was supposed to protect him. And he’d been, what, dead, so Henderson didn’t have anybody? Where the fuck were Robin and Nancy and Johnathan and Joyce and fucking Hopper? They let a kid die? They let his kid die?

If he could become a ghost, he was so haunting someone about this.

He flung the door open.

Henderson stood there with Robin. Which. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. What had happened? Both of their eyes were wide with shock even though they were at his house, so why they were surprised to see him was — well, beyond him.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked. He hated how small his voice sounded. “I . . . are you . . . dead?”

Robin laughed. It sounded wet, like she was about to cry, and her eyes were shiny too. “No, dumbass, no, we’re not dead. We’re not dead.” And then she threw her arms around him in the most crushing hug of his life. He hugged her back, half reflexively, body still reeling from panic and confusion.

“But I . . . I died. Didn’t I die?” He pulled away from Robin, just a little — she refused to release the vice grip she currently had around his shoulders. She was fully crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. He risked a glance at Dustin and the kid was crying too. Steve reached for him and Dustin came, burying his face into Steve’s now miraculously unscarred side.

“Yes, you stupid fucking idiot, you died,” Dustin said. It was probably supposed to sound angry but it mostly sounded wet and snotty. “We had to — you didn’t turn up so we went looking, and fucking Mike found you and I’ve never heard him sound like that, like, we were all so — everyone was so sad, Steve, you were dead—“

“Okay,” Steve said, ignoring the absolute pit in his stomach at the news that Mike Wheeler of all people had been forced to deal with his mangled corpse. “Okay, I’m — you know that I’m a bit dumb, so you’re going to have to slow down because. I don’t understand. If I died how am I . . . not dead?”

Dustin and Robin exchanged a glance. “We saved the world,” Robin said, softly. “And that had some side effects.”

“The government’s going to round you up in a minute,” Dustin sighed. “There’s supposed to be this big town meeting, but we couldn’t wait, we had to see you.” He rubbed under his eye.

“Okay,” Steve said softly. “Explain it to me as fast as you can, then.”

Almost on cue, a black SUV pulled into Steve’s driveway. A man and a woman, both dressed in the plain black suits Steve associated with government agents emerged. He didn’t recognize either of them, but that didn’t mean much — for all the NDAs that had been shoved in his face over the years, he was usually too preoccupied to notice who was handing them over. Preoccupied and also, generally, at least a little concussed. “Ah,” the woman said, tone totally neutral. “I see we aren’t the first to find you, Mr. Harrington. Your presence is needed at Hawkins High. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

Dustin clung to him even harder. Robin reached out and grabbed onto his arm as well. “We’re coming with you,” Robin snapped.

The government dude looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “We’re not going to disappear him,” he said, evenly. “In fact, we’re gathering everyone in town to Hawkins High, right now to explain . . .” he trailed off, glancing as his partner.

“The gas leak,” she finished.

Steve did roll his eyes. “Original.” Both agents smiled plainly back at him.

“Of course, we understand that you won’t believe the gas leak,” the woman continued. “You and a few of your peers are in a particularly unique situation. We’ll be talking to you separately. Again — I assume you have a lot of questions.”

And, okay, he did. Firstly: “peers?”

“Others who . . . came back,” the man supplied.

“Came back? From, what. The dead?” Steve asked. Neither agent spoke. Holy shit. “Holy shit.”

“Oh my god,” Dustin nearly shrieked. “Eddie — I didn’t even think—“

“We’ll take you all to the high school,” the woman interrupted. “That way you won’t be apart. And you can see the others.” She nodded at Dustin. “Agents have already gathered Mr. Munson. Alongside some others — Miss Cunningham, Mr. Benson.” She paused and glanced at Steve. “Miss Holland.”

He’d felt his heart stop once, literally, so Steve could never really use the expression it felt like his heart stopped again, he supposed but — it did, kind of. Feel like his heart stopped. “Barb?” His voice sounded very, very small. Robin’s grip on his arm tightened, once, a small squeeze of reassurance.

“Maybe you’d like to put a shirt on,” the male agent supplied, glancing down at Steve’s chest. “And then we can go?”

---

The drive through town was surreal. The cracks that had exploded the world, that had torn everything apart were just — gone. The streets were normal. Like they’d been before. When they got to the high school, it looked the same as it always had, except for the chaotic crush of people milling outside it.

It seemed like most people were heading through the front doors, into the auditorium or the gymnasium. The car Steve, Robin, and Dustin had squeezed into drove around to the back entrance. The windows were tinted, so no one could see them, but it didn’t matter anyway — it wasn’t like Steve’s parents were in the massive crowd at the front. They weren’t in Hawkins at all; they’d never bothered to return from whatever trip they’d been on when the “Earthquake” struck last year. They hadn’t even put up a fight when Steve refused to join them — just told him they’d list the house and he’d be expected to vacate when it sold.

Not that it did sell. Real Estate in Hawkins was a dying market, post-apocalypse. Which was nice, because being homeless would have been pretty inconvenient.

Steve wondered if they’d even knew he had died. Four days between his death and whatever brought him back to life — was that enough time for someone to get through to the Harringtons? And how had they reacted? It was so unlike them to show any real emotion. Had they bothered to show some for their only son?

He shook his head. Not a pleasant road to go down, thought wise.

The back entrance to the school was being guarded by some severe, heavily armed military guys. Clearly an exclusive invite was required to enter here. The car pulled to a stop and the agents ushered them out. “Technically,” the woman said, “Mr. Henderson and Miss Buckley aren’t meant to be here. But I doubt either of you will leave, right?” She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Robin sneered at her. “We’re not leaving, no.”

“This way, then,” the agent said, and led them past the guards and through the door. They wandered an empty hallway to a classroom tucked in a far corner. Science, maybe? Steve hadn’t really paid enough attention all those years ago to remember. The door was propped open and inside—

Inside was—

Well.

Steve’s eyes landed on Eddie first. He was hunched over himself in a far corner, staring across the room at — at fucking Chrissy Cunningham, who was alive. They were both alive. Chrissy was in blue jeans and a white t-shirt. She looked completely normal. Like nothing had ever happened. She was chewing absently on her nails. In any other context she would have looked like a regular student, nervous about a test.

Eddie looked — well, he looked the same as always, ripped black jeans and a band t-shirt that Steve actually recognized, now, because he’d spent the first six weeks after Eddie died going to Dustin’s house every night and listening to tapes that Wayne Munson had rescued from the ruin of the trailer and dropped off with the kid, learning them inside and out while Dustin alternated between crying and laughing and sleeping, on and off, before the nightmares woke him up. Mrs. Henderson had hated the music, Steve knew from the look in her eyes, but she never said anything to either of them, let Steve come for dinner every night and eventually bought clothes his size to keep semi-permanently in the guest room drawers. Told him he could stay as long as he wanted. And he did stay, many nights. They stopped listening to the tapes all the time, eventually moved back to watching movies and playing video games and seeing the other kids, but a few of the cassettes had worked their way into Steve’s car and he listened to them sometimes, alone, leaned his head on the steering wheel and let himself feel overwhelmed with all the ways he’d failed. He’d spent most of the past year sleeping more at Dustin’s and Robin’s then he did at his own house, empty and lonely and sterile as it was.

The logo was a sort of angel-demon dude, with bat wings and an outstretched arm. It was Black Sabbath. Ozzy. The guy who bit off the bat head, who Eddie had compared Steve to so long ago.

Steve felt completely breathless. He felt like he might cry.

As if he could feel Steve’s eyes on him, Eddie looked up and met his gaze head on. They stared at one another for a long beat.

“EDDIE!” Dustin shrieked, shrill and piercing and drawing a few stares from the others in the room. He launched himself at the older man, and Eddie barked out a laugh as Dustin nearly tackled him.

“Christ, Henderson, you’d think you’d seen a ghost,” he half-joked. He glanced back up at Steve and Robin. “Buckley. Harrington. They told me, uh,” and here Eddie paused, swallowed thickly. “They said that this was just for others who’d, uh. Died?” And then a quick glance to Dustin. “Don’t tell me—“

The female agent cut him off. “Mr. Harrington is the only person who’s meant to be here. It proved to be difficult to separate him from his clique, however.”

“Family,” Robin said, half under her breath. Then she cleared her throat, spoke a bit louder. “We’re his family. Package deal, sorry.”

And that was just terrible, because now Steve was crying, which was sort of vaguely embarrassing. He dug the heel of his left hand into his eye, shaking his head, and glanced back at Eddie.

Eddie was looking at him like — well like his heart had just been broken, really. “God damn, Harrington, they got you? Weren’t you the one who said not to be a hero?”

Steve smiled. It felt a bit bitter. “Yeah, well, you didn’t listen to me either, did you?”

“Guess I didn’t,” Eddie said. It was very soft — softer than Steve had ever thought Eddie was capable of being, honestly. They maintained eye contact. It felt — heavy, the whole moment. Surreal. He was in a high school classroom talking to a man who’d been dead for over a year.

Up front by the chalkboard, someone cleared their throat. Reluctantly, Steve looked away from Eddie.

There were two people up front — the male government agent who’d escorted Steve, Robin, and Dustin, and a new, different woman. She had dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, but not nearly as slicked back as the rest of the government people — more frazzled, like she’d done it when she wasn’t looking in a mirror. She was also wearing a very different outfit — a green dress, simple and summery. She had on thick, black glasses and no makeup. She did not scream CIA or FBI to Steve, but she was clearly the person running the show. Everyone turned to her, including the remaining agents. She smiled. It was a nice smile, warm and welcoming.

“Everyone, hello. I’m Dr. Lydia Morana. I understand you must all be very confused right now — I’m sure you have a lot of questions. I’m here to answer them. If you’d all please have a seat,” she gestured to the desks in front of her, “I can get started with our, well. Our explanation, I suppose.” She laughed. No one else did. But everyone moved to sit.

Steve cast a glance around. Ahead of him were people he recognized – Fred and Patrick, sitting directly ahead of him. Chrissy, of course. And next to her — Barb.

And Barb looked different. Older. She’d died when she was, what, 15, 16? But it looked like she’d aged right alongside him. Her hair was long now, pulled back into a low bun. Her clothes were different, more modern. Steve felt a rush of vertigo.

What had they done to the world?

Notes:

story title and chapter title are both from how a resurrection really feels, by the hold steady

Chapter 2: let's do the time warp again

Summary:

Steve learns exactly how they fixed (or broke) the world, and everyone reunites.

Steve slipped into his usual classroom spot — the very back row. Eddie sat down next to him; Robin sat on his other side and Dustin flanked Eddie. They made a strange little group, Steve thought — four completely different people bound together by the apocalypse. Real ragtag group of misfits. Very The Goonies, really.

He took another look around. There were, he realized now, some people missing. Jason Carver, for one. Billy Hargrove, for another.

Dr. Morana was speaking again. “Anyway. I understand that some of you know more about the situation we’re dealing with than others,” and here she looked directly at Steve, smiling again. “But I’m going to start at the beginning for everyone because — well, some of your last memories are from 1983, so we can’t assume anything.” She paused, frowning. “Uhm, for the record in case — I guess I’m not sure you were told but, uh. Today’s date is July 9th, 1987.”

Up front, someone made a small, strangled noise. Dr. Morana smiled sympathetically at Barb. “Yes, I know Miss Holland, that news might be a bit distressing. This will all make sense at the end, I promise.”

She cleared her throat. “Okay. As you all know, you — or, well, most of you,” she said, casting her eyes at Robin and Dustin, “died at some point in the past four years. Not everyone who died is here, right now — we’ve separated some of you for general safety and ease of explanation.” Ah. So that’s why no Billy and no Jason. For the best, probably — Steve thought if he saw either of them again he was likely to start a fight he might not survive, and he doubted another resurrection was in his cards.

Dr. Morana continued on. “So — on November 6th, 1983, some of you might remember that a boy named Will Byers vanished from Hawkins. That same night, in the Hawkins Lab outside of town, an interdimensional portal opened between our world and a neighboring pocket dimension.”

Someone let out a small, hysterical sounding laugh.

Tell me about it, Steve thought.

“This pocket dimension is — er, was — a reflection of our world. An inversion really. The people who discovered it took to calling it the Upside Down, which is what I’ll be calling it too, for ease.”

“I’m sorry,” a new voice spoke up. Steve looked for the source — Fred Benson, which made sense, given his journalism thing. “A pocket dimension? That opened in Hawkins? I just — you expect us to believe this?”

Dr. Morana just smiled, kindly. “Please hold all questions to the end, Mr. Benson, but — yes I do expect you to believe. One, because it’s true, and two because — well, you died, Mr. Benson, as I’m sure you recall — as did nearly everyone else in the room. Yet somehow you and I and all of us are sitting here in a classroom together a year later. So perhaps you can suspend your disbelief towards some other, impossible things?”

It was impressive, Steve thought, that she managed to say something like that and not sound either totally condescending or completely insane. There was clearly a reason she was in charge. Fred stayed quiet, and Dr. Morana spoke again.

“Anyway, where was I? The Upside Down. So, yes, it was an inversion of our world, but it was also unpopulated by people. Except for one person, a man named Henry Creel, who was trapped there during an experiment gone awry at Hawkins Lab.”

Which was one way of putting banished to hell by a vengeful child psychic, but Steve supposed the government still needed to keep some secrets. Dustin let out a quiet huff, clearly thinking the same thing.

“Mr. Creel was being tested at Hawkins Lab due to his innate psychic powers. He was able to use those powers in the Upside Down to create a hive mind of monsters and to, eventually, reopen portals to our world with the aim of destroying it. One of those monsters escaped the night Will Byers disappeared — and eventually killed you, Miss Holland.”

In my pool, Steve thought, and tightened his grip on the desk. Robin shot him a look that Steve resolutely ignored.

Dr. Morana continued with the story. Steve tuned it out for the most part — nothing he didn’t know already. He paid the most attention to the things they left out — the Russians under the mall, for instance, weren’t mentioned. Neither was Eleven, at any point, at least not specifically. It seemed the government was taking credit for her work. Again, probably for the best — Eleven deserved to be a normal kid, if she could. If such a thing was possible. Eddie seemed enraptured in the parts after his death — the Earthquake, the gates opening up. He shot Steve a look. “I thought we stopped that,” he whispered. All Steve could do was shake his head. “Max?” Eddie pressed.

“She lived,” Steve said softly. “But only barely. And she died long enough to break the world before El brought her back.”

Eddie paled considerably and turned his attention back to the front. Steve wondered if the news felt bitter to him — he’d given his life to stop Vecna and they hadn’t even succeeded. The pointlessness of it had made Steve cry, more than once. Never where anyone could see him.

Finally, the story approached territory Steve didn’t know — the past four days.

“So, yes, after the Rift the dimensions were merging — our world, and the Upside Down. There was a period of relative calm after the Rift, but we knew that Henry was gathering power. He’d been badly hurt before the gates had opened.” She cast another look to Steve, appraising. He wondered if he was because he’d been one of the people to badly hurt Vecna. “We spent a year doing research to try and find a way to beat Henry Creel. With the gates opened he was gathering tremendous power, creating new beings, and, at this point, he was an extremely powerful psychic entity with essentially an army of nearly indestructible creatures at his will. And even if we could beat him, we had no way to stop the dimensions from merging together completely, which had been slowly in progress since March of ’86. Which we feared wouldn’t just stop at Hawkins — it might eventually consume the whole world. We posited that the only way to stop Henry Creel was to stop him at the source. To prevent him from ever breaching into this world in the first place. We had to stop the portal from opening in 1983. In the past.”

She was grinning. Everyone else was completely and totally still.

“The thing to understand is that — well, how much do you all know about the many-worlds interpretation?” Silence. Dustin squirmed like he wanted to raise his hand, but didn’t. Dork, Steve thought, with pure affection.

“Okay, right,” Dr. Morana said, cheerful disposition never slipping. “Well, the many-worlds interpretation posits that there are actually infinite universes. So, we’re all here, right, existing on our timeline — and somewhere else there are versions of us, infinite versions of us, living in other timelines where we made different choices. Timelines as simple as ‘maybe you went left instead of right’ when you left the house, right? But every choice you make sparks even more universes — ones where we died at different times, ones where we were never born. So, well, in order to defeat Henry Creel we decided to merge two timelines. The first timeline, the one you all died in, where the world was ending, and a timeline where Henry Creel never re-opened a portal to the world. A timeline where he never gained power. A timeline where the Upside Down simply didn’t exist.”

What the fuck? Steve shot a glance to Robin. “That wasn’t the plan,” he whispered.

She looked a bit irritated at him. “Yes, well you dying changed the plan, dingus,” she hissed back. And then, a bit softer, “It was the government’s idea. Owens approached us while we were . . . regrouping.” Regrouping sounded more like mourning, and it spiked a terrible flare of guilt in Steve’s stomach. “Apparently they’d been doing all this time travel research since Nancy had told Dr. Owens the Upside Down was still in 1983. We didn’t know what else to do.”

Dr. Morana was gesticulating wildly. She clearly found this very exciting instead of deeply insane. Steve was envious of her, really. “I won’t get into the science of it, because, to be totally frank I don’t think any of you would understand it.” And also, Steve guessed, because half of it was magic psychic powered child and not actual science, but he kept his mouth shut. “But we succeeded. We found a timeline where no one ever created the Upside Down. And we, uh. Well. We merged them. So, in the world we’re in right now, no monsters ever escaped the Upside Down. And since that never happened, none of your deaths were possible. You were all killed by something connected to that world. Without that world, you lived.”

There was total and complete silence. Steve felt a bit like laughing, which he understood was almost certainly hysteria. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than panic.

“To be totally honest, we weren’t sure what would happen when the timelines merged. We figured there was a good chance no one would remember anything. But, here we all are!” She laughed, again. “It seems like nearly everyone has retained memories of the original timeline, and not this one. That said, we’re also expecting you to start having double memories — flashes of things that happened in this timeline that you currently don’t remember. Like double vision. They’ll feel sort of like daydreams, but I assure you those memories are real, and they happened. It might be a bit disorienting at first. And also — you know. Time has passed here. You’re all older than you were when you died — some several years, and some just a few days.” She tapped a finger against her chin, considering. “In all honesty, there’s a lot we don’t know. Which brings me to the next bit — why we gathered all of you, specifically here.”

Steve sat up and forward a little. He had the sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like this.

“You’ve all experienced something people don’t experience. A return from death. There are physical and psychological side effects we simply can’t predict. We’ve done something unprecedented in human history — essentially we’ve invented time travel. So, for that reason, we can’t let you or any current residents of Hawkins leave for some time. The rest of the town is getting a different explanation in other parts of the school — we’re going to blame gaps in memory and strange memories on a gas leak that’s caused, essentially, mass delusions for the past few years.” She paused. “We’re also going to give them all a lot of money so they don’t tell anyone about that. And ask them to stay put for a bit to make sure there’s no detrimental health effects, of course.”

Fred scoffed. “Do you think people will really believe that?”

Dr. Morana smiled again. “You’d be surprised what people believe when faced with something so utterly impossible it terrifies them.” She cleared her throat. “Your group, however — we have very serious concerns about you all. So we’re going to ask you to temporarily move into a building where we can monitor you continuously. Not a hospital, don’t worry. It’s an apartment complex. But we want to make sure that you’re not having any adverse side effects to the temporal displacement. We also want to monitor you psychologically. Again, you’ve gone through something deeply traumatizing and strange, and the only other people who’ll truly understand it are all in this room, together. You’ll be attending regular therapy sessions one on one with me to monitor your progress. We’ll also be hosting group sessions so you can all compare your experiences to one another. We’re very hopeful that this program will last only a couple of months, until we’re sure you’re all cleared to re-enter the world at large. At which point you will be free to leave Hawkins, if you so wish.” She clapped her hands together. “So. Any questions?”

Yes, Steve thought, about fifteen million. But he was sure most of them would be better asked directly of his friends, rather than this woman. Instead, he asked the one he knew she would answer. “This — group therapy, whatever. It’s just the people in this room?” Everyone else in the room turned to look at him, mostly just noticing him for the first time. Fred glanced between him, Robin, Eddie, and Dustin with total confusion, as did Patrick. Chrissy smiled, shy and kind. Joyce’s old boyfriend — god, what was his name? Bob? — gave a smile and a small wave, like they’d bumped into each other a grocery store instead of in dead person support group.

Barb—

He met her gaze head on. Her face was totally and utterly neutral. He couldn’t read it at all. After a long moment she turned away. Steve swallowed shakily.

Dr. Morana was speaking again. “Yes, just the people in this room. We’ve separated you as best as we could — you were all killed by supernatural entities tied directly to the Upside Down. Others, like those killed when the rift opened and caused the earthquake, will have their own sessions with a different doctor.”

“But,” Steve said, “this isn’t everyone who was killed by Upside Down monsters.”

Dr. Morana’s smile sharpened a little. She looked almost impressed? He couldn’t quite tell. “Correct, Mr. Harrington,” she said. “For personal conflict reasons, Jason Carver and Billy Hargrove will not be joining this group.”

“Probably better for my face,” Eddie said, around a sigh.

Steve turned to him. “Yeah, mine too.” And stunningly enough, Eddie grinned in reply. A real, wide grin. It lit up his whole face. And god . . . he was alive. They were both alive. It felt completely unreal. All he could do was grin back.

“Jason?” Chrissy asked from the front of the room. “Jason died?” Eddie’s smile fell completely.

Dr. Morana smiled kindly at Chrissy. “You and I can have a discussion after this, Miss Cunningham — there’s some things I left out that might be, well. Personally interesting to you.” Chrissy nodded. Eddie glowered at his feet. Steve went straight back to feeling sort of sick again. Maybe that was a side effect of temporal displacement? Or maybe it was a side effect of seeing Eddie Munson look like someone had just kicked his puppy in front of him.

“Anyway, for the rest of you — the agents who brought you here are going to bring you back home and let you pack a few bags. I’d bring enough stuff for at least a month, but you are welcome to return to your homes and gather more things if you want at any point. We’re not locking you up, we’re just trying to monitor you. You’ll be free to spend your days as you wish. We just ask that you attend all mandated therapy sessions, all physical doctor appointments, and, of course, that you don’t leave the city limits.” Behind Dr. Morana, the government agent shifted just slightly — straightened his shoulders, stood up taller. It was a threat, and not a subtle one. “Therapy will start tomorrow. We recommend spending today with friends and family. We do ask that you do not talk about the Upside Down to anyone not in this room,” she glanced back at Steve and Eddie then, raised a single eyebrow. Steve read it as with some notable exceptions. Next to him Eddie snorted a bitter huff of laughter. “Your friends and family might be distressed by the memories they have of the original timeline, but the official story is that those memories are false. Please do not tell them otherwise.”

She clapped her hands again, a final dismissal. “I’ll see you all tomorrow!”

Everyone remained sitting for a long, awkward moment. Finally, Chrissy stood and crossed the room to talk to Dr. Morana separately. The older woman wrapped an arm around her and escorted her gently out of the classroom.

Barb stood next, stomping out of the room without a glance back. An agent darted after her, like a mother chasing a child. Steve had no idea how he was meant to sit through months of therapy with a person who almost certainly blamed him for her death. And she wasn’t even wrong. It had been his fault. If he hadn’t — if he hadn’t—

Robin squeezed his arm again. She was smiling at him, fully grinning. “I can’t believe you’re real,” she said, half around a laugh. “Everyone’s gonna lose their shit when they see you two.”

Steve blinked. God. The others. “Wait, if you reset the timeline does that mean — is Max—“

Dustin stood up. “I don’t know! Robin and I literally came straight to your house dude, we haven’t even seen anyone else—“ he was nearly leaping with excitement. “They brought the whole town to the high school right? Do you think they told them we were here?”

Robin grinned. “Let’s go find out, dorks.”

---

When they emerged from the high school, the first thing they heard was Jim Hopper yelling at a man in a military uniform.

“We fought these things for you morons, alright? I think we’re owed a little leeway to see what happened to our friend!”

“Sir,” the military man replied in a tone of voice so bored it was sort of impressive. “Please stop yelling. When the meeting is over you can—“

“Hopper!” Dustin yelled. Everyone swiveled to look at them.

The entire Party was huddled outside the gates, a giant gangly group of teens and adults. Steve glanced around — Joyce was standing next to Hopper, who was still leaning menacingly over the military guy. Next to her Nancy hovered close to Mike, who had an arm around Will, who was holding hands with Eleven, who was holding hands with—

Max.

Max had been in a coma for over a year. Her bones had healed but it took her ages to wake up, and Steve had gone basically every other day, swapping off reading to her with Lucas, making small talk with the nurses. He learned, later, from Mrs. Mayfield, that the nurses all assumed he was her brother, didn’t know he was just some glorified babysitter who’d been completely incapable of protecting her. And when she did wake up, finally, she was still blind and all she’d said — screamed really, to Steve, who’d happened to be in the room was he’s here. He’s back. That had been two weeks ago — had been the beginning of the end, the start of the final battle. They’d barely had time to catch up, and when they finally did have a quiet pause between the action all she’d asked was if he’d read her letter.

Which — he had. He wasn’t going to, not ever, because she wasn’t actually dead and it felt like a betrayal to read it when she was alive. But in a moment of weakness, after a night listening to Metallica with Dustin, after going home to his big and empty house in the morning and feeling so overwhelmed, he’d taken it from where it’d been perpetually folded into his jacket pocket and read it. And it had been so Max, mean and snarky and bossy. But it’d also been too kind. She had thanked him, for saving her and Lucas from Billy. For being a better brother than Billy had been. For always looking out for her. And it’d nearly killed him, reading it, because he hadn’t been better, in the end. He’d let her down. He’d let her walk into battle with a devil and he’d let her lose, had completely failed to protect her at all. And she’d spent some of her last hours thanking him.

Right now she was there, right in front of him, back and alive and — running, he realized, suddenly, running straight at him. The military man made a half aborted move to stop her, but she was too fast. She collided with him so hard and that he nearly fell to the ground. Her arms wrapped around him and she buried her face in his chest and — oh. She was hugging him. This was a hug. He wrapped his arms back around her. And Max — strong, mean, brave Max — she was fucking crying. “You asshole. You stupid asshole,” she wept into his chest. “Why’d you have to go and die?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, and he meant it. “I’m so sorry. I was — I was trying to protect—”

“I know, I know,” Max said, and she was hiccupping she was crying so hard. “But it was awful Steve, it was so awful. You were gone and I — I don’t want you to be gone.”

“I’m not,” Steve said. “I’m here, I’m right here, I’m okay.” He glanced up. The others were making their way over, more slowly. Mike and was bounding up to Eddie and tossing him into a hug. Lucas was bee-lining towards Steve and Max, grinning wildly. Will and Eleven were waving, gently, and Hopper was jogging up to join Joyce who was standing next to Jonathan, who was standing next to Nancy.

Joyce had her hands pressed into her mouth. Hopper was looking Steve up and down like he was assessing him physically for injuries. Jonathan looked sort of vaguely dazed, and Nancy was looking anywhere but Steve, a furious tilt to her mouth that Steve knew meant she was holding back tears.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t — I’m sorry I died,” he said lamely, sort of to everyone.

Robin slugged him in the arm. “It was a real dickhead move, Steve.”

“Both of you,” Dustin snapped. “Fucking hero complexes on you, I swear.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie said with a grin, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulder, “I learned from the best here.”

Dustin scowled. “That’s so not funny dude.”

“It’s kind of funny,” Lucas said. “But only because everyone lived.”

And that still sort of floored Steve. Everybody lived. Everybody. “Nancy,” he said, suddenly, and she turned to look at him, eyes giant and wet. “Barb’s — I saw her. She was in there, she’s.” And then he couldn’t continue, had to stop. Max was still clutching onto him. Lucas had grabbed onto his arm with one hand, had laid the other one on Max’s back.

Eddie was glancing between Steve and Nancy, a questioning look on his face. And right — the last time Steve had seen Eddie they’d been joking about him and Nancy getting back together. Eddie had no idea what’d happened in the meantime — her weird, slow-mo breakup with Jonathan, for one thing. The giant fight she and Steve had weeks later, when she’d drunkenly half-blamed him for it, claimed he’d distracted her, which had been so unfair because he’d never decided anything in their relationship, hadn’t wanted to break up, hadn’t slept with someone else, had actually, in fact, loved her, bullshit aside. It had been a giant, messy fight, and they’d said terrible, nasty things to one another — the type of fight that reminded him of his parents, the type of fight that made him sick.

And then, of course, Eddie couldn’t have known about the longer conversation they had after weeks of silence, weeks of carefully and purposefully avoiding each other. Calmer and more serious. Where they’d apologized. And where they’d acknowledged some things — that they were totally different people than they’d been in 1983. Where they’d eventually landed on a truth that made Steve so uncomfortable it still gave him goosebumps — he didn’t really want Nancy back. He wanted the feeling of Nancy back. Because being with Nancy, before everything had gone down, had been the last time he’d felt carefree and happy. And he craved that again, craved the feeling of being young and happy and in love, of not knowing that there were monsters in every dark corner of the world. But there was no going back to that. And they’d ended up as friends, ended with a hug, and then things had been good. Really good. They were close now, all of them — even he and Jonathan had found things to connect on, had talked through their fight in 1983 (Steve had been a dick, yes, but Jonathan’s photos crossed a line, they agreed), had smoked a joint together a few days before the end where Steve had made Jonathan promise to look after Dustin if he died (“don’t say that, man,” Jonathan had said, but Steve had not relented, and the other man had finally agreed. “Only if you look out for Will, for me,” he’d said back, and those were fair enough terms in Steve’s book.)

But Eddie didn’t know all that. Eddie was seeing Nancy, standing stiff and nearly crying, perhaps over some unresolved romantic tension with a man she’d thought was dead, instead of what Steve saw it as — a friend who was deeply upset that he’d gone and gotten himself hurt but felt the need to hold it together in front of everyone else. And Eddie was waggling his eyebrows at Steve like this was all deeply amusing to him, Steve’s love life.

It was strangely important to Steve that Eddie know that there was nothing between him and Nancy — that there never would be. He’d have to tell Eddie everything, soon. Maybe when they both got to the apartments, tonight. There was a lot to catch up on, after all.

“Barb?” Nancy said, in a small voice. Steve tore his eyes away from Eddie and back to her. “How did she — I mean. How did she look?”

“Different,” Steve said. “Older.” Nancy pressed her hand to her mouth. “She left, before us, but I’m sure she’d want to hear from you, Nance. You should call her. They told us not to talk about—" he cut a glance to the military men still hovering nearby — “what happened. But I don’t think you guys count. She’d be glad to know how much you cared. How much you fought for her.”

There was a heavy silence. And then Jonathan broke it. “And what about you man? I mean. You fought for her too.”

Steve shook his head ruefully, found himself unable to speak. Eddie chimed in for him. “Well, we have government mandated dead kid group therapy for the next vague period of time, so I’m sure Barb and Steve will get time to catch up then.” Eddie didn’t know the whole story — had never had the time to learn it. Another thing they’d have to talk about, eventually.

“Wow, okay, mandated therapy sounds terrible,” Lucas said, and it was a bit weak but it earned a little laughter from everyone, a lightening of the mood. Joyce suggested breakfast back at her place, and the agents who’d been sent out to escort Steve and Eddie put up a bit of a fight before Hopper started yelling again and they backed down. The woman handed Steve a piece of paper with an address on it — an apartment complex in downtown Hawkins. “There’s no curfew officially,” she began.

“But be back tonight?” Eddie finished. She nodded, a bit primly, and then spun on her heel and left.

As Joyce and Hopper debated how to wrangle the mass of them into different cars, Steve looked up and found Mike Wheeler staring at him. He cleared his throat. “Wheeler. Uh. Mike. Listen man, Dustin said—“ and he couldn’t quite bring himself to finish the sentence. “I’m sorry. That you had to see that.”

Mike winced, shrugged, looked away. Then he started to talk, still not looking at Steve. “I mean. I never really thanked you, you know? For all the shit you did for us. Saved our lives a bunch. And I was just . . . I was always a dick to you. Cause you were just my sister’s shithead boyfriend, and then her shithead ex boyfriend, which is even worse. And then you were dead.” He scrubbed furiously at his mouth. “You’d done it again for us, you know? Everyone was so mad and upset but I knew . . . you were never gonna let anyone else take that role. You’d put yourself in front of us every time. And I never got to thank you for it.” Finally, Mike met his eye again. “So thanks, you know. For that.”

“Sure,” Steve said, feeling weak all around. “I mean I. I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

“Yeah man,” Mike agreed. “Turned out I didn’t want you to get hurt either. Who fucking knew.”

Who fucking knew indeed.

And then Hopper had clapped a hand on his shoulder. There was a look in his eye Steve couldn’t decipher — a little watery. The hand on his shoulder slipped up the back of his neck, affectionate. “I’m glad you’re back, kid,” he said. Dustin was shouting that he wanted Steve in his car, and Hopper was leading them towards Nancy’s station wagon, and the moment evaporated, softly, into the air.

Notes:

chapter title from Time Warp, from the Rocky Horror Picture Show

Chapter 3: say the words that i can't say

Summary:

Steve submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known and gets a voicemail.

Breakfast turned into lunch; a marathon session of talking and catching up. The kids recapped everything Eddie had missed to him, breathlessly and rapidly, although Steve noticed everyone fast-forwarding through the parts that hurt the most. Starting with the demogorgan, going to Starcourt, Hopper’s death that wasn’t a death. And then the Earthquake, Max’s coma, the calm before the storm. Eddie met Will and Jonathan and Eleven, Will excitedly yammering about D&D for a solid ten minutes before the story pivoted back into what happened. They talked about Max waking up, about prepping for Vecna; and then they caught Steve up on the parts of the plan he missed.

“Nothing we’d thrown at him had worked,” Will said, soft and sad. “The government said the only solution was trying to erase him completely. The Upside Down was still stuck in 1983, and they thought if El went into sensory deprivation down there, she could probably find a way to drift between timelines, right? They were worried that the gates would collapse the world entirely. Like, so worried that the possibility of ending all of space time didn’t really matter.”

Steve frowned. “You wouldn’t have ended all of space time, though, would you have?”

El and Will exchanged a glance and then shrugged, simultaneously. It was weird how sibling-like they’d gotten in the past few years. “We figured it’d work,” Will said, simply.

There were still so many questions he had, though. Like: “shouldn’t more things be different?” Everyone stared at him a bit blankly, which was pretty much par for the course whenever he said anything, to be fair. He shrugged. “I mean, what are the odds that in every timeline we all still end up here, on this day, in this town? No one ever got a better job and left? Or, like, took a summer vacation for the fourth?” He jutted his chin towards El, pointedly. “I mean, shouldn’t you be . . . somewhere else?” In the lab? Or with her real family? It felt mean to say either one out loud, but it was something worth wondering about.

El nodded, serious and calm. “When I was under, I searched for universes that felt . . . similar. Similar energy patterns. People I recognized in places I recognized. There were others that were more different. I tried to find the one most . . . the same. But with no One.” She frowned. “I woke up in Hopper’s house. I do not know how I got here, in this world. But I did.”

“I’m sure there’s more that we’re going to learn is different here,” Nancy said, softly. “When I woke up my vanity was covered in these photos of Barb and I, on trips we never took, at events we never went to — prom, graduation. Those are small, but I’m sure there’s bigger things too.”

“There’s absolutely bigger things,” Jonathan continued. “In our 1987 Argyle was here, but he’s not here now. Which, I mean — that makes sense, I guess, because I only knew Argyle because we moved to California—“

“Which we wouldn’t have done if the Mind Flayer incident hadn’t happened,” Will finished.

Nancy was nodding too. “Murray’s not here either — I’m guessing he’s still in Illinois. He only got roped into this because Barb vanished, so if Barb never vanished . . .” she sighed, heavily. “I think the real question is do they remember everything? Or is it just us? Hawkins has always been strange, and we were the epicenter of the . . . timeline merge. Maybe the farther away you get from it the less you recall of the original timeline.”

Steve was frowning in Jonathan’s direction. Jonathan and Argyle had been close — the idea that Argyle might just not remember him at all was weirdly upsetting, even to Steve. He couldn’t imagine how Jonathan was feeling. “Can you call him?”

Jonathan nodded, a strange tilt to his mouth. “Yeah, it’s still early in California but — I might try, later.” He seemed a little hesitant about the whole thing.

Eddie was chewing on a piece of his hair absently. “Okay, wait, I have a big question — you,” he said, pointing to Eleven — “superhero girl. Still a superhero?”

El nodded, waved her hand and hovered the fork in front of her slightly off the floor, a couple inches. It stayed a few seconds and then clattered back down. “But my power is weaker. And I do not have my tattoo.”

“So you were never in the lab?” Mike chimed in. Apparently this was news to everyone.

“I guess not,” El said, softly. “But I am also not with Mama.”

Hopper walked back in from cleaning plates in the kitchen. “I’m sure there’s something at the house that explains what happened here. I was never one to keep a diary, but there’s got to be paperwork or something that can tell us what we can’t remember about this timeline. How El and I ended up together, even without the lab.” He ruffled her hair affectionately.

“The government says we’re going to remember,” Dustin said. “They said that today in the dead people room — they’re calling it double vision, where we recall memories from this timeline.”

Eddie shuddered. “God, this is so fucking weird, man.”

“Language,” Hopper snapped back. Eddie went completely pale, stuttered out an apology, and the conversation devolved into the kids making fun of Eddie for still being afraid of the police chief while Eddie protested that he had plenty of reason to fear Hopper, given their past run-ins.

“Oh please Munson, I never did anything that bad to you,” Hopper said.

“You once chased me a mile,” Eddie said back, practically a whine.

“It was like 500 feet, and when I caught you I told you you should try out for track! Don’t be a baby,” Hopper snapped.

Steve pictured Eddie in the track uniform and laughed so hard he started to choke, Robin thwacking his back while Eddie glared at him.

There was an implication that lunch would turn into dinner, no one quite wanting to say goodbye, but Steve caught Eddie’s eye at one point and saw something strange and faraway in his gaze. Thought for a minute, and then put it together.

“Hey,” he’d said, nudging the other man’s shoulder with his own. “You know, uh. I’m sure you saw him for a second, this morning, but if you want I could drive you over to talk to Wayne. Really talk, I mean.”

Wayne hadn’t left Hawkins, after Eddie had died. He’d moved to the outskirts of town, by the graveyard. Steve figured with the timeline reset they’d returned to the original trailer, the one where Chrissy had died. Max had mentioned that she’d woken up this morning in her old house, the one they’d moved to originally when they came to Hawkins, the one they’d left after Billy had died and her stepdad fucked off. She had not mentioned whether she saw Billy or not, which — Steve would have to ask, soon, to figure out what’d happened there. But now wasn’t the moment, probably, not when she was grinning and leaning into Lucas’s space and braiding El’s hair into gentle ponytails.

Eddie’s face ran through a series of expressions so quickly that Steve couldn’t read them. “Really?”

“Yeah, man,” Steve said. “It’s not a problem. You need to grab some clothes anyway, right?”

Eddie nodded. “He was asleep, when I woke up. And there were agents at my door, pretty much immediately, so we didn’t really get to. You know. Talk.” Eddie took a shuddering breath. “But, I mean, what about your folks? Don’t you want to see them?”

The others were chattering around them, not tuned into the conversation, except for Robin, who was looking at Steve with that look she got whenever his parents came up. It was half like she'd smelled something unpleasant and half like she'd been forced to chew glass. Steve shrugged, aimed for casual. “My parents probably aren’t here,” he said. Eddie frowned, but didn’t press. Steve wondered if he recalled what everyone used to say, back in high school, Big house, no parents, the motto of the reign of King Steve.

His parents not being home was half a guess — Steve supposed with the timeline shift he didn’t really have a way of knowing where his parents were, but even before the Upside Down happened to him they’d been gone from the house more often than not. He wondered, sometimes, if they had some other house somewhere, some apartment where they lived and he could never reach them, only popping back in to say hi when they remembered that they were somewhat obligated to. A place that felt more like home to them than the house where they’d raised their only son.

Anyway, he figured they wouldn’t be back for a while, timeline shifting be damned.

Eddie smiled, small and shy. “Yeah, man, okay. I’d appreciate it.”

Nancy agreed to drive the two of them back to Steve’s on her and Mike’s way home, and to drop Robin off too. Dustin looked a bit petulant about splitting up, but Steve reminded him that they had to go to their new government-mandated dwellings tonight anyway. Better not to piss off the government, right? They said their goodbyes, promised to check in tomorrow. Dustin badgered Steve to bring his walkie. Steve frowned. “I mean, uh. Do you think I . . . have one?”

Dustin furrowed his brow, confused. “I mean,” Steve continued, “in this timeline are we . . . would we be friends?”

It was embarrassing, saying it out loud. But Steve had to wonder — without the Upside Down, without the apocalypse, who in this room would care about him? Nancy, maybe, and that was about it. Would Steve “The Hair” Harrington, without the threat of death, had ever even met Dustin Henderson? Or Robin Buckley? Max, Eddie, Will? He had his doubts, and they wormed their way violently into his stomach, made him feel ill.

Dustin just looked even more confused. “Dude,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course we’re friends in this timeline. We’re friends in every timeline.” He was talking in that voice he always used around Steve — that you’re a dumbass voice. Which normally pissed Steve off but now — well, now Dustin’s total and absolute confidence did something strange to Steve’s chest. “Promise me you’ll look for it,” the kid said.

“Alright man,” Steve said, and he ignored the slight waver to his voice. “I’ll look for it.”

Lucas grinned. “Try not to die on the way home, yeah?”

Dustin winced. “Dude, too soon.” Max slugged Lucas in the arm. And then the kids descended into bickering, and it was like nothing was different at all, really.

---

Nancy’s car was quiet. Very quiet. Robin had called shotgun, so Steve found himself wedged into the back, Mike squeezed between himself and Eddie. It wasn’t exactly comfortable. The silence was even less comfortable. But Steve felt ill-equipped to break it. He was exhausted for one — it had set into his bones so suddenly, the weight of everything. He hadn’t really rested since Vecna, and even though Vecna hadn’t physically happened to him in this world he figured the psychological damage was tiring enough. Plus, he didn’t know what to say at all. Mike had found his body. Nancy was clearly still slightly pissed off at him for dying at all — she kept shooting him these tiny glances that she must have thought he couldn’t see.

Robin, too, kept looking at him, but she was less subtle, more open, eyes wet and wide. That also felt bad. He needed to talk to them, he knew, to all of them, one by one. To — he wasn’t sure. Apologize again? Explain? He wondered if the joy of his resurrection would eventually fade into anger that he’d died at all, that their goodwill towards him would shift into something else.

The thought was unpleasant, so he shoved it down. Said nothing.

They arrived at his house shortly enough. He and Eddie clambered out, Mike shifting over to fill the seat Eddie vacated. Nancy rolled down the window and stuck her head out, and Steve leaned down to meet her. She narrowed her eyes, searched his face for — for something, he couldn’t figure out what. “Call tomorrow, right? Do you guys have phones in your new fancy apartment?” The joke fell a bit flat, but Steve mustered a smile up anyway. “Promise, Steve? That you won’t . . .” she trailed off and bit her lip, frowning.

“Hide?” Robin offered from her position in the passenger seat. “Stuff all your feelings inside your chest in a manly way and refuse to let any of us in to help you? Insist you can do everything all by yourself and then go insane in the hallways of a government apartment building like an old widow in a Dickens novel?”

That made Steve laugh, a punched out sound from his chest, even though he'd never actually read any of the assigned Dickens reading in school. Nancy laughed too, much more softly. “Yeah,” she chimed in. “That. Don’t disappear on us.”

It felt a little like being seen, in an uncomfortable way — like they knew him well enough to know exactly what his plan was. Not that he planned to disappear, just — he didn’t want to burden them. Which they knew, somehow. Knew him. Knew that if this was a normal post-Upside Down cooldown, like the last ones, he’d lock himself in his big empty house, would answer all of their calls for help, would comfort them through their nightmares, and would never, ever admit to having any of his own. If he thought too hard about it he might cry (again, he thought a bit bitterly), so he just shook his head. “I promise I won’t disappear. I’ll call.”

“Okay,” Nancy said, quietly. It hit Steve again, the way it did sometimes — how easy she’d been in to fall in love with, how easy it’d been to picture a whole future with her. That had been the hardest part of their breakup, harder even than the accusation that they’d never really loved each other — the idea that they’d have no future together. That Nancy Wheeler would be just a small part of his life, a girl he knew once and then never again, a vague memory.

It’s also what made the fact that they’d never get back together bearable to him. It didn’t matter if they fell back in love. She’d stick around in his life, probably forever. He’d never really lose her. And he did still love her, even if now that love had turned into something soft and familial, a friend when he needed one. She reached out and took his hand between hers, squeezed gently. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

“Yeah, you too,” Steve said. Then he leaned forward, made eye contact with Robin, then Mike. “All of you, you got it?” Mike rolled his eyes, and Robin nodded.

And then she leaned across Nancy to clutch at Steve’s forearm, abrupt and awkward and so Robin. “Ask the government if you can have visitors, okay? I wanna see your new place. And we need to talk and—“ she cut herself off, sniffled a little. “And I’m so glad you’re alive. Both of you.”

Steve realized that Eddie had been standing at his shoulder, watching the whole interaction. Eddie grinned at her. “Please, like I was gonna stay dead and let Harrington have all the zombie fun? As if.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Anyway. We’ll see you all tomorrow, yeah?” The occupants of the car all murmured agreements, and Steve leaned back as they drove away. Faintly he heard what sounded like Nancy saying visitors huh? And Robin snapping back platonic! He laughed again, dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Jesus Christ,” he said out loud, half to Eddie and half to himself. “What a weird fucking day man.”

Eddie snorted, inelegantly. “You’re telling me. I lost a whole year, Harrington.” Then he frowned. “Wait, actually — do you think I graduated in this timeline?”

“No idea,” Steve said, heading towards his dark and empty house.

“I bet not,” Eddie replied. Steve turned to shoot him a questioning glance, and the other man shrugged. “Just, I always figured the minute I graduated I’d be out of Hawkins, like, the next day. If I graduated already I don’t think I would have woken up here.”

Steve pulled out his keys to unlock his front door. “Who knows, man. Maybe you found something to stay for.” When he turned to face Eddie again, he was looking vaguely into space, a small, considering look on his face. He met Steve’s eye after a beat.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, “maybe.” And then he grinned, wickedly. “Like you found Wheeler?”

Steve groaned. “Ugh, man no. No, we’re just friends. You missed a whole year, you cannot come back and badger me about my imaginary love life.”

Eddie cackled as they walked into the house, Steve flipping on every light he could as he passed. “I’m just saying man, that hand holding didn’t seem that platonic.”

“Well, it was, trust me. There’s nothing going on there, and there never will be again, and I’m not even sad about it, anymore,” Steve said plainly. He cast a look back at the Eddie, who just shrugged and let it go. “You’re not badgering me about Robin, I notice. Most people really harp on that one.”

Eddie grinned, looking like he’d gotten a joke that had totally gone over Steve’s head. “Yeah, I dunno man. You don’t seem like her type.”

“Rude,” Steve said back, but there was no heat in it. After all, he wasn’t, not really, not that Eddie could know that.

Eddie, mercifully, moved on from the conversation, instead letting out a low, impressed whistle as Steve moved them towards the stairs, up to his bedroom. “Jesus, Harrington, I knew you were rich, but who knew you were this rich?”

“I am not this rich,” Steve said. “I work at fucking Family Video. My dad is this rich.” Although, Steve supposed, it was possible that they lived in a timeline where he didn’t work at Family Video. He’d only gotten the Scoops job because his father and he had had a huge blowout at the end of senior year, when Steve didn’t get into any colleges. His father couldn’t understand. Steve had never been a great student, but after his first brush with the Upside Down he’d stopped trying at school altogether. He never skipped classes, never did anything outwardly concerning, but he stopped trying. Missed assignments. Dropped basketball, which, at the time, had made his father launch a glass across the room at the wall, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

(He’d never thrown anything at Steve; he’d only thrown things because of Steve, which was better, Steve knew. Had to be better, because it’s not like he ever got hurt. It’s not like his father was that bad, in the grand scheme of things.)

Anyway, they’d had a massive fight, and Steve had realized that as long as he lived in this house, under his father’s thumb, he’d be beholden to the man. He’d owe him something. Would be forced to have a relationship with him. And Steve didn’t want to have a relationship with him.

Or, no — Steve did want to have a relationship, he wanted it so bad it hurt. There were nights, sometimes, when they weren't fighting monsters from hell, where Steve would stay awake and wonder if the next time his parents came home they'd really see him. See the life he'd made for himself, see that it had worth even if it didn't follow their master plan for him, the future they'd charted out before he could even speak. But they hadn't ever seemed proud, when they came home. And even before that last fight he'd always been something of a disappointment to his father. There was always a simmering accusation under Christopher Harrington's gaze, from the earliest of Steve's memories. A look that said you are not good enough. A part of him knew it was a losing game, to try and make that look vanish, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted that approval, desperate and stupid, still a child hoping his dad would respect him, one day.

But he didn't want to want that, anymore. He wanted to learn to live with the cards he was dealt. He wanted to move on. So he’d signed up to scoop ice cream, and save his money, and get out of this house as soon as he could.

That had been before, in the other timeline. And Steve had woken up here so he supposed, like Eddie, he hadn’t ever gotten around to leaving. Which was scary. Maybe here he still lived under his father’s thumb. Worked for him, like the old man had always wanted, had pestered Steve to do after high school. Maybe in this world, Steve was just as willing to be a lap dog as ever, hoping against hope for the impossible day where his parents would be proud of him. Again, the thought made his stomach churn. He didn’t like how little he knew about this new world — how little he understood.

“Damn,” Eddie said, pulling Steve out of his trance. “You must really hate the guy if you’re willing to slog around at Family Video just to move out.” Which — how did Eddie know that? Steve shot him a look, but Eddie just shrugged. “Seems obvious, dude. I’d want to move out too. There’s, uh.” And then Eddie blushed, which was so weird. It turned his face a lovely shade of pink.

Wait. Lovely? No, that had to be the wrong word. But Steve was too tired to supply another one, so he just let the thought pass by.

Eddie cleared his throat, and finished his sentence. “There’s no pictures of you anywhere, man.”

Which. Huh. Steve had never noticed that before. “Yeah, well,” he said back, and then couldn’t find anything else to say. He gestured vaguely to his bedroom. “Let me just grab some stuff. Then we can go.”

Eddie nodded and followed him up the stairs. Steve expected the other man to be cracking jokes — about the state of Steve’s room, about his dumb outdated posters. But he stayed quiet, contemplative. Ran his fingers along the edge of Steve’s largely unused desk as Steve grabbed a series of random shirts and jeans and shoved them into the duffel bag he kept under his bed. Instinctively, he leaned further under his bed to grab his nail bat and grasped empty air. Right. No nail bat in this universe. No need for it.

He ran on autopilot, but took the time to glance around the room. There were no photos anywhere — no sign of any friends. But there weren’t in his original room, either. He’d hidden those things. The pictures of him and Robin and the kids and other mementos. He’d tucked them away in a shoebox in his closet, by his walkie, because he didn’t want his parents to know. Didn’t want them intruding on the good parts of his life. He had an irrational, recurring thought — his father finding the box, scoffing at it, and upending everything in the trash like it was nothing. So he hid it. Safer.

He turned to go to the closet, to search for the box and the walkie, as he’d promised Dustin, when the phone rang.

Steve froze. Eddie froze. They both looked at each other, waiting. The phone kept ringing. “You think we’re like? Running late?” Eddie asked, licking his lips. But the sun hadn’t even set yet, and the government lady had said there wasn’t a curfew.

Steve frowned. “Telemarketer? Or—“ he paled. “God, wait, what if I have, like, some girlfriend I don’t remember?”

Eddie frowned too. “Would she remember you?”

“I don’t know man! This whole timeline thing is fucking with my head,” Steve snapped.

The machine clicked to voicemail.

And then in the silence of his house, his mother spoke.

“Steven? Are you there?” Her voice sounded strange and far away, made tinny by the answering machine, static clicking behind her. Steve didn’t think he was breathing. “Steven? It’s your mother.” Another pause. “Uhm. I know it’s — strange of me to call, so. I just. I had this terrible dream.” And she sounded — almost sad? Scared? It was a tone of voice he’d never heard his mother use before. She’d always sounded detached, neutral. Vaguely medicated, if he was being honest. She took a shockingly shaky breath. “It was . . . someone told me that you’d — that you were.” And then stopped. Another long breath. “It was an awful dream, Steven. I’m sorry. I guess I wanted. . .” she trailed off.

It was, Steve thought, exactly how he’d been talking all day. Half said sentences, thoughts unfinished, emotions pushed down. He’d never really thought about it before, that he was like his mother in that way. He’d thought often about the ways he was like his father — the bouts of rage, the curdled condescension, the quick and brutal judgments of others. But his mother had always felt sort of tertiary — more a ghost haunting their house than a person he really knew. And yet here she was, doing exactly what he did. Talking around something. Never really saying what she meant. Trailing off during the important bits.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I guess it doesn’t matter.” She cleared her throat, and her tone shifted back to what Steve was used to — calm, detached, like she was reading something while she was speaking to him, her attention mostly elsewhere. “Anyway, you don’t have to call back. Your father and I are still in Florida, and I’m not sure when we’ll be back. We’ll talk soon.”

The line clicked off.

She did not say I love you, and Steve could tell that Eddie noticed. He cleared his throat. It felt like he had rocks lodged in it. “A dream,” Steve said, softly. “Guess Nancy was right — the farther away you are from here the less real your memories seem.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Anyway. We should, uh. We should go.”

Eddie nodded. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something and then clicked it shut again. “Yeah, Harrington, let’s roll.”

In his rush to get out of the house, Steve forgot to look for his walkie at all.

Notes:

chapter title is from Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order.

I knew this would be slowburn when I started it, but I think even I am shocked at just how slow we are burning. Thank you all for your lovely comments.

Chapter 4: the ocean washed over your grave

Summary:

Eddie learns more about what Steve did for the year Eddie was dead.

The BMW pulled into the trailer park right as the sun started to set over the horizon. Before 1986 Steve hadn’t even been aware there was a trailer park in Hawkins; it felt like something someone had stuck onto the map haphazardly, as an afterthought, to add more character to town. Then Max had moved in, and he’d met Eddie, and everything had happened with Vecna, and it had become a location in his mind. The same way the quarry, where they’d found the fake Will Byers was. Or the ruined corpse of the mall. Or his own swimming pool.

A place where something happened.

Secretly, Steve had been glad that Wayne had moved, after Eddie died. He thought the trailer park was too filled with ghosts. Couldn’t stop picturing the version of it in the Upside Down, where Eddie’s body remained mangled and bloody because they’d all been too injured to haul it back through the portal. It wasn’t an image he liked.

(Dustin had wanted to dig a grave and Nancy had been pragmatic and insisted they move on and Robin had been unnaturally, terribly quiet and Steve had wanted—

Steve had wanted to go back and try again, to get a do-over, which wasn’t how life worked, he knew, but he’d still prayed for it, begged for it in his head. A second chance. Another shot.)

So — it was weird. Being back. Pulling the beemer outside of Eddie’s trailer like it was something he did, regularly. He threw the car into park. Eddie was drumming his fingers up and down his leg, nervous looking. Steve reached out and grasped his shoulder, and Eddie jumped, just slightly, fidgety. “Hey. It’s gonna be okay.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, it’s just. This is weird. This whole thing is weird. Like he doesn’t know, right? About the Upside Down?”

Steve shook his head. “Dustin said you’d died in the Earthquake. And that he was with you, when it happened.”

The noise that Eddie made was half a sigh and half something else, edging on manic. Steve understood, really — had been making that noise internally all fucking day. “Listen, man,” he said, “Wayne loves you. Forget everything else. He’s going to be so happy that you’re here, that whatever he remembered didn’t happen. Just. Go and talk to him, yeah?”

Eddie nodded. Considered Steve for a long moment. Steve hoped he wasn’t thinking about the voicemail his mother had left; wasn’t thinking about the conspicuous lack of I love you tacked on the end. Because Steve was, still. Was thinking about Wayne, pacing around the living room of the trailer, nervous and elated that Eddie had come back from the dead while all Steve got was a voicemail that said nothing at all.

Finally, Eddie grunted and spoke. “You’ll stay, yeah?”

“Yeah. Of course, yeah.”

Eddie nodded and exited the car. Steve followed suit, walking up to the front door with him. Steve stood back as Eddie knocked — strange, considering he figured Eddie had a key, but who was he to question it? Wayne flung the door open. Looked at Eddie. Clocked Steve. Nodded once. And then put his attention back to Eddie, pulling him into a hug that appeared absolutely bone crushing.

“Come here, boy. Come in.”

Eddie was nodding, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hands. Wayne looked at Steve again. “You coming in, Harrington?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah, Mr. Munson. I’ll sit out here. Take your time.”

Wayne chuckled. “We will.” And then he ushered Eddie inside and shut the door.

Steve sat down, took out a cigarette, lit it, and turned his brain off for as long as he could.

Eddie emerged after the sun had set, clutching a ratty duffel bag. Steve was halfway through this third cigarette — he’d picked the habit back up, during the last run-in with Vecna, having assumed he wouldn’t live long enough to suffer the adverse effects and desperately needing something to take the edge off, to make his hands stop shaking. He supposed he should quit again, but it seemed like a problem for Later Steve, once he’d coped with the Being Alive Again shit. He looked up and was not surprised to see Eddie holding himself stiffly, eyes red and puffy and welled with unshed tears. Steve didn’t comment on them — not his place. “Time to go?” he asked instead.

Eddie nodded, sniffed, rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist. It was a strangely childlike gesture — sometimes Steve forgot, how young they all were. Even Eddie, officially the oldest of their group, was the only one now capable of drinking legally. There were people all around the world decades older than him who’d lived less than they had in a couple of years.

Even though Eddie had nodded yes to leaving, he sat himself down on the trailer step, next to Steve. “He doesn’t buy the gas leak thing, for what it’s worth.”

Steve shrugged, lazily. “That’s the government’s problem. I think a lot of people are going to have trouble buying it.”

Eddie nodded, a bit shakily. He cleared his throat. Steve waited. “Wayne said,” Eddie began. Stopped. Sniffed. Started again. “Wayne said you’d visit my uh — my grave a lot. Said you’d come by every week and erase the graffiti.”

“Hm,” Steve said. He took another drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, man. Yeah.”

Dustin had told Wayne that Eddie was dead and Wayne had stopped putting up missing posters. The government had slid him money (Steve assumed someone had pulled some sort of string to make that happen but had never actually figured out who) and Wayne had relocated. He’d bought a plot of land in the graveyard for Eddie. And because Wayne was proud, and because Wayne never faltered in his conviction that Eddie was innocent, he’d put Eddie’s real name on the grave. There was no other inscription — just EDDIE MUNSON; 1966-1986.

Steve had visited for the first time three days after it went up, with Dustin. Someone had written MURDERER on it in black paint, and bile had roared so fiercely in Steve’s throat that he’d actually punched a tree and cracked some bones in his hand in a fit of blind rage. (Later, Dustin would joke about it — Steve losing a fight to a tree — but he’d always said it with more fondness than mockery. Steve lost a fight to a tree because Eddie Munson had deserved a better ending, and they were two of the only people on Earth who’d ever get to know that.) Anyway, Steve had come back the next day with cleaning supplies and scrubbed it off, and that had started a tradition. Steve coming back to see if the grave was vandalized, and cleaning it off when it was.

(And it always was. Every week. MURDERER was the most common. FREAK was a close second. Once, memorably, ROT IN HELL, and that one had made Steve break down crying for reasons he didn’t really want to explore.)

Steve thought he’d gotten away with it for a while, unnoticed, as no one else was ever in the graveyard, but one day when he’d finished scrubbing away the edge of the word MONSTER Wayne walked up to him and demanded an explanation. And truthfully, Steve didn’t have a good one — Steve and Eddie hadn’t been friends, not really, they’d just spent a weird week in nearly literal hell together and then Eddie had died.

It was hard to explain, but Steve was mourning possibility — he’d never fully shaken the idea that there was a world where he and Eddie Munson could be close. Had allowed himself to fantasize about it, sometimes, listening to those metal cassettes in Dustin’s room or, embarrassingly, holding the vest that he’d never gotten rid of.

He never really explained that to anyone, not even Robin — could hear her in his head, saying oh sure, you and Eddie Munson, peas in a pod around a little scoff. But he thought it was true, really. Because sure, Eddie was The Freak — loud, nasty, difficult to be around. In every way, he and Steve were different; prep versus metalhead, jock versus burnout, asshole versus, well, different variety of asshole.

Except for the most important way, which was: they were both wearing armor, all of the time. Protecting themselves from the outside world. From what other people thought.

The Freak hadn’t always been Eddie’s nickname. He’d had been a year above Steve in middle school — had shown up over the summer with a buzzcut and combat boots. Being the new kid always sucked, opened you up to all sorts of torment, and it hadn’t been any different with Eddie, who also seemed to have a chip on his shoulder about the whole arrangement. (Steve never knew why he transferred, why he lived with his uncle in a trailer, but he could guess it wasn’t a very happy story, considering what Eddie had said when he hotwired the RV, so long ago.) Add to that the heavy fantasy books he carried around, the way he was too eager in English class, his nervous, fidgety energy, the way he never talked to girls — it was all too easy to find shit to torture him about. Some dickhead a year above Steve whose name had long since escaped him had beat the shit out of Eddie at lunch one day, back when Steve was in 7th grade, given Eddie a black eye and nearly broken his nose. Tommy H had called it sick. The guy had walked around for weeks saying Eddie had made a pass at him, and that’s why he’d had to beat him up.

After that Eddie was different. Started growing his hair out. Started snarling at people. Stopped trying in school. Leaned in — started selling drugs and skipping class and letting people call him a Satanist. But the rumors that Eddie was gay faded, were replaced by rumors about what he was selling out of his van, about if he was responsible for killing Darlene Morris’ cat, shit like that.

So: Eddie’s armor was abrasiveness. Leaping on tables, throwing devil horns, antagonizing cheerleaders. Eddie knew everyone would already say nasty things about him so he leaned all the way in. Everyone wrote him off. No point in beating up the Freak, because he’d always just be a Freak, and anyway what if the Devil Worship stuff was true and he cursed you or something?

Eddie had saved himself. Put on the Freak armor, and you’ll be protected. You’ll know what they’re going to say before they say it, and then it can never hurt you.

Steve’s armor had been The King. The easiest way to make sure no one ever spoke about how sad it was that your parents couldn’t be bothered to be around was to throw parties in your big, empty house. The easiest way to make sure no one ever asked if you were lonely was to surround yourself with people — not friends, not really, but followers. People who liked you enough to come when called but not enough to ever try to ask if something was wrong. Act cocky, act carefree, throw your arms wide and grin wider and everyone will say Steve’s the happiest guy I know, he’s King of the world.

And how could the things his father said be true, if Steve was the King? How could he be a loser, a disappointment, a pansy if every person in Hawkins agreed he was the most popular boy in school? If all the girls liked him, wanted to date him? Build a reputation as the god of high school and maybe your father will think you’re worth his time. Become known as a Casanova and maybe your father will forget that you were once a sensitive kid who wanted to stay inside and draw instead of going out and playing catch. Become someone everyone knows and maybe your parents will remember you exist.

Sometimes he wondered — if he and Eddie were running from the same thing, a little bit. Eddie’s Freak armor said: everything is fucked up about me, and you should not intervene. Steve’s King armor said: everything is perfect about me, and you should not intervene. Two sides of one very strange, sad little coin.

Steve had started taking his armor off the day Tommy H had spray painted the movie theater; had shed more of it the first time he hit the demogorgan; had abandoned it nearly entirely hunting demodogs in a junkyard with a bunch of kids, and by the time Billy Hargrove smashed a plate over his head King Steve was done for. The king is dead, long live the king.

Steve had wondered, that week in hell, who Eddie would be when he shed the armor. He saw a little of it — backed into a corner. Eddie could call himself a coward all he wanted, but he still leapt into Lover’s Lake. He could say he didn’t care about anyone else, but he’d thrown himself in front of Dustin Henderson and danger, and Steve would always love him a little bit, for that.

It would have been nice, being friends with Eddie Munson, Steve had thought.

But they weren’t friends, because Eddie had died before they could be friends, and that wasn’t really something you could say to someone’s next of kin who was being kept in the dark on the whole secret evil alternate dimension thing.

So what Steve had said was a sort of version of the truth — that he was Dustin’s friend, and Dustin had loved Eddie, and Steve loved Dustin, and therefore via that whatever-fucking-math-thing-he-couldn’t-remember Eddie had become part of Steve’s adopted brood too. And he’d told Wayne that he didn’t believe for one second that Eddie had committed those murders, and that it was wrong for someone to get disrespected over something they hadn’t even done.

Wayne had, insanely enough, hugged Steve after that. And then they never spoke about it again. Sometimes when Steve showed up to clean the graffiti Wayne was there with a beer. They talked about sports, about the news, about Eddie, sometimes, but never about the murders, never about the cracks in the world, never about the words on the gravestone.

So. Yes. Steve had cleaned Eddie’s grave. Which wasn’t really a conversation he’d ever thought he’d have to have with Eddie, but that was just the world now, and Steve supposed he’d have to get used to it.

Eddie sniffled again. “I just mean. Man. Why? We barely knew each other.”

And Steve could have launched into that whole explainer he gave Wayne again, sure, but he figured Eddie deserved more of the truth. So instead, he said, “yeah, but I think we would have been friends, you know?” And then he knocked his knee against Eddie’s on the porch, offered the second half of his cigarette out. “Will be now.” Eddie took the cigarette and Steve ignored the way the man’s hands trembled, just slightly. “Besides. You didn’t deserve it. The shit they said. The people in this fucking town didn’t know you at all, not really.”

There was a pause. Eddie took a long drag of the cigarette, and then another. And then finally he turned and looked at Steve, eyes huge and wet and so brown that they looked like the actual forest, like dirt after it rained, like every tree Steve had climbed reckless and breathless as a child, free and wild and happy.

“Man,” Eddie said, after a moment. “Harrington I — I don’t know what to do with that.”

Steve took the cigarette back. “You don’t have to do anything with it, Eddie,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Eddie shook his head, opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. “This whole time I thought you were the king of the jocks, and it turns out you’re a real weirdo, Steve Harrington. Anyone ever tell you that before?”

Steve just grinned. “I have the strangest feeling you’re going to start telling me that all the time, dude.” And Eddie smiled back, and for the first time since he’d woke in a panic that morning Steve felt like maybe this wasn’t some bizarre dream, and that they’d actually gotten the happy ending after all.

It was a nice feeling. He hoped it didn’t go away.

Notes:

chapter title is from Beach Life-In-Death by Car Seat Headrest.

a bit of a shorter one, but this scene felt like it needed to live on it's own.

Chapter 5: troubled thoughts and the self esteem to match

Summary:

“I don’t repress shit,” Steve said, like a liar.

There was a woman, at the front door of the apartment complex, who checked them in. It felt like the shittiest hotel on Earth. Steve and Eddie were in rooms on the third floor, across the hall from each other. When they got to their location there was a beat of awkward silence. “I guess, uh,” Eddie said, finally. “Goodnight man.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

The inside of the apartment was — the best word Steve had was generic. A floral couch, a beat-up armchair, a TV. The kitchen had a coffee maker and when Steve opened the fridge he saw it was lightly stocked — vegetables, fruit, eggs. Not bad.

There was a camera in the corner. It wasn’t hidden, by any means. Clear enough sign as any.

Candid Camera, dude!, said a voice in his head that sounded like Dustin, and Steve laughed to himself, uncaring if he looked insane to whoever was watching.

The bedroom had a telephone — he’d have to tell Robin tomorrow, grab the number — and no camera, interestingly enough. He figured everyone would have nightmares, but maybe a camera in every room would run the risk of everyone feeling trapped. He was a little grateful. Steve never liked other people seeing him after he woke up from bad dreams, vulnerable and wild-eyed. He dropped his bags off and looped back to the kitchen, thinking he’d make himself some dinner. There was a sheet of paper on the counter.

HELLO STEVE! Thanks for your continued cooperation. Your first therapy appointment is tomorrow at 10am. You’ll have a physical immediately afterwards. We’ll be meeting in apartment 1C on the first floor, and the physical will be conducted in apartment 1F. We’ve given you a few essentials in the kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom, but do let us know if you have any specific needs or requests. The main living space is equipped with a camera — we’re sorry to do this, but it feels necessary until we can be sure how you’re reacting to the temporal displacement. We apologize for the inconvenience. There is no camera in the bathroom or the bedroom; however, next to the bed is a wrist monitor that we ask you put on before you go to bed so we can monitor your sleep cycle. All of this is for your health; the more you cooperate, the faster we can release you. We understand this is a strange and disorienting time; if you have any questions, you’re free to call our main line—

Steve rolled his eyes and put the paper down. Sleep monitoring bracelets. Jesus. It was like he was in one of Dustin’s dumb scifi movies.

He grabbed eggs from the fridge — low energy and easy enough to not fuck up. The government couldn’t leave him beer or anything, god forbid, but, whatever, he’d make do.

He was nearly done frying the eggs when someone knocked on his door.

Eddie was there, twitching nervously, hair pulled slightly in front of his face. “Sorry, man, I just — I thought about going to sleep but I’m sort of freaked out by the notion, you know? Like what if this is all some weird freaky nightmare thing and I wake up tomorrow dead after all? Or, not dead, but—“

“It’s okay,” Steve interrupted. He’d made enough eggs for two people. “Come on, have dinner with me.”

They sat at the small table in the kitchen. Eddie put a truly disgusting amount of ketchup on his eggs, and Steve laughed around a mouthful of his own, nearly choking. “Don’t judge, Harrington,” Eddie said, but there was no real heat to it.

Steve cleared his throat, shaking his head. Eddie’s eye fell on the paper Steve had abandoned on the counter. “When’s your appointment tomorrow?” he asked.

“10am. Yours?”

“11. I’d bet you’re going first.”

Steve frowned. “Why?”

Eddie shrugged, speaking around another mouthful of eggs — which was, truthfully, kind of gross, but Steve found he didn’t really mind. “You’re the one who’s done this the most, the longest, and you’re the one who died last. Least likely to panic at weird, life altering news about the world. Least likely to panic about losing time, cause you only lost a little. You’re probably her control case — once old Steve-o’s all settled she can guess how long the rest of us misfit dead kids are gonna take to get normal.” He paused in his eating, considered something. “Or, maybe the opposite. Maybe she thinks you’ll take the longest, ‘cause you’ve had to repress the most shit.”

“I don’t repress shit,” Steve said, like a liar.

The look on Eddie’s face was deeply unimpressed.

Steve couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking his head. “You keep saying dead kids, but you know, Bob’s like 40.”

“I used to be a regular at that Radio Shack, dude,” Eddie said. “Man’s a kid at heart, trust me.”

“Okay, now I have to know why you were a regular at Radio Shack.” Which launched Eddie into a long, dramatic story about trying to fix a boombox he’d bought at a garage sale with spare parts. Every time he replaced a part, a new one broke, and apparently every time he’d gone back to buy a new bit he and Bob had chatted a bunch, and Bob had shown him all the RC cars in the store. It should have been a boring story, but Eddie was incapable of not being Eddie — hyperbolically stretching details until they were so ridiculous Steve couldn’t help but double over with laughter. It was surprising, still, to laugh without feeling the stretch of scars over his stomach. Surprising, too, to be having a long conversation with Eddie when the world wasn’t actively ending. To be having a conversation with Eddie at all, given that they had both been corpses until about twelve hours ago.

After dinner they did the dishes, silence falling. Steve glanced over at Munson, found him furrowing his brow as he dried a dish. “I gotta be honest,” Steve said, “I didn’t think you were capable of being silent for this long.”

Eddie laughed. “Oh, fuck off Harrington.” Then he sighed, bit his lip, and turned to face Steve more fully, propping a hip against the counter. Steve put his plate down and faced him back. “I just,” Eddie started, then stopped. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? It seems too easy to, like. Be here, in this kitchen, eating eggs with you. I keep waiting for Vecna to suddenly return, or hear chimes or something. I don’t know.”

Steve knew. Steve knew very well. “The first time — in 1983, I really thought it was done, when it ended. I didn’t know how else to think. It’s part of why Nancy and I broke up. I thought it was over and time to move on, and she didn’t.” He shrugged, but it felt stiff, forced. “She was right and I was wrong. Usually goes that way. I’ve never made that same mistake again.” He picked at an invisible bit of lint on his shirt, trying to do something with his hands. “But, I don’t know. Eleven and Will seem calm. They’d know better than me. So maybe there is no second act, this time.” He paused, frowned at his feet.

The truth was, Steve had never really thought about after, except that one terrible conversation with Nancy about six kids and a Winnebago. It had felt like a silly dream even then — something to say before he died just so she knew, so he didn’t spend the last moments of his life wondering what if. And then he hadn’t died, and Eddie had, and Max basically had, and he’d stopped thinking about the future for a long time. The world had torn in two — who cared what he was going to be doing at thirty? He figured thirty wasn’t an age he’d live to. He’d never planned for the long term. He worked shitty dead-end jobs and kept his nail bat in the trunk and just hoped that the peace would last as long as it could and that no one got hurt too bad the next time the world ended.

Truthfully, there was a small part of Steve that was more scared it was over than that it wasn’t over. Because then he’d have to make plans. He’d have to think ahead. People would leave.

Nancy had deferred Emerson for a year, after the first round with Vecna. She’d cited personal reasons and they’d let her — Hawkins had suffered a terrible Earthquake, after all, that seemed personal reason enough. Robin had always planned to gap year to save money, but she talked about college so rarely when the danger was still present. Now that it was gone, she’d be applying, wouldn’t she? Packing a bag? If she hadn’t already done that in this timeline, that was — it was summer vacation right now, but who knew. Maybe Nancy and Robin had already finished a freshman year somewhere, were just home for the summer. Jonathan had abandoned the story that he was still thinking about Emerson not long after he got back to Hawkins, and he and Steve never talked about college, although Jonathan had said a few times he’d thought about going back to California, giving it another go with Argyle in a cooler place, in a better mindset. The kids were getting older, and they’d be off to their futures soon too.

If everyone went somewhere else, where did that leave Steve? The ex-King of high school stuck in a rut in his hometown? The thought was an unpleasant curdle in his stomach.

He thought, weirdly, that of everyone he knew Eddie would probably be the best person to talk to. He’d failed senior year twice — had watched everyone pack up and leave town, had been forced to make new friends and alliances. But the idea of rolling over Eddie’s insecurities to broadcast his own felt bad. So he shoved it down — it was a conversation for later. “Listen, man,” Steve said, instead. “You can like — you can crash here, if you want.” Eddie blinked, clearly taken aback by the offer. “I feel like it’s easier, when you know there’s someone else nearby, in case things go wrong. I basically lived at the Hendersons last year. Helped me sleep through the night without panicking. Feels less like the world is ending when you’re not alone.”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I — thanks, Harrington. Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Wanna watch TV or something?”

They ended up flipping through channels aimlessly until Eddie landed on some B-horror movie from the 60s. He enthusiastically narrated the entire thing, Steve laughing along. It was a picture of what Steve had thought about the whole year Eddie was dead — an easy, peaceful sort of friendship, slotting right into his life like Robin had.

One movie rolled into the next, and without noticing Steve drifted off on the couch, next to Eddie.

He felt perfectly safe.

---

He woke up to a phone ringing.

He and Eddie had, it turned out, both fallen asleep on the couch. Eddie was leaned against the leftmost armrest, curled up like a cat. He jolted awake too, blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes as Steve stretched from his position and went for the phone in his room, next to the bed he hadn’t slept in. “’lo?” he said as he answered it.

“Mr. Harrington!” The voice on the other end was decidedly too chipper for whatever time in the morning it is. “I hope you and Mr. Munson both slept well. Just wanted to let you know it’s 9:45am and I’m expecting you in therapy in fifteen minutes. So I’d send your friend back to his place and head on down, yeah?”

“Huh,” Steve said. “I guess you really are monitoring those cameras.”

“We are!” the voice said back. It clicked into Steve’s brain, finally — Dr. Morana, from yesterday. “And, as a reminder, we do ask that you both wear the provided sleep monitors, if you could. Mr. Munson’s welcome to stay with you again, just remind him to bring his monitor. See you in a minute!” She clicked off the line.

Steve spared a moment to wonder if he ought to be embarrassed that she’d seen them crash on the couch together. Decided it was a waste of energy. He exited the room. “The therapy people have told me to kick you out.”

Eddie groaned, cracking his neck. “Damn, I really knocked out.”

Steve shrugged, amiable. “At least we both slept, right?” Eddie nodded, a little soft. “Look, we should regroup in the afternoon, meet up with the others — I can call Robin when you’re at your session and we can figure something out.” This was pretty traditional — everyone liked to stay close the first few days after something happened.

Eddie nodded again. “Okay, yeah.” Then he stood up and made for the door. “Enjoy your chat, dude, try not to cry too much.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, but Eddie was already out the door.

Right then. Time to face the music.

---

Apartment 1C looked pretty much exactly like Steve’s, except they’d rearranged the furniture in the living room a little. The chair was across from the couch, the coffee table between them, and they’d removed the TV.

The woman from the day before was sitting on the chair — she’d just yelled “come in!” when Steve knocked — writing something in a notebook. Next to her was a tiny tape recorder.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to record this?”

She shrugged, lightly enough. “For my notes only. The recordings will be destroyed when our sessions are over.”

Steve hoped he was conveying how very little he believed that on his face as he went to sit across from her on the couch. Dr. Morana was still smiling, pleasantly. “Oh, Owens warned me you’d be a tough one,” she said, like it was a fun challenge.

“You know Owens?” He wasn’t sure why that surprised him — Morana was also government, after all. It just seemed odd to consider. He couldn’t picture them having a conversation.

“I do,” she chirped back. “And he’s actually going to be conducting your physical later. Not really his area of expertise, but he did mention you two had a little history.”

A little, yes — Owens and Steve had met exactly twice. Once after the demodogs — Owens demanding a recap of how, exactly, Steve and the kids had gotten roped into everything and found the tunnels. He hadn’t seemed to like Steve’s explanation very much (probably because it left out Dustin’s little pet, which meant it didn’t make that much sense, but Steve hadn’t been eager to get the kid in real trouble). The second time was just after Starcourt, before Steve was charted off to the hospital to get his head wound checked. He didn’t really remember that conversation — again, concussed — but apparently, he’d been difficult enough to earn a reputation. Good. Steve remembered how late the government had been to even show up at Starcourt, remembered the bitter, ashy taste in his mouth when he thought Hopper was dead and no one had been around to save him. Both times had been more about what happened and less about Steve’s physical health, so, fair enough — he guessed Owens wasn’t that type of doctor.

Which, speaking of. “Is this your area of expertise?”

She grinned at him, toothy. “It is! I have three PhDs — one in psychology and one in quantum physics.”

He frowned at her. “What’s the third one?”

“Art history,” she said, with a shrug. “Anyway,” and she reached over and clicked on the recorder. “Why don’t you tell me how you’ve been feeling?”

Ugh.

“I feel fine,” Steve said, short. “What’s your plan, here?”

Morana frowned at him, pinching her face together. “What, with therapy?”

“No, with,” he gestured around him, “this gas leak thing you’re trying to pull. This timeline merge thing. I mean — what, you think everyone is going to just accept that four years of their memories are fake?”

She shrugged, loose and easy. “I’m not overly concerned about it right now.”

Steve leaned forward, rolling his eyes. “You should be. You already have issues. Wayne Munson, for one, doesn’t buy this gas leak thing for a second. I mean, you really expect an entire town of people to just — believe you? And then, on top of that, to keep this whole thing secret?” Steve scoffed. “Hush money is good, but people let stuff slip all the time. Won’t someone spill by accident? And what do you plan on doing with the people who aren’t in Hawkins? I mean, we went through two years of this with a guy who’s originally from California and got magically transplanted back there when you merged shit together. And I’m pretty sure they all remember too, my mom called me last night.”

Dr. Morana narrowed her eyes at Steve, considering. It was a look that left Steve feeling a little flayed open — like she was trying to burrow past his eyeballs and read his mind. “What did your mother remember?”

Steve swallowed. “She said she’d had a terrible dream about someone telling her I was dead.” Granted, she’d never actually said dead, but it was implied enough.

Morana scribbled that down in her book, nodding. “That makes sense — we had a feeling that the closer you were physically to the event the clearer your memories would be of the things that happened. We expect millions of people are currently having weird déjà vu or feel as if they’re waking up from bad dreams, but they’re likely to dismiss those memories as false. Your friend in California might be a bit more of a problem, given his actual participation in these events, but we’ll find a way to contact him, I promise.”

She cleared her throat a little, and then uncrossed her legs, posture relaxing, and reached over to click off the tape recorder. “I’ll be honest with you Steve — because you’ve been doing this longer than anyone else I’m going to speak to, and because you seem to have a pretty good nose for bullshit on you. Plus, I have a feeling that being honest with you is the only way you’re ever going to tell me how you’re feeling, and I, unfortunately, really need you to trust me to make sure your brain’s not, you know, melting out of your ears.”

Steve frowned. “Is that a real possibility, or are you just being gross?”

She grinned, weirdly youthful and cheery. It, bizarrely, reminded him a bit of Robin. “Just being gross! Brains don’t melt. Well. Probably. Like I said, a lot of this is new.” She leaned forward. “The truth is that, no, we don’t expect everyone in Hawkins to keep this secret. You remember that I mentioned something like double vision, but for your memories?”

“We might remember events that happened in this timeline on top of events that happened in the original timeline we lived. Right?”

She snapped her fingers together and pointed at him. “Bingo! Well, our hypothesis here is that actually, eventually, the memories from this timeline — the one we’re currently in — will supplant the memories from the original timeline.” She leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs, still totally relaxed. “It’s like — you ever read something, and there’s a typo in it, but your brain sort of automatically corrects the word anyway? You read it properly, even though it’s written wrong?”

And, okay, what? “What?” Steve said, intelligently. Dustin would have been losing his mind laughing if could hear him.

Morana considered him for another beat. “Okay, how about this — optical illusions right? Those images, where it looks like it’s a picture of a vase, but then if you focus a bit differently you can see it’s two old women instead?” Steve nodded, still feeling a bit dumb. “Okay, right, well — sometimes, when you look at one of those, and you see it the second way, suddenly you can’t see it the first way anymore, right? Like, try as you might, the vase just eludes you. The brain’s really good at stuff like this, at rewriting information that doesn’t make sense to make it make sense. We think it’s likely that something similar will happen here. Two timelines are more than any brain is expected to handle, memory wise, and we live in the world where the first timeline never technically happened. So, eventually, we think people will forget. Slowly. But surely. They’ll forget that Hawkins ever split in quarters, they’ll forget that they ever thought Eddie Munson was a murderer, or that Will Byers ever disappeared. They’ll just remember the things that happened here, in this timeline – whatever they were, which we’re still trying to discern.”

Steve was starting to feel a bit ill, again. It was a feeling he’d gotten used to over the past four years, but he never exactly enjoyed it. “I mean — forget? But you don’t even – we don’t even know what happened in this timeline. I don’t even know if I—“

He cut himself off abruptly. Not a thought he wanted to finish, not a thought he wanted to have, especially in front of a stranger from the government who didn’t know him at all. Morana noticed, frowned, waited. When it was clear Steve was not planning on finishing his sentence, she sighed and continued on. 


“Well, to be honest, we think it’s less likely to happen to people who experienced the Upside Down. You’re hyper aware of plenty of things that are already impossible, so we have a feeling your minds might adapt better to,” she waved a hand around in the air vaguely, “all this."

“That’s why you separated us,” Steve supplied, getting it. “Everyone else will . . . forget . . .faster than those of us who died.”

She nodded. “And faster than your friends, of course. I suspect none of you will truly forget.” She paused. “Which is obviously something that brings you great relief.”

Silence hung. Steve did not want to be having this conversation.

She sighed, deeply. “You know, Steve, this will all go a lot faster if you just tell me what you’re thinking. I know you don’t trust me, but I’m here to help. Really.” She paused and clicked her pen open and closed a few times. “And I think, eventually, you’re going to want to move on with your life, and unfortunately the government requires my medical sign off for you to do that. So. Go on! Talk to me.”

He considered.

“I used to be a real dick,” he said, quietly. “Before. In, I assume, both timelines. Every timeline, probably. The Upside Down — Nancy, Dustin, Robin. They changed me. I just. . . what if I’m not a good person, in this timeline, without the monsters? The Upside Down was awful but without it I don’t think I’d have changed. I don’t think I’d be . . . worth anything. And I, uh, don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to forget who I am now and turn into. . . who I was meant to be, I guess, before the world ended.”

Morana considered him for a long time. “That’s funny,” she said, finally. “I have the strangest feeling that this is who you’re meant to be, Steve. That you’d always end up how you are now, no matter what. Monsters be damned.”

The alarm on her watch buzzed. “Ah. That’s our time for today. First group session is tonight, 7:30pm, in the Hawkins High theater classroom — don’t be late, okay?” And then she was ushering him out the door like she hadn’t just said the most confusing thing an adult had ever said to him in his life.

Notes:

chapter title is from What a Catch, Donnie by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter 6: i didn't want you to hear that shake in my voice (my pain is my own)

Summary:

Steve has three important conversations.

Notes:

minor tw: there's discussion of suicidal ideation, but no one is actually suicidal.

The visit with Morana was still bouncing in his head when he went to see Owens a few doors down. The man looked the same as ever, nodding at Steve as he entered.

“Harrington,” he said, dry. “I see you survived talking about your feelings for a few minutes.”

“Barely,” Steve said back. This apartment was also the same. Steve wasn’t sure what he was expecting — more hospital equipment? Then again, none of them were injured in this timeline, so he supposed it didn’t really make sense to have a full arsenal of medicine here.

Owens gestured for him to sit. Steve did.

“You got pretty lucky, all things considered,” Owens said lightly. “Not every day you get three concussions erased from your medical record.”

There had been after effects, to the head injuries. Migraines, sporadically. Steve’s memory had gotten worse, too. Dustin would joke that he was stupid, and Steve was a little stupid, always had been, was never good at connecting A and B like the kids or Nancy were, but it’d definitely gotten worse, after Starcourt. He was pretty sure no one noticed. Hopper might have, if he’d been around that year, but he hadn’t, and Steve purposefully hid it as best as he could from the kids, from Robin. Blamed lapses on laziness or just plain old Harrington dullness.

He hadn’t even considered that the timeline reset meant those things had never happened to him. “Oh, I’m sure someone found a reason to kick my ass in this universe too,” he said, trying to cover how strange the thought made him feel. Owen’s face was unimpressed, so he was sure he didn’t do that good of a job at covering. “You here to make sure I’m not about to,” he snapped his fingers, “you know, that thing from Ghostbusters, you cross the streams and blow up.”

“Total protonic reversal?” Owens said back. Then chuckled, shaking his head. “You didn’t really strike me as a Ghostbusters guy, Harrington.”

“Yeah, well, the kids like it, used to make me watch it with ‘em. You don’t strike me as a Ghostbusters guy either, you know. Not very scientifically accurate.”

“If I could only watch scientifically accurate movies, I’d have a very boring life,” Owens said, sighing. “I don’t think you’re going to explode, to answer your question. But it’s possible that the temporal displacement will affect you in other ways physically. Also, it’s possible you suffered injuries in this timeline that you didn’t in the original timeline. Although in your case I figure you’d take those over permanent brain damage.”

Steve pretended to think about it. “Hm, and yet I still have all the trauma.”

Owens scoffed. “That’s Morana’s problem, not mine.”

The whole thing took about five minutes — Owens checking his heart rate, waving a flashlight in his eyes, getting his blood pressure. “Well, you seem like a normal all American twenty-something to me kid,” he said finally. “You’re good to go.” Steve nodded and stood up to leave, but then Owens spoke again, sort of abruptly. “I saw your body, you know.” He looked like he hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud — a bit startled, embarrassed.

Steve felt himself separate from time. Separate from his body. He wondered if a point would come when talking about his own death felt normal, or if would always be sweeping and horrifying.

Owens cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, that was. Unprofessional. Just . . .” He shot Steve a strange look. “Your friends took you out of the Upside Down, and when we came to pitch our idea you were . . . there. Under a sheet on a table. It’s just odd. To see you here, walking around.” He cleared his throat. “Morana was so focused on how you’d all feel afterwards, coming back, I don’t think she ever considered how the rest of us might feel seeing you. That’s all.”

Steve nodded. Didn’t know what to say back. So he didn’t say anything at all; he just left.

---

Steve called Robin when he went back upstairs, made plans for lunch at Hopper’s cabin — which was back in pristine condition, thanks to the time-looping.

There was a beat of silence after the plan was made. Before — well, before Steve had died, Robin would have hung up on him somewhat unceremoniously, terrible at ending conversations and never willing to say goodbye out of a sense of Upside Down-related paranoia that any moment might be the last time they spoke to each other and that she’d be jinxing it if she acknowledged it at all. But she was lingering here. Steve thought about what Owens had said.

“Look,” he said. “Are you — I mean, are you okay?”

She made a scoffing noise. “Am I okay? You’re the one who died.”

“Yeah. And I mean, don’t get me wrong, bleeding to death — not my favorite experience ever. But I didn’t have to . . . deal with the aftermath of it. And you did. You all did, but . . .” he trailed off. “I want to talk about it. I think we should be talking about it, and not acting like it didn’t happen.”

He could practically hear her thinking on the other end. “You should talk to Dustin. And Hopper, honestly. If you want to talk about it. We all took it hard, but Dustin, I mean. Obviously. And Hop . . . I think he felt responsible? You should talk to them.”

“Okay,” Steve said, easy enough. “I will. But I also want to talk to you about it. You’re my best friend, Robin. I got you into all of this Upside Down shit. And I’m sorry I died on you, I really am. I know I promised I wouldn’t.”

He had, when Max had told them Vecna was back. Robin had made him. Had studied his face for a long time after he said I promise like she was looking for a lie.

On the other end of the phone she sighed. “That wasn’t a fair thing for me to ask. I know you Steve, I know you would put yourself in front of a freight train for everyone else. You weren’t going to let them get hurt. I was just being selfish. I wanted to . . . to not have to worry about you.” He could picture her twisting the phone cord in her hands, the way she did when she was having a conversation that was unpleasant — she did it all the time at Family Video when customers called to complain about some dumb shit. “I wasn’t good, after. I was basically useless at the end. Jonathan and Nancy tried to talk to me but I couldn’t hear any of it. I felt like — I made you make that promise so I didn’t have to worry about you, and maybe if I’d kept worrying about you, you wouldn’t have — wouldn’t have—“

A small, choked sob escaped her.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said automatically.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said back. “It’s — you’re alive now. It all worked out.”

“But I am—“

“Steve, stop saying you’re sorry.” Robin sighed again on the phone. “Nobody is mad at you for dying.” She let it hang in the air for another long moment. “I just — did you want to?”

He was grateful she wasn’t around to see whatever face he was making, because he was sure she’d mock him relentlessly for it. He could feel his mouth hang open for a beat before he recovered. “What, did I want to die?” he said, incredulous.

“Yeah,” Robin said, like it was a completely normal thing to suggest.

Something like fear beat around in his rib cage. “Robin I didn’t — I don’t want to die. I’m not . . . suicidal.”

Robin said nothing for a long time. Something curdled in Steve’s gut. “But,” she said, finally, “you told me. After Max and Eddie you said — you said it should have been you, instead.”

That conversation had happened in the hospital, outside Max’s room in the hallway. Steve, bent over himself with grief, Max still asleep, Robin’s eyes red-rimmed and weighed down with bags. He had said that. Hadn’t really realized Robin had heard him, hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, but he had said it. He had meant it. “I—“ he started, and then stopped. Thought about his mother again, the voicemail where she couldn’t just say what she meant, couldn’t let herself get it out. Thought about all the shit he just never, ever said — that he spoke around, shoved down and ignored. “If somebody had to die I wanted it to be me,” he said, finally. “That’s what I meant, about Max and Eddie. That’s why I volunteered to be the distraction. Because I knew that was the most dangerous part, and I wasn’t going to let anybody else be in danger, not again. But I didn’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I just wanted to protect everyone.”

Robin sniffled again. Steve was suddenly glad this was a conversation they were having over the phone — he couldn’t stand to watch her cry, and he knew that she was. “Why does it always have to be you who protects everyone,” she muttered, but it wasn’t a question. Steve was the oldest. Steve was the strongest. Dustin had told him once that in D&D there were characters — Dustin had called them tanks. People who take the hits so that everyone else who’s smarter and faster and weaker could get through safe. That was always what Steve had been good at — taking the hits. Everyone played a part, and that was his. And it worked, until it worked too well.

“I’m—“

“Please don’t apologize again,” she whined.

He laughed. “I wasn’t going to,” he lied. “I was going to say I owe you a drink. You think you ever got a fake ID in this timeline?”

She laughed back, still a bit wet. “You know my mother, there’s no way I ever tried to get something like that past her.”

“Well, maybe in this universe I’m still friends with Tommy Hagan — he used to have a great hookup for fakes.”

Robin paused again. “Did you take any time in your house yesterday, when you were grabbing stuff? Did you look for the walkie?” Her voice sounded strange — a tone he couldn’t place.

He frowned, even though she couldn’t see him. “No, I — uh, my mother left a voicemail, it kind of freaked me out, so I just bolted. I totally forgot.”

“Oh shit,” Robin said, “what did she say? No, wait, nevermind — tell me later. I’m gonna bring some stuff that I found at my house, okay? And then after Hopper’s we should . . . we should go back to yours, just for a bit.” She paused. He could picture her so perfectly in his mind — worrying her lower lip, staring at the spot on her ceiling where the paint was cracking, which she always did when they had serious conversations in her room. “I don’t think you’re friends with Tommy Hagan in this universe, Steve. Is that — that’s something you’re worried about, right? That in this world you’re still . . .”

“A terrible, self-entitled asshole?” Steve offered back.

She laughed, then groaned. “Don’t make me say mean things about you, you just died, I’m trying to be gracious.”

“My varying head injuries never stopped you from saying mean things about me before.”

She sniffed, primly. “I’m turning over a new leaf. Anyway, look, I have stuff to show you. I think it’ll make you feel better about this . . .weird little fresh start we’re all getting. So just, don’t beat yourself up too bad, yeah? The monsters did that enough for you already.”

God, he loved her. He’d die all over again for her. Any day of week. Any time of year. No questions asked.

“I love you, you know,” he said, because he didn’t ever say it enough.

“I love you too, dipshit,” she said back. “I’ll see you in a little bit okay?”

“Okay,” he said. And then, like always, she hung up on him.

He paused for a minute. Thought about what she said. And then picked up the phone and dialed a new number.

“Henderson, I’m gonna come pick you up for Hop’s a bit early, alright?”

---

When Steve pulled up, Dustin was sitting on the stoop. There was a duffle bag full of something next to him.

Steve raised an eyebrow as he approached, handing off the milkshake he’d picked up on the way to the kid and plopping down next to him. “Going on a trip?”

“Robin said we should bring stuff. Do show-and-tell with artifacts from this timeline.” He slurped the milkshake. “What’d you do? Last time you brought me something without me begging for it was because you’d broken the walkie. Did you break the walkie again?”

Steve winced. “Okay, firstly, I didn’t break it in the first place, alright I just . . . lightly smashed it. And secondly, I, uh. May have forgotten to look for it, last night. Had a weird time at home.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “I figured you hadn’t found it when I tried calling you and you didn’t pick up. Either that or you let the batteries die.” He glared at Steve. “Again.”

“Hey, that was one time!” Steve snapped back. And then Dustin’s words registered. “Wait, you tried calling me?”

“Yeah, cause I found my own, and you have a call sign on it. Obviously.” Dustin scoffed and rolled his eyes again. Steve couldn’t even be upset about the kid’s tone, because he was too busy blinking back the sudden, shocking wave of tears that nearly came at the realization that Dustin had been right. Something must have shown on his face, because the kid softened immediately, scooted a little closer to Steve, shoulders brushing. “Told you dude. Friends in every timeline.”

“Wonder how we became friends in this one,” Steve said. Then thought about it. “Actually, nevermind – you absolutely got into some dumbass type of trouble and I had to rescue you from it. You being an idiot is a universal constant.”

“Hey!” Dustin said, all righteous. “If either of us is the dumbass here, it’s obviously you. I didn’t go and die.”

Which brought down the mood a bit. Steve shifted, uncomfortable. Dustin sighed, sounding like he was closer to 45 than 18. “Yeah, uh,” Steve said finally, “that’s why I’m here. Little,” he waved a hand around, “apology tour, of sorts.”

“Apology?” Dustin looked baffled.

“Yeah, you know. I’m sorry for . . . like, dying. On you. Dick move.”

Dustin frowned, miserably. “Didn’t you remember, dude? You die, I die?.”

Steve did remember. Remembered it clearly. Remembered Dustin electrocuting a man to death to save his life. “Yeah, man, I . . . that’s why I did it.” Dustin was looking at him, face a little guarded. Steve cleared his throat and kept going. “You’re a good kid. A great fucking kid. And you care so much, about us — about your friends. And I knew that if I let you, you’d throw yourself in front of me. And I couldn’t let you do that. Because I care about you. And you’re just a kid. I wasn’t gonna let you die, dude.”

Dustin sniffled and looked away, taking a sullen slurp of his milkshake. “I don’t get why anyone had to die,” he said. Now he sounded like a kid again, so young it made everything in Steve’s chest ache.

“Because someone had to protect you little shits. Same reason Eddie cut the rope — because you getting hurt wasn’t an option, dude.” He shrugged. “I don’t think either of us wanted to die, but, cards on the table I’d do it again. To protect you. Always.”

There was a silence — Steve could tell Dustin was gearing up to say something, so he let it hang between them until the kid was ready. “You died the exact same way,” he said, finally. Steve just blinked, taken aback. Dustin sniffled again. “You and Eddie, it was — it was the exact same way. Torn to shreds by some fucking monster trying to be a distraction so everyone got out safe. It was, like, the worst déjà vu in the history of déjà vu. Looking at you lying there, cold and dead, and I kept seeing Eddie and it was like I’d failed both of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, automatically. “You didn’t fail me, Dustin—"

“I’m not mad at you,” Dustin snapped, sounding, in all honestly, a little mad. He seemed to realize this and took a deep breath. “I mean . . . was I mad at Eddie? After he died?” He didn’t ask it like a rhetorical question — he asked it like he was genuinely curious, like he wasn’t in charge of his own emotions enough during that time to accurately remember them.

Steve thought about it for a minute. Dustin had been miserable, when Eddie had died. Weepy and mopey and reclusive in a way he never was. Weirdly quiet. Occasionally snappish. “I think you were mad at, like, the world,” he said finally. “At what happened. But not at Eddie, specifically.”

“There you go,” the kid replied.

“But I mean—" and Steve cut himself off. “You just said it yourself, I was the second big brother figure to die on you in a year. It’s okay. If you’re mad at me, for dying on you. That’s, like, normal, I think. Stages of grief, or whatever.”

Dustin scoffed. “I was sad, dude. Everyone was sad. You did what you always do — your put your ass on the line for us. And I was mad, yeah, maybe a little, but at, like. Myself. I think we were all mad at ourselves. Because we couldn’t save you. Because we didn’t think you needed the help and we left you alone.” He frowned and sniffled a little, taking another sip of milkshake. “We were all supposed to make it, you know? And that you didn’t — that Eddie didn’t. It was sad. But I wasn’t ever mad at you guys. I was mad at, like, Vecna, and fate and shit.” He shot Steve a look, narrow and a bit wary. “Why did you think I was gonna be mad at you for dying?”

Million dollar question there. “I dunno,” Steve said, honestly. “I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“It’s just, like — it’s silly. I mean, who gets mad at a person for getting hurt? You get mad at the thing who did the hurting.”

Which should have been obvious, but wasn’t necessarily true, in Steve’s life.

His parents hadn’t come back after Starcourt or after the demodogs, but they’d been in town, right after Barb Holland disappeared.

His dad had been furious, about Barb. About Steve’s involvement with Barb, about the stain it put on their name, even though no one really blamed him. There were a handful of rumors — Harrington money used to hush up the investigation — but basically everyone let it drop quickly. It was one thing to think the local rich kid was a dick, and entirely another to think he was a murderer. Most people assumed the official story was true: Barb had been jealous Nancy was leaving her behind and decided to ditch Hawkins for greener pastures.

(In 1986 Steve had found it a bit unfair, honestly, that no one ever gave Eddie the benefit of the doubt Steve had gotten. But then again, they’d never found Barb’s body. Maybe if she’d been found floating in his pool, Steve would have had to fight legal charges, instead of a fucking demogorgan. Unpleasant to think about.)

Barb disappearing meant that 1983 had been an extra weird year for Steve. One: his girlfriend’s best friend vanished; 2: he learned about the Upside Down; 3: Christopher Harrington stuck in Hawkins, Indiana for more than two weeks straight.

When Jonathan had kicked the shit out of Steve, Christopher had been home to see the fallout. And he hadn’t been concerned. He’d been pissed.

“If you’re going to get in fights you should be winning them, Steven, like a man,” he’d snapped. He hadn’t offered ice, he hadn’t offered comfort. He told Steve that Steve was an idiot for picking fights and pathetic for losing them.

And Steve had accepted that as true, really. Because it had been dumb, picking the fight with Jonathan. And because it was a bit pathetic, how often Steve got into fights he couldn’t win. That first one was the stupidest, the most useless — he’d punch Billy Hargrove in the face any day, take a thousand plates to the head, if it meant the kids didn’t get hurt.

When his parents had left town again, Steve still had the remnants of bruising on his face. Neither of them had told him to be careful.

Not that Steve was going to burden Dustin with all that. Instead, he said, “you’re shockingly mature, for a toddler.”

Dustin squawked angrily, smacking him in the shoulder. “Way to ruin your apology tour, asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said gravely. “I’ll do a second one, just for this.”

“You better.” The kid rested his head on his shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re alive, Steve. Even if you are a shithead. Glad I didn’t have to . . . figure out how to do this without you.”

For the second time, Steve was blinking back tears. He wrapped his arm around Dustin. “I’m glad I’m alive too, kid. I promise I won’t be such a bonehead in the future.”

“Good.” Dustin sat there for a beat before pulling away, clambering up. “Now come on, we’re gonna be late for lunch if we don’t get moving.”

---

Half an hour later Eddie and Robin were in Steve’s car, bickering about Dustin getting shotgun.

“I’m just saying,” Robin huffed from the backseat, where she’d been forced, “that I get eternal shotgun in the Beemer. I am Steve’s best friend. This car is my chariot.”

Steve glared at her through the rearview mirror. “This is not your chariot Buckley, my god.”

“You used to drive me to school every day even before you learned I couldn’t drive, Steve. You are basically my personal chauffeur.”

“Always the goddamn babysitter,” he muttered under his breath.

Eddie scowled, leaning forward to poke at Dustin in a way that made Steve wonder if he’d bothered with the seatbelt. “I think we should be more upset that the adults got supplanted for a baby. Don’t you need a carseat to be up there?”

Dustin reached back and smacked him.

“Plus, I actually live in your building. You went out of your way not to pick me up first," Eddie whined.

“Dustin and I had to do some bonding, sorry Munson,” Steve said back. Dustin shot him a little smile from across the seat, and Steve reached over to ruffle his hair.

“Ugh. Big brother Stevie’s kind of sickening, you know that, right?” Eddie said.

“Stevie?” Robin, Steve, and Dustin said at the same time. Eddie flushed a bit. Steve was still struck by the color of it, the way it dusted over his cheeks. Maybe it was just because it was weird — to think of Eddie Munson, Hawkins Freak, as a dude who blushed. That had to be it.

Robin was raising both of her eyebrows at Eddie. She cut a glance back to Steve, then to Eddie again, and then shifted her face so only one eyebrow was raised. It was a classic Robin expression, but Steve couldn’t parse what it meant in this context at all. Eddie’s blush deepened a little, and then he was furrowing his brow back at her, still leaning half on top of Dustin’s seat.

The two of them communicated silently for another moment, Steve feeling weirdly on the outs. “We’re not doing Stevie,” he said, just to rope himself back in.

“Maybe you’re not,” Eddie offered back.

Steve reached over to shove him back into his actual seat. “Buckle your fucking seatbelt, Munson,” he snapped, and Eddie just cackled.

They got to Hopper’s cabin fairly quickly — it’d been a much longer drive when half the roads in town were unusable. They clambered out of the car and Steve knocked on the door once.

It swung open immediately, Hopper standing on the other side.

Steve had a feeling of déjà vu. After Vecna, last March, Hopper had shown up at Steve’s house, just like this. It had been a few days after learning Hopper was alive, which had in and of itself been surreal. Steve had gone to Hopper’s funeral, had stood in the back and tried to make himself not noticeable, not wanting to take up space he didn’t feel entitled to, not wanting his sadness to take over anyone else’s, anyone who’d earned that sadness more than he had.

(Joyce had still noticed him, of course, had pulled him to her and clutched him in a hug tighter than either of his parents had given him in years).

And there the man had been, standing around like none of that had happened. Head shaved, yes, and leaner, yes, but still Hopper. Still just Hopper.

That day, when Hop had shown up at Steve’s door, Steve had let himself do something he hadn’t done in ages.

He cried.

He hadn’t cried the entire time. Not when the chimes sounded and they realized something had happened to Max; not when they returned to Dustin and found Eddie’s mangled body; not when he picked up Eddie’s corpse, empty and cold and still, and laid him on the Upside Down version of his bed and shut his eyes; not when they had to leave the body behind; not when they saw the world had split into a million pieces and not when they learned that Max had died, for a little bit, and not when he learned that Max might never wake up from her coma and not when Hopper showed back up and not when Nancy embraced Jonathan and not when his parents called and said “we’re selling the house.”

But Hopper, there, on his doorstep, checking up on him, like he had after the Demogorgon, like he had after Billy Hargove beat the shit out of him, like he hadn’t after Starcourt because he’d been dead — it was too much. And Steve broke down immediately, crumpled over himself, and Hopper had just drawn him in, rested Steve’s head on his shoulder and cradled the back of his neck gently, father-like, not that Steve’s father had ever done that. And Hopper hadn’t tried to tell him it’d be alright, that it’d all work out. He just said, “I’m sorry, kid. I am so sorry. You did good.”

“I couldn’t save them,” Steve had whimpered, miserable and small.

And Hopper had pulled him away, looked him in the eye. “You did everything you could.”

The visits were regular, after that. Steve knew, objectively, that Hopper was worried about him; worried about leaving him alone too long in his house. Worried the way Robin had been on the phone earlier — worried that Steve wasn’t coping, not really. The concern should have felt stifling, unnecessary — because Steve was an adult, because he didn’t need to be looked after. But it mostly made Steve feel safe, cared for. Hopper would buy him lunch and they’d talk about nothing, and it kept him grounded, kept him going week after week.

And now here they were again. This time Steve on Hopper’s doorstep, and not the other way around. But still.

There was something watery in Hopper’s eyes. Not quite tears, not Steve’s terrible breakdown, but something there, hovering in the background. Steve had seen it before, too, the day before, at the high school.

“Harrington,” Hopper said, oddly gentle.

Steve nodded back at him. “Hop. Look do you — wanna go for a walk? Before everyone else gets here. I think we should talk about what happened. To me.”

“He’s on an apology tour,” Dustin supplied, and Steve shot him a glare.

Hopper nodded, solemn. Robin ushered Dustin and Eddie into the cabin, and Eddie shot a concerned look back over his shoulder at them that Steve waved off. “What’s he apologizing for?” he asked, and Robin sighed, and then the door closed behind them.

“You want to talk about you dying, right?” Hopper said. It wasn’t really a question.

“Robin said I should talk to you,” Steve confirmed. “And I saw Owens today and he just — I don’t know, he made me realize that you all had to go through something. And I think we shouldn’t be, you know. Ignoring it.”

Hopper nodded again, and then was silent for a while as they marched through the woods. He walked them to a clearing — Hawkins spread out beneath them. A few days ago they’d stood here before the end, looking at the red cracks in the ground and wondering if this time they wouldn’t be able to save anything. Now none of that had ever happened.

“I carried your body out of the Upside Down,” Hopper said, finally. Steve felt a terrible pang of guilt, opened his mouth to apologize, but Hopper shook his head once. “If you tell me you’re sorry, I swear to god, kid. Apology tour, I mean, Jesus.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, and when he pulled it away Steve saw he was actually crying, now, tears down his cheeks and all. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Hopper cry before. “It was awful. I felt — I was the adult. I am the adult.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve said, which was the truth.

Hopper shook his head. “I know. But I felt responsible.” He shot Steve a calculating look. “Ever since ’84, you were always putting yourself on the line for those kids. And that was good, because they’re kids and you’re older, but — you were dead, and I thought I should have put myself on the line for you. I shouldn’t have let you go alone. You weren’t the adult, I was, and I forgot that.”

Steve let that hang in the air between them for a minute. And then, because he had to know, even though a part of him didn’t want to. “Were you the one? Who, uh. Who called my parents to tell them I died?”

Hopper’s lips thinned into a grim line. “I left them a voicemail,” he said, very quietly.

He remembered, his mother on the answering machine back at his house. A horrible dream.

Steve shook his head. “I’m guessing they never called you back, huh?”

Hopper said nothing at all, which was confirmation enough.

It was stupid. It was so stupid to be upset about this, to be surprised by it. They hadn’t come back after Billy and the demodogs, hadn’t come back after Starcourt. He knew better than to be disappointed at the sheer number of ways his parents could manage to just not care about him. He was pretty sure his mother hadn’t wanted children — she’d never openly resented him, was never actively cruel, she was just sort of uninterested in him, in his life. His father had wanted a son who was more of a man, more like him, and when it became apparent that Steve would never be that person he’d given up on him altogether. Neither of them had ever liked him all that much. But Steve had thought maybe that his actual, literal death could spur them into some version of giving a shit, and it felt bitter to be wrong. He felt like a child again, alone in his house trying to fill the silence with people and beer and parties, and it made him feel so, so pathetically dumb.

Hopper put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, turned him so they were facing each other. “There’s something you gotta see,” he said, softly. He reached out and pulled a photo from his pocket, tucked away. “I found it on the fridge, this morning, at my house”

It was Steve, in a graduation gown. Hopper was next to him, an arm slung around his shoulders, and Dustin on his other side, grinning and giving a thumbs up.

And suddenly — a whoosh of vertigo, a tipping, and Steve remembered.

His parents had called two weeks earlier. Had apologized vaguely, had said they’d gotten caught up with work, couldn’t make it back. And Steve had kept quiet about it, had kept his back straight. He normally would have told Nancy, but he and Nancy were long broken up, and he didn’t know who else to talk to. Dustin and the other kids were too young, he was never close to Tommy or Carol’s parents even when they were friends. He could have told Jonathan, but complaining to Jonathan about his parents had always made him feel a bit dumb. Lonnie Byers was a thousand times worse than either Harrington, and Jonathan had never been an asshole like Steve had been, never complained or whined like Steve did. What excuse did Steve have, to be so miserable?

So he’d told no one. He’d just stewed in it.

He’d gone out to the quarry one day, had sat and drank beers alone near the edge until Hopper had pulled up in his cruiser to kick him out. And Hopper had taken one look at Steve and asked what was wrong, and Steve had been so desperate to tell somebody, to have a real adult that he’d spilled his guts.

Hopper had been quiet for a long time, glaring out into the darkness of the quarry. “Your dad is a real piece of work. Never much liked the guy,” he’d said finally. “You’re a good kid, you know? Jane tells me you look out for her and her friends.”

(Jane in this timeline, only ever Jane, Steve remembered.)

Steve had shrugged. “Dustin Henderson sort of forced me to adopt him,” he’d said, awkward. “Like the world’s most ungrateful stray cat.”

Hopper had laughed, and clamped a hand on Steve’s shoulders. “Your parents might not be there but I’ll be, how’s that? I’ll bring the kids.”

And sure enough, Hopper had gone. Had shown up with Dustin and Jane and cheered loudly for Steve when he crossed the stage. Had gotten Jane to take the photo of them, and Steve’s smile had been genuine, looking at that little girl with the big, clunky camera.

Steve hadn’t even looked at the back but he knew, clear as day, that it said Steve’s Graduation, ’85 and Dustin had written barely made it! underneath, the shithead.

In the original universe, the Upside Down one, Steve had skipped walking at graduation altogether, and he was pretty sure no one cared he wasn’t there.

Hopper was still looking at Steve when the memory slipped back away, when the double vision faded. The man’s grip on Steve’s shoulder tightened, a little. “You’re a good kid, Harrington. A great kid. And your parents are stupid, useless fuckups who can’t see that, and they don’t deserve you.” Steve felt tears building in the back of his throat. He wanted to look away but he couldn’t. “They’re not your family, Steve. They aren’t. We are. Joyce, and your friend Robin, and Henderson, and Nancy, and Byers and all those kids — and me. That’s what family is, is the people who look out for you. And I’m never gonna let you go alone again. I made that mistake once, and I am never making it again. Do you got that?”

A terrible, choked noise escaped Steve. It was half a sob and half a scream, and he couldn’t maintain Hopper’s look anymore, had to bury his face in his hands. He folded at his knees, dropped into a crouch. He felt Hopper crouch beside him, laying a hand to rest at the base of Steve’s neck like it had on his doorstep, last year, like it had outside the high school a few days ago, like it had, Steve remembered now, years ago, after the demodogs, when Hopper was checking to see if he was concussed for the first time.

Steve cried for what felt like ages. Hopper just held onto him, grounding, and when Steve was finally done, was finally able to look up, the man’s cheeks were wet and his eyes shining. “Don’t go back to live in that house,” Hopper said, finally. “When the government is done with you — you can leave town or get an apartment or you can come back and live with me. But please don’t go back to that house.”

“I won’t,” Steve said, and he meant it. “I promise, I won’t.”

“Good,” Hopper said back. “Good.” He took his hand away and offered it to help Steve back up. “Come on. I’m making lunch.” 


Steve laughed, nodded, scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “Lunch sounds good.” And off they went.

Notes:

chapter title is from 1937 State Park by Car Seat Headrest

Chapter 7: if i could see all my friends tonight

Summary:

Show-and-tell time reveals some surprising (and not-so-surprising) things about the new timeline.

Notes:

two tws in this chapter: the word "queer" is used as an insult, and there's a short description of workplace sexual harassment.

By the time they got back, everyone else had arrived — Joyce with Will, Lucas, Erica, and Jonathan; Nancy with Mike and Max. (El had, of course, already been there, but Steve saw now that she'd put out a plate of cookies she'd clearly decorated herself, which was, frankly, adorable.) Erica, like Max the day before, launched herself at Steve, who she was seeing for the first time, having been unable to separate from her parents after the high school assembly. “You’re a fucking dumbass,” she said, sternly, arms wrapped in a shockingly crushing hug, and Steve just laughed.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” he said. “Sorry.”

“God, stop apologizing,” Robin snapped, while Hopper said “Harrington, I swear to god,” at the same time. Steve just laughed again. His heart felt full. He felt alive. He didn’t think it would stop feeling novel, for a few weeks at least. He was alive. They were all alive.

Across the room he caught Eddie’s eye. Eddie was smiling, softly, and Steve resisted the sudden, stupid urge he had to wave at him. Where did that come from?

Once Erica unclamped herself from Steve, Hopper cleared his throat. “Before we get going with,” he cut a confused look around the room, “whatever it is that we’re all doing today, I wanted to say I got in touch with Murray last night. He’s in Illinois, like we thought — says he’s glad everyone is alive and that he’ll see us all when, and I’m quoting here, ‘the government stops crawling all over your town like maggots.’”

Nancy huffed a laugh. “So, we’ll see him never,” she said.

“Maybe in a year,” Hopper agreed.

Robin started tugging at Steve’s sleeve. “Okay, that’s great and all but, to be honest, I never really got total clarity on who Murray even was, so I don’t really care what he’s doing.” Seeming to realize how that sounded, she frowned a little at Hopper. “Uh, no offense.”

Hopper just snorted. “No, no, fair enough. Anyway, Buckley — this is your shindig. What’s the grand idea?”

She turned to Steve to explain the next part, like he’d asked the question. “I told everyone to bring stuff because I know you and I know you hide all of your sentimental mementos in weird places which means you haven’t seen any, and it’s time we proved that you are not, in fact, a giant dickhead in this universe.”

Which, okay, he did hide all his shit away, but everyone else didn’t need to know that.

Sure enough, Mike was frowning at him. “Why do you hide it?”

Eddie appeared behind Mike and smacked him upside his head. “You forget, Wheeler, that you were already friends with your little group — how is ol’ Harrington supposed to explain to his parents that he bonded with a bunch of children and band geeks without mentioning the evil hell dimension he was explicitly not told to mention?”

Mike looked skeptical. “Okay, but why hide it in this universe?”

“Because my dad is an asshole,” Steve said. It came out light and airy, but it clearly wasn’t read that way. Mike frowned a little deeper.

“Most dads are assholes,” Jonathan offered.

“Or are you a big Ted fan, these days?” Nancy chimed in, and Mike rolled his eyes and let the subject drop.

Robin shot him an apologetic look, and then shoved a shoebox in his hand. “Steve, you gotta look.” She gestured around to everyone. “Everyone look! We all brought stuff.”

Steve nodded. “Makes sense. Looking will — you might remember.” He coughed, rubbed the back of his neck. “I had a, uh, double vision earlier. After Hopper showed me a photo.”

There was a beat of silence. “Oh shit,” Dustin said.

“Am I the only one? Who’s . . . remembered something, so far?” The silence stretched. So that was a yes. “Shit,” Steve echoed.

“Well, maybe the photos will help,” Jonathan said.

“But I didn’t. . . “ Nancy paused, furrowed her brow. “I didn’t remember anything about Barb, even when I saw those photos on my vanity.”

“Well,” Dustin cut in, “the photo Hopper showed you, it was of you and Hopper right?”

“Yeah, and you,” Steve said. Dustin preened just a little bit, and then tried to cover it up. Steve hid a huff of laughter behind his hand. He caught Eddie’s eye again — the other man was flat out grinning.

Worships you, Eddie mouthed.

Max caught on to whatever Dustin had been suggesting faster than Steve could. “Wait, that makes sense,” she said. “Steve and Hopper and you had a relationship in the old timeline too; because Barb died Nancy had less of a relationship with her. So we’ll probably remember each other faster than we would, like, other random people we’re close to in this timeline.”

“But I was close to Barb,” Nancy snapped. It was a tone of voice Steve heard her use mostly under pressure — when someone questioned her plan, or when someone was hurt. It was a tone that was meant to broker no argument, to leave Nancy as the singular voice of reason. It used to work shockingly well on him, when he was both more eager to impress her and generally convinced she was the smartest person in any given room. After their big fight it worked less well — some of the allure and shine of Nancy Wheeler had faded, and now he was better at seeing her as a real person. At seeing the tone as what it was — something defensive. Something to hide that she was scared.

“Nance,” he said. Gentle, but not overly so — not pitying. “That’s not what they’re saying, come on.”

“It makes sense,” Jonathan added. “Easier to remember something that’s close to a feeling we’ve already had.” He frowned at Steve. “What did you remember?”

Steve looked at Hopper, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. “Uh, Hopper came to my graduation. With Dustin and El. I remembered the event itself, but I also remembered some other stuff about it and around it. It was like — clearer than a normal memory, I think. Like, I remember full sentences people said. And how I felt. But it wasn’t like I was reliving it?” He shrugged again. “I don’t know, I’m not good with words. It was hard to explain.”

“Maybe it helped that Hopper was there too,” Lucas said. “Looking at the photograph alone might not have been enough — maybe Hopper being with you when you saw it triggered it.” He pulled a few things out of his backpack. “None of this stuff triggered any memories when I saw it alone in my house, but maybe looking at it in the group will do something.”

“Well,” Jonathan said after a moment. “I guess we give it a shot. Who wants to go first with, uh, show and tell?”

Naturally, Dustin shoved his way to the front of the line.

He’d brought a whole stack of photographs, some still in frames from his Mom’s house. There were the boys in Ghostbusters costumes, like they had done in the old timeline; a photobooth strip of Max, El, him and Will, making stupid faces and shoving at each other at the arcade; all of the kids gathered around Mrs. Henderson’s table, a Monopoly board between them, Mike and Lucas fully yelling at each other.

Then he pulled out a yearbook — 1986 — and showed the photo for Hellfire Club. Mike, Dustin, Lucas and Eddie were all there in those shirts — and so was Will, grinning with an arm slung around Mike.

Steve could see the memory activate — Will and Eddie’s faces sliding a bit, gazes going wide. “Oh shit,” Eddie said, with a smile. “Right, of course — I saw Dustin in a Weird Al shirt, which I thought was brave, and he was talking to you, Baby Byers. And I thought you—" he cut himself off, a bit abrupt. Exchanged a glance with Will, who smiled shyly. “Thought you could use a friend,” Eddie finished, which was so clearly not what he was going to say, but —

Well, but Will had never shown an interest in girls like the rest of the boys had. Had always been surgically attached to Mike Wheeler. Steve had a sudden, vicious recollection of calling Jonathan Byers a queer, all those years ago. Something his father would say. Something his father had said, more than once, if Steve ever cried, or when Steve was ten and said he didn’t want to do sports, or when Steve couldn’t land a long-term girlfriend after Nancy.

(Steve tried not to think too hard, about how that word was always the worst, the one the rattled around his ribcage the most, the one his father said with the most disdain.)

There were a lot of things Steve regretted about who he used to be, but that was maybe the worst one. Because he loved Will Byers, and he loved Robin Buckley, and they deserved that love, they deserved to be safe, and he was once the type of person who would have made then unsafe.

Clearly Eddie had seen that too, that Will was different. Had adopted him into his club of misfit weirdos. It bloomed something warm and soft in Steve’s heart, thinking about all of them, banded together in high school. A year ago, that feeling would have been jealousy. Maybe dying did change him.

Eddie looked away from Will and met Steve’s eye again, and there was something there — something nervous? Like he’d said too much? No one else seemed to notice Eddie’s course correction at all, except maybe Jonathan, who tended to have a sixth sense with Will — but he was just grinning at the kid, nudging him in the shoulder. Everyone else was moving on to Dustin’s other photos. Steve couldn’t figure why Eddie was even a little panicked — it wasn’t like anyone in this group would turn on Will Byers of all people — so he shot Eddie a smile, reassuring. And a wink, for good measure — Harrington charm could lessen most panic, he’d found. Eddie rolled his eyes, turned back to the conversation, but there was that blush on his cheeks again.

The moment moved on. Except when Steve looked away, Robin was staring at him, face all furrowed together. “What?” he said, softly.

She shook her head. “Hm, nothing. Not yet.”

“That’s concerningly cryptic,” Steve said back.

“I am woman of mystery, Harrington,” Robin offered, bumping their shoulders together.

“Oh, Steve, Robin!” Dustin shouted. “Look at this!” And then Dustin was shoving a polaroid in his face.

It was of Steve and Robin, both openly glaring at the camera. They were in their Family Video uniforms, behind the counter. “I remember,” Dustin was saying, yammering, “I took this on your first day, because we were celebrating you both getting new jobs after you’d—"

“Gotten fired from the sandwich place!” Robin said, suddenly, eyes alighting with the recollection. “Because Steve had—"

Because Steve had called their boss a fucking asshole when he’d hit on Robin one too many times. It snapped right back into his head.

No Starcourt in this timeline, because Starcourt was only built to hide the gate under it. So no Scoops Ahoy. Instead, Steve had applied to the only other job he was qualified for, at the sandwich place downtown (lifeguarding still out of the question because Billy had joined in, and also it paid less than nothing and Steve was, in fact, trying to save some cash up). Robin had already been working there — in the original timeline, it had been her job before Scoops, and she’d never actually told him why she’d quit to sling ice cream at the mall instead.

The answer was: the guy who ran the place was a sexist dickhead. Steve had used the veneer of customer service to hit on many women, sure, but not the way Paul had. Paul was leery and strange, and he harassed Robin every single day, relentlessly, ignoring how clearly uncomfortable it made her. He and Robin hadn’t really been friends but that didn’t change the fact that the whole thing was disgusting to witness. Steve tried to distract Paul when he could, put himself between Robin and the guy bodily, but it was all to only middling success.

It had gotten too much a few weeks in when Paul made a move to grab her ass. Steve had grabbed the guy by his wrist, shoved him up against a wall, told him to his face what a pathetic, grimy piece of shit he was, and threatened to break his nose if he ever touched Robin again.

Which had gotten them both fired, naturally. But Robin had shown up at his house later that day, tears in her eyes, and thanked him, and offered to help him get a new job. Which was how Family Video had happened, how they’d started the unbreakable bond that the Russians formed in the other timeline in this one.

And it had been at Family Video, in the break room, where Robin had told Steve she was gay. There was a guy who’d come in once a week, clearly smitten, and Robin kept half turning him down, and Steve had finally asked why and she’d just — lost it, fully sobbing. Terrified he’d hate her. Steve had given her a hug, had pressed a kiss into the crown of her head. Had told her he loved her, which he did. He remembered it all, now.

He looked back up. Robin had tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. She threw her arms around him. “You’re my best friend, idiot,” she said. 


He pressed a kiss into the crown of her head again, a ghost of the memory they both were having. “You too, loser.”

When Dustin was done, Robin volunteered to go next.

The first thing she handed him was, of all things, a photo of him and Eddie.

Steve stared at the picture in his hands for a long moment. He remembered — the double vision slipping in — that Robin had taken it. They’d gone to the drive-in. Robin had gotten a camera for her birthday that she had barely any idea how to use and was practicing taking photos, mostly to Steve’s total exasperation. Eddie had draped himself across Steve’s back, propped his chin onto Steve’s left shoulder, and it had been warm, and solid, and Steve had leaned into the touch like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

“I guess we were friends in this timeline,” he said, softly.

Eddie scoffed. “'Course we were friends, dude. You think Henderson here didn’t manage to shove us together one way or another?

Steve laughed — yeah, fair enough.

“By the way, I forgot to tell you, but. Uh, when you took me to see Wayne, he showed me my diploma.” Eddie smiled, a bit sad. “Turns out ’86 really was my year. I graduated after all.”

“And then you didn’t leave,” Steve said, and it was supposed to be light, a little joke, but it came out too soft, heavy with fondness.

Eddie just looked at him, a tiny smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. “And then I didn’t leave,” he agreed, and he laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder. His hand was warm where it rested. Steve was so aware of it, and he had no idea why.

The moment was broken as Robin continued to shove stuff at them — at Steve, mostly, but also at Eddie, and even at the kids and Jonathan, a bit. Group photos, ticket stubs, other random, extremely Robin crap (a half-broken lanyard which sparked no memories, and which she, frowning at it, finally conceded “might just be trash”).

The others started after that, any semblance of order vanished into a chaos of just shoving stuff at one another. Memories flooded through — some expected: carpools with the kids, random shifts with Robin, movies with everyone. Some of them unexpected: smoking pot with Jonathan in the Wheeler’s backyard, a pool party at his house for Max’s birthday — because in this timeline Steve hadn’t drained his pool after Barb disappeared, hadn’t avoided it like it was diseased.

There was a photo Max had of Steve and Lucas playing basketball; one Lucas had of Steve giving Max a piggyback ride, both of them grinning. A photo Mike had of Will and El trying to explain the rules of some board game to Steve while he frowned and Robin laughed behind him on the couch. They were all memories that could have been from either timeline, really, except everyone looked more relaxed. A bit happier. Less scarred.

By the end of show and tell, everyone had remembered something, even Joyce and Hopper.

(Joyce had caught Steve and Jonathan smoking pot and had actually joined them for a few hits; the recollection of that memory had the three of them in giggles they couldn’t explain to anyone else for fifteen solid minutes.

Hopper, meanwhile, recalled that he’d met Eleven in December of ’83, when she’d run away from her foster home and he’d picked her up on the side of the road. Had agreed to foster her after that. Eleven didn’t remember what happened to her birth mother, but that was maybe for the best.)

Everyone had remembered something except for Nancy.

She hadn’t been in a lot of the photos, to be fair — a few of Mike’s, a few of Jonathan’s. But it seemed without the Upside Down, the connection she had to the kids was looser. She wasn’t the one chaperoning them to arcade trips or the mall a few towns over. Why would she be? She was probably out doing normal teenage girl things, in this timeline, instead of being forced to hang out with her younger brother’s weird geeky friends. But even the photos she was in didn’t trigger anything for her.

She was scowling. It wasn’t genuine anger, Steve knew — it was the same face she’d get when she couldn’t solve a particularly difficult math problem, or when someone wasn’t quite telling the truth and she knew it. “I just don’t get it,” she admitted, around a groan. “How is it so easy for you?”

“Maybe our lives in this timeline are just more similar to our old lives?” Lucas offered.

It seemed logical — after all, Nancy and Barb had been best friends their whole lives. Losing Barb had changed so much about Nancy, so much about her relationship with everything. It was why she and Steve had broken up, why her and Jonathan had gotten together. It was part of her getting more into journalism. And also, you know. Guns.

Except — “But so much is the same,” Steve said, shaking his head. “The Upside Down changed all of us but I somehow still decided to ditch the King Steve stuff and ended up friends with you all. And Nancy and I still broke up, and her and Jonathan still dated.” (And broke up, he didn’t say, but he’d remembered part of conversation while smoking pot with Jonathan that had been about both of them being unable to make it work with Nancy, in the end.) “Maybe you’re just — I don’t know.”


“Trying too hard?” Robin said, and didn’t even wither under the glare Nancy shot her in response, which was impressive.

“You talk to Barb yet? Maybe that would help,” Steve said. “Lucas seemed to be right about the memories coming easier when we were all together.”

Suddenly Nancy couldn’t meet his eye. Stared at her feet.

“Nancy,” Jonathan said, very softly.

“I — I tried to call her house, last night, before she went back. Her mother said she, uh. Didn’t want to talk to me.” Nancy’s voice was wavering, just a bit. “I knew she’d blame me, but—"

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jonathan said, insistent.

“Then why won’t she talk to me?” Nancy snapped back.

“This is weird for everyone,” Max said, shaking her head. “I mean, I still feel kind of nuts that I can see again. She came back from the dead. That has to be a little weirder than what you’re going through, right now. No offense.”

Every head in the room swiveled to Steve and Eddie. Eddie cleared his throat, awkward. “I mean, to be totally honest, it doesn’t feel great, yeah. I keep sort of expecting one of you to morph into Vecna and tell me this was one last cruel dream before you kill me again, for real this time.”

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, and our lives are less different. I only lost a few days; Eddie lost a year. Barb lost four years. That can’t be . . . fun. A lot more to remember, a lot stranger. Maybe she needs some time.”

Dustin shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like there’s rules for any of this, right?”

“Yeah,” Will said, nodding. “Even when the government approached us, Owens made sure to tell us there was a bunch of stuff they didn’t know. They’d never done anything like this before, it was all theoretical. He said there was a chance we’d wake up with no memories of the original timeline at all.”

Which reminded Steve of something that he’d sort of forgotten about. “Morana thinks we’ll forget,” he said, abruptly. Everyone turned to stare at him. “No, sorry, I — not us, but. Everyone else. She told me that the people who didn’t really experience the Upside Down would probably forget all the weird stuff that happened. Only remember the world we’re in now. That’s why they split the, uh — the ones of us who died. Because we’re probably never going to forget.” He shrugged. “You guys, too. Probably won’t forget.”

There was a strange silence.

“Is it weird,” Mike said, finally, and then stopped. “Is it weird that I don’t want to forget?” He cast an apologetic look at Will, then another one at El. “I mean, I told El once that the day I met her was the best day of my life, and I mean — it was also the worst day of my life? Like, I want Will to have never gone missing but I also don’t want to have not met El. I don’t want bad things to have happened to us. But I don’t want to forget the good things that happened because of the bad things, right?”

Lucas was frowning. “But so much is the same. I mean, El’s still here. Steve’s not an asshole. We all met Max and Robin still. Maybe it’d be nice to forget that the original reason all that was true was some of the worst stuff that ever happened to any of us.”

“I wouldn’t trade it,” Joyce said. “Lots of terrible things happen in life, but they make you who you are.” She shot a look to Steve of all people, a small, private smile, like she had remembered an inside joke that he hadn’t, yet. “If anything was different, everything would be different.”

And oh, there it was. Flooding back into Steve’s head. Him on the Byers porch, Joyce next to him. His hands were shaking. He’d dropped Will off earlier, after a D&D session at the Wheeler’s, and Joyce had immediately clocked that something was wrong, asked if he wanted to split a cigarette with her. They hadn’t talked much, at first, until finally Steve had said “he’s just such a fucking asshole.”

His father. A plate shattering on the floor. A series of accusations about Steve and his character, about why he didn’t go to college, about what he was doing with his life. Burnout, idiot, loser, queer.

“I wish, sometimes,” he’d started, and hadn’t finished. He was going to say I wish he wasn’t my father, but it was the wish of a child, of someone who didn’t know better.

Joyce had taken the cigarette from him, knocked their shoulders together. “I wish, too,” she said, softly.

And Steve had sighed, shook his head. Because it was a fruitless, stupid wish. Because as terrible as his father was, as awful as being in his house was, at least it got him here. To Joyce Byers and her porch. To his friends. His father was terrible, but would he sacrifice his life and his friends to have a better start somewhere else? No. “Yeah, well, if anything was different everything would be different, I guess,” he said back.

And she’d leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, and held his face in her hands. “I can lend you some money. To move out. Hop and I. I bet Karen Wheeler and the Sinclairs would too. Will you think about it?”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve had said back.

That was November, ’86. It was July ’87 and he hadn’t gone. And yet — Hopper had asked him today, not to go back to that house. Joyce had asked him last year, not to go back to that house. They were onto something, there. Now that he died the idea of returning felt even worse — like dying again. That place had always been more crypt than home.

“Yeah,” he said instead. “I think Joyce is right. Plus, we uh. We probably don’t get to forget.” He cleared his throat against the strange rush of emotion he was feeling at the double vision memory of Joyce and him on the porch. “But maybe . . . maybe things will even out, when everyone else starts to forget. Maybe for Barb and those guys it will get . . . easier?” He shot Nancy another look he hoped was hitting sympathetic and not pitying. “I wouldn’t give up on it, yet.”

“And also, Stevie and I have therapy with Barb tonight,” Eddie added. “We could try to figure her out a little.”

“I thought I said we weren’t doing Stevie,” Steve said.

“I thought I said you weren’t doing Stevie,” Eddie shot back.

“Oh, okay, Eds,” Steve sneered in reply, and Eddie’s eyebrows climbed way up.

So did Robin’s actually. And Nancy’s and Jonathan’s. Steve ignored all of them, rolled his eyes instead. “I will not break the pact of group therapy to tell you what Barb is saying there, but I can tell her she should call you and see if she listens.”

Nancy nodded, face stern again. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

“I think we should probably eat before the whole day gets away from us,” Hopper interrupted. “Harrington and Munson have places to be and we’re burning daylight.”

Everyone moved towards the kitchen, chattering, but Steve had another thought occur to him. He reached over and grabbed Jonathan’s arm as the man passed him. “Hey — did you get through to Argyle, yet?”

Jonathan looked at his feet instead of Steve. “I . . . no, not yet.” Then he shifted, meeting Steve’s eye. “I want to, I just . . . if he doesn’t remember, what if I bring the memory back? Make it worse? He deserves to be, like. Normal. Not caught up in all of this.”

“Morana thought the people who experienced it wouldn’t forget, though,” Steve said, gently. “Maybe he’s just in California freaking out by himself. It’s not like he knows your phone number — you’re back at your old house.” The Byers had relocated to Hawkins, after Spring Break, but had holed up in the cabin instead of dealing with their old house. He squeezed Jonathan’s arm, aiming to be reassuring, grounding. “Call him. It’ll be good.”

Jonathan nodded, rubbed under his eyes like he was exhausted. Then he shot a calculating look at Steve. “Since when did you become the most emotionally in touch of us, huh?”

Steve grinned. “Death perks, dude. My soul has found arcana, or whatever.”

Jonathan just laughed and laughed, said “nirvana, dude, nirvana,” and then pulled him into the kitchen to join the others for lunch.

Notes:

chapter title is from All My Friends by LCD Soundsystem.

my apologies to murray, a character i love and simply cannot write for shit. for now he is sir not-appearing-in-this-fic, although who knows, maybe i'll change my mind down the line.

Chapter 8: dead kids support group

Summary:

Therapy goes about as well as anyone expected it would.

Eddie was very quiet on the drive to Hawkins High. They’d spent a bit too long at Hopper’s, had to grab drive-in food for dinner and head straight down to therapy.

Eddie had inhaled his burger and hadn’t said a word since finishing it, staring out the window.

Steve was still a bit new, at this — at Eddie. Sure, they’d been friends in this world’s version of ‘86/’87, but he only had a few memories of that, and most of them were vague, and happy, nothing serious. The week they’d spent together running through the Upside Down had involved a few heart to hearts, but they were quick and spiked with adrenaline. Eddie had spent a week saying he was a coward who ran from everything — would he run if Steve tried to pry too hard? Not literally run, they were in a car, but figuratively. Steve didn’t want to get shut out.

He was overthinking this. Why was he overthinking this? It wasn’t like he cared that much if he freaked Eddie out, right?

Except he did care. He cared a lot. Couldn’t figure if that was an echo of the friendship he couldn’t remember, or if that was from this timeline, but either way the strength of how much he cared was surprising.

He cleared his throat. Eddie nearly jumped out of his seat. Steve tried very hard not to laugh, but the look Eddie shot him said he hadn’t really succeeded. “Dude,” Steve said, still smiling. “You look like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin. What’s up?”

Eddie slumped a little further down in the seat. Tapped his feet up and down over and over again, brought his hair in front of his face, chewed, slightly, on his left thumbnail. Steve was starting to learn all his nervous tics, cataloguing them like he’d done with everyone else. (Nancy: clenched jaw; Max: rolled eyes with a small, unhappy frown; Lucas: inappropriately timed jokes; Jonathan: expressive hand movements; Mike: being a dickhead; Robin: talking; Dustin: also talking). Nervous tics always came first — a real benefit of the Upside Down, that one — but after that would come the good parts. Knowing what made them laugh the hardest, knowing favorite foods, knowing exactly what worked to cure a bad mood, or a nightmare. Steve was excited to — well, to either learn those or remember those, with Eddie. Whichever happened first.

Finally, Eddie spoke, still staring out the window, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “I, uh. I keep thinking about seeing Chrissy, man. And Patrick. Like . . . they’re gonna hate me, right? I’d hate me.”

Right. Steve had been so filled with joy from the afternoon he’d actually forgotten — both he and Eddie would have ghosts at therapy.

If this was Jonathan, the right move here would be to say nothing — to let Jonathan be alone in his head, to think through the next part, to wait until he spoke next. If it was Robin, there wouldn’t be an awkward pause at all, and Steve would have to butt in to get her to repeat something that he caught onto being important. If it was Nancy, well — if it was Nancy they’d both probably just be quiet and say nothing, keeping it down, brave face.

Eddie though — Eddie needed prompting, Steve thought. Not eager to talk, but willing, if you could drag it out of him.

So, Steve said, “yeah. I have a feeling Barb’s not going to be pumped to see me.”

Eddie frowned, shifted in the seat to face Steve better — victory, Steve thought triumphantly. “Okay, I gotta be real with you dude — what’s the story there?”

Oh. Right. How could Eddie know? Steve cleared his throat. “It’s kind of a long story but — Morana mentioned that Upside Down monster who killed Barb? I’d invited her and Nancy to my house for a . . . party. Although, I mean, it was less a party than it was an excuse to get Nancy over. Anyway, Barb cut her hand shotgunning, and she wasn’t having fun — I thought she was going to go home, but . . .”

He trailed off. The memory still made him feel a bit sick; he knew it did worse to Nancy. A thousand what ifs — if they’d paid more attention, if they’d been less distracted, if, if, if. Nancy had never been able to forgive herself for the if’s. Steve had tried to, a little bit — tried to remember that in a normal town, in a normal universe, nothing they did would have been wrong, or life threatening. And they still thought they lived in a normal town, in a normal universe, back then. Had no reason to think otherwise, no reason to expect that leaving Barb outside to nurse a cut would be a death sentence.

It was a hard pill to swallow, though. A part of Steve would always think what if. Not if only he’d known about the Upside Down. But if only he hadn’t been such a fucking asshole. The Steve of 1987 wouldn’t have left Barb Holland bleeding by his pool, but that was a lesson he’d had to learn the hard way.

Again, he wondered — in this world, what had changed him?

He’d been quiet too long. Eddie was giving him a strange look. Steve needed to say something but he didn’t know how to continue to story.

“You and Nancy were young and in love and probably very gross,” Eddie prompted, teasing but still soft. It helped. Maybe they were similar, like that — needed a little encouragement to get through the tough talks.

“We got . . . distracted,” Steve said. The idea of talking about the sex he used to have with Nancy Wheeler with Eddie Munson was upsetting, for some reason. Eddie rolled his eyes like Steve was some sort of prude. “The demogorgon it — it killed her in my pool. Dragged her to the Upside Down.” He heard himself swallow, figured Eddie heard him too, kept his eyes stubbornly on the road. “Nancy was worried right away, wanted to look for her, thought something bad happened. I figured she threw a tantrum and ditched town for a few days, wanted to make Nancy miss her. I was more worried about what my dad would do.”

Which was stupid, because Christopher Harrington never would have hit Steve, never would have hurt him. It was unbecoming to do that – something poor people did to their kids. Visible bruises. Visible drunkenness. Visible anything. When he’d been there, after Barb had vanished, he’d been pissed — had read Steve the riot act, had told him he’d ruined the family name, and didn’t he understand how hard they’d worked to keep the family name? Didn’t he know what being a Harrington was all about?

(Being a Harrington was about keeping your back straight, your smile soft, and making sure everyone always liked you. Being normal. Being the most normal people on Earth.

Steve had fucked all that up the minute he punched Tommy Hagan in the face. After 1983 nothing about his life had been normal again.)

“I was an asshole,” Steve said, finally.

Eddie was frowning at him. “You were seventeen,” he said back, which seemed totally irrelevant to Steve.

“That doesn’t matter. I — it’s partially my fault that Barb died. And the last memory she had of her life was me being a dickhead to her at a house party.”

Eddie was still frowning, his eyes doing something strange. He seemed to want to say something else and then think better of it. He twisted the ring on his left index finger and was silent for a minute. Then: “well, the last thing Chrissy remembers is the inside of my hellhole trailer, so. Same problem, I guess.” He rolled his body towards Steve, suddenly loose and languid and joking. “Women, am I right Stevie?”

And Steve just laughed, and let him have it.

---

He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually been inside the theater classroom at Hawkins High before. There was a time, once, when Steve was maybe 8 or 9 and they’d put on a play at day camp, and he’d told his father he liked acting. The conversation had not gone well. It might not have been the first time his dad had yelled at him, really yelled, but it was the first one he remembered. Steve had never bothered with theater again. He’d even skipped the required freshman year reading of Romeo and Juliet, even though Tommy had said all the girls in class wanted him to be Romeo. Which was stupid, because Carol said they both died at the end, and what kind of romance was that?

So, yeah: the theater classroom. Not his thing.

Morana had pulled a bunch of chairs around in a circle, like how AA looked in movies. Steve and Eddie were the last two people to arrive, which was a bit embarrassing, actually. He wondered how he’d managed to slink into so many classrooms late without caring in high school — now everyone turning to look at him made him feel like a circus freak, or a frog laid out to be dissected. He waggled his fingers in a little wave at the assembled crowd. Eddie looked at him like he’d gone totally insane and Steve made a shrugging motion like what the fuck else was I supposed to do?

“What happened to Harrington charm?” Eddie hissed.

“I don’t really think that applies here,” Steve whispered back.

“Eddie, Steve,” Morana said from her chair. “Come on in, sit down.” The last two seats were, appropriately, next to each other, and they made their way over. Fred and Patrick were still staring at Steve and Eddie together like it was the strangest thing they’d ever seen. (Which Steve knew for a fact it wasn’t, considering how Max had described the Vecna visions.)

“Since when are you two friends?” Fred asked.

“We fought demon bats in hell together, Freddy-boy,” Eddie said. “You form a bond real quick.”

“You did what?” Barb said, across the room. Steve turned to look, but she was looking away from him by the time he did, glaring down at her shoes like they’d done something to offend her.

Morana clapped her hands. “I think maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

“No,” Patrick said, “I don’t think we are. No offense dude,” he shot to Eddie, “but I gotta know – did you, like. Did you kill me?”

“We’ve been over this Patrick,” Morana said, smile tightening. “Henry Creel killed you.”

“Right, with magic psychic powers,” Patrick scoffed.

“So it’s more believable to you that I have magic psychic powers, as opposed to this random dude?” Eddie sneered back. Steve elbowed him.

“Eddie didn’t do it,” a soft voice said from across the circle. Chrissy. She was frowning between Patrick and Eddie. “Eddie tried to help me. He’s kind.” She nodded her head, once, a small movement, like that was the end of the discussion on that, like she had final authority.

Maybe she did, all told.

A terrible expression crossed Eddie’s face — like he was in pain. Chrissy shot a sad smile to him. “Dr. Morana told me, about Jason. I got you into a pretty big mess, huh?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Eddie said, firmly.

“It was Henry’s,” Morana said, cutting in. “I want you all to know that. No one is to blame for anything except Henry. Henry is responsible for all of your deaths.”

Steve didn’t mean to — really, he didn’t — but he made a small, scoffing laugh at that. Morana turned to him, eyes narrowing. “You disagree, Steve?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. Looked at Barb.

She was looking at him, this time. Her face was a little older, some of the youthfulness carved away into something sharper. Her glasses a little more fashionable, her haircut too. But her eyes were the same. He hadn’t remembered how they looked, not really, until he was looking at them again, but he knew they were the same.

“I’m the reason Barb’s dead,” he said.

She furrowed her brow. Steve couldn’t look at her anymore. He turned to face Morana. “Not just her, either. I mean — the Earthquake, that happened because our plan failed. That’s my fault, partially. Those people who died in the Earthquake, and Jason, Eddie — those deaths are on me.”

“What?” Eddie said.

Steve turned to look at him. “I mean — yeah man. I wasn’t fast enough. If we’d been quicker with Vecna, or if — I should have stayed behind, with you and Dustin, the girls didn’t need me. I should have been able to save you.” And then, much softer. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”

There was a moment of total silence.

Then: “Steve what the fuck,” Eddie practically screeched.

Morana cleared her throat. “Okay, while Eddie’s use of words here is perhaps a bit harsher than what I’d use, I do have to agree with his overall sentiment. As I said, everything that happened is Henry Creel’s fault. You can’t blame yourself for the problems he caused.”

“But it’s true,” Steve said. “There are people in this room who wouldn’t be dead if I’d—"

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Harrington, not everything on Earth is about you,” Barb snapped.

Everyone turned to face her. She seemed a bit shocked that she’d spoken at all. Steve was, too. The Barb Holland he knew would never have spoken like that.

She cleared her throat, straightened up a bit. It was such a Nancy-like movement that Steve almost laughed. A side-effect of friendship, he supposed — gathering each other’s mannerisms. He hadn’t known her long enough to see them, the first time — or maybe she didn’t have them yet, in that timeline. “You were a jerk at that party, but I don’t blame you for what happened to me,” Barb said, stern.

Which should have been a relief, but there was a strange expression on Barb’s face, and it set Steve’s teeth on edge. Because the way she’d said it – she didn’t blame Steve, but there was a second half of that sentence, left unsaid.

“Who do you blame?” Steve asked, but he already knew, before she even said it.

“I blame Nancy,” Barb said.

“Barbara,” Morana said, a bit harsh. “As we discussed earlier today, while it’s fair to have strong and complicated feelings about these things I think blame is a bit harsh—"

“No,” Barb said back. “No, I get it, Henry did all the actual bad stuff but — I mean, there’s circumstances too, that led to things happening. I wouldn’t be dead if Nancy had cared about me, hadn’t ditched me for the first pretty boy she met.”

Steve did not remember Barb being this angry, before. Remembered her as shy and awkward and uncomfortable — was it the four years of life she’d lived in this timeline that had changed her? Or was it death itself? Hard to know.

Still, he felt the rising need to defend Nancy crawling up his throat. “Nancy was worried about you, she was the only person who thought that something—"

“What, bad had happened?” Barb said, rolling her eyes. “Sure, great — after I died.” She pointed at Steve, glaring. “You were a bit of a jerk, yes, but I expected you to be a jerk. You’re Steve Harrington, you wouldn’t have ever looked twice at me if it weren’t for Nancy. Nancy was my best friend. She was supposed to look out for me. And instead you were actually kind of nice, you know? You invited me along, you tried to help me have fun, you were the only person who even cared that I cut my hand. Nancy just told me to go home. She didn’t want me there.” There were tears welling in Barb’s eyes, now. “She was different, around you, and I saw it. She wanted to be someone else, and that person was never going to have me as a best friend.” She wiped her fingers underneath her eyes, flicking away tears.

“But it wasn’t her fault you died,” Steve said. “She was — she was torn up about it, she—"

“Is she still your girlfriend?” Barb asked abruptly.

“She hasn’t been my girlfriend since 1984.” Steve was confused at the sudden change in subject. He waited for Barb to elaborate, but she didn't. Instead she just looked at him a bit thoughtfully and then looked away, scowled at the posters on the wall instead.

“You changed after Barb vanished,” Chrissy said, after a beat of silence. “I remember — you got that black eye and . . . and then you were different. Stopped hanging out with Tommy and Carol. Jason said you’d gone soft.”

“I had some things put into perspective,” Steve said. “Violently put into perspective.”

“Because there were monsters, escaping from a pocket dimension into our world,” Fred said. “And you — you, Steve Harrington were fighting them?”

“Amongst others,” Steve said back, voice tight.

“Right, like Eddie here.” Fred rolled his eyes. “Who else was in your merry band of misfits?”

“The people in the classroom yesterday, with you,” Chrissy offered, snapping her fingers like she’d solved a puzzle. “That girl from band and that kid.”

Barb swallowed audibly. “Robin Buckley.”

“And Dustin Henderson,” Patrick said. “Your little Hellfire friend,” the second half directed at Eddie. There was something about the tone of it — like Patrick still thought it was a cult, still didn't really trust Dustin at all.

Eddie clearly heard it, heckles raising in defense. “Those kids are brave as hell,” he shot back. “They kept this town safe for years, basically by themselves — Steve and Nancy and Robin, too.”

"Couldn't save us though," Fred said. And then he narrowed his eyes at Morana. "Although, you know, I don't really blame you all for that. I mean — the US government should have been able to stop this all, right? Instead of just sitting back and letting it happen?"

"Fred," Morana said, annoyance dripping into her voice.

"No, that's fair," Barb said. "Me, fine, that's an accident. But you knew since 1983 what was happening, and what did you do about it? You just covered it up. Let us all go on thinking it was normal. Let my parents think I ran away."

Eddie was scowling too, now, jaw set tight. "You let a bunch of fucking kids and four teenagers deal with it and just hoped no one got killed or maimed too bad."

“OKAY!” Morana clapped her hands together, eyes wide and frantic. “Okay, that’s. Enough.” She rubbed her fingers into her temples. “I’m honestly not sure what I thought would happen here, but you’re all much . . . angrier than I’d hoped, at this juncture. I understand that this is a major trauma, and anger is a normal response, but—" she paused, for a moment, clearly unable to finish. "I can't explain or answer for the government's actions. All of that was out of my hands. I am not the enemy. And this will all go a lot easier if you at least don't treat me like your enemy."

“Maybe you can forgive us for not taking this giant life altering news very well,” Fred snapped. “I mean, did you expect us to just take waking up from death totally calmly? To accept everything about our situations, everything you told us?”

“No,” Morana said, irritation clear and grating in her voice. “But I didn’t expect you to take it out on me.” She leaned forward, took a moment to look each of them in the eyes individually. “Listen: I know this is a strange and terrifying time. I don’t expect you all to adjust immediately — which is why we’re doing these sessions. But I am just trying to help, okay? I'm doing my best with what we have and what we've been handed. And I think this group will help you, I really do. So be mad at the government all you want, but just . . . let me try to help, okay? Let me in."

There was a long, heavy silence. Morana seemed to take it as agreement and nodded again. “Now. I think we’ve all had a lot of . . . feelings tonight, so I’m going to call this session a little early. It’s about to be the weekend — thank you all for giving me your Friday night. We’ll meet again as a group on Monday. I want you to spend the weekend trying to remember things about this timeline, okay? Talking to people you know, looking through your belongings and photographs — these things should help. And talking to each other might help, too. You’re not alone.”

No one said anything for a moment. Morana pursed her lips together, a little displeased, and Steve held back a laugh.

Finally, shifting like the silence was uncomfortable for her, Chrissy spoke up. “And I’ll let you know if I hear from Jason, Dr. Morana.”

Which wait — what?

“Hear from him?” Eddie asked. He’d gone pale, eyes shifting between Chrissy and the doctor.

“Chrissy, why don’t you and I talk after—“ Morana started, and Steve recognized it for what it was. The classic government response: sweeping something under the rug.

“You said Billy and Jason were separated for our safety,” Steve said, eyes narrowed. “Like you separated them from us.”

“Jason was going fucking crazy, man,” Patrick muttered, half under his breath.

“Jason and Billy are nothing to concern yourself over, Steve—" Morana said, but there was a current under her voice, a nervousness.

“They’re not here,” Eddie cut in, cottoning on faster than Steve could. “You didn’t separate them from us — you don’t know where they are, do you? Either of them?”

Chrissy’s eyes were wide and nervous, glancing between them and Morana like she’d said something wrong. Morana clicked her teeth together, leveled a stern look at Steve and Eddie. “We always knew, with the timeline merge that — there’d be a chance some of you might wake up in other locations. We couldn’t know the exact events that occurred here—"

“So you lied to us about it,” Steve snapped, carding a hand through his hair. “And now they’re just, what? Out there?”

“Confused,” Eddie said, voice taking on a slightly hysterical pitch, nearly a laugh. “Disoriented. No idea what’s going on.”

“We’re working very hard to locate them, and we expect that we’ll have more information soon—"

“Jesus Christ,” Steve snapped. “The last time we saw Jason he was trying to kill Eddie, and he almost killed Lucas! Billy was possessed, and he almost killed me twice! And they’re just out there, somewhere, walking around with no idea what the fuck has happened? You don’t think that might make them more crazy, not less?”

“Okay, who’s Billy?” Barb muttered to Chrissy. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“I understand your concern, Steve,” Morana continued, fake smile plastered on her face. “But you’re under our watch, and we have a blockade on Hawkins so no one can come in without our knowing. We’ll find Jason and Billy, and everything will be fine.”

“Who else?” Fred asked. Morana stared at him blankly. He cleared his throat, and met her gaze, a bit steely. “They can’t be the only two who aren’t here, that’s just logical. Who else is missing?”

There was a long pause. Steve could hear the clock on the wall ticking. “Hey,” he said, and Morana turned to face him. “You looked me in the eye and said you wouldn’t bullshit me. So don’t bullshit me.”

Something complicated flickered across her face, and then she sighed and deflated. “Several of the Earthquake victims are gone. Billy Hargrove and Jason Carter. All three members of the Holloway family. Most of the others from the Hawkins lab, scores of government agents who worked with us over the years and—" and here she paused, cleared her throat. “Dr. Martin Brenner.”

“Shit,” Steve said. Everyone else stared blankly — right, because how would they know who that was? “And what exactly is your plan for finding them?”

“We knew when we reset the timeline that it was unlikely everyone would be in Hawkins. It was a risk we prepared for, and we’ve mobilized to contact the people who aren’t here.” She shook her head. “That’s the best we can do for now. We have to assume that while they might be confused and upset, they’re essentially safe and unlikely to do harm to themselves or others.”

“You can’t know that,” Fred said, a bit snottily.

Morana clenched her jaw so tightly that Steve could see a muscle jump. “There were many things we did not know, Fred. We knew only that the world was ending and we had a way to stop it.”

"And now you want us to trust you?" Eddie asked. He seemed more exhausted than angry, like the reality of this had sunk deep into his bones. "After everything you've already lied about we're supposed to believe that you're on our side?

Morana was quiet for a long moment. She sent a strange, pleading look around the room, stopping at Steve for a long moment. "It wasn't my call," she said finally. "Lying about Jason and Billy, it wasn't."

Eddie snorted a mean little laugh. "Nothing seems to be your call."

Morana let that sit for a beat and then stood up, clapping her hands together again. “Now, as I said, this session is concluded. I’ll see you all on Monday.” And she turned and left the room, brisk and abrupt, like she was fleeing the scene of a crime.

There was an uncomfortable silence from the others. Chrissy smiled, sadly, at all of them. “I’m — I’m sorry, I didn’t — I didn’t mean to. . .”

“It’s not your fault,” Steve said. “It’s Morana’s, for thinking she could hide it.”

Patrick was tapping his feet, nervous energy thrumming through him. “I mean . . . it’s gotta be weird, coming back with no . . . no, like, guiderails, like we had? I mean, I sat through that whole lecture and I still felt like I barely understood what was going on. If they didn't even have that, it must feel like . . . "

“You’re going insane?” Barb offered. Her smile was bitter. "It felt that way even with the lecture, so."

Eddie slumped down into his seat and stared at the ceiling. “You think they’re gonna come back?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Steve said. “Wake up in a strange place, the last thing you remember is your own death, a year or two earlier, in this town? You’d want to come back. Find answers.”

Bob learned forward, his gaze serious and intent on Steve. “You seem to think these guys — Billy and Jason — are dangerous. I mean is it — is there something we need to be worried about, here?”

Chrissy stood up, a sudden movement that caused everyone to look at her. “I know — I know Jason did some terrible things, but he’s not . . . he’s not like that, I swear. He was just . . . scared.” She looked at Eddie. “You have to believe me, normally he’s . . . normally. . .” and then she trailed off, shook her head, falling back into the seat dramatically. “He’ll be happy I’m alive, he won’t want to hurt anyone, anymore.”

Which was a sweet thought. A comforting one — if Steve could accept it was true. But Jason had believed, truly believed, that Eddie had been in communion with the devil, sacrificing cheerleaders and basketball players to open gates to hell. And nothing he’d seen had disproved that theory. In a way, it was almost reasonable to believe it — Max had been floating in the air, and then a gate had opened and ripped Jason’s body in half, according to Lucas. Who was to say this next part — the sudden return of everyone from the dead — wasn’t part of Eddie’s Grand Satanic Plan? With no better explanation, Jason had to assume this was still somehow all connected. And even if the government got to him, explained the whole truth, why would Jason believe it? Patrick had asked the same question — why buy that it was Henry Creel instead of Eddie Munson? When Chrissy’s body had been in Eddie’s trailer? When Eddie had been there when Patrick died? When no one even knew who Henry Creel was?

Jason Carver would only get crazier, and if he came back to Hawkins — when he came back to Hawkins — he’d be gunning to find Eddie Munson, and get real answers. The thought made Steve sick and anxious, an oil spill in his gut.

None of that was helpful to say out loud, but Steve caught Eddie’s eye and knew he was thinking the same thing. The other man slumped further in his chair.

“They might be dangerous,” Steve said, because it was the truth. “I don’t know for sure.”

“Do we need to warn people?” Bob asked.

“No,” Steve said, easily enough. Then, mostly to himself and a little to Eddie — “I have to talk to Max. If they asked Chrissy about Jason they probably asked her about Billy — she might know more. And Hopper and El need to know about Brenner — Hopper will have a plan. And then . . . then we’ll do what we always do,” he said.

Eddie raised an eyebrow.

“We deal with it,” Steve said.

Across the room Barb was frowning at him — not an angry frown, more . . . thoughtful? Like she was trying to read something she didn’t really understand. “You are different,” she said finally. “You changed.”

Which was a compliment, almost certainly. A point in his favor. He smiled at her, could feel that it was a weak thing, but tried to put it on anyway. “Yeah, well, I guess I just got older.”

“And I didn’t,” she said back, and her expression was pure, awful sadness, twisting away on her face. And, well. Steve didn’t know what to say to that. After a moment, Barb stood and grabbed her bag. “I’ll see you all on Monday, I guess,” she said, abrupt and thick with tears, and left.

The others stood too. There were muttered, awkward goodbyes. Before she left Chrissy stopped in front of Eddie again and then wrapped him into a hug. She leaned forward and whispered something Steve couldn’t hear to him.

Again, a strange feeling in Steve’s stomach that he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just that it was weird — Chrissy Cunningham hugging Eddie Munson. Not an image he’d ever thought he’d see, even before they both died.

She untangled herself from Eddie, shot a small wave over to Steve, and left.

And then it was just the two of them in an empty classroom, Eddie standing and Steve still in his uncomfortable chair. He waggled his eyebrows at Eddie, trying to get the miserable look on the other man’s face to fall off. “You just got hugged by a pretty cheerleader, dude, you should look a little happier.”

Eddie turned to face Steve, a strange look on his face. “I—" he started, and then shook his head. “No, nevermind. Guess I’m, uh, just worried about Jason coming back.” He raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

“Well, Nancy probably doesn’t have guns in this timeline, so we might be in some trouble.” It was a joke, and Eddie smiled like it was funny, but it still felt hollow and stupid, falling dully between them. Steve ran a hand through his hair, which by now had to look like shit. For the first time in his life, he wasn't sure he could muster the energy to care. He sighed again. “I don’t know. I really don’t know anything.”

Eddie nodded, and let the silence sit between them for a moment. And then he offered a hand to Steve. “Drive me home, Harrington?” Like Steve was going to just ditch him rideless at the high school, right.

Steve let Eddie haul him up. Eddie’s hand was rough with callouses, probably from the guitar. It was also warm, and the warmth spread through Steve’s body, made him feel — less anxious, weirdly, less concerned. Like it didn’t matter if Jason and Billy showed up, because Steve and Eddie (and the others, his brain supplied, a beat too late) would stop them. Which was maybe overly optimistic, but right then it felt so true that Steve let himself have it. Let himself be calmed.

He dropped Eddie’s hand, probably after a moment too long, and Eddie smiled at him — not his usual, crazy grins, but something softer, his dimples popping. Steve smiled back, and they walked back to the car, shoulders brushing, in silence.

Notes:

this chapter title was actually the working title for this fic (and remains the title of the doc on my computer). i changed it when i posted the first chapter because i realized i'd written 30k words before we even got the support group and it felt a little misleading.

also, everyone expressing how sorry they were for nancy last week: i am so sorry. i promise it gets better. as i say in the tags: first i make it worse. but then i will, in fact, fix it. i swear!

as always, thank you so much for your kind comments and for reading along.

Chapter 9: i get this feeling i'm in motion

Summary:

Robin thinks about dreams and Max thinks about Billy and everyone thinks about what exactly it is normal people do during the summer when they don't have to kill monsters.

On Saturday, two days after Steve woke up from the dead, he got called into work.

Work. Like, his job. At Family Video.

Two days after he rose from the dead.

“Minimum wage waits for no man, Steve,” Robin had said when she called with the news. Apparently, Keith had called her, acknowledged that it was a weird week, and then informed her that he’d checked and she and Steve were both on shift and that even reeling from the news that the past four years of their lives had been apparently false memories caused by a gas leak, the people of Hawkins still needed access to $1 rentals of Platoon and it would be a shame to disappoint them.

Eddie had laughed when Steve had exited the bedroom and informed him that he was kicking the other man out because he had work.

Eddie had been there, first thing in the morning, because he’d stayed the night again. It hadn’t even been a question, not really — they’d just gotten back from therapy and Steve had held the door open and Eddie’d followed him in. They’d watched TV blankly until the anthem played, neither of them talking about what had happened.

When the test screen came on, Eddie’d clicked the television off and turned to Steve. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened to me, man,” he said. He said it very quickly, like he’d been thinking about it all night and wanted to get it out before he changed his mind. “I made a choice. I did it to save Dustin — which, by the way, I know for a fact you would have done the same thing for the kid, so.”

“I know,” Steve said.

“I did it to save you, too,” Eddie said. Which took Steve by surprise, and must have shown on his face because Eddie looked a bit cagey and awkward, suddenly. “I mean — I wanted to buy you all more time. I wanted . . .” he trailed off. Looked at Steve again, appraising. “I guess you know what I wanted, actually. You did it too.”

Died, he meant. Or sacrificed himself, to save the others, maybe.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I just — I spent a year, wishing I’d done more to save you. It shouldn’t have been your job. You never should have been roped into any of this shit at all.”

Eddie grinned. “Well, us Munsons never had good luck.” Then his expression changed, took on that almost-nervous look Steve saw sometimes, a little shifty. “Is that — is that why you cleaned my grave, and stuff? Cause you felt responsible for me dying?”

“No,” Steve said, immediately. He’d done a lot of other things because he felt responsible — he’d consoled Dustin, he’d tried to learn more about Metallica, he’d gone on long drives on empty highways a full twenty miles over the speed limit, he’d had terrible, screaming nightmares. But Eddie’s grave was something else. “I did that because I missed you,” Steve said, which was maybe too honest, and maybe a bit weird — there was a reason he’d never told anyone else, about his imagined little friendship with Eddie. A part of his brain knew it was strange. “I did it because you deserved better than being called those things.”

Eddie looked at Steve for a long time, expression unreadable. And then he nodded, eventually, said “I guess I should get to bed.”

“You can stay here,” Steve had said immediately. “I don’t mind.”

(He thought maybe it was less that he didn’t mind and more that he wanted Eddie around, too. Selfish reasons — Steve always slept better with other people around. Hated when things got too quiet.)

Eddie had nodded and stayed, crashed on the couch again. Steve had gone to the bed, this time, and wondered as he laid down if he should have given the bed to Eddie. Or invited him to share it.

Couldn’t figure why he felt so weird about it.

He ignored the sleep monitor. He was sure Morana would be pissed, but whatever — he had his own issues with her, right now. And when he woke up in the night, gasping from a nightmare — the demobats around his throat, choking until he couldn’t breathe — he was slightly relieved that she never had to know.

Then he’d woken up to Robin’s call (the phone was worse than his alarm, these days). Before he’d headed out, Eddie had asked for a ride to the trailer park, and Steve had dropped him off. Waved goodbye. Wondered what he was doing with his day — but Eddie hadn’t offered, and it felt prying, to ask. Eddie was a grown man, he could handle himself. He didn’t need Steve to hover behind him for the rest of his life.

Anyway, that was how Steve wound up behind the counter of Family Video again, Robin irritated and rewinding video tapes, like nothing had ever changed.

“This is weird,” Steve said, into the silence of the store. Despite Keith’s insistence, it wasn’t a busy day whatsoever, the store entirely empty.

“Super fucking weird,” Robin agreed. She paused in her work, turned to face him. “You know what else is weird?”

“What?”

“Barb called me last night, after your therapy thing.”

Steve raised both of his eyebrows. Now that was weird.

Robin had told Steve about her whole history with Barb, back in the summer of ’86. They hadn’t had jobs anymore because the Family Video was destroyed when the gates ripped open and no one else was really hiring, so they spent many days either volunteering at the crisis center or sitting aimlessly in Steve’s house, doing nothing at all except trying to distract each other from the terrible, gnawing awfulness of everything by telling dumb stories or watching bad movies or listening to Steve’s mother’s truly unbearable record collection.

The story was mostly funny, the way Robin told it — her and Barb as kindred spirit band geek friends, fighting the mindless drones of Hawkins Middle School, before Robin got left behind for Nancy Wheeler, the princess of priss (who Robin did a shockingly good impression of, all told).

It was doubly hilarious to Steve because Robin, obviously, had a terrible crush on Nancy that she had been trying very hard not to let him in on at the time. But Robin was awful at keeping secrets around Steve, had been ever since the truth serum in the Starcourt basement, and the way she kept blushing around Nancy was an obvious tell, as was the way she barely even fussed when Vickie’s family packed up and left town after the school year ended. He’d finally called her out on it at the end of that summer. She’d cried because she was so upset about hurting him and it took Steve nearly an hour to finally convince her he really didn’t have feelings for Nancy, not anymore, and even if he did he wouldn’t ever be mad at Robin over a crush. Also, really, he understood it — Nancy was a pretty easy person to fall for, after all.

So, it made some sort of sense for Barb to call Robin eventually, with their past, but given everything Barb had said in therapy — it wasn’t what he expected, to say the least.

“What’d she say?”

Robin shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “She wanted to get lunch. Said that doctor lady told you guys to try to remember, so she wanted to see if hanging out triggered anything.” She shot a look to Steve. “I have a lot of photos of you and me and Eddie and the kids, but I — I don’t have any of Barb. So I mean, we probably didn’t like — rekindle our friendship, or anything, but that felt sort of mean to say? So instead I asked if she called Nancy and she changed the subject.”

Steve nodded. “It’s a sore spot. Give it some time.” Shot her a look. “You should do lunch, though — no photos doesn’t mean much.”

“She’s mad at Nancy,” Robin said, ignoring Steve’s other point entirely. It wasn’t a question. “You know that, but you haven’t told Nance.” Also not a question.

He shrugged. “It’s not — it’s not my place. I think therapy’s supposed to be, like. A safe space.” He sighed, rubbing at his temples — the florescent lights of Family Video were terrible, would from time to time trigger a migraine. He wasn’t getting one now, though. He might never get one again, he realized, now that he hadn’t suffered three concussions. Again, the thought was strange, like Steve was walking around in a body that didn’t really belong to him, that wasn’t really his. Would that go away? Would he forget how the migraines had felt, the dead skin on his torso? He physically shook the strangeness away, like a dog coming in out of the rain, and turned back to face Robin who was staring at him like he had two heads. He ignored the look — no simple way to explain what he’d been doing. “Besides, I mean — do you think it would help? I think it might just make Nancy feel bad.”

Robin hummed, thoughtful but noncommittal. “You think Barb will get over it?”

She was supposed to look out for me.

“I don’t know,” he said. It seemed to be his answer for everything these days — maybe had always been his answer for everything, forever. You could fill museums with all the shit Steve Harrington did not know. “Morana’s running this line of everything being Henry’s fault, pushing all the blame there but that’s now how people think, right?” He shrugged. “Henry’s not a real person to Barb, not the way Nancy and I were. It’s easier to blame a person you know instead of an idea, right?”

Robin was looking at him strangely. She kicked his ankle, light. “You still sound like you deserve to be blamed. I’ve told you a thousand times, Steve, none of it—”

“Was my fault, right, right,” he said, half a sigh. “You and Eddie are broken records.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Eddie?”

Steve shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable. “Yeah, I mean — I mentioned, at group, feeling like Eddie dying was my fault, too. He told me it wasn’t, after, you know? And I — I get it. I do. I just . . . I feel . . . “

“Responsible,” Robin answered. “Like you’re the chaperone on this incredibly fucked up field trip we’ve been taking.” Her tone was light, like it was a joke, instead of a complicated bit of his personality that both of them had been struggling with for two full years.

“I mean,” Steve said, after a pause, “I kind of was, wasn’t I?” And how weird that was to say out loud. Was. Past tense. Game over, now.

“World’s best babysitter,” Robin said, grinning. “Too bad you can’t put it on a resume. Would probably kill in the nanny game.”

He snorted a laugh. “Special skills: mastery of a nail bat and a Molotov cocktail.”

“And think of your cover letter.” She was laughing fully now, a little cackle. “I, Steve Harrington, have always shown a true dedication to my previous jobs, as evidenced by the time I literally died to save the kids I watch.”

He couldn’t help but laugh too. It felt like the first time he’d laughed about it — about his own death. There were stages, he found, with recovering from life altering supernatural activity. First he couldn’t talk about it at all, then he could talk but only seriously, then he could joke. It went quicker, always, with Robin — they were laughing about being tortured while they were still in Starcourt, after all. (It took him almost a full year to be able to say demogorgan out loud without feeling like he was going completely insane or going to have a panic attack.) When she came over a week after the incident to hang around his house, she’d made a joke about peeing her pants, and it had felt like pressure off his chest, like something lifting. Like, sure, it was a strange and occasionally terrifying life. But it was still a life. It still had good parts.

She was looking at him with unreserved fondness, and he knocked their shoulders together. “Oh!” she said, like she’d just remembered something. “After our shift, you wanna go back to your house? Find your treasure trove?”

And shit, he hated to keep putting it off, but— “I can’t, I gotta go talk to Max about something. And then probably Hopper.”

Robin raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for him to explain. He rolled his eyes — if he didn’t tell her now she’d pester him until the end of the shift. “Morana let it slip, last night, that Billy and Jason weren’t separated from us. The government doesn’t know where they are. They don’t know where a bunch of people are, actually.”

Her mouth dropped into a little o of surprise. “Shit.” She shook her head, tugged at her earlobe. “They have no idea? Like none, whatsoever? There’s just two semi-homicidal maniacs who hate us out there disoriented and frothing at the mouth?”

“Christ, Buckley, don’t sugarcoat it or anything,” he said. “Morana has Chrissy waiting to hear from Jason but she hasn’t yet.” He thought about it for a minute, gazing out blankly at the empty parking lot through the front windows. “Honestly, if we still won the state championship in this timeline, he probably got scouted after ’86. College basketball camp starts early, he’s probably at school already.”

“He’s probably on his way over here to confront Eddie over ending the world.” She slumped over and dropped her head dramatically onto the countertop.

Steve missed the lightness they’d managed earlier. “Well, at least Eddie restarted it too, maybe Jason will give him credit for that,” he said, trying to get it back. She looked up, glared, and then reached over and shoved him in the face, causing him to stumble over slightly. He caught himself on the counter. “Too soon?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“And Billy?” Robin said, after a moment. 


Steve just shrugged. “Jason feels more present, honestly — he died convinced Eddie was the spawn of hell. And he hasn’t forgotten. Billy . . . who knows. The mind flayer definitely messed with his head. He was a racist dick before that, but maybe in this timeline he just bolted from town. And if he remembers the mind flaying, maybe he remembers that a part of him loved Max enough to die for her, at the end. Might make him less likely to bash Lucas’s face in upon arrival.” He winced. “I hope, at least.”

“Ugh,” Robin said. “Lucas is way too sweet of a kid for more than one insane jock to be gunning for his death.”

“Tell me about it.” He tugged a hand through his hair. “Anyway, I gotta — the government was so cagey about it, I have no idea what they’ve told Max at all. And she deserves to know, at least. Maybe she can even help, if there’s something in her house that triggers a memory about where he went.” He slumped down onto the counter, mirroring Robin’s position, feeling a million years older than he was. “Not that I want to force her to remember Billy, of all people, but . . . I guess we have to.”

Robin nodded, staring thoughtfully out the glass front. “I don’t envy you that talk, Harrington.” And then she sent him one of her looks — like she could read him perfectly, like she knew him better than anyone. Which maybe she did, to be fair. “You’re not getting out of the walk down memory lane at the Harrington household, by the way. I checked our schedules and we’re off tomorrow. So you, me, and the shoebox in your closet that’s a metaphor for your parental neglect—"

“Hey!”

“—have a hot date.”

He rolled his head to face her. “I’m not getting out of this, am I?”

“Nope,” she said, popping her p.

“I mean, no offense, but do you think there’s anything I have that’s gonna give us more information? I mean, we already established I am, in fact, not a giant asshole in this timeline.” He shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

An extremely Robin expression crossed her face, half irritation and half the look she got when she was very confused about something. “I just — I don’t get why you’re still here.”

Which, okay. “Woah, ouch,” he said back. “Family Video not good enough for you anymore?”

“Ugh, no, dumbass, I mean—" she chewed her lip, a bit absently. “I just don’t get why you’re still in Hawkins, if there’s not monsters to fight here in this world.”

It was, honestly, not even a question Steve had really considered. He’d never had anywhere else to go. “I mean, even before the Upside Down I wasn’t exactly a straight-A student, or anything.”

“Sure, but you’re smart enough to get in somewhere. And even if you chose not to go, which is, you know, a totally legitimate decision and not something you should ever feel bad about, because there’s more than one way to be successful in the world no matter what your father says—"

“Robin.”

“Right, sorry, just — I don’t get why you’d still be here, living in that house.” She huffed a light sigh. “When you didn’t answer right away, that first day, I was — I was sort of hoping it was because you’d gone somewhere else, here. Even just another apartment in town.” She shrugged. “That would have made everything a lot harder in the moment, granted, but it still would have been a bit nice.”

He nodded. “I remembered, yesterday, that uh — Joyce offered me some money, in November of last year, to help me move out. Told me to ask the Sinclairs and the Wheelers, too. I don’t know why I didn’t.” He shifted to pluck aimlessly at a video tape, suddenly not quite able to meet her eye. “You think there’s something in the box, that makes it clear why I stayed?”

“I think I’m in classes at the community college,” Robin said, abruptly. “There was a course listing with stuff circled on my dresser. But there were also brochures for — for other schools. Not that close to here, in like, Wisconsin and Illinois. So maybe I’m transferring.” The look she was giving him was pure guilt, and it felt so wrong on her face that Steve couldn’t stand it. “Not this semester, I don’t think, but I mean. I don’t — what if I’m leaving you behind, here?”

“Rob,” he said, very soft, crossing over to place his hands on her shoulders. “You following your dreams is not leaving me behind. You gotta do what’s right for you. And you, frankly, cannot get rid of me just by crossing state lines.”

She sniffed and moved to hug him, burying her face in her chest so her next words were muffled. “You deserve better than Hawkins, Steve. You deserve to follow your dreams too.”

“I’m not sure I really have any,” he admitted. “Six kids feels overrated, these days.” It was a joke, to diffuse the tension, but she pulled back and shot him a look that was all tragedy.

“Everyone has dreams, idiot, you’ve just been suppressing yours for years because the world was ending. I wanna know what the you here wants. And I think whatever it is in your weird fucking shoebox, okay? So . . . we’re gonna look. And then I’m,” and here she smacked him in the arm, “going to help you get that dream no matter what, you get me?”

He was grinning at her, by the end of it, at her fierce loyalty and her unending devotion and at the fact that in the last universe and this one he got to have Robin Buckley as a best friend. There were moments, facing the monsters, when Steve wondered if it was bad luck that had gotten him caught up in everything — if his parents had moved a town over he’d just be Steve Harrington, regular dude. But he couldn’t have bad luck. He had the be luckiest person on Earth, because he had Robin.

“Oh, don’t get all weepy on me,” she said, like she wasn’t blinking away tears.

He laughed and shoved a video tape at her. “Okay, enough emotional stuff, back to rewinding. We’ll do this again tomorrow at the shoebox.”

“Fuck yeah we will,” she said back, and then turned back to work.

---

Steve hadn’t had to make the trip to Cherry Lane since ’85, and even then his visits to Max’s house were the rarest of all the kids. She usually got herself to a different house by bike or skateboard and met up with him there. Steve never really asked why she did that — he wondered if it was because she was poor and embarrassed of showing it, or if it was because she didn’t want to remind him of Billy, of the plate smashed over his head.

When he got there, she was sitting on the porch, staring thoughtfully out in the road, a strange mimic of Dustin on his stoop the day before. She raised an eyebrow as he pulled into park. He raised one back and climbed out of the car to approach her.

“Harrington,” she said, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“Why are you outside?” he asked, instead of answering.

She scuffed her foot against the bottom step, stared at it while she shrugged. “It’s weird in there.” He sat down next to her, didn’t force eye contact. Traced his eyes to where she’d been looking, at the treeline, bright green in the midsummer heat.

It was still hard to think about, that Max had spent a full year suffering in near total silence, shoving all of them away, fighting the ghosts in her head all by herself. She hadn’t been awake long enough for Steve to know if that’d still be the case, or if this time she’d let them in. Lucas had told him at the hospital, after Vecna, that they’d had a good talk, before it all went down, that he thought things would be better when she woke up. But then she woke up and nothing was better, the world was ending again, and Steve hadn’t really had time to check in beyond a few brief, stilted conversations.

A part of him wanted to pry. A part of him knew better — knew the key would be to see what Max would offer and take what he could, gratefully. That trying to get past the carefully built suit of armor she wore in any way other than an open invitation was a mistake.

After a long pause of silence, she spoke again. “The trailer wasn’t good, or anything,” she snapped, like Steve had suggested it was. He turned and met her eye. She shrugged again, looking uncomfortable, still scowling. “It was just . . . I got used to it. We moved out of here so quickly after . . .,” she trailed off. “I never got used to the house, without Billy in it. I don’t know. It’s like . . .”

“A tomb,” Steve said, understanding. She looked at him, eyes a bit sad. “A big, empty tomb.”

She sighed. “I guess at least your tomb has a pool.”

He couldn’t stop the laugh that punched out of him, and Max smiled at her shoes, obviously a bit proud. Then she paused and looked at him again.

“Billy’s not here,” she said. “In Hawkins. They — they asked my mom and his dad if they knew where he was. I don’t think I was supposed to hear but I did. That’s why you came, right?”

“What, I can’t just stop by to visit my favorite kid?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Dustin’s your favorite. I’m second — maybe tied with Lucas.” She grinned. “And Mike’s last.”

“Oh, totally, Wheeler’s a shitheel,” Steve agreed easily, tone light. “But I’ll have you know I don’t play favorites. I love you all equally.” And then, more seriously, “yeah, I came by to talk about Billy. Morana told me that they didn’t know where he was. I’m guessing your parents didn’t have an idea either?”

“No,” Max said, shaking her head. “Neil and my mom still remembered him dying in the mall fire. Neil said a bunch of crazy angry shit about mind control and drugs in the water supply and then he left. Hasn’t come back.” Which, god. The more Steve thought about it, the more Morana’s idea that people would just forget seemed so impossible. Neil had lost his son, had left his wife, had spent two years doing something else, somewhere else. How do you write that all off as a bad dream? Maybe the people with lower stakes, with less to lose, would let go — but Wayne Munson? Neil Hargrove? The Hollands? How could they believe their own memories were lies? That their brains could be so cruel?

“I wonder,” Steve said, treading very softly, “if there’s something in your house that might make you remember.” Her expression was unreadable. A twisting, unpleasant pucker of her mouth, brows furrowed. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I honestly feel pretty certain that he’ll show back up, one way or another. I’m not sure knowing exactly where he is would even be particularly helpful.”

“But it might be,” Max said. “Or, at least, it might help me remember how he . . . is, in this timeline.”

If he’s totally batshit insane and violent went unsaid between them. She sighed, heavily this time, and then pulled herself up. “Alright, then, let’s go.”

“You sure?” Steve asked. He expected the eye roll from her — Max was always acting like she hated that they cared, hated that they checked in, but that was never going to stop him from doing it. She just turned on her heel and headed in, and he followed her. Her mom did not appear to be home. He decided it was better not to ask.

She paused outside of a room, the door pulled shut. “This is Billy’s room. I looked through my stuff yesterday, for show and tell, and nothing triggered. If something’s here, it’s in there.” She kicked the door, lightly. “He never liked me being in his room.”

Steve reached over and opened the door. “Well I’m sure he’d hate me being in his room even more, if it helps.”

She scoffed, and then pitched her voice low in a terrible approximation of Billy. “Am I dreaming or is that Steve Harrington getting his cooties all over my extremely terrible tape collection?”

He gasped, mock-offended. “I do not have cooties, I’ll have you know Mayfield.”

Max eyes were glinting with significantly more humor than they had been a second ago. “I’m not the one saying you do, man,” she drawled. Then she steeled her shoulders just a bit — so minute only Steve would notice, really — and strolled into the room. He followed behind.

It was, really, a shockingly boring room.

Steve knew he wasn’t one to judge considering the state of his room, but still — he thought it’d have more personality. Although the closer he looked, the more he realized that room was simply missing things. The walls were bare, but there were marks that indicated posters had hung on them, once. The aforementioned tape collection had clearly been raided, the leftovers laying lazily on a pile on the ground. The drawers of his dresser looked ransacked — half of them cracked open, some clothes left behind hanging half out. Steve let out a thoughtful sound. “Looks like he left in a hurry.”

Max was frowning. “It was — they had a fight,” she said, slowly, haltingly. Steve raised an eyebrow at her. “His dad and him, it was — loud.” Her eyes had gone glassy with the look Steve associated with double vision — she was remembering. “I don’t know what it was about, not really, just — suddenly they were screaming, and then Billy was storming up the stairs shouting that he was going, that we’d never see him again.” She shuddered, blinked, eyes snapping back to the present. “Back to California, he said, but—" She bit off a groan, slumping in on herself a little bit. “Who knows if that’s really where he went. He got in his car and drove off.” She met Steve’s eye, finally. “That was just before last Christmas. The tree was half decorated and we never finished it.”

And then it was Steve’s turn, a sudden rush of memory — Max had shown up at his house, late on Christmas day, 1986. Robin and Eddie were there, too. Steve had gone to the Henderson’s for dinner (his parents were in Montreal, had called and said they needed to be in Canada for a few weeks for his dad’s work, and they were sorry but they’d wire some cash, which then they hadn’t even done). Robin had been with her parents, and Eddie had been with Wayne, but the three of them had met up afterwards, had opened some beers and sat and watched It’s a Wonderful Life, which Robin insisted was a classic, Eddie found boring as fuck, and Steve found shockingly bleak, for a holiday movie. Right when Jimmy Stewart was contemplating throwing himself off the bridge the doorbell had rung, and Steve had opened it to find Max, small and shivering in way too thin of a coat.

She hadn’t told him what was wrong, just came in and plopped between him and Robin on the couch and watched the movie. Steve had made her hot chocolate and Eddie had absolutely snuck her a sip of his beer while swearing to Steve he hadn’t and they finished the movie. They stayed up a few hours past, Robin defending the movie and the rest of them mocking her, and when none of them could ignore their yawns anymore he’d bundled Max into the guest room with Robin, and Eddie had gone to crash on his bed with him.

The next morning he’d made them all pancakes before driving Max back home and she said, hands around a cup of coffee she wasn’t really drinking, “Billy left.”

Good riddance, Steve had thought. “I’m sorry,” he’d said.

And she’d just said “it’s probably for the best.”

“You can stay here any time you need to. No questions asked,” he’d offered, and she’d smiled warmly at him, and that had been that.

He blinked back to the present. Max moved to hug him, clearly having traveled down the same memory path. He hugged her back.

“My letter,” she said, and Steve tried not to flinch in an obvious matter. She must have felt it though, because she pulled back to scowl at him. “Don’t do that thing, where you beat yourself up because you couldn’t predict every single thing that would happen to us in time to prevent it,” she snapped. “I meant it, you know. When you died, I—" she paused and swallowed. “It was different, then when Billy died, obviously. But . . . I think maybe it was worse.” Her voice had gotten small, wracked with guilt. “Is that awful? That I was sadder about you than him?”

He squeezed her shoulders, tried to look reassuring. “It doesn’t have to be a competition. You just feel how you feel.”

She nodded. “Well, it felt fucking awful.”

He bit off the apology that bubbled up reflexively. He was learning, alright? “I know,” he said, instead. “Glad it didn’t stick.”

“Me too,” she muttered, and then pulled away. “Let’s get out of here, this room still gives me the creeps.” She beat a hasty retreat, and then turned and entered her own room. This one was much happier — Steve couldn’t help but grin at her skateboard, tucked in the corner. He walked over to peer at the photos she’d stuck over the wall, ones she hadn’t taken in the other day. Most notably there was her and Lucas in the Snow Ball photobooth, smiling shyly at each other.

He cut her a look. “What’s up with you and Sinclair these days, anyways?”

She groaned audibly, flopping onto her bed. “In which timeline?”

“Fair enough,” he said, around a laugh.

She sat up to glower at him. “You’re in no position to make fun of my love life, you know.”

“How do you know?” he shot back. “Maybe in this timeline I still have game.”

“You definitely don’t, you—“ she said, and then stopped herself, eyes sliding a bit into double vision and snapping back quickly.

Steve frowned at her. “What was that?”

“I dunno,” she said, face furrowed in confusion. “It’s like I almost remembered something, and then it went away. Something I wanted to make fun of you for.”

He scoffed. “Well I guess I’m glad you didn’t remember it, then.”

“You and Eddie are close, in this timeline,” she said.

Which — What? “How is that related to anything?” he demanded. They were talking about his love life, not Eddie Munson.

Something slipped into Steve’s head, then. Or, a series of somethings, not quite a full memory, flashes of several memories. Eddie leaning over the Family Video counter, grinning, all teeth, saying “hot date tonight, Harrington?” while Steve rolled his eyes. The two of them, passing a cigarette back and forth by Steve’s pool, Steve saying “come on, there’s no girls you’ve got your eye on?” while Eddie hummed, noncommittally. Eddie’s voice, tinny through the phone on the other line while Steve stood in the kitchen, asking “King Steve doesn’t have anything better to do on Friday night besides hang out with me?” and Steve, strangely fond, saying back “not really, dude, no.”

A small pressure in the back of his head. A thought he never finished, or he never let himself finish.

He didn’t finish it now. Max was looking at him thoughtfully, then clearly decided to cut him a break. “I don’t know,” she admitted, shrugging. “Must not have been an important thought.” She slipped off the bed and tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, idiot, take me for ice cream. And then we can throw rocks in the quarry, or, like, whatever normal people who live in boring towns do during their summers when they’re not fighting monsters.”

The unfinished thought left Steve’s head entirely, slipping away, as something like relief at the subject change flooded through him. “Okay, but I’m not paying for more than one scoop,” he said.

Max grinned like she knew he was lying.

Notes:

robin & steve and max & steve are so important to me, i'm sorry. i know this is a steddie fic but it's also an Everyone fic.

chapter title from new faith by true order.

Chapter 10: i'll take a quiet life

Summary:

Bad news, then good news, then bad news again.

Three big things happened on Sunday.

The first one, Steve missed — the first time in perhaps the entire course of his adult life he wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time. He heard about it later in the day from Chrissy Cunningham, curled into herself on his couch and speaking through sobs as Steve laid a gentle, reassuring hand on her back and Eddie paced around the kitchen chewing on his nails. She’d shown up in a panic, knocking frantically on Steve’s door just after noon or so. How she knew which apartment was his was a mystery. She also seemed unfazed that Eddie was there, and in fact relaxed minutely when she saw him, shoulders slumping in something like relief. (Which, in turn, made Steve’s shoulders rise up a bit. He forced them down and ignored the truly insane part of his brain that was annoyed that Chrissy was so glad to see Eddie.)

“Something happened,” she’d said, breath hitching in panic, and Steve had gently taken her by the arms and forced her to sit before she passed out.

The thing was: Jason Carver came back.

According to Chrissy, it went like this:

She’d had a normal morning, for the most part, at the apartment complex. On Saturday she’d gone to hang out with some friends from cheerleading to see if they triggered any memories, but the entire thing had felt strange and stilted because none of them knew how to talk to her. At one point her friend Jenny burst into uncontrollable sobs, and Chrissy had just felt guilty for getting everyone into such a state. Then she’d gotten back to a voicemail from her mother, who’d somehow gotten her number at the complex (Steve figured the receptionist at the front desk probably didn’t know any better, really).

Chrissy had skipped the details of the phone call, but Steve could tell from the way her lips curved into a frown, the way her eyebrows dipped together, that it wasn’t a pleasant one. He was familiar enough with unpleasant phone calls from parents.

Anyway, Chrissy’s mom had wanted her to go home on Sunday — like, permanently home, away from the apartments. And Chrissy had gone, but mostly to explain she couldn’t leave, and also to see if anything in her room made her remember anything because nothing else had, yet.

And then, around eleven, a car had sped so forcefully into her driveway it’d smacked right into her Dad’s car, and Jason had clambered out, eyes wide and wild and hair askew, screaming “Chrissy!” at the top of his lungs. She’d raced out to meet him, expecting—

“Well,” she said, soft. “I guess I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Steve didn’t really know Jason Carver — they’d crossed over for a single year in basketball, but it had been 1983-84, which wasn’t really Steve’s best year, all told. First he’d been distracted by Nancy, and then he’d been distracted by the world ending. He’d only managed the first few months of basketball his Senior year before he gave up after the whole demodog/crushing heartbreak mess. There’d apparently been a bit of a power vacuum when he’d dropped it, and like Billy Hargrove had filled the throne, Jason swept in as the rightful heir to the team. Which made sense —when Steve had gone to games after giving it up he acknowledged that Jason was a better player than he’d ever been. Steve had only done basketball at his father’s insistence (Hawkins didn’t have a football team, so basketball was the main sport, and his father thought it’d build character and reputation to be on the team). It wasn’t something he loved doing, the way swimming had been or was still, maybe, in this timeline — Steve wondered if he could manage a lap in the pool without a panic attack. He hadn’t tried swimming since Lover’s Lake, since the vine around his ankle pulling him down, down, down.

All to say: Steve wasn’t really sure what Jason was like. He always seemed normal enough — maybe a bit self-centered, but what ultra-popular high school senior wasn’t? (Steve was very much the pot to Jason’s kettle, here.) By the time Steve really had to deal with him beyond empty pleasantries he’d gone full tilt off the rails with — grief? Rage? Hatred? Whatever had driven him, at the end.

“I guess,” Chrissy said, after a pause, “I thought he’d be happy to see me? But he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all.”

It was a bit unclear what Jason had done on Thursday and Friday, but sometime on Saturday he must have realized this entire thing wasn’t a weird, fucked up dream and gotten in his car to make the ten hour drive from Duke University in Durham back to Hawkins, where he’d ended up on Chrissy’s lawn. Chrissy said he was nearly incomprehensible at first, so enraged and loud that the neighbors came out to look at him.

Eventually he managed a sentence that made sense. Unfortunately, the sentence was “you’re some sort of — demon whore, wearing her fucking skin.”

Steve winced, and Eddie groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

It turned out Jason had not chalked the whole “died and woken back up” thing to a weird dream or a bad trip. He had, as Steve had anticipated, figured it was part of Eddie’s Grand Satanic Plan. He must have found something in his dorm room that indicated Chrissy was still alive, and needed to see it for himself — but upon seeing her, he couldn’t comprehend her as real, and had, instead, assumed she was in on it. Had been murdered and corrupted by Eddie and brought back as, again — a demon whore.

It was almost funny, except for all the ways it wasn’t.

One of Chrissy’s neighbors had called the cops at the start of Jason’s tirade, and Hopper had peeled into the street within a few minutes. Morana had followed shortly after, in a black car, accompanied by a man who, based on Chrissy’s description, was probably Owens. Morana and Owens had apparently tried to talk Jason down while Hopper stewed menacingly in the background (Steve figured Jason had lost any goodwill Hop might have had towards him the minute he and his goons laid hands on the Sinclair kids). But the conversation had ultimately gone nowhere and, eventually, Owens had just jabbed Jason with some sort of needle that made him pass out and laid him in the back of the car.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie said, half a whine.

Steve was frowning. “Did Morana say where they were going? Where they were taking him?”

Chrissy shook her head, tears still wet on her cheeks. “She looked — I don’t know, a bit sad? But she didn’t tell me anything. And then Chief Hopper had to tell all my neighbors to go back inside and I told my mom I had to go.” She turned to look at Steve, and then Eddie, a miserable expression on her face. “I’m sorry that I’m laying it all on you two, I just — I didn’t know who else to go to.”

“We’re sort of the experts,” Steve allowed.

Eddie snorted a bit mockingly. “Speak for yourself, Harrington. I only ever did this one time, and it didn’t exactly end well for me.” Chrissy twisted her whole body to look at him, and whatever expression she was making made him deflate, a little. “I’m sorry, that was — I’m sorry.” He went back to gnawing on this thumbnail. Steve wasn’t totally sure which one of them the apology was meant for.

Chrissy turned to meet Steve’s eye again. “You’re — you seem like you’ve gotten Morana to be more honest with you, maybe, than she is with the rest of us?” Her voice raised at the end, half a question. “Maybe you could . . . maybe you could get her to tell you, where Jason is. What they’re doing with him.”

He frowned at her. “Do you want to see him?”

She shook her head. Her hair was down, which had hit Steve as odd, when she first showed up. He’d always only ever seen her in a ponytail. The photo they ran in the papers was always her in her cheerleading uniform. At the big town vigil they held after the murders and the “earthquake” Robin had looked at that photo of Chrissy, clad in bright green and waving pom poms, and said with a sigh “the best thing a girl can be is a beautiful little fool, and the second best thing is a cheerleader,” which was a statement that had gone entirely over Steve’s head.

“I mean, I do, eventually, but not while he’s like this,” Chrissy was saying. Her eyes filled with tears again. “Morana warned me, and you — you said the other night that he was scary, but I didn’t realize how bad he’d gotten.”

Steve had less than no desire to defend Jason Carver, so he said nothing — it was Eddie, oddly enough, who chimed in, voice rough and strange. “Grief can drive you insane, if you let it.”

He met Steve’s eye. Steve thought about Eddie, living with his uncle, about the half-joked truth hotwiring the RV regarding his dad. He’d heard those rumors, back in school — dad in jail, criminal deadbeat, no parents. (How similar to the stories about Steve, and yet how totally different.) And then — not a full double vision, but a flash of one, a snippet of a conversation, Eddie laying next to Steve, on top of the covers in Steve’s bed, saying quietly, “my mom died when I was pretty young.” No context, just one part of a bigger conversation sliding back into his head. All Steve remembered was the sentence, and how it’d made him feel — awful, carved open, like he wanted to turn and hug Eddie but he couldn’t, wouldn’t, because that would be—

“If Morana can calm him down a little,” Chrissy said, and Steve let her drag him away from the thought, “then maybe I’d meet with him? Maybe I can make it make more sense?”

He thought about it. “You don’t think it might make it worse, that you and Eddie are—" he stopped himself. That they were what? A small, angry little voice in his head suggested flirting, but that wasn’t totally accurate. And even if it was, what right did he have to feel so annoyed at it for being true? “Friends,” he settled on, eventually. Eddie raised an eyebrow, expression clearly portraying is that what we are? and Steve shot him a little helpless shrug he hoped Chrissy didn’t notice.

“He doesn’t have to know that,” Chrissy said, sounding a bit sullen. “And maybe if he can hear me, he can hear it’s really me, and that I’m fine, and not—” She cut herself off and looked at Steve, pleading, nervous. “I mean, the government — do you think they’re doing something awful to him?”


Truly, Steve had no idea. Probably Morana was trying to talk him into rational thought, but Steve was beginning to doubt it was something she was capable of. Would there come a point when the government wrote off Jason as a lost cause? And if so, then what? They couldn’t free him, frothing and angry, back out into the world. Couldn’t let him rant about things that were never supposed to have happened in this timeline. Would they kill him? Or just lock him up in some asylum, let him bang his head against the padded walls?

Steve caught Eddie’s eye again. Eddie looked truly and totally miserable. “I don’t know what the government’s plan is,” Steve said. “But I can go to Hopper and I can see what he knows. Get his advice on next steps.” It was the best he could offer, and it was nothing at all, but Chrissy looked so grateful it made him feel a bit sick.

Which was how he wound up in his beemer, on the way to the police station, that afternoon. Eddie had taken his van from the trailer park when he returned on Saturday, but they’d wordlessly gone into Steve’s car instead, Eddie camped in shotgun, gnawing on his thumbnail again. Steve wondered if this would be a recurring thing, now, these weird little drives with Eddie. He’d dashed off a call to Robin to once again postpone their return to the Harrington House before they left, but she’d understood — the world wasn’t exactly ending, anymore, but pressing issues remained. Memory lane could wait.

It was when they got to police station that the second thing happened.

Steve had gotten out of the car and was heading towards the station doors, Eddie hovering a few paces behind, nervous-looking — a part of Steve wondered if Eddie, who’d only been with a handful of them a week before his death, wasn’t immediately comfortable with the members of their group he didn’t know (Will Byers now, notably, excluded). It was probably something they should talk about, at some point, added to the endless list of things they should talk about, that Steve should be handling — making sure everyone was adjusting and touching base with everyone he’d died on, making sure Eddie knew that he was part of the group, permanently, and, and, and—

And, right now, he needed to talk to Hopper about Jason Carver, and possibly also Dr. Brenner, which he’d forgotten to do yesterday because he and Max actually had gone to skip rocks in the quarry and he’d let himself get distracted. Baby steps. One day at a time.

He’d been about to open the police station door when, instead, Hopper barreled out and directly into him. Steve staggered back. “Harrington,” Hop said, clasping him by the shoulders. “I have a feeling I know what you’re here for, but — no time, not now.”

“What’s going on?” Steve had asked, but his question was answered by the sound of another car screeching into the parking lot. He turned around to see what it was and—

It was a Surfer Boy Pizza van.

Argyle stepped out, eyes wide and panicked until they hit Steve and Hopper — Hopper had yet to let go of Steve, actually, and it meant the both of them were bent weirdly to face Argyle a few feet away. “Chief. Harrington,” Argyle said, “holy shit brocacho, it worked.”

“Holy shit,” Steve echoed, pulling away from Hop to face the other man. He made eye contact with Argyle — Argyle who was here, who made a 32 hour drive in three days. “Jonathan’s gonna lose his mind.”

“I had, like, less than no idea how to reach any of you guys,” Argyle said. “It’s possible I broke many, many traffic laws getting here.” He nodded solemnly at Hopper. “My apologies, mister officer sir.”

Steve was laughing, and then he pivoted to look at Hopper, who was shaking his head. “Boys,” the Chief said, “we got a lot to talk about. But let’s do it at Joyce’s, maybe? I already called to let her know — the government was smart enough to give me a ring when Argyle breached the town perimeter, even if they weren’t smart enough to mention many, many other things.” The look he gave Steve was significant, and Steve took it to mean that Hopper hadn’t known Jason wasn’t in town until this morning.

Eddie made a strange, barking little laugh. “Reunion part two.”

The noise attracted Argyle’s attention, who turned to him for the first time. “What’s up my man?” he offered. “You have a righteous look about you. Very hardcore.”

And — right! Right. They didn’t know each other. They’d never met. “Argyle is Jonathan’s friend from California,” Steve said back at Eddie. And then, to Argyle, “this is Eddie, he’s—"

“Your friend who died, right,” Argyle said. He directed the next bit at Eddie. “When I first met young Harrington here, your gang was awful upset about your untimely demise.”

“Oh,” Eddie said. He gave Steve a scrutinizing look. “Well, uh. I’m not dead anymore, so.” And then he grinned. “Nice to know I was missed, though.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head.”

Hopper clapped his hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road, yeah?”

Back in the car Eddie had about nine hundred questions for Steve, who tried to answer as best as he could. It was surprising, a little — Steve had met Argyle the same week he’d gotten to know Eddie, and a part of his brain had merged those events together. But the California group had returned after Eddie’s death — Steve remembered the broken expression Mike had carried around for a month after Dustin had told him that not only had Eddie gotten roped into everything, he’d also gotten killed. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the kid so upset.

(Except, of course, maybe Mike was that upset when he found Steve’s body, mauled to death in the Upside Down. Another stop on the apology tour?)

When they got the Byers house, Jonathan was already outside, pacing the porch. He looked a bit like someone nervous for their prom date to show up. “I feel like it’s weird that I’m here,” Eddie said from the passenger seat. “I literally do not know this guy at all and it looks like Byers might fully kiss him on the mouth when he shows up. Am I intruding? Stevie, you’d tell me if I was intruding, right? Because I can stay in the car. Do you need me to stay in the car?”

“Eddie,” Steve said, half around a laugh. “You’re not intruding, I promise.” As if to confirm that, Nancy’s car pulled into the driveway half a second behind them, Nancy, Robin, Mike, and El all clambering out, while Dustin, Lucas, and Max arrived on bikes (Max perched on Lucas’ handlebars which, yes, Steve was absolutely going to make fun of her for later.) Steve moved to exit and Eddie, with a bit of reluctance, went as well.

“Man,” Eddie said. “I’m not trying to be mean, or anything, but. You people love reunions.”

“Side effect of the world almost ending,” Nancy said, easily. “You only feel good when you can see everyone together in a room.”

And then Argyle and Hopper arrived.

It was calamity almost immediately. Jonathan did not kiss Argyle on the mouth, but the hug they clasped each other in was so tender that Steve did actually look away from it, feeling a bit like a creep for witnessing it. (Eddie caught his eye and waggled his eyebrows, and Steve’s stomach did a strange little swoop when the other man laughed that he couldn’t quite catalog.)

After a moment they were all pulled inside by Joyce, who sat Argyle down on the couch while everyone else hovered around and spoke loudly over each other with mostly useless information about the not much at all that had happened over the past handful of days. Finally, when there was a moment of quiet, Argyle spoke. “So it sounds like we saved the world and everything is basically chill, right? No bad side effects?”

Steve winced, which Nancy and Robin both caught, sending him twin little frowns. “Well,” Hopper said, stepping in for him. “It’s possible there’s a few side effects.”

“Billy’s not here,” Max cut in. “He’s . . . he wasn’t here when we merged the timelines and no one knows where he is.”

“And Jason Carver wasn’t here, but he came back today—" Hopper started.

“And thinks that I turned Chrissy into a devil worshipping whore-monster wearing cheerleader skin,” Eddie finished, tone cheerful but clearly edging on panic. Panic enough that Hopper just scowled at the language instead of snapping at him about it, which was a kindness, really.

There was a moment of silence. Lucas broke it with a single, emphatic, “shit.”

“Shit indeed,” Robin added. Then, “so . . . should we order pizza?”

Which devolved into a fight about what to put on it, naturally. Steve used the momentary distraction to, briefly, pull Hopper into the kitchen.

“Did Morana or Owens tell you about Brenner?” he asked. No sense beating around the bush.

Hop sighed, leaning heavily against the counter. “Yeah, after I berated them when Jason showed up. They don’t have the slightest idea what happened. Lab still exists — they went to check, for one, but also Morana woke up here and not in some other place, so that was a given.”

“Wait,” Steve cut in, “she worked for Hawkins Lab? She knew Brenner? She knew El?”

Hopper shrugged. “The lab, apparently, was more than just the child mind experiments, even in the old timeline. Brenner was given a long leash and no one to check up on him — she says she didn’t even know about what was really going on until it all blew up. Not sure I buy it, but she told me her research always involved,” and here he scowled, like this was dumb to say, “theoretical quantum physics with a major focus on quantum immortality.” He paused. “Which, by the way, she says she’s essentially proved, if that matters.”

“I have no idea what any of that means,” Steve admitted.

“Me either, kid, me either.” Hop dragged a hand across his face. He looked exhausted, but still less exhausted than he ever had in the last timeline. It was something Steve was noticing, more, in the photos and in the mirror — everyone’s eyes less sunken in and bruised, everyone’s faces a little younger. “Owens assured me they’re looking hard, but they think — Brenner’s not at the lab, and he’s not in any government records they can find, so it’s not like there’s a lab somewhere else with kids in it. Owens thinks he just never got the sign off on this project. Went and did science somewhere else.”

“No psychic kids,” Steve said.

As if summoned by the idea of people having an adult conversation without her, Nancy stepped into the room, arms crossed. She’d clearly been hovering outside listening for a while. “Okay, but — I mean, Henry Creel still had to have been born, right? We couldn’t have changed things that much, everything's too similar. If we'd picked a world where he was never born wouldn't more be different?” She shook her head, frowning vaguely in front of her. “He was . . . it wasn’t Brenner, who made him angry like that. That was something in him. Brenner just made it worse.”

“Worse was pretty bad,” Steve pointed out.

“But he murdered his whole family before he ever met Brenner,” Nancy said. “If he was still born here — still psychic, still angry — then he’s still a risk.” She let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t even think to drive by the Creel house — that would tell us so much.”

Hopper’s face was hard to read — a mix between looking impressed at Nancy and depressed by the situation. “El said she was looking for a world with no One. But if his powers are weaker, like hers are, she might not have noticed him.”

“And the lack of the Upside Down might have been different enough for her to assume he wasn’t born here,” Nancy added.


“Wait—" Steve, as always, last to the table, last to get it. “So, what, you think . . . Henry’s still here, in this world? Still murdered his dad, still got scary powers, still crazy as all get out?”

“He might be,” Nancy said, grim. Her face was set — a look Steve had always, privately, thought of her Upside Down Face. Nancy Wheeler, saver of worlds, slayer of demons.

Hopper stood up straight, away from the counter, and leveled a look at her. “If he is,” he said, very slow, like approaching a bear or a feral dog, “then . . . then I don’t think it’s our problem, Wheeler.”

She blinked up at him, pure shock across her face. “What? What do you mean it’s — it’s always our problem, we have to—"

“It’s our problem because of proximity,” Hopper said. “It’s our problem because he was here, and he caused his problems here, and it got Will Byers and the rest of us all wrapped up in it. No matter what, he’s not here now — you don’t think the Creel house was the first place the government went?”

Nancy was glaring at him, anger coloring her cheeks. An upgrade to her Upside Down Face — her Righteous Fury face. Steve had seen it many times, had been on the end of it more than once.

(Bullshit, a small voice in his head said. He ignored it. He also thought, a bit randomly, that he’d never describe this color on her face as lovely, and then couldn’t figure out where that thought even came from. Ignored the small pressure, on the back of his skull, that wanted to think about it more.)

“We can’t just ignore it,” Nancy was saying, voice pitched to a hiss — Steve guessed it was so the kids couldn’t hear, but it didn’t matter because he could hear from the living room that Robin had turned on the TV and Dustin, Mike, and Lucas were arguing hotly about what VHS to put on. “It’s our jobs,” she finished.

Hopper shrugged. “My job is police chief of Hawkins. Harrington works at Family Video. Your job is—" he paused. “I actually have no idea, honestly, but it’s not monster hunting. That’s something we did because we had to. What’s your plan? Pack up vans full of high schoolers and drive them to where Henry ended up to confront him?”

“He’s a danger,” Nancy shot back.


“He’s the government’s problem,” Hopper said. It was a very final tone of voice — a very I am someone’s father and you should listen to me tone of voice. “Even if he was here, they don’t want us meddling. They basically told me as much today. We’re only as involved as we are because they know they can’t lie to us, and because we saved the world in the first place.” He turned to Steve here, too, like Steve had been part of this argument at all. “There are things that might become our problems — Brenner. Billy. Jason Carver. We deal with those when they come up. But we don’t go chasing ghosts and monsters, not anymore. We don’t go putting those kids in danger again. My daughter, your brother, Will Byers — they have seen and done enough. Harrington and Munson died for this once already, okay? I am not throwing any of you into another war. I’m just not.”

That seemed to silence Nancy a bit. She cast her eyes to Steve, a strange, apologetic look. “That’s . . . I’m not saying. That’s not what I meant, I don’t want anyone to get . . . hurt, again, I just . . .” and then she trailed off.

Truthfully, Steve was a little glad for Hopper’s point of view here. Most of the last few days had been feelings of relief, and there was a part of Steve that was — what? Scared, maybe. Scared to have it fall apart. Scared that the peace was only temporary, and that he’d have to be a hero again. Because the truth was that Steve never had been a hero, not really. Dustin was right. He lost every fight he got into. He was scrappy, and he put himself in front of the kids, but the story needed a real hero, and at the end of the day he was just a shithead kid with a baseball bat trying to make up for the things he caused — the girl he got killed — and hoping it was enough. It wasn’t surprising, to him, when he got killed. It was always how it was going to end.

He was ready to not be in the line of fire anymore. He was ready to sleep a full night without nightmares. He was ready for his life to be actual babysitting, and shitty, boring shifts at his job, and going to the drive-in with Eddie and Robin. Safe, and calm, and maybe, honestly, a bit boring. And sure, there were parts of that future that were still a bit terrifying — he'd still have to come up with plans, with dreams, with something to do next. But he'd take the fear of that future over the fear of monsters any day of the week.

But that had always been Steve. He was never a big dreamer. The best he’d ever come up with was big family. Nancy was more ambitious, less fearful, more willing to embrace the big open world, even with all its darkness. It was stupid, he realized, that he’d ever thought she’d settle for a Winnebago and a family with him. This town couldn’t hold her. Nothing could.

And maybe, he thought, just maybe she was feeling a little sad about it. For four years Nancy had become larger than life, bigger than the regular, boring world. And maybe while everyone else was glad to be out of the war, glad for normalcy, Nancy was missing the timeline where she changed things. Where she mattered.

Not that she didn’t matter here, just — Steve knew how she thought. Knew how frustrating it’d been to get sidelined by sexism at the Hawkins Post, knew how she chafed at her mother’s expectations of housewifedom and motherhood. For four years, none of them had really had real world problems, and now that they were facing them, it made some sense. Steve found a life where his biggest concerns were his paycheck and if he disappointed his father reassuring. Nancy might have found it unbearable.

He opened his mouth to say something — he wasn’t sure what, especially not with Hopper there — when the third thing happened.

The third thing was Robin’s voice, panicked and high-pitched, shrieking ”guys?” in the type of tone that had Steve moving immediately, his feet going before his brain could even register it. Nancy and Hopper were close behind.

Everyone was staring at the TV. Robin had turned on the five o’clock news.

“Thanks for tuning in,” the anchor was saying, “and more on our top story tonight, just outside Indianapolis, where a top newspaper editor has been charged with attempted murder.” The image onscreen cut from the anchor to helicopter footage of a house that, really, could have been anywhere in Indiana. “Police have arrested Tom Holloway, an editor at the Indianapolis News, and his wife, Janet, for the crime, which appears to have been an attempted exorcism against their college-aged daughter gone horribly wrong. Neighbors called the police after hearing disturbing noises from the house, located in the suburb of Fishers. Upon entering, the police found Heather, age 20, bound and tied to a bed, severely dehydrated. Both Holloway’s told police they believed their daughter had been possessed by a devil. The FBI has arrived to assist the investigation; Heather Holloway remains in life-threatening condition.”

Eddie was cutting a look around everyone. “She was — she was one of the people who died because of the Upside Down, right?”

“Christ,” Robin said. “Heather.”

“She was one of the flayed,” Nancy whispered. “Her dad too, he was my boss, at the Post, and he—“ and then she couldn’t continue, pressed a shaking hand to her mouth instead.

“Billy too,” Max added. “That was the monster that got them. It took over their minds. Made them . . .” and then she, too, trailed off. Finished with “the fire was a cover up, for what that thing did the mall.”

“Fuck,” Eddie added, succinctly, and then silence fell again.

Joyce strode forward and clicked the TV off. “Well that’s enough of that,” she said, in a low but firm voice. She turned and made eye contact with each of them, one at a time. “This isn’t — we couldn’t have stopped this.”

“He was a newspaper editor,” Steve said, dumbly. “Fishers is, what — an hour from here? At most? And the government couldn’t find them?”

Joyce sighed, heavily. “We can’t control what they do. They’re going to prioritize what they want.”

“We can control what we do,” Nancy said, jaw clenched.

“We can,” Hopper agreed. He was looking at her, straight on and heavy. “We can.”

There was a moment where the two of them glared at each other, tension thick and terrible.

The doorbell rang.

“Oh,” Robin said, voice cracking a little. “I guess that’s the pizza.”

Joyce clapped her hands together, shot Hopper a meaningful look. “Did we decide on a movie, kids?” It was the end of the conversation, for now, although Steve knew better than to think it was the end long-term. Not by a long shot.

The kids had decided on, of all things, The Thing, which Steve had never seen (to Eddie and Dustin’s loud disappointment — “you never forced it on him, Henderson?” Eddie had whined). But that movie was apparently dark enough that it made everyone reconsider. After a moment of debate while Joyce laid out paper plates and everyone loaded up on pizza, Will suggested Labyrinth, which had come out after Eddie died.

“You’re telling me I missed a David Bowie Muppet movie?” Eddie half shrieked. “Death is so uncool for that, holy shit.”

“Finally,” Max deadpanned, “a second chance that matters.”

“I thought you said Bowie wasn’t real music,” Robin said, leveling a glare at Eddie.

Eddie stuck his chin up at her. “He’s not, Buckley, but I can appreciate that the idea of the man being in a movie with Muppets is, objectively, awesome.”

Steve was frowning at the back of the VHS box. “I don’t see how it’s a Muppet movie if Kermit’s not in it.”

“Jesus, Steve, you are so uncultured,” Dustin said, snatching the box out of his hands. In retaliation, Steve leaned forward and snagged a sausage off one of his slices while the kid screeched in response.

Eddie was cackling from the position he was in on the floor in front of the couch. There was still room on the couch itself, just behind him, but Steve found himself drawn to a spot next to the other man, just close enough that when Steve pulled his legs crossed his knee brushed against Eddie’s thigh. Robin saw this, raised an eyebrow at him, and then shrugged and took the spot on the couch behind him, half-kicking him in the head as he did so. Eddied shifted so his torso was turned more fully towards Steve. “Steve Harrington, are you telling me you’re a secret Muppets fan?”

Steve scoffed. “It’s not a secret dude, Muppets Take Manhattan is a fucking classic.”

Robin groaned behind him as Eddie’s laughter only picked up. “Jesus Christ, Harrington, you continue to surprise me,” he said, and it echoed a bit in Steve’s head. Not a memory, not a double vision, but this — movies with the gang, everyone crowded together and talking. It wasn’t that he was remembering it had happened before. It was that at this moment it felt right. Like this was where they were all supposed to end up. Even Nancy had relaxed, a bit, perched next to Robin.

There was still so much that was terrible. Billy was somewhere out there, and god only knew what the government was doing to Jason Carver, and Heather Holloway was in a hospital in Indianapolis. But right now the kids were laughing as Max flung pepperoni at Mike, and Argyle and Jonathan were coming back in from what was obviously a smoke break, and Hopper had grabbed Joyce around the waist and pulled her onto his lap while she laughed. Right now, Steve could feel Eddie’s thigh, pressed against his knee, real and there.

Everything else could wait for tomorrow.

Notes:

it is simply not a steddie fic if labyrinth doesn't appear at some point, right?

robin's line about a "beautiful little fool" references the line "that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool," from The Great Gatsby, another book steve absolutely skipped reading in high school. i'm unsure if robin actually read it or if she just loved the robert redford movie, but either way she's valid here.

the chapter title is from No Surprises by Radiohead. a song that also features the lyrics "bring down the government." not that that's relevant.

as always, your comments are so lovely and fun to read. i'm glad you're all enjoying reading this as much as i am writing it.

Chapter 11: the beasts under your bed, in your closet, in your head

Summary:

Eddie has a nightmare. Steve has a shockingly good set of coping mechanisms for those.

Notes:

a content warning: this chapter contains discussion of a parent dying from cancer.

And then: Monday.

Steve woke up, and his first thought was It’s been over a week since I died, officially.

His second thought was that it was shockingly warm in his bed, which he remembered, sort of abruptly, was because Eddie was actually in it with him.

Which — right, had been a bit of a thing, even though it wasn’t supposed to be.

Labyrinth had ended (Steve thought it was strangely creepy, for a Muppet movie, and also that it was insane how tight David Bowie’s pants were, if they even were pants. Tights? Who knew, the entire thought process made him blush so hard he was convinced the others could feel it radiating off him. Which was itself, weird — why was he blushing over pants? He wasn’t exactly a prude). Dustin had put in another movie but by halfway through it nearly everyone was nodding off — Steve had been awake but couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the movie was, or even what it was about. Eventually Argyle had yawned loud enough that Jonathan had finally called it, pointed out that the dude had sped across the country for them and deserved some rest, and everyone had split up.

So: back in the car, another weird drive with Eddie, Steve valiantly awake at the wheel while Eddie leaned against the window. And honestly Steve had thought the other man was sleeping, but then Eddie had said “what if Jason does something to Chrissy?”

Steve was proud of his reflexes — a lesser man would have swerved in panic, but he just gripped the wheel a bit tighter. And then he registered what Eddie had said.

“What would Jason do to Chrissy?” he asked, and then realized — right, right. Demon whore. Not exactly comforting words. “The government has him, they’re not going to let him go any time soon. It won’t be like Heather and her parents.”

Eddie made a noise — one of those strange sounds that Steve was starting to think of as Eddie noises. Like the weird snarls he used to hear in the high school hallways, there were also the half-hysterical laugh-sighs, the groans that sounded weirdly fond, the back-of-throat things that Steve couldn’t catalog at all. This one was sort of a mixture of the first one and the second one, a weird vocalization that reminded Steve, strangely, of a cat. “I know that, like, I understand that, I just—" Eddie paused, turning to face Steve. Steve tried to maintain eye contact while also looking at the road, which was probably a bit stupid. “I feel like you’re rubbing off on me, here, Harrington, because I feel like somehow I’m responsible for keeping her safe.”

Steve couldn’t help the laugh that startled out of him. “God forbid you become anything like me,” he said. “Soon you’ll start wearing polo shirts.”

Eddie actually gagged, bending over himself in horror. “Don’t even joke about that Stevie, I swear to God.” He paused again, and shook his head. “It’s weird, right, this blame game thing we’re all doing. I blamed myself for Chrissy dying, but now she’s back and it turns out she feels bad about getting me into trouble with Jason, even though she was, you know, dead and couldn’t exactly control the situation. Barb blames Nancy, Fred blames the government, and you blame yourself for everything because you’re stalwart and noble and pure at heart and one day you’re going to pull the sword from the stone and rule the kingdom through a thousand years of peace, or whatever.”

Eddie said the last bit in a tone like it was an insult, but the words were shockingly kind. Except maybe stalwart, Steve had no idea what that one meant. In context though it all sounded nice. But also, well. “Does the hero die in the end in that story?” Steve asked. He wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a joke or not, but either way neither of them laughed.

There was a pause. Eddie looked at him for a long time — like he was looking for something, something underneath Steve’s skin. “The hero already died, Stevie. Just turned out that wasn’t the end.”

Steve pulled into the parking lot at the complex and put the car into park, but didn’t turn off the engine. Neither he or Eddie moved to get out. He was trying to think of what to say — of how to say it. “It’s grief, right? What we’re all going through. It’s like . . . we’re grieving. You’re not supposed to have to deal with people grieving for you, though, and we do, because we’re not actually dead, anymore.” He undid his seatbelt and turned to face Eddie better. “I think the blame part is normal. It’s something we all have to work on.”

Eddie nodded. He was picking at his nails, gazing out the windshield contemplatively. “You think Morana will give us a straight answer if we ask her what she plans to do about Jason? Or the Holloways?” he said, finally.

And wasn’t that the million dollar question. Steve’s distrust of the government had been built up over years of dealing with them. But Morana had seemed different, at one point, had seemed more open and caring, had seemed like she respected the effort that they’d all put in to saving the world. Was that an act? Or was the detached government agent who lied about Jason and Billy, who covered things up, an act? “Therapy again tomorrow,” he said. “Guess the only way to know is to ask.”

Eddie nodded. Then, finally, he shifted in the seat too, turning to face Steve, a thoughtful look on his face. “Is being your friend always like this?

Steve had no idea what that meant. “Like what? Sitting in my car?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “No, like — forget the year we forgot, right? I’ve known you for a week and a half. I usually don’t . . .” he paused, searching for the word. “It just feels like this went so fast. You went from being a guy I vaguely hated to, like, one of my closest friends in no time at all. I hung out with Gareth and Jeff the other day and it felt . . . different, you know? Not like this.”

Steve shrugged, feeling a bit strange. “It was fast with Robin, too. I always thought it was Upside Down stuff, you know? Trauma bonding, or whatever? But maybe I’m just incredibly cool and awesome and being my friend rules. Hard to say.”

Eddie huffed a laugh and shook his head. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Harrington, but you are not cool. Your best friends are a child, a band geek, and a burnout D&D freak. Long way from Tommy H. and Carol.”

Which — true. But this was better. Always had been better. And, truthfully, Steve had never been close to Tommy and Carol the way he was to Robin or Dustin or even Eddie, now. They’d been his friends, sure, but they’d never asked about him the way those guys did, were never as curious about his life. That felt strange to say, though — sad to admit out loud, maybe — so instead he finally cut the engine and got out of the car. Eddie followed him.

Outside of Steve’s apartment, Eddie paused. Steve turned and raised an eyebrow at him. Eddie looked nervous, shifting his weight restlessly. “Look, I — am I overstaying my welcome, here?”

Steve raised both his eyebrows in surprise. “What? No, man, like I said — I mean, it’s . . . it’s been helping, right? To have someone else around?”

Eddie shrugged and looked down at the floor. “I mean, I don’t really know what it’s like normally, but I guess so far my nightmares have only been marginally horrifying instead of soul-suckingly so.”

“You’re having nightmares?” It was, really, a stupid question — Steve knew it was a stupid question. He’d been having them since the start. But the first few days since his rebirth or whatever had been weirdly fine. It was only the night before that they’d kicked in again. He’d wondered if he was just too tired to be having them, or if there was some sort of weird body-lag with the timeline hopping. If he thought about it too hard his brain hurt.

Eddie shrugged again. “I mean, yeah.” He looked at Steve a little nervously. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I just — you’re so quiet. My first few times I woke up screaming.”

Eddie flushed a little, and shifted his gaze to a point over Steve’s shoulder. “Well I didn’t — I mean, I don’t want to wake you up or anything.”

And, Jesus, what kind of host was Steve? Eddie was in his living room, on the couch, struggling, and Steve hadn’t even noticed. “Shit, man, I’m—"

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to apologize to me about this.” Eddie rolled his eyes and met Steve’s gaze again. “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“No, I know, I—" Steve bit off a sigh. “Look, after Starcourt, Robin came over and crashed in my bed basically every night.” His neck felt warm. Hell, his whole face felt warm. It hadn’t felt this embarrassing to talk about this stuff with Robin, why the hell did it feel so awkward with Eddie?

“Uh,” Eddie said.

“I think it helped,” Steve offered. The main bit — you can sleep in my bed, too — went unsaid.

“Yeah, but you and Robin—" Eddie started, and then cut himself off. “That’s different,” he said, finally.

Steve shot a little smirk the other man’s way. “Thought you said I wasn’t her type.”

“You’re not,” Eddie said, with a sniff, “obviously, but I mean, it’s . . . it’s still different, yeah? You have to admit it’s different.”

Steve thought about the half a memory from earlier. “I . . . think we’ve done it before, actually,” he said, slowly. “Christmas, ’86, you crashed with me when Max came over. And, uh, I remembered, there was another time, we were on my bed when, uh, when you told me your mom died.”

Eddie blinked, shock crossing his face. “I told you that?” He frowned, eyes again finding a spot over Steve’s shoulder. “I don’t remember telling you that.”

“To be fair, I don’t really remember you telling me that either,” Steve said, feeling awkward. “Just, I . . . half remembered it. I’m sorry, if that’s—"

“Steve—"

“Right, right, stop saying sorry,” Steve said. “I swear I’m working on it.” He sighed fully. “Look, I know it’s — this part, it’s a bit weird. The, like, after part.” He thought about it for a beat. “Although, actually, this is probably the weirdest of all after parts I ever had. I mean, the Starcourt fire aftermath was strange, but I didn’t die and come back during that one.” Eddie let out a small snort of laughter, and Steve snapped back to his point. “I guess what I’m saying is . . . anything that helps is worth trying, right?”

Eddie had looked at him for a long moment, expression unreadable

“Yeah,” he said, finally. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Steve.”

So: right. They’d spent the night in the same bed.

Which, one: Steve had done before with Robin about a thousand times, none of which had ever been anything more than platonic with a capital P and which had never been anywhere approaching weird. And two: which he’d apparently done with Eddie before. Both of which clearly meant it shouldn’t have been awkward at all.

And it honestly hadn’t really been awkward. Steve had leant Eddie a shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and they’d gotten under the covers. They hadn’t really talked, just . . . laid there, for a bit. And sure, maybe Steve felt slightly more aware of Eddie’s presence than he ever had been of Robin, but it was easy to chalk that up to the fact that he’d been closer to Robin, by the time they’d started sharing a bed.

(A small, annoying voice in the back of his head pointed out that he hadn’t actually been that much closer to her, really — it’d been a similar situation. A summer of shifts and then a week of hell, and sudden friendship. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d done with Eddie? So why did this feel different?

Steve ignored the voice.)

So, right, maybe it wasn’t awkward exactly, but Steve still felt . . . strange, about it. Not uncomfortable, just a little hyper aware. Of every shift Eddie made, of the way both of them were laying. Steve turned on his side so we wasn’t facing Eddie — wouldn’t looking at him be weird? But then, well, was not looking at him weird? Or rude? His mind flurried with thoughts, and it wasn’t until long after Eddie’s breath had evened out in a soft, gentle snore that Steve could even begin to drift off himself.

In the end he was glad he’d had the idea they share a bed at all, because in the middle of the night Eddie woke up screaming.

Steve was jolted out of sleep immediately, his fight or flight kicking in instinctively. He made half a move to grab for something, anything, before he realized that one — he didn’t have any weapons in this universe, and two — there was nothing to fight. There was just Eddie Munson, thrashing around in bed and whimpering, near tears.

“Shit, Eddie,” Steve snapped, reaching over to shake the other man by the shoulders. Eddie shot up and nearly knocked his head straight into Steve’s. Quick thinking and natural reflexive talent allowed Steve a chance to duck back, but they still ended up close, noses nearly pressed together. Eddie’s eyes were wide and manic, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Steve put his hands on both Eddie’s shoulders, squeezed slightly. “Eddie, it’s okay, you’re awake, it wasn’t real,” Steve started saying, his practiced routine slipping in. Calm, reassuring words. Physical touch for grounding. Remind them that whatever is happening in their head isn’t happening in real life, and that it’s in the past. Or, in this case, that it never happened at all in this timeline.

After a second Eddie’s breath evened out slightly. He searched Steve’s face for a long moment, like he was reassuring himself of where he was, who he was with. It was a look Steve was, unfortunately, very used to. “Steve,” Eddie said, after a beat. It wasn’t a question, it was more like a grounding point — like Eddie was confirming reality.

“You’re in my bedroom, remember?” Steve offered. “In the apartment complex the government forced us to move into?”

“Because we died,” Eddie said. An awful, pained expression crossed his face. “I was — I remembered.” He swallowed audibly. “Dying.”

Right. That made sense. Steve was surprised, honestly, that he wasn’t having more dreams about his own death. But he also thought, all told, his death had been less — what? Traumatizing? Maybe because Steve had been expecting it? Or maybe because it had been calmer, in the end. Eddie had bled out in a fury in Dustin’s arms. He’d had to see Dustin’s face as he died.

Jesus. Steve couldn’t even imagine what that had been like.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s — it didn’t happen, remember?”

Eddie groaned. “It still happened it just, it—" he bit off frustrated sound. “It un-happened.” He dropped his head onto Steve’s shoulder, at the curve of his neck. The position made Steve’s hand placement feel awkward, so he shifted it, placing one hand gently on the nape of Eddie’s neck. There was a moment where Eddie tensed at the touch before he relaxed slightly — probably still jittery from the nightmare, Steve thought.

“Yeah, but it did, uh, unhappen, which is the important part? I think?” Steve sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry, this one is new territory for me. If you want me to assure you that the demogorgan is dead I can totally do that one.”

Eddie huffed a laugh. Steve felt the puff of it on his neck. He resisted the sudden, strange urge he had to grip Eddie tighter. “I still think it’s ridiculous that you named all the monsters after D&D characters,” Eddie said.

Steve rolled his eyes. “You know for a fact that I was not the one who did that. Turns out when you give a bunch of nerds monsters to fight they resort to nerd references. Who woulda thought?”

Eddie sat up to look Steve in the eye. Steve let his hand drop from Eddie’s neck.

(And he did not miss the contact, because that would be weird, right? That was weird. Steve was just sleep deprived.)

“You’re just lucky they were too young to see Alien when you ran into these things. Otherwise you’d have to keep calling everything a xenomorph.”

Steve frowned. “That does sound harder to say. What the hell is a . . . zeeno-whatever?”

Eddie squawked, reeling dramatically back from Steve. “Dude. First The Thing now Alien? How have you never seen these? You work at Family Video!”

“Yeah, okay — you know, you’re starting to sound like Robin here?”

“Good,” Eddie said. “Robin’s right, she’s clearly got taste.” He turned around and began fumbling in the drawer of the bedside table. After a moment of awkwardness he let out a little aha! and turned back, holding a pen and a notebook.

“Okay, why did the government even provide that—"

“Stop asking questions that don’t matter Stevie and start helping me make this list.” Eddie had written on the top of the first page of the journal STEVE’S MOVIE EDUCATION. His handwriting was blocky, all capital letters. Under the header he wrote THE THING and then ALIEN.

“How am I supposed to help you make a list of things I don’t know?” Steve asked.

Eddie considered for a moment, tapping the pen against his chin. “That’s a good point. I’ll have to enlist Buckley. We’re making movie nights a thing, Stevie. If we’re going to be friends you’re going to need to have some taste.”

“Hey! I know some stuff. I’ve listened to a lot of Black Sabbath, you know.”

“Please, you didn’t even know who Ozzy was, when did you . . .” Eddie trailed off, a look of blank shock flitting across his features. Steve felt, suddenly, like he’d said the wrong thing. He was meant to distract here. “When I was dead?”

“Uh,” Steve said.

“Holy shit,” Eddie said. The look of shock was replaced with something else — Eddie’s eyes going wide and his mouth pulling into a grin. He looked delighted, actually. Like Christmas had come early. “You listened to metal? For me?”

Steve could feel the blush rising in his neck and was suddenly glad the lights were still off. Not that it probably mattered – he and Eddie were close enough that Steve could count his freckles, if he wanted to – but it spared him a little dignity. “Yeah, with Henderson,” he admitted. “It was, you know. We were coping.”

Eddie’s grin softened into something a little sweeter, a bit shy. “That’s, like,” he started, and then looked away, down at the list in his hands. “That’s like the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. And I wasn’t even alive to know.”

There was a part of Steve that hated that listening to a cassette was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for Eddie Munson. “Yeah, well,” he said, feeling a bit awkward. “Would have been more fun if you were around to tell me what any of it meant, though. I don’t think any of those guys are singing in English, dude, it’s all like, weird growling.”

Eddie gasped, mock-affronted. “Steve Harrington, how dare you.” He shot another little smile at Steve. “Guess you’ll just have to re-listen to all of them with me anyway, huh?”

“Yeah, guess I will,” Steve agreed. “After movie night.” He flicked the list in Eddie’s hands. “You know, I remembered a bit that we — you and me and Robin, I think we did a movie night in this universe. At least sometimes.”

“Damn,” Eddie said, sighing. “So even in another timeline you still didn’t have taste.”

It was Steve’s turn to make an offended noise, shoving at Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie pinwheeled backwards dramatically, flopping over onto his back on the other half of the bed, cackling the whole way. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Munson,” Steve said, moving to lay down as well. Eddie’s laughter subsided, and they sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, looking at the ceiling.

“My mom,” Eddie said softly, after a second.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Steve said. “I mean, I know you . . . did, before, but you don’t have to now. Things are different, we don’t know each other the same way.”

Eddie was still looking at the ceiling. Steve was looking at Eddie, at the way his hair fell across the pillow and the line of his throat and the curve of his jaw. “I want to tell you,” Eddie said. “I’m not sure why I did, in the last timeline but I — I want you to know, now. I don’t know why I want you to know, but I do, okay?”

Steve couldn’t argue with that.

Eddie took a deep breath, like he was steeling himself. “It was, uh, cancer. I was ten.” He cleared his throat. He still wasn’t looking at Steve. “She was a great mom, you know? She’d make pancakes every Sunday, from scratch. And at Christmas she’d sew these popcorn and cranberry strings and deck them all around the apartment — we used to have this shitty one bedroom in Dayton, but she made it feel like a huge home. It was just filled with stuff, but not, like, useless crap. Like, things that were cool, and interesting, that she found at flea markets or thrift stores. She had a great eye. She had great taste, in general. She’d play records all the time. She loved music. Not, you know, metal or shit — she was way classier. She liked, like, Billie Holiday and Miles Davis. But she got me into appreciating it, you know? She’d put on these records and make pancakes and she’d sing along and dance with me. And it didn’t matter that we didn’t have a lot of money, or that she had to sew patches in my sweaters instead of getting me new ones, because it was us. Me and her. Together, in the face of the world. She always made me feel like I’d be safe, no matter what happened.”

He finally turned and met Steve’s eye. “I think she was sick when I was younger — I don’t really remember. But then it came back. My dad was sort of . . . in and out, in those days. He was always a bit of a deadbeat — career criminal, all petty shit, B&Es and drugs — you know the type. But when she got really sick he stuck around a bit longer.” He paused for a long moment. “You know, cancer, it — it just eats you alive. Wastes you to nothing. At the end she had no energy for anything. She couldn’t even hold a spatula, or stand for a long time, or have a conversation. No more dancing. Then, eventually, no more talking. She’d just sit in a chair and drool while the TV played. After a while it’s just . . . waiting to die.” He stopped talking, eyes slipping away from Steve. He didn’t look like he was about to cry, or anything; in fact, he looked detached from the story entirely, like he’d read it in a magazine instead of having lived it. There was something distressing about the nothingness behind Eddie’s eyes. Steve wanted to see something there, something more Eddie. He shifted a little on the bed, knocked their shoulders together. Eddie blinked, came back to himself a little. He met Steve’s eye again, face serious. Steve kept their arms pressed together, shoulder to elbow, side to side on the bed.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Anyway. She wasn’t sick for that long — a year, maybe. When she died Dad got me. We lived together for a few months — he taught me how to pick a lock, how to hotwire a van, and what to charge for a joint. You know, the important things for a ten year old to know.” Steve laughed, a bit involuntarily, but Eddie smiled like that had been the intention. “Anyway, he got busted for something more serious — I don’t even remember what, really — and I ended up with Wayne, his brother. The woman in the foster home I was in for the week it took the state to find Wayne made me shave my head, and then I was here in Hawkins, all pissed off and hairless and ready to fight. Like a stray cat.” He smiled, a little sadly. “And that’s the origin story of The Freak.”

“She sounds like a great mom,” Steve said, because it was all he knew to say.

Eddie nodded. “I think, a little, when she died, I started . . . I don’t know.” He sighed. “I guess I always sort of figured the clock was running on me, you know? She died young, so it’d make sense that I’d die young, right? My dad was a criminal, so it’d make sense that I’d be a criminal, right? I just sort of . . . accepted it. Like, things were fated. That was one of the last things I thought when I died. That . . . that it wasn’t that sad, that Dustin and you guys shouldn’t be that sad, because it was always going to end like that, for me.”

Steve tried to mask the shock on his face. Eddie frowned at him. “What, too real Stevie?”

“No, that’s — I used to think the same thing,” Steve said. “I mean, you know . . . when I died, I remember thinking that it was. . .”

“Inevitable?” Eddie offered.

“Sure,” Steve said back. “I mean, I guess for me it was less because of a personal tragedy and more, you know—"

“Monster fighting.”

“Right. But I always thought that the story never ended with me getting out of it.”

Eddie sighed. “See, and I remember walking through the Upside Down with you and thinking if only one of us gets out of this, it’s Harrington. You have that whole,” he waved a hand around Steve generally, “golden boy, hero knight thing going on. Real Aragorn shit”

Steve didn’t know who that was, but he thought he got Eddie’s point. “Stalwart,” he said, a smile spreading across his face.

Eddie laughed, high and light. “Yeah, of course, stalwart.” His smile softened. “You seemed much more fit to live to the end than I did, Stevie.”

“Well,” Steve said. “Neither of us did live to the end.” He frowned. “Except, then we did.”

Eddie laughed again. “God, I know I’m a broken record here, but this is still so—"


“Weird, yeah,” Steve said, laughing too. “So weird.” He paused and looked at Eddie for a beat. “I’m glad you were wrong. About not living to the end.”

“I’m glad I was wrong, too,” Eddie said.

For a long moment, the two of them just looked at each other. Finally, Eddie cleared his throat. “Thanks. For, uh. Helping with the—" he waved one of his hands around. “Nightmare stuff.”

“Yeah, man, anytime,” Steve said back. “You’re one of us. This comes with the territory.”

Eddie gave him a considering little look. “Good to know, Stevie,” he said, very soft. “Good to know.”

And then silence fell again, and eventually, without realizing it, Steve drifted off to sleep.

So: yeah. The bed was warm because Eddie was in it, and being in it had seemed to help, at least a little.

And if, upon waking, Steve spent perhaps a bit longer than normal looking at Eddie — making sure he was there, and real, and solid — then there was no one around to judge, was there?

Notes:

a fun fact about this chapter: the word "weird" appears 18 times. shit's weird, man!

chapter title is from Enter Sandman, by Metallica.

Chapter 12: i haven't lost hope (i'm just realistic)

Summary:

"I made a hard call.” She paused. “Didn’t you ever have to make one? When you were saving the world?”

Steve’s morning rest didn’t last long. The clock on the nightstand was flashing the time, and he had therapy at 10am. And Morana had some questions she needed to answer for him. He let Eddie sleep, scribbled a quick note — therapy time, I’ll see what I can find out about Jason — and headed downstairs.

Steve knocked on 1C. The door swung open almost immediately.

Morana looked terrible. There were bags under her eyes like she hadn’t slept, and her skin had an unpleasant, sweaty sheen to it. She’d always looked less put together than the other government agents Steve dealt with, but it still had looked intentional — like she was trying to look like she wasn't a government drone and was, instead, a person you could trust with your secrets. Today, however, it was less artfully messy and more at the intersection of violently hungover and suffering from the flu. She’d swapped her normal dresses and flats for a pair of jeans and a seasonably inappropriate sweatshirt, clearly well loved — there was a hole near the thumb of one sleeve and a small, dark stain on the front. It said University of Chicago on it.

She also looked a little surprised to see him, mouth slightly open. “Steve,” she said, after a beat. “I honestly didn’t expect you to come.”

He shrugged, trying to drum up some of his old King Steve arrogance. He needed the edge. He needed her to be a little afraid of him, maybe. “Well, I figured we needed to talk.”

She waited another moment, hand pressed against the door frame, eyes wary. And then she nodded. “Sure. I was going to call if you didn’t show, anyway, because there’s — well, news.” She opened the door wide and Steve followed her in, sat down on the ugly couch.

Morana didn’t sit. Instead she started a slow pace of the room, back and forth, not looking at Steve at all. It was stressful to watch. With all the Upside Down nonsense that had happened, Steve had become a bit of a paranoid person — even things that seemed normal enough were usually a sign of something bad (radio transmissions, a compass not working, a rustling in a junkyard). He felt a surge of panic rising in his throat.

Morana stopped as if she could sense it. She took a deep breath and turned to face him.

“Before you say anything, you should know that — well. Martin Brenner is dead.”

The panic that had been rising up Steve’s throat stopped abruptly, replaced with genuine shock. “Wait, what?”

Morana still did not move to sit. She rubbed a hand across her forehead, sighing heavily. “We’re not 100% sure, but we’ve had people looking for the last week and one of them found an obituary last night.” She paused, leveling Steve with a look he couldn’t quite read. “He died in 1980. Car accident. He was doing some sort of private research at Stanford.”

“Holy shit,” Steve said. “Have you told Hopper?” And then, again, because it deserved to be said twice, “holy shit.”

Finally, Morana slumped down in the chair across from Steve. “Owens called Hopper last night. I don’t know how that conversation went, but—" she paused. “Owens thinks that it’s possible that El felt that Martin Brenner wasn’t in this world anymore. And that that’s why she picked it. Not because of Henry, but because of him.”

He remembered Nancy’s point last night — that Henry Creel might not be gone after all, that he was still out there somewhere. “Do you know if Henry is in this timeline?”

Morana narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m afraid that’s classified.”

“Oh fuck off,” Steve said, anger spiking up. Classified, like the “mall fire,” like the fake body of Will Byers in the quarry, like nearly half a decade of a million mistakes and failures. “You know the answer, and you know it matters. Tell me.”

“No,” Morana said, snappish. “The government needs to retain some information here, Steve—"

“The government has been lagging behind us for years,” he said back. He couldn’t keep the spike of irritation, hot and harsh, out of his voice. He and Morana were matching energies, each getting angrier at the other. “You kept Jason and Billy back from me, you kept Brenner back from Hopper and El, we deserve to know if Henry is out there or not.”

“You seem to be under the dangerous misapprehension that I owe you something here,” Morana hissed, jaw clenched.

“You do owe me,” Steve shouted. And it was a shout, boiling over into true anger now. “I fucking died for this, you owe me a hell of a lot more than you seem to think you do!”

There was a moment of terrible silence between them in the apartment. Steve took a shuddering breath. Then another one. In and out. Each one a reminder. Alive. Alive. Alive.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally.

Morana shook her head. Her eyes were shining and her hair was falling out of its ponytail. “No, I — no.” She took her own deep breath. “No, you’re right.” She tugged her hair out of its updo entirely, letting it fall around her shoulders. It should have made her look younger, he thought, but the whole thing aged her entirely. She seemed weary, exhausted. Like he’d felt for years. Like they’d seen the end of the world and come out the other side, which, of course, they had. “I forget. I forget what you did for — for everyone. I shouldn’t treat you like you’re not a part of this.” She turned and leveled Steve with a look — harsh and maybe a bit desperate. “We don’t know where Henry is. It looks like the Creels never even came to Hawkins in this universe, so it’s — needle in a haystack. If he’s out there, he’s quiet. But right now, we don’t know.”

Steve let out a heavy breath, slumping down into his seat. “Fuck,” he said. “Jesus Christ.”

Morana said nothing.

“Heather Holloway’s in a hospital,” Steve said, even though he was sure she knew. She nodded, but remained silent. “Do you — I mean, god. That wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t—"

He cut himself off. Partly because the end of the sentence was obvious, but also, partly, because he’d realized the first part of the sentence was wrong. There was no we, here. Steve had been dead. Even if there had been some sort of group vote, he hadn’t been around to participate in it.

“Why did you do it?” he asked. “This plan, I mean, this . . . timeline reset, or whatever. What made you think it was a good idea?”

She frowned at him. “It was the only option,” she said, a bit automatically. Like it was a speech she was used to giving.

Which wasn’t enough for Steve, right now. Wasn’t enough to tamp down the sudden, rapid beating of his heart that needed to know. Needed to know the answer to a big, terrible question that had only just now occurred to him. “Don’t bullshit me,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. A reminder.

She sat up a bit straighter. Really looked at him. “You want to know why I did it? Here’s the truth. I didn’t have a lot of time, and I didn’t have a lot of options, and none of them were perfect but one of them had to be done. I made a hard call.” She paused. “Didn’t you ever have to make one? When you were saving the world?”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question. It was something more searching, plainer. It was — can you ever forgive me? Can I ever forgive myself? Heather Holloway was in a hospital and Jason Carver was in a jail cell and Martin Brenner was dead and all of those things were true because of one choice, made in a moment of desperation.

The math was always bad, when it came to saving the world. Someone always lost. Sometimes those people were good and noble and sometimes those people had it coming and mostly those people were random bystanders, caught in a mess they never asked to be caught in. “I can’t tell you that you did the right thing,” he said, finally. “I don’t know what the right thing is. Not for sure.” He picked at a loose thread on the couch.

“I did what I thought was best,” Morana said. She sounded very small.

It seemed strange, that their roles had reversed. Steve comforting her. “That’s all you have to go on some time,” he allowed. And then he shrugged, and met her eye. She looked horribly grateful. “You made a hard call,” he said. Not quite an approval. Not quite a critique.

“I wish I’d had a better option,” she said, softly. “But also . . . I don’t know.” He raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged. “Another option would mean you’d still be dead,” she said.

“Right,” Steve said, uncomfortable.

Because that was it. The great, gnawing emptiness in the middle of Steve’s chest. The big question, the big fear. Why did they do it? Why did his friends agree to a plan so risky, so untested, so impossible to undo? Why did they say yes to the government when, historically, the government had never been their best option, had always been greedy and self-serving and five steps back?

And what if the answer was: because Steve was dead, and this brought him back? Because this was the only option where they could undo that?

Normally Steve would never be selfish enough to assume that — to think that he could be the focal point of any sort of decision. But it had been so fresh when they’d been offered the choice. Owens had said his body was under a sheet in Hopper’s cabin. How many hours had passed? It couldn’t be that many. They’d abandoned the original plan to pull his body out and then suddenly they were offered a magic wand — wave this and you can undo everything. There hadn’t been that option after Bob had died, or Eddie. If there had been, then maybe they would have taken it. Hell, maybe Steve would have even rooted for it, would have argued it was worth it to bring someone back. But Bob and Eddie were good, were dragged into this without warning, hadn’t deserved what had happened to them. Steve had known the score walking in. And if it had happened back then, before the Earthquake, before the Satanic panic, then maybe everyone would feel more normal now, and the things that were happening as a result of this giant reset wouldn’t be happening.

Here was the fear: his friends had agreed to a bad plan to save Steve, and now it was Steve’s fault that Heather Holloway was in a hospital. That Brenner and who knew who else was dead. That Jason Carver was half out of his mind.

The math was always bad when it came to saving the world. Someone always lost. It was just that Steve always thought it was a better choice if the person who lost was him, and not anyone else.

Morana was looking at him again, eyes intense and focused. “Your friends did what they thought was best, too,” she said, like she knew what Steve was thinking. Like she could see inside him, the soft, terrible thing inside his chest visible and beating in front of her. “It wasn’t just that we were out of options — maybe we could have come up with a better plan, if we had a few weeks. But we were out of time, too. Your plan failed but Henry — he was connected to the hive mind. He knew that you all had tried to kill him, and he redoubled his efforts. The cracks started growing, he would have swallowed the town. And probably more beyond that, possibly never stopping.” She paused. “Steve, the choice was doing this or the death of thousands more people. That was the call. And maybe . . . maybe there was a plus side. Bringing you back, bringing Eddie and Bob and Barb back. But you have to understand that we weren’t even entirely sure that would happen when we did it. That it would work. Or that it would bring you back. For all we knew we’d end up in a universe where some of you were never even born.” She sighed. “It was a risk. It was a hard call. But I’d do it again. To save the world. To bring you back. This world isn’t perfect, but no world is. And the other world was dying, Steve.”

Steve took in a deep breath. Held it for a beat. Let her words wash over him. They had saved the world. They had saved the world. That was all that mattered. And yes, things were still bad here, but wasn’t she right? The old world was dying. They had to do something to stop that.

He let his breath out. He could live with that, he thought. He’d have to live with that.

He shot a small smile at her, nodded. “You’d do it again to bring me back, huh? You saying you like me Morana?”

She huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. The tension diffused, blowing out of the room like a popped balloon. She seemed to accept that he’d come to terms with — whatever that had been, really. “All of you, really. None of you deserved to die because Martin Brenner wanted to make children into super weapons.” She shrugged. “Maybe it is a better world. One that has you all and doesn’t have him.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s better or if it’s worse,” Steve said, voice soft. “It’s the only one we have now.”

She seemed to consider that for a long moment. Then she cleared her throat. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you about the people who weren’t here. I wanted to pretend we were still in charge, but I suppose we were never the people leading the charge with the whole,” she waved a hand, “saving the world thing, anyway.” She gave him a steady look. “I can’t promise you much on the government as a whole, but I can tell you I won’t lie to you anymore. I understand if you can’t trust me, but I promise I’ll be honest.”

He met her look head on. “I forget, sometimes, too. That you all — the military guys, the science guys, the black suits with NDAs — you’re all just people. None of us really know what we’re doing.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if I can trust all of you, but if you don’t lie to me again . . . I’ll try not to lie to you, either.”

She smirked, a little. “Not exactly the best thing for a therapist to hear.” A pause. “That was — a lot of emotion, I know, but I am here. If you want to talk about anything else. Or ask me anything.”

Steve sighed. There was still a big unanswered question. “Jason — what’s your plan, there?”

Morana nodded, like she’d expected this to come up. “In the name of being honest — there isn’t really a plan. Right now we have him in a secure government facility off-site. We’re trying to . . . acclimate him, I suppose. Make him believe the world is real. But it hasn’t been easy so far. He’s incredibly agitated.” She sighed. “He believes that Eddie Munson is the mastermind behind all of this. Some sort of devil worship thing.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Big shocker.” He shifted a bit in his seat. “You’re, like, keeping a tight leash on him though, right? Because if he gets out, Eddie’s in huge trouble. Jason and his friends nearly killed Lucas and Erica Sinclair trying to get to him last year. I can’t imagine what he’d do if he actually got to Eddie.”

“He won’t be able to escape from where he is,” Morana said. “Eddie’s safe.”

“That’s good,” Steve said, half around a sigh, relief flooding through him. “That’s good.”

Morana shot him a little smile. “It’s funny, your friendship. I never would have pegged you two for people who hung out.”

Steve frowned, because — “well, we didn’t, not really. I only really got to know Eddie for a week before he died.” He paused. “In the last timeline. I guess in this timeline we’ve been friends for a year.”

“Wait,” Morana said. She was giving him a hard to read look. “You weren’t friends in the last timeline?” Steve shook his head. “It seems like the two of you achieved closeness quite quickly, then. I mean, if you don’t mind me saying — he’s hardly been in his own apartment since we’ve moved you here. That’s a lot of time spent together.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “And that’s . . . we never did that before. In the original timeline. I mean, not that we had time. Maybe if he lived . . . “ he paused “I mean, isn’t this just, like, post-Upside Down closeness? Trauma bonding, or whatever?”

Morana didn’t speak for a long moment. She was tapping her pen against the edge of her notebook, and something about the small thwack noise it was making made Steve jumpy, uncomfortable in his skin. Why was she thinking so hard about this? Why did it matter if he and Eddie were close? Why did everyone seem to care so much?

(Why did Steve care so much?)

“I wonder,” she said, finally, and then paused again. “I wonder if when we merged the timelines, the feelings that you had in this universe did leak through.” She wasn’t meeting Steve’s eye — there was a faraway look on her face, like she was solving a problem in her head, eyes flickering around the room. “It would have been hard to notice, maybe, because you had some relationship with him in the past timeline, but I wonder if, when you woke up here, that closeness that you had in this timeline was in your head, even if you don’t remember it. So you sort of. . . hit fast forward, on your relationship. Because the echo of it is there, somewhere, waiting to be remembered.”

Steve really had no fucking idea what any of that meant.

“You don’t have a conscious memory of it,” Morana continued. “It’s like when you sleep in a bed for a long time — your body leaves an impression in it. And when you return you can kind of slot yourself back into that impression. You and Eddie might be suddenly close because of the trauma-bond, or the Upside Down, but it also might be that you’re returning to the muscle memory from this timeline, even if you don’t actually recall it. Fascinating stuff.”

Steve had a headache. “Okay,” he said, “but does that . . . mean anything? Like, does it matter?”

Morana shrugged. “For you? Not really. Honestly, you’re probably right — if Eddie had lived your friendship likely would have developed normally anyway. It’s not like in the last world you hated Eddie Munson’s guts and now you’re weirdly fond of him, right?”

“Right,” he agreed.

“But . . . I wonder if it might mean things for other people. Like your friend Max — if her relationship with her brother is better in this timeline than the last one, it’s possible that we can use that to our advantage so he doesn’t panic like Jason or the Holloways.” She shrugged. “I can’t promise that, but it’s worth looking into.”

The alarm on her watch beeped. She frowned at it, shutting it off, before sending Steve an apologetic look. “Sorry — we can keep talking, if you’d like?”

“Nah, I’ll go,” Steve said, standing up. “I’m weirdly exhausted from all this anyway.”

“Emotional reckoning can be very tiring, Harrington,” she said back, a small smile crossing her face. “Group tonight.” Her smile faltered. “I’m going to — I’m going to try and fix the mistakes I’ve made. To regain some trust. I know that maybe I haven’t earned it, but I do think that these sessions can be useful. And it’s not fair to you all to let the government’s ineptitude get in the way of it.”

Steve wasn’t totally sure what ineptitude meant, but he took it as dumb-assery and let it go. “I’ll see you there,” he reassured her.

Morana smiled again. “See you there,” she said back, and it sounded a lot like thank you.

Notes:

chapter title is from Bleed Out by the Mountain Goats which is a Steve Harrington song in the context of this fic and also tragically almost certainly in the context of Season 5.

Chapter 13: you're afraid of what you need

Summary:

Eddie considers restarting an old tradition, Robin considers revealing a big secret, and Steve pointedly doesn't consider anything at all.

When Steve got back to the apartment, Eddie was making breakfast.

Or, really, burning breakfast. There was a strong, charred smell throughout the apartment and a light layer of smoke drifting over everything. The smoke was not helped by the fact that Eddie was actively smoking, cigarette dangling loosely between his lips as he cursed violently, waving a towel above the pan.

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Steve said, and Eddie nearly leapt into the air, clutching at his heart.

“Fucking warn a guy Harrington, my god,” Eddie snapped back.

Steve resisted the urge to remind Eddie that this was his apartment, and that Eddie being here was, in fact, the weird part. Or, no, not weird. Just – well. The point was that Eddie should have expected Steve, really. But still. He wasn’t going to say that. Instead he leaned forward and snatched the cigarette from Eddie’s lips, moving to toss it out the window that Eddie had clearly opened to let smoke out of. “Robin hates this shit, she’ll never come over if you smoke inside,” he said. “And also, it already seems like you’re going to burn down my apartment, so.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Big talk from a guy who’s been telling Robin he’s quitting smoking for seven months now even though he still smokes at least three a day.”

Steve blinked. Because – because that wasn’t true, Steve had quit smoking, while he was dating Nancy, because she hated the habit, and he’d restarted during Vecna but Robin hadn’t bothered saying anything because they were all just doing their best to hang on and she knew it was just a coping thing, really –

And then, a second thought, the familiarity of double vision – he had quit smoking, after he and Nancy had broken up, when he threw himself back into swimming – he’d quit to improve his lung capacity. But then he’d restarted again, after graduation, swimming a thing of the past and cigarettes an easy way to dull the edge of the way his father said failure when he bothered to be back in town. And Robin did hate the smell, refused to let him smoke in his own car or in any room she occupied a lot, which meant mostly Steve smoked out by his pool, or the quarry, or the lake, or in Eddie’s trailer. In fact, most of the time Steve smoked Eddie was there, and he did tell Robin he was quitting every time she asked, because he was, really, it was just something he did socially, now, and Robin had scoffed “a cigarette with Eddie Munson does not count as social smoking, Steve.”

He blinked again, nearly staggered over with the force of memory. Eddie was looking at him with a mixture of concern and confusion. “Shit, that’s not – that’s not from the old timeline, is it? That’s from this one.” Eddie scowled at nothing. “I don’t even – I didn’t even have double vision, or anything, I just remembered that like it was true.”

“I guess it is true,” Steve said. “To be fair.”

Eddie laughed, but it was weak and clearly forced out. “One day, we’ll be used to this, right? The same way you got all used to, like, monster slaying and stuff.”

“Sure,” Steve agreed. “One day talking about our own deaths and the way our lives are different between the two timelines we lived through will seem boring.” He gestured to the burning mess on the stove. “What are you doing anyway?”

“Oh,” Eddie said. “I thought I’d make pancakes. You know. . . “ he looked a little shy. “Just because, last night. Seemed fitting. Turns out I’m not very good at it, though.”

And that was – that was so sweet, really. Steve didn’t know what to do with something that sweet.

Luckily, at that moment the smoke alarm when off and distracted both of them for a good few minutes, so Steve didn’t have to come up with a good response.

Eventually they succeeded in turning the alarm off, and it turned out Eddie’s pancakes were actually edible so long as they were doused in maple syrup. “I think I’m gonna go see Dustin after therapy,” Eddie said around a mouthful of food. “Your apology tour made me think, you know, maybe I should be on one too.”

Steve snorted a laugh. “Well, Dustin, Robin, and Hopper all told me the apology tour was stupid, so maybe don’t call it that.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie said. “I’ll call it something cooler.” He paused, poking at his food a little. “I do think – I mean, it was different for me, right? With Dustin at least, because I died sort of. You know. On top of him.”

Right. “I mean, I don’t think we need to argue over which of us traumatized the kid more, Munson,” Steve said.

Eddie laughed, a soft huff of breath. “You’re right, you’re right, we’re allies in this.” He took another bite of charred pancake, wincing a little as he did so. “God, these really are ass.” He tossed the fork down with a huff, letting it clatter against the plate, and threw himself against the back of the chair dramatically, tipping it so it hovered on its back two legs. “It’s not that I think he’s mad at me, or anything. I just . . . I don’t want to be another thing he has nightmares about, you know?”

Steve did know. Knew better than anyone, maybe. “He’ll be glad to have the talk. It’s a good idea.”

“I’m also thinking about restarting D&D,” Eddie said. “You know, all the kids back, summer vacation, thought maybe it’d be a fun way to pass the time. Plus I saw Gareth the other day and he called me out on being distant, so.”

Steve had, honestly, sort of forgotten about Eddie’s other friends. Eddie’s real friends, maybe? Steve and Robin were gained through trauma and bad luck; Gareth and Jeff and whatever that third dude’s name was (Pete . . . maybe?) were people Eddie had chosen. Except in this timeline Eddie had chosen Steve and Robin, too. They weren’t bound by some cosmic fuckup, some trick of fate – they were friends because Dustin Henderson had introduced them all and that had just worked out. He wondered if that meant he was friends with Gareth and the Corroded Coffin guys in this world, too. He couldn’t remember anything useful, yet, but there was a part of him that doubted it. Not because he didn’t like those guys – he truly didn’t know them, although he supposed they probably disliked him, with some good reason. It was just – even with Steve’s limited grasp of the world they’d walked into, it felt like somehow Eddie would keep these two bits separate. A little crossover, with the kids, but that was it. Besides, if they were close, wouldn’t Steve had remembered something by now? One of the smoke sessions with Eddie including those guys? More visits to band practice?

It was strange, but the idea was a little wounding, honestly. He and Eddie were friends here, sure, but not good enough friends for Steve to enter the inner circle, or whatever. Which was probably unfair, he understood, but still – the sting was there.

Eddie was still talking. “And I mean – look, Gareth wasn’t thrilled when I said you and I were buddies now, but he sort of . . . remembered that being the case, actually, and I think the guys would actually like you once they find out you’re you and not, you know . . .”

“Who I used to be,” Steve finished. Eddie winced like he hadn’t wanted to say that out loud, but, hey – it was the truth. Steve had to live with it every day, whether they said it out loud or not. Consequences of his own actions, or whatever. “What did Gareth remember about us being friends, anyway? I don’t remember hanging out with him, or anything.” He kept his voice very level, made sure none of the stupid petty hurt leaked through.

Eddie, weirdly, flushed bright red at that, and shook his head. “Nothing important, just – he made a joke, about how I ditched them for you, and, you know, I didn’t mean to in the last timeline, okay, having monsters chasing your ass isn’t exactly my idea of a fun fucking spring break, but I realize that I do have a tendency to pay attention to the shiniest thing in the room and that, perhaps, friendship-wise that thing has been you, so—“ he cut himself off.

Steve had no idea what to make of any of that. “Shiny?” he managed, after a moment.

“Just – ignore all that, oh my god, the point is I should hang out with those guys more and D&D is an easy way to do that and involve the kids. I’m being nice here, Harrington.” Eddie was still leaning back in his chair, swinging it a little so it creaked. The Mom part of Steve’s brain had to stop from snapping something embarrassing and dumb like you’ll crack your head open. After a pause Eddie cleared his throat, dropped the seat back down to the floor with a thud, and started talking again. “Anyway, I was thinking maybe we could, uh, host it here? We can do it at my apartment, instead, if you don’t want us to dork up the place, but I know the kids would be excited to have you around. Figured we could invite Robin, too, and then see if Jonathan and Argyle and Nancy were interested. Not that you all have to play, but it might be cool to make it a whole group thing, you know?”

The idea actually sounded really fucking nice. An apartment full of people, the kids laughing, the space warm and vibrant. It was also sweet, he thought, that Eddie even wanted to include him, given just how far out of Steve’s wheelhouse this whole thing was. So that was twice in about five minutes that Steve was bowled over by Eddie Munson being sweet, which – maybe he’d get used to his own death, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that. “Sure,” he said, “you can have it here.” He pointed his fork at Eddie accusingly. “But don’t think I’m gonna play your little nerd game. Dustin’s been trying to get me to do it for years, but I refuse to believe anything with math in it could be considered fun.”

Eddie laughed, high and loud. “Oh, no worries Stevie, I know better. You’re just here to order pizza and look pretty.”

Something about the way Eddie said pretty hit Steve right in the sternum.

He ignored the sudden, slight dizziness he felt. The weirdness in his stomach. Shoved it aside. There was a part of him that knew, dimly, that he’d have to think about it one day. That it was probably worth thinking about, whatever it was.

(Because it wasn’t the first time he’d felt something like this, was it? In either timeline? He remembered making eye contact with Nancy in class, remembered the way Jenna Malone had twirled her hair in the seventh grade, remembered the way his camp friend, Adam had—

Steve’s mind shut the thought down abruptly.)

“Hey,” he said, instead. “I’m also here for my delightful jokes.”

Eddie laughed again, and Steve let it wash over him. He’d have to think about it one day, maybe, but not today. Not when things were so nice.

---

After that, Steve’s day was amazingly . . . normal.

He went to work with Robin, who bugged him again about going back to his house only for them to realize that Steve couldn’t after work because of group therapy, and Robin couldn’t the next day because her mom wanted to take her shopping in Indianapolis for . . . some reason. 


“I think it’s possible she thinks buying me new pants will make me forget about the extremely strange events of the last week,” Robin said. “Which, you know, you have to admire her gumption, if nothing else. Maybe I should have told her about the Upside Down, actually – think how many sick new outfits I could have if she knew about that.”

Work was a drag, as always. Family Video was never the most riveting job to begin with, but post the timeline merge it seemed no one really had a taste for movies. Or maybe they were all just a little too freaked out to leave their house. He and Robin swapped off shooting the shit and playing one of the many made up games they used to pass time, and then before he knew it they were both off shift and heading to the diner to grab dinner, one of their many little post-work traditions, at least from the old world.

After the waitress dropped of their meals – burger and fries for Steve, blueberry waffles for Robin because she had a sweet tooth the size of Kansas and never ate anything that wasn’t covered in whipped cream and syrup when she didn’t have to. Steve dug in but Robin hovered for a moment before setting her fork down and folding her hands awkwardly, a bit like a schoolteacher. “I uh, I think I’m going to tell Eddie, by the way. That I’m . . . you know.” She looked around and dropped her voice to a whisper. “A lesbian.”

Steve hadn’t been expecting that.

Robin wasn’t out to anyone else but him – not yet, anyway. There was a part of Steve that felt fairly certain her parents wouldn’t react as badly as she feared, but he also knew they probably wouldn’t be excited about the news. Robin’s mother still thought that Robin was just too shy to tell Steve she was hopelessly in love with him and would drop many, many not at all subtle hints when he was over for dinner about how good they’d be together and how happy it would make her to see them together. He didn’t think Robin would get kicked out, but the idea that her only kid wouldn’t be providing Steve Harrington shaped grandchildren anytime soon would probably break Mrs. Buckley’s heart.

Still, if her parents were more of a question, Steve felt nearly positive that all of their friends would be cool with it. Robin had even allowed that point, once, during an aimless drive around their ruined town after a particularly depressing shift at the crisis center. They’d been talking about a planned hangout Robin was having with Nancy (after a long break where Robin decided not to speak to Nancy because Steve and Nancy weren’t speaking, which Steve had insisted was unnecessary and which Robin had deemed “my solemn duty as your best friend.”) There’d been a bit of a lull in their conversation, and then Robin had said, “I know that Nancy’s not like her dad. She told me the other day she thinks Reagan’s response to AIDS is abysmal. I mean. I don’t think she’d hate me for it, you know? I just . . . I know it can change things, you know? Like, it’s one thing to be . . . theoretically okay with gay people, and another thing for a girl you have sleepovers with to suddenly be like, hey! I’m a big fat lesbian! I swear I’m not gonna be weird to you about it!” She’d clunked her head against the window. “Like, what if she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore? Or worse, what if she demands to know if I have a crush on her and I have to say yes, even though I’d obviously never act on it because she’s one, super straight, and two, your ex-girlfriend, which are both absolute non-starters—"

“She’s not gonna do that, Rob,” Steve had interrupted. “I can’t say for sure she won’t be weird for a little bit, but she’s not—"

“You can’t say for sure,” she’d said. “You can’t know that.” Then she clunked her head against the window again.

Steve had rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but you can’t know anything for sure, Rob, right?”

“I only told you because I was doped up on truth serum,” she’d pointed out. “And, you know, I think – a part of me tried to convince myself that I wasn’t that scared because I didn’t really care what you thought about me. But I did. I cared a lot. I wanted you to like me. I wanted to be your friend, and Dustin and Erica’s friend, and I didn’t want to fuck it up and I still can’t believe that you were just . . . cool with it, honestly.” She paused for a long beat. “You know, Nancy asked me once what I thought I’d see, if Vecna got in my head. And I told her I didn’t know but . . . I mean, it’s probably us in that bathroom, but you’re telling me you think I’m disgusting and you hate me.”

He’d pulled the car over and cut the engine. She hadn’t been looking at him – was staring out the window. “Rob,” he’d said, very soft, and with a sigh she had turned to meet his eye.

“I know – I know you wouldn’t have done that, Steve, it’s a fear, it’s not rational—"

“That’s not – Christ, Rob, I’m not upset that you’re afraid of that. Or, I mean, I am upset but not like–“ he’d bitten off a sigh. “I get why you’re afraid of it.” He’d paused, too, for a moment, let himself find the words to say what he was trying to say. “I always figured for me it’d be – I’d see you all dead. Because I . . . I fucked something up, along the way. Dead and it’s my fault.” He shrugged. “It’s not always rational, right? The things you’re afraid of. The things you blame yourself for. It’s just fear.”

Robin had sniffled. He’d reached over and wiped a tear off her cheek.

“She’s not gonna hate you, Rob,” he’d said. “None of them are ever gonna hate you.”

“Okay,” Robin said back. She’d rubbed at her eyes and taken a deep breath, grounding herself. Finally, she turned back to Steve, a small smile on her face. “Still, it doesn’t feel like a great time to test it. World’s ending – I can wait until that’s done, at least.”

And then they’d dropped it. And as far as Steve knew, it’d never come up again – it wasn't like Robin took the four days he was dead as an opportunity to come out to the group.

So it was – surprising, maybe, that she was considering it at all. And perhaps more surprising that she was considering telling Eddie of all people, instead of someone she was closer to, like Nancy.

Although in this timeline she was apparently closer to Eddie. So.

She sighed like she could read his thoughts. “It’s – I have a feeling he sort of already knows, weirdly? Like I maybe told him in this timeline? I’m not totally sure though. But also, like – it’s Eddie. He’s king of the freaks, he’s not going to be a homophobe. Can you imagine?”

Which – yeah, fair. Steve remembered what they used to say about Eddie, before they called him freak. It’d be shocking for him to resent someone else for being different. “Well,” Steve said, “good luck, I guess.”

Robin gave him a soft smile. “Thanks, Steve.” She paused again, still not picking up her fork. “You know, you can – if there’s every anything you want to talk about you can come to me, right? You’re my best friend and I’m never, ever going to, like, hate you or judge your whatever.”

Steve stared at her, burger halfway to his mouth. She was twisting her hands together nervously, eyes all earnest and a small, encouraging smile on her face.

(There it was again, the pressure in his head, the part of him that was saying over and over think about it, Steve, really think about it, don’t ignore it. And – he didn’t know what it was, not really, but he knew it was big, and terrifying, and he knew it was something that, once he let it in he couldn’t get it back out. He wasn’t ready yet. He didn’t know how to be ready, he didn’t know how to follow the logical end of the thought he kept starting and never, ever finishing. He didn’t know how to finish it, even if maybe a little part of him wanted to.)

“Robin,” he said, instead of all of that, “I love you so much, but you judge me all of the fucking time.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, a little. “Well, yeah, but not – not about the stuff that matters, Steve.”

He swallowed. His mouth felt very dry all of the sudden. “What – what is this about? What do you think I need to talk about?”

She looked at him for a long moment, eyes tracing his face, all searching. “Nothing,” she said, finally. “Nothing, not now, I just – I wanted you to know. That I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Maybe it was a white flag or maybe she was just telling the truth – that she wanted him to know. It didn’t really matter which one it was, to Steve. He was just so relieved to let the subject drop. “Thanks, Rob,” he said. “I’ll let you know if anything comes up, I promise.”

She nodded at him, once, a curt little thing. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” And then she finally started to eat.

Notes:

*patting Steve Harrington on the head* you can fit so much repression into this bad boy

Steve naturally assumes that Eddie doesn't want him to be friends with the band because Eddie finds him embarrassing when the reality is that Eddie has seen the CC dudes do some truly disgusting shit and is terrified they will completely destroy the already extremely slim chance he has of getting laid. Classic!

I have named the third "unnamed freak" in Corroded Coffin Pete. Don't ask why, I just picked it.

chapter title is from Home by LCD Soundsystem.

as always, you are all so sweet and I am so glad that you're enjoying this, and your comments all mean the world to me.

Chapter 14: despite everything, it's still you

Summary:

Dead Kids Support Group 2: Electric Boogaloo

In spite of the fact that at this point in their friendship they really should have run out of things to talk about, Steve and Robin were actually incapable of shutting the fuck up around one another, and dinner accidentally ran twenty minutes later than Steve meant it to. He sped her home while she kept barking “stop sign!” at him every time he even sort of approached one (which was unfair, really, he was making rolling stops, it was fine, and what did she know, she couldn’t even drive).

By the time he got Robin dropped off, he was running late to group therapy for the second session in a row. And this time he wasn’t even walking in with Eddie, he was walking in by himself, which was twice as embarrassing because it meant that when he finally pushed the doors open everyone really was looking at him, all alone.

Steve’s eye was immediately drawn to Eddie, who was camped out next to Chrissy Cunningham, sitting in a different spot than last time. As the doors swung shut Eddie looked up from whatever conversation he was clearly having with her.

Which was — good! That was a good thing. That they were talking. For both of them to lean on each other, and to have more friends here. It was a good thing and whatever irrational nausea Steve felt in his stomach when he saw them leaned close together was — well.

Well, he wasn’t sure what it was, but whatever.

Eddie offered a wave. Steve realized he hadn’t moved and was still awkwardly hovering by the classroom door. He cleared his throat, shot a small smile around the room and then went to sit in the empty chair next to Eddie.

“Dinner with Robin go long?” Eddie whispered, like this was a long standing inside joke between the two of them.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Shut it, Munson.”

And then he noticed — Morana wasn’t there. Her seat was empty. Everyone else had, in fact, showed up. There was a certain wariness to the room, but that had been present on Friday as well, and it seemed unfair to chalk it entirely up to Morana’s own fumbling here.

“Where—“ he started.

As if summoned, the doors flung open. Morana stood in the doorway, taking stock of the room. Steve could see the moment she realized everyone had shown up, a look of plain relief flickering across her face for just a beat before she schooled it back to something more neutral.

She was still in her University of Chicago hoodie.

After a long moment of silence she cleared her throat. “Uh,” she said. “Hello, everyone. I’m sorry for — I’m sorry for my lateness, I . . .” she cleared her throat a second time. “Well, to be honest, I was thinking about what to say to you all when I got here and I lost track of time.” She moved finally, heading towards the circle and her seat in it. She looked at it for a moment and then turned to face them all again, still standing. “I wanted to say . . . I spoke to all of you today, individually, but I wanted to say to all of you as a group that I’m sorry.” A little half-sigh. “I wanted to be someone you could trust. Someone who helped you. And by withholding what I withheld, I put that trust at risk. I thought . . .” She seemed to consider what she wanted to say next for a long moment. “I thought that I was helping you, maybe. By only telling you what I thought you needed to know. But I realize, now, that that’s not helpful. You all . . . suffered. Because of choices the government made. And I can’t fix that, and I can’t change it, but I also can’t pretend to understand what that’s like. And I can’t pretend to know what information you do or don’t need while you heal.” She paused again. “So that’s all. I understand if I have damaged something, permanently. But if I haven’t, I’d love to discuss how your weekends went. I know that this adjustment period has been extremely tough for many of you, so.”

Finally she sat.

Everyone was silent for a long moment.

And then Bob Newby spoke.

“Well,” he said. “I don’t know about the rest of you — you’re all an awful lot younger than me, after all. But . . . it’s been a strange few days for me, to say the least.” He shifted in his seat, clearly a bit uncomfortable being the center of everyone’s stares. “It’s just — when I died, I was seeing someone. And now I’ve woken up and, well. She’s moved on. And with a buddy of mine, you know? Which is — I would expect it, of course. I was dead for so long, but. But it seems like even in this timeline we weren’t . . . it didn’t last. And neither of us can really remember why. We woke up in different homes. We don’t have photos of one another. And, you know — I don’t get any closure. She’s had years to move on from something and for me, it was a week ago.” He ran a hand across his chin and shook his head. “It’s not fair to ask her to explain herself to me, but I keep wishing I could remember more about why things went wrong here. Because now all I have is someone I love who doesn’t love me back.”

Steve loved Joyce and he loved Hopper, and he loved them together — it had been one of the only good things that had happened in the past year, really. Everyone had been small and miserable — Will barely spoke to anyone but Jonathan, Eleven had gotten a thousand-yard stare she never shook, Mike was a moody asshole all of the time, Nancy and Jonathan were closed off, Max was comatose and Lucas was handling that as best as he could but suffering, all the same, and Erica was still Erica but had clearly seen some shit no one her age should see. Robin and Dustin had been clinging onto nothing at all, miserable and quiet, and Steve had — well. Steve hadn’t been great, either, to say the least. But at least Joyce and Hopper had found something, some real happiness in the mess of it all, and that had been good to see. Even if it sometimes sent a sharp pain through Steve, even if sometimes he had to admit he was jealous that other people could manage to find love in all the fucking darkness and all he had managed to do was get his heart broken by the same girl twice.

A part of him felt bad, but he’d never even thought about Bob again. Truthfully, Steve hadn’t known the guy at all — it was only after the whole junkyard demodog incident, when the whole team had regrouped, that Steve learned that Joyce had a boyfriend, nevertheless that he’d died. Bob was one of the people whose involvement in the Upside Down had always been less important to Steve — like Heather Holloway, honestly. A person that didn’t occur to Steve until they were brought back up.

Which meant that it hadn’t occurred to Steve how weird it would be for Bob. That Joyce had found love, had moved on. And also — how weird was that for Joyce? For Hopper? As far as Steve had understood she really loved Bob. It had to haunt you, all the questions you couldn’t answer about what might have happened if he’d lived. And it turned out the answer was just — it didn’t work out! And neither of you could even remember why!

He knew in his heart that he was a bit of a hopeless romantic, but god did the world have a way of beating that belief to shit.

“Anyway,” Bob said, to the silence of the room.

“No, that’s—“ Barb started. She sighed. “It’s different, but I. I don’t know how to talk to my parents anymore.”

“Ohmygod,” Chrissy said, all breathless, “same. Or, like, even my friends, it’s all — everyone just looks at me like they’re so sad, like I’m still dead. No one wants to, like. . . see me. And I’m here, you know? Like, hello! I’m right in front of you!”

“They’re mourning,” Eddie said, a bit quietly. And then, when he realized everyone else had heard him he cleared his throat. “I — Steve said that, to me, last night. Everyone is mourning, but we all have to . . . see it. And they have to stop mourning, which is weird, because usually you never really stop . . . having grief.” He frowned at nothing. “Grief scars over, right, it becomes livable, it becomes regular, but usually it never really goes away. Only now it has to. Because we’re not dead anymore.”

“Huh,” Barb said. “That’s a deep thought, Harrington.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve said, lamely. “The second half of it was Eddie’s, I can’t take credit for it.”

There was another pause. And then Barb, again. “I don’t mean to sound — I know you all have been through it too, I do. But I . . . it’s been four years, for me. It’s not just that my parents saw my body, or whatever, and, honestly, I don’t even think they did. It’s — I was dead for so long.” She stopped. There were tears in her eyes, wet but unshed. She was sitting up very straight, hands folded in her lap, like she was physically holding herself together in front of everyone else. “I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t . . . I don’t want the things I wanted, when I died. My relationships are different. My life is different. I’ve changed, and I know that I’ve changed but I don’t know how. And I know, I know—“ and here she cut a look to Steve – “I know there are ways to remember, I do, but I’m. I’m so scared. Because I was sixteen, and I thought I knew who I was, and now I’m twenty and it turns out I’m not what I thought I was going to be. And maybe that’s good, maybe that’s amazing but it’s—" she stuttered to a stop and sniffled, wetly. “I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to reconcile it, you know? And I get it, you all know what I’ve been through, but are any of you going through that? Are any of you so different?”

There was a long silence.

Steve knew he wasn’t that different — he’d only lost four days. But the him of four years ago would be shocked at who he was now, he knew that much. He realized all the ways he changed. And now he knew it wasn’t even the Upside Down — some of it was just growing up. The difference between eleven and sixteen was staggering and the difference between sixteen and twenty-one was staggering and to not remember the steps you took to get where you got must have been something close to heartbreaking, or something close to terrifying, or both.

Eventually Chrissy spoke. “I . . . I don’t think I’m that different, but there’s . . . there’s things I believed, before I died that I don’t, anymore?” She was looking at her feet, a frown on her face. “It’s . . . my parents are so religious, you know? Like, my mom didn’t understand why I didn’t want to go to Church on Sunday. And when I told her I just didn’t she even said — she said I’d seen Heaven, so I should want to go, right?” She looked up. “And then I couldn’t answer that so now she thinks I’ve seen Hell and that’s. I don’t.” And then she turned around to everyone else, eyes wide and pleading. “I mean, maybe I’m wrong but. . . I thought, you know, before I died that’d maybe there’d be heaven and there . . . wasn’t,” she said. “There was just . . .”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to. Everyone in this room knew. There was just nothing. Steve died and then he woke back up, and between those two things there was nothing at all, just darkness.

The thing was, for Steve, that was — sort of a relief? Like: Steve had done bad things in his life, had made bad choices, and the idea of some sort of angel, or whatever, weighing all of his good stuff against all of his bad stuff and deciding if he’d done enough — not a super pleasant thought. Besides, Steve’s parents had never been big on Church and all of that. WASPs, for sure, but not the type who really believed — Easter and Christmas Christians, if they bothered to be in town for either — so he’d never really cared about the heaven and hellfire and brimstone stuff.

“Maybe,” Bob offered, very gently, “Heaven is real and we’ve just forgotten, because we woke back up?”

Steve found that extremely unlikely, but Chrissy smiled gratefully, which he supposed was what really mattered.

“Or maybe what we saw was Hell,” Patrick said. Chrissy’s smile fell.

“Patrick—“ Morana said, clearly the edge of a warning.

“I don’t even,” he started, and then he turned to Morana, suddenly, a movement that caused his chair to make a loud squeaking noise in protest. “Why did Henry Creel choose us?” he asked.

Morana blinked like the question was a surprise. Steve was more surprised it hadn’t come up already, really. Both Chrissy and Fred sat up straighter.

“Well,” Morana said. And then she turned to Steve, a helpless look on her face. “Actually we don’t — we never really—"

“He gets in your heads,” Steve cut in. “It’s . . . one of kids, she had him in her head too. He finds the things you blame yourself for, the darkness that . . . haunts you. And he takes advantage of it. The things that scare you. The things you regret. It’s mind games.”

“Okay,” Patrick said, more at Steve now. “Right so — I mean. The things I saw. The things he showed me, I . . . I don’t know if I can go home, after that.”

“You don’t have to,” Morana offered, quickly.

“It’s not about have to,” Fred said, a little whiny sounding. “It’s — we all have to live with it. It doesn’t matter where we are, right? The things I saw . . .”

“They change you,” Chrissy offered. “And, like, I — I mean. I realize things now. Like the way my mom talks to me, that’s not normal. That’s not how most people’s moms are.”

“That’s the hardest part,” Barb added. “It’s — my parents spent four years with this perfect version of me in their head, right? Like I was dead so I didn’t have a chance to — to fuck up, to disappoint them. But now I’m alive again and I’m just a person. I’m not the little girl they remembered, and I’m not the perfect angel they mourned, and none of us recognize who I am, anymore, so I’m just sort of . . . I don’t know. Around.”

There was a long pause while everyone sat with this.

“How did you do it?” Fred asked, suddenly. He was looking at Steve. The question was for Steve.

“Do . . . what?”

“Cope,” Fred said. “How did you cope? I mean — you did this for years and you mostly seemed . . . normal, during it.”

“Maybe a bit weird,” Patrick added, “but I mean, if you’d asked me two weeks ago what had changed you I would have just assumed you’d become a pothead or gotten cut off or something. Not that you’d been saving the world for years.”

Steve considered the question. It was a fair one, but it was also one he had no idea how to answer.

Because — had he coped? Had he really? Or had he just sort of kept going? Press forward, push past it, keep your head up, keep your spine straight, don’t let the kids see your hands shake.

Or, god, had that been coping? Was coping just the part where you kept going? Because, if so, what did that make this?

Healing, maybe. Steve wasn’t so sure.

He needed to say something, though. Everyone was looking at him, even Eddie, the other man’s eyes a little guarded.

Even though Fred had been the one who asked, Steve couldn’t stop himself from directing the first part of his answer to Eddie, instead. “It helps to not be alone,” he said. And then, turning to Fred. “All of my friends knew what I’d been through, had been through it too. So even when — even when you’re at your worst, you know there’s people you can call who’ll understand it. Who won’t judge you. Even if they can’t make it better they can just . . . be there.”

Robin, slumped next to him on the couch, snoring softly. Dustin, sitting shotgun and scream-singing along to some Judas Priest song while Steve inched the speedometer past 80. Lucas, sitting silently in the other chair in Max’s hospital room while Steve read From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler out loud to Max because he’d found a well-loved copy of it in the trailer and was just trying to find things that felt familiar to her, and then Lucas standing up and taking the book when Steve’s throat got scratchy and taking over the reading. Hopper, across the table at the diner, talking lightly about sports and gently needling Steve about going back to school someday while Steve teased him about needing to cut back on red meat for his heart.

“It helps,” Steve continued, “to have people who — when they ask if you’re okay, they want the truth. They don’t just want you to say yes, I’m fine, everything’s fine, don’t worry about me. They’re really asking, you know?”

Chrissy nodded. Her hair was down again — it still felt strange to Steve but it made her look softer, younger. It made her seem more alive, less like the ghost in the photo — and suddenly he understood, maybe, why she wasn’t wearing it up anymore. “But how did you deal with, like, your parents?,” she asked. “I mean, how did you explain your moods and everything to them?”

He couldn’t help it — he winced, half involuntary. Next to him, Eddie’s fingers clenched into a fist. And then Eddie’s hand moved and for strange moment Steve was certain Eddie was going to reach for him. But Eddie’s hand stilled, and that — that made more sense, really, why would Eddie reach for Steve at all?

“I didn’t,” Steve said, looking away from Eddie’s hands and back to Chrissy. “I never really had to say anything to them.” He shrugged. “I can’t remember the last time we were all in the same room. Before Spring Break ’86, for sure.”

Christmas, maybe, ’85. He had the vague memory of it — an overcooked steak, a strained dinner, his parents talking in bored tones about their next few trips. He figured in the timeline where the town hadn’t entirely fallen into literal pieces they’d bothered to come back again, but he supposed it didn’t really count if he couldn’t remember it happening.

Bob look scandalized, which then faded into a truly shocking look of anger, face bright red. “I’m sorry, you mean — what, they just don’t see you? You’re their son!”

“It’s not—" Steve started.

“They’re fucking assholes,” Eddie finished, half a hiss. Steve turned to shoot him a look, surprised by the intensity of it. Sure, Eddie had heard that voicemail but — what reason did he have to be so angry at them on Steve’s behalf? When he met Steve’s gaze he loosened, slumping slightly.

“It’s complicated,” Steve said, suddenly defending his own family for reasons he couldn’t quite figure. He thought about it for a moment. “I mean, it’s similar though, isn’t it? As what you’re all feeling? I’m not . . . I’m not who they thought I’d be. I didn’t turn out the way they wanted to.” He frowned. “God, I guess they’ve been mourning me for years, huh?”

“But you’re alive,” Bob said, still angry. “They could get to know you, if they wanted to. They can’t expect you to be some sort of — perfect, cookie cutter version of them, that’s not fair.”

Steve let that sink in for a moment. “No,” he said, finally. “I guess it isn’t.”

“But that’s a good point,” Morana chimed in. “You’re all struggling with the gap between who you were and who you are now, and you’re all struggling with getting your parents, or your friends, to understand the things you’ve gone through. But perhaps open conversation is the easiest way to get there. Tell them that you’ve gone through something, that you’re struggling, and see what they do.”

“But you told us not to talk about the Upside Down,” Fred pointed out.

Morana shrugged. “That was before.”

Steve gaped at her. She met his gaze.

“I thought people would forget,” she said. “I still think they might. But . . . but everyone went through something, here. Everyone struggled. And you were all right — I was trying to act like things would just go back to normal, and that obviously hasn’t happened. So. I’m not sure your families will understand literal death, but. I’m not going to stop you from talking about what’s happened to you with the people who also experienced it.” She paused, considering. “Don’t tell strangers, or anything, but – I mean, Barb, I don’t think your parents will forget that they mourned you for four years. And I don’t think you should pretend that they didn’t. I don’t think you can move on if you all just act like nothing ever happened.”

There was a long moment of silence.

Morana cleared her throat. “Well that’s — this has been a very heavy one, obviously. Which is to be expected, given everything that’s happened to you all. But did anyone remember anything happy? Anything . . . light?”

Another pause.

And then Eddie cleared his throat. “I, uh, remembered I have a job. Does that count?”

Steve couldn’t help the laugh that snorted out of him. “I’m sorry, you have a job? You, Eddie ‘fuck the man’ Munson?”

Eddie scowled at him. “Well, it turns out in this universe I’m best friends with people who regularly hang out with the Sheriff and his daughter so, yeah, I had to get proper employment or risk Hopper throwing me in a jail cell because he thought I was corrupting both of his kids.”

It took Steve half a second to realize that the second of Hopper’s kids was him. Eddie’s face softened into something fond, and he offered a little shrug, like he could read Steve’s thoughts perfectly on his face.

Which, hell, maybe he could.

“Anyway, it turns out that I am, in fact, gainfully employed at that bookstore across town — Particle, you know? Which sort of makes sense, I was a regular there before –,” he waved his hands around expressively, “you know, all that.”

“The place that sells all the used records? And those weird ten cent scifi novels?” Barb asked.

“Ugh,” Patrick cut in, “that place smells like mildew, man.”

Steve considered it for a beat. “Actually, this all makes perfect sense.” Eddie smacked him on the arm.

“That counts,” Morana said after a second, a smile across her face. “That absolutely counts.” She clapped her hands together. “I know this is hard but — there are good things about this world, that you’ll remember. And the gaps you feel — the difference between who you were in the past and who you are now. They’ll lessen. Because it’s still you. Everything else aside, I can assure you all that you’re still you.”

And, well, Steve supposed that was probably the most important thing, in the end.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Morana continued. “I’ll see you all on Friday, I hope. And do feel free to contact me before that, if you need to — but also, contact each other. Steve was right — the most important thing to have are people who can understand you. And for all of you, that’s the people in this room. You don’t have to be alone and going through this. I swear to you.”

When she said that, Steve couldn’t stop himself from looking over to Eddie. And maybe it should have surprised him, that Eddie was looking back, but it didn’t. For whatever reason, it wasn’t surprising at all.

Notes:

if you ask me the fundamental theme of stranger things is about "finding love in the darkness," whether that love is romantic, platonic, or familial. if you ask the duffer brothers they'd probably say the show is fundamentally about "killing really cool monsters," though, so maybe i'm way off base here.

the chapter title is a line from the video game undertale

as always thank you for reading and thank you for all the nice things you have to say (and i promise, we're getting to the shoebox . . . watch this space next week?)

Chapter 15: i would leave if only i could find a reason

Summary:

Steve goes swimming and opens the shoebox.

Steve had the next day off of work, which he was grateful for.

Eddie, however, did not.

“I remember I have a job and then I have to work,” he said, half a whine, as he threw a t-shirt on. Steve noticed it was one of his — which made sense, maybe, given they were in Steve’s apartment and not Eddie’s, but still. It was weird to see Eddie Munson in a shirt that proudly advertised Hawkins Middle School Fun Fair Staff.

Eddie caught Steve’s stare. Steve gestured to the shirt, and Eddie groaned, pulling it back off.

Steve looked away. For no reason, really, just — he just looked away.

“Why the fuck were you even working the fun fair?” Eddie complained.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Steve said. “That’s a this timeline thing, I’m not sure I ever did that before.” He thought about it for a moment. “It absolutely has to be a Henderson thing, right?”

Eddie’s new shirt was one of his handmade Corroded Coffin shirts, black with red fabric pen writing on it. Steve could practically picture Eddie making it, joint hanging out of his mouth, hunched over the table in the trailer. “I love that kid,” Eddie said, “but I would never volunteer at the fun fair for him.”

“Which is why I probably had to do it, asshole.”

Eddie threw the discarded shirt at Steve’s head and headed out for his day.

And then Steve was alone — with no plans, really. Robin was in Indianapolis. Dustin had called the night before to say that the kids were all going to bike to the arcade if Steve wanted to join, which was a nice invite but also not Steve’s idea of the best way to spend a hot July day with the sun out.

Almost on cue, someone knocked on his door. He moved for it — probably Eddie, having forgotten the keys to the van or something.

Instead, standing on the other side, was Barb Holland.

“This is weird,” Barb said before he could speak, “and you can say no, but — can I use your pool?”

Steve was sure the shock was evident on his face. He hadn’t been expecting Barb — he really hadn’t been expecting her to demand to go swimming with him. “I — why?” he said, lost.

Barb looked a bit nervous, shifted her glance down to her feet. He kind of hated that she did that — this shrinking thing. It was like the old Barb was back, instead of the 1987 Barb, who seemed a lot more confident, a lot braver. “Therapy last night, it got me thinking. I just — I remember it, right? Dying. And . . . I don’t know, it feels dumb, to be having nightmares about a swimming pool. I feel like going back, it might give me . . . closure?” She cringed. “That must sound insane.”

“No,” he said, immediately. “No, it’s — I stopped using the pool after you died.” She blinked in surprise, eyes going wide. “I haven’t gone in since. Not, like. . . a fun memory, for me.” He rubbed at his chin. “Maybe it’d be good for both of us. Going back to the scene.”

“You really think so?” She seemed like she’d expected him to laugh in her face. Which, sure — maybe the Steve she’d known would have. But this Steve had seen weirder things, and done weirder things.

“Let me get dressed,” he said. “And then we’ll go.”

Ten minutes later they were on the move. Barb was looking out the window, and Steve was focused on the road, and neither of them were talking. It maybe should have been awkward, but instead it felt — well. Steve wasn’t sure he had the word for it. It was like they were both bracing themselves for something. It felt, maybe, a little like driving to the Creel house in the RV had felt.

Which was dumb, because it was a pool in a suburban semi-mansion and not, you know, a literal monster in a falling apart hellhole. But the symbolism of the thing, that’s what mattered.

Steve really had loved swimming. He didn’t think his parents had considered the pool at all when they bought the house — or, if they had considered it, it was only in the sense that it was an impressive thing to own, the way his mother bought designer handbags or his father bought $200 bottles of wine. It was something you did just to show off that you could, and other people couldn’t. But from the moment he’d gotten into the pool, it had been one of his favorite places. When he was younger and his parents would fight, Steve would slip out to the backyard, clothes still on, and lower himself in gently. Let his head go under the water, sit crossed legged at the bottom. The yelling was muffled – all he could hear was the water in his ears. He’d stay down there as long as he could.

He got really good at holding his breath.

Which had helped, when he hit high school and learned there was a swim team. It had been the first team he’d signed up for, and his father had been — not pissed, but irritated. Like Steve was just supposed to know that basketball was the better sport, had more carry. The compromise was that Steve would do both.

And then — well. The Upside Down.

When Barb vanished, the pool had become — ghostly, maybe. Even before he knew what happened being out there alone at night had given him the creeps. Had filled him with guilt. It’d been winter anyway, and sure, the pool was heated, but it made sense to drain it.

And then summer had come around, and he’d just — never bothered to refill it.

It was partly Barb, yes. It was mostly Barb, probably. But there was also a part of Steve that wasn’t ready to know that sinking to the bottom of the pool wouldn’t drown everything out anymore. He’d gotten too old, and his problems too big for that trick.

He pulled up in front of his house. There was a moment of dizzying panic — he hadn’t thought to call ahead, his parents could be back.

The driveway was empty. Of course it was. The fear was irrational. Surely if his parents had crossed the border back into town someone from the government would have called him, right?

“Well,” he said to Barb, who was just staring at the front of his house. “You wanna do this?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, yeah.”

They entered the house. It was still and quiet.

Steve didn’t bother with the rest of it — no point. He went straight to the back. The tarp was covering the pool, and he went to pull it off. By the time he’d gotten it set up and turned back to Barb, she’d shucked off the sundress she was wearing and was in a simple one-piece suit, glasses abandoned on one of the tables outside.

He hadn’t actually had a swimsuit in the apartment, but he figured that was alright — he had no plans to submerge himself, not yet. He needed more time. He needed to be sure the water would muffle everything.

Instead, he went over and stuck his feet in the pool. He’d worn shorts, and the water was cool against his calves. He turned back to Barb. “It’s nice! Come on.”

She held back for a long moment. He let her. Didn’t push.

Finally she took a deep breath, and then ran forward and jumped into the water in a full cannonball.

The small wave of water smacked across Steve’s lap. He sputtered even though no water had actually gone in his mouth. Barb resurfaced, hair wet and limp across her forehead.

“A little warning next time, Jesus,” Steve complained.

Barb grinned at him, not at all sorry looking. “Sorry,” she said, anyway. “I just — I had to go all at once or I wouldn’t go at all, you know?”

Steve looked at his legs, half in the water. Different coping styles, he thought.

Barb pushed away from the edge. Steve turned his gaze up to the sky. It was quiet, in Loch Nora, always had been, and most days that had been a thing he disliked about it, but he understood, now, what was appealing about it. The sound of the birds, the thrum of the pool, the occasional swishing wind of a car passing down the street. It was all so still. And when he’d been lonely and half out of his mind with grief and anger the stillness had been suffocating. But now, strangely, it wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t Steve in an empty house, by an empty pool, forced into endless quiet. It was Steve and Barb going swimming. It was nice, honestly.

He turned his gaze back to the pool.

Barb was floating on her back, eyes up at the sky, a contemplative look on her face. The water was cold where it lapped at Steve’s ankles. He hadn’t felt this relaxed out here in years, and maybe it was that feeling, or maybe it was the silence, but he felt like there was a chance here, for him to fix things, so he took it.

“Barb,” he said, softly. “After this will you — will you talk to Nance? Please? I know she wants to talk to you.”

Barb stayed motionless for a second. And then in a sudden movement she folded her body into herself and was sinking down to the bottom of the pool. A muscle in Steve’s stomach jumped, his heart picked up — diving into Lover’s Lake, the portal and tentacles, down, down down— but he tried to breathe through it. He could still see Barb, cross legged at the bottom of the pool, like he’d been as a kid. There were no portals, here. There were no monsters anymore. He was fine.

His heartbeat slowed back down.

After a moment she resurfaced, shoving the wet hair out of her face and kicking her way over to him at the side of the pool. She remained full in the water, rested her arms on the side next to him. “Why does it matter to you, if she’s not your girlfriend anymore?” she asked.

Steve shrugged. “She’s still my friend. Hard not to stay close when you go through what we went through. And she’s pretty miserable, right now.” He kicked at the water lightly. “She’s not close to us in this timeline, not the way she was in the last one. Which, you know, makes sense, really. But it means she’s not remembering stuff as easily as the rest of us. She feels left out. You’re her best friend, in this timeline and the last one — I think she needs you to help her remember.”

Barb snorted, a bit cruelly. “Help her remember, right. Because I’m just a catalyst, or whatever.”

Steve wasn’t entirely sure what a catalyst was, but Barb did not sound happy about being one. “It’s more than that,” he said, a little sternly. “She missed you. You dying, it . . . it changed everything for Nancy.”

For a moment Barb said nothing, just glared out in front of her at the chairs lining the deck. “Why did you break up?” She blushed bright red. “Uh, in the last timeline, I mean.”

You, Steve thought, but didn’t say. It wasn’t really true, anyway, was a bit unfair. Barb had been part of it, but there had been a lot of moving parts, and that he and Nancy hadn’t ended up together in this world, either, showed that those bits were unavoidable, no matter what.

“I was in love with her and she wasn’t in love with me,” he said, finally. “There was more to it — like I said, your death, it changed things. And I — I don’t know. Neither of us was really coping, you know? But it was different for her, worse. I didn’t want to admit anything had changed, I didn’t want to know about the monsters in the hell dimension. And Nancy was so aware, had really suffered. Completely blamed herself. We just didn’t. . . fit, anymore.”

“Why do you think you broke up here?” Barb asked.

Steve shrugged, shook his head. “I might remember one day. It might not matter. I think I always liked Nancy more than she liked me. And I’m not sure we were ever really meant to be together. Maybe we both deserved something better.”

Barb sighed and ducked her head under the water again. When she emerged, she clambered out of the pool to sit next to Steve. “I was so mad when she started dating you because I thought she was changing, you know? She was doing things she never did. And then I died, and I — you know, a part of me thought she’d rescue me? From the monster? From the pool? How stupid is that.” She laughed, a bitter sound. “And then I was dead, and now I come back and I have no idea who she is, anymore. Time has passed. The world ended? Or didn’t end? Now she’s some sort of gun-toting demon fighter? And she’s not even dating you, she’s dating Jonathan Byers, only she isn’t, anymore?”

Steve frowned. “How do you even know all this?”

Barb groaned and buried her face in her hands. “She left me a voicemail, after I wouldn’t take her call. My mom played it for me when I went back the other day. She was trying to explain everything. Which is so Nancy, I mean. I can almost picture it, if I hadn’t died — the message she would have left me the next day, after that party, apologizing and talking me through her night. And I would have just forgiven her.” She sighed. “I know she feels bad, but — there’s a part of me that thinks she feels bad because she knows she wasn’t treating me well. And I guess I have to assume she would have fixed that, one day, if I’d lived but . . . I have no way of knowing, really.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “Sure, but you’re friends here. So can’t you assume that it did work out?”

“I guess,” Barb said, softly. “It’s just — I don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who Nancy is. I just know we’re both different. And that’s scary, because it means I don’t know what I decided to just put up with and what I fought for. Maybe I just gave up on hoping she’d put me first. Maybe I just accepted I’d always be the frumpy best friend she set aside for boys.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. Thought about Barb with her new, steely determination. Thought about the way she sat up straight and looked him dead in the eye when she wanted to say something tough. Thought about the way she’d yelled at him a little. There were a lot of things he’d believe about Barb Holland, but he was fairly sure that in this world, at least, she hadn’t just decided to put up with something like that.

“I think you’ll never know for sure if you don’t talk to her,” he said, kicking at the water a little. “Also, you’re not frumpy.”

She rolled her eyes. “The Steve Harrington of 1983 would probably disagree.” Which, okay, fair. She pulled her feet from the pool, drew her legs to her chest. She laid her cheek against her knees and looked at him for a long time. It was a thoughtful look. “It’s really weird, how, like. . . wise you are now. It’s kind of freaking me out, actually.”

He grinned back at her. “I could do a keg stand and play some flip cup, would that help you feel better?”

“I think it would, yeah.” She sighed. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll talk to Nancy.”

Steve knew he was beaming at her. She rolled her eyes. “I would have had to eventually, don’t take too much credit for it.”

“Of course,” Steve said.

“I think I’m done being afraid of your pool,” she said, after a pause.

“We can head out,” he said, pulling himself up. He pivoted to grab her a towel when they both got inside, his eyes catching on the staircase.

The staircase. His room. Shit. He was already here — what excuse did he have? “Hey, Barb,” he said. “Can you give me five? I promised Robin I’d go through my stuff here and then so much happened, I never did,” he explained, gesturing up the stairs. “You wanna come with? Dig through memory lane?”

Barb shrugged. “Sure,” she said, and followed him up. She wrinkled her nose as she entered his room. “Wow, Steve, this is . . . kind of . . .”

“Cold?” he offered. “Impersonal?”

She gestured to the poster of the car. “Are you even in that into cars?”

He shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I like my car, but. . .” and then trailed off. “Seemed like the type of thing I was supposed to be into.”

Which didn’t really make sense, except — it seemed like the type of thing his parents would approve of him being into. Girls, sports, cars. The holy trinity of all-American boyhood.

(A thought, at the back of his head: and he had to be sure it looked like he was into those things, because there were things he liked that his parents wouldn’t approve of. People he liked. Sharp jaws, sharp smiles, a dimple—

He shook the thought away entirely.)

Barb was looking at him, then — really looking at him, like she was seeing him for the first time. “It’s weird,” she said, finally. “I always assumed you had it easy. You always made it seem so easy. Guess it never occurred to me that it might have been a mask.”

Steve shrugged, trying to look more casual than he felt. “It never really felt like work, being the King.”

She frowned at him. “Sure it did,” she said. “Pretending to be someone else is always work.”

Which — wow, okay, this was not a conversation he was prepared to have right now. But also – “who were you pretending to be?”

She looked at him, appraisingly. “You know, Steve — there might come a day when I actually tell you that.”

“Barbara,” Steve said, eyes wide and tone teasing. “Are you telling me that you and I might actually, one day, be friends?”

She shoved him. “Don’t let it get to your head, but it turns out you might not be totally terrible. Who knew?” But she was smiling, and it felt — it felt easy. Like being friends with Robin. No pretense, no fakeness. He’d been close to Tommy and Carol, really close, there was no denying that, but it was always a bit of an act, a bit of showboating. They wanted to be impressed, and Steve wanted to impress them. He never really relaxed in front of them, never really let his guard down. Robin, Dustin, Eddie, the rest of the kids, even Nancy and Jonathan — they required less effort. It came easier, and it was more enjoyable, and he figured that was why he didn’t miss Tommy and Carol all that much, at the end of the day. He’d traded up.

And now Barb, too. Maybe if she’d lived in the first place they could have all been friends. It was a nice thought.

He opened his closet, shuffled some stuff around. There, at the back, where it usually was — his shoebox of precious memories. He pulled it out and opened it up. It was pretty full, and mostly with exactly what he imagined — pictures of him and Robin, him and Dustin, Eddie and the rest of the kids. Movie ticket stubs for films he didn’t remember. Nothing sparked a memory, but he was sure when he looked at it with the others it would.

Something at the back of the closet caught his eye. He grabbed for it — his walkie. Even though he already knew he had it in this timeline, something about seeing it, holding it, sent warmth flooding through his chest.

“Wow, Steve Harrington — are you a nerd?” Barb asked, voice giddy. “A ticket stub for a movie called Aliens? A walkie talkie? My god.”

He couldn’t help but grin back at her. “You know? I think I might be.”

“What’s this?” she said, grabbing for something in the shoebox. Steve looked at it. It was a classified section, from The Chicago Tribune, listing apartments. Steve blinked in shock. “You’re . . . moving to Chicago?” Barb asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t remember.” He glanced at the page. There was one apartment circled, in black sharpie, a two bedroom in a neighborhood Steve didn’t recognize — next to it, in big block letters, was THIS ONE?

It wasn’t Steve’s handwriting. It was Eddie’s.

Steve was moving to Chicago with Eddie?

Underneath the classified was something else, too – two thick envelopes. Steve grabbed them. The first one was stuffed with cash, and he’d written CHICAGO FUNDS on it. Half a thought, there — maybe he’d taken Joyce’s offer of a loan after all?

The second one was from Purdue. Already opened. He pulled the papers out.

Dear Mr. Harrington,

CONGRATULATIONS! Purdue University is excited to offer you admission to the Krannert School of Management’s Class of 1989—

And then he remembered.

He’d applied to a handful of schools his senior year, with no enthusiasm. All programs his dad had suggested, all business degrees. “You’ll do undergrad, and then you’ll come work for me, and I’ll train you to take over the firm, one day” — the constant refrain. No one ever asked what Steve had wanted. And Steve hadn’t known, not really, but he knew he didn’t want to be his father. Didn’t want to go through the motions of it all, didn’t want to wake up one day and realize the person staring back at him in the mirror was just Christopher Harrington.

And when the first three schools rejected him — middling grades, no Nancy flashcards in this universe, even if he didn’t have Upside Down related head trauma as an excuse — he’d felt relief. That he wouldn’t have to go, that he’d prevented the bad future from coming for him.

And then Purdue had said yes. Open arms — come here!

(Not because he was smart — god, no — but because he’d made all-state on the swim team, his senior year, in this world. Had dedicated himself to it junior year to ignore his stupid heartbreak, had become better than anyone had really expected.)

Steve had opened the letter, alone in his room, one of the weeks his parents were out of town. Felt nauseous. Realized, holding it, that if he said yes — if he went down that road — he’d never go back. He’d be in his father’s shadow, wearing his father’s mask, for the rest of his life.

So instead he’d tucked it into his shoebox, and never looked at it again. Told his parents when they were back a week later that it’d also been a rejection. Accepted the shouting from his father (“what are you going to do with your life, Steven?”).

The next week he applied to the sandwich shop in town. Told his parents he’d work for a bit, save up some money, and keep re-applying. Never actually did reapply. But he met Robin, and that existence — the daily grind of sandwiches, then the daily grind of video returns — had been better, he knew. He was happy. He had a life, even if it wasn’t one his father would approve of or understand.

“You didn’t go?” Barb asked, voice a little quiet.

“No,” Steve said. “It wasn’t the right move.” He tucked the envelope back in the box, let his eye catch on Eddie’s handwriting on the classified instead. He’d felt nothing but dread at the acceptance letter. Looking at Eddie’s scrawl on the paper, even without the memory of what the plan had been or why they’d made it, he felt a burst of excitement. The heart-racing type, like the swoop of a roller coaster. That was a future. That was a dream. Robin had been right, when she muttered into his chest that he had to have dreams here. That they’d be in his stupid shoebox.

That the dream was Eddie Munson’s handwriting, well — that was a bit terrifying. But he didn’t have room to panic right now, not with Barb crouched next to him, hair still wet with chlorine and eyes all glossy and sympathetic for him.

She nodded and tugged at a loose thread on her dress. “I went around my room the other day and found all these shirts — I’m at IU. I remembered that I’m studying to become a librarian.” She smiled and rolled her eyes, a little self-deprecatingly. “Guess whatever happened in these years I don’t remember didn’t change me that much.”

“And you called me a nerd,” Steve said, grinning.

“Oh, I mean, you totally are,” she said back, lightly. “I bet money that you’re going to Chicago to do something super nerdy.”

Eddie was involved, so that was not a bet Steve was going to take.

She shook her head. “You’re really not who I expected you to be, you know?”

He nodded at her. “I’m not really who I expected myself to be, either.”

“And that’s a good thing?” There was a nervous look on her face – it was exactly what she was worried about. The not knowing. The gap between who you were before and who you were now.

“It’s a great thing,” he said, and Barb smiled, a little soft and a little shy. “Come on, let’s get out of here, this place gives me the creeps.”

They stood up to go. Steve took the shoebox and the walkie with him.

Notes:

barb/steve friendship supremacy

i make you wait like 15 chapters for the shoebox and then it's just a classified with eddie munson's handwriting on it, i'm sorry. (i'm not sorry, obviously)

as always, thank you for reading. you all mean the world to me. <3

chapter title is from Homesick by Noah Kahan

Chapter 16: a friend of the devil is a friend of mine

Summary:

Steve and Eddie talk about the future.

By the time Eddie got back from work, Steve was camped out on the couch. He’d been attempting to read a book at one point but had long given up on it, and now it was just open on his chest while he watched a rerun of M.A.S.H., half-asleep.

Eddie flung the door open. “Steve Harrington, do you not lock your doors? There’s bad people out there, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” Steve said back, not bothering to stand. “Cult leaders, Satanists, extremely loud and overly dramatic nerds. I should be more careful, you’re right.”

Eddie reeled back, clutching his chest like Steve had shot him, and then lurched forward to sit himself directly on top of Steve’s legs on the couch. With a grunt, Steve moved, pulling himself out from under Eddie as the other man sprawled backward. They ended up sitting facing one another on the couch, both propped against arm rests. “You wound me, Stevie. I know you left the door unlocked for me, or for one of your other little strays.”

“I don’t pick up strays,” Steve scoffed. “And don’t put your shoes on the couch Eddie, my god.”

“Uh, yeah you do,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes but moving to take off his boots anyway. “I forgot to tell you but — Dustin told me he remembered how you two met in this timeline.” He grinned at Steve, a little manic. “You saw him walking around in the rain and offered him a ride because you recognized him as one of Wheeler’s friends and felt bad that he was getting all soaked. And you and the Lady Wheeler weren’t even dating anymore! You just did it out of the goodness of your heart.”

The memory crashed back into Steve’s head — Dustin, his mop of hair sagging and plastered to his face, red cheeked and panicked looking on a street corner a few blocks from the Hendersons. And he had almost driven away, because really, he didn’t know the kid at all, but there was something so sad about him that Steve couldn’t stop the instinct he had to pull over, roll down his window, and ask Dustin if he needed a ride. And instead, Dustin had asked him to help with — “Oh my god. Right, because he’d accidentally let his cat out the front door and couldn’t find it in the rain. Mews! Mews the first!” They’d found Mews like a full hour later, wet and miserable under a neighbors porch, but decidedly safe. And then after that, Dustin just — never forgot. Kept showing up to Steve’s house asking for rides or if he wanted to hang out.

(“You spent an hour getting soaked looking for a stranger’s cat, man,” Dustin had scoffed when Steve finally asked why he kept coming around. “We’re bonded now.” And that had been that.)

“Mews the first?” Eddie asked.

“Oh, yeah, in the last timeline we had to replace Dustin’s cat with Mews II.”

“What happened to Mews one?”

“Got eaten by a demodog Dustin decided to keep as a pet.”

Eddie just gaped at him for a moment. “God, you know what? I’m sorry I asked.”

“You know,” Steve said, “that’s another one of us — the dead back to life. Should we invite the cat the therapy?”

Eddie snorted. “Henderson’s cat has to have loads of trauma, I’m sure. Morana wouldn’t even know how to deal with it.” He nudged his toes into Steve’s legs, crisscrossed across the couch. “Anyway — aren’t you going to ask me how work was? My first ever day of real, legal employment?”

“Technically, you’ve worked this job before,” Steve pointed out.

“It doesn’t count if I can’t remember, Stevie,” Eddie whined. “And as my friend you’re supposed to care about what I do all day at my boring, soul sucking job! I’ve probably spent, like, a hundred thousand total hours listening to you and Robin tell me about Family Video. It’s not like I care that Mrs. Palmer has rented Love Story again, you know, I just listen to support you.”

“I don’t even know anyone named Mrs. Palmer but — sure, yes, okay. Eddie, how was your day?”

Eddie beamed at him. “My day was shockingly kind of badass Stevie, thank you for asking.”

It turned out Particle was actually Eddie’s idea of a fun workplace. The owner, Glenn, was a gruff ex-hippie with a deep love of sci-fi and fantasy who let Eddie play whatever records he wanted in the store. (“Which is good, because if I ever have to listen to the Grateful Dead I will stick forks in my ears.”) They didn’t talk about the last world, about the accusations thrown around about Eddie, except for at one point, when Glenn laid a hand on his shoulder and said “I’d always thought you were a good kid, you know.” Which Eddie said like it was nothing, but there was warm undercurrent to his tone that showed how much that had mattered, to him, to hear that, and that was enough for Steve to decide this Glenn dude was fine in his book, too.

Anyway, it had been a slow day — it seemed the entire economy of Hawkins had yet to rebound from timeline resetting, and Family Video wasn’t the only store with less-than-standard traffic — but the customers who’d come in were nice, and Eddie even remembered a few of them as regulars. “Gareth came by to harass me for a bit, obviously. And, hey, get this — Chrissy even came by today, to say hi.”

Oh.

Steve felt the same unpleasant swoop of nausea that he’d gotten the night before, seeing Eddie and Chrissy with their heads bent close. Which, honestly, felt almost like jealousy. Except that made no sense, he had nothing to be jealous of — it wasn’t like he was into Chrissy, after all.

And he wasn’t, was he? He let himself think about it for a moment. She was, objectively, a hot person. Pretty and soft all over, sweet voice, big eyes. Steve had dated plenty of girls like that, though, and he’d found that he always preferred them a little . . . sharper, maybe? Meaner? A touch more edge. Nancy had those qualities – Robin, too, if he allowed himself to think about the embarrassing fifteen-minute crush he’d had on her. In fact, if he tried to overlap the two of them, he figured you had a pretty good approximation of his type — passionate, a little mean to him, a bit nerdy.

Plus, if he was being perfectly honest, he’d always preferred brunettes.

So: right. There was no reason for him to be jealous, none at all. But he was, wasn’t he? Maybe it was just at how easy it’d come to Eddie, making new friends in the aftermath of all . . . whatever this was. After the unimaginable horrors he’d seen, Steve had trouble letting people in. It was, he thought, part of the reason his dating life had fizzled so dramatically after Nancy. There were things inside of him that had changed, had been broken, had turned into oozing darkness, and he never wanted anyone to see that part of him. He’d always told himself it was because that would get whatever girl he loved into trouble – he’d never really forgiven himself for letting Robin get dragged into the mess, after all. But if he was being honest, it was probably more of a cowardice thing than anything else. There was a part of him still clinging to the mask, to the armor, to King Steve, still desperate to not really be seen or known. And yet here was Eddie, just — out there, letting people in, letting people let him in. The Freak fully shed and willing to be friends with Chrissy Cunningham, of all people.

That was, actually, quite a reasonable thing to be jealous of. It was silly, obviously, and he needed to get over it, but — it made sense.

Eddie seemed completely unaware of Steve’s weird little inner turmoil — he was still talking, tone light. “I’m probably going to annoy the shit out of Glenn with all my visitors. Byers and Henderson come in all the time, obviously, I remembered that much. Now that I’m back on schedule I’m sure I’ll see them a truly annoying amount.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “And I’m sure they’ll be demanding rides from me to get them there any day now.”

Eddie made another mock-affronted noise. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t come visit me on your own, Stevie? That hurts.”

And, really — it was Steve’s turn for a joke, another jab about Eddie being a dork, or about Steve being too dumb to read. This was the way it worked. But instead, Steve’s mouth moved without much thought, and what he said was “of course I’ll come visit you,” plainly, embarrassingly fond.

“Oh,” Eddie said. He was pink, again.

“I mean,” Steve said, heat crawling up his own neck. “I probably did before anyway, right? I’m sure Henderson’s dragged me.” Which — god, that felt like the wrong thing to say even when he was saying it. He didn’t mean to imply he’d only go because Dustin dragged him, and he opened his mouth to clarify — or to stick his foot in his mouth more, hard to say — but Eddie cut him off.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, voice a little soft. “Yeah, I’m sure Dustin’s dragged you before.” And then he cleared his throat, the noise shifting them away from — whatever that was quite effectively. “Anyway, enough about me — what did you do with your great day off? Please don’t tell me it was just laying on the couch.”

Nerves coursed through Steve. He wanted to tell Eddie about the classified ad, obviously, but also — that’d been a decision they’d made at some point during a year neither of them remembered. And he knew Eddie hadn’t remembered it, because there was no way the other man wouldn’t have said something if he had. There was no way of knowing how Eddie would feel about news like this. Chicago had been an idea one (or both?) of them had when neither of them had died, for one — would Eddie feel more inclined to stick around Hawkins for his uncle, now? For his job? For whatever little thing was building between him and Chrissy Cunningham?

And was Steve even ready to go, really? It was, obviously, a bit of a moot point until the government let them leave Hawkins, which was still an open-ended question. Morana had seemed positive at one point it’d only be a few weeks, but if she was right and people weren’t forgetting, and if she was encouraging them discussing the Upside Down, who was to say? The government could, in theory, hold them for as long as they wanted under some sort of cover story, and then they’d just be stuck in this shitty apartment complex until they were old, graying men.

Plus a part of Steve knew that wanting to move was a this timeline thing, for him. Sure, in the old world he’d thought about college, at one point. But he’d long since accepted that even if he had gotten into schools, he was never really going to be able to just leave Hawkins, not while the possibility of evil still lurked around the corner. By the time Starcourt had collapsed, he’d resigned himself to sticking around long-term, at least until the kids had all gotten out, just to make sure they were safe. Hell, maybe longer if the threat never really evaporated. King Steve, working the checkout counter at Family Video as a middle-aged man, checking the woods at night for monsters that no one else remembered or knew about. A bit bleak, but still — he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, in some other city, thinking that it was possible another kid would vanish into the night because he wasn’t around to stop it.

Now, though, the idea of leaving felt . . . exciting, if he was being honest. Something to move towards, a goal, a dream.

He wondered how the rest of the Party would react if he told them he was going. Truly, a part of him wondered if the others already had left — if Barb was on summer break after her freshman year, then surely so was Nancy, at least, which meant when September rolled around they’d be back off to wherever they’d gone. Joyce and Hopper had often talked about leaving Hawkins when the monsters were dealt with — would they go, now? Or was the life they had built in this timeline solid enough to make them forget all the ways this town had terrorized them over the years? Steve couldn’t say. But he was curious to ask, to find out more. He knew, oddly, that Joyce and Hopper would be only happy for him. That Robin would be downright gleeful.

But what about Dustin? Max? Lucas? Sure, none of them needed him to fight literal monsters for them anymore, fine. They could take care of themselves. But still — would it feel like he was abandoning them? Like he’d only stuck around for the fight? Would they be angry?

He supposed the only way to know how they’d feel was to ask them. But he couldn’t ask them until he even knew if Eddie still wanted to go. Which meant he had to start here, right now, nerves be damned.

“I went swimming, actually,” he decided to start with.

Eddie’s eyebrows raised, disbelief evident on his face. “What, in Lover’s Lake? After, you know—“ He cut himself off but nudged his toes gently into Steve’s ankle, as if there was a chance Steve had forgotten the feel of the tentacle wrapped around there.

“No, uh — in my pool.”

“You went back to your house,” Eddie said. His voice was strangely flat, almost like the idea upset him. Steve thought about Eddie’s clenched fist the night before. Joyce and Hopper and Max and Robin hating his home, sure, he understood that. For the first time he wondered — Morana’s theory, about things just slipping through without total double vision, muscle memory, the imprint of the body on the bed. The way Eddie had casually dropped knowledge about Steve’s smoking habits. It must be leaking through, even if they didn’t realize it — the things from this world. So Eddie would know, then, like the others did, about Steve’s empty house and his not quite put together relationship with his parents.

Which made Steve wonder about the things he knew about Eddie, now — like, the image of Eddie making the Corroded Coffin t-shirt. Was that his imagination, or a memory, something he’d seen before?

Eddie was frowning at him from across the couch and Steve realized he’d been silent for too long. “Well — Barb came by, after you left. She wanted to go back to where she died.”

“Wait,” Eddie said, drawing out the a for a few beats. “You went swimming with Barb Holland? I feel you like dramatically buried the lead here, Stevie-boy.”

“You keep interrupting me,” Steve huffed back. “But, yeah, we went back to my house. It was nice. She agreed to talk to Nancy, so.”

“That’s good,” Eddie said. He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s — Nancy will be happy, that you did that for her.”

Steve frowned at him. He couldn’t figure out what about that could be hurtful to Eddie. Maybe just the idea of Steve in the house again? “Anyway,” he said, moving past it, “it’s — you’ve heard, about my weird shoebox of hidden things.”

“You found it?”

“I found it.” Steve stood, moving back to his bedroom where he’d tucked it. He pulled the whole thing out. When he returned to the living room Eddie was making grabby hands impatiently.

“I wanna see the pictures, Steve.”

Steve laughed. “Well, yeah, there’s pictures, but there’s also—" he paused and pulled out the classified ad, handing it over to Eddie. “There’s also this.”

Eddie looked at it for a long time. Nerves continued to rock Steve, his stomach churning. Finally, Eddie looked up. There was a smile on his face, his dimples showing, his eyes filled with something like delight and something like disbelief. “This is my—" he stopped, shook his head, and looked down at the paper again. “We’re moving to Chicago?”

“We were, at least,” Steve said back. “No idea why.”

“It was my idea.” Eddie looked back up at Steve, a strange expression on his face now. “I wanted . . . “ He stopped himself. It looked like he’d thought about whatever he was going to say and changed his mind. Steve wanted to know, suddenly, what Eddie’s first thought was — it was his future too, wasn’t it? But maybe they weren’t close enough, yet, for whatever secret that was. “This town, man, I guess I just wanted out,” Eddie finished eventually.

A part of Steve wanted to press, wanted to ask, wanted to know. But, well, he was dropping a lot on Eddie all at once — maybe it was a bit unfair to pry too hard. Whatever Eddie’s plan for moving had been, surely he’d tell Steve one day — or Steve would remember on his own. “Well. We have a plan, if they ever let us leave.”

“You’d go?” The shock was plain on Eddie’s face. “I mean, with me, you’d really — you’d go?”

Steve shrugged. “I’d want to talk to the kids — Dustin, Max. Robin already told me she’s looking at other colleges. And I assume I already had those conversations, in some way. But . . . if there’s no monsters? If there’s no danger? If everyone else is okay? Yeah. I’d go.” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward, Eddie’s eyes too piercing. “The only thing here for me was the fight, and the kids, really. Without the Upside Down it’s just . . . my hometown. Big empty house and a dead end job. Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of. And not like the kids need protecting anymore.” Eddie’s eyes were flickering around, like he was taking in Steve’s whole face, for some reason. “I spent a long time not having any dreams because I didn’t think I’d have a future. So I don’t really know what I want to do, to be honest with you. But I don’t think working at Family Video for the rest of my life is the answer.”

“Sure,” Eddie said. He looked a little nervous, shifting around in his seat. “But I mean — I mean, look, it’s one thing to agree to this when you’ve known me for a year. And I know we’re remembering, and I know we’re, you know, trauma bonded or whatever. But I wouldn’t be mad if you needed more time to, like. Get to know me, you know? I mean, I don’t know if you’ve realized Harrington, but I’m kind of . . . a handful. I can be too much, I get that.”

(And then — a memory, back into his head. Steve and Robin had gone to crash a Corroded Coffin rehearsal, in Gareth’s garage, which had pretty quickly stopped being a rehearsal and turned into the six of them just sitting around and drinking beers. Eddie and Robin had vanished back inside to get more, while Jeff and Pete were fucking around with the speaker system in the back, which meant it was just Gareth and Steve sitting on a beat up couch, a weird silence between them. Gareth had leveled Steve with a serious look. “You know, I mean — I love Eddie, don’t get me wrong, but I still really can’t believe you two are friends.”

Steve had shrugged — he was used to people finding it odd. Even Hopper found it weird, but he’d laid off on lecturing Steve once Steve had promised Eddie’d never bring drugs around the kids. “I’m not as uptight as I look, I guess.”

Gareth had shaken his head. “I mean, sure, but — Eddie’s a lot, you know. Even for someone who hangs out with Henderson. I keep waiting for you to find it too much.”

Steve thought he knew what Gareth meant. Eddie was loud and theatrical and touchy, was always draping himself into Steve’s personal space, was always saying things before he fully thought them through. And the Steve of the past would have reacted badly to Eddie Munson’s arms across his shoulders, would have burned bright red and shoved him off. But Steve had changed. He wasn’t that person anymore. He was more inclined to lean into Eddie’s touch, not out of it. He smiled at Gareth. “I think the window for me finding it too much has passed.”

Gareth had just given him an unreadable look, said, “interesting,” and then Eddie and Robin had returned with beers and the conversation had changed.)

Huh. So he had hung out with the band, at least once, in this world. Weird.

Eddie was still looking at Steve, face guarded. “I don’t think you’re too much,” Steve said. He wanted to say something more, but he wasn’t sure what — he was sure there was something else here, something important, but it was like his brain had forgotten all the words in the English language. So Steve just let that hang there, between them, for what felt like ages.

Eddie kept looking between Steve and the classified ad still in his hands. “Okay,” he said, finally. “I guess, I mean — we don’t have to decide anything now. But it’s an option.”

“It’s an option,” Steve agreed. He felt it again – the thrumming excitement running through his body. Was this what it was like, having dreams? He’d been missing out.

“Wanna order pizza and watch a movie?” Eddie asked, the serious tone of the conversation gone entirely.

And, well — that sounded like a great way to spend an evening to Steve.

Notes:

chapter title is from Friend of the Devil by the Grateful Dead because objectively that's hilarious, sorry eddie

Chapter 17: my brother, my captain, my king

Summary:

Hopper and Mike Wheeler tell Steve the same thing in two very different tones of voice.

The next day Steve went down to the police station after breakfast.

He didn’t necessarily have a reason, but Robin had called first thing and demanded Eddie meet her at the diner, likely to have their talk. Eddie had been baffled as to why Steve wasn’t invited, and spent the rest of his time getting ready and guessing increasingly unrealistic reasons for Steve and Robin to be falling out, ranging from “you accidentally erased every tape at Family Video and blamed her,” and ending on, “oh my god, Steve, are you pregnant?”

“Wow,” Steve had deadpanned back, “how did you know?” Eddie had swooned onto the couch in response.

So that had seen his two primary ways to waste a morning off busy having a serious conversation. He’d offered to go with, if Robin wanted moral support, but she figured his presence might give her more room to chicken out — by making the invite in and of itself a bit weird, she’d set the stage for the reveal, and Eddie would likely pester her about what she wanted to talk about without Steve until she broke down and said it. “It’s foolproof,” she’d declared, and really, he had to hand it to her. It was sort of foolproof.

He’d see Robin at their closing shift at work, but in the meantime he had a few hours to kill, and he figured he and Hopper were probably due for another talk. It felt strange, not to be checking in with Hopper every few days. In the old world they’d meet weekly for lunch, yes, but there’d be phone calls more often than that, less conversations and more simple check-ins, confirmation that things were alright and everyone was safe. The “adults,” which even Steve had to admit was a loose definition considering most of them were under 21, would swap off on patrol duties, wandering near the cracks in Hawkins to make sure monsters weren’t emerging from them. Even when Eleven and Will weren’t feeling anything, no one was willing to get too relaxed. (The patrol groups ended up taking a steady routine — Steve and Robin, Joyce and Hopper, Nancy and Murray, and Jonathan and Argyle. At the beginning there’d been some switching around, but then Jonathan and Nancy broke up, and then Steve and Nancy weren’t talking, and suddenly there was a lot less variety to those nights.)

There was a part of Steve that still felt primed for a phone call announcing it had all been a cruel joke, or a big mistake — that Nancy was right, and Henry Creel was out there and gathering power, ready to strike again. He figured that if anyone knew what the real dangers of the new world were, it was Hop. The government might be cagey, but he’d always had a strangely good relationship with Owens, so there was that. Plus, knowing Hop, he wasn’t just going to trust that everything was fine — maybe he wasn’t willing to throw them all back into a war, sure, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t carefully aware of the pieces on the board, so to speak.

So, sure, there wasn’t an agenda or a reason for the visit, but it calmed something in Steve’s gut to go, so he went.

No one looked surprised when he walked in. Callahan, sitting with his feet propped on the desk and reading a comic book, even lifted his paper coffee cup in a little makeshift toast. Powell shot him a smile like they were old friends, which was strange considering Steve was hard pressed to remember a conversation they’d had that wasn’t just please get these drunk teens out of your house, your neighbors are very pissed off about it.

“Harrington,” Powell greeted, easily. “You come to corrupt the Chief again?”

Steve blinked, confused for a disorienting second before he suddenly understood what Powell meant — cigarettes. He and Hop were both in the cycle of perpetually quitting, but now that Hop and Joyce were together, Hop was “doubling his efforts,” which meant that he only snuck cigarettes with Steve when he came by. Which was often, actually, at least once a week. Just to say hi.

It wasn’t double vision — it was like Eddie had said, the other day. He just remembered it. No fancy flash, no recall memories, no conversation snippets. Just: here was a habit from this timeline, back in his head again.

Powell didn’t even seem to register that it was something new to this world — his eyes had drifted back down the crossword puzzle in front of him. He did not look like a man who, only a year ago, had been tasked with solving an impossibly brutal triple homicide. Steve still remembered the aftermath of the Earthquake, Powell shaken and the community demanding blood even though Eddie had been dead, and there was no more witch to burn. It had been catastrophe on catastrophe, and for the few chaotic days between Vecna cracking the town open and Hopper re-appearing, Powell’s face had gone sunken and exhausted with age. When Hopper emerged, back from the dead, it had been met with such resounding relief from everyone that no one even really questioned why he’d had to fake his death in the first place. Steve had been vaguely aware of some cover story involving investigating a deeper cause of the Starcourt fire, Hop doing some sort of undercover work, but truthfully he hadn’t paid too much attention. After all he knew the truth, and it wasn’t like anyone ever asked him for clarifying details or anything.

Across the office Hop was already standing up and fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his desk. “Come on, Harrington, let’s get out of here. I need it.”

“One day I’m going to tell that woman of yours that you’re a liar, Hop,” Powell chastised. He cut a look to Steve. “You too, kid — Joyce Byers makes you lasagna once a month and you go and do this behind her back.”

Steve was too distracted by that fact and the strange, warm feeling it cracked in his chest to comment. Hop rolled his eyes. “We’re quitting this weekend, swear.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder and directed him out the door.

“Joyce makes me lasagna?” Steve asked as they left the building.

Hopper shrugged. “She thinks you don’t eat enough.”

“I eat fine.”

Hopper gave him a look that was deeply unimpressed as he leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette. He offered one to Steve, who took it and the lighter and lit it himself.

“Robin’s gonna bitch about this when I’m on shift later.”

Hopper huffed a small laugh. “You’re telling me you don’t have cologne in your car?”

And, yeah, okay — fair enough. “She’ll still know,” Steve said. “She always knows. She’s got a nose like a bloodhound and a deep desire to yell at me at any given moment.”

Hopper laughed a bit harder, leaning more fully against the wall. “She sounds like a dream woman, Harrington, I don’t know why you don’t go for that.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “She’s too good for me.”

There was a look on Hopper’s face, like maybe he understood that was a deflection — not quite a lie (Robin was too good for Steve, in every way that mattered and thousands more that didn’t) but also not the whole truth. After the disaster of Spring Break ’86 most everyone had dropped the “why aren’t you and Robin dating” line of questioning, too distracted by the whole world ending to press on it anymore. Hopper had missed the beginning of it entirely — he’d had to be introduced to Robin when he returned from the not-quite-dead. He’d never said anything explicitly to Steve about their relationship, probably aware of how incredibly embarrassing that conversation would be for both of them. Steve wondered, now, if it’d come up again.

Maybe it’d be easier to deal with, though. If Robin’s talk with Eddie went well, maybe that could be the start of everyone knowing.

Hopper didn’t press, though — he saw whatever look was on Steve’s face and dropped it with another shrug, bringing the cigarette back for a puff. “You know who came in the other day?” When Steve shook his head, Hopper grinned, all teeth. “Larry Kline. Turns out that bastard’s still the fucking mayor.”

“No,” Steve half-gasped. “Still?”

Hop shook his head like he couldn’t believe it either. “No Starcourt, so no one ever got pissed at him – although he’s still a greedy, money-grubbing piece of shit. He’s just worse at it here.” He scoffed. “I suggested that he might consider retiring. Very gently.”

“Doubt he’d get re-elected at this point, if everyone still remembers the Starcourt mess. I mean, I didn’t vote for him the first time, either, though.”

This got a single raised eyebrow from Hopper. “You voted?”

Steve made an offended noise in his throat. “Excuse you, I care, you know.” He thought about it for a second. “I’m like . . . eighty percent sure I voted.” Another pause. “Seventy five percent?”

Hopper scoffed and shoved at his shoulder. For a moment they were both silent, smoking in a companionable quiet.

“Something’s on your mind,” Hopper said. “I can tell. You get all twitchy.”

“Morana told me, about Brenner. She said Owens thinks El did it on purpose — brought us here, to a timeline where he’s dead. What do you think?”

Hopper heaved world-weary sigh. “I don’t know. She told me she couldn’t feel him but that wasn’t why she chose the world. She’s my kid. I have to believe her, right?” He furrowed his brow in Steve’s general direction. “You think it matters? If she did it on purpose or not?”

All Steve could do was shrug. “None of us can read her mind. The only person who’ll ever really know is her. And for the most part the world is the same as it was. Even Morana didn’t seem too broken up that the guy was dead.” He took another drag. “I guess it doesn’t really matter, right? We have to trust El, and if she says she didn’t mean to, then she didn’t mean to.”

“Sure,” Hopper agreed. Then, “if you don’t really care though, that’s not what’s making you all twitchy. Spill, Harrington.”

It was true that Steve hadn’t come here with an agenda. But now that he was here he felt like talking about Chicago with Hopper. Maybe that was a bit strange — usually Robin was his go to for things like this. But she’d already told him how she felt about getting out of Hawkins, about having dreams. And Robin was Robin, was basically his age. Really, what he wanted was advice from — well, he supposed his dad. But it wasn’t like he could call his dad. Maybe his father would be glad he was doing something with his life, but he wouldn’t be glad he was doing it with Eddie Munson, or that whatever it was wasn’t a path to being some tie-wearing CFO somewhere. And anyway, his dad wasn’t capable of giving Steve the advice he really needed — is it okay if I go? Will it be alright without me?

Steve had spent five years building a little family. It wasn’t an easy decision to leave them behind. Even if he wasn’t really leaving them behind — even if he wasn’t going more than a few hours away, even if he would always drop everything and run back in an emergency.

“I remembered something,” he said, after the silence had stretched for a bit too long. “I — Eddie and I were planning on moving to Chicago.”

Hopper’s eyes glazed a little. “Joyce and I lent you money,” he said, softly. And then, “you think maybe you shouldn’t, now. Because of everything.” Not a question — a statement of fact.

“I mean,” Steve said, taking another drag of the cigarette, “not that I shouldn’t, actually. I think I want to. I do think I need to wait a little. I died, like, barely a week ago, maybe I should pump the breaks on major life events for a while. Plus I think officially we’re still under government lockdown. But I want to go.” He sighed. “I just — I don’t remember if I even had those conversations with Dustin and Max and you all before, you know?”

“I think you told at least some of us. Joyce and I lent you the money, after all. I remember, Jane — er, El — she was so excited for you, but she cried a little when we got home.”

Steve felt that like a shard of glass in his bloodstream. “I made her cry?”

Hop laughed — not meanly, but a bit like he knew a lot more about the world than Steve did. “Not like that — she was happy for you. But you matter to her, you know? Sometimes you want the best for a person, and what’s the best for them is also something that makes you sad. That’s normal Harrington, I swear.” He sighed a little. “Look. You died for those kids. Literally. They’re not going to be upset at you for wanting something new for yourself. They’re going to be excited. Plus, I’m sure Henderson will take it as an excuse to be a menace in another city, which he’ll love.”

“Oh god, he’s going to be unbearable, isn’t he?” 


Hop laughed again. “Oh, completely.” He stubbed out his cigarette and turned to look at Steve, face serious. “You don’t have to go right away. But when you go — and I mean when, because I’m not letting you self-sacrifice and stick around here out of some bastardized sense of responsibility, okay? When you go, everyone will be sad to see you leave but happy for what you do next. That’s part of life, Steve. I promise you.”

And, well — Steve had spent so long feeling so responsible for so much, looking after people so much younger than him, that he’d forgotten. He wasn’t a kid anymore, but he wasn’t really an adult yet, either. He was still figuring his shit out. How weird was that?

“Thanks, Hop,” he said, finally, and if his voice was a little wet neither of them brought it up.

“Anytime, kid. Now come on — have a cup of truly shitty coffee before you head out, yeah?”

---

When Steve got to work Robin was already there, thrumming with nervous energy behind the counter. Keith was on his way out — Steve sent him a little wave that Keith did not return, because Keith hated Steve.

After the other man was fully gone, Steve turned to Robin. “Well, good to know some things stay the same in every timeline,” he said, hopping over the counter to grab his vest and join her. She was grinning wildly at him. “So, how did—"

“It went amazing Steve, it went so great, like, even better than I could have imaged, it was—" she cut herself off, shaking her head.

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “Wow, I don’t think you were this excited when I accepted you for who you were, Rob.”

“I was high dingus, that didn’t count,” she snapped. There was a look on her face Steve couldn’t quite read. “It was — it was really good, was the point. I’m glad I told him.” She drummed her fingers along the counter restlessly. “He’s gonna come by later, actually, with some of the kids. Apparently tonight is movie night at the Wheeler’s, non-negotiable.”

Steve nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

She shoved a pile of tapes at him. “Now it’s rewind time, baby.” Then she wrinkled her nose. “Wait, have you been smoking again, Harrington?”

Their shift passed fairly quickly, all things told. Still slow, naturally, but it did seem like things were finally picking up a bit, a few customers stopping in to check out movies.

He was ringing up a girl around his age who he vaguely recognized from high school (but who’s name he’d long forgotten) when Eddie, Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will walked in, Dustin animatedly yammering on about something. Steve’s eyes were immediately drawn to their little ragtag group, Eddie theatrically rolling his eyes at whatever Dustin was going on about. Steve found himself looking at Eddie for a moment longer than normal, cataloging the varying emotions the other man’s face flickered through, half-involuntarily. He was distracted enough that he missed what the girl was saying until she cleared her throat, a little pointedly.

“Hm, what? Sorry,” Steve said, turning back to her.

“I was saying,” she said, batting her eyelashes, “that I heard this movie was good, but I’m a little scared to watch it. I mean, I normally don’t watch horror movies alone.”

Steve looked at the tape in his hands — Christine, apparently. He’d never heard of it, although it looked like it was maybe about a car? He had no idea why a movie about a car would be scary. He shrugged. “I’ve never seen it,” he said. He’d long learned that honesty was generally the best policy at Family Video, ever since the Return to Oz fiasco of ‘85. Turned out that film was not fun for the whole family, who woulda thought?

The girl smiled up at him. “Oh! You haven’t? Well, you know, maybe we could—“

Whatever she was going to suggest was cut off by the sound of something dramatically toppling to the ground. Steve looked up. Eddie was standing next to a pile of knocked over tapes, wincing at them apologetically, like they were living beings capable of understanding that he’d bumped into them, somehow.

“Dude,” Lucas said. “How did you even do that? We were standing still.”

“My lack of coordination is truly a feat, Sinclair,” Eddie said back. He was blushing a furious red as he looked up at Steve and Robin. “Uh, sorry there Buckley, Harrington.”

“No problem, I got it,” Steve said. “Robin, can you finishing ringing up, uh—" he looked to the girl.

She was full on scowling, now. “Katy,” she snapped. “We had homeroom together sophomore year?”

“Right, sorry,” he said, “Robin can finish ringing you up.”

When he turned to face Robin, she was frowning at him. “I — what, really?”

“Yeah, you know how you get about the displays, if you start on this we’ll lose you for hours,” he said, rolling his eyes, and went off to fix it. He ignored Robin’s look as she went to ring up Katy. He did not ignore whatever look was on Eddie’s face — some mixture of confusion and relief that didn’t make a lot of sense to Steve. It wasn’t like he was gonna yell about a knocked over display, what did Eddie have to be relieved about?

It took Steve a few minutes to fix the tapes, by which point Katy was practically bolting from the store, not sparing any of them a second glance. He hopped back behind the counter.

“That’s it,” Dustin smacked both of his hands down, jostling the rack of candy next to the cash register. “This is proof.”

“Proof of what?” Steve said.

“You have officially become hopeless.” He gestured to the door, arms flailing. “That girl was a babe Steve! A babe! And you totally blew her off!”

Huh. He thought about it for a second — she was attractive, sure, that was true. The Steve of Scoops Ahoy would have struck out with her in about ten seconds flat. The Steve of now hadn’t even totally realized she was standing in front of him.

God, what had happened to him? Maybe he was more traumatized than he thought.

(He hadn’t wanted to ask her out, was the thing. It hadn’t even occurred to him as an option.)

“Whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes. “So I missed hitting on one girl out of the seven hundred who come in here a week. Big deal.”

“Big deal?” Dustin’s eyes were the size of planets. “Steve, at this rate you are going to die alone. You need help, man. And luckily for you, I am here to assist.”

Steve rolled his eyes again. Robin burst into a high cackle laugh, a little mean. Even Eddie was smirking at the kid.

“What?” Dustin asked, casting a look to each of them. “You think I can’t help? No, nevermind, don’t any of you answer that.” He turned back to Steve. “Look, I didn’t realize it before but I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’ve got it figured out — it’s not that you’re lame or don’t have game anymore or that you’re still stupid in love with Nancy, or Robin, even though I once again do not understand why you two don’t just admit you’re perfect for each other—“

“Henderson,” Steve said, with as much warning as he could.

Eddie leveled Steve with a look, a small smile on his face — like he realized that Steve was trying to protect Robin, here, and appreciated it. He couldn’t help but smile back, just a little.

“Right, sorry,” Dustin continued, rolling his eyes. “Robin talk off limits, whatever. Anyway, like I said, I figured it out. Your dates weren’t working cause you couldn’t tell any of them about the Upside Down or explain why you slept so poorly and had weird weapons around your house.” He snapped his fingers together, all flair. “And because you probably knew, like, subconsciously, that any girl you dated had a nonzero chance of getting dragged into all this shit and getting hurt, and you’re a good guy Steve! You couldn’t live like that! But now that’s over, so we gotta get you back out there!”

God, it was so annoying the way Dustin could pepper nice things into what was otherwise a completely grating train of thought.

“Dustin, buddy,” Steve said, placing both of his hands on the counter and giving Henderson his best do not argue with me on this face. “Look, it’s nice that you care but — I mean, it’s not really a priority of mine right now, you know?”

“Why not?” the kid demanded.

Steve tossed his hands into the air, exasperated. “I don’t know! I mean, it’s not exactly like I have a lot of good small talk here. What am I supposed to say to that chick anyway? ‘Oh, what was I up to this summer? Well I fought monsters until I died, and then I came back to life, and now I spend most of my days working my shitty job and most of my nights either babysitting or in group therapy!' None of which, by the way, I’m actually allowed to talk about, I’m pretty sure.” He thought about it for a second. “Except maybe the babysitting.”

“Aha,” Dustin cut in, “but that’s where my genius solution comes to play. See, this is the thing Steve — you’ve never been able to date a girl who gets it besides Nancy. And now you can!”

Steve stared at Dustin blankly. When he realized Steve wasn’t getting it, Dustin shot a look to Robin, who shook her head, and Eddie, who shrugged. Even the other kids looked confused. Clearly none of them were on the same page.

“Dude,” Dustin said, disappointed sounding. “You gotta date someone else who also died!”

Which, okay, had to be the single most insane sentence Steve had ever heard said out loud in the whole of his life.

But also — “I think I like Joyce too much to date Bob Newby, Dustin,” Steve deadpanned. Eddie snorted a laugh, and Will made a distressed little sound that Steve couldn’t quite figure the meaning of, which caused Dustin to glare each of them in turn.

Dustin rolled his eyes again, shifting his glare back to Steve. “Don’t be a dickhead, Steven. I mean, you have some options there! You have . . . “ and here he clearly paused to think about it.

“Ah, I see this was a truly well thought out notion,” Robin quipped. Dustin scowled at her.

“You have Chrissy Cunningham,” the kid said, triumphantly, after a beat. “Date Chrissy!”

“No,” Steve said immediately. He cast a look to Eddie — Eddie’d been flirting with Chrissy for ages at this point, which Dustin couldn’t have known, but still. It had to hurt the guys feelings, to be so easily passed over for Steve — for Dustin to not even consider that Eddie could date Chrissy.

(Which was absolutely why the idea of dating Chrissy made him feel a little sick, right? Had to be.)

Eddie was, indeed, frowning. After a pause, he met Steve’s eyes and then shrugged. “Why not?” he said. “The kid’s right, Chrissy’s cool.”

Steve couldn’t stop himself from gawking at Eddie. Why was he trying to get Steve to ask out the girl he was into? That made no sense at all.

He thought about it for a moment. Eddie’s voice had been very, very casual — like they were talking about the weather, or something equally boring. Even his body language had relaxed entirely. He slumped himself over onto the counter. Which was a sign, really — if Eddie was actually into the idea, he’d be humming with energy, that fidgety type that he got when something excited him. Instead, he was trying very carefully to look like he didn’t care at all — which meant he did care, but was covering it up.

So, right, Steve was onto something here. Clearly Eddie was into Chrissy, but for whatever reason he didn’t want the kids to know? Or maybe he just didn’t want Steve to know — god, he supposed that the old Steve might have mocked Eddie for trying to go for a girl like Chrissy Cunningham. He hoped that wasn’t the reason, that it was instead just that Eddie was a little shy about the entire thing.

Still — Steve could read this well enough, and he wasn’t going to blow up Eddie’s spot.

“Look,” he said. “Chrissy’s nice, sure, but — I mean, I don’t know. Maybe the girl for me just isn’t in Hawkins, okay?”

“That’s not a reason,” Dustin whined.

“Why does he need a reason?” Lucas cut in. “You seem way more obsessed with Steve’s love life than he is, dude.”

“Yeah,” Mike sneered. “You’re not trying to set Eddie up on a date.”

“That’s a good point, actually,” Dustin said, like the thought was just occurring to him. “You’re both single. Maybe Eddie can date . . . Barb?”

“Holland?” Robin said. Her voice was pure disbelief, and she let out a series of slightly shaky laughs after she said it, like she was trying to hold them in.

“Maybe we should just leave it alone,” Will chimed in, sounding a bit desperate.

“Yeah, wait, don’t drag me into this,” Eddie said, voice raising an octave in what sounded quite a bit like panic. “Let’s focus on Steve, right?” He shot a desperate look to Robin, of all people, who’s eyes were also widening slightly with — what was that. Fear?

Man — what had they talked about at breakfast? Maybe Eddie had told her he was into Chrissy for some reason? The idea that Eddie would tell Robin and not him stung a little, as childish as that was.

“Let’s focus on nobody,” Steve snapped, shoving that thought aside, “because this is none of your business.”

“But we just want you to be happy—“ Dustin started.

“Who’s we?” Lucas demanded. Then he looked at Steve, apologetic. “No, I mean — I do want you to be happy, dude, I just do not want to be included in the meddling in your personal matters, you get me?”

“Thank you, Lucas, I understand,” Steve said.

Dustin muttered something that sounded a bit like kissass under his breath.

“For the record, I don’t give a shit about you being happy,” Mike said. Which, big talk from a dude who’d apologized to Steve for not thanking him enough last week. Steve sent him a look he hoped conveyed that. Mike scrunched his face up and mouthed fuck off back. Mature.

“None of it matters anyway,” Will said, fully desperate-sounding now, “because Steve’s not going to date a girl in Hawkins when he’s moving, so let’s just drop it.”

For the first time since the kids had entered the store there was total and utter silence.

Dustin’s eyes were wide. Wide enough that it would be funny, except he also looked like someone had kicked Mews, and that sent a jolt of guilt down Steve’s spine.

“Wait,” Will said, frowning. “That’s . . . that’s new, isn’t it?”

“You’re moving?” Dustin asked.

“Since when?” Robin snapped next to him, and — god, right Robin. “You didn’t tell me?”

“I only learned yesterday, in my defense.” He turned to Robin, pleading. “I meant to tell you, and then — I just, got distracted by work, I forgot.”

“Your shoebox?” she asked. The look of betrayed shock on her face was slowly fading, a small smile creeping up in its place.

“Yeah,” he said. And then, because he was in his heart a bit of a shithead and he wanted to see her reaction to this bit, he added, “I found it when I went swimming with Barb.”

An entirely new series of expressions crossed her face rapidly, settling on pure disbelief. “You went swimming with Barb?”

“I was shocked too,” Eddie said.

Mike was drumming his fingers on the counter, a look of fake thoughtfulness on his face. “Maybe Steve can date Barb instead?”

Eddie choked a laugh while Robin turned bright red, for some strange reason. Steve sputtered. “No one is dating anyone, I—"

“You’re moving,” Dustin said, a bit louder, clearly trying to get the conversation back on the track. “Where? When? Why?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s not official, really, but — I was looking at apartments in Chicago. At . . . some point in the next few months. And, uh, I don’t — I don’t actually know why. Just to . . . go, I guess?” He looked up at Eddie. “It was Eddie’s idea, actually. Chicago. Ask him.”

“You’re both moving?” Dustin was sounding increasingly distressed.

“Look, this was—" Steve bit off a sigh. “This was a this timeline thing, okay. I mean, there’s no real plan for it now — we can’t even leave Hawkins yet, but also, obviously things are different, knowing what we know, living through what we lived through. I mean — I’ll stay, Dustin. If you need me to. Obviously.”

Everyone stared at him for a long beat.

Mike was full on scowling at him, looking angrier than he’d ever seen the kid. “Steve, that’s fucking stupid,” he snapped.

Steve blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You’re being fucking stupid,” Mike said again, voice getting angrier. “You’re offering to, what? Stay in this shitty dead-end town with us until we graduate high school and go to college? So you can drive us around until we learn to drive ourselves and watch movies in my basement and chaperone D&D? Instead of going somewhere cool and doing something interesting? And you’re gonna do it when there’s not even monsters to fight? That’s fucking stupid Steve, that’s throwing your life away for us again.”

His voice cracked just a bit, on the last word. He turned away, a furious tilt to his mouth, face red with anger or with — something else, Steve wasn’t sure. Wheeler wasn’t meeting anyone’s gaze. Tension burbled in the air, and Steve met Eddie’s eye, half-reflexively. Eddie just shook his head, a little lost looking.

Diffuse, Steve thought. Mike wasn’t going to want to talk about whatever emotion was behind all that here, in front of his friends. That was a conversation for later, for private. “You don’t give a shit if I’m happy, huh Wheeler?” he said, voice lighter than the situation called for. Dustin gave him a look like he was being an asshole, but Mike’s shoulders relaxed immediately, and he rolled his head back towards Steve.

“Fuck off, dude,” he snapped, but there was no heat to it. “I just don’t want you to be stupid, alright?”

Steve shrugged. “Fair enough. Not up to me right now, though — we’re still under house arrest.” And then he leaned against the counter. “Speaking of — aren’t you twerps here to rent a movie? I heard movie night was non-negotiable.”

Will and Lucas, true to form, immediately began yammering about movie options, clearly trying to shift the subject as fast as possible. After a moment Mike rolled his eyes again and huffed off to the horror section, the other two boys following him.

Dustin remained behind for a moment, looking pleadingly at Steve, all puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t — I didn’t mean to react badly, I—"

“No, dude, it’s okay. Took you by surprise.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Took me by surprise too, if I’m being honest.” Across the counter he met Eddie’s eye again. Eddie was smiling, soft.

“I would never ask you to stay,” Dustin said.

“I know. But I would. If you needed me to.”

Dustin sighed. “Like I said, man. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Steve said. “I promise you, kid. Now go help the other shitheads pick a movie, alright?”

Dustin nodded and slunk off. Eddie remained behind though, stepping a little closer to the center of the counter and leaning more fully across it. “You handled that well. With Wheeler and all. Color me impressed.”

“Yeah, well, he found my actual dead body in the Upside Down like a week ago, so we should probably go a little easy on him.”

Robin winced, a full body thing, and Eddie frowned expressively at his own hands, laid across the counter. “I keep forgetting,” he said, softly. And then, after a pause, he looked up and met Steve’s eyes. “Just, you died after me, so — even with the group therapy, even with all we talk about it, I sort of . . . I keep forgetting.” And then, so quiet that Steve thought that maybe he wasn’t really supposed to hear it, Eddie said, “you just seemed so invincible. I don’t know.”

Well. Steve knew one thing for sure — a thing he’d always known, since he was a child. His father, glancing at him coldly; his mother, distracted on the other end of the phone; his arm, in a cast from a fall off his bike; his face, bruised and purpling in the aftermath of someone else’s fists; his head spinning, migraines pulsing even months after the concussions; his body between the children and a fleshy monster; his body between the children and a Russian soldier; his body between the people he loved and the end of the world, a plan destined to fail and someone destined to fail at it. What Steve knew was: he was just a man. Human, and breakable, and easily broken at that. He had expected to die and he had died and it was only now, in this strange second life he’d been granted, that he was starting to realize that everyone else in his life had not seen him the same way. In his telling of the story he was a domino meant to fall; in everyone else’s he was a hero, meant to stand tall at the end, a crown on his head.

Aragorn, something in the back of his head supplied, and he frowned, because he didn’t actually know who that was, or where it came from.

“Anyway,” Eddie said, after too much time had passed in silence. “I’m just saying. That was impressive.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve said. And then he had no more words, and he let silence fall again until the kids came back, six movies between them, and started a fight about who had to pay.

Notes:

half of the comments on this fic: wow will you bring back *character i entirely forgot was in the show*?
me, who's secretly known larry kline was the mayor this entire time: uhhhh yeah maybe

joyce also smokes cigarettes fwiw. in this canon she and hop are both "quitting" and both use steve as an excuse to "bum a smoke" and he's really too desperate for parental figures to care

really, this is long enough i should have split it into two chapters, but i couldn't get these two scenes separate in my head so you get them together.

the chapter title is from lord of the rings.

Chapter 18: you'll never walk alone

Summary:

At movie night Steve has a conversation with the two main Wheeler siblings, Eddie misunderstands something, and Lucas wins an arm wrestling match.

By the time he, Eddie, and Robin got to the Wheelers, things were already chaotic. They weren’t late exactly, but they were the last to arrive — partly because there had once again been a long, stupid argument about shotgun.

(“You cannot override my best friend privileges,” Robin had shouted at Eddie, through the passenger seat window, as Steve idled outside her house.

“Well I have lives in same building privileges,” Eddie had sneered back. It had devolved from there until eventually Steve had threatened to force them both into the backseat and Robin had conceded defeat — although the glower in her eyes told Steve the fight wasn’t ending any time soon.)

He barely got in the front door when a hand clamped around his arm and pulled him towards the kitchen. “I need to speak to you, now,” Nancy half snapped as she dragged him away. He turned and tossed a little wave back at Robin and Eddie. Robin was hiding a grin behind her hand. Eddie had a little frown on his face, a furrow to his brow, but when he met Steve’s eye it slipped away entirely, went blank, and he just nodded and headed towards the stairs without another word.

Nancy rounded the corner and dropped his arm in the kitchen. Steve rubbed at it absently — woman had a grip on her, damn. “Was that, like, completely, totally necessary? With the grabbing? I would have followed you if you’d just asked.”

Nancy did not laugh. She was not smiling. There was a furious tilt to her face, lips pursed unhappily, eyebrows sloped severely down. In the years since they’d broken up Steve had finally allowed himself to think the occasionally less than kind thought about Nancy, and he had one now — that she looked very sharp overall, like a weapon or one of those plants with needles — a cactus or something. He was a little worried he’d cut himself on her over the course of this conversation, whatever it was going to be about.

“You talked to Barb,” she said. Her voice was significantly softer than her face, at the moment, and the whole affect was really confusing.

It was also really not what he was expecting.

“What?” he said, smartly. Then, “yeah, we went swimming.”

Nancy’s face scrunched into total confusion. “Swimming?”

“Why is that the bit everyone gets caught up on?” Steve asked no one — directed at the ceiling, really. “Yes, we went — no, look, that doesn’t matter. I told her to talk to you. I’m guessing she did.”

“She did,” Nancy said. She still looked unhappy, though.

“Did it. . . go badly?”

Nancy let out a groan of frustration and tossed her hands into the air. “I don’t know! She said she wasn’t sure who she was anymore, and she wanted to remember more, so we’re getting lunch tomorrow — but I don’t know, she didn’t seem happy to talk to me.” She glared again at Steve, like that was his fault. Then she paused, and sighed down at her feet. “I think — I think I maybe wasn’t a very good friend to her. In this timeline.” She paused again. “In both timelines, maybe.”

“Well,” Steve said, “then I guess it’s good you have time to make up for that.”

She met his eye, very serious. “I don’t think I was a very good person to you in this timeline, either.”

He thought about it for a minute. There were unkindnesses, yes, but on both of their sides. He’d made up a version of her in his head that was perfect and then held her to that standard, unfairly. She dismissed him as unserious and absurd, and accidentally crushed his heart beneath the heel of her boots, more than once.

She’d said bullshit, at him once, snarling and drunk and horrifyingly cruel. The meanest thing she’d ever said to him.

The meanest thing he had ever said to her was during their fight in the fall of ’86, after she and Jonathan had broken up. It was this:

Standing in his kitchen, glaring at each other, both a little drunk, Nancy had told him he had distracted her, during Spring Break, and ruined things, and he had snapped back that she was only ever capable of loving people who she could use, one way or another. She’d dated him to up her social status, and then she’d planned to dump him until he’d proven useful against the demogorgan; had dumped him when he hadn’t proved useful bringing Barb’s death to light; had gotten with Jonathan after he’d helped her with her investigation; had dumped him when he’d left town and stopped being a chess piece she could shift around, a pawn in her game of being the most important fucking person in town.

It was, maybe, the meanest thing Steve had ever said to anybody. (Although, when they made up, Nancy had said she didn’t think it was meaner than bullshit, in the end. Steve wasn’t so sure about that. He guessed they both had regrets, though, about how they’d handled things.)

And the thing was, he didn’t mean it. Or, no; he did mean it, but it came out wrong. He made it meaner than it was.

Because it wasn’t that Nancy could only love people she could use; it was that she felt obligated to people. She hadn’t dumped Steve because he’d saved her life and she felt obligated to repay him for that, for his bravery, which was a terrible foundation for a relationship. And then Jonathan had helped bring Barb some justice, and so even when their relationship was falling apart she felt obligated to stay because he’d done that for her. Steve had always wondered who Nancy Wheeler would be if she just let herself want things, really want things, instead of always trying to do the thing that she felt was the most just. The thing that universe demanded of her, the thing most righteous.

He wondered who Nancy would be when she wasn’t doing what she thought was owed. Wondered who she’d be at Emerson, free of the responsibilities of the Upside Down and the pressure she put on herself. Wondered who she’d be now, with Barb still her best friend, and not a corpse, and no more world to save. He thought she might be someone really, truly great.

That was all a lot to say, right now, in the Wheeler kitchen right before movie night, though. So instead he shrugged. “We’re okay now, though. Hashed it all out. Ancient history. The things you did in this timeline — I don’t even remember them, you know? So . . . I’m not going to hold it against you.” He smiled at her. “You’re our friend, now, even if maybe you weren’t, here. You’re always going to be one of us. That doesn’t go away just because we, you know, time warped or whatever.”

That fight they’d had, as explosive and mean as it was, had solidified that in Steve’s mind. There was pretty much nothing Nancy could do to get him to hate her. Hell, there was nothing any of the weirdos he’d adopted could do, really. It turned out Steve’s love was actually unconditional. Who would have thought?

“Thank you,” she said, after a long pause. “For saying that. And for talking to Barb. You didn’t have to do that for me, and you did. It was very sweet.”

“It was nothing, really,” he said, because it wasn’t.

“Still,” she said back, and she moved across the kitchen to kiss him on the cheek, hand resting against his jawline for a moment after. “You’re a good guy, Steve. A really good guy.”

“Shit,” Eddie said, from somewhere behind Steve’s left shoulder. Steve whipped around to find him and Dustin standing in the entry way, awkwardly. Dustin was looking appraisingly between Steve and Nancy, and Eddie was looking down at his feet like he’d interrupted something.

“It’s fine, we were just—“ Steve started.

“Mike put us on popcorn duty, but we’ll, you know, get out of your way,” Eddie said quickly, “give you some privacy,” and then he was hauling Dustin away while the kid protested loudly.

Steve frowned. He thought they’d settled the whole remaining feelings for Nancy thing, but clearly Eddie still thought something was happening. Which it wasn’t obviously, and obviously Eddie needed to know that, because—

Well, Eddie needed to know that because otherwise he’d bother Steve about it, constantly, like Dustin had with Robin. Obviously.

(A small feeling, deep in his gut, that that wasn’t quite right — that there was a bigger, better reason that Eddie needed to know there was nothing going on with Steve and Nancy. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure what that reason would be.)

“Well,” Nancy said with a resigned sigh. “I guess that means you and I are actually the ones on popcorn duty.” He agreed with a shrug.

A few minutes later the two of them trudged down the stairs, carrying a truly absurd amount of popcorn bowls between them.

“Finally,” Lucas groaned, rolling his eyes. He was on one of the couches, Max, Will, and El squeezed tightly next to him, decidedly too many people for the thing but somehow making it work. Jonathan and Argyle were sprawled on the floor in front of them. On the other couch were Eddie and Dustin and Mike — who was, for some reason, sitting ramrod straight, looking strange and uncomfortable and shooting little half-glances at Will that he clearly thought no one else as seeing.

Weird.

Robin was down on the ground in front of their couch, and she sent Steve a needless little wave. Eddie looked up at the movement and briefly met his eye, and then looked away just as quickly, eyes back on Dustin instantly.

Okay — also weird.

“You took so long we thought maybe you died again,” Lucas said, drawing Steve’s attention back. Will, the traitor, snickered at this, and then sent a small, apologetic smile Steve’s way like that made up for it.

Steve dropped one bowl directly onto Lucas’s lap, who responded with an exaggerated grunt — a dozen friends and it turned out all of them were the most dramatic people on earth, naturally. “No such luck, Lucas,” he said. “Still kicking.”

“Damn,” Max said, “I was really hoping to call dibs on your car in the will, now that I can see again.”

Steve glared at her. “I will not let you drive my car ever again, Mayfield, not even over my cold, dead, body.”

“Can we get a move on?” Mike snapped, way angrier than the situation called for. “At this point we’re all going to die of old age before we finish the movie.”

Will actually winced a little at that. Something was definitely going on — Jonathan and Nancy were both frowning at the interaction, too.

“Oh-kay,” Nancy said. “Guess I’ll start it then.”

Steve made his way over and sat down next to Robin. As he did, his shoulder nudged into Eddie’s leg, dangling in front of the couch. Eddie snatched it back, crossing it under him, like he’d been burned. “Uh, I,” he said, and then finished with just, “sorry.”

Steve turned to ask what exactly Eddie was sorry about, baffled by the whole thing, but Nancy had managed to get the movie in and conversation moved elsewhere.

“What even is this again?” Lucas asked.

“Well since someone won’t let me rent R-rated movies, we had to get some shit about some kids who find aliens,” Dustin whined. “Explorers. Sounds like an ET ripoff, honestly.”

“You already have nightmares, you don’t need to watch shit that will give you new ones,” Steve snipped back.

“Plus I’m pretty sure Keith noticed Steve slipping you The Dead Zone last summer, and he already has a million reasons to hate Steve,” Robin added. “If you get us fired from Family Video you’d actually have to pay for tapes, you know.”

Across the room, Max was frowning. “Haven’t we had an entire lifetime’s worth of kids finding aliens?” 


“The demogorgan’s not an alien, technically, I don’t think,” Will said.

“What’s ET?” El said, face creased into a frown.

“My god would you all shut the fuck up!” Mike practically howled, to absolutely no effect at all.

The movie was . . . decidedly a movie. Steve got bored about fifteen minutes in and stayed either bored or baffled for the rest of it, but the kids seemed to have a good time regularly making fun of the entire ordeal. By the time it was over the room had devolved into mostly talking, largely debating what to watch next (Lucas was pushing hard for Rocky and Dustin for Star Wars, neither of which were surprising.) At one point, Will tipped his head back and laughed, loud and gleeful, at some cuttingly mean thing Lucas said about Dustin’s haircut.

Abruptly, Mike shifted from his spot on the couch, half-stepping on Steve as he bolted up the stairs without another word. Steve frowned after him, but no one else seemed to notice his departure. He thought about earlier in the day, about Mike’s sudden, spiking anger, about the way his voice had cracked on again.

“Gimme a minute,” Steve said to no one in particular, because no one was really paying attention to him, and went after Mike.

(On the stairs he noticed he wasn’t quite right, about no one paying attention to him — Eddie was giving him an unreadable look, tracking him up the stairs. When Steve met his eye Eddie’s gaze softened, his face slipping into a smile. And then he broke eye contract first, turning back to Dustin, and Steve was left looking at him on the couch for a moment longer, unsure of what, exactly, he was looking for, in the end.)

It took Steve a minute, once he got upstairs, to find Mike. The kid had stepped out onto the Wheeler’s back porch and was glowering into the night.

“Wheeler,” Steve said, sticking his head out the door. “You’re gonna miss your chance to convince Lucas that Rocky sucks and Star Wars is the way to go.”

Mike scoffed. “We’ve seen Star Wars a million times, who gives a shit?”

“Historically, you,” Steve pointed out, frown firmly back on his face. He stepped further out to join Mike on the porch, fully, closing the door slowly behind him. “What’s up? That movie couldn’t have pissed you off that bad.”

For a long moment Mike just remained silent, glaring out at nothing in front of him. “Dustin told us you and Nancy were getting popcorn instead of them because you were having a moment in the kitchen. Which he and Eddie obviously thought was you guys, like, about to make out or whatever, but I know better because — I mean, you’re not still mooning after her, if you were you wouldn’t be moving to Chicago.” He paused, for another moment. “Why are you Nancy still friends?” he said. Or snapped, really, anger crackling through. Steve didn’t think it was directed at him, though — it was just anger, buzzing around in Wheeler’s body, dying to get out any way it could. The kid seemed to understand how he sounded, and shifted on his feet, softening his tone just slightly. “I mean — why are you still friends with her? She broke your heart, right? I mean, so, why bother . . .” he trailed off. Steve waited for him to continue but he didn’t, just glared down at his feet, bare against the porch steps.

“Alright,” Steve said, after a moment. He didn’t really know what Mike was looking for, with this question, but he’d follow him down the rabbit hole, sure. “Well, one — it’s hard to not be friends with someone you keep having to fight the almost-apocalypse with. Your options there are very small, you’re either friends or you’re, like, rivals reluctantly working together because you absolutely have to.”

Mike made a strange, scrunched face. “That sounds like something Eddie would say, dude.”

Huh. It kind of did, didn’t it? Like something pulled from one of his novels, bought for under a buck at Particle (and less than that, with his employee discount, which somehow Steve knew he had, now, in this world).

“Anyway,” Steve said, completely ignoring him, “that’s only part of it. The other part is that I love her.” He held a hand up as Mike opened his mouth to interrupt. “Not in love with her, not anymore. But she matters to me. She’ll always matter to me. And I decided that it would hurt more to not have her in my life at all than it hurt to have her but not the way I wanted.” He paused. “The way I wanted at the time.”

“So you just, what,” Mike said, “fell out of love with her? You can just . . . stop being in love with someone? It’s that easy?”

Steve sort of expected Mike’s response to be something bratty, but there was no tone to this question at all. It was earnest, plain. It was genuine. Like Mike really needed to know the answer, needed to know how it worked.

“It took me awhile,” Steve admitted. “It wasn’t easy. But it’s . . . eventually I came to see that we were better as friends than as boyfriend and girlfriend anyway, and that helped.” He paused, frowning out at the yard in front of him, giving Mike a little privacy. “Is this about El?” Because they’d seemed fine, the past couple weeks, but Steve knew how up and down they were (mostly from Max, Dustin, and Lucas, obviously) so it really was anyone’s guess.

“No,” Mike said. It was all he said for a long moment. Steve looked over at him, and the kid was nearly crying, lip actually quivering and all. Mike cleared his throat and spoke again, very, very quietly. “It’s not about El.”

Steve had never been smart, was the thing. He was a slow reader, he was terrible at math, he hated science. His mother used to say he lacked common sense, and he figured she was right, what with all the concussions he’d gotten, the fights he couldn’t avoid, the gut instinct he had to run back into the fire. So he wasn’t smart. But he knew these people, this weird little gang he’d saved the world with. He knew all of them, so it wasn’t intelligence, really, that got Steve from point A to point B here, it was just what he knew.

Like: Will pretty obviously had a crush on Mike.

Like: Mike pretty obviously didn’t have one back.

Like: this wasn’t about El, but it was about love, and it was about losing someone because of love, and if it wasn’t about El, well. That left a very small list of people it could be about.

So that was the question. It wasn’t will El ever fall out of love with me? It was can Will and I ever get through this? Can it ever be the way that it was?

There was something strange, here, that Mike was choosing Steve of all people to have this conversation with. Honestly, he thought nearly anyone else would be a better choice, but he found it hard to believe Mike would have asked this question if Jonathan or Nancy had gone after him instead. Then again, he and Nancy had somehow stayed friends, after everything. He supposed that made him at least a bit of an expert.

He understood that this was very gentle territory he needed to tread, here. (He couldn’t help but think of the vines in the Upside Down, of watching every single place you stepped.)

“Ah,” is what he opened with.

Brilliant. Amazing. Steve Harrington: advice-giver of the year, come to him with all your problems.

God he was so not the right person to talk about this with.

“I,” Steve started, and then stopped. He held in the sigh building in the back of his throat. Let himself think about what he wanted to say for another moment longer. “I can’t promise you everything is going to be alright, or that it’s all going to work out—“ he started.

“I’m not a fucking baby,” Mike sneered. “I know shit doesn’t work out, we fought the end of the world together, shit obviously doesn’t always work out.”

“Christ, would you let me finish?” Steve snapped back. He pulled a hand through his hair. “I can’t promise you that but — we’re weird okay? We did stuff together that no one else ever has. We fought monsters, and the Russian and US governments, and literally prevented the end of the world. This isn’t a group of people who are going to turn on each other, not ever.” He paused again. “I don’t think Nancy and I are friends in this timeline. In a normal breakup, with that much emotion, I don’t think. . .” He stopped and sighed. “But we’re not from this timeline, do you understand me? No one here is walking away from each other.” He met Mike’s eye. The kid had a cagey energy around him, like he wanted to bolt. “I don’t know that . . . anyone will fall out of love with anyone else, or if anyone ends up together at the end, or any of that stuff. But I know that no one is going to leave each other behind, here. We never have before.”

“We left you behind,” Mike said, after a beat. “We left you behind and you died.”

“No, you didn’t,” Steve said. He turned to face Mike more fully. “You didn’t, I promise you.” Mike was back glaring into the horizon, not meeting Steve’s eye. Steve sighed and then reached out and grabbed Mike by the shoulder, twisting the kid so he was forced to look at him. “Look — I made the choices I made. And I had my reasons. And . . . I’m sorry, that you have to live with finding my body, really, I am sorry. But I didn’t throw my life away, Mike. And you didn’t leave me behind.” He stopped again. Mike looked intensely uncomfortable. “And if I had . . . if things hadn’t gone the way they had, and I was still dead, you still wouldn’t have left me, you understand? That’s not how it works.”

“How does it work?” Mike asked. He tossed his hands in the air, all gangly teenage frustration, a weird mimic of his sister in their kitchen only a few hours earlier. “You’re in love, and then you’re out of love. We literally left you behind but somehow we didn’t leave you behind. It’s all — none of it makes fucking sense! Why aren’t you mad at us? Why doesn’t Will hate me, because I’m not—?”

Mike seemed to realize he’d said too much, clamping his mouth shut in panic, but Steve just pretended like he hadn’t heard it — someone else’s secret falling deaf on his own ears.

“That’s just life,” Steve said back. He couldn’t help the exasperated little chuckle that escaped him. “It doesn’t make fucking sense! I can’t explain to you how love works, it just does. You didn’t leave me behind because you all love me, and you would have done everything you could to save me, and I made those choices, and you’re not responsible for that. That’s just life, Mike, you love people and it doesn’t make sense, and you forgive them and they forgive you even if you don’t always deserve it, and you all fail each other and that’s okay, because you all pick each other up too. That’s just life.”

There was a long silence. Mike was looking at his feet again.

Finally, he spoke. “You don’t think . . . you don’t think he’ll ever hate me?”

“No,” Steve said, easily. And then he remembered — Dustin, half in tears when Will was leaving, saying they wasted all their time with him. Saying they took Will for granted, that they ignored him, that if he could he’d go back and change things. “But you have to be a good friend to him, too,” he added. “It’s not enough to expect someone will always be there for you. You gotta be there for them, too. And that might be . . . weird, right now, but you gotta figure out what Will needs from you — as a friend — and provide that.” He tugged at his hair again. “And honestly, Mike? What he might need is space, and if that’s the case—“

“I gotta listen,” Mike said, soft. He sighed and thumped his head against the siding, glaring up at the sky. “I think he was pissed, honestly, when he learned that we were playing D&D again. When he came back last year. Like — happy, right, because it meant we were being ourselves again and not, like, pretending to be these other, cooler kids we wanted to be, but . . .”

“He felt like you just didn’t want to play D&D with him,” Steve finished.

Mike turned his scowl to Steve, although, again, Steve understood it wasn’t actually directed at him — it was just something he was at the receiving end of, at the moment. “Eddie made it seem cool, you know? At the end of middle school it was lame, but Eddie — he made it sound rebellious and, like, anti-establishment and shit.” The kid sighed. “I feel stupid for not — for not seeing that it was cool, when Will was still here.”

(And, of course, leave it to Eddie Munson to somehow make D&D, one of the least cool things Steve had ever encountered, seem cool again to these kids. It was impressive, really. Because as long as Eddie loved it, and as long as that love felt infectious, it didn't matter that it wasn't actually cool. It was cool because Eddie made it cool. It was cool because the kids made it cool.

God, being popular had been so dumb in the end, hadn't it?)

Steve shrugged. “In this timeline, Will got Hellfire Club. He got Eddie and he got you all. He’ll remember it.” He dropped a hand onto Mike’s shoulder. “Listen, trust me here — I’m an expert on blaming myself for shit. But Barb Holland gave me some very good advice the other day.” He paused, for dramatic effect. “Not everything is about you.” Mike’s nose crinkled in distaste, and Steve let himself laugh at the way it made him look. “I’m serious, dude, like — Will’s gonna feel how he feels, and you gotta understand that, and be sympathetic, but you also gotta know you can’t change it. Be sorry for the shit you fucked up, try hard not to fuck the same shit up in the future. But beating yourself up? Convincing yourself it’s all gonna go sideways and everyone will abandon you? That’s just gonna make you miserable.”

Mike’s expression softened a bit. He nodded, finally, shrugging Steve’s hand off his shoulder. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks.” He paused, and gave Steve a considering little look. “I didn’t mean that you threw your life away, really. I just . . . I don’t want you to keep sacrificing stuff, for us.”

“I don’t plan on dying again,” Steve said, with a shrug. “But it’s not a sacrifice, to me, to be where you guys need me to be.”

Mike looked back up at the stars. “I think maybe where we need you to be is doing what you want for once, man,” he said.

Steve didn’t really know what to say back — which was alright, because Max took the moment to stick her head out the door and glare at both of them. “There you two are,” she snapped. “We’re getting to the second movie, get your asses back downstairs. Lucas won the arm wrestling match so it’s Rocky.”

“Okay, Max, we’re coming,” Steve said with a laugh.

“Dustin agreed to arm wrestling?” Mike scoffed. “Dumbass deserved to lose.” With that he ducked inside, shooting back one small, thankful smile Steve’s way before vanishing down the stairs.

Notes:

the first movie they watch in this chapter is Explorers, a truly terrible 1985 ET ripoff that also happens to be the movie debut of Ethan Hawke, Maya Hawke's dad. i cannot help myself, i'm sorry.

i don't necessarily consider this an official sinking of byler in this fic's universe, but i am a firm believer that if byler ever does happen both of these boys would need to be fairly far removed from the events of the show and hawkins and that mike would frankly need to do a lot of growing up. which he's starting, right now, swear!

the chapter title is from You'll Never Walk Alone, which is officially a song from the 1945 musical Carousel, but I despise Carousel with every fiber of my being so I only recognize the version by Gerry and the Pacemakers that's the (un?)official anthem of Liverpool FC. (i'm not even a soccer fan, i just love this song)

we are, believe it or not, actually getting somewhere in the romance plotline, i swear. i just am fulfilling my ultimate stranger things fantasy and forcing every single person in this fic to talk about how they feel for once, my god. but keep an eye out for some fun stuff in the next handful of chapters.

happy holidays and as always, thanks for reading!

Chapter 19: riding in cars with boys

Summary:

Steve clears up a miscommunication and Eddie reveals a secret.

Robin got shotgun on the way home, some sort of agreement reached while Steve was busy dealing with Mike.

(“It’s a tentative stalemate,” Robin had said, eyes dark and stormy, while Eddie had grinned with pure, wicked glee.

His friends were all so weird.)

The three of them talked easily on the way, mostly about nothing at all, until they dropped Robin off. Then Eddie pulled himself into the front seat (through the gap between the seats, while Steve protested and Robin cackled from the street), and they drove off.

There was a brief, strange moment of silence. Eddie was fidgeting in the front seat, alternating between looking at Steve and looking out the window.

“Okay,” Steve said, after a moment. “Something’s bugging you, spill.”

“Nothing’s bugging me,” Eddie lied. He let another moment pass, and the sighed, heavily. “It’s not bugging me, really, I just — I feel bad, that Dustin and I ruined your little . . . moment, in the kitchen tonight. I mean — you seemed close to making something happen, there, so—“

“Woah,” Steve said, a weird surge of panic hitting his chest. “Nothing was going to happen, it’s — you didn’t interrupt anything, I swear.”

Eddie shot him a look of pure skepticism. “Well, you two seemed awful close there, in the kitchen, is all I’m saying,” he said. Steve couldn’t place his tone at all, it was too — nothing, very blank, very not Eddie.

Steve frowned at the road in front of him. “I keep telling you, man, it’s — there is no me and Nancy, I swear. It’s over. I’m over it. She’s over it, it’s not happening.”

Eddie scoffed. It was, honestly, a little mean sounding. “You’re telling me if Nancy Wheeler came up to you tomorrow and said ‘Oh, Steve, I was wrong, I love you, have my six babies,’ you’d just say no? No way you changed that much in a year, I’m sorry.”

There was a flare of shame in his stomach, up his throat — right, the six kids conversation, which everyone heard and which had lived in his head for months, awake and asleep. Awake just replaying it, embarrassed; asleep, the twisted dream version of Nancy laughing at him, the twisted dream version of Robin laughing at him, the twisted dream version of Eddie laughing and laughing and laughing at him.

(And it had never occurred to Steve, not at all, that maybe it was odd Eddie was even in the dream to begin with.)

“Look, man,” he said. “I said that when I thought we were going to die, okay? I didn’t. . . that was a very weird time for me, for her, and I — I don’t know. I didn’t really mean it.”

Eddie shifted in the front seat to look at him. “What do you mean? You didn’t mean it?”

Steve sighed. “Look, okay, if we’re going to talk about this I need to focus,” he said, and he pulled over to the side of the road and cut the engine to face Eddie more fully. “You know why I told Nancy I wanted to have six kids?”

“You want a big family that loves you back because your parents are emotionally distant dickheads who’ve basically abandoned you,” Eddie said. “You’re not a very mysterious person, Steve, sorry to say.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes, right, sorry my life isn’t interesting enough for you.” Eddie winced, just slightly, and Steve felt bad for having opened so harshly. It wasn’t exactly his favorite topic of conversation. “But you’re right — I wanted a big family, a big family that loved me. And you know what I’ve realized, since then?” Eddie shook his head. “I already have it. Joyce and Hopper, Robin and Dustin, Max and Lucas, Mike and El and Will and, yes, even Jonathan and Nancy and fucking Argyle — they’re my family. They’re a big group of people who loves me. I don’t . . . I don’t need six kids. I never did. I already had what I wanted.”

There was a moment of silence while Eddie seemed to take this in. “Okay,” he said, finally. “Okay, you don’t need six kids, but — Steve, I mean, I wasn’t kidding when I said that you had that whole . . . true love thing, going on.” Weirdly, he sounded a little bitter about it. “I mean, it’s — high school sweethearts, ripped apart by world ending circumstances, torn asunder, brought together, finding each other in the violence of the world despite everything. That’s a wild love story, man, that’s like — they make movies and write operas about that shit. You could have a really, truly, epic love story if you wanted to.”

“But I don’t want to,” Steve snapped. Eddie’s head whipped to look at him, face totally disbelieving. Steve sighed again — god, he could never say it right. “I want to have a love story, obviously, I do, but I — I don’t want it to be epic, or dramatic. I don’t want it to be hard.” He paused. “With Nancy I was always fighting to try and make it work, and I don’t want to have love that’s work. Or, I mean, I know relationships are work, I just—“ he cut himself off. “God, I’m stupid, I can never say it right.”

“You’re not stupid,” Eddie said, barely a whisper.

Steve took another deep breath. “Look,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I mean, really, I’m — my whole life I have just been stumbling around in the dark, trying to find the right way forward. And I have fucked up so much, and I have, you know, stubbed my toe a million times and—” Eddie laughed, here, a little breathless, and Steve laughed too, let it bubble in him and expand out, back into happiness, away from the panic of saying it wrong, or Eddie judging him for it. Eddie would never judge him. Not for this. “When I picture love, real love, my love story, it’s not — it’s not this epic thing with blood and guts and teeth. It’s just — it’s me, in the darkness, stumbling around, only I’m not alone. There’s someone else in the darkness too. And they’re not perfect, either, you know we — we knock heads, sometimes, we step on each other’s feet, but it’s—” he stopped, again, turned to really meet Eddie’s eye. “They’re in the darkness too, with me, and maybe we’re both lost but we’re finding our way together.”

There was another moment of silence. And then Eddie spoke, voice strangely a little gravelly, almost like — well, honestly, almost like he was about to cry, but that made no sense at all. “That’s really beautiful, Steve,” he said.

“Thanks,” Steve said, and the happiness in his chest expanded even farther, ran all the way down to the tips of his fingers. “Anyway, it’s — when I think about it, really think about it, Nancy was never in the dark with me. We were in . . . different darks. I don’t know.” He paused. “I really don’t . . . want it, anymore. Want her, anymore. We’re just friends. I promise.”

“Okay,” Eddie said. “Okay. I believe you. I’ll let it go.”

“Thanks,” Steve said.

And then silence, again. Strangely Steve didn’t feel like restarting the car. The conversation as it was felt . . . unfinished, maybe? Open ended? Like there was something else they should talk about, some other related thing. He tried to consider what it was.

Well. They’d talked about Steve’s love life. Maybe they should talk about Eddie’s.

Eddie, who’d told Steve to go for Chrissy despite everything. Clearly the guy had some sort of self-esteem issue, or something. Maybe that’s what they needed to talk about.

“So,” Steve said, “speaking of love lives—”

Eddie’s face morphed into pure, open panic for half a second before he pulled it back together.

“Chrissy,” Steve finished.

“. . . Chrissy?” Eddie asked. Another strange expression firefly flickered across his face. Then, “you . . . do you want to date her? Because, I mean, I know what you told Dustin, but, I mean, if you do—”

Steve shook his head. “Wait, what? No, no, I don’t want to date Chrissy.”

“Oh,” Eddie said. Now he just looked confused. “Okay, so what about Chrissy?”

“You want to date her.”

“I do?” Eddie blinked for a minute, purely baffled. And then Steve’s words seemed to register, because his face went back to panic. “Oh. Oh no, Steve, no you — you’re,” and here he let out a strange, manic little laugh, “you are so off base here it’s not even funny.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve said, shoving lightly at Eddie’s shoulder. “Look, I mean, whatever, it might have seemed weird in high school, but we all died so I think we can ignore social rules here. She’s cute, she clearly likes talking to you, she visits you at work. . .” he trailed off. It was a bit weird, but he sounded less happy by the end of the sentence then he had at the start of it, even though he hadn’t intended to. Like a balloon deflating. There was a weird feeling in his chest, too, that he couldn’t quite categorize. Eddie didn’t seem to notice, though, because he’d buried his face in his hands for a long moment. Steve cleared his throat, feeling a bit awkward. “Anyway, I mean — you should ask her out.”

Under his breath, Eddie muttered something that sounded a bit like stop being a fucking coward.

“Uh,” Steve said. “Look, is this . . . if this is a sore subject—”

Eddie sat up, an abrupt movement, and turned to face Steve. “No, it’s. This is what . . . bros do, right? We do . . . bro talk.”

That hung in the air for a moment.

“Bros?” Steve asked. He was starting to feel like he’d lost control of whatever they were talking about.

“You told me something big, so I’m . . . I’ll . . .” Eddie bit off a groan of frustration, and then muttered something under his breath again, this time soft enough that Steve couldn’t hear it. Finally, he spoke again. “I’m not going to ask Chrissy out. She’s very nice, and sweet but she’s,” he paused and took a deep breath. “She’s not my type,” he said, very slowly. He’d pulled a strand of hair in front of his face and was chewing on it, lightly.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Oh, what, not goth enough for you?”

Eddie made an Eddie-noise — half a groan of frustration and half a chuckle. “Okay, firstly, Stevie, baby, I am metal, not goth, and I honestly think you actually do know that and are just fucking with me, like how you fuck with Henderson by pretending you don’t know it’s called Dungeons & Dragons.” He cut himself off. “And secondly, no it’s not — there’s nothing wrong with Chrissy. Or, I mean, there sort of is, but it’s—” he cut himself off again. Another Eddie-noise, this one more frustration than laugh. “God, the stupidest part is that I’m freaking out about this and I might have already done it once, you know? Like, I have no recollection of the shit that we talked about in our little year of being bosom buddies.” He carded both hands through his hair and Steve could see, now, that he was panicking, heaving himself into a full attack.

So Steve reached out and clasped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, thumb resting at the juncture where his neck met his collarbone. “Eddie, woah, slow down.”

Eddie half fluttered his own hand towards Steve’s and then moved it away. Blinked twice. Swallowed hard. And then blurted, fast and loud, “Steve, I’m gay.”

Which was—

The first thought that Steve had was good, and that thought was so inherently bizarre that it sent his heart jackrabbiting up. Good? That wasn’t the right thing to say.

Eddie’s eyes were getting wider each second that Steve wasn’t speaking. Oh, fuck. “I’m sorry,” Steve said, abrupt, “I just — the last time I did this with someone we were both really high and I’m realizing now that I don’t actually know what to say.” He paused. Swallowed. And then went with his gut. “That’s, uh, good?”

Eddie’s eyes somehow widened more. “Good?”

Oh, God, Steve had fucked this whole thing up. “Cool? Or, um. I—” he faltered. “God, I never thought I’d wish to be drugged by Russians again, holy shit, I’m really screwing this up.”

“Drugged by Russians?” Eddie shrieked.

“It’s — I’m cool with it!” Steve said, voice’s tone and tenor matching Eddie’s. Two men, screaming hysterical in a BMW. Classic. “Robin and I, when she told me she was gay, it was — we’d gotten doped up on this truth serum by the Russians who were under Starcourt and I, honestly, think I sort of fucked that one up too because I really didn’t even understand what she was trying to say for a minute. And also I’d just vomited and definitely had a concussion.” He paused. “Can we start this over?”

“No,” Eddie said, face flushed red. He buried his face in his hands and slumped down further in the seat. It was only then that Steve realized he’d still had a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He moved it, a strange reluctance pouring through him. “No, no, we’re — it’s fine.” Eddie took a shuddering breath. “You’re . . . cool with it?” He pulled his hands away to meet Steve’s eye, solid and firm — like he could tell if Steve was lying just by looking at him.

“I’m cool with it,” Steve confirmed.

Eddie nodded again. “And you were . . . drugged by Russians? Under the mall?”

“I honestly keep forgetting all the shit you don’t know about the Upside Down,” Steve said, half around a laugh. “But, uh, yeah. Not my best summer.”

There was a moment of silence after that. Eddie had looked away and was staring out the windshield. Steve wanted to meet his eye again. Wanted it desperately. Ignored the pressure in the back of his head, and the voice that sounded strangely like Robin echoing around and saying that maybe he should stop ignoring it. That maybe he should think about it — about what it meant that his friend came out as gay and his first thought was good.

But Steve had been the King of many things – keg stands, seven minutes in heaven, beer pong, and shoving his emotions down until he absolutely had to deal with them being the four key ones, of course.

“Is this—" Eddie started. “Does this change things?” Finally he turned, met Steve’s eye again, and it was water in the desert, to Steve.

“No,” Steve said, because it was the truth. “Not for me, at least.”

Eddie was frowning. “We don’t have to — I understand if you’re, uh, uncomfortable with me crashing in your place. Or, you know, I can move back to the couch?”

“Nah,” Steve said, with a shrug, “you can still crash in my bed. I mean — really, it’s fine. This doesn’t change anything.”

Eddie frowned even deeper. “You don’t think it’s weird to share a bed, still?”

No, Steve thought, small and harsh, but he knew it would be a mistake to say out loud. Said, instead, “dude, we came back from the dead. I don’t think either of us gets to comment on what might be weird, anymore. We're, like, permanently weird.”

Which startled a genuine laugh out of Eddie, dimples popping and everything. Steve felt Eddie’s laugh vibrate in his own chest, even though they weren’t touching anymore. “Fair enough, man.” Eddie paused for a moment, eyes a bit far away. “You know, I don’t — I don’t remember if I told you this before or not, weirdly.”

Steve thought about it. Nothing had flashed through his mind. He concentrated on it, but it was like trying to remember a dream after waking up — vague and blurry. “Me either,” he admitted, after a pause. “If you did, do you think I was less awkward the last time we had this talk?”

Eddie was giving him a look that Steve couldn’t read at all. “Knowing you though, Stevie, you were probably just as awkward.”

Steve groaned. “That doesn’t make me feel better, Eds.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Eddie said cheerfully. He propped his feet onto the dashboard, and Steve shoved at them as he restarted the car to take them home.

Notes:

at an earlier point in this work eddie asks if "this" is what being steve's friend is like and steve goes "what, riding in my car?" which was not what eddie meant but is also really true. they are in this car a LOT in this fic! maybe i'm making up for completely deleting steve's car in my last stranger things fic, whoops.

it is probably extremely period inaccurate to have eddie say "bro talk" but it really cracked me up so i left it in. sorry!

the chapter title is originally a book but is more importantly a 2001 drew barrymore movie that my friends and i would watch at movie nights much like the one the boys are currently departing.

i hope you had a nice holiday if you celebrate, and if you're in the US i hope the awful storm and terrible travel delays didn't affect you too bad!! stay warm, stay safe, and happy almost 2023

Chapter 20: everything you lose is a step you take

Summary:

Time passes; and then there's another reunion.

Notes:

a minor tw: steve has a half-joking thought about being involuntarily committed to a mental hospital in this chapter.

Slowly things began to feel normal again.

In a way, Steve was used to this — it always happened after a brush with Upside Down madness. A few weeks of tense, nervous closeness, of hovering around one another, of waiting for things to go wrong again. And then, when they didn’t — when it seemed like everything was actually fine, at least for the time being, they all slipped back into the routines of everyday living. So it wasn’t a surprise, really, that time began to pass a bit quicker, the days less novel and interesting and more . . . mundane, maybe.

Which wasn’t to say there weren’t still a few moments, as July rolled to an end, that stuck out to Steve as a bit notable.

The first shift he had with Robin after his conversation in the car with Eddie, for instance.

He hadn’t been sure how to bring it up, but the more he thought about it the more he was convinced Robin already knew Eddie was gay. It made both of their behavior after their breakfast make more sense — the little glances, the half-looks, the way both of their faces kept going red as Dustin’s relationship conversation continued. And it explained Robin’s giddy excitement. It wasn’t just Eddie accepts me, it was I have found another one of my kind.

Which, really, should have made Steve jealous. But it didn’t, for some strange reason. There was no part of him that felt the fear of being replaced — that Steve-and-Robin would turn into Eddie-and-Robin, that both of them would prefer the other over him. There was some deep part of him that just understood that wouldn’t happen. Maybe it was just that neither Robin or Eddie seemed the type, or maybe it was the echo of the year still mostly unremembered, or maybe—

(Well, maybe it was something else. That unnamable feeling that kept creeping into his head. The thought, still unfinished.)

His moment to bring it up had come about halfway through the shift, a random weekday slow spot. And he handled it with his classic tact and grace.

“So, Eddie’s gay,” he said.

Robin literally spit the water she’d been drinking out.

“God, Steve, a little warning,” she snapped after she was done choking. She rubbed at her throat and scowled at him. “I’m assuming he told you, unless your powers of perception have dramatically improved in the past two weeks.”

He scowled at her, now. “Hey, I notice things.” She raised an eyebrow at him, all challenging, which he simply could not let stand. “I noticed something’s up between Mike and Will.”

She rolled her eyes. “A blind man who’s lost in the desert would notice that, Steve, give me a harder one.”

“Okay,” he said, sauntering up and leaning on the counter next to her. “But I noticed why. I think Mike knows that Will has, you know,” he waved a hand vaguely, casting a quick look to double check the store was empty, “feelings.” He left out the fact that Mike had, essentially, told him this. No sense weakening the argument.

This, somehow, made Robin frown even deeper, confusion settling in on her face as well. “Wait,” she said, “you noticed that Will Byers was gay, but Eddie had to tell you?” She sighed, all drama. “I don’t think this proves your point as well as you think it does.”

Okay, he had no idea what that meant. A little defensiveness creeped into his voice. “Hey, look, I’m the babysitter, right? It’s my job to pay attention to the kids. I’m not nearly as eagle eyed about you or Eddie because you are adults, and so far neither of you has secretly kept a demodog in their basement and put us all in danger, so I don’t need to look as hard.”

She seemed to consider this for a long moment. “Okay, you know what? Fine, fair, I’ll let this one go.” She gave him a difficult to read look out the corner of her eye, like she didn’t quite want him to catch it — but Robin had the subtlety of a Fourth of July parade, so it was pretty easy to catch, all told. “You’re cool with it?” she asked, after a moment.

“Of course I’m cool with it,” Steve said, half a scoff. “I was cool with you.”

She shrugged, a little sad looking. “It’s different, you know it is. Girls about other girls, guys about other guys . . . I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s different.”

He thought about that. Eddie had said the same thing in the car — it was almost like Steve was supposed to feel differently about Eddie, or at least about their friendship. But he just . . . didn’t. For whatever reason, it changed nothing. “I really am cool with it,” he said, after a pause, when it became clear Robin was expecting some sort of answer.

She was still giving him a totally unreadable look. “That’s good,” she said, eventually. “That you’re . . . cool with it.” She said it like there was more to say — like she was expecting something else to happen at this point in the conversation — but Steve really had no idea what it was, and then someone walked in and they both got distracted by the job they were actually supposed to do.

So, yes: a cryptic and strange conversation with Robin. Memorable!

For the most part, though, time just passed. Steve spent it the way he always spent it — he went to work most mornings. He hung out with Robin and the kids — the arcade with Dustin, the basketball court with Lucas (who was determined to balance both basketball and Hellfire next year, which was sweet, really), the stretch of concrete in the park where Max liked to skateboard while Steve pretended that watching her fall didn’t send a spike of panic up his back every single time.

(“I’ve broken my arm before,” she said, one afternoon. “A couple times. It wasn’t usually a big deal.”

“I know,” he said back. “But I don’t think I’m ever going to enjoy watching you get hurt. Or, you know, almost hurt.”

She shrugged. “Not life if you don’t get hurt sometimes, right?” And then she’d turned to him, face serious, and went, “I’d be a lot less likely to get hurt if you were on the board you know, letting me teach you.”

And Steve was a strong person, he liked to think, but somehow he did end up on the skateboard and then immediately flat on his ass, the sound of Max laughing in his ears somehow dulling the pain to both his body and his pride.)

All of those things were normal enough — stuff Steve had always done in the post Upside Down calm.

What was new was how much he hung out with Eddie.

He supposed new was the wrong word, though.

The double visions were slipping in regularly, now. The first time Eddie showed up to Family Video to catch Steve and Robin as they closed and head to dinner with them, it hadn’t felt surprising to any of them — it was tried and true, something they always did, here, in this world.

Once he got out of his car at the movie theater, Robin and Eddie and Dustin piling out after him, and caught Lucas’s eye across the parking lot as he and Max and Erica got out of the Sinclair’s car and he remembered — right, they’d done this before, group outings and movie days where Steve always said he wasn’t paying for popcorn for everyone and then always did, because he was—

“A total sucker?” Robin said, grinning.

“A total sap,” Eddie corrected, but it didn’t sound really mean or teasing at all, and it made Steve feel warm, inside, even as he threw a kernel at Eddie’s head in a huffed, not really meaningful protest.

Similar moments of — not quite déjà vu, he supposed, something else entirely — happened all over. Him and Eddie, sitting on the edge of the quarry, splitting a cigarette; him and Eddie, watching some shit on TV while Eddie talked over the entire thing, which should have been annoying but wasn’t; him and Eddie and Robin at the diner, in his car, hanging around Family Video or Particle and annoying each other whenever they could.

There were group hangouts, too. True to Eddie’s word D&D started back up in earnest. Steve had no idea how the game worked, but that was okay — he found he enjoyed posting up in the kitchen with Robin, and sometimes Nancy, Jonathan and Argyle, just shooting the shit while the kids (and Gareth, Jeff, and Petey) yelled increasingly nonsensical things from Steve’s living room. Inevitably at some point Steve would wander out into the chaos to see if anyone needed anything — his mother’s how to be a good host lessons seared permanently into his brain — and he’d get caught up, a little, in whatever was going on. He never understood the story but he knew that whatever it was, Eddie was good at telling it. Steve would find his eyes catching on Eddie’s rings, glinting in the lamp light (Eddie insisted on playing with as little light as possible for the ambiance, whatever the hell that was.) Eddie would say something and the kids would all gasp (even Max, who insisted she wasn’t playing but sat around the table anyway), and Eddie would grin and then, like he could sense Steve in the room, he’d look up and catch Steve’s eye and his grin would change, a bit, would shift into a private little expression that only Steve got to see.

(There was a part of Steve that was possessive of this. That liked that he was the only person who got to have those little moments, those private looks. There was a second part of him that thought he should probably tell Robin that. That if he just told her everything, she could figure it out for him — like the Russian code two years ago, she could crack whatever strange thing was happening in his head open for him, decipher every thought he couldn’t finish or didn’t quite understand and lay it out all for him, clear and readable.

The third part of him was so afraid of what she’d find that he never got around to asking.)

Also new: now he hung out with Barb.

They never went swimming again, but sometimes Barb would show up to his apartment to see what he was up to, and she’d end up tagging along on their plans. She went to movies with all of them, once, Nancy’s face twisting into a strange expression of relief when she saw the other girl. She camped out on the couch and ordered pizza with him and Robin and Eddie on movie night. She even came to Family Video, with increasingly regularity, just to talk.

And Steve could be flattered and choose to think it was simply his unending charm and boyish good looks earning him another friend, but sometimes he’d see Barb’s eyes catch on Robin for a long moment, and Robin kept going bright red and babbling incoherently when Barb would swing by work, so he had a feeling it really only sort of had to do with him, in the end.

(“So,” he said, after Barb left Family Video and Robin had dropped her head onto the counter and groaned in embarrassment. “Barb, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, Steve,” Robin said back. Then she’d sat up and looked at him, eyes pleading. “I’m not — I’m not wrong about this one, am I?”

“I didn’t think you were wrong about Vickie either,” Steve said. “But I definitely don’t think you’re wrong here.”

Robin had groaned and dropped her head again, and Steve couldn’t stop himself from laughing at her, just a little.)

Therapy continued on, too. Slowly everyone seemed to get — better wasn’t quite the right word, but maybe more open? Chrissy told them all about her mother in more detail, the cracks she created in Chrissy’s head that Vecna had slipped through. Fred talked about the car accident. Patrick remained cagey, alluding only to family stuff, but sometimes he’d look at Morana and she’d look back, sympathetic, so at least it seemed like he was talking to someone about it. Bob talked to Joyce at some point, closed that door slightly — he was still heartbroken, but it was the beginning of moving on, and Steve understood that pretty clearly.

(One afternoon he saw Will and Bob together on Main Street, grabbing ice cream. Will had met his eye and sent a little wave, and Steve had waved back, heart strangely full.)

One thing they did not talk about at therapy, though: Jason. Steve asked Morana, once, what her plan was with him now that some time had passed.

“That’s nice,” she’d said back. At Steve’s questioning look, she added, “that after all this time, you still think the government has a plan.” And then she’d sighed, and wiped at her brow, once again looking suddenly so much older than usual. “We have him in an apartment. Not in this building. He’s being monitored 24/7 by staff, and he and I are having sessions. He can’t leave town anyway, no one can, so I’m hopeful that we’ll see progress before we decide the town is ready to be reopened.”

“And are you? Seeing progress?” he’d asked.

And she’d just smiled, so sadly, and said, “doctor-patient confidentiality still applies here, Steve.”

After that he’d dropped it, at least for the time being.

Outside of that, his one on one sessions with Morana were . . . fine. She seemed eager to discuss his parents — their continued absence only growing more apparent every week. But Steve felt there was nothing to discuss. They weren’t here. It was better when they weren’t here. Steve was leaving, eventually. End of story, all around.

(And if Morana would frown at him sometimes, like she knew there was more to it, well — that was easy enough to ignore.)

Between all of these things — the hangouts, his job, and therapy — time began to slip away from Steve, and then it was August 1st, suddenly, July in the past and summer beginning to crawl to an end.

It was one of those terrible, sweaty Saturdays where Steve actually wished he had work, because at least it was something to do. Without it, there was no chance he was going to do anything more than park himself in front of the apartment’s air conditioner all day, unwilling to embrace the horrific sun outside. It didn’t help that Eddie had work, either. Usually their schedules aligned — Steve was fairly sure they’d actually planned that, in the last timeline, the way he and Robin had planned their shifts — but every once in a while, they had different off days.

Robin was off today, though. And the kids never had plans. Maybe they could go to the movies, or something — no better air conditioning in Hawkins then at the movie theater, really.

He was just considering getting up and making some calls when his phone rang, first.

He picked it up. “Rob, if this is you it’s starting to get creepy how good you are at reading my mind.”

“Steve,” Morana said on the other line. She sounded nervous, a horrible energy spilling out of her voice. “Steve,” she said again, and then stopped.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Your parents are back.”

Which — the thing was that shouldn’t have been shocking. His parents always came back, at some point.

Except two things. One: he used to always be alone in the house when they came back. Which, as much as them being in town was often worse than them being gone, the surge of relief he felt at the house no longer being empty often made their return feel, at least briefly, like a good thing.

The second thing was that this was the longest he’d ever gone without seeing them. Again, that wasn’t true in this timeline, but as far as Steve actually remembered, it’d been over a year since he’d seen his parents. In a weird way, he’d gotten used to their absence being more permanent, their presence in his life more reduced.

Also, since the last time he’d seen them he’d died, and they hadn’t even bothered to return the voicemail informing them of that, which still caused a boil of rage, inside his chest.

His heart rate was spiking. He tried to take a deep breath and found he couldn’t quite fill his lungs.

“Steve?” Morana said on the other line. Her open concern grated on him — he hadn’t even told her anything about his parents, not really, how could she know it was terrible enough to be concerned? The one talk they had in group therapy had been bad, sure, but he’d never let her follow up on it for a reason.

(He realized, then, that perhaps his unwillingness to talk about it was, in and of itself, a sign of how bad it was.)

“I’m here,” he said, lamely.

“I had to tell them you wouldn’t be home,” she said. She sounded apologetic. “The agents at the perimeter called me. Your father sort of . . . demanded to know what was going on.” She paused again. “Which I guess is fair, considering what’s changed.”

“They know I’m not home,” Steve said. Weirdly his heart rate was calming, now. His parents would never go out of their way to see him — they never had before. They’d probably call and demand him over for dinner, but he could wiggle his way out of that, for a few days at least, holding it off until they were about to leave again and the dinner could mostly be filled with them telling him about all the things they were about to do.

Or — that would be what he could have done, before. Now he supposed they would be stuck in town as long as he was.

“Steve,” Morana said, “I know it’s not one of our regular days, but if you need to talk—"

“I don’t want to,” he said back.

She sighed. “You have a difficult relationship with your parents, you said as much in group therapy the other day—“

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” she said, sounding genuinely angry. “They’re your family, of course it matters.”

“They’re not my family,” he said back, firm. “I have a family, I have people who love me—"

“Steve.” Morana’s voice was very, very serious. “Finding a new family does not destroy the desire we have for our old ones to love us, too.”

And that did something terrible to Steve, some sort of open wounded feeling, like the teeth marks on his stomach from the demodogs but inside of him, raw and aching and ripped apart.

“Actually, I’m late for work,” he said, a bit abrupt, and he hung up the phone. Rude, maybe, but he couldn’t talk to Morana right now. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t know what he’d say. It felt ridiculous — childish — to be this affected by the mere presence of his parents in the same city again. He’d fought monsters, for god’s sake.

This news changed his day, though. He knew better than to call Robin now. Morana was easy enough to avoid, but Robin would hear his voice and know immediately that something else was up, and once she thought that she’d be relentless. And he just — he didn’t know how to have the conversation. He was never sure where to start.

So he didn’t start. He kept not starting. It was easy, to not do something — to not think about his parents, to not think about the strange thoughts he kept having about Eddie, to just not.

He sat down in from of the AC and resigned himself to spending the day alone and waiting for the call from his parents to see if he could come to dinner a few days down the line. Perfectly fine. Really.

The day crawled along, but mostly Steve didn’t notice it. Mostly he didn’t notice anything. His mind was a perfect blank — probably a bit eerie, if he’d thought about it, but he wasn’t thinking about it, was the thing, so it was fine. Everything worked out. Perfect solution.

Eventually, he was shaken out of his not thinking about by someone knocking at his door.

He couldn’t stop the scowl he sent at it. Who’d even bother coming by, unannounced? Robin would have called, at least, and the kids would have needed rides. Eddie was at work, as were all the other real adults, and—

Oh, god. Had Morana showed up? Some sort of surprise therapy attack? He wasn’t sure he could handle her presence right now.

He stood up, prepared to tell her off for showing up at all when he was fine, really, he could handle his own parents, but when he opened the door it wasn’t Morana on the other side.

It was his mother.

For a strange ten seconds, Steve’s mind couldn’t really figure out what was happening. He could see her, there in front of him, but he couldn’t really register her. It was sort of like seeing a teacher outside of school for the first time, or, honestly, seeing the demogorgan for the first time — the strange, twisting disorientation of seeing someone or something where you felt they distinctly did not belong, a space you hadn't realized it was possible for them to exist in.

He hadn’t really realized how long it had been. No, that wasn’t right — he’d known how long it had been, but he hadn’t really understood how long it had been. The thing about fighting monsters, or maybe the thing about living in a town that’s been literally ripped apart by tragedy, or maybe the thing about both is that it makes time strange. A violent upheaval of normal meant that Steve hadn’t ever really had a chance to consider the individual parts of what had changed in his life. Everything had changed. There were streets he couldn’t drive down anymore, the kids had to go a town over for classes, his job had literally been destroyed. So his parents being gone, it was something he was aware of, but it wasn’t until right now, seeing his mother for the first time in over a year, that he really understood just how much time had passed. Just how much had slipped away without them even bothering to check in.

His mother was shorter than he remembered. Like he was doomed, forever in his mind, to always think of a version of her when he was younger, smaller, could still tuck his head under her chin when they hugged, if they were the type of people who hugged like that, which of course they weren’t.

She looked the same. Tasteful, in a knee length skirt, a crisp button up, wearing the pearl necklace his father had bought her as some apology gift ages ago (“a key thing to remember about women, Steven, is that you can always buy their forgiveness”). Her hair was the same as it had always been, shoulder length and pulled back from her face with pins. It shouldn’t have been strange — yes the world was different, but Steve was mostly the same, his friends were mostly the same, why should he expect his mother to be anything other than what she had been before? And he hadn’t expected it, really, it just — it startled him, maybe, to be confronted with it.

He’d never really thought they looked that much alike, and he still didn’t think they did now.

“Steven,” she said. She smiled, but it was tight around the edges, a bit uncomfortable. Her eyes were darting around — subtle, but he knew her well enough to catch it. The look she gave at other people’s houses, cataloging what they owned and how they arranged it, judging silently, in her mind, if they had enough or had done enough with it.

He was distinctly aware that his shitty, government-issue apartment would not be up to snuff, and he felt a strange sense of relief at the thought. “Mom,” he said, finally. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting — do you want to come in?”

A cruel part of him hoped she’d say no, but she just nodded, once, and entered as he pulled away to let her, her eyes roving again. “Sorry to drop in unannounced,” she said, and he believed her, actually. His mother hated to break polite customs — no elbows on the table, always bring a gift to a party, call ahead instead of dropping in as a surprise. “The government people, at the border, they gave me your number, but I . . . “ she trailed off. Steve waited for her to finish the sentence before realizing she never would, that she wasn’t sure how it ended. She was frowning vaguely at a spot on his carpet. Then she looked up and smiled at him again — this time a bit more playful, like they were in on some sort of secret together. It was a look she used to give him a lot, when he was still young and there was still a chance he might end up being someone, someday. Over the dinner table while his father ranted about his business partners, across the room at a party while some old friend of hers chattered his ear off about nothing. A look that said ah, you and I, we’re together in this, right? Partners in crime.

He hadn’t seen it in years.

“Your father was in such a state about the patrol at the town perimeter. Couldn’t believe any of it, you’d have thought they’d taken a toll to let us in.” She paused. “They said something about a gas leak?”

“How much do you remember?” he asked. He was, genuinely, a bit curious — Jason, obviously, had been around for all the chaos, but his parents had only heard of every terrible thing after the fact, had never really lived through any of it.

She pouted at him. An actual pout, which was such a bizarre expression it almost made him laugh. “Steven, please, I’m not that old, you know.”

He shook his head, letting himself laugh out loud, this time. “No, no, it’s — the gas leak, they think it maybe . . . messed with our memories.” He paused. “That’s why I’m here, you know, they want to monitor me.”

She looked confused. “You specifically?” She sighed, heavily, and shook her head again — a dainty little movement, like she’d learned it from an old timey movie. “You have been getting into an awful lot of trouble, the last few years.”

Which he supposed he couldn’t fault her for saying – it was, after all, true.

“But I don’t see how a gas leak would affect your father and I,” she continued. “I mean, we’ve barely been here the past few years, what with all the firm openings he’s had to handle.” She leaned over to drag a finger across the coffee table and squint at it, even though there wasn’t any dust on the surface at all — just something to do with her hands, he thought, a grounding motion.

Nervous tic, his brain supplied, and it was a bit of a startling thought, really. The first time he’d considered his mother could have those, that underneath all the glamour and stiffness and perfectly done posture there was still something human, scared and twitching. And also, that maybe the thing that made her nervous was him.

An echo of a thought, then, Bob Newby’s angry they’re your parents. Like it was unfair that she didn’t know how to talk to him, because leaving him behind was a choice she made, every time, and she should have known there would be consequences for it.

“They’re not really sure how it affected people,” he said, finally, when he realized she was waiting for some sort of answer from him.

“Is the mall fire part of why they have you here?” she asked. “I mean, I know that was quite serious, in the end.”

Not that she’d come back, when he was still in the hospital. Mrs. Henderson had driven him back to her place so she and Dustin could monitor him, for the week they needed to make sure that he wasn't going to die in his sleep because of head trauma, and once he was cleared she’d dropped him back at his house. And he never forgot the look on her face as she did it — like she was regretting that she had to. Like she was just about to ask him to stay.

But she didn’t, and in the end he was glad she didn’t, because back then he still would have said no, and saying no to her would have broken his heart, probably.

His mother knew it was bad because when his parents had returned, a full week after Mrs. Henderson had left him at his house, face still yellow from bruises, most lights still a little too bright for him to be around, she’d read the articles in the paper while clicking her tongue. “Just awful,” she’d said, then.

“I told you that job was no good,” he father had said, like that had anything to do with it.

They’d left again two weeks later.

“There was no mall fire,” Steve said, now. “Not in this—" he caught himself, the instinct to say timeline so strong. “There was no mall. That’s a false memory. The gas leak caused it.”

Her face changed dramatically. “That’s—“ she started, and then she faltered, a bit, and she frowned down at her shoes, like she was considering something. “That doesn’t make any—“ she started, again, half a whisper, before she cut herself off, a second time. She met his eye. The look on her face was part confusion and part fear. “Steven, why are you here, really? I know something . . . something odd has happened. I mean, there was an earthquake, but we drove through town and the streets were all fine. The government was swarming at the town border, the military was there. And then there’s this apartment, and you’re here, and they told us you can’t come home. And, I mean. The bruises you used to—" she stopped, again. “What have you gotten yourself into? What’s happening?”

He met her eye, his gaze surprisingly steady, his heart rate shockingly calm. “Do you really want to know?”

This was the moment, he realized. Because if she said yes — if she said yes, he would tell her. Government be damned. He would tell her about the monsters, and he would tell her about the alternate world, and he would tell her about the different timelines. If she really wanted to know, he would let her in, and maybe then things would be different. Maybe she would really see him, would understand what had happened to him — why he stopped caring about money, and being popular, why he changed. Maybe she’d understand him, and she’d open her arms up, and she’d hug him, and he’d just be her son again, her little boy, just a fucking kid again, who needed his mother, sometimes, because the world was still dark and horrible and he didn’t really know how to get through it, even now, even after all this time.

(Or, maybe she’d try to commit him to a mental hospital. Either way, at least she’d know. And Morana probably wouldn’t let them commit him, all told.)

There was a brief second where her face was so open — eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, and he thought that maybe he did look like her, after all, but only right now, when she let the mask she was wearing fall away and was just herself. Whoever she was, before she married his father and had him and locked herself into this life that required her to wear the mask all of the time and never, ever let it slip.

And then it went back up. Her face slammed shut, somehow, a nonsense statement but a true one, still. Her mouth pursed back together, her eyes went a bit dim, and she smiled, again, that tight smile, that uncomfortable one, that usual one. “Perhaps I’m,” she started, and then paused and restarted. “Perhaps it’s better if I don’t know. The trouble you’ve been up to. Spare your mother the heartache of worrying about you.”

You’re supposed to worry about me, Steve thought, but he didn’t say it, because it was so fucking pointless to say.

“Did they tell you you’ll need to be in town awhile?” he asked, instead.

His mother nodded, a terse thing, lips once again pursed like she found it all distasteful. “Your father threw a fit, naturally. We really weren’t even going to stop by at all, but, well,” and she faltered, just slightly, the mask just off again, a flash of something deep, almost scared, almost tragic—

The door swung open, clattering against the stopper on the wall with a noise loud enough to draw both of their attentions to it.

“Stevie, baby, you are simply not going to believe what happened today—" Eddie started, and then stopped, abruptly, when he realized that Steve was not, in fact, alone in the apartment. The silence was so total that it would have been funny, if the entire scene didn’t also make Steve want to die again, just a little.

“Oh, hello,” his mother said, wringing her hands. She was staring a bit blankly at Eddie, like she knew she was supposed to recognize him, but didn’t.

“Mom, this is my friend Eddie,” Steve said.

“Oh, yes,” she said, a flood of recognition and relief crossing her face. And then, a little wiggle of something else, like she’d smelled something rotten. “The one who lives in — in Forest Hills.”

Ah. There it was. She couldn’t remember Eddie’s name, but she could remember he lived in a trailer park.

“He lives down the hall,” Steve said. His voice sounded short, even to him, and he took a steadying breath, trying to will either his heart rate down or this entire thing to just stop happening.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she said to Eddie, even though it obviously wasn’t. Another awkward pause fell. “I suppose I should get going,” she said, finally. “I’ve taken up enough of your time.” She moved, placed both of her hands on Steve’s shoulders and leaned to her cheek against his, making the sound of a kiss but not actually touching her lips to his face, not actually wrapping her arms around him. And she never did those things — it was absurd to hope she would — but Steve was stupid, and he’d always hoped, every time, that it would be a bit different. Not even death had taken that stupid, childish hope from him.

“Bye, mom,” he said.

“We’ll have dinner later this week,” she declared, and moved to leave, Eddie ducking awkwardly away from her as she did so.

And then she stopped at the doorway, hand braced against the frame. She turned back to Steve. “I was going to say . . . we weren’t going to come back, but I asked your father if we could, so I could . . . see you. With my own eyes.” She paused, eyes searching his face again, that same look from earlier. “I couldn’t shake that dream I had.” Her voice wavered, just a touch. There weren’t tears in her eyes, but there was something wobbling there, some deep and unnamable sadness. “It really was a terrible dream, Steven,” she finished, almost a whisper.

For just a second, the door had opened again, just slightly. She didn’t want to know what was going on, not really, but there was something in her voice, in the way she held herself, that told him that she understood something terrible had happened, and that she was sorry it happened. Not sorry enough to change, not totally, not completely. But then again, maybe hoping that she would change was unfair of him, too. She’d spent her whole life being this person, maintaining the energy to keep up her mask, to smile through it all, his father breaking plates and sneering disdainfully at both of them. Maybe they both had spent the last handful of years just trying to survive. Maybe it was unfair of him, just a little — not to want something else, but to expect it. Just because he’d changed didn’t mean he could hold everyone to that standard, right?

“It was just a dream, mom,” he said, finally. “I’m fine. I promise.”

She nodded, but she still didn’t move to leave. Instead she studied his face for something — just briefly, again, the flickering movement of her eyes. “I love you, Steven,” she said, a little quiet but still there, echoing in the room. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” he said. His voice sounded strong even though the words themselves felt a bit like a gut punch. “I love you too.”

And then smiled once more — tight, controlled — and turned and left.

Notes:

at least we're now at the point where steve is aware enough that he is repressing his feelings. now if only we could get him to . . . not repress them.

(we, i say, as if i am not in full control and writing this story. but i love the torture of a slowburn, i'm sorry!)

(i'm not.)

naturally steve's mother had to return at some point. i just love the ability to do whatever we want with the harringtons, and i find the potential for steve's mother in particular to be so fun to work with.

i leaned very heavily into my two worst traits as a writer this chapter: overusing parenthetical asides and italics. i appreciate you all for dealing with it. and, as always, for sticking with this and saying such sweet things. we really are getting there! slowly but surely but also, well. slowly.

chapter title is from You're On Your Own, Kid by Taylor Swift

Chapter 21: positive, though it hurts

Summary:

Eddie and Steve talk. (No, really, that's the whole chapter.)

When the door closed shut, and Steve’s mother was gone, Eddie waited for just a beat before blurting “shit, Steve, I’m sorry.”

Steve just shrugged. “You couldn’t have known she was here.” And then he moved towards the kitchen, ready to start dealing with dinner — he cooked, most nights, but he hadn’t managed to get to the grocery store this week which meant they’d probably have to order pizza. “What happened at work?”

There was total silence from Eddie for long enough that Steve turned to look at him, confused as to why the other man had stopped talking.

Eddie was just gaping at Steve. Mouth open, eyes wide, gaping.

“Stevie,” he said, “the amount to which that so does not matter now literally cannot be overstated.” He gestured wildly at the closed door. “Your mother was just here, that’s what we should be talking about.”

“Oh.” Steve glanced between the door and Eddie, trying to think of something to say that would get him out of this. “It’s really — we don’t have to, it wasn’t that long of a talk anyway.” He shrugged, aiming for total cool detachment — this does not bother me. “Sorry about her, uh, trailer park comment, she can be a bit . . .” he trailed off. The proper end of the sentence was probably judgy or cruel but actually saying either one felt like an invitation to keep talking about it. Which, again — Steve very much did not want to do.

Eddie was frowning now, arms crossed tightly against his chest, obviously uncomfortable but somehow pushing through it. “I don’t care about the trailer park thing, Steve, I care about the fact that you just saw your mother for the first time in god knows how long—"

“Well, that depends on the timeline,” Steve said back, aiming for a joke.

Eddie did not crack a smile. His frown actually deepened at that, the exact opposite of Steve’s intention.

“And now you’re being all weird,” Eddie finished, like somehow what Steve had said had proved his point.

“I’m not being weird,” Steve protested, although it sounded a bit strained, even to him.

“I’ve never seen you run from anything before,” Eddie said back.

Which made something break inside of Steve. He wasn’t sure what, but whatever it was, it curdled instantly into rage, hot and heavy. “Well you haven’t actually known me that long, have you?” he snapped, and turned to head fully into the kitchen, Eddie just a figure at his back.

In the kitchen the anger drained from him almost immediately — Steve had always been terrible at sustaining anger, found it too exhausting. (The longest he’d ever gone truly holding onto anger was after the original Nancy incident, and it had faded into awful guilt by the time Tommy had finished spraying the last letter of graffiti on the movie theater.) He slumped against the counter and let his head rest in his hands, waiting for the inevitable sound of the door opening and closing, Eddie realizing the entire thing was a waste of time and energy and leaving Steve to stew in his own pathetic little thoughts for the rest of the day, alone. The thought was — well, unpleasant was one word. Terrifying was another. So terrifying that a part of Steve was practically screaming at him to turn around and apologize so Eddie wouldn’t leave, but that would require looking at him, and Steve wasn’t so sure he could do that, either.

The door did not open or close. There was a shuffling noise — Eddie entering the kitchen behind him, maybe? Steve didn’t turn to look, couldn’t bring himself to. “I’m sorry,” Eddie said, after a beat.

Which is what finally caused Steve to whip around to face him. “You’re sorry? No, Eddie,” he paused to sigh, “I’m the one being a dick here. I didn’t mean that.”

“I touched a nerve,” Eddie said, voice laced with guilt. His arms were still crossed across his chest. Steve hated how uncomfortable Eddie looked, like he didn’t belong in this space. He wanted to say something — to let Eddie know he always belonged here, that—

His brain, unprompted, supplied he always belongs here and you never want him to leave. The moment where you thought he was going to leave was more horrible than the moment your mother appeared in the doorway.

Which — he had no idea where that even came from, and it was so confusing he briefly forgot what they were talking about at all, until Eddie spoke again. “If I called Robin, would you talk to her?”

Would you prefer to talk to her, over me? was the question here, and again it sent that strange fear sliding up Steve’s spine — that if he said the wrong thing Eddie would leave. “No,” Steve said, way too quickly. Eddie’s head jerked back in surprise. Steve cleared his throat, a flush crawling its way up his neck. “No, I don’t — the issue isn’t you, it’s just . . . I don’t want to talk about it at all.” He shrugged, hoping it looked more casual than it felt, all stiff and strange. “It’s stupid.”

Eddie had a look on that felt very Robin-like — the mixture of confusion and a scowl, like Steve’s train of thought was totally untraceable to him. “How is it stupid?”

Steve sighed. “I mean, it’s not — they weren’t bad parents, not really. They weren’t good parents, either, I know that, but it’s not like they hit me, or anything. So I should be . . .” he paused and swallowed, roughly. “I just wasn’t ready for it. For her.”

Eddie moved more into the kitchen and hopped up to sit on the counter, next to where Steve was leaning. The new position meant they were touching, just slightly — Steve’s hand resting close enough to Eddie’s thigh to touch. It wasn’t much but it was grounding, solid — for the first time Steve realized he’d been wheeling towards panic, since his mother left. “Sometimes you need to prepare to see somebody,” Eddie allowed, with a tilt of his head. There was a slight pause before he spoke again. “Benefit of seeing someone in jail is you have plenty of time to prepare.”

Which was a surprising sentence to hear, really. The thing was that Eddie almost never spoke about his father. Steve had this knowledge from both timelines, really – the throwaway jokes aside, mentions the elder Edward Munson were generally few and far between. The closest they’d ever come to actually talking about him was after Eddie’s nightmare a few weeks ago, and even then the story had focused more on his mother, his father a side character barely sketched out. The way Eddie told it, Ed Sr. went to jail, Eddie went to Wayne, and communication basically stopped between the two. The fact that Eddie visited the man in prison was brand new information.

Steve knew a door opening when he saw one. So he waited. Let Eddie say what he was going to say.

The other man shifted a little on the counter, an uncomfortable fidget, but it brought them slightly closer together, so there was more of them touching, now. “I only went once,” Eddie said, finally. “The summer before I started high school. He never wrote, or anything, and Wayne always called him a scumbag, but I thought — he was my father. I don’t know.” Eddie stopped and sighed, tugged at his hair a bit. “I thought maybe he’d be glad to see me?” He paused again. “I really missed my mom, then. I felt really lost.” He gave Steve a look, sort of like his mother’s — like they were sharing a private joke. “I’d just figured out I was gay, you know, and I . . . I don’t know. I felt really alone. And it was stupid, because my mother was nothing like my father, but I thought maybe he could offer some sort of . . . guidance. A light in the darkness.”

“You told him you were gay?”

Eddie actually guffawed, a huge noise that exploded out of him like a firework. “Jesus Christ, Stevie, no. I didn’t have a death wish.” He shook his head, like Steve was being ridiculous. “No, we just — we actually didn’t really talk about anything important, in the end. He asked how Wayne was, how I was, but he didn’t really want to hear the answers. It was the same as it always was. He tried to pitch me some get rich quick schemes, he didn’t remember anything important about my life.” Eddie shrugged. “What I was trying to say is — I thought that if I had a lot of time to prepare, it would hurt less, you know? But that was unfair, because . . . no amount of time would change the way things were. I wanted him to be someone else. I wanted him to become someone he never was, because that was who I needed him to be. I thought, maybe I’d go see him and he’d be this dad that he never was, my whole childhood. And instead you know what happened?’

Steve smiled a little, half-involuntary. “You saw him and he was exactly the same as he always was.”

Eddie snapped his fingers with a grin. “Bingo, baby, you nailed it. And I was so upset, you know? Like . . . I was over the part of my life where he was this sort of storm cloud presence. I wanted to move on, and I couldn’t believe he hadn’t changed for me. But being upset about it, I don’t know, it made me feel . . . “

“Childish,” Steve offered. “Like you’re still — you’re still sitting around waiting for something that will never come. A kid on Christmas who still thinks Santa’s real, even after everyone else has figured it out.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, voice sad. He leaned a little closer. Steve shifted, too — now his arm was pressed against Eddie’s hip, both of them leaning into each other’s space. “I don’t like talking about him because it makes me feel that way, again. Like a dumb kid. Like I should know better.” He paused and leveled Steve with a serious look. “So that’s it, for you? You hate talking about it because it makes you feel like a kid again?”

Steve sighed. The discomfort of earlier was leaking out of him, replaced with the grounding presence of Eddie, next to him on the counter. “I think that’s part of it,” he admitted. “It’s like — I mean, it’s what I said, right? In the end, they weren’t that bad, you know? They weren’t good, but it feels so stupid to be so affected by them when they didn’t really ever do anything. But I just . . . I want the parents you saw on TV. The ones who, like, knew their kids. Understood them. My mom didn’t even know your name. She’s never known any of my friends’ names, except the ones whose parents mattered in their social circle.” He considered the next part for a long moment. Eddie, uncharacteristically, stayed both still and quiet, letting Steve stew in his head for a bit.

“I’ve never been the son my dad wanted,” Steve said, finally. “I almost was, though. I mean, I tried so hard to be. I did all the right sports, I dated lots of girls, I was popular. Well-liked. For a minute there, in high school, I think I came pretty close to being the thing he wanted. A reflection of himself, a perfect little copy.”

He sighed and steeled himself for the next part — again, never a topic he loved covering. “’83. The first time — with the demogorgan. Barb had gone missing, and I was so afraid of what my father would do — of what would happen when he realized I was still a fuck-up, that I wasn’t who he wanted me to be after all, I was just some party kid with no sense of responsibility, or whatever, going around and tarnishing the family name. And Nancy was so mad at me, for not caring enough — which she was right about, by the way. It drove her right to Jonathan, who was looking for Will, and it led them right the demogorgan. And I assumed she was cheating on me, right? Which is — I mean, I guess that actually turned out to be more complicated than I thought, at the time, but, whatever. Tommy and Carol and I were so awful to her, to both of them. I broke Jonathan’s camera, I said—“ he stopped, and swallowed, guilt retching its way up his throat. “I said some terrible things. And there was this moment, when the fights were over, where I was with Tommy and Carol and they were so cruel, and I thought — we’re the assholes. We’re the bad guys!” He paused and laughed a little here, because, really, saying it out loud sounded a bit ridiculous. “I’m the guy you root for her to not end up with, when you’re watching the movie. And then I thought . . . I don’t want to be an asshole anymore. And I knew, I think, that choosing that — choosing to be someone else would be the end of . . . whatever chance I had, with my dad, with making him respect me, but I didn’t care. I was so sick of being the asshole.”

And then a slip of double vision, so sudden and strong it nearly knocked him off his feet.

Nancy had dumped him, in February of 1984. It wasn’t officially to date Jonathan, who’d been her project partner on some school paper thing, but it was essentially to date Jonathan, which basically everyone in school knew. Tommy had a million revenge ideas for both of them, but Steve had been wounded and heartbroken and too exhausted to bother with any of them.

So Tommy had taken action himself: he’d broken into Jonathan’s car and stolen his camera. Which he’d presented to Steve, one night, at a party at Steve’s house — where the hope was loud music and beer and girls would make him forget he was miserable, which never really worked to begin with, even before Nancy.

Steve had looked at the camera, dangling in Tommy’s hand, and felt sick. There were probably fifteen more expensive things in Steve’s kitchen alone, but everyone knew the Byers were poor, and Jonathan or his mother had obviously had to work for that thing. And Jonathan obviously loved it, carried it with him everywhere, and seeing it, seeing the way Tommy dangled it carelessly, smiling with all of his teeth like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, it’d done something to Steve. He’d snatched the camera back, shut off the music, and kicked everyone out.

The next day he’d gone to Jonathan’s house to give it back. And Jonathan had looked at him, cagey and wary, and gone “what’s the trick?”

“There is no trick,” Steve had said, plainly. “It’s yours, and Tommy was wrong to take it, and I’m sorry that he did.” And then there’d been a moment of silence, where Jonathan still clearly didn’t trust him, before Steve had continued. “The thing is that — I don’t think I like being an asshole, man.”

At that Jonathan had moved forward, slowly, and taken the camera back like at any moment Steve might change his mind and snatch it away, again. And then Jonathan had just shrugged. “Then stop being one,” he’d said back. Like it was that easy.

And Steve had thought well, maybe it is. He stopped hanging out with Tommy and Carol. He stopped throwing parties. And a month later when he saw Dustin Henderson, miserable and soaking in the rainstorm, he didn’t ignore the part of him that wanted to pull over and ask the kid if he needed help.

So that was what changed everything, in the end, in this world. And that had been the beginning of a friendship with Jonathan, here, which had taken a bit of time to manifest — but by the end of the summer they were actual, real friends, even if they never, ever spoke about Nancy.

(And wasn’t that strange? That he hadn’t stayed friends with Nancy but had become friends with Jonathan so much earlier here? A bit of a twist, if he was being honest with himself, and probably a bit sexist, if he was being really honest with himself.)

Eddie was looking at him closely, eyes focused and intense. “You remembered something,” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and he was shocked at how rough his own voiced sounded. “Just — it was similar, here. Not quite the same, but . . . I had that same thought.”

“You stopped being the asshole,” Eddie said, soft. Steve nodded, a little dumbstruck. Eddie shifted so his thigh was pressed more firmly against Steve, again. “And your dad . . .” he prompted, gentle, not too prodding.

Steve swallowed, harsh. “Well, I think I just became . . . something unrecognizable to him, after that. He wanted me to be a shark in a fish pond. But it turns out none of the fish like the sharks.” Eddie laughed, a small huff of a thing, and somehow the sound of it made it a bit easier for Steve to breathe. “So after that, I was just . . . a lost cause. Not the son he wanted. Just the one he had. And my mother — she just wanted to keep the peace, I think. I mean, just now, she almost asked me to tell her the truth. About the mall fire and the earthquake and the world. She noticed this whole time, that something was wrong, but she was afraid to ask. Because whatever I said, it would be something she didn’t know how to handle. Something she couldn’t control.” He shrugged. He felt strangely exhausted – like admitting all of this had taken something off his shoulders and now he was sagging with the relief of not having the weight on him, anymore. “I wasn’t the son they wanted,” he finished, finally, the story going full circle. “I became someone they couldn’t understand. And my father got angry at it, and my mother decided to ignore it, but that’s why there’s all this . . . distance. Because I just can’t be who they want me to be.”

Eddie gave him a long, considering look. “That just makes no sense to me,” he said. “I can’t imagine what they don’t see in you.”

And that was — well that was.

Jesus, Steve didn’t even know what that was.

“Eddie,” he said, soft, half a protest.

“Look,” Eddie said back, “you cleaned my grave.” Which felt like a startling change of subject, to Steve, but Eddie was barreling on anyway. “Everyone thought I was this monster, and you refused to let that stand, even when it would have been easier for you to just let it be and pretend you never even knew me. And here you are, sitting here and thinking you’re — what? Some sort of failure? Because your dad, who is a total dick, is upset that you couldn’t also be a total dick?”

“It’s really—"

Eddie tugged at his hair again, like he couldn’t stop himself, some emotion completely overtaking him. “You cleaned my grave, and I am never going to be able to make that up to you, but this is as close as I can get, you know? So — so let me say it.” He paused and took a long, shuddering breath, before speaking so rapidly it was like the words were tumbling out of him. “You’re not a failure, Steve, and your parents are stupid morons who don’t see you, and I understand that a part of you will always love them, and that a part of you will always hope that they’ll change, but I hope that you know that you don’t need to change, you don’t, because you’re—" Eddie stopped, abruptly. His breath was coming fast, which Steve only knew because Eddie’s chest was rising up and down rapidly, and he was looking at Eddie’s chest because—

He didn’t know why, actually. This whole conversation had thrown him so completely off his axis.

“I’m what?” he said, finally, because one of them needed to say something, and because — well, because Steve really, really wanted to know how the sentence ended. Positioned as they were, Eddie still sitting on the counter, Steve had to look up to meet his eyes, which didn’t help the twisting disorientation of the moment, the strangeness of it all.

“Perfect,” Eddie finished. It was breathless.

Steve felt breathless. But also—

“I’m not,” he said, soft. Eddie maintained eye contact, and Steve couldn’t help the sudden, absurd laugh that burst from him. “I mean, I appreciate it, but Eddie, I’m so not. I’m mean, for one. I am an asshole, I have to try really hard to not default back to being one all of the time. Robin calls me bitchy. I’m judgmental. I’m pretty lazy, and I am, genuinely, pretty stupid. And, I mean, I’m like 90% sure I snore—" and here, finally, Eddie laughed, breaking eye contact, severing whatever strange tension had strung between them. “No, seriously,” Steve continued, “I do, don’t I? You can tell me.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Eddie relented, still laughing, “perfect is too much, you are far from perfect, Stevie — for one thing you hate my driving—"

“You drive like a maniac!”

“I drive like a man with places to be and not a 90 year old grandmother!” Eddie rolled his eyes and shoved at Steve’s shoulder, just slightly. “I admit it, you are decidedly imperfect but I mean — you are perfect, you know? This version of you, even with the flaws, and the snoring—"

Steve gasped, here. “So you admit I snore?”

“I plead the fifth,” Eddie said back, dryly. “You’re not perfect, but you’re good, Steve. Like this, warts and all, you’re good. And if your parents preferred the asshole version of you, well. I’m sorry for them. Because . . . because they’re missing out on knowing someone really fucking great.”

Steve let that hang between them for a moment, still unsure of how to answer it, unsure he was even deserving of it.

“Well,” he said, finally, “your dad’s missing out, too. Because you’re also, you know. Pretty fucking great.”

There was silence for a long moment after that. There was — something, in the air, some sort of tension, the same feeling that had pulsing at the back of Steve’s head all these weeks, and he still didn’t know what to do with it, what it was. It was just there, always present.

He looked at Eddie for a long time in side profile, considering the lines of his face. “I don’t know why this is easier to talk about with you than with Robin,” he said, finally. “She always pressed me, but I never was able to say any of this stuff to her.”

Eddie shrugged. The movement looked a little practiced, like he was aiming for laidback and easygoing and missing, just slightly. “Robin’s parents are great. Annoying, I’m sure, but, you know — they love her and dote on her and packed all of her lunches her whole life. You had a shitty dad and an absent mom. I had a shitty dad and a dead mom.” He turned and met Steve’s look head on. “It’s easier to talk about this stuff with people who get it, I think.’

“Like the Upside Down,” Steve allowed. “I never figured out a way to talk around it so I just . . . wouldn’t say anything, to people who didn’t know. Let them think whatever they wanted to about me and my weird little life.”

Eddie snickered, a little, a childish sort of laugh. “You did do some weird shit, honestly. When I learned about your whole monster thing it put a lot of your strangeness into perspective. You know, when I first saw you working at Scoops Ahoy, I thought you’d lost a bet?”

Steve gasped, genuinely shocked but also allowing a fake offended note into his tone, like Eddie so often did. “What kind of bet would I have lost to be forced into those shorts?”

“I didn’t know!” Eddie said, laughing more fully now. “But the idea that you just had a job, and such a shitty one — it seemed unrealistic!” He shook his head. “Gareth and I would go to the record store, and sometimes we’d see you and we’d come up with, like, increasingly bizarre reasons why you’d be there. Eventually Gareth guessed your dad cut you off,” and he faltered, here, a little, something sad creeping in. “We stopped guessing after that, actually. Seemed less fun.”

Steve knocked his shoulder against Eddie’s arm, hoping to bring back some of the joy. “For the record, technically he never cut me off. I think he would have found that embarrassing, honestly — if his friends found out it had gotten that bad. But, you know, I’ve seen Snow White, so,” he shrugged, “poison apples and all that.” Then he sent his best, most wicked grin Eddie’s way. “What were some of your other guesses?”

Eddie laughed again. “Oh, well, Gareth thought you were mostly doing it to pick up chicks, which seemed fair enough.”

“I assure you, I was absolutely miserable at picking up chicks at that job. Robin had a whole tally board and everything just to mock me for how bad I was it.”

“I truly cannot believe that,” Eddie said, and then his face bloomed bright red in response. “Uh, not because you’re — I mean,” he groaned and dropped his face into my hands.

Steve couldn’t help the startled, joyous laugh that escaped him. “Eddie, are you saying you think I’m hot?”

The idea that Eddie Munson, the most don’t-give-a-fuck, anti-establishment person Steve had ever met could even find him hot was weirdly exciting. Steve was the most boring person he’d ever known in his own life — tried and true and conventional. He had to be leagues away from what Eddie wanted, and yet, Eddie was blushing so hard that there had to be some truth to it. The joy in Steve’s chest expanded.

(So, too, did that tension, the pulse, the unfinished thought, and Steve realized, for the first time, that whatever it was it was becoming too constant to ignore.)

“Harrington,” Eddie groaned. “You don’t need me to boost your ego any higher, okay? You’re, like,” and here he stuttered, just a bit, “objectively hot. Obviously.” He paused, and coughed, clearly a little uncomfortable. “If you were striking out with the girls at Scoops, that was probably because they had brain freeze, or whatever.”

“You sure know how to flatter a guy, Munson,” Steve said back, and if his own face felt a bit red, well that was probably just because it was August and miserably warm, after all. “Speaking of flattering guys,” he said, then, because his mind was mush and his mouth had a way of moving without much input from it. “What about you? Ever, you know, pick up . . . dudes?”

The moment of completely awkward and uncomfortable silence after that was expected, really.

Finally Eddie snorted a laugh and shook his head. “You think I’m, what? Cruising in Hawkins, Indiana? The center of Reagan country? Out in the open, with everything that’s going on? Haven’t you read the news lately?”

Which — right, okay, that was a weirdly sobering thought. “Yeah, sorry,” he said. “It’s different, huh?”

“Very different,” Eddie said. He shifted a little, and frowned, not quite looking at Steve. “Sometimes I’d go up to Indianapolis, stop at some bars, but I never really . . .” he was flushing bright red, now.

Steve thought about the end of that sentence for a moment before it crashed into his head, and then immediately out of his mouth because he was an idiot. “Wait, what, you’ve never had sex?”

Eddie dropped his face back into his hands and groaned. “Jesus Christ, this is the most humiliating conversation I’ve ever had. Can we go back to talking about sad shit instead? I liked that more.”

“No, no,” Steve said, backtracking and trying to shove down the weird panic in his voice. “I just — that’s surprising!”

Eddie looked up and gave him a long, hard glare. “Steve, I’m a third-year senior who listens to metal, deals drugs, and plays D&D in my spare time. Half of my good friends are teenagers. And we live here, in the conservative armpit of America. How is this surprising?”

“Because you’re hot,” Steve said, tone all disbelief, again, without really thinking.

Eddie just continued to stare at him. Mouth opened a little in surprise.

“Oh, don’t,” Steve said, his turn to flush bright red and groan in embarrassment. “I mean, you’ve got that whole,” he waved his hand around Eddie’s body, still propped on the counter, “rebel-without-a-cause, bad boy thing going on. Chicks dig that! Don’t, you know, dudes . . . also dig that?”

There was a moment where Eddie just continued to stare at Steve, like he was trying to figure something out and couldn’t quite get there. Then finally he cleared his throat. “I, uh, don’t know, really. What dudes like. Haven’t had a lot of . . . opportunities, here, to figure it out.”

“Oh,” Steve said, and for some reason the thought made him feel sad. Like it was unfair that Eddie had gone through his whole life without knowing that he was likeable — that he was funny, and smart, and fun to be around, and, again, objectively good looking. He deserved to know those things — and Steve wanted to say those things, but the idea of actually saying them out loud was terrifying, for some reason.

(Tension, pulsing, thoughts unfinished, finish the thought, Steve—)

“But hey,” Eddie said, before Steve could, “it’s, you know. It’s not so bad. We’re leaving Hawkins, right? There’s a whole, big city for me to . . . find . . . dudes in.” The end of the sentence finished sort of lamely, and Eddie cleared his throat a little, clearly uncomfortable with it.

And. Huh! Steve had never actually considered that, before. That moving to Chicago meant that Eddie would probably be dating. That both of them would probably be dating, actually. Steve had pretty much exhausted the supply of available women his age in Hawkins, so Chicago would be a new opportunity, he supposed. To find the Right Girl.

He was strangely not as enthusiastic about that as he thought he’d be.

He was even less enthusiastic about the idea of Eddie bringing some guy back to their apartment. Just some random dude, in their space?

Oh, god. Maybe Robin and Eddie had been right, and it was different? Was this some secret part of Steve’s brain triggering a sudden delayed kick of homophobia? He kept his mouth shut — something to discuss with Robin later, he figured. He could get over it. Eddie was his friend, and he wasn’t going to ditch on their plans because the idea of . . . dudes, in their space, freaked him out a little.

Huh, he thought, to himself. That really is growth, isn’t it?

“Yeah,” he said, instead, ignoring the slight waver to his voice. If Eddie noticed it, the other man made no signal. “Chicago will be a whole new world.”

At that, Eddie hopped off the counter, an abrupt movement that had Steve missing the warmth of him, suddenly.

Eddie moved to the fridge and snagged two beers out. “I propose a toast,” he said, popping one cap off on the side of the counter and then the other, methodically. He turned and handed one of the beers to Steve with a grin. “To leaving behind our shitty pasts and starting new.”

Steve clinked their beers together. “To starting new,” he agreed, and Eddie laughed, and Steve let the sound of it carry him through the rest of the evening, his mother a memory faded into the night.

Notes:

ah, steve buddy, you're so close to figuring it out.

you might have noticed by now that all the "steve and eddie talk" chapters follow the basic line of "serious convo, funny convo." this is because everytime i write one of them being wise i'm reminded that canonically these are two of the biggest morons who've ever graced the small screen and i must also include those bits of their characters.

i realized while editing this chapter that i've now named both steve and eddie's fathers (christopher and edward sr) but neither of their mothers. in the name of feminism i want you to know that in this fic steve's mother is barbara, called barbie, and eddie's is eleanor, after eleanor roosevelt.

chapter title is from A Better Son/Daughter by Rilo Kiley

Chapter 22: i found a dream that i could speak to

Summary:

Steve has a dream and a revelation.

The demodog is eating his stomach.

Steve is watching it. It doesn’t really have a mouth, he supposes — or else it’s all mouth. Steve’s not sure. Steve’s never been sure, really, about the anatomy of these things. He’s seen them all up close and yet he’s never sure what they are. They say “dog,” they say “bat,” they say these things but the creatures are not those things, this is nothing like a dog, he likes dogs, really, he’s always wanted one, and it feels mean to him that the thing that is eating his stomach should be compared, really. The bats, too — the bats are nothing like the tattoos on Eddie’s chest or the thing around Ozzy’s teeth. They were, instead, the thing around his teeth and—

And he’s remembering, then, the feel of the bat in his mouth. He hasn’t really thought about it since it happened, the chewiness of it, the flat rubber stickiness of flesh and bone crunching underneath his jaw. He hasn’t really thought about what it meant, that he could tear the bat apart with his mouth, but now he thinks he could tear the dog apart with his mouth too, he’s more like it than not, he’s more monster than man, maybe, if he lets himself be, if he could get his jaw around the thing—

Why doesn’t this hurt? This should hurt. The demodog is eating his stomach and he remembers that they’ve done that before and it hurt last time, didn’t it? At least at first, before the plain slipped away into nothing. Why doesn’t it hurt now?

Everything reforms before he can focus in on the thought. This is the way of things — in your head you’re not allowed to notice the inconsistencies. A dream is only noticeable as a dream when you look at the details, and Steve’s not there, he can’t find the details, he can never find them, and when he gets close the dog disappears and instead he’s looking ahead of him at the bats feasting on Eddie Munson.

If he wasn’t dreaming — if he could find the details, if he could focus in on them — he’d know that this was all wrong. By the time he and Robin and Nancy had gotten back to the trailer the bats were long gone and Eddie long dead, Dustin cowering pathetically by a corpse already cold, gnawed apart. If Steve were the type of guy who knew what asunder meant then maybe he’d say of Eddie’s body that it was torn asunder but he’s not, he’s not that guy, he’s never been that guy and he never will be, he’s not the guy who can feel the dream when he’s in it and he’s not the guy who can notice the edges of the details so it is not torn asunder and he does not notice that the scene is wrong. That Eddie is still alive and screaming, that the bats are still here, that Dustin and Nancy and Robin are not — Steve is not the type of guy who can see these things when he’s in it. When he wakes up he’ll wish he was but he’s not awake yet, he’s still in the dream, he’s still here, he’s standing in jeans still wet from the lake and he’s wearing Eddie’s vest and Eddie is screaming as the bats rip him to shreds and Steve cannot move. He wants to — he wants to, so desperately, he wants to force himself to run, but he can’t. He’s frozen solid, legs concrete, because even though he can’t see the thing he’s in he knows, a part of him knows, that Eddie is not allowed to survive it. And if Steve could see the dream he’d remember that he’s had it before but he can’t so he doesn’t, which means his brain gets to play its cruelest trick on him. He’s standing frozen and he’ll never be able to move but he’s still thinking god I can save him, I can save him, if I can move then I can save him, move move move move.

He can’t move. It’s a dream. And Steve’s dreams have always been mean to him, even before the Upside Down — he never remembers the good ones, can’t be convinced he has them. He can never force himself awake, he can never see the edges enough to change them, he can only stand and watch, as he watched a thousand nights before, as he will watch a thousand nights after. He cannot know that the scene before him isn’t happening — or that it has happened, and now it has unhappened, he can’t know. He cannot see the fucking thing, he cannot, he’s never been good at it, he’s not smart enough.

And now he’s still here, motionless, and Eddie is still being eaten, but worse there’s a voice in his ear and it’s his father and his father is wondering where it all went wrong. He’s not yelling — it’d be better if he was yelling, it’s always better when he’s yelling because then Steve can write it off — anger, hot and hating, easy to ignore. But it’s resignation, it’s acceptance. His father isn’t mad anymore, he’s just so disappointed. And it’s a good question, isn’t it? Why can’t Steve be smarter? Why can’t he be better? Why can’t he move? Why can’t he save Eddie? He can never save Eddie, he can never save Eddie, Eddie always dies, the story always ends and Eddie’s always dead—

And the thing reforms again because too long on that line of thought and Steve will wake himself up sobbing, and his mind is good at this, it’s so good, it’s got twenty years of experience torturing him and it knows just when to flip the switch. So now it’s not Eddie, it’s Dustin, eaten by the monsters, and it’s Robin, eaten by the monsters, and it’s his father and his father is the monster, his father has the twisted void mouth of the monster, his father is tearing his face open like a demogorgan and advancing on Steve and saying over and over again it’s right in front of you Steve, it’s right there, it’s right there, why can’t you see the fucking thing?

Why can’t he see it? It’s right in front of him. He’s been looking at it the whole time. The monster-father vanishes and Eddie is in front of him instead, healthy and whole and frowning a little, and now it’s him, voice upset, saying — Steve, Steve, look at the edges, look at the details, why can’t you see the thing when you’re in it? Why can’t you see what’s right in front of you? And he puts his hand on Steve’s face, his thumb across Steve’s cheekbone, like Nancy had done the other day but also different, so different, Steve feels different about it, it’s red hot against the skin, and Steve wants to lean across and—

And then he woke up.

Not like in the movies — not a shuddering full body lurch up or anything. One moment Steve was asleep and the next he was awake, staring at the ceiling. His breath going a bit fast. His heart pounding in his chest.

The dream was already fading from his head, loose and hard to hang onto. That was always how it went. He could only really remember a small part of the last bit – Eddie being eaten by the bats and then Eddie looking at him and saying why can’t you see the thing when it’s right in front of you?

He had no idea what that meant.

He glanced at the clock. Early, still, too early to get up.

He couldn’t get the image of Eddie out of his head — the death dream again, he can never stop having the death dream — so he gave up and looked over at the guy.

Eddie was lying next to him, asleep, and Steve looked at the slope of his nose and the length of his throat and his hair fanning out across the pillow and remembered the ghost of the feeling in the dream, Eddie’s hand against his cheek and jaw, and thought I want to kiss him.

And then, the second thought, an echo of the first, a flash of double vision — this was not the first time Steve had thought that. It was, of course, the first time Steve was aware of it, but — before. The Steve here, the one moving to Chicago with Eddie, the one who’d been his friend for a year. He’d thought it before. He’d thought I want to kiss Eddie Munson more than once. Much more than once. Many, many times, the thought so regular that the visions flooding through Steve’s mind couldn’t even be pulled apart, blurring into a giant mess of just wanting to kiss Eddie Munson.

Panic flared in Steve’s gut, hot and cold at the same time, like he had the flu. He sat up, abrupt and shaky. He needed to leave. He needed to leave, he couldn’t keep sitting here in fucking bed with Eddie, not if he — not if—

He couldn’t get to the end of the sentence.

He forced himself to take a deep breath and then to move slow. He didn’t want to wake Eddie up, because how could he explain what was happening? How could he look Eddie in the eye at all? He needed to be somewhere else, anywhere else, to have this absolute meltdown in private.

What was wrong with him? What was wrong with him?

Steve stumbled out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt, tossed lazily onto the floor — Hawkins Swim Team ‘85 — throwing it on over his head. He had nowhere to go, not really. His hands weren’t steady enough to drive. And even if they were, half the places in this town were cursed with memories of the Upside Down and the other half were cursed with memories of his forgotten year of friendship with Eddie. And god, how had Steve been so stupid? The drive through? The diner? The quarry at night, knocking their feet together on the cliff edge? Smoking cigarettes on his bed? All the things he’d done with girls, and he’d done them all with Eddie, in this timeline, because in this timeline he wanted to—

In this timeline he was—

In both timelines, he was—

(The pulsing in the back of his head, the thought, now, nearly finished, Eddie in the dream, his father in the dream, why can’t you see the thing when you’re in it, why can’t you see the thing when it’s right in front of you and god, he was stupid, he was so fucking stupid.)

The roof, he thought. He needed fresh air. He bolted, out the door and up the stairs, not even bothering with shoes.

It was humid, hot and sticky, the August air almost thick. Steve wished, bitterly, that it was winter. That he’d run out into snow up to his ankles. Maybe the shock of feeling would have forced him to reckon with whatever was happening in his head.

Actually, if this whole thing had been a movie, Steve’s death and resurrection probably would have happened in the dead of winter, around the holidays. Christ symbolism and all that — Robin loved to point out when movies used it. And then he would have had the snow to panic in, and he could glare moodily out at blankets of white as he grappled with his own feelings, Christmas lights flickering ominously around him. (“A symbol,” Robin would say, “for lost innocence.”)

Robin, his brain supplied, wearily. Call Robin.

He slumped down, back against the roof’s outer wall, and tried to think. But his mind was static and nothing came beyond those two words — call Robin. He couldn't do that while Eddie was still in the apartment, couldn't risk Eddie overhearing whatever was going on. He forced himself to breathe. In and out and in and out. He'd just wait. Wait until Eddie left, or until enough time passed that Eddie called Hopper in a panic because Steve had apparently vanished into thin air.

He had no idea how much time passed but, eventually, he heard a rumble that he knew was Eddie’s van starting up, the cough of the ignition failing to spark twice before singing to life, the telltale squeal of Eddie tearing out of the parking spot because he was incapable of not driving like a fucking lunatic. Steve let out a shuddering breath.

Okay. It was time, then.

He went back downstairs. There was a note on the kitchen counter, Eddie’s blocky handwriting visible to Steve immediately. There was something crossed out at the start — he couldn’t make out the words at all. Underneath it was Helping Wayne with something today. Did you get called into work? Dinner later?

Shit. He had to deal with this.

He went to the phone and punched in Robin’s number.

She picked up on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“Robin,” Steve said, and then he couldn’t say anything else, panic clutching at his throat.

“Steve? What’s wrong?”

“I — I’m. I . . . “ God what was he supposed to say? “Remember when you said I could talk to you about anything? Well, I think I’m having a crisis,” he settled on.

“Oh-kay,” Robin said. She didn’t even sound surprised. “I can be there in twenty.” She clicked the phone off immediately and Steve slumped against the wall across from his bed and buried his face in his hands. He breathed deeply — Joyce had taught him a technique once, years ago, for staving off panic, and he was using it now. Deep, slow breaths. Fill up your lungs entirely, and then empty them out with a hiss. Think about every point of physical contact you’re having right now and let it ground you to the space. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Eventually there was a tentative knock on his door, but before he could even move to answer it he heard it swinging open, and a moment later Robin was there in his bedroom.

She took one look at him and went, “oh, Steve,” and then the panic set in all over again. She moved to him, quickly, and then hovered nervously over him for a second. “Is this about what I think it’s about?”

He felt a stagger of surprise at that — if he wasn’t already sitting on the floor it probably would have knocked him over. “What do you mean?” He swallowed, rough, trying to get sound out. “What do you think it’s about?”

Robin shook her head, a little helplessly. “I mean . . . it’s about Eddie, right?”

“Jesus Christ,” he said back. “How did you know? When I didn’t even . . .” he trailed off and clunked his head back against the wall, a horrified humiliation spreading over him.

“I remembered something, a few weeks ago.” She bit her lip, nervous. “I just — I remembered that I always thought it was . . . interesting, how close you and Eddie are. Or, uh, were? Are. Here.” She paused, leveling Steve with a look that was significant. “I mean . . .” and then she trailed off. “You and I got close fast too, right? Like, it took no time at all. We just sort of understood each other, immediately.”

Steve knew what she meant. Knew what his thoughts meant. He knew, but he was scared, so scared, more scared than he’d been in the Upside Down, he thought.

“You and I—" he started. “I was never close with anyone like that. Before you. Tommy and Carol and I were friends, but it wasn’t . . . it wasn’t the same. They didn’t really know me like you do.” He swallowed.

He couldn’t say the next part. He felt like a coward, or maybe a child, stupid and scared, and hiding under the blankets from a monster under his bed that might not even be real. She slumped down next to him on the floor — and he could hear her, already, later, saying why do we always end up on floors for this?. But if he made the joke now, well — that’d be admitting that he understood what this was. And he wasn’t ready, not yet. He needed to hold her hand. He needed her to get him to the other side of the bridge.

“Do you think,” Robin said, soft, very gentle. “Do you think that there’s a reason you and I became so close, so quickly? That it was easier with me than it was with Tommy or Carol?”

“I always thought it was the Upside Down,” Steve said. “But it still happened in this timeline. I don’t . . . “

He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

“Maybe you saw a sort of . . . kinship,” Robin offered. “You looked at me and saw something of yourself reflected back?”

“But I’m not—” he started, and then stopped. Because he didn’t lie to Robin. And it was a lie, wasn’t it? In both timelines, it was a lie. He’d spent a year dreaming about being friends with a dead guy, fantasizing about it, imagining fake conversations and fake hangouts. He’d spent the last few weeks thinking about how that man looked when he blushed, and if he was sleeping well. He had a whole catalog of half-remembered almost-dates in a universe where the two of them didn’t have to fight monsters.

It was a lie because Steve’s eyes were always drawn to Eddie, always noticed him, because he thought about Eddie, constantly, all of the time, before he fell asleep and right when he woke up. Because when Eddie entered a room Steve smiled, and when Eddie entered a room Steve’s heart picked up, and when Eddie entered a room Steve hoped he’d never, ever leave it.

And what was that but a crush? What else could that be?

Robin wrapped her arms around him, tucked her head under his chin. He leaned against her. “I know it’s scary. I know it’s the scariest thing on Earth. But . . . it’s also freeing. To know. To say it out loud, to someone else. To be really seen.” She paused. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Steve.”

“My father would disagree.” His voice sounded bitter and choked with tears.

“Your father is an asshole who you hate,” she said back, mildly. “Why do you still care what he thinks?”

“Because this is why he hates me,” Steve said. He hadn’t even really meant to say it — hadn’t fully processed the thought before it came out of his mouth. But now that it was out there, it was stark in its truth. The reason Steve’s dad had demanded sports, had demanded girlfriends, had demanded a constant performance of masculinity and normalcy. Because he could tell, even when Steve himself couldn’t, that Steve was different. That there was something about him that was different. Everything Steve had hated about his childhood — the empty house, the lonely weeks, the screaming matches and shattering glasses — would any of those things have happened if Steve had just been normal? If he’d just only liked girls? If he could have convinced his father he’d only ever like girls? Would his father have loved him?

Like she could tell what he was thinking, Robin smacked him lightly on the arm. “If he can’t love you for who you are it’s because he’s a shitty dad, not because there’s something wrong with you.” She pulled away to look him in the eye. “And if you had to earn his love by hiding yourself for the rest of your life, you wouldn’t be happy, Steve. You’d be in a prison. I need you to know that.”

If he hadn’t dropped King Steve — if he’d gone on pretending, doing what his father had wanted — he’d still live in that house. A place that had always felt like a jail cell. A tomb. He wouldn’t be happy. He’d just be faking it. Wearing his armor and pretending.

Now, as himself, he had an armful of Robin Buckley on the floor of a shitty apartment that he didn’t even own but that still felt more lived in than his house ever had. There was a man who Steve had developed terrifying feelings for. Every friend Steve had was someone he’d die for — someone he had died for.

So maybe his father didn’t love him. Wouldn’t ever love him. But he had a bigger family than the one he left behind who did. Who loved him more than Steve had ever thought it was possible to be loved.

“Is there,” Steve started, and then swallowed, harsh. “Is there a word for . . . for liking both? Guys and girls? Because, I mean, I did love Nancy, I know that and I. I mean, I love boobies, okay.”

Robin reached up and smacked him across the back of the head, clearly for saying boobies again. “Bisexual,” she said. “The word is bisexual. It’s a thing! It’s a thing other people feel.” She paused. And then she said it again, apparently just to get it to sink in. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Steve.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Steve said back. His voice was trembling, but he pushed through. He’d fought monsters. He’d died. He could do this. He could. “I’m just . . . I’m bisexual.”

Robin was smiling and her eyes were wet with tears. “You’re bisexual.”

“And I have a truly awful crush on Eddie Munson,” he said. Robin burst into her high, honking laugh, throwing her head back.

“You are bisexual and you have horrendous taste.” And then Steve was laughing too, dropping his head down onto her shoulder. It wasn’t a comfortable positon, but it felt exactly right, completely perfect.

When they were done laughing, Robin pulled away and looked Steve in the eye again.

“You should tell him,” she said, finally. “That you’re interested. I think it’ll go well for you. You should see how he looks at you.”

Steve furrowed his brow at her. “How does he look at me?”

“Like you’re Steve fucking Harrington,” she said, around a laugh. And then she paused, an awkward look crossing her face. “Also. . .” she trailed off, and then sighed and fished for something in her pocket. “Okay, so, I was home a few days ago, going through my stuff and I found this — scrapbook thing, that I think I’m making you for your birthday? Which, right, sorry to ruin the surprise, but. I found this, in the pile of photos I was putting in it.”

She handed a polaroid over to Steve.

It was of him and Eddie. Eddie had his arm around Steve, which was normal enough.

Steve, though — Steve was holding onto Eddie’s chin, grasped between his thumb and index finger. Neither of them were looking at the camera. They were looking at each other, Eddie’s eye’s sharp, an unreadable expression on his face.

Steve looked—

Well.

He’d seen that look on his face before, in photos. Pictures with Nancy. Eyes soft, smile small and private.

Steve looked like he was in love.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Is this — but this—“ He stopped, and shook his head. He flipped the polaroid over but there was nothing written on the back. Finally, he turned back to Robin. “I mean, are we . . . I’d remember, if we were actually dating, right? I wouldn’t be panicking about this, would I?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t remember. I looked at the photo and it didn’t bring anything back at all. I mean . . . it’s not triggering anything for you, either?”

It wasn’t. All Steve could remember was the pressing desire to kiss Eddie. Surely he’d remember if he already had, right?

“I mean, does it matter?” Robin asked after a moment. “You like him now. You want to kiss him now. Even if you never remember the last timeline, it’s not like you’re not feeling that way.”

He considered it. “No, you’re right, but I— “ he stopped. “What if Eddie remembers?” He shifted to face her more fully. “Like . . . what if he remembers, and he hasn’t said anything because he doesn’t want to date me in this timeline? That’s possible, right?”

Robin frowned at him. “I mean, I guess, but I doubt it, Steve. Like I said. He looks at you like you hung the moon, or drum for Metallica or something.” He couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. “If he remembers, he probably hasn’t said anything because he’s scared of freaking you out. But also — if you don’t remember, who’s to say he does?” She shrugged. “Timeline hopping is weird. And you’ve only known each other a year. I’m sure whatever happened, if something happened, took some time to happen, so it’s probably newer, right? Maybe you both need a nudge to remember.” She levelled him a serious look. “Either way, you should talk about it. I think it will go well, but — but you should talk about it even if you’re nervous. You deserve to be happy Steve, and if this idiot makes you happy—“

“Then I should go for it,” he finished for her. He didn’t need her encouragement, though. Looking at the photo, the feeling from this morning, the feeling in his chest — he needed to know. Yes, there was a chance that he’d blow everything up. But he’d taken that risk before, with Nancy, and while it had been awkward for a while it hadn’t ended everything. Steve could bear a lot of things, but now that he had a name for what he was feeling, he thought that the one thing he couldn’t bear was not knowing.

Robin was looking at him, fonder than she usually did. “What?” he asked.

“I was just thinking about you diving into Lover’s Lake, actually,” she said. She shifted again and dropped her head back onto his shoulder, pressed their knees together. “You’re the bravest guy I know, you know that?”

He wasn’t so sure about that, all told. But it was nice to hear. “I only do it to impress you, Robs.”

Which made her laugh so hard she fell over, bringing him with her, and then they were just a laughing tangle on the floor, bright and messy and happy.

Notes:

and we are finally at the point where steve has figured out he's into eddie. god bless.

i am so hype to hit post on this one -- this dream sequence was one of the first parts of this fic i wrote, at this point months ago, and i've been dying to share it ever since. i hope you like reading it as much as i loved writing it.

it's probably a bit cheap to have a character come to a major revelation via dream, but i think the fact that steve is actively repressing feelings means it's sort of fitting. plus i enjoy playing with tense changes and a dream sequence is such a fun place to do that in.

the "they're already dating" truthers will have to wait until next week to learn more.

chapter title is from At Last, by Etta James

as always -- your comments mean everything to me. you are all so sweet. thanks for reading.

Chapter 23: i'd run away with you

Summary:

Steve and Eddie discuss . . . feelings.

Eventually Robin and Steve removed themselves from the floor and went to the kitchen to get water and, sure enough, Robin rolled her eyes and said “next time we do this, I vote for somewhere more comfortable.”

“Next time?” Steve asked.

She shrugged at him. “If Will Byers decides to tell everyone he’s gay then I am demanding that at least you and I are sitting on a couch. We’re getting too old for this floor thing.” Then she paused, considering. “What are you going to do?”

“What, right now? I don’t know, probably make lunch or something.”

Which, naturally, caused her to reach over and shove him hard enough that he clattered back against the fridge. “Don’t be dense, Steven, I meant about Eddie. And your, you know, big gay feelings.”

“Hey, don’t make light of my big gay feelings,” he shot back. “It took a lot of work for me to come to terms with my big gay feelings.”

She rolled her eyes again, and a small part of Steve’s brain heard Mrs. Henderson’s voice saying your face will stick that way at Dustin over the dinner table at their place. “I already called you brave once today, Steve, stop looking for an ego stroke.” She stopped and looked at him. He remained leaning against the fridge while she leaned on the counter across from him, and for a moment it struck him, what a funny picture the must have made, how unbelievable he would have found it only a few years ago. How unbelievable he would have found all of this. “You’re gonna tell him, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Yeah, probably tonight, if I can.” He stopped and thought about it for a moment. “It feels dumb to wait, you know? I mean, life’s short. We both literally died, so I guess no one really understands that better than us. Feels silly to waste time we might not have.” Which was true, even if the idea of admitting it and getting rejected was a terrible, slimy feeling in the back of Steve’s throat.

“It’s funny,” she said. “Not like, haha funny, but I mean, I spent months pining after Vickie. And I can’t even tell Nancy, who’s one of my best friends, and now with Barb it’s. . . it’s just funny, I guess, that you had your whole gay crisis in the span of about an hour and came out the other end of it deciding to just embrace yourself and go for it.” She sighed, a deep, mournful sounding thing. “Ego stroke aside, I wasn’t kidding about you being brave.”

What she was really saying, of course, was I, myself, am a coward, which was so untrue that it actually made Steve a little angry, honestly. “Hey,” he said, keeping his tone measured. “That’s different. Firstly, we at least know Eddie’s gay, so it’s not like he’s gonna kick my ass for being into dudes. You didn’t have that guarantee with Vickie, I get it.” He stood up, moving away from the fridge to cross the kitchen and put his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not cowardly to be afraid of stuff, you know that Rob.”

“Bravery is doing stuff even when you’re afraid, I know, I know.” She sniffled, wetly, and Steve hugged her, pressing her face into his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him. “I’ll get there, I know, I just—” she pulled away to look him in the eye. “God, I’m so ready to get out of this town, Steve.”

“We will,” he assured her. “I promise you, I’ve already died in this place once — I have no intention of doing it a second time.”

Which, at least, made her laugh a little.

“Look,” he said. “You’re right that maybe telling Eddie is brave of me. But that’s not bravery I did all by myself, you know that right? You got me here, Rob. I mean, hell, I probably wouldn’t have ever even gotten to hey, I’m bisexual if you hadn’t been my best friend. I literally just avoided thinking about it for weeks — I was afraid to even talk to you, because I knew you’d know, you’d figure it out, and that was . . . terrifying, honestly.” She was looking at him with a twist of sympathy on her face. “You telling me about liking girls at Starcourt — that was brave as hell. You changed my life.” She opened her mouth, clearly to protest, but he cut her off. “And don’t tell me it was the truth serum, because you also told me in this timeline, no sketchy Russian drugs involved. That was all you.”

He thought about it for a moment longer. Because everyone kept saying it, kept using that word, brave, and Steve didn’t really know if that was true, or right, or fair. “Really, you know, you and Eddie and the kids, you all say that — that I’m brave, because I keep running back into fights. But I did that stuff for you all. I’m not brave by myself. Running back into the house to save Nancy and Jonathan, and fighting the demodog in the junkyard and Billy Hargrove, and mouthing off to that Russian guard — I didn’t do that because I’m, like, naturally braver than anyone else. I did that all to protect you guys. You’re what makes me brave. So don’t talk badly about yourself, alright? Cause that’s my best friend.”

Now Robin was fully crying, tears down her cheeks. “God, you’re such a dweeb,” she whined, but moved in to hug him anyway. For a long moment they just held each other. Finally she pulled away. “I think . . . I think I might tell Barb. One day. Not yet, but . . . if things work out for you and Eddie maybe that’s a sign, right?”

“Well, if they don’t work out for me and Eddie I’ll need someone else in Chicago to go to bars with so I don’t spend all my time desperately pining over my platonic roommate,” he pointed out. She smacked his shoulder again, but still laughed. “No, seriously, you’ll have to deal with me being mopey and depressed and crying into beers and stuff — if you’re dating someone during that I think that officially breaks best friend code.”

She rolled her eyes and then wiped at them, drying her own tears. “If you’re like that you’re going to get us kicked out of every bar.” And then a thought crossed her face, a shocked joy replacing the last hint of sadness. “Oh my god, kicked out of gay bars! Because I can drag you to those now, now that you’re, you know—”

“A dude who likes other dudes?”

She laughed again, manic and high. “Oh my god, we’re going to be awful in Chicago, holy shit.” Then she paused. “Actually, maybe you shouldn’t tell Eddie yet, I bet Single Chicago Steve could get him jealous enough to turn his face a shade of red not yet discovered by scientists.”

It was his turn to shove her, this time. “Don’t be a brat, Rob.” She laughed again, and he was glad to see it — he really did hate seeing her cry. And he hated when she was mean to herself, that sort of wiggle of self-doubt that would creep up. As far as he was concerned Robin was capable of doing anything she wanted. It still surprised him, sometimes, that she didn’t see herself that way.

But, well, he supposed that’s what having a best friend was for, in the end.

“Come on,” he said, after a pause. “We probably have a few hours before Eddie's back, and if I’m not distracted I’ll do something terrible and weird like gnaw all my own fingernails off.”

“Ugh, Steve, gross,” she whined. And then, “wanna play cards?”

---

A few hours later Robin decamped, her mom outside to pick her up for dinner. She paused for a long time at Steve’s doorway and then moved to hug him, bone-crushingly. “It’s gonna go well,” she said, softly, and then turned and left.

And so Steve was alone.

As predicted, nerves immediately set in. He was having trouble remembering if he was this nervous when he asked out Nancy. That was the last time he’d actually really cared if someone said yes, for more than just his own ego. (He supposed he cared about Robin saying yes, too, but the drugs and head injuries made that entire experience a bit out of the norm sort of regardless of her answer. Hard to be nervous when you’re drugged up.)

He thought that he probably wasn’t this nervous about Nancy. But that was a whole other set of circumstances too, wasn’t it? For one, he was still King Steve then, the idea of total humiliating rejection essentially foreign. Secondly — he cared, right, he liked her, but it wasn’t as far along as his feelings for Eddie were, at this point. Steve’s pining for Nancy phase didn’t kick in until after they broke up. He was pining for Eddie now, before anything had actually happened.

And, well. Eddie was also a dude. As much as Steve wanted to pretend that wasn’t still a bit terrifying, it was. Robin was right — knowing was better than not knowing, and it wasn’t like his feelings would go away if he ignored them. But still, he understood clearly that this was a bridge he was crossing here — once he started something with Eddie, if Eddie even wanted to start anything at all, he’d never really be able to go back to pretending he was straight.

Although, he supposed he couldn’t really do that now either, anyway. The thought that been finished. There was no unthinking it, now.

As if summoned, there was a knock on his door, and Eddie opened it, looking — well, a little hesitant if Steve was being honest with himself. That he knocked at all was sort of surprising — generally Eddie entered and moved through the apartment like he lived there full time. Which, Steve supposed, he kind of did.

Eddie offered an awkward little wave Steve’s way. “Hey, you mind if I come in?”

Steve frowned. “Mind? When have I ever minded before? You can always hang here, you know that.”

“Oh, well.” Eddie looked wildly uncomfortable. It was sort of a terrible expression on him. It reminded Steve, perhaps a bit strangely, of high school. A look like I want to be anywhere but here, which was just not at all how Steve ever wanted Eddie to feel, inside his apartment. In his space. The spike of panic — he’ll leave and never come back — hurled back up Steve’s gut, and he forced himself to swallow it down. Eddie wouldn’t do that over a crush. He wouldn’t.

(Would he?)

Steve wanted to say something reassuring — anything — but Eddie was already speaking again. “I just . . . “ he trailed off and just looked at Steve for a moment longer before finishing. “When I woke up this morning you weren’t here. But, uh, your car was still in the parking lot. So . . .”

Oh shit. “Right,” Steve said, aware that he sounded about as panicked as he felt.

“I thought maybe you got called into work, but then I saw your car and I figured that meant you were still here, and just not in the apartment, so.” Eddie was frowning. “Did I . . . do something?

“What?” Steve said. And then, his brain registering the actual words, “no, no, I just, I — I needed some air.”

Eddie looked like he was having a hard time believing that. “You . . . needed some air for an hour?”

Oh? Was that how long he’d been on the roof panicking? That was kind of embarrassingly long, actually. Steve had been hoping it’d only been about fifteen minutes.

Actually, if he thought about it, it was probably longer than an hour, if an hour had passed between Eddie waking up, noticing Steve was gone, and then leaving. Wow. That was mortifying.

“Uh,” he said, instead of anything resembling real human language.

Eddie looked even more uncomfortable, somehow. “Look, whatever happened, I mean—” he sighed. “You helped me with my nightmares, you know, I want to be able to help you with yours. You don’t have to, like, run and hide from me if you have one.”

Steve blinked, genuinely a bit surprised. “How did you know I had a nightmare?”

Eddie actually rolled his eyes at that, and shook his head. “I used context clues, Stevie,” he said. “What was it? Death dream?”

“Kind of,” Steve admitted. “It was — confusing, actually, all around, not a very straightforward nightmare, in the end.” He was babbling. Jesus, he sounded like Robin. “I just — I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“I woke you up,” Eddie pointed out, the reasonable bastard. “I don’t mind if you need to talk, you know I don’t.”

Steve sighed. “Look, it’s not — I really couldn’t wake you up, okay? It was. Complicated. I needed to figure something out for myself, before I spoke to you. Which I did, you know. Figure out. For what it’s worth. Got it all figured out, now.”

God why couldn’t he shut up?

“Oh-kaaaay,” Eddie offered, after a moment. “What did you figure out?”

Right. So this was it. Game time.

All Steve had to do was say I figured out I want to kiss you on the mouth.

Wait, no, actually, that was terrible. Awful opening line, zero out of ten. No wonder all the girls at Scoops thought he was a hopeless loser — it turned out he actually was a hopeless loser. Maybe Nancy wasn’t as smart as she seemed if she fell so easily for whatever lame opening line he fed to her.

That, or he was just rusty — that had been years ago. He could do better. He went back to the mental drawing board.

He drew a terrible and horrifying blank.

Eddie was still just looking at him, clearly waiting for an answer.

Shit, Steve thought as he entered panic mode. How to start this conversation? It had been easier with Robin — there was less at stake there, really, and besides he’d already been having a panic attack when she showed up, so it wasn’t like he could have a second one on top of the first one. Here he was way, way more lost. Did he start with I realized I’m bisexual? and then move into his feelings for Eddie? Did he open with the feelings? Maybe just it turns out I may have had a crush on you this whole time. Did that sound bad? Or did it make him sound stupid? Hell, Eddie knew he was stupid, he couldn’t be surprised at the depth of Steve’s stupidness, right?

“Steve?” Eddie said.

Oh god, he’d been silent for way, way too long.

“Sorry,” he said, a basically default response in his life at this point. “This is a lot harder to talk about than I anticipated.”

“Okay, you’re starting to freak me out,” Eddie said, his own voice picking up a spike of panic as well. “What’s going on, is everything okay?”

God, this was so not going right. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

Maybe he didn’t have to say anything, actually. Steve still had the polaroid Robin had given him tucked into his pocket. A picture was worth a thousand words, right? Show don’t tell? Because, the picture made it look a lot like he and Eddie were dating in this timeline. Maybe he could just pull it out—

Which he was doing, before he’d even fully thought the plan through. Classic Harrington move: just go for it, ask questions and tend to head wounds later.

“Look, it’s — I had this dream, and it was very confusing, and it made me think things which is, historically, not my strongest point. Things about me, and what I — what I want, in my life, and things about you—”

Something very strange and unreadable was happening on Eddie’s face, but Steve literally could not be stopped at this point.

“And then there’s — well, I mean, I saw this and I thought that maybe you . . . you and I . . . in this timeline . . .” he groaned. “Oh, fuck, just look at it, will you?”

Steve handed him the polaroid.

Eddie’s face paled, the far away slide of double vision flashing across it as he looked at the polaroid. “Oh shit,” he said. “Shit. Shit, shit.” He looked up. “You remembered this?”

Okay. Maybe not exactly the reaction Steve was hoping for, but he could roll with the punches. “Uh, no, actually,” he admitted. “It didn’t trigger anything, for me, when I looked at it.” Then he paused — he figured he should probably say the next part out loud. “Robin gave it to me after I—” he swallowed. “After she helped me figure out that I’m bisexual.”

A very complicated serious of expressions flickered across Eddie’s face so quickly that Steve couldn’t grasp onto a single one of them before they settled into a look of plain and total shock. “You’re — what?”

“Wait,” Steve said, “that . . . wasn’t what you remembered?” He gestured at the photograph. “What did that bring back, then, because I mean — it looks like maybe in this timeline we were—”

“We weren’t,” Eddie cut in. It was a bit harsh. Fear curdled in Steve’s gut. Fuck. Had he totally misread this? Was he wrong? Eddie seemed to notice the expression on Steve’s face. His own expression slipped, a little, something like remorse flashing across his face. “It’s — this photo is from the Fourth of July.”

“The one that just happened? ’87?”

Eddie nodded. “Joyce and Hopper had a barbeque, and afterwards we went back to your house. You and me and Robin. We were drinking, and . . . and Robin took this photo, and then she went to go puke because she has no tolerance. And when she was gone you . . . you tried to kiss me.”

“Tried,” Steve said. His voice sounded hollow, even to him.

“I ran away,” Eddie said. He was speaking very quickly and very quietly, and he wasn’t looking at Steve at all. “And then we — the day we woke up, on the 9th, after the timelines merged — in this timeline we hadn’t spoken in five days.”

Oh.

He remembered, then. The feeling in his stomach, light and airy and happy, and Eddie had been there, warm and close, next to him by the pool. They were so close to having all the money for Chicago, and Steve had thought he was staring at the bright, open dream of the future. Eddie had turned to look at him, and they’d just looked at each other for a long time, and Steve had thought this is as good a moment as any and had moved in—

And Eddie had bolted back. Like Steve had electrocuted him, flopping away. “What are you— what?”

“I—” Steve had started, genuinely confused. He’d really thought he’d been reading that one right. “Shit, I’m sorry, I just wanted—”

“You don’t,” Eddie had snapped. He’d stood up and was moving back towards the house. “You don’t want, you’re just — you’re drunk, Steve, and I—”

“I’m not that drunk—” Steve had tried to say, but Eddie was already too far away, moving too quickly.

“I’m going home, I’ll — I’ll see you later, or whatever,” Eddie had muttered, and then he’d vanished into the house. A moment later Steve had heard the van start up, and by then Robin was back in the yard, eyes wide, asking him what had happened, and he’d had no way to answer that at all.

So, right. Okay. Steve had tried to kiss Eddie and had fucked everything up. But that was the old timeline, so — so he could fix it, here, maybe Eddie could forgive the old Steve for whatever stupid bullshit he thought was happening between them. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I clearly – I made you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry. If you don’t—” he had to swallow a horrible, embarrassing lump in his throat, here— "if you don’t feel the same way, that’s—”

“Steve, no, wait,” Eddie cut in. “Wait, that’s not — you don’t understand.”

The emotional whirlpool spinning violently inside him did not let up at all. “So . . . help me understand, because — because you’re my friend, and your friendship matters to me, and I don’t want to have fucked it up—”

“You didn’t fuck it up.” Eddie was pulling at his hair. He looked totally distressed. Steve suppressed the urge to reach out and touch him — not the time, not the moment. “You didn’t fuck it up, I did. I ran because I’m a coward, Steve.”

Steve couldn’t stop the knee jerk response from bubbling up. “You’re not a coward, Eddie. You died to save Dustin, you’re—”

“Can you,” Eddie said, and then stopped to let out a hysterical little laugh. “Just, let me finish, okay, I’m getting there.” Steve nodded, wordlessly. Eddie took another breath and started again. “I am a coward, Steve. I always have been. I run from things when they get hard or they get scary. Every time. I don’t face things. In this timeline I was happy just being your friend and having my stupid little crush on you—”

Something in Steve’s stomach lurched at that.

“—because I figured there was never any, any chance it’d be reciprocated. I mean, you’re Steve Harrington! The heartbreaker of Hawkins High! You’re so straight, so . . . you were safe, really. I didn’t have to face . . . how I felt, because it was just a dumb little crush, a stupid little dream. So we could move to Chicago, and we could just be friends, and I could suffer while you fell in love with some pretty girl because you’d be close but I’d never have to do anything about it. You’re unobtainable. And then were drunk, and you tried to kiss me and I ran away, because that’s what I do. That is what I’m good at. When the going gets tough I get going, you know?”

“So . . . you were afraid of me?” Steve asked, feeling slightly lost.

Eddie shrugged, a helpless motion. “Not of you, but of . . . I don’t know.” He paused for a moment like he was trying to find the words — he looked genuinely a bit frustrated to even be struggling with it. “To be honest, it didn’t even occur to me that you could be, you know. Into me. You were always so into girls, and there was a part of me that thought you were just, I don’t know — you’d been hanging out with two gay people long enough that you thought you’d give it a try?”

Steve wondered if that should have offended him, but he figured it was fair enough. He’d clearly skipped over the talking part with Eddie and gone straight to action. In the old timeline he’d learned that lesson hard with Nancy — that in a good, healthy relationship you needed to talk about your feelings, about what you were thinking, that it wasn’t enough to just act on impulse and assume everything was fine and you were on the same page. He guessed he hadn’t learned that lesson in this world, not quite yet.

Eddie was still talking. “And I thought you’d call the next day and say you were drunk and lonely and sorry. But you called the next day and said you meant it and you wanted to talk, and I. I don’t know. Then I was afraid of . . . of something real happening. Like, you couldn’t really break my heart when you were just some fantasy. But if you wanted me back, then . . . well then one day you’d realize I’m not really worth all the trouble, and that type of heartbreak was really, really fucking scary to me. Yeah.”

“That’s not true,” Steve said. “That you’re not worth the trouble, that’s not — I think you are worth incredibly, stupidly large amounts of trouble.” Eddie smiled a little at that, just an upward twitch of his lips. “And I don’t want to break your heart,” he added, which was maybe a bit too honest, a bit too revealing, but fuck it — this was the time for revealing, right?

Eddie’s smile shifted into one just a bit sadder. “Yeah, but you don’t — we can’t know, whether you will or won’t, or whether I’ll break yours or . . . The not-knowing, the risk, that’s what I was running from. And so even after you called me I — I just kept running, Steve.” He turned his gaze down towards his shoes. “I never called you back. I never picked up the phone, even when you kept calling. And then you stopped calling, so.” He swallowed audibly. “So I fucked it up. And I think — I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me if you hate me, in this timeline.”

“I don’t hate you,” Steve said, half-automatically. “You could never make me hate you.”

Which was true — hell, Eddie could probably beat Steve to death with a bat and Steve’s last thought would still be he saved Dustin, so this is alright.

Eddie looked up to meet his gaze again. “You have to understand, Steve, that fundamentally — in my heart and soul, dude, I am a coward. In this universe, where that Upside Down shit never happened, I mean — I would have stayed a coward.” He swallowed again. “The reason I went back for Dustin, the reason I stopped running, the thing that made me brave. That was you, Steve.”

Steve felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Eddie shook his head. “When I saw you dive into Lover’s Lake I — fuck, Steve. You made me want to be a better person. You made me want to be brave. You did that. You did that to me. That’s why I cut the rope, that’s why I sacrificed myself. Because I thought What would Steve Harrington do?” He paused again. “I think . . . I think in this timeline I would never have been brave enough to let myself have this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of them. “I would have always run.”

“And now?” Steve asked. “Do you still want to run?”

Eddie looked at him. He opened his mouth to say something—

The phone rang.

Steve ignored it. Eddie was frowning, though. “What if it’s one of the kids? Some kind of emergency?” he said, after Steve let it get to the third ring.

Fuck. Right. Okay. Steve moved to answer it, entering the bedroom.

“Steve!” Dustin chirped on the other end. It did not sound like he was having an emergency. It sounded like he just wanted to shoot the shit.

“Henderson,” Steve said back, trying to keep his tone even. In the living room Eddie was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking at basically anything but Steve. Steve, meanwhile, literally could not take his eyes off the other man, not even if he wanted to — like he was afraid if he looked away Eddie would vanish into thin air, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Yeah man,” Dustin said back, easily, “just wanted to know if you and Eddie wanted to go to the arcade with us tomorrow? Like noonish? By which I naturally mean we could use a ride to the arcade—”

“Dustin,” Steve cut in. “You just called the ask for a ride?”

Eddie noticeably deflated and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, why else would I be calling?” The kid paused for a moment. “Dude, are you okay? You sound kinda funny—”

“I’m sort of in the middle of something, actually, Dustin, and I want you to remember that I literally died for you just a month ago and so you cannot be mad at me for the fact that I’m about to hang up on you.”

“Hey!” Dustin squawked back. “So that’s a yes on the ride?”

Steve hung up.

“Kid’s a shit,” Eddie said, not unkindly, as Steve crossed back to him. His face was pure nervousness. Steve was sure he looked the same.

For a moment they both just stood there, awkwardly.

“You were, uh . . .” Steve started. “You were going to say something?”

“Right,” Eddie said back. He rubbed his hands on the palm of his jeans. “And I will, except while you were on the phone I was looking around and I remembered that there’s a camera in this room watching every single thing we’re doing. And also perhaps, you know. Listening in. So.”

Oh. Right. God, Steve had totally forgotten about the camera.

Some things were better handled in private. This was absolutely one of them. “You wanna go smoke a cigarette with me on the roof?” he asked, and Eddie nodded rapidly.

They backed out and headed upstairs.

When they were on the roof neither spoke for a long time. Finally, Eddie took a deep breath. “Do you remember why I asked you to move to Chicago with me?”

Steve frowned. “That’s what you want to talk about? Right now?” Eddie gave him an unimpressed look, like he didn’t quite think Steve was taking this seriously enough. “No,” he admitted, “I don’t.”

Eddie nodded and then steeled himself, took in a deep breath. “Right.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Steve. Steve took it, even though he really was trying to quit again. Instead of handing him the lighter Eddie leaned forward, cupped his hand around Steve’s and lit the cigarette for him. It was the type of move Steve used to pull on pretty girls at parties, and god dammit it worked on him — he felt lightheaded.

“I have a stupid dream,” Eddie said, finally. He dropped his hand from Steve’s but didn’t move too far out of his personal space, and Steve was glad for that, for the closeness.

“No such thing as a stupid dream,” he said back, because it felt right, even though privately Steve thought most of his own dreams were pretty stupid.

Eddie shot him a little, mocking smile like he knew exactly what Steve was thinking. “Okay, but this is,” and he took another deep breath. “Fuck it, I already told you most of it once, I don’t know why I’m nervous.” He took a drag of his own cigarette. He blew the smoke away from Steve but kept his eyes on him, intense and dark. “I started working at Particle, right? And I like, love it, but I want — I want that for myself. A place where I choose what’s on the shelves, and I make my own rules. Books and records and D&D dice and guitar lessons. And a table, in the back, where people can run their own D&D games, or play cards, or just dick around with their friends. You know? A safe space for the,” he waved his hand, “misfit weirdos of the world. Somewhere everyone who doesn’t fit in can go and not fit in together.”

Steve felt warm all over, his complete and total fondness for Eddie Munson taking over. “That’s not a dumb dream at all, Eddie. Shit, that’s fucking — that’s amazing.”

The other man was grinning, that smile that made Steve’s stomach do stupid things. “Yeah, well I don’t want to do it here, is part of it, right? Like, I don’t want to compete with Particle, for one, but I also — I hate it here, man, this town is a hellhole. I want to leave. But I stayed, after graduation, because of you. Because I wanted to be around you.” He paused, nerves trickling in — those tics Steve memorized, biting his lip, pulling his hair in front of his face. “So part of the dream — I mean, a big part, honestly, is that, uh. Is that you’re there. With me, at the store. That you come with.”

Steve felt like he was going to explode. Like every single one of his nerve endings was on fire. He couldn’t help the small, surprised laugh that escaped him. “I — really?”

Eddie smiled again, a bit shy. “Yeah, dude. I mean, Chicago, right, it’s partly because you can get back here, pretty quick. If the kids need you to. And I knew that’d be important to you, to stay close. That you wouldn’t want to go too far.” He cleared his throat. “So that’s why I asked you, to move with me. Although I left the second part out when I talked to you, obviously. I wanted the book store for myself, but I, uh. I also wanted you. For myself.”

Forget exploding — Steve was going to fucking melt. “Wanted?” Steve said, finally.

“Want,” Eddie said, so quiet it was most inaudible. “Present tense.”

Eddie stuck the cigarette back in his mouth and then frowned — it had gone out, forgotten in the middle of his explanation. So had Steve’s. He tucked his behind his ear, and then leaned forward, back into Eddie’s space, to grab the lighter from Eddie’s hands. To pull the same move but reversed. Eddie leaned forward and accepted the light, cigarette still hanging loosely in his mouth. Steve cupped his hand around Eddie’s, even though there was no need to with the cigarette not in it. Didn’t matter.

“Ask me again,” Steve said. He didn’t move his hand away; he curled his fingers over Eddie’s, anchored them in place.

Eddie looked at him, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I don’t remember the first time you asked me to move to Chicago and I want to. So. Ask me again.”

Eddie took a shaky inhale. Blew the smoke away from them, pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. “Steve Harrington,” he said, very grave, serious. “Will you move to Chicago with me?”

He asked it like the question was more than it was. Not just will you move to Chicago. Something bigger. Something better. Steve wanted to answer it the same way it was asked.

“Eddie Munson,” Steve said back, “I’d go anywhere in the world with you.” He took a moment to appreciate the look Eddie gave him — eyes blown wide, lips parted slightly in shock, that blush, that lovely fucking blush across his cheeks.

“Steve,” Eddie said, softly. “Yesterday you told me you got tired of being an asshole, so you stopped being one? Well, in the Upside Down, I realized — I was sick of being a coward. So I stopped being one.” He gave Steve a long look, a small smile on his face. “I’m not running, anymore. I’m done running. I promise.”

Which was permission, really, so Steve leaned forward and pressed their lips together.

Soft, at first, just a light thing — chaste, almost, but still brilliant, still better than Steve had dreamed of. There was a jerk of movement — Eddie tossing his cigarette aside — before his hands wound themselves in Steve’s hair. Steve clutched onto Eddie’s shirt. Eddie tugged a bit on Steve’s hair and he opened his mouth in a groan and Eddie licked in, and it was perfect, it was so stupidly perfect, and Steve didn’t understand how it’d taken them so long to start doing this.

The finally pulled apart for air. Eddie’s eyes were blown wide, his mouth red and swollen. Steve wanted to never stop kissing him, but Eddie held him in place for a minute, a small, shocked smile on his face. “Steve fucking Harrington,” he said, in something like awe. He let it hang there for a second. And then he licked his lips, shook his head. “You know, when I first asked you to move with me I was nervous, I remember. I played it off because . . . because a part of me knew it was stupid.”

Steve made a small noise of confusion, but Eddie’s eyes were still sparkling with joy.

“Stupid to move in with a straight boy I was hopelessly crushing on.”

And now it was Steve’s turn to grin, and he could feel it on his face, could feel it in his soul. “Well I have it on good authority that that boy might not be so straight after all.”

“Really?” Eddie said, tone airy and joking.

“Really,” Steve confirmed. “And he might be stupid into you, too.” He paused then, removed a hand from Eddie’s shirt to tuck a stray curl behind the man’s ear. “Your handwriting, on the newspaper, even before I realized that I was ignoring the world’s most intense crush on you, it . . . it made me giddy. It felt like a future. Like a dream worth having. Better than working for my fucking dad.”

“Better than the Winnebago?” Eddie teased.

Steve tugged on a different curl. Eddie’s hair was soft and lush and he got to put his hands in it. It felt like winning the lottery. “Winnebago’s still in play, Munson.”

“I don’t think I can give you six kids, Harrington,” Eddie deadpanned.

“Not with that attitude,” Steve said back, and when Eddie barked out a laugh he lost all restraint and moved back to kiss him again.

The dream had been Nancy, yes, and the kids, yes, and the Winnebago, yes, — those had been the details Steve had focused on, back then. But he understood it better, now, understood himself better, now. Could see that the outline was more important than the details. The dream was this: a car full of people who loved him, people he loved back. The dream was this: a long, beautiful road, leading him as far away from Hawkins as he could get.

So, yes. Definitely still in play. Maybe more in play than ever. Maybe a better version of the dream than he’d ever dared hope for.

Notes:

and here we are, 100k words in, and they have finally kissed. thank god.

i LOVE you all, my "steve and eddie are already dating" truthers. but, alas — not quite. a big thing i wanted to consider with this story is the ways in which the upside down did change these characters. there are some things i think are likely universal — steve being less of an asshole as a subset of growing up, the platonic soulmate relationship steve has with robin and his brother bonding with dustin. but i do think living in the upside down timeline really fundamentally altered everyone's growth (so far, nancy has gotten the most focus on this front — the way the upside down fundamentally affected not only her friend group but her own personality). i like the idea that the arc eddie took in season 4 was a type of growth he wouldn't have yet had the chance to achieve in this timeline, which meant that when faced with a real chance to be happy he just ran. but now he can have it. that's GROWTH, baby, that's LOVE.

the title for this chapter is from Run Away With Me by Carly Rae Jepsen.

Chapter 24: i'd give up forever to touch you

Summary:

Steve is extremely honest with himself, and too far gone to be embarrassed. Oh, and the fic rating goes up.

Notes:

if the chapter summary wasn't enough to clue you in, yes: there is sex now. hurray! if it's not your thing, there's very little plot in this chapter and you can skip it entirely. if you want to grab the very little plot, i recommend skipping from here:

"Eddie said, as breathless as Steve felt, “why the fuck are we still on the roof, then?”"

to

"Which simply wouldn’t do, really."

i have added some relevant tags related to this chapter so do peep them if you want to know what you're getting into.

They stayed on the roof kissing for a long time. There was a small part of Steve that knew, logically, it would make sense to move back into the apartment at some point, but every time they parted for air and he thought I should probably say something now, they ended up pressed back together before he could actually get the words out. Which was fine because the larger, more insistent part of him was very reluctant to stop kissing Eddie. The kissing was great. Eddie was solid against him and his hair was soft and his stubble was scratchy and it was driving Steve insane, in the best possible way.

If he had the brain energy to focus on anything besides kissing Eddie he might have been pleasantly surprised at how little he was freaking out. A small part of him had wondered how different it would be — kissing a man, instead of a woman. But all told, it really wasn’t that different. Or, it was, but that was because Eddie made it different. Because Eddie was different, because kissing him felt important, felt big, felt like the start of something. It had been a very, very long time since kissing someone had felt like this.

(And, secretly, Steve hoped he never kissed anyone else like this, ever again. That this was the last time he started something new — that Eddie was the one who stuck. Probably too early to say that out loud, right?)

Eventually the need for oxygen did win out, and they paused for long enough for one of them to speak. Eddie beat Steve to the punch, though — he exhaled, a little dreamy half-sigh, and said “this is so surreal.” He stroked a thumb a bit absently down Steve’s cheek and Steve couldn’t help leaning into the touch, which made Eddie laugh, a bright, open thing like — fuck, flowers or something, Steve was running low on metaphors at the moment.

“This is the most surreal thing that’s ever happened to me, I think,” Eddie continued, dropping his hand to rest against Steve’s neck instead. “I am standing on a roof making out with Steve Harrington. I literally cannot believe this is my life.”

He couldn’t help but think of Robin’s comment earlier. “He looks at you like you’re Steve fucking Harrington.”

It’d been a long time since he figured Steve Harrington was anyone worth looking at.

Steve laughed and shook his head. “Eddie, baby, I appreciate the compliment, but we literally died and came back to life, this cannot be the most surreal thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Naturally, Eddie ignored his main point entirely, a bright grin and a splash of red spreading across his face instead. “Did you just call me baby?”

A flush of embarrassment went up Steve’s neck. Shit, too soon? “Uh,” he offered, “yeah. Weird?”

“No, no, not weird,” Eddie said, a bit frantic. “Very not weird, keep doing that shit. I want the whole, you know,” and here he removed the hand that had been casually laid across Steve’s hip and waggled his fingers, a bit, “Harrington experience.” He placed his hand back immediately, and Steve ignored the slightly ridiculous sense of relief he felt at that.

He furrowed his brow at Eddie. “Harrington experience? I wasn’t aware there was a Harrington Experience.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, Stevie, I had to hear the girls going on about it for a full three of my six years of high school.” He pitched his voice up, a terrible approximation of femininity that Steve snorted a laugh at. “Oh, Steve brought flowers to our date, he’s such a gentleman, and a great kisser, he picked me up and drove me home—"

“So what you’re saying here is that you want me to buy you flowers?” Steve cut in. “Won’t that ruin your hardcore image, getting a dozen roses delivered to your doorstep each day?”

Eddie blushed an even brighter red. “Oh? You’re jumping straight to roses, huh? You think I’m worth spending roses money on?”

Steve reached up and dragged his thumb against the sharp line of Eddie’s left cheekbone. “Of course you’re worth roses money,” he said, probably too soft for the joking tone Eddie had taken. To lighten it, he added, “besides, I figure I have to put in some work, don’t want you to think I think you’re easy or anything.”

Oh god. Why had he said that? They’d been making out for an hour and Steve was already bringing sex up? Betrayed by his own stupid, horny brain.

The thing was — it had been awhile, alright, since the last time Steve had had sex. Longer than he wanted to talk about. The town nearly getting destroyed and harboring a weird crush you were repressing on a dead guy were both not great for your love life, it turned out. He had half a thought that it had probably been awhile for him in this timeline, too. There was no way he kept going on dates after he realized he wanted to kiss Eddie. So. Okay, the making out on top of that long dry spell wasn’t helping his brain stop being horny.

Eddie’s face was completely red, now, bright enough that Steve could actually feel the blush through the pad of his thumb, where he was still touching Eddie’s cheek. “Well,” Eddie said, voice a little strained, “I, uh. Am. Just to clarify.” He paused, and then cleared his throat. “Easy. I mean.”

Oh! Well that was — that was good. Nice to know.

His heart rate had picked up wildly in the past twenty seconds, which was embarrassing because it had already been going pretty fast, if he was being honest with himself.

“We don’t have to,” Eddie said, a bit abruptly. “I mean, I know this might be . . . “ he trailed off, a little uncomfortable looking. “Different,” he settled on, eventually. “For you.”

That was fair enough. But Eddie wasn’t considering the fact that Steve really, really wanted to. “Well,” he said, after a moment, “firsts for both of us, right?”

“Sure,” Eddie allowed. “But I came to terms with wanting to bang dudes when I was like, thirteen. As far as I can tell it’s been,” and here he pulled the hand that had been resting at the juncture of Steve’s neck and shoulder away to glance at an imaginary watch he wasn’t wearing, “about seven hours for you? So, you know, I don’t want you to feel . . . pressure.” He cleared his throat, clearly a little embarrassed. “I’ve waited a long time, you know, I don’t mind waiting longer. If you need to.”

Once again, Steve was nearly speechless at how sweet the whole thing was. He stroked his thumb across Eddie’s cheek again, too far gone to be embarrassed at how openly reverent it was. “You know a couple weeks ago Morana told me that she thought things might be leaking through, without double vision? That’s why you and I were able to pick up our friendship so quickly — we were remembering it, even if we weren’t remembering we remembered it.” He moved his hand slightly, let his thumb trace across Eddie’s bottom lip instead —plush and soft and fucking beautiful. “I think in this timeline I’ve had some time to come to terms with the whole bisexual thing. I had to willfully ignore it for a month.”

“Ignore it?” Eddie asked. Steve’s thumb was still on Eddie’s lip, so as his mouth moved Steve could feel the vibrations of the words through it which was—

It was something, really. Steve was a little breathless. Also his throat was pretty dry.

(He could not blame every oversized reaction he was having to this on a dry spell. This was all happening because it was Eddie, because Eddie was special, because starting this with Eddie was special, which should have been terrifying, really, but it wasn’t, for some reason. It just felt right.)

“Sure,” Steve said, and ignored the way his voice croaked on the word. “I had to ignore that I thought you were pretty when you blushed, and that I spent a full calendar year thinking obsessively about you. I mean, Eddie, I learned you were having nightmares and then I immediately insisted we share a bed, come on.”

He pressed a bit on Eddie’s lip, and Eddie, apparently really game, opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the digit. “Shit,” Steve said out loud, which, again, should have been embarrassing, but he was way past embarrassment, at this point, had moved into that pure thrumming feeling of excitement and arousal.

(And maybe a little bit of nervousness, yes. He wasn’t too ashamed to say that. It would be new, and different, and he might not be immediately good at it, but—)

“I want to,” he said. “With you. I want — fuck, Eddie, I want everything with you.”

Eddie’s pupils blew wide and dark, and Steve felt his pulse jump in his throat. Eddie moved his mouth off of Steve’s thumb (and it was insane, right, to miss the contact?) “Stevie, baby,” Eddie said, as breathless as Steve felt, “why the fuck are we still on the roof, then?”

Which was all the permission Steve needed to grab Eddie around the wrist and pull him to the door downstairs, Eddie giggling like a fucking schoolgirl behind him. Steve couldn’t help but stop at the top of the staircase to the roof and kiss Eddie again, harsh and fast, nothing like the soft presses on the roof, more insistent. They were both breathing hard when they parted. “Fucking Christ,” Eddie said, half a whisper, “the girls weren’t kidding about your mouth.”

Steve grinned, feeling proud of himself in a way that was probably a bit of a character flaw, really. “I have it on good authority my mouth is good at lots of things,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Eddie spat, with no real malice, and now it was his turn to grab Steve and start dragging the both of them downstairs.

“I think that’s the idea, Eddie,” Steve said back.

Which caused Eddie to stop short and turn and raise an eyebrow back at him. “Oh?” Eddie’s face was all brazen confidence, but there was a shy note in his voice, a slight waver. “You, uh. You wanna be . . .?”

“Fucked?” Steve said, ignoring the bright red flare in his cheeks.

And then he slipped into a strange little double vision. Flipping through a magazine, through gay porn, trying to figure out what actually worked for him, flat on his back on his bed, hand around his own dick, a half-muffled cry of Eddie—

“Oh my god,” he said out loud, the flush of embarrassment taking him over fully.

Eddie just looked delighted. “Did you just remember something?” he asked, voice pitched a bit low because they were technically inside now, which meant theoretically they could be overheard.

Steve matched his volume, tried to keep his own voice steady. “I, uh,” he said, “think it’s possible I did some . . . research?”

Eddie’s mouth actually dropped open, a delighted, baffled expression on it. “Wow, I really put you in a little sexuality crisis, huh?”

“I think more like a massive, giant sexuality crisis,” Steve said back, a little bratty-sounding.

Eddie was looking at him like — well, Jesus, Steve wasn’t even sure how to describe it. Like he wanted to eat Steve alive, yes, but there was something else there, too, unnamable and moving behind the other man’s pupils.

Girls had looked at Steve a lot, before, he was used to it — used to people finding him hot. But there was something underneath Eddie’s stare, something beyond just pure, physical attraction. Steve couldn’t place what it was, but he was sure it was reflected in his own gaze, too. This wasn’t just two people who found each other hot getting off — it was something else, terrifying and huge and so fucking exciting.

“So,” Eddie said, voice rough, “you know what you want?”

“I have some ideas,” Steve said back, voice soft in a truly sappy way. “You?”

“I have,” and here Eddie paused to take a giant, shaky breath, “many, many ideas, Steve.”

“Then why the fuck are we moving so slow,” Steve whined — actually, literally whined, which, again, would have been mortifying if he wasn’t way too far down this rabbit hole to care. He tugged impatiently on Eddie and started moving down the stairs again, Eddie following joyfully, until they burst back into Steve’s apartment.

Eddie moved — probably to kiss Steve again — but luckily, for the first time possibly ever, the rational part of Steve’s brain beat the horny part out. “Wait,” he said, pressing both of his hands against the hard planes of Eddie’s chest. “The fucking camera.”

Eddie cast a glance to it, scowling. “The government is such a buzzkill,” he said.

Steve laughed and ducked into the bedroom, grabbing a dirty shirt off the floor. He crossed back into the living room and aimed it square the camera, mustering up the last of his truly rusty basketball skills to lob the shirt at it. Sure enough, the shirt draped over the camera nicely, blocking them from view.

Eddie, still across the room, raised a single eyebrow at Steve. “What if they can hear us?”

Steve shrugged, grinning. “If someone’s listening in I’d suggest that now would probably be a good time for them to stop,” he said, and crossed the room to press another searing kiss against Eddie’s mouth.

He let instinct take over a bit, here. Sure, sleeping with a man would be notably different than sleeping with a woman, but sleeping with anyone was different and new. There was always a slight sense of nervousness, trying to figure a new person out. Luckily, kissing was something Steve knew he was good at, like swimming, or driving, or bashing in monster brains with a baseball bat riddled with nails. He could kiss like nobody’s business.

He licked his way into Eddie’s mouth and snaked a hand into the other man’s hair, cradling the back of his head. He moved them, slightly, a bit of a push until Eddie was backed against a wall and Steve was pressing him into it. He slid a thigh between Eddie’s and Eddie actually hissed, pulling back from the kiss. Which was fine, actually, because it meant Steve could occupy his mouth elsewhere — kissing along the sharp lines of Eddie’s jaw and down his neck.

“I cannot believe how good you are at this,” Eddie said in a whine, like he was complaining.

Steve huffed a laugh against Eddie’s neck and then moved to suck a hickey into the juncture of Eddie’s throat and collarbone. Eddie moaned, and Steve could hear the thunk of the other man’s head hitting the wall. “Fucking god, Steve,” Eddie breathed.

Steve moved his mouth off of Eddie’s neck with a wet pop. “Sorry,” he said, his own voice all arrogance and not at all betraying his own arousal and anxiety, the way the sound of Eddie moaning had shot through him like electricity. “Do you want me to be worse at this?”

Eddie groaned and shoved Steve back, just a little. “I want to expectation set, maybe,” he said. “I’m starting to worry this won’t be as good for you as it’s going to be for me.”

Steve shrugged — that was really, honestly, not a fear of his. “It’ll be good because it’s you,” he said. And, again — probably too much, probably too soon, probably too honest, but Eddie’s face twisted into a look of pure, absolute joy so it didn’t really matter.

“Oh,” Eddie said, “okay.” And then he moved, so rapidly Steve couldn’t anticipate it, and shifted them so it was Steve pressed against the wall and Eddie looming over him. “In that case,” Eddie said, and pulled Steve’s shirt over his head. He sighed again, taking a long moment to just look at Steve’s chest. “You know, in my opinion you’re really not shirtless enough, Steve,” he said.

“Oh? You like what you see?” Steve put his hands on Eddie’s hips and pulled them a bit closer together, Eddie’s leg slotting between his, before leaning forward and kissing along Eddie’s jaw again.

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed. “You’re really, horrifically good looking, you know that? Had to give you my vest in the Upside Down just to stop myself from getting so horny I popped a blood vessel. And that was in, like, the single least horny place I can think of.” He pulled away from Steve’s mouth, just a bit, and Steve made a terrible little whine of protest as he did so. Eddie just chuckled and rolled his eyes, still playful. “Really, terribly unfair how good you looked all covered in blood and guts.” He paused, then, and ran his hand down the front of Steve’s chest, stopping to tweak one of his nipples. Steve actually gasped, a shocking spike of feeling flooding through him. “Like you better like this, though,” Eddie said.

“What?” Steve asked, trying to ignore how stupid breathless he sounded. “Clean?”

“Safe,” Eddie said, and before Steve could even respond to that, he dropped his mouth down to suck on Steve’s nipple, at which point all rational thought left Steve’s brain entirely. He couldn’t stop the completely involuntary keen that burst out of him, loud and needy. He also couldn’t help pushing his hips forward, against Eddie, rolling their dicks together — through two layers of jeans, granted, but it still felt like an explosive amount of friction. Eddie broke off with a sudden, sharp gasp, clearly as affected by the barest touch as Steve was, which was gratifying, at least. He wasn’t the only one of them feeling a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing.

“Fuck,” Eddie said, eloquently. “Bed.”

“Bed,” Steve agreed, and pushed away to grab Eddie’s arm and drag him forcefully to the bedroom, tug off his shirt, and then shove him onto the bed.

Eddie sprawled out, all pretty and breathless, and Steve stopped to look at him, for a long moment. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said.

Eddie flushed again. Steve was delighted to see the blush went down past his neck, across his chest. Catalog that mental image away for later, okay. “I’m beautiful? You do, like, own mirrors, right?” Eddie shot back. Then he paused, for a bit, a little uncomfortable looking. “I mean, I’m just — I’m just fine, comparatively.”

Which was garbage. Again, Steve couldn’t help but feel the irrational spike of anger that no one had ever bothered to tell Eddie Munson he was extremely good looking. And fun to be around. And smart, and funny, and — the list was so long it was endless, really, but there were many, many things people should have been telling Eddie about himself for years.

Well, Steve supposed he’d just have to make up for lost time.

He lowered himself onto the bed and crawled along Eddie’s body, pressing a long, harsh kiss to Eddie’s mouth before moving lower, pressing another one against Eddie’s neck. He pulled off, just a little, to whisper directly into Eddie’s skin. “You are incredibly, unreally hot, Munson,” he said. Then he moved lower, again, to take Eddie’s nipple into his mouth. He reveled a little in the noise Eddie made, the way the other man rolled into the touch. Steve sucked for a long, beautiful moment before pulling away with a pop. “You are so hot you made me insane,” Steve continued. He moved lower, peppered kisses along Eddie’s ribs, before pulling away again, going lower, sucking a hickey into the divot of Eddie’s hipbone. Eddie’s hips jerked up, slightly, and half on instinct Steve pressed them down with his hands, a bit rough, and Eddie actually gasped at that, rolling off into a moan. Steve sat up and looked at Eddie, a smile on his face. Eddie propped himself up on his elbows to meet Steve’s gaze, eyes blown wide and breath coming harshly in pants. “You’re so hot I willingly listened to Metallica to impress you, even though you were dead,” Steve finished.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie said. “It’s fucked up that that’s the hottest one for me, right? That’s worrying?”

Steve just laughed, a bright punctuation of breath. He was still hovering above Eddie’s crotch, hands pressed against Eddie’s hips. “I wouldn’t worry too hard,” he said. “Turns out I’m into it.” He paused, suddenly a little nervous again. “I want to—" he started, and then stopped and swallowed, throat dry. “Can I blow you?”

Eddie’s eyes widened at that, which was impressive because Steve had not thought they were physically capable of getting wider. “You—" he said, and then swallowed himself, even rougher looking than Steve’s had felt. “You want to?”

“I really, really want to,” Steve said. Which caused Eddie to whimper, just a bit, which went straight to Steve’s dick, now straining against the rough denim of his jeans.

Eddie nodded, a rapid movement of his head, and Steve moved to unbutton his pants. There was an awkward bit of shuffling — Eddie’s jeans were tight — but eventually Steve pulled them off, leaving Eddie only in boxers, before shucking his own pants off. Eddie traced every movement of Steve’s, eyes flickering across his body in a way that felt Steve leaving a bit flayed open — exposed, in the best of all possible manners.

Seen, a small voice in his head, offered. Known. Wanted.

He moved back to Eddie on the bed, gently pulling the other man’s boxers down until his dick popped out, open to the air.

Steve looked at it for a long moment. If he was being honest with himself — really, truly, painfully honest — there was a part of him that was waiting for revulsion to kick in. It was one thing to be theoretically attracted to your best friend; to be theoretically bisexual. It was another thing to actually be faced with the prospect of touching another guy’s dick, for the first time. And with the reality of that, there was, well — a momentary worry, that he’d gotten everything wrong, that he’d just been selfish and lonely and desperate for love and imprinting on the first person he thought could offer it to him.

But he didn’t feel revulsion, looking at Eddie’s dick. He felt, instead, another spike of arousal, deep and low in his stomach, his own cock hard enough it was almost pulsing. “Fuck,” he said, smartly. He looked up. Eddie was still propped up on his elbows, mouth dropped open a little, face so nakedly turned on that it made Steve’s cock actually pulse, this time.

God, Steve wanted to touch him.

So he did — he reached out and wrapped his hand around the head of Eddie’s dick, precum gathering there, and pumped down slowly, along the shaft, just once.

Eddie swore and dropped his head back against the pillows. Steve, unable to stop the arrogant little grin that splashed across his face at that, kept pumping, slow, steady, half-experimental. He knew what he liked when he jerked off — the way to twist his hand around his own dick, how to speed up and slow down to sustain, a little, to get himself so close and then stop, which was better than just rushing straight to the end. It couldn’t be that different, touching someone else’s dick, right?

As if to test the theory, he dragged his hand back down Eddie’s dick.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve,” Eddie said, half a whine. “Listen, I don’t want to make you think any less of me and how incredibly, wonderfully sexy and cool I am but I, uh—" he cleared his throat a little, embarrassed, “I don’t think I’m going to last long here, you know?”

“Hm?” Steve said, slowing his pace a little but not letting up on actually jacking Eddie off, letting himself tease the other man. “What was that?”

Eddie whined for real this time, and Steve felt it, through his whole body. “Baby, baby, please.”

And Jesus, he got why baby had thrown Eddie off so much earlier. Something about the pet name rolled through Steve, lit him up like a firework inside. He felt it in his toes.

No girl had ever called him baby. Nancy had thought pet names were ridiculous, and everyone else had just stuck with Steve Harrington. Not even Steve, the whole thing, the whole name, like he was more of an entity, an idea, than a person. And sure, Eddie had said it like that too, but it was different when Eddie said it. Because Eddie saw him, really saw him, didn’t want King Steve, didn’t want Steve Harrington, the Hawkins playboy god. Eddie wanted Just Steve, plain old boring fucking Steve. Again, he was struck by how far gone he already was — he wasn’t sure he could blame that on timeline hopping, not sure he could pin these feelings exclusively to the Steve who’d known Eddie for a full year. He thought that maybe, no matter what timeline he was in, he was always going to fall for Eddie Munson as hard and as fast as possible.

Absolutely none of that was good to say out loud now, though, so to stop his mouth from doing something completely dumb like blurting I might be in love with you within the first five minutes of sex with a guy he only realized he had a crush on this morning, he put it to better use and wrapped his lips around the head of Eddie’s cock.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve” Eddie said, somewhere above Steve’s head. He couldn’t quite look up to see what Eddie was doing — he was focusing singularly on his new task: figuring out how to blow someone. Again, Steve had a lot of knowledge on being on the receiving end of blow jobs, and he tried to put what he already knew to good use. He kept his hand wrapped around the base of Eddie’s dick, way too unpracticed to possibly swallow all of him down (although the idea of maybe, one day being able to do that sent another jolt of arousal straight to Steve’s own cock). He set up a steady rhythm — bobbed his head down, stroked his hand down with it, then back up with both.

Eddie was making a series of increasingly desperate noises above him. Every noise Eddie made was fucking beautiful to Steve, somehow the sexiest thing he’d ever heard in his life. It was wildly, insanely important to Steve that Eddie enjoy this — that Eddie felt safe, and cared for, yes, but also that Eddie felt good.

Steve really, really wanted to make Eddie feel good. Every day, if he could. Maybe multiple times a day.

He doubled his efforts, taking as much of Eddie as he could into his mouth. Eddie’s hips jerked, just a little, and Steve gagged a bit.

“Shit, sorry,” Eddie started, a hand grasping at Steve’s shoulder.

But, really, Steve didn’t mind. It’d actually been kind of hot, if he was being totally transparent with himself — Eddie being a bit too much handle. He grabbed Eddie’s hand off his shoulder and put it on the back of his head. Eddie curled his fingers into Steve’s hair, his rings snagging just lightly.

Look — Steve was protective of his hair, sure, but there were exceptions to every rule.

He picked up his pace, just slightly, kept his rhythm in place, until Eddie was grasping at the back of his head, making needy sounds above him. “Baby,” he said, finally, “Stevie, baby, you’re so good, I’m close—"

And something about good snapped something in Steve’s brain, so instead of doing the probably smart thing and pulling off and finishing Eddie with his hands, he doubled his own pace, mouth still around Eddie’s cock, until Eddie gasped, “Steve, fuck, Steve,” and came down Steve’s throat. Steve swallowed, half-reflexively, and then finally pulled up for air.

Eddie was gaping down at him, looking both blissed out and awe struck. “Holy shit,” he said, breathless. “How are you good at that? Did research including sucking other people’s dicks?” And then he paused, like he was just hearing what he said, a little frown on his face. “It better not have, actually.”

Steve laughed, feeling pretty breathless himself. “No, that was a first,” he said. “You have that honor all by yourself.”

“Good.” And then Eddie leaned forward and grabbed Steve around the arms, hauling them together again to press a kiss, hard and hot, to Steve’s mouth. When they pulled away Eddie met his eye. “It better only be me.”

“What, jealous?” Steve asked, giddy. Every new thing he learned about Eddie felt like a treat, like getting to have dessert before dinner. Steve took every bit of knowledge and tucked it away in his brain for later — Eddie got jealous, Eddie babbled when he came, Eddie wanted him, wanted Steve—

As is to prove that train of thought was true, Eddie’s hands were moving south, pulling Steve free from his boxers. “Christ,” Eddie said, openly gaping at Steve’s dick.

Steve frowned at him. “Wait, don’t tell me you heard rumors about this, too?”

Eddie shot him a prim little look, lips pursed together. “Fine, I won’t tell you,” he said, and then he shoved Steve so they were both laying on their sides, facing each other. “What do you — what do you want?”

“Anything,” Steve said. “Everything. You.”

“Fuck,” Eddie half-spat, “the mouth on you, I swear to god. I thought you blowing me would be the death of me, but it turns out it’s just you being sweet.” He stopped and actually crossed himself here, like he was in a church. “Here lies Eddie Munson, dead the second time over because Steve Harrington couldn’t stop being so good.”

Again, the word good hit Steve right in the sternum, and he wasn’t even embarrassed at the strange little groan he let out. Eddie shot him a little smile, almost teasing. “Oh? That works for you, Stevie?”

“Ugh, shut up,” Steve said back, even though he didn’t mean it.

Eddie shifted and started to take his rings off, almost methodically, one finger at a time. Steve was transfixed by the movement, by Eddie’s fingers, long and strangely graceful, the almost loving touch he saved for things he cared about, like his rings, and his guitar, and maybe Steve.

“Like what you see?” Eddie asked, teasing again.

Steve couldn’t stop his answer, mouth again faster than his brain. “You have nice hands.”

Which caused Eddie to pause, just slightly, and then finally remove the last of his rings and set it on the bedside table. He grinned, all wicked. “You like my hands, huh?” And then he licked his own palm, which maybe should have been gross but was just hot, and reached forward and wrapped his hand around Steve’s dick. Steve sucked in a harsh breath at the contact. He couldn’t remember feeling this unwound so quickly since he was, like, sixteen. It’d be humiliating if he had any energy left to think about anything except the points of contact where he and Eddie were pressed together, Eddie’s hand around his cock.

Eddie started to stroke, slow and a bit soft — maybe too soft, actually. Steve let out a little whine and Eddie laughed, again, picked up the pace just slightly. “No one tells you that you’re good, huh baby?” he said, still stroking Steve. “Well, lucky for you I’ll tell you all of the time. You’re so good, Stevie, you’re so fucking good, you’re fucking perfect.”

Steve gasped again, all the words flaring hot and harsh in his gut, spooling him towards undoing embarrassingly fast. “Thought we agreed—" he said, taking a deep, heaving breath as Eddie continued to jerk him off, “that I’m not perfect.”

“Eh,” Eddie said, grinning mischievously. “Agree to disagree.”

It was getting overwhelming for Steve, if he was being honest, all the praise. He shifted forward to rest his forehead at the junction of Eddie’s shoulder, hiding his face from the other man, trying to keep his calm just a bit longer.

“Hey, baby, look at me,” Eddie murmured. Eddie’s second hand, the one not around Steve’s dick and instead sort of awkwardly held against the mattress, reached up and stroked Steve’s cheek, just lightly. “Come on, don’t be shy, I’ve got you — look at me.”

And, well, how could Steve refuse a request like that?

He looked up and met Eddie’s eye. Eddie looked soft, soft and beautiful and warm, and his hand was picking up pace, getting Steve off. “That’s it,” Eddie murmured, not breaking eye contact, “I got you, I’m here with you Stevie, you’re so good, baby, I've got you.”

And that, for some reason, was what sent Steve over the edge, a gasping shudder as he came.

He took a moment to catch his breath. But just a moment — once he felt he could breathe again he looked up to kiss Eddie, one more time, lingering and soft.

Eddie pulled away eventually, laughing. “Okay, hold on, I am, like, covered in your fucking jizz dude—"

“Wow,” Steve deadpanned. “What a way to end this incredibly romantic moment. By saying the word jizz.”

Eddie was standing up, moving into the bathroom, so Steve flopped onto his back and let himself watch the other man’s ass as he left the room.

Right. Decidedly not straight, then. Very much confirmed.

“Would you prefer a different word?” Eddie called from the bathroom. He ducked back out after a second, looking very smug but also significantly less covered in the aforementioned jizz. He flopped down next to Steve, also on his back, a purposeful little distance between them.

Which simply wouldn’t do, really. Steve rolled over and rested his head on Eddie’s chest, close enough that he could hear the other man’s heartbeat. He craned his neck to meet Eddie’s eye.

That soft look was back on his face. After a moment he began to card a hand through the back of Steve’s hair, just gently, a soft pressure, and Steve relaxed his neck, ear firmly over Eddie’s sternum.

“So,” Steve said, after a moment of silence, “I guess I should, like, take you out to dinner or something this week, right?”

Eddie snorted an inelegant laugh. “Oh, yeah. What are we, going steady?”

Steve shifted himself back up to look Eddie in the eye.

Because, like — weren’t they?

“Wait,” Eddie said, registering the look on Steve’s face. “That came out — man, I’m bad at this.” He groaned and ran a hand through his own hair, now. “I mean, I want to date you. I obviously want to date you, very badly. But it’s not — you can’t just take me to a corner booth at Enzo’s, you know?”

Steve let himself imagine Eddie, uncomfortable in a suit jacket and tie, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in the waiting area of Enzo’s while the other customers shot him the evil eye. Pretty funny, all told. “I didn’t mean Enzo’s Eddie, I’ve met you, I would never take you there. I just mean . . . we’ll go to the diner, or something, get burgers.” He shrugged, hoping it looked more casual than it felt. Because it felt kind of big — like, if Eddie said no, it would break Steve’s heart, stupidly.

“We do that all the time already,” Eddie pointed out.

“Sure, but now we’ll both know they’re dates, instead of just two platonic friends hanging out, ignoring how badly they wanna kiss each other.”

Eddie snorted again. “Okay, only you were ignoring the wanting to kiss thing. I was painfully aware of it.” He studied Steve’s face for a moment, like he was looking for the punchline — looking for the moment where all this would fall out from under him, would be some sort of cosmic joke. “You really want to date me?”

“I really want to date you,” Steve confirmed. “I am probably going to accidentally tell Robin you’re my boyfriend, like, tomorrow, so it would be nice if you actually were my boyfriend when I have that conversation.”

“Huh,” Eddie said, a small, pleased smile on his face. “I mean, you said you wanted everything, so I guess I figured, but I . . .” he paused and sighed, a little dreamily. “It’s like those first few days, after we were . . . reborn, or whatever. I keep waiting for the other shoe the drop.”

Steve reached over to run his thumb across Eddie’s cheek, again, down the line of his jaw. “No shoe,” he said, softly. “Just me.”

“My boyfriend,” Eddie said back, grin now wild and bright.

“Your boyfriend,” Steve confirmed, and then leaned forward to kiss him again, for a long time. When they broke apart, Steve couldn’t stop his own dreamy sigh. “You know,” he said, “if I can’t woo you in public, I’ll have to find new and interesting ways to woo you in private. I’ll make you oysters, or something.”

Eddie laughed, high and bright. “Stevie, darling, you’re going to spend all your money if you keep buying me roses and oysters, you know. You’ll go broke.”

Steve thought I’d be more than happy to die old and broke with you, Eddie Munson.

Which, again — way, way too early to say. So instead he said, “it’d be worth it,” a little soft, and laid back down next to Eddie again. Eddie moved to kiss him, slow and soft, and they kept kissing, gently, until eventually sleep overtook them entirely.

Notes:

ah, these lovely, stupid little idiots.

you simply cannot convince me steve isn't the type to blurt "i love you" on date number three. that's not even subtext, that's like . . . just text. man's a hopeless romantic.

chapter title is from Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Chapter 25: not the man they think i am at home

Summary:

“Talking about your problems helps with them?” she said back, perfectly dry. “What an astute observation.”

The next day Steve was late to therapy.

Mostly because when he woke up Eddie was there, warm and next to him and available to be kissed, which meant Steve simply had to kiss him. There was no other option, really. And then kissing them had led to other things, Eddie’s mouth around Steve’s dick, this time, Steve’s hand tangled in Eddie’s hair and—

They’d gotten distracted, was the point.

Then Steve had called Robin, to give her an update (“she’s going to call me obsessively if I don’t tell her first,” he explained to Eddie, who’d shrugged in response like he didn’t care but was grinning wildly like was actually pretty excited for her to know.)

Robin picked up on the first ring with “how did it go?” Not even hello, or anything.

“What would you have done if it wasn’t me on the other line?” he asked.

She’d scoffed loudly. “Steve, the only person who calls this early is you, it’s part of why my mom thinks we’re dating. She assumes it’s like a weird, co-dependent, ‘we have to say good morning to each other every day’ ritual.”

He stopped to think about that, for a moment. “You know, it kind of is that. Is that weird? Should we stop doing that?”



“Absolutely not,” she snapped, and then, clearly impatient, “how did it go?”

“Good,” Steve said. Across the room Eddie was putting his rings back on, and Steve was once again caught by the sight. It was so domestic, if he thought about it — their whole thing was, really, this sharing of space, this leaning into each others lives. It’d been so easy, to basically move in with Eddie. It’d happened when Steve wasn’t even really paying attention. He wasn’t sure what that meant — although he knew what he wanted it to mean, in terms of their long-term staying power. “It went great, actually,” he said. “It’s — we’re, you know. Dating.”

Robin had actually screamed on the other end, so high pitched Steve had to pull the phone away from his ear. Across the room Eddie began to laugh so hard he collapsed onto the bed. Steve rolled his eyes at both of them — the ridiculous people he held closest to him.

Robin asked a few more questions, mostly just to tease him, before having to hang up to head to work. “I want no details about your sex life at all going forward, are we understood? Tell Munson that too, don’t think I don’t remember he’s a menace.” And then she’d paused, just a bit. “Put him on, okay?”

Steve did, and went about getting ready for his own day, not bothering to listen to Eddie’s half of the conversation. When Robin had said whatever piece she needed to, Eddie moved to hand the phone back to Steve, a dazed, semi-horrified look on his face.

“Jesus, what did she do to you?” Steve asked, before grabbing the phone and redirecting the inquiry to Robin. “What the hell Rob, you thousand-yard-stared him!”

“I just told him that you’re my best friend in the entire world and I would do anything for you and that I learned a lot when those Russians tortured us and could very easily use that knowledge if he should, you know, ever break your heart into a little thousand pieces.” She said it all so casually. Eddie shuddered, just once, and shook his head.

“That woman is insane,” Eddie said.

“Stop threatening my boyfriend,” Steve said to Robin. He couldn’t help the small smile that happened after he said it — boyfriend. It was nice to say. Eddie was smiling too, a soft look on his face.

“Ugh,” Robin said, but she didn’t sound upset. “You’re getting sappy, I can tell. I’m happy for you, dingus. You deserve this.” And then she’d hung up before he could reply, naturally. He still felt the swell of emotion in his chest over her words, though.

Then he and Eddie made breakfast and got distracted again. Steve was trying to make eggs, but Eddie kept coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Steve, and then turning around kissing him senseless, and they set the smoke alarm off before they gave up and settled on just making out, instead of eating.

The phone had rung — a sharp, shrill thing — and Steve had frowned in its direction, wondering who could possibly be calling this early besides Robin, before Eddie’s eyes had lighted on the clock on the stove and he’d gone “oh, shit, you’re keeping Lydia waiting.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Lydia?”

Eddie grinned, all wicked, and shrugged. “We’re buds, Stevie. What can I say, the ladies love me.”

Which had caused Steve to roll his eyes and shove Eddie away to head down and deal with the government agent he was obligated to speak to twice a week.

When he knocked on the door Morana answered immediately, a smug, knowing look on her face. “Steven,” she said.

Steve had assumed Eddie’s use of Lydia had been a joke, but her dropping of Steven made him wonder, suddenly, if she and Eddie really were friendlier than he thought, because calling him Steven in a lightly mocking tone was a signature Eddie Munson move. It would be typical of Eddie, really. Dude had weird friends. For all Eddie joked that Steve was a collector of strays, Eddie had that quality too — Gareth, Petey, Jeff, Dustin and Mike and Lucas, Will (in this timeline, anyway), Chrissy Cunningham, now Morana? It was a pattern.

Not that he could necessarily figure out what those people had in common with each other, really. Misfits, maybe? Or otherwise just dorks? The idea of Chrissy Cunningham being a dork was probably off the mark, but hey, he turned out to be pretty different than he appeared in high school, in the end.

(And he himself was one of Eddie’s strays, he supposed. Or Eddie was one of his. Or they were both each others? He’d lost the metaphor again, somewhere in the mushy, lame part of his brain.)

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as Morana ushered him into the apartment. “I, uh—” He was going to say got caught up, but that felt a little revealing, all told. “Overslept,” he landed on, finally, after an awkwardly long pause.

She raised another eyebrow at him, smirk still firmly in place. “Right,” she said. “So your camera getting mysteriously covered up in the middle of the night was unrelated, then?” She paused, clearly for emphasis. “To you oversleeping.”

Damn. He’d once again forgotten about the camera. Which, now that she mentioned it, was going to stay covered forever. “Well,” he said, and then stopped. “I’m not uncovering it,” he finished with, finally, crossing his arms.

She laughed, a bit inelegantly, and moved to sit. “Far be it for me to judge how you and Eddie handle your love life,” she said, easily. “I’m just here to listen.”

Which was — what? How did she know to jump straight to love life? “Wait,” he said, sitting across from her. “How’d you know, about me and Eddie . . .” he trailed off, suddenly a little to embarrassed to finish the sentence.

“I mean, you’re not subtle, Steve,” Morana offered. “I get it, I’m a government employee who you only talk to because you have to, you don’t know how much you can trust me, but — it’s pretty obvious that you two are dating.”

He furrowed his brow, totally baffled. “What do you mean are dating?” Steve said. “That was — we just figured this out last night.” He paused, registering the look of plain shock on Morana’s face. “Wait — wait, wait, you thought we were already dating?”

“You’re telling me you weren’t?” she said back, purely disbelieving. “Steve, he sleeps in your bed. He’s slept in your bed for weeks. I don’t think he’s spent more than twenty minutes in his own apartment since this whole thing started. And you kept talking about how close you were, and how nice it was. I just figured . . .”

Which, right, okay, when she said it like that it sounded a bit dumb that it’d taken Steve so long to figure it out.

He could feel himself blushing bright red. “That was—” he started, and then bit it off with a sigh. “I needed some time to figure it out.”

“Oh,” Morana said. “God, I’m sorry. I was doing a friendly joking thing when I should have been doing a serious, I am your therapist thing, I didn’t realize this was a crisis point.”

“It wasn’t a crisis,” Steve lied. She looked at him a little pityingly, like she knew he was lying. He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a big crisis, anyway, I figured it out pretty quick, really. Helped that I probably had most of my crisis during the year I can’t remember, you know?”

She nodded, a little uncomfortable looking, shifting in her seat. “Well, I am happy you did figure it out,” she offered, finally. “It’s . . . nice, to have people who care for you in your life. I can’t share anything Eddie and I have discussed for confidentiality reasons, obviously, but I think it’s safe to say he does seem to care about you an awful lot.”

“I care about him too,” Steve admitted. He couldn’t keep the warmth out of his voice. And then, because he was a bit confused by the whole thing, “you’re . . . fine with it? You know, us being . . .”

Morana wriggled her brow in confusion for half a beat before realization overtook her. “What, am I okay with you being gay?”

He shrugged. “You work for the US Government, I don’t exactly think it’s an unfair question.”

“I’m a scientist,” she said back, “not a politician. I work for the government because I believe research should be done for the greater public good, not because I think Ronald Reagan’s the bees knees.” She paused, for a moment. “My brother’s gay, actually,” she said. “He lives in San Francisco.”

“Oh.” It was weird, but Steve hadn’t actually ever considered that Morana had a family. Or, like, a life, outside of these weird little therapy sessions and the research she’d done for the lab. “That’s — I didn’t know that,” he said, lamely.

“He’s a great guy,” she said. “Five years older than me. He used to take me stargazing when we were kids. Got me into science, actually.” She paused. “Our parents weren’t — they didn’t take it well. So, I mean. I understand your worry, but . . . this is a safe space, really. I promise.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, “my parents probably wouldn’t take it well either.”

The silence that followed that was horrendously awkward. At least to Steve, who hadn’t really meant to say it out loud.

“Did you talk to Eddie? About your parents?” Morana asked, after a small pause. “The receptionist, she told me that your mother came by to see you, after they arrived in town.”

It wasn’t that Steve had forgotten about his talk with his mother, it was just — well, okay, it was that he had kind of forgotten. The joy of the whole Eddie thing had just slipped in and replaced the awkward reunion with his mother entirely. Which, even he could admit, was probably a bit unhealthy. He’d always done that — let happy memories take over sad or uncomfortable ones, tried to just not think about the bad stuff, not talk about it. Like if he didn’t say it, it wasn’t there. It was part of what had ruined him and Nancy — why think about the things that hurt, like Barb, when you could just pretend they hadn’t happened?

He wasn’t sure if it was the therapy, or his own death, or just time passing, but he was starting to see that maybe that wasn’t the best way to handle things, in the end. “Yeah,” he admitted, to Morana. “We talked for awhile. It . . . helped, actually.”

“Talking about your problems helps with them?” she said back, perfectly dry. “What an astute observation.”

He scowled at her. “I thought you said you weren’t doing joking friendly anymore.” She laughed at that, a loose, happy sound that he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her make before. “You seem like you’re in a good mood,” he pointed out.

She looked at him, considering. “This you and Eddie thing . . . I think it’s nice, to have good news,” she said. “Even in this new timeline, it can all feel so bleak, sometimes, talking about what you went through. The monsters, death, the way everyone feels changed.” She paused, like she was really thinking about it. “When this first started I felt so optimistic. Like we’d done something so impossible, we’d proven all of my theories. And I knew that there would be side effects, psychologically, but I suppose I tricked myself into thinking that they wouldn’t be so bad. That everyone would just be happy to be alive again. But the past month I saw how everyone was, really — all the anger, and the guilt. I realized how wrong I was. And how badly the government had screwed this whole thing up, from the start. Fred is right — we are responsible, for so much of this. And that’s one thing when the people in the body bags are just names on a sheet of paper, but it’s another when I know you. What you’re like. Who you are. When I have to live with the fact that I’m part of what got you all killed.” She sighed again, sadly. “I guess it’s just nice to know that we didn’t totally fuck you up. That you can still . . . find joy, somewhere.”

He thought for a moment, about that. Thought about driving Dustin to the Snow Ball, the kid smelling of so much Farrah Fawcett hairspray that even Steve found it a little absurd. And then later, Dustin teaching him every single step of the stupid elaborate handshake he had made up for them, Steve cackle laughing all the way. Getting a letter every single week from that genius camp, even though he barely understood what Henderson was even doing there. He thought about El and Max, standing at the counter at Scoops and demanding a million flavor samples, dressed in bright colors and giggling like real kids. Thought about Robin, making faces behind the backs of rude customers at Family Video. Robin, sneaking extra juice boxes into the backpacks of kids who looked the most scared, at the crisis center. Hopper and him on patrol, talking aimlessly about sports like things were normal, still. Joyce insisting he come over for dinner, and then Jonathan and Argyle and him going out to the yard afterwards to split a joint and talk shit about people from their high school, or about the slog of customer service jobs. Lucas and Erica, making increasingly dumb faces at each other in the back of a van while Hopper and Joyce tried to plan a next attack in the front seat and Will and El tried very hard not to laugh out loud. Max, still blind, asking Steve to describe what the trees and the stars looked like, one night right before the end, and falling asleep on his shoulder part way through.

“There were good parts,” he said, quietly. “Even in all the darkness, and the sadness, and the death — there were good parts. There are always good parts.”

Morana smiled at him then, a soft and gentle little look. “I’m glad that you know that, Steve. I’m really glad.” She let that hang in the air between them, for a moment, before shifting a little, her face becoming more serious. “We don’t have to,” she started, “but do you want to talk about your parents? Like you said, it might help.”

Suddenly he couldn’t quite meet her eye. He looked down at his shoes and thought about it, for a second. Finally, he sighed. “She almost asked, you know. My mother. She almost asked me to tell her the truth.”

“About what happened to you?” Morana said.

He nodded, intently studying the lines of his own hands. “She came so close. And then she chose not to know. Because it’s easier, to not know. And I can’t — I can’t really blame her for that, I guess, but still. I wish . . . I wish she’d asked.” He looked up, finally, and met Morana’s eye. Her face was neutral. He was grateful for that. If she’d looked pitying, he might have cried, and he wasn’t sure he could handle that, right now. “I really wanted her to ask,” he finished, and admittance he hadn’t even been able to say to Eddie.

“Of course you did,” Morana said, voice soft and kind. “She’s your mother. She’s supposed to take care of you.”

Steve sighed and shrugged, again. “I mean, I’m an adult—”

“Steve,” Morana cut in, “you’re twenty. I know that feels like adulthood, but it’s really not. You’re still young. You still want your parents to take care of you. That’s normal.”

He didn’t really know how to respond to that. So he just didn’t — he let the silence hang over them for awhile, hoping Morana would either offer something else or change the subject. But she did neither. She sat and waited, completely patient, obviously perfectly pleased to let Steve stew uncomfortably for as long as he felt like.

Eventually he broke, the quiet too much. “I don’t know what I would have said, if she had asked. I mean, out loud it sounds so . . . insane, I guess. I fought monsters? I died? Even if she wanted to have that talk I’m not sure I know how to have it. I never really had to explain it to anyone before. Everyone else was already in it, or got thrown in it.” He paused, thinking back. “And Robin and Dustin and Max handled most of the explaining to Eddie. I’m not . . . good with words. I’m not the words guy.”

“Does that bother you?” Morana asked. He frowned at her, unsure of her meaning. “That you’re not a words guy, as you put it. Does that bother you?”

He was a bit thrown by the subject change. “What? No, I mean — I’m not smart. I’ve never been the smart guy, we have Nancy and Dustin for that. I’m, you know,” and he mimicked swinging a baseball bat, here, “the fighter, or whatever.”

Morana was frowning at him, lips turned so perfectly downward that it made her look a little ridiculous. “Who told you that you weren’t smart?”

Steve was still confused as to why Morana was going down this line, away from his mother. “I mean—” he said, and then shrugged. “Everyone? All of my teachers. My old friends. Nancy. Dustin. My—”

He stopped himself.

“Your?” Morana prompted.

My father, was what he was going to say. Morana seemed to somehow know that was the answer, because she didn’t press him.

(And how embarrassing was that? His daddy issues were so predictable that his own therapist didn’t even need him to actually say any of them out loud.)

“Sometimes,” she said, maintaining steady eye contact with him, “people say things about us and we start to believe them. You ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?” She leaned back a little, but didn’t let up the intensity of her look at all. “Were you bad at school because you were dumb, or because you didn’t try?”

He felt so baffled by this conversation, which wasn’t helping Morana’s argument that he wasn’t dumb, really. “I mean, there’s tons of stuff I just don’t understand. And I have a terrible memory for like, facts and dates and stuff.”

“Sure, but everyone has things they don’t know or aren’t good at.” She stopped, clearly rethinking her strategy a bit. “You’re very observant, you know. You recognize things about other people. You remember them. All of your friends — you know so much about them, their lives, their interests, their habits.”

“Okay,” Steve allowed — because that was true, sure, fair enough. “But what does that have to do with being smart?”

“There’s lots of different ways to be smart,” Morana said. “It’s not just being good at school or knowing lots of facts or understanding theoretical physics. I couldn’t fix the wiring or plumbing in my house — the guy who does that is smarter than me, about that stuff at least. You’re smart about relationships, about people.” She paused again, and sent him a small, reassuring smile. “And I think it’s time you stopped thinking that everything your parents say about you is true, Steve. Because they don’t know you. Your mother proved that, the other day. She doesn’t know you. And maybe one day she will — that’s not dumb, to hope for that, or to want that. But for now they don’t. And there’s no point in limiting yourself to their view of you to make them more comfortable.”

Steve let that settle in his stomach, feeling weirdly exposed, yet again. He had no way to respond — he had no idea where to start.

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” Morana said, like she could read his mind. “But will you try being just a little nicer to yourself? I promise you — you’re a pretty great guy, Steve. I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

She waited for his response for a long moment. “Okay,” he said, finally, because there was nothing else to say. “Okay, sure. I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” she said, and then her watch chimed to signal that the session was over.

---

After therapy, Steve re-entered his apartment to find Eddie sprawled out on the couch, strumming loosely at his guitar. He didn’t recognize the song, but it didn’t sound very Eddie. It was soft, gentle. Although maybe that was just because the guitar wasn’t plugged into an amp — hard to say.

(And then, just a slight slip of double vision — sitting cross legged on top of Eddie’s bed, the other man explaining that the song he was playing was a work in progress and Steve shouldn’t judge it, and Steve just nodding dumbly and staring, transfixed, at Eddie’s hands as they moved across the fretboard.

God, he was not subtle. How did it take him so long to remember this crush?)

“How’s our girl?” Eddie asked, not bothering to sit up.

Steve grimaced. “Ugh, do not call Morana our girl, I’m begging you.” Eddie just laughed at that. Steve gestured to the guitar. “Bringing your baby over, huh? I didn’t realize you were moving our relationship so fast.”

Which caused Eddie to blush furiously, as Steve had intended, but also, unfortunately, to stop playing and set the guitar down. “Yeah, well, what can I say? I can’t keep you two apart forever, at some point I had to introduce her to the new man in my life.” He shifted up, finally, crawling forward on the couch to lean across the arm and tug on Steve’s shirt until Steve leaned down to kiss him.

“God, who would have guessed you were such a sap,” Steve teased. He moved to sit down on the armrest.

“I’m an artist, Stevie, we have sensitive souls,” Eddie shot back.

“Morana, uh, knows, by the way. About us,” Steve said, and then shrugged, hoping it looked slightly more casual than it felt. “Guess covering the camera wasn’t as subtle as I hoped.”

“Oh,” Eddie said. And then after a second of quiet, “I mean she’s not, like, awful, is she?”

“No, no, she’s cool — she’s got a brother who’s gay. She’s not a bigot, or anything.”

“Oh,” Eddie said again, this time much more visibly relaxed. “Well, I guess it was inevitable, really. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to not talk about you this session, honestly. Kind of a major life development.” He paused, a little blush spreading across his cheeks. “Not that I talked about you a lot before, in therapy, or anything,” he very plainly lied.

Steve let himself feel a flush of pride, at that, which Eddie clearly noticed because he rolled his eyes, all affection. He continued to play with the hem of Steve’s shirt, clearly thinking about something for a long moment. “Did you talk to her about seeing your mom?”

Ah — so it was only Steve who’d forgotten about that. Classic. “Yeah,” he said, hating himself a little for how small how sounded. “It was — I don’t know.” He sighed, a bit uncomfortable. “It’s still weird to talk about with other people, I guess? And to have them, like. . .”

“Care?” Eddie offered.

“Tommy and Carol always thought it was so cool my parents were never around.” He shrugged, again, and then reached out to fiddle with one of the rings on Eddie’s finger, at a loss for what to do with his hands, feeling a little too open. “I never even tried to explain it to them, because they wouldn’t have understood it. They thought I had it made.”

Eddie scoffed. He moved a little, allowing Steve greater access to his hands. “Tommy Hagan is the dumbest man I’ve ever met in real life,” he said. “He once tried to cheat off of me. In math.”

Which, okay, was pretty stupid — Steve huffed a laugh. But he couldn’t help the small wriggle of discomfort from the echo of his and Morana’s conversation earlier — Steve’s opinions of his own intelligence. What it meant to be smart. He still didn’t know how he felt about the whole thing, so he moved the topic away instead. “Yeah, I can’t say I miss the guy. Got better people now.” And then he bent down and kissed Eddie again, softly, which was probably stupid corny, but he didn’t really give a shit. “Which reminds me,” he said, when they pulled away, “I feel bad for hanging up on Dustin last night, so I thought I’d call him back and say we’d take them to the arcade.”

Eddie raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You want to babysit the kids? Who are you and what have you done with Steve Harrington?”

“Hey,” he protested, “I don’t hate babysitting. I hate being forced to babysit. I complain, but I’m always game.”

Eddie raised his eyebrow even higher. Steve flicked him in the head in retaliation.

“And besides,” he continued, “I thought it might be nice, you know. Kids running around, distracted by Pong or what-the-fuck-ever, you and I can . . . hang out.” He finished the sentence a bit lamely, suddenly weirdly nervous about it. Which was stupid, because Eddie was his boyfriend, they’d discussed this. But still — it’d be the first time they went out, really, into the real world. And it wasn’t like Steve could kiss him in public without threat of violence, but it still felt important, that they did stuff like this. Together.

“Wow,” Eddie said, deadpan in voice but grinning manically. “This is the great King Steve’s idea of a date? Hanging out in an arcade with a bunch of twelve year olds?”

“They’re fifteen now, you know,” he corrected. And then he thought about it for a minute. “Actually, wait, I think that makes it worse.”

“It absolutely makes it worse,” Eddie confirmed. “But lucky for you I like most of those fifteen-year-olds. And I happen to like the fries they serve at the arcade, especially if they’re purchased for me by a handsome man.”

Steve rolled his eyes again. “You’re right, I really am going to go broke dating you,” he said, but he couldn’t even fake sounding upset about it. “I’ll call Henderson while you go visit Lydia”

Eddie made a face. “Okay, wow, it’s weird when you do it,” he said, and all Steve could do was flick him in the head again.

---

True to his word, Steve called Dustin back when Eddie went downstairs for his own therapy session.

He could hear Henderson’s skepticism on the other end. “You’re saying you want to drive us? Even though last night you hung up on me?”

“I feel bad about that,” Steve said. “Although, in my defense, it really was pretty terrible timing on your part.”

“What was happening?” Dustin scoffed, like he didn’t believe Steve’s life could be interesting enough that he was ever interrupting anything. Which was hilarious considering, once again, that the two of them had fought monsters together.

(Although Steve had to allow that they only started doing that because Dustin had interrupted him, all those years ago, bringing that pathetic apology bouquet to Nancy’s. Perhaps Dustin had just assumed that since then his interruptions would always be welcomed.)

“Long story,” Steve said.

He wanted to tell Dustin, truthfully. At this point in his life Dustin was, essentially, the little brother he’d never really wanted but gotten anyway, and the idea of keeping secrets from the kid felt a little strange.

But this was more than Steve’s secret. It was Eddie’s too. And he suddenly understood much better how Robin had felt, in his car the year before. There was no way to know how anyone would react to the news. It would shock him beyond belief if Dustin Henderson turned out to be homophobic — he had Eddie’s whole king of the misfits vibe, after all — but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Also, it had been less than a day. Maybe he and Eddie could figure some stuff out for themselves for a little, first, before inviting Dustin to perpetually third wheel their relationship.

(And there was no doubt in Steve’s mind that if Dustin was cool with it, he would immediately become annoying about it, peppering Steve with date ideas and then demanding to tag along. He could practically picture Dustin worming his way into the seat between them at a movie theater, or sitting in the center of the back seat of Steve’s car and making gagging noises if he even suspected a hint of PDA.

To be fair, though, Steve had always assumed Dustin would do that with anyone Steve had dated, man or woman.)

“You can’t just long story me, dude,” the kid protested.

Steve shrugged, even though Dustin couldn’t see him. “Sure I can, I’m the adult and it’s none of your business. You want a ride to the arcade or not?”

“Ugh,” Henderson whined. “You’re the worst. Pick me up at 1? Mike and Will and Lucas are gonna be there too.”

“What about Max and El?”

He could practically hear Dustin’s eye roll on the other end. “They’re having a girl’s day,” he said, “which I know is just code for talking shit about us.”

Good for them, Steve thought. “That’s too many people for my car,” he said, instead. “Eddie’ll have to drive us all in the van.”

There was a long pause on the other end from Dustin. “You’re . . . going to let Eddie drive? You? Steve Harrington? Willingly getting in another man’s car?” He paused, again. “What’s up with you?”

Damn. Steve had forgotten that all else aside, Dustin could be eerily perceptive, when he wanted to be. “What?” he asked, trying to sound less defensive than he felt. “I would let other people drive, you know, it’s just for a long time I was the only one who could.”

“Oh, come on, we both know you’re way too much of a control freak for that,” Dustin shot back. “Plus, there’s no way you don’t think Eddie’s van is gross — you’re kind of a priss, dude.”

Which — one, okay, rude. Steve was absolutely not a priss, he just kept his car nice because his car was lovely and expensive and there was a part of him that knew his father would never buy him another one again as long as he lived, so he really had to make it last as long as humanly possible.

But, two, and even more embarrassing — Steve had a flash of double vision, of looking at the back of Eddie’s admittedly, objectively, somewhat gross van and just being charmed. Because the van was so Eddie, just like Eddie’s room. Cluttered, sure, but in a chaotic way that made some sort of sense to Eddie and Eddie alone.

God, Steve had been so blinded by his stupid crush that he’d been willing to look at discarded cigarette butts in the back of Eddie’s van and find it cute instead of disgusting. That was mortifying, really, and he was glad that he and Dustin were talking on the phone so the kid couldn’t see Steve’s face turn red and then pester him about why for twenty minutes.

“Look,” he said, “you’re looking a lot of, you know, horses in the teeth or whatever here, kid.”

“Gift horses in the mouth, Steve,” Dustin said, brattily.

“Is that a Trojan Horse thing, you think?” He paused and thought about it. “Or is it, about, like, actual horse teeth?”

“You’re getting off track!” Dustin snapped.

“Anyway,” Steve said. “Eddie and I are willingly taking you and your twerp friends to the arcade. Stop asking so many questions about why or you will end up ride-less, you got it?”

There was a slight pause that was very clearly Dustin weighing his options here, the ass. “Alright, fine,” he conceded, eventually. “But I will get to the bottom of whatever you’re hiding.”

“I look forward to it, Scooby-Doo.”

“I am not—” Dustin started to shriek, and Steve took the opportunity to hang up on him for the second time in twenty-four hours.

Notes:

here, have a chapter early because it's kinda filler

there is, shockingly, more plot in this fic post them getting together. we gotta heal, baby. we gotta figure out that our parents were as shitty to us as the upside down monsters. this is "go to therapy": the fic, really.

chapter title is from Rocket Man by Elton John

Chapter 26: laugh until our ribs get tough

Summary:

Steve and Eddie have an arcade date. Tragically, there are also fifteen-year-olds present.

On the way to Dustin’s, Eddie kept his hands firmly at ten-and-two and drove at a normal, law abiding speed. Which was enough to tell Steve something was on his mind. He reached over and shoved at Eddie’s shoulder. “What’s going on with you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not speed.”

Eddie scoffed. “Well, I have precious cargo now, so obviously I have to be careful.” He paused and looked at Steve out of the corner of his eye before taking his right hand off the wheel and resting it against Steve’s hand, on the center counsel. “Maybe I’m just trying to savor the brief part of this date with my boyfriend where we’re not surrounded by screaming fifteen-year-olds.”

Everything else aside, it was nice that Eddie seemed to enjoy saying that as much as Steve did. Boyfriend. Date. Such wonderful, lovely words. Steve shifted his hand a little to thread their fingers together and rub his thumb across Eddie’s knuckles, the metal of his rings, warm from skin contact. “Trying to get me alone, huh Munson?”

Eddie snorted. “Oh, absolutely. Wanna ditch the kids and go to Skull Rock?” He frowned after he finished the sentence, a wrinkle settling in between his brows. “Actually, no, uh. Not Skull Rock. Bad memories.” Steve squeezed Eddie’s hand, just a bit, trying to be reassuring. Eddie cut another look to him from the corner of his eye. “I guess not all bad memories,” he allowed. “You looked hot in that yellow sweater. And it’s always fun to see you snip at Henderson.”

It was Steve’s turn to laugh, now. “Wow, the bright yellow did it for you, huh? I really thought you’d be more into me decked out in all black.”

“Don’t stereotype me, Steven,” Eddie said. “Turns out my type is preps. Past me would be so disappointed.”

They were outside the Hendersons, now, and Steve let go of Eddie’s hand with a shocking amount of reluctance. Less than 24 hours into this thing and he was already clingy. What a nightmare.

(Except, of course, it wasn’t a nightmare at all, it was a dream, and Steve was on cloud nine about the whole thing, really.)

The boys were all gathered outside already, Mike and Lucas clearly arguing about something. None of them moved towards the car. Eddie honked the horn. Still, none of them moved. He laid down on the horn for an impressively long time until finally Dustin shouted “Jesus Christ, we’re coming!” and grabbed Mike and Lucas by the arms to physically haul them over while Will shot an apologetic look at the van.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Steve said.

“Your idea of romance is leaving a lot to be desired so far,” Eddie said back, and Steve turned to shove his shoulder again while Eddie just laughed.

The boys clambered into the car, Mike glaring now. “I’m just saying,” he said, “that it would be a fairer fight than you claim.”

“You’re an idiot if you think Scarlet Witch can take on Phoenix! A moron! A fool!” Lucas yelled back. “The dumbest dumbass to ever dumb an ass!”

“Who the hell are—” Steve started, before the names really registered. “Oh god, is this a nerd fight? You’re having a nerd fight.”

“Eddie,” Dustin whined, leaning forward between the seats, “please settle this, they have been bickering for like thirty minutes, we need your expertise.”

Eddie shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable looking, shooting a weirdly nervous glance at Steve as he started to move the car again. “Oh, uh — I mean, I don’t really know.”

Well that shut Mike and Lucas up.

“You don’t know?” Mike said, voice all snotty disbelief. “You don’t have an opinion on the sheer power of Phoenix?”

Lucas actually scoffed. “You’re the king of Hellfire Club, Eddie, you’re supposed to be on my side here. Because my side is right!”

Steve was officially lost. “What does Hellfire have to do with this?”

“It’s from X-Men,” Will answered, clearly taking pity on Steve. “They’re bad guys, they’re introduced when Jean Grey comes back from space and turns evil in the Dark Phoenix saga.”

“Oh,” Steve said, even though absolutely none of those words made any sense to him at all, “right, sure.”

“It’s not just from X-Men,” Eddie said, a little defensively. “It’s also like an old-school British secret society.” He looked at Steve again, even more clearly embarrassed. “Which, uh, now that I’m saying it out loud isn’t cooler, is it?”

Dustin was openly staring at Eddie now, a look of pure shock on his face. “Dude,” he said, “since when do you you care about being cool?”

Well, now Eddie was very pointedly not looking at Steve, eyes fixed firmly on the road. “I just don’t think Harrington wants to hear us all have a giant conversation about the X-Men, okay?”

Oh. Oh! It was for Steve’s benefit. Eddie was trying to be cool to impress Steve.

It was insane that the thought made him feel a little giddy, really, but it did. He couldn’t help it. It was nice, that Eddie wanted to impress him. That Eddie really cared what Steve thought and felt. But also — well, the idea that Eddie thought he might need to be cool for Steve was a bit ridiculous. Eddie’s type may have been preps, but it turned out Steve’s type was pure, unbridled dork. He didn’t want Eddie to dull that down for him.

(Actually, maybe he should dork up for Eddie? He pushed the thought away almost as soon as he had it. There was no chance he was going to read X-Men. Besides, knowing Eddie, he’d probably be more excited to explain the plot to Steve in heavy, deep detail, complete with a million asides to explain every single character’s history and backstory, than he’d be if Steve actually bothered to read it.)

But how to say hey, don’t stop being yourself for me, I think it’s extremely hot that you’re a giant dweeb in a car full of children who were not meant to know that he and Eddie were now a thing?

“Nah, man, you don’t have to change the conversation for my benefit,” he went with, after a moment. “I’m used to being on the outs of the nerd fights, it’s alright. I’m just here to act as a ref and physically pull you apart, if need be.”

“Really?” Eddie gave him another little look, out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t mind sitting here and getting lectured about X-Men? Really?”

Steve shrugged. “I like the nerd talk,” he admitted. And then, realizing how that sounded, he pivoted, a bit. “I mean, I don’t like it, but it’s, you know—” and oh god now was a bad time to start blushing — “nice that you all have . . . interests?”

Now Dustin was gaping at Steve, his face a pure look of confusion. “Dude, what? You always bitch when we talk about stuff like this!”

“Well, maybe in this timeline you’re less obnoxious about it and I like it more,” Steve argued.

Will huffed a laugh. “That’s definitely not true.”

“Phoenix would squash Scarlet Witch like a tiny little bug,” Eddie said, drawing the conversation back on track. Which, of course, meant restarting the argument, Mike immediately yelling back a response that Eddie just talked over, hilariously.

Steve tuned out most of the words, letting himself stare out the windshield, comforted by the sound of the voices if not the actual content of their chatter. After a minute, he propped his feet up onto Eddie’s dashboard. Eddie stopped mid-sentence and gasped, and when Steve turned to him there was a look of pure betrayal on his face. “Oh, so when I do that in your car it’s the end of the world, but it’s fine when you do it mine?”

Steve grinned — his best, cutest, most I am flirting with you grin, which he now had free reign to use on Eddie and planned to unleash as much as possible. “I don’t know if you know this, Munson,” he said, “but my car is much nicer than yours.”

Eddie gasped again, twice as offended sounding, which Steve figured was at least partially to cover the bright red blush that was spreading across his face. “And now he calls me poor, are you all hearing this?”

“God, shut up,” Mike said, but he was clearly trying not to laugh.

They arrived at the arcade a moment later, the kids tearing from the car before it was even fully in park. “Animals,” Steve scoffed, as he went to unbuckle his own seatbelt.

Eddie put a hand out, over his, just for a fleeting second, to stop him. “Sorry about the, uh, X-Men stuff.” He looked a little embarrassed. “I know it’s . . . a lot.”

“Like I said,” Steve said, again deploying his flirting smile. “I like the nerd talk. I like that you are extremely enthuastic about a bunch of shit I don’t understand.” He paused, and dropped his voice a little, even though they were alone and there really wasn’t a need to. “I like you. Being yourself. You don’t have to change for me. You already got me.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, face bright red. He pulled a bit of hair in front of his face, covering the edge of his smile. “Right.” He paused and gave Steve an appraising little look. “You really like nerd talk,” he said, laughing a little.

Steve shrugged again. “I find it kinda sexy, actually,” he said, easily enough.

“Oh?” Eddie’s smile had sharpened, just a touch, a little more predatory. Which was, unfortunately, extremely hot.

“Maybe later you can explain the plot of Lord of the Rings to me,” Steve offered.

Eddie actually groaned. “Stop trying to turn me on, man, we have to hang out with children.”

Steve was prepared to say something downright filthy, escalating their little game, but was interrupted by the loud smack of Dustin hitting the window. Steve sighed and rolled his eyes, opening the door.

“What’s taking you two so long?” Dustin snapped. “What are you even talking about?”

“Nothing,” Eddie said.

“Boring, grown up stuff. Taxes,” Steve offered, finally getting out of the car. “We’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Eddie nearly choked on a laugh, coughing a few times to clear his chest as the three of them moved across the parking lot.

Dustin shot a look between the two of them, clearly not buying it. “Whatever,” he said, after a minute, and moved ahead to catch up with the others.

“Come on, Stevie, I’ll win ya something from the claw machine,” Eddie said as he moved in to walk alongside Steve, matching pace.

“No one ever wins those things, dude.”

“Ah, perks of having a con-man dad, ba — uddy,” he said back, course correcting part way through so poorly that Steve couldn’t stop the absurd little giggle that burst from his chest. “I know how to cheat!”

---

Eddie did in fact know how to cheat the machines, which he used mostly to get them to spit back spent quarters. Steve was admittedly impressed. “This is the least amount of money I’ll have ever spent taking these shitheads out,” he said. “Why couldn’t they have befriended you, like, three years ago? I’d be way less broke.”

Mike snorted, a bit mean-sounding. “Yeah, the Steve of three years ago hanging out with the Eddie of three years ago would have gone swimmingly, I’m sure.”

Eddie paused to consider it, leveling Steve with a long, lingering look that probably seemed normal enough to everyone else but felt like being undressed. Heat pooled in his gut. “I dunno,” Eddie settled on, eventually. “Three years ago, Stevie was already through with his big character development, right? So he probably wouldn’t have shoved me into a locker or anything. Maybe if I’d gotten my hands on him then he’d have good music taste, instead of Pet Shop Boys and Fleetwood Mac.”

Steve gasped, genuinely a touch offended. “Okay, listen, shit on Pet Shop Boys all you want, but Stevie Nicks is a generational talent. I won’t hear anything bad about Rumors from any of you, understood?” Lucas snickered, just a little. “Oh, was that a mocking laugh I heard, Sinclair? Bold move from someone who loves 9 to 5.”

“No,” Will gasped, an equally delighted and cruel smile crossing his face. “Dolly Parton, Lucas?”

Lucas groaned miserably. “That was told to you in the sacred bond of Max’s hospital room, Steve, I cannot believe you used it against me. You’re a cruel man.”

“Alright losers, go find some game to get lost in, I’m forcing our dear king here to buy me a Coke,” Eddie said, cutting off the conversation.

“What, we don’t get Coke?” Dustin snipped back.

“Nah,” Steve said. “Caffeine will stunt your growth.” And then he grabbed Eddie by the arm and tugged him away before Dustin could even sputter one of his classic, frustrated comebacks.

Eddie was looking at him thoughtfully. Steve met his eye for a long time, which was probably dumb considering the high likelihood they’d stumble into a machine or a person, but — whatever. Steve liked looking at the guy. He was, all told, very, very nice to look at. Pretty. He wanted to say it out loud, but, well — public setting. Not the place.

“I continue to be impressed with Babysitter Steve,” Eddie said, finally, looking away with a flush of embarrassment. Lovely, lovely, lovely, Steve let himself think about the color on Eddie’s cheek, about the way he bit his lip, just a little, like he hadn’t quite meant to say the thought out loud. “How you managed to deal with this gaggle all these years by yourself, I really don’t understand.”

Steve shrugged. “Actually, it wasn’t usually like this,” he admitted. “The sort of — all of us hanging out together thing. The kids would demand rides a lot but I usually just dropped them off. And then the Byers were in California for a bit, obviously. But even before then, the kids . . .” he sighed. “There were some difficult times, you know? Mike and Will had a few off years. Will felt on the outs that whole summer before they moved, really.”

“Makes sense,” Eddie said. When Steve caught his eye again the other man shrugged. “I mean, you’re that age, and all of your friends have girlfriends, and you . . .” he paused and dropped his voice low, almost a murmur, so quiet Steve could barely hear him, nevertheless anyone else walking around, “don’t want one, and you can’t explain why you don’t want one.” He shrugged again. “It’s tough. And isolating. Really fucking lonely, even if you’re not actually alone.”

Steve thought about Eddie, fifteen, growing his hair out and avoiding everyone’s looks in the hallways, head down and scowl firmly in place. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?” Eddie looked genuinely confused.

“Just — that you had to be alone,” Steve said. “Must have sucked.”

Eddie’s face shifted into a soft look, at that. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry that you were alone, too.”

And that hadn’t been the point, really — hadn’t been what Steve was trying to get at. But yeah, right. He was alone too, wasn’t he? Hiding a part of himself in a box locked so tightly he wasn’t even aware it existed. Dodging his father in the hallways when his parents were home, throwing parties to fill the void when they weren’t. Girls and beers and cronies and at the end of the day, even if Steve went to bed with someone else, he was, mostly, alone. Until Nancy came along, and everything changed.

Steve knocked their shoulders together as they walked, just once, deliberately. They couldn’t hold hands, god knew Steve couldn’t pull him aside and kiss him senseless, but they could do this. Eddie grinned back, bright and joyful.

After they grabbed drinks and started walking back towards the kids, a thought occurred to Steve. “Hey, does Will know? About, you also being, uh . . . like him?”

Eddie paused to think about it, and then tugged on Steve’s arm to stop them, pulling them into a mostly deserted corner holding only a truly ancient looking Gun Fight cabinet. “I don’t know,” he admitted, after a beat. “I can’t remember having a conversation about it directly. But, I mean, he’s probably guessed. You tend to sort of . . . look for others, like you, when you feel like an outsider. I clocked him pretty much immediately.” He sighed and tugged on his hair a bit, a little uncomfortable. “I was thinking about telling him, actually, a few weeks ago. Before—” he cut himself off and gestured, vaguely, between the two of them.

“Oh,” Steve said. “Why didn’t you?”

Eddie pursed his lips and shook his head. “It was back when Mike was like, feral cat angry all day, every day. I figured something had happened between the two of them, so I thought, you’d know — maybe I’d comfort him a bit, given I was also stupidly in — uh, into my best friend.”

Steve kicked lightly at Eddie’s ankle, at that, and Eddie flashed a small, sweet smile at him. “Yeah, yeah, rub it in Harrington, I was wrong about you, whatever,” he said, not sounding the least bit annoyed. “Anyway, I just — I couldn’t figure out how to start the conversation without it sounding like he was being obvious, you know? You don’t want to call someone out when they’re not ready, make it feel like everyone knows this big thing about them.” He paused, considering. “Even though everyone does kind of know it about Will, huh? I mean, hell, you knew it.”

“You and Robin keep riding me about my perception skills, I get it,” Steve groused. “If it helps, Mike kind of told me.” Eddie shot him a look — a little calculating and pissed off looking, like he thought Wheeler was just going around outing Will to anyone who wanted to hear. “Not on purpose,” Steve clarified, “I think he just wanted advice. He was pretty sure Will was going to end up hating him, ‘cause Mike didn’t like him back.”

“That’s dumb,” Eddie said, around a scoff. “Like, okay, maybe in a normal universe where everyone’s just regular horndog teens, but I mean — once you save the world together that’s pretty much a point of no return, friendship-wise, right?”

“Dude, that’s what I said,” Steve said, weirdly proud of himself. Although, probably his bar for good advice giving shouldn’t be Eddie “Don’t Do Any Drugs Except the Cool Ones” Munson.

(Actual advice Eddie had once given Robin, sagely, tucked into the lawn chairs out by Steve’s pool when she asked what cocaine was like. “So cocaine is . . . not a cool drug?” Robin had asked, and Eddie had scoffed while Steve snorted laughter.

“No, Buckley, unless you think going to a bathroom with ten other people and talking just to hear the sound of your own voice for hours is cool,” Eddie had snipped back.

“Also it has a gross aftertaste, down your throat,” Steve had added in. “Like you licked a seatbelt.”)

Eddie was looking back in the direction of where the kids were, huddled around Dig Dug and clearly bickering about something. “I guess I should have that convo with him at some point,” Eddie said. “But I don’t really have any good advice for him anymore, considering my whole thing worked out, you know?”

“Might be nice for him to know he’s not alone,” Steve said.

In the distance, Will threw his head back and laughed so loudly it was audible across the arcade. “I’m not so sure, Stevie. I think he might already know that.” He paused again, and looked over at Steve, now. “Somehow I’m sure Jonathan got that through to him before either of us ever could.”

And that was fair — there was no way Jonathan hadn’t cornered Will with a big you are my brother and I will always love you speech by now. Hell, he nearly gave Steve one of those before the big battle in the last timeline, and he’d only stopped hating Steve, like, six months earlier. “Jonathan does love a dramatic speech,” he allowed.

“Honestly, Will’s life will drastically improve once Joyce stops giving him bowl cuts,” Eddie said. He cut Steve a glance. “You’re basically her other kid now, right? You think you can talk her into laying off the kitchen scissors?”

“Oof, I doubt it. That’s gonna have to be a Jonathan issue too,” Steve said, and then tugged on Eddie’s arm to get them walking towards the kids again.

By the time they got back, the boys had abandonded Dig Dug to pick up some brand new nerd fight, which Eddie, upon hearing, immediately split off to join, eyes lighting up. Steve hung back and shook his head at the whole ordeal.

Dustin hung back too, uncharacteristically quiet. After a moment he pulled Steve to an abrupt stop, halting them behind the others. “Woah, Jesus, kid,” Steve said. “What happened?”

Dustin was just looking at him, a calculating expression on his face, like he was a pint-sized Columbo or something. “You’re being weird,” he declared, finally. “You’re all . . . happy.”

“Okay,” Steve said back. “What, I can’t be happy, now?”

Dustin rolled his eyes like Steve was deliberately misunderstanding him. “You’re different happy. You’re like giddy. And you haven’t even been a little annoyed at us all day, and Mike is being, like, incredibly annoying.”

In all honesty, Steve hadn’t noticed anything Wheeler had done in about an hour. He’d been a bit distracted. Which he figured proved Dustin’s point — Steve was different happy, and he didn’t have a good, pre-written excuse to hand Dustin.

“You were never even this happy back when you used to get dates,” Henderson continued.

“Is this entire conversation going to be you being mean to me for ten minutes? Because if so, you’re welcome to stand here and have it with yourself while I go do something else,” Steve said back, just a little irritated.

Dustin gestured wildly, almost smacking some girl walking behind him. Steve winced apologetically at her. Dustin, naturally, didn’t notice at all. “No, see, that is normal Steve! Bitchy Steve! Where the hell has he been all day?”

“Let me get this straight,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips — a stance he knew all the kids called Mom Mode but could not stop doing, regardless. “You want me to be more annoyed and bitchy with you? Because normally you hate that.”

Henderson groaned and rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying I miss it, I’m saying it’s weird. You’re just, like, standing around and smiling and having strange side conversations with Eddie.” He paused, like he was still thinking about something. “Do you have a girlfriend or something?”

Steve actually sputtered, a sort of ridiculous half-choking noise escaping him. “What? No, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Not a lie. Which didn’t make him feel much better but would have to do, for now.

“Okay, well, something is up,” Dustin said. And then he frowned, a flash of genuine sadness crossing his face. “You tell me everything dude. I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other.”

Ah, fuck. Well, that hit right in the gut — which was probably Dustin’s intention, really.

Steve didn’t want to lie to Dustin, but he really didn’t have another option, not until he and Eddie talked about it more, at least.

He reached down and put his hands on the kids shoulders. “Look,” he said. “I am happy. But I promise you, it’s not . . . there’s not some sort of conspiracy about it, okay? I’m just . . . happy.” He shrugged, like he didn’t know the reason. “Maybe therapy is working, or something. Who knows.” He paused a little, and then went for something just a touch closer to the truth. “I never want to keep secrets from you Dustin, I promise that.”

Not ‘I never will keep secrets from you.’

If Dustin noticed the difference he didn’t say anything. His eyes were flickering across Steve’s face, like he was looking for some sort of hint. “Okay,” the kid said, finally. And then, “did you finally get together with Robin?”



Which punched a laugh out of Steve. “No,” he said, “I can 100% promise you it’s not that. Also, wouldn’t that count as me having a girlfriend?”

“You guys are weird, you’d probably jump straight to engagement or something,” Dustin said. “I didn’t mean to say I don’t want you to be happy. Or imply it, whatever. I didn’t mean that.” He seemed a little upset, actually, by the thought. “I want you to be happy, I just also want you to tell me why you’re happy.”

Steve laughed, and shook his head. “I promise. I’m just . . . happy.”

Dustin gave him a long, considering look, like he didn’t quite buy it.

Somewhere up ahead the others had noticed they were lagging. “Oy, slowpokes!” Eddie called back. “You’re getting left in the dust here.”

“You still on Operation: Get Steve a Girlfriend, Dustin?” Lucas asked, with an eye roll.

“Woah,” Steve said. “There’s an operation?” He glared at Dustin. “I thought you agreed to lay off.”

“I did lay off, for, like, a whole month,” Dustin pointed out. “But no, that’s not what was happening for your information, Lucas.” He paused. “Although I guess there are worse places to hunt for babes.”

“God, please, please don’t phrase it like that,” Steve groaned.

Mike rolled his eyes. “You’re telling me you think Steve’s dream girl is wandering around the Hawkins Arcade at 2:30pm on a Monday in the middle of summer? Aren’t you supposed to be his blood brother or some shit? It’s like you don’t even know Steve, he’d never date a nerd.”

Eddie barked out a laugh that he hid rather poorly behind a cough. Steve glared at him, and he just shrugged, all rougish.

“That’s a fair point,” Dustin said. “This is really a much better location for Operation: Get Eddie a Girlfriend.”

That knocked the smile right off Eddie’s face. It was replaced with a look of sheer panic. “Wait, what? Since when did I get roped into this?”

Dustin started to rattle things off, counting on his fingers with each point. “Well you’re both old, you’re both stuck here indefinintely, you’re both hopelessly single, and as far as any one of us can remember you’ve both been hopelessly single for a pathetically sad period of time.”

Steve and Eddie met each others eyes again. Steve could feel himself blushing as Eddie quite clearly put together what that info meant. “Haven’t dated for awhile, huh, Harrington?” he said, a little smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

“I’ve had a weird couple years,” Steve defended.

“And what’s your excuse in this timeline?” Dustin said, all snotty.

Eddie snickered again. Which should not stand, really, but Steve wasn’t going to point out the conspicuous lack of women in Eddie’s life.

Lucas, however, had no such qualms. “I’ve never even seen Eddie talk to a girl who he’s not snarling at,” the kid said. Eddie’s smile fell again, replaced with — well, something more akin to horror. “Sorry, dude,” Lucas continued, deeply misinterpreting the look. “I get that you’re, like, weird and an outcast or whatever, but there’s gotta be some girl who’s into your whole goth thing.”

“I’m not goth,” Eddie said, half a whine. “Why do you all think I’m goth, have I taught you nothing about subcultures—”

“You know,” Steve cut in, “maybe the reason Eddie and I remain so hopelessly single—” and it was, admittedly, hard to say those words without smiling, but Steve did manage—“is because you twerps keep trying to wingman us. You know what most women don’t find sexy? Being badgered repeatedly by a toddler.”

The kids all seemed to consider this for a moment. “Nah,” Dustin finally said. “It’s cause you’re both helpless.”

Steve just rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, Hawkins is a better place for the Steve Operation,” Dustin continued. “The Eddie one is almost certainly going to have to be on hold until Chicago. Way more of an Eddie scene there than here.” Steve decided it was too much energy to be annoyed at what that implied about Dustin’s own perceptions of Steve’s scene. Whatever. None of it mattered because Steve and Eddie weren’t even single, and this entire conversation was ridiculous.

Dustin’s eyes lit up — one of his little Eureka! moments, which were mostly bad ideas to begin with and ended up with Steve getting concussed, like, 75% of the time. He smacked Steve on the arm. “When you move to Chicago, you can help us get Eddie a girlfriend!” he declared, triumphant.

“Oh, you think?” Steve asked, casually. Eddie cut him a deep glare.

“You’ll be good for him,” Dustin confirmed. “Garreth and Jeff and Petey are nice dudes, but they’re worthless wingmen. You’ll be a lot better at it.”

“Ah,” Steve said, nodding. “That true Munson? You need a wingman?”

“I do not,” Eddie started, but Mike cut him off.

“Oh, I’d pay a million dollars to see that,” he said, around a scoff. “Steve, please, sell us Eddie, tell us how you’d do it.”

Steve considered it for a moment. “Sure, alright,” he said, finally. “Wheeler, you want to take on the girl role, here?”

Mike batted his eyelashes, the shithead, clearly game. Steve swallowed the laugh that bubbled up reflexively. “Well,” he said, “if you’re at all interested in music, you have to talk to my friend Eddie. He’s got great taste. I mean, granted, I don’t personally understand any of it, but I’m lame, you know? He’s cool. Anti-establishment. And he’s a great guitarist — I’m not exaggerating when I say he once literally saved my life playing the guitar. But, I mean, it’s not just music. He also reads, and writes. He’s got a crazy imagination — he makes up whole worlds, it’s kind of brilliant. He can be a little prickly, but under all that? He’s got heart, you know? And, I mean, great hair.” He paused, realizing it had gotten perhaps a little too earnest at the end. “Although that can’t be your main selling point, obviously, or you’d be going after me and not him,” he added.

Dustin was looking at him consideringly. For a moment Steve wondered if he’d gotten too close to the sun here, to so speak — been too transparent with his own feelings, accidentally let his own secret right out of the bag. “This might work,” Dustin said, instead. “While you two are in Chicago, we can hand off the Operation reins to you.”

“How about there’s no Operations when we’re in Chicago?” Steve suggested.

Dustin scoffed. “Please, Steve, don’t you want Eddie to find love?”

Yes, but literally only with me. He met Eddie’s eyes again. There was something soft, there, a shy little smile on his face.

“Okay,” Dustin said, “now Eddie, you do Steve.”

Eddie actually sputtered. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Wingman him! Come on, if this Operation handoff is going to work, you both need to be game!”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Steve doesn’t need a wingman, Dustin, I mean — look at him.” He stuck an open palm in Steve’s general direction. “All I have to do is walk up to a girl and go, ‘hey, have you met my friend—‘ and they’ll be throwing themselves at his feet.”

“Historically untrue,” Dustin said. “Steve has been famously lame for several years now, Eddie. Great hair and boyish good looks aside, it seems he’s lost his charm.”

“We’ve dipped back into the part where you’re just being mean to me,” Steve complained, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Come on, Eddie, you gotta try,” Dustin said. Mike batted his eyelashes in Eddie’s direction, now, and Steve let himself laugh out loud, this time. Will just rolled his eyes.

Eddie sighed and rubbed at his cheeks, which were going a little red. “Right. Okay. Steve. He’s. You know.”

“For someone who’s so good with words this is an impressively terrible start,” Lucas said.

“Ugh, I’m not—” Eddie cut himself off. “Steve’s, you know. Caring. He puts himself on the line for everyone he knows. A quite literal ride or die, easily the most loyal guy I’ve ever met. Like if a Golden Retriever woke up one day as an extremely handsome man.” He groaned, going even redder, to Steve’s endless delight. “But it’s, you know — he’s got hidden depths, too. He’s like, weirdly wise for a dude who claims to be dumb every fourth sentence. And he’s funny as hell. Like, genuinely hilarious.” He paused and cleared his throat, a little awkward. “He’s got a lot of love to give, and he deserves, you know. Someone really great to give it to. And someone who will give him as much love back.” Het met Steve’s eye, on the last part, expression serious and deep. It felt like he was trying to say and I will give that much back, if you want.

Which. Wow. If Steve wasn’t already rapidly falling in love with Eddie, that would have absolutely done it. Or maybe he was just reading too much into it. Either way.

Will, meanwhile, was cutting a very calculating glance between the two of them. Probably too calculating. Steve raised an eyebrow at him, and Will furrowed his brows together, and then shook his head a little, eyes narrowed, before he looked away, clearly deciding to drop it.

Well that would be a problem for later, probably.

Eddie shrugged helplessly at Dustin. “Was that sufficient?”

“Hm,” Dustin said. “It was okay. Feel like you should have worked the abs in there, though.”

“Don’t forget the chest hair,” Lucas said.

“I would literally rather be dead again than have to listen to you two discuss my chest hair, I swear to god,” Steve groaned.

“The Operations need work,” Dustin declared. “But you two might not be totally hopeless in Chicago, it turns out.”

Eddie met Steve’s eye this time, a private little smile on his face, and Steve rolled his eyes, knowing he couldn’t hide his own smile at all.

“Anyway,” Mike said. “If this dumb shit is done, I believe we were putting bets on a Tetris high score?” Which immediately got the kids bickering again, as they pushed ahead into the arcade.

Eddie hung back a bit, to falling in step with Steve again.

“Sap,” Steve whispered, so just he could hear. He let the back of his hand brush Eddie’s deliberately, once, twice, three times.

Eddie rolled his eyes, this time. “Dude,” he whispered back. And then, pointing at Steve, “pot,” and back to himself, “kettle.”

“Fair enough,” Steve allowed. “Fair enough.”

Notes:

and a chaser to the filler chapter: the fluff chapter! i give you these two chapters in one week as a gift before next week when the dreaded "actual plot of this fic" returns and i go back to answering questions like: "did LT just drop the whole 'henry creel and billy hargrove aren't here' thing?" and "how is the government's whole 'people will probably just forget' thing going?" and "what's barb up to these days?"

we're heading pretty quickly towards endgame here as i wrap up the last couple chapters. we're definitely over the halfway point by a good margin - if my outline holds, this will end around chapter 35. but also, i love to overwrite shit, so it might be longer than that if i cannot shut the hell up. thanks for sticking with it! lots more fun to come, i hope.

also, before you come for me, i know nothing at all about the X-Men so if any of the nerd fight opinions are wrong i'm so sorry.

chapter title is from Ribs by Lorde.

Chapter 27: (and i heard he's been dead once already)

Summary:

Steve gets called out at group therapy; and then the plot moves forward, just a little.

The rest of the afternoon sped by, luckily without any more mentions of Steve or Eddie’s “truly pathetic” love lives. The kids bickered over Tetris, then over Space Invaders, then roped Eddie into playing pinball. Which was nice, for Steve, because it meant he could stare openly at the long lines of Eddie’s fingers, the expanse of his wrists, without looking like a total weirdo.

(Will caught him looking, and once again furrowed his brow. This time Steve just winked at the kid, who made a small, baffled face and sighed, expressively, before giving it up.

So that would absolutely be a problem, later.)

After the arcade Steve allowed himself to be bullied into buying everyone pizza, which was also okay because the booths at the pizza place were notoriously small, which meant Steve and Eddie ended up pressed together, hip to knee, elbows knocking. Part way through dinner, Eddie slid their feet together too, leaned a little more boldly into Steve’s space, while Steve huffed feigned annoyance and very carefully didn’t move away at all.

It was nice, was the point. A normal day. Like they were normal people.

Which, hell, he supposed they were now, weren’t they? Normal people. Normal summers. A normal life. It made Steve so blindingly happy for a moment that it was sort of ridiculous.

Eddie dropped the kids back in a big mass at the Hendersons, all of them still snipping and bickering, and then, for the first time in hours, they were alone.

“Hi,” Eddie said, smiling a little dumbly at Steve.

“Hi,” Steve said back. He checked his watch and shrugged. “We got a little bit before group therapy. What do you wanna do?”

“I got an idea,” Eddie said, with a wicked grin, and sped off.

The idea, it turned out, was a pull off near the quarry that Steve had never been to before. “The CC boys and I come out here to smoke weed sometimes,” Eddie said with a shrug as he parked. “More secluded than your beloved Skull Rock, as far as places go, you know? And, well, I figured Lovers Lake. . .” he trailed off.

Steve thought about the dark, murky waters, about the tentacle around his ankle, around his throat. He shook the thought away, physically. “No, yeah, not going there.” He turned back to Eddie, and waggled his eyebrows a little — half suggestive, half joking. “So, you brought me up here to do what, Munson? Trying to infringe on my virtue?”

Eddie scoffed. “Stevie, baby, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you were famously a player in high school. I know there’s no virtue there. If anyone has virtue to impugn it’s me.”

Steve wasn’t quite sure what impugn meant, but he thought he understood the jist. “Oh,” he said. “Well, in that case, I’m definitely trying to do that.” He leaned forward and kissed Eddie, soft at first, before slipping in some tongue, filthy and pressing.

Eddie split apart, eyes wide and cheeks red and breathing heavy. “Backseat?”

“Backseat,” Steve agreed.

---

So they were late to therapy.

A-fucking-gain.

“We gotta stop being the last people here,” Steve groaned, adjusting his hair and tucking his shirt back in as they parked. “When I was late this morning Morana gave me this look. It was so mocking. She thinks my love life is hilarious and that I don’t have my shit together.” He turned to Eddie, hair askew and eyes wild. “I have my shit together!”

Eddie laughed, rolling his eyes. “Lydia is your therapist baby, she absolutely knows you don’t have your shit together. Stop trying to impress her.” He scowled, a little jokey. “I’ll get jealous. You’re not trying to seduce her, are you?”

Steve snorted. “The 40-year-old woman who constantly but gently tells me that I’m ignoring all my emotional damage red flags and that it’s okay to be sad sometimes? Yes, I think she’s the love of my life.” He paused, pretending to think about it. “You think she wants six kids?”

Eddie grinned, cast a look around the parking lot, and then leaned forward to press a small, secret kiss the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Careful Munson,” Steve said, smiling. “People will talk.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Eddie said back, and then clambered out of the car.

It turned out that it didn’t matter that they were late, though, because Morana wasn’t there either. Which was weird, Steve had to admit. She was so punctual — the only time she’d been late before was after the whole Jason-and-Billy-aren’t-here mess, and that had only been by a few minutes. It was already nearly ten past start.

Steve felt a spike of panic in the back of his neck, the hairs raising up. A routine broken was never good a sign, always the start of something bad, the shoe dropping—

Eddie knocked their shoulders together like he had a sixth “Steve is panicking” sense. “We ran into traffic on the way here,” he said. “She’s probably just running late.”

Right. “Yeah,” Steve said, feeling a bit uncertain. Eddie took him by the arm and dragged him over to where Chrissy was talking with Barb and Patrick.

“Cunningham,” Eddie said easily.

“Munson,” Chrissy said back, with a little smile. “Steve,” she added, all warmth. Retrospectively, it was hilarious that he’d been so jealous of her. She was just nice, it turned out, friendly and perky and a little shy.

He had no idea what she saw in Jason Carver, but that was none of his business, at this point. He wondered if Morana’s therapy with her ever included the sage advice of just dump him. He hoped so.

“Wait a minute,” Chrissy said, suddenly, eyes flashing with mischief. “Eddie Munson, is that a hickey?”

Eddie made an audible squawking noise, kind of like a chicken, and clamped his hand on the offending mark, which Steve had rather, uh, enthusiastically left on him in the van, certain his shirt would cover it. (Wrongly, apparently). The noise and gesture was the total and complete opposite of playing it cool, but Steve couldn’t help but find it endearing even as he, himself, tried desperately to maintain composure.

He looked away from Chrissy and caught Barb’s eye. She was looking between him and Eddie, eyes growing increasingly narrowed before they suddenly went full cartoon wide, her mouth dropping in shock.

“You?” she mouthed at him.

Oh shit.

“Harrington,” she said out loud, eyes blazing. “Could I have a word with you?” And before he could answer she was grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into the hallway.

“Oooooh,” Patrick said after them, a mocking little noise like the teacher had caught Steve passing notes in class.

“Ow, Christ, what is with you and Nancy and the grabbing—” Steve whined as they exited the theater room. She dropped his arm and crossed her own, leveling him with a hard stare he couldn’t quite read. He suddenly felt an irrational spike of panic.

“You’ve jumped to a pretty wild conclusion here,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “You know, with the — the whole thing. You don’t have any evidence.”

“Oh please, you looked extremely proud of yourself, back there,” she said, with an eye roll. “It’s exactly how you used to look at Nancy’s hickeys. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

“Okay,” Steve said, feeling a little ashamed at his own obviousness. “But I mean, I’m not—”

“What, gay?” she said, around a scoff. “Yeah, right.”

“Bi,” he said, half automatically, and then, “woah. What the hell, how do you know?” He barely even knew until, like, a day ago. Which he wasn’t going to say out loud, because he realized it sounded a bit pathetic out loud.

She looked at him like he was a total moron — man, alive Barb was snarky. “We had chem together in this world, junior year, after you and Nancy were done? You were lab partners with Jake Callahan. And you’d, you know, pull your hand through your hair a lot and laugh too loud at his jokes. You always had your smile on. Your flirt smile.”

“You know about my flirt smile?” he asked, dumbfounded. And then, “wait Jake Callahan? Head of the science club?” He thought about it for a minute. Jake had dark skin and a buzzed head, and dark brown eyes — so dark they shone in every light. A deep baritone laugh. And, Steve remembered now, that as lab partners he had a way of explaining things to Steve like Steve wasn’t stupid, like Steve was worth explaining something to, and he’d wrinkle his eyes a little if Steve asked a dumb question but never, ever laughed at him, and it made Steve’s stomach sort of swoop—

“Oh my god,” he said out loud. “My type really is nerds, holy shit.”

Barb chuckled, just a little.

“I can’t believe you figured me out,” he added. “I mean, I definitely hadn’t figured it out, back then.”

“Took until Eddie, huh?” she said, sympathetically. “Yeah, sometimes it’s easy to ignore until the big one.” She paused. “I, uh,” she said, suddenly nervous sounding. “I know that because I’m . . . you know. Also.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to finish the sentence. “Girls,” she ended on, and then winced, like it was lame.

“Cool,” he said, letting her off the hook. “That’s cool, thanks for telling me.” He reached over and punched her lightly in the shoulder, a little bro-y, because he knew it’d make her laugh at him. Sure enough she smiled again, with another eye roll. “You brought me out here to . . . tell me that?” he guessed.

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, I had a feeling — I had a feeling you were, you know, probably cool with it before this, because you hang with like, Eddie, and Robin. Not that—” she started, eyes going wide, “not that I think Robin is — or, well, maybe I think Robin is, but I don’t—”

“Hey, don’t break yourself there, Holland,” he said, laughing. “Got a little crush, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “I know you know, you’re always smiling like an idiot when I show up at Family Video and then randomly vanishing to,” she adapted airquotes here, “restock tapes. You’re like the least subtle man I’ve ever met.”

“Hairspray killed all my subtlety braincells, sorry,” he said back.

She looked at him for a moment, like she was weighing something in her head. “My first one — my first big one, I mean, the one I couldn’t ignore. It was Nancy.” Her cheeks flushed red. “I hated you so much,” she whispered. “And it really wasn’t fair. I know it wasn’t.”

“It’s okay,” he said, gentle but not too gentle, not pitying. “That was a long time ago.”

“But it wasn’t, for me,” she pointed out. She sighed and leaned backwards until her back hit the lockers behind her. Steve moved to join her, leaning against the wall. She leaned her head on his shoulder, which — god, again. Him and Barb Holland, leaning against each other in the hallways of Hawkins High. What a world. “When I died, I loved her so much,” Barb said. “I kept thinking I could make her see that you and her were all wrong, that she belonged with me. But she . . . she was never gonna fall in love with me. And I sat out there by your pool, nursing all my wounds, and I thought. I thought—” and here she broke into a little sob. “I thought I’d rather be dead then live in a world where she didn’t love me back. And then I was, I fucking was—”

Steve moved to hug her, pulling her face into his shoulder as she cried, one hand on her back and the other on the back of her head. “It’s not your fault,” he said. Because he knew — because if it was him, in her shoes, he would have thought the same thing. That he brought it on himself. “You couldn’t have known, it’s not your fault.”

She pulled away and wiped at her eyes. “Morana says the same thing, every week. And some days I think she’s right, and other times . . . “ she trailed off with a sigh. “That wasn’t — I didn’t mean to go there, I just—” She looked up at him, eyes wide and wet and a bit scared. “When I woke up, I looked at all the pictures of her and me, the ones in my room, and I realized . . . I wasn’t in love with her anymore. Not like that. We really were just friends.” She leaned forward again, and spoke the next bits into his t-shirt, still a little wet from her tears. He didn’t move his arms. “You know how disorienting that was? Like, aside from everything else, this thing I really thought would always be true about me just . . . wasn’t true, anymore. I didn’t love her anymore.”

“A friend of mine asked me the other day, how I just stopped being in love with Nancy,” Steve said, thinking of his conversation with Mike Wheeler, Mike’s unhappy little frown at not having all the answers. “I didn’t have a good answer for him except that at some point I realized it wasn’t what was best for me. For either of us.” He pulled Barb away to meet her eye. “It really shocked me too, the day I looked at her and realized I didn’t love her anymore. Not like that, anyway.”

“Look at us,” Barb said, with a sad, wet little smile. “The Nancy Wheeler Heartbreakers Club.”

“We should have meetings! We can invite Jonathan, he’s got great weed.”

Barb laughed louder this time, pulling away a bit and scrubbing under her eyes, where her mascara had run. “Anyway,” she said, softly. “I’ve never told anyone about me, before. But I guess . . . I saw that hickey and your stupid little face and I thought . . . oh! Steve. I could tell Steve.”

“You know you’re not the first person who’s done that to me,” Steve said, thoughtfully. “I got real cool to come out energy about me, huh?”

“Steve,” Barb said, all sarcasm, “it’s probably because you’re queer.”

“Oh. Right.” He looked at her for a moment, fierce and feisty and his friend, somehow, despite everything, and thought you know what? Robin will forgive me for meddling just a little. “You should ask her out,” he said.

Barb scoffed. “Steve, I meant it, Nancy’s really not—”

“Not Nancy,” Steve said, paitently. He didn’t say a name. He let her put the pieces together herself.

“Yeah,” she said, after a moment, realization dawning on her face. “You think?”

“I think,” he said back.

She looked at him for a long time and then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Maybe,” she said. Which was good enough for him. Then, after another beat, “so you and Eddie, huh?”

He laughed. It still made him so happy to think about, to say, this sunny feeling laced in his chest, in his blood. “Me and Eddie.”

She shook her head at him. “Who would have thought? All this time we called you King and it turned out you were the king of the losers and the freaks.”

He shoved at her shoulder, a bit, and then pulled her under his arm to walk them back to the theater classroom. “Come on, don’t want anyone to think we’re making out out here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, they are so not thinking that.”

They re-entered. As they walked in Eddie shot Steve a look from where he was still standing near Chrissy and Patrick, chatting idly. Eddie mouthed all good? at him.

Steve shot up a thumbs up and a wink, and Eddie smiled and ducked back into his conversation.

Bob and Fred were frowning at the clock. “She’s never this late,” Bob said, half to Steve. “You think we should call somebody?”

As if to answer that question the doors swung open dramatically and Morana hurried in. Steve turned to face her and she met his eye, immediately, already looking for him in the crowd.

Which was bad. The look on her face was bad, too, something sad and serious. The panic feeling spiked back up Steve’s neck, in his stomach.

“What happened,” he said. He couldn’t quite manage to make it a question, spat it out like a demand.

“Steve,” Morana said back, holding her hands out in front of her like that could calm him down somehow.

Vecna’s back, he thought, irrationally. Or, worse, they’d found him in some other town, where some other kids had gotten roped into everything, had gotten killed because they didn’t have a Steve or a Hopper or an El to protect them. There was some other place where a void had ripped open in the world and nothing was really fixed, nothing was okay—

“Steve, it’s not that bad,” Morana was saying. “But it’s — we found Billy Hargrove.”

Okay, so not Vecna. But another hundred thoughts, each worse than the other — Billy was back and he had Max, he’d taken her somewhere, she was in trouble, she was—

“Where?” he managed, after a moment, aware he was breathing too fast but unable to stop it.

She swallowed, a painful expression flashing across for just a moment. “In a prison, in California. He was there on charges of aggravated assault, and we’re trying to get him transferred here into our care.”

Well, that wasn’t that bad at all. Surely not bad enough for her to be fifteen minutes late, and surely not bad enough for her to still be approaching him slowly, like he was some sort of wild animal she needed to calm down.

“What else,” he said. Because there was an else. He had this instinct, finally honed, built up after years — he could always feel the else, waiting on the sidelines to pounce.

“Steve,” Eddie said, somewhere over his left shoulder. There was a hand there, too, clasping his shoulder, and normally Steve found that relaxing, grounding, but at the moment it made him jumpier, more on edge. Someone holding him back, someone strapping him down, the Russians tying him to a chair—

“What else,” he said to Morana.

“He’s been in solitary confinement since the timeline merge,” she said, very quietly. “It’s — when it happened he stabbed a man in his cell block. He told the guards that everything was a trick, that the . . . the monster had him.”

“What happened,” Steve managed to grit out, “to the guy he stabbed.”

Another look, pure awful pain. “He died,” she said, barely a whisper.

And then the panic was gone. Rushed out of him in a moment, replaced with something else. A sort of hollow, empty nothingness. It felt, weirdly, a bit like when Nancy had sneered bullshit at him, all those years ago. A bit like the moment right before he died, too, when he was too far gone for pain.

“It’s not your fault,” Morana said, very evenly. “None of this is your fault, nothing that happens in this timeline is because of you, Steve, and none of it is something you could have prevented or stopped. You’re not responsible for this.” She looked around the rest of the room, too. “None of you are.”

“Steve,” Eddie said, right next to him. “You look like you’re going to fall over, sit down, please?” His eyes were wide and pleading, and his hand on Steve’s shoulder didn’t feel restrictive, anymore, it felt grounding, again, and Steve had a horrible flair of guilt that he had even compared Eddie to the fucking Russians. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with him?

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, to no one at all really.

“Why?” Morana asked. It seemed genuine, but it also had the cadence of therapy-speak, the way she asked questions she knew the answers to, sometimes, just to make Steve say them out loud.

“I . . . panicked,” Steve said. “When you were late. And when you came in here, I — I panicked, and I shouldn’t have panicked.”

“Why?” Morana asked again, a little more insistently. “What’s wrong with panicking, Steve?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I have to keep — I have to be level-headed, I have to be focused, I can’t—” he paused and ground out a sigh.

“You’re the hero,” Eddie said, so softly. Morana turned her gaze on him, a single eyebrow raised. “It’s — if you panic people die, right?” he asked. “That’s what you think. That if you panic people will die.”

“Or worse,” Steve said, and even to his own ear he sounded miserable. “With the Russians, when I couldn’t get it together, Dustin had to — Dustin—”

Killed a man, he couldn’t quite say. “He’s just a fucking kid,” Steve whispered. “And I couldn’t protect him, I couldn’t save them.”

“You did save them,” Morana said. “Everyone is safe, Steve.”

Not the guy Billy Hargrove killed in California he thought, bitter.

Like she could read is mind, Morana spoke again. “Your friends are all safe, Steve, the world is safe. The people you feel responsible for — you did save them.”

“They did that themselves,” he said, and it sounded awful, his voice all dry and cracked. “They didn’t need me, in the end. It didn’t matter that I was gone.”

Which he hadn’t really thought about until he said it — but it was true, wasn’t it? He felt bad, for dying, but the world was saved perfectly fine without him. And, in many ways, his dying had nearly ruined the plan, hadn’t it? Robin had said as much, Hopper had said as much, that they’d all pulled to the side to mourn him. They didn’t need him to save the world, and he’d nearly thrown them off course, and that was why they had agreed to Morana’s insane plan, and now some random man in California was dead, because of Steve, because they changed everything to save Steve, because Steve couldn’t win a fight to even save himself—

He caught Eddie’s eye.

Eddie looked wrecked, totally heartbroken, like Steve had just said something awful. Suddenly he couldn’t look at Eddie, anymore, couldn’t be in this too small room, hot and stupid and—

“I need some air,” he said, and broke free of Eddie’s grasp to flee into the hallways. Funny, that — Eddie always said he was the runner, and yet here was Steve, running.

He burst out the high school's front doors and outside. Again, he really wished it was cold. Or that he had, like, an ice bath to plunge into, something to shock him out of this. He thought about getting in his car and speeding home before he remembered — he didn’t have his car. Eddie had driven them in the van.

Always have an escape route, he throught, critically. Always have a way out. Always have a backup plan. Always have a weapon handy. These were the rules, and he’d forgotten them, because he’d been so blinded by being happy—

Another feeling washed over him, then, shame and a spike of guilt — he was so dumb. He’d ruined this day, his lovely stupid arcade date and making out in the back of Eddie’s van and his talk with Barb all tossed aside for is own stupid, irrational panic. And he’d run from Eddie, had hurt him with what he said, he knew he had. It’d been less than a day of them together and he was already hurting Eddie, who’d be better off with someone else, someone more well adjusted, someone—

Behind him he heard the sound of the doors opening, someone joining him in the night. “Eddie,” he said, “I really think I just need to be alone now, okay, I can’t—”

“Not quite,” Morana said, gently. She walked up to stand next to him, catching his eye. “Oh, he tried to come, believe me, but I thought, you know. Maybe you could use your therapist and not your boyfriend, at this particular moment in time.”

“What about the others? Don’t they deserve your attention?” Steve asked. The words felt ashy in his mouth.

Morana shrugged. “I left Bob in charge. He’s pretty good at this, you know? I told him he should switch career paths.” She levelled him with a look. “Hey, you got a smoke? I’ve been dying for one.”

He blinked at her, taken aback. “You smoke?”

She shrugged. “I’m quitting. You too, right?”

“Right,” he said.

“So . . . cigarette?” She smiled, a little wicked, and then moved to sit on the curb.

Dumbly, he crouched down beside her, fishing out his pack of American Spirits and handing her one and a lighter. She lit up, and gestured for him to sit more fully. After a moment he did, and lit his own cigarette. He just left it burning, clutched in his hands, not quite steady enough to fully take a drag, yet.

“You know,” Morana said, after a moment of silence, “this is all really normal, right?”

“What, having a cigarette with your therapist outside of your old high school?” Steve shot back.

She huffed a laugh. “No, Steve. I mean . . . the panicking. And the guilt. The blaming yourself. That’s all part of the program with PTSD.” He furrowed his brow at her, unsure of what she meant. “Post-traumatic stress disorder,” she clarified. “It’s what war veterans get.”

“I’m not a vet,” Steve scoffed.

“Aren’t you?” she asked, a little pointed. “You fought in a war. Even worse, it was a war you couldn’t tell anyone about. A war you had to keep secret. And,” she paused, and took another drag, “and you had to keep acting like everything was normal while you did it. Because if you slipped too much, someone would ask what was wrong, and you could never tell them.” She gave him a long, level look. “That’s a lot to carry on your shoulders when you’re still a teenager, Steve.”

“I was the oldest,” he said, a bit dismissive. “The kids—”

“I’m not talking about the kids,” Morana said, not unkindly. “Probably we should have thought of a therapy program for them, too, retrospectively, but I’m talking about you, right now.”

Steve let that hang there between them, for a long, quiet moment. “I thought I was over it,” he said, softly. “After Heather we had that talk and — and I really didn’t blame myself, for awhile there. And I haven’t really had a panic attack in weeks, you know, sexuality crisis aside—” and she laughed, just a little here, not meanly, just genuinely, and he couldn’t stop the small smile it brought to his face, too, despite everything. “I really thought I was done, with the panic, and the fear, and the guilt. I was so happy today. And yesterday. I thought . . . I thought I would just be happy, now.”

She sighed. “It’s not linear. None of it. Healing, trauma, it’s not like recovering from a cold, where you get better every day and then it’s gone forever. It’s all a big, strange mountain, encased in fog. You have times when you’re up and times when you’re down, and it’s hard to see far enough in front of you to know where the ups and the downs are. And you are always moving forward, which is the important thing, but you’re not always going to have good days. You’re not going to wake up one day and never panic again, Steve.”

Just a moment ago, in the hallway, Barb had said some days I believe her, and other times. . . Not a straight line. Not for any of them, then.

Morana took another drag. She pulled her feet up, then, so they were resting in front of her on the curb, curled into an almost fetal position but sitting up. She rested her cheek against her knees. It was a sort of bizarrely childlike pose for a woman who had to be at least twice Steve’s age. “I’m sorry, that it’s not linear. I wish it was. I wish it was all really easy. But it’s not.”

“I wish it was easy too,” he said.

“But you’re moving forward,” she said. “I promise you that you are. Peaks and valleys, but always forward.”

He looked at the cigarette in his hand for a long moment, and then moved to stub it out. “I shouldn’t have said that. About . . . about it not mattering that I died. It hurt Eddie.”

“There’s lots more reasons you shouldn’t have said it besides that Steve,” Morana said, with a little huff. “For instance: it isn’t true.”

“I was dead when you saved the world,” he pointed out. “I wasn’t a key part of the plan.”

“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself,” she said, but she was chuckling as she said it, like they were in on some joke together. She took another drag, clearly collecting her thoughts. “By the time I wandered into the story you were already dead, but even I figured out how important you were to it. Owens and I showed up to pitch the plan, but I let him take the reins — he knew everyone, and I didn’t. I sort of hovered in the background. But I saw them, your friends — your family — I really saw them. And believe me, you were a key part of it, of saving the world.” She paused and looked him in the eye, very serious. “You were the reason they wanted to save the world, Steve. You made the world worth saving. Not just you, but—” and here she gestured around, sort of dramatically, “you were a very important part of it.”

“But I was dead,” Steve said, confused. “So they couldn’t be saving the world for me.”

“They wanted to do it so you hadn’t died in vain,” she said, softly. “They wanted to do it to keep your memory alive.” She shook her head again. “All my life, I swear to you I’ve never seen a room more full of love than that one. Just people fighting together, tooth and nail and blood and guts. Dedication and love. It was impressive, honestly.”

She’d said friends and then she’d corrected to family. It settled in his gut. That confusing mixture of feelings — the understanding, the logical understanding that these people all loved him, and the ingrained, pure belief that he could never really be worth all the trouble.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“You don’t have to know,” she said back. “I can know for you. And Hopper, and Joyce, and your little pals Dustin and Max and Lucas and your friend Robin. And Eddie. We can know you matter while you’re still figuring it out.” She reached over and tapped him on the forehead, such a weird move that he startled back a little and she laughed, bright in the night air. “Like I said. It’s not linear. You’re going to have good days and bad days. This was a bad day. It’s alright.”

“It was mostly a good day,” Steve admitted. “We went to the arcade, and got pizza, and Barb and I talked and . . . and mostly it was good.”

“Then it was a good day,” Morana corrected, “with a bad part. That’s normal too.”

Steve took a long breath, and let that sit with him for a moment. “So,” he said, finally feeling ready to talk about it. “Billy.”

“Billy,” Morana agreed. “If we can get the state of California to release him, we’ll bring him to a secure location in town. He’ll work closely with a therapist who’s assigned to him specifically, and he’ll be monitored constantly. One of our special cases.”

“Like Jason.”

“Like Jason, or the diner owner we killed when he tried to help your friend El. You know — the people who are really mad at us.”

Steve looked at her. “The diner owner?” He thought about it, for a moment. “Wait, you guys killed Benny?”

“Agent Frazier killed him,” Morana said, voice pure venom. “And for the record, I always thought she was a bit trigger happy.” She laughed, but it was bitter. “She’s another one of the pissed at us people, for what it’s worth. Actually most of the government agents are, we’re really only keeping them in line by reminding them it’s officially treason to turn their backs on us.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Steve asked. “Jason, and Billy, and everyone. I mean, you can’t . . . you can’t just release them, right? Because what if they talk? But you can’t just told them here forever, can you?” He paused. “Or. . . can you?”

“We’re running out of time,” Morana said, a bit nonsensically. Seeing his face, she clarified. “Your friend Nancy came by to talk to Owens the other day, and she asked if we’d let her leave, in September, to go to Emerson, or if we planned to keep you all trapped here forever. She’s right. There’s a deadline. Besides, the longer you hold people somewhere against their will the more control you lose over them, really. The window where they see you as potentially helpful and benevolent closes. And the more attention we draw. Why is there a giant government presence in small-town Indiana?” She shook her head. “You were right, you know. That first session we had, when you told me that the gas leak was a hard sell — you were right. People don’t believe it. The dead, obviously, remember they were dead. But everyone else remembers they were dead, too. They remember the earthquake and the mall fire, even if those were lies we told, too. They’re asking questions that we don’t know how to answer. Hell, there are Russian politicians hammering phone calls into the President because they think we built some sort of time bomb.”

“Oh god,” Steve said, “please don’t tell me you started another Cold War, because I actually don’t think I can deal with that on top of everything else.”

“No,” Morana said with a small laugh. “We started doing something even more insane.” She took a drag. “We started telling the truth. Told the Russians about the timeline merge. Hell, we shared my research. Not like they can replicate it anyway, with the Upside Down gone. And it wasn’t the whole truth — we left out the bits about El, about you all.” She sighed. "The Russians are not exactly thrilled about the whole thing, but they’re not going to drop a bomb on us anytime soon. At least I don’t think.”

“Reassuring,” Steve said, dry.

“Hey, I told you, I’m all for honesty now,” she said back.

“When I told you, earlier today, that I wanted my mother to ask,” he said. “I would have told her, if she did. The truth.”

“That makes sense,” Morana offered. “I would have told you that was the right move, actually.”

“You’re not gonna disappear me for talking about it outside therapy?”

Morana smiled at him, a bit sad. “The way I see it, the people who lived through all of this will either accept what we tell them, about the gas leak and the false memories, because it’s easier to do that then admit that something terrifying and inexplicable happened to them. Or they won’t accept it. They’ll ask questions. And if they won’t accept it, the best way to get them to not share what we did here, what we really did here, is by telling the truth. Benny was pissed until Owens sat him down and admitted what we did was wrong. That we were wrong. I don’t think he’s pleased with us or anything, but it turns out when you look a man in the eye, lay all the cards on the table, and ask if he’s willing to keep playing the game, sometimes he’ll say yes. If he thinks it’s for the greater good. If you can convince him you’re the good guys, now, even if you weren’t at the start.” She paused. “Probably helps that after we tell the truth we offer a huge amount of money and ask everyone to sign an NDA.”

“So you just . . . told Benny everything? Because he asked?”

Morana shook her head. “Not everything. He didn’t need to know about the Upside Down. But he deserved the truth, about who killed him. About why we did. And that we were wrong to do it.” She shrugged, again. “It’s not a perfect solution, but I think we’re long past the days where I can pretend there is a perfect solution, anymore. So, we tell the people who ask what they want to know, we pay them to keep it secret, and we make it seem like they’re the only ones who know. And we bank on the fact that they believe if they do talk the only people who’ll take them seriously are the cranks at the Enquirer.”

Steve nodded at her. “So what you’re saying is that you do still plan to let us go at some point?”

It was meant to be a joke, but a sad look passed over Morana’s face, just for a minute. “I think for some people, like Jason, it’s going to be a longer process. But I’m working on getting you all cleared. Most of the general public. Right now the main sticking point is that, well. We still don’t know where Henry is. And until we do, there’s a fear—”

“He could come back,” Steve finished. “Track down El, try to finish what he started.”

“Yes,” Morana said, simply.

“You have any leads?”

She nodded. “Someone named Henry Creel was checked into a sanatorium in Washington State as an adolescent. Vanishes from the records after that, so we think it’s likely he changed his name.” She smiled, softly. “That’s why Nancy came to talk to Owens — she’s the one who found out about the sanatorium, actually. She’s quite good at research.”

Steve smiled back. “Tell me about it. She’s terrifying when she wants to be.”

“She told Owens, and I quote, this is the last thing I will ever do for you. It was pretty terrifying, I agree.” Morana took one last drag of her cigarette, now burned down to the filter, and then stubbed it out. “You know, I meant it. When I said it wasn’t your fault — the man Billy killed in California, Brenner, all of it. It’s our fault. The government. And I am going to work really, really hard to make up for it, Steve. I really am.”

He supposed, in the end, that was all he could ask for, from them.

She stood up, offering him a hand. “Come on. I think we’ve left the others waiting long enough.” He took it, and she hauled him up, despite being, like, a full foot shorter than him.

“Yeah, I guess.” He mulled over her words for a minute — over the fact that she really was telling the truth, even if it was chased with NDAs and hush money and a probably not so subtle threat of what would happen if the NDA was broken. And then something sparked, about what she said. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re giving other people hush money? Where the hell is mine?”

She laughed, bright and loud. “I’m working on it! It’s still bureaucracy, Steve.”

“I thought I was your favorite,” he said, pouting.

She patted his cheek, gently. “I don’t play favorites, Steve. And if I do, it’d be Bob Newby.”

He grinned at her, playful, as they started to walk towards the door. “Oh, got a little crush there Morana?”

Which caused her to blush.

Holy shit. Now that was just delightful. “You do! You so do!” Something about this conversation, outside of his high school, made Steve feel young again, a bizarre, bright feeling.

“I do not!” she said, voice going high pitched. Steve laughed again, and her blush got deeper. “Oh my god. This dies between us, do you understand?”

He mimicked zipping his lips, but knew he was still smiling, lips quirked up at the corners. “Secrets safe with me,” he said. “I think you should go for it, though.”

“That’s highly unprofessional,” Morana groaned.

Steve just shrugged. “Who cares? Life’s short. Might as well go for what you want.”

She leveled him with a strange look. “I should have figured you for a hopeless romantic.” Then she linked her arm through his, and led him back inside.

Notes:

Briefly making Morana into a self-insert by giving her a crush on Bob Newby. Because, I mean, come on, right?

chapter title is from Most People are DJs by The Hold Steady. that band has a lot of resurrection songs, what can i say?

Chapter 28: aim for a new tomorrow

Summary:

He wanted to say I care about you too, or, this is the best thing that’s happened to me in years. Instead, what he said was, “I’m gonna fuck it up.”

The rest of therapy had been fine, much to Steve’s surprise. He had returned, sheepish and awkward, feeling ashamed. The others had been sitting around, Bob partway through a sentence, but they’d all fallen silent when he and Morana re-entered.

Eddie had said, “hi,” all soft and warm, like he was just glad Steve was still there.

“I’m sorry—” Steve had started, and then stopped, not really knowing where to finish.

“It’s okay,” Barb had cut in. “I had a panic attack this morning in the shower. The water, you know? Sometimes it’s too much.”

“Oh shit,” Patrick said, “you have a water thing too?” Which had made Chrissy laugh, like it was funny. And Steve supposed maybe it was funny, that they had all survived such different things, and yet such similar things. That they were all here in the room together, alive and able to talk about it.

After therapy Morana had given him a hug, oddly enough, and pulled away to look him in the eye. “Mountains, remember?” she said. And then, “try to think of yourself as a friend, not yourself, okay? Would you ever be as mean to Robin or Dustin as you are to yourself?”

He hadn’t had a good answer to that, but she’d moved away like she wasn’t expecting one, so that was that.

He and Eddie had walked back to the van in silence. Eddie started it — the telltale three turns before the engine caught and sung to life. The radio was playing Madonna and Eddie didn’t immediately move to turn it off, which was a sign something was wrong. Steve couldn’t believe it, really. A day in and he’d already wrecked it.

Eddie waited until the other cars mostly cleared out and turned to Steve.

But Steve couldn’t let him say whatever he was going to say — he had to go first. “I’m sorry,” he said, again. Two totally useless words, really.

Eddie frowned at him. “Why?”

It was like the conversation Morana all over again. History repeating itself. “I hurt you,” Steve said. “When I said — about me dying, you looked . . .I hurt you.”

Eddie rubbed at his chin, thoughtfully. “It hurt to hear it,” he said, after a moment. “But because I don’t want you to think that way about yourself, Stevie.” He cleared his throat, a little awkward. “You didn’t hurt me. You just . . . you were hurt, and I didn’t want you to be. Because I, you know. Care about you.”

Oh. Well, that was — actually, once again, Steve wasn’t totally sure what that was. Nice, he supposed. Important. Life-changing. He wanted to say something smart, something meaningful, something soft. He wanted to say I care about you too, or, this is the best thing that’s happened to me in years. Instead, what he said was, “I’m gonna fuck it up.”

Eddie still just looked baffled. “Fuck what up?”

“This,” Steve said, gesturing between them.

Eddie scoffed, but not meanly — just like Steve was being a bit ridiculous. “You really underestimate yourself here.” And then paused, a slight look of nervousness on his face. “I mean, weren’t you — today, before therapy, weren’t you . . . happy?”

“I was,” Steve said, soft. “I really was.”

“There you go,” Eddie said. He was smiling, like this was all adorable. “I was really happy too. Being with you and the kids. And I mean, it’s not going always going to be easy, right, but nothing ever is. We have trauma, and we’ve seen some shit, and there will be bad days, but there’s also gonna be just . . . us getting pizza and babysitting our six weird kids.” He paused, thoughtful again. “Seven, if you count Erica, but she terrifies me a little bit so I usually let her do her own thing instead of roping her into our crap.” He lifted his foot and nudged the toe of his boot into Steve’s calf, just slightly. “You can’t fuck it up, Stevie. Not with me.”

“I can,” Steve said. He hated how wobbly his own voice sounded. “I have before.” Nancy, flinging bullshit at him because he hadn’t known how to cope, hadn’t known how to pick up the pieces of his life and put them back together as something worth sticking around for.

“Fuck before,” Eddie said, serious. He reached out and cupped Steve’s cheek, stroked his thumb against the hard line of Steve’s cheekbone. “When you said what you said, about dying, it was surprising to me, you know? That you think you’re . . . not important, or whatever. Because—” he stopped and sighed, just a little. “You remember when you were a kid? And it was summer, and you’d be inside somewhere really cold, with AC. Like a movie theater, or whatever. And then you’d leave, and you’d go stand outside, in the sunlight, and the sun would warm your skin? And you’d get that feeling, all over, that sort of tingle?”

Steve nodded, a bit dumbstruck.

“Being around you feels like that,” Eddie finished, blushing bright red. “It’s that feeling all of the time. And I’m not just saying that because I’m trying to get in your pants—” and here Steve laughed, a bit breathlessly— “I’m pretty sure everyone feels that way about you. You’re, you know. Sunshine.”

“I’m not perfect,” Steve said, after a moment, taking that in. “I’m going to say the wrong thing, or not notice something, or . . . or be mean. I swear I’m not perfect.”

“I know what I said last night, but that was just a joke. I don’t expect you to be perfect,” Eddie said. “I mean, fuck knows I’m not. I’m an ex-drug dealer super senior with no real career aspirations and a terrible flair for the dramatic. I don’t want you to be perfect.” He swallowed, harshly, here. “We’re both fuck ups, right? And maybe we’ll both fuck it up, and that’s okay, really. It’s just — it’s you and me, baby, stumbling around in the dark. Right?”

Something about that — about Eddie parroting Steve’s own words back to him, about love in the darkness. It made Steve’s heart clench. He wanted to say something stupid — he wanted to tell Eddie he was pretty sure this was love, that he was pretty sure this was how love was always supposed to feel, and that he didn’t ever want to let go of it. But he also didn’t want to be too much, too soon, so he stopped himself by moving forward and kissing Eddie instead of saying anything at all.

After a moment they pulled away, and Eddie smiled, gently. “Right in the high school parking lot, huh? Rebel, rebel, Harrington.”

“You are too,” Steve said, abrupt. “Sunshine, I mean. I care about you. I really don’t want to fuck this up.”

“Stop worrying about that,” Eddie said, lightly.

“I’m with you,” Steve said back. “In the dark. I’m there, too.”

Eddie moved in and kissed him again, for a long moment, and then pulled away. “We’ll work on that self-esteem of yours, pretty boy,” he said, and Steve blushed at that, embarrassingly, “but in the meantime, I think it’s way past time you and I got some sleep.”

---

He actually slept pretty good, all things considered. Like the panic had made his brain so exhausted it couldn’t muster up anything unpleasant in his dreams.

(Maybe it helped, that Eddie held him all night, spooned around his back like he fit there, belonged there, whispered into his ear and pressed kisses along the back of his neck until finally sleep overtook them. Maybe.)

His blissfull three days off of work were coming to an end, and he was due at the opening shift at Family Video. He wanted to go and find Max, to talk to her about Billy, but he also really, really didn’t want to get fired. Always a balancing act between the understanding that were so many things more important than minimum wage work and the crushing reality that he, tragically, needed money to live.

For breakfast, he and Eddie gave up on cooking anything and instead crowded around the kitchen counter and ate cereal straight from a box in a way that absolutely would have made his mother purse her lips tightly, crumbs falling over the floor, unswept. When their shoddy breakfast was over, Eddie held Steve by his face and kissed him for a long time, gentle and soft, like Steve was precious, like he was someone worth being careful to.

“I’ll see you after work,” Eddie said, like a promise.

“Yeah,” Steve said back. “Have a good day.”

Eddie had grinned, all wicked glee, and said, “I think I’m gonna misfile all of the ABBA records in the store today so no one can find them,” and then ran off cackling out the front door.

Steve swung by Robin’s to pick her up. As she clambered into the car she waved a thermos at him. “My mom made too much coffee,” she said, without prompting, and handed it to him. “You know I think this stuff is nasty.”

“You’re the love of my life,” he said, easily. “I would do anything for you. Are you sure you won’t run off and marry me?”

She cackled, meanly. “Steve, gross,” she whined. “Besides, it’s really my mother you should marry at this point — I’m convinced she makes too much in the morning just to send me here with some for you.” She rolled her eyes. “I swear, every mother in this town sets eyes on you and falls head-first into caring for you. It’s like you’re a precious, broken baby bird.”

Not every mother, he thought. What would his be doing this morning? Slicing a grapefruit in half on a white kitchen counter. Spooning sugar on it and eating it, solemn and quiet, at an empty kitchen table, the paper in front of her, a cup of coffee next to her. Waiting for his father to come down the stairs so she could fry him an egg, hand him the paper, hand him a coffee, and smile, pretty and empty as he rushed through it all in his haste to get out the door and do whatever his job was.

Robin could obviously tell what he was thinking about, the way her face fell sort of immediately. She coughed, and then reached over to punch him in the shoulder. “Anyway, don’t marry my mom, obviously,” she said, brushing past the subject. “Besides, neither of us can be the love of your life, right? Now that you have Eddie.” She sang his name, a little mocking.

“Shut up,” he hissed, with a sigh. “It’s not — it’s been two days, you can’t say that stuff.”

She was giving him a weird look. “Okay, why are you bright red, I was just kid—” and then she gasped, eyes going wide and face dropping into a stupid little o of shock. “Oh my god! Oh my god, Steve, it’s been two days, are you saying you’re in love with—”

He reached over and clamped a hand over her mouth. She licked it immediately, and he pulled back, disgusted. “Shut up, Rob,” he half-snapped, “that’s not what I’m saying, because that would be insane.” He paused. “It would be insane. Right?”

She hummed, thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” she said, after a moment. “You’re kind of famous for your dive in head first thing. This feels very par for the course, really.” She narrowed her eyes. “How long did it take you to fall in love with Nancy?”

“Like two weeks,” he admitted.

She scoffed. “I cannot believe that I’m the lesbian in this relationship, Steve, really.”

They got to Family Video and made their way through the opening checklist mostly in silence, working alongside each other like clockwork. When they were done, Robin kicked his ankle. “Go open the door.”

He scoffed back. “Why should I? Why don’t you do it?”

“I’ll put on Jaws,” she said, syrup sweet. “I know you love Jaws.”

“I do,” Steve agreed. And then, because he thought it, and it was true, and he could say it out loud to her here, in the empty store, he added, “Richard Dreyfuss is a babe.”

A bright, delighted smile crossed her face. “Oh my god, this is so fun for me, holy shit. You saying things like that forever!” She kicked him, again, but nicer this time, somehow. “Look at us. Just two little weirdo queer kids in Nowhere, Indiana, who found each other.” Her smile turned a little wet, suddenly, a rush of emotion behind her eyes. “How lucky are we?”

He shoved at her shoulder, this time. “Don’t go soft on me, Rob,” he said, and moved to unlock the door because of the two of them, he was the soft one, really.

The morning was mostly normal. Enough time had passed that business had picked up to it’s usual, pre-timeline merge (or, really, pre-Earthquake) level, which meant that the early part of the day was filled mostly with stay-at-home moms looking for tapes to keep their kids occupied after summer camp got out. Stay-at-home moms were really Steve’s bread and butter — they found the flirting flattering and charming and never really took it seriously, and sometimes they’d slip a bill or two as a tip, which he and Robin always tucked away because, technically, they weren’t allowed to accept tips. The afternoon would be filled with teens and young adults, looking for sleepover or date-night movies, which normally was when Steve’s flirting got serious, but now he barely chatted with the girls who talked to him, hair done and lips glossy and sweet smelling, clothes soft and brightly colored. Now he was thinking about Eddie, with his unruly curls and the constant, light scent of cigarettes on everything he owned, and the way his lips were always chapped, just a little, because he couldn’t stop biting them.

He did stop to consider a few of the guys his age who walked in. Just sort of testing the bisexual waters, really, not anything serious. But he could see what appealed to him, as the day progressed. A little lanky, big eyes, sharp features. His gaze kept catching on hands, although none of them really measured up to Eddie’s, in the end.

God, he was so glad Robin couldn’t actually read his mind. She’d never let him live that thought down.

It was a very normal day, all told, until about twenty after two, when Max Mayfield burst in the front doors in a flurry of energy. It was a strange mimic of her and Dustin, Spring Break of ’86, rushing in and hopping over the counter to use the phone in their frantic search for Eddie. Steve couldn’t help the panic flare, the clenching of his stomach — it’s happening again, Eddie is in danger, Max is in danger—

He forced himself to take a breath. He thought of Morana, the night before. Peaks and valleys and fog, or whatever. There was no need to panic. He knew why Max was here. He knew.

She met his eye across the store.

“Rob—” Steve started,

“Take your twenty,” she answered, easily. “I got it.”

He hopped the counter without another word and beelined to Max, who was just staring at him, eyes wide and kind of empty, skateboard under her arm.

Which — “Jesus, did you skate here?”

“You’re my ride,” she said. “What was I supposed to do, call you?” It was mean sounding, defensive. Her hackles raised.

But she’d come here. She’d sought him out. It was more than she’d done after Billy died, when she was suffering silently, so much so that Vecna caught her in his grasp. It was a step.

Always moving forward, Morana had said.

“They told you,” he said. “That they found Billy?”

She scowled at him. “They told you?”

He cast a look around the store, the few customers milling there. “Come on, let’s go out back,” he said, and led her out the door. When they got there, she threw down her board, still scowling, and he leaned back against the wall to give her space as she paced restlessly in front of him. “Morana told me last night, during dead kid therapy,” he answered.

“She told you he killed someone?” she snarled, all teeth. “That fucking fucker, asshole, bitch—”

Honestly it was a little funny to watch her stomp around cursing, a foul-mouthed firebrand, but Steve figured it probably wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, in the end. “I hate to say it,” he said, “because you know how I feel about Hargrove but . . . it’s not really his fault, Max.”

She turned a truly harsh glare on him. “Oh, so you’re telling me when you heard last night you didn’t immediately spiral and blame yourself for all of it, somehow?”

“Damn,” he said back. “You really have my number, kid.” He paused and considered her words, for a moment, before the realization hit him. “You don’t blame him. You blame yourself.”

The fight deflated from her in an instant, a strange slump in her shoulders. She scuffed her foot against the ground, almost forlorn. “He was only dead because of me. All this confusion, all of that — he was only dead because he tried to save me.”

“The Mind Flayer got to him way before we even knew what it was,” Steve said, aiming for a voice of reason. “You couldn’t have stopped it.” He paused, again. Looked at the set of her spine, the misery on her face, her anger. Thought about the note she’d left him, that Spring Break. “But I get it. It feels like — like it’s all on your shoulders. The good stuff would happen without you, but the bad stuff you carry by yourself. And you’d never blame anyone else, but — you should have known better, been faster, been smarter. You should have figured it out, and you didn’t, and so it’s your fault, in the end, the way things went.”

She met his eyes. There was something deep, there — a similarity, an understanding. “You feel it, too,” she said. Not a question.

“Yeah,” he said back. “of course.”

“Does everyone?” She moved to lean against the wall next to him. Not quite touching, but much closer, now. “Like . . . Mike and Dustin and even Lucas, they never . . . they never carry it, do they? Not like us.”

“I think Dustin felt it, with Eddie,” Steve said. “And Lucas felt it with you,” he added, which made her wince, a little, but was the truth, which she deserved to know. “It’s harder when you’re closer, you know? Nancy and Barb, Dustin and Eddie, Lucas and you, you and Billy.”

Max shot him a look, considering. “You and everyone?” she asked, after a moment.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “Me and everyone.”

She sighed, a world-weary thing. “I know I . . . I did the wrong thing, trying to lock all my feelings up. Shutting everyone out. But it was like, when I tried to talk to Lucas he just didn’t get it. Billy was awful — is awful, I guess, and I didn’t miss him, but I . . . I couldn’t stop blaming myself. And I couldn’t stop thinking that . . . I could have changed it. If I was just . . .”

“Better?” he offered.

She smiled at him, although it was sad and her eyes were still wet, and nodded. “How did you . . . how do you deal with it?” she asked, after a moment.

He laughed, although he didn’t really mean to. “Max, I had a panic attack the moment I heard the news and ran out of therapy in a huff. Morana had to come talk to me about cutting myself some slack.” He shrugged, carding a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure what I’m doing is dealing with it.” She looked a bit miserable, at that, so he softened his tone. “But talking about it helps. I’m constantly surrounded by people who remind me things aren’t my fault. That helps.” He paused and looked at her a moment longer. “You know, Morana mentioned last night — she didn’t think about it, getting you all therapists. But it might be worth calling her. It might help to talk to someone outside all of this. A neutral person.”

“You wanna share a therapist?” Max said, around a scoff. “You really are a mom.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help,” he said, with another laugh.

They stood in silence a moment longer, Max clearly deep in thought, scowling out at the sky in front of her. “Owens asked me if I’d speak with Billy, when they got him back here. He made it sound like I had a choice.” She turned and met Steve’s eye. “Like, if I said I didn’t want to talk to him, they wouldn’t make me.”

Wow. Maybe the government really was learning something, with all this stuff. “Do you want to see him?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Max admitted.

“You don’t have to know.” She shot him a confused look, and he shrugged. “He’s not here yet. It might take ages to work it through the legal system, and it make take two days. You don’t have to make that call right away. You can think about it.”

She considered him moment longer and then nodded, looking away. “Is it bad? That I . . . I mean, I almost died because I felt so torn up about it, about him, and now I’m not even sure I want to see him.”

He thought of his mother, again, a half-eaten grapefruit, a distant voicemail message, a question written on her face and never asked out loud.

“No,” he said. “No, it’s not bad. It’s just how it is.” He shrugged, again. “Shit’s complicated. There’s not easy answers or easy feelings for any of it, right? You just gotta . . . keep moving forward.”

“Okay, that was way too smart sounding for it to be from your brain,” Max said, half-sighing. He laughed and shoved at her shoulder, and she shoved back, a small smirk on her face.

“You wanna stay the night?” he offered. It was sort of automatic, a thing he always offered the kids. Only after he said it did he think it would be more complicated, now — Eddie couldn’t stay, if Max did, if they were keeping this thing a secret. Probably he should give Max the bed and take the couch, in which case he absolutely had to change the sheets, Jesus Christ.

She shook her head, though, chasing that train of thought away. “Nah, it’s — my mom’s not drinking, right now. Neil’s still gone, but her and I . . . we’re . . . talking.” She looked at him, a bit guilty, suddenly. “I told her the truth. Not, like, all of it, but I couldn’t keep lying to her, acting like it was all in her head. So I told her, you know. It wasn’t a gas leak. Her memories were real.” She sighed, again. “You think the government is gonna kill me in my sleep?”

“They’d have to get through me first,” he said, seriously, and she rolled her eyes but was smiling, anyway. He grinned back. “Also, no,” he added, secretly delighted at the surprise that flashed across her face. “Morana told me last night that she’s telling more people the truth. Making them sign NDAs after, but still telling them the truth. I think . . . forgetting is an option for the people who never really knew, right? But the rest of us, we were in it. We don’t get to forget.” He nudged her shoulder, just a little. “Talking about it is good. I think we need to talk about it. So it doesn’t, like, choke us to death, or whatever.”

She nodded, again. “I’m gonna think about it. Seeing Billy. And . . . and I’ll make a call when he gets here.”

“Good,” he said. “Max.” She turned and looked at him again, eyes wide and sparkling and so ferocious. “Don’t let it choke you.”

She moved, then, to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her, too. “Don’t let it choke you either, Steve,” she said. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

And for a little while they just stood there, in the back of Family Video, hugging and not saying anything at all.

---

The rest of the day passed by breezily, aside from the ten-minute fight he and Max had about her skating home — which only ended when Steve threatened to call Nancy to come get her and Max bolted from the store before he could, the twerp.

Steve beat Eddie home by just a little bit, and was sitting on the couch half-watching the news reporters discuss the upcoming NFL season when the other man swung in and dropped himself, unceremoniously, directly into Steve’s lap.

Steve grunted, but didn’t complain, and Eddie planted a loud, wet kiss on his cheek. “Stevie, my darling, light of my life—” and Steve ignored the sort of dizzy, vertigo feeling he had on hearing that— “how was your day?”

“Good,” Steve answered, easy. “Max came by. We talked.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “She’s alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

Eddie raised his other eyebrow. “You’re alright?”

“I am,” Steve confirmed. He squeezed Eddie’s hip. “Good day.”

Eddie kissed him on the lips, this time, feather-light, and then moved to head into the kitchen. “I’m thinking since we keep fucking up breakfast in the morning, we give it another shot at night. Bacon and eggs for dinner?”

“We should probably have, like, a vegetable at some point,” Steve said back. “Robin keeps saying I’m going to get scurvy.”

Eddie scoffed. “Like Joyce Byers would let you get scurvy, please. I’m pretty sure she squeezes a lime into every beer she hands you for just that reason.” There was a slight pause, and more rummaging. Steve turned to look at Eddie’s back and could tell, from the way he was holding himself, that he was gearing up to say something. Finally, the other man spun around, all drama, and said, “Chrissy came by the store and I invited her to Hellfire Club. Is that — I mean, is that weird?”

Steve shrugged. “Why would it be weird?”

“Just . . .” Eddie trailed off, chewed at his lip, absently. Steve resisted the stupid urge he had to go up and chew on Eddie’s lip for him. “I mean, when I told her we had it here, she asked if I was sure you were okay with it. And I realized, I didn’t . . . I didn’t even think about that, I just sort of. Moved in with you and took over all of your space and invaded your life like a weird little parasite.”

He said the last bit in a huge rush, a single breath, and then pulled his hair in front of his face, clearly embarrassed.

“You’re not a parasite,” Steve said, automatically, while the rest of the words registered in his brain. “And I invited you to stay.”

“Yeah, the night, like a month ago, and I just never left.”

“Eddie,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow at him, now. “I like having you here, obviously. I liked it even before we were sleeping together.” He paused. “Like it more now,” he added, grinning.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You’re such a horndog, Harrington, I swear.” He was still chewing on his hair. Steve wanted to go up and take it out of his mouth, smooth it behind his ear, but he understood, a little, that the cageiness in Eddie’s whole body meant that he was likely to startle at that. There was still a part of him primed for running — like the part of Steve primed for disaster to strike, primed for panic. Hard to break old habits, even when you really wanted to. Finally Eddie stilled and took another deep breath. “It’s really fine?”

“I mean, if you told me a month ago I would have been crazy jealous,” Steve said, “but it’s okay.” Eddie rolled his eyes and Steve grinned at him. “Invite her. Chrissy’s cool. Way cooler now that I know you’re not trying to date her.” He wrinkled his nose. “Actually, maybe not cool, if she’s playing D&D, but you get me.”

Eddie scoffed, offended, and then turned back to the kitchen. “We’re starting a new campaign, so it’s a good time to get new players.” He turned over his shoulder and sent a flirty little smile Steve’s way. “Not that that’s a hint or anything.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. He’d seen Dustin lug tomes around for the game, and the idea of needing to read a lot in order to have fun seemed purely baffling to Steve, really.

But — well. He’d heard the voices Eddie did, sometimes, from the kitchen. And now that Steve had allowed himself to finish the thought, the truth was they were sexy. As was listening to Eddie explain things, watching him chew on the end of a pencil while he puzzled through something complicated, the bright glint in his eye when someone in the Party did something unexpected and he had to think on his feet, quickly, to come up with a response.

So getting close to all of that, instead of huddling in his kitchen, was appealing. As was the fact that he knew in his bones that sitting there, at the table, would be terribly distracting to Eddie. It was just so fun to tease him, unfortunately.

Which was why Steve said “yeah, sure.”

Eddie choked on air, whipping around so fast Steve was sure something in his spine was going to pop. Steve stifiled a laugh — poorly, if the look on Eddie’s face was any indication. “You’re mocking me,” he said, prim sounding.

“I’m not,” Steve said, genuinely, although he was still laughing a little. “I want to play! Your whole DMing thing, it’s really hot, you know?”

“You think it’s hot?” Eddie looked gobsmacked. Or some other, ridiculous, old timey word for surprised — any of them would have applied to the sheer comical gape of his mouth, the raise of his eyebrows. Bamboolzed. Flabbergasted. Fucking shocked.

“I’m invested in your interests,” Steve said, lightly. “I want to like the things you like. I like you,” he added, and he said like, he did, because he wasn’t insane, and that was the right word to use in this instance, because it’d been two days.

“You like me enough to play D&D for me?” Eddie said, skeptical.

I like you enough that I would have died for you, Steve thought, which was maybe on the nose, actually, with the whole Kate Bush thing Max had going on that Spring Break, but, whatever. Get him to swap our places, indeed. “I like you enough to play D&D,” he said, instead.

Eddie’s face went soft and shy for just a moment before he sighed. “Okay, well if you’re doing nerd stuff for me, then I guess I will do jock stuff for you,” he said, in a long-suffering tone. He gestured to the NFL coverage still playing on the TV. “Equivalent exchange. I’ll go to a Colts game, or whatever.

“I’m actually not a Colts fan, I’m a Bears guy. ’85 season was unmatched, and I think Ditka’s still got a good head on his shoulders in terms of the long term game plan for the team. Plus, I think the Colts leaving Balitmore in the middle of the night was kind of shitty. It’s like, where’s the loyalty to the city that raised you, you know? You’re just gonna abandon them for the sake of cold hard cash and a stadium? That sucks.”

Eddie was staring, mouth dropped fully open. “Holy shit,” he said, after a moment, “why the fuck was that so sexy? I don’t even know what you said, but it was incredibly hot.”

Steve laughed, loud and giddy. “I told you! Being into stuff is hot! I’m right! This literally just proves my point.”

Eddie moved to Steve quickly, going to sit in his lap again. “I take it all back, I’ll watch football with you every Sunday. You can tell me who all the players are and the rules and shit, it’ll be insanely sexy.”

Steve scraped his teeth across Eddie’s ear lobe just to feel the other man shudder. “They wear really tight pants in football, too, you know. If you need something interesting to watch.”

Eddie pulled away to raise a challenging eyebrow. “You’re saying you want me to ogle other men?”

“Oh,” Steve said. “No, wait, good point. You’re never watching football, sorry.” He thought about it for a moment. “Or baseball. Or hockey. Or basketball. Man, sports are kind of gay, huh?”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed, a full body thing, and he was so beautiful and warm and alive in Steve’s arms that Steve couldn’t help himself from leaning forward and kissing him, swallowing the last sound of the laugh up so it would live somewhere in his chest forever.

Notes:

the Indianapolis Colts were the Baltimore Colts until March of 1984 when they moved in the actual, literal dead middle of the night to Indiana because Baltimore wouldn't build the team a new stadium. it's genuinely a fascinatingly weird story even if you do not care about the NFL at all, and it's one of the few things i know about the 80s so I had to pepper it into the story. you know. for realism.

i am glad to tell you that i have, successfully, officially finished writing and tweaking the end of the story which means i'll be posting a little more frequently as we approach the end. there's some drama, a lot of fluff, and some incredibly, ridiculously stupid conversations to look forward to in your future.

chapter title is from You've Got Another Thing Coming by Judas Priest.

Chapter 29: a haunted house with a picket fence

Summary:

Steve has dinner with his parents.

Notes:

a content warning: the tag on this story for "period typical homophobia" exists almost exclusively for this chapter with Steve's dad, who is a giant asshole. queer is used in a derogatory way by him a couple times; he also makes light of AIDS. AIDS is mentioned a few times throughout this chapter as well.

Eventually Eddie did get around to making bacon and eggs, and Steve threw together a sort of half-hearted salad that they both mostly just moved around a plate instead of eating. (Distantly, he remembered Morana saying something like you’re not an adult the other day and thought she might have had a bit of a point, there.) They ate around the kitchen table, huddled closer than strictly necessary, Steve’s feet on Eddie’s lap and one of Eddie’s hands grasped loosely around Steve’s ankle.

He wondered if this would be the new normal of his life, now. No more saving the world, no more life ending summers. Just this, dinners in a tiny kitchen, Eddie rapidly chatting through ideas for new campaigns and somehow already building a character out for Steve (half-elf fighter, whatever the fuck that meant, although apparently Steve was “naturally high in charisma,” which sounded like a compliment, at least, even if “your dump stat is probably intelligence” really didn’t).

Eddie had said that he’d moved in like a parasite, but the truth was that it had been exceedingly easy to welcome him into this space, into Steve’s life. Like there was a hole in his chest that was just waiting for Eddie Munson to come in and fill with his bright, loud laughter and massive fantasy books and his guitar, now placed lovingly against a wall in their shared bedroom.

He was about half a second from blurting all that — or something even dumber, like do you want to stay forever? when the phone rang.

Steve hauled himself up with a sigh to answer it, certain it was one of the gremlins demanding a last-minute ride, but when he picked up and chirped “It’s Steve, what the fuck do you want?” he was proven wrong.

“Steven,” his mother said, on the other line.

“Mom?” he said back. There was a clatter from the kitchen and then what sounded like a chair being knocked over, and suddenly Eddie was in the doorway.

Drama queen, Steve thought, fondly.

“Sorry,” he said to his mother, on the line. “I thought you were—” he was going to say one of the kids but he realized that sentence wouldn’t actually make any sense to her. She had no idea who the kids were, how he knew them, what a massive part of his life they were. So he stopped talking. “Someone else,” he finished, lamely.

“Well, that’s a rude way to greet a girl, too,” his mother said. Her voice had a slightly warmer tone, and it was said the way someone might say a joke. Except it wasn’t really funny, because Steve was staring at his boyfriend as she said it, and he suddenly had no idea how to answer her. His throat was dry.

It didn’t matter, though, because she was still speaking, not waiting for him to reply. “I was just talking to your father, and we’re going to have you over for dinner on Thursday evening,” she said. “It’s been awhile since we were all together as a family.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t — we want to have you over, even. It was a demand, an expectation. He waited, stupidly, for her to say something like we missed you or we’d like to see you. She didn’t. She didn’t say anything at all, she just stayed silent on the other line, and Steve didn’t realize it was his turn to talk until enough time had passed that she prompted, “Steven? Did we disconnect?”

“No,” he said, voice scratchy, “no, I’m, uh. I’m still here. Thursday works.”

“Great,” she said. “7:30? No need to bring anything.”

She hung up before he could respond.

Steve sighed and put the phone back on the hook, feeling weirdly wrung out after a less than five-minute conversation. When he looked up Eddie had an unreadable expression on his face. But he looked — well, he almost looked mad, actually. Steve felt his shoulders rise, a little, almost a defensive posture, which was ridiculous because it was just Eddie. But he couldn’t help it.

“Thursday works for what,” Eddie said, tone way, way too even. He didn’t sound angry, but he didn’t sound anything at all, which was really out of character.

“Dinner,” Steve said. “My mom wants me to come over for dinner.”

“And you said yes,” Eddie said. It wasn’t a question.

Steve’s defenses raised even higher. He felt judged, suddenly, like Eddie didn’t think he was capable of managing his own life. “Yes,” he said, voice tight. “I agreed to have dinner with my parents, which is a normal fucking thing to agree to, by the way.”

Something flashed across Eddie’s face — like maybe he understood how his tone sounded and felt regretful for it. His posture slumped, a little, and he let go of the door frame to reach a hand towards Steve. “Baby,” he said. “You don’t have to go.”

Like Steve didn’t know that. Like Steve was some sort of idiot, who needed to be coddled and told simple truths. “I’m not stupid, Eddie. I know what free will is.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie said, his own voice getting frustrated. “You’re upset.”

“Yeah, because you’re judging me—” Steve started.

Eddie moved closer and grabbed onto Steve’s arm. Steve actually flinched out of his touch, pulling back. Which was sort of shocking, to him, that he’d reacted so strongly. Shocking to Eddie too, clearly, because a small, wounded look crossed his face. Steve wanted to apologize, suddenly, wanted to say he didn’t mean it, wanted to curl into Eddie’s chest until Eddie had to put his arms back around him. But he was breathing too fast, and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even move.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, and Jesus, what was he apologizing for? “I shouldn’t have touched you without warning you.”

“I’m fine,” Steve said, automatically. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that, I’m—”

“Steve, you’re not fine,” Eddie said, a little exasperated. And then, softer, “and it’s — I’m not judging you, I promise. I just . . . this happened last time, too, remember? You spoke to your mother, and then you . . .”

“Lashed out at you,” Steve finished, with a sigh. Because he had, hadn’t he? Snapped that Eddie didn’t know him and stormed off. And Eddie had been calm, and reassuring, and hadn’t walked out on Steve, and here was Steve doing it again—

“Steve,” Eddie said. “Stop blaming yourself, please.”

“How can you even tell I’m doing that?” Steve said, aware he sounded a little bratty.

Eddie huffed a laugh. “Because I know you, you stubborn jackass.” He shifted on his feet a little. “Can I — do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” Steve said, a bit miserably, and Eddie moved and wrapped him in a hug, pulled Steve’s forehead down to his shoulder. He carded a hand through Steve’s hair, a gentle, firm presence at the back of his skull. “I’m sorry,” Steve murmured into his shoulder.

“You don’t have to go,” Eddie said again.

Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever describe Eddie Munson as patient, normally. He practically vibrated out of his seat at restaurants waiting for food, he hated watching all the trailers before the movie, he sped through traffic and yellow lights because he had places to be, Harrington! But somehow, with Steve, it was like he had an infinite supply of the stuff, was willing to be gentle and calm and wait for Steve to catch up to whatever he was saying.

Maybe, a small part of his brain whispered, it’s because he likes you enough to put in the effort.

He pulled away, a little, just to meet Eddie’s eye. “I do have to go,” he said. Eddie frowned, just a little downturn of his lips, and Steve figured he at least owed an attempt of an explanation. “It’s . . . they’re my parents,” was all he managed, though, even after a full minute of thought.

“You put in more effort for them then they ever have for you,” Eddie said back. Which, god, when he said it out loud like that it was almost enough to make Steve cry, a harsh, hot lump in his throat. Eddie sighed, just a little. “I don’t get why you do this to yourself, Stevie. You take it all on. Every fight, every burden, you just . . . you just take it on your shoulders and you never, ever complain, even when it’s not fair.”

“Dustin would tell you I complain all of the time,” Steve said, and that, at least, got Eddie to laugh, just a little.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Eddie looked at him for a long time. “I don’t want you to go,” he said, finally. “I think being around them just hurts you, and I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Steve shrugged, which felt like a stupid, useless little gesture, but he couldn’t help it. “They’re my parents,” he said again. “It’s fine. It’s always like this, we do one awkward family dinner every couple of months, and it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Eddie sighed again, pulling away to tug at a strand of his own hair. “You shouldn’t have to handle it, Steve, it’s not a monster you’re fighting to save the kids,” he said. He sounded angry again. Steve understood, logically, that it wasn’t at him, but he couldn’t help the flash of shame he felt, like a child being scolded for doing something wrong. It must have shown on his face because Eddie deflated, with a sigh.

Steve had no idea how to answer him. No idea what to say. No good explanation for this — because he’d been ready, a few weeks ago, to walk away from his parents. When Hop had told him about the voicemail he’d thought he was done. But it was one thing to think that, and another thing to do it, another thing to tell his mother on the phone that he wasn’t coming for dinner ever again. “It’ll be fine,” he said, finally.

Eddie was quiet for a long time. “Never met a fight you didn’t run headfirst into, huh, Harrington?” he asked, after a pause. And then, he said “okay,” instead of arguing anymore. “But if it isn’t — if it starts to feel bad, or go south . . . you can leave. You don’t owe them an explanation or an excuse or anything. You can just leave.”

“Okay,” Steve said back, but his voice sounded doubtful even to his own ears.

Eddie sighed again then grabbed his hand, fingers entwining, and said, “come on, lover boy, you and me have a date with some dishes,” and dragged him back out to the kitchen.

---

Thursday came faster than Steve liked.

It wasn’t exactly dread in his stomach, but—

Well, actually, maybe it was dread.

There was a part of Steve that still felt like logically this should have been the same as every other one of his awkward, terrible dinners with his parents. But the closer the day got the more he was unable to shake the reality that it wasn’t like that, that it wouldn’t be the same as it always was.

Because he’d died. He’d been dead. And the best they’d mustered up after that was his mother, half-heartedly visiting his apartment to mostly frown at him and dodge the matter all together.

At his shifts at Family Video he let himself space out a little bit and go down a thought lane he usually didn’t let himself go down: what if he’d stayed dead? No timeline reset, no new world — just his body, cold and empty on Hopper’s table. Would his parents have come back to identify it? Would they have had a funeral? And if they had, would it have been in Hawkins? Who would have been invited?

Their friends, he thought. The family names they knew. Not the kids and Robin or Hopper and Joyce. They’d be excluded. Not even intentionally, although he could practically hear his father scoffing “the Byers, really?” But his parents had no way of knowing who his friends were. Who his family was. They didn’t know.

He thought that Eddie must have told Robin about the dinner, because she was being oddly soft with him in the days before, letting him pick the movies and not even ragging on him, that hard, when he picked shit she hated, like Slap Shot. (Which, okay, again in the bisexual testing of waters things, Paul Newman was, admittedly, very hot.)

Or maybe he just seemed that out of it on his own, and Eddie didn’t need to say anything to Robin.

Eddie, in the meanwhile, just kept shooting sad little looks at Steve that he must have thought weren’t as noticeable as they were. He kept looking like he was about to say something and then shutting his mouth.

I don’t want you to go, Eddie had said. He hadn’t asked Steve not to go, though. A part of Steve wished he had. Had said please, please don’t go. Because Steve would have agreed, for Eddie’s sake, and none of this would have been happening, and everything would have been fine.

(He understood, though, that if Eddie was the type of person who asked Steve not to do things like this, to cut people out for him, then he wouldn’t have been a person Steve could have fallen so stupidly hard for so stupidly fast, though. So he didn’t actually expect Eddie to ask him not to go, and Eddie never did, and that really was for the best, even if it temporarily forced Steve to reckon with his own decisions.)

Steve spent most of Thursday at work thinking about Eddie’s calm reassurance — you don’t have to go. He supposed he could fake an illness, cough into the phone, beg food poisoning or one of the migraines he didn’t get anymore, and that his parents never knew he got in the first place. But that would just be delaying things. He had no idea when any of them would be cleared to leave Hawkins again, and he figured that the best he’d get was a few days time until his mother pressed again. How much food poisoning could one man fake? No, it was better, ultimately, to get it out of the way now, and hope that by the next time his mother had the vague I guess we should see Steve thought the borders to town were open and his parents were firmly in Michigan or Montana or some other, faraway place.

And so, after work on Thursday, he slipped off his Family Video vest and swapped his work shirt (embarrassingly, a Judas Priest tee he’d grabbed off the floor that was clearly Eddie’s) for a dark polo. Robin shot him a small wave and said nothing except “goodbye” as he left — that she’d had only mocked him for three minutes about the shirt instead of all day was a sign she was absolutely on eggshells around him. He sat in his car for a long moment in the parking lot, took a deep breath, and then headed to Loch Nora for the first time since he and Barb Holland had gone swimming, almost a month ago.

When he pulled up the house looked . . . the same, he supposed. Big and oppressive and, if he was being honest with himself, a little tacky. It didn’t seem quite as empty as it did the days when he was alone there, a few lights on, but it also didn’t seem like a place where people lived. The flowers in the front were fake, so they didn’t need to be watered. There were no toys or bikes scattered on the lawn. It was picture perfect, in a way real life never really was, or at least was never really supposed to be.

He sighed and forced himself out of the car.

He still had a key to his house, so he let himself in after about half a minute of debate on the front porch. He’d always felt a bit like a guest here, but he was sure if he rang the doorbell his father would scoff some diminishing thing about it, and he was hoping to put that off for as long as possible, really.

Inside the house felt surprisingly warm, and there was a deep scent of something cooking — meatloaf, Steve realized, with a start. It’d been his favorite, when he was six or seven, but his mother hadn’t made it in years.

(And, if he was being honest, it’d been long trumped by other things — Joyce’s monthly lasagna, Hop’s burgers, Mrs. Henderson’s chicken pot pie, the weird roasted vegetable pasta sauce that he and Robin made twice a week in the summer of ’86 because it was all either of them could afford, without their jobs.)

His mother stepped out of the kitchen, a startlingly genuine smile on her face. She was more done up than usual, he thought — a dress and heels, not exactly casual family dinner vibes, and certainly better dressed then she usually was for these things. He had that strange feeling, again, that he and his mother had more in common than he’d previously thought. It didn’t feel like a family reunion to her, either, did it? It didn’t feel like her son returning home. It felt like hosting a stranger. Like hosting someone she wanted to impress.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

“Steven,” she said, and moved to greet him in her usual manner — hands on his shoulders, cheek against his cheek, the sound of a kiss but not an actual one.

“Mom,” he said, easily.

“Steven,” a gruff voice said, walking in from the living room.

For the first time in over a year, Steve looked up and met his father’s eye.

It was strange, how the most normal people could be the most terrifying. Steve had never met El’s Papa, but Hop had said, once, over a beer in the summer of ’86, that he was just some guy. “Isn’t that crazy?” he'd scoffed, and taken a long sip. “All this shit, and he was just some guy.” Steve hadn’t said it at the time, but he supposed, with the benefit of hindsight, that could also be said about Henry/Vecna/One. Just men, regular men, and yet he knew both of them haunted El, still. Haunted all of them, to a certain extent.

Steve’s father didn’t have psychic powers, had never killed anyone, as far as Steve was aware, but the mere sight of him made Steve’s spine go rigid, his shoulders straighten. Not quite a fight or flight panic response, but still a response, a pit in his stomach. All of that fear, and for what? Just some guy. His dad was in a white button down and wearing a dark blue tie, and his hair was gelled closed to his head, even though it was cropped short to start. Steve was reminded of how similar they looked — the cut of their jaws, the set of their eyes, the turn of their nose. His father was casting a somewhat disdainful look at Steve, noticing his blue jeans and polo shirt, marking things to comment on later. Steve didn’t recognize himself in that look. He thought it was how King Steve had looked, cataloging the minor details of every person to mock and prod later, but Steve hadn’t been King in a long time.

There was a sense of relief, at that, and it somehow overpowered the automatic fear response enough that Steve let his shoulders slump, just a little, more uncaring in the face of this man then he ever had been before.

“Dad,” he said, keeping his voice level. His father reached out to shake his hand, and Steve took it, grip firm. Both of his parents had greeted him the way they’d greet a vague business associate. He thought of Wayne Munson, clutching Eddie to him in a desperate hug, and felt a pang of — well, jealously, if he was being honest. He tried to wipe it away. “How was Florida?” he asked, instead, because this was his part of the script.

A strange look passed his mother’s face, but the mask slid back on over it nearly immediately, before Steve could ask what was wrong.

“Productive,” his father answered. “Several excellent client meetings. And I think your mother enjoyed the spa.”

She laughed, like she was supposed to, even though the sentence sounded more like a criticism than a joke, out of his father’s mouth. Because it was a criticism, of course, his mother painted as a vain, self-invovled person, lazing around a spa while Christopher worked. As if her appearance wasn’t as important to the Harrington image as whatever money his father pulled in, on these trips.

“I’d ask you how things were at the house, but I suppose you weren’t actually here to know,” he father continued. Another criticism disguised like a joke — like Steve hadn’t been watching the house because he’d been partying or laying around, and not because the government had moved him into an apartment building against his will.

Because he’d died.

On top of that, there was something funny about the statement, to Steve. His father said home and always meant the house, the literal building. “How are things at home?” meant did you mow the lawn? Keep the pool clean? Have you stained something beyond repair? It never meant how’s Hawkins?, even after the town had been ripped apart. It didn’t even mean that now, in the face of all the strangeness of the past month. It was like his father actually had forgotten, like Morana had suggested all those weeks ago. His mother obviously hadn’t, based on their last conversation, but Steve supposed his father never really knew what was going on Hawkins anyway, beyond the social politics of it all. Once all of the high-class people of Hawkins had fled the town, he’d probably stopped paying attention.

It was also funny, a bit, that how’s home never, ever meant how are you?

(He could practically hear Robin saying “not, you know, ha ha funny,” in his head.)

“Christopher,” his mother said, lightly chiding. “Steve would be here if he could.”

Not true, actually, but saying that would start a scuffle he didn’t really want to be in at the moment.

“I don’t get it,” his father said, with a sigh. “Government meddling in our lives like this. It’s not right. You’re a private citizen, they shouldn’t be able to tell you where to live.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s for my own safety,” he said. “Apparently, I was highly exposed to the, uh, gas leak. So they want to make sure there’s no side effects.”

Again, that strange look on his mother’s face, the same one she’d gotten after he’d asked about Florida. The same one, he realized now, that she had before she almost asked him for the truth, back in his apartment.

“Do they think the house was damaged at all?” his father asked, a bit of genuine alarm crossing his face.

Ah. Yes. The house being exposed to toxic fumes was much scarier than his son being exposed to them. “No,” Steve said, again trying to keep his voice level, the hurt out of it. His father never liked when he was obviously emotionally wounded by something, would say oh, man up Steven, dismissively. “No, the gas leak wasn’t concentrated here, it was near my job.” He paused, registered the blank dullness on both of his parents faces, and clarified. “Family Video.”

He father chuckled and shook his head, clamping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Sure, if you can call that a job,” he said. Like they were in on some joke together. Like he hadn’t just dimished Steve’s entire livelihood in a single sentence. Then, the joking tone slid away entirely, replaced with his father’s much more usual, slightly cold affect. Business voice, Steve had called it, when he was a kid. “When are you going to man and up and start taking your life seriously, Steven? I have a friend at a real estate firm downtown who’d be happy to get you a real job, set you up with an apprenticeship.”

“I like Family Video,” Steve said, hoping the smile he plastered on looked genuine and not purely irritated.

If his father was the type of man to roll his eyes, he probably would have, at this moment. Instead, he just shook his head again and smiled his own, neutral smile. His voice when he spoke was even colder, though, laced with disdain. “One of these days, son, you’re going to have to grow up and learn some real responsibility.”

Steve supposed it was better to be having this conversation in bland, neutral tones, as opposed to his father shouting it across a room at him, smashing a glass onto the ground as he did so — which was how the conversations had gone most of the time, in the months after he failed to get into college. (Or, in this timeline, lied about getting into college.) He wasn’t sure if his father had just decided that approach obviously wasn’t working or if the fact that it was pre-dinner, pre-glass of whiskey (neat, probably very expensive), which meant the man was less prone to immediately burst into anger.

He allowed a moment, though, to bask in how utterly ridiculous the sentence itself was. Learn some real responsibility, like Steve hadn’t spent all these years wrangling kids and fighting monsters and balancing literal life-and-death situations while also making sure he had his own income and could feed himself. There were a lot of things he wasn’t, or at least a lot of things he thought he wasn’t, but responsible was something he felt fairly certain he had on lock, now.

As if his mother could sense the conversation turning somewhere harsh, she stepped in. “Well, dinner’s ready. Let’s go eat.” She smiled at him, that genuine one, again. “I made your favorite,” she said, leading him into the kitchen.

“He’s not a boy anymore, Barbie,” his father said, following them. “He can eat a real steak, you know.”

Steve just ignored that one. “Thanks, Mom,” he said, and then they sat down to eat.

This part would be easy. Or, easier, at least. These dinners were fairly routine, all told. His parents had both already expressed as much interest as they were going to express in him all night. Dinner would be a conversation filled mostly by the two of them — his mother listing off people she planned to see while they were in town, his father talking vaguely about business activities and politics, both of them engaging in gossip that they’d never refer to as gossip, because gossip itself was, notably, low class to them. Steve could sit in silence, eat his food, nod at the right points. He never had anything to add in, and they rarely ever directed another question his way, unless they needed some fact clarified, a name or a location that Steve was more likely to remember. This would be simple, and then dinner would be over. He’d do the dishes for his mother while his father took a second whiskey into the study or living room. In the old world, Steve would have had to hang around a little longer before finding some excuse to retreat to his room — homework had been his go-to back in high school, but these days he usually begged exhaustion or a date.

(Which, wow, if he thought about it now, how many dates had he gone on just to not be home? That was bleak, wasn’t it?)

However, the need to drive somewhere else, the fact that he no longer slept in this house, meant he probably could cut out the the awful, twenty-minute hovering around period and leave right after the dishes were done. In a way, this could be the easiest dinner he’d ever had with his parents.

Then, right as he took his first bite, his mother said, “so, are you seeing anyone, Steven?”

He almost choked on his food. Even his father looked startled. This was decidedly off script — a personal question, right at Steve? One about his love life? What the hell?

“Uh,” he said.

Yes, and I am completely insane over him in the most literal way possible. Oh, yeah, also, he’s a him, and he’s metalhead who was accused of being a cult leader and a murderer in a timeline you don’t remember, which he died during, as did I, and he lives in a trailer park. Well, actually, right now he lives with me and I hope he keeps living with me forever, but he used to live in a trailer park. And is a man. Did I mention he’s a man?

“You know,” his father cut in, “my friend at the real estate place has a couple really lovely assistants. Nice girls, around your age. Probably not bad to have a little something to look at while you work, right? Maybe you can take one of them out for dinner, after you go to meet him.”

Steve flexed his fingers against his fork and then forced himself to take another bite before responding. The Robin voice that lived in his head was scoffing at his father’s casual, gross sexism, but rising to the bait was always a mistake. “I’m sort of taking a . . . break, from dating, at the moment,” he settled on, eventually. A bald-faced lie he tried to pass off cleanly.

His father chuckled, a bit meanly, and took a small sip of his drink, which had been pre-poured and waiting for him at the table. “Saying no to hanging out with beautiful girls? What are you, going queer on us?”

Steve flexed his fingers around his fork again. He forced himself to take a deep breath. He tried to keep his face perfectly netural. Don’t give anything away.

“Christopher,” his mother said, and her tone was disapproving but there was a smile on her face. Steve wasn’t sure if it was meant to be placating, or if there was a part of her that genuinely found it a bit funny. Her son, a fucking queer? Hilarious.

“Oh, come on, Barbie, I’m just kidding,” his father said, but his smile was all teeth. “The kid can take a joke, can’t you Steven?”

Be a man when it came to jobs and money, but the kid when it came to letting his father say offensive shit to his face. Of course.

“I mean,” his father continued, “he does hate Reagan.” He shot another, all-teeth smile Steve’s direction. “That why you hate him, son? You’re one of those queers now? Don’t think he’s handling AIDS well?”

It was a mocking little sentence. It was also, a bit surprising. In the last timeline, Steve hadn’t really had time for politics. He knew Robin hated Reagan, understood why, but he’d been too busy fighting actual monsters to really focus on other, real-world problems. But apparently in this timeline he did hate Reagan, hated him enough to actually say something to his parents about it, which was shocking.

And then the double vision hit him. Robin and him, sitting crossed legged on his bed across from each other, some night when his parents were out of town. There were pamphlets between them, on the bed, about AIDS, and activism, and testing. Pamphlets they’d gotten in Chicago, earlier in the day, on a weird little road trip to do research into Steve’s newfound Eddie-problem, as Robin so deemed it. Chicago, because Indianapolis had felt too close, and Steve had been unable to shake the somewhat irrational fear that he’d be seen walking out of a gay bookstore by some friend of a friend of his father.

(He realized this trip was where he’d gotten the gay porn he remembered having earlier. Which, god, he owed Robin six million beers for going gay porn shopping with him, Jesus Christ. What had he ever done to deserve her?)

“Okay,” she’d said. “If you’re serious about, you know, embracing this, then it’s worth it to understand . . . the risks. What it means.” She’d reached a hand out and grabbed his. He’d been terrified, he remembered. Terrified of what it all meant — the way his heartrate picked up when Eddie was in the room, the way his eyes were always drawn to the long, sharp lines of Eddie’s hands and throat. But he wanted to know. “It’s okay,” Robin had continued, “if you . . . if it’s too much. I won’t judge you, if you only ever date women, you know?”

He did know. Robin would always love him, unconditional and fierce, and he appreciated it, reciprocated it, couldn’t picture the rest of the long stretch of his life without her. He also knew that there’d be a part of him that would be eternally miserable, if he didn’t at least try to understand this thing with Eddie, this magnetic, all-consuming pull. If he just married some girl and Eddie just got together with some guy, he’d beat himself up every night, wondering what if, what if, what if. “I want to know,” he’d said, and by the end of the night he really did hate Reagan, had ended up curled up into a hug with Robin, crying over what a waste it all was, these lives, these people, lost because of stupid bias and conservative god-fearing bullshit.

He had no idea why he would have brought this up to his parents of all people, but he felt a sudden spike of pride at himself, for trying. For the first time, he really understood Eddie and Robin and even Morana, calling him brave. Because that was brave. That Steve had done something incredibly brave.

And what was this Steve doing? Suffering through a dinner with his father, who would hate him if he knew the truth about him. It was so obvious. The way his father said queer, voice dripping with undisguised disdain. Not to mention the way his mother just let it happen. Morana was right. His parents didn’t know him. And worse, they would never know him. They could never know him, because they didn’t really want to. They were not the type of people whose love was unconditional, like Robin’s was. There were many, many conditions, and Steve had already failed so many of them.

And failing this last one? Being queer, loving a man? It was something they’d never forgive him for. Something they could never know about him, if he wanted to maintain a relationship with them.

And suddenly he couldn’t figure out why he was even still trying. Why he was here, having this awful dinner with these awful people, when he could have been anywhere else?

He thought of Eddie saying you always try harder for them then they ever have for you.

And then he thought of Eddie saying you can leave.

“You know what,” he said, taking the cloth napkin off his lap, folding it carefully, placing it next to his plate. “I’m really sorry, but I actually have to go.”

A look of plain shock crossed both of his parents faces. It was stupid, but he felt a flush of pride, at that.

“Steven,” his mother said, trying to school her face into a smile but failing, just a little. “You just got here, you’ve barely even touched your meal.”

“What could you possibly have to do tonight?” his father asked. “Sit down and finish your dinner,” he added, voice curdling a little, anger slipping in. “Your mother worked hard on it, for you.”

“I know, and really, Mom, thank you, it was delicious. But I have to go.”

His father slammed a hand down on the table, abrupt and angry, dishware clattering loudly. Steve wished he didn’t flinch — wished all the monster fighting had made him steely and fearless in the face of stuff like this. But, actually, fighting the monsters probably made it a bit worse, and it was really sheer luck that Steve didn’t automatically fall into a defensive posture and start panicking. “Steven,” his father said, more a snarl than a name. “Sit. Down. You’re throwing a tantrum and marching out, over what? A joke?”

“It’s not the joke,” Steve lied. “It’s just time for me to leave.”

“You live under my roof—” his father started.

“Actually, I don’t anymore,” Steve said. “In fact,” and here he reached into his pocket and fished out his keys. Found the house key, unhooked it from his keychain, and set it down on the table. “Consider this making it official. I have moved out. I don’t live here anymore. I don’t spend your money, I don’t sleep under your roof, and I don’t need to have dinner with you ever again.”

“Steven,” his mother said, and her face looked — well, it looked sad, actually, a little heartbroken. It was almost enough to crumble his resolve. It was always less about her, in the end. She’d shown up to his apartment, at least. She’d clearly tried a little, tonight — made him food she thought he liked, tried to ask about his life. Was it fair to her? To cut her out so severely, just because his father was an asshole?

For just a moment, he wavered.

Then his father stood up, a huge roar of movement, knocking his chair backwards as he did so and smacking a fist down on the table again, jolting Steve back into reality. “Enough of this! I have no idea what’s gotten into you these days, but this is childish behavior from you. I expect—”

“I don’t care what you expect,” Steve cut in. “I don’t care! Nothing I have ever done has ever been enough. The varisity athletics weren’t enough, passing high school wasn’t enough, my jobs aren’t enough, my friends aren’t enough — nothing is ever enough. And I am not a kid, anymore, I’m an adult, which means I don’t have to live in this house and listen to your awful, offensive jokes, listen to you say this terrible shit about me to my face. I don’t have to do that anymore. I don’t want your money, I don’t need your housing, and you don’t get to have me at your table anymore. I’m done.”

That, somehow, startled his father into silence. A sort of awful silence, actually, a long, quiet thing after an explosion of anger.

Steve took a steadying breath. Then another one. He turned back to his mother. “Thank you for making dinner, Mom,” he said. “But I have to go now.”

He hoped his tone and his face conveyed everything he meant. He hoped she understood, somehow, that it was less about her than it was about his father. That the door wasn’t totally closed for her, if she didn’t want it to be.

Her face was perfectly blank. Steve had no idea what she was thinking at all. He didn’t wait to find out. He turned and moved through the house, back out the front door, down the stairs. He threw himself into his car and drove away, trying to ignore the shake in his hands as he did so.

Notes:

in a way this is part 1 of a two part chapter, with the sweet, comforting stuff coming after this terrible blowout. so you do have that to look forward to.

the chapter title is from I Know the End by Phoebe Bridgers

Chapter 30: a new place to be from

Summary:

After dinner with his parents, Steve decides to have a chat with a much more stable father figure.

Notes:

still a content warning for homophobia on this chapter, although in this case it's mostly Steve's fear-brain talking in the early paragraphs. also, steve outs eddie in this chapter without explicit permission but it's really fine in the end from an emotional standpoint.

Steve only managed to get a few blocks before his hands were shaking too much for him to drive any longer, and he had to pull over.

He leaned his head against the steering wheel and tried to take deep, steadying breaths. He’d just blown up his whole life, hadn’t he?

A small, rational part of his brain pushed back. Not your whole life. They aren’t really your family. They don’t really know you. They were his parents. Cutting them out was — it was hard, he wasn’t going to lie. There was a part of him terrified it was a mistake. That a day would come when he did need their money, again, and he’d be back in their circle and they’d always remember this, always hold it against him.

That won’t happen, the rational voice said again. If you need money, you can go to Joyce or Hopper. You can figure it out for yourself.

He took another breath, trying to calm himself. Right. Joyce and Hopper would always be there for him. They knew him, really knew him, weren’t his parents with their plain smiles and perfectly made house and long-term disappearing act.

Except.

Except.

Except that wasn’t true, was it? That Joyce and Hopper knew him. It wasn’t totally true.

Because he hadn’t told them about Eddie. About him and Eddie. About him. He hadn’t told them about that part of himself. The very part of himself that had made him finally flee from his parents grasp, unable to accept their poisoned conditions for love. Would Joyce and Hopper love him for being who he was? For loving who he did?

The rational part of his brain was quiet, now. It was replaced with pure, white noise, with the hyperventilation of panic. Tears spiked in his eyes. He tried to get the rational thought back, tried to remember all the things Hop and Joyce had done over the years for him, but he couldn’t do it. All he could think about was Jim Hopper, Chief of Police, god of masculinity, clapping Steve on the back while drinking a beer, shooting the shit about sports, cocking a pistol with a grimace, manly, manly, manly.

All he could think about was Hopper’s face, curdling in disgust as Steve said bisexual. Hopper, shoving him away bodily, turning his back on him. Hopper, who stuck with Steve through the head trauma and the monsters but couldn’t be expected to accept this, couldn’t possibly—

The rational voice was back again, very quiet. You’re spiraling. Take deep breaths. You’re imagining things that aren’t true. But they could be true. They could, couldn’t they? Most people hated people like him. That’s what Robin’s pamphlets, his father’s words, the country’s overwhelming love for Reagan — that’s what all of those things added up to. Was Steve really so stupid to think the chief of police of some small, backwater Indiana town wouldn’t be disgusted by him?

It was a worse thought than the realiziation that his parents would hate him. It was so much worse. Because his parents had never really liked him to start, so it didn’t matter. But Hopper had said you’re my kid to him a few weeks ago, crouched next to him on the ground, comforting. Losing that — losing that, when for the first time in his life Steve had it—

You might not lose it, the rational voice said.

There was no way to know that, unless he just went and told Hopper outright.

He had to know, he realized. He had to know. He couldn’t walk around with Hopper and pretend things were normal while this sat on his chest, huge and awful and impossible to think around.

If he was going to lose this, lose Hopper, he needed to lose it now, so he could lose it all at once. Hopper and his parents. Every version of family he ever had. He could mourn it altogether, and start picking up the pieces before he got even more used the idea of having a family. He could crawl into bed with Eddie and call Robin and they could mourn it all together.

Before he even finished the thought he’d started the car and was driving, again, towards Hopper’s house. Definitely speeding, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care, at this point.

Then he blinked and he was on Hopper’s doorstep. He didn’t remember the rest of the drive. He didn’t remember parking. That was probably concerning. Had he rung the doorbell? Or knocked?

As if to answer that question, the door opened, Hop looking wild-eyed and concerned on the other end, in sweatpants and a beat up t-shirt.

“Hop,” Steve said. He was breathing hard and there were tears in his eyes and he understood, really, how he must have looked — totally and completely deranged.

“Shit, kid,” Hop said, pulling Steve inside. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

El was standing near the couch, radiating total concern, hands wrung together nervously.

“Did I knock?” Steve asked, dumbly.

“No,” El answered. “I . . . sensed you. You are in distress. I told Dad you were here.”

“El, honey, why don’t you go get Steve a glass of water?” Hopper said. El scampered off to do that, darting into the kitchen. Hop turned back to Steve. “Kid,” he said, slow, “what happened, is everything alright?”

“Eddie’s my boyfriend,” Steve said. Blurted really, tumbled out of his mouth before he had a chance to second-guess himself. And once he started he found he couldn’t quite stop. “I’m bisexual. I — I like men, too, and I was at dinner with my parents tonight, and my dad made some dig about me being queer, which he meant as a joke but wasn’t, really, and I realized they can never know. They’ll never know, that I’m — that there’s this part of me, that’s like this, that’s fucking falling in love with a man, and they’ll never know that. They’ll never know me, not really.” He took a huge, shuddering breath. “And I just thought — I needed to come here, and I needed to tell you, because you do know me, or mostly, and I needed you to know because I—” He paused, suddenly nearly paralyzed with fear. “I need to know if it’s a dealbreaker, Hop. I need to know that you can know me, really know me and still—” He stopped, unsure how to end the sentence. Care about me? Respect me?

Love me? he thought, but didn’t say.

“Christ,” Hop said. “Kid — Steve, Jesus, I.” He paused and then grabbed Steve firmly, by the arms, hands curled around Steve’s biceps. “There aren’t any dealbreakers, here. Not with me and you. I need you to know that.” He squeezed once, and then let go to pull Steve into a hug. “I told you already, you’re my kid, Steve,” he said. “I’m not ditching you. Not over anything.”

“Oh,” Steve said. He felt small, but not in a bad way. He felt protected, maybe. Like Hop had looked under the bed in his mind and gone don’t worry, no monsters here.

Hop pulled away to make eye contact, hands still on Steve’s shoulders. “Thank you for telling me. About the, uh, bi—” he frowned, clearly having already lost the word. “The liking men thing,” he finished with, which was so lame Steve couldn’t help but laugh. Hopper rolled his eyes and finally let go. “Give me a break, kid, this shit’s all new to me.”

“You’re, uh, really okay with it? I didn’t mean to just — drop it on you, like that,” Steve said, suddenly feeling sheepish.

“Nah, I get it. Your parents . . .” Hop trailed off with a sigh. “You needed to know.”

“Thanks,” Steve said. “For, you know. Everything.”

Hop clapsed a hand on his shoulder, again. Steve was getting used to it, now, the way it made him feel safe. “I mean it, kid. You and I saved the world together. Everything else doesn’t matter. Not saying I might not screw up sometimes with this stuff, but — you know. I’ll figure it out. There’s no dealbreakers.” He paused and eyed Steve, just a touch judgementally. “Munson, though? Really?’

Steve laughed again. “He’s really very sweet, it turns out.”

“He treat you good?” When Steve nodded, Hop just grunted. “All right. He knows I own a lot of guns, right? Next time you see him, just slip that in — about my gun collection. In case he gets ideas about not treating you good, or whatever.”

The idea that Hop was not only okay with Steve, as he was, but was actually going out of his way to try and guard Steve’s heart was. . . well. It was almost too much, and Steve found himself letting out another, embarrassing little sob. Hopper pulled him in for another hug, placed a hand on the back of his neck, cradling the curve of his skull. “I mean it, Steve,” he said, again. “You’re stuck in this family forever now. No way out.”

“No way out,” El agreed, reappearing from the kitchen. Steve and Hop pulled apart and he smiled at her, a bit wet and accepted the glass of water she reached out to him.

He took a long, shaky drink. Wiped at his eyes. El took the glass back and set it gently on a coaster on the living room table and then ducked back out of the room, into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.

“You really gotta stop apologizing for shit, kid,” Hopper said back.

Steve laughed, just a little. “No, I know, I just — I didn’t mean to interrupt your night, or whatever.” He took another deep breath.

“Steve,” Hop said, very evenly, “what part of my kid is escaping you, here? You can’t interrupt us. You’re always welcome here. Any time of day or night, whenever.” He shrugged, easily. “I’m pretty sure you have a key.”

“I . . . do?” Steve asked, feeling shocked by this news.

Come to think of it, there had been a key he didn’t recognize, on his keychain, which he’d seen once and then completely forgotten about afterwards.

Hop nodded again. “Guest room has some stuff of yours in it. Least, I think it’s yours, unless I adopted some other wayward member of the Hawkins Class of ’85. Also, I have Miller High Life in my fridge, and that’s your brand, not mine.”

“It’s the champagne of beers, Hop,” Steve said, reflexively, his trademark response to Hop mocking his choice in beer. And then, the words all registering, “really?” It still felt shocking to him — that in this timeline he’d been so integrated into their lives. The Upside Down was one thing, but he’d never really stayed with Hopper before, even back then. That he did so here, in this world, was such a strange little truth. “That’s . . .wow.”

Hop just shrugged. “Told you kid, I never liked you alone in that house. Clearly in this timeline I actually did something about it.” The last part was half-muttered, like Hop was mad at himself for not doing more for Steve. Which was just so insane, because Hop had done everything for Steve, up to and including saving his literal life, more than once.

Before Steve could say that, though, Hop cleared his throat. “Speaking of that room, I’m gonna have to insist you take it, tonight. I know you’re not living in that house anymore, but I can’t let you drive like this, kid.”

“I’m fine,” Steve said, automatically.

“Your hands are still shaking,” Hop said back, not unkindly. And, huh. They were. Steve hadn’t even noticed. “It’s not a burden, Steve. We want you here. I promise.” He reached out and put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, again, squeezed once, reassuring. “Let me go make sure it’s got clean sheets and everything.” He pointed at the glass of water. “You go sit on the couch and drink the rest of that.”

Steve could almost picture it, actually. A different night, a similar situation. Steve, running out of his parents house to the warmth of Hop’s, Hop insisting he sit down and eat and have water, going to make up the guest room while Steve quipped back an only half-sarastic yes, dad and they both pretended it didn’t mean as much as it did. Steve thought if he said yes, dad now he would burst into tears again. Hell, Hop might burst into tears. So instead he just nodded and grabbed the water, slumping into the couch.

The moment he sat down exhaustion washed over him. What a night. What had he done? Left a key on the dining room table and somehow gained a key to a different house, where he already had a room. It was such a series of highs and lows, a wild emotional ride. No wonder he was tired.

“Here,” El said, appearing suddenly in the living room. She was holding a plate, which she placed gingerly in front of Steve, like it was precious. On it was a single Eggo waffle, toasted, with syrup on it. “You were sad,” she explained, “and this is what I eat when I’m sad.”

Jesus Christ. It was almost enough to get him crying again, although for totally different reasons. “Thank you, El,” he said, trying to convey just how much he meant it — how much it mattered, to him, in this moment, her little burst of kindness. And then a thought occurred to him, a kindness he ought to offer back. “Hey — since we timeline hopped, or whatever. Do you still want to be called El?” He gestured at her wrist. “No lab in this world. You could just be Jane.”

El seemed to consider it for a long moment, and then moved to sit down next to him on the couch. “I was Jane in California,” she offered, a little frown on her face. “I did not like California.” She paused, like she was a bit reluctant to explain, and then clearly made a decision to do it anyway. “The kids were mean to me, there.”

Ah. The Byers had generally avoided discussing California altogether, except Jonathan (and by extension, Argyle), who mostly spoke about it exclusively in terms of strains of pot and toppings on Surfer Boy Pizza. Steve supposed it made sense, that the strange girl who’d never had to go to school before had made the easiest target for bullies. “Kids can be mean,” he said back.

“You . . . were mean, back then,” she said. It sounded like she didn’t really want to say it. Like she was admitting a fact she found a bit hard to be true. “Why? Are kids mean?”

He considered the question for a second. There wasn’t a clean answer. He wanted to say most kids are hurt and lashing out and they don’t mean it, but he wasn’t sure that was the truth. Hurt people hurt people was one thing when it was some trumped up bully knocking over your books in the hallway; it was another when it meant Jason Carver almost killing Lucas. There was a line where it became unforgivable, and Steve wasn’t sure where it was. And he wasn’t sure it was the same for everyone. Or even if everyone had the same reasons for being mean.

He wondered, then, if there was something in his father’s childhood that made him the way he was. Made him cruel. Made him lash out. And then he thought that even if there was, it wouldn’t have mattered. Steve had been hurt and he’d worked fucking hard to break that cycle and change who he was. How much forgiveness was owed to the people who hurt you? To the people who made your life hell? Not an answerable question. There was a part of him that would have understood if Jonathan Byers had hated him forever, if Robin had, if fucking Eddie had. There was a part of him that was still shocked they didn’t.

“I don’t know,” he said, finally. “For me, I think it was — I felt powerless in my life, and putting other people down felt like it gave me power.” He shrugged. “But in the end, power wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted friends, real friends. Not people who just respected me, or feared me, or whatever. I’m not sure that’s true for everyone, though. I think maybe some people are just mean.”

El nodded, like she’d sort of known that was the answer. “Angela was mean. I beat her face in with a roller skate.”

Okay, holy shit, he really hadn’t expecting the story to go there. “Jesus Christ, El,” he said, half around a laugh that was probably deeply inappropriate. But, well, — the mental image of it was pretty funny, unfortunately.

“I thought it would make me feel better, but it didn’t,” she admitted. “But it made me feel — it made me feel like I had my powers back.”

“She hurt you so you hurt her back.” He considered her for a long moment, this strange, magical girl, with all the horrors she dealt with all these years. “Honestly, I’m impressed you didn’t lash out more often. No one had to feel more powerless than you, some days. Actual, you know, powers aside.”

El thought about this for a second, that same serious look on her face. “My friends helped. And Dad. And Joyce and Jonathan. And you. Everyone. When I was scared, you all helped me know what was important.” She turned the look to him. “I think I prefer El,” she said, with the statement of finality. “The lab made me El. But . . . my friends also made me El.”

“Okay, El,” Steve said, easily enough. “Thanks for the waffle.” He took a bite, and then offered her one, which she took happily, a little smile on her face.

After she was finished chewing she bit her lip, a sudden shyness washing over her. “I think it’s okay, that you like boys,” she said. “I didn’t mean to overhear, but I did.” He wondered, then, if the shyness was a sense memory from this timeline. She’d always been so blunt before — was she remembering that some topics were impolite?

“It’s okay that you heard,” Steve said. “But can you . . . not tell anyone else, yet? Our friends . . . should hear it from me, I think. When they hear it.”

El nodded. “I will not tell.” Then she paused and smiled at him. “Eddie is nice,” she continued. “And pretty.”

Steve laughed again. “He is,” he agreed. And then, pitching his voice down like it was a secret, “I really like him.”

“Good,” she said. “If he’s mean to you I’ll explode him with my brain.”

Which really made Steve laugh, probably too loud for the late hour, but El had a bright grin on her face like she’d been hoping for that reaction, so he couldn’t really care. Hopper reappeared in the living room, shaking his head at the two of them but not at all hiding his own smile, soft and fond. “Well,” he said, after a moment, “your room’s made up. You got stuff to sleep in here, and I found a spare toothbrush, too.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something else — another thanks that Hop would brush aside, most likely, when the doorbell rang. He turned to frown vaguely in the direction of the front door. “Who’s here this late?”

“I made a call,” Hop said, easily. And then, half under his breath as he moved to answer the door, “and I think he broke about every damn speed law in the city getting here.”

Eddie practically burst in once Hop had opened the door, a horrendously nervous look plastered on his face. “Hop, hey, is he—” and then he caught Steve’s eye, and Steve saw his shoulders slump in something like relief. “Steve. Shit, Hop called and said—” he cut himself off, a little frustrated noise escaping him. “I knew that dinner was a bad idea, I should have said something, I should have insisted — is that an Eggo?”

“Hi Munson,” Hop said, dripping with sarcasm, “welcome in, nice to see you, please take your shoes off.” He cut a look to Steve. “Steve, if he’s sticking around do you plan to housetrain him?”

Eddie seemed to be suddenly abashed, face flaming red as he looked at Hopper again, sort of like he was seeing him for the first time. “Oh, god, right, hello, uh, Mr. Chief Hopper, uh. Sir.”

Which was naturally met with total and utter silence. El looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Sorry,” Eddie said, after that awkward pause, mostly to Steve. “I just — it’s sort of occurring to me that I’m kind of meeting your dad for the first time.”

“Eddie, you’ve met Hop,” Steve said, stating the obvious and not focusing on the burst of joy he felt at Eddie calling Hop your dad and Hop not correcting him. 


“Yeah, but those weren’t good impressions, mostly, and also this is the first time since you and I — well, you know,” he finished lamely.

Steve looked at Hop, a bit surprised. “You told him you knew?” Then he paused, considering Hop’s comment from earlier and also the completely strange scene that was happening for the first time. “Wait, you called Eddie?”

Hop just shrugged. “Thought it might help,” he said, “considering the heightened emotions of the night. If you both stay over.” He cut Eddie an extremely distrustful look. “Door stays open six inches though. House rules. And don’t think my old age has dimished my stellar hearing, Munson.”

Steve was too delighted by how weird and thoughtful this whole thing was to even feel mortified at that comment, although Eddie clearly did, considering his face had gone an even brighter red.

“Come in and take off your shoes,” Hop said, definitively.

“The waffle is for Steve,” El cut in. “But if he wants to share, you can have some.” Hop turned on the TV, at a low volume, and Eddie hopped over the back of the couch to sit next to Steve, closer than he needed to be, knees knocking together.

In the end, Steve gave him half the waffle.

They stayed up for a little past that, talking about not much at all, before Hop finally called it. “Probably time for all of us to get some sleep.” He shot another look to Eddie. “I wasn’t kidding about the door. Six. Inches.”

“Uh, yes, sir,” Eddie stammered, and Steve rolled his eyes and tugged him towards the guest room.

His room.

He did leave the door open, just a little. Eddie raised an eyebrow at it as he pulled on an old, beaten up Chicago Bears shirt that Steve had owned for years (and that had ended up here, of all places). “I never had anyone care who was in my room before,” Steve said, feeling a little embarassed. “It’s . . . kind of nice.”

Which melted Eddie’s skepticism right off his face, into something open and a bit sorrowful. “I’m sorry, Stevie. About the dinner. About your parents.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said. It was a bit of an automatic response, so he let himself stop to think about it for a second. “Maybe not okay,” he said, after a pause. “But it wasn’t — they didn’t even really do anything, I just. I realized they could never . . . know about this. About us. And I suddenly realized I really, really needed Hopper to know.”

“I get it,” Eddie said.

Steve couldn’t stop the flare of guilt anyway, even though Eddie didn’t seem even a little upset. “I’m sorry I did it without telling you. I should have — that wasn’t fair, we should have talked about it, I just outed you—”

“Steve,” Eddie cut him off and crossed the room to him, putting his hands on Steve’s waist and drawing them closer together. “Hey. It’s okay. You panicked and you needed to be reassured, I get it. If we had talked before, I would have told you you could tell Hop.” He lifted one of his hands to Steve’s face, to trace along the side of Steve’s cheekbone. “I wanna tell Wayne. I kinda think he already knows, actually.”

“Really?”

“Not about us, but about me being gay, yeah.” He paused and laughed a little self-deprecatingly, here. “Well, and also about my huge, giant, unmistakable crush on you that I’ve carried around for the past year like a pathetic, lovesick puppy.”

“I wanna tell everyone,” Steve admitted, half in a rush. Like pulling a bandaid off. Now it was just out there. “I know — I know maybe it’s too early, but I hate keeping secrets from Dustin, and the others, too. I just . . . I want them to know.” He sighed. “But I can wait, I promise, it’s not all going to be me panic blurting it out to people if you need time—”

“Stevie,” Eddie said, half around a half, squeezing Steve’s hip just a little. “Baby, you’re talking so fast you sound like Robin.” He leaned forward and rested their foreheads together. “I wanna tell everyone, too,” he said, after a second. “Fuck, the moment you told me you were into me I wanted to tattoo it somewhere on me, just so everyone could know that least for a little bit Steve Harrington liked me back.”

“For a long bit,” Steve said. Probably forever, he thought.

“Let’s tell them,” Eddie said.

“You’re sure?” Steve swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I know it’s — I don’t know how it’s going to go, with everyone.”

Eddie leaned back and gave him a long look, a bit like Dustin’s you’re being fucking dumb face but ultimately much nicer. “Steve. You saved the world with these people. They reset the timeline for you. They’re not gonna turn their back on you because you’re into boys.”

Steve wanted to protest — wanted to say the timeline resetting wasn’t for him, not really, it was for the world, wanted to say that he was always just a small part in the bigger group, wanted to argue the point that he could probably be cut out of the whole dynamic easy enough, all told. But. Well.

But Robin and Dustin had shown up on his doorstep, first thing in the morning the day after they saved the world and merged timelines just to see if he’d returned to them. Nancy had derailed a carefully put together plan to pull his dead body out of hell and lay him on a table to regroup. Mike Wheeler had said you’re throwing your life away for us, again, and let his voice crack. Max had told him he was a better brother than Billy.

Just an hour ago, Hopper had said there are no dealbreakers and El had made him a waffle because he was sad.

And then he waited for the guilt. For the feeling that it was all his fault, that they’d thrown away a better world for this one just so he’d be in it, that it was his fault that Martin Brenner and a man in California were dead and Heather Holloway’s parents were in jail and Jason Carver was insane.

A voice in his head, a lot like Morana, said would you say that if it was Eddie? If it was Robin? Would you blame them for this, the way you blame yourself?

He wouldn’t. They were all worth resetting the timeline for.

He supposed, maybe, to them, he was worth it too.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, finally.

“There we go,” Eddie said back, a grin lighting his face. “Finally working on your self-esteem a bit, pretty boy.”

“And here I thought my ego was too big,” he offered, ignoring the stupid flush that pretty boy still brought to his face.

“About some things,” Eddie allowed. “And way, way too small about others.”

“So, we’ll tell them,” Steve said. He swallowed. “I think maybe Joyce, first. Just . . .get the adults out of the way.” He sighed. “And then . . . the others all at once? I think if I have to have this conversation fifteen times over it might actually give me a heart attack.”

Eddie laughed. “I know what you mean. It’s a bit terrifying. Whenever you’re ready . . . I’m ready, too. And we can take this big, terrifying fucking leap together. Yeah?” He moved to kiss Steve on the lips, so softly, so gently, that it almost made Steve cry, again.

When they pulled away, Eddie glanced to the door. “You think Hop has his ear against his door waiting to hear if I try to close this one?”

“I thought you were trying to make a good impression, this time,” Steve said, letting his voice take on a slightly mocking, prissy quality. “And here you are, considering breaking Hop’s one rule when he was so kind as to let you stay the night?”

Eddie made a small, gasping noise, all offense. “I would never break a rule, Stevie. You’ve ruined me. All my rebellious energy is gone. Now all I want to do is lay around and be a good, law abiding citizen with you.” He paused, for a beat. “Well, I guess we can’t abide by every law. Bowers v. Hardwick can suck my dick.”

Steve frowned and shook his head. “Okay, you know I’m too dumb to get that joke, come on.”

Eddie just laughed, a gentle, soft sound that went straight into Steve’s chest and chased any lingering doubt and sadness away. “I will explain it to you when we are not in Hopper’s house with the door open, baby. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

“Okay,” Steve said, and let Eddie pull his polo off, drag him onto the mattress and hold him until he fell asleep.

Notes:

i wrote this chapter knowing damn well hopper and steve will likely have 0 (zero) scenes together in season 5. give the boy a dad, i'm begging you.

bowers v. hardwick was the supreme court case that upheld anti-sodomy laws in the US, in case you also don't get that joke. it was passed in 1986 (and was eventually overturned by lawrence v texas in 2003, seventeen full years later.)

like i said, this is sort of part 2 to the last chapter, which means the chapter title is still from I Know the End by Phoebe Bridgers.

Chapter 31: i'd rather laugh with the sinners

Summary:

Steve talks to Morana, then Joyce, and then decides that he will not be cowed by Billy Joel.

Notes:

a minor content warning for the beginning; Steve imagines Hopper having some light homophobic feelings, but it's all in his head (insecurity, baby)

Steve woke up at the ass-crack of dawn (read: 7:30am) to light knocking on the door (still dutifully cracked six inches). Hop was there. At the sight of him Steve untangled himself from Eddie, suddenly flushed with embarrassment. Sure, Hop knew about them now, but—

Well, honestly, a part of Steve understood that no dealbreakers didn’t actually mean totally down with the gay sex stuff. It was one thing to ask for Hop to still care about him, no matter what. It was another to expect Hop not to grimace at the sight of two men spooning. Which was why Steve was avoiding his eyes, at the present moment, tossing his jeans and a clean shirt on quickly. When he finally looked at Hop, though, Hop’s face was perfectly normal. He shot a little finger gun at Steve, ridiculously. “Up and at ‘em boys, I got work and I’m pretty sure you two do too.”

Eddie groaned from where he was still laying in bed, which Hop rolled his eyes at with a huff. “Teenagers,” he said, like the two of them weren’t both already in their twenties.

“I’ve got therapy before work, actually,” Steve said, “but you’re right, probably time to get going.” He stretched, spine audibly cracking. Jesus, he was getting old.

Well. Better old than the alternative, he supposed.

“Five minutes,” Eddie mumbled into his pillow.

Steve shot his own eye roll at Hop. “Give him a few, he’s not a morning person.”

“And you are?” Hop said back. Which, yeah — fair enough. “Come on, I made coffee.”

Steve followed Hopper out.

Coffee was an understatement — Hop had made breakfast. Toast, jam, and butter were set out, alongside some breakfast sausage patties, and Eggos for El, who was chewing on them happily and sent Steve a little wave, as he entered.

“Heya Supergirl,” he said, ruffling her hair as he passed, aware, vaguely, that this was a nickname for her he’d stolen from Eddie. “What are you up to today?”

“Park,” El said. “Dustin wants to test out a rocket.”

“Sounds nice,” Steve said, although it really sounded more like a recipe for someone to get a finger blown off. “Don’t let him get too dorky about it, though. He can afford being told to shut up now and again.”

El giggled at that, a small, twinkling little sound.

“Go make a coffee,” Hop said, gently, nudging him towards the machine.

Steve went to the coffee pot and made two cups. His own — black, no sugar, no milk, the way he’d started drinking it in high school when he realized that he’d run out of both sugar and milk at home was too lazy to restock them — and Eddie’s — three scoops of sugar, because the man had an insane sweet tooth, which also explained the boundless energy he carried through the day.

He slid into a seat at Hop’s table and grabbed a piece of toast. Eddie ambled out of the bedroom a moment later, hair mussed, and Steve smirked and held out his coffee for him.

“Already got you,” he said.

“Thank you, baby,” Eddie said, and leaned in to kiss Steve on the cheek, sleepily, before sliding into the seat next to him and inhaling three huge gulps of the stuff.

Steve felt another spike of panic. PDA in the kitchen, spooning in a bedroom — all of this would be too much, right? Hop would swallow down any negative feelings, probably, but Steve should be more aware of them, more careful about not offending him.

He turned to look at Hop. The look on his face was not disgust. It wasn’t even a slightly embarrassed, polite aversion of the eyes. No, instead Hopper had a soft, small smile on that he was shooting at Steve. Like he was just happy Steve was happy.

Oh.

What part of my kid did you not understand?

He was starting to get it, a little, now.

The four of them ate in mostly companionable silence, and then all headed outside together. Eddie stopped to clutch Steve into a hug in front of the van. Steve caught another little smile on Hopper’s face. Mortifying, really, except it was also of course completely wonderful, and Steve thought this was maybe the happiest he’d ever actually been in his life. El hugged Eddie too, and then Steve. Hop clapped a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Like I said, kid, room is yours. You got a key. Come whenever, yeah?” And then he gestured to both of them. “Come to Joyce’s tomorrow for dinner, will ya? She was gonna call and invite you both anyway. Family dinner.” He said it with a fond little eye roll.

Okay, yes. This was absolutely the happiest Steve had ever been.

“We’ll be there,” Steve said, softly.

“6:30,” Hop said back. “Don’t bring anything or she will never let me hear the end of it.” And then he turned his gaze on Eddie and stuck his hand out. Eddie shook it, looking a little dumbstruck. “Munson. Take care of him, yeah? Don’t let him suffer in silence.”

“Hop,” Steve whined, but he sounded more pleased than embarrassed, even to his own ears.

Eddie had flushed bright red, but there was a serious look on his face, too. “Of course,” he said.

“Good,” Hop said. “Have a nice day, boys.”

And that was that.

---

When Morana opened the door to let him into therapy he couldn’t stop himself from blurting “I had dinner with my parents last night.”

Her eyes went wide in almost comical shock. “Okay. Come sit down. What happened, are you alright?”

She ushered him in the door and sat herself, but Steve couldn’t, filled with a strange, hyper energy that had him pacing around the room. “My mom called and invited me, and I said yes, which sort of pissed Eddie off, but he didn’t ask me not to go and I didn’t have a good reason not to, and then my dad was just such an asshole, which he always is so it shouldn’t have surprised me, but it was like, you know, I died and I think my tolerance for that shit is a lot lower now, so I gave him back his house key and I walked out, even though I sort of felt bad for my mother, because it’s not really her fault, and then I went to Hop and it turns out I have a room at his house and he doesn’t even care about the gay thing, he just wants me to be happy, which is so insane to me, and I’m—” he took a huge breath. “God, I sound like Robin. Or Dustin. That was a lot, I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” she said, and she looked a little amused. Traitor. “Please sit down, you’re stressing me out.”

He did, dropping onto the couch with an undignified thump.

“Okay,” she said. “So let’s unpack some of that.” She tapped her pen against her notebook, thoughtfully. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes,” he answered, quickly. Quickly enough that she frowned at him, clearly thinking it was a kneejerk reaction and not how he actually felt. “No, really. It was — it needed to happen. And, I mean, I realized that it was okay that they don’t really know me, because I have people who do, and who love me no matter what. Which Hopper proved.” He paused for a moment to think about it. “I didn’t used to have that. Everyone had conditions until Dustin.”

Morana looked surprised at that. “I thought you’d say until Nancy,” she said.

He shook his head. “Nah, Nancy’s love was conditional too. Back then, at least. Not anymore, not now that we’re friends, but — at the time, yeah.” He cleared his throat, overwhelmed with a sudden rush of emotion for Henderson, that mop-haired little twerp. “Dustin had no reason to put faith in me, but he did. No questions asked. And then he just . . . kept showing up. Refused to let me pull away. Saved my life. In more ways than one.”

“I’m glad you had that,” Morana said, softly.

“Me too,” he said, and actually had to rub a tear away as he said it.

“So, your parents . . .” she pressed, gently. “You’ve cut them out? For good?”

There was still a lump in his throat. “Like I said, I gave their house key back. And I don’t spend their money anymore, anyways. All I have that’s tied to them is the car, and the title’s in my name, so they can’t take that away. And my dad wouldn’t, anyway, I don’t think. It would look—” he shook his head. “It would look bad, you know? A visible sign that something is wrong.”

“Whereas now, everything else can be chalked up to you just growing up,” Morana said, understanding. “Living in an apartment, not being home as much. That’s just normal. But if you lose the car, that looks like a fight.”

“It’s not very classy, to be fighting,” Steve agreed.

She nodded and scribbled something down. Then she looked up and met his eye, that same, serious, therapy face on. “And you cut off both of your parents? Because you mentioned your dad is the one who upset you, during the dinner. That you don’t think it’s your mother’s fault.”

He shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable. “Yeah. I . . . I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He sighed. “My mom . . . she looked so sad, when I said I had to go, when I said I was done . . . and it’s not really her fault. I mean, she never fought back against my dad, but neither did I, right? And she did try. She came to talk to me.” He shook his head. “Is that enough, though? To like . . .”

“Absolve her?” she asked. Steve shrugged. “It’s a start. But it’s only a start, Steve. That’s a long way from a finish. You know?”

“Not even a little bit,” he said, half around a laugh.

She smiled a little, like she understood. “Well, let’s put it this way. You used to be a bit of a bully, right? King Steve?” He nodded. “So, the people you were mean to. Some of them are your friends now. Right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, still at a loss for where this was going.

“What did you do, to earn that? You changed. You worked for that forgiveness. The first step was knowing that what you were doing was bad. The second step was stopping the behavior. But those were just the first steps. Just not being mean anymore wasn’t enough, if you wanted Robin and those people to forgive you. You had to do more.”

“So my mom is . . . King Steve?”

Morana laughed again, pressed it into the back of her hand like she hadn’t quite meant to. “Yeah, sort of. Maybe she’s taken the first step — she understands that something about your relationship is wrong. Broken. That in some ways she failed you. But just knowing that isn’t enough. She has to try and fix it. Or at least really, genuinely apologize for it.” She paused. “Or are you ready to forgive her, already? If she showed up today and asked for it?”

“No,” he said, immediately. A gut feeling, strong and powerful.

“Okay,” Morana said. “What would it take for you to forgive her?”

Steve thought about it for a long time, but pulled a frustrating blank. No answer came. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“That’s okay,” Morana said. “You don’t have to know. But it’s worth thinking about.” She paused and leaned forward, catching Steve’s eye. “You set a boundry, with your father. You cut him off and you said you wouldn’t come to dinner anymore. You have to set those with your mother, too. You don’t have the know the answers now, but you have to ask yourself what she needs to do for you to forgive her, what she needs to do for you to still have her in your life, and at what point you’ll cut her off if she fails in the first two regards. Because it’s clearly not enough for you that she feels badly about things, that she’s sad about it. She needs to work to fix it, too. And you’re allowed to ask for that, Steve. I promise you, you are.”

He thought about that for a long time. Morana let him, an easy, peaceful silence between them. Finally, he spoke again. “I think . . . I think I need to know if she feels bad because she actually hurt me, or if she feels bad because I’m upset. Does that make sense? Like, I threw a tantrum, or whatever, I disrupted dinner. Does she feel bad because she thinks I’m right and she doesn’t know how to say it? Or does she just not want me to be upset?” He sighed, feeling, yet again, like Morana was wrong about him — he really wasn’t a words guy. “Does that make sense?”

“It absolutely makes sense,” Morana said, gentle.

“They just — my whole life, everything we did, it was just to keep up appearances, right? That’s why it pissed my dad off so bad, that I didn’t go to college. That I work at Family Video. He’d probably prefer if I was, like, half-failing out of state school, binge drinking every weekend in a frat house. Because at least he could say to his friends ‘Oh, well, Steve’s Zeta Theta Delta,’ or whatever.” He shrugged. “He didn’t care that none of that is what I wanted to do.”

“Look a certain way, act a certain way, ignore what actually makes you happy.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he said, with a scoff.

She paused for a moment, considering him. “I think it’s good that you know that’s not the right priority to have. And I think it’s good that you’re letting yourself have the life that makes you happy instead of conforming to your parent’s expectations.” She sighed, just lightly. “I’m sorry that it took a terrible dinner to get there, but it’s good that you’ve come to a point where you’re stepping away from them. I know that it’s hard to do. Even when they’re awful, it’s hard to . . . to demand something better for yourself.”

He thought of her telling him the other day about her brother, about how her parents rejected him. “Do you talk to your parents anymore?” he asked.

She smiled, a small, sad one. “No,” she said. “But it was easier for me, to cut them out. I wasn’t advocating for myself, I was standing up for someone I love. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that it’s simpler to demand better for the people you love then it is to expect it for yourself.”

He couldn’t argue with her there, really. So he didn’t. He just let that sit in his chest, for a long moment, a calm quiet falling over the both of them.

“Anyway,” Morana said, after the moment ended. “I suppose there are other things happening in your life, besides your parents. We don’t have to be all heavy topics all the time. How’s work?”

Which led Steve to launch into a long story about the guy who kept renting Grease and who Robin had declared an absolute pervert and by the end of the session they both had tears in their eyes, but from laughter, this time.

---

The next night Steve drove towards the Byers home, Eddie fidgeting in the passenger seat. He reached over and dropped his hand onto the other man’s thigh to stop the restless bouncing of his leg. (And then left it there because, well, he could.)

“Nervous?” he asked, lightly. The look Eddie shot him in response was bitchy in a truly withering way that Steve had only thought Will Byers was capable of. Which, naturally, made him laugh, causing Eddie to glower even more, a truly pathetic little pout on his face.

“You’re laughing at me, I can’t believe this. Some boyfriend you are, mocking me in my time of great anxiety.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s dinner with Joyce and Hop, not a battle with Vecna. You don’t need to be nervous.”

“You’re ignoring the fact that this is basically a meet the parents dinner less than a week into us actually dating,” Eddie said. “And that in this case I know both of these people are capable of doing great physical damage to my personhood, if they so wish.”

“Again, I have to point out, you have met them,” Steve said. “And listen, Joyce can be a terror, I’ve seen her fight some freaky shit, but last I checked you weren’t a demogorgan who kidnapped her youngest son, so I think mostly she’s going to tell you you’re too skinny and insist you take leftovers home.” He shrugged. “That’s what she always does for me.”

“Yeah, but she loves you,” Eddie said, a little whiny sounding.

Steve considered that for a moment — the words and the tone, Eddie’s leg shaking underneath the flat of his palm. He revisited a thought he’d had weeks ago, now, when Argyle swept back into Hawkins. The California gang, Joyce and Hopper — they hadn’t been around for Eddie’s first and only round with the Upside Down. And he’d been dead, so he couldn’t have known that even though they didn’t actually know him, hadn’t seen him in the fight, they had mourned him.

“A couple weeks after Hopper got back into town he and I got lunch,” Steve started. Eddie shot him a look like he had no idea where this was going, but didn’t move to interrupt. “Not out in town, because he wanted to catch up, you know? Hear what I’d been up to while he was in Russia. And I told him, you know, about everything — about Watergate and running through the Upside Down and the bats.” Eddie shuddered, just a little, and Steve squeezed his thigh again, almost involuntarily. “About Vecna. About you,” he continued. “Obviously.” There was a strange swell of emotion in his chest talking about it, even still — about Eddie’s sacrifice and the massive loss they all felt and the swirling sense of pointlessness Steve had suffered after the dust had cleared and Hawkins had been cleaved in quarters. “Anyway, Hop would — when people in town would say shit to him, casually, about the cult and the murders, he always defended you.” He dropped his voice into a rough approximation of Hopper’s gruffness. “Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? It wasn’t much, but he wanted to stick up for you, just a little. Because he knew the truth. So,” and here he turned his eye off the road, just for a moment, to meet Eddie’s gaze head on, “he does love you. For that, at least.” He paused, considering, as his put his eyes back on the street ahead of them. “Plus, you think Will didn’t come home from every Hellfire meeting in this timeline gushing to Joyce about how cool you were, and how awesome a DM you were, and how great you look in denim?”

Eddie snorted a laugh. “I think you might be projecting a little on that last one, Stevie.” But there was a small, pleased smile on his face. “You really mean all that, huh?”

“They wouldn’t have asked you to come to dinner if they didn’t want you there, dude,” Steve confirmed. “You keep saying we gotta work on my self esteem, but, you know. Ditto, man.”

Eddie laughed again, a little fuller this time. “Eloquent as always, Harrington.”

“Hey, I’m just the pretty boy,” he said, with a grin, “you’re the brains of this whole thing.”

“Are you saying I’m not pretty?” Eddie said back, with a little scoff. “This is what I get for dating a jock. Bullied!”

“Yeah, well, no take backs,” Steve said back, as they pulled into the Byers driveway.

Eddie smiled at him again, that soft, shy one. Steve thought it might be his favorite of Eddie’s smiles — the one that felt like it was just for him, private and special. “No take backs,” the other man agreed. And they both clambered out of the car to knock on the door.

Will opened it, cast a look between them, and then turned an extremely shrewd look onto Eddie. “I need to talk to you,” he said, with no preamble. And then, after an awkward bit, “about, uh, D&D.”

Eddie and Steve exchanged a look. Eddie raised an eyebrow that said something like guess we weren’t as subtle as we thought, and Steve smirked back to say yeah man, no shit.

“Sure thing, Baby Byers,” Eddie said, easily. “Why don’t we go to your room, we can consult your monster manuals.”

Will nodded and then led them both inside. Steve split off quickly, ducking towards the kitchen. Joyce, Jonathan, Hopper, and Argyle were all there — Joyce humming along the radio while she washed a dish, Jonathan butchering cutting some vegetables while Hop looked on over a beer, lightly critical, Argyle sitting on the countertop not doing much at all.

“Steve!” Joyce said, with a grin. She wiped her hands on a towel and moved to pull him into a shockingly crushing hug, for a woman so small. “It’s good to see you, honey. I thought you were bringing Eddie?”

“Ah, yeah, Will dragged him away,” Steve explained. “Serious D&D business.” He cast a look around. “Where’s El?”

Hopper huffed a small laugh. “Sleepover at Mayfield’s. She says hi, and Max says tell Steve he’s a dork.”

Steve sighed, shaking his head. “She can be so mean, when she wants to be.”

“Tell me about it,” Hop agreed. And then, “You know, I don’t get how they all still like that game when they named all the monsters we fought after things in it.”

“I’m sure Morana would have something very smart to say about it. Some word I can’t spell, like compartmentizing, or whatever,” Steve said.

“Compartmentalization,” Argyle offered, sounding truly baked. Steve raised an eyebrow at him, surprised he knew that at all. Argyle just shrugged. “I contain multidudes, Harrington, my friend.”

“Multitudes,” Jonathan corrected. And then, scowling at the vegetables. “This the dumbest conversation I’ve had in a while.”

“I have that effect on people,” Steve quipped.

Hopper rolled his eyes at the whole thing.

“Well,” Joyce said, with a smile, “I’m glad they still have something they find fun. And don’t think I don’t remember how great that club was for Will — Eddie really got those kids through freshman year. He’s always welcome at my table.”

God, Steve loved her. His mother couldn’t even really welcome him at her table, and here was Joyce Byers opening her door to every strange kid who showed up on her doorstep in need of a mother.

He knew, in his heart, that it wouldn’t be a dealbreaker with her — the men thing. The Eddie thing. He wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know.

When he looked away from Joyce, Hopper was looking at him consideringly, making a little lingering eye contact. Then he shoved at Jonathan’s shoulder. “Kid, you’re gonna cut a finger off, I swear. Let Harrington take over, you and Argyle and I can go set the table.”

It was sort of impressive, really, that Hopper could read him so easily. He resisted the urge to say thanks out loud.

Jonathan cut a confused look to Hopper, and then one to Steve, like he knew they were planning something but couldn’t possibly figure out what. Then he just shrugged and let it go. “Sure, works for me.” Argyle hopped off the counter, and the three of them wandered out of the kitchen. Steve moved to finish the vegetables, Joyce still humming along the radio, the two of them just existing in the space until Steve handed his work off to her and she threw the veggies in the oven.

She clapped her hands together, a smile on her face. “And done! I love Jonathan, but he’s not nearly as capable in the kitchen as you, I swear.”

Then a small flicker of sadness on her face, like she remembered why Steve had to get better at cooking than Jonathan had to. That no one was around to cook for Steve, most nights.

He didn’t want to talk about his parents though, or his childhood, so he spoke before she could. “Joyce,” he said, “is there — can we talk? Outside, maybe? There’s, uh. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, just slightly. “Of course, honey. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he said. “It’s actually — it’s good news, it’s just. . .” he couldn’t finish the sentence. How to explain it’s something I don’t want anyone to overhear and still sound like it could be convincingly good?

Joyce seemed to get it, though, heading towards the back door without complaint. She sat down on the top step of the back porch and he sat down next to her.

His heart was hammering. He hadn’t really thought through telling Hop. Now there were too many thoughts, anxiety rippling through him. Again: where to start? How to start?

Like she could tell he was panicking, Joyce moved and placed a hand on his knee and squeezed, just once. “You said it was good news?” she prompted, softly.

“Yeah, it’s—” he swallowed, roughly. “Eddie and I. We’re, uh. We’re together?” God, he hadn’t meant for that to sound like a question. He winced. “I mean, he’s my boyfriend.”

He risked looking at Joyce, now. She was smiling. Her eyes were wet, but in that way they got when she was really happy, sometimes. The rest of his anxiety left his body in a rush, and he couldn’t help but grin back at her. “It’s new,” he said, “but it’s . . . it’s really good. And I think it’s going to be a long-term thing, so I . . . I wanted you to know. Uh, Hopper knows, too, I told him the other night. We’re going to tell everyone, soon, but I wanted you guys to know first, because . . .”

Because you held my head so gently every time it was concussed. Because you always called to check in if you hadn’t heard from me in a few days. Because you trusted me with your children but kept your eyes on me, too, and no one else had ever really done that for me, before. Because you’re the closest thing I’ve ever gotten to parents who gave a shit about me. He thought all of it, but he couldn’t quite say it, too overcome with the sudden feeling like he was about to cry.

She reached out and held his hand, her tiny one around his big one. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, voice warm and even-toned. “I feel really special, that you trust me enough to tell me.”

“Of course, Joyce,” he said back, ignoring the way his voice was choked, a little, with emotion. “You’ve done so much for me.” Not saying enough, not nearly enough, but she seemed to hear it all, anyway.

She gave him a reassuring squeeze, just a small one. And then she sighed, a little half-sound. “Will—” she started, and then stopped herself with a shake of her head. “No. Nevermind. He’ll tell me whatever he wants whenever he’s ready. I just have to wait.”

He squeezed her hand this time, and she shot a slightly watery smile at him. “You raised a great kid, you know. Two of ‘em, actually,” he said.

She laughed, light. “And here I keep getting more great kids added in. How lucky am I?” She removed her hand then and patted his knee. “Now come on. Time to get some dinner in you. You’re still too skinny by half, hon, you know that?”

He stood up, offering her a hand to help her up as well. “Hey, you know I never turn down free food. Or seconds.” She laughed, long and loud, and went inside, and he followed closely behind on her heel.

Jonathan had re-entered the kitchen while they were out, and was shooting them a suspicious look. “You went outside?” He tossed his hands up, obviously exasperated. “You know you’re all supposed to be quitting smoking, right?” And then, pointing an accusing finger at Steve, “you being younger doesn’t keep you unexposed from the cancer risk, dude.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at Jonathan because, really, the guy had no leg to stand on here when it came to this shit. He clearly read the expression because he huffed an annoyed little breath of air and crossed his arms, his own version of Steve’s mom mode.

Joyce just rolled her eyes at her eldest. “Oh, please, we were being good, I promise,” she said, but she shot Steve a wink at she did, which really didn’t help their case. Steve laughed loudly, a bright bubbling feeling exploding from his chest.

Jonathan was giving him a strange look, but not a mean one — there was a small, confused smile on his face.

“Sorry,” Steve said, catching his breath.

Jonathan shrugged. “Nah, man, it’s okay. Looks good on you, actually.” Steve raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he meant, and Jonathan smiled a bit broader. “Happiness,” he said back.

Steve rolled his eyes, but he didn’t mean it, and he could feel the grin on his face that let Jonathan know he didn’t mean it either.

Joyce clapped her hands. “Okay, now, dinner’s almost ready, so we should—”

She cut herself off as the radio switched to a new song. It took Steve a moment to figure out why, cataloging the slightly horrified look on Jonathan’s face, too, as the lyrics started.

It was Only the Good Die Young.

Which, alright, was a little on the nose, even for a universe as bizarre as the one Steve had occupied for a few years. Jonathan still looked horrified, and Joyce was moving to turn the radio off, like they were worried the song would offend Steve. And really, it was the idea that even Billy Joel had been ruined by the Upside Down that did it, but Steve burst into another round of laughter, stupid, high pitched giggles he couldn’t control. Joyce turned to look at him, the expression on her face showing that she was clearly worried this had finally broken him completely and spiraled him into madness.

“Oh, come on!” he said, still giggling through it. “It’s kinda funny.” He started to sing along, crooning with Billy. “You mighta heard I run with a dangerous crowd. Come on!” He grabbed Joyce, spinning her into a dumb little dance with him and she finally started to laugh, too, clearly shocked but game to play along.

Jonathan just looked at the both of them like they were insane. Joyce, catching this look, started laughing harder, and then, through her own laughter, singing alongside Steve. The noise drew in Hopper, Argyle, Eddie, and Will.

“Is Steve singing?” Eddie asked, clearly delighted.

“I think it’s possible they’ve finally gone insane,” Jonathan said, wry. Steve let go of Joyce, and Jonathan’s eyes bugged out as he realized what’s going to happen. “Oh, Harrington, no! It was bad enough when you were flirting with my mom, leave me out of it!” But Steve could not be stopped, grabbing Jonathan into a stupid little slow dance as the other man complained, loudly. Which got Will giggling, too, a wonderful sound that Steve had heard more in the past few weeks than in the four years before and that he’d pay to never stop hearing, if he could. Joyce tugged Will into the kitchen, and the kid danced merrily with his mother, both of them broken into laughter. Steve released Jonathan, but Argyle had already swept in to take his place, Jonathan still protesting but noticeably less loudly, now that it was his fellow pothead in the mix. Hopper huffed an annoyed sigh, but dutifly went to dance alongside Joyce and Will when beckoned to.

Which left Steve the opportunity to move towards Eddie, grabbing at his arms. Eddie swayed, gamely, but clearly still amused by the entire affair. He shot a small look at Joyce. “How was your talk?” he said, barely audible under his breath.

“Good,” Steve said. “Really good. Yours?”

“Also really good,” Eddie said. Then he rolled his eyes, self-deprecating. “We really aren’t as subtle as we thought.”

Across the room, Steve met Jonathan’s eye. The other man was glancing between him and Eddie. He raised a single eyebrow at Steve, and Steve just shrugged back. “No,” he agreed, aimed at Eddie, “we’re not.” And then shrugged. “I don’t mind, though. I like us the way we are.”

“You’re such a cornball,” Eddie said, with a long-suffering sigh. Then he moved, so abrupt Steve couldn’t anticipate it, and dipped Steve like they were doing the fucking tango.

Steve screeched. “Munson, you menace!”

“You started it, Harrington, I’m just playing your game!” he said back, entirely unapologetic. Which got Will laughing, again, and then all of them laughing again, as the song faded out and into the next one.

Notes:

there's no good reason for me to have dedicated this many words to a dance-off in the byers kitchen except i liked it and it made me laugh. let them dance!!

the most realistic thing i've done so far in this entire fic is have a person who is twenty years of age bemoan that they are getting old. ah, youth is wasted on the young, etc.

the chapter title is from Only The Good Die Young by Billy Joel, obviously.

Chapter 32: session zero

Summary:

The One Where Everyone Finds Out (at D&D night, naturally).

Sunday was D&D day, that week. It was apparently a great annoyance to all of the kids (Dustin, most of all) that Eddie hadn’t purposefully built out a work schedule that allowed them to do D&D at the same time, on the same day every week. “That shit has clearly never had to work a day in his life,” Eddie said to Steve, before everyone arrived.

“True,” Steve agreed.

They were leaning on the kitchen counter, standing next to each other and pressed together shoulder to thigh. Which was probably a bit codependent, if Steve let himself think about it — this constant need they both had to be in each other’s space, circling one another, touching one another. He thought it might be one of those things that faded with time, as they got more comfortable in the relationship. He also thought that the fact they both had actually died might play a part in it. To Steve, at least, the touch always felt like a reminder — a reminder he was here, and alive, and this was all real. The battle was over, and they had won.

Robin was across the kitchen glaring at them. “You two are gross,” she said, as she sipped at her soda, although there was no real heat to it. Then she sighed. “Okay, so: game plan, boys. What is it?”

“Game plan?” Eddie asked.

She rolled her eyes. “This is the big night, right? The one where, you know, you reveal to everyone that they aren’t insane and you two have actually been flirting with each other this whole time?” She flapped a hand at both of them. “That’s the whole reason I came over early, because Steve told me yesterday this was happening!”

“I didn’t ask you to come over early,” Steve pointed out. “You just showed up unannounced and started drinking all my Coke.”

“That’s a pretty normal Sunday, though,” Eddie added.

Robin groaned. “God, you two are helpless. You really don’t have a game plan?”

“Do we need a game plan?” Steve asked, frowning. “I didn’t have a game plan for Hopper or Joyce.”

“Yeah, and Will ambushed me,” Eddie said.

“And El overheard me,” Steve continued.

“And all of them were cool with it,” Eddie finished, like that was that, end of conversation.

Robin sighed, like they were the two stupidest people she’d ever met. “I really cannot believe you both aren’t freaking out about this. Honestly! What if it, you know,” and here her face shifted to a slightly nervous look, “what if one of them isn’t cool with it, or something?”

Because, of course, they weren’t the only people who’d be hurt, if someone wasn’t okay with it.

“Well,” Eddie said. “Will said Jonathan knows about him and was cool about it.”

“He probably already knows about us, honestly,” Steve admitted. “We were kinda slow dancing in his kitchen.” Robin groaned again, here. “And Dustin and Max are Dustin and Max, they’re not gonna cut us out over this. Erica will probably brag about how she’s somehow known for longer than even we knew, because she’s smarter than all of us.”

“Gareth and Petey and Jeff are morons, but they’re not hateful morons, you know? They’ll be chill. They’ll probably be more pissed you’re a jock than a man.” Eddie said. Then he tapped his chin, thoughtfully. “I don’t know Chrissy that well, but she doesn’t seem nearly as religious as Jason was, in the end. And hey, if it’s a problem for her, she can just leave, you know?”

“And Barb definitely won’t care.”

“Barb’s coming?” Robin squeaked.

Steve had called her earlier in the day to invite her, part of his devious meddling in Robin’s love life plan. “Oh, did I not mention?” he said, all faux-innocent.

Robin actually snarled at him. “Harrington, I am going to claw your throat out with my teeth.”

“Kinky,” Eddie quipped, with a grin.

“I hate you both,” Robin said, slumping against the fridge. “Completely and totally despise you.” And then, with a sigh, “so that’s everyone except Mike and Lucas accounted for.”

“Mike knows about Will, and he was more upset Will would hate him then he seemed concerned about the gay thing,” Steve pointed out.

“And Lucas is so whipped for Max that he’ll do whatever she tells him to,” Eddie said. Steve smacked his arm. “And also he hero worships the ground Stevie walks on, and isn’t going to be deterred from that by the whole sucks cock thing.”

Which, of course, caused both Steve and Robin to go bright red, Robin screaming “ugh, Eddie, gross, gross, gross,” while Steve just dropped his head into his hands to try and hide his blush.

When they’d recovered, Steve cleared his throat. “So, okay. We all feel pretty good none of them will be upset that we’re, you know. Into men. Or women,” he added, gesturing at Robin. “That’s good.”

“Honestly,” Eddie said, “I think they’ll be more grossed out that we’re into each other. Dustin, especially.”

“It’s like his brothers have started dating,” Robin added.

“Ugh, dude,” Steve groaned, “don’t say it that way.”

“He’ll be pissed we didn’t tell him first,” Eddie said. “Right? I mean, he’s so nosy, he hates not being the first person to figure something out.”

“Yeah, but I think he’ll understand why I had to tell Hopper and Joyce first, right? And then El and Will were sort of . . . accidents that happened, along the way.” Steve frowned at his own hands. “You think he’ll really be mad?” It hadn’t actually occurred to him that Dustin might care about the order in which people were told. But now that he thought about it, Dustin had hit him with we don’t keep secrets a few days ago. Maybe Steve had gone about this all wrong. Maybe he should have gone to Dustin first?

Robin chucked the tab of her soda can at him, hitting him square in the forehead. “He’s not gonna be mad,” she said, firmly. “He might be a brat about it, because that’s what he is, but he won’t be mad. And he’ll get over anything weird he feels about you two being together. Hell, he’ll probably realize it’s a huge benefit sooner rather than later and start inviting himself on all your dates.”

Steve pointed at her. “I thought the same thing at the arcade!”

“Ah,” Eddie said, sagely. “So that’s why you told Hopper and Joyce first.” Which caused Steve to shove him, as all three of them descended into stupid laughter.

There was a knock on the door, breaking them out of their moment. They all stood, suddenly quiet, looking at one another.

“Well,” Steve said, after a beat. “Game time, then.”

“Game time,” Robin agreed.

Eddie moved to let the kids in and get the session going.

It was, as usual, chaos immediately. Lucas and Erica entered already snipping at each other about something. Max, who was holding Lucas’s hand, was rolling her eyes at the both of them. Steve caught her eye, glanced at their hands, and then met her eye again, eyebrow raised. She scowled at him, sticking her tounge out, and he chuckled.

Mike, Will, and Dustin were talking animatedly, seemingly trying to guess what Eddie’s plan for the new campaign would be. El stood next to Will, frowning thoughtfully at the conversation like she was listening, but not actually adding anything. She sent Steve a little wave and a smile when she noticed him looking.

Behind them, more subdued, were Gareth, Jeff, and Petey. The Hellfire boys had never really gotten used to the idea that they were having D&D in a place where Steve Harrington lived, even if it was far from his infamous house. Steve tried to be nice and disarming, but the more disarming he was the less they seemed to totally trust him. Eddie had shrugged and said they’ll get it over it the one night Steve had brought it up, so he supposed he just had to trust that was true.

It seemed that things were even weirder for them tonight, though, if the side looks Gareth kept giving Chrissy Cunningham, entering just behind him, were any indication. Chrissy was talking lightly with Barb. Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle were at the back of the pack, Nancy watching the two women talk with a twist of amusement like she, too, could not quite believe it was happening.

Gareth met Eddie’s eye and then moved his head back, just a little, gesturing vaguely at Chrissy as if to silently ask dude, why the fuck is the head cheerleader at D&D?

Jeff, apparently not getting the hint that this was meant to be a silent conversation, said, “I mean, she’s here for Harrington, right?”

Behind him Robin choked audibly on her Coke. Steve glared at her while Eddie rolled his eyes. “Don’t be Neanderthals, boys, Chrissy’s not here for anything but her own enjoyment. And,” and here he paused, all drama, “because I invited her.”

“You?” Gareth asked, voice pure disbelief.

“We have therapy together,” Chrissy offered, with a small smile. “Me and Eddie and Steve and Barb. And, yes, Eddie invited me. I’ve never really done anything like this before, but, well,” she wrinkled her nose, a little, “I think I might need some new friends.”

She’d said as much at therapy, the other night. It wasn’t that her friends were vapid, or boring, or anything like that. It was that they just didn’t really understand her, anymore. Death had changed Chrissy, in a really fundamental way. And Vecna’s visions had shifted her priorities, the things she thought about herself. She’d cut off her mother, like Steve had his father, and she was still keeping distance from Jason, not quite able to forgive him for the things he’d said to her even if she understood they weren’t totally his fault. It made sense, Steve thought, to fold her into this ragtag group they had going on. All the trauma and all the violence had made them understanding, at the very least, willing to offer a hand when needed and unlikely to judge you for being slightly less than normal.

Jeff and Petey both still looked like the whole thing was baffling. Gareth, however, had shifted to mostly blushing a bit at Chrissy, clearly caught out and realizing he was being a bit rude. (And to a very pretty girl, no less.) “Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to say you couldn’t be friends with Eddie, just . . . it’s kind of . . . odd.” He frowned at Eddie, now. “Like, Munson in a room with Chrissy Cunningham at Steve Harrington’s apartment? It sounds like a Mad Libs, man.”

“Stranger things have happened, Gareth, I assure you,” Eddie said, and his smile was sharp when he said it, voice dropping into the bad guy voice he used so often in sessions.

God, Steve wanted to kiss him, the massive dork.

Everyone moved to the living room. Steve had pulled the dining room table in there, too, and the group gathered between that and the coffee table, sprawling in chairs, the couch, and a few of them plopping straight down on the ground. It was a tight fit, all around, a massive group in a fairly tiny little living room, but no one seemed to mind the closeness, too much — at least not not those among them who’d fought monsters together, anyway.

“So,” Barb said, letting her voice drawl, a little. “D&D, huh, Harrington? You’ve gone full dweeb on us.”

“Steve just hosts,” Dustin said, with an eye roll. “He’s a control freak who hates to let us out of his sight, but he refuses to actually play.”

“Actually,” Eddie cut in, “Steve’s agreed to join the new campaign.”

There was exactly ten seconds of stunned silence before everyone in the room started speaking at once.

“What?” Dustin shrieked, at what Steve figured must be the highest pitch possible still audible to humans.

“What the hell, you can’t just invite Steve to our game—” Mike was bitching, at the same time.

Lucas and Will, meanwhile, had bent their heads together. “Probably a fighter, right?” Will was asking.

“Or a ranger,” Lucas agreed, “which shouldn’t change our configuration too much, but maybe we ought to stock up on potions at the first chance to make up for his tanking.”

“I’ll prepare a bunch of healing spells for the first few sessions until he gets the hang of it,” Will said, confirming that Will and Lucas really ought to be Steve’s favorites, and not Henderson, the ungrateful bastard.

Erica was making a face like she’d smelled something awful. “This group is already so heavy on the dumbassery,” she said, “I’m not really sure we can handle another one.”

“Steve Harrington is playing D&D,” Gareth said, in a completely flat tone of voice. He turned to Petey. “Dude, can you pinch me or something? This is a dream, right? What the fuck is happening right now?”

“Damn, Steve,” Jonathan said, loose and joking. “Eddie must have some real blackmail on you.” Which meant Johnathan had absolutely figured out what was happening between them and was now just openly mocking Steve about it.

“Can it, Byers,” Steve said, not unkindly.

“No, it’s a good question,” Max said back. “Did you say something really weird in therapy and now you need to make sure Eddie never tells anyone? Or did he threaten you with violence or something?”

“Everybody SHUT UP!” Dustin shouted, again in a terrible pitch. It was loud enough that everyone did, actually, shut up. He pointed an accusing finger at Eddie, and then one at Steve. “You both tell us what’s going on right now. You’ve been weird for days, and now suddenly Steve’s playing D&D? After years of flat out refusal that not even my best puppy dog eyes could break through? And Eddie’s guitar is here?”

Oh, shit. Sure enough, it was leaning against the living room wall, instead of in it’s now usual place in the bedroom. Whoops.

“What the hell is happening?” Dustin demanded.

Steve looked at Eddie. Eddie looked at Steve. Steve raised an eyebrow, and Eddie shrugged, like might as well, right?

“Oh god,” Robin said, miserably, “it cannot be game time right now, can it?”

“Game time?” Lucas asked.

“What the hell are any of you talking about?” Dustin demanded.

Steve opened his mouth to reply — to say something like well, Eddie and I have some news. But before he could, Eddie just blurted, “Steve and I are dating,” very loudly and in a single breath so it was all almost one word.

There was silence, again. For a little longer than ten seconds this time.

“Oh my god,” Jonathan said, a strange, delighted smile on his face. “I was right?”

Nancy sent a totally shocked look his way. “You knew?”

“They were being, like, really weird in my kitchen yesterday,” Jonathan said.

“We were dancing,” Argyle confirmed. “Munson has some smooth moves, man, did a little romantic dip and everything. Respect to you for snagging that, Harrington.”

Amazing how Argyle could manage to be both so weird and so nice. Steve really had to admire it. “Thanks, dude,” he said.

Realization crossed Jonathan’s face, “wait, oh my god, that’s why you took my mom outside to talk, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, man,” Steve said.

“Mom knows?” Will asked, very small. “And she’s . . . she’s alright with it?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, softly. “She’s more than alright with it.”

“Oh,” Will said.

“Hopper too,” El added.

“Hopper knows?” Will said, shock on his face. And then, “wait, did you know?” El nodded, a little sheepishly.

“I overheard,” she admitted. “But Steve told me he should be the one to tell you all.” She cut a little look to Will. "You knew, too," she said, not a question.

Will blushed. "Yeah, but I, uh . . ." he looked a bit uncomfortable. "Guessed?"

Everyone let that one slide, cutting the kid some slack.

“Wait,” Lucas cut in, waving his hands. “But. . . Steve’s not gay.” He frowned at Steve, looking him up and down as if he could see, somewhere, if a part of Steve had likes men written on it and he’d just been missing it, this whole time. “Are you gay?”

“Steve’s not gay,” Nancy said, flatly, but her face was all amusement. Barb snorted a laugh, which Nancy lit up at.

“I still like women,” Steve confirmed. “I just also like men.”

“You can like both?” Lucas looked completely shocked, but also like he looked sometimes during this dumb game, when someone else solved the puzzle he’d been struggling with, a solution he hadn’t known possible opening up in front of him—

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh!” Steve said. “No, yeah, dude. Of course you can like both. There’s not, like, rules.”

“And if there were rules, it’s incredibly cool and anti-authoritarian to break them,” Eddie added. “Fight the power, etcetera.”

“Huh,” Lucas said, softly, eyes glazing to the middle distance. Max took his hand, squeezing just once and flashing him a reassuring smile, which he echoed back at her.

And which she then ruined, immediately, by saying, “this explains why you kept talking about Steve’s shorts so much.”

“Max!” Lucas yelled, embarrassed.

“My shorts? What shorts?”

“Ah, the slutty red ones?” Eddie asked, sagely. Max nodded, and Lucas looked even more horrified. “You got good taste, Sinclair.”

“This is going down in my Lucas blackmail folder,” Erica said, and then actually wrote something down in her notebook, which made Steve concerned the folder was real, and not just a thing she said. Jesus, poor Lucas.

“Can we please stop talking about my shorts?” he cut in, half a whine. “They’re just normal basketball shorts, my god.”

“They’re not,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “They show off an amount of thigh that would make even the strongest amongst us blush, Stevie.”

“It’s sort of impressive,” Max added. “I’ve never known someone who could make a thigh so scandalous looking. A bodice ripper of a thigh.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said, but he said it was a distressingly dreamy sounding sigh, which, oh god. He’d forgotten that all his babysitting duties aside, these were just normal, horny teenagers he hung out with. Ugh, gross.

“Seriously, we’re never talking about the shorts again,” he said, rubbing at his temples.

“STEVE HARRINGTON?” Gareth actually shouted, suddenly, like he was just now registering what was happening. “You? And Steve Harrington!” He pointed between the two of them, over and over again. “This can’t be real. Seriously, Jeff, Petey, one of you pinch me. Eddie is dating STEVE HARRINGTON.”

“I felt the same way at first,” Eddie said. “But it turns out ol’ Stevie here is actually not that cool, in the end. He’s, like, really into nerd talk.”

“Oh my god the X-Men thing,” Lucas said, mouth dropping open. “Oh my god you guys were flirting! Over the X-Men!”

“This is cute,” Chrissy said, a bright smile on her face. “Confusing! And very loud. But cute.” She beamed at both of them. “I always thought it was nice how much you had each other’s back at therapy. It’s sweet, I think you’re good together.”

“Thanks, Chrissy,” Steve said, really meaning it.

“Wait,” Dustin said. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” He was rubbing at his temples. “You’re dating. You’re dating. You. Are. Dating.” It was like if he kept repeating it it would suddenly make sense, in his mind.

“This is the same way he solves D&D puzzles,” Eddie said. “Let him say it a few more times.”

“No,” Dustin said, “no, I got it now.” He sent a very serious look to Steve. “Are you happy?”

Not the question Steve had been expecting, if he was being honest, but he supposed it was a fair one. “Yeah, man. Yeah, I’m really happy.”

Dustin nodded. Then, to Eddie, “and you’re happy?”

Eddie smiled, softly, first at Dustin and then at Steve. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m really fucking happy, Henderson.”

Dustin nodded a second time. “Great. Okay. Awesome. That’s great, and I am really genuinely happy for both of you, even if you will have to take me to the movies for free to make up for the fact that both Will and El knew before me, despite the universal truth being that I am your favorite. I forgive you for that but you’ll need to buy me an Ice-E to make sure I forgive you. Now,” he sighed dramatically, “we have to set some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” Steve asked.

“Do you have a jar? I need a jar.” When he was met with blank stares from Steve and Eddie, Dustin rolled his eyes and turned to Robin. “Does he have a jar? An empty jar.”

“Yeah, probably,” Robin said, slowly. “Why?”

Dustin pointed an accusing finger at Steve. “A dollar in the jar any time either of you flirt with each other during D&D. We use it to fund the pizza we buy at these sessions.”

“Steve already buys the pizza at these things,” Max said, rolling her eyes. “Why are you adding an extra layer of jar to the equation?”

“Hm,” Dustin conceded. “That’s a fair point.”

“I’m a lesbian,” Robin blurted, abruptly. This, too, was met with a moment of silence. “Sorry,” she said into it, “I just . . . if we’re doing big reveals. Thought I should mention.”

“And you felt the best moment was right after Dustin started demanding jars?” Steve said back.

“Screw you, Harrington, I panicked!” she hissed at him.

“Oh my god” Dustin said, smacking his head with his hand. “I’m so dumb, that makes so much sense! No wonder you two always hated it when I’d tell you to date.”

“You really are dumb,” Erica agreed, cheerfully.

“Me too,” Barb said. “The, uh, lesbian thing, not the dumb thing. Although,” she said, considering, “I guess I must be kind of dumb if I hang out with all of you.”

Again, who could ever have anticipated that Barb could be so mean? Steve kind of loved it, though.

“Oh,” Nancy said, very softly. She sent a sad look Barb’s way.

“Yeah,” Barb said, with her own sad smile. “I got over it.”

“I’m sorry,” Nancy said back.

“It’s not your fault,” Barb reassured her. “I promise.”

“That’s so cool!” Robin blurted. “That you’re — I mean that we’re both — I mean, that it’s — I’m going to shut up now.”

Barb just laughed, pressing her hand against her mouth as she did so. Robin flushed bright red.

“I still think we need some sort of monetary punishment if we have to watch them flirt,” Dustin muttered.

Then, suddenly, there was a giant noise — Mike Wheeler standing up so abruptly his chair clattered to the ground.

Once again, everyone shut up.

Steve was, briefly, taken aback. He realized, for the first time, that Mike had stayed totally silent while everyone else was registering the information and talking over each other. It was the first noise he’d made since Eddie had dropped the bombshell. Will’s eyes grew wide and horrified. Eddie let a small frown fall on his face, and Jonathan was fully scowling at the kid.

Who seemed angry, fists clenched and fuming, but Steve knew better. There was no way Mike Wheeler was a homophobe. So what was happening?

And then Mike launched himself at Steve. Eddie and Jonathan both moved, like they were going to intercept a punch (hilarious, really, because Steve had taken a million of those before from much scarier people than Mike Wheeler). Steve just opened his arms and let Mike fall into them. The kid buried his face in Steve’s shoulder and let out a single, choked sounding sob.

“This never fucking happened,” Mike snarled, voice wet and snotty. To Steve, sure, but to the room at large, he thought. Then the kid pulled away and said, face all twisted in a horrible mix of sadness and joy and a bunch of other, unnameable teenaged emotions, “I’m really glad you’re not fucking dead, Steve.” He put his forehead back on Steve’s shoulder and let out another little sob.

Steve hugged him, arms around his shoulders, just gently. Across the room Nancy had put a hand to her mouth, and her own eyes were wet with tears, although she was smiling, behind her hand. He could tell.

“Still here,” Steve said. “Got the happy ending and everything.”

After a moment, Mike pulled away and scrubbed furiously at his eyes. And then he pointed a serious finger at Steve. “Don’t fuck it up. Eddie is a million times cooler than you will ever be, and you’re lucky he even speaks to you at all.” Then, switching the finger to point at Eddie, “and you don’t fuck it up either. We all owe Steve our lives like three times over and will do terrible shit if you break him, or whatever.” He cast another glare around the room, lingering for a long time on Max and Will, who were both absolutely hiding smiles behind their hands, and snapped, “this never happened,” again at them, before he stomped out.

Nancy cleared her throat and gestured after him. “I got it,” she said. “Big sister duties.” And then she shot Steve a big, wide smile. “Congrats, you two. I really am happy for you both. We’ll be back in a minute.” She darted out the room after Mike.

There was a moment of silence, after they left the room. “I guess,” Erica said, sounding very put out about it, “none of us really said congratulations.”

“I said I was happy for them,” Dustin defended.

“Yeah, after you threatened to make them pay you for flirting,” Will said, rolling his eyes.

“Listen, you don’t know them like I do, Will,” Dustin said. “Steve’s going to try and seduce every single bad guy we run into just to make Eddie blush with his terrible pickup lines and that thing where he runs his hand through his hair to look alluring.”

“Hey!” Steve cut in, deeply mortified.

“And,” Dustin continued, undeterred, “I would bet any amount of money that Eddie has already written in some dark-haired, mysterious bard to try and seduce Steve’s character that he thinks we all won’t notice even though it’s incredibly obvious.”

“That’s fair,” Gareth said. “This actually makes Ser Hartford make a lot more sense.”

“Oh my god,” Lucas said, eyes going wide again, “Ser Hartford was Steve?”

“Who’s Ser Hartford?” Steve asked.

Eddie had gone bright red. “No one.”

“The most handsome knight in the realm, with flowing hair and a heart of gold,” Petey said, genuinely sounding at least a little heart-struck. “We met him in the last campaign. He was in exile because he’d learned the kingdom was corrupt and abandoned his post to fight for good. In the end he sacrificed himself to save our asses.”

“Art imitates life, huh?” Max asked, dry.

“You made a character based on me?” Steve said, giddy. And then, just ‘cause he knew it’d piss off Dustin, “aww, babe.”

The kids all made varying noises of digust, except for Will, who smiled brightly, and El, who giggled behind her hand. Chrissy was also laughing, bright and loud, happier than Steve thought he’d ever heard her. “You guys are funny,” she said, sounding truly delighted.

Mike and Nancy returned, Mike’s eyes slightly red rimmed but no longer wet. “Sorry,” he said, with a shrug, like nothing had happened.

“It’s okay,” Max said back, “but if you show that much emotion ever again we’re going to make fun of you until you die.”

Mike scowled. “You do that anyway.”

“Are we ever actually going to play D&D, or are we gonna sit around all night talking about Steve and Eddie being in true love or whatever?” Erica bitched. “Because I came here to play D&D. Just saying.”

“Lady Applejack has spoken,” Eddie said, clapping his hands together. “It’s time for the game. Chrissy, Steve, I know you’re both new to this, so do feel free to ask questions.”

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna go easy on Steve just cause he’s your boyfriend now,” Mike said, half a sneer. “You’re losing your edge, man.”

Eddie’s smile turned downright evil. “I said they can ask questions Wheeler, not that I’d go easy on them.”

“You’re not going to go easy on me?” Steve asked. Eddie shrugged, offering a small apologetic smile. “Christ. Why did I agree to this again?”

“I think it’s ‘cause you’re whipped, man,” Max said.

Steve groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “I hate you all so much.”

“Nah, you don’t,” Eddie said, pressing a kiss into his cheek. The kids did not, surprisingly, protest this. Instead, for the most part, they all looked sort of happy to see it. That same face Hopper had at breakfast the other day — the warm feeling of knowing someone you loved was happy, really happy. Which, Steve supposed, none of them had really been in awhile. “Now come on, Harrington,” Eddie said, easily, waggling his eyebrows. “I’ll let you use my dice.” He managed to make it sound filthy somehow, and Steve could feel himself blush in response.

“Oh gross,” Mike snapped.

“Dollar in the jar!” Dustin screeched.

Robin just burst into laughter, which caught across the room, and soon all of them had devolved into truly stupid little giggles. And it was like everything was normal, really, and there hadn’t been any major news at all.

Notes:

the most unrealistic thing i've ever put into this fic is a moment where everyone arrives for a group hangout at the same time, and on time. that has never happened in the history of ever.

i love to use the fanfic "oh. oh." in non-traditional ways, also.

chapter title is a common d&d term, for the "planning session" of a new campaign.

Chapter 33: we never thought we'd get older

Summary:

It's Steve's Birthday. There's much rejoicing (and a couple of shovel talks).

Notes:

i'm pretty sure that somewhere in canon steve's birthday is stated as being in april but you're gonna pull "august leo steve harrington" out of my cold, dead, hands, you got it?

Steve thought things might be different after D&D. Not bad different, just different different. The kids more reluctant to come over or invite him and Eddie, or more awkward around them. But everything went on like normal.

Except that Dustin did keep needling his ways into Steve and Eddie’s dates, partially by sneering that they barely counted as dates in the first place since they weren’t romantic. He was not deterred by their point that two men going on a romantic date in Hawkins wasn’t exactly possible.

“Romance is always possible, if you try hard enough,” Dustin had said, sounding weirdly bitter about it. Steve had made a mental note to check in on that later.

(The kid did get him to try something a little more romantic. Granted, it was just dinner at their apartment, but he’d consulted Joyce for meal ideas and lit a bunch of candles and bought flowers and Eddie had made a face like he was going to melt when he saw it all. So, worth it.)

Time passed again, August slipping by in a blur of boring shifts at work, movie nights with Eddie and Robin and Barb, now—

(Robin and Barb had vanished, partway through D&D, and returned a while later with Robin’s hair very suspiciously messy. Steve had just high fived her and let her spend the entire next work day ranting about how beautiful Barb was and how smart and how funny and what a good kisser and maybe she should go to IU? He did put on Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome in retaliation, though Robin was so caught up she didn’t even notice, and also Steve knew she secretly found Tina Turner hot because — duh.)

—so, yes, Barb was now part of this weird thing where they sort of double dated and let the people around them try to guess who was with who, knowing that no matter what they thought they were almost certainly wrong. Which was fun, really. Sometimes Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle joined in, and sometimes Chrissy showed up, and the Hellfire boys, now apparently firmly in the pro-Steve camp. It was the first time in a long time (perhaps ever?) that Steve had so many friends his own age, and he didn’t really know what to do with it except feel stupidly pleased about the fact.

The government did get Billy back into town, too, under the cover of night, which he learned from Max, one day, all of them hanging around aimlessly at the park.

“I don’t think I’m ready to see him,” she’d admitted, barely a whisper.

“That’s okay,” Steve had said back.

“My mom says . . . my mom says he’s different. But I’m still not . . .”

“You’ll be ready when you’re ready,” Steve said, firm. “Or you won’t ever be ready. Either way it’s okay, Max. I promise.”

She’d looked at him, a bit skeptical, but said, “sure, okay,” and let it drop regardless.

He did not hear from his parents.

(He didn’t want to hear from his parents, he insisted, but there were still times when realizing that they hadn’t called suddenly made him emotional. Usually only in therapy or alone in bed in the dark with Eddie.)

He and Eddie were good, though, everything else aside. The dates were good, and the normal nights were good, and the sex was—

Well, to be honest, Steve hadn’t actually known sex could be that good, which was sort of mortifying to admit out loud but which made Eddie preen like an idiot. It turned out there were lots of fascinating parts of his body Steve had never bothered exploring, but that Eddie was very, very eager to explore. So. That was fun, really.

Which was all to say that things were going well, and time was passing, and suddenly Steve woke up one morning and emerged to find Eddie in the kitchen, having actually successfully made pancakes.

“What’s the occasion?” Steve asked, dumbly.

Eddie frowned at him, just a little downquirk of his lips. “Stevie, baby. It’s your birthday.”

Oh.

August 16th had snuck up on him. But also, “how do you even know that?” Steve asked. “Did Robin tell you?” He’d tried to let his birthday pass without notice after Starcourt, still smarting from his wounds, but Dustin had told Robin and the two of them had shown up at his house demanding to use his pool. Lucas and Erica had arrived eventually, too, but that had been it. The Byers and El had gone to California, which Mike was licking his wounds about, and Max had still been avoiding all of them, post-Billy’s death. It had been a weirdly somber affair, for a pool party, but it’d also been admittedly nice, to not spend the entire day alone.

(His mother had called, a day late, and said she’d been thrown off by the time zones. He’d accepted it, because at least she’d called, in the end.)

“Robin didn’t tell me,” Eddie said, smiling. “I remembered. I woke up this morning, I looked at your wonderful, sleeping face, and I thought today is this beautiful bastard’s birthday. Which means officially my memory is apparently better than yours, even without the concussions.”

“I didn’t forget,” Steve said, with an eye roll. “I just didn’t realize what today was. August is sort of,” he gestured, vaguely, “a mishmash, you know? My brain melts out of my ears.”

“Sure,” Eddie said, easily enough, even though a part of Steve thought he didn’t quite buy it. “So, what do you want to do after work, big boy?”

Steve shrugged, uncomfortable, suddenly, with the full force of attention (even though, usually, Eddie’s attention always felt good. Sunlight, like Eddie had said about Steve, a few weeks ago.) “I’m not really one of those people who makes a big deal about birthdays, you know?”

Eddie turned away from the stove, leaned back against the counter, and crossed his arms. He leveled Steve with a look, like Steve was a book Eddie could read in about ten seconds flat. “You don’t like to make a deal about birthdays, or no one ever bothered to make a big deal about your birthday?” he asked.

Damn. That was cutting. “How the hell did you do that?” Steve said, half embarrassed and half impressed. “It’s like you body swapped with Morana, or something.”

“You forget,” Eddie said, adopting the wise old man voice he used from time to time in D&D games, “that I, too, had a shitty dad.” He dropped the voice and shrugged, loosely. “When my mom was alive birthdays were awesome, but my dad didn’t even remember the one birthday I had when I was in his care, before Wayne. Gave me a Twinkie, like, a week later as a semi-apology.”

Steve sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “My mom will probably call,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “I’m . . . not sure what to do about that.”

“Let it go to voicemail,” Eddie suggested, gently. “In fact — look, why don’t I pick you up from work and we go for a drive, or something? You don’t have to be home to take the call, so she’ll have to leave a voicemail. Saves you having to make a choice at all. And then you can decide if you want to call her back tomorrow.” He paused. “I want you to have a good birthday, Steve. You deserve it. I mean . . . you made it another year around the sun.”

Jesus. Steve hadn’t even thought about it that way. He’d lived to be 21. He’d died a month and a half ago, and yet here he was, somehow, celebrating another birthday. It did seem worth celebrating, suddenly, even if Steve had less than no idea how to except giant house party where only a couple people even realized it was your birthday or semi-mournful pool day.

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah, let’s go for a drive. Although you picking me up means you’re also dropping me off, which seems like a waste of a perfectly good couple hours of your day off.”

“I already woke up to make you breakfast,” Eddie said, reasonably. “Not like I was gonna sleep in. And, again, it’s your birthday. I wish only to lavish you with affection and gifts today.”

“There are gifts?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

“There are pancakes,” Eddie murmurred, but he was smiling like he had a secret Steve couldn’t begin to guess. “And free rides. Don’t go asking for too much, Stevie.”

“From you? Never,” Steve said.

The pancakes were delicious, actually, not burnt at all. “Check it out!” Eddie said, bright. “I’m learning!” And Steve had just laughed and let Eddie serve him two too many.

---

Work was a slog. Robin was off — a bit surprising, Steve thought, that she’d gotten his birthday off and hadn’t bugged him to also take it off, but, whatever. August really was a mess, he couldn’t blame her if the heat had murdered her brain too and she’d just forgotten. He hoped, suddenly, that Eddie had thought to tell Robin and Dustin they were going out for a drive tonight. It would be pretty rude to show back up and find the two of them outside their apartment building, expecting to hang out, or something.

Steve passed the time waiting for his shift to end by reorganizing tapes that didn’t need to be reorganized and trying (and failing) to make small talk with Keith.

It was a relief, really, when Eddie’s van screeched into the parking lot. Steve practically bolted, not waiting for Keith to try and get him to stay to do ten more minutes of stupid busywork.

It was 6pm, by the end of his shift, the sun just starting to set in the summer heat and shining brutally upon them. Eddie had tossed on a shockingly respectable outfit, for him — meaning it was a plain black shirt with no holes in it. “What’s the occasion?” Steve asked, joking, as he climbed into the passenger seat.

Eddie rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh. “Fool me twice, shame on me,” he said. Then he reached back and tossed a shirt at Steve — one of Steve’s favorites, actually, the HAWKINS MIDDLE SCHOOL FUN FAIR shirt that Eddie had accidentally put on all those weeks ago and that turned out to be soft and well worn.

“I smell or something?” Steve asked, gamely stripping off his current shirt to change anyway.

“Look,” Eddie said, giving him an apologetic little glance. “I know you don’t love surprises, so I’m going to let the cat out of the bag now and tell you we are not going for a drive.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t make plans for your birthday, Stevie, really,” he continued, grinning. And then, “okay, actually, I can believe that, but you should have figured Robin and Dustin would make plans either way.”

“So you gonna tell me where we are going?” He glanced down at his outfit. “Can’t be that nice if this makes the cut.”

“It’s nothing crazy,” Eddie said, reassuring, getting the car into gear and out of the lot. “But you’ll have to wait to see until we get there.”

Steve did as he was told, listening contently as Eddie hummed along to a cassette he was playing.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, really, by the route they took, but he still felt a little jolt when they pulled outside of Hopper’s cabin. There were cars out front too, besides Hopper’s — Joyce’s and Nancy’s. And three he didn’t recognize, which was wild to think about, too.

“Surprise,” Eddie said, doing a little movement with his hands. “So it turns out Robin and I were planning a surprise party for you, in this timeline, with the kids. But, you know, we talked and . . . like I said, I know you’re not crazy about surprises.”

“They do tend to make me panic these days,” Steve said, voice quiet. “I always wanted a surprise party when I was a kid, though.” He didn’t say that he wanted the surprise to be his parents caring about his birthday, and knowing who all his friends were, and putting in a big effort, because it was obvious and because if he had to say it might make him cry.

“I say they’re overrated,” Eddie said, gently. “Besides, then you spend all day thinking your friends, like, forgot your birthday.” A look of sudden horror crossed his face. “Shit, wait, you didn’t think everyone forgot, did you?”

Steve laughed. “No. Like I said, I don’t usually make a huge deal about it. Dustin bullied the date out of me once, so he knows, and he told Robin, but I’m not sure I ever bothered telling Joyce or Hopper.”

“Well they know now,” Eddie said.

“So what’s with the new shirt?” Steve asked, after a moment, still not quite ready to go in.

Eddie shrugged. “Wanted you to be in something that made you feel comfortable. It’s just us, really, with some special guests — the Hellfire guys insisted on coming, and Barb and Chrissy are here. And, uh, Wayne.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarassed. “Said he couldn’t miss my boy’s birthday.”

“Am I your boy, now?” Steve asked, teasing.

“I like to think we’re each other’s boys, really,” Eddie said back. And then a bit softer. “Look, no one — no one will be mad, if you go when you want to go. Everyone wants to see you and celebrate you, but I know you said you don’t really celebrate, and I don’t want to force it on you if it’s . . . not fun, or too much—”

“Eddie,” Steve said, cutting him off. “This is . . . it’s exactly what I would have wanted to do on my birthday. I just . . . I never really knew how to ask for it.”

“Well you didn’t have to,” Eddie said. “Happy birthday.”

Steve leaned forward to press a soft kiss against his lips. “It’s a good gift,” he said, when they broke apart.

“Oh, this isn’t your gift either,” Eddie said, easily. “But you’re not getting that until later.”

“You’re killing me here, with anticipation,” Steve groaned, and Eddie waggled this eyebrows like that was the point as they got out of the car.

Inside, everyone did still yell SURPRISE, even though the surprise had been ruined by the sheer fact of their cars. Still, when gathered in the small space of Hopper’s cabin it was shocking to Steve, how many people he had, now, who cared about him enough to do this. Sure, his house parties were more populated, and everyone there knew his name, but it wasn’t like this.

Hop had sucked it up and bought two racks of Miller High Life (and also immediately forced Steve to do a shot of tequila as his “first real drink,” which caused even Joyce to roll her eyes and go “oh please.”) El and Will had baked him a cake, which they had decorated with bright pink frosting and the words LIVED ANOTHER YEAR, BABY, which stupidly brought tears to his eyes. (The kids had them too, if he looked close, but he decided not to, really. For their sakes.)

That didn’t even count the gifts, which everyone had gotten him and which Joyce eventually starting piling on a table. There was the scrapbook Robin had made and told him about at the start of his bisexual panic, filled with more pictures than Steve would have thought possible. There was a mixtape from Max called “MUSIC TO SAVE THE WORLD TO,” which featured both Kate Bush and Master of Puppets. Lucas had made Steve a t-shirt that said PROUD BASKETBALL DAD to wear to his games, which made Steve nearly double over in laughter. The Hellfire boys handed him his own Hellfire shirt, which had made Eddie turn a truly hilarious shade of red that Steve filed away for later. Hopper got him an IOU for Bulls tickets in Chicago and a promise to drive up for a game, and Joyce had written a bunch of her recipies down in a journal; the second half left blank so he could “make his own,” which, again, almost made him cry.

It was Dustin’s gift, though, that actually made him cry. The kid dragged him out to Nancy’s car, because it was stowed in the trunk for “reasons that will become apparent when you see it.”

It was a baseball bat, studded with nails. Dustin had written THE BABYSITTER on the handle, in black sharpie.

Steve just stared at it, for a long moment, tears in his eyes and caught in his throat.

“I know,” Dustin said, “there’s no monsters, anymore. But I thought it might make you feel better to have one on hand, you know? And also . . .” he scrubbed at his head, awkwardly. “It’s weird, but it’s kind of a good memory, for me? You in the junkyard, in that dumb outfit, with the bat. It’s when we became friends.”

“It’s a good memory for me too,” Steve admitted. “I told Morana the other day — you know, everyone in my life had conditions for love until you. You were the first friend I ever really had, man.”

“That’s so pathetic,” Dustin said, but his eyes were wet, too, and he moved to hug Steve, tightly.

“I’m gonna look so insane with this in Chicago,” Steve said, after they’d broken apart and gone to stash the bat in Eddie’s van instead.

“You’d look insane anyway,” Dustin scoffed. He wasn’t immediately moving to re-enter the house though, so Steve lingered, too, waiting for the kid to say whatever was clearly on his mind. “Look, okay, the reason I harped on you so much about your love life—” he started.

“Dustin,” Steve said, “it’s okay, really. I know it came from a good place. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away about Eddie, it was just . . . kind of scary.”

“No, I know,” Dustin said with a sigh. “And look, me being worried about you being lonely was the reason I bugged you so much about it, before. But after the timeline merge . . . the reasons I made the Operation and stuff, even after you told me to lay off.” He heaved a massive sigh. “In this timeline, I’m not dating Suzie.”

Steve blinked, shocked. “Shit. Wait, what? Dustin, why didn’t you tell me?”

Dustin let out another huge sigh. “Because you’d died dude, it seemed sort of small potatos in comparison. And, I don’t know. I didn’t want you to think it was your fault, somehow, even though it really, really is not.”

Steve resisted the urge to say I wouldn’t have thought that because it was a lie. He’d spent so long blaming himself for every mismatched thing in this world, and Dustin deserved better than being lied to, by him. Instead, he slung an arm around Dustin’s shoulders and squeezed, just once. “How do you feel?”

“Weird,” Henderson admitted. “And a bit sad. But like . . . it makes sense, right? I still went to genius camp, but it was dumb luck that she ever even tricked her parents into letting her go, so . . . it probably wasn’t going to happen in every timeline.” He kicked at the dirt. “Besides, we’re fifteen. The odds that she was the love of my life were pretty slim in the end, right?”

“I dunno,” Steve said. “Maybe you’ll find her again in this timeline. I didn’t think you and I would be friends in an alternate universe at first, remember?”

“That’s ‘cause you have no faith in yourself, dude,” Dustin said, around a scoff. “You always thought it was the monsters that changed you. But this is who you are, you know? You’d always end up being this person, no matter what.”

Inside the cabin, something shattered, and he could hear Argyle whooping party foul! at the top of his lungs while others laughed.

“I wouldn’t change it,” Dustin said, abruptly. “Even if I knew, when we had to make the choice about what to do next — I’d pick having you in my life over Suzie. You know? You’re my brother, man. That matters more than some girl.”

“You’re mine too, Henderson,” Steve said, and Dustin let himself be pulled into a hug.

When they split apart again, Dustin wiped at his eyes, now even more teary. “Anyway,” he said, with a sniffle. “I guess I thought if I just focused on your love life I could ignore my own, you know? But it turned out I didn’t even need to focus on yours. You guys were just secret dating.”

“To be fair, we only figured it out the day before our little arcade adventure. I was repressing a crush for a very long time.”

Dustin laughed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, that tracks, honestly.” He gave Steve a scrutinizing little look. “Don’t take this the wrong way, because I love you both, but it’s kind of surprising, you know? The dude thing aside — you and Eddie? Just feels like you don’t have anything in common, besides that you both kind of adopted me.”

Steve shrugged. “It’s nice to have things in common with the people you date, but it’s not the only thing. It’s more about how your personalities mesh then if you like all the same movies, you know? I like that Eddie’s enthusiastic, and how much he cares about you guys. I like that he’s a bit weird. I think he’s funny. When we spend time together it’s like . . . it’s effortless, you know? I just always want to be spending time with him. I think that matters more than if I actually liked D&D, in the end.”

Dustin glared at him. “But you did like D&D, didn’t you? I saw you smiling and shit and it wasn’t just because you thought Eddie was cute. You can’t trick me, Steve.”

He held his hands up, surrendering. “Okay, you got me. It was kind of fun. I refuse to understand what the fuck a modifier is, but the actual dicking around in a dungeon bit . . . not so bad.”

“Knew it,” Dustin said, proudly. “You’re a closet nerd at heart.”

“Yeah, yeah, sue me,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. He let the silence hang for a moment between them. “You ready to go back into the party? Don’t have to if you don’t wanna.”

“No, I’m ready.” Dustin shrugged, again. “I just . . . I made a big deal about not keeping secrets, because I was keeping a secret. And I didn’t want to be, anymore.”

“Thanks for telling me, Dust,” Steve said. “It really means a lot.”

“Old age has made you a sap,” Dustin said back, and then bolted for the cabin before Steve could even give him a noogie in relatlation, the bastard.

---

The party continued on. Steve stayed mostly sober — it wasn’t a rager, or anything, not with fifteen year olds and three different parental figures present.

It was interesting, this group of people. Made for interesting combos — like Nancy in a corner, talking about something passionately with Wayne Munson, or Argyle sitting and braiding Chrissy Cunningham’s hair on a couch while Barb and Robin sat on the floor in front of them.

Or Gareth, Petey, and Jeff, barreling up to him about an hour after his chat with Dustin, clearly all a bit drunker than he was. “Look,” Gareth said, face serious. “Look.”

And then he stopped speaking. For like thirty full seconds.

“I’m . . . looking?” Steve said.

“Shit,” Gareth said, frowning at the air in front of his nose. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“Eddie’s our friend,” Jeff cut in.

“Right! Eddie’s our friend,” Gareth continued. “And he seems to . . . really like you, for some reason. Which we sort of knew, before, because it’d always be like, oh, Steve and I drove to the quarry and oh, I went to Family Video to see Steve, and it was a bit like, well, I’m your best friend, you know? What’s Steve got that I don’t?”

“And it turned out the answer was sexiness,” Petey said.

Gareth snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

“Uh,” Steve offered, entirely lost.

“The point,” Jeff said, taking over again, “is that we care about Eddie, man. And you have this whole,” he flapped a hand around the cabin, “weird thing going on with all of these people, none of whom you’re related to—”

Steve allowed himself a moment to impressed that Jeff could still use whom in a sentence while drunk. Steve couldn’t even do that sober.

“—but Eddie just has us, you know?” Jeff finished.

“So while the Chief probably gave him a big speech about not breaking your heart, the only people who can do that for him to you are . . . us,” Gareth finished, frowning in confusion like he knew what he said hadn’t totally made sense.

“So don’t,” Petey said. “Break his heart.”

Steve laughed, genuinely delighted by the turn this had taken. “I don’t plan to,” he admitted. “I’m sort of crazy about the guy, actually.”

“Yeah, man, we can tell,” Gareth said. “You were both so gross during D&D when the other one wasn't looking. All big moon eyes and soft smiles and shit.”

“It’s sweet,” Petey defended. “Like Romancing the Stone.” Which caused the other two boys to wrinkle their noses in distate.

“It’s sweet like something cooler than that,” Jeff said with a huff.

“Just know I’m watching you Harrington,” Gareth finished. “So no . . . funny business.”

Across the room, Eddie yelled, “please stop harassing my boyfriend, I am begging you,” a look of genuine distress on his face.

Steve took the opportunity to slip out of Gareth’s grasp and out back, shooting a little wave to Eddie as he did so, suddenly in need of fresh air and genuinely a bit scared that Petey was about to break into a spirited defense of Romancing the Stone. He wasn’t alone when he got there though; Wayne had slipped out too, at some point, smoking a cigarette.

Damn. He was stuck in the shovel talk rotation, apparently.

Wayne offered Steve a gruff little nod. Steve nodded back.

They two of them stood on the porch in silence for awhile, Wayne occasionally blowing cigarette smoke out into the night air. Then, finally, he said “knew your dad, you know. Real prick.”

Which had not been in the top ten things Steve thought he would say, but he could roll with it. “I’m well aware, trust me.”

Wayne grunted in acknowledgement. Took another drag. “You don’t remind me of him. First time I found you in the graveyard I thought maybe it was you, doing that graffiti. But I saw you — saw how much it hurt you. And I knew. I knew you loved Eddie, same as I did.”

Steve wondered, a bit, if he had loved Eddie back then. If he’d been more aware, more open — more willing to embrace his stupid crush, would he have said something? Kissed Eddie in the RV instead of saddling Nancy with his stupid dream of the future? Would Eddie, maybe, have lived? Have refused to cut the rope and turned back to the gate, all for the promise of a happy ending with Steve?

You made me brave, Steve.

No. Probably not.

And anyway, it was a pointless train of thought. One, because you could never change the past, and two, because in the end it hadn’t mattered. Everyone had lived. No point in wondering about the things you could have done earlier, or differently. And really, Steve wouldn’t trade it. The first kiss, the feeling of it. Steve wouldn’t give it up for a thousand different versions of the same moment. It was too special to him.

“You do love him, yeah?” Wayne was looking at Steve very closely.

“We haven’t really discussed it,” Steve admitted, “but . . . yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.”

“In love,” Wayne said. “Not just love. Interesting.” Steve’s cheeks flamed red, and Wayne chuckled a bit and then nodded, a simple, short thing. “I trust you’ll look after him. And I’ll make sure he looks after you too. How’s that?”

“That’s . . . thank you, Mr. Munson.”

The man shook his head. “Whadda I keep saying, kid? Call me Wayne.” And then he clapped Steve on the shoulder, snuffed his cigarette, and headed back inside.

Steve stayed outside, for a moment longer. Stared at the stars, soft and dim in the sky above him.

He never thought he could have a birthday like this. In his early childhood it had just been a regular day, his mother serving him ice cream with a candle in it at the end. House parties when his parents left him alone, rooms of people loud and bright and desperate to impress him but uncaring about his actual life, about what he loved or wanted. Even after he made real friends, his birthday felt marked by tragedy — the sad pool party of ’85; him and Dustin and Robin at a diner a few towns over in ’86, because most of the places in Hawkins were closed, and Lucas was in Max’s hospital room. If you’d told him at any age before this that he’d be here, in a place filled with people who loved him, he might have laughed.

To be fair, if you’d told him at any point before a few weeks ago that he’d be dating Eddie Munson he would have laughed, too.

As if summoned by Steve’s own brain, Eddie slipped out of the cabin to stand out back with him, closing the door softly behind him. “Saw Wayne come in,” he said, grinning. “He threaten you with a shotgun if you knock me up?”

“He actually thanked me for taking you off his hands,” Steve said back, breezy. “For finally making an honest man out of you.”

Eddie snorted, loudly. “I know that’s not what he said, but it probably is nice to have the place to himself for a bit. No risk of me chipping his beloved Garfield mug while I’m high, anymore.” There was a slight undercurrent to his voice. Almost guilt?

“Hey, Wayne loves having you around, you know that,” Steve said, softly.

Eddie smiled at him, and moved to lean against the same wall Steve was leaning against, pressed together again, shoulder to thigh. Steve moved to twine their hands together, too, because why the hell not? He didn’t need an excuse to touch Eddie, and he always wanted to touch Eddie, and Eddie seemed to enjoy Steve’s touch, if the gentle squeeze he gave their hands was any indication.

“You alright?” Eddie asked, after a moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Just looking at the stars. You know, this might be the best birthday I ever had?”

“Tommy H didn’t hire you a stripper for your 18th or something? That guy really does suck.” Steve knocked their shoulders together at that, while Eddie laughed, loud in the quiet night air. “Just no consideration for your wants as a man, really, what kind of friend is that?” Then he cleared his throat, a slightly nervous look crossing his face. “I, uh, came out here to check on you, but I also thought — might be a nice time to give you your gift.”

Steve grinned. “After all this build up it better be good,” he said.

“It’s really not,” Eddie groaned. “I didn’t even wrap it or anything, I just,” and then he sighed, dramtically, and reached into his back pocket to pull something out and press it into Steve’s hand.

Steve stared at it.

It was a guitar pick, hung on a necklace. The one Eddie wore everyday. The one he’d used to play Master of Puppets in the Upside Down and save all their stupid lives.

“I, uh,” Eddie was saying, while Steve still just stared at the necklace. “I don’t have a class ring or anything, because fuck that shit man, really, but I — this is my lucky pick, you know? Like, one, used it to ward off the demobats, which was awesome. But even before that — I used it the first time we played at the Hideout, and ever since then it’s just been good for me, you know? When I wear it, it’s like . . . good things happen, and the day feels good. Met you when I was wearing it. Which, yes, okay, that didn’t end good, but the heroes all lived and the bats all died and I got to know you, so I can’t really regret anything. And maybe that’s corny, or whatever, but I want . . . I want you to have it, so you can have that feeling, like good things are going to happen to you. And also cause we’re, you know, going steady, or whatever, and I guess — I know we can’t really be obvious about that, but this is obvious, to the people who know us, and it’s . . . it’s like, evidence, right? That you’re, uh . . .” he trailed off.

Steve finally looked up and met his eye. “Yours,” he said, very soft. “Evidence that I’m yours.”

“Not to be possessive, or anything,” Eddie clarified.

“You really want me to have this?” Steve asked, feeling breathless.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, soft. “Yeah, Steve, I want you to have it. Shit, I want you to put it on and never take it off—”

Steve had to kiss him, then, had no other choice, really. Pressed him against the wall and kissed him breathless, long and harsh and with teeth because, Jesus Christ, this man. When they pulled apart Eddie’s face was flushed and his lips were shiny. “So you like it, then?” he asked.

“I like it,” Steve whispered, instead of making a joke, slipping it aroud his head immediately, the pick falling into the divot of his collarbone. “And I am, you know. Yours.”

I love you he thought, and for the first time he didn’t chase the thought with a panic that it was too soon, or too much. He just let it settle in his chest, sure and solid and there.

He was in love with Eddie Munson.

“Well, that goes both ways,” Eddie said. “I’m yours, too.”

I love you, I love you, I love you, Steve thought.

Said, “then you’ll have to wear something of mine, I guess. Could give you my letterman jacket, that’s real old-school of us.”

Eddie scoffed. “And extremely not subtle, pretty boy.” He ran one of his knuckles across Steve’s jawline.

“No,” Steve agreed. “Harrington, in big letters, right on your back.” The thought, actually, sent a pool of heat down his gut. Which, okay, interesting. They’d have to explore that later.

“Now who’s possessive?” Eddie was arching an eyebrow in amusement.

“Me,” Steve said, easily, “always me.” And then he kissed Eddie again, for a long time. Not urgent — slow, and deep, Steve’s hands on Eddie’s chest and Eddie’s on his hips. A kiss that said we have all the time in the world because they did, actually. For the first time in years, Steve had time.

A very pointed throat clear broke them apart.

Dustin was standing on the porch, glancing between them with amusement that he was attempting to mask with annoyance. “Guys. Come on.”

“How long have you been there?” Eddie asked.

“I had to clear my throat a few times,” Dustin said with an eye roll. Then, to Steve, “if you don’t hurry up Jonathan and Argyle are gonna eat all your cake. I’m pretty sure they’re high.”

“Ah, well,” Eddie said, prying himself off the wall gently, “we can’t have the birthday boy missing out on cake, can we?”

Steve scowled at him. “You’re gonna do that thing where you smear cake all over my face, aren’t you?”

“And then lick it off, baby,” Eddie purred back, ducking to press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw.

“Ugh,” Dustin whined. “I knew you two would be gross, but this exceeds even my grossest expectations. This is like, peak gross. Stop feeling each other up and come eat cake, would you?”

Steve shoved Eddie away, but grabbed his hand again, twining their fingers once more. “You heard the kid,” he said, and tugged Eddie after him, into the building, not letting go of his hand the whole way.

Notes:

another mostly fluffy chapter before the plot returns with a vengeance in the next one (although i suppose the "steve can't quite spit it out to eddie that's he's in "Capital L" love is a plot point).

sorry to dustin and suzie, but this was a thing that felt like it'd absolutely not be a constant in the worlds. dustin's doing okay though, it's all working out.

you may be wondering "why were hop and joyce so cool with steve having beer if he's only now 21" and the answer to that is "because they're chill as hell" and also "the kid fought monsters i think it's cool if he has a beer from time to time alright"

chapter title is from Gotta Get Up by Harry Nilsson

Chapter 34: always on my mind

Summary:

"Four days after his birthday, Steve drove home from his shift at Family Video, parked his car, and got out to find his mother was sitting on the front step of his apartment building."

Four days after his birthday, Steve drove home from his shift at Family Video, parked his car, and got out to find his mother was sitting on the front step of his apartment building. She stood up when she saw him, and made a sort of aborted movement, like she was going to wave but decided against it, before she began to wring her hands together, instead.

He hadn’t been expecting her.

She hadn’t called, on his birthday, for one thing. Steve had been too blinded by joy to notice that night, instead letting Eddie drag him to bed for “birthday present part two,” and ignoring the voicemail machine altogether. But the next morning he woke up and looked at it and realized — she hadn’t left a message. She hadn’t called at all.

It wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten his birthday, although she always had good excuses for the others — time zones, travel delays, a dinner that went long, and she’d felt bad calling after ten thirty. And he had stormed out of their house, had left the key on the table. He’d closed the door. It souldn’t have upset him, that she didn’t call. It shouldn’t have.

“Of course it’s upsetting,” Robin had said at work later that day. “She’s your mother, she’s supposed to give a shit about this stuff. She’s supposed to keep trying.”

“You’re allowed to feel complicated about it,” Morana had said, at group therapy. “Things like this are never all one thing or all the other thing. It’s okay to have conflicting emotions.”

“Right,” Chrissy had agreed. “It’s like . . . I can know my mother was terrible to me and still miss her, right? Or maybe I just miss the idea of her?”

“Fuck her,” Eddie had said. When he first realized why Steve was staring at the answering machine, yes, but then a few times after that, too, for good measure.

So, yes: her, here, at his apartment. It was strange. For a moment he just looked at her, and she just looked at him, neither one of them speaking or moving. But Steve had to enter his building eventually. He took a steadying breath and walked up to her.

“Mom,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

She gestured vaguely to the door behind her. “I didn’t see your car, so I thought maybe you were at work. I wasn’t sure how long you’d be gone, but I didn’t have the number at your job. . .” she trailed off, like that had anything to do with the question he’d asked.

“Mom,” he said again, voice a little more stern, patience already thin. “What are you doing here?”

She wrung her hands together again, frowning at her shoes, before she looked up and met his eye. “I remembered something,” she said, eyes glazed over just a little. “Isn’t that funny? Like — it just came back into my head. . .”

Double vision, he realized. His mother had had one.

“You’re moving to Chicago,” she said.

Oh.

He hadn’t even been aware he’d told her that. He wished he could have his own double vision now, force it, so he could remember what he told her — how he’d told her, if it was a fight or just a statement of fact, if it was willingly given or ripped out of him in a moment of high emotion. “I—” he started, and found he couldn’t quite finish. “Yeah. Once they let us leave, Eddie and I. . .” and then trailed off.

Always, with his mother, he was trailing off. Never able to get to the end of the sentence. A quality he stole from her. Or inherited, he supposed.

“I remembered on your birthday,” she said, very softly. “I remembered it would probably be your last birthday in town.” She paused and shifted just slightly on her feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t call. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me, after what you said at dinner. And I did’t want to ruin the day. But then I thought — well, maybe me not calling . . .” She ended the sentence on a sigh. “I don’t think I’ve done a very good job of being your mother, Steve. At least these last few years.”

He tried not to let the shock he felt show on his face. Not only at her open admittance at having failed him, but also — he wasn’t sure she’d ever called him Steve before. He’d started going by Steve when he was a kid, at school and with friends, but his mother had always said she preferred Steven, and she’d always put her preference above his own.

“It’s—” he said, and then stopped. He was going to say it’s okay, a knee-jerk response, a reassurance to make her feel better, and also, most importantly, a lie. “I wanted you to call,” he admitted, instead. “I don’t know why, but I did. And it really hurt. That you didn’t.”

“Of course you did,” she said. “I’m your mother, of course—” she cut herself off again. “This is what I mean. I’m just . . . I never know what the right thing to do is. I always thought that talking about things would make them worse, but I’m starting to think that might have been wrong.” She paused, again. “When you told me you were moving — you told me it might be best if I didn’t visit. If we just . . . let each other go.”

And there was the memory, rushing back.

He’d just been so tired. He hadn’t moved out of his house even though Joyce and Hopper had both asked him to, had both offered him rooms and couches, Hopper redoing the guest room to be his. It’d been complicated and hard to explain, but there was a part of him that felt he owed it to his parents — sticking around until he was out of Hawkins. He didn’t want to hurt his mother, and he knew it would be hurtful, for him to choose Joyce Byers over her, so openly, so plainly. So he hadn’t.

(“It would only hurt her if she noticed,” Dustin had scoffed, one day. The look on Steve’s face must have been terrible, because he’d apologized immediately afterwards. Steve had tried not to think about how right he probably was.)

His parents had been back for a week in January, having missed Christmas and New Years. And they hadn’t even asked what he’d done. Who he’d spent it with. His mother was standing in the kitchen and telling him about their Christmas, about the dinners with some people his father was hoping to do business with, and the image of it — the two of them around some other table, with some other family, not even thinking about what he was up to and if he was having fun, it’d been the straw that had broken his back, so to speak. And he’d been expecting that breakage to lead to rage — a big fight, a screaming match, accusations about how truly and deeply shitty his parents were. But he couldn’t muster anger, in the end. All he’d felt was sad, and so fucking tired.

So he’d just said it. Straight out. That morning when they were both in the kitchen, cold winter sunlight streaming in through the windows. “I’m moving to Chicago.”

She’d been startled, a brief shocked expression that she quickly shut back down. “What? Now, Steven?”

“Probably at the end of this summer. We’re saving up some money. And then I’m going to go.”

“This is — this is very sudden, is all.” She’d inexplicably grabbed a rag and began wiping down the kitchen counter, even though it wasn’t dirty. (He’d found it inexplicable back then, at least; he knew now that it was that same nervous tic thing, again, a desperation to do something with her hands, to regain control of a situation she’d lost control of.)

“It’s not that sudden. Eddie suggested it back around Halloween. I’ve been saving up for months. You just never asked. About my plans. About my future.” He’d scoffed a bit, here. “Dad accuses me of not having any, of just sitting around and doing nothing, but it never occurred to either of you to ask.”

“You don’t have to take a tone with me, Steven.” Her voice had gotten tight and pinched, and she was moving the rag much quicker. “It’s — your father is very busy, you know—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he’d said. “I’m telling you now. I’m moving to Chicago. And I think. . . I think when I do, then we can stop . . . doing this.”

That had gotten her to stop cleaning. “Doing what?”

He gestured vaguely between them. “This. These awkward, two minute conversations we have the fifteen days a year we see each other. You and Dad aren’t interested in my life, and you’re barely around . . . so.” He’d shrugged. “We can let it go. I can just be in Chicago, and you can tell people I’m in Chicago, and you don’t have to, you know. Call or visit.”

Her face had been totally unreadable to him. Almost blank and expressionless, but there was something in her eyes he couldn’t quite pin down. “That’s . . . what if I want to visit?” she’d said.

“I don’t want you to visit,” he’d admitted. “And Mom . . . you’re not going to visit. Even if I wanted you to, you wouldn’t actually ever come. It’s okay. Like I said. We can stop pretending. When I’m gone, I’ll be gone. It’s okay.”

The truth was, of course, that he had been hoping this would piss her off. He had been hoping that saying it so plainly, giving up on it, on their relationship, would finally spur her to do something, anything. To raise her voice. To say she loved him. To say she planned to fight him on this, tooth and nail, fight for him, because she cared about him enough to be bothered to fight.

She’d stayed quiet for a long time, and then picked the rag back up and started cleaning the counter again. “We can disuss this later,” was all she’d said. Which was an answer, of course. Just not the one Steve had wanted.

The force of the memory had managed to bring tears to his eyes. When he met his mother’s eyes again, he was surprised to see she had them, too, a mirrored image. Her face was crumpled into a horrible twist of sadness. He suddenly couldn’t stand to see her like that, couldn’t stand that he’d done that to her, everything she’d ever done to him aside. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done it that way, that wasn’t fair.”

She shook her head and pressed the tips of her fingers on her left hand to her mouth, like she was physically holding in some sort of sound. When she took them away she spoke, her voice strong and not nearly as laced with emotion as her face was, like she was trying very hard to force it to remain composed. “No, I understand. You wanted me to react. You were right, I wasn’t . . . I spent so much time just assuming you were fine, and I never even asked.” She paused. “And then when you weren’t fine, when something was clearly happening to you, I . . .” she shook her head. “They don’t give you a guidebook for being a parent, when you have a kid. All you have to go on is how your parents raised you. And your father and I, we grew up in a different era. Our parents survived the Depression, there was a war, it wasn’t — growing up we never discussed how we felt. I didn’t know how to ask what was wrong so I just . . .”

“Didn’t,” Steve finished, for her.

They were quiet for a long time, after that. Finally, his mother appared to steel herself for something — she pulled her shoulders up straighter, pursed her mouth together. Somehow he knew, before she spoke, what she was going to say. “My dream . . . that voicemail,” she said. “It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

It was strange. He’d wanted her to ask so badly, and now that she had he felt a little at a loss for what to stay. For how to start. How do you have a conversation you never actually expected would happen? “It wasn’t a dream,” he said, very softly.

She shook her head. “It didn’t feel like a dream, not really, but when I woke up in the morning it was . . . it was so strange. We’d been in California, and suddenly we were in Florida. But your father said we’d always been in Florida, that we hadn’t been to California for a year. And he didn’t remember the voicemail at all, and when I went to play it for him it was . . . gone, of course. Because . . . because we weren’t where we had been.” She gave Steve a look, almost fearful, eyes wary. “How is that all possible? How could you have died?”

“It’s a long story,” Steve said.

The wariness vanished from her eyes — was replaced with a steely, confident sort of look that, bizarrely, reminded him of Joyce Byers. “I have time,” she said. “Should we sit?”

So they sat down on the stoop of his building, and he told her.

All of it. No spared details. He didn’t even do what he’d done when telling the story to Eddie, originally, and skip over the gruesomeness of his injuries. She wanted to know, and he wanted to tell her, and so he did. She didn’t interrupt or ask questions. She just let him talk.

Telling it was an interesting thing, actually. He felt himself sort of separate from it all — like it had happened to someone else, some other Steve Harrington. Which, he supposed, technically it had, but he didn’t think that was why it was happening. It was probably more aligned with what Morana had told him about, about trauma responses and all those other big words that mostly meant you got your shit wrecked a bunch and your brain is trying to cope with it.

When he was done, he looked back at his mother. He hadn’t been able to quite meet her eye when he told the story. Now she was crying, fully, tears down her face, makeup running. It was the worst he’d ever seen her look. The least put together. The most real. No mask. “Steve,” she said, a horrible, wounded thing. “Steve, honey, I’m so sorry—” and then she burst into a sob. She leaned forward, buried her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, gently.

He thought that if it was Joyce Byers, she would have hugged him. Would have held him. Hop, too. Eddie. All of them, upon hearing something awful had happened to him, would have moved to offer comfort. His mother, even after all of this, only knew how to ask that he comfort her.

You don’t need to keep making excuses for them, Morana had told him a few days ago, at a session where he discussed his mother not calling him. People can change, Steve thought, hell, he’d changed, but they needed to try to change. You couldn’t forgive them just because they wanted forgiveness. He’d put so much effort into being a better person, and it had taken him a long time.

It was a step, that his mother had come here, that she’d recognized all that she missed, but there would need to be a lot of steps after this, too.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, after a moment. “I’m so sorry.” He wasn’t quite sure what she was sorry for. That it happened to him? That she never asked? That she missed it? She didn’t offer, and he didn’t probe. She pulled away and wiped at her face. “All these years. . .” she started, and then trailed off again. “I really was a terrible mother.”

Steve did not tell her it was okay, because it wasn’t. He didn’t reassure her that she wasn’t a terrible mother, either.

“I don’t. . .” she started, when she realized he wasn’t going to say anything. “I don’t know how to be a better one.” She seemed apologetic for this too, face twisted. “But I want to try. I don’t want . . . I don’t want us to just let each other go.” She shook her head. “When I thought you were dead . . . when you were dead, all I could think was I wasted all of this time. You were gone, and I didn’t even really know you. And at the funeral, people would ask me about you, and I wouldn’t be able to answer them. All of your friends would look at me with disdain and they’d be right to.” She stopped and took a shuddering breath. “And I know. I know that it’s . . . that it’s my fault, and I know it’s up to me. But I don’t know . . .” She looked at him, eyes wide. “I don’t know how to be better,” she finished, finally.

“Trying is a good start,” he offered. “Asking about my life. Taking interest. Remembering my friend’s names.”

“Eddie,” she said, after a moment. “You’re going to Chicago with him. And . . . and Robin works at the video store.”

He laughed a little at that, just a small thing, and she beamed at him, wide and bright. “That’s a start,” he said.

“I know I haven’t earned it,” she said back, “but . . . it would mean a lot to me, if you gave me another chance to keep trying. I could call you, in Chicago, sometimes?”

Set boundries Morana had said.

He thought about it for another minute. Trying was a start. A single step in the right direction. Would it hurt him, to extend the branch and find out she wasn’t willing to take more than a step? If she called once and never again? Would it hurt him more, to give her a second chance and find out she didn’t deserve it than it would to always wonder what if?

Steve had gotten a second chance. He’d gotten two second chances, really. The people who forgave him for being King Steve was the first. Another shot at life was the second. Was it fair of him to deny someone else that chance, when he’d been so blessed with them?

“You can call me in Chicago,” he agreed. “But, mom — I’m not going to call you, do you understand?” She’d burst into a smile at his agreement and it faltered here, slightly, a wobbling movement. “If you want to be in my life, you have to keep trying.”

She nodded, face turning serious. “I understand, Steve. Thank you.”

“And mom,” he said, “this . . . this second chance. It’s just for you.” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling so awkward, for having to draw this line, having to say it out loud. “He doesn’t get one.”

His father, he meant, and he saw in his mother’s face that she understood too. Because his father hadn’t shown up here. His father hadn’t asked. His father had sneered queer at him and scoffed at everything Steve had ever loved.

A voice in his head, a little like Morana, said atta boy.

“Your father—” his mother started, and he thought that if she made an excuse for him right now, if she tried to get Steve to forgive him, he’d walk it all back. He’d go back inside and he’d leave her out here and he wouldn’t even give her another glance. “I understand,” she said, instead. “And I won’t . . . I won’t tell him anything you tell me. If you don’t want him to know.”

“Thanks, mom,” he said, softly.

She nodded, and then reached into her purse, suddenly, pulling out an envelope. “I thought — well, I came here to talk to you, and to apologize, but I thought that I’d also give you this.” She put it in his hands. “It’s a check. Just some money to help you get on your feet.” She paused. “You don’t have to accept it, but it’s my money, not his, and I want you to have it.”

He looked at the envelope for a moment. He’d stopped drawing from his parents accounts ages ago, had once said posion apples to Eddie. He knew that money was his father’s way of controlling everything, of making sure people were under his thumb. His mother didn’t work, but she had her own account for her expenses, the things she wanted. So it was her money in the sense that his father wouldn’t notice it was gone or particularly care where it went.

He wondered, a bit, if this was her trying to buy him back. An offering of cash so he’d forgive her a bit easier.

“There’s no strings attached,” she said, like she could read his mind. “This isn’t a bribe. I just don’t want you to starve there, before you find a job or something.” She swallowed, obviously a bit nervous. “I understand . . . that this won’t make you call me. I know I have to call you.” She reached out and grasped his wrist, just lightly. “You don’t even ever have to spend it, Steve, but please take it? Just so I know . . . I know you have it? Just in case?”

He remembered, then, the little round of fundraising he'd done in this timeline, to raise up the money to move to Chicago. Eddie had basically no cash on hand, and Steve didn't have much, most of his paycheck going towards feeding himself. So he'd asked everyone, just for a little, to get them going. Joyce and Hop had leant it to him, without question. He'd told them both it was just a loan, that he'd pay them back, and they'd both leveled him with a look that said sure, kid, if you want to think that. Claudia Henderson had nodded politely when he said he’d pay her back, every cent, and ten minutes later when she’d left to get dinner out of the oven Dustin had said “dude, she literally will never let you pay her back. You know that right? Joyce either.” The Sinclairs hadn’t even entertained the idea that he’d pay them back, one day — Mrs. Sinclair had scoffed and said, “consider this four years of overdue babysitting fees. For both of our kids.”

He’d only asked them because this had felt so impossible. Taking money from his parents without owing something back. Some part of himself, of his soul, wrapped in their hands, forced around their kitchen table, forced into their parties, smiling politely and playing a role he hated.

He looked back at his mother. She had an open, worried look on her face. “Okay,” he said, after a moment of studying her. “I’ll take it. Thanks, mom.”

The worry melted off, pure relief taking over. She reached out and hugged him, then, arms around his shoulders. It was so shocking he forgot, for a minute, what to do with his hands, and by the time he thought to hug her back she was pulling away. “Thank you, Steve.” She glanced at her watch and sighed. “I should probably get going. It’s getting late.” His father, he knew, would expect dinner on the table by the time he got home, like it was 1957 instead of ‘87. She stood and then looked a bit nervous. “When you get to Chicago, you’ll send me your number?”

“I will,” he promised. And that was all he would do, he thought. He wouldn’t even call her, first. He’d put it on a postcard and drop it in the mail. To this address, so she’d have to return here to get it, couldn’t just chart off on trip after trip and hope he’d give in and call first. The best he could offer. “Eddie and I still have to stick in town until the government clears us, but I’ll . . . I’ll let you know, when we’re there, how to reach me.”

“Thank you, Steve,” she said, softly. Her eyes ran up the building, and she smiled a small, playful smile. “Your friend Eddie is glowering at me through the window.”

Steve looked up. Sure enough, Eddie was there. When he met Steve’s eye he offered a sheepish little wave. Steve rolled his eyes back. Overprotective idiot, he thought, fondly.

“He’s very protective of you,” his mother said, like she could read his thoughts. She looked at him, face difficult to parse again. “You and him . . .” she started.

Oh. Was she going to ask about that? The voicemail and the Upside Down was one thing, but the idea that his mother actually wanted to know about this, this thing she almost certainly would disapprove of, would find shameful, almost bowled him over.

She shook her head. “Sorry, nevermind. Lost my train of thought,” she offered. Clearly a lie.

Which was okay, Steve found. He prodded for the part of him that ought to be wounded, but he couldn’t find it. She’d taken a big step today. He could forgive her for not taking this one. Or, no — maybe forgive was the wrong word, there. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was that he didn’t need her to know this, or understand it, or accept it. It wasn’t like he’d felt, telling the Upside Down crew. Where he needed them to still love him, but also to see him.

That was his real family. This was just his mother.

But he could give her a second chance, he thought. He’d gotten so many. It was only fair.

And if she didn’t take it — if she walked away and never called him again, and he never saw her again — it would be okay. He’d survive it. He’d survived worse.

“Bye, Steve,” she said, softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, mom,” he said, and then he turned and entered the building, walking away from her, for once.

---

Upstairs, Eddie was hovering nervously by the door. He still seemed startled when Steve entered, somehow, or maybe just jumpy. “I was wondering where you were so I looked out the window and saw you, I swear I wasn’t, like, trying to spy,” he blurted out in a rush. “How did it go? Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“It went okay,” Steve said, softly. He moved towards Eddie, and Eddie opened his arms to fold Steve into him, Steve’s head against his shoulder. Eddie offering him comfort, like he knew Steve needed.

“I told her about the Upside Down,” he murmured, into Eddie’s collarbone.

“You did?” Eddie didn’t sound judgemental, but he did sound genuinely surprised.

Steve pulled away a little to look him in the eye. “She asked. I only told her because she asked. She has to ask if she wants to know about my life. I set a boundary.”

Eddie ran his thumb along Steve’s jawline, feather-light and gentle. “That’s good, baby. I’m proud of you.”

He paused, for a moment, suddenly feeling a little ashamed. “I left the door open, though,” he said. “I’m going to send her our number, when we move. So she can call.”

Eddie nodded, like he understood. “They’re your parents, you draw those lines. It’s your door to leave open, Stevie.” He shrugged. “You’ve got pretty good judgement, you know? I trust you on this. And if it backfires, or if it leads to something bad . . . I’ll be here to help you pick up the pieces.”

God, Steve loved him. Couldn’t imagine how he was supposed to live a life, in the last timeline, where he didn’t have Eddie to love.

Then again, he hadn’t lasted long without him, in the end.

“Can we go to bed?” he asked, suddenly exhausted. “Can you just — I know it’s early, but can you just hold me? Until I fall asleep?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, so soft. “Of course.”

And Steve let Eddie take him into the bedroom and undress him, pour him into the bed. Steve watched as Eddie stripped after, and climbed into bed with him, even though the sun was still out and it wasn’t even dinner yet, no questions asked.

Notes:

and thus ends the mini, not-quite-redemption arc of barbie harrington.

i've mentioned this before, but i think a thing i really wanted to explore with this fic was the ways in which characters knowing about the upside down (or, at least remembering the things that happened in that world) affect them now. i think in both timelines steve's mother's only course for true change, for really understanding what she missed, was steve's death. with the merge, she gets the rare chance to try and fix something that she only knew was broken when it was over. that said, i also think it made sense for steve to still be wary of her, and and to have a real boundary for what it meant for her to return to his life. fundamentally so much of this fic is steve taking control of his life after many years where he had very little control of all.

healing, baby!

chapter title is from Always On My Mind, which is originally by Brenda Lee, and made a hit by Elvis, but you know the one i'm referencing is the 1987 Pet Shop Boys version. technically it's a song about being a shitty partner, but some of the lyrics really hit me on the "shitty parent" front too, so it felt fitting.

Chapter 35: every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Summary:

It ends. For real, this time.

Late in the morning, a few days after he saw his mother, Steve was once again burning eggs because Eddie kept distracting him, half-dancing around the kitchen shirtless, when there was a knock on the door.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Expecting someone?”

“No,” Steve said, and still, even now — panic, surging through him. Like he could sense it, Eddie dropped a hand onto the back of Steve’s neck and squeezed once, grounding.

“Probably nothing,” Eddie said. “But I guess I’ll go put a shirt on.”

Steve went to the door and swung it open.

Morana was there, dressed casually — a plain, dark green t-shirt and blue jeans, an oversized purse dangling off her arm, as relaxed as he’d ever seen her. There was a small smile playing across her face. “Steve!” she said, all joy, sparkling and bright.

“What are you doing here?”

She was grinning fully, now. “I wanted to tell you in person. We found Henry Creel last night.” She paused. “He’s dead, Steve. He’s been dead for ten years.”

Steve let that information land like a thud into his chest and spread into a strange, stupid sense of relief. “Dead? Like, dead, dead?”

“Dead dead,” she said back. “He was living under an alias in Washington State, which took us ages to track down. Nancy’s information helped. He lived peacefully and died after a short illness in ’76.” She laughed, a bright, almost punched out sound — probably a bit rude to do at learning about someone’s death, but, hell, Steve wasn’t ever a fan of Henry’s. “El picked a good timeline. We had nothing to worry about.”

“Holy shit,” Steve said, more an exhale than a sentence.

“Further to that,” Morana continued, “Owens and I convinced the government last night that our containment period ought to be concluded.”

“Concluded?” Eddie said, appearing behind Steve’s shoulder suddenly, wearing an old t-shirt of Steve’s that boasted Hawkins High Basketball.

Morana looked a little like she was trying not to laugh. “Hello, Eddie,” she said.

“Lydia,” he said back, voice laced with humor, too.

“What does that mean?” Steve asked. “Concluded, what are you—”

“We’re letting you go,” she said. “Hawkins’ borders are back open for business. You can leave town.”

There was a stunned silence that followed. Steve met Eddie’s eye, and Eddie was grinning, a giant, goofy look. “Holy shit,” Eddie said. “So it’s really . . . it’s over?”

“No more Henry, no more Upside Down, no more monsters,” Morana confirmed. “It’s not perfect — Heather’s out of the hospital, now, but obviously there’s a lot to work with there, with her and her parents. And with Jason and Billy, we’re going to keep them around for a bit as we continue their therapy and hope for more significant progress. But . . . you two, your friends, you’re free to go. If you want.” She paused, and dug a business card out of her pocket. “That said I know that you don’t have exactly . . . normal circumstances. So if you ever want to call, please feel free. I’m always willing to talk through things. Like I said, it’s not linear. We’re not saying you’re cured. But keeping you here is no longer in any of our best interests. You deserve to live your lives.”

Steve took the card, feeling dumbfounded. “So . . . this is it?”

“This is it,” Morana said, softly. “You won. Happy ending. Go enjoy it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie said, around a laugh.

“Oh!” she said. “Wait, I almost forgot, I have this too.” She pulled out two yellow legal envelopes out of her bag, handing one to each of them. “Your hush money. There’s also an NDA in here, which I am to tell you we’re legally requesting you sign and leave with our person downstairs.”

Eddie opened the envelope and pulled out the check, his face dropping into a nearly comical, wide-eyed look. “Holy shit. We’re fucking rich?” He held it out so Steve could see.

It was, Steve had to admit, a pretty stupid amount of zeroes. Not, you know, retire in Cabo amount of zeroes, but it changed the imaginary apartment in his mind from a cramped, small one to something much more open and light.

(Although, really, he was thinking about Eddie’s bookstore — about how much closer that dream could be, now, with a little extra seed money to get it going. Or, hell, a lot extra.)

“Christ, Morana,” Steve said, voice suddenly caught with emotion. “I . . . I don’t . . . thank you. Really, for everything, all the therapy and . . . it helped.”

“You spent a really long time doing all of this alone,” she said, her smile getting a little sad around the edges. “And I’m really sorry about that.”

Steve didn’t say it’s okay, because it wasn’t. All the years the government had screwed them and abandoned them couldn’t be made up in six weeks of therapy from a single, good person in their ranks. But also, what she said wasn’t quite true. “We weren’t really alone,” he offered. “We always had each other.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, voice soft. “You always did. I’m sure you’ll want to speak to your friends, now, so I’ll leave you two. Like I said — you’re always welcome to call me. Day or night.” She paused, grinning again. “And Steve, Eddie — if I don’t hear from you? Have a good life, yeah?”

Then she turned and headed down the hall.

Steve and Eddie watched her go for a moment before Steve closed the door and slumped back against it. Eddie moved to lean against the wall next to him, and they both slid against it to sit on the ground, clearly suddenly overwhelmed by emotion.

“I guess,” Eddie said, slowly, “that we can leave. If we . . . want to.” He cleared his throat, and then, a little unsure sounding, "I mean, if you still want to."

Which was ridiculous, really, that even after all this time Eddie could still be unsure about this. Steve wanted to build a world where Eddie never sounded unsure ever again.

He could start doing that now, he figured. “Hey, Eddie.” The other man rolled his head towards Steve. “You wanna move to Chicago with me?”

A smile exploded across Eddie’s face, bright and blinding, and he started to laugh before reeling Steve in for a kiss.

---

An hour later everyone was gathered at the Byers house.

The news had spread fast, Dustin radioing a code red for the first time since the timeline merge to force a group meeting. But now that they were all together, there wasn’t much urgency. Everyone was milling about, talking lightly about not much at all.

It wasn’t until there a lull in the noise that finally Mike spoke. “So . . . now what?”

“What do you mean now what?” Nancy asked. “Now we . . . move on.” She didn’t sound very certain about it, though, face betraying a strange mix of emotions.

“Okay,” Mike allowed. “But, like, what does that . . . mean?”

There was silence for a moment as everyone considered this.

“I think it means I’m going to Emerson,” Nancy said, very softly. She shook her head, like she, herself, found this to be a ridiculous notion — an unbelievable bit of normalcy in a life that had, up until this point, not been normal at all. “You know, honestly? Even when I sent in my acceptance, that first tuition check, a part of me always thought I’d never actually get to go to Boston. That there’d always be something pulling me back here.”

“Well, to be fair,” Jonathan said, “that’s historically been true.”

“Not anymore,” she said back, but it was soft, almost a whisper, like she only meant to say it to herself.

"So, what, you guys just pack up and leave forever?" Erica said, in a pissy little voice.

“Not quite forever,” Steve cut in. “Unless everyone else is planning on packing up and moving immediately, I guess I’ll always have a reason to come back to Hawkins, you know? People to come back to.”

“That’s right,” Joyce said. “At least some of us will be sticking around for awhile.” She shot a little smile at Hopper that he returned, soft and warm.

Steve felt the warmth in his chest. But gone was the old feeling of jealousy, the strange twinge of seeing something you couldn’t have. Eddie was sprawled next to him on the floor, close enough that he could feel the solid heat of the other man. Like he could sense Steve’s thoughts, Eddie shifted a little, let his knee press into Steve’s thigh.

“So, what?” Mike said, scowling at nothing. “Nancy goes to Boston, Steve and Eddie go to Chicago, Jonathan and Argyle go back to California, and the rest of us . . . stay here and finish high school?”

“What’s wrong with that?” El asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“It just feels . . .” Mike trailed off, still frowning.

“Anticlimactic?” Dustin offered.

“Funny,” Nancy said, with a little twist of her lips. “I don’t remember the last few rounds with Vecna as anticlimactic.”

“Yeah, but that was weeks ago,” Mike said, with a huff. “I guess I sort of thought when it was over it’d be over. But instead it was over, and then we had all these weeks where we were just . . . waiting to see if it was over.”

“A denouement,” Erica said. At Mike’s blank look, she rolled her eyes. “Am I the only person in this group who reads? It’s the part of the book after the climax ends but before the book is over. The bit where everything wraps up.”

“Aragorn gets crowned King,” Eddie said, snapping his fingers.

“Yeah, among the fourteen other endings to that book,” Erica scoffed. There was a long pause while everyone seemed to process that. “What?” she snapped, defensive. “Like I said! I read!”

“This is going in my blackmail folder,” Lucas said. “For reference.”

“Anyway,” Robin said, before the siblings devolved into a fist fight. “This is . . . good, right? It’s over. It gets to be over, now.”

“Normal kids with normal summers,” Max said, half under her breath. Then she looked up and met Steve’s eye, and he smiled at her. Her grin back was almost blinding.

Normal kids with normal summers, happy and free and unburdened from the horror of fighting through hell every few months.

“So,” Dustin said, “Nancy goes to Emerson in a few weeks. What about you two? When do you leave us for Chicago?” He said it airly, like it didn’t affect him at all, but there was a clear undercurrent of sadness to it. Like it was finally real — the fact of Steve and Eddie actually heading out of town.

“Well, we still have to find a place,” Eddie said, reasonably. “Which’ll probably take a minute. But with those nice checks from the government, we definitely have all the funds together, so . . .” he trailed off, raising an eyebrow at Steve.

“September, maybe?” Steve said with a shrug.

“Wow,” Will said, softly. “That’s so soon.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and it was strange that he did, actually, feel sad about it. For all Hawkins had been terrible and awful and mindless it was also his hometown. When he was a kid he figured he’d die here — would buy a house and have kids who went to the same high school he did.

And then there were a bunch of other years, where he thought he’d die here, young and screaming and covered in blood.

(Which he had, he remembered. And it was remembered — not that he’d forgotten but that, like all the other horrors in his life, the fact of his own death had faded into something strange in the background of his brain. A thing that had happened to him, that had changed him, but a thing he would, ultimately, move past. A thing he would overcome, like all the other bad things.)

“But we’re still getting two bedrooms,” Eddie added. “So you guys can always crash. Parents permitting, of course,” he said with a little nod towards Hop and Joyce.

“We’re a family,” Steve offered. “Someone told me the other day that we’re stuck together. No way out.”

Across the room, Hop was hiding a smile behind his hand. “No way out,” he agreed.

“You know . . . there are a lot of shittier families to be in,” Jonathan said, after a moment. “If I had to fight the end of the world with anyone, I guess I’m glad it was you all.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said. “And I mean, it could have all been worse, you know? In the end?” At the look of confusion Max sent him, he shrugged. “I mean. Everyone lived, right?”

Next to Steve, Eddie shifted again, a hand on top of his, fingers threaded through fingers, the slightest squeeze.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Everyone lived.”

“So, to answer your earlier question of now what, Mike,” Joyce said, gently. “Now . . . I think we order pizza.”

And that’s what they did.

---

The kids were once again fighting about movies, the pizza mostly demolished and no one quite willing to go home, yet. Steve had snuck to the back porch for a cigarette, strangely joined by no one — maybe he was the one who was a bad influence on Joyce and Hopper, in the end?

The door opened, and he turned as Max stepped out to join him.

For a moment she just leaned against the siding, silently looking out as twilight started to fall. The silence between them was easy, friendly — Steve liked that he could just be quiet with her, that they didn’t need to fill every moment.

But he also knew there was something on her mind, could tell by the way she was chewing on her lower lip and shifting on her feet. Finally, she said, “they told me this morning, when they called, that they were keeping Billy here for awhile.”

He nodded, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. “Yeah, Morana mentioned him and Jason were staying under monitor, for a bit.”

“I still haven’t gone to see him,” she admitted, with a little frown. “I know you said it’s okay that I’m not ready, but, I mean. . . if we’re both going to be in town, I should go to see him eventually, right? Don’t I have to?”

Steve shrugged. “Have is a strong word, Mayfield. You never have to do anything, I don’t think.”

“But what if he’s different? In this timeline. I mean, what if he’s changed?” She looked at Steve, then, her expression twisted with sadness. “I won’t know unless I go see him.”

“I guess you won’t,” Steve allowed. “But that’s okay, too. If he hurt you enough that you can’t allow him a second chance, even if he’s different, that’s okay. You don’t owe anybody that.”

There was a moment where she seemed to consider this. “Do you forgive your parents?” she asked, then, a bit abrupt. She seemed a bit embarrassed by the question, like she knew it was sort of rude to ask.

He thought about it. “Not yet,” he admitted. “Look, the way I see it — people can change, right? And some of them really want to, and they work really hard to do it. Like, I think my mother’s trying to change now, you know? To become someone else. But it’s still my choice to forgive her, or let her back in. And it’s not wrong either way, it’s just . . . it’s my choice.” He sighed. “And some people don’t want to change, and don’t think there’s anything wrong with how they are. Like my father. And you can either accept those people as they are, and live with the bits of them that are difficult, or you can say you deserve better and walk away.”

Again, Max seemed to take this in for a long moment, turning it over in her brain. “I don’t know what I’m more worried about,” she said, finally. “That he’s completely different, or that he’s exactly the same. Because if he’s different, then all my bad thoughts have nowhere to go, you know? And if he’s the same, then all the hope I had that things could be different was for nothing.”

“Hope’s never for nothing,” Steve said, softly. “You always gotta have hope.” He stubbed his cigarette and turned to put his hands on her shoulders. “Whatever you do, every single person in this house supports you and loves you. If you go to see him and you decide to try to forgive him, that’s amazing. And if you decide you can’t, I really, truly promise you that that’s okay too.”

She nodded, eyes a little wet. “Morana told me I could see her, for some sessions. I think I might? I don’t really know what I want to do, yet, and I thought. . .” she gestured at him, here. “You seemed a lot better, after talking to her.”

“It helped,” he said, easily. “She’s good at it.” He paused, considering. “Working through how you feel about all of this, first, might make it easier to go see him, honestly. Morana was always telling me to set boundries and stuff. Maybe she can help you set yours.”

“Yeah,” Max agreed, with a little sniffle.

“And I’m always just a phonecall away,” he added. “I can come back down and kick Billy’s ass again, if needed.”

She groaned. “Steve, I don’t think you’re gonna get another redo on the whole living thing, so let’s not have you try to kick Billy’s ass, yeah?”

He laughed, agreeably. “Yeah, fine, fair enough.” There was silence, again, and Steve had a feeling that the conversation had ended — that Max had come to a decision in her own head, set whatever course she’d set. “Come on, let’s go see if Henderson ate the last of the pizza like the monster he is.”

She nodded and darted back inside ahead of him, to the warmth of the house and the laughter of people who loved them.

---

A few weeks after the actual end — the official news that the world really, truly wasn’t going to end, for real this time — Steve was sitting at the kitchen table, flicking idly through a course listing for a community college near the apartment he and Eddie had just signed a lease on. They were still in Hawkins, but in two weeks they’d pack everything they owned between Eddie’s van, Steve’s car, and Wayne’s truck and head out of town.

“Anything interesting?” Eddie asked, from his position in front of the open fridge, where he’d been standing and staring aimlessly for half a minute. It was one of Eddie's less endearing qualities, and Steve could already picture the deeply terrible electric bill they'd get at the new place because of it. Still, he knew better than to comment on it, because commenting on it would lead to one of Eddie's practiced, long-form jokes about how Steve was secretly a single mother trapped in the body of a twenty-one-year-old man, and really, Steve wanted to focus on what he was doing and not get teased mercilessly for an hour.

“Eh,” he said back, looking down at the catalog again. “There’s an accounting course I’ll probably take.”

“Accounting?” Eddie scoffed. “Since when are you interested in accounting, dude?”

Steve rolled his eyes, even though he was fairly sure Eddie wasn’t actually looking at him. “Well one of us should probably understand business well enough to make sure the bookstore doesn’t go under, right? Figure it might as well be me, since I won’t have opinions on any of the stock or anything.”

The fridge clattered shut abruptly, drawing Steve’s eye from the catalog and up to Eddie, who was standing staring at Steve with a totally ruined looking expression on his face. “Wait,” he said. “Wait, wait. You’re learning accounting for the bookstore? For me?”

It was surprising that Eddie was surprised, really. He was the one who’d said a part of the dream is that you’re there with me. What, had he expected Steve to not take that to heart? “Yeah, of course,” he said, instead. “We’re in it together, right?”

Eddie studied his face for a long moment, that same expression on it. And then he blurted, “Jesus Christ, I am so fucking in love with you.”

“What?” Steve said. And then he laughed, a strange, punched out laugh, because — because one, holy shit, Eddie was in love with him and two— “You realized that because I’m taking accounting classes?”

“No,” Eddie snapped, sounding genuinely annoyed, “I realized it when you told me you thought of love as stumbling around in the darkness with somebody and I knew instantly that I wanted that somebody, your somebody, to be me. And I think I actually fell for you when Wayne told me you cleaned my grave, back in July, like the day we all came back to life but I — we weren’t even dating yet when those happened, and I thought you were straight back then, and every other moment I thought it was too soon. Except now you’re sitting here at like, 2pm on some random ass Wednesday, and you’re going to learn accounting to help my stupid dream come true even though you hate math and I actually couldn’t stop myself from saying it, okay?” He cleared his throat, an embarrassed flush rising up his neck as he pulled his hair in front of his face. “I’m sorry it’s not a better moment. And I’m sorry if it’s — if it’s too much, too soon, I don’t have to keep saying it—”

“Yes, you do,” Steve cut in, standing up. He was grinning, but Eddie couldn’t tell because Eddie wasn’t looking at him, the insecure fool. “You have to say it every day, forever, there’s no I love you take backs, Munson.” He grabbed Eddie by the shoulders, and then moved his hair away, gently, on hand on Eddie’s jaw to force the man to look at him. “I love you too, you know.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, face going soft, that look that was just for Steve. “Really?”

“Yeah. I actually thought it the first time we had sex, but that felt like really the wrong time to say it.”

Eddie laughed, bright and open and surprised. “You’re insatiable, Stevie, really.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Steve admitted, “but if I am, it’s only for you. This has been a forever thing for me for . . . like, an embarrassingly long time. I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“Freak out the freak,” Eddie said, half a whisper. And then, a little louder, “I guess I do have a reputation for running.”

Steve shook his head. “Nah. Not anymore. Not from me.” Then he shrugged. “And even if you ran, I’d probably chase after you, you know.”

“Because you love me,” Eddie said, like he just wanted to hear it again.

“Because I love you,” Steve confirmed. And then because he wanted to hear it again. “And you love me.”

“I love you so fucking much, Harrington,” Eddie said, around another bright, open laugh. “Jesus. I could have been saying that this whole time. We’re really dumb, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, grinning himself. “But I like us.”

“I like us too, Stevie. Fuck, I love us.” Which caused Steve to laugh himself. Eddie swallowed the laugh with his mouth, kissing Steve senseless. When they pulled away he dropped his head to Steve’s shoulder to mutter “accounting,” into it, with something close to awe.

Steve dipped his head down to whisper in his ear. “What if I told you I was also thinking of marketing?” he asked.

“Oh,” Eddie said, already shoving Steve towards the bedroom. “Marketing is very sexy. I love a competent man.”

“I’m a triple threat,” Steve said, proudly. “Accounting, marketing, and monster hunting.”

Which just made Eddie laugh again, as he shoved Steve into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind them.

Notes:

and here we are, at the plot close of the fic. the Hawkins Quarantine Zone is no more, therapy is over.

i can't help but leave a few threads loose, because that's more realistic (i say, in a fic where coming back from death is a major plot element). billy, jason, the holloways — there's a lot of people who i think would need a lot more time, you know? and i think max needs more time, too. steve got to take his little journey with his mother, but max is just at the start of hers with billy.

but, you know, if steve's mom could do it, maybe billy can too, right?

chapter title is from Closing Time by Semisonic.

next time i leave you all with a sappy little epilogue. gosh, i really can't believe we're almost finished! thank you all for sticking with it this long. i truly adore you.

Chapter 36: i am not afraid to keep on living

Summary:

An epilogue.

December 5th, 1988.

Chicago was cold, but it was the type of cold that Steve liked, still, more than a year later. The type of cold that slapped you awake, the type of cold that colored your cheeks and chapped your lips and made you remember that you were still alive, blood and skin, touched by the elements.

That was just one of the things he loved about Chicago, though. He loved the train. He loved the museums. He loved the two bedroom he and Eddie had found on the northwest side. He loved the kitchen, large and filled with natural light, Joyce’s recipe book tucked on a shelf in a place of honor. He loved the guest room that was mostly shared by Dustin and Robin, but that had touches of everyone in it — a basketball in the closet for when Lucas was in town, a second skateboard for Max, D&D books for Will and nail polish for El and those ultra-violent sci-fi novels that Mike had started reading and that Nancy, over the phone, had described as probably a coping mechanism. Really, though, Steve’s favorite part was that it had a room where every night he got to fall asleep in Eddie Munson’s arms, which made it perfect, even if there was water damage in the bathroom and it could be a little drafty and they were maybe too close to the train, screaming by every night.

But the noise was helpful, to both of them, who tended to still get jumpy if things were too quiet.

Anyway, Steve liked the cold, and he was honestly thankful for it because it distracted him from the thrumming nerves in his stomach as he bounced his way back to his apartment after work. Stupid nerves, he knew, because his surprise would be welcomed with open arms, but, still. He couldn’t help it.

When he opened the door, Eddie was already home, humming something under his breath as he cooked dinner. “Hey, hot stuff,” he said easily, grinning at Steve. “How was work?”



“Boring,” Steve answered, truthfully, moving to stand behind Eddie at the stove, wrapping his arms around the other man’s middle. He’d managed to trade up from Family Video to a new rental store chain, Blockbuster, but it turned out the job was actually a lot less interesting when Robin wasn’t in the corner yammering his ear off about playing the trumpet or whether or not Julie Christie was a babe. Robin called basically every day, though, to complain about her boring job in Bloomington, which was where she’d ended up, chasing after Barb in a lovesick way that Steve only made fun of a little (because, really, it’d be hypocritical to make more fun of it than that). “How was your day?”

“Eh, about the same,” Eddie said, easily. He worked the register at a second-hand shop frequented almost exclusively by punks. There was, apparently, some sort of tension between punks and metalheads that Steve only half understood but that Eddie insisted made the entire job hard on him. “Lucas left a voicemail,” he continued, lightly. “Wanted more tips on his jump shot. It’s, like, ten minutes long.”

“You think he’s ever gonna figure out he’s a better basketball player now than I ever was?”

Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, soft and sweet. “Ah, pretty boy, I think he already knows and just likes the excuse to call.”

There were many people in Steve’s life, now, who just liked the excuse to call. Joyce and Hopper called once a week, for instance, jointly now that they’d given up the charade and sold their houses to find a bigger one, together. Will and El were, apparently, a bit of a terror under one household, but Joyce had a way of saying terror like it meant delight, so Steve figured it was a good thing, actually.

(Joyce was insistent the two of them come back for Christmas. “You still have a room, you know,” she’d said softly on the phone one night, after a round of his light protests that he didn’t want to intrude on their holiday. “Made sure of that when we bought the place. You’ll always have a room with us.” Which had made Steve cry for a stupidly long time before he said that yeah, they’d come back for the holiday.

Well, actually, he’d said they’d come home for the holiday, which felt even better to say.)

Jonathan and Argyle called once a week too, from their new place in California. Argyle had big plans to eventually open his own Surfer Boy Pizza franchise, and Jonathan had no plans at all, at least for the moment, which everyone agreed was kind of nice. Nancy rang less often, but still at least once a month, usually with an update or two from the mean streets of Boston, where she was making something of a name for herself interning at a local paper.

The kids, of course, called all of the time, particularly during the weeks they weren’t visiting, sometimes at the same time, huddled around a single phone in the Wheeler or Henderson house. Steve and Eddie had been called into D&D games, called to settle arguments—

(“I’m just saying,” Mike had actually screamed at Dustin, once, “that Dune is comparable to Lord of the Rings, not better!” Steve had excused himself from the room, at that point.)

—called for, of all increasingly hilarious things, girl advice.

(Both Max and Lucas called him for advice on the other, and Steve very gamely kept all of their secrets. For the most part. One time he’d confused who’d said what and the fallout from that had required him to drive down to Hawkins and buy them both ice cream in person to apologize. He never made the mistake again.)

Max called him to talk about Billy sometimes, too.

Jason had managed to come down to normal enough that he got freed from Hawkins a few months after the rest of them. Sometimes Steve heard about him as a basketball prospect at Duke, although apparently his game had really suffered post-timeline merge.

(Quite possibly the only post-timeline merge difference Steve didn’t manage to feel any guilt about.)

Billy, though, was still stuck in town. Part of that was, apparently, some gaps in the healing process — all of the Mind Flayed victims were the most screwed up, it turned out, the most prone to paranoia, which Steve supposed made sense. The other bit was that technically Billy was still meant to be serving a jail sentence, and no one wanted the State of California to question why he was roaming free before he was meant to be.

Steve learned that last bit on a phone call with Morana because, of course, he still called her fairly often. On bad days, when the nightmares came back with a vengeance, but sometimes just on slow nights, too, to talk about his job and his apartment and Eddie. They were always nice conversations, and Steve supposed the real benefit to saving the world had been that he never owed her any money for their sessions.

Anyway, Max and Billy were . . . working it out. It was hard, according to Max, and Billy was struggling, but—

“I’m not ready to give up on him yet, I guess,” she’d said, with a sigh. “He’s trying, you know?”

Steve knew better than anyone, maybe.

Outside of all of that, high school seemed to be going well for everyone. Insanely enough, graduation was just around the corner — everyone had made plans to go back and party in Hawkins, in person, a giant bash at the Hopper-Byers household.

Dustin and Lucas had committed to colleges in Chicago — Dustin exclusively to see Steve and Eddie, and Lucas because he’d gotten the best basketball scholarship from DePaul of all places. (Steve did immediately buy Blue Demons shirts for him and Eddie, thanks for asking.) Will was most likely heading to New York, although he hadn’t fully decided yet, and Max was copying Robin and taking a gap year to figure some stuff out and save some money, with El deciding to do the same. Steve privately thought the girls might end up in Chicago too, though, particularly if the delighted way El loved to make El Train jokes was any indication.

Outside of the kids there was Robin, who called literally almost every single day. Barb was on the line with her more often than not, these days, although Steve was also surprised with how much Barb just called him, without Robin at all, usually launching into a story with no preamble that she knew would make him laugh.

The Hellfire boys had graduated and scattered around the country for college, but there were plans for some grand reunion campaign over the summer that Gareth had demanded Steve join, strangely enough.

(“Is Chrissy gonna come, Gareth?” Steve had asked, with fake innocence, and Gareth had spluttered so hard Steve could actually picture him turning red on the other line.)

Chrissy had dumped Jason, at some point while Jason was still in Hawkins, and was now a semi-permanent fixture on Steve and Eddie’s landline, too. But she was a much more permanent fixture on Gareth’s landline, which Steve found hilarious and Eddie found baffling and Gareth once confessed he literally couldn’t believe at all.

(“I think he’s funny,” Chrissy said to Steve, over an extremely over-priced martini on a weekend when she’d come to town to say hi. “And nice.” Steve supposed those really were the big two, in the end.)

All in all, it was strange — this ragtag group of weirdos who Steve found himself attached to. Strange but wonderful, the dream he always wanted. A big family full of people who loved him.

At the stove, Eddie cleared his throat and then spoke again. “Your mom called, too.”

Which, to Steve’s continued surprise, wasn’t that odd of an occurrence, anymore. She didn’t call often, usually only in the moments between the business trips his parents still went on. He could almost picture it, actually, her alone in that big house, feeling the way he always felt, reaching out to someone who’d understand. She’d gotten better at asking about his life. She knew all about Robin and Dustin now, Robin’s continued inability to select a major (currently torn between comparative literature and cinematic arts, neither of which sounded all that useful to Steve but, hey, who was he to judge?). She knew about Dustin’s insistence that Steve return to Hawkins to see his final science fair project on display in all it’s glory, even though he’d be back in town like two weeks later for actual graduation.

She knew about Eddie, too. Knew that he and Steve still lived together, that they spent most days together, that Eddie was the center point of nearly every one of Steve’s stories, these days. If she suspected that there was something more there, that roommate was underselling it, she never asked. Or, at least, she hadn’t asked yet. Steve wasn’t sure if it was just that she wasn’t ready to know, or if it was that she was worried she’d find a part of him he was unwilling to share with her, if she asked about it. That she’d figure out he had a limit on how far he’d let her in, after all.

He knew that he’d be okay, if she never asked, but he also knew that the door was open if she wanted to know. And he’d tell her, if she asked. That was his own rule. Whatever the fallout of it may be.

“They’re heading to, like, London or some shit in a few days,” Eddie was saying. “So she wanted to chat before they left.” He shrugged, trying and failing at looking casual. He was still a bit defensive about Steve’s mom, still didn’t quite trust that she wouldn’t just stop trying one day and leave an emotional wreckage in her wake. In all honesty, Steve found it extremely sweet.

(There’d been a night, a few weeks after they moved, when Steve’s mom had called for the first time, where Eddie had explained “you spent the last years of your life trying to protect everyone. I just feel like it’s time someone protected you, you know?”

Steve had responded the only way he knew how, which was by kissing Eddie until they were both breathless and laughing and the heaviness of the moment had vanished.)

“I’ll call her back tomorrow,” he said. He had big plans for later tonight, even if Eddie wasn’t aware of them quite yet — no time to talk to his mother.

He went to shower and change, ready to be out of his work clothes. By the time he got back, Eddie had plated dinner, and they ate while Eddie continued on a rant about Svetlana, his coworker, who apparently kept playing The Sex Pistols just to piss Eddie off. When dinner was done and the dishes were cleared, Steve cleard his throat, feeling suddenly, terribly awkward. “Okay,” he said. “I have a surprise.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “And yet, your hands are empty, Harrington. What kinda surprise are we talking?”

“One where we have to go somewhere to see it,” Steve said back.

“Ugh, travel surprises. The worst ones.” And then, with a grin, “your car or mine?”

They went with Steve’s, in the end, because he refused to tell Eddie the address in case Eddie somehow put it altogether. And also maybe because Steve remembered all the important little moments they had in this car, the fact that the moment where Eddie realized he loved Steve was in this car, and he felt compelled to give them another moment, like that.

(And also because the van was really, truly on it’s last legs, and every time they got in Steve said a private little prayer to a God he didn’t really believe in, just in case they caught fire on the Kennedy or something.)

When he pulled up to their destination, Eddie was frowning out the passenger window. “Not for nothing baby, but this looks like an empty storefront,” he said.

“Surprise,” Steve said back, taking a pair of keys out of his pocket.

Eddie look at the keys for a moment, and then at Steve’s face, and then back to the keys. “Wait,” he said. “Wait. Wait.”

“I’m not moving,” Steve pointed out, teasing.

“Shut up, I’m processing.” Eddie turned back to the storefront, now clearly seeing it. Seeing the two big windows at the front, where books could sit on display. Seeing that it was located just off a fairly busy intersection, a place with good foot traffic but still slightly off the beaten path. Close to their apartment, in case of emergency. “Steve Harrington, did you buy me a fucking bookstore?”

“Technically,” Steve said, “the US government bought you a bookstore with hush money from demon fighting. But, yes.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie said, just an exhale of breath. And then he turned back to unbuckle his seatbelt and lean across to press a searing kiss to Steve. When he pulled away he was laughing, just a little. “I love you. I’d do anything for you. Give me a tour.”

Steve laughed, but obliged, piling out of the car to unlock the door and bring Eddie inside. “It’s not much, yet,” he admitted. “But I think there’s a lot of potential. The realtor says this area’s getting cool, too, a lot of artists and college kids. And there’s a great back room, for your D&D sessions and stuff.” He spread his hands out, like ta da, a deeply dorky move he couldn’t stop himself from doing.

In the middle of the store, a few feet ahead, Eddie spun in a little awed circle. “Wow,” he said, when he was done, grinning at Steve. “The future home of . . . whatever the fuck we’re going to call this store.” He frowned, then. “Wait, shit, I never thought of a name. I had so long to thing of one, too, god damnit.” He cast a thoughtful look to the ceiling. “Resurrection Books?”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Makes it sound like we sell Bibles.”

“Ugh,” Eddie agreed. Then, “Upside Down Books? Does that break our NDA?”

“Do you want to find out? Or, like, be reminded of that hell hole every day?”

“Fair enough,” Eddie agreed, moving back towards Steve. He reached his hands out and slipped two fingers into two of Steve’s belt loops, pulling him close, so they were pressed chest to chest, hips to hips.

“Dustin’ll be here this weekend,” Steve said softly, his lips hovering less than an inch from Eddie’s. “I’m sure he’ll have lots of ideas.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Eddie agreed. “And then he’ll demand a cut of a sales for providing them to us.”

“He wouldn’t. Now, Erica would, but Dustin? He’ll just want free books.”

Eddie scoffed, puffing a soft breath across Steve’s face. “Like he wasn’t gonna get those already.”

“You spoil him,” Steve said, easily.

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie shot back.

“You ever gonna kiss me, or are you just gonna talk into my mouth all night, Munson?” Steve said, finally getting a little impatient at how close they were and yet not kissing.

Eddie sighed, put-out sounding but grinning. “So restless, Stevie,” he said.

“Life’s short,” Steve offered.

Eddie grinned even wider now, bright in the empty space of the store. “Nah,” he said. “Life is going to be long as hell, baby,” and then he finally, finally kissed Steve, and Steve let himself get lost in it, in the feeling of it, the feeling of being warm and in love and so, so alive.

Notes:

This chapter is brought to you by the line in the first season of the reboot of Doctor Who, where the 9th Doctor says "just this once, Rose, everybody lives." It's also brought to you by the four different chapters where Steve wished it was winter during the summer — it's winter now, doll.

chapter title is from Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance (because . . . duh.)

I started writing this on July 21st, 2022. I’d spent the few weeks post the finale airing engaging a lot with this fandom. I liked a lot of the fix-its, obviously, but they also got me thinking — was there a way to have Eddie come back canonically, without the Kaz/zombie/undead army theory? A way to bring him back to life? The more I thought about it, the more I felt that the Upside Down being in the past was key to it — that somehow a time travel option would be possible. That little seed was planted and, eventually, birthed itself into this giant thing.

And now, eight months later: it's done!

A few fun little facts for you, as we wrap up:

Morana is a Slavic goddess associated with winter’s death, rebirth, and dreams — obviously a fitting name for the character, here. I invented her because I felt like there were no existing government characters who felt trustworthy enough or emotionally available enough to lead therapy (no offense, Owens).

Initially this fic was going to be mostly about the Dead Kids Support Group (hence the original working title), but then I just couldn’t stop writing scenes with the main cast, and that became the central focus.

Technically, this is canon compliant through the end of Season 4 so long as you assume that Owens survived that explosion (which I do, because we didn’t see a body and this show is notorious for that shit) and you ignore all the stuff I definitely forgot because I didn’t bother to rewatch the show while I wrote this. Whoops!

Thank you all so much for reading. This is probably the biggest project I’ve completed in, like, ten years, and it’s been a lot of fun! I don’t think I’m quite done with this fandom, though, so I’ll probably see y’all around. Also, honestly, I almost certainly never would have finished this if it wasn't for your support and lovely comments along the way. Hope you enjoyed it. <3