Chapter Text
Eddie made his way down the street, guitar slung over his back, cord looped around his hips like a belt, and carrying his Pignose amp with one hand. The corner he liked to busk on was prime real estate; on the corner by a coffee shop to catch the evening college kids getting their fix, with a subway station to his left, all-night burger joint to his right, and a bar across the way. Depending on how the weather held up, he usually busked around seven to midnight. It wasn’t exactly a well paid gig, but nowhere else was willing to pay him for his music, so to the streets it was.
Settling in on the corner, not close enough to the coffee shop to be considered loitering, he plugged his guitar, adjusted the dials, and played a few test cords before addressing his audience: the people of Indianapolis who were doing their best to pretend as though he didn’t exist.
“Hello, New York,” Eddie joked. “Thank you all for coming out tonight, I’m gonna start with a fan favorite.”
Eddie warmed himself up with Hellion by Judas Priest, short, lyric-less, but absolutely killer guitar. He moved from there to Metallica, Dio, back to Judas Priest, and tossed a few of his own originals in here and there, but mainly covers. Across the way, the local religious kooks were handing out fliers as usual and preaching about saving one’s immortal soul before the impending end. According to the pamphlets Eddie had seen they were doomsday criers aptly named ‘The Final Chapter’ who believed the end was very near.
Eddie was more than familiar with their dirty looks as he sang his ‘devil-worship’ songs, but usually it was a middle aged woman in her forties buttoned up to the collar in hideous florals or a man in a worn-out suit with a beard that would make Gandalf jealous. Today it was a young man, somewhere in his early twenties with fluffy hair and a smile that belonged on the red carpet. A few of the college students who usually steered clear had actually risked getting the ‘are you going to heaven’ spiel just to talk to him. Dressed in khakis, a white button down, and a blue sweater, he looked like he had come straight from church… but otherwise he could have been a model.
Several patrons of the bar appeared to agree as it got later in the night and tried to strike up a conversation with him, even if it meant taking one of his pamphlets. He appeared to take it in stride, nodding and smiling along before sending them on their way. Despite the late hour, he was still there as Eddie put his guitar away, tucking the coins and few crumpled bills he had gotten into his pockets.
Crossing the street, Eddie headed for the bar, the Hidden Spoon… and got a closer look at the choir boy. If Eddie had bumped into him at the right venue, he would be hitting on him so fast it would make his head spin. He was built like he should have played for one of the local school sport’s teams, maybe he did, and classically handsome enough that his Sunday school get up wasn’t doing anything to deter the flirtation of drunk college girls.
“Any chance I can interest you in saving your immortal soul?” He asked as Eddie passed by, but the corners of his mouth were upturned like he knew it was a joke even as he said it.
“Can’t save what you don’t have, altar boy.” Eddie flashed devil horns at him, delighting in the way it made choir boy’s eyes widen.
Eddie stepped inside the bar, sidestepping other patrons, and making his way up to the counter. Jonathan, the bartender, nodded to him before returning his attention to his customer. Eddie had familiarized himself with most of the local bars, making sure they didn’t forget his face if they ever felt like coughing up a couple bucks for live entertainment. The Hidden Spoon was one of his preferred establishments considering they let him tack up a couple posters in his hunt for a drummer, bassist, perhaps a lead singer who could hit a couple more octaves than himself or another guitarist to keep him company.
Jonathan was a photography student at Butler, he had transferred in after two years at NYU when his little brother went missing. Originally he had come home on leave of absence, but when no leads turned up, he transferred to be closer to his mother who despite the fact that it was closing on a year since the kid disappeared hadn’t slowed her search in the slightest. There was always a poster of Will on the bulletin board in the back. Finished with his customer, Jonathan set a beer before him, and Eddie paid him with some of the crumpled bills he had earned.
“Hey, Johnny-boy, how’s it hanging?”
“Same old, same old.”
“Midterm season over?”
“Almost, got one more test on Thursday.”
“I’m sure you’ll ace it.”
Jonathan snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Good night out there?”
“Well, no one tossed their gum into my case, so, yeah, pretty decent,” Eddie said.
Jonathan shook his head.
Eddie drummed his fingers against the counter. “Any chance the owner’s changed his mind?”
“No, but we could always use another bar back if you’re looking for, y’know, an actual job.”
“Low blow from the wannabe photographer. You heard what they say about glass houses, haven’t you?”
Jonathan held his hands up in surrender. Eddie took in the scene as Jonathan tended to other customers, looking around for familiar faces to share a beer or two with. It wasn’t close enough to any of the universities to truly be a college bar, but there were always a couple of students trying to kill their braincells, people going out after work, and a few old drunks here and there. The door opened and there was altar boy helping a drunk girl keep her feet under her.
“Okay, easy, alright, let’s find your friends, let ‘em know it’s time to head home, yeah?”
“M’fine,” she slurred.
“Your friends,” he prompted gently. “Do you see them?”
She swung her head back and forth to look around the bar before pointing vaguely to a back table. Altar boy escorted her to the back table, handing her off to her friends who were quick to prop her up, leave some cash, and head for the door. He had his pamphlets tucked in his back pocket as he held the door open for them.
“Get home safe.”
One of the girls thanked him before they helped their friend out into the night.
“Interesting,” Eddie said to himself.
Altar boy tugged his pamphlets out of his pocket, one falling to the floor unnoticed as he stepped back outside to take his post on the street corner babbling the words of the Bible. By the time Eddie finished his beer and chatted with a few regulars, he was gone.
The beauty of Eddie's rock and roll style life was that he could sleep in as late as he wanted before rocking up to a couple of campuses to put up a few more fliers for his hypothetical metal band and make a few deals which combined with shifts at the record store was how he paid for his apartment, new guitar strings, cigarettes, and ramen. He was a simple man after all.
Rolling up to his corner a little after seven, he found altar boy standing in his spot, trying to entice caffeine addicts into taking his pamphlets so he could save their souls from eternal damnation. Unlike his predecessors, he didn’t shout at passerbys about the danger their soul was in, just stepped up to them with a pamphlet and a smile. Eddie marched right up to him.
“Oh, hey, reconsidered your stance on your immortal soul?”
“You’re in my spot,” Eddie said.
Altar boy looked down at the concrete below his feet then back up at him, and quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize it was reserved.”
“It’s more of a gentleman’s agreement.”
Altar boy’s eyes flicked over him, lips quirked up slightly. “I didn’t realize you were a gentleman.”
“That’s a lot of audacity for an altar boy.”
“Audacity is part of the job description. Take a pamphlet, I’ll tell you all about it.” He held out a paper.
“Over my dead body.”
“Ah, but by then it’ll be too late to enter his kingdom.”
Eddie scoffed. “Why would I want to be in his kingdom, way I hear it, Lucifer’s got all the good stuff: sex, drugs, rock and roll.”
“Eternal damnation, fire, and suffering…”
“Every heard of masochism, baby?”
Altar boy flushed slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ever heard of sharing? I’m sure there’s plenty of street corners for you to play on that aren’t already occupied.”
“Ah, but then how would my adoring fans find me?”
Altar boy swept his eyes pointedly around at the pedestrians ignoring the hell out of both of them.
“Point is, it’s my corner, so move it along, altar boy.” Eddie began setting up his guitar.
Altar boy proceeded to pretend as though he hadn’t heard, continuing to try to hand out pamphlets as Eddie plugged in his amp, and started to play, ‘Don’t Talk to Strangers’ by Dio, pointedly singing along.
“…don’t talk to strangers, ‘cause they’re only there to do you harm…”
Altar boy had no reaction as he tried to tell a college girl who asked for his number about the community church could provide, so Eddie moved as close as his cord allowed, tipping backwards to lean further into his space.
“…don’t go to heaven, ‘cause it’s really only hell, don’t smell the flowers, they’re an evil drug to make you lose your mind…”
Altar boy’s eye twitched as the girl laughed behind her to go coffee and stepped away to rejoin her friend; pamphlet-less.
Eddie grinned. “I’m danger, I’m the stranger, and I, I’m the darkness, I’m anger, I’m pain, I, I’m master, the evil song you sing inside your brain…”
Altar boy tried a few more times, but people gave Eddie’s enthusiastic guitar work a wider berth than they did a cute boy preaching about salvation. Altar boy sighed, migrating towards the cross walks.
“Run away, run away, go!” Eddie laughed after him. “No, no, don’t let them in your mind, protect your soul…”
Altar boy gave him an unimpressed look from across the way before putting on his smile to try to entice others into taking the Lord into their heart.
The next day, altar boy was on the other side of the street, but in sidewalk chalk there were the words ‘Reserved for the Spawn of Satan’, and Eddie tried not to smile as he looked at it, instead flipping him off and pretending he didn’t see him laugh as he set up. As the coffee crowd turned into the drinking and the drunk, Eddie cupped his hands around his mouth to make sure altar boy heard him.
“This one goes out to the Bible basher across the way, so, listen up, altar boy!”
Altar boy raised an eyebrow as Eddie began to play N.I.B. by Black Sabbath. He crossed his arms, pamphlets crinkling in hand as he gave full attention to his serenade, eyes widening slightly as the love song revealed it was from the perspective of Lucifer. Eddie polished off his song with wink and a deep bow to his friend across the way. His friend across the way who was making his way over.
Eddie contemplated how quickly he could pack up his guitar and amp because there wasn’t a chance he was running without either of them, especially not from a surprisingly buff bible beater who was definitely killing the ozone layer with his use of hairspray. So he slung his guitar onto his back, and faced the knitted-sweater consequences.
“Come to ask for an autograph?”
“Was it an original?”
“You don’t recognize Sabbath? Black Sabbath? Ozzy Osbourne?”
Altar boy tilted his head to one side like a confused puppy.
“That’s devastating, altar boy.”
“Steve.”
“Huh?”
“My name’s Steve, incase you feel like serenading some more, and, uh, I’m not an altar boy.”
“No?” Eddie’s eyes flicked over him. “You look like one.”
“I’m surprised you’d know, I doubt you’ve ever stepped foot inside a church.”
“And what? You’re gonna change that for me?”
Steve let out an amused exhale. “I suppose no one’s past saving, but you might be a close call.”
“Lucky for you, I didn’t ask for saving. Long live the devil, baby.”
Steve grimaced slightly, stepping back. “Have a nice night.”
“Better than yours I’m sure. I’m thinking a long night of drunkenness, premarital sex, and ritual sacrifice should keep me pretty well entertained.”
“Thought you were a masochist, not a sadist,” Steve tossed over his shoulder as he walked away.
Eddie spluttered slightly before shouting after him, “I have layers!”
Packing up not long after, Eddie skipped the bar in favor of a nearby gas station to procure spicy dill pickle chips and a fresh pack of cigarettes considering several of the convenience store had closed an hour or so before and he had big plans for the joint behind his ear, but no snacks left in his apartment. It was relatively empty as he perused the aisles, whistling to himself as he walked up to the counter with his haul of junk food.
“Don’t move, Munson.”
Eddie tensed, glancing over to find Hopper, one of the local pigs, holding a paper cup of crappy coffee, and looking like he regretted stopping for caffeine as their eyes met. Eddie’s eyes flicked to the door, and then back to him.
“Do not make me chase you tonight, Munson.”
“Officer,” Eddie held his hands up. “I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding—“
“You have a joint behind your ear, right now.”
“Medicinal!”
“Illegal either way.”
Eddie took a step backwards and Hopper tensed.
“Don’t.”
“Come on, man, I wasn’t even smoking it, or selling it! Not that I ever would, no sireee, bob, I would never—“
“Oh, save it, we both know you’re selling to half the undergrads here.”
Eddie put on an expression of mock innocence, pretending to look behind himself, then pointing to his chest, and mouthing 'who, me?’.
“Pay for your shit and let’s take a ride.”
Eddie groaned, but he didn’t have fleeing in him when he was still lugging around his amp and his guitar so he paid the minimum wage worker who looked like a murder could be committed in front of him and all he would do was go get a mop, and climbed in the back of Hopper’s car, un-cuffed, so he could eat his chips along the ride.
“You can’t get a real job, kid?”
“For your information, I have a real job, it just doesn’t pay jack squat in this economy.”
“Don’t even talk to me about jobs that don’t pay shit.”
“Oh, I pity you, working for the man, truly, I think I might cry a little over it.”
“Watch your mouth, smartass, you’re already in trouble.”
Eddie stuffed a handful of chips in his mouth, watching the city roll by out the window.
Chapter Text
Steve’s alarm went off at five thirty making him groan, but rolled out of bed after fumbling to turn it off. Stretching out, he went though his usual routine of push ups, sit ups, and a few other body weight exercises before actually making his way out of his room. The farm was rather small, but so was their church which was how he snagged a room all to himself in the attic, though he was pretty sure it was his early rise that kept him from getting a bunkmate.
There weren’t many acres of land, but what they did have had been sowed with seeds which Steve alternated tending to with a couple of the other members, they also had a chicken coop and a pair of goats for dairy products. They couldn’t live off the land entirely, but it definitely made a dent on their grocery bill, and Steve was rather fond of the work and the animals.
“Hello, Golly, how’s it going, girl?” Steve said softly as he pet her considering no one else was awake to see him do so.
Gee, their other goat ambled up to him for his own head scratches which Steve provided before feeding them and moving onto the chicken coop to collect breakfast. With his early rise to tend to the land, no one ever gave him grief for scrambling a heaping helping of eggs or whipping up some pancakes, but he learned quick that offering to help with lunch or dinner was distinctly frowned upon and if he made coffee he should just leave it in the pot even though he knew how everyone liked it by now.
Robin cursed as she walked into the corner of the table as though it wasn’t there every morning. She was already dressed for the day; a loose knit sweater thrown over her simple green frock, socks mismatched under her white sneakers, but she was still mostly asleep, holding her hands out expectantly. Steve provided her with a steaming cup of coffee; no sugar, extra cream.
“I hate morning people,” she told him, leaning heavily against his side as he flipped pancakes.
“Ah, but it’s the only time I’m free of all of you,” Steve teased.
She bit his shoulder, but considering he was wearing a sweater, it only ended up with her spitting out yarn fluff. Someone cleared their throat from the doorway and they both stepped apart when they glanced back to find Neil giving them a disapproving look.
“Can you wake the kids?” Steve asked.
“On it.” Robin handed him her coffee, and he took a sip as he added the last pancake to the stake before flipping the burner off.
Neil didn’t move from the doorway forcing Robin to squeeze past him to exit, standing there with his arms crossed as Steve set the table. Susan fluttered into the the kitchen a few minutes later, touching up Steve's breakfast as though the queen might be joining them and judge his presentation. A few of the other members came in and out to grab coffee and pancake, or actually sit down for breakfast depending on what their assignments for the day were. The kids came stomping down the stairs in one movement, dressed for the day. For the most part.
“Maxine,” Neil said.
Max stood on the foot of the stairs, her arms crossed, and wearing a pair of Dustin’s pants. Dustin had already settled at the table, forking pancakes onto his plate. Will was wilting behind Robin. El stood tall behind Max on the stairs.
“Your aware of the rules—“
“Come dressed and ready for school at breakfast. I’m dressed. I’m ready. Can I eat now?”
“Maxine,” Susan said, her voice barely a whisper. “Please, dear, just go get dressed so we can all—“
“You have five seconds,” Neil said.
Max locked her jaw, arms crossed tight over her chest.
“Five—“
“Hey, alright, c’mon, it’s early, everyone’s a little cranky, let’s all just—” Steve stepped between them.
“This is a family matter and doesn’t concern you.” Neil got into his space, fingers curled into fists.
Steve’s shoulders squared automatically.
“What’s going on here?”
Everyone’s demeanor shifted as Father Brenner stepped inside the kitchen; wearing his neatly iron grey suit and white button down, it felt odd to see him in the kitchen rather than holding session in the chapel or talking with his cadre as they walked the perimeters. By Steve’s clock, Brenner woke at four to begin the Lord’s work which often kept him too busy for communal meals or activities except for mass and Bible study.
“Maxine,” Neil began.
“Was just telling me one of the seams of her skirt tore, but I’m gonna go help her mend it right now,” Steve said easily, ignoring the dirty look Neil gave him.
“Is that so?” Brenner said. “Maxine?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes,” Brenner corrected.
“Yes,” Max said, though it made her jaw twitch.
“Mending is really a skill you should have mastered by now at nearly sixteen,” Brenner said.
Max glared at the floor.
“It’ll be good practice, c’mon.” Steve waved her up the stairs.
Both girls moved at his gesture, but Brenner spoke up.
“Actually, I’ve come to retrieve Eleven.”
Steve glanced back. “She hasn’t had a chance to have breakfast yet.”
“She can eat later. Come.” Brenner extended his hand.
Eleven slipped past Steve to accept it, letting him lead her from the house and Steve waved Max up the stairs despite the glare Neil was burning into his back. Max stormed into her and El’s room, grabbing her pillow off the bed and throwing it across the room. The Hargroves were a recent addition to the Final Chapter, only a few months, and Max had a difficult time adjusting from the freedom she experienced in California to the guidelines of their community.
“It’s 1985 not 1950!” Max ranted.
“I know,” Steve said, digging through her chest of drawers for a skirt.
“This is bullshit!”
“I’m not gonna argue with you.” Steve picked a long, loose, muted purple skirt that he figured would at least match her sweater.
“I’m not doing it.”
Steve turned the fabric over in his hands, an inkling of an idea coming to mind. “Just… put up with it for today, okay? Wear pants under it if you want. I’ll talk with Brenner, okay? But this is just gonna get you extra chores, so.”
Steve tossed her the skirt and she glared at it as she caught it. He moved for the door, but paused in the entrance when she spoke up.
“Why do you stay? You’re over eighteen, you can go wherever you want.”
“Ah, but then who’d make you blueberry pancakes?”
“…they’re blueberry?”
“I’ll go make sure the others have saved you some.” Steve closed the door behind him, jogging back down the stairs.
Dustin raised an eyebrow at him, but Steve just tussled his hair as he passed, loading up a plate for Max, and setting it by her empty chair, leaning against the counter as he pulled one apart by hand. Robin stood with him, offering him sips of her coffee as they listened to the mundane chatter of breakfast. Dustin was chattering about the book he had read while others nodded along, but clearly had other things on their minds, Will doodled on his napkin.
“Hey. Eat up.” Steve nudged the back of his chair.
Will pinked, but set aside his pencil, and started eating. Brenner had brought him to the commune almost a year ago; he had a tendency to collect strays, and Will was a runaway. Considering they only had four school age kids currently, it was easy enough for one of the members to home school them, but that didn’t mean they avoided the scramble of almost being late for school every other morning.
“How do you do this every time?” Steve asked with exasperation as Dustin ran for the stairs, his homework forgotten. “How can you be late when school is in the same building as your bed?”
Dustin flipped him off.
Once the kids were all off to school and the kitchen cleaned up, Steve and several of the other members migrated to the shop to work on the orders. Their income depended on restoring a variety of possessions; radios, clocks, furniture, even making some furniture here and there to sell. It was a modest income, but it kept them afloat, and Steve liked the work. Several of the women also mended or made clothes, knit, or embroidered and then they took them into town to sell.
Steve spent most of the morning sanding down parts that would eventually be a chair, Billy rolling into the shop an hour after the rest of them had begun work, and getting to work fixing up a radio while he smoked. For all appearances of the inner cadre, Billy was a prime example of a righteous man, but when they weren’t looking he was smoking like a chimney, chasing the girls skirts, and hiding metal cassettes under his bed. There had been a few complaints lodged, but never any evidence to support them, and then Brenner had given them a sermon on jealousy, so Steve kept his opinion to himself.
“Hey, pretty boy, get me a flat head,” Billy called.
“Kinda in the middle of something here,” Steve said, not looking up from his work.
Billy yanked out the cord to his sander.
Steve’s eyes twitched. “Last I checked you hadn’t broken your legs, I figured five feet wouldn’t kill you.”
“You’re Brenner’s lap dog, so, do what you do best and go fetch.”
A few of the other guys snickered.
“Ironic coming from the brown-noser.”
Billy’s smirk slid away, stepping towards him, but Tommy came in between, holding out the screw driver he needed. Snatching it from his hand, Billy went back to his work, and Steve plugged his cord back in, returning to his chair. Sanded and stained, Steve left the workshop to change out of his sawdust covered clothes and collected Robin from where she was taking apart a knitted knot that was supposedly a sweater so they could go into town to hand out pamphlets after a few deliveries that were loaded up in the back.
It had taken more than a little of the Harrington charm to convince the cadre that recruitment might rise in a college town if they sent out actual college aged kids to hand out pamphlets. Considering they already had one new probationary member, Steve had found himself proven right, though some of the older folks had grumbled at having one of their vehicles occupied when they could have been the ones making deliveries, picking up supplies, or just getting off the commune for a few hours. The commune may have been a refuge, but it wasn’t just the younger members that could get a little stir crazy, not that anyone would mention it. The less time spent off the commune, the less time spent in their sanctum preparing for the end, the less time they spent in God’s good light, and the more time being tainted by the outside world.
Beside him in the passenger seat, Robin made a quick change; wiggling into jeans under her frock, pulling it out from under her sweater, and stuffing it in the glove box for the return journey and doing a little makeup using the mirror once he pulled up outside of Butler.
“Eight on the dot,” Steve said.
“Yes, I know, I know.”
Robin climbed out of the passenger seat, joining the students filtering in and out of buildings. She wasn’t technically a student, but she snuck into enough lecture halls and audited plenty of courses to be nearly fluent in French, Italian, and Latin. Aside from homeschooling the children, the Final Chapter didn’t feel the need for higher education unless it was study of the Bible or philosophers that they had stocked in their own library. Robin had already read every book they had on the farm and a few more hidden under her mattress that she had snuck in. It wasn’t exactly as though other literature was banned, only that Brenner preached caution when not reading content from God-fearing authors.
If the books were found, Robin would definitely have hours of recitations, chores, and independent thought, which were days where one wasn’t to talk to anyone but Brenner so they could properly contemplate the Lord, his teachings, and the role they had been given to play. If the inner cadre found out she had been auditing classes… Steve swallowed down his nausea, pulling away from campus to go about making the deliveries on his own, including to the local newspaper. All of the money from the repairs went directly into the commune’s coffers and Brenner decided where best to spend it, but the cash from comic strips Steve submitted the newspaper got tucked in a ball of socks in the bottom of his chest of drawers. Just in case. They were all under the pen-name The Idiot and the paper agreed to pay him under the table.
“Well, let’s see ‘em.” Murray held out his hand when he stepped into the office rather than offer a hello.
Steve handed over his hand drawn comics. Murray made judgmental noises as he read through them, uh-huh’s, mm’s, and hmph’s, but he opened his desk drawer to hand over the agreed upon amount so Steve supposed they were good enough.
“You ever think about doing a calendar?” Murray asked.
Steve pocketed the money, putting on a wry smile. “Why bother? Haven’t you heard? World’s ending.”
Murray gave him a derisive snort.
Steve made his exit, a box of pamphlets on his hip, as he ended up at his final destination; the street corner right in front of the Hidden Spoon. Right across from Eddie, who was already set up, and wailing away like he was playing for a packed stadium and not uninterested pedestrians. Handing out pamphlets, Steve fielded questions about the rules and regulations of the Final Chapter; mostly pertaining to sex or alcohol, two things which abstaining from horrified the vast majority of the population.
“My last song of the night goes out to my altar boy across the way!” Eddie called out.
Steve let out an exaggerated sigh so that Eddie could see it across the way even if he couldn’t hear it, but listened all the same as Eddie played for him, pulling out all the stops.
“Well there’s one place that I don’t wanna go, and even if I went there, there’d be nobody that I know. No, I can’t see myself with halo and wings. I wanna go below where they do horny things. You know, I would not be seen dead in heaven…”
He couldn’t quite bite back his smile at the lines, ‘don’t wanna join their choir, I wouldn’t get far, I’ll form a helluva band, and play lead guitar’. Making his way across the street as Eddie began to pack up, he tried to ignore the little flutter in his chest as the metalhead smirked up at him. His curls were a fluffy mess, piercings adorning his ears, and tattoos peeking out from under his leather jacket and denim vest put together exactly the ‘satanist’ image Steve would bet he was aiming for.
“Hey, altar boy, enjoy my set tonight?”
“Still not an altar boy.”
“No? What do you do then, Steve?”
“Tend to the animals, keep the kids from burning the house down, fix up radios, hand out pamphlets, y’know, real cult stuff.”
“Real cute.” Eddie slung his guitar over his back, and picked up his amp.
Steve bit back a smile, stepping away. “Have a blessed night, Eddie.”
“Make me, big boy!”
Steve shook his head, heading back to the truck, and pulling up outside of Butler a few minutes early, drumming his fingers against the wheel as he listened to pop songs. Robin nearly tripped running up to the truck, hopping in his passenger side at exactly eight and shouting ‘drive’ as though they were robbing a bank and not late to evening bible study. Brenner had several different groups of study for a more focused, individual approach, although most of the groups were actually run by his second in command: Henry.
She made another quick change on the drive and they managed to step into the little church just in time for Henry to give them a mildly amused, mildly disapproving look from his place at the altar. They didn’t have pews, rather during service they knelt on the wood floor for the duration, and during studying they sat at the base of the dais. When Brenner led the discussions, he stood at the podium, but Henry sat on the edge of the dais, and they all circled up around.
As usual, Revelations was their focus, each of them done their assigned reading, or rereading in Steve’s case; he wasn’t sure there was a part of the Bible he hadn’t read or been read considering he had lived on he commune since he was almost sixteen. Henry invited their ideas and interpretations, offering gentle corrections and nudges here and there when people strayed from their core theology or focused on aspects that aligned with outside views they had been indoctrinated with by society or those of churches they had been a part of before joining the Final Chapter.
Henry checked his watch. “I think that’s all for tonight.”
The others rose and filed from the church, but Steve lingered to help Henry return the Bibles to their shelves, and have a word.
“I didn’t want to bother Father Brenner because it seemed so… small, but if you had a second, I thought of a little solution that might ease some of the tensions in the house?”
“Oh? What tensions?”
“The dress code.”
“Ah, Maxine,” Henry said.
“Yeah, I figure since our dress code is primarily for modesty purposes, then so long as we find her something suitable, there isn’t any harm in her wearing pants, right?”
“Deuteronomy 22:5, Steven.”
“A woman shall not wear anything that pertains to a man, nor shall a man put on women’s garments, for those who do so are an abomination to the Lord of your God,” Steve recited easily.
“Then you have your answer.”
“Except, in biblical times, men wore togas pretty similar to some of the dresses of today, not pants, so I figure with the adjustment to modern time, pants aren’t exactly men’s are they? They’re just… pants.”
“Manipulating the word of the Lord to suit your own purposes is blasphemous.”
“I think you’re giving me too much credit.” Steve laughed slightly. “I think I would need a little more brains for that, it was more of a question, really, I just thought it might make mornings go a little smoother for everyone if we could find a solution that was respectful to the Lord, of course, and also made Max comfortable. She hasn’t been here long, I want to make the transition as easy for her as it can be.”
Henry hummed slightly. “If I find Brenner has time to listen to such a question, I will propose it to him upon the next convenience.”
Steve flashed him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Henry, you know we all really appreciate that you, y’know, listen to us. I know Father Brenner’s a busy man, but it’s nice to know there’s someone to turn to, who doesn’t mind hearing the little questions.”
Henry’s smile was a sliver of a thing, but it always was. “Of course, Steven.”
Steve made his way out of the church, turning his options over in his head. In some cases, he had time to weasel favor out of inner members, like asking to volunteer at local shelters using a handful of quotes right from the Bible on the instruction for charity to make his case and finding the right person in the right mood. It was the same way he got away with plenty of things: letting the kids have a monthly movie night so long as the film was approved before hand, letting himself and Robin go hand out pamphlets, letting Dustin tinker with scrap pieces from the repair shop, and so on and so forth, but Steve was pretty sure that if tensions got any higher between Max and Neil, she would have worse consequences than extra chores.
“Knock knock,” Steve called through the door.
“You don’t have to say knock knock when you’ve already knocked,” Max shouted back.
“Can I open the door or not?”
“Yes,” El said.
Steve opened the door to their shared room, both of them sitting on El’s bed in their pajamas as they wove friendship bracelets; their most recent time killing obsession which Steve found mildly strange because both of them detested knitting, embroidering, and sewing.
“How was school?”
“Boring,” Max said. “Ann won’t teach us anything actually interesting, it’s just math, and roman history, and old dusty books.”
“Ms. Jones,” Steve corrected.
Max rolled her eyes. “Whatever. El missed all of it anyway.”
Steve frowned.
“I was with Papa,” El said quietly, eyes fixed on the threads.
Before creating the Final Chapter, Brenner worked with an orphanage which was where he found and adopted El. She didn’t speak at the time, but he had met her on November 11th when reading Revelations, and so aptly named her Eleven for 11:11, ‘But after the three and a half days a breath of life from God entered them, and they stood up on their feet, and great fear fell on those who saw them.’
“All day?”
El nodded slightly.
“Did you get something to eat?”
“Dinner.”
Steve nodded.
“Did you talk to Brenner?” Max asked.
“Not exactly, but I’ve got an idea, toss me one of your skirts.”
“What? Are you going to wear it?” Max rifled through her clothes, tossing him a burgundy skirt.
“Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” Steve closed the door, taking the skirt back to his own room
Spreading the loose fabric across the floor, he carefully cut straight up the middle, hand sewing the two sides of the skirt into loose, flowy legs. The creak of wood just outside the door made his heart jump, and he shoved the fabric under his bed as it opened a crack. Robin slipped inside.
“Fuck. Robin, you scared the shit out of me,” Steve hissed as she quietly closed the door again.
“Sorry, sorry.”
“Do you realize how much trouble we’ll get in if you’re caught?”
“I had the dream again,” Robin said quietly.
Steve sighed, rising to his feet, and pulling her into a hug. “I’m okay, we’re okay.”
“It felt so real.”
“It was just a test of faith, Rob, it’s okay.”
“But what if it— what if it was real, what if next time—“
“The Lord will provide,” Steve said gently. “He didn’t let Isaac die that day, remember?”
“But what does it say about Abraham that he was willing to sacrifice his kid? What kind of father is that?”
“The kind of father who had faith that God would stop him.”
“It does not say that in the Bible.”
“I read between the lines.”
Robin laughed, pulling back and wiping at her face. “I think that’s the most Christian thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Steve’s face warmed slightly. “If the God you love and worship is good, then how could he take your son from you? Seems pretty out of character to me.”
Robin sat down on the edge of his bed. “Sometimes I think you’re the only person who’s read the Bible the way you have.”
Steve sat next to her, pulling the pants out from under the bed to pick up sewing again. “I think that’s how everyone feels, isn’t it? Your connection with God’s supposed to be personal, so of course everyone’s going to read it a little different.”
“What if… what if I think God doesn’t like me very much?”
“That’d be a little hypocritical if we’re all made in his image.”
“Then why’d he make me like this?” Robin asked, only half a joke, but Steve could hear the helplessness in her voice.
Steve bumped their shoulders together. “So that I could have the best friend ever.”
Robin laughed a little. “You’re such a dingus.”
“Tell me about class.”
Robin filled him in on her classes before sneaking back out of his room and Steve only caught a few hours of sleep before his alarm dragged him out of bed by his ankles. Letting out a groan, Steve turned it off, forcing himself out of bed and through his exercises. Opening the girls door just a crack, he set the ‘skirt’ just inside before closing it again, and making his way downstairs. Petting the goats, collecting the eggs, tending their meager crops, making breakfast, and keeping Robin from knocking over half the kitchen equipment in her half asleep stupor, was all part of his morning routine.
“Good morning, Ann,” Steve said as their school teacher stepped into the kitchen.
Considering she had arrived a few months after himself, she had never actually been his teacher, and once he hit eighteen Mr, Mrs, and Ms were all reserved for anyone who actually had at least two decades of seniority on him or were genuine strangers. She had only completed two years of college before her parents attempted to set her up with a man a decade her senior, and she ran away. Still, two years of learning to be a teacher was more than enough to homeschool a handful of kids.
“Good morning,” Ann said warmly, fixing herself up a cup of coffee.
Robin was almost dozing on his shoulder and Steve sipped what always ended up as their coffee no matter who started drinking it.
“Have you two thought about speaking to Brenner? I’m sure he would approve such a union and we haven’t had a wedding in some time now—“
Steve choked slightly and Robin suddenly looked wide awake.
“No, um.” Steve coughed. “No, we don’t have any plans to speak to Brenner about, um, that.”
Ann smiled bashfully. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but you both are getting to marrying age, I figure others will be asking you the same soon enough.”
Robin looked mildly nauseated at the thought.
“I think we’ve got our hands full enough as it is, don’t you?” Steve said dryly as the kids came thundering down the stairs.
At first glance, Max was wearing a skirt, it was only when she moved that one could tell it had actually been stitched into two loose pant legs, and a few of the members stirred as she went to gather her breakfast. One of them slipped out of the house and Steve tried not to let his own nerves show as Henry returned with him a few minutes later.
“Maxine,” Henry said. “Interesting choices you’ve made this morning.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Should I have chosen milk and not orange juice?”
Henry’s smile was as sharp as a razor. “Wit does not suit you.”
Max’s jaw locked.
“I suggest you go change into something that is appropriate.”
“This is appropriate,” Max ground out.
“It’s a woman’s garment,” Steve said.
Henry turned on him. “Steven, your encouragement of this behavior is astounding from someone who has been with us so long. Have you truly failed to grasp our way of life after all this time?”
There were a few amused exhales here and there.
“Wasn’t that law created in part due to pagan rituals anyways? I’m not sure it translates to modern time,” Robin began.
“And Robin, of course, our pair of trouble makers, hm? You are supposed to be examples that our young ones can look up to, and yet you encourage this behavior—“
“What’s going on here?” Brenner asked, El standing a pace behind him, eyes on the floor.
“Father Brenner,” Steve offered an apologetic smile. “I didn’t want to waste your time with a matter, so, uh, unimportant, so I tried to come up with a solution that made all parties happy, um, but it looks like I failed.”
Brenner raised an eyebrow. “Henry?”
“Steve and Robin seem to be encouraging Maxine’s reluctance to accept the guidelines of our community, specifically the dress code. Maxine insists on wearing men’s clothes.”
“They’re not men’s clothes,” Steve countered. “Our talk was actually what gave me insight to a solution. The skirt’s only been altered enough for Max to move freely, so, yes, it’s still woman’s clothes and more importantly it fits with our ideals of modesty, that’s what the dress code is for, right? Not fixating so much on our appearances? I didn’t think it would be such a big deal, honestly.”
“Maxine, will you stand?” Brenner asked after a long minute.
Max stood up.
Brenner frowned slightly. “Is that not a skirt?”
Max moved one of her legs. “Yeah, essentially, but it makes me feel less like I’m gonna trip and fall down.”
“Then we’re just splitting hairs. One must not focus so much on their appearances, their own, or one another’s, it’s only a path to vanity and jealousy. I’m embarrassed that you’ve let something so trifle consume you all so. More than that, I’m concerned to the state of tension in this house, are there other issues to which I should be made privy?”
No one spoke up.
“Nothing that won’t wait until confession I suppose.” Brenner said, giving them all a calculating look. “Come, Eleven.”
El took his hand and Steve let out a slow exhale as he exited and breakfast resumed with Max gloating into her eggs.
Chapter Text
Eddie knew community service was getting off easy, so he wasn’t about to complain, but it did not minimize the awkwardness of stepping into the soup kitchen and trying to find someone to sign his paper and give him a task.
“I’ve got my hands pretty full here, but Steve’s an old hand by now, he’s one of our regular volunteers. He’s in the kitchen and I’m sure he’d be grateful for a hand," Susanna --who seemed to be running the show-- pointed him towards the kitchen.
Eddie tried to convince himself the name was a coincidence until he stepped into the kitchen to find the bible-basher humming along to the radio as he put together dinner, his usual church goer get up abandoned in favor of faded jeans and a long sleeve rolled up to his elbows and dusted in flour.
“I think you might be the one Christian I’ve actually seen practicing charity,” Eddie said.
Steve’s eyes widened as he turned at the sound of his voice.
Eddie stepped deeper into the kitchen. “A lot of people seem to forget that part of the Bible, y’know, unless you’re here for community service.”
“You must be our new mandated volunteer, huh?”
“Kind of an oxymoron.”
“What are you in for?”
“Drinking the blood of infants.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Alright, devil spawn, put your hair up and wash your hands then. We’ve got work to do.”
Eddie shed his jacket, tying his hair back with a bandana, and washing his hands. Steve put him to work chopping vegetables while he prepared both chicken and beef options, still nodding along to the wretched pop song on the radio.
“Just when I thought you could get any worse, and you’re a Wham fan,” Eddie sighed.
“Do you take requests? Perhaps Tears for Fears?”
Eddie met his eyes with a dead eyed stare. “Do I look like I know Tears for Fears? Because if I do, I need to rethink my choices.”
“Haven’t you heard? Tears for Fears is totally metal.”
Eddie must have looked as horrified as he felt by that statement because Steve laughed bright and loud. Eddie couldn’t help his own smile at the sound, but he turned away so Steve wouldn’t see it.
“How many hours do you have to log?” Steve asked.
“Forty.”
Steve whistled. “The price of the blood of infants is steep these days.”
Eddie bit back a surprised laugh. “Yeah, apparently so.”
“Have you ever worked in a soup kitchen before?”
“Nope.”
“Alright, well, we’re gonna make mashed potatoes, chicken, beef, steamed vegetables, nothing with too much spice, alright? Just a little salt and pepper, some of these folks might not have had a chance to eat in a bit, so we don’t want to go crazy and upset their stomachs.”
“Yes, chef.”
“And then we’re gonna go out and serve it, try to deal out even portions, it doesn’t happen often, but we’ve had a couple of tiffs here and there between folks who feel like they got slighted. Afterwards we’ll come clean up, if there’s left overs make sure to put them in Tupperware, we waste as little as possible.”
“Got it.”
“Any questions?”
“Can I change the radio station?”
Steve smirked, turning the dial up on a Journey song. “No.”
“Asshole,” Eddie muttered.
Steve waved a pair of tongs at him. “Hey, I have to hear all of your music every night, so, in my kitchen, we listen to my music.”
“Your kitchen?”
“Unless you see anyone else making dinner…?”
“Asshole,” Eddie said again.
Steve hummed loudly along to Journey in retaliation.
“You can’t seriously think this stuff is good.”
“Why not?”
“It’s so… redundant. They all sound the same.”
“Funny, that’s what I was gonna say about metal music.”
“I’m not going to debate the merits of metal music with someone who won’t appreciate it.”
“Oh no, what a loss.”
Eddie glared at him.
Steve glanced over his shoulder at him as he shifted one of the pans off of the burner. “How long have you been playing?”
“I learned a little when I was a kid, but I only managed to get my hands on a beat up acoustic when I was thirteen, and then bought my darling at sixteen.”
“Your electric,” Steve clarified.
“Not just any electric, a BC Warlock.”
“Those words mean nothing to me, but the way you're saying them makes me think I'm supposed to be impressed.”
“She’s a beauty, Steve, the love of my life!”
Steve gave him a wry smile. “A lucky woman.”
“Don’t be jealous, baby.”
Steve’s eyes widened slightly and though he fixed his attention on the stove, Eddie could have sworn there was a rosy tint to his face.
“Is it only metal or…?”
“If you even suggest I taint my darling with pop I’ll put this kitchen knife to better use.”
“…what about REO?”
“What did I just say, Steve?”
Steve laughed. “Oh come on, they’re rock and roll.”
“They’re hair rock,” Eddie said with great disdain.
“Alright, alright, what about Journey?”
Eddie waggled his knife. “Thin ice.”
“Looking at the job you did with the carrots, I think I’m safe.”
Eddie threw one of the uneven carrots at him. “We can’t all be five-star material.”
“It just takes a little practice.”
“Yeah, well, my skills in the kitchen are limited to ramen, pancakes, and grilled cheese.”
“Staples of a healthy diet.”
“Oh yeah, start my day off right with Lucky Charms and finish it with beer and weed, everything a growing boy needs.”
Steve looked a little pained. “Marijuana isn’t a vegetable.”
Eddie laughed. “Marijuana, god, what are you? A cop?”
“Blasphemy,” Steve said mildly, almost unconscious, like saying “bless you” after someone sneezed. “And no, but I can guess what you got your community service for.”
“I wasn’t even smoking it,” Eddie complained. “I just had a joint behind my ear when I went to get some chips.”
“Ah, the danger of late night snacks.” Steve nodded.
“Asshole,” Eddie said with great emphasis.
“I think I like your other nicknames better,” Steve said, shooting him a cocky grin.
“Oh yeah, baby?”
Steve pinked. “I meant altar boy, but I suppose it’s still an improvement.”
Eddie fumbled for a come back because Steve could not possibly be flirting back when he had just chided him for taking the lord's name in vain and had a gold cross hanging from his neck.
“All set?” Steve reached for his cutting board.
“Yeah, yes. All yours.”
Steve hummed along as he put the finishing touches on the food, directing Eddie to set out plates and utensils on the serving table and to make sure their napkin baskets on the long tables were full. Steve carried out dishes heaping with hot food and Eddie only let his eyes linger on the flex of his biceps against his sleeves for a few minutes before offering a hand.
“I’ve got it, can you open up a case of water, please?”
“You got it, boss.”
Steve let out an amused exhale, shaking his head slightly. It took a few trips for Steve to get the table set up, putting Eddie on vegetable duty while Susanna welcomed the line outside in. She welcomed familiar faces with questions as to their well-being and new ones with gentle directions as to their set up.
“Marty,” Steve smiled as an old man hobbled up to the table. “How are you, man? I haven’t see you in a few weeks.”
“Got sick of your ugly mug,” Marty rasped with a voice worn out from too many cigarettes.
“Ah, you old flatterer,” Steve dished out some beef onto his plate. “You doing okay?”
“Old complaint, old complaints.”
Steve hummed sympathetically. “Why don’t you go put your leg up? I’ll bring you a hot water bottle once I’m done serving.”
“You nag worse than my old lady did.”
“What a weird way to say thank you.”
Marty grumbled to himself as he limped off to a table with his full plate. A waif of a young women, stepped up in his place, her teeth yellow as she gave Steve a twitchy smile.
“Hi, Steve.”
“Hey, Lily, how are we doing today?”
She fidgeted for a second as he served her chicken before producing a little coin.
“One month.”
“Lily, that’s fantastic!”
She reddened, looking down at her feet.
“Keep it up, okay? You’ve got this.”
She took her plate without meeting his eyes, but she looked pleased as she walked away. Eddie watched Steve talk to each and every one of the people who came through the line, but what left him a little awestruck was watching how he easily switched from warm and welcoming to dry and sarcastic to polite and reserved depending on the energy the folks approached him with. Several of the newcomers didn’t meet his eyes, so aside from a hello and a how do you do all he asked them was what they wanted to eat and that he hoped to see them again, polite, but reserved on the warmth that he showed to the others that they seemed shy away from. He kept the line moving with polite conversation enders from more talkative ones like, ‘I’ll come talk to you after I’ve cleaned up, I want to hear more about that’.
A man stumbled up to the table, almost walking right into it. “Who’s the fresh meat?”
Eddie had known enough addicts in his time to recognize an alcoholic from his bulging belly to his blood shot eyes to the slur to his words.
“This is Eddie,” Steve said. “Eddie, this is Benjamin. How you doing today?”
“I’d be doing a whole lot better if you served beer in this joint," Benjamin said.
“Not that kinda place, man, you want chicken or beef?” Steve asked.
“Don’t know why I bother, this shit’s worse than a McDonald’s dumpster.”
“Ah, well, I didn’t go to culinary school.”
“You made this? No surprise, could see it on you anyways, only queers like you stoop down to doin’ women’s work--“
“Hey—“ Eddie began.
Steve put a heavy hand on Eddie's shoulder. “Chicken or beef, Benjamin?”
“Beef.”
Steve served him a portion.
“What? You skimping on me, nancy-boy?”
“You get the same servings as everyone else. Make sure you grab a water there at the end of the table,” Steve said, his tone even and easy going.
Benjamin grumbled, but shuffled along.
Steve blew out a deep breath, pulling his hand away from Eddie’s shoulder. “Sorry about that, man, bad circumstances can make people a little bitter sometimes.”
“Doesn’t mean he can talk to you like that," Eddie said.
“Ah, he comes in with a new list of insults every time I see him, but I think he’s running out of content.”
“Still.”
Steve opened his mouth to reply only for something else to catch his eye, and pin up a little smile, giving a little wave.
“Hey, man, come on in, you’re just in time.”
Susanna had gone to check in on the folks eating, reminding them of other services in the area, and asking how they were, which left a guy around Eddie’s age lingering uncertainly in the doorway. He wore a ratty patch sewn flannel that hadn’t been washed in awhile and dirt stained jeans, his hair falling into his face. The guy looked like a deer in headlights, but reluctantly followed Steve’s little wave up to the table.
“Hey, man, I’m Steve, how are you doing?”
“Fine,” he told the floor.
“You feeling chicken or beef tonight?”
“Um, either’s fine.”
Steve served him some beef, handing the plate over to Eddie to serve up some vegetables and add a bread roll before handing it back. The guy looked up for half a second as he accepted the plate.
“Nice shirt.”
Eddie glanced down at his Metallica shirt, a question on his tongue, but the guy was already making a quick exit; there was a pair of drumsticks in his back pocket.
“Think you can handle any stragglers?” Steve asked.
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
“Great, give a shout if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Steve disappeared into the kitchen only to return with a hot water bottle which got delivered to Marty before moving to catch up with several of the regulars who had wanted to tell him news on every part of the spectrum: good, bad, and weird. Cleaning up took more work than making the meal had between scrubbing dishes, wiping down the tables, and packaging up the leftovers.
“What happens to the left overs?” Eddie asked.
“Susanna and I, and, well, whoever else is on shift usually take ‘em with us when we leave and hand ‘em out to anyone who might be hungry tonight while we make our way home.”
“Long walk back to the commune?”
“Nah, it’s the modern world, my horse is just out back,” Steve joked.
Eddie shook his head. “You’re so…”
“So?”
“Normal.”
“I don’t know that I want the guy who sings about worshipping the devil and gets arrested for possession to think I’m normal," Steve said, tilting his head to one side.
“And by normal I mean a complete asshole.”
Steve laughed and Eddie couldn’t help his answering smile.
“Pretty sure this is one of those takes one to know one situations," Steve said.
“Okay, but see, this is what I mean, we could almost be friends, and I was braced for hours of Bible quotes and the whole saving my soul spiel.”
“We can’t be friends?”
“Depends, why are you luring all these people into a cult, Stevie?”
“How is it that hundreds of people go to church every Sunday, but because we’ve got a slightly different interpretation of the Bible we’re a cult?”
“Because those people don’t stand on street corners telling me the end is nigh.”
“Nah, you’re right, they just try to police the government on who people can marry and what they can do with their own body.”
“And your cult doesn’t?”
“Yeah, the Final Chapter has their own beliefs, but it doesn’t impose them on others. People who are like minded are welcomed in, people who would rather walk the other way don’t have to take a flier. They can practice their own religion, or no religion, and yeah, to us it means their soul is damned, but that’s their choice to make. Plenty of other religions think we’re going to hell for the exact same reason. We can debate who is right and wrong until we’re all blue in the face, but what it comes down to is faith in what you believe, and whatever’s gonna happen at the end, where I guess we’ll find out who was right and who wasn’t.”
“…shockingly well-spoken for a cult member.”
“They give us etiquette lessons.”
“Really?”
Steve laughed. “No, man, I’m messing with you, but I’ve definitely had a lot of conversations about theology, so, yeah, I’d say I know what I’m talking about.”
“So you really believe it then?” Eddie asked, a little disbelieving. “That we’re on the cusp of an apocalypse and if I don’t convert and change my ways then I’ll burn in hell forever?”
Steve’s hands paused on the container he was packing up. “I feel like your opinion of me will lower if I say yes.”
“Can’t get any lower, Stevie.”
“Asshole.”
“It was a genuine question though.”
“Not one with a good answer. If I say yes, you’ll think I’m delusional, I say no, you’ve got a whole other host of questions, and if I take the time to explain how complicated faith is, well, I think we’ll just end up in that blue-in-the-face-fight after all, so, decide for yourself.”
“If you don’t believe then why did you join?”
“I didn’t say I don’t believe.”
“Steve.”
“You don’t join because you believe, you join because you have questions, and someone has answers that make sense to you. Believing comes later.”
“Okay, but you, why did you specifically join?”
“Those answers are mine, not yours,” Steve said, it was a gentle reprimand, but Eddie felt it all the same as he realized they may have spent four hours together and bantered on the street, but they hadn’t quite become friends.
“That’s fair,” Eddie said. “If I ask again, somewhere down the line, would you tell me?”
“Depends on why you’re asking.”
“You’re kinda cryptic, Steve, did you know that?”
“That’s the second lesson they gave us in cult school.” Steve winked.
Eddie smacked him with a towel.
Steve picked up a stack of to-go containers. “Goodnight, Eddie.”
“Night, Steve.”
Eddie watched him step out the back door.
Chapter Text
Sundays started with mass at sunrise led by Father Brenner before they were dismissed to begin their personal revelations. It was a day meant to be void of distractions which meant no work aside from the necessary: tending to the animals, preparing food, and minimal chores. It also meant the children were not permitted to watch any videos, play boardgames, or read anything besides scripture as they waited along with everyone else to be called one by one to confessional.
Max groaned, lying face first on the couch of the recreation room. “This is the worst.”
“It’s not that bad,” Will said, sketching in his notebook.
Max turned her face to the side to glare at him.
“After confession you can go play outside,” Steve said, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.
“Play outside? Seriously? What are we? Six?” Max wrinkled her nose with disdain.
“We could play knights and dragons,” Dustin said.
Steve glanced over his shoulder, but the other members of the congregation weren’t with earshot, so he let it slide. Fantasy media was generally frowned upon and they didn’t house any novels or movie with content that could be associated with witchcraft or false miracles, but Steve didn’t see any harm in the kids pretending to sword fight with sticks aside from the potential to poke an eye out… so long as no one else heard.
Max rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“Whatever,” El repeated, trying to match her tone, but missing snarky by a mile.
Steve bit back a smile. The pair had become quick friends, especially because Max didn’t seem to mind that El had a tendency to copy her like she was a beginner student to the language of teenage girls. It was nice to see El come out of her shell a little seeing as when Steve first arrived it was rare to hear her speak at all, though he had managed to win a smile or two by telling her any cheesy knock-knock joke he came across. He had laughed himself to tears the first time she tried to tell him on considering it consisted of ‘knock knock’ ‘who’s there’ ‘no door’ ‘no door who’ ‘no, door, why are you knocking?’. It wasn’t exactly brilliant work, but he was certain it was the best joke he ever heard.
Lewis, one of Brenner’s inner circle, stepped up to the doorway. “Come, Will.”
Closing his sketchbook, Will rose to his feet, eyes on the floor as he followed Lewis out of the room. Confessions weren’t held in the anonymity of a box, instead each member of the congregation would be summoned to the empty chapel to kneel in the center of the space as Brenner stood before them awaiting their sins. Watching Will walk away made Steve’s stomach turn, especially seeing how tall he was, how quickly they were all growing up, and Steve felt the slack they were allowed as children tightening everyday even if the kids couldn’t see it themselves. Steve had only experienced leniency himself the first three months into his stay before Brenner had taken a long look at him and asked if he thought himself a man, sometimes Steve wondered if his life would have gone differently if he hadn’t said yes.
Will returned subdued, tucking himself up in the corner with his sketchbook and the cadre took the children one by one until they had all been forgiven. Steve convinced them all to spend their idle time outside, watching from the porch as Max and Dustin moved deeper into the field to whack at each other with sticks they scrounged up outside of the view of elders who would chide them for acting improperly. El sat by the pen to pet the goats, Golly laying down on her side by the wire for her to scratch between her horns. Will sat on the steps, sketching the landscape before them.
“Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you…” Will’s pencil stopped against the paper. “Do you believe everything Father Brenner says?”
Steve glanced back towards the house, but most of the congregation would either be in silent contemplation or studying the word of the Lord. He sat down on the steps beside Will, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Is there something you’re having a difficult time accepting?”
Will added a line to the page. Erased it.
“Hey.” Steve bumped their shoulders together. “When The Final Chapter took me in, I was only a little older than you are now, and I had a difficult time accepting, well, just about everything.”
Will gambled a glance up at him. “You did?”
“Oh, absolutely. If you thought Max was a troublemaker she had nothing on me. Do you know how many days I spent in independent focus? Some of the members joked that the only way I could keep from blasphemy was if I became a monk.”
Will’s own laugh seemed to surprise himself, but Steve smiled.
“I didn’t mean to, not really, I just had a lot of questions that I asked at all the wrong times and very, very loudly. It took me a long time to learn that there are certain aspects you have to take on faith. And…” Steve let out a slow exhale. “And I had to let go of my own arrogance. Father Brenner has been studying the Bible for longer than I’ve been alive and I came here with my own vague notions and decided to question him? It took me awhile to unlearn my insolence, I'm still learning, but the Final Chapter opened themselves up to me when I had nowhere else in the world to go, so, yeah, I take it on faith. I take it on faith because these are the people who set me right when I was lost, so I have faith that they will steer me right when I fall astray even if I don’t always understand.”
Will was looking at him like he could find his own answers on his face before looking down at his sketchbook. “I… I have faith in you.”
Steve’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest, but he managed to smile, tussling Will’s hair. “Thanks, kid, but, uh, you might want to pick a better role model.”
Will’s lips turned up slightly. “Like Robin?”
Steve laughed. “Yeah, like Robin.”
“Steve.”
Steve glanced up to see Lewis giving him an expectant look. Slapping his knees, he rose to follow him across the field, tucking his sweaty hands into his pockets. Lewis stopped by the door, leaving Steve to step into the chapel by himself. Brenner awaited him, dressed in white robes despite the stifling stagnant air from closed windows and too many candles. Sinking to his knees in the center of the empty space, Steve tucked his head down, hands resting on his legs, and he tried to remind himself that Brenner could not hear the frantic pace of his heart despite the way it pounded in Steve’s own ears as silence weighed heavily on his shoulders. Confession always made Steve feel like a little kid getting caught telling his parents he hadn’t touched the cake, unaware of the frosting smeared on his cheek. Any confession he made was never met with surprise, but a knowing look.
“Ignosce mihi, pater, quia peccavi,” Steve said, the words well practiced on his tongue, but tasted like iron. “It has been six days since my last confession.”
“And since your last confession?”
“I have lied.”
“How?”
“I lied that I had a project to finish when Dustin asked me to play chess, but in truth I simply didn’t want to play, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
Brenner clicked his tongue.
Steve winced. “I have given excuses, as I’ve just demonstrated, rather than accept the weight of my sins.”
Brenner hummed, waiting, expectant.
“I have disrespected by superiors, acting in arrogance rather than listening to their wisdom.”
Brenner waited and sweat prickled at Steve’s palms as he tried to scrounge up further venial sins to fill the air. Silence pressed down on his shoulders, heavy as stone, his breathing shallow under the weight and sweat rolling down his throat as time stretched between his last words to the anticipated ones. There was no allotted time for confessions, it could be minutes or hours until Steve managed to cough up the sin Brenner had been waiting to hear and earn absolution. Brenner sighed, stepping back, and retrieving a bag.
“Rise.”
Steve rose, his knees cracking with the motion, a dull ache from the floor already beginning to set in from a morning of kneeling during mass. Brenner tipped the bag over, spilling uncooked rice across the worn wood floor and Steve’s stomach churned, but he didn’t need further instruction before kneeling back down, the grains digging into his skin like sewing needles. Taking slow deep breaths of the stale air around him, Steve forced himself to not to shift even as the grains felt like they were boring into his skin with each passing minute. Obstinate. It was a word Steve carried around like a name pin and it felt like hours before the agony of his knees helped him scrape a confession out of his chest, though if he kept scratching he could have produced sins dark enough to blacken his tongue just speaking them aloud.
“I’ve experienced jealousy towards the… the privileges outsiders experience.”
“Privileges?”
“An advertisement for a new movie in theaters, the burger place I passed handing out pamphlets, music full of profanity.”
“Gluttony,” Brenner said. “These privileges are overindulgences, debauchery, depravity.”
Steve’s stomach turned. “I know.”
“Why do you crave hedonism?”
Steve curled his fingers into fists on his thighs, trying to think past the pulse of his pain. “I don’t know.”
“It’s because you are unfulfilled. Tell me, Steven, are you unfulfilled by the Lord?”
“No.”
“Then why are you tempted to turn to degeneracy? To corrupt your mortal soul with petty indulgences of stuffing yourself with chemical laden foods, movies that betray our ideals, siren songs of the devil?”
Steve thought of people spilling out of the theater talking enthusiastically with their friends, two people laughing over a burger, the songs Eddie liked to dedicate to him at the end of a night even though they were quite literally singing praise to the devil.
“Because I’m weak.”
“It’s because you are filled with greed.”
Steve bit down on the inside of his cheek.
“Possessed by gluttony.”
“I’ve committed sins of pride, greed, and gluttony, Father, and I wish to atone,” Steve tried to keep his impatience from his voice, impatient for whatever atonement came next so long as it was a different type of pain than the one he was currently in.
Brenner hummed and Steve tried to not to scream as the seconds crawled by like a lame rat.
“To burn yourself of these sins, you will fast for three days, consuming nothing but water, and on the eve of the third night you will come to me for absolution.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You may say the act of contrition.”
“For the sins I have committed under your watchful eye, I deserve the pain of hell, but beg for the forgiveness of heaven by penance and absolute faith to you who is worthy of all my love.”
Steve knew it wasn’t the original version of the act of contrition, but Brenner had been blessed with blood from the lines of the prophets to interpret scripture for the Select in the coming days of the apocalypse.
“Rise.”
Steve had to put one hand on the ground to get to his feet, rice sticking to the sweat of his palms. He collected the broom from the closet to sweep up the rice before exiting the chapel, trying not to walk as though his joints had rusted over like the Tinman from the Wizard of Oz. The stairs made his knees scream, and in the privacy of his room he rolled up the legs of his pants to find angry red indents in the swollen joints already beginning to bruise, but there was no bleeding. Steve ran his finger over old scars before pulling his hand away as though burned, and rolling his pants back down.
“God’s worst is better than the world’s best,” Steve told his ceiling, head tipped back against the door of his room. “Don’t be fooled by fleeting pleasures of sin. You’ve read the story of Moses too many times for that, haven’t you, idiot?”
Resisting temptation was infinitely more difficult two days into his atonement, working in the soup kitchen preparing dinner. His stomach cramped just looking at the ground beef and onions he was preparing, tempted to scoop it out of the hot pot with his bare hands and shovel it into his mouth before it had even browned.
“Earth to Steve.”
Steve tore his eyes away from the sizzling pot, spatula hanging limply from his hand as he looked over at Eddie. He was dressed in his usual torn up black jeans, chain hanging from his belt that clinked with each step, his flannel tied around his waist, little holes worn into his faded Dio t-shirt, and a black bandana tying his hair back.
“Where’d you go, man? You were so spaced I wasn’t sure you were still in this galaxy.”
Steve mustered up a smile. “Is that how you thought you could get away with changing my radio station?”
Eddie gave him an expression of mock-innocence. “Who? Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think your hymns just… switched right over into decent music.”
“Keep it up and one of these days I’ll actually start playing pslams.” Steve switched the station back to his usual one, The Smiths filling the kitchen.
“Trying to exorcise me?”
Steve bit back a laugh. “I would need to get a priest to do that, not a few recordings of a church choir.”
“Am I not worth the effort?” Eddie fluttered his eyelashes at him.
Steve rolled his eyes. Taking the cutting board from Eddie, Steve added the diced tomatoes to his pot along with beans, broth, and tomato sauce, giving it a solid stir just wafted up the smell of cooked meat and spices up to him, making him feel more like he was breathing in woodsmoke with how lightheaded he was getting.
“Do you mind watching this for a minute?” Steve asked, stepping away from the pot. “I’m going to step outside.”
Eddie glanced over. “Taking a smoke break? My, my, Stevie, and here I thought you were a good Christian boy.”
“Praying for strength to deal with you,” Steve said.
Eddie mimed being stabbed in the chest and Steve stifled a smile as he slipped out the back doors. It was warming up with April around the corner, but at least it was a few degrees colder outside than in the kitchen, though it did little to clear his head. Leaning against the bricks, he closed his eyes, but he didn’t pray. It wasn’t his place to ask the Lord for strength while atoning, it was on him to prove himself. Steve only allowed himself a few minutes before stepping back inside the kitchen. Eddie was standing in his place at the stove, nodding along to the heavy metal song once again playing from the radio as he stirred, his boots tapping against the ground. Steve didn’t bother to change the radio as he passed, bumping his shoulder against Eddie’s as he took the spoon back from his hand.
“Are you proud? I didn’t burn it or anything,” Eddie said, leaning against the counter nearby.
“Overjoyed,” Steve deadpanned.
Eddie laughed, fingers still tapping along to the radio.
“Overkill, enough is enough. There’s nothing left of me to devour, you’ve had your fill, I’m all I have left. What can stop your hunger for power? ‘Cause you took advantage of things that I’ve said…”
“Who’s this?” Steve asked.
“This? This, baby, is Ozzy Osbourne. Ultimate Sin. I like his work in Black Sabbath better than his solo stuff, but, hey, it ain’t bad. S’better than my stuff.”
“I thought you did covers.”
“Mostly, but I’ve got a couple pieces I’m workshopping, though it’s a little hard being a one man band right now. Don’t suppose you can play the drums, hm?”
“I’m not sure I’ve got the, uh, stage presence your looking for.”
Eddie tilted his head to the side, framing him with his fingers. “I don’t know, Stevie, I think there’s hope for you yet. A little eye liner, a new wardrobe, some sick tattoos, a piercing or two, mess up your hair…”
Steve waved the spoon at him. “Hands off the hair, Munson.”
Eddie laughed. “That’s where you draw the line?”
Steve’s face warmed. “Hey, you think it was easy to get this look just right? It takes skill.”
Eddie grinned. “I’m sure it does, sweetheart, just a little surprised I didn’t hear any push back on the body mods.”
Steve flicked the stove off, glancing over at Eddie, who had bats along his wrist and forearm as well as peeking out from under his stretched out collar and a wyvern on the back of his bicep. He had a decent number of piercings along his ear, all of them mismatching as though he didn’t own any pairs of earrings.
“There are worse things.”
“Careful, baby, keep talking like that, and I might think you’re sweet on me.”
Steve rolled his eyes, turning back to the stove which he hoped excused the color rising to his face. Taking the pot off of the stove, he carted it out to the serving station while Eddie set up the sides and waters. Most of the people who came into the soup kitchen were wary by nature, but after seeing Eddie’s face a few times they had warmed up to him, and he even got a few laughs at his out-of-pocket greetings. After everyone had settled into eat, Steve caught up with familiar faces.
“Hey, Delilah, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a bit.”
Delilah was a working girl, only a few years older than himself, but she had been on the streets for a long time.
“I took your advice.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I went to the library and the lady at the desk helped me find materials to get my GED.”
“Delilah, that’s amazing!”
Delilah ducked her head. “It’s not like I’ve actually passed the test or anything yet.”
“No, but it’s a big step.”
Delilah shrugged, but he could still tell she was smiling even if she didn’t meet his eyes. Stepping away, Steve looked over to find Eddie in deep conversation with one of their newer faces, a shy young man in a ratty flannel, Eddie’s hands waving for emphasis, but the young man only looked amused.
Steve asked about it as they were scrubbing down the dishes. “I saw you talking to the new guy.”
“Don’t be jealous, baby, you know I’ve only got eyes for you.” Eddie gave him an over the top wink.
Steve rolled his eyes. “I meant that it’s nice to see him opening up a little, a lot of the time our newcomers don’t come back for repeats, they get scared off if you try to point them towards resources before they’re ready for them.”
“Yeah, his name’s Gareth, fellow metalhead like myself, except he’s a drummer. I’m trying to talk him into jamming with me sometimes. I’ve been trying to put together a band since I came to the city. I’m actually off to stick more fliers up in a few bars if you want to join me for a drink.”
Steve glanced at his watch.
“…unless you have a curfew.”
“I have a little time.”
“Drink first, then I’ll put my fliers up.” Eddie shrugged on his leather jacket, pulling his long hair free from the collar.
Steve pulled on his own bomber jacket, bought at an army surplus store, but with little clumsy embroidered bees and flowers on them from Robin’s attempt at practicing. An evening March wind nipped at them as they walked to the Hidden Spoon, Eddie held the door for him with a flourish, and Steve stepped inside. The interior was decorated with dark oak, but it’s finished glaze had worn thin, and the counter was a little sticky when Steve set his hand on top of it. Drinks were written in white chalk, but thankfully, it was large print instead of artistic cursive that some cafes preferred, though it had been a long time since Steve had eaten anywhere off the commune considering all of their money was supposed to be pooled. Guilt knotted his stomach as he thought about the roll of cash hidden under one of the floorboards in his room, it felt like it was only a matter of time before he threw up his secret at Brenner’s feet in confession.
Eddie flagged the bartender. “Johnny-boy!”
The bartender rolled his eyes, but made his way over.
“Two ales, barkeep!” Eddie declared once he was within range.
Steve’s stomach lurched at the thought of trying to drink beer on day three of fasting. “I’ll take a water actually, if you don’t mind.”
“I may be a busker, but that doesn’t mean I can’t buy a pretty boy a drink,” Eddie said.
It was easier to pretend the flutter in his stomach was from hunger. “I don’t know, Munson, I’ve seen the inside of your guitar case at the end of the night.”
“Hilarious, hysterical, you should quit all this and become a comedian.”
Steve bit back a grin.
“So what’s it gonna be?” The bartender asked.
“Just a water, thanks,” Steve said.
The bartender nodded, stepping away without asking for clarification on Eddie’s own order.
“Religious fanatic,” Eddie said. “I almost forgot considering you’re so… well, let’s just say your predecessors lacked your charm. You don’t drink, do you?”
“You think I’m charming?” Steve smirked.
“Only in comparison, don’t get a big head.”
“Of course not.” Steve’s lips quirked up. “Pride is a sin after all.”
“And they lacked your sense of humor too.”
“Maybe you’re just not as funny as you think you are.”
Eddie collapsed over the bar as though Steve had shot him point blank, the bartender didn’t react, just nudging his arm with his beer, and keeping Eddie from spilling it when he popped back up like a Jack-in-the-box.
“Thanks, Jonathan.”
“Thank you,” Steve said as he set the water before him.
Jonathan nodded before stepping away.
“You’re a regular?” Steve asked.
“Sure am,” Eddie sipped his beer. “Just toss it on the pile with all the other reasons I’ll burn in hell.”
“Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for God now accepts thy works,” Steve said.
Eddie lowered his drink. “Did you… did you just quote the Bible from memory?”
“Ecclesiastes,” Steve said. “Romans does say, however, ‘Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkeness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying.’ And Luke says something similar.”
Eddie stared at him. “You’re just making these up, aren’t you? Just pulling them out of thin air because you know I can’t correct you.”
Steve laughed. “No, no, I, uh, I ended up with a lot of homework when I first came to Final Chapter so I’ve all of the scriptures, and I’m not a great reader so when I muddle through something it really gets stuck up there.”
“I’d say you would make a great partner for trivia night, but I don’t think I trust you with the pop culture categories, tell me, how long does it take to churn your own butter?”
“I’m not Amish.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow.
“…like thirty minutes.”
Eddie laughed, setting down his beer. “So, tell me then, Stevie, if drinking in moderation is okay, then for what reasons am I going to hell?”
“I think you would know those better than me,” Steve said.
“I’d start listing them but I don’t think you could handle ‘em, baby.”
“I’m not about to throw any stones.”
“Oh?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. “And what sins are you hiding in the closet of your glass house, darling?”
“Last I checked this was a bar, not a confessional.”
“You can still call me daddy if you want.”
Steve’s blush came on so strong he felt a little faint, but he tried not to sound too scandalized as he said, “Father. You call a priest Father.”
Eddie smirked over his next sip of beer. “My mistake.”
Steve waited for him to have a full mouth of beer before getting his revenge, even though the words made his own face burn. “Besides, I think you’re a little young to play that role, aren’t you?”
Eddie choked, covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he coughed, looking at him with wide eyes.
“What?” Steve said innocently. “You are a little young to have kids, aren’t you, Munson?”
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie said, his voice raspy from choking.
“Blasphemy,” Steve said, mostly out of habit of correcting the kids.
“No, Chri— no, I don’t have any kids. I don’t really have a lot of anything, just an uncle and a few friends from high school and a couple of locals who tolerate me, like Jonathan.”
Steve glanced at Jonathan who had his back to them; he was tall, not quite so tall as Eddie, long limbed, and brown hair that could use a trim that didn’t involve kitchen scissors.
“Technically, he’s not a local, he’s from this little town about an hour away, but he goes to school here. He was at NYU, but he transferred here to be closer to his mom after his little brother went missing.”
“That’s really hard, how long has his brother been missing for?”
“About a year now. They always keep a flier on the bulletin board in the back.”
Steve followed his gaze to the board only to nearly fall out of his chair as he found himself staring at a black and white photo of Will’s face. Will Byers. Eddie steadied him with one hand curled around his arm.
“Woah, hey, is that actually straight vodka in your glass or something?”
“No, I…” Steve tore his eyes away from the poster. “I just realized how late it was. My friend’s expecting to be picked up any second now, so I’ve got to, uh, I’ve got to go.”
Eddie’s hand fell away as Steve got to his feet, slapping down a couple of bucks for his water, all too aware of the strange look Eddie was giving him, so he forced a smile.
“Can’t miss that curfew, right?”
Eddie didn’t look entirely convinced, but it was enough for him to say, “Oh, of course, run along now, altar boy.”
Steve forced himself not to look back at the poster as he walked out of the bar.
Chapter Text
Eddie realized the irony in dealing weed at the local college right before his shift at the soup kitchen for his court mandated community service, but in his defense, he had more fliers to pin up as well.
“So you’re the person sticking those everywhere.”
Eddie glanced over his shoulder to find a mildly amused college student look at him.
Eddie dipped down into a bow. “It is I, Eddie Munson, local devil-worshipper at your service.”
The guy snorted. “Yeah, the campus Christian group hates you, y’know.”
Eddie made a face. “There’s a campus Christian group? Thank god I never let myself get indoctrinated into higher education like all these sheep.”
The guy gave him an unimpressed look, pointedly adjusting his own backpack, textbooks under one arm.
“…or at least that’s what I tell myself considering I was too broke to even think about it without putting stress fractures in my piggy bank.”
The guy extended his hand. “I’m Jeff.”
Eddie shook with both hands. “Jeff of higher education, have you ever listened to our lord and savior, Metallica?”
“I’ve been known to here or there,” Jeff said dryly. “I play bass.”
“Seriously? Don’t get my hopes up, man, seriously, my heart will give out from disappointment. I’ve been looking for anyone with taste in this city for months.”
“I haven’t gotten a chance to play recently, but, yeah, I’d say I’m not half bad.”
“We’ll just have to put that to the test.” Eddie ripped the flier he had just pinned up down to hand to him.
“Okay, man.” Jeff started to walk away.
“You better call that number, I know where you live!” Eddie shouted after him.
“Yeah, at the library!” Jeff called back.
Eddie laughed, leaving campus to head to the soup kitchen. Steve was already in the kitchen, the radio playing Shout by Tears for Fears, but rather than swaying along like usual, he was just staring at the carrots he was supposed to be chopping.
“Those carrots insult your mother?”
Steve jumped so badly he sliced his hand on the knife. He hissed, dropping the knife on the cutting board, and pulling his hand away, fingers curled protectively against his palm, blood seeping through his fingers.
“Shit! Oh, shit, sorry, I didn’t think I’d startle you,” Eddie babbled, grabbing a hand towel.
“It’s not that bad.” Steve held his hand close to his chest, but Eddie curled his fingers around his wrist.
“Here, let me see, sweetheart. Shit, that’s a lot of blood…” Eddie uncurled his fingers to see the laceration, pressing the towel over the wound, but it was already starting to seep through. “Fuck, you might need stitches.”
“It’s not that bad,” Steve said again. “There’s a first aid kit around here somewhere, I’ll just patch it up. Do you mind throwing out the carrots? I, uh, I think they’re a considered a biohazard now.”
“Stevie, that cut's deep, sit down a second. The carrots will wait, I’ll grab the first aid kit.”
“It’s really fine—“
“Sit. Down.” Eddie took his shoulders and sat him down on one of the stools.
Steve blinked up at him; there were dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept for days.
“Stay.”
Eddie stepped out of the kitchen, one of the other volunteers pointed him in the right direction, and he returned with the first aid kit. Steve had tied the towel around his hand, holding it out of the way as he cleaned up the carrots, bloody knife clean already washed clean.
“I thought I told you to sit.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“Must’ve gotten confused with those sad puppy dog eyes, you got.”
Steve blinked at him. “My— what?”
Eddie steered him back to the stool, taking his hand in both of his own and untying the towel. It was a deep laceration, bordering the territory of stitches in Eddie’s unprofessional medical opinion.
“Yeah, you’ve got those like big brown eyes, you give that kicked puppy expression to anyone, and you’ll have ‘em wrapped around your finger in seconds flat.”
Steve just blinked at him, eyebrows drawn in; almost exactly the expression of a confused puppy, only missing the little head tilt. Eddie’s heart gave a little kick, like it was warning him not to be the one getting tied in a neat little bow around Steve’s finger.
“This is gonna hurt, sweetheart,” Eddie warned before cleaning the wound with a rubbing alcohol wipe.
Steve’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t make a sound, and there was no change in his facial expression as he watched Eddie clean out the cut and bandage it up nice and tight.
“Got a high pain tolerance, huh?” Eddie asked.
“Oh, I guess.”
“Bet you’d sit like a statue for a tattoo,” Eddie said. “Though, uh, I don’t think they’d fit with your whole get up, altar boy.”
Steve looked down at his hand. “…how well do you know Jonathan?”
Eddie blinked at the topic change. “Uh, I’d say we’re pretty decent friends by now, why?”
“I was just… I was thinking about his little brother. The Chapter has taken in a couple of run aways before, and… I don’t know, they’ve always had a pretty good reason for running.”
Eddie’s hands paused.
Steve looked up to meet his eyes, speaking quickly. “That wasn’t an accusation against your friend, I just thought that maybe they were both in a bad situation, but Jonathan got off to college, and Will… ran.”
“Will’s not a runaway. He went missing, like, the taken kind of missing.”
Steve blinked. “Oh. I… I guess I just assumed. Did… is there a police case open on him?”
“Yeah, there is, but besides his bike being abandoned by the side of the road, there wasn’t anything to go on. His mom still calls the station every week though to make sure they don’t let his case get tossed on the cold case pile and every week she puts an ad in the paper asking for any information.”
“That’s dedicated.”
“Yeah, she’s a pretty cool lady. I’ve met her a few times when she’s come up to visit Jonathan. They’re, like, just decent people which makes it all the more sucky that they’ve had it so rough, y’know?”
“Yeah,” Steve said quietly, looking down at his hands.
Eddie taped the bandage down. “All set, Stevie.”
“Thanks.”
Eddie’s eyes flicked back and forth his face. “You okay?”
“Yeah, um.” Steve cleared his throat, flashing a smile as he got to his feet. “Yeah, I’m good, just a long night of Bible study.”
“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Eddie waggled his eyebrows salaciously.
Steve laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Get your head out of the gutter, Munson.”
“Never.”
“And get to work!” Steve snapped a dish towel at him.
“Sir, yes, sir.” Eddie snapped him a sarcastic salute.
He couldn’t help stealing glances at Steve as they worked and while that distant expression never returned to his face, there was a notable lack of humming along to horrendous pop songs. Eddie switched the station and didn’t even get a rise from him.
“Hey, I’ve got a question, altar boy.”
“Yeah?”
“How come you’re the only Final Chapter person I see here? Shouldn’t I have met more of your cult by now? I mean, I’ve got forty hours due.”
“Oh, uh, I asked Father Brenner if I could do outside charity work, it’s not a part of our mission.”
“Mission?”
“For the most part we only really leave to share the word, or to sell the furniture we restore. We’re working on becoming more self sufficient, but for now we also have to make some supply runs for groceries and essentials.”
“Self sufficient?”
“Yeah,” Steve smiled a little. “We’ve got a few crops and livestock. Some chickens and two goats. Golly and Gee.”
Eddie couldn’t help his answering smile. “Who named them?”
Steve ducked his head. “Well, they’re not exactly named, that’s just what I call them, and it kinda caught on with the kids.”
Eddie pulled a face. “The kids? You have kids getting indoctrinated into your cult?”
“Some of the kids are brought in with their parents, and some Father Brenner took in when they had nowhere else to go.” Steve said, turning to look at him with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “They go to school five days a week, they’re fed, they’re clean, they’ve got a warm place to sleep, they’re taken care of, and they’re loved. That’s a lot more than some people had at fifteen.”
Eddie’s eyes widened at the outburst, holding his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”
Steve crossed his arms. “I don’t mind debating my own beliefs with you, but I won’t hear jokes at the kids' expense, got it?”
“I hear you.”
Steve’s shoulders relaxed. “Think you could hear me about how to properly chop an onion sometime?”
“Hey! These are a work of art!”
Steve wrinkled his cute little nose, like the little priss he was; forget farmer boy, he was a regular princess. “Look at those, some of them are three times the size of another.”
“Stevie, I think the first time I chopped a vegetable in my life was in this very kitchen, I live on instant ramen, cigarettes, and energy drinks, these are beauties.”
“You’re gonna die of heart disease.”
“I’m sorry we can’t all live your grow-your-own-veggies, milk-a-goat, crunchy-hippy-apocalyptic-cult life style. I’m here for a good time, not a long time, baby.”
“According to my cult, no one’s gonna be here for a long time.”
Eddie laughed. “Ah, well, then I better live it up while I still can, huh?”
“I think that’s the opposite of the takeaway on my fliers.”
“I’ve got some sins to cross off my bucket list. Wouldn’t want to go with any regrets after all.”
“I’m pretty sure the purpose of Hell is to make you regret all of that.”
“Nah, Lucy are old pals.”
“Lu— did you just call the devil ‘Lucy’?”
Eddie winked. “It’s what his friends call him.”
Steve laughed, then bit down on his bottom lip like he knew he shouldn’t have found it funny, but his eyes were still crinkled at the corners, and Eddie was pretty sure he was screwed by the way it made his heart patter.
“C’mon, sinner, let’s get this dinner out there.”
“After you, angel.”
“For God did not spare even the angels who sinned. He threw them into hell, in gloomy pits of darkness, where they are being held until the day of judgment.”
“Metal.”
Steve laughed. “I don’t think that was Peter’s intent.”
They set up dinner, Steve chatting with the regulars as usual, and Eddie found a minute or two to talk Gareth’s ear off once they had served everyone. Gareth had a dry sense of humor, on the quiet side, but absolutely biting when he did have something to say.
“Hey,” Eddie began while they washed dishes, because while he had dozens of other questions, he thought this might be one Steve would actually answer. “Why do you call the goats Golly and Gee?”
“Oh, uh.” Steve ducked his head as though embarrassed, drying the dishes as Eddie washed them due to his injured hand. “When I first came to Final Chapter I got in trouble for swearing and taking the Lord’s name in vain so instead I came up with a bunch of, like, the most obnoxious replacements I could think of. One of the goats got me pretty good with their horns, Gee, and what I wanted to call them was shitheads because they are, but I had made it such a habit not to swear at that point that I kinda just shouted golly-gee-willikers? On instinct?”
Eddie let out an incredulous. “You’re joking.”
“Oh, I wish I was, but anyways that’s how they got their names.”
“What are these other non-swears, altar boy?”
“Just the classics, you know, Jiminy Crickets, horse feathers, geez Louise, fiddlesticks, what in the Sam Hill, Heck, Dangnabbit, I keep trying to come up with more and more ridiculous ones because they drive the kids crazy, so sometimes I just say absolute gibberish and try to trick them into thinking it’s, like, an actual saying.”
“You’re kind of trouble, you know that, Stevie?”
“Good thing judgement day hasn’t come just yet then, huh?” Steve put the last dish away.
“You want to grab a drink? I’ll even buy you a sodie-pop.”
Steve let out an amused exhale. “I have to get back, but I’ll see you tomorrow night I’m sure.”
“Oh you know it, never miss a Friday night, my fans might riot.”
Steve gave a slight shake of his head, pulling on his bomber jacket, and heading for the door.
“I’ll save a song for you!” Eddie called after him.
Making his way to the Hidden Spoon, Jonathan set him up with a beer, and Eddie thunked his head down on the counter with a groan.
“I wouldn’t put my face on that if I were you.”
Eddie propped himself up on his arms instead. “Aren’t you supposed to ask me about my woes? Isn’t that in the bartender handbook?”
Jonathan gave him an unimpressed look.
“Fine, fine, I’ll tell you, twist my arm! It’s troubles of the heart that have me drinking in your fine establishment.”
Jonathan glanced out at the bar, but no one was paying them any mind. “Not the guy you brought in here the other day. The one who looks like he came straight from Bible study?”
Eddie groaned, flopping down again. “That’s the one.”
“You sure know how to pick ‘em.”
“Oh, it’s worse than you think, he’s in this like doomsday cult, hands out fliers and tells people the end is nigh and everything.”
Jonathan let out an incredulous noise. “You’re not serious.”
“Deadly.”
“Don’t let Nancy catch wind of it, she half a step away from becoming part of the anti-cult movement. She reads all those stories on how they abuse their members and that they’re all corrupt and run by psychopaths.”
“What? Like even the hippie ones? With, like, farms and goats?”
Jonathan shrugged. “She said she tried to do a story on them once when she was younger, thought she could make her big break before she even got to college. She said she didn’t get enough information to write it in the end, but the way she talks about these movements… I don’t know, I think it’s a little more personal than that.”
“You never asked?”
“She’ll tell me if she wants to.”
“How is the battle axe?” Eddie asked, he meant it in a complimentary fashion, but battle axe felt like an apt way to describe Nancy Wheeler.
Eddie had only met her a handful of times considering she went to Emerson and her and Jonathan had met during an internship in the city the summer after their senior year of high school, but the two made long distance work, though by the sounds of it, it had certainly been easier when Jonathan was only four hours away at NYU and not thirteen.
“She’s coming into town in a few weeks actually,” Jonathan said. “So you’ll be able to ask her yourself.”
“Ah, that must be why you’re practically glowing,” Eddie teased.
Jonathan rolled his eyes, but he always wore a soft smile when he said Nancy’s name. Eddie caught up with a couple other regulars he was friendly with when a new wave of customers caught Jonathan’s attention, but once he polished off his beer, he headed home for the night.
Steve had yet to appear by the time Eddie set up his amp on his opposing street corner, but he showed up after a few songs. Eddie pretended to bow to him, like they were going to duel, but Steve brought a gun to a sword fight by pretending to take a shot at him. Eddie swooned backwards, almost colliding with a passing pedestrian, and Steve was stifling a laugh when Eddie recovered himself even as he shook his head in disproval. As always, Eddie dedicated his last song to him. The Oath by Merciful Fate was his selection for the night, enjoying the scandalized look the lyrics earned him, especially, “I deny Jesus Christ, the Deceiver, and I abjure the Christian Faith, holding in Contempt all of its works.”
“Amen,” Eddie finished, crossing himself incorrectly once he pulled his pick away from the strings.
Steve cupped his hands around his mouth. “Play Take on Me next!”
Eddie shuddered at the thought, dramatic enough that Steve could see it across the way, and earning another little laugh. A little nod from Eddie had Steve crossing the street to join him as he packed up his case.
“So, how was your day on the farm?” Eddie joked.
“Oh the usual, woke up, fed the animals, got the eggs, milked the goat, made breakfast, got the kids off to school. I swear, I don’t understand how Dustin forgets his homework when he literally lives in the same place he goes to school, but oh boy does he manage.”
“Dustin’s one of your kids?”
“Yep, he’s fifteen and an absolute nightmare,” Steve said, but he said it so fondly it undercut every word.
Eddie slung his guitar over his back. “So, what? You’re like the cult den mother?”
Steve tensed, tucking his hand into his pockets. “No, I mean, well, everyone looks after them, but that’s not… that’s not my place.”
Eddie frowned. “Why not?”
Steve made an inconclusive gesture. “What about you, devil-spawn? Corrupt any souls today?”
“I’m working on yours right now, baby.” Eddie winked.
Steve scoffed, but Eddie could have sworn by the city lights there was a pink to his cheeks. It was likely his hopeful thinking that attributed it to himself and not the cold air nipping at them though. His hair was perfectly coiffed as always, Eddie wondered if the cult made their own hair products or if he bought it in stores like the rest of the world. Bomber jacket a little unzipped to get a peek of his off-white sweater and the gold cross around his neck, along with grey pants with a pleat down the front and pristine white nikes.
Eddie tugged on the lapel of his jacket. “Is there a rule that you’ve gotta dress like you’re coming from mass, because I mean, jacket aside…”
“Modesty,” Steve said simply.
“Oh god, don’t tell me you believe in that ‘short skirts tempts men’ type of patriarchal bullshit.”
Steve wrinkled his nose. “Someone else can’t be responsible for our own sins, short skirts or not, it doesn’t matter what someone else is wearing, it matters how you behave.”
“…surprisingly enlightened.”
“And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee,” Steve quoted.
“I swear, you’re just making these up because you know I can’t catch you in a lie.”
Steve bit back a laugh. “I think that might borderline on false prophesying.”
“So why the Sunday best then?” Eddie asked.
“It’s more about not focusing on what’s unimportant, like how you look, and whether or not people find you attractive because neither of those matter.”
“Stevie, I hate to break it to you, but I think it’d be hard for you to make a potato sack look anything but glamorous. The altar boy get up isn’t fooling anyone.”
Steve flushed.
“And I know you spent time on that hair, pretty boy.” Eddie flicked a loose strand out of his eyes, even though it felt like playing with fire just to get that close.
Shame flickered across Steve’s face. “I… I do. I haven’t fully embraced the concept yet I suppose. I just…”
“I have a hard time imagining doing your hair how you like is a sin, baby,” Eddie said, a little gentler than he meant to considering their banter usually consisted of trading taunts.
“Vanity is.”
“I think you gotta like yourself at least a little bit, don’t you? Makes it pretty hard to be stuck with yourself twenty-four seven otherwise, doesn’t it?”
Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“Besides, is it really a sin for a pretty boy to think he’s pretty? I mean, everyone else is thinking it, s’probably just how it is.”
That beautiful blush returned in full force and Eddie wanted to sink his teeth into the edges where it spread down to his throat and leave a bruise right on the borderline of it. Taste the warmth of his skin where the blood was rising to the surface, see if he could coax the blush to spread further with just his voice in his ear.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.”
“Goodnight, pretty boy.”
Eddie watched him walk away. It wasn’t until he was home that he found the scrap of paper in his guitar case, a little stylized drawing of him with horns and a pointed tail. He tucked it into his wallet behind his driver’s license.
Chapter Text
Robin sat on the steps of the house, watching him make his way back from running laps around their land through mostly closed eyes as though she was still trying to pretend she was asleep. In her hands was a half drunk coffee, but she held out a glass of water for him as he approached.
“Thanks,” Steve said, still out of breath, and having to pause between sips as he panted. “Why are you up so early?”
“Dreams. Went to look for you. Figured you’d be out here,” Robin said. “Running at the asscrack of dawn like a crazy person.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Steve pulled his heel to his butt to stretch out his quad, balancing on one foot.
“Usual reasons?”
“New ones.”
Robin wiped sleep from her eyes to look up at him more fully.
“I’ll tell you about it later.”
After blame got tossed around so she couldn’t try to catch it with her own hands.
Robin held up her hand and he pulled her to her feet. “Make me coffee?”
“You’re drinking coffee.”
“I don’t make it as good as you do,” Robin whined.
“Alright, I’ll put a pot on before I grab a shower.”
“I want French toast.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
After putting on a pot of coffee, he jogged up the stairs, feeling the exhaustion of his taxed muscles with every step, and with how quick his shower was the water heater never caught up to loosen the knots. Behind the safety of the closed door of his room, he pulled his hair care products out of a pair of balled up socks, far too practiced to need a mirror to perfect his look. It didn’t feel like leather belts, expensive watches, and designer jeans; leaving his hair undone felt like walking outside in his boxers.
Robin had gotten the bread, eggs, sugar, cinnamon, and butter out, but made no further attempts… which was why the kitchen was still standing in all likelihood. Steve fixed her up a cup of coffee, though he took a deep drink before handing it over, and got to work. He piled cinnamon French toast and scrambled eggs high on big plates and people filtered in and out of the kitchen to serve themselves, though Steve stepped back when it started to run low and Susan took his place at the stove as the dining room filled out.
Steve tussled Dustin’s hair as he sat down, pulled the syrup out of El’s hands before her toast began to float, handed Max orange juice when she reached for the coffee pot even though it made her scowl, and took Will’s half finished drawing off the table before it fell victim to syrup, ketchup, or any other casualty that would be better as a napkin’s fate. It was a sketch of Max as a knight in shining armor. Steve’s chest felt tight, tucking it between the pages of Will’s sketchbook and zipping his backpack closed.
Robin held out a piece of French toast to him, holding it as though it wasn’t getting her hands sticky with sugar, and he held her wrist as he took a bite even though the sweetness turned his uneasy stomach. He tried to wash it down with coffee, but it felt stuck in his throat as Henry appeared.
“Robin,” Henry said. “Have we run low on cutlery?”
“I was, uh, trying to conserve water by sparing the dishes,” Robin said.
Henry hummed, moving past her. “Perhaps try to preserve the art of manners instead next time.”
Robin’s eye twitched.
“I think it was kind of her,” Steve said, pretending as though he didn’t notice the surprised glances it earned; it was a rare day when someone didn’t let Father Brenner’s left hand have the final word.
“Oh?” Henry raised an eyebrow, looking at him like an amused parent trying to figure out if a kid’s drawing was of a dog or a horse.
“She left plates and utensils available for those who might need to take them with them as they moved through their morning with more haste. Such as yourself.”
Even Robin was giving him a bit of a surprised look. It was easier to take these moments on the chin rather than escalate them into a bigger issue, and disrupt the harmony of the congregation. Especially not with so flimsy a turnabout because there was still a few dishes and silverware left for use.
“Since you’re so concerned with the availability of our dishware, Steven, why don’t you take over the dish washing for the week, hm?”
Steve kept his own expression neutral. “Of course, if it would be helpful to community then I have no problems taking on further responsibilities.”
Henry’s eye twitched slightly, but his expression was smooth. “If you think of washing dishes as such an arduous task I’m not sure you should be entrusted with some of the more complicated tasks of our community.”
Steve ground his teeth, opening his mouth, but Robin squeezed his wrist.
“I defer to your judgment, Henry,” Steve said, speaking softer, and incline his head. “You always keep us running smoothly.”
He could see the lift of Henry’s chin in return as though winning the verbal sparring match had given him another inch of height to look down on him with. Steve watched him step away, moving towards the larger table through the doorway where most of the adults were eating. The dishes stacked up in the sink, a few of the other members giving Steve a smirk knowing he was going to be the ones cleaning them. Billy handed his own disgusting plate right to him, utensils skittering along the porcelain, and coffee mug still half full, and dangerously close to spilling down Steve's chest.
“You cook and you clean, practically a housewife." Billy sneered.
“Better than being the lowlife none of the girls here will touch with a ten foot pole,” Steve said mildly, adding his dishes to the pile, and turning on the water.
“Yeah, ‘cause they’re lining up for you, Harrington?” Billy leaned in close to keep their conversation relatively private. “Have you even fucked a bitch, pretty boy?”
It sounded miles apart from the way Eddie said ‘pretty boy’.
Steve started washing, mindful of his cut up hand. “You know the number of girls you been with doesn’t give you anymore inches below the belt, right, Billy?”
Billy knocked into him as he went to put the dish on the drying rack and it shattered on the floor.
“Watch it, Harrington, wouldn’t want you to get cut,” Billy said as he stepped back, leaving him to clean up the pieces.
It wasn’t an insubstantial amount of dishes seeing as everyone typically washed their own as they all ate breakfast at varying times depending on their duties for the day. It left Steve behind on the chair he was restoring, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he had spent the night in the shop. He had other priorities.
It wasn’t all that difficult to find Will while dinner was being made, sitting on the border of the property at the base of a tree, sketchbook on his knees. Steve dropped down to sit next to him with a groan, leaning against the bark. Will offered him one of his colored pencils, flipping to a new page, and turning it sideways so Steve had a little room. Steve doodled Golly and Gee without really thinking about it in green pencil. Will’s own style was more realistic in comparison to his own, like a comic book next to a cartoon strip.
“Did you know that I ran away when I was fifteen?”
Will’s pencil stopped scratching. “You did?”
“Yeah, I… I rarely saw my parents, they weren’t around a lot, but my grandmother used to take me to church when I was little, so, I, uh, I went there for, y’know, guidance after I’d been on the streets for a bit. That’s where I met one of the Final Chapter and they… they said they had a place for me. That they would look after me.”
“That’s what they said to me,” Will said quietly, picking at the edge of the page. “I… I had run away, but I didn’t have anywhere to sleep, so I had holed up in an alley for the night. An alley by a church. Father Brenner found me and told me he had somewhere for me, somewhere that could help.”
“What did you need help with? Were you running away because of your family? Did they hurt you?”
Will shook his head. “I... I was running away because I hurt my family.”
“How?”
“I…” Will blinked away tears, but they soaked into the page before him. “There’s something wrong with me and my father knew it and that’s why he left and… and my mom works overtime to pay for my brother’s school and to take care of me because he won’t pay child support and… and I thought that if I ran away then she wouldn’t have to worry about trying to support both of us. When it’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Will looked up at him, tears streaking his face. “You don’t know—“
“I don’t have to,” Steve said. “I know you, Will, you’re a good kid. You help El with her English homework, and give Dustin your dessert when he’s had a bad day, and listen when Max needs someone to rant to. You’re kind, and caring, and creative, and there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I’m…” Will’s voice broke. “I’m a queer. That’s why my dad left. I drew… I drew two boys holding hands and he found it and now my mom can barely pay for Jonathan’s school and it’s all my fault—“
Steve wrapped his arms around him and Will sobbed into his chest, sketchbook digging into both of them. Steve could feel the sobs wracking through his skinny frame, holding him close, and resting his chin on his head.
“It’s not your fault. You are a kid and…” Steve swallowed. “And your parents are supposed to take care of you no matter what, that’s the job they signed up for when they had kids.”
“I tried to be different,” Will said, wiping his face as he pulled back. “Father Brenner said I could be different if I repented and I’m trying. Steve, I swear, I’m trying. I want to be good.”
Steve’s stomach churned. “Will, I… I don’t… I wish I had better answers for you, but all I know for certain is this; you’re a good kid.”
“I miss my mom,” Will’s voice was thick, scrubbing quickly at his face. “I miss my brother, but I… this is the best place for me. I’m really lucky Father Brenner took me in.”
Steve opened and closed his mouth, but he didn’t have the right words in his vocabulary to reply. Rubbing his back, Steve waited for Will to pull himself together before coaxing him inside to find dinner. Sitting at the table, Steve turned his fork over in his hand as the conversation moved around him, shifting his own food over to Robin’s plate in increments. She gave him a little look, but cleared away the evidence of his lack of appetite without complaint.
Steve wasn’t surprised when she snuck into his room that night. Climbing into his bed, Robin tucked herself up against his side, and he breathed in the smell of her generic shampoo.
“You gonna tell me what’s bothering you now?” Robin asked.
“Not yet.”
“Soon?”
“Soon.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t fall asleep here.”
“I won’t.”
Steve stared up at the ceiling, like there would be answers written in the cursive of the whorls of the wood. By the time he came up with a half decent plan, Robin was asleep beside him, snoring softly. Waking her up, he got her up to her feet, checking the hallway was empty before nudging her out into it.
Three nights later, Steve snuck into the boys room. In the dark, with the sound of Dustin snoring, he found Will’s sketchbook, colored pencils, and his favorite sweater even though he knew he wouldn’t need it. He likely had favorite clothes waiting for him at home. Emptying his school bag, Steve hesitated as his hand found a copy of the Bible. Father Brenner gave all of them a copy as a welcome home present, the soft leather cover familiar against his fingertips. He left it in the bottom of the bag, adding the rest of Will’s belongings on top, and zipping it shut. A gentle shake woke Will, who looked at him with wide eyes, but Steve put a finger to his lips.
Will climbed out of bed, wiping at his eyes. Steve handed him socks, a pair of shoes, and helped him into a jacket, the backpack over his own shoulder. Checking the hallway, he led Will out, who gave a curious glance back towards Dustin, but Steve shook his head. Keeping to the edge of the stairs, Steve helped Will skip the fourth one from the bottom, and led him out the front door. Will followed him, copied him, sticking close to the side of the house until Steve waved at him to run and they sprinted through the open stretch of field until they got to the tall grass by the edge of the property that gave them better cover.
Steve felt the beat of his heart like it was a war drum that wouldn’t quiet despite the fact that the enemy outnumbered him a thousand to one. Pushing out of the grasses led to the dirt road that eased into gravel and then to pavement as they walked by the side of it. There was no distant rumble of cars to cover up the harsh sound of their breathing against the silence of the night, the sky dark as pitch with the city close enough to cough up light pollution, but not close enough for the city lights to light their way anymore than a firefly would.
“Where are we going?” Will asked, barely a whisper.
“Into town.”
Will looked at him with confusion, Steve glanced over his shoulder back towards the house, if they were caught now, a car would catch up to them in minutes. He put his hands on Will’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes.
“Will, your family loves you, they miss you, and they’re waiting for you to come home.”
“But I—“
“Do you love them?”
“Yes, but I—“
“Do you miss them?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“I… I thought Final Chapter was supposed to be home.”
“I—“ Steve swallowed hard. “It can be, if you want it to be, I’ll take you back right now, and you know we all love having you, but you have an older brother who keeps a missing poster of you up in the bar he works in and a mother who calls the police every week to make sure they’re still looking for you.”
“She… she is?” Will asked.
“Do you want to go home?”
Will wiped quickly at his eyes. “Yes. I— I want to go home.”
Steve gave him the backpack and Will pulled it onto his own shoulders, looking determined. As they turned onto a main road, Steve stuck his thumb up, three cars passing them by before a flatbed truck slowed for them.
“Never do this,” Steve told Will before opening the passenger side and letting him climb in to sit in the barely-a-seat between the driver’s and the passenger’s.
“S’little late for kids to be out on the side of the road,” the driver said as he pulled off the shoulder.
“You’re telling me. My car broke down a couple miles back on this old dirt road. I really appreciate you stopping, we were supposed to be back home hours ago now," Steve lied.
“You from the city?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What were you doing out here?”
“Our aunt’s got arthritis, so it gets hard for her when it’s cold, we thought we might bring her dinner, but, uh, obviously time got away from us, and then my car…”
The driver made a sympathetic noise.
“What are you hauling?” Steve asked.
“Timber.”
Steve made idle talk with the man until he dropped them off in town, Will had been silent the whole ride, and looked at him with an expression Steve didn’t recognize once they were out.
“What?”
Will shook his head.
“Alright, c’mon.”
Steve led him through the streets until they were standing just across from the police station. He fixed the uneven straps of Will’s backpack, smoothed out Will’s bedhead, and straightened his clothes as though they weren't pajamas, like a mother fussing over her son's picture day outfit.
“You’re not coming in with me, are you?” Will said quietly.
“No, I’m not,” Steve said, taking a deep breath. “And I need you to promise me something.”
Chapter Text
The ring of his phone woke Eddie, and he answered it with a half asleep ‘what’.
“That’s a warm hello for the man who told me he’d hunt me down if I didn’t call.”
Eddie blinked a few times. “Jeff? The bassist?”
“The one and only.”
“You will have to forgive my cold demeanor I have only just arisen.” Eddie tangled himself in the cord while retrieving a RedBull from his fridge, cracking it open.
“Dude, it’s two pm.”
“Huh.” Eddie glanced at the clock on his stove. “I didn’t have plans until later this evening, say, do you have a portable amp?”
Jeff gave him a solid ‘maybe’ on jamming on the corner of the street depending on whether or not he finished his Econ paper, but Eddie was more than thrilled when Gareth tentatively appeared two songs into his set, carrying a few buckets under one arm, and his drum sticks in his back pocket.
“Song requests?” Eddie asked, adjusting his tuners as Gareth got his makeshift drum kit set up.
“Surprise me,” Gareth said. “I can keep up.”
Eddie grinned, throwing himself into Screaming for Vengeance. Jeff showed up about two minutes in, setting himself up rather than saying hello, and joining them for the last few notes. Eddie played them right into You’ve Got Another Thing Comin’ and they followed him without hesitation and he couldn’t help his laugh. It wasn’t a perfect fit, not yet, but the thrill of playing with a heavy beat and a bass-line to back him made Eddie feel like they had a crowd of hundreds of thousands screaming their names. It was a couple more songs before Eddie gave them a minute to say anything other than song titles as he sipped water.
“Hey, man, I’m Jeff.”
Gareth’s eyes flicked over Jeff, whose clothes were casual, but they lacked the obvious signs of wear of Gareth's own; holes, patches, and definitely could have used a wash or two. Taking his hand, Gareth shook.
“Gareth.”
“You’re killer, man. Self taught?”
“Yeah.”
“How long you been playing?”
“Since I was eleven.” Gareth picked at a loose thread on his knee. “Drove my parents crazy.”
“I think mine were actually relieved when I picked up the bass,” Jeff said with a dry amusement. “They had me in violin lessons before, I don’t know if you’ve ever heard an eight year old try to play one of those, but heavy metal might as well be a lullaby in comparison.”
Gareth snorted.
Eddie wrapped his arms around both boys, though he had to crouch slightly because Gareth was still seated to manage it. “Do you see it, boys? Our names in big bright lights, fans screaming our names…”
Jeff snorted. Gareth rolled his eyes. Both of them shrugged him off and Eddie laughed, but he had only been half joking already running through a list in his head of bars they could petition to let them play and where to rehearse.
They played through a couple more songs, experimenting, and laughing when they clashed horribly even though it made other pedestrians cringe. Steve’s spot across the way remained empty aside from an old flier tread into the sidewalk like it was reserving his place. Deciding he was a no-show, Eddie slung his guitar over his back as the other two packed up their equipment.
“Let me buy you boys a drink, yeah?” Eddie said.
Leading them across the street, he couldn’t help one glance back towards Steve’s spot as he held the door with a great flourish for his new friends, but he didn’t suddenly materialize. Following them inside, Eddie ordered them all a round from Jonathan. Even if their talk was mostly surface level as they went through bands, songs, and genres, Eddie felt like he had a feel for the both of them. Jeff was mellow, easy-going, and down to earth, but with a dry sense of humor. Gareth was sharper, a little more wary, a little more barbed in his comments, a little quieter all around, but loud in his opinions and judgments. Eddie did what he always did; riled them up, drew them into his theatrics, and tried to get a laugh or two from sheer outrageousness.
They talked into last call where the boys said goodbye and Eddie turned his attention back to wait for Jonathan to settle up. Argyle, another bartender, had been working earlier, but there was only a trickle on Tuesday nights by closing so he had shoved off hours earlier. Jonathan made his way over, but stopped to answer the phone. His eyes went wide, blood draining from his face, and missing the receiver when he tried to return the phone, but didn’t seem to notice it was dangling by the cord.
“Jon?” Eddie asked.
“They found him.”
“What?”
“Will. He’s— they found him.”
“I— is he okay?”
“He’s… yeah, he’s alive. He’s alive. He’s at the police station.”
“Here? In Indianapolis?”
Jonathan nodded.
“What are you still doing here?” Eddie said. “Go!”
“I… I have to close up, I have to…” Jonathan looked around.
“Fuck that.” Eddie climbed up onto the bar, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Hey! Bar’s closing, come settle your tabs. Now! Right now!”
“Eddie—“
“Come on, come on, don’t be shy, let’s go, let’s go!”
Hopping down on the other side of the bar, Eddie cleared away drinks and bottles while Jonathan handled the transactions. Flagging a few regulars, Eddie handed out rags and they were quick to wipe down tables and put up chairs.
“I—“
“Give me the keys and go.” Eddie said.
Jonathan slapped the keys into his hand and ran out the door without grabbing his jacket. With the help of a few regulars, Eddie closed the bar up to the best of his ability, it may not have been perfect, but it certainly wouldn’t be anything worth firing someone over. Eddie paused by the bulletin board to take down his own band flier… then he took down Will’s, tucking it into his jacket pocket.
At his own apartment, he dialed Jonathan’s number even though he knew he would get the answering machine.
“Hey, Jonathan, just wanted to let you know that I remembered to set the bar on fire before I left. Kidding, by the way, uh, I’ve got your keys, so I’ll stop by tomorrow. I’m really… well, just, let Will know that we were all pretty invested in him coming home safe, even if we only knew him from your stories, so, yeah, Anyways, bye.”
Eddie hung up the phone with a little wince. Sincerity wasn’t the sharpest weapon in his arsenal, but it seemed worth it to break the old thing out for the occasion.
Falling into bed with a sigh, he figured it was one of those days that he would remember with picture clarity, breaking it out to tell others about years down the line like handing around a blurry Polaroid, but to him, it would be crystal clear.
Dragging himself out of bed earlier than usual, Eddie listened to Jonathan’s answering voicemail that sounded half amazed himself, thanking him for closing up, saying that Will was home safe, and to drop the keys off at his apartment whenever. Half an energy drink later Eddie had managed to look half presentable and leave the apartment with the keys sitting in his pocket, deciding to drop them off on his way to the soup kitchen. He had been to Jonathan’s apartment a few times to drink or smoke with him and Argyle, but it felt odd to be there before it was even one pm as he knocked.
“Hey.” Jonathan opened the door, a trace of a smile on his face even though he looked like he had either spent all night staring at the ceiling or crying or both. “Hey, come on in. My mom’s asleep in my room, so, y’know, try not to shout, but she’s a pretty heavy sleeper.”
“She drove up last night?” Eddie stepped inside. “Wait, if she’s still here does that mean—“
“Yeah.”
A fifteen year old was sitting cross legged on the same couch Eddie had gotten absolutely shitfaced on, looking at him with big brown eyes and giving him half a wave. He was all angles and looked to be in desperate need of a sandwich in a way that only a teenage boy could when being stretched out by a growth spurt. He was clearly wearing Jonathan’s clothes which only made him look skinnier, but he looked otherwise unharmed… aside from an unfortunate bowl-like haircut.
“You must be Will the Wise who I’ve heard so much about,” Eddie said, bowing deep. “It’s an honor to meet such a powerful wizard.”
Will pinked slightly. “Uh, thanks.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “This is Eddie, he’s one of my friends, he closed the bar for me last night, so he’s dropping off the keys.”
“Oh, right!” Eddie patted down his pockets until he found the keys, handing them over.
“Thanks.”
The door to the bedroom opened and Joyce Byers walked out, stifling a yawn, and sporting an impressive bed head. Her eyes went first to Will, then Jonathan, then found Eddie with a little surprise.
“Ms. Byers, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Oh, no, you didn’t wake me, I was just resting my eyes a minute.” Joyce pressed a kiss to Will’s hair as she passed. “I was going to make lunch, would you like to stay?”
“I would except I’ve got, uh, court mandated community service.” Eddie rocked on his heels.
Will blinked at him and Joyce raised an eyebrow, it wasn’t dissimilar to his uncle’s own patented ‘what did you do now, boy’ look.
“For, uh, d-e-a-l-i-n-g w-e-e-d.”
Jonathan dragged a hand down his face.
“Do you… do you think I don’t know how to spell?” Will asked tentatively.
“I don’t know! I’ve never dealt with children before!” Eddie waved his hands.
“He’s fifteen!” Jonathan said.
“…do fifteen year olds smoke weed?” Eddie had certainly been smoking weed at fifteen, but he wasn’t sure his life was a great measuring stick.
“No!” Jonathan and Joyce said in unison, but Will just laughed, an adorable little giggle that he ducked his head to hide, and Joyce and Jonathan smiled like they had seen the sun for the first time in years.
“I’m joking,” Eddie said. “Mostly. I swear, I know plenty of like kid-friendly activities, like DND.”
Will perked up. “You like DND?”
“Do I like… you are talking to the best DM in the whole city!” Eddie said.
Will looked at him with wide eyes.
Jonathan gave him a push towards the door. “Go on, before you’re late for your court mandated community service, best DM ever.”
“We’ll talk later.” Eddie winked at Will.
Will bit back a smile, following his mother to the kitchen to help with lunch.
Eddie paused in the hallway. “How is he? Really?”
Jonathan took a deep breath. “He’s… he’s okay, but, uh, he’s not willing to talk about where he was, or who he was with, I mean, he said he wasn’t living on the streets, but other than that…”
“He’s here,” Eddie said. “That’s what matter’s right?”
Jonathan smiled. “Yeah, he’s here.”
Eddie slapped his shoulder in farewell, heading down the stairs, and out of the apartment building. He eeked into the soup kitchen only a minute before he was due, only to find Susanna in the kitchen, looking a little frazzled.
“Oh thank god, here, start peeling. Steve usually has this prep work done by now and I’ve got a whole thing of donated food that needs sorting…”
Eddie took the potatoes with a frown. “Where is Steve?”
“Never showed.”
“What?” Eddie blinked. “Like called out sick?”
“No call, no nothing.” Susanna stirring slowed. “It’s not like him, he’s a good kid. I hope he didn’t get into an accident on his way or nothing.”
Eddie’s stomach knotted. “Yeah, me too.”
Susanna didn’t listen to awful 80s pop, in fact, she didn’t even turn on the radio, mumbling to herself about all the tasks that needed to get done and how the potatoes weren’t cooking fast enough before raising her voice to boss Eddie around. It was the same work as usual, but it felt like it took twice as long without his easy banter with Steve, and he couldn’t help thinking about how Steve had been a no-show the previous night as well. It hadn’t really occurred to him before but if Steve simply stopped volunteering or handing out fliers, he would simply disappear entirely from Eddie's life. Eddie wouldn’t even have a number to call to ask him if he wanted to catch up sometime. To ask if he was alright because all Eddie could picture was some horrible auto accident as a few regulars asked after Steve when they came through the line.
“Where’s the Prom King?” Gareth asked as Eddie went to say hello to him after he finished serving.
Eddie mustered up half a smile. “Stood me up. Can you believe that?”
“What a dick,” Gareth said flatly.
“I know, I should go find myself a real man, huh?” Eddie joked.
Gareth snorted.
“I was thinking of practice spaces we could work out of,” Eddie said. “Because my apartment is a shoebox so the walls are like paper, Jeff’s about the same, but there’s this, uh, okay, listen, it may be technically trespassing—“
“Great way to start a sentence.”
“But this old bar got shut down for like safety violations, but it used to host punk shows, which, okay, don’t get me started, but the point is it’s got good acoustics and it’s, uh, available.”
“…so long as we don’t fall through the stage.”
“Hope you’ve gotten your tetanus shot.”
Gareth just sighed. “What’s the address?”
Eddie wrote it down on a scrap of paper. “I’ll call Jeff to see what his schedule is like then we’ll figure it out from there, yeah?”
“Yeah, well, mine’s basically wide open right now," Gareth said, a bitter edge to his voice.
Eddie drummed his fingers against the table. “Hey, you any good at bar-backing?”
Gareth frowned slightly.
Chapter 8
Notes:
Didn't want to leave y'all on a cliffhanger for too long.
Chapter Text
Steve stared at the ceiling until his alarm went off. Moving through his routine, he operated on muscle memory down to petting the goats good morning. It felt like his internal radio had been turned past the local stations to static and fragments of words from other towns.
“Steve!”
Dustin came running down the steps, wide eyed and frantic.
“Hey, whoa, hey, what’s the matter?”
“Will’s not in bed and I can’t find him anywhere and his backpack is gone and—“ Dustin’s eyes were glistening with tears.
“Okay, okay.” Steve wrapped his arms around him. “Deep breath.”
Dustin hugged him tight, taking a deep breath.
“Everything’s gonna be alright, okay?” Steve said. “You can tell the other kids when they wake up, but tell them not to panic. I’m gonna go talk to Father Brenner.”
Dustin nodded, pulling back, and Steve gave him a little push watching him run back to the house before moving for the chapel. There was a personal study inside which he knocked on and waited to be allowed in. Brenner sat at his desk, a large wooden cross behind him with a detailed depiction of Christ nailed to it.
“Steven, what can I do for you?”
“Dustin said Will wasn’t in his room when he woke up this morning and he’s already checked the rest of the house for him.”
Brenner’s eyes widened fractionally. “I see. Have you checked the grounds yet?”
“No, father, I thought I should come to you first.”
“Check the grounds, I expect you’ll know the potential hiding spots best considering your soft spot towards the children.”
Steve felt the intended sting of his words. It wasn't the first time he had been reminded to leave the child minding to those God intended to be caretakers. Robin had gotten the opposite lecture once or twice.
“Yes, father.”
“I’ll speak with Dustin and the other children. Find out if they know anything about his whereabouts.”
Steve left his office, checking every nook and cranny of the commune even if God was the only one witnessing his act. His deception. Even without the other members to put a show on for, Steve could almost fool himself. It wouldn’t be the first lie he had told himself enough times for it to come easier to his lips than the truth would even cross his mind.
The kids were all sitting at the kitchen table when he returned, Robin leaning against the counter, Ann beside her, Henry by the doorway, and Brenner sitting at the head of the table with a calm expression on his face. The rest of the house must have been told to find other ways to occupy their time because the adjacent dining room was empty and there were no signs that breakfast had been attempted. They all looked up as he stepped inside and he gave a slight shake of his head.
“Can anyone recite for me Psalm 101:7?” Brenner asked, his tone even and mild.
Max, Dustin, and El all exchanged a look.
“No one who practices deceit shall dwell in my house; no one who utters lies shall continue before my eyes,” Henry said from the doorway after the silence stretched.
“If any of you have any information to volunteer as to where Will is, now would be the time. The longer you wait, the more severe the consequences could be. Not for you, but for Will," Brenner said.
“We don’t know anything,” Max said.
Brenner gave her a long look. “You all have been sheltered here from the dangers that lay outside our home, but I’m afraid that privilege also leaves you vulnerable. Vulnerable to temptation, deception, and the serpent.”
“Were there any signs that Will was straying from the path?” Henry asked.
The kids all shook their heads.
“Ann?” Henry asked.
“Not that I could see,” Ann said. “He never spoke out of turn, handed in his assignments in on time… if he had questions about our values, he did not raise them to me.”
“Steven?” Henry asked, stepping deeper into the room. “You spend a lot of your time with the children, surely, if anyone saw signs it would be you?”
All eyes fell to him.
Steve lowered his eyes. “If… if Will has strayed then, yes, I will consider it a personal failing. For not seeing the signs, for not being a better example, for any hand I played in him falling from the path of the Select, but… Will’s a good kid, I can’t imagine… I can’t imagine that if he left, it was out of ill will towards us or our mission.”
“Faith doesn’t make you a fool, but to be blind to the sins of our own is a transgression in its own right,” Brenner said.
Steve swallowed. “You’re right and for that I’ll take personal responsibility.”
“Hm.” Henry’s eyes flicked over him.
“Personal items and his backpack are missing from his room and seeing as he is now missing from the grounds, the conclusion is obvious.” Brenner rose from the table. “Henry, gather everyone in the chapel.”
Steve could feel Robin’s eyes on him as they left the house, but he kept his own forwards as they rest of the members settled on their knees in the open space of the chapter. All murmuring fell silent as Brenner stepped up onto the dais, Henry standing a few steps behind him.
“As many of you know by now, Will has elected to leave our family. He departed in the night, leaving a note condemning our values.”
Steve fought to keep his expression even; he hadn’t left any note and he knew for a fact Will hadn't either.
“It’s devastating to see one of our own, one of the Lord’s select few, turn their back on our ways, turn their back on salvation. Which is why in these times you must watch out for one another. You must look for signs of straying. Do not turn a blind eye to the corruption of one’s soul, remember what is at stake.”
Steve’s chest felt tight, like his ribs were trying to close ranks, and muffle the beat of his guilty heart.
“Let us all taste a reminder,” Henry said, holding a lit candle.
There was no murmur, but the rustle of clothes as uncertainty shuffled through the members spoke volumes. Henry’s eyes skimmed over the crowd and Steve rose when his gaze landed on him, the members parting for him, but he walked heavily with their stares weighing him down. Steve could have sworn there was a delight in Henry’s eyes as he took his arm, pushing up his sleeve to bare his wrist.
“Let the flames remind you of your blessings as one of the Select.” Henry tilted the candle so that the flame touched his skin. “And let it remind you that anyone can fall.”
Steve bit down on his tongue until he could taste blood to stifle his reflexive flinch as the flame raised white blisters on the delicate skin, each second felt like an eternity as he held Henry’s eyes, and he felt a flicker of doubt that Henry would pull the candle away before it became third degree. Henry’s lips turned up ever so slightly, but he smoothed it out as he pulled the candle away, then offered it to him. Swallowing down bile, Steve accepted the candle, wax beginning to roll down the side of it.
Henry lit another. “Who’s next?”
Neil rose to his feet.
Lines were formed and split as others who had earned their marks were handed lit candles to pass along the reminder to those that came after. The burns were far too superficial to account for the the taste of ash in Steve’s mouth, but he tasted it all the same. Robin stepped up in his line, meeting his eyes, and he held tight to her forearm; not to keep her in place, but to brace her, and he knew that she understood that, even though she winced as he burned her. As light as he could while leaving a blister.
Dustin stepped up, his eyes were big and scared and young. Steve rolled up his sleeve, giving Dustin's forearm the same reassuring squeeze he usually gave his shoulder in passing and he dipped the candle, letting hot wax drip onto the delicate skin. He didn’t let the flame touch, but the wax was hot enough that went Steve chipped it aside with his fingernail there was a pink mark raised on the skin. Dustin’s eyes were still wide as they met his and Steve raised his own eyebrows slightly, ‘understand?’. Dustin’s eyes softened, and Steve knew he did as he stepped away.
Max’s expression was defiant as she stuck out her wrist, a dare, a taunt, a challenge to prove her right. Steve did the same trick with the wax as he did Dustin and the confusion in her eyes felt like a kick to the ribs as she stepped away with her pink wrist. Steve looked for El, if he could— she took her burn from Henry, unflinching as her skin blistered. Max and Dustin crowded close around her as she stepped out of line, but she let her hand fall to her side rather than cradle it close to her chest like the wounded bird stance a few of the other members had taken. With wax staining his fingertips, Steve felt guiltier than he ever had taking penance for any number of sins, though he didn’t know what the word for this sin would be.
“Do not be disheartened by this abandonment,” Brenner said, once everyone had taken their marks. “For those who stand here today are stronger for it, are reaffirmed by every non-believer who will not be resurrected by our Lord to descend with the heavenly host after the Armageddon has destroyed our mortal bodies but not our immortal souls. This may be one of the many dark days ahead of us, but a light has been given to us to guide our way.”
Brenner extended his hand and El answered his summons, stepping up onto the dais beside him.
“Behold the light that has been granted to lead us through the night, we will not stumble along blindly, the prophet of the apocalypse walks among us!” Brenner declared.
A murmur ran through the room and Steve could have sworn he saw the delight in Henry’s eyes flicker out like the wick of his candle, which he set aside in the windowsill.
“Rejoice,” Henry said, his smile made of plastic, and the others echoed the sentiment until the church was bursting with the word.
It may have been sacrilege to think it, but as he watched El look out at the rest of them with vacant eyes, Steve didn’t see the mouthpiece of the Lord to guide them through the end of days, but a fifteen year old girl who he explained comic strips to while she tucked her smile into his shoulder, exhaling through her nose instead of laughing.
With the declaration of prophethood, El was waylaid as members came to speak to her, Brenner standing just behind her with a hand on her shoulder as she only stared in response. It wasn’t until hours later that Steve managed to find a minute to treat the burn on her wrist. With each loop of the gauze around the delicate bones the guilt tightened around his own chest.
“Knock knock,” Steve said.
“Who?” El said, barely a whisper; she never asked the full question.
“Cow says.”
“Who?”
“No, silly, cow says moo.”
El’s lip twitched upwards.
Steve packed up the medical supplies. “Let’s get you something to eat, yeah?”
She nodded. Steve had other responsibilities that needed tending to; orders to finish in the shop, repairs to make to their properties, or even showing up to his shift at the soup kitchen hours and hours late (though he doubted anyone would be permitted off the property), but he just made her waffles and watched her eat a whole stack while he wondered if there would ever be enough penance in the world to make his heart light enough to float in the salt of the sea rather than sink like a stone with the weight it carried.
Robin climbed into his bed that night. “What did you do?”
Steve pulled the missing poster from under his bed without a word and though she looked at it for a long minute, she didn’t ask any questions before handing it back for him to hide away again.
“Do you really believe El’s the next prophet?” Robin asked.
“It makes sense why Father Brenner has been training her so rigorously,” Steve said. “It’s a heavy burden.”
“I thought it was supposed to be an honor.”
“Isn’t that just another word for responsibility?”
Robin chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Henry’s been here the longest, I think, well, I thought that if anyone would be the prophet, it would be him. He’s always been Brenner’s number one supporter.”
“Brenner doesn’t decide who the prophet is,” Steve said.
Robin drummed her fingers against her hip. “Brenner’s been looking for years, I wonder how many kids he thought might have been the prophet before El.”
“I don’t know, but I think Henry was the first.”
Robin took his hand, only to make a disapproving noise when she saw Steve's own burn had been left un-bandaged, untreated.
“I’m afraid,” Steve said. “I… I’m afraid that with the end coming closer the kids will have to learn lessons before they’re ready for them. They’re too young, Rob.”
“You were the same age.”
Steve stared at the ceiling. “I don’t think I ever was fifteen.”
Robin squeezed his hand tight.
It was a few days before Brenner allowed anyone to leave the commune again, Steve had been itching to leave, but he had forced himself to wait for others to ask first, to test the waters, before asking if he could continue his responsibility of evangelizing, especially now that they’re numbers were one fewer, it felt all the more important to spread the message. To try to save as many souls as they could in the coming days.
Eddie was on his usual corner, but he wasn’t alone. With him was Gareth from the soup kitchen battering away at a set of buckets and a college aged guy playing bass. Steve caught his eyes and Eddie smiled despite the fact that he had clearly been halfway through a verse, though the two amped instruments and beat of the drums mostly drowned out whatever he was singing seeing as he didn't have a microphone. As their song came to a close, Eddie cupped his hands around his mouth to call to him.
“Here’s a little welcome back gift, altar boy!” Eddie shouted.
Steve gave Eddie an unamused look even though he wanted to smile at the thought that Eddie might of actually missed him despite their differences.
“Now the last rays of the daylight slowly fade away, night’s closing in, outside of the village, there’s a meeting on a hill they call ‘the sin’…”
Steve winced slightly at the line ‘priest, priest of evil, spits on every crucifix’ earning a wink back.
“Oh, make them cry, make them bleed. Oh, give them all that they need. Oh, all is well that ends well. Priest of evil, priest of hell.” Eddie sang, though it was borderline shouting to be heard over his new-found band.
Steve looked him dead in the eyes as the last note faded and crossed himself. Eddie swayed backwards with his laugh, head tipped back towards the orange sky of evening. The stack of pamphlets in Steve’s hand stayed relatively thick as he found himself distracted by the makeshift band. They were clearly still finding their sound, but the three of them looked like they were having the time of their lives even as their cases stayed rather empty of spare change.
Tucking the pamphlets into his pocket, Steve made his way over as they were packing up.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Eddie’s voice was rough from trying to shout over the two amps. “I was afraid you were gonna stand me up again.”
“I was, uh, otherwise detained,” Steve said, unconsciously rubbing at the bandage on his wrist through the sleeve of his sweater.
“Unavoidable cult responsibilities?” Eddie asked, earning mildly shocked looks from both members of his band.
“Yeah, exactly,” Steve said. “Hey, Gareth, it’s good to see you. I didn’t know you could play.”
Gareth made an inconclusive noise, stacking his buckets.
Eddie clapped his hands together. “Ah, yes, let me introduce you to my bassist here. This, is my archenemy, the bane of my existence, heaven’s side in the ongoing battle of good and evil—“
Extending his hand towards the bassist, he said, “I’m Steve.”
“Jeff.”
They shook.
Eddie deflated. “You guys just have to take the fun out of everything, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Jeff said flatly.
Steve let out an amused exhale.
“We were gonna grab a drink at the Hidden Spoon, care to join us?” Eddie asked.
“I, uh, I shouldn’t.”
“I’ve found a lot of the best things in life are those you shouldn’t be doing.” Eddie smirked, leaning into his space. “C’mon, baby, live dangerously, let a sinner buy you a soda.”
Steve’s face warmed. “I can’t stay long.”
“That’s alright, I’m a cheap date, I can only afford to buy you one drink anyways,” Eddie joked, stepping back out of his space.
Steve snorted, but followed the band across the street to the bar. His eyes flicked back towards the bulletin board, but the poster was gone. Grabbing drinks, they settled at table in the back.
“You like metal?” Jeff asked, though his eyes were sliding down to the cross around Steve’s throat, and the rest of his conservative ensemble.
Eddie gave him an amused look.
“It’s, uh, it’s not my genre, but you guys sounded good out there,” Steve said.
“Enjoy it while you can, Stevie, there won’t be free shows for much longer,” Eddie said, sounding like he was only half joking.
Gareth rolled his eyes.
“Then I should ask for my autograph now, huh?” Steve asked.
Eddie grabbed one of the napkins, scratching down his name in ink, and passing it to Jeff, who raised an eyebrow.
“Seriously?”
Eddie waggled the pen. Jeff sighed, but signed it. Gareth signed it as well, but looked a little like he expected Steve to tear it to shreds as he pushed it towards him. Picking up the napkin, Steve’s eyes lingered on Eddie’s signature, taking up center stage with little devil horns over the ‘o’ and underlined with a spiked tail.
“Couldn’t help yourself, huh?”
Eddie grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stevie, that’s just how I sign my name.”
Steve sighed, but he tucked the napkin into his pocket.
“So, you’re, uh…” Jeff made a vague gesture.
“A cult member?” Eddie helpfully supplied.
“It’s not—“ Steve took a deep breath before giving Jeff a well practiced smile. “Yes, I’m a member of the Final Chapter church. I know the whole, uh, Armageddon part scares a lot of people off, but all other aspects of Christianity also believe in Revelations, so, I’m not really sure why it’s so strange that we think it’s happening a little sooner than everyone else.”
“…right, why would anyone think it’s strange for someone to shout on street corners about the end times…” Gareth muttered.
“Yeah, because it’s so normal to sing about how you love the devil in front of a coffee shop several times a week,” Steve said dryly.
Jeff snorted. “Alright, fair point.”
“You gonna give us a pamphlet?” Eddie teased.
“Yeah, I’ll even sign it for you,” Steve said.
Eddie wiggled the pen, so Steve pulled a pamphlet out of his pocket and signed ‘Steve Bible-basher Harrington’ on the back of it, below one of their quotes from Revelations. After a second he added, ‘first sinner saved free of charge’. Eddie laughed when he read it and the grandiosity felt worth it to watch the smile spread across Eddie’s face.
“I’ll cherish it forever,” Eddie said in a southern drawl for whatever reason.
“What’s even on one of those things?” Gareth asked.
Steve slid a pamphlet across the table towards Gareth and Eddie flipped through his own.
“Pretty standard, huh?” Jeff said, reading over Gareth's shoulder. “No drinking, no drugs, no worshiping false gods…”
“Abstinence? Would you look at that, you are a virgin, aren’t you, pretty boy?” Eddie waved the pamphlet.
Steve tensed, looking down at the table. “No, I’m not.”
Eddie bumped their shoulders together. “Hey, c’mon, don’t look so contrite, you know we’re not going to judge you for that.”
Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“Shitty lay?” Jeff deadpanned, startling a half a laugh out of Steve.
“No, I— you’ll laugh, but I thought I was going to marry her, so I suppose it seemed impatient, not immoral.”
Eddie choked on his beer, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Stevie, you’re, what? Twenty-two? When was this?”
Steve tapped his fingers against the table. “I’d say it was when I was young and dumb, but I’m only twenty, so, I don’t think I’ve quite managed to leave that state.”
“What happened?” Jeff asked.
Steve tossed up a smile. “She wasn’t who I thought she was.”
“Not wife material?” Gareth asked, somewhat sarcastically.
“No, apparently I wasn’t husband material,” Steve said, trying to keep his tone light, amused. “I was story material. She wanted to be a reporter. I was an easy in.”
Gareth grimaced. “Ouch.”
Steve sipped his drink. “It is what it is.”
“It is what it is?” Eddie repeated, smacking his beer down on the table with a thunk. “Fuck no, listen, I am all for sexual liberation, I’m on the front lines of it, but if abstaining was important to you, and she knew that you wanted to wait for marriage, and she slept with you anyways under false pretenses, then that’s fucked up.”
Steve looked at him with wide eyes. “She’s… she’s not a bad person.”
“She doesn’t have to be to have hurt you, to have done wrong by you. It doesn’t make it okay.”
Steve’s eyes flicked back and forth over his face, but Eddie looked serious, for once.
“Fuck her.” Eddie said resolutely then backtracked. “Or, no, I mean, like, fuck that, like, forget her—“
Steve couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of him, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, and tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and the others joined in.
Eddie tried to stifle his own laugh. “You know what I mean!”
Steve laughed harder.
“God, this is why I don’t give pep talks,” Eddie whined.
Steve bit back his laughter.
Gareth turned the pamphlet over in his hand. “Do you actually think the apocalypse is coming?”
“All Christians do,” Steve said mildly, sipping his soda.
“Yeah, sure, whatever, but I mean, like tomorrow? The day after?” Gareth pressed.
“I’m not a prophet.” Steve said. “As far as I know, there’s no exact date just yet, but I’ll keep you posted.”
Gareth stared at him. “That’s the best you’ve got? Seriously?
“Oh, he won’t give you a direct answer, that would ruin his mystique.” Eddie clapped Steve’s shoulder, and he could feel the press of his rings even though they were dulled by his sweater.
“Lesson three of cult school,” Steve said apologetically.
“You’re a menace, angel,” Eddie said like it was a compliment.
Steve wondered if that meant he should take it as an insult considering the sides each of them stood on.
“Blasphemy.”
Eddie’s grin only widened.
“Anyways, I left my soapbox outside, so anyone else care to share about their week?” Steve leaned back in his chair.
Jeff snorted, but filled them in on some incredibly dull finance classes that he was trying not to sleep through. Gareth didn’t share a lot aside from a sarcastic comment or two, turning his beer around and around in his hands. Eddie regaled them with life at the soup kitchen in Steve’s absence, dealing weed, and using the leaking faucet in his apartment as a metronome.
“I have to get going.” Steve rose, but Eddie caught his arm, incidentally right over the burn hidden away under his sweater sleeve, but Steve managed to keep his expression blank despite the sting.
“Oh, hey, I didn’t tell you, but they found Jonathan’s little brother. So, uh, you can take him out of your prayers and focus all your attention on those that really need it, like little ole me.”
“Thought you were past saving?”
“Oh, I am, but I like the thought of you thinking of me while you’re on your knees, baby.”
Steve burned like a struck match. “With an ego like yours, Munson, I think you’ve got Pride quaking in his boots.”
Eddie let out a delighted laugh, squeezing his arm, and Steve bit down on his tongue until he tasted iron.
“You’re not gonna stand me up again, are you, pretty boy? I’m not sure my massive ego could take it.”
“I don’t plan on it,” Steve said and found he meant it.
Eddie let him go, but the sting felt worse somehow without the warmth of his hand, and Steve left the bar with his head ducked as though bracing for a biting wind.
Chapter Text
Hopper stepped into the one bedroom apartment, and Joyce closed the door after him. Will was on the couch, his sketchbook balanced on his knees, and his pencil sketching away. After a less than helpful interview at the station, Hopper had let Will go home with his family in the hopes that his follow up interview would provide more insight as to how a boy from a small town in Indiana could go missing for a year then walk into a police department in Indianapolis far better off than any runaway Hopper had ever seen and somehow also with no signs of captivity. His backpack had only contained a sketchbook, an extra hand-knit sweater, a few other odds and ends… and well-loved copy of the Bible.
Hopper inclined his head towards the kitchen and Joyce led him through the doorway, busying herself with fixing up two cups of coffee. They had met a few times before when she had come into the station asking if they had any similar cases, and the woman he had seen then was leagues different from this one. For one, this Joyce Byers looked like she knew what a hairbrush was.
“Jonathan’s at class right now,” Joyce said. “He didn’t want to leave, but Will and I managed to strong arm him into it.”
“Thank you.” Hopper accepted the cup of coffee. “Has Will said anything?”
Joyce shook her head. “No, I mean, he said that he was sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“For making us worry, he thought…” Joyce blinked quickly a few times. “Well, his father stopped paying child support and we’ve been… we’ve been struggling so he thought that if he left it would… it would be easier on us.”
“Christ,” Hopper said.
Joyce wiped quickly at her eyes, clearing her throat. “But he hasn’t said where he’s been. You don’t… you don’t think he was on the street this whole time, do you?”
“No,” Hopper said. “Street kids have a certain wear and tear to them, someone definitely took him in.”
“Isn’t… I mean, wouldn’t that be a good thing? If they kept him housed, and fed, and healthy?”
“In my experience, most people don’t do that without another motive,” Hopper said.
Joyce chewed on her lip.
“You could be right,” Hopper said. “It could have been a good Samaritan, but most people who find a lost child call the police or child protective services.”
“Right, of course.” Joyce sighed, running her fingers through her hair.
“Is there anything else?” Hopper said. “Anything else that felt… off to you?”
Joyce glanced past him towards the sitting room. “I… he prays before bed.”
“He didn’t used to do that?”
“I think the only time he’s been in church is when he was baptized and I only did that to appease his grandparents,” Joyce said.
Hopper frowned. “Anything else?”
“Well… he asked for the newspaper this morning, he didn’t used to do that, but I mean, he’s older now. He’s… he’s taller too, god, it feels like I missed so much.”
Hopper set his mug down in the sink, half-drunk, and stepped into the other room. “Hey, kid, what are you drawing?”
“It’s just practice,” Will said.
Hopper held out his hand. “Can I see?”
Tentatively, Will handed over the sketchbook for him to look at rough figures.
“It’s easier when you have references,” Will said.
Hopper flipped a few pages back to find clearer drawings of people and a few goats and chickens. A few of the pages had cartoon-like drawings on the edges, completely out of line with Will’s own style. He flipped to a headshot of a young man with fluffy hair and beauty marks carefully placed on his skin.
“Who’s this?”
“Just someone I made up.” Will took his sketchbook back, holding it close to his chest.
Hopper leaned forward on his elbows. “Kid, if you’re scared of someone—“
“No,” Will said it quietly, but seriously, meeting his eyes. “I’m not afraid.”
“But you won’t tell anyone where you’ve been?”
“No.” Will fiddled with the edge of the book. “Not today.”
Hopper sighed. “You know who to call when you’re ready.”
Will gave a slight nod. Hopper rose to his feet, putting on his jacket, and looking over at Joyce who was hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Since there’s no immediate threat, you can take him back home, but make sure you leave me a phone and an address in case I need to—“
“No,” Will said.
“No?” Hopper raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not leaving the city,” Will said.
“Will, don’t you want to go home?” Joyce asked. “I— your rooms exactly as you left it, but we can change it however you want—“
“Mom,” Will said. “I… I do want to go home, just… not yet, okay? Can’t I stay here with Jonathan? Just… just for now.”
“I—“ Joyce faltered. “We’ll talk about it.”
Will chewed on the inside of his cheek. Hopper nodded to both of them before stepping out of the apartment. Back at the precinct, he flipped through Will’s thin file, thin even from the start because the locals labeled him a runaway. It didn’t lead him to any new conclusions, but the worn out Bible rubbed Hopper the wrong way. In theory he could close the case, the boy was returned, and stuck with the story that he ran all on his own, but Hopper still found himself making his way downtown after his shift had ended to the bar Jonathan worked at to ask further questions.
A ragtag band was on one corner playing a cacophony that kids called music these days and across from them someone was handing out pamphlets— Hopper recognized that face. Standing on the street corner trying to save souls was the face from Will’s sketches. The Final Chapter was more of a local annoyance than anything else, screaming about the end of days, but they had limited numbers. Unless they had switched recruiting for kidnapping.
Hopper crossed the street, the thought of talking to Jonathan again long gone from his mind. “Hey.”
The boy, he couldn’t have been more than twenty, looked up at him with a smile, pamphlet outstretched between them.
“Hi there, any interested in saving your immortal soul?” He said it with a little humor, like he knew he came off a little ridiculous but just play along anyways.
“Not particularly.”
“What about in a supportive community that’s moving towards self-sustainability?”
“How many recruits do you usually get? Roughly?”
“With this fail-safe strategy?” The boy said, giving him a little smile. “Uh, about two to three a year I’d say. I suppose I’m not as charming as I think I am.”
“What’s your name?”
“My friends call me Steve.”
“You got a last name, Steve?”
His smile didn’t slip, but it looked like it was being kept in place with pushpins as his eyes flicked over Hopper, catching on the gun on his belt, though Hopper’s badge was inside his jacket pocket.
“What’s yours, officer?”
“Chief.”
“Chief…”
“Hopper.”
“Well, Chief Hopper, I’m not obstructing the flow of pedestrian traffic nor am I disturbing fellow pedestrians, at least not any more than your usual busker, which means I don’t think we have any further business here, do we?”
Hopper’s jaw twitched. “Who taught you to say that?”
“The cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters and all liars— they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.” Steve extended a pamphlet again, still wearing that tacked up smile. “There’s a place for you in the new heaven and the new earth if you will step forward and take it.”
Hopper scoffed, stepping away, but the boy’s voice followed him.
“I’m certain Father Brenner would be willing to answer the questions of a new believer.”
Hopper glanced back, but the boy was already charming a college student into taking a pamphlet, though she seemed more interested in him than what he was handing out.
Reverend Martin Brenner had a doctorate in religion, there were a few accolades in local papers for his work with orphanages and less fortunate children though he appeared to have dropped off the map roughly ten years prior. All that was in his name currently was a plot of land just outside of the city and a petition submitted to the court to keep from paying taxes as a place of worship that was pending.
It took him a few tries to find the dirt road off the side of the highway, but only about two miles down there was a little piece of farmland with a farmhouse, chapel, and another few fixtures. Parking a few yards away from the other trucks, Hopper took a minute to jot down the license plates of the other vehicles.
“Are you lost, friend?”
Hopper tucked his notebook away as he turned to face the speaker. He was a man in his late twenties or early thirties, blond hair neatly combed back, and dressed in a white button down, grey slacks, and shoes that should have been far, far dirtier for living on a farm.
“I’m looking for a Father Brenner, I hear he runs this place.”
“And what do you hope he can help you with?”
“…a crisis of faith,” Hopper said, though he couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from his tone.
“Hm.”
The man’s expression was almost, serene, but his blue eyes were sharp as a hawk’s.
“Steven,” the man raised his voice, calling back towards the field.
The young man from the previous day came jogging up, he had a bundle of lumber over his shoulder, dressed only in his shirtsleeves despite the cold weather and grass-stained jeans.
“Who is this?” Steve asked, giving Hopper a look so curious, Hopper almost wondered if the boy had amnesia.
“He hasn’t given me the curtesy of his name just yet.”
“Neither have you," Hopper said.
“Henry.”
“Jim.”
“Well, Jim, here, is having a crisis of faith and wishes to speak with Father Brenner, would you mind inquiring as to if he has a minute?” Henry asked.
“Sure, Henry.” Steve set down the lumber, clapping off his hands, and jogging back the way he had come.
“I can follow—“ Hopper took a step forwards.
Henry stepped neatly into his path. “We’ve worked hard to maintain our way of life here, so I’m sure you can understand why we don’t allow strangers to intrude as they like.”
“What exactly is your way of life?”
“Simple, as you can see, we tend to our land, maintain our home, and live in keeping with God’s commandments.”
“How many of there are you?”
“As of right now, the Select are few, but our mission is to offer salvation to all who are brave enough to join us.”
“Any children?”
“We have some families who have joined, but we all consider ourselves family here.”
Hopper scoffed and Henry’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Steve returned with Father Brenner in tow, the man dressed in an immaculate suit, down to the cufflinks, white hair gelled back, and his face clean shaven.
“I heard you had some questions for me,” Brenner said, extending his hand. “I’m Father Brenner.”
“Jim.”
“Let us walk, Jim.”
“Father—“ Henry began.
“Henry, why don’t you gather your afternoon group for Bible study? I won’t have need of the chapel currently," Brenner said without looking his way.
“Of course, Father,” Henry slipped away.
Steve hefted his lumber over his shoulder again, heading back on his course like a worker ant temporarily diverted from the colony, not even giving Hopper a second glance. Hopper watched him go as he fell into step with Brenner for a walk around the grounds. Brenner followed his gaze, but didn’t comment.
“What can I do for you, Chief?”
Hopper tensed slightly.
Brenner’s lips curled up. “You didn’t expect me to recognize a man of your position?”
“Considering I hadn’t heard your name until this morning, no, I didn’t.”
“I know what you must think of us,” Brenner said. “I’ve heard the television programs worried over these… groups that are stealing away their children, brainwashing them, but I think it should tell you something that we’ve been here ten years already without any kind of incident with the local law enforcement.”
Hopper swept his gaze over the farmland.
“All we want is to live as God intended us to and that includes doing no harm onto others.”
“Even if they don’t believe?”
“God will deal with the nonbelievers accordingly when the time comes, it’s in the scripture. Nowhere does it ask of us to do more than warn them of the times coming ahead.”
“And what times are those?”
“Knowing this first of all, that scoffers will come in the last days with scoffing, following their own sinful desires. They will say, ‘Where is the promise of his coming? For ever since the fathers fell asleep, all things are continuing as they were from the beginning of creation.’” Brenner quoted. “I would tell you of how the world would end, but you, who doesn’t believe, would only use it as fuel to further yourself from the Lord. So, I will only tell you that it is upon us. I could not tell you if it was days or weeks away, but I will tell you this, it is not years.”
“And how do you know?”
“I have heard the words from the mouth of a prophet.”
“What if it doesn’t come? You sound like the type that might try to fulfill this prophecy yourselves.”
“It will come,” Brenner said. “The Select may be martyred in the name of Christ, but we shall be avenged, and those found worthy will be granted entry to the paradise that this earth will be overturned to.”
Hopper looked out at the large farmhouse. “How many of these Select do you have?”
“Forty thus far.”
“How many kids?”
“We have a few in our flock.”
“Are these families aware that they could face legal consequences for not sending their children to school?”
“All of our children are homeschooled on the premise, the proper paperwork was filed with the state, and we are fortunate enough to have someone experienced in education in our midst.”
“I’d like to interview them.”
“I’m afraid that you will in fact need a warrant for,” Brenner said. “My hospitality only extends as far as answering questions, not rising to accusations.”
“I didn’t make any accusations.”
“You have,” Brenner said. “And I now ask you to leave our premises.”
Hopper ground his teeth. “It really would be better if I didn’t have to come back out here.”
“I can't agree more, Chief,” Brenner said. “So I’d suggest you abstain from falsifying a reason to.”
Hopper exhaled slowly from his nose, heading back towards the cars to find several middle aged men leaning against the trucks, clearly ready to escort him from the premise if necessary. Climbing in his truck, Hopper could have sworn he caught a glimpse of Steve in his rear view mirror, but it faded quickly as he drove off.
Chapter 10
Notes:
I might try to post again soon, due to the short chapter. Thanks for all the comments!
Chapter Text
Eddie lifted the plywood out of the previously boarded up window to let Jeff and Gareth into condemned bar. Aside from the loose plywood, it had been relatively well blocked off which meant there were no needles in the corners or heroin users passed out here and there. There were holes in the floor and a few graffiti artists had managed to weasel their way in and leave their mark, but Eddie felt like he had found an untouched paradise for the most part.
“Welcome.” Eddie spread his arms wide. “To Eden.”
His foot nearly went through a hole in the floor as he backed towards the stage, but he elected to think he recovered with grace, pointedly ignoring Gareth’s derisive snort.
“It’ll do for a practice space at least,” Eddie amended, hopping up onto the stage, spreading his arms. “Can’t you picture hundreds of fans screaming your names?”
“What about a drum kit?” Gareth said. “I doubt buckets’ll cut it for an actual crowd.”
“We’ll save up,” Eddie said.
Gareth opened his mouth to protest.
“It’s an investment in the band,” Eddie said simply. “So don’t get too sentimental on me, it’s entirely self serving. The three of us buying your drum kit just guilt trips you into sticking with us forever, so.”
Gareth gave him an unimpressed look, but it was softer than his usual one.
“Now, let’s kick this into high gear,” Eddie said. “I’ve got a couple of originals that could use some actual work, so…”
“You write your own songs?” Jeff raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve written something.” Eddie twisted at a curl. “You, uh, you two can tell me if we can call ‘em songs just yet.”
They spent so long reworking his songs Eddie was almost late for his shift at the soup kitchen, but he ran in just as Steve was setting up the kitchen.
“Sorry, sorry, lost track of time with the— hey, what happened to your arm?”
Eddie caught his arm as Steve reached for a cutting board, pulling it closer to get a good look. Steve’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and on the inside of his wrist was a healing blister.
“Oh, I, uh, I got myself with a hot pan the other day.”
“Ouch.” Eddie’s thumbs slid up and down his forearm, like he could retroactively soothe the hurt.
“It’s not that bad.”
Eddie took his hand, looking at the freshly healed line across his hand from the knife. “You’re a little accident prone, huh?”
Steve’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t pull away as Eddie’s thumb slid along the smooth pink skin of his palm, catching on the callouses nearby; farmer’s hands. Eddie knew his own fingers had to be rough from years of playing the guitar.
“Last I checked, you were the one who startled me the other day.”
“You want me to kiss it better?” Eddie said, only half joking because everyday he got his foot further over the line and didn’t get pushed away only made him want to take leaps and bounds further into Steve’s world.
“I don’t think that’s exactly sanitary,” Steve said, but there was a slight pink high on his cheekbones.
Eddie’s heart was beating rabbit quick, but he pressed a kiss to his palm over the line of the scar regardless, giving Steve an overdone wink as he released his arm. “You have to wash your hands before handling the food anyways.”
Stepping away, Eddie tried to steady himself as he washed his own hands, but it didn’t work considering Steve stepped right up beside him, hip-checking him so that he could steal the sink from him rather than wait his turn. Eddie cupped his hands under the water and splashed him. Steve gasped, blinking away water, and looking at him with an absolutely incredulous expression as water rolled off his chin and dripped onto his shirt.
“Oops?” Eddie said with mock innocence.
Steve splashed him back and Eddie spluttered.
“You asshole! Mine was an accident—“
“Accident my ass—“
“Dirty mouth for an altar boy—“
They snatched up towels, smacking one another away, and trying to get closer to the sink to splash the other, but not so close it put them in prime splashing position themselves. Steve snatched the sprayer and hosed him down. Eddie yelped, ducking for cover behind a table. His clothes were soaked to his skin, his curls weighed down with water. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Eddie rose from behind his cover with an insult on his tongue, but it melted away as Steve laughed, eyes crinkled at the corners, and shaking his shoulders. His white button down had gone see-through in places where Eddie had splashed him, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, golden cross hanging around his throat, and his perfect hair falling out of its meticulous updo.
“You’re are so—“
Beautiful.
“—dead.”
Steve just laughed.
Eddie threw the towel half heartedly at him, rounding the counter to wave a finger in his face. “Don’t think that pretty face will stop me from enacting my revenge.”
Steve tried to stifle his laugher and failed. “Whatever you say, Eds.”
“Ugh.” Eddie twisted his wet hair up into a bun to keep it from touching his face, stripping out of his flannel to let it dry, though his t-shirt was still plastered to his body.
Eddie almost swallowed his tongue as Steve undid the buttons of his shirt, shrugging out of the wet fabric to drape it over the back of a chair, leaving himself in only a wet white t-shirt which he untucked from his pants giving Eddie a tantalizing glimpse of his stomach.
“C’mon, enough lallygagging, we’ve got meal to make.”
Eddie let out an incredulous noise. “You did not just say lallygagging.”
Steve grinned. “Would you have preferred dilly-dallying?”
“You’re trouble,” Eddie said, and he meant it because the way Steve said 'Eds' was playing on loop in his head like it wanted to make him motion sick.
Their playful mood didn’t dissipate even as they actually got to work and Eddie couldn’t say who started with the hip checks or stealing pieces of vegetables from one another’s trays or fighting for control of the radio, but at least they had the sense to be careful near the stove and sharp implements.
Eddie flicked the radio over.
“Eddie, I swear—“
Steve reached for it, but Eddie picked up the whole radio to keep Heaven and Hell playing, holding it up high over his head.
Sing me a song, you’re a singer. Do me a wrong, you’re a bringer of evil. The Devil is never a maker. The less that you give, you’re a taker…
“You can’t turn off Black Sabbath, baby, that’s sacrilege!”
“Listening to it is sacrilege.”
Steve reached for it, but they both realized, one with delight and the other irritation that when he wasn’t slouching, Eddie had three or four inches on Steve. Eddie laughed, holding up the little radio with one hand, the other trying to ward Steve off. His heart kicked up as Steve braced a hand on his chest, pressing up against him as he stretched on his toes to reach for it.
The lover of life’s not a sinner. The end is just a beginner. The closer you get to the meaning, the sooner you’ll know that you’re dreaming.
“Eddie—“
Eddie sang along, “It goes on and on and on, heaven and hell, I can tell, fool, fool, oh-oh, oh…”
“—you’re such a child—“
Eddie leaned in, so he was singing right in Steve’s face. “Well, if it seems to be real, it’s illusion. For every moment of truth, there’s confusion. Love can be seen as the answer, but nobody bleeds for the dancer…”
Steve lunged for the radio and Eddie yelped as he lost his footing a little. The radio wobbled in his hand, but he managed to keep hold, his other hand grabbing tight to Steve’s waist, pulling him close as Eddie's back thumped against the wall. Steve let out a soft ‘oof’ as he collided with Eddie’s chest, hands falling to catch his balance on the wall on either side of Eddie's shoulders.
And when you walk in golden halls, you get to keep the gold that falls, it’s heaven and hell, oh no. Fool, fool, you’ve got to bleed for the dancer. Fool, fool, look for the answer, fool, fool, fool.
Eddie’s heart’s thumped like a rabbit’s paw, eyes sliding down from Steve’s own surprised look, to his pink lips, slightly parted as his breathing came in a little too quick. There was a scar nicking his bottom lip, another across the bridge of his nose that could only be seen with the tilt of his head back towards the overhead lights, and freckles fainter than the occasional one marking his skin like a pen blot were easier to make out with their proximity. Steve stretched up onto his toes and—
—changed the station, biting back a smile as he stepped away.
Something happens and I’m head over heels. I never find out until I’m head over heels. Something happens and I’m head over heels.
Steve picked up a wood spoon, flipping it over in his hand, and bringing it to his mouth like a microphone to sing along as he returned to the stove.
“Ah, don’t take my heart, don’t break my heart, don’t, don’t, don’t throw it away…”
Eddie set the radio back down on the table without changing the station watching Steve sway along, clearly uncaring that he had an audience to his performance.
“Eddie.” Susanna caught him after dinner had been served and cleaned up and he was heading for the door. “Forgetting something?”
“Oh, yeah, er.” Eddie dug out his paper for her to sign. “Here, it is, thanks.”
Susanna scribbled her name at the bottom. “Last shift, how’s it feel to have all your time served?”
Eddie blinked. “I— oh, I didn’t even realize, I guess forty hours sounds a lot longer than it is.”
Susanna handed back his form. “You’re free. Have a nice night, Eddie.”
“Thanks,” Eddie said half heartedly, holding the paper. “You too.”
Looking down at the paper, he folded it up, and tucked it inside his jacket pocket.
Chapter Text
Steve stopped running as the sun rose over the grey of dawn, slowing to a walk as he headed back towards the house to start on his tasks. Towards the back of the property was an unused barn due to unstable structure, it would be a summer project depending on how it held up through the last dredges of winter weather if it could be fixed or turned into scrap wood. There was a big chain around it with a padlock to make sure that none of the kids got any bright ideas about it. The chain was undone.
Stepping up to it, made Steve's stomach churn like his intestines had been replaced with live eels, but the thought of one of the kids falling through the rotting wood made him push the door open with a creak. For a second it sounded like the snarl of a dog, but when he looked inside all he saw was piles of wood, rusted tools, and old straw covering the dirt floor. Stepping deeper inside made him feel like he was walking to his execution. Looking up at the rafters, at the empty window frame, Steve looked for shadows in the early morning light, but found none. Straw shuffled under his sneakers as he forced himself to keep walking past piles of unusable wood. A sharp scraping noise made his head snap towards it and a figure straightened up.
“What are you doing in here?”
John.
“I saw the door open, I thought one of the kids might have—“
“Hasn’t Brenner told you to leave the child-minding to the women?”
“I don’t exactly think keeping someone from getting tetanus or breaking their leg is reserved for maternal instinct alone,” Steve said. “What are you doing in here anyways? This whole thing is a death trap.”
“Mind your own responsibilities, not mine,” John said.
Steve almost scoffed for the sheer hypocrisy of the statement, but instead he turned for the door.
“Make sure you lock it after you, don’t want the kids breaking a leg!” Steve called over his shoulder.
Showered and dressed, Steve tended to the animals, and whipped up breakfast as the rest of the Chapter began to wake, meandering in and out depending on their assignments: tending to the crops, working in the shop, taking out deliveries, proclaiming, Bible study, and so on. John appeared sometime later, not taking any breakfast, but pausing to murmur something in Henry’s ear who was holding the attention of one of the long tables. Henry looked up in his direction. Steve’s shoulders tensed, but he forced himself to dip his head in hello, before turning his attention back to his slightly burnt hash brown even though he could still feel the weight of Henry’s gaze on his shoulders.
Dustin, Max, and El had all been relatively subdued since Will’s absence, but they seemed in relatively decent spirits that morning, though that could be due to the fact that they didn’t have school on Saturdays and were looking forward to a little freedom. Or they had been.
“Eleven,” Brenner summoned her with simply a word, and the atmosphere of the entire table dropped.
“Can’t you at least wait until we finish breakfast?” Max snapped.
“Maxine,” Neil’s voice was sharp with warning.
Susan quaked beside him.
“The work of the Lord does not wait,” Brenner said.
Max ground her teeth. Steve took El’s plate, wrapping eggs, hash brown, and sausage into a tortilla.
“Here, take it to go.”
El accepted it without meeting his eyes.
“Hey, knock knock.”
She looked up.
“Says.”
“Who,” she said barely a whisper.
“Says me!”
Steve got himself a sliver of a smile before Brenner put a hand on her shoulder and steered her out of the house. Steve sighed. Max rose from the table, washing her dishes with enough violence to soak herself and the counter in water before storming out of the house. Dustin pushed his eggs around on his plate with his fork.
“Hey.” Steve squeezed his shoulder. “Want to come help me with a project in the shop?”
“A rocking chair?”
“Broken radio, just can’t get it to run,” Steve lied. He hadn’t taken a long look at it yet, but he was pretty decent at fixes.
Dustin brightened. “Yeah, okay.”
Steve smiled before stepping back, looking out the kitchen window at Max’s retreating figure, but he could feel the weight of John’s earlier words even if his eyes weren’t on him. Robin squeezed his wrist, handing him her coffee, and stepping out of the house. Steve couldn’t help his smile as he watched Robin jog -trip- and try to catch up with Max, though it made his chest constrict with something painful all the same.
Having Dustin in the shop was a little like giving a cat catnip and then setting up a laser show. He was often under foot, curious about how exactly everything worked, why it worked, and if it could be improved by doing any number of ideas he spouted off. Steve let Dustin tinker with the radio as he sanded nicks out of an old table, listening to Dustin theorize about how he could expand its range and the number of frequencies it could pick up. With his attention split, Steve was admittedly listening more for any buzz words that might indicate if Dustin was going to try to pick up any of the power tools than to his actual theories. Either way, he couldn’t help his smile as Dustin jumped up and down with victory as the radio began to play. They high fived.
“Here,” Steve said, hanging him a little bundle.
Inside were spare wires, gears, and a couple other scraps that he was relatively certain would be better suited to a modern art piece than an invention, but he was sure Dustin could find some use for them.
“Now, run along before one of us accidentally gets you.” Steve made a buzzing noise, gesturing the drill he was holding (unplugged, of course).
“Lame,” Dustin informed him.
“Go.”
Dustin sighed, but made his way out of the shop, to let them work in peace.
Steve had only gotten ignored by three pedestrians by the time the music stopped across the way. With a frown, he watched as Eddie packed up, and crossed the street to his side.
“Hey, you want to play hooky?”
Steve blinked. “What?”
“It’s too cold out for my fingers to play with any kind of grace, not that these SHEEPLE APPRECIATE IT,” Eddie raised his voice, earning a few dirty looks from passerbys.
Steve gave them an apologetic smile on Eddie’s behalf.
“And I’m starving, so, wanna ditch with me?”
Steve hesitated. It was one thing to go into the bar for half an hour before picking up Robin, it was another to ditch his post entirely after only five minutes.
“It’s not looking like you’ve got any fans yourself,” Eddie said.
It was true, on an unusually cold day, less people were inclined to stop on their walk home to entertain the thought of saving their souls, they much preferred the warmth of their intended destination to talking to a stranger from a group the papers were calling ‘brainwashing the youths of America’. Eddie must have read from his face that Steve’s resolve was wavering because he smiled, taking one of Steve's hands in his own, and giving him a tug.
“C’mon, I know the best, cheapest joints around. I even know with a seventy-five percent accuracy rate of which one’s won’t give you food poisoning.”
“Seventy-five percent?” Steve wrinkled his nose, already following him away from the Hidden Spoon.
“Yep, tested ‘em myself. What are you in the mood for?”
“I’m not picky.”
“That’s not what I asked, sweetheart.”
Steve’s heart tumbled over itself. “I… I haven’t had a burger in awhile?”
Tell me, Steven, why are you a glutton for food you know is detrimental to your health when you already have the privilege of three meals a day? Are you truly so weak willed that you cannot even deny yourself a candy bar? If it wasn’t wrong, you wouldn’t have hidden it under your bed, now would you?
“I know a spot.”
“One that’s going to give me food poisoning?” Steve raised an eyebrow.
“Only if you’re unlucky.” Eddie winked.
Steve followed him through the streets, wondering what people saw looking at the pair of them passing the walk by arguing over whether or not Wham! could be considered on the same lyrical genius status as Dio.
“You only think that because you haven’t had a proper metal education,” Eddie said as he held the door for him, a bell overhead, but it didn’t chime as they stepped inside the diner.
“I’ve heard you play every day for almost two months now, I think I’m qualified,” Steve said dryly.
Eddie tapped a finger against his chest. “Hearing is not the same as listening, baby.”
It was too light of a touch for Steve to really feel it yet it still echoed through him, like ripples in a still lake after a pebble had been dropped, sinking down under the surface and settling into the rocky lake bottom of his chest cavity.
“I was pretty sure that was how synonyms worked.”
“I’d try to explain it to you, but I think you’ll understand better if I just show you sometime. Now, c’mon, let’s get you that burger.”
The white and black tiles were chipped and cracked under foot, the red leather booths split like spiderwebs to show the packed stuffing underneath, and while the tables had been wiped down there was a few stains that had set. Picking a booth, they slid into opposite ends, a jukebox playing Elvis a few paces away. Eddie’s fingers ran over the little box of sugar packets, rearranging them by Splenda, Sweet’n’Low, and sugar with barely a glance, like his hands were running the show. With the way they moved across the neck of his guitar, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if they did.
“Darla,” Eddie said with great enthusiasm as an unimpressed waitress made her way over. “How are you doing this fine day?”
“I got a dozen orders needing to be served, I don’t got time for your yapping today, so order up already.” Darla tapped her foot, notepad and pen in hand.
“This is my friend, Steve,” Eddie said. “He’s new, so maybe you could read him the specials—“
“Boy, I swear—“
Eddie laughed. “Alright, alright, lets, uh, let’s just get two cheese burgers, a basket of fries, onion rings? No, fries, why mess with a classic, right? Strawberry milkshake and… hm, you a vanilla kinda guy, Stevie? You kinda strike me as vanilla.”
Steve’s face warmed. “Chocolate, if you don’t mind, thanks.”
Darla didn’t write down a word before turning on her heel and marching back to the counter.
“You’re just full of surprises, huh, Stevie?”
“You never call me Steve,” Steve said, picking up one of the napkins, flattening it against the table, and pulling a pen from his pocket.
“Was there a question in there?”
“Why?”
“I call all of my friends nicknames. Or didja think you were special, Stevie baby?”
Steve raised an eyebrow, not particularly impressed with this answer.
Eddie blew out a sigh that stirred his bangs, leaning back against the booth, turning a packet of Splenda over in his fingers. “I don’t know, there’s something about ‘Steve’ that feels so… severe.”
“Severe?”
“Yeah, like, Steve sounds like… Steve sounds like the person I assumed you would be, all holier than thou, and uptight, and uppity, and condescending.”
“Should I feel insulted?”
“And then I get to know you and you’re just this sweetheart, so, yeah, I just call it like I see it, I suppose.” Eddie flicked the Splenda back and forth in his fingers. “Does that bother you?”
Steven.
“No,” Steve said. “That doesn’t bother me.”
Eddie’s lips curved upwards, not quite a smile, not just yet. By the time Darla returned with a big basket of fries, two burgers stacked with all the fixings, and two milkshakes with lopsided whipped cream, and an artificially red cherry sliding down the mountain of it, Steve had a rough sketch of Eddie on a diner napkin which he pushed off to the side. Eddie dug in the gusto, but Steve pushed the whipped cream around with his red straw even as his stomach growled like it wanted teeth of its own to tear into the food.
“Listen, this place might not pass a health inspection, but it’s good shit.” Eddie reached across the table to pluck the cherry from Steve's milkshake and pop it into his own mouth, pulling the stem free with a flash of white teeth.
Steve’s eyes tracked the way the cherry pushed against the inside of Eddie’s cheek before he bit down on it, chewing slightly distorted by the upturn of his lips, like there was something amusing simply about looking across the table at Steve. Swallowing, Eddie held up the stem as though to say ‘watch this’, and placed it on his tongue. Drawing it into his mouth, he rolled it around before sticking out his tongue again with the loosely knotted stem sitting on top. With his teeth and two fingers he pulled it tight before discarding it on his plate.
“Ta da,” Eddie said with a little jazz-hand motion. “You’ve got no idea how many of those I accidentally swallowed trying to learn that, but, hey, that’s another important skill, right?”
Eddie winked theatrically, but Steve’s face still felt hot, taking a deep drink of his own milkshake to save him from responding; gluttony suddenly felt like a far lesser sin. It was hard to pull away after the first sip, but he forced himself to pull back before he could just drink it all in one go.
“Holy smokes,” Steve said after one bite of his burger, mouth still half-full.
Eddie laughed. “Yeah, I know, right? Holy smokes. Heavens to Betsy. Zoinks, even.”
Steve threw a fry at him rather than waste his time with a reply when he could continue to scarf down the best burger he had ever tasted. He slowed down when he got to his fries, trying to savor his milkshake.
“I don’t think I’ve had a burger, in, like, five years,” Steve said.
Eddie’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Mhm.” Steve took another sip of his milkshake.
“Why not?”
Glutton.
Steve wiped his salt-coated fingers clean. “The Chapter’s always provided me with more than enough food, I… there was no need for outside food, other than… other than just wanting it.”
Eddie tilted his head to the side. “So? That’s not reason enough?”
“The Chapter’s not so keen on, uh, unnecessary indulgences.”
“These fries are necessary,” Eddie said.
Steve wrinkled his nose.
“Necessary to my happiness, Stevie. I think I’d shed real tears at the thought of never eating them and all their greasy goodness.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Steve said.
“It’s part of my charm, baby.” Eddie leaned over the table to take a sip of Steve’s milkshake, winking as he did it.
“Stealing’s a sin, Munson.” Steve said dryly.
“I’m not stealing, I’m sharing.” Eddie swapped their drinks. “What about ‘sharing is caring’? Is that in the proverbs somewhere?”
“Let the thief no longer steal, but rather let him labor, doing honest work with his own hands, so that he may have something to share with anyone in need.” Steve played with the straw of Eddie’s drink. “Ephesians.”
“Darling, I ain’t done an honest day’s work in my life.” Eddie waved Steve’s own whipped cream covered straw at him.
Steve sipped Eddie’s strawberry milkshake. “…what about the record store?”
Eddie flapped one hand. “That’s just my home away from home.”
Steve let out an amused exhale, chewing on Eddie’s straw, an absentminded motion.
“Hey, straw-killer, watch it.”
Eddie hooked a finger around the straw, pulling it free from Steve's teeth so he could take a sip himself, which left their faces only inches apart. A few wisps of his bangs were longer than the others, enough to get in his eyes, and Steve swore he could feel a gentle zephyr from Eddie’s blinks. The oxygen returned to the diner in a rush as the straw rattled the bottom of the glass and Eddie sat back on his side of the booth.
“Refill?”
Steve startled so bad at Darla’s voice, his knee slammed into the bottom of the table, and made their dishes rattle. Eddie paid it no mind, but Darla raised an eyebrow at him.
“Nah, we’re all set, Darla, thanks.” Eddie slapped a couple of bills on the table. “Keep the change. C’mon, Stevie.”
“I can pay for my own—“
Eddie was already tugging him up and out of the booth and towards the door.
“Bring your uncle around sometime,” Darla called after them.
“Darla, you dog, keep your hands off my uncle!” Eddie said before pulling Steve out the door. “I swear, I brought him in twice when he came up to visit and she’s already planning their wedding. Gah.”
Steve laughed and Eddie’s lips curled up, walking without any real purpose or direction, though Eddie took the opportunity to point out his favorite graffiti like the whole city was a museum they were walking through, until Steve had to leave.
Steve climbed up the back of the barn once he was sure the rest of the Chapter was tucked away in their beds, using the gaps between the boards like a ladder, the same way he had almost two years prior. There was no glass to break this time, climbing through the window, and flipping as he dropped, landing in a crouch. The hay softened some of the impact, but it still flared up his legs, like it had then. In the dark, it took some blind feeling around until he found the crate hidden under old hay, and pulled it out to reveal a cache of guns.
“You always have been too curious for your own good.”
Steve’s whole body tensed, even though the tone was lighthearted, rising slow and turning to face Henry.
“I remember when you first showed up, you must have asked a hundred questions a day. It would have been two hundred if you could read more than a handful of pages at a time.”
Steve couldn’t help the way he bristled at that, most of the Chapter was unaware of the way words swam through Steve’s brain like molasses considering he had memorized as much of the scripture as he could get his hands on, but Henry had been here long before him.
“What are the guns for, Henry?”
“They’re a precaution, a preparation for when the Babylonians come.”
“We already know we’re not destined to make it through the apocalypse, so why?”
“Martyrs don’t simply lay down and die, Steven, they are made, fighting for their cause in spite of knowing the outcome. To do otherwise is suicide.”
“Brenner has always—“
“It was Brenner’s orders to begin preparing, according to Eleven our days are more numbered than we could have imagined,” Henry said. “Most of the men are aware though perhaps with your… tendencies, Brenner felt you didn’t have the strength to prepare us for the upcoming war.”
Steve stifled his flinch, but by the glint in Henry’s face, he must have seen it regardless.
“The coming days will be difficult, Steven, do you have what it takes to prove your devotion to our Lord? To die for him?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?” Henry circled him, hands folded at the small of his back. “You’ve always been… soft, Steven, will you have what it takes to be a fighter? A martyr?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Your lack belief in my convictions doesn’t weaken them,” Steve said.
Henry’s shadow of a smile crossed his face. “So when the day comes, you’ll take up arms beside me? When the Babylonians come for the slaughter?”
“Yes.”
Henry picked up a revolver, fitting a bullet inside, and spinning the chamber, and holding the handle out to him.
“Let God see how eager you are to die in his name, let him decide if it’s today or tomorrow.”
The gun felt slippery in his hands, his palms slick with sweat as he took the handle, but it felt familiar as an old injury made fresh again did. It was a specific pain. Sharp break turned dull ache broken sharp again. Steve lifted it to his temple, keeping an inch between the muzzle and his skull. Henry’s eyes glinted in the low light of the moon through the loose boards and broken windows, like silver, like steel. Steve could feel every slow beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest shallow, like even without a bullet in the brain his body had forgotten how to intake oxygen. He could feel the tremors in his hand, but he hoped the low light disguised it. Keeping his eyes open, but staring over Henry’s shoulder, he pulled the trigger.
The click made his whole body flinch but he kept his eyes open, his heart slamming against his ribs like a terrified rabbit stomping its feet, and his breathing coming in heavy like he had just finished a marathon. Henry took the gun from his hand with ease, and he flinched again when the bullet clattered to the floor when emptied.
“There’s more backbone to you than meets the eye. I told Brenner the same. Shame he didn’t believe me, we could use your efforts…”
Steve’s stomach clenched like it was about to heave its contents up his throat.
“…but I believe you, Steven. I believe you’ll stand with me when the time comes, so, I won’t tell him of your indiscretion.”
Steve bit his tongue before he could thank him for the relief that flooded his system at those words; it would have only been sticking his foot into a bear trap. “But then how will I be forgiven?”
“God has already forgiven you,” Henry said. “Or you’d be lying on the floor.”
Steve watched him walk out of the barn into the night and collapsed onto his knees, dry heaving, and clutching at the straw, lungs filling with saw dust, sanding his throat raw.
Chapter Text
“Oh, hey,” Steve said as they were cleaning up the post-dinner mess at the soup kitchen. “I won’t be here tomorrow evening, I swapped dinner duty for sorting cans and clothes tomorrow morning.”
“Oh? Got big plans tomorrow evening? A hot date?” Eddie wiggled his eyebrows.
Steve gave him an unimpressed look.
Eddie snapped his fingers. “No, don’t tell me, Jesus is getting resurrected again.”
Steve’s lips twitched up before he straightened them out. “It’s a good thing you’re a guitarist and not a comedian.”
“I’m gonna take that as a compliment to my guitar skills, they must be really something because I’m a hoot.”
“You keep inflating your own ego and you won’t fit through doorways anymore.”
“You wound me, Stevie.” Eddie swooned backwards.
Steve rolled his eyes. “You’ll live. How is the band coming along?”
“We’ve got a rough half set down, the real trouble now is trying to get somewhere to let us play.”
“I can see how that’d be difficult seeing as you can barely get pedestrians to tolerate you.”
“Hey!”
“You can’t get Jonathan to give you a good word?”
“I tried, but apparently even nepotism has its limits.”
Steve snorted.
They walked out together, but parted ways quickly as Steve had to pick up his friend, whom Eddie assumed was proselytizing somewhere else, but once Steve had turned the corner Eddie ducked back inside and persuaded Susanna to switch him from evening to morning. She had warmed to him once he asked if he could keep volunteering even though his court mandated hours were up, apparently they were always in need of an extra set of hands.
Eddie was already inside when he heard voices, straightening up he was surprised to find Steve with two kids in tow and a guy in his twenties with a blond mullet and a bitchface to end all bitchfaces.
“This is where you waste your fucking time?” Blondie demanded.
“Yep,” Steve said, sounding more bored than anything at the jab. “We’re going to sort through donations and see what we can use and how to best use it.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“And there’s always cleaning to do.”
“Do I look like a bitch to you?”
Steve gave the blond a disinterested once over like he was actually considering it, and the blond looked close to clocking him one.
“I’m not doing this shit.” Blondie headed for the door, jingling the keys. “If you’re not out front at seven on the dot I’m leaving all of your asses!”
The little redhead girl flipped him off even though his back was turned. Steve smacked her hand down.
“I— he can’t just leave!” The curly haired kid said. “The only reason Mr. Hargrove let Max come was because he was supervising!”
“It’s alright, if he wasn’t going to help, then he would have just been in the way,” Steve said. “C’mon.”
Steve’s eyes widened as he turned and found Eddie, who wiggled his fingers at him in a sarcastic little wave, both the kids looked a little surprised but Eddie figured that was due to the band t-shirt, torn up jeans, and tattooes he was sporting.
“Hiya, Stevie, who are the gremlins?”
“Gremlins?” Redhead said with indignation.
Steve rolled his eyes. “Max, Dustin, this is my friend Eddie, he volunteers here. Eddie, this is Max and Dustin, they’re gonna be helping us out today.”
“Eddie Munson at your service.” Eddie bowed low before extending his hand. “How do you do?”
Max gave him a wary look, arms crossed tight.
“…you two are friends?” Dustin asked, looking back and forth between them.
“I know,” Eddie sighed. “It was hard to get over his whole…”
Eddie gestured to all of Steve.
“Hey!”
“But I managed,” Eddie said.
Max snorted.
“Traitor,” Steve hissed.
“It’s not my fault you’re lame,” Max told him.
Eddie laughed. “Oh, I like you, red, I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”
Max flattened out her smile the same way Eddie had seen Steve do before.
“Alright, alright, come on, less kerrfuffling more working,” Steve said.
“That’s so not a word,” Dustin said.
“Where’s your dictionary, know it all?”
Dustin huffed.
“Yeah, guys, come on, enough kershnuffling,” Eddie said solemnly, earning twin looks of horror from the kids, and Steve absolutely beamed at him.
Steve instructed the kids on how to sort through the donations before overtaking Eddie’s radio channel.
“Hey! I was listening to that!”
“We are not listening to Black Sabbath today.”
“You just hate that I have a better taste in music, don’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s totally my problem with it,” Steve said dryly, before giving the kids a pointed look.
Eddie wanted to argue that it was never too early to introduce them to good music, but he held his tongue knowing the kids were just about the only soft spot he had found in Steve’s armor over the past weeks, and he definitely carried a sword to protect it.
“This is so boring,” Max said after an hour, dropping a can.
“Yeah, it is,” Steve said, surprising Eddie. “But if I needed help, I’d appreciate it if no one gave me food poisoning in the process or socks with holes in them, so, I figure it’s worth it to be bored for a few hours.”
Max mumbled something under her breath but she started sorting again. Steve didn’t say anything, but he tussled her hair, just smiling when she glared at him.
“We could play the quote game,” Dustin said.
Max groaned. “Absolutely not.”
“What is the quote game?” Eddie asked.
“Steve has like the whole Bible shoved in his brain so he says quotes and we’re supposed to guess if they’re from John or Peter or whoever,” Max said.
“…does it have to be the Bible?” Eddie asked.
“No, but, I mean, it’s harder if it’s a book we haven’t all read, that’s not exactly fair,” Dustin said.
Eddie looked at Steve with a pained expression. “Is this kind of boring game you have to play when you’re...”
In a cult.
“…uh, old fashioned?”
“Old fashioned? Think dark ages,” Max scoffed.
Eddie raised his eyebrows.
Steve rolled his eyes. “Look, I know Cali was totally tubular—“
“No one says that.”
“—but c’mon, we’re like, at least a little tubular, right?”
“No one says that!” Max threw her hands up.
Steve bit back a laugh. “Listen, churning butter’s good for you, builds muscle.”
“And character,” Eddie teased.
“Explains why you don’t have any,” Steve said solemnly.
Eddie swooned backwards earning a little surprised laughs from the kids when he thunked down onto the floor. He popped back up like a jack-in-the-box and Steve rewarded him by throwing a pair of socks at his face. Fumbling to catch them earned another few laughs, Eddie almost flipped him off, but instead gave him a thumbs down which was enough to earn a laugh from Steve himself, shoulders shaking with it. Both the kids looked over at Steve as he laughed, eyes slightly wide, but it made both of them smile too even if they tried to hide it.
“Alright, okay, um, how’s this. Would you rather… be stuck in a rom-com with your worst enemy or a horror movie with your best friend?” Eddie asked.
“Horror movie with a best friend,” Steve said.
“Wow, no hesitation,” Eddie said.
“We’d make it,” Steve said.
“Cocky,” Eddie said. “You really think you’re final girl material?”
“Steve? Please,” Dustin scoffed. “He’s the first to go.”
“What? Hey!”
“Totally,” Max said. “He’d be all like, ‘oh hey, what’s that noise in the basement’ bam, Steve’s dead.”
Eddie couldn’t help his laugh at the offended look on Steve’s face.
“Fine, see if I protect you guys from Leatherface when he comes around,” Steve said, all bitchy and beautiful.
“Who?” Dustin asked.
“Texas Chainsaw Massacre, duh,” Max said.
“You know Texas Chainsaw Massacre, altar boy?”
Steve shrugged, but his lips were curling up slightly. “I’ve got layers.”
Max looked him dead in the eyes and said. “You’re a one tiered birthday cake.”
Steve protested, but Eddie could see he was biting back a smile as the kids teased him.
Eddie ended up roping them into several rounds of would-you-rather as they finished sorting, catching himself a few times before he could say anything that wasn’t PG15… PG15 for little Christian boys and girls that was. Though Eddie was relatively certain Max was pretty street.
“Alright, we’re clocking out,” Steve said, straightening up, and stretching his arms over his head as he did.
Eddie wanted to sink his teeth into the strip of skin between the line of his belt and the bottom of his sweater.
Dustin frowned. “But we have three more hours before we’re going back.”
“I know,” Steve said. “We’re gonna get some grub and take a little field trip.”
“Is Eddie coming?” Dustin asked.
“Is Eddie’s shift over?” Steve asked.
“Eddie’s shift is in fact over,” Eddie said; his shift had been over an hour ago.
“The third person makes you all sound dumb,” Max informed them.
“Your words like an arrow to my heart, little red,” Eddie said.
She rolled her eyes hard enough to put Steve’s own sarcasm to shame.
“Alright, c’mon, let’s go,” Steve said.
Steve’s kids followed him like ducklings, though Dustin looked at everything and everyone they passed while Max acted like she the whole place could be on fire and she wouldn’t blink, arms crossed tight over her chest.
“Hey, I know a great place, c’mere.” Eddie curled his hand around Steve’s arm, giving him a little tug.
Steve let himself be led a few streets over to a sandwich cart, run by Lenny, who looked a little like a health code violation himself, but Eddie couldn’t deny he made a mean Ruben.
“Lenny!” Eddie greeted with enthusiasm.
“What you want,” Lenny glowered, but Eddie liked to think it was an endeared sort of glower.
“I will have my usual Ruben extra pickles, my good sir, and my fine friends will have…”
“Philly Cheesesteak, please,” Dustin said.
“BLT,” Max said, only adding her please when Steve nudged her.
“I’ll have a Caprese sandwich, please and thank you,” Steve said with a bright smile as he paid for himself and his ducklings.
Eddie was a little charmed that Steve tipped as well even though Eddie had already stuffed several crumpled bills into the jar. Lenny handed over their sandwiches one by one.
“Ah. Say thank you.” Steve caught Dustin by the collar of his shirt before he could step away with his sandwich.
“Thank you,” Dustin said.
Lenny grunted.
“Thanks,” Max said, but it sounded like it took a little effort to muster up the words.
“Thanks,” Steve said, accepting his own. “Alright, this way.”
Steve brought them to a little park, it was tucked away near a bridge, so it didn’t get as much action with the train rumbling by, but there was a tiny little skatepark thriving underneath. Max looked at it with wide eyes.
“Food first,” Steve said firmly. “Then you can ask if someone’s willing to let you borrow their board, but no concussions, I swear, Max. I can do scraped knees, you can even bust your wrist, but brain bleeds are where I draw the line.”
“I can’t just-“ Max looked over. “-ask to borrow, that’s, like, totally lame.”
“More lame than just sitting here with us losers wishing you were skating?” Steve raised an eyebrow.
Max opened and closed her mouth, then picked up her sandwich and started eating. She finished it quickly, wiping her hands on her pants before squaring her shoulders and marching over. Steve watched her with a smile.
“Hey,” Max called after some kid. “You call that an ollie? That’s shit, let me show you.”
The boy looked a little startled, but he handed over his board, and in about three seconds flat she had the whole group wrapped around her finger as she popped a perfect ollie first try. Steve bit back a smile, shaking his head.
“She’s a menace,” Eddie said. “I assume she gets that from you?”
Steve rolled his eyes.
“Proving my point, baby, proving my point.”
Dustin’s brows furrowed slightly and Eddie’s mouth felt dry at the look he was giving him. Steve didn’t seem to notice, knocking his knee into Dustin’s.
“There’s a little book thing over there, that you can check out,” Steve said. “See that little box? You take a book and leave one to replace it, but I bet you could like borrow one for an hour or two.”
“Do they have anything with dragons?”
“I have no idea,” Steve said.
Dustin popped up, jogging over to inspect it. Steve watched him with this look, the same one Eddie had seen on Jonathan’s face when he showed him Will’s latest drawing that he had taken to carrying around in his wallet.
“You ever think about, like, ditching the whole cult thing and becoming like a teacher or something? I think it’d suit you, you’re really good with kids.”
Steve’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, um, no, I, uh, I never actually finished high school, so.”
“Dropped out?”
Steve made a little shrugging gesture.
“You know it took me three tries to graduate?”
Steve blinked at him. “What? Really?”
“Mhm, I was a super super senior by the time I walked out of those halls, but like hell was I gonna leave without that diploma. See, my old man had a, uh, a different career choice, the kind that lands you doing ten to twenty not just community service, and well, if I washed out of high school I was pretty sure I’d end up heading down the same path, I mean, what other skills would I have to fall back on besides the one’s dear old dad taught me.” Eddie twisted a curl around his finger.
“Do you still talk to him?”
“No,” Eddie said, though he wasn’t sure if he was telling Steve this because he wanted Steve to know him in his complete picture, or because he wanted Steve to know he could tell him his own nitty-gritty details. “He got put away when I was thirteen and I went to stay with my uncle, who… well, let’s just say he put my dad’s parenting to shame, and the thing about getting good parenting about thirteen years too late is it makes you bitter about all the bad parenting you had before. If it was that easy, then why…”
“Why couldn’t he do it?” Steve asked softly.
“Yeah,” Eddie said quietly, looking down at his feet.
Steve leaned his shoulder against his. “What’s your uncle’s name?”
“Wayne,” Eddie said. “You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but the guy’s a total softy, like, he’s this grouchy old man but after I moved in about three weeks into my like skittish alley cat routine he just sat me down and said that it was my home now too so I might as well start acting like his kid so he could learn how to be a parent.”
Steve smiled. “He sounds great.”
“He is,” Eddie said. “Honestly, don’t think I’m like a total softy or anything, but, uh, I probably would have run off a lot further after I got that diploma, but I think I’d miss him too bad if I went to California.”
“You are a total softy,” Steve laughed, but it wasn’t a mean sound.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Eddie bemoaned. “It will totally ruin my whole rock and roll, devil may care, image. I want people to picture me gallivanting across the states with only my guitar for company, not a care in the world, except where to buy my next pack of smokes.”
“And the fact that you’ll have contracted lung cancer.”
“I’m here for a good time, not a long time, sweetheart.” Eddie winked. “Ain’t that your whole shtick?”
A shadow akin to fear flickered across Steve’s face, but when Eddie blinked it was gone, replaced by Steve’s patented fed up look. He wondered how many times Steve had used that on his kids.
“You never smoked?” Eddie asked.
“I smoked,” Steve said, drumming his fingers against the bench. “I drank too.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I, uh, I was young and I wanted to fit in and my parents were away so I threw this huge party in a bid for popularity…”
“I thought you dropped out of high school?”
“I’ve got my GED,” Steve said with a little shrug. “But, yeah, I guess I did technically or whatever, but this was in freshman year.”
“So you were real young.”
“Yeah.”
“How did the party go?”
“Oh, terrible,” Steve said. “I was trashed, the house was trashed, my guests were trashed. I spent like two days cleaning up, but the real kicker was that someone had taken my dad’s 1917 issue WWI Artillery Model Luger that he had in his office, which, is, uh, just about impossible to replace, and when they got back… well, that was the only party I ever threw.”
“We’re your parents…” Eddie knew the kids are far enough away that he could say ‘cult’ now, but he didn’t want to add their usual biting banter to the conversation. “…religious?”
“No,” Steve said, fixing the chain around his neck so the cross laid flat. “Neither was I, though I think my grandmother insisted I was baptized but there’s no photo evidence or anything.”
“Do you still keep in touch?”
Steve’s eyes were on Max who was trash talking an awestruck boy around her age, looking at her the same way he had Dustin, like this one was his. “I have a new family now.”
Eddie’s heart squeezed.
“Don’t make a Manson joke,” Steve said, looking back at him with narrowed eyes. “That’s just low hanging fruit.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Eddie said softly. “I’ve seen the way you are with your kids, I get it, family’s not always the one you started off with.”
“Yeah.” Steve’s thumb slid over his cross again before letting his hand fall to his lap.
Dustin came back with a novel, sitting on the ground, reading his favorite lines aloud, and tearing apart the logistics of the fantasy world even though he was clearly invested. Eddie had a few rousing debates with him over whether or not dragons were immune to lava which may or may not have been hotter than dragon fire though since neither of them had ever been burned, they wouldn’t know.
“You ever play dungeons and dragons?” Eddie said.
Dustin looked up at him. “What’s that?”
“Ooh, what is that? I’m about to blow your mind.”
Dustin looked up at him with eyes wide as saucers as Eddie enthralled him with tales from his campaigns at some point Steve rose from the bench, messing up Dustin’s curls as he passed.
“Did I bore him away?” Eddie asked, only half joking.
“Steve’s not really into the fantasy stuff,” Dustin said. “I mean, Father Brenner says we have to be careful with media like this because they can have messages about witchcraft and false gods and stuff, so there’s not a lot on the farm, and Steve’s been there for, like, ever.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Dustin said. “Only a couple of people have been there longer, like Henry, but since Steve was, like, our age when he showed up, he doesn’t really have the same seniority that Henry does.”
“Are most of the people there older?”
“Yeah, most of the founding members are like old, old, but there’s a couple of people around Steve’s age, most of them are kind of jerks. Robin’s cool though.”
“Robin?”
“Yeah, she’s Steve’s girlfriend.”
Eddie’s throat constricted.
“Or, well, not really, any unions have to be approved by Father Brenner and they haven’t asked, so they’re not together, but everyone thinks they’re going to get married.”
“…is that so?” Eddie said faintly.
“Yeah, I’m surprised you haven’t seen her,” Dustin said. “She comes with Steve to help at the soup kitchen and stuff.”
Eddie frowned, but their conversation was interrupted by Steve’s return with five ice cream sandwiches, one of which he handed to Eddie.
“Hey, Max!” Steve shouted.
Max turned away from the kid she was talking to. “What!”
Steve nodded his head. She sighed with enough irritation that Eddie could see it from yards away, and stomped over. Steve handed her two of the ice creams.
“One for your friend.”
“He’s not my friend, I only just met Lucas,” Max snapped.
“Whatever, say it’s a thank you for letting you use his board,” Steve said.
“Like hell,” Max said. “That’s totally lame.”
“Blasphemy,” Steve said in that same tone Eddie had heard a thousand times from his own slips and Eddie realized it must have been a habit from the kids.
“Whatever.” Max grabbed Dustin’s arm. “Come on.”
“I was having a conversation!” Dustin protested.
“Yeah, and now you’re going to have a new one,” Max said.
Lucas accepted the ice cream sandwich and Dustin with ease, the three of them ended up sitting by a tree trunk, unlike Steve and Eddie who were clearly losers for sitting on an actual bench.
“So, uh, is Robin the friend you go pick up after your ‘the end is nigh’ spiel every night?” Eddie asked.
Steve looked surprised.
“Dustin said I should have met her by now since she comes with you into town,” Eddie explained.
Steve looked away, tapping his fingers against the bench. “Oh, yeah, she does, but we take different corners, y’know, expand our audience.”
“…he also said you were getting married.”
Steve coughed. “What? No. Crickets. Rob is my best friend, but, uh, Max was right, the Chapter can be a little old fashioned sometimes, so, y’know a girl and a guy who spend a decent chunk of time together…”
“They have to be fucking.”
Steve winced. “Yeah, something like that, but we’re just like… you know how you can’t adopt rats all by themselves or they’ll get depressed?”
“Uh, I do now.”
“We’re like that,” Steve said confidently as though Eddie should know what that meant, though in a way, Eddie did.
“Does this mean I can’t be a bridesmaid, Stevie?”
“Who says you would have made the cut in the first place?” Steve sniffed.
Eddie gave him a gentle shove. “You’re an asshole.”
Steve laughed. “Yeah, alright, devil-spawn.”
Eddie flipped up a set of devil horns, sticking his tongue out at him. Steve just shook his head, leaning back against the bench, and licking at the melting side of his ice cream sandwich in a way that was severely detrimental to Eddie’s sanity. He took a big bite of his own, hoping a brain freeze would give his wandering mind a cold shower.
Eddie chewed slower. “…did you say crickets instead of Christ earlier?”
Steve tipped his head back as he laughed in answer and Eddie admired the line of his throat, the freckle dotting his skin just a few centimeters to the left of his Adam’s apple like an x of where someone should kiss.
“Steve, Stevie, sweetheart, please tell me I imagined that because you cannot possibly have decided crickets was an acceptable substitute swear.”
Steve smiled. “You imagined it.”
“I’m no fool! I know what I heard! I won’t be silenced!” Eddie leapt up onto the bench, waggling his own ice cream sandwich at Steve, and earning a few weirded-out looks from other park goers.
“Oh, yeah? Who are you gonna tell, Eds? The swear police?”
“I— you— you’re the swear police!” Eddie said.
Steve laughed. “What?”
“Censorship!” Eddie shouted as loud as he could because he was starting to feel as though he was losing hold of his own argument.
Steve laughed so hard his whole body shook with it, nose scrunched up, eyes shut and crinkled at the corners and Eddie was helpless to do anything but stare down at the sight before him as the glow of mid afternoon lit Steve better than any golden halo could.
Hopping down, Eddie retook his seat as Steve’s laughter trailed off, starting a whole new pointless argument by saying, ‘I won that argument’ to entertain one another as they finished off their ice creams. Steve checked his watch as he threw away wrappers and napkins before letting out a sigh.
“We’ve got to get going.”
“To meet up with that dude from earlier with the mullet?”
“Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s Max’s stepbrother, he’s… he can be temperamental.”
“You don’t have to be gracious around me, darling, I won’t tattle.”
“He’s a dick.”
Steve’s matter-of-fact tone started a laugh out of Eddie.
Steve looked a little sheepish, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, that’s unkind of me, but he’s… it’s just the way he talks to people. The way he treats them, especially women, I can’t stand it. I know it’s probably because he’s working through something, but…”
“But it doesn’t give him the excuse to take it out on the rest of you.”
Steve nodded. “Exactly.”
“Sounds like a dick to me,” Eddie said.
Steve bit back a smile. “Thanks for the solidarity.”
Eddie watched from a few feet away as Steve rounded up his ducklings.
“Oh, wait.” Lucas said, catching Max’s arm. “Um, here, if y’know, you wanted to show me that ollie, again, sometime.”
Max’s eyes widened a fraction as she accepted the receipt with a number written across it. “I don’t have a board here.”
“We can share,” Lucas said easily. “See you around, Mad Max.”
Max pinked. “Yeah, whatever.”
Lucas waved at Dustin before jogging back off to rejoin his friends on the court. Max stuffed the number into her pocket, glaring at Dustin who had opened his mouth to say something, but wisely shut it again. Steve smirked.
“Not a word,” Max snapped.
Steve held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, Mad Max.”
Max punched him in the stomach.
Steve let out an ‘oof’ before laughing. “Alright, alright, we’ve really got to go, say bye to Eddie.”
“Bye,” Max said flatly.
“Bye,” Dustin said a little more enthusiastically.
“Farewell, fair travelers, I bid you a safe return,” Eddie said.
Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, alright, farewell to you too, I suppose.”
“Try not to miss me too much, baby.” Eddie winked, leaning back against the bench.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Steve waved his kids along.
They were nowhere near out of hearing range when Dustin piped up, “Steve, why does Eddie call you—“
Steve gave Dustin the noogie to end all noogies and he never got a chance to finish his question.
Chapter 13
Notes:
This chapter is a little dark, uh, content warning for homophobia and guns.
Chapter Text
Billy had been the one who was late, only by three minutes, but he didn’t bother to fully stop the car when the three of them climbed in, gunning it before the kids could get their seatbelts on, and Steve had to put a hand on the dash to keep from slamming his face into it. In the backseat Max glared daggers at the back of Billy's head and Dustin looked seconds away from spouting off car accident statistics. If there was one upside to the fact that Billy drove like he belonged in a burning F1 car, it was that it was always a short ride.
“Can we go back to the soup kitchen again soon?” Dustin asked as they climbed out. “I want to hear how Eddie’s new campaign is coming along.”
Billy slammed the driver’s side door shut. “Who the fuck is Eddie?”
“He volunteers at the soup kitchen, you would have met him, but…” Steve gave him a pointed look.
“So he’s a pansy like you,” Billy said.
“Eddie’s cool,” Max said, the ‘unlike you’ going unspoken, but there all the same.
“Yeah! He’s got earrings, and long hair, and knows about dragons!” Dustin said.
Steve winced internally.
“Sounds like a queer to me,” Billy said.
“Watch what you’re saying in front of the kids,” Steve snapped.
Billy shoved him back against the side of the truck. “That’s hypocritical now, isn’t it, Harrington? Watch my mouth? While you’ve got them rubbing elbows with a fucking queer? What do you think Father Brenner would say about that, huh?”
Steve’s stomach knotted, but he managed to keep his usual disinterested mask up. “I don’t know, but you might want to change your shirt before you go tell him. You’ve got lipstick on your collar.”
Billy slammed his fist against the metal of the car by his head and Steve barely managed to keep from flinching at the sound, but they both knew they had one another at an impasse.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” Billy said before stalking away.
Steve sighed, turning back to the kids. “C’mon, let’s go see what needs doing before dinner.”
The kids were quiet, but they livened up a little after dinner telling El about their adventures, thankfully, a good distance away from the rest of the group.
“I wish she could have come,” Steve said.
“I still can’t believe you got Brenner to let you take them out at all,” Robin said.
Steve rubbed at the burn scar on his wrist. “I told him that if the kids were going to start being treated as adults, then they should be able to handle doing charity in the real world.”
“How is it you always know what to say?” Robin asked, pressing their shoulders together. “Every time I open my mouth it’s just like a jumble of words and somehow you’re playing verbal chess.”
Steve made a face. “I hate chess.”
Robin laughed. “That’s because a fifteen year old keeps kicking your butt.”
Steve shoved her lightly.
Aside from a glare as their paths crossed, Billy didn’t appear to have any intention of using the cards in his hand, but even the thought of him whispering a rumor, any rumor along those lines to Father Brenner left him uneasy as he went to bed, and it bled into his dreams.
Robin looked pale as a ghost as Brenner held up the zine, a drawing of two women intertwined on the cover, and captions like “down with the patriarchy” and “rise up” scrawled over it.
“It’s mine,” Steve said quickly.
“Is it?” Brenner said.
“No,” Robin said. “It’s mine.”
“No, it’s not-“
“It was under my bed-“
“I found it, I gave it to her—“
“No, he didn’t—“
Brenner held up his hand and they both went quiet. “And why, tell me, would either of you bring something so… vile, into our sanctuary?”
Robin flinched.
“I was just— I was curious. I had never seen anything like it before,” Steve said.
“And where did you get it?” Brenner asked.
Steve faltered for an answer because he didn’t know, he didn’t know where he would find a zine like that. Didn’t know they existed. Robin opened her mouth to confess, to damn herself—
“I made it,” Steve blurted out.
“Made it?” Brenner’s lip curled.
“I drew it,” Steve said.
“No, he didn’t—“
“I did—“
“No, he’s trying to—“
“Robin, it’s okay—“
“No, it’s—“
“Enough!”
They both went stock-still.
“Follow.”
Robin clutched tight to Steve’s hand as they followed Brenner to the chapel, and Steve held her just as tight as they stepped into the empty space.
“Do not move. Do not speak another word with your lying tongues.”
Brenner stepped into his office, leaving them standing there in petrified silence until he returned carrying a revolver. Steve’s heart almost stopped, watching him load one bullet into the barrel and spin it.
“Would anyone like to confess? Or shall we let God decide who the sinner here is?”
Neither of them spoke a word.
“Very well.”
Brenner nodded and John and Ben pried them apart, so they were standing five feet from one another, and looking into Robin’s terrified eyes gave Steve just enough bravery to stay standing as Brenner forced the pistol in her hand. He forced her to aim it at his chest.
“Pull the trigger.”
“No.” Robin tried to twist away but Ben held her in place.
“Do you believe in God, Robin?”
“Yes.”
“Then if you’re so sure of Steven’s innocence, then you’ll pull the trigger, and if it is so, then God will provide him a shield.”
Robin’s eyes shone with tears, her hand shaking as Ben held her in place, and Brenner kept her hands on the gun. Steve wanted to run, wanted to bolt out of the chapel, but more… more than that he wanted Brenner to be right. He wanted God to spare him, he wanted to know that there was something, anything, worth saving about him. That there was even a piece of him worth protecting, shielding. He nodded.
Robin shook her head. “No, no, I won’t do it.”
“Do you believe in God?” Brenner roared.
Robin flinched at the volume. “Yes! But God’s not making me do this, you are!”
“God’s asking you for faith do you have it or not?”
Robin choked on a sob.
“If you don’t, then turn the gun around.”
“No!” Steve lurched forwards, but John held him fast. “Rob, it’s… it’s okay.”
“No, no, I won’t—“
“Do you think I’m a perversion?”
“No—“
“Then I’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, Rob, please—“
“No—“
“Is he sick then? Is he a deviant to be cast aside—“ Brenner’s voice raised in volume.
Even without a bullet the bang made them both flinch. Tears spilled from Robin’s eyes, practically collapsing into Ben’s hold as she sobbed. Brenner took the gun from her, bringing it over to Steve. Steve’s whole body shook as he wrapped his hands around it, aim brought level with Robin’s chest. Robin met his gaze through her tears, the slightest nod to her head.
The gold cross around his throat felt like a brand, but Steve thought, He won’t take her from me, He won’t, because she’s the best person I’ve ever met, and if I was worth saving, then so is she, by a hundred times over. Steve pulled the trigger, the empty bang making them both quake. The gun would have fallen to the ground if Brenner didn’t take it from him.
“God’s given you both another chance,” Brenner said. “A chance to confess.”
Neither of them spoke. Brenner pressed the gun into Robin’s hands again, and she choked back sobs as she lifted it towards him. Another empty click. Sobs wracked through Robin as Brenner took the gun back. Steve almost dropped it, and Brenner had to hold both his hands around it. He didn’t even realize he had begun to cry until Robin’s face blurred before him. Click.
“Stop, stop, please stop,” Robin begged as Brenner handed the gun back.
Steve may have faith, but he knew the odds of miracles. It was still math, and his chances of catching a bullet had dropped from 1/6 to 5/6. Still, looking at Robin’s distraught face, he found it in him to nod. Better him. He kept his eyes on her as she squeezed the trigger his whole body flinching as it anticipated a bullet that didn’t come. The relief turned to terror as Brenner moved towards him with the gun.
“No, no, I won’t, I won’t do it.” Steve fought John’s hold.
Brenner and John held him in place down to the finger on the trigger and Steve stilled for fear that Brenner’s would slip and squeeze it himself. Robin was holding perfectly still opposite him, her chest barely rising and falling, and eyes wide as dinner plates. Steve kicked Brenner in the knee sending him stumbling back and pressing the gun to the underside of his own chin.
“No, no, it’s me, I’m the deviant. I won’t— I won’t hurt Robin. I won’t—“
Robin started struggling. “No! It’s me! I’m sick! I— I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I don’t know why I’m like this! Please, please!”
“Do you want to repent?” Brenner asked.
“Yes!” Robin screamed, her voice raw. “Please, please let me repent, please just… just make it stop.”
“Whose drawing was it?”
“Mine,” Robin said. “Please, it was mine.”
“If she’s sick then so am I,” Steve said, his hand shaking, but he kept the gun up. “I didn’t… I didn’t draw that one, but I’ve drawn worse. There’s… there’s something wrong with my brain… I…”
“Do you want to be saved?”
Steve blinked away tears. “Yes.”
Brenner eased the gun from his hand, aiming it up at the ceiling, and pulling the trigger. Steve flinched so hard it sent him to his knees, splinters raining down from the rafters, and landing on his shoulders. He was shaking so hard, he thought he would fall to pieces.
“Then you will be,” Brenner said, lifting Steve's face to meet his eyes. “It will be a long road, but we can save you from this perversion.”
Steve tried to blink away tears to meet his eyes, but he stayed blurry as Brenner pulled away, taking Ben, John, and the gun with him as they left the chapel. A shudder ran through Steve as he collapsed into sobs and Robin’s arms were around him a second later. They both cried as they clutched at one another.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” Robin whispered.
“It’s okay, it’s okay…” Steve held her as tight as he could.
Steve woke with tears spilling down his face and he heaved in a deep breath. Turning his face into the pillow, he tried to breathe through cotton and down feathers until the lack of oxygen smothered his body’s attempt to cry. Rolling onto his back, he caught his breath, cleaning away the tears from his face with shaking hands. It wasn’t the first time he had the dream, it wouldn’t be the last. Every time they popped up, there was a split second where Steve thought about sneaking down the hall to climb into Robin’s bed and to let her hold him, the way he had done for her when she had the same dream, but the guilt at the thought of even considering sneaking into her room when they would both be in trouble if they were caught, of putting her in that position, made him feel sick.
It was early, earlier than his alarm ever went off when Steve rose, deciding on a run to kill the time before his chores were due. When he passed the dilapidated barn, he kept his eyes fixed on his feet, but the sound of voices drew his eyes up as he passed the chapel, and he couldn’t stop himself from moving closer. Brenner’s office window was cracked, and he could just make out Billy’s voice.
“…concern for him. If he’s straying, I think he might be hiding…”
Steve didn’t need to hear anything further, picking up the pace and racing back to the house. He forced himself to slow on the stairs so as not to wake anyone, but he knew even with a head start he wouldn’t have time to get rid of everything he had hidden away in his room. In a split second decision he turned, opening the door to one of the other bedrooms. Inside, Billy’s bed was empty, but Tommy was still fast asleep, and he didn’t wake as Steve crept inside and stuck his hand under Billy’s mattress until he found what he was looking for. Moving quickly back to his own room, he stuck it under his own mattress, double checked the floor boards were all nailed down, and chucked his haircare products out the window down into the bushes below. The creak of the stairs caught his ears and he dropped down into a push up position, counting to himself as footsteps drew nearer, up, down, up, down, up—
Brenner opened the door to his room and Steve looked up at him with surprise, settling back on his knees, and wiping sweat from his face as he straightened up. Henry stood a step behind him, seeing Brenner without him would be like king forgetting his crown. Billy stood a step behind Henry, already gloating over his win.
“Father Brenner.” Steve pushed his sweaty hair back out of his eyes. “What’s going on?”
“It’s been brought to my attention that there are some concerns that you might you might be straying,” Brenner said.
Steve’s eyes widened. “How so?”
Brenner stepped deeper into his room. “For your own good I’m going to make sure there’s no temptations that might lead you astray within your room.”
“Right, yeah, okay.”
Steve rose to his feet, moving to stand by the door, out of the way as Henry joined Brenner inside. It wouldn’t be the first time he had gotten a surprise room check, though they were typically reserved for newcomers in their first six months or kids as they were more easily prone to distraction. Henry pulled out all of his dresser drawers, rifling through his clothes, shaking out his shirts, and unrolling his socks. Brenner flipped through his sparse collection of books for anything hidden in the pages before beginning to strip the bed. First went the pillow case and pillow onto the floor, then the blankets, then the sheets, then—
Brenner pulled the magazine from under the mattress, a naked women photographed on the cover. In the doorway, Billy tensed, his jaw tightening, teeth grinding, and Steve forced himself to look caught-out rather than turn to Billy and say, ‘look familiar?’. Room searches were like confession, all they needed was one sin thrown into the light to leave the rest tucked away in darkness. Billy’s dirty magazine made the perfect distraction for his own secrets hidden away under floorboards and false bottom drawers and the bushes outside. Once Brenner found the contraband, Henry abandoned his own search.
“I—“ Steve drew his shoulders up to his chin before letting them droop down like he had given up, fixing his eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry, Father. I won’t make any excuses for my behavior. I knew it was wrong and I’ll accept whatever penance you deem fit.”
“Dispose of this.” Brenner handed the magazine to Henry. “Walk with me, Steven.”
“Yes, Father.”
Steve lifted his eyes from the floor to meet Billy’s as they passed and he could see the anger burning behind them, but they both knew Steve had him caught; if Billy wanted them to keep digging, find anything of actual value in Steve’s room, he would have to confess the magazine was his own and then what good would the word of a sinner be then? Brenner led him down the stairs, out of the farmhouse, and past the animals.
“What possessed you to bring such filth into our sanctuary, Steven?” Brenner asked as they walked the grounds, his hands folded behind his back.
“I don’t know, Father, I guess I feel… lost.”
“Lost?”
“Lonely,” Steve said, a little more honestly than he intended. “Will’s leaving only reminded me that… that I always wanted to build a family of my own, not that I don’t appreciate the family I have here, I do, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but… I guess I thought that if he were actually my little brother, then maybe he wouldn’t have left.”
“Your parents were your blood and they still left you, didn’t they?”
Steve flinched.
“They left you all the time, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Steve said quietly.
“Alone in that empty house. Alone before you could even reach the stove. Alone when they forgot to pick you up from kindergarten. Alone on parent-teacher conference night. Alone when you broke your arm and the hospital wouldn’t let you leave without a guardian.”
Steve’s eyes stung at the reminder of all the little confessions he had made to Brenner when he had met him in that church he had snuck into months after he had first runaway. No one had ever noticed him sitting in the back during mass so long as he slipped away quickly enough once it was over, not until Brenner came to visiting, giving his own sermon.
“Why do you think that is?” Brenner asked. “That they left you alone?”
“I…” Steve swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Perhaps you weren’t worthy then,” Brenner said mildly. “Of family.”
“Then why did you let me come here?”
“Because I knew I could make you worthy,” Brenner said. “All of the Select come to us as sinners, Steven, some, like yourself, have a more difficult road to walk towards the light of God, but you will walk it.”
Steve blinked quickly to keep from shedding any tears.
“And in order to do so, you must stop chasing cheap imitations of love. That magazine was only a symptom of a larger problem. Like that deceiver in our midst two years ago that you fell for. That magazine is not love, that temptress was not love. The only love that matters is God’s, the only love that you need to concern yourself of being worthy of is His. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father,” Steve’s voice came out weaker than he hoped.
Brenner drew to a stop at large oak tree by the edge of the property, carved into the bark were his and Robin’s initials and a heart surrounding them; the kids had done it to poke fun at them, so Steve and Robin had carved nonsense back, ‘Max + Skateboard 4ever’, ‘Dustin + being a nerd 5evah!’, ‘Will <3 Golly’, ‘El <3 waffles’, and more. There was a heart that had also been scratched all the way through that used to hold different initials, but it was only a heart now.
“Cut it down,” Brenner said. “I want the whole tree turned to firewood for the next winter and with it. I cannot blind you from temptation, but I can tire you of it. As exhausted as this task makes you, this, this is the amount of energy you should be putting into your dedication towards God. You should go to bed every day exhausted from carving the sin from your body without anything left to spend on foolish whims.”
“Yes, Father.”
Brenner stepped back. “And, Steven, it is your weak heart that makes you stray as it runs after anyone and everyone who might want it.”
Steve tended to the animals on his way to the shed where he fetched an axe. He hefted it over his shoulder as the sun turned the sky orange, like blood stained bath water, and brought it down over the initials carved into the tree. Again. Again. Sweat soaked through his shirt, arms straining by the time it finally tipped over with a groan worthy of a collapsing house, landing heavy in the grass. Standing over its fallen body, Steve lifted the axe over his head and brought it down until the sound of splintering wood was all that filled his brain, his arms shaking, and the handle of the axe slick with blood from split blisters.
“Looks like your room got tossed,” Robin said, her voice didn’t startle him, but he didn’t turn to look at her either.
Steve only grunted in response, not willing to waste his breath.
“What did they find?” Robin asked.
“One of Billy’s skin-mags,” Steve said between swings of the axe.
“Could have been worse,” Robin said.
It could have. Steve knew he had been given a light punishment because in a way, the magazine gave him a point in his favor. Yes, it was contraband, but it was also evidence. Evidence that he wasn’t a queer, that Brenner had set him straight.
“I’ve got breakfast, or, well, it’s more like lunch now. Don’t worry, I didn’t make it.”
Steve breathed out a ‘thanks’, but he was afraid if he stopped swinging he wouldn’t be able to lift the axe again. Robin kept him company for a few minutes, but she had her own duties to attend to. She left the food and water sitting a safe distance from the flying splinters, but Steve didn’t touch it. It was a punishment meant to last days, but stopping felt like giving up, like admitting cutting up an entire tree into firewood was an enormous task.
Eventually, his arms refused to lift the axe and he was forced to stop, laying on his back in the grass, looking up at the evening sky, and drinking sips of water as sweat cooled on his skin. Goosebumps raised in the cold air, but he refused to go inside, not until the task was done, so he stayed, even as his eyes grew too heavy to keep open.
A touch woke him, though he was relatively certain the touch hadn’t meant to as a blanket was wrapped around him… followed by warm arms, and he felt the familiar shape of Robin cozied up behind him, clearly layered up against the night.
“Mm?”
“You’re gonna catch hypothermia, you know that? Or frostbite. Have you seen those pictures of people whose toes have turned black and fallen off?” Robin rambled, only to cut herself off with a yawn.
“Go back ’side,” Steve mumbled. “You’ll get in trouble.”
Robin just curled tighter around him as he gave a little half hearted shiver, she felt warm as a furnace, and she made sure to tuck his aching hands in close to their combined body heat.
“Let me help,” Robin said. “I might not be a jock like you, but I can make a little dent.”
“It’s my penance, Rob,” Steve said, eyes still closed.
“It wasn’t even your magazine!”
“We both know I have worse,” Steve said.
Robin said nothing to that, only squeezing him tight enough that it made his aching muscles scream, but he was already falling back to sleep encircled within her arms.
“I had the dream,” Steve said, though on the cusp of sleep he wasn’t sure if the words actually left his lips. “Last night.”
“I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re okay. I’ve got you, dingus.”
“I love you.”
Steve was asleep before he could hear whatever she said in return, but when he woke up, his hands were bandaged, there was a line of water bottles, and a little cache of protein bars though any evidence that Robin had slept out here with him was gone.
Steve picked up the axe again.
Chapter Text
Eddie had started cutting his busking a little shorter in the evenings when Steve was proselytizing to increase the likelihood of Steve saying ‘yes’ to having a drink together at the Hidden Spoon. He always ended the set with a serenade of whatever he thought might inspire a little scandalized look or an eye roll or a laugh and then Steve walked over to his side of the street to keep him company while he packed away his guitar case. Eddie never saw Steve do it, but more often than not when Eddie got home there was a scrap of a drawing tucked away somewhere along with his guitar.
“Hey, Stevie, what did you think of my set?”
“That it’s a shame my favorite members of Hellfire couldn’t make it out tonight,” Steve sighed.
Eddie squawked. “Hey! I met you first! You have to like me best!”
Steve grinned. “I’m teasing, where are the guys though?”
“Jeff has like homework, y’know, like a loser, and Gareth’s working,” Eddie said.
“How’s he like bar-backing?” Steve asked.
“Decent enough,” Eddie said. “Jeff’s been talking about moving off campus, so once he saves up a bit, they might go half and half on an apartment. Though I have to say, sleeping in our rehearsal space is pretty metal of Gareth, he’s literally living with the music, though, uh, the fact that it’s literally a condemned building is… less than ideal.”
“Gareth won’t take you up on your offer to crash?” Steve asked.
Eddie shook his head. “I let him know the offer’s open, but it was already hard enough for him to agree to let us put all the money we make from busking into getting him a drum kit, but I think it’s a great investment.”
“That might take a second,” Steve said.
“I’ve also been putting a decent chunk of what I make dealing into the fund, but, uh, that’ll be an argument for another day.” Eddie slung his guitar over his shoulder.
Steve smiled at him. “That soft-heart’s showing again, Eds.”
Eddie flushed, but before he could find a proper protest he caught sight of the bandages wrapped in thick layers around Steve’s hands. Before he could stop himself, he had caught both of them in his own.
“Hey, what happened here, sweetheart?”
“Oh.” Steve looked down. “Um, there was a tree that needed to be taken down on the property, and I got a couple blisters from the axe.”
“A couple?” Eddie asked with concern, holding his hands gently in his own.
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing, darling, it looks painful.”
“It’ll pass.”
“Is that part of your rhetoric? Or is that you?”
“I’ve had worse than a few blisters, that’s all.”
Eddie frowned at him.
“Come on, are we getting a drink or what?” Steve said, but he still hadn’t extracted his hands from Eddie’s gentle hold.
Eddie let his hands slip through his own, to pick up his amp. “Yeah, Stevie, let’s go.”
They usually beat the evening crowd and Steve was well on his way to earning ‘regular’ status along with Eddie which meant Argyle didn’t ask before setting a soda and a beer on the counter.
“No Jonathan tonight?” Steve asked.
“Nah, his girl just got in town,” Argyle said. “If you’re lucky you might catch him though, I haven’t gotten the chance to meet her since she goes to school in Boston, so he said they would swing by to say hello.”
Steve thanked him for the soda, like the good Christian boy he was, and Eddie saluted Argyle with his own beer as he stepped away to deal with another customer, the pair of them settling down at the nicked bar.
“What’s worse?” Eddie asked, eyeing the ginger way Steve settled into his barstool, hands loose around his soda.
“Hm?”
“You said you had worse than a few blisters,” Eddie said.
“Oh.” Steve turned his soda around in circles. “I broke my arm in a basketball game when I was twelve.”
“Ouch.”
“It wasn’t so bad, just a hairline fracture. It was honestly more embarrassing than anything to get knocked down like that in front of everyone and then not be able to bounce back.”
Eddie stared at him. “You think breaking your arm is… embarrassing?”
“I mean, yeah, it was. I was twelve and sitting on my butt in the middle of the basketball court trying not to cry with like two hundred people staring at me.”
Eddie’s chest ached at the picture of little twelve year old Steve with a broken arm, blinking back tears.
“I think a broken arm mandates a few tears,” Eddie said.
Steve made a disagreeing noise.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those macho men can’t cry types,” Eddie said.
Steve hesitated. “I—“
“Stevie.”
“It just… it doesn’t change anything, does it? My arm was still broken if I cried or not, it didn’t make it heal faster so why not grin and bear it? Besides, twelve’s a little old for crying anyways.”
“Is that what you would say to Dustin?”
Steve flinched. “No, I— it’s different. Dustin’s…”
“Fifteen,” Eddie said. “So that’s like three years too old for crying, right?”
“No,” Steve said vehemently, looking a little surprised himself at his tone before adding softly, “It’s different. He’s just a kid.”
“But you weren’t? At twelve?”
Steve looked away. “Fine, I’m a hypocrite, is that what you want to hear?”
“Hey,” Eddie said gentler, catching his eyes. “I’m not trying to be a dick, sweetheart, I just think you could afford to be a little easier on yourself.”
Steve fiddled with his bandages. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the other way around, and I’m too soft on the kids. Everyone has to grow up sometime, right?”
“And what? Your tear ducts stop working at eighteen? Pain receptors turn off?”
Steve shrugged.
“I cried last week,” Eddie said. “I watched The Children’s Hour and sobbed like a baby.”
Steve looked at him with wide eyes. Eddie gave him a challenging look, taking a sip of his beer, trying to feign nonchalance.
Steve hesitated. “I… I cried the other night because I dreamed… I dreamed something happened to Robin and I couldn’t protect her.”
Eddie reached over and squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, that sounds like a bad night.”
Steve looked at him like he was speaking an entirely different language.
“You get nightmares a lot?”
Steve’s eyes slid away again. “I don’t sleep very well. Father Brenner said it’s a sign of a guilty conscious. That the dreams are forcing me to face my indiscretions.”
“What do you think?”
Steve blinked. “I… I don’t know. I think I’d like a good nights sleep for once.”
Eddie made a mildly pained noise. “Don’t set me up for a dirty joke when we’re having a serious conversation, baby.”
Steve laughed slightly. “I don’t exactly think that was the optimal set up, Eds.”
“Oh come on! Bet I could tire you out, baby, is a classic line.”
Steve gave him an unimpressed look. “Your dick puts people to sleep?”
Eddie choked on his beer, turning away to cough before glaring at Steve. “You did that on purpose.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve said mildly.
Eddie waggled a finger at him. “You’re trouble, angel, don’t think that pretty face fools me.”
“What? This old thing?” Steve gave him a lopsided smile, but there was a slight pink to his cheeks. “Besides, has that line ever worked for you before?”
“Results inconclusive,” Eddie said. “I think it needs more testing.”
Steve shook his head.
Eddie opened his mouth, only to be distracted by Jonathan making his way through the crowd, hand in hand with Nancy, and waved to him instead. They made their way over and Argyle sidled up to join them on the other side of the bar. Nancy looked just as Eddie had remembered her, barely scraping her way over five foot four, but walking like she was ten feet tall and dressing like she was already a hotshot reporter despite being only two years into her journalism degree.
“Johnny boy.” Eddie saluted him as the pair stepped up to the counter.
“You remember Eddie, this is his friend, Steve, that’s Argyle behind the bar,” Jonathan said. “And this is—“
“Nancy,” Steve said, his eyes locked on her.
Nancy’s eyes were wide. “Steve.”
Jonathan looked back and forth between them. “You two know each other?”
Nancy opened and closed her mouth.
Steve’s eyes flicked over to Jonathan. “So this was him, huh?”
“That’s not fair,” Nancy said, fingers curled into fists at her sides.
“I’m sorry, how do you two know one another?” Eddie asked, interjecting himself into whatever stare down was happening between the two.
“Nancy wanted to do a story on the Final Chapter,” Steve said, his voice level, even, but lacking its usual warmth. “I asked that she respect our privacy.”
Nancy’s eyes went even wider. “You’re still with them?”
“I am.”
“Even after—“
Steve’s eyes were hard. “After what? After I broke the rules? They forgave me.”
“Forgave you? Steve, I saw first hand what they call forgiveness—“
“Hey,” Steve said, his voice low, and hard, and razor edged, and nothing like Eddie had heard before. “Off the record, we had a deal, remember?”
“I didn’t give anyone the story,” Nancy said quietly. “But I thought you would come to your senses. That you would leave.”
“They’re my family.”
Nancy made an incredulous noise.
“Wait, story?” Eddie’s eyes were wide. “You were the one who— you two were— for a story?”
Steve’s eyes were fixed on the bar counter.
“It was complicated.” Nancy crossed her arms, not looking at either Steve or Jonathan, the latter who looked like the floor was tilting side to side underneath him.
Eddie whistled. “That’s cold, Wheeler.”
“It wasn’t—“ Nancy set her jaw. “It was a long time ago.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, rising to his feet. “It’s, uh, it’s water under the bridge. After all, forgiveness is in the Bible.”
Eddie choked on a laugh even though it was nowhere near the right atmosphere for it, but it still made Steve’s lips turn up ever so slightly as he shrugged on his jacket.
“I’ll catch you later,” Steve said, just to him.
“Oh yeah? Should I start running now? I think I might need a head start to make it fair.” Eddie grinned.
“You’re ridiculous.” Steve said, stepping back.
“I’ll see you soon, Stevie.”
Steve raised a hand at the other three, saying as solemnly as he could, “Have a blessed night.”
Eddie did laugh then. Nancy looked like she wanted to pick up their argument, Jonathan looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Argyle raised his hand like Spock in return. Watching him step by other patrons with his a little ‘pardon me, thank you’, Eddie didn’t turn back to the others until the door swung shut behind him. All eyes were on Nancy.
“So…. you gonna give us the story, Nancy Wheeler?” Eddie sipped his beer.
“I promised him I wouldn’t.” Nancy’s arms were crossed so tight, Eddie was sure she would have bruises on her biceps later.
“Short version then,” Eddie said.
Nancy’s eyes flicked over to Jonathan who looked seasick. “It’s…I met Steve two years ago, at the beginning of our internship at the paper. I thought it was going to be my introduction into becoming a reporter but the editors just had me fetching coffee and sandwiches all day, while there was this huge story growing under their noses.”
“So you thought you’d write it yourself,” Jonathan said. “Prove yourself.”
“None of the members would talk to me, so I pretended as though I wanted to join, and they let me in. That’s where I met Steve, he… he had already been there for awhile, so, he knew all the inner workings.”
“So he was the perfect source,” Eddie said.
“I cared about him,” Nancy said. “I thought if I got the story out, I’d shut the whole thing down, and then… he would be out.”
“Out of what?” Argyle asked.
Nancy looked away. “Towards the end of the summer, I got caught, and Steve— Steve got me out of a bad situation. That’s all I can say, alright? I gave him my word.”
“So you were together when…” Jonathan asked.
“No,” Nancy said quickly, then faltered. “When you kissed me on our final day of the internship, I broke it off with him.”
“…grey area,” Argyle said, which was more generous than Eddie would have been.
“So… you slept with him for a story and broke up with him when it didn’t work out?” Eddie summarized.
“No, that’s not— I cared about him, I genuinely liked him when we started, but I…”
Her eyes slid over to Jonathan.
“…fell in love with Jonathan and then I was too deep in my cover and I didn’t know what to do,” she said quietly.
“So you just let him fall in love with you,” Eddie said, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice at the thought that Nancy Wheeler had Steve Harrington in the palm of her hand and she just tossed him aside.
“It was complicated.”
“Right,” Eddie said, sipping his beer, and leaning back in his seat.
“Woah,” Argyle said. “Is this like totally wild or am I higher than I thought I was?”
“No, it’s… it’s wild,” Jonathan said, sounding a little lost.
“Jonathan…” Nancy said, looking stricken.
“Yeah,” Jonathan said, taking a deep breath, but he also offered his hand. “Let’s, uh, let’s go.”
Nancy took his hand, following him out of the Hidden Spoon without a goodbye, though Jonathan gave them both a half hearted wave before slipping out into the night.
“Woah,” Argyle said again.
“Woah,” Eddie said, a little more bitterly, taking a deep drink.
Chapter 15
Notes:
Content warning: brief description of an animal attack
Chapter Text
Steve looked up as the first rain drop hit his face. “Aw, man.”
The clouds had been gathering all afternoon, but when the storm broke it came down in sheets of rain that left pedestrians practically running to their next destination and cursing out their umbrellas when they couldn’t get them open fast enough. Rain soaked into Steve’s clothes, sliding under the collar of his jacket, and weighing down his hair. Across the street, Eddie was fumbling to unplug his guitar.
“Oh, snap.”
Steve stuffed his pamphlets into his pocket, running across the street. Stripping off his jacket, he held it over Eddie and his guitar to shield him as best he could as Eddie packed it up into its case without first taking out the coins and bills inside. Slinging it over his back, Eddie coiled the cord in quick motions, and Steve threw his jacket over the amp before hefting it up himself.
“Come on!” Eddie said, taking his free hand, and pulling him through the streets.
They ran until they reached a rundown apartment building, the front door unlocked, and the elevator out of service which Eddie cursed the whole four flights of stairs up to his apartment. Inside, he set his guitar off to the side and Steve did the same with the amp, both of them dripping in the doorway. Eddie shucked his leather jacket, tossing it on the coat rack, kicking off his boots, and stripping out of his soaked flannel and t-shirt without any fanfare, letting them drop to the floor. His tattoos were stark against his pale skin, his curls weighed down with water and dripping onto his shoulders, droplets running down his chest. Steve tore his eyes away, fixing them on one of the posters on the far wall; it was of a devil chaining up a drowning priest.
“Don’t move, I’m gonna grab some towels.” Eddie’s socks left wet footprints on the wood floor as he walked away, faded black jeans darker with water and sitting low on his hips, chain slapping against his leg.
Steve’s white button down was soaked through, sticking to his skin and his hair fell in his eyes without product to keep it up. Running his fingers through it, he pushed it back as he waited. The might-have-been-white-once walls were plastered with band posters, a leather couch with patches holding it together stood front and center with a flannel forgotten over the arm of it, papers spread across the coffee table before it, pencils and cigarettes scattered on top, and there were dishes stacked up in the sink of the adjoining kitchen. The door to his bedroom was open, allowing Steve a glimpse of even more posters, clothes spilling out of his laundry basket, and an unmade bed. Eddie returned without changing, a towel halfheartedly slung over his shoulders and a few more in his hands. His eyes slid from Steve’s face all the way down to his toes as he took in his soaked appearance before handing him a towel.
“God, you’re really soaked,” Eddie said.
“Rain’ll do that,” Steve said, wiping at his face. “Is your guitar okay?”
Eddie pulled her out of his case, giving her a wipe, but the wood didn’t look warped as he turned it over in his hands before setting it on its stand. “Nah, she’s fine, thanks to your heroics.”
Steve’s face warmed, but he just rolled his eyes.
“Can’t say the same for you.” Eddie’s eyes flicked over him again, lingering on his chest in a way that made Steve’s stomach flutter. “I’ll grab you something to wear, I’ll even see if I can find something that doesn’t have the devil on it.”
Eddie tossed him a wink as he disappeared into his room again, but he didn’t shut the door and Steve caught glimpses of him shucking off his jeans and pulling on dry clothes himself before he forced himself to look anywhere else at all. Dressed in sweats and a band t-shirt so well loved that there were holes near the collar from wear, Eddie returned with a stack of clothes, towel drying his curls. Giving them one last scrunch, he tossed the towel on the floor.
“You can toss your wet clothes on that. There’s no laundry in the building, but I can lay ‘em over the radiator to dry a bit,” Eddie said, handing over the pile.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Eddie pulled his amp off to the side, opening it up to check for water damage, though Steve could feel his eyes on him as he started to undo the buttons to his shirt, and he stopped before he had it more than halfway undone.
“You’re not going to look away?” Steve raised an eyebrow.
“You really that shy, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, with no small amount of amusement. “How did you ever make it through gym class in high school?”
In high school Steve wasn’t littered with the scars he wore now.
“It’s called modesty,” Steve said.
“Haven’t heard of it,” Eddie said blithely, but put a clumsy hand over his eyes, and turned his back. “Go on, angel, your modesty’s preserved.”
Steve shed his button down, pulling his belt free, kicking off his pants, and even pulling off his wet socks to add to the pile before pulling on a pair of Eddie’s sweats and a Metallica t-shirt that smelled like Eddie’s laundry detergent and was soft from repeated wear. The t-shirt hugged his shoulders and chest, but the sweats were long on him.
Eddie glanced back over, peeking through his fingers. “Decent?”
Steve untucked his cross from under the collar of the shirt. “Yeah, I’m set. Amp okay?”
“Yeah, looks like I got lucky.” Eddie straightened up. “I’m a little short on hospitality though, usually I smoke my guests out, but I don’t suppose you have any interest in the devil’s lettuce, huh?”
Steve wrinkled his nose at the words ‘devil’s lettuce’. “No, Eds, I don’t smoke weed or any other drugs for that matter, if those were going to be offered next.”
Eddie laughed a little. “Beer and weed is about as far as I go, though that’s not to say I haven’t done shrooms a couple times… and LSD, just the once though because I thought it would help with my song writing, but, uh, once I sobered up all those genius lyrics I wrote? Pure nonsense, like, illegible scribbles.”
Steve bit back a laugh.
“How’s pizza sound?” Eddie asked, already moving towards the phone.
“I like pizza.”
“My kinda guy.” Eddie winked, moving all around the kitchen as he placed the order, and tangling himself in the cord.
Steve stepped deeper into the apartment, admiring the posters, the broken-spine books on the shelves, the DVDs under the TV, and the rain streaking the window. He put his hand against the cold glass, watching the storm outside turn the world into blurred blues and grays. He was tempted to push the window up and feel the storm against his own skin, to be battered with polluted water until it had soaked him down to the bones, and let all of it run off into the gutters and disappear into the drains under the city.
“You’re thinking pretty hard over there, sweetheart.”
“Hm?”
“Cigarette for your thoughts?” Eddie held up his carton.
“I don’t smoke.” Steve stepped aside so Eddie could push up the window, leaning against the sill.
Eddie lit his own cigarette, taking a drag, and propping his elbow on the windowsill as he blew it out into the rain. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re too good for your own good, baby?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Eddie said, words clouding up with smoke. “That making you laugh don’t come cheap.”
“Sorry.”
“I don’t mind the work, just seems like a damn shame when you’ve got such a nice one.” Eddie gave him that crooked smile, tilting his head to the side.
Steve’s face warmed and he fixed his own gaze out the window rather than watch Eddie smoke. Uncrossing his arms, he let one of his hands out into the rain, feeling each drop against his skin.
“You wanna tell me what you’re turning over in that pretty head, or you gonna leave me in suspense?”
Steve turned his hand palm up, to catch the rain. “Do you ever feel like every decision you make is the wrong one?”
Eddie hummed. “I don’t know. I’ve certainly had doubts before making decisions; to repeat my senior year a third time rather than drop out, to move to this city or that one, but I usually feel like even if I make the wrong decision I can fix it. Not find my way back, but through it, to a better decision.”
“I mean… I mean that you’ve looked at your decisions and every which way you look you’re betraying your ideals, or… or worse, you’re betraying the people you care about.”
Eddie took a deep breath. “In high school, when I first started dealing, I didn’t know where to draw the line. Harder drugs meant better pay, and sometimes better pay meant keeping the heat on in the winter. One day this girl came to me, she wanted some K, said she had a hard time sleeping, and… and I sold it to her.”
Eddie shook his head, taking another drag before continuing; his hands were shaking.
“Something about the look in her eyes when she was leaving wasn’t right, and I just couldn’t shake it. So I drove myself over to her house, and found her passed out on the floor, choking on her own vomit. I called 911 and she… she was okay, in the end, but yeah. Would an apartment building with a front door that locks be nice? Sure, but I won’t ever be responsible for someone’s OD again.”
Steve took Eddie's shaking hand in his own, still wet from the rain, giving it a squeeze. “I’m glad she was okay.”
“Yeah.” Eddie took another drag, his fingers lacing with Steve’s own. “Me too.”
His fingers were long, cold from the rain, rings colder still as they pressed against Steve’s skin, and calloused from playing guitar. Steve knew his own had to be twice as cold, wet from trying to catch the cloudburst in his cupped palm, and just as calloused from working the farm.
“You want to tell me what’s got you all messed up, sweetheart?” Eddie asked softly, thumb sliding over his knuckles.
Steve opened his mouth only to startle when there was a banging knock on the door, pulling his hand away. Eddie sighed, snubbing out his cigarette, and closing the window. Pizza acquired, they sat on Eddie’s couch arguing over movies, and then arguing over the movie they finally decided on rather than watch it.
“You know I haven’t been to the movies in about five years now?” Steve asked, sitting with his feet tucked up under him as he faced Eddie.
“You’re joking.”
Steve shook his head.
“So, what you’re not allowed to have fun once you’re, uh, among the Select?”
“You’re not allowed overindulgence.”
“So you’ve said. What makes it an overindulgence?”
“I guess I’d define it as anything that distracts you from the righteous path, and a lot of movies these days aren’t exactly in keeping with the Final Chapter’s values.”
“Sure, okay, I understand that, but watching the movie won’t change your values.”
“Isn’t that the point of media? To influence?” Steve tilted his head to the side. “There’s always a theme, a moral, a takeaway that’s supposed to make you think.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You’re not allowed to think?”
“You can think, but movies, TV, drugs, junk food, they’re all just distractions.”
“Distractions?”
“They take your focus away from what’s important.”
“What about being happy? Isn’t that important?”
“What about living by a code of respect, and honesty, and kindness?”
“What about being good for its own sake? Without any fear of repercussions afterwards?”
“Eds, why are you kind to people? Because of how your uncle raised you? Because of who you look up to? Fictional characters, movie stars, musicians? God teaches us to be kind, to be honest, to treat others with respect, the same way a parent would.” Steve picked at the side seam of his borrowed sweatpants. “Should. It’s… it’s just different consequences, isn’t it? I mean, parents, teachers, they tell you to be nice to others kids or else you won’t have any friends, the Bible tells us to be kind or…”
“Or you’ll burn in hell?”
“Hey.” Steve mustered up a little smile. “Some of us need a firm hand.”
“You don’t think you could be good without the whole eternal damnation spiel?”
Steve rolled the fabric between his fingers. “I’ve never really been good, I try, but… well, I guess being good doesn’t come easy to all of us.”
“Who told you that, sweetheart?”
Steve shrugged, not meeting his eyes.
“I think you’re good, honestly, I think if I looked up ‘good’ in the dictionary I’d find your name listed with the synonyms, but it doesn’t really matter what I think, or God, or anyone else if it’s not what you think.”
Steve glanced up, but Eddie’s expression was alien to him. “Are you happy?”
“Most days,” Eddie said. “Are you happy, angel?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, but he could have sworn he had been a better liar just yesterday. “Of course.”
The credits rolled on the movie, but rather than put on another one Eddie snagged his guitar, plugging it into a larger amp than his portable Pignose, strumming a few times, and adjusting the tuners.
“I think I owe you a serenade. Any requests?”
“You know any Bon Jovi?”
“I should kick you out for even saying that name in the presence of my Judas Priest poster.”
Steve laughed. “Do you know anything other than metal?”
“You want me to play soft rock on my electric guitar? On my beautiful BC Warlock? The guitar for heavy metal?”
“Too difficult for you?”
Eddie let out a put-upon sigh. “You have to swear you won’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
“Cross my heart.”
Eddie fiddled with the tuners a couple of times. “I might be a little rusty, alright, let’s see, sometimes late when things are real, and people share the gift of gab, between themselves…”
Steve’s eyes widened as he recognized Tin Man by America, Eddie’s voice soft as he sang along, and though his fingers slipped on a few of the cords, he clearly knew it well.
“No, Oz never did give anything to the Tin Man, that he didn’t, didn’t already have, and cause never was the reason for the evening, or the tropic of Sir Galahad, so please believe in me.”
Eddie’s fingers came to a stop on the strings.
“You know… you’re not half bad at that.”
Eddie laughed. “Gee, thanks.”
Steve bit back a smile. “How is the band coming along?”
“We’re, uh, we’re woking out the kinks.” Eddie plucked at the strings. “Trying to get a set together and fix up our venue a little bit.”
“Anyone get tetanus yet?”
“Not yet,” Eddie said. “Though we’ve had a couple close calls. Wood shop’s one of the many classes I failed in high school.”
“What exactly’s the problem?” Steve asked.
“Uh, all of it?” Eddie asked.
Steve snorted.
“Speaking of, uh, problems you and Nancy…” Eddie made an abstract gesture.
Steve sighed. “That’s just… just an old wound.”
“You loved her.”
“Yeah.”
“You thought you were going to marry her.”
“I had never been in love before.”
“And she was an undercover reporter.”
“That about sums it up.” Steve pushed his bangs out of his eyes. “She say anything else?”
“No, she said you two had a, uh, nondisclosure agreement.”
“That’s a good word for it.”
“You feel like elaborating?”
“No. Not really.”
“…do you want to learn to play a little guitar?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, c’mere.” Eddie set the guitar in his lap, guiding his hands into the correct positions. “This is a G…”
Steve listened as Eddie fit his hands into odd angles to play chords on his beloved guitar, strumming along to a song he had only ever heard from Eddie playing on street corners as the rain continued outside. Steve handed the guitar back after awhile, slipping into Eddie’s bathroom to put on his own, only slightly damp, clothes, leaving Eddie’s warm ones folded on the bathroom counter. A glance in the mirror made him pause, his hair falling in fluffy waves without his usual product, his clothes wrinkled and clinging to him, and his eyes rimmed with dark circles. The pendant of his cross had circled to the back of his neck and he slid it back around to the front.
Exiting the bathroom, Steve made his way over to the door, pulling on his sneakers, the soles squeaking against the floors, still wet. Pulling on his jacket, he straightened himself out, trying to figure out why he felt like he was leaving a drug deal and not waiting out the storm on a friend’s sofa.
“Oh, hey, don’t forget these.” Eddie held out his waterlogged pamphlets.
“Little worse for the wear, huh?” Steve turned them over in his hands.
“Yeah, they might be goners.” Eddie admitted, opening the door for him.
Steve went to step out into the hall only to flinch back so violently he collided with Eddie’s chest as a pair of Doberman dogs snapped at him as their owner went by, loosely holding their leash. Sharp teeth flashing—
Broken glass scraped at Steve’s stomach as he slithered through the window of the barn, flipping over as he dropped down, and landing in a crouch among the sawdust and loose hay. Dogs barked and snarled, rattling the bars of their crates as they threw themselves against it; they looked like they hadn’t been fed in weeks. Nancy was tied to one of the support posts, trying to fray the rope by dragging it up and down the wood. Rushing to her side, Steve dropped to his knees, flicking out his knife.
“Steve, I—“
“Is it true?” Steve asked, sawing at the bindings. “Were you using me for a story?”
“Steve…” Nancy looked at him with those big eyes, tears caught in her lashes.
“Nancy, they would… the police would raid this place if you wrote a story, tear it apart—“
“They should!” Nancy said vehemently. “Steve, look at me—“
“You broke the rules, the covenants, you… you betrayed us.”
“So I deserve to be torn apart by dogs like Jezebel?”
“No one made you join.” Steve snapped the last rope. “You came here, knowing our way of life, and intent on tearing it apart.”
“You’re brainwashed—“
“This is my family!”
“And what do you think your family will do to you for helping me?”
Steve grabbed her wrist, raw with rope burn, and dragged her for the barn doors, but they were thrown open before Steve could even reach for the handle. Brenner, Henry, John, and Lewis stood on the other side. Pulling Nancy behind him, Steve stepped back as the men stepped inside, closing the door.
“So, you are working with her,” Henry said. “That’s disappointing, Steven.”
“He didn’t know,” Nancy said.
“Didn’t know what?” Henry asked. “That you worked for the paper? Or that you already had a boyfriend?”
Steve flinched, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”
“I didn’t— he’s just a friend—“
“We had you followed, Ms. Wheeler, out of concern that you may have been slipping from the path only to find you were an intern at the paper, and to see you kiss that young man even though you and Steven had intent to marry,” Brenner said.
Nancy didn’t say a word.
“Not only did you come here under false pretenses, but you have defiled our way of life, led our members astray from the path of the Lord, and committed infidelity.”
“You are as evil to us as Jezebel,” Lewis said.
“And you shall be treated as such,” Brenner said. “Now, Steven, step aside, or confess you are a confederate in this plot to destroy us.”
“He didn’t know,” Nancy said.
“I didn’t,” Steve said, but didn’t move out of the way. “But I am guilty. Nancy didn’t commit adultery, we’re not married, and since we’re not married, then I… I’ve committed a sin as we’ve already spent a night together. If we’re weighing sins, the dishonor I’ve done to her is far greater, and I’ll accept the responsibility of it.”
“This does not change the fact that she’s misled servants of God,” John said.
“Then cast her out,” Steve said. “She’s not among the Select, she never was. There will be no salvation for her for through penance, please, let me bear it, I want to be forgiven.”
“You would have us let her go? Run to the papers with all that she knows about us?” Henry asked.
“She won’t,” Steve said.
“Steve—“ Nancy started.
“She won’t,” Steve said meeting her eyes. “Because she knows that if the Babylonians come and we fall, that the servants of God will make sure she burns too.”
Fear wasn’t an expression Steve was familiar with on Nancy’s face, but he recognized it then and there.
“Is that so?” Brenner asked.
“Yes, I… I’m so sorry for disturbing your way of life. I never… I never meant to hurt anyone.” Nancy looked at Steve, but he couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Go then, forfeit your place in God’s kingdom, but do not forget, Ms. Wheeler,” Brenner said. “God is always watching.”
Nancy fled the barn, but Steve couldn’t watch her go, listening to the sound of the door creak shut after her.
“What was the fate of Jezebel, Steven?” Brenner asked.
“She was thrown from her window and her body eaten by dogs,” Steve said, but his own voice sounded far, far away.
Lewis and John had moved to the cages, at Brenner’s nod they threw the doors open and the Dobermans went charging at him. Closing his eyes, Steve dropped to his knees in the hay as the snarls grew closer, leaving his hands by his sides. He felt hot breath in his face, could feel the spittle of the dog’s growl against his skin, but when he opened his eyes, John, Lewis, and Henry held the dogs back with eight-foot long chains.
“Each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings death,” Brenner quoted. “All sin leads to the same place, Steven.”
Henry let his chain slip and teeth sank into his shoulder.
Steve clutched at his aching shoulder, unable to separate the snarls of the Doberman in the hall with the ones in his mind, but dimly he was aware of the fact that Eddie had pulled him back into the apartment, his arm between him and the neighbor, hand braced on the doorway, and his voice harsh.
“—your dogs, man, you have to get them trained. I swear, I’ll call the fucking ASPCA on you, don’t think I won’t—“
The neighbor yanked his dogs along, flipping Eddie off as he went. Eddie shouted an obscenity after him before turning to face Steve, but Steve couldn’t make his eyes focus on his face, his vision shifting and slanting.
“Hey, sweetheart, you okay? I didn’t know you were scared of dogs, or I’d’ve warned you. The guy’s really got to get ‘em trained, it’s not the puppies’ fault they got stuck with a bad owner.”
Steve pulled his hand away from his shoulder, surprised that it didn’t come away bloody.
“Hey.” A finger hooked under his chin, lifting his gaze, Eddie’s eyes finally catching his. “You with me, honey?”
Steve took a shaking breath. “I— yeah, I’m sorry, they startled me.”
“Yeah, I can see that, baby, you look pretty spooked.”
Steve looked down at his hands; they were shaking. Eddie held them in both of his own.
“Hey,” Eddie said softly. “You’re okay.”
“I got… I got bit a few years back, just got… lost in my head for a second.”
“Right here?” Eddie reached out.
Steve flinched.
“Easy.” Eddie put his hand over the same spot Steve had been holding earlier, laying over the bite, his touch warm even through his button down. “That doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Steve shook his head.
“See? You’re okay, just a memory.” Eddie slid his thumb along his collarbone, back and forth.
“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “Yeah.”
Steve waited for his heart to settle before disentangling himself from Eddie, who watched him descend the stairs from the doorway, and then leaned out his window into the rain once Steve was on the sidewalk.
“Hey, angel!”
Steve looked up. Eddie dropped a piece of paper out the window, fluttering down towards him like a butterfly with its wing torn before he caught it. The flier describing the date and time for Hellfire’s first ever performance, a few nights away, and starting at 11 o’clock at night.
“I know it’s past your curfew—“
“I’ll be there,” Steve said looking up at him.
He didn’t know how he would manage it, but with the way Eddie smiled down at him, Steve knew he would have to find a way to make it happen.
Chapter Text
Setting up for the show took Hellfire all day, double checking that the floors wouldn’t actually rot through, hanging thick curtains and rugs to dampen the sound in hopes they wouldn’t get the cops called on them from the speakers they were setting up. The drum kit, second hand and cheap as it was, had put a dent in both Eddie and Jeff’s bank accounts, but the way Gareth’s eyes widened upon seeing them piece it together on the stage had been worth it.
“You— I can’t—“
“Relax, Gar, when we’re all big and famous, this’ll be like pennies to us,” Eddie said.
“Besides, they’re, uh, they’re kinda shit, you might prefer your buckets,” Jeff admitted.
Eddie hauled Gareth up onto the stage. “C’mon. Try ‘em out, let’s have a little sound check.”
Gareth tentatively accepted the drumsticks he was handed, settling down behind them.
“Well?” Jeff said.
Gareth gave them a few test hits before crashing into John Bonham’s drum solo from Moby Dick. Led Zeppelin wasn’t high on Eddie’s list, but he couldn’t deny it was a truly epic drum solo, especially with the enthusiasm Gareth put behind it.
“See?” Eddie grinned once he hit the last note. “Investment.”
Gareth smiled down at his drums. They had a more cohesive soundcheck where Eddie refrained from playing through the whole set in order to save a little for later when they actually had an audience, but the feel of their sound echoing through the floorboards made him feel like a god. Jonathan, Argyle, and Nancy arrived early, the first two rolling in a keg that they brought as a present.
“I’ve also got a little something for the after party,” Argyle made a not-so-subtle smoking motion.
“Argyle, you are the man.” Eddie slapped his shoulder, giving Jonathan a similar greeting and thank you for the keg.
Nancy looked a little more reserved, standing a few steps away, but she had dressed for the atmosphere; dark tights, black skirt, and Jonathan’s Clash t-shirt.
“Nancy Wheeler, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Eddie joked.
“I hear it’s called supporting your friend’s pipe dreams.”
“I’m not sure if I should be touched you consider us friends or hurt that you called Hellfire a pipe dream.”
Nancy’s lips turned up, but the smile didn’t linger. “Is, uh, is Steve coming?”
“We’ll see,” Eddie said.
“Did you…” Nancy smoothed out the edge of her skirt. “Did he say anything more?”
“You’re name hasn’t come up,” Eddie said coolly.
Nancy nodded. “I really hadn’t meant to hurt him.”
“Does that change anything?”
Nancy looked off to the side, arms crossed tight over her chest. “No. I suppose not.”
Eddie moved to make final adjustments on his guitar as people filtered in, music playing from a Judas Priest cassette in the speakers as their audience got a helping of free beer and nodded along. Band t-shirts, leather, spikes, tattoos, hair dye, and piercings made Eddie think that exactly his kind of crowd had turned up for the event, and yet somehow he was looking through the crowd for the one person who wouldn’t fit in as he sat on the stage, like playing Where’s Waldo in the dusty lighting.
“Your guy show?” Jeff asked.
Eddie sighed, rising to his feet, guitar in hand. “He’s not my guy.”
Jeff raised an eyebrow.
“I’m that transparent?” Eddie asked.
“Didn’t know you were trying to hide it,” Jeff said casually.
“Just enough not to get my ass kicked.”
“Not really my style, man.” Jeff clapped his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Eddie smiled. “Good to know. Ready?”
“Ready, Freddie.”
Eddie stepped up to the microphone, waiting for Gareth’s nod before turning it on. “Hey, everybody, thanks for coming out!”
There was a half hearted cheer in return. Argyle switched the speakers over, Judas Priest tapering off.
“Now, I know most of you came because you’ve got nothing better to do with your night, but I’m perfectly okay with that!” Eddie said, earning a few laughs, and a couple more claps. “It means we can only go up from here! We’re Hellfire! Kick us off, Gareth!”
Gareth brought them crashing into their first song and Eddie let his guitar wail, leaning in to sing into the microphone. His voice was half decent at best, but he hoped the lyrics he had written made up the difference. The crowd was entertained enough to cheer after their first song and Eddie couldn’t help the grin that split his face as he took a second to get his breath back. Jeff’s shoulder bumped his own, giving him a nod. Eddie followed his gaze over towards the back of the crowd where he could just make out a figure in an ugly knit sweater and jeans; Waldo.
Found you.
Eddie grinned, giving Gareth a nod, and they jumped back into their set. Steve moved through the crowd as they played, Eddie caught flashes of him here and there, working his way closer to the stage. Performing made Eddie feel like electricity was coursing through his veins, sparking from his fingertips as they flew across the frets, and jumping out into the crowd who picked up his energy. A small mosh pit had formed just before the stage, taking breathers between each song, only to resume once they kicked up again. Halfway through their set Eddie knocked back half a bottle of water, his throat already feeling rough and raw, and when he wiped the run off from his chin his eyes caught on Steve’s only a few feet away.
The sweater was mostly browns, but a few random lines of blue and orange as though the knitter had misplaced their yarn and filled in with what they had on hand, his sleeves rolled up to compensate for the heat of all the bodies packed within their venue. His jeans had clearly seen better days, Eddie wondered with amusement if they were the ones he wore farming, charmed that Steve had dressed down for the venue. Had abandoned his Sunday best. Eddie crouched down by the edge of the stage and Steve moved closer as though magnetized.
“Hey, angel.”
“I get it,” Steve said, hands braced on the edge of the stage. “I’m listening.”
Eddie’s heart tripped over itself in his chest. “Then I better put on a good show.”
“I’m counting on it.” Steve stepped back, into the mosh pit.
Eddie straightened up, stepping back to the microphone. “Alright! This next one is for altar boy who keeps trying to save my soul!”
The crowd cheered and booed in equal measure and Eddie threw himself into the music, catching glimpses of Steve bouncing around the mosh pit, knocking shoulders with metalheads like he and his hand knit sweater belonged in their ranks. Losing himself in the music, Eddie hardly noticed the strain of his voice, where it cracked, or a finger that slipped too high on the fret board as sweat made his hands slick, or the curls sticking to the nape of his neck and his worn-thin t-shirt clinging to him. The crowd cheered as Eddie thanked them for coming out with the remnants of his voice, slinging his guitar over his back, and hopping down off the stage. Several newly-won fans clapped his shoulders and leaned in to congratulate him on his set as someone popped another cassette tape in to fill the air, but Eddie’s eyes were fixed on Steve, who met him halfway.
“For a second I thought you weren’t gonna make it.” Eddie said.
Steve gave a little shrug. “You don’t get an ETA when you’re hitchhiking.”
“Hitchhiking?” Eddie raised an eyebrow.
“Told you I’d come, didn’t I?” Steve said.
“Yeah, you did,” Eddie smiled. “I like the sweater by the way.”
Steve winced slightly. “Robin made it. She, uh, she doesn’t really have a knack for knitting.”
Eddie laughed. “Don’t worry, pretty boy, you make it work. C’mon, let’s go say hello to the rest of my adoring fans.”
“Adoring, huh?” Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn’t pull away as Eddie took his hand to lead him through the crowd over to the corner his friends had laid claim to.
“Nice set, man.” Argyle said.
“It was good, you really write all of that?” Jonathan asked.
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Eddie mimed being stabbed.
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant.”
“Yeah, man, I wrote it. All originals, baby.”
“That’s impressive,” Nancy said.
Steve said his hellos and compliments to Jeff and Gareth before turning towards Argyle, Jonathan, and Nancy.
“Hey, man, good to see you.” Argyle said. “Didn’t think you’d make it out.”
“It took a little doing,” Steve said. “But I didn’t want to miss Hellfire’s first ever performance. Hey, Jonathan, Nance.”
“Hey,” Jonathan said a little lamely.
“Hello, Steve,” Nancy said, softly, gently, like talking to a wounded animal.
“Looks like I’m the only one who didn’t get the dress code, huh?” Steve said with a wry smile, breaking the tension easily.
“Oh we can fix that easy, darling, a couple piercings, a couple tats, you’ll be all set. What do you think? You’ve got plenty of free space.” Eddie put a hand on Steve's chest, letting it slide down the soft yarn slightly, feeling the muscle hidden away underneath.
Only the theatricality of his flirtation kept Eddie just on the side of safety, kept him from being taken too seriously as his friends rolled their eyes and snorted at the move.
“As far as you know,” Steve said, leaning in to be heard over the music.
Trouble.
“Oh yeah, angel? We gonna do a round of strip and tell?” Eddie flattened his hand against his stomach, letting his words brush Steve’s jaw because he never knew when to back down.
Steve flushed.
Only Jonathan holding out a plastic cup kept Eddie from getting himself into deeper trouble, pulling his hand away to accept the cup, and take a sip of room temperature beer.
“How long have you been playing bass for, Jeff?” Steve asked, and the moment slipped away.
It turned into a three part argument with unlikely allies Steve and Nancy defending the good name of ABBA, the latter definitely a little tipsy, Jonathan’s love for The Clash, and the band’s metal opinions. Though Eddie might have lost when he started laughing when Steve started quoting ABBA from memory the same way he did the Bible, earning a little embarrassed smile.
“I need a smoke break,” Eddie said.
“I could use some air,” Steve said, and his fingers curled around Eddie’s bicep to keep them from getting separated making their way through the crowd, slipping into the alley outside.
Putting a cigarette between his lips, Eddie lit it with a flick of his lighter, taking a deep drag. Steve’s eyes tracked the motion as he pulled the cigarette away from his lips, blowing out smoke into the night air, the music dull behind his back. Those brown eyes watched the smoke leave his lips, darker with only the glow of Eddie’s cigarette to brighten them and the street light yards and yards away.
“Keep looking at me like that, baby, and I’ll think you wanna kiss me or something.”
It was a joke, but Eddie could see the way it hit Steve like a physical blow, his breathing catching in his chest, and his eyes going wide as a deer staring down the headlights of a truck. He turned away, but Eddie had already seen it written all over his face.
“Oh, hey, Stevie, that’s okay.” Eddie dropped his cigarette to cup his face in his hands. “Hey, look at me, it’s okay, darling.”
Steve shook his head. “It’s not.”
“It is, I promise, there’s nothing wrong with you, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to kiss me… or more.”
Steve flinched slightly.
“Is that what you feel so bad about, baby? Is that what’s tearing you up?”
“Eddie, please,” Steve’s voice was close to breaking. “I can’t.”
“Stevie baby, can’t you just believe me? Can’t you believe me just this once? When I tell you that you’re good and kind and compassionate and there’s nothing wrong with what you want?”
Steve’s eyes shone. “I’ll just get myself hurt again, Eds.”
“By who? God?”
“Can you just…” Steve held his wrists to keep Eddie's hands to his face. “Can we just leave Him and everyone else out of it for tonight?”
“Yeah, yeah, darling, it’s just you and me.”
It was. They leaned in close in the bar, practically shouting in one another’s face to be heard over the speakers and Eddie learned that Steve had a deep love of buttered popcorn, the kind that only tasted good in the dark of a movie theater, that his childhood dream was to play for the NBA, that he taught himself to drive by taking out his father’s car when he was on a business trips and driving through the empty suburbs at the age of thirteen. Eddie told him that he once ate spicy dill pickle chips until the roof of his mouth bled, that he desperately wanted to be a pirate until the age of nine, that his van barely ran, but he couldn’t bring himself to trade it in even with the smell of weed embedded in the upholstery, scratches in the paint, and a suspicious squeaking noise emitting from the engine.
“I have to go,” Steve said as it crept past three am.
“Do you want me to drive you?"
“After the horror stories you just told me? I’d be surprised if it didn’t turn into a pumpkin halfway to the farm,” Steve teased, already stepping away.
“Laugh it up, princess."
Steve threw him one last smile over his shoulder before disappearing out into the early hours of morning.
Chapter 17
Notes:
Content Warning: corporal punishment
Chapter Text
Steve climbed out his window, picking his way down the tree, afraid the scrape of a branch against the house would wake any of the other members. Dropping down to his feet, he crept past the house, keeping low until he reached the dirt road. Straightening up, he dusted any signs of dirt and bark from his hands and clothes, though he could hardly see considering the late hour.
“So, where we going?”
Steve startled so bad he thought his heart might have stopped until he recognized Robin in the low light.
“Good grief.” Steve clutched at his chest. “Robin, you almost scared me to death.”
“So? Where are you sneaking out to?” Robin asked, falling into step with him.
Steve couldn’t meet her eyes, wrapping his arms around himself.
“Hey,” Robin said gently, bumping their shoulders together. “It’s just me.”
“…to see a movie.”
“Sounds fun, let’s go.”
“You should go back, Rob.”
“Don’t be a hypocrite.”
“I’m not, Robin, I just… I don’t want to get you in trouble, just because I’m slipping, doesn’t mean…”
“Hey.” Robin took his hand. “It’s a movie, Steve. Besides, we made a pact, right?”
“You’ll get in trouble.”
“Only if we get caught.”
“Robin.”
“Steve.”
Steve sighed, but didn’t argue as he kept walking, sticking his thumb up until they could catch a ride into town, and walked the rest of the way to the movie theater where Eddie was waiting. Eddie had insisted on taking him out to a movie after Steve had admitted he hadn’t gone in half a decade and if Steve were a girl, he’s pretty sure that he would have even considered it a date. Which meant he was also pretty sure it was bad form to show up with his best friend, but Eddie didn’t look put off by her appearance.
“Hey, Eds.”
“And who might I have the honor of meeting tonight?” Eddie asked.
“Eddie, this is Robin, Rob, this is Eddie.”
“The Robin?” Eddie bowed deeply. “Why, it is an absolute honor. I’ve heard much about you.”
Robin’s lips turned up. “I’ve heard a little about the Eddie as well.”
“Rob,” Steve complained, his face warm.
“Only a little? Stevie, I’m wounded.” Eddie put his hand over his heart.
“Yeah, yeah.”
They had a little debate over which movie to see before the settled on Back to the Future and while they all bought their own tickets, Eddie insisted on buying the snacks, most importantly a large popcorn with insane amounts of butter which Eddie presented to Steve with a flourish after popping a few pieces in his mouth. It made Steve want to take Eddie’s buttery hand in his own like they were thirteen year olds going on their first date. Eddie got himself Twizzlers, putting one between his teeth, and tearing it with a sharp motion, grinning at Steve when his eyes tracked the motion. Steve felt caught out, but the guilt was softened by the way Eddie held out a Twizzler for him to take, shoulders close enough to brush as they walked into the theater.
Steve accepted it, still worrying at the candy as they found their seats; Robin on his left, Eddie on his right, though the pair had no qualms leaning into his space to talk to one another as the advertisements played. Steve couldn’t focus on the conversation with one of Eddie’s hand curled around the nape of his neck, gesturing at Robin with a Twizzler in his other like a teacher with a ruler.
“You can’t tell me Bowie isn’t an icon!” Robin flailed.
“You want an icon? Look at Rob Halford,” Eddie said. “He—“
Steve tossed a piece of popcorn right into Eddie’s open mouth, cutting off the rant he had heard at least four times before. Eddie looked at him with wide eyes and Steve couldn’t help cracking up at his expression, Robin laughing right along with him. It started an epic popcorn catching competition that likely would have gotten them kicked out if the lights hadn’t gone down before it could truly escalate.
Steve leaned over about fifteen minutes into the movie to whisper to Eddie, “…have I been off-grid too long or does this movie make like no sense?”
Eddie stifled his laugh behind his hand with an ugly snort. He leaned in close to whisper in Steve’s ear, but his explanation sounded more nonsensical than what was happening on the screen.
Robin loudly whispered, “Am I crazy or is he trying to fuck his mom?”
Eddie laughed as several heads turned towards them.
“No, no,” Steve whispered. “His mom’s trying to fuck him. I think.”
“Is that… like… supposed to be better?” Robin asked. “I thought this was a family movie?”
Eddie tried and failed to stop laughing earning even more weird looks from other members of the audience which Steve returned with a ‘what are you looking at’ type of eyebrow raise, reaching over to take a sip of Robin’s soda. It was their soda at that point. To be fair, Steve’s popcorn had become everyone’s popcorn, and Eddie had been feeding him a steady supply of Twizzlers throughout the movie. Eddie held out a Twizzler and Steve went to bite it, only for him to pull it away. Steve glared at him, but Eddie just grinned, dangling the candy in his face like he was taunting a dog. It would have been like admitting defeat to take it with his own hands, so Steve closed his teeth around the end of it, but Eddie didn’t let go, giving it a little tug, bringing their faces about an inch apart. Eddie’s eyes dark as ink in the low light of the theater, his face lit by the blue glow of the screen, a smile pulling at his lips. The lights went up.
Steve turned away, the candy still dangling from his lips like a cigarette as the credits rolled and people started getting out of their seats, His heart was going a mile an hour, but he managed to keep his breathing steady. They followed the flow of people out of the theater, blinking under the florescent lights like nocturnal animals in the daylight.
“So… that movie was so not worth risking my immortal soul over,” Robin said, her straw rattling against her empty cup.
Eddie choked on a laugh.
Steve shoved her. “Don’t be a jerk, you didn’t have to come.”
“Ooh, you should find you yourself lucky I caught you sneaking out and not one of the kids, you know how corruptible they are, Steven,” Robin changed her voice at the end in a truly abdominal impression of Father Brenner.
It still made Steve’s stomach twist.
“Hey.” Robin bumped their shoulders. “Don’t be such a dingus, you know I was just joking.”
“I know, but…”
“You do know that you’re not, like, responsible for everyone’s actions ever, right?” Robin said. “I mean…”
“Don’t make the joke.” Steve closed his eyes, but he still knew Robin was stifling a smile. “I swear—“
“I mean, who do you think you are? Jesus Christ?”
Eddie made an ugly snorting noise as his laugh made him choke on air and Steve opened his eyes to glare at Robin.
“It’s not funny, Rob, it wasn’t even funny the first time you made that joke!” Steve waved his hands.
“I think it’s funny,” Eddie said, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Thank you! Finally, someone who appreciates my jokes!”
Steve let out a long suffering groan.
“I’m serious, though, dingus, don’t be a hoarder, not everything can be your fault.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Steve tossed his arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side, but he knew that if they got caught when they returned to the farm, he would do whatever he could to take all the blame himself.
“Out of curiosity which movies are worth risking your immortal souls over?” Eddie asked.
“Fast Times at Ridgemont High,” Steve said with no hesitation.
“Labyrinth,” Robin said. “And seriously? Phoebe Cates? That’s who you’d risk it all for?”
Steve’s eyes flicked to Eddie, a joke about ‘backing him up’ on his lips, but somehow he could tell that it wouldn’t have landed. That Eddie would have played it off the same way Robin did when people asked why she and Steve weren’t together, well, not the same way, Eddie would certainly do it with a bit more flair and dramatics.
“No,” Steve said. “She’s not the one I’d risk it all for.”
“Forget Sexiest Man Alive, let’s start a new category, celebrities I would go to hell for.” Eddie held up his hands like he could already imagine it in print.
Robin snorted.
“You’re a terrible influence,” Steve said flatly. “I think this conversation alone is chipping away at my chances of getting into God’s Kingdom.”
“Stevie baby,” Eddie crooned, grabbing his face with one hand, fingers squishing his cheeks. “I’m trying really hard not to laugh at how serious you sound when you say things like ‘God’s Kingdom’.”
“Devil-spawn,” Steve said, but it came out distorted with his face squished making both Eddie and Robin burst out laughing.
Steve couldn’t help his own answering smile.
“We should head back,” Steve said apologetically as they stepped out onto the street.
“Let me drive you half way,” Eddie said.
“It’s okay, we’ll catch a ride,” Steve said. “Goodnight, Eds.”
Eddie caught his arm before he could step away, reeling him in far, far closer than was social acceptable and Steve blamed a great number of movies on the fact that the thought, ‘he’s going to kiss me’, even crossed his mind like he was a teenage girl in a rom-com.
“There’s this little underground bar I’m going to in a few nights,” Eddie said rather than kiss him. “I think it might be your scene, if you let it be. I’ll give you the address, in case you feel like letting me corrupt you a little more, angel.”
Eddie tucked a slip of paper into Steve’s coat pocket before letting go of his arm, and stepping away.
“And bring Robin if she wants!” Eddie raised his voice as he walked away.
“Yeah,” Steve said too quietly for him to hear. “Okay.”
Robin was mercifully quiet as they hitched a ride out of the city, but that only meant she had saved her questions for the walk along the dirt road back to the farm.
“That’s your type?”
“Robin.”
“No, it’s just… I mean, could you be more cliche?”
“Robin, I didn’t— I haven’t-- I haven’t done anything.”
The words felt like a lie because he knew he had done enough; he had flirted back, he had kept that poster under the floorboards in his room, he had laughed when Eddie sang him songs about the devil calling them serenades, he had let Eddie call him pretty boy, and baby, and darling, and sweetheart. He hadn’t done anything wrong, yet. Temptation turned to desire, desire turned to sin, and sin would bring only death.
Steve looked down at his feet. “Aren’t you going to tell me that I shouldn’t see him again?”
Robin was quiet for a long minute. “He makes you smile.”
“What?” Steve looked over.
“He makes you smile,” Robin said. “You don’t smile very often.”
“What? I smile all the time!”
“Yeah, exactly, you don’t… you don’t smile like that often. I mean, you smile like that with me sometimes when it’s just us, or with the kids every now and again, but you’re not… you’re never so free with it. He makes you smile like it’s easy.”
Steve opened and closed his mouth.
Robin bumped their shoulders together. “So where are we going next?”
Steve curled his fingers around the paper in his pocket. “I don’t know.”
Sneaking back into their own rooms, Steve only caught a few hours of sleep before his alarm went off, summoning him to tend to the animals and start on breakfast. Flicking the burners off once he got through half a coffee uninterrupted, Steve made his way up the stairs, knocking first on Robin’s door and getting a muffled swear through the wood before moving towards what was now only Dustin’s room. The sound of unfamiliar voices made Steve frown, pushing the door open to find Dustin and Max crowded around a radio with an antenna of near comical proportions.
"The anti cult movement has finally set their sights here in Indiana on local extreme religious group known as The Final Chapter who claims the world will end in a matter of weeks from now, sources say that they expect it will be another Jones Town suicide for these apocalyptic outcriers. Some locals even say good riddance—"
“What are you doing?” Steve asked.
They both jumped away from the radio as though burned, but the voice continued its tirade.
“Is it true? Are we— are we a cult?” Dustin asked.
“What happened in Jones Town?” Max asked.
“Where did you get this?” Steve tried to turn it off, but Dustin hugged it to his chest.
“I made it. Steve, what are they saying, why did they say—“ Dustin couldn’t bring himself to say the words ‘mass suicide’ but Steve heard them regardless.
“Dustin, I’m serious, give that to me right now.”
“No! Not until you answer my questions!”
“Dustin, if you get caught with that—“
“What? I’ll have to write more lines? It’s just a radio—“
“Dustin—“
“What’s this commotion?”
Steve grabbed the radio out of Dustin’s hands before turning around to face Brenner. El stood just behind Brenner’s shoulder, peering through the doorway.
“It’s a radio, I managed to extend the frequency so we could pick up the ones from the city,” Dustin said, with a little note of pride in his voice.
Steve wanted to scream at him to shut up.
“Is that so?” Brenner took the radio from Steve’s hands. “And why would you do that knowing outside media is strictly prohibited from our safe haven here?”
“I asked him to,” Steve said, before Dustin could answer.
“Oh?” Brenner raised an eyebrow.
“I wanted to listen to music that… that we don’t have here,” Steve said.
“What kind of music would that be?”
“It’s a band called Black Sabbath.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And you can’t think of a single reason why we wouldn’t have music from a band called Black Sabbath on our premise?”
Steve swallowed. “Because they sing about the devil.”
“You brought blasphemous rhetoric into our safe haven?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And you used the children to do it? Risked corrupting them with your own sins?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Dustin flinched as Brenner snapped the antennae of the radio, opening his mouth to protest, but the look Steve gave him kept him quiet for once.
“Did the pair of you know what Steven wanted the radio for?” Brenner asked.
“No, they didn’t,” Steve said.
“I didn’t ask you.”
Steve bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.
“No,” Max said quietly. “We didn’t know, right, Dustin?”
“…right.”
“Very well.” Brenner inclined his head. “Steven, let’s take this to confession.”
“Yes, Father.”
Steve couldn’t bring himself to look back at the pair behind him, but El’s eyes caught him as he passed, and even with a foot of height on her, he never felt smaller than under her knowing gaze. The chapel was empty, but the weight of Father Brenner’s gaze was worth a hundred eyes. Steve sank down to his knees.
“Tell me, Steven, what do you like about this Black Sabbath?”
How the lyrics sounded when Eddie sang them and how alive he looked moving along with his guitar, fingers racing along the frets.
“It’s… different,” Steve said.
“Different?”
“I don’t know. It’s… what makes a four leaf clover special, right? There’s no actual lucky properties, it’s just… it’s just different, eye catching, and it feels special when you find one. It feels like that.”
“Does devotion to the Lord bore you, Steven?”
Steve’s throat clicked as he swallowed. “It’s not meant to be entertainment though, is it? It’s… it’s supposed to be hard to have faith or everyone would be among the Select.”
“And yet paltry distractions still sway you from the privileged path the Lord set before you.”
“Yes,” Steve said and the word felt so heavy with guilt he was surprised it didn’t crack the floor when it fell from his lips.
“You have taken for granted the gifts God has given you, you are festering with pride, Steven.”
“Yes, Father.”
Brenner nodded and Steve rose on unsteady legs to walk to the closet. In the back were seven bullwhips, despite the fact that they had no cattle. Steve curled his hand around the handle of the first one, pride felt familiar in his hand as he carried it over to Brenner. Pulling his shirt up over his head, Steve's hands shook as he set it aside, and knelt down again. Staring at the wall before him, he tried to pick a knot on the wood to focus on, taking slow breaths, but they were shallow as anticipation occupied all the space in his ribcage. The first crack of the whip against his back made him bite down hard on his tongue to keep from crying out, bracing his palms against the rough floor as the whip came down again and again without warning. He lost sight of the knot on the wall as his vision blurred and he squeezed his eyes shut instead, trying and failing to focus on his breathing when each lash knocked it out of him. It felt like the skin was being flayed from his back every time the blow doubled over a previous hit. Iron filled his mouth by the time the blows slowed, stopped, bloody from biting down on his tongue to keep any pathetic sound from escaping his throat. Unlocking his jaw, Steve heaved in a deep breath, the motion making every lash flare up as though freshly landed, but he still drank down thick, stale air in sign of relief.
“We haven’t had to do this in sometime now, Steven.”
Steve sniffled, glaring down at the floor.
“I wonder if the temptation of the outside world has grown too great for you. If your time spent on the outside has swayed your soul from the safety of the Lord.”
Steve’s heart almost lurched out of his mouth, but he managed to swallow it back down, and replace it with silver words even if they came out of his rusted throat. “The Lord presents challenges to those who need to prove themselves. Let me face the temptation, let me be redeemed, Father. I don’t… I don’t think I could carry the shame if I ran from the battles the Lord put before me with my tail between my legs.”
Brenner hummed. Steve bit down hard on his cheek to keep from babbling on; a lesson a liar learned early on was when to stop. Another lie wouldn’t strengthen the one that came before it. Each lie had to bear the weight of its own scrutiny once it left his mouth and no further words would be able to brace it up, only eat away at its beams like termites of doubt.
“And how would you carry the shame should you fall to sin and temptation?” Brenner asked.
“I’d look to you for guidance. You have always kept me on the right path. Taught me to bear the weight of my sins rather than shirk them. All I ask, is that you offer me the opportunity to walk the path you and the Lord have given me. You’re… you’ve been too kind to me, Father. You’ve protected me, but when the Final Chapter is upon us, we all must stand on our own. Let me stand lest I fall without your strength when judgement comes due.”
The slither of the whip against the floor made Steve shudder, but he kept his tongue.
“Do you still swear Dustin had nothing to do with the radio?”
“Yes, Father.”
“You cannot protect the children forever, Steven, you will not be able to take their judgement on their behalf when the day comes.”
Watch me.
“He didn’t know,” Steve said.
“Then you will have to bear the weight of his sins as well.”
“Yes, Father.”
The crack of the whip once more reminded Steve why he believed in ghosts, watching himself disconnect from his body, distantly tied to the lashes across his back, the ache of his knees, the sweat drying on his skin, but it all felt far, far away. Steve thought that ghosts likely came before someone died, that a pain they couldn’t handle made them drift, the way Steve was drifting away, only they couldn’t find their way back, and the body died without their spirit to keep it running. Ghosts came first, death came after. Perhaps that was why it always took Steve so long to settle back into his body once the pain was over, perhaps a part of him had died in his absence.
Brenner might have been speaking, but all Steve could manage was a muted flinch as the whip dropped to the floor beside him, footsteps walking away, away. It could have been hours before Steve rose, curling his fingers around the handle, the tip dragging across the floor as he returned it to the cupboard. Pulling on his shirt sent sparks of pain through him, but they were grounding this time. Steve wondered if ghosts only appeared because they didn’t know when the pain would end and that’s why they wandered so far from their bodies; they didn’t know when to come back. The ache in his body no longer sent him drifting away though, perhaps because he knew it would heal. It would end.
Walking back to the house was a practice in muscle memory, like a train set on its track, each step mechanical as he climbed the stairs, and pushed open the door. Dimly he was aware of the kids looking up at him from where they sat at the table, but his brain couldn’t process the information. Robin was at his place at the stove, but she ditched the spatula when she saw him.
“Steve—“
“Finish breakfast, Rob,” Steve said, his voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “I’ll be down in a few.”
Robin opened her mouth to protest, but he held tight to the railing, and forced his legs to carry him up the stairs to his room. Stripping his shirt over his head made him hiss, the back of it beginning to stick to the lashes as they tried to clot. Pulling a first aid kit out from under his bed, he couldn’t be bothered to do anything more than wind bandages around himself, the thought of twisting in an attempt to disinfect made him queasy. His door creaked open.
“Robin, I’m fine,” Steve said, his voice coming out harsh. “Go back to the kids.”
A little choked noise made him tense, looking over at the door where Dustin was standing, his hand still loose on the door handle.
“Dustin…”
“What… I don’t… is this my fault?” Dustin asked, sounding so, so young.
“No, no, it’s not your fault, I…” Steve mustered up a smile. “We’re not all as smart as you, Dust, some of us have a harder time learning our lessons, okay?”
“But it was my radio--“
“No, it wasn’t, it was mine,” Steve said firmly. “I asked you to make it.”
“No, no, you’re lying— you lied to Father Brenner. Steve—“
“Dustin,” Steve said with a little hiss as he pulled the bandages tight before putting his hands on his shoulders. “You’re still… you’re still too young to understand, okay? I’m not… you are a good kid and good kids sometimes make mistakes and break the rules and that’s not… this is not how to teach them otherwise, but people like me, need the extra help, okay?”
Steve thought about the address hidden away under his floorboards, knew that the lashes he bore for Dustin were a far lighter sentence than the one Steve deserved, and yet he still hadn’t learned his lesson.
“You’re right, I don’t, I don’t understand, I don’t—“ Dustin’s eyes were full of tears. “I don’t—“
Steve wrapped his arms around him, biting down hard on his tongue as Dustin’s answering hug made his lashes scream and spots dance in his eyes.
“I lied because you are a good kid, you just… you got a little too curious, and forgot the rules, okay? But you’re gonna be more careful now because… because you’re growing up, and when you grow up your actions have more consequences.”
Dustin made a choked little sobbing noise, lifting his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“
“It’s okay, everything’s okay.” Steve promised, wiping tears from Dustin’s face. “Go wash your face and get ready for school, okay?”
Dustin sniffed, stepping back.
“Go,” Steve gave him a gentle push.
Dustin’s head was down as he left his room and Steve’s chest ached as he closed the door between them, leaning his forehead against it as the pained turned to nausea and he sank down to his knees to keep from passing out.
Chapter Text
Eddie lit a cigarette with the butt of his old one before dropping the butt to the ground to snuff it out with his heel, taking a deep drag as though that would ease his anxiety anymore than the first cigarette hand.
“You really think he’s coming?” Jonathan asked.
“I don’t know, why do you think I’m chain smoking?” Eddie said.
“Eddie… this isn’t his kind of scene,” Nancy said, gently. “It’s kind of a big ask for someone like him.”
Eddie wanted to snap back, wanted to say, ‘oh, because you know him so well?’ But he didn’t want to find out the answer. Didn’t want to know what Nancy might know that he didn’t. Finding friends like Argyle, like Jonathan, even like Nancy, who would come with him to pop-up queer events even only in support weren’t exactly easy to come by and they didn’t deserve to get snapped at just because they were stating the obvious.
“Yeah.” Eddie snubbed out his cigarette on the bricks, letting out a sigh. “Yeah, alright, let’s just head in.”
“Eddie!”
Eddie turned to find Steve making his way down the street, again, in one of those hideous sweaters, worn out jeans, and pristine nikes. He was arm in arm with Robin, who was similarly dressed, though the jeans looked a few sizes too big for her, cinched tight at her waist. It wasn’t exactly a night out look, but Eddie was a self proclaimed outsider himself and had a habit of collecting lost little ducklings to take under his wing.
“Lady Robin! You grace us with your presence once more!” Eddie bent down to kiss the back of her hand.
“Yeah, well, we’re a package deal,” Robin said.
“So I’ve been told.” Eddie smiled up at Steve before taking his hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it as well. “M’lord.”
Steve looked a little pink under the shoddy streetlights, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “Hey, Eds.”
“Nice sweater, darling. Rob make this one as well?” Eddie tugged on it, yellow yarn soft under his fingers.
“The kids,” Robin confided behind her hand. “We all know it’s terrible, but he wears it anyways.”
“What a sweetheart,” Eddie crooned.
Steve flushed, but didn’t let his expression convey the same embarrassment. “Are you gonna introduce Robin or should I?”
“Ah, my apologies, I seem to have forgotten my manners, my lady, this is Jonathan, the local inn keeper, Argyle, and Nancy.”
Robin’s eyes widened slightly. “Nancy as in…”
Steve’s expression strained slightly. “Yeah, as in that Nancy.”
Robin turned to look at him. “Seriously?”
Steve grimaced and looked away.
“I’ll take you’re also from the Final Chapter,” Nancy said, her voice a little cool. “I don’t remember you.”
“Yeah, Rob came to us about three months after you… after you left.” Steve tucked his hands into his pockets.
Robin was looking at Nancy like she was a gargoyle that had been brought to life.
“So… is this going to be awkward every time?” Argyle asked.
“No,” Steve and Nancy said in unison, then gave each other a weird look.
“Right,” Eddie said, clicking his tongue. “Glad we cleared that up. Let’s get a move on, this way, m’lord, m’lady.”
He held the door open for the pair of them earning two equally unimpressed looks as they stepped past, though Steve still said ‘thanks’ like manners were hardwired into his brain and he couldn’t override them. Eddie grinned, following them in with his other friends at his heels. Steve and Robin drew up short only a few steps inside and Eddie tried not to think about the way his own hands were slick with sweat or his heart was racing as he waited for their reaction.
Music was blaring from the speakers, a few drag queens had overtaken the stage, dancing in heels that would break Eddie’s ankles to even walk in. Queers of every persuasion had filled the space, older gays sitting in the corner sipping beer, a butch lesbian behind the bar, a few punks all along the genderqueer spectrum occupying a wobbly table, two femmes on the dance floor putting everyone else to shame, a couple of young gay men crowding close to the stage to cheer on the queens, and so much more.
“Woah,” Robin and Steve said in sync.
Robin grabbed Steve’s arm, tugging. “Steve, look.”
She was staring with an awestruck expression at a lesbian couple in their forties, holding hands, and talking with their heads inclined towards one another. Her eyes shone and Steve took her hand to give it a squeeze; he looked a little misty-eyed himself. Oh, Eddie thought.
Eddie wrapped his arms around both of them. “Welcome to my world.”
“It’s beautiful,” Steve said, said it so quietly that Eddie only heard it because he saw the words on his lips. He said it in a way Eddie thought was likely no one was meant to hear it, not even Steve himself.
“C’mon, let’s grab drinks before we bother to find a table,” Jonathan said over the music, leading the way through the crowd to the bar.
The bartender gave them a nod, but clearly had her hands full with other customers, so they settled in to wait, Eddie leaned in close to catch Steve and Robin up on the drama of the record store, how the latest Hellfire practice went, and that Eddie had been the one to finally put his foot through a loose floor board in their ‘venue’. Jonathan rattled off their orders when the bartender made her way over and she stepped away again.
“You could make a quick fix with wood filler and a little buffing, fix any cracks from getting worse, y’know, hold you over for a bit seeing as I doubt you’re gonna go replace the whole floor,” Steve said.
“Stevie, you are vastly overestimating our abilities here,” Eddie said. “I’m just hoping the roof doesn’t come down on us.”
“It’s not that hard,” Steve said.
“I’m good with my hands, sweetheart, but not in that context,” Eddie said salaciously.
Steve bit back a smile. “Is everything an opening for a pick-up line for you?”
“Only when I’m talking to a pretty boy like you.” Eddie winked.
Steve let out an amused exhale, giving a little shake of his head, but he bumped his shoulder against Eddie’s. The bartender returned, setting their orders down including two shots before Steve and Robin along with their waters.
“Oh, we didn’t order these,” Steve said.
“They’re from the two at the end of the bar,” the bartender said.
Steve, Robin, and Eddie all looked down the bar to find a pair of drag queens waving at the two, one of them mouthed ‘nice sweater’ plucking at their own top to get their point across, which could have been directed at either Steve or Robin who exchanged a wide eyed looks with one another.
“You guys don’t have to drink them,” Eddie said. “You can just say thank you and pass them off to one of us.”
Steve and Robin were having some type of silent conversation that ended with both of them picking up the shot glasses.
“Up or down,” Robin said, only sounding half joking. “We’re going together.”
Steve looked bitterly amused, but knocked his glass against hers, and they both threw them back. Robin choked. Steve didn’t, but he did wrinkle his nose at the taste, then he held up the glass in invisible toast to the queens at the end of the bar earning a smile.
“That’s awful,” Robin rasped.
“That’s cheap tequila,” Jonathan said.
“Gah.” Robin shuddered.
“Not your first rodeo?” Argyle asked.
“No,” Steve said simply, flagging the bartender for another round.
They all cheered and whooped as the pair knocked back a second round and Argyle clapped Robin on the back when she made a disgusted sound at the lingering taste. Her disgust didn’t last long.
Robin brightened. “ABBA!”
“Oh, no, not another one,” Eddie complained.
Nancy was already tugging a mildly reluctant Jonathan to the dance floor, and Argyle had no qualms following along, already bopping his head.
Steve grinned. “You too cool to dance with us to ABBA, Munson?”
“I suppose we’re all stepping outside our bounds tonight, huh?” Eddie sighed.
“Yeah, Eds, take a walk on the dark side,” Steve teased, moving towards the dance floor as Robin practically dragged him along.
Eddie couldn’t help his laugh. “ABBA’s the dark side?”
Steve just flashed him a smile before getting pulled into the throng of people, Eddie found himself jumping along with his friends who were shouting, ‘Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight’ in one another’s faces and bouncing off one another like it was a mosh pit. Steve took both Robin and Nancy’s hands to spin them out, in, out again, until they almost collided and even Nancy laughed a little to match Robin’s cackle as Robin crashed into Steve’s chest, who steadied her like it was an old habit.
As the song flipped over, Eddie stole one of Steve’s hands spinning him for once, and earning a little surprised laugh as Steve almost lost his balance, catching himself with a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. With their faces so close, Eddie realized by the tilt of Steve’s chin that with the few inches he had on Steve, he would actually have to lean down if he went in for a kiss. The multicolored lights bathed Steve in neon, turning brown eyes orange, gold, and green as they met his. There was something deeper there, something that didn’t quite match the smile playing on Steve's lips, like it was tucked away under the happiness of the moment, but not gone. Steve stretched up on his toes slightly and spun him, nearly knocking Eddie over with the force of it, and earning a bark of laugh. Eddie used his near-fall as an excuse to get his hands on Steve’s waist, like he needed the balance, pulling him in just a little closer, just enough that they were dancing together, not simply near one another. Steve’s sweater was soft under his hands, his skin flushed from the heat of the bodies packed close together, and his lips were moving as he sang along to almost every song that got played.
Eddie leaned in to say, “You have terrible taste!”
“Then why are you dancing!” Steve said into his ear, pulling back so he could flash that cheeky smile at him.
Eddie resigned himself to the fact that he may lose their longstanding argument over music taste, because nothing was more damning than to say, ‘because you’re here’. There were couples on the floor that could be classified more easily as grinding than dancing and while the pair of them were far from that, the shift of bodies occasionally had Steve pressed flush against him, warm and solid and strong under Eddie’s hands which he kept to safe territory, but couldn’t help feeling the shape of him through his sweater, soft yarn catching on his calloused palms. The group made a tactical retreat once they had burned off their first round of alcohol.
“So you’re a journalist?” Robin asked.
“I will be once I graduate,” Nancy said, though her tone was carefully neutral.
“Do you ever do foreign politics?” Robin asked.
Nancy blinked. “I’ve taken an elective on foreign media.”
“Robin’s studying languages,” Steve said, sounding more than a little proud.
Nancy frowned. “The Final Chapter doesn’t allow higher education.”
Both Steve and Robin looked caught out.
“It’s, um, I—“ Robin floundered.
“Self-taught,” Steve said easily.
“Yes, yeah, exactly. Books, y’know?” Robin said.
Eddie had an inkling of where Robin was every time Steve was standing on street corners, an inkling as to where Steve went to pick up his friend every night. It looked like Steve had been breaking the rules a long time before Eddie came along.
Nancy raised an eyebrow, but let Robin talk her ear off about foreign politics and the way languages stole words from one another and the different connotations they had from language to language while they all had another round of drinks. Argyle had enthralled Steve into a debate on which cryptids could be converted to Christianity should they be real (according to Argyle they were, and it was a serious debate, but Steve looked mostly like he was trying not to laugh as he stole sips of Eddie’s beer). Jonathan and Eddie talked new release horror movies and disappointing sequels until they found the bottoms of their bottles.
“Weed?” Argyle asked.
“I’m in,” Jonathan said.
“Birdy?” Argyle asked.
Robin looked a little like she might faint from the offer.
“We’ll pass,” Steve said. “Thanks, though.”
Jonathan looked at Eddie expectantly, but he gave a slight shake of his head, earning a little surprised eyebrow raise that he pointedly ignored.
“I could use a little air,” Nancy said, smoothing down her short skirt as she rose.
Robin’s eyes tracked the motion before looking away sharply, fixing her eyes on the table.
“It’s sweltering in here.” Nancy pulled her hair up off her neck, the curls dark with sweat as she followed the boys away from the table.
The air inside the club was thick with the warmth of more bodies than the fire department would recommend jammed in together, bouncing off one another. Eddie had long since shed his leather jacket and flannel, his band-tee so worn in it was practically a second skin. Steve had only gone as far as rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, sweat weighing down a few strands of hair so they fell into his flushed face. Robin’s own sweater was tied around her waist, leaving her in a plain cotton t-shirt. There was a fresh pink scar on the inside of her wrist. A twin for the one Eddie could see on Steve’s own.
“You’re not hot?” Eddie plucked at Steve’s sweater.
Steve flashed him that movie-star smile. “I’m always hot.”
Eddie bit back a laugh. “Who are you trying to pick up with that line? Yourself?”
Steve shrugged. “I know who’s taking me home.”
“Robin?” Eddie joked.
Steve punched his shoulder.
“I’m out of his league,” Robin said solemnly, patting Steve’s hand with mock sympathy.
Eddie was pretty sure the only person who could be out of Steve’s league would need a Nobel Prize for World Peace and gotten the cover a magazine for Sexiest Man Alive. Before Eddie could put his foot in his mouth by saying anything along those lines a young woman around their age approached the table wearing clearly self-cut shorts and a t-shirt that only went down to her ribs, her dark hair in dreadlocks, and a hoop through her septum.
“Do you want to dance?” She asked, her voice low, like she smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.
Robin’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. “I… I do more flailing than dancing, really, I’m a hazard.”
“I’ll duck.” She gently took Robin’s hands in her own, rings on every finger. “C’mon.”
Robin rose as though pulled by invisible strings, following her out onto the dance floor. Steve watched them go with an indecipherable look on his face. His cross necklace had come untucked from the collar of his sweater, the gold catching the distant lights and turning them to precious gems as they reflected off the metal.
“You want to dance?” Eddie leaned in to be heard over the music rather than raise his voice.
Steve gave a slight shake of his head.
“Hey,” Eddie said, hooked a finger under his chin to catch his attention.
It was still a slow slide for Steve’s eyes to meet his own.
“You with me? Or you somewhere else tonight, sweetheart?”
“I’m with you,” Steve said, but it wasn’t true until he said it, like he had only just arrived back at their wobbly table in the bar from somewhere far away.
“Robin’s who you pick up every night after our little dates, yeah?” Eddie asked. “She taking classes?”
“She sneaks into lectures,” Steve said.
“You ever sneak into any classes?”
Steve let out a little amused exhale. “No, I, uh, barely got ahold of my GED.”
“What about art?”
“That’s just for fun,” Steve said, looking down. “I could never… that’s just money down the drain. It’s a waste.”
“Art’s not a waste,” Eddie said. “Art’s what makes life worth living, whatever form it comes in. I built myself with the books I grew up with that made me love reading, and the songs I loved when I was thirteen and angry, and the movie I saw last week that made me cry.”
“What was the movie?” Steve asked.
Eddie opened and closed his mouth, his face hot. “I don’t want to say.”
Steve smiled. “You do understand that now you have to tell me, right?”
“It was…” Eddie hid his face in his hands. “It was The Wrath of Khan.”
“Star Trek?” Steve laughed.
Eddie glared at him through his fingers. “Don’t laugh! Kirk and Spock had an epic friendship, it was— listen, we’ll just have to watch it sometimes, and if you don’t tear up at least a little then you’re heartless.”
Steve bit back a smile. “I’ll guess the music was, hm, Metallica, Dio, Iron Maiden, MegaDeath, Black Sabbath…”
“Guilty.”
“And the books were…”
“The Hobbit,” Eddie said. “Well, I mean, the Lord of the Rings too, but… my mom read me The Hobbit. I was too young to understand all of it at the time, but I’ve reread it so many times I can probably quote the first chapter from memory.”
“I think that’s weirder than quoting the Bible,” Steve joked.
“What built you? Top fifties pop music?” Eddie teased, but he said it gently because even if the answer was Tears for Fears, he still wanted to know.
“I listened to Ziggy Stardust so often I wore out the tape.”
“That, that I can get behind, it’s not quite my taste, but I’d never say a bad word against Bowie.”
“Pride and Prejudice is the only book I ever read twice.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “I— seriously? Jane Austen?”
Steve shrugged. “I had to read it for school and… I mean, it was wordy, but they were just… people. I like that even though it’s not from our time, they’re still just people with the same feelings and problems that we’ve got now. I like that I felt like I got them, that I could see them.”
“And movies?”
“The Outsiders,” Steve said.
“You do realize you dress like a Soc, right?”
Steve laughed a little. “It was just… I had never seen friendships depicted like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like if you lost the people you loved, even if they weren’t your family or someone you were in love with that you could feel grief so strong that you would rather get shot by the cops than live with it. That you could care about people like that. I always…”
“You always?” Eddie coaxed.
“I always care too much,” Steve said, meeting his eyes.
“There’s such a thing?”
“Yeah.” Steve tried for a smile. “So I’ve heard.”
“Then whoever told you that, didn’t deserve the privilege of being one of the people Steve Harrington cared about and you can quote me on that.”
Steve’s smile was more genuine. “I’ll do that.”
“…these the same people who told you art was a waste?”
Steve clicked his tongue. “Let’s, uh, let’s just say my parents did not appreciate that I was spending more time doodling than doing my math homework.”
“Hey, I’ve never needed math a day since I clawed my way to a diploma the third time around,” Eddie said. “In all fairness, that could be partially due to the fact that I don’t make enough a year to have to file taxes…”
Steve’s laugh was a beautiful sight, eyes crinkled at the corners, shoulders shaking slightly, even though it was a soft sound.
Eddie couldn’t help his answering smile. “I feel like you’re laughing at me.”
“Only a little.”
“Oh, well in that case, go right ahead, darling.”
Steve’s smile was soft and lopsided and Eddie wanted to bite his face just to have something to do with all of the emotions it stirred up in his chest.
“I need a smoke, you want some air?” Eddie asked, hand resting on Steve’s thigh.
Steve’s eyes flicked over to Robin on the dance floor. “No, I’m okay, see you in a bit.”
Eddie squeezed his thigh before rising, glancing over his shoulder as he left, the lights bathing Steve in pink, blurring his skin petal soft, warming the cross around his throat like it was still hot from smelting, lingering in the golden strands of his hair, and catching in his eyes as he watched Robin from several yards away, who was cast in blue.
The others were still outside, though they had clearly polished off the joint, and were lingering in the relief of the cold night air. Putting a cigarette between his lips, Eddie lit it with a flick of his lighter as he joined their little circle.
“Hey, do any of you have a copy of The Outsiders?” Eddie asked as he exhaled a mouthful of smoke.
The others were starting a second joint as he finished his cigarette, and Eddie slipped back inside. Moving the packed bodies, Eddie had the intent to ask Steve if he wanted a refill on his drink, but one of the drag queens from earlier had taken over Eddie’s seat. Though Eddie couldn’t see Steve’s expression, it looked like a serious enough conversation that Eddie slowed his approach rather than interrupt.
“I don’t know what they’re telling you at your congregation, but I can make a pretty good guess, so, incase no one’s said this yet, it’s okay.”
Steve looked down at the table.
“Hey,” the queen leaned down to catch his eyes. “It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with you, there’s nothing that needs fixing.”
“The Bible—“
“Says a lot of things that no longer apply, like that there was a standard of treatment of slaves, but not condemning slavery because that was common practice at the time.”
Steve looked up.
“Or women’s roles in society.”
Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek.
The queen put their hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze. “I’m not saying you can’t have your faith, only remember how long ago those texts were written, and who they were written by. Adjustments have to be made.”
“Isn’t it egotistical of myself to think that I’m the one who can say what adjustments should be made to the word of the Lord?”
“The word of the Lord,” the queen laughed a little. “Oh, honey, everyone has their own interpretations, your relationship with God is between you and the big man himself, and yes, church can be a great support, but you’ve got to be careful with which one you pick, because anyone can twist religion to suit their own hatred.”
“I… I don’t always agree with everything they say, but don’t… they took me in when I had nowhere to go, don’t I owe them my loyalty? My support? I’d be nowhere without them.”
“Where are you now with them?” The queen asked. “Stuck in a place of fear and guilt and hurt and loneliness?”
“They’re my family. They’re everything I have.”
“That might be true right now,” the queen said. “But you can build something of your own. Even if you start with nothing, you can find people who will love you just as you are, who make you feel safe, and proud.”
“I would be dead in a gutter without them.”
“Is that what you believe? Or is that what they told you?”
“I’m weak. I’d never make it on my own.”
“You’re stronger than you think or else you wouldn’t be here tonight after everything they told you.”
Steve curled in on himself.
“…everything they’ve done to you?” The queen said gently, turning over his wrist.
Steve pulled away, fixing his sleeves, and tucking his arms in close.
“I’m not… good. I need help.”
“That ain’t help, honey.”
Steve wrapped his arms around himself, holding tight to his own arms. The drag queen cupped his face with both hands, long nails stuck onto each finger tip, and rings stacked up like iron knuckles. Steve eyes were shining in the neon lights as the queen met his gaze dead on.
“And anyone who loves you, really loves you, wouldn’t treat you that way.”
Steve blinked quick, turning away to try to wipe at his eyes, but the queen was already brushing them away with the knuckle of their finger to keep from scratching him with their pointed nails. The queen caught Eddie staring, standing helplessly only a few feet away, and gave him a sympathetic look like they could read every emotion flitting across his face in the flashing lights. The queen wiped the last of Steve’s tears away with gentle fingers.
“Your boy’s headed this way,” the queen said. “The way he’s looking at you, bet he’d tell you the same thing I did, so I’ll leave you in his hands, but you need someone? You come back here, alright? We’ll get you sorted out.”
Steve murmured something Eddie couldn’t hear over the music, but the queen rose, squeezing Steve’s shoulder, and giving Eddie a meaningful look as they stepped away. Eddie took their vacated seat, but aside from the way Steve’s lashes were clumped together, he couldn’t find any traces of the heavy conversation on his face.
“Hey,” Steve said, easy as anything. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Smoking something a little stronger,” Eddie said. “Make a new friend?”
“Yeah, that was Lola, they thought they’d keep me company until my company returned.”
“Lonely without little ole me?”
“Unbearably so,” Steve monotoned.
Eddie wanted to talk about the way traces of tears still clung to his eyelashes, the wobble in the corner of his smile, and whatever was lingering behind the warmth of his eyes, something heavy, something dark, something cold as stone in the ocean. Instead he reached over, taking Steve’s hand, but letting his fingers skim up until he felt— Lola had been looking at the burn scar on Steve’s wrist. Steve made a questioning sound.
“You want to dance, angel?”
“Yeah.” Steve’s smile was a little stronger. “Let’s go.”
The music filled the space between them as they danced, moving in and out of one another’s orbit, until an astroid bumped into Eddie, and he got pulled entirely into Steve’s gravity. Into the way Steve wasn’t singing anymore, but he tipped his head back like he was leaning into the embrace of the music, into the way his eyes were half closed as he looked at Eddie, but so bright, into the way Steve's calloused hands skimmed along Eddie’s bare arms and let Eddie’s own hands roam, catching on the fabric of his sweater, and skimming a sliver of bare skin just above the waist of his jeans when Steve stretched his arms up over his head and arched back over Eddie’s hold on his waist.
Eddie didn’t notice Robin making her way over until she caught Steve’s arm, who leaned down to hear her over the music, but Eddie was pressed close enough to hear her say, "We need to go before we get caught!” over the music. Steve nodded.
“Wait for me out front, I have to run to the bathroom!” Robin said.
Steve nodded again, squeezing her arm before she stepped away, and looking at Eddie apologetically. Rather than wait for the excuses, Eddie took his hands, leading him off the dance floor and out into the alley. In the dim light of the alley, Eddie could see the flush of Steve’s skin, the way his hair darkened at the roots with sweat, both of them still breathing hard, but without the music to drown it out. Steve pulled his sweater up and over his head, t-shirt riding up, and Eddie caught a glimpse of bandages wound around his waist.
“What happened here, sweetheart?”
Steve flinched back with his fingers brushed the bandages, twisting away. “Don’t.”
Eddie’s eyes widened slightly, holding his hands up between them.
Steve fidgeted with his sweater. “It just… it hurts, s’all.”
“What happened?”
“Just the consequences of my own actions,” Steve said, still not meeting his eyes. “I was just… being stupid.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you,” Steve said quietly. “I care too much.”
“Last I checked that didn’t leave you bloody.” Eddie reached out slower, fingers curling around the edge of his shirt, catching another glimpse of bandages as he lifted it half an inch--
Steve caught his wrist. “Depends on who you care about."
“No one’s love is worth this,” Eddie said, thinking of God, thinking of the little he heard about Father Brenner, thinking of Steve’s lack of parents.
“They’re worth this and more,” Steve said.
The door opened and music flooded the alley like a wave crashing over them. Eddie’s fingers slipping from his shirt as Robin made her way over, but the moment didn’t feel washed away as Steve let go of his wrist to hold out his hand to her. She intertwined her fingers with his, giving him a little squeeze.
“Bye, Eddie,” Steve said softly.
“I’ll see you soon, angel.”
Steve didn’t quite smile, only a shadow of it, before making his way out of the alley, hand in hand with Robin. Eddie lit up a cigarette, watching them go until the streetlight had lost their shadows as well, thinking that he should have said, ‘no one who loves you would hurt you this way’ instead.
Chapter 19
Notes:
Content Warning: gun violence, murder
Chapter Text
Steve slowed as his morning --though it was barely morning— run brought him to the sight of crates of guns being unloaded from the trucks. John gave him a long look, but walked past him rather than say anything.
“Steven,” Henry said. “Why don’t you lend a hand?”
Nathan hopped out of the back of the truck, shoving a crate of guns into his arms. Steve carried them to the broken down barn, though he paused a few steps in as he got a look at the haul, boxes of guns of every variety, different types of ammo, and more were sitting on the straw covered floor.
“We will never be prepared enough for the apocalypse,” Henry said.
“Where do you want these?” Steve asked, wiping his face on his shoulder to rid himself of the sweat cooling on his skin.
Henry pointed him in the right direction. Steve hid it among the old hay, clapping off his hands as dust clung to his sweaty skin, and straightening up. Exiting the barn, he picked up his run as though he hadn’t been detoured, watching from a distance as figures returned to the house in the grey of dawn.
Steve drove a little quicker than the posted speed limits on his way into town that afternoon.
“Easy there, Mad Max,” Robin said, wiggling into her jeans. “You late for a date with Eddie?”
“I’m not—“ Steve’s hands tightened on the wheel, his voice quieting. “It’s not like that.”
Robin looked down at her hands. “What if… what if I used a phone on campus to call the girl from the other night? What would you say to that?”
“Did you?”
Robin looked out the window.
Steve reached over to take one of her hands. “I would say that you’re my best friend and I’ll follow you wherever you go.”
Robin laughed bitterly. “Even to hell?”
“Up or down,” Steve said.
Robin squeezed his hand. “Together it is.”
Steve couldn’t help his own smile. He didn’t remember which one of them was having a break down about going to hell or for what sin they were convinced would do it, but one of them had said,
“I’d go with you.”
“To hell?”
“Yeah.”
“To burn eternally. Forever.”
“I mean, it’s not optimal, but yeah, if I got up to His Kingdom and you weren’t there, I’d turn around.”
“You’d turn around?”
“I’d turn around.”
“…I would too.”
“Together then.”
“Up or down.”
“What’s her name?” Steve asked.
“Marley, but everyone calls her Mars.”
“Like the planet or like Mars Bars?”
Robin laughed, looking a little surprised at herself. “I don’t know.”
“You’ll have to ask then.”
“That’s a terrible line,” Robin said. “I can’t believe everyone else in the Chapter thinks you’re so charming.”
Steve laughed.
“I’m serious! Do you know how annoying it is to hear when we’re crocheting, it’s all, oh Steve this, Steve that, isn’t he dreamy?”
“Rob, there’s, like, only three other girls our age there.”
“Yeah, well, they’re all Steve-fans apparently, Billy’s set his sights on a higher age range.”
Steve wrinkled his nose. “Ew.”
“…and it’s working.”
Steve gasped. “No.”
“Mhm.” Robin nodded. “I mean, they’re all pretending like it’s not, y’know, oh what a charming young man, and all that, but they’re all falling for it.”
“Most of them are married!”
“Steve,” Robin said flatly.
“…do you think Father Brenner hears about it in confession?”
Robin shrieked with laughter. “Can you imagine? Mrs. Chambers telling Father Brenner that she’s guilty of having the hots for Billy?”
“Mrs. Chambers! No!”
Robin couldn’t stop laughing long enough to answer so she just nodded and Steve couldn’t help cracking up himself just at the thought of Mrs. Chambers, a very stern woman in her forties who had given both of them a number of chidings on everything from untucked shirts to laughing too loud to taking the Lord’s name in vain, telling Father Brenner she was guilty of coveting Billy Hargrove.
Eddie wasn’t on his corner when Steve settled into his usual spot, half heartedly holding out fliers as his good mood from the car ride with Robin quickly slipped through his fingers. Even miles and miles away from the farm, he felt like he still had an after taste of the tension in his mouth. The way the air thickened before a thunderstorm trapped in his lungs even if he wasn’t anywhere near the rain, the hair on his arms still raised in anticipation of the static from the lightning. A little worm of worry wriggled through his gut without any real name other than, the kids.
The door to the coffee shop across the street opened and Steve caught sight of a familiar face. Writing on the back of a flier as he moved through the crosswalk, earned him a honk, but no cars actually hit him even though he didn’t have the walk light.
“Chief.” Steve threw on a smile, extending a flier. “Can I interest you in saving your soul?”
“Pass.” Hopper barely glanced at him.
“What about other people’s souls?” Steve blurted out before he could stop himself.
Hopper stopped a few steps away before looking back. Steve’s hand shook where he was holding the flier, part of him screaming to crumple it up into a ball and shove it into the trash. Screaming that he was a traitor. Screaming that if he was caught betraying his family— the kids. The kids. The kids and Robin. Hopper took the flier from his hand before Steve could change his mind and he hugged the remaining fliers to his chest.
“You know, I’ve seen these trampled on the ground, but I’ve never read one,” Hopper said casually, unfolding it.
Steve’s heart thumped against his ribs, watching Hopper’s eyes widen fractionally as they lifted from the page to meet Steve’s with a little raise of his eyebrows.
“You really believe in all this stuff, kid?” Hopper said.
“Yes, sir,” Steve said.
Hopper folded up the flier carefully, tucking into the inside pocket of his coat. “Have a blessed evening or whatever crap you say.”
“And you as well,” Steve said.
Hopper scoffed, turning and walking away with a rough sketch of the different guns Steve had seen and a number next to each type for how many he had counted hidden away in his jacket.
“Making friends?”
Steve jumped so badly, his fliers scattered around him. Eddie looked at him with wide eyes, holding his hands up in surrender.
“Good grief.” Steve pressed his hand over his pounding heart as he crouched to pick up the fliers. “You scared me half to death.”
“Yeah, baby, I can see that.” Eddie helped him gather them up. “What’re you doing talking to Hopper?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah, he’s the one who busted me, and got you the privilege of my company at the soup kitchen.”
“So he’s who I should blame for that,” Steve joked weakly.
Eddie gave him a long look. “You know… I’m onto you.”
“What?”
“You’re trying to talk him into slapping me with some loitering bullshit so you can have the better corner.”
Steve let out a laugh that verged on hysterical. “Yeah, yeah, Eds, that’s it, you’ve got me.”
Eddie grinned, dimples on full display. “You wanna get out of here?”
“What about your fans?” Steve asked.
“They can pay full price at our next concert like everyone else,” Eddie said. “You hear that sheeple? NO MORE FREEBIES!”
A few people gave them weird looks.
Steve looked down at the messy pile of fliers in his hand. “I… yeah, let’s go somewhere else.”
Eddie took his hand, only holding it for a few seconds to tug him away from the street corner before letting go, but he held it oh-so-gently as though Steve’s palms weren’t already thick with callouses and knuckles split with scars. Eddie led him to a bar a few blocks away called Irish Coffee with two pool tables, a dart board, a juke box, and a little photo booth tucked all the way in the back.
“Woah,” Steve said.
“Yeah, I thought a jock like you might dig this place. Hang on a second, sweetheart, I’ll get us a table.” Eddie’s hand pressed against Steve's back for the briefest second before he moved up to the bar, putting down a dollar to get quarters for the table.
Steve admired the juke box, selecting Loverboy by Queen, and smiling as it filled the bar. Eddie’s little laugh reached him first, before his shoulder bumped against his in hello, holding two beers by their necks in one hand, and two pool sticks in the other. He had set the table.
“Y’know, this is almost good taste, almost,” Eddie teased. “Ready to get your ass kicked, angel?”
“You’re on, devil-spawn.” Steve took one of the beers and one of the sticks.
Eddie grinned. “Aw, Stevie, you’re a poet.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “You want to break?”
“Nah, all yours, darling, I’m a gentleman like that.”
Steve scoffed, trying to ignore the heat rising to his face as Eddie then pretended to leer at him as he bent over the table for his first shot. It was a decent break, sinking one stripe and one solid. Taking a few steps away, Steve lined up his next shot, sinking another solid before missing.
“Looks like it’s a good thing I didn’t put money on this,” Eddie joked. “You got a pool table back on the farm?”
“I’m not so bad with angles.” Steve only hesitated half a second before sipping his beer. “Basketball’s similar too, trying to judge the arc of where you’re shooting from.”
“Jock,” Eddie said with a sigh as though he hadn’t sunk two stripes of his own before missing.
“You don’t seem so bad yourself,” Steve countered.
“I hung around a lotta bars as a kid. My old man was a bit of a drunk and his buddies taught me how to play. I think they were hoping if I got good enough I could hustle a little. Y’know, scrawny little eleven year old taken fifties from hapless old men.”
“Could you?”
“You’ll find out, now, wontcha, big boy?” Eddie grinned, tapping his chest with the pool stick.
Steve bit back a smile, taking his turn. “Your uncle, the one you lived with, he your dad’s brother?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “He’s my only living relative, so when my dad got locked up, social services dropped me on his doorstep.”
“Can I ask what for?”
“You can ask me whatever you’d like, baby,” Eddie said as though it was easy, easy to answer questions, easy to be honest. “He got put away for grand theft auto, got a couple extra years tacked on for being drunk while doing it.”
“Do you ever talk?”
“Nothing to say,” Eddie said, only the barest trace of bitterness left in his voice. “I’ve got Wayne. That’s all the family I need.”
“What about you? When’s the last time you spoke to your parents?”
“When I was fifteen, uh, no.” Steve sipped his beer. “Fourteen, actually.”
Steve still remembered how the phone rang and rang, three minutes to midnight in Indiana, but only five pm where his mother and father had taken a business trip, only to be met with his father’s latest secretary. She hadn’t been there long enough to know it was his birthday when she brushed him off, but he didn’t think she would have been able to get either of his parents on the phone even if she had known. He remembered standing there in the kitchen, holding the phone well past the dial tone as he watched the kitchen clock turn over to 12:01. Officially past his fifteenth birthday.
Eddie’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh?”
“Yeah, um.” Steve put all of his focus into lining up his next shot, so he didn’t have to see whatever Eddie’s reaction was. “They weren’t really around much, so I kinda… well, I figured if they didn’t want me around then what was the point in staying?”
“You ran away?” Eddie asked, his voice soft.
“Yeah.” Steve sank a ball, rounding the table, eyes fixed on the green. “It was over the summer, so, I don’t know how long it took them to notice I had gone, but, y’know, I’ve never seen my face on any milk cartons, so I figure we were on the same page about how it all turned out.”
Steve missed his shot. “Your turn.”
Eddie’s eyes met his and Steve’s hands sweat against the pool stick, but Eddie only stepped by him to take his own shot. The hum of the jukebox and the murmur of conversations did nothing to cover the stifling silence between them as Eddie took his next shot and missed. Eddie leaned back against the table, eyes finding Steve’s again as he sipped his beer.
“Where did you go?” Eddie asked finally.
Steve let out a humorless laugh. “I was fifteen without an education or money, where do you think I went, Eds?”
“That where the Final Chapter found you? On the streets?”
Steve lined up his shot. “Yes and no. There was a church that I snuck into now and again for mass, I liked… I liked the stories. Father Brenner used to do outreach, go to other churches, help where he could, build his own flock. He found me there and he took me in, kept me fed, gave me a place to sleep, helped me get my GED, my driver’s license.”
“You’ve been there a long time then, huh?” Eddie’s voice was soft.
Steve straightened up only to find Eddie was only a few inches away. Eddie’s knee brushed his own, one hip against the table, Steve’s shoulder pressing against Eddie's chest until he twisted towards him, close enough that Steve had to lift his chin slightly to meet Eddie’s eyes, soft as rabbit’s fur with the look he was giving him.
“They’re family.” Steve held tight to the pool stick in his hands, like the safety bar of a rollercoaster.
“All of them?”
Steve opened and closed his mouth.
“Family’s a lot of things, but it’s not the person who takes you to a bar when you’re eleven, or drives while too drunk to even read the speed limits, or leaves their kid alone so long they don’t know to report him missing—“
Steve looked away, but Eddie leaned over to catch his eyes again, hand catching his wrist, thumb over the pink burn scar, like a dart hitting a bulls eye.
“—and it’s not someone who hurts you. Wayne taught me that.”
Steve’s swallowed thickly. “He sounds like a good man.”
“He is,” Eddie said, his voice losing the edge of his intensity, calloused thumb sliding along his scar. “Maybe you could meet him sometime.”
“I—“ Steve’s eyes flicked back and forth across Eddie’s face. “I don’t think he would want to meet me.”
“‘Course he would,” Eddie said easily. “He’d love to have someone who can actually talk sports with him.”
Steve managed half a laugh, pulling away. “Yeah, okay, see if you feel that way after I kick your ass at pool.”
Eddie pointed a finger at him. “Language! I’m telling Max and Dustin you’re a hypocrite!”
Steve’s laugh was stronger the second time around. “Take your shot, Eddie.”
Eddie took his shot. It was a close game, but Steve came out on top, and Eddie immediately demanded a rematch. Only two turns in and Eddie faked a cough and knocked his elbow into Steve’s stick as he went to take his shot.
“Hey!” Steve protested as it missed wildly.
Eddie gave him a mock-innocent look. Steve got his revenge by hip checking him when Eddie went to take his turn, making his shot skim its target.
“Lost my balance,” Steve lied, a smile tugging at his lips.
“What, angel, you trip falling for me or something?” Eddie winked.
Steve laughed. “That was terrible.”
Eddie sipped his beer. “You know, you shouldn’t try to cheat a hustler, right?”
“I can take you, devil-spawn.”
“I’d like to see you try, angel,” Eddie said, giving him a salacious once over.
Steve reddened, busying himself with his next shot while Eddie laughed to himself. They jostled one another and called out distractions during each other’s turns, nearly knocking their beers onto the floor at one point, and laughing as they just managed to save them. Steve flashed the bartender an apologetic smile when she glared their way. Eddie crowded up behind him on his next shot so he could cover his eyes.
“Hey!” Steve laughed. “This is just like blatant cheating at this point!”
“So?”
“Whatever you need to win, I suppose, Munson.” Steve flashed a smirk over his shoulder after he batted away his hand.
“You start it,” Eddie said. “How am I ever supposed to focus when a pretty thing like you is distracting me?”
Steve flushed. “You’re full of shit.”
“Just calling it like I see it, baby.” Eddie gave a little tug on his belt loops as he passed to take his own shot making Steve stumble over his own feet, butterflies bursting to life in his stomach.
Eddie’s grin as he lined up his next shot, told Steve that he knew exactly what he had done to him with the move. Steve was only halfway through contemplating smacking Eddie with his pool stick when the door swung open and a familiar head of blond hair stepped inside.
“Shit.”
Steve grabbed the front of Eddie’s shirt, yanking him between the line of sight of him and Billy, and slouching down for better coverage. Eddie looked at him with wide eyes, pool stick forgotten on the table, and hands up as though surrendering. Over his shoulder, he could just see Billy lead Tommy inside, the pair were supposed to be making deliveries.
“Billy, we’re not suppose—“ Tommy began.
“Don’t be such a pussy, sit down, order a beer.” Billy moved towards the counter.
“There’s two people from the Chapter behind you,” Steve whispered. “I— they can’t— they can’t see me here— I’m not supposed to—“
“Okay, easy.”
Eddie glanced behind himself as he shrugged off his jacket, wrapping it around Steve’s shoulders before grabbing his hand and yanking him over to the photobooth. They tumbled inside in one clumsy fall, Steve half in Eddie’s lap in the close quarters, who reached past him to yank the curtain shut, pressing them closer together. Steve’s lungs were full of the smell of leather, cigarettes, and cheap shampoo, his face only a few inches from Eddie’s own in the dim lighting. The world outside seemed muffled, muted, even if only by the thin red curtain, music and murmurs falling away from them, leaving only the sound of their breathing, a hair too quick, and the thump of Steve’s heart.
“You alright, darling?” Eddie asked, his voice barely a murmur.
“Yeah,” Steve said, similarly quiet.
Eddie’s hand laid over his chest and Steve’s breathing stuttered under his palm. “You’re heart’s going like a rabbit.”
“I’m not supposed to be here.”
“S’okay, sweetheart, I don’t think they saw us. You’re not gonna be in any trouble.”
Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“And even if they did, they’re not supposed to be in here either, are they?” Eddie said. “Isn’t that kind of a catch-22?”
Steve shook his head. “It’s a numbers game, he’s got Tommy with him, so he can just tell Father Brenner they followed me in because they were concerned about me and Tommy’ll back him, and I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” Eddie asked, his voice soft, coaxing.
Steve bit his tongue.
“Stevie…” Eddie’s fingers tucked up under the hem of his shirt.
Steve caught his wrist, even though the bandages were gone now. “Don’t.”
Eddie took a deep breath and Steve’s head was spinning as it wove together a loom of lies, lies about the scar on his wrist, about the bandages Eddie had seen, about why he was half in Eddie’s lap to hide from Billy, about the Final Chapter’s practices, but all Eddie said was,
“Don’t think this means you’ve won our rematch, I had a come back in the works.” Eddie’s hand settled on his thigh instead.
Steve stifled a laugh. “Whatever you’ve got to tell yourself, Munson.”
“You’re trouble,” Eddie said with a little shake of his head, but it always sounded like a compliment when he said it.
Steve felt transfixed by the slight uptick of his lips, the dimple on his left cheek because he wasn’t smiling wide enough for both of them to appear yet. The frizz of his curls gave him a bit of a vague outline in the dim light of the booth, almost as if he had a halo made of shadow. His jacket was still sitting around Steve’s shoulders, Steve’s legs over his own in the cramped space, only half sitting on the wooden bench below, and Eddie was warm underneath his legs even through two layers of denim. One of his hands was resting just above his knee and he could feel the dull press of his rings and for a crazed half second Steve wished he was the one wearing ripped jeans so that he could feel the callouses of Eddie's hands and the cool metal of his rings against bare skin. In only his t-shirt, Steve could see the tattoos winding up his arms and peeking out of the fraying collar of his Dio t-shirt, a guitar pick strung on a cheap chain around his neck like a foil of Steve’s own cross of gold.
“Stevie.”
Steve lifted his eyes to Eddie’s who was barely stifling a smile. “I’m sorry?”
“I lose you there for a second, sweetheart?” Eddie flicked a strand of hair out of Steve’s eyes, finger grazing his cheek before dropping onto his shoulder.
“No.”
“No?” Eddie tilted his head to the side with his teasing smile. “Then what did I say, baby?”
“Um.”
Eddie laughed. “You’d think in a dark booth without any distractions, I’d be able to keep your attention.”
Steve couldn’t bring himself to tell Eddie that he was the distraction.
“When the last time you’ve had your photo taken, pretty boy?”
Steve blinked. “Um. I don’t know. For the yearbook maybe?”
“Absolutely unacceptable.”
Eddie shifted the curtain slightly, peering out into the bar, but from what little Steve could see the coast appeared to be clear, though his attention was split from the way the action crowded Eddie that much closer. Popping a few quarters into the machine, Eddie caught Steve by the jaw when he failed to look away from edge of a bat tattoo trying to climb up from Eddie’s collarbones and out of his t-shirt collar, turning him towards the red light.
“Over here, sweetheart.”
Steve didn’t quite manage a smile for the first photo, but Eddie’s little laugh at the surprise on his face made him laugh in the second photo as he told Eddie to shut up. In the third photo Eddie flashed devil horns and stuck out his tongue and Steve knew he was grinning like an idiot at him instead of the red dot.
“Last one, pretty boy,” Eddie said; they were close enough now that Steve could feel the words in his chest, and the way his breath stirred the hair tucked behind his ear.
Steve’s heart thumped with the blinking of the light and he turned at the last second, pressing his lips off center on Eddie’s cheek as the flash went off. There was a hint of roughness to his skin, either from a few days without shaving or from cold of barely spring air, Steve didn’t know, but he could have sworn he still felt the warmth of Eddie's skin against his lips even though he pulled away half a second later. Eddie’s eyes were wide as he turned towards him, but Steve was already looking away, peering out into the bar.
“They’re gone. C’mon.”
Steve pushed the curtain aside, climbing out with little grace, and retrieving the strip of photos as it fell into the slot. In the first frame, he looked a little dazed, Eddie’s fingers cupping his jaw, and his leather jacket still sitting on his shoulders like Steve was a cheerleader wearing their boyfriend’s varsity jacket. In the second, they were both laughing, Steve’s nose crinkled and eyes half shut in an ugly smile, but he could almost hear Eddie’s laugh just by looking at the frame. In the third Eddie had his fingers up in devil horns and Steve was looking at him with a stupid grin instead of the camera. In the fourth—
Eddie crowded close to look at the strip over his shoulder. “Oh, those are keepers for sure.”
—Eddie’s eyes were a little wide, half smiling, but it was a little distorted by the kiss Steve was pressing only centimeters away from the corner of his mouth.
“They’re yours.” Steve handed him the strip, even though he wanted to tuck it away in his pocket, hide it under the floorboards in his room, but it wasn’t for him to keep, not when he couldn’t keep it safe.
“I’ll cherish them.” Eddie held them to his chest.
Steve rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”
“Rematch?” Eddie grinned, tucking away the photos.
“You mean, rematch for the rematch that you forfeited?”
“I forfeited?! You forfeited—“
They argued as they racked up the table and played another round. And another. Until Steve had to break a few speed limits to get himself and Robin back to the farm in time for Bible study. Except, Bible study was interrupted only ten minutes in to Henry’s discussion by Brenner striding into the chapel with El trailing behind in his shadow.
“Father Brenner,” Henry began.
“Henry, gather the others, we need to have a family meeting.”
Henry’s smile strained. “Yes, father.”
Murmurs filled the chapel as they were rounded up like sheep into a pen.
“What’s going on?” Dustin asked.
“I don’t know,” Steve said, gathering the kids and Robin close to him before they could get lost within the rest of the congregation, the church feeling twice as full with everyone on their feet instead of kneeling like they did for Sunday mass.
Brenner stepped up onto the dais and the whispers fell away. “It’s come to my attention, that there are snakes in our garden, whispering words to lead you astray from the path to paradise. Do not believe these whispers—“
Henry stepped up onto the dais, his hand tucked inside his jacket, and Brenner’s eyes widened at the interruption, his impromptu sermon paused on his lips.
“They are not whispers, father, they’re prayers, coming from your lips,” Henry said.
The shot rang through the chapel. Steve shoved Dustin and Max behind him, Robin pressed against his shoulder, her arm before El as though the two of them could shield all three kids, but it was shoddy coverage. Susan had screamed, her hands shaking as she held them in front of her face, but for the most part the congregation was quiet and still, like prey caught in the eyes of a predator. Brenner’s body lay on the dais, a third eye in his forehead with a line of blood running down his skin to form a small pool on the wood by his eyebrow, his eyes staring out at the congregation. Henry lowered his gun with all the nonchalant of someone who had been practicing with tin cans and not skulls.
“But a prophet who presumes to speak in my name anything that I have not commanded, or a prophet who speaks in the name of other gods, is to be put to death,” Henry recited. “We were warned that false messiahs and false prophets would appear, would deceive even the Select. There is no one here who loved Father Brenner more than I, but he has been manipulating us, worse, manipulating the mouthpiece of the Lord. Eleven.”
Henry extended his hand towards her, Robin still had her arm before her, but El slipped past her. The congregation parted around her as she made her way up to the dais, taking Henry’s hand to step up beside him.
“Eleven came to me, told me that Brenner had been manipulating, withholding the words the Lord had told her from the congregation because he was scared. Scared you all would not be brave enough to do what the Lord has asked of us, scared you would not follow him for the Lord has declared the end is upon us! The Babylonians are coming!”
El stared out at them, but her eyes were like glass.
“Eleven has seen it.”
A floorboard creaked and Steve’s hand unconsciously tightened on Dustin’s arm, making sure he was still safely tucked behind him.
“Do not be afraid, Eleven, tell our family what you have seen.”
“Stars falling,” El said, her voice was quiet, but it carried in the silence of the room.
“You all have already seen the other signs, wars tear the world apart, earthquakes shake the coasts, the news incites hatred towards us, more and more people turn away from the Lord everyday, often lead astray by false teachers.” Henry gestured to Brenner’s body. “Do not be afraid, friends, rejoice, for the days we have been preparing for are upon us.”
The air was so still it was as though not even an exhale had disturbed it since the shot rang out. Henry had both of his hands out and it would have been a welcoming gesture if not for the fact that he was still holding the gun. John stepped up first, joining him on the dais. Billy stepped up next. Tommy only a step behind him. Steve stepped forwards, but Max’s hand locked around his wrist, looking at him with wide eyes.
“Come on,” Steve said quietly, earning a petrified look in return.
Steve stepped away, forcing himself to keep his eyes forward, but he didn’t breathe until he stepped up onto the dais and saw Robin, Dustin, and Max only a step behind him, joining him on the dais. Ann joined them, hands shaking, and her eyes on the gun. Neil marched up, his hand locked around Susan’s wrist. A few were hesitant, but even they knew the right place to stand was in a room with a man holding a gun and a dead body at his feet: behind him.
“Rejoice friends, we’ll be in the Lord’s light soon.”
Robin’s fingers intertwined with Steve's, and he held on as tight as he could. If he had more hands, he would cover the kids' eyes so they wouldn’t see the body at their feet, he would cover their ears from the echo of the gunshots, he would hold their shaking hands too.
Chapter 20
Notes:
This chapter is mostly just two people trying to talk to each other without saying anything at all.
Chapter Text
Making his way towards his corner, Eddie held up his hand in hello as his eyes found Steve across the way, but it wasn’t returned. Steve was staring down at the stack of fliers in his hand, making no moves to hand them out to other pedestrians. Waiting impatiently for the walk signal, Eddie crossed over to Steve’s side of the street rather than post up for the night. Even only a few steps away, Steve had yet to notice him, his expression vacant, glass-eyed, and rimmed with circles dark as bruises.
“Stevie?” Eddie put a hand on his shoulder.
Steve startled and it was like Eddie had pulled the chord on a doll watching him put all the pieces of himself back together before his eyes: warm smile, standing tall, but with relaxed shoulders to give off the air of confidence and ease simultaneously, and eyes galaxies and galaxies away.
“Hey,” Steve said warmly, like the sunlight in his eyes hadn’t been swallowed up by the gaping maw of a black hole.
“You okay?” Eddie asked. “You seem a little out of it.”
“Oh, I mean, I’m a little tired.” Steve rubbed at his eyes a little. “You know I don’t sleep well.”
“You never say what keeps you up though,” Eddie said.
Steve’s smile slipped somewhat, hands tightening on his fliers, and eyes dimming. “…do I have to?”
“There’s no have to’s here.”
Steve looked down at his fliers, but his hold had loosened and they were starting to spill through his fingers onto the concrete. “Take me somewhere else then.”
Eddie’s eyes widened. “Where?”
Steve let the fliers slip the rest of the way, fluttering to the ground like one-winged butterflies and a few got swept under the tires of passing cars or flattened into the gutters as Steve met his eyes.
“Anywhere.”
Eddie curled his hand around his forearm to give him a little tug. “C’mon.”
Steve’s own fingers were loose around Eddie’s arm, letting himself be led through the city. It was as close to holding his hand as Eddie could allow himself to get with the eyes they already drew sidestepping pedestrians. Eddie pulled him into the music shop, vinyls lining the walls in eclectic towering bookcases, shelves labeled by genre, and great big boxes in rows down the store floors filled with cassettes, alphabetical by artist. In the back, a record was spinning, playing Hallowed Be Thy Name.
“When the priest comes to read me the last rites, take a look through the bars at the last sights, of a world that has gone very wrong for me…”
Letting go of Steve’s wrist, Eddie stepped back, spreading his arms. “Welcome to my home away from home, also known as my underpaid gig.”
His coworker, Cherry, working the register, flipped him off without looking up from the magazine she had open, a comically large bubble of gum popping with a snap and disappearing behind her smudged black lipstick. Steve managed a small smile, fingers skimming over the cassettes as he walked through the aisles. Eddie stepped towards the back, sorting through the stack of used vinyls that the store sold at half price and played for ambiance. Picking up a vinyl, he glanced back at Steve who was holding a Bowie cassette, and he felt rather assured about his choice.
“After all, I’m not afraid of dying. Don’t I believe that there never is an end? As the guards march me out to the courtyard, somebody cries from a cell, ‘God be with you’. If there is a God, why has he let me go…”
Eddie switched out the Iron Maiden record, ignoring Cherry’s glare from the counter as he set the new record in place, and put the needle down. Piano spilled out of the speaker and Bruce Springsteen’s low croon filled the otherwise empty store, and Steve looked up with surprise.
“I like this song,” Steve said.
“Thought you might.”
“Hey, that’s me, and I want you only. Don’t turn me home again, I just can’t face myself.”
Steve’s smile was small, but when their eyes met, Eddie didn’t feel like he was lightyears away.
“Don’t run back inside, darling, you know just what I’m here for, so you’re scared and you’re thinking that maybe we ain’t that young anymore.”
“Hey.” Cherry jingled her keys. “I’m taking a smoke break and locking you in, don’t start any fires.”
“No promises,” Eddie winked.
Slipping out the front door, she did lock them in, slipping off and out of sight.
“You ain’t a beauty, but hey, you’re alright, oh, and that’s alright with me.”
“Kinda mean,” Eddie said with half a smile, stepping closer. “You sure this is a love song?”
“That’s why it’s a love song,” Steve said, fingers running along cassettes as he drifted closer. “You don’t have to be beautiful, you don’t have to be young, you don’t have to be anything.”
“You can hide ‘neath your covers and study your pain, make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain, waste your summer praying in vain.”
Looking at Steve washed away from the fluorescent lights overhead and clearly at least three days from a decent night’s sleep, Eddie couldn’t agree, because he wasn’t sure that there would ever be a time when he could say Steve Harrington was anything other than beautiful.
“Well, now, I’m no hero, that’s understood, all the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood, with a chance to make it good somehow, hey, what else can we do now?”
Steve swayed closer, moving along with the melody of the song like he could feel it in his bones, but his humming only slipped to singing halfway through the fourth verse.
“These two lanes will take us anywhere, we got one last chance to make it real, to trade in these wings on some wheels. Climb in back, heaven’s waiting down on the tracks.”
Eddie had heard him shouting along to ABBA, but he hadn’t heard him sing. Eddie could picture Steve riding passenger side, hair messed up from the wind, singing along to the radio like the words had been pulled right from his heart.
“Hey, I know it’s late, we can make it if we run…” Steve’s voice only faltered slightly as Eddie put a hand on his chest, to feel the vibration of his words under his palm, but he smiled, leaning in like he was telling a joke as he sang, “Well, I got this guitar, and I learned how to make it talk.”
Eddie laughed softly.
“And my car’s out back if you’re ready to take that long walk, from your front porch to my front seat.”
The thought that Eddie should be the one singing the song to Steve flit across his mind, that if one of them was Mary, it wasn’t Eddie.
Steve’s eyes were soft, soft and sad as he kept singing, but it didn’t dampen his smile. “And I know you’re lonely for words I ain’t spoken, but tonight we’ll be free, all promises’ll be broken.”
As the song slipped away, Eddie let his hand fall from Steve's chest, but mustered up the courage to take his hands instead, tugging him along.
“Here, come pick a record.”
“What if I pick REO?”
“…I don’t believe we have REO here,” Eddie lied.
Steve laughed. “Eds, this is a music store.”
Eddie sniffed. “We only have good music here.”
Steve shoved him lightly to take a look at the records behind him. After picking through the collection, Steve set Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars on the player, and they pursued through he cassettes trying to find common ground between top 50s pop and metal with a decent amount of ribbing and teasing. Eddie managed to put Master of Puppets on the player while Steve was distracted looking over the track list of Slippery When Wet, earning a glare as Bowie was interrupted, though Eddie earned a laugh when he pantomimed his way through the epic guitar solo. Steve got his revenge by swapping it for A Day at the Races, but Eddie couldn’t complain watching Steve sing and dance to Good Old Fashioned Loverboy, getting up in Eddie’s face and smiling around the ooh, love, ooh lover boy’s.
Steve settled down as the track turned over into Drowse, It’s the sad-eyed goodbye, yesterday moments I remember, it’s the bleak street, partings I recall. He didn’t speak until Freddie Mercury sang, and there’s all the more reason, for living or dying, when you’re young, and your troubles are all very small, though Steve kept his eyes fixed on the tapes.
“Do you ever have a nightmare that wakes up with you in the morning and walks around with you all day?”
Eddie’s fingers paused on the cassettes. “I’m more familiar with the opposite I think. After… after my mom died, I had a lot of dreams of her, nothing too crazy, just washing dishes in the kitchen, or making PB&Js, or sitting outside in the grass, but I guess… I guess that’s what made it so hard when I woke up, because I’d walk out of my room and expect her to be there, singing while she burned pancakes in the kitchen.”
Steve glanced up. “Do you still have them?”
Eddie smiled even though his chest ached. “Sometimes, but they’re… she’s a lot blurrier now and if I do dream of her, whatever the dream was slips away within the first few minutes of waking up.”
“Is that better?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie said honestly. “I don’t know if it’s better for the pain to stay sharp and remember her like it was yesterday or… or to carry it around like an old ache and only remember the sound of her voice in my dreams.”
“I think you’re a lot braver than I am.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I don’t know how I’d ever be able to love someone if I didn’t believe in heaven.”
Eddie’s eyes widened.
“I…” Steve took a deep breath, looking up at him. “I don’t know how I would be able to weather that pain without the chance to see them again to soften it.”
“Is that why you believe?”
Steve’s smile was a twisted little thing. “Because I’m a coward?”
“Because you love your friends,” Eddie said. “Because you can’t bear the thought of being parted with them?”
“A little naive, isn’t it? I know all stories don’t have a happy ending, but I… I can’t imagine that one day Robin’ll just be… gone, and that’s it. That there’s not something good waiting for her, for the kids, for people like them at the end of the line.”
Eddie wanted to take his face in his hands and kiss him until their lips bled and they suffocated on one another’s CO2 rather than come up for air. Here was a boy, who loved his friends, his family so dearly it made him believe in God himself.
“No,” Eddie said softly. “No, I don’t think it’s naive to hope for a happy ending for the people you love.”
“What do you hope for?” Steve asked. “At the end.”
“I like the thought of reincarnation, that the people we’ve lost have come back into the world again, that they’ve had another chance, a happier one if they’re lucky.”
“If you’re right, then you’ll have to come find me next time, to tell me you told me so.”
Eddie held out his pinky. “Promise.”
Steve hooked his pinky around his, giving it a solid shake, and smiling at him.
“If you’re right, you’ll have to say hi to her for me.”
“If I’m right,” Steve said. “Then you’ll just have to come with me, so you can say hi yourself.”
Eddie cleared his throat to try to detract from the way his eyes were beginning to sting.
“Good deal.”
Steve shook again before letting go and turning his attention back to the cassettes, politely ignoring the way Eddie wiped quickly at his eyes before throwing on a big smile and tearing into Steve for looking at Journey’s latest tape. In the end, Eddie ended up buying Steve the used Bruce Springsteen vinyl, though he kept it tucked under his own arm when they parted, Eddie for band rehearsal and Steve back to the farm.
Eddie hadn’t expected to see Steve only hours later, well into the night, climbing into the broken down bar and their practice skittering to a stop at the sight of him.
“Stevie?” Eddie asked, hands pausing on the strings of his guitar.
“Is this a closed rehearsal?” Steve asked, his voice rough, and his eyes red rimmed.
“Not for our number one fan,” Jeff said, giving him a little encouraging nod.
Steve hesitated in the unboarded window, rain still hitting his shoulders, his sweater soaked through. Eddie took half a step forwards, but Gareth caught his wrist, giving a slight shake of his head. There was a knowing look in his eyes and Eddie realized how similar Steve looked in that moment to Gareth’s first time at the soup kitchen, like the wrong word would spook him, send him right back out into the rain.
“Any requests, angel?” Eddie asked.
Steve gave a little shake of his head.
“Sabbath?” Gareth said. “Something from the new album?”
Eddie plucked out a few chords. “No Stranger to Love?”
Jeff gave him a nod and Eddie started on the opening riff and Gareth joined with a slow beat, and Jeff backed him on the chords. Eddie glanced up from his guitar as he hit the second verse, looking at Steve still sitting in the window, backed by the gloom of the storm.
“I gave you my heart, you cried for my soul, an angel won’t come, this devil won’t go. Something is wrong, I just can’t get away…”
Steve leaned forwards as though trying to listen closer, but his hands were still curled around the sill, feet dangling above the floor boards his shoes were dripping onto.
“Living on the street, I’m no stranger to love, but I’m a stranger in your arms. Living on the street, I’m no stranger to love, why can’t you see I’m no stranger to love?”
The song faded out rather than ending on a victorious chord. Steve slipped inside the bar on the last verse, putting the board back into place to shut out the storm. Eddie glanced back at the boys, picking one of their original songs, and picking up their actual practice as Steve drifted closer, his sweater heavy with rain, hair falling in his eyes, and cuffs of his jeans soaked. Catching his abandoned flannel with the toe of his boot, Eddie kicked it up off the stage towards Steve. Steve caught it, giving a little shake of his head when Eddie winked at him. Stepping off to the side in an illusion of privacy, Steve eased his sweater up and over his head, but he moved slow, wincing slightly as he pulled it free. His undershirt was similarly soaked and Eddie only caught a glimpse of a dark bruise on his forearm before he pulled on his flannel to cover it. Laying out his sweater, Steve jumped up to sit on the counter of the bar as he watched them play.
Eddie paused to take a sip of water. “You wanna sing one, darling?”
Steve’s eyes widened. “Me?”
Eddie laughed, waving at him. “Yeah, c’mere, baby.”
Steve stepped up to the stage and Eddie took his hands to haul him up, setting him before the microphone stand, which Steve looked at like it might bite him.
Eddie strummed a few idle chords. “Now, I can’t say we’ll know anything that’s your taste, but I’m sure we can find a middle ground, so whaddya want to sing tonight?”
Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not a singer.”
“You’re playing for an empty house, Stevie, no one to impress here.”
Steve tossed him a dry look. “Except for the actual musicians here?”
Eddie grinned. “You hear that boys? He thinks we’re pro-fess-ion-als.”
Jeff and Gareth snickered as Steve tossed him a little glare.
“C’mon, I heard you earlier, you’ve got a decent set of pipes, what do you want to sing tonight?”
“…Invisible?”
Eddie’s eyes widened, twanging a string. “By Dio?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard you sing it a couple of times now, so it should be pretty stuck up here.” Steve tapped his head.
Eddie pretended to swoon. “This is straight out of my metal head fantasies!”
“I’d like to take a pass on playing any part in your fantasies,” Gareth said. “For the record.”
Jeff snickered.
Eddie straightened himself out. “Ready, boys?”
Turning up the distortion on his amp, Jeff started them off, and Eddie joined in, moving around the stage, but staying close to the microphone as he realized Steve’s eyes were tracking him. Eddie gave him a nod a beat before the first verse.
“If your circle stays unbroken…” Steve’s voice was tentative, but he knew every word. “…lies the chalice of the soul, and it’s likely you might find the answer there.”
Eddie swayed with his guitar as Gareth began battering away at his drums in full as the pacing kicked up a few notches. Pressing his back against Steve’s he tipped his head back onto his shoulder as the second verse started up, pressing him a little closer to the microphone with the action.
“C‘mon, Stevie, it’s just like singing in your car,” Eddie murmured, before singing into his ear. “She had thirteen years of teenage tears, never a helping hand…”
Steve’s voice was a little stronger with Eddie backing him. “She had fourteen more of rain before she saw the sight of land. She was a photograph just ripped in half, a smile inside a frown…”
Eddie grinned, letting himself trail off as Steve’s voice gained confidence, leaning into the microphone as he sang.
“That’s when he ran. You know the word confused has been abused, but that’s just what he was, and in the spark, in the dark, the answer came because he said you can go away!”
Eddie stepped back, circling around so he could watch Steve sing, both hands wrapped around the microphone.
“The only way to really stay is to walk right out the door, so I’ll go away, I’m gonna leave here. I can be invisible. I said, when I go away, Lord knows it’s right to leave here!”
Steve’s eyes were closed and he clearly didn’t have any practice singing metal, but there was a raw edge to his voice that had Eddie entranced. The words became real when he sang them, because they belonged to him in that moment, filling the empty bar with his rough voice.
“I’m going away. Disappear before your eyes, you’ll never touch me, you’ll never feel me, you’ll never see me again because I’ve become unseen!”
Eddie pressed his shoulder against Steve’s as he played, feeling the words run through his body.
“Well I’m a photograph that’s been torn in half. We’re only eighteen and we’re in between. We need a helping hand to the holy land to be invisible. To go away.”
Steve was breathless by the last word and Eddie played them out. With a little laugh, Eddie slung his guitar around to his back to hook his arm around Steve’s shoulders, reeling him in close despite the fact that he was sweating from hours of practice.
“I told you we’d make a metal head of you, baby!” Eddie crowed.
Steve bit back a smile, ducking his head.
“You’re not half bad,” Gareth said. “They got a choir in your cult or something?”
“Ah, no.” Steve stepped away from the microphone. “Just spent a little too much time with this one I’m afraid.”
Eddie squawked. “Hey!”
Jeff let out an amused exhale. “Yeah, everyone knows metal’s contagious.”
“Thanks for letting me interrupt your practice,” Steve said.
“It’s alright, we’re about done anyways,” Jeff said, pulling his bass free.
Steve hopped down from the stage, meandering away.
“I was gonna grab some food and head home, you wanna join?” Jeff glanced over at Gareth. “You can crash if you want.”
“Yeah, I’m in.” Gareth said, giving Eddie a meaningful look and a nod towards Steve.
“Thanks,” Eddie said, quiet enough not to be heard from across the bar.
Jeff clapped his shoulder. “Take good care of him, yeah? He looks like he’s had a rough night.”
“I will.”
The boys said goodbye to Steve before slipping out into the rain. Eddie plucked at his strings, milling about the stage before settling into the opening of Rocka Rolla.
“Man eating momma, steam driven hammer, sorts the men out from the boys…”
Steve’s laugh was lost under the sound of the guitar, but Eddie could still see it on his face, and he grinned letting the song slip away after a few verses. Sitting on the edge of the stage with his darling in his lap, he crooked a finger and Steve wove through the space like there was an invisible forest between them before standing between his knees.
“It’s a little late for you to be out and about, isn’t it?” Eddie asked.
Steve made an inconclusive gesture.
“You hitchhike over here, sweetheart?”
“Yeah.” Steve fiddled with the rip in the knee of Eddie’s jeans.
“Why?”
“I could patch this.” Steve’s fingers skimmed his skin. “Unless that’s not metal.”
Eddie hooked his finger under his chin, lifting Steve’s eyes to meet his. “I asked you a question, darling.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Steve said honestly.
Eddie’s thumb stroked his cheek before returning his hand to his guitar to strum a few chords. “A lullaby it is then.”
It took him a few starts to settle into Daisy Jane, singing softly, his voice rough and worn from rehearsal, but the patter of rain on the roof made decent accompaniment. Eddie knew a handful of America songs from vague memories of his mother singing in the kitchen that he tried to keep hold of with a worn out cassette tape he kept tucked under his bed, but Daniel Milton Peek never seemed to hold a candle to his mother. Steve’s fingers skimmed slightly across the body of the guitar even though he couldn’t feel the sound the same as he would an acoustic, eyes watching Eddie’s fingers, but Eddie was watching him.
“Do you really love me? I hope you do. Like the stars above me, how I love you. When it’s cold at night, everything’s alright.”
Steve glanced up and Eddie didn’t have a word for what expression he was wearing except for lost. Like a child waking from a nightmare and not recognizing their own room. Leaning in, so their foreheads almost touched, Eddie practically whispered the last lines.
“Does she really love me? I think she does. Like the stars above me, I know because when the sky is bright, everything’s alright.”
Setting his guitar aside, Eddie slid off the edge of the stage, their legs intertwined, and he never felt quite so tall compared with the way Steve’s shoulders looked like they were slumped under the weight of the world.
“C’mere.”
Eddie tangled their fingers, leading Steve up the stairs to the half floor, where the bar must have kept storage, but was currently Gareth’s bedroom. The mattress was on the floor, an old thing they had stolen from an empty dorm room, but the sheets and blankets were clean and new.
“They’ll notice I’m gone,” Steve said as though his eyes weren’t already half closed as he looked up at him.
“You’re dead on your feet, baby.” Eddie eased him down onto the mattress, pulling off his boots. “I’ll wake you in a little bit and drive you as far as you’ll let me, okay?”
Steve blinked up at him, looking so soft laying among the blankets in the dim light. Eddie climbed onto the mattress beside him, slowly, so slowly wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist to pull him in close against his chest. Like the shelter of his arms could protect him from everything from the rhetoric burned into his brain to the eyes of God himself. Steve turned into him, eyes already closed, and nose tucked into the collar of Eddie’s shirt as his breathing went soft and slow.
Laying curled up around Steve with the early sunlight streaming through the boards of the windows, turning his tan skin gold and his hair to bronze, Eddie wondered if it was blasphemy to say he looked like an angel. If it was a sin to hold him this way when he had never met someone who needed more to be wrapped up in safe arms and held close to someone’s heart. If it was a sin, then why did God make him so damn easy to love, if it wasn’t for Eddie to hold him close and make him feel as loved as he was.
Chapter 21
Notes:
Content Warnings: gun violence, corporal punishment, animal death
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Within twenty-four hours Henry had entirely restructured day to day life in the Final Chapter, he called it war-time measures, but Steve was sure if a radio host were describing it, they would call it doomsday preparations. Assignments were given during breakfast, not by Henry, of course, who was tucked away in the chapel with El, but by his new, loyal, inner circle. The inner circle was often carrying and were sent to patrol the grounds, the men were assigned to fortify the big house and the chapel, the women and children stocked the chapel basement with food and collected barrels and barrels of water as though they were preparing for a siege. School had been discontinued, Bible study had not, but rather than split them into groups, Henry had them all gather in the chapel for an hour at night to read passages and relay any further messages from El, who stood silently in his shadow.
Even in the grey of dawn, Steve spotted a patrol in the distance as he ran a loop around the grounds, but he kept enough of a distance that he didn’t see who it was, only the familiar shape of rifles in their hands as he passed them yards away. With how little sleep he managed nightly, Steve had stopped bothering to set his alarm, he was always awake with enough time to run, tend to the animals, and start breakfast. Filling two plates, he set them aside as the rest of the Chapter started to fill in the seats. Max and Dustin sat down at the smaller table in the kitchen and Steve was painfully aware of the empty chairs beside them, neither he nor Robin sat down, leaning against the counter to eat as usually, while the kids ate in silence.
A thunk made Steve look over into the adjoining room to see Tommy’s rifle sitting on the table beside him next to his plate as he dug into the eggs. Steve slammed his own mug down on the counter, stepping into the doorway separating the kitchen and the larger dining room.
“Hey, put that away,” Steve said. “You don’t bring guns into the house.”
“Says who?” Billy said. “They’re for protection.”
Steve ignored him, looking Tommy in the eyes. “You only learned how to shoot last week and if you were paying attention at all, you would know that you never point a loaded gun at anyone you’re not intending to hit, and you certainly don’t leave it on the breakfast table pointed right towards the kids.”
Tommy spluttered. “I’m not going to—“
“What? You’re not going to accidentally shoot the kids?” Steve lowered his voice. “You’d really rather risk killing one of the kids because you want to look like a big man with a gun instead of putting it away like I know you’re supposed to after patrol? Think that’s gonna fly on Judgment Day?”
Tommy paled. “I—“
“Go put it in the chapel. Now,” Steve said, bracing his hands on the table to lean over him, even though that meant the barrel was aimed right at his stomach.
Tommy shrank down, picking it up, and slinking out of the house—
“Aimed down!” Steve shouted at him.
Tommy pointed the barrel down at the ground, head ducked as he slipped out of the house. Steve took a slow deep breath as he stepped back into the kitchen to find the kids looking at him with wide eyes. Forcing his shoulders to relax, Steve managed a tired smile, tussling Dustin’s hair.
“Just trying to scare the stupid out of Tommy,” Steve said. “Don’t worry about it, alright? Eat your breakfast.”
Dustin picked up his fork, but Max just glared down at her breakfast.
Steve picked up his plates. “Keep an eye on them?”
“I’ve got them,” Robin said, sipping her coffee.
Steve carried the plates out of the house, walking to the chapel, and heading to the office. Rearranging the plates onto one arm, he knocked on the door.
“Breakfast,” Steve said.
Henry answered it, looking mildly surprised to see him standing there with two plates.
“I wanted to make sure you and El got a chance to eat before it was gone, father,” Steve said, even though the title felt bitter on his tongue. “You both have been working hard.”
Henry hummed, accepting the plates, and just past him, he could see El holding a bloody tissue to her nose. She had a history of nose bleeds, especially in warm dry air, but Steve had a feeling there was a stress component as well because every time she had come to him with a bloody nose, her pulse had been sky high.
“Don’t you think this would have been a task more suited to someone else?” Henry asked.
Steve tensed. “Old habits, I suppose, since I’m often the first to wake.”
“It’s not very suitable though, is it?”
Steve just barely kept from grinding his frustration between his teeth. “No, father, you’re right of course. I’ll send Robin for lunch.”
Henry nodded. “Is that all, Steven?”
“I would like to request to proselytize again this evening.”
Henry made a disapproving sound. “We need our efforts centered here, the time is almost upon us, and there are many preparations to make.”
“That’s exactly why I want to spread the word, if there’s even a chance we may save one or two more souls, I want to take it.”
Henry tapped his fingers. “If you can finish both today's work and half of tomorrow’s by tonight, you may go tomorrow evening, there are other supplies that may need to be picked up in town as well.”
Steve nodded. “I understand.”
“You may go.”
“Yes, father.”
Exiting the chapel, Steve returned to the house to find Susan scrubbing away at a pile of dishes. Most of the chores had been relegated to the women as well to give the men more time for more important duties: patrol, weapons training, and fortification. Max stood nearby with a towel, but was drying the dishes at the pace of a snail in her own private rebellion, she glared as Steve stepped into the room as though expecting a reprimand. Picking up his and Robin’s abandoned coffee, Steve offered her a sip when her mother wasn’t looking. Max’s eyes widened at the gesture, but didn’t hesitate to take a quick sip while her mother’s back was turned. It was a relatively lame consolation prize, but it was all Steve really had to offer her as he knocked the rest of it back and added it to the stack of dishes.
“Thank you, Mrs. Mayfield,” Steve said. “Thanks, Max.”
Susan ignored him.
“Whatever,” Max muttered, but she was drying a little quicker, less anger, more boredom.
Steve got assigned to fortifications again, spending the day boarding up windows, nailing shut all but one door to each of the buildings, and unsealing the tunnels that connected the house to the chapel and the old barn. The tunnels had originally made during prohibition and they went a little past the farm grounds, to where other properties had stood but had either been knocked down or renovated, and the tunnels had been mostly filled aside from the connections on their own land. A few of the trucks came and went, members returning with crates they carried to the chapel, but Steve couldn’t see what was inside.
“What are those?” Dustin asked, who Steve had relegated into handing him nails and holding the ladder steady for him.
“Supplies,” Steve said. “Probably canned food and water incase we have to go to ground for a bit.”
“Why would we have to go to ground?” Dustin asked, but he asked it like he knew the answer, and wanted a different one.
“Just incase,” Steve said.
“Incase of what?”
Steve sighed, climbing down the ladder once his own bedroom window was (loosely) boarded shut. “Dustin.”
“I’m not a kid, Steve!” Dustin’s voice raised, catching a few other’s attention. “Stop trying to protect me and just answer me!”
“Hey, keep your voice down.”
“I’m fifteen, Steve, I’m not stupid, it’s incase the police come, right? That’s what the radio said—“
“Dustin, keep your voice down.”
“No, answer me! What’s a raid? The radio says there’s going to be one, just like—“
“Dustin, shut up!”
Dustin’s jaw worked and he dropped the box of nails on the ground, stomping off. Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, picking up the nails, and balancing it on his hip as he dragged the ladder over to the next second floor window. Skipping lunch in favor of trying to get through today and tomorrow’s assignments, Steve turned the argument with Dustin over in his mind, trying to decide what information would answer his questions and what would just scare the hell out of him.
“Steve!” Max waved at him from the ground.
Steve frowned, descending the ladder, it was well on it’s way towards sundown, but dinner had yet to be called.
“Max, what—“
“Dustin went with Billy and the other guys,” Max swallowed. “They said they were going to do target practice, but I don’t—“
“I’ve got it, go back inside,” Steve said, already running off towards the back of the property where there were trees littered with bullet holes and white painted bullseyes.
There was a group circled up by the back of the property, Dustin almost hidden as Billy stood behind him, showing him how to aim a gun. It wasn’t until Steve got closer that he saw it wasn’t pointed towards any tree or tin can, but to the chicken Tommy was setting on the empty stump. Dustin’s whole body was shaking, tears in his eyes.
“C’mon, I thought you said you weren’t a kid anymore,” Billy jeered.
“Thought you were a man,” Tommy snickered.
“I thought you were going to shoot cans, not— not—“ Dustin stammered.
“You think the Babylonians are going to hold still, boy?” John said, arms crossed. “You wanted to be a man, you want to stand beside us when the time comes, don’t you?”
“Or do you want to hide with the women and children?” Lewis sneered.
Dustin’s bottom lip trembled.
“That’s enough!” Steve shoved Billy off, grabbing Dustin’s wrist to steady him before clicking the safety on the gun, and prying it out of his shaking hand.
“Why?” Billy clicked the safety off of his own handgun, still low, but in Steve’s general direction. “Because he learned his cowardice from you? Huh? You’re so fucking soft hearted you’ll be using the women and children as shields.”
Steve pushed Dustin behind him. “Point that somewhere else.”
Billy smirked, raising it to be level with Steve’s chest. “Why? What are you gonna, bitch? Yell at me? That might work on pussys like Tommy, but I’m prepared for what’s to come, are you?”
“I said point that somewhere else,” Steve said, his own voice low and quiet, but hard as steel.
Billy tilted Steve's chin up with the barrel. “Make me.”
“Billy…” Tommy began tentatively.
“Stay out of this!” Billy snarled. “This is between me and Steve, ain’t that right, pretty boy?”
“Dustin, go,” Steve said.
“Dustin, stay,” Billy laughed.
“Steve,” Dustin’s fingers curled in the back of his shirt.
“Dustin, it’s fine, Billy and I, we’re just playing around,” Steve said evenly, even though cold steel pressed into his pulse point, and the others were watching the pair of them like it was their new favorite sport. “Gun’s not even loaded, go on, dinner’ll be ready soon.”
“Steve—“ Dustin said, voice thick.
“Go,” Steve said, harsher than he had ever spoken to any of the kids, and he felt Dustin’s hands disappear from the back of his shirt.
“Run away little boy!” Billy crowed after him before turning his attention back to Steve, jamming the metal into the soft spot below his chin. “Now, where were we? Target practice?”
“Go on,” Steve said. “Pull the trigger if you’re so tough, but shooting me won’t make you a man, it’ll make you a murderer, and, uh, last I checked that doesn’t exactly fly in the Bible.”
“I think God’ll forgive me for sending one coward down below a little ahead of schedule,” Billy said.
Steve clicked the safety off of his own gun, pressing it to the zipper of Billy’s jeans. “You know why they made eunuchs, Billy? So that they wouldn’t be distracted from their king by marriage or lust or women. I think you’d benefit from that, don’t you?”
Billy’s jaw ticked, but his smile widened. “There’s that backbone. There’s that fire!”
Steve met his eyes without faltering, but he could barely hear Billy over the sound of his own blood roaring in his ears, the metal felt hot in his sweating palm, like it had recently been fired even though his finger was on the side rather than curled around the trigger. Billy’s gun pulled away from his jaw, instead slinging his arm around Steve's shoulders, pulling him into his side to speak right into his ear.
“Now, let’s see if you really are a man instead of that house wife bullshit you play at.”
Steve glared at him.
“Brenner has gifted us with live targets today,” Billy grinned. “See, when the Babylonians come, those stupid animals ain’t gonna make it, so we might as well put ‘em out of their misery, huh?”
Steve’s stomach turned as he looked out into the field to realize hidden among the overgrown grass were bloody feather of chickens that had been felled before he arrived along with the bullet ridden cans. He prayed that they had been killed before Dustin’s arrival, before they put a gun in Dustin’s hand at least. Steve could feel the weight of the others eyes on him. Tommy put the squawking chicken in place.
Steve raised his gun, but his hand shook like it was a hundred pound weight and not a revolver as he tried to aim it at the chicken, but he couldn’t put his finger on the trigger. Brenner had taught him to shoot, back when he was fifteen, and when Steve put down the old cow they had before they got the goats, he had cried for an hour.
“Or should we go get Dustin?” Lewis asked. “See if he’s more of a man than you are?”
Steve lowered his gun, ignoring the jeers and calls behind him as he walked deeper into the field, stepping over the bodies of chickens, bloody feathers sticking to the cuffs of his jeans. Tommy had to catch the chicken again as it hopped off of the stump, trying to restrain the wings. Stepping up to Tommy, Steve raised the gun and pulled the trigger, unwilling to miss at a distance and have the chicken die a slow death. At close range, the blood spattered over both him and Tommy who let out a yelp, and dropped the body. Tommy's eyes were huge as he looked down a the body, bloody hands shaking.
Billy let out a whoop. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
Steve turned, aiming his gun a few feet away from Billy and taking his shot. The bullet buried itself in a nearby tree and the group of men scattered like startled pigeons from the close call, even Billy had flinched from it. Closing the space between them, Steve emptied the bullets into the grass by Billy's feet, tossing the gun off to another side.
“Stay away from Dustin,” Steve said. “He’s down in the basement with the other kids when the raid comes and anyone who says otherwise can take it up with me.”
Steve could feel John’s eyes on his back as he walked towards the house, but he didn’t turn around. Tears slipped and fell down his face, but by the time he stepped into the house he had cleared them away and evened out his breathing.
“Steve—“ Dustin jumped up from the living room, Max a foot behind him.
“They’re going to leave you alone,” Steve said. “But you need to keep your head down and your mouth shut, got it?”
Dustin’s eyes were wide.
“Dustin, do you understand? You stay out of the way and you don’t ask any questions, okay?”
“You sound like John,” Max said.
Steve ignored the pang that sent through him, hands on Dustin’s shoulders. “Do you understand?”
“There’s blood on your jeans,” Dustin said quietly.
Steve looked down to find it speckled on his jeans and sweater, only to find his vision blurring again, and he had to swallow once, twice to keep from crying in front of the kids.
“I’m going to go change, both of you get cleaned up for dinner.” Steve turned and fled up the stairs.
No matter how he scrubbed his clothes in the sink, the stain didn’t come out, and he eventually changed to head down to dinner. Henry gathered everyone around the long table in the dining room, Susan, Ann, and a couple of the older women setting dish after dish on the table, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, and a roast. Henry sat at the head, El at his right, and the whole Chapter sat hand in hand as Henry said grace.
“Friends, family, how blessed we are to be together, how blessed we are to live through these times, to be reunited with our Lord and Savior himself. The time will be upon us soon, so let us feast together, let us be merry together, and give our thanks to the Lord!”
A chorus of amens moved through the table and dishes were passed around to be shared. Billy reached half way across the table to drop a helping of roast onto Steve’s plate with a grin.
“What is that?” Dustin asked, his voice already wobbling.
“Goat,” Billy said.
Dustin got up from the table so quickly, he knocked his chair over, and fled. Max startled, but Susan held tight to her wrist to keep her from moving. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve watched Robin stammer through a ‘may I be excused’ before following after Dustin, but Henry had caught Steve’s gaze at the commotion.
“Is there a problem?” Henry asked.
“No, father,” Steve said. “I think Dustin’s feeling a little under the weather.”
“I hope it doesn’t put him off his appetite,” Henry said, taking a bite of the roast. “We should always make the most of the food we have.”
Steve’s hands felt numb as he cut off a piece of the roast and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly, and forcing himself to swallow even though it felt like glue in his throat. Without looking down at his plate, he made it through the meal in silence, and sat until the women began collecting plates. He only barely made it to the upstairs bathroom before throwing up until he was left only with bitter stomach acid and a burned throat.
Sleep didn’t come to him.
There were no animals to tend to in the morning, no breakfast to make, and it left him aimless as he stood in the kitchen, drinking coffee and waiting for the others to wake up as Susan made breakfast. Dustin’s eyes were red as he came down to breakfast, not saying a word as he picked at his eggs. Max scraped her fork against the plate, tines squealing. Steve felt sick at the thought of what El’s reaction might have been, and suddenly felt grateful that Robin would be bringing her breakfast.
“‘Scuse me,” Steve mumbled.
Robin gave him a concerned look, but accepted their shared coffee from his hands, and allowed him to make a quick exit. Forgoing breakfast and lunch, Steve finished what remained of his work before it was even 1 pm. Changing into more presentable clothes, Steve made his way towards the chapel to request permission to leave from Henry. Opening the door, he heard Henry’s voice before he even stepped inside.
“I know it was one of you three,” Henry said. “Confess, now, before the consequences become more serious.”
Steve turned to leave before he could get caught up in what was ‘none of his business’, but he caught a glimpse of familiar red hair, and he ended up letting the door close behind him instead. El, Dustin, and Max were all kneeling in the center of the chapel, grains of rice spread on the floor underneath them. Dustin’s head was ducked. Max’s eyes were wet, but she was glaring up at Henry. El’s expression was entirely blank.
“Father?” Steve asked.
“This is none of your business, Steven,” Henry said smoothly.
“I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I had only just finished my assignments for the day, and I was hoping to request permission to leave.”
“You’ll have to come back later,” Henry said. “My sources revealed to me that one of the children had been whispering to the false prophet that came before me, reporting on my attempts rescue our family from his misleading hands before it was too late.”
Steve frowned. “What could they know? They’re only children.”
Max and Dustin bristled, but both were smart enough not to speak.
“They told the false prophet of the preparations my men had been making for the coming of the Babylonians. It could have ended in further bloodshed on our side if the false prophet took a gun for himself and turned violent, or worse, whispered such a thing to the Babylonians and had them come attack us before our preparations were complete.”
“The guns?” Steve blinked.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Max’s jaw twitch. Of course. Billy must have been bragging, must have rubbed her face in it, and she in turn would have asked questions. Loud questions. She was too similar to him when he first arrived.
“I mentioned it to Brenner,” Steve said.
Henry’s eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry?”
“After our talk in the barn,” Steve said. “You led me to believe that it was Brenner who had instructed us to prepare, so I let it slip during one of my confessions, I had no idea that he was a false prophet.”
Henry’s jaw ticked. “You what?”
“Father, you told me Brenner was aware of the guns on the property,” Steve said gently.
“I also told you, forbade you, from discussing it with Father Brenner, Steven, if you do not recall that aspect.”
Steve elected to respond with silence.
“Your disobedience astounds me,” Henry said. “Clearly, after all these years, that false prophet used too gentle a hand on you, go, select what sin most befits a traitor such as yourself.”
Between them, Dustin and Max were making the mistake of shifting on their knees, but El appeared to know better, to know that holding still was the only way through because there was no position to alleviate the pain.
“The children?” Steve asked.
“Will bear witness,” Henry said. “In fact, Maxine, gather the rest of the family so they understand that in these dire times we can only tolerate utmost loyalty.”
Max shoved herself to her feet, spots of blood on the front of her skirt, which she yanked up and out of her way as she stormed past Steve and out of the chapel. Dustin sniffled, struggling to hold still with the building pain in his knees. El was staring at the far wall. Swallowing hard, Steve opened the cabinet, selecting the bullwhip standing in for Wrath and carrying it over to present the handle to Henry.
“Up on the dais.”
Steve ground his teeth, stepping up onto the dais as he pulled his shirt up and over his head. Setting it off to the side, he braced his hands on the wall, keeping his eyes straight ahead even as he heard people filter into the chapel, murmuring to one another. Not even as he heard Henry’s footsteps approach, tail of the whip slithering against the ground. Taking slow deep breaths, Steve tried to keep himself tethered to his body even though his soul was already trying to step outside of himself just at the thought of having witnesses to his punishment, but he couldn’t allow himself to float away, not with the kids watching.
“Friends,” Henry said. “Living in the times we are, we cannot afford any weak links or faltering loyalties, so if anyone else is unsure as to the direction we are heading in, please, step up and join Steven, so we may purge our family of this uncertainty.”
It was at that moment Steve wished that he and Robin did have telepathy like the kids joked, that he could somehow tell her, don’t, don’t be stupid, stay with the kids, because it would be far from the first time she had tried to shoulder half of his punishment. It must have worked to a degree, or it also occurred to Robin that both of them standing up there would make it look like a conspiracy, a mutiny, because no one spoke up.
“Then,” Henry said. “For all of your certainty, for all of your loyalty, Steven will endure one strike for each of you he has betrayed with this weakness.”
“You—“
Whatever Max was going to say next was cut off and Steve could picture Robin standing next to her, with her hand clapped over her mouth, and sent her a prayer of thanks. Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven strikes he could endure, but he couldn’t if Max was standing up there next to him. His hands were shaking against the wall as adrenaline pumped through him, whispered at him to run, to fight. He pressed his sweating palms harder against the unfinished wood in an attempt to ignore it as the whispers turned to screams as he heard Henry step up beside him. There was no warning to the first strike and Henry brought it down harder than Brenner ever had, nearly knocking Steve down to his knees from the force of it, the whistle cracking through the chapel like a crack of thunder.
I can’t do this, Steve thought with horror. I can’t take thirty-six more of this.
One of the kids made a noise like a wounded animal and he found his resolve, holding on tight to it with both hands, and bracing himself against the next blow. The first ten sent waves of pain over him, lashes licking up over his shoulders towards the delicate skin of his neck from Henry’s unpracticed hand. Twelve lashes turned the wood into a blur before him as he fought to overcome the lightheadedness quickly settling in.
Stay standing, you just have to stay standing.
His knees bent on seventeen. Eighteen sent him down hard to his knees, palms dragging down the wood, and he could hear a little commotion behind him, but it quieted as he dragged himself back up to his feet. Sweat ran down his skin, stinging the welts like he was bathing in salt water, and dripping off his chin. Twenty-three knocked a sharp sound from him as it cut across a previous track and he heard someone else echo the sound. Steve sank his teeth into his forearm before twenty-four could land.
Stay standing. Stay standing and stay quiet and you can sneak out tonight and go to Eddie’s apartment and ask him to sing you to sleep again. Steve bargained with himself. Make it to thirty-seven and you can ask him to hold you and tell you about his inspiration for a new Hellfire song.
Twenty-nine.
Eight more, take eight more, and you can eat ice cream out of the pint on Eddie's ugly couch while watching a horror movie that he’ll talk over most of.
Thirty-two.
Five more, just five more, and you can sit out on his fire escape and share a cigarette.
Thirty-five.
You can ask him to take you dancing again.
Thirty-six.
You can let him paint your nails black and do your eyeliner like he had it done at Hellfire’s first show.
Thirty-seven.
You can lay on his floor and cry and let him tell you it’s okay and hold your face in his hands, because he would, you know he would.
Steve took a deep breath only for it to leave him in a shout as thirty-eight landed. His knees had bent, but he hadn’t dropped, splinters prickling at his palms as they dragged agains the wall, and his head hanging as he tried to breathe.
“Hey! That was thirty-seven!” Max’s voice swam through the pain.
“Steven makes thirty-eight, he also betrayed himself,” Henry said mildly. “Let this be a reminder to all of you, to have faith, to have loyalty.”
Distantly, Steve was aware of the sound of people moving, but he couldn’t imagine trying to lift his head, all he could focus on was trying to breathe without every lash feeling fresh.
“Steve?” Max’s voice was tentative, for once.
“I’ve got him,” Robin said. “Can you go make sure Dustin and El are okay?”
Max hesitated. “I—“
“I’m fine,” Steve rasped. “Go.”
He heard the chapel door open and bang shut.
“It’s just us,” Robin said, leaning against the wall so he could see her out of the corner of his eye. “You ready to move yet?”
Steve managed a little shake of his head.
“Okay.” Robin pushed his sweaty bangs back out of his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths for him to mirror once he could manage it.
“Kids?” Steve asked once he thought he could open his mouth without throwing up.
“They’re okay,” Robin said. “Their knees are gonna be sore for a few days, but there was only a little blood.”
Steve almost threw up at the thought of the kids having scars to match his own. “I’m failing them."
“Steve, no."
Steve shook his head. “I’m hurting them, I don’t deserve family.”
“Steve, you love those kids more than anything.” Robin took his face in her hands. “And those kids love you just as much as you love them.“
Steve dropped to his knees, but Robin managed to slow his fall somewhat, wiping away his tears as they started to fall.
“I can’t protect them."
“They love you for trying."
Steve curled his fingers around his cross, chain biting into his neck, but he couldn’t feel it over the agony of his back. “I’m not- I’m not strong enough, Rob, I’m not, I’m not…”
Robin held his face in her hands, pressing their foreheads together and talking over his incoherent sobs, telling him that he was okay, that she was okay, that the kids were okay, that they were all okay together, and it was going to be just fine. Eventually the door creaked open, Robin looked over, Steve looked away.
“Max, I told you—“
“I brought bandages,” Max said, quiet, but her voice steadier. “And water.”
Steve wiped his face on his arm, a dark bruise forming from his bite, not looking over as Max climbed up onto the dais.
“Max,” Steve’s voice came out wrecked. “I’m good, Rob ‘n I’ve got this handled.”
Max unscrewed the water and held it out between them. Steve’s hand shook as he accepted it, taking a deep drink, and murmuring a thank you afterwards. Robin twisted up a towel, holding it in front of his mouth.
“Ready, big guy?”
Steve bit down on the towel in answer, squeezing his eyes shut, but shocks of colors still burst behind his eyes at the pain of antiseptic being poured over his back and he could feel the strain of his throat as he screamed into the towel.
“I know, I know, I know…” Robin babbled, washing the rest of it away with water, the mingled solution running in rivers down his skin before she could dab it away.
Blinking away tears, Steve’s eyes found Max’s pale face, but when she met his gaze, it turned to steel, and she picked up a swath of gauze. Robin and Max made quick work of Neosporin, gauze, and Ace bandages between the two of them, and Robin eased him back into his shirt with a few mumbled apologies when he hissed. The pair got him up onto his feet, though he tried to lean most of his weight on Robin.
“I told Father Brenner about the guns,” Max told the floor, holding tight to his arm.
“I know, kid."
“I should have… I should have told the truth.”
“No, Max.”
“He hurt you and you didn’t even do anything wrong.”
“Neither did you.”
“Yes, I did, I let you take the fall because I was scared,” Max spat out the word.
“You’re allowed to be scared, Max, you’re fifteen, and I was the one who lied to Henry, okay? You didn’t ask me to, I did it, so it’s not on you, okay?”
Max blinked quickly. “Why.”
“Because you’re a kid,” Steve said. “And I want you to be a kid for as long as you can.”
Max scrubbed a hand over her eyes.
“C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” Robin said.
The girls helped him walk out of the chapel, into the house, up the stairs, and he all but collapsed into his bed. Robin flicked the lights off, but Steve caught Max’s wrist before she could step away.
“It’s not your fault, okay? I’d take this and a thousand times worse for you, for any of you guys.”
“Because we’re kids?”
“Because you’re my kids, okay?”
Max held right to his hand, her voice a little wobbly as she said. “I’m making pancakes tomorrow.”
“Blueberry ones?”
“Duh.”
“Looking forward to it, little red.”
Steve wouldn’t call it sleeping, but he didn’t open his eyes again until his door cracked and light spilled into the room as Dustin stepped inside, carry a plate. Sitting up was hell, but Steve managed not to make any noise louder than a hiss. Dustin set the plate on his nightstand, hovering awkwardly by his bed.
“Thanks, buddy.”
“They killed Golly and Gee."”
Steve flinched. “Yeah, they did.”
“Why?” Dustin met his eyes, his own already wet with tears.
"Henry had decided that we were not going to keep livestock anymore."
“Henry’s not God!”
“No, he’s not, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the final say here,” Steve said, trying to put weight on his words, but somehow keep from scaring him any worse. “It’s better that the animals are gone, they could get hurt when the Babylonians come.”
“You mean the police.”
Steve sighed. “Yeah, Dustin, I mean the police.”
“Are they going to shoot us?”
“No,” Steve said immediately. “You are going to be just fine, Dustin, okay? These are just precautions, we… we’re just preparing, okay? I won’t let anything bad happen to you guys, I promise.”
Dustin wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Your dinner’s cold.”
“That’s okay,” Steve said. “You want to keep me company?”
Dustin sat down beside him on the bed. “I miss Will, he told really good stories.”
“Yeah?”
Dustin nodded. “Yeah he told me this one about a group of adventures who fought a dragon…”
Steve picked at his dinner as Dustin retold him Will’s story about knights and dragons and heroics until it was time for the kids to go to bed. Laying on his stomach, Steve closed his eyes, humming Tin Man as a compromise to his previous self and falling asleep to thoughts of how it felt to be curled up in Eddie’s arms.
Notes:
Fun fact, this chapter used to be darker
Chapter Text
Eddie knocked on Jonathan’s door, his DND notebook tucked under his arm, though it hadn’t gotten a lot of use recently aside from a few half-formed ideas for campaigns. Jonathan opened it, clearly halfway out the door already.
“Hey, man, thanks for coming,” Jonathan said. “My mom ran out of vacation days, so she had to go back home, which means, uh, we’re a little short on babysitters.”
“I am entirely underqualified for a babysitting position, but I’m the most qualified dungeon master you’ll ever meet, so, I figure that makes me a half decent option.”
Jonathan clapped his shoulder. “Better than Argyle.”
Eddie laughed at the thought alone. Argyle was perfect if you wanted someone to smoke with, listen to reggae, talk about philosophers, aliens, or the best pizzas cross country, but Eddie could not imagine him babysitting.
“He’s on the couch,” Jonathan nodded. “I’ve got to get to class, he’ll eat anything and everything, help yourself to whatever. I’ll be back in like three hours.”
“We’ll be here.”
Jonathan tussled Will’s hair in one quick motion where he was sitting on the couch before genuinely running out of the apartment, yanking the door shut behind him. Will blinked at him from the couch, sketchbook propped up on his knees, and tapping his pencil against it. Eddie had heard second hand that Will had flat out refused to go back to his hometown with Joyce who had reluctantly, very reluctantly left him to stay in the city with Jonathan when she could no longer afford to take off work.
“Hey, baby Byers, whatcha working on?” Eddie tossed himself down on the couch.
“Um. A sketch of a rogue tiefling?”
“Can I see?”
Will tentatively handed over the notebook to show him the illustration of the DND character he had created.
“Holy shit, dude, this is fantastic.”
Will pinked. “I’ve done a lot of practice.”
“I’m totally asking you to design my next tattoo,” Eddie said, moving to hand the notebook back, but a loose piece of paper slipped out.
He picked it up off the ground to find it was covered in little cartoon doodles, it was easy to tell which one was Will his bowl cut and long limbs emphasized, a silly drawing of him struggling to pick up a pencil twice his size. There was another of a kid with hair so curly his eyes couldn’t be seen and missing his front teeth. Another of a girl with two braids and an overdone scowl. It was the style that struck him, however. It looked like the one in his wallet. Like the diner napkin he pinned up to the fridge in his apartment.
“Eddie?”
Eddie handed the paper back, clearing his throat. “You want to play a little one shot?”
Will’s eyes brightened. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’ll be short and a little rough, but I’ve got my dice and everything,” Eddie said, though he knew his tone fell a little flat.
Will didn’t seem to notice, clearing off the coffee table so they could set up and Eddie used bits and pieces of a one shot to keep Will entertained for the next few hours. DND wasn’t exactly at its peak form with only two people, but Will seemed thrilled just at the chance to play.
“Jonathan said that Nancy’s younger brother is coming down to visit her while she interns at the paper this summer and that he plays too, so, maybe next time we’ll have a better game?” Will said tentatively once he had slain the Kobalds Eddie had thrown at him.
“Sure, baby Byers, we’ll set it up. I haven’t gotten to DM in awhile now, don’t want to get rusty.”
Will smiled, ducking his head to hide it, a little pink in the face.
Eddie made hasty excuses when Jonathan returned, heading straight for his usual busking corner, without even swinging by his apartment to grab his guitar. Leaning against the wall of the Hidden Spoon, he lit a cigarette, foot tap-tapping as he waited for a familiar face. It wasn’t long until he spotted Steve on the opposite side of the street, holding an armful of fliers, though Steve didn’t appear to have seen him as he waited for the walk sign. Eddie dropped the half smoked cigarette, grinding it out under his heel.
Steve didn’t look his way until Eddie was almost on top of him, a smile spreading across his face. “Hey—“
Eddie grabbed him by the front of his sweater, fliers spilling from his hands onto the ground, dragging Steve into the alley next to the bar dumpsters, and shoving him up against the brick wall, collar twisted in his hand, pressing into his neck. Steve inhaled sharply at the impact, eyes wide and shocked as they met Eddie’s, both hands wrapped around his arm.
“Wha—“
“Your cult had Will?”
The color drained out of Steve’s face.
“This whole fucking time? The whole time Jonathan and Ms. Byers were driving themselves crazy looking for him and he was right here in Indianapolis! God, they thought he might be hurt or dead or—“
“I didn’t know!” Steve’s own voice raised to match his. “I thought he was a runaway like me, he said he was, I thought— I didn’t know there were people missing him until I stepped inside that bar and saw his poster and—“
“And the rest of the kids? Dustin?”
“You don’t think that was the first thing I checked? Dustin’s adoptive mom died and he went to an orphanage when they couldn’t track down any living relatives. Max’s mom is the one who brought her to the Final Chapter, and the courts gave her custody, her dad hasn’t filed her missing. So you can stop looking at me like I snatched kids off the streets.”
“No, you just protect the people who do. That’s so much better.”
“Who do you think got Will out?” Steve’s own eyes were hard as stone. “What? You think he got all the way to the police station in the middle of the night by himself?”
Eddie’s hold on the collar of his sweater loosened. “You… you got him out?”
Steve looked away. “He had a home to go to.”
There was a pink welt creeping up his collar, Eddie tugged on his collar, catching a glimpse of it trailing down his back. Steve flinched away, eyes wary, and arms wrapped protectively around himself.
“Stevie…”
Steve knocked his hand away. “Think whatever you want about me, but you don’t know the lengths I’d go to keep those kids safe.”
Eddie knew that if he pulled his collar further down, it would keep going in a long pink line. Working at the soup kitchen, they had a handful of domestic abuse victims walk in now and again, and Susanna could usually coax them to a shelter. The one’s she couldn’t, they saw them again months later in much worse shape, or… they didn’t see them at all.
“You’ve got to get out of there,” Eddie said.
“Leave Robin, and Max, and El, and Dustin behind?”
“You can go to the police, see what they can do about the kids, I’m sure that they can build a case on the kidnapping alone. Steve, you can’t stay, they’re hurting you.”
“Just leave? Leave my family behind? Leave the kids? Leave with no job prospects and nowhere to live and only a GED? Go back to living on the streets again? Even if the police help, where would the kids go, huh? Foster care?”
“Sweetheart.” Eddie reached out, slower this time, cupping his face with both hands. “You can’t stay there, they’re killing you, and I know… I know you love them, but baby, you can’t save everyone.”
Steve’s eyes were like flint.
“When did I lose this argument?” Eddie asked softly, it felt like it had been under the surface from the very first day they met, like a game of tug of war, but it was only in that look that he felt like Steve had dropped his side of the rope and walked away. “When did I lose my chance to save you?”
“It was gone before we even met.”
Eddie gave a little shake of his head, unable to swallow those words when he was holding Steve right there in his hands.
“Please don’t go to the police,” Steve said softly, still leaning into his hands. “We have women and children on the farm and they could get hurt in the crossfire.”
“I won’t,” Eddie said, heart lurching at the thought of Steve anywhere near a crossfire, but he knew what happened when cults got raided by the police.
Steve stepped away, Eddie’s hands slipping from his face as he turned to leave, but Eddie caught his wrist.
“Hey,” Eddie said, aiming for gentle, teasing, but his voice was raw. “You’re not going to leave without your song, are you?”
Steve looked back. “You don’t have your guitar.”
“It’s at my apartment. I only needed an audience of one tonight.”
Steve’s fingers intertwined with Eddie’s for a second before slipping free. “Lead the way, rockstar.”
They walked close enough for their hands to bump and brush on the way, but they didn’t speak. Leaving their shoes by the door of Eddie’s apartment, Eddie set up his guitar, turning the amp low as he plucked a few strings to test the tune. Steve settled down on his knees on the rug before him, looking up at him with those sad, tired eyes. Not the puppy dog look Eddie usual thought of, but a hangdog one, an old yeller who’d been kicked around too many times to even perk up when a person walked through the shelter looking to adopt a friend.
“Any requests?” Eddie leaned over his guitar as though that could put a dent in the worlds between them.
Steve shook his head.
“The usual, then.”
Eddie played through a few familiar songs, watching the way Steve’s shoulders relaxed until he had slipped to sit criss-cross on the floor before him, leaning back on his hands, eyes half shut.
“Last song of the night,” Eddie said, softly. “Goes out to the pretty boy across the way.”
Steve’s lips curled up. “Do you know any Tears for Fears?”
Eddie’s own smile was bittersweet, strumming the opening chords to Earth Angel, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to be so transparent as to sing the lines, ‘my darling dear, love you all the time, I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you’ so he only played a few more notes before sliding over into Angels and Sailors by The Doors.
Eddie only glanced up from the strings as he sang the final line, “We could plan a murder or start a religion.”
Steve gave him a wry smile. “Why either or? What religion would there be without a martyr?”
“…Buddism?”
Steve smile was squished as he rested his cheek on his own shoulder.
Eddie set his guitar aside, helping Steve up to his feet, but still holding his hands. “You’re not going to stand me up for our date tomorrow, are you, angel?”
Steve’s smile was bittersweet. “You ever hear that saying about the bird who loved a fish?”
“If I were a bird, I’d build my nest by the edge of the pond, so I could kiss the fish good morning every day, so long as he swam up to meet me.”
Steve brushed his lips against his cheek, a whisper of a kiss before stepping back. “Goodnight, Eddie.”
Chapter 23
Notes:
Explicit sexual content in this chapter and y’know, an abuse of the word beautiful to mean a multitude of other thoughts that don’t quite translate into language.
Chapter Text
A light touch startled Steve awake in the early hours of dawn, coming face to face with El’s big brown eyes. She put her finger over her lips and he nodded to show he understood. Rolling to his feet with a stifled groan, Steve accepted the hand she held out to him, following her out of his room, down the stairs, through the first floor, and down to the tunnels. She led him to one of the blocked off tunnels, tapping at a board. Steve put his hands on it, miming a pulling motion. Glancing both ways down the tunnel, El gave him a tentative nod. Steve pried it free with relative ease; it was barely nailed in place.
“Look,” El whispered.
Steve peered inside and his heart nearly stopped. The crates he had seen being unloaded the previous day were full of green packages with dial pads like calculators on the front and red and yellow wires curved around them. C-4. Letting out a shaky breath, he put the board back in place gingerly, even though it was clear none of them had been armed. Yet.
“When?” Steve asked.
“Soon,” El said.
Steve took her hand, giving it a squeeze. Walking back the way they came, Steve made El pause so they could both take off their dirt covered socks before they stepped back into the house, walking her back to her and Max’s room.
“Hey, El, would you rather be a bird or a fish?” Steve asked quietly.
El tilted her head to one side.
“Not a joke,” Steve clarified. “Just a question.”
“Fly.”
“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “I think I’d like to fly too.”
El slipped into her room. Back in his own room, Steve pried up one of his own floorboards, pulling out a set of papers, a set of comics depicting two dinosaurs looking on judgmentally to a circle of dinosaurs all wearing necklaces of a great comet. One of the dinos was standing on a rock with the speech bubble saying, ‘—and then one day a great big comet will come and kill us all for our sins!’ And the other two dinosaurs said, ‘what’s over there?’, ‘oh, some new era religion.’ He had them drawn for months now. Into his jacket pockets went his roll of cash, the comics, and the key to a bus station locker he had been renting out for months.
Putting the floorboard back into place, Steve got dressed hours before the day would start, down to his boots and jacket, checking and rechecking the pockets were zipped and there was no sign of anything awry. Settling down onto his knees by his bed as the morning sunlight started so seep into his room, Steve bowed his head, hands clasped before him, and prayed until he heard the sounds of others getting ready for the day.
Descending the stairs, Steve pressed a quick kiss to a half asleep Robin’s hair, stealing two sips of her coffee before handing it back, gave a gentle tug to Max’s braids, tussled Dustin’s hair, and took one last glance at the three of them before heading out the front door and walking right for the chapel. Knocking on Henry’s door, Steve wasn’t surprised to find El already tucked away in the corner with a Bible in her lap, and a tissue pressed to her nose when Henry opened the door.
“I hope you have a good reason for interrupting us, Steven.”
“I would like to request permission to leave this evening to continue spreading the Lord’s message, especially as day comes closer and closer upon us.”
“Hm.”
“Father, there are souls that need to hear your words,” Steve said. “You have a strength that the false prophet before you lacked, if only they could see your faith, hear your words, I believe we could save them.”
“…if you finish your assignments for the day, then, yes, you may leave later.”
“Thank you, father.”
Steve met El’s eyes over his shoulder for half a second before Henry closed the door between them, and he hoped it was long enough for her to read reassurance on his face.
After their buildings were fortified, the new project was to surround the property with a barbwire fence, but once Steve had completed enough yards of wire to be out of sight, he sat down in the tall grasses and started sketching until he had a stack of faces taking up the majority of his notebook.
“There you are,” Robin dropped down beside him, looking at the untouched coils of barbed wire. “What are we doing?”
Steve met her eyes. “Do you want to leave?”
Robin’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“I think… I think we could build ourselves a better home.” Steve took her hand. “I don’t know where, but I’ve got transferrable skills in construction, and you could probably get a scholarship somewhere, you’re smart.”
“You won’t leave without the kids.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Always.”
“Tomorrow night at sunset, get the kids to the fence post on the east side of the property, you’ll know which one, I marked it with a drawing of a crow.”
Robin’s eyes widened. “We’re really going.”
“If you can’t get them to the crow, then get them up to my room, the boards are looser on my window, and I’ll come get you.”
“We’ll be there.”
Steve’s heart stuttered. “They’ll come, won’t they?”
Robin squeezed his hand. “If you ask them to, they will.”
Steve pressed their shoulders together, watching afternoon turn to evening before rising to his feet, and pulling her up with him. He caught a ride into town with Dylan, a quiet man in his thirties, and a vet from Vietnam, not that they had ever heard any war stories. Steve wondered as Dylan dropped him off with a stack of fliers if Dylan knew anything about bombs, waiting until the car was far, far out of sight before throwing the fliers into the nearest garbage can on his way to the Post, rather than head for his usual corner. Making his way inside, he knocked on Murray’s office door.
“What!”
Steve opened it.
Murray’s eyes widened, taking his feet off the desk. “The cartoonist, haven’t seen you in a bit, thought you might’ve drank the Kool-Aid.”
Steve set the comics on his desk. “If you put these in tomorrow’s paper, I’ll give you an exclusive interview on the Final Chapter.”
Murray raised his eyebrows. “And why the sudden change of heart?”
“I just need the cash,” Steve said. “I’ve got a couple debts to pay and, well, being in a doomsday cult isn’t exactly lucrative.”
Murray snorted, looking over the comics. “These aren’t half bad, yeah, I got space for this, but I’m still taking that exclusive.”
“I’ll come in next week,” Steve said, not sure if he was lying or not.
Murray paid him upfront and Steve tucked the cash into his pocket as he stepped out of the office and walked right into the one, the only, Nancy Wheeler, nearly knocking her over. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, grabbing his arm to catch her balance.
“Steve, I— what are you doing here?”
“What are you?”
“I got a summer internship here, I just started this week,” Nancy said, pointing at her little badge. “You?"
Steve rocked on his heels. “Do you read the comics section?”
“Um.”
“Yeah, well, the ones you skimmed by on your way to the real articles, some of those are mine.”
“Oh, oh, right, I remember, you used to make those little doodles sometimes,” Nancy said.
Steve grimaced. “Yeah.”
“They were good,” Nancy backtracked. “Really. I just… I would have thought that, um, you wouldn’t really want to be associated with the press after, um.”
“Murray’s been good to me,” Steve said.
Nancy tensed. “And how would the rest of your family react to your part time job?”
Steve clenched his jaw. “Congrats on your internship, Nance, I’ll keep my eyes on the bylines.”
Nancy opened her mouth to retort, but Steve was already on his way out the door. He didn’t have time to waste, the world was ending after all. Steve left his sketches in the locker at the bus station and taped the key to the bottom of the trashcan right by the entrance. Checking his watch, Steve knew that if he sprinted he could be back in time for his pickup. Looking up at the sky overhead, muted purple with only a hint of stars at the edges where true night crept upon the city.
“What’s one more sin?” Steve asked the city, but it didn’t answer him.
Eddie was buckling his guitar back into its case as Steve stepped onto his corner, waiting for him to straighten up to try to catch his attention. Surprise was evident on Eddie’s face, but it softened into a smile.
“For a minute there, darling, I thought you were going to stand me up.”
“Maybe you should have a little faith.”
Eddie barked out a laugh and Steve couldn’t help his answering smile.
“Now what’s a guy gotta do to have the pleasure of the company of an angel like you this evening?” Eddie asked, slinging his guitar over his back.
Steve rocked on his heels. “Buy me a drink?”
“Think I can manage that.” Eddie made a grand ‘after you’ type of motion.
Steve rolled his eyes, but made his way across the street towards the Hidden Spoon, holding the door for Eddie, and following him inside. There was a decent crowd, but Argyle made his way over in good time once he saw them.
“My dudes, what can I get for you?”
“What are we drinking, Stevie?”
“Cheap whiskey?”
Eddie’s eyes widened slightly. “We’re just full of surprises tonight, hm?”
“Two bottom shelf whiskey doubles coming right up,” Argyle said.
“Thank you,” Steve said.
Collecting their drinks, Steve picked a table towards the back of the bar, watching people mill about, laughing, talking, arguing, and crowding up against the bar with pleas for more alcohol.
“You sure you can handle whiskey, altar boy?” Eddie asked, holding his glass by the tips of his fingers.
Steve knocked his drink back like a shot, feeling the burn all the way down his throat, but he didn’t cough. Eddie laughed, knocking his own glass against the table before following suit and rising to fetch them a second round that they nursed as they worked their way through light territory and meaningless arguments, though Steve could see the echoes of their last conversation in Eddie’s eyes.
“If it was your last night on earth,” Steve said, turning his glass around in circles. “What would you do?”
Eddie leaned back in his chair, their knees bumping and brushing under the table. “Hm. I think… I think I’d listen to my favorite records again, play along on my darling for a couple of songs, talk to my uncle, nothing real important, just hear his voice, y’know? Smoke a cigarette or two. Read a couple chapters of the Hobbit.”
Steve bit back a laugh.
“What?” Eddie said, looking a little defensive.
“Last time we talked about the end, you told me you had a couple of sins to cross off, I, uh, I thought it’d be a little more…”
Eddie grinned, leaning across the table. “Lewd?”
Steve’s face warmed. “A little more sex, drugs, and rock and roll, though, I suppose you sort of covered the last part.”
Eddie laughed a little. “I suppose I’m a bit of a cliche when it comes down to it, I think most people would like to spend their last night with the people they love and doing what makes them happy.”
Steve sipped his whiskey.
“What would you do?” Eddie asked.
“Mm, depends.”
“On?”
“Which way I think I’m going.” Steve turned his glass around in slow circles. “I mean, I figure, one night’s not really enough time to repent, right? So if I’ve already lost my shot…”
“What would you do?” Eddie asked, curiosity written plainly across his face.
Steve gave him a wry smile. “Oh, y’know, something cliche.”
Eddie gave him an amused shake of his head.
Steve knocked back the rest of his whiskey, wiping his face on the back of his arm. “Am I too late to ask for a song?”
“Never,” Eddie said, knocking his own drink back, and setting the glass down with a thunk. “Let’s get out of here.”
Steve accepted his hand up, letting their fingers tangle briefly before falling apart, and following him out into the night. The walk to Eddie’s apartment was becoming familiar, their shoulders bumping and brushing as they fell into their easy banter, their laughter spilling out into the near-empty streets. There was a little play fighting on the stairs when Steve teased Eddie for being out of breath despite climbing up and down them every single day and they tumbled into Eddie’s apartment once he got it unlocked, breathless with laughter.
Steve leaned back against the door, letting his weight push it shut, and looking up at Eddie. There was a soft flush to his face, lips slightly parted as he caught his breath and upturned like he was just waiting for his next smile. A few of his curls had turned to frizz, but others were still intact in an interesting contrast. Steve watched him shrug off his leather jacket and battle vest, setting them on the coat rack, and tugging off his boots. In mismatched socks, he walked across the room to set his guitar in its stand, putting the Bruce Springsteen vinyl on the record player in the corner as Steve shed his own jacket and sneakers
“Hey,” Steve said, stepping closer, even though his heart was outpacing the drum of the music. “You want to know what I’d do?”
“Hm?” Eddie turned towards him.
Steve hooked a finger in the chain of Eddie’s guitar pick necklace, tugging him closer as he leaned in halfway, and he felt Eddie’s surprised inhale as their lips brushed. With his eyes only half closed, Steve could see the way his pupils dilated, but Eddie pulled back ever so slightly rather than lean in, and Steve heart swooped low.
Eddie held his face with both hands, keeping their mouths just centimeter’s apart. “I want to, baby, but I don’t want to hurt you, tell me it’s not gonna hurt you.”
“Tell me it’s okay.”
“It’s okay, Stevie.”
“Then it’s not gonna hurt me, right? You’re not gonna hurt me?” Steve leaned his cheek into the cradle of his palm.
Eddie’s thumb slid over the curve of his cheekbone. “I never wanna hurt you, darling.”
“Kiss me?”
Eddie kissed him softly, holding his face between his hands like he was something precious, not fragile, but something to be gentle with, handled with care; old photos, a childhood stuffed animal, a friend’s guitar, a well loved copy of a well loved book. Belongings that could weather another clumsy drop from someone’s hands, but held dear enough not to risk it. Steve folded into him, letting the warmth of Eddie’s body seep into him as Eddie pressed him back against the wall. A gentle press of his shoulders against cold plaster, his hips hitched forwards to keep them as close as they could be.
“Touch me?” Steve exhaled the question in the centimeters between their lips.
Eddie’s thumb slid across the curve of his cheek before running his fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head as he kissed him again. His hands slid along his body and Steve arched up into his touch, electricity thrumming under his skin, gathering under Eddie's palms. He felt like Eddie was trying to memorize the shape of him by touch so he could sculpt him again later if the urge struck him. Sliding up his back only to drag his fingers back down, along his stomach and over the curve of his chest, lingering over the too quick beat of his heart, even curling around his throat, not pressing, just holding for a minute.
Steve let his own hands wander, tentative as he felt the lean muscle of Eddie’s body, the warmth of his arms, and even though he couldn’t feel the tattoos, he knew vaguely where they were, and his touch lingered as though he could. His fingers skimmed the bare skin of Eddie's back and skittered away as though burned, but Eddie’s hand curled around his hip, his own thumb tucked up under the hem of Steve's shirt, and drawing these slow circles against his skin, warm and calloused and gentle, and Steve let his own hands venture back down, playing with the hem of Eddie's shirt.
“S’okay, baby,” Eddie said softly.
Steve took a shuddering breath, letting his hands slide up the back of his shirt to touch warm skin. There wasn’t any real purpose to it other than to feel the way Eddie’s ribs expanded and contracted under his palms, the rabbit-quick tempo of his heart, the way his muscle shifted under his skin, the way his shirt rucked up around Steve’s wrists when they went high and the skim of denim against his fingertips as they went low. Eddie’s own touch was gentle, shallow, slipping up under his shirt only to slide away again like waves lapping at the shore, but they slid further up and lingered longer with each wave.
“Have me?”
Eddie’s touch slipped away as he stepped back, pulling his shirt up over his head in a slow motion before letting it fall to the floor and Steve’s eyes raked over him as he took in pale skin decorated with dark tattoos, ink winding around his arms, crawling up his sides like ivy, and stamped across his chest. The wall was holding most of his weight, but when Eddie took another step back, Steve moved forwards as though magnetized, following him through the open doorway to the bedroom. Eddie sat down on the edge of the mattress, reaching for Steve, but not touching until Steve stepped into the cradle of his legs, hands curling around his hips again, and looking up at him with those dark eyes.
Steve leaned back, Eddie’s hands tightening on his hips as he pulled his shirt up and over his own head, letting it fall to the floor even as goosebumps raised along his skin, Eddie’s eyes running over every inch of him. Most of his scars were on his back, but not all, and he could feel Eddie’s gaze linger, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the one the curved over his hip from a clumsy strike. His heart was beating so quickly, he felt it might give out from the effort when Eddie lifted his eyes again.
“You’re so beautiful, Steve Harrington.”
Steve couldn’t breathe, but he still managed a nod when Eddie gave his belt a questioning tug, letting him pull it free, and toss it aside. His jeans went next, stepping out of them and kicking them away. Eddie’s hands slid along his thighs before curling around his hips, and coaxing him into his lap, his own jeans rough against the inside of Steve’s thighs. Steve tangled his fingers in his hair and kissed him, breathless or not, he needed it more than oxygen. They both gasped when Eddie’s hands slid up over raised scars, fresh scars on his back, still sensitive under his touch. Eddie’s eyes were wide where they met his, but his palms flattened over the marks like he could retroactively protect him from the strikes.
“I’ve got you, yeah? It’s just you and me, darling?”
“Just you and me.”
Steve’s cross dangled in the space between them as he leaned down to kiss him again, but it settled back against his skin as Eddie got a hand in his hair and pulled, making him gasp up at the ceiling as he mouthed along his throat. It was gentle, but it was insistent, working soft bruises just below his jaw, at the join of his neck and shoulder, the rise of his chest, chasing it as it rose and fell in short breaths to nip at the tender skin. Eddie wrapped an arm around him, easing him slowly down onto his back, one hand braced by his head, and Steve stared up at him, brushing a loose curl from his face. Bending down to kiss him, Eddie settled more of his weight on him, coaxing his legs to part and pressing his own thigh up between them. Steve gasped, his whole body tensing up, clutching at Eddie’s back.
“It’s okay, darling. Let yourself feel good, baby,” Eddie coaxed. “I’ve got you.”
Steve tentatively rolled his hips up, but the friction sent sparks of pleasure up his spine that he couldn’t help chasing, egged on by the gentle bites Eddie was littering his skin with and the hand on his thigh, tightening and loosening with the rhythm of his grind. He could feel the press of Eddie’s belt against his stomach, the clink of his chains, and Steve's hands drifted to it, even though they were shaking.
“Let me?”
Eddie straightened up, looking down at him as he undid his belt, his own hands twisting his hair up into a loose bun. Steve couldn’t help his slight flinch at the clatter the belt made hitting the floor, but Eddie’s hands were already smoothing along his stomach, like stroking down the fur of a startled cat. Undoing the button and fly, Steve eased his jeans down his hips, eyes tracing the spider tattoo on Eddie's hip considering he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Eddie stood up to kick them the rest of the way off, lit only by the lights creeping in through the window and the yellow light of the living room spilling in. He looked ten feet tall, a hand painted statue centerpiece in a museum, not a cramped one bedroom apartment. Kicking off his own boxers, Steve settled down on his back again, letting his legs fall apart, hands resting idle up by his head. Eddie climbed back on top of him, hands sliding all the way up his thighs, his sides, his arms, and interlacing one set of hands while the other cupped his face to kiss him again.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Eddie told him.
Steve didn’t know how to tell him that the devil often was, that he couldn’t imagine that there wasn’t a heavy price to pay for the privilege of being able to hold Eddie in his hands, without it sounding like an insult so he just traced the tattoos on his skin instead, so lovingly inked to create exactly what Steve wasn’t supposed to have. Temptation was a choice, a chance to walk the other way, Eddie Munson was damnation because Steve had been his since the first time he heard his voice.
“And I know you’re scared, sweetheart, in ways I don’t understand, but you tell me if anything hurts, darling, even if it’s not the kinda hurt you can see, and we’ll stop, we’ll stop whenever you want.”
“I don’t want to stop,” Steve said, quiet, barely audible.
“Then we won’t.”
Eddie kissed him, without any sense of urgency, his hands mapping his body, soon followed by his mouth, working his way down until he was settled between the splay of his thighs. He reached for something under the mattress before coming up with a tube, one ringed hand pressing up under Steve's back, murmuring into his thigh ‘lift up for me, baby’ so he could tuck a pillow under his hips.
“It’s gonna feel a little uncomfortable for a minute, baby, but it’s not gonna hurt, okay?”
Steve nodded, fighting a shudder at the feel of Eddie's hot breath coasting along his cock, laying half hard against his stomach. Eddie kissed his hip, one slick finger pressing at his rim, not inside, just testing him a little.
“Relax, relax for me.”
Steve blew out a deep breath, stretching his arms out above his head, and flattening his palms against the wall; they were still sideways on the mattress.
“Can I distract you, sweetheart?”
Eddie’s other hand, also slick, curled around his cock giving him a slow stroke, but Steve felt it all the way along his spine, stiffening up in his calloused hand in seconds.
“I’ll come.”
“You can come if you want to, so long as you relax for me.”
Steve let out a shuddering exhale as Eddie worked one finger inside of him, still giving him those slow, torturous strokes that made his whole body quiver and his palms press against cool plaster and uneven paint. Eddie continued to murmur soft, sweet words to him as he stretched him out achingly slow. There was a dull sting to it, but it would be a stretch to call it pain, especially as his fingers grazed over a place that made his hips arch and his toes curl and Eddie look unendingly pleased with himself as he cooed at him. Eddie worked himself up to three fingers, curling them slow, and petting his insides until Steve felt like his muscles would turn to gelatin.
“Hey, pretty thing,” Eddie said softly. “Do you want me to make you come like this? Or do you want to wait until I’m inside you?”
Steve’s cock drooled pre-come over his knuckles.
“Yeah, angel? Want me to make love to you?”
“Eddie.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
Rolling on a condom, Eddie slicked himself up generously before lining himself up, wiping his other hand clean on a nearby towel before resting it over Steve’s chest.
“In.”
Steve inhaled.
“Out.”
Eddie pushed in slow at his exhale, but Steve still felt so full, his body clutching at the intrusion and making Eddie curse under his breath, his hand grabbing tight to his thigh, holding him up and open to ease the way. Steve was breathing like he had tried to run a marathon even though Eddie stopped before he was all the way in.
“Easy, easy, baby,” Eddie soothed. “Breathe nice and easy for me and let me in.”
Steve pressed one hand over Eddie’s chest, slowing his own to match, forcing his muscles to relax enough to let Eddie sink further into him.
“Fuck, Eddie.”
“Almost, sweetheart, you’re taking me so well, letting me in.”
Eddie’s hand dropped to brace himself by Steve’s shoulder once his hips were pressed against Steve’s ass, panting softly as he smiled down at him, his other hand clutching tight to Steve's thigh like he was holding himself back.
“God, you feel so good, baby. You feel okay?”
“Full.”
“Yeah, I know.” Eddie rocked a little, punching a little gasp from him. “But it feels good, doesn’t it?”
Steve found himself nodding even though good wasn’t exactly the word for it, more like perspective altering, like his world view was slipping through his fingers with every shallow rock of Eddie’s hips trying to acclimate him to the sensation. It wasn’t good, not yet, but it was because Eddie’s voice was rough and low like he had just finished a set or knocked back a whiskey, and he smelled like sweat and cheap shampoo and cigarettes, and his calloused hands were gentle but steady like they wouldn’t break him, but they would leave bruises before letting him go.
“Closer,” Steve said, finding the word for it.
Eddie pressed a kiss to one of his earlier bruises, the one just below the corner of his jaw.
“Always want you close, Stevie, I’m always dying to have you closer.”
Steve wanted to say something, but all that came out was a pathetic hiccup as Eddie changed the angle as he pulled out further and slid back in, making his nerves light up.
“S’that it, baby? That where you need me?”
Steve could only pant in answer as Eddie hiked his thigh up to hit the same spot with every thrust. Steve’s body arched up, like it wanted to escape the pleasure, but Eddie chased right after it relentlessly, filling the static in his skull with honey-sweet words. Tears stung his eyes, his breathing catching in his chest.
“Stevie…” Eddie said softly, so softly. “Am I hurting you?”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Steve breathed out the words like a prayer between them, trying to pull Eddie closer. “It doesn’t.”
Eddie kissed his tearstained cheek, slowing to a grind so they could be as close as they could get without lying completely still. It felt like the kiss of a tide against an empty beach, their gentle, rolling, rock, and while miles further there may have been roiling tides waiting to sweep him under to the oh-so-still depths, all Steve could feel was sea-foam soft kisses against his skin, Eddie’s touch like sun-warm water sliding against his body, and his breath like the salt-sweet breeze. Steve cupped his face with one calloused hand so those brown eyes would meet his, coming into focus as he blinked away the tears blurring Eddie’s face like a running watercolor. His eyes could have been the color of cliff-sides ships slammed into in a storm or the weathered wood of a dock waiting to tie on, but it didn’t matter either way because they were beautiful. Eddie Munson’s beauty would turn the head of any angel, would have them hang up their halo before he said hello.
Pushing himself up on one arm, Steve kissed him. It was just off the mark, Eddie’s teeth catching his lip before he tilted, turning it into a kiss worth ending a movie on. Steve let himself sink back down into the bed, breaking the kiss, but one of Eddie’s hands cupped his face to thumb away tears before they could slip from his skin and sink into the sheets.
“Hey, angel, hey, darling, hey, baby…” Eddie said it all like it was one endearment.
Steve tried to find one in return, but his voice broke on a sharp inhale like it got torn up in his chest.
“It’s just you and me, sweetheart, and you’re so, so beautiful.”
Steve’s chest hitched, because Eddie said it like it meant everything else all at once.
“So let go.”
It only took a few sure strokes of Eddie’s calloused hand to make him come, spilling across his stomach and chest with a sharp, stuttering inhale. He only half heard Eddie’s murmured, God, before his own release caught up to him, leaving him breathing hard in Steve’s ear. Even as their chests heaved while they caught their breath, the moment itself felt entirely still, suspended in time and space until Eddie leaned back just enough for them to look at one another. Tears were still rolling down the side of Steve’s face, slow, and warm in contrast to the sweat and come cooling on his skin.
“Hey, Stevie darling,” Eddie said, barely a whisper, fingers even lighter as they pushed a stray strand of hair from his eyes.
“Keep me?”
“As long as you’d like to be kept.”
Eddie didn’t move until the tears had slowed, each one carefully brushed away with his own fingers, only then did he clean them up, and fetch Steve a glass of water while he pulled on a pair of Eddie’s clothes to keep him warm. He drank it sitting in bed, cross legged, wearing a pair of borrowed boxers and a worn-soft Metallica hoodie that smelled like Eddie’s laundry detergent. Eddie’s hands were still gentle as they settled in to sleep, curling around him like the cover of a book, and brushing his lips against the nape of his neck, murmurs of a kiss. Not whispers, just… soft spoken kisses like the type of conversation two people had by a dying fire while the rest of the party was tucked away in nearby tents. Steve pictured a little battered rowboat gently bumping against the steady pole of a weathered wooden dock it had tied itself to with a simple cleat hitch knot and fell asleep.
Chapter Text
Eddie woke up slow to find his arm stretched out over the empty space beside him. Swallowing the pill of disappointment was bitter without surprise to sugar coat it, and it sat in his stomach like lead. Rolling out of bed, he didn’t bother to get dressed further than the pajama pants he had donned the previous night, pulling out his ponytail and raking fingers through his bedhead as he exited his room— and stopped dead in his tracks. Standing at the stove wearing his sweatshirt and pajama pants was Steve Harrington flipping over an omelette.
“Have I died and gone to heaven?” Eddie teased, leaning in the doorway.
Steve glanced over his shoulder, his face a little pink as his eyes dipped down to Eddie’s bare chest, then lifted to meet Eddie’s knowing grin. “I made breakfast, I hope that’s okay.”
“More than okay, sweetheart.” Eddie’s smile softened. “Whatever’s mine is yours.”
Even my heart.
Steve held out a tentative cup of coffee between them and Eddie closed the space to accept it.
“Thanks, darling.”
Steve turned his attention back to the stove as he fiddled with the knobs before flicking the burner off and plating two cheesy omelettes. Handing one plate to Eddie, Steve leaned back against the counter next to the stove to eat standing up. It looked like a well practiced move as he juggled his plate, fork, and coffee. He had a decent bedhead going, though it looked like he had tried to finger comb it back into submission. Along his throat there was a line of soft pink-purple bruises from Eddie’s mouth, like clouds in a dusk sky, and Eddie knew there had to be more hidden away under the collar of his worn-out Metallica hoodie, the loose cuffs of the sleeves slipping past Steve’s wrist to his finger tips until he gently shook them out his his way. The pajama pants he must have dug through Eddie’s drawers himself to retrieve because Eddie distinctly remembered the warmth of the bare skin of his legs even through his own threadbare pajama bottoms as he fell asleep. Dark circles had settled under his eyes like crescent moons and his gaze held a certain weight to it despite his blushing shyness of the morning after. There was a little whisper in the back of Eddie’s brain that asked, did I hurt you? Did I hurt you, angel? It felt like the brush of Eddie's fingertips alone might be able to bruise Steve at times, no matter how much care he handled him with.
Eddie looked his fill before speaking again, “Early riser?”
Steve shrugged. “I don’t sleep well, so on the farm I usually get up to tend to the animals and start on breakfast. I think the only person who wakes up earlier is— was. Was Father Brenner.”
Eddie’s eyes widened slightly.
Steve set down his plate, looking far more serious. “I have a plan.”
“A plan?”
“You were right, I can’t…” Steve took a deep breath. “I can’t save everyone, but I can save my family.”
Eddie blinked. “I— you’re going to leave?”
Steve took a steadying breath. “The Final Chapter is making its preparations to… for martyrdom.”
Eddie set his mug down harder than he intended, sloshing coffee over the lip of it onto his hand. “Shit, Steve—“
“I left Will a message in this mornings paper, by now he’ll likely have seen it, and go tell Hopper everything. I figure it will take a few hours before they can organize a raid, I imagine they’ve already gotten the proper warnings after I tipped Hopper off about the guns the previous week, but they won’t want to wait if they think there’s a chance there’s been other kidnapped children.”
“You tipped off the police?”
Steve looked down at his feet, hands tight on the counter. “It was the only thing I could think of that would keep the Chapter from coming after the kids, for legal custody or… or otherwise. It’s not… it’s not safe for them there anymore. It doesn’t feel safe for them out here either, but it’s the best I can do. With any luck, with the mess from the raid I’ll be able to… I’ll be able to find a way to keep us all together.”
Eddie opened and closed his mouth. “What do you need?”
Steve chewed on the inside of his lip. “Can I borrow your van? We’ll need a quick get away.”
“I’ll do you one better, you can have my van and you can have a getaway driver.”
“Eddie, no, I can’t get you tangled up in this. You could get hurt—“
“So could you.”
“I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“They’re dangerous, Eddie, they’ve… they’ve hurt people.”
“Then I definitely don’t want you going alone.”
Steve’s eyes flicked back and forth across his face.
“Stevie, let me help you,” Eddie said softly. “Please.”
“You have to stay in the van. If you come on the property they’ll….” Steve looked pale. “You have to stay in the van and gun it once I’ve got the kids, okay?”
“I‘ll keep the engine running.”
Steve fiddled with the chain around his neck, before undoing the clip and pulling it free.
“I know… I know you don’t believe, but I do, and it’s all I can offer to keep you safe, so will you wear it for me?”
Eddie felt like he should argue, should protest, but all he did was twist his hair up out of the way for Steve to clip the cross around his neck, the gold warm against his skin from Steve’s own body heat.
“Do you really think God would keep someone like me safe?” Eddie asked, straighten the pendant so it sat at the dip of his collarbones.
“I like to think He’s looking after everyone we love.”
Eddie felt like he had just kicked his ribs in. “Where did you get this?”
“My grandmother gave it to me when I was really little. She died when I was five, but I’ve still got some hazy memories of her teaching me how to bake and taking me to church on Christmas because my parents were… were elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere? On Christmas?”
“That kind of summarizes our relationship.”
Eddie had several terrible thoughts concerning the Harringtons, but instead asked, “What did she teach you to bake?”
“Religieuse,” Steve said. “She had learned it from her mother, who grew up in France, they’re, um, like little nuns, I think?”
Eddie almost laughed. “What?”
Steve ducked his head to hide his smile. “They’re like these two little pastries stacked on top of each other with like chocolate and buttercream to decorate them and, um, they’re like filled with this cream? They’re like little snowmen doughnuts kinda.”
Eddie was unbearably charmed. “We’ll have to make them sometime.”
Steve gave him a little bittersweet smile.
“I’ve always wanted to eat a nun,” Eddie said.
Steve’s laugh turned his smile a little sweeter. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Nope.”
Steve gave a slight shake of his head, looking over at the clock on the stove.
“We on the clock?” Eddie asked.
“The police won’t want to raid until it’s dark to give them more cover and try to take us by surprise while we’re asleep, so I’m going to get the kids at sundown,” Steve said.
Eddie frowned. “How do you know that?”
“We’re prepared for a raid.” Steve shifted his weight. “Or, I suppose, we’re prepared for the Babylonians to come which means we know police and SWAT tactics. We won’t be the first religious group to be invaded by the police or FBI.”
“It’s going to be a shootout.”
Steve flinched. “I know.”
Eddie’s heart broke at the agonized look on his face as Steve finally met his eyes.
“I talked to the police and now… and now the people who took me in when I had nowhere else to go are going to die in a shootout and I… I have to live with that if I want to protect the kids, but I don’t have any delusions about the state of my soul.”
“Stevie…”
Steve’s eyes were clouded with tears. “And if I’m wrong, if I’ve lost faith, if I betrayed my ideals, if Father Brenner, if Henry is right then I’ve damned all of them too.”
“Oh, baby…” Eddie stepped closer, cupping his face in his hands, as the tears started to fall.
“Am I wrong? Am I being selfish because I want to see Max get to skateboard again, and Dustin read whatever book he wants, and El get to eat waffles in a diner, and Robin go to college? Am I just taking all of them down with me and calling it love?”
Eddie wiped his tears away, biting back the ‘no’ on his tongue. “You can’t know, Stevie, you can read every book on theology there is, and you will still never know until it’s too late. All you can do, all anyone can do, is try to do the right thing, right here, right now.”
“This feels right,” Steve whispered, fingers curled around Eddie’s forearms in a loose hold, but like he was afraid Eddie might pull away, might let him go.
Eddie kissed him softly, the taste of tears familiar as he pulled away.
“You know,” Eddie said softly. “You know that the way they treat you isn’t okay, don’t you, sweetheart? You know that’s not how you treat someone you love?”
Steve nodded slightly.
“And you know because you love those kids and you don’t want them to go through what you did, you want them safe, and happy, and I can’t imagine that there’s someone out there in the universe can see what you’re doing as anything other than an act of love.”
“I want to be good.”
“Stevie baby, you are good. You’re so good.” Eddie wiped away his tears before folding him into a hug.
“M’sorry.”
“It’s okay, baby, c’mon, let it out, it’s alright, I’ve got you.”
Eddie couldn’t say how long they stayed like that only that their coffees were cold by the time Steve had cried himself out and Eddie had sent him off to shower while he cleaned up the kitchen. Steve stepped out dressed in his own jeans and sweater, but Eddie could see the collar of one of his band t-shirts under it. Even with the love-bites decorating his throat, he looked startlingly naked without his cross. Eddie pulled his vest free from his leather jacket, holding it out to Steve as he straightened up from tying the laces of his boots.
“For your modesty. I’m not sure three layers is enough.”
Steve laughed, taking the vest, and pulling it on over his own jacket. “You just think it’s funny for me to advertise the devil, don’t you?”
“Hey, listen, strangers might actually think you’ve got a good taste in music for once.” Eddie straightened out the jacket, his mouth a little dry to see Steve wearing his prized possession.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Where we going?” Eddie asked, shrugging on his own jacket. “I thought we were getting the hellions at sunset?”
“We are,” Steve said. “We just need a couple of things first.”
Oddly enough, the first stop was a thrift store where Steve spent several minutes digging through the books until he came up with a copy of the Princess Bride with a victorious little ‘aha’.
“…are you going to throw it at your fellow cult members?” Eddie asked slowly.
Steve blinked. “What? No, it’s Dustin’s favorite book. You think I could find a skateboard in this place?”
“What? For Max? Steve, are you trying to bribe the kids into letting you, uh, idnapkay them?”
Steve stared at him. “…was that pig-latin?”
Eddie flailed at the rest of the (admittedly mostly empty) store. “There’s witnesses!”
Steve’s lips curled up. “And you’re assuming all our witnesses didn’t learn pig-latin in elementary school like us?”
“I don’t know any morse code!” Eddie threw his hands up. “I didn’t know it would come back to bite me like this!”
Steve laughed, tugging on his sleeve. “Come on, I think I saw some rollerblades, El would like those.”
“El’s the priest’s kid, right?” Eddie asked, following along. “So, that’s like actual kidnapping?”
“Brenner adopted her, but, uh, he’s eaddnay, so, I figure that gives me a little leeway.”
Eddie’s voice rose a few notes. “Please tell me of natural causes.”
“If you count God’s will,” Steve muttered.
Eddie’s stomach knotted.
Steve looked up from the roller-skates he was examining. “Eds, you don’t have to come, I was serious when I told you it was dangerous—“
“I’m coming,” Eddie said. “I’m just— I’m freaking out a little, okay? I don’t understand how you’re so calm.”
Steve straightened up, taking Eddie’s hand and putting it over his chest where he could feel the rabbit quick beat of his heart underneath his palm.
“Oh.”
Steve gave him half a smile, holding up the roller-skates. “Think a size seven’ll fit a fifteen year old girl?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, taking a steadying breath. “If they’re too big she can wear two pairs of socks.”
Steve continued on his search for a skateboard with Eddie trailing after him.
“Y’know, if you’re thinking of other career options, may I suggest actor?”
“I was thinking something in construction, but, uh, noted.” Steve picked up a skateboard that was missing one wheel, but looked otherwise intact, and tucked it under his arm. “Hey, does the record shop have any Blondie?”
“I thought there were only three kids,” Eddie said. “Who’s the fourth bribe for?”
“They’re not bribes,” Steve said. “It’s just… I’m asking them to leave everything behind, not just the family, but their home, their things, I just… I want to make sure they have something they can call their own on the other side, y’know? I know it’s not much, but… but Robin likes Blondie and a cassette is something she can hold in her hands, something she can call hers.”
Eddie’s chest squeezed painfully. “The world does not deserve you, Steve Harrington.”
Steve’s eyes went wide.
“I think I saw a few cassettes in the back, go settle up, and I’ll take a look. If it’s not here we’ll swing by the shop next.”
“Okay.”
Eddie did take a glance at the sad collection of worn out cassettes in the back, but all he ended up going to the register with was a battered copy of The Outsiders which he hid away in the inside of his jacket pocket before meeting Steve out front to head to their next destination. Eddie wasn’t sure what it said about him that he thought there was something attractive about watching Steve pick up an axe in the hardware store and heft it in his hands to check the weight.
“Should I be concerned as to what part of your plan involves an axe? I mean, don’t get me wrong I liked The Shining as much as anybody,” Eddie said.
“We boarded up all the windows, y’know, incase we got raided, but it makes sneaking out a little harder too. I left the ones in my room loose, but someone could have noticed and fixed them, hence the axe.”
“Does it make me a bad person that I’m kinda disappointed you’re not gonna use it on anybody?”
Steve’s unimpressed look told him the answer was ‘yes’.
“It’s not like they wouldn’t deserve it,” Eddie said, he could still feel the scars lining Steve’s back under his fingertips.
“That’s not my call to make,” Steve said simply.
Along with the axe, Steve bought a fire ladder, folding knife, and thick gloves. The folding knife and gloves got tucked into pockets, but the fire ladder and axe were set in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van. Eddie checked that the engine would run even though they still had a few hours until sundown, giving a little victorious fist bump when it caught the first time.
“Attagirl.” Eddie patted her hood appraisingly, before circling around to the back.
Steve had set the gifts for the kids and Robin in the back, along with his own few sparse possessions: a sketchbook with several pages torn out, envelopes peeking out from under the scribbled over cover, a copy of his birth certificate and GED, and a roll of cash that he was carefully recounting, sitting crisscrossed among the blankets and pillows Eddie had left from the last time he had hotboxed back there. Climbing in, Eddie closed the double doors after him, lit only by the little battery powered fairy lights he kept up in the back. Snapping an elastic around the roll, Steve tucked it away with the rest of his belongings.
“It smells like weed,” Steve said.
“Are you shocked?”
Steve hummed. “Just trying to decide if there’s still time to tick off the last box of sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll.”
“I cannot picture you, Steve Harrington, high.”
“Some other time,” Steve said. “I’ve got other sins on my list at the moment.”
Steve’s kiss had an edge of desperation to it, but Eddie answered it in full, grabbing him by the jaw to take control of it for lack of any other outlet for his building nerves. Biting at Steve’s bottom lip, earned him a gasp, but Steve got a fistful of his shirt and yanked him even closer. Eddie broke the kiss to shove him to the floor of the van, casting off his jacket and stripping out of his own shirt and Steve wiggled out of his own layers underneath him. Eddie caught his wrists in the tangle of his shirt, pinning them in place as he attacked the new expanse of skin with his teeth and tongue, biting down on his chest like he could taste his heart underneath.
His free hand made quick work of Steve’s belt and zipper, slipping under his boxers and relishing in the way Steve arched up from the bottom of the van at the first touch with a stuttered inhale. Eddie’s knees pressed into the splay of Steve’s thighs keeping spread out beneath him even as his muscles jumped with every rough stroke from Eddie’s calloused palm. A vicious kiss swallowed down Steve’s little whimper as he pulled his hand free from his boxers to undo his own jeans, leaning his weight onto Steve’s wrists, so he could wrap his other hand around both of them. Spitting into his palm to ease the friction, Eddie made quick work of the both of them.
Something settled in Eddie’s chest watching Steve catch his breath below him, chest rising and falling quick, but steady, sweaty and flushed and bright eyed and alive as Eddie cleaned them up. Sorting out their clothes, Eddie pressed an apologetic kiss to Steve’s chest through the cotton of his shirt where the darkest bruise was, smoothing it down for him.
“Was I too rough with you, angel?”
There were pink marks on his wrists from Eddie’s tight hold, but they disappeared as Steve pulled on his jacket and borrowed vest. Steve glanced up at him, their legs still somewhat tangled even now that they were sitting up, giving a little shake of his head.
“No, s’okay.”
Eddie turned his chin away to look at the bites littered along his throat. “I meant to be more of a gentleman with you.”
Steve turned back to him with a hint of a grin. “I didn’t know you were a gentleman.”
Eddie couldn’t help his laugh, opening up the van doors, and knocking a cigarette out into his hand. Putting it between his lips, he lit it with an easy practiced motion, taking a drag before offering it to Steve who shifted to sit beside him, legs dangling out of the van, as he took a drag of his own, blowing it up towards the sky which was fading to a soft purple.
“When this is all over, we should go out for a burger, milkshakes, the whole nine,” Steve said.
“For you, baby? I’ll even throw in a movie and popcorn, make a whole date of it.”
Steve looked back at him with a little smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“You better.”
Steve took another shaky drag before handing the cigarette over, looking up again.
“Time?” Eddie asked softly.
“Time,” Steve said.
Eddie dropped the cigarette onto the asphalt, grinding it out, and giving Steve a hand out of the back before closing the doors tight. Getting behind the wheel, Eddie popped a Metallica tape into the player as Steve buckled himself into the passenger seat, axe resting on his knees. The heavy guitar work carried them away from the city and down the dirt road until Steve turned the dial down to instruct Eddie to park a little ways away. The farm was in a slight valley, but the edge had been lined with a fence of barbed wire, glinting like silver in the setting sun, and Eddie could just make out the buildings beyond the field of crops, the chapel denoted with a cross from the tallest point. Steve pulled a set of envelopes from his inside jacket pocket, tucking them inside the glove box.
“What is that?” Eddie asked.
“It’s… a contingency plan.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Okay,” Steve said. “Call it insurance then, plan B, whatever you do like the sound of.”
“Stevie…”
Steve looked out at the sun, sinking below the horizon, and turning the field a muddy red with the last of its dying rays. The low light burnished Steve bronze and gold beside him in the passenger seat, catching in his brown eyes like embers, and dying his hair copper where the strands reflected back like a bloody halo. His hand went to his naked throat then slipped away, falling to the axe in his lap. His eyes slid shut, head tipped forwards, but he didn’t speak as the silence between the end of one song stretched into static before the speakers picked up the next track. Steve’s eyes opened.
“Saying your prayers?”
Steve gave a slight shake of his head. “No. I said those last night, just… just asking.”
“For what?”
Steve’s smile was like a sliver of the moon. “For your engine not to stall out.”
Eddie barked out a laugh and Steve’s smile waxed into a half moon. Opening the door, the sound of the outside world filtered into their bubble and Steve climbed out. Slinging his axe over his back, Steve pulled on the thick gloves, and reached for the fire ladder.
“Hey.”
Steve looked up. Bracing one hand on the passenger seat, Eddie leaned over, catching the collar of the battle vest to pull him in for a fierce kiss. Steve’s lips parted with a surprised inhale, but he leaned into the kiss rather than pull back. Eddie tried to memorize the feel of Steve’s lips against his own, his breath against his cheek, the warmth of his skin before he pulled back.
“I’ll be waiting,” Eddie said.
Steve smiled before closing the door between them. Eddie watched him jog over to the fence, kneeling down, he cleared dirt away from a sheet of wood, pulling it aside to reveal a trench dug under the bottom string of barbed wire. Lifting it with one gloved hand, Steve crawled under before setting the board back in place, and disappearing down the slope of the field. Eddie tried to catch another glimpse of him, but it was futile in the fading light. Drumming his fingers against the wheel, he hummed along to Master of Puppets in an attempt to drown out the frantic beat of his heart. In the distance, he could see another car, no, several unmarked black vans making their way down the dirt road towards the farm. Police.
“Fuck.” Eddie tapped faster. “C’mon, Stevie.”
Craning his neck, he could see them park just out of sightline of the valley below, half in the trees, and blocked by the tall grasses on the edge of the property. Not dissimilar to how Eddie himself was hidden away with his engine idling. The slam of his back door opening made him yelp, twisting around in his seat as Dustin climbed into the back, quickly followed by Max, and then Robin.
“Where’s Steve?” Eddie asked.
“Getting El,” Robin said. “He said he’d be right behind us.”
Eddie looked out the windshield in time to watch the farm light up like the sun had shattered when it hit the horizon line, one big orange burst that shook the van even from miles away before fading into smoke and lingering flames waving from the broken windows, lighting the buildings up like a mockery of the city lights in the distance.
“Steve!” Robin screamed.
Eddie scrambled out of the van after her, catching her around the waist as she went to run towards the explosion, shoving the kids back against the van with his other arm. Robin kicked and scratched at him.
“Stop, stop, let me go! Let me go! Steve!”
Eddie held her tight, his jaw locked as he watched the police helicopter swoop overhead and the big bright lights sitting on top of their vans bathe the field in blinding white, their speakers crackling as they called out, but it was lost in the sound of gunshots.
Robin clawed at his arm.
“Stop, stop, Robin, stop!” Eddie jostled her roughly. “You’ll just get cut down in the crossfire and I don’t want the kids running after you, so stop.”
Robin let out a broken sob, but stopped fighting him. Glancing behind him, Eddie could see Dustin staring at the farm with huge eyes, fingers curled loosely in the back of Eddie’s leather jacket, and Max stood stock still beside him, her fingers curled into fists, and tear tracks on her face, but neither had moved past his arm bar.
“We can’t just stand here!” Max said.
“We just…” Eddie swallowed hard. “We just have to have faith.”
Robin let out a sob of a laugh. “You don’t believe in God.”
“I believe in Steve Harrington,” Eddie said, praying that if he could just keep everything Steve held dear safe then it would be enough for him to find his way back to them.
Chapter 25
Notes:
Hey y’all, sorry about the delay, I actually had to rewrite this whole chapter twice, so it took a little longer than I wanted it to. I’ll posted a second chapter this weekend to make up for missing a week. Content warning for gun violence, murder, y’know, what you probably expect from this chapter.
Chapter Text
It wasn’t until Steve was within a few yards of the farm house that he knew something was truly wrong. He hadn’t been too surprised when there was a distinct lack of Robin and the kids at the fence post, it was entirely possible that it was too difficult to make it past the roaming patrols, but he hadn’t seen any patrols, and the farm house was painfully quiet. Climbing up the tree outside his bedroom window, he pried the boards free with relative ease. His stomach sank to find his room dark and empty, but he crept inside regardless, leaving the fire ladder dangling from the window for a quick escape. Creeping down the stairs, he peeked into the other bedrooms, but they were all empty, and he didn’t hear so much as a mouse as he stepped onto the first floor.
All of the lights were turned off, but there were still dishes in the sink, and the door to the basement was a jar. Fingers curled into fists, Steve moved slowly down into the basement, one light bulb illuminating the packed dirt floors and concrete walls, C-4 stuck in the corners, red lights glowing. Steve’s heart lurched at the thought that he was too late and he moved more quickly down the tunnels which were lined and lined with C-4, even the off shoots that veered into nowhere had been armed—
There was a body. Stepping up to it, Steve felt a sick sense of relief when he found Ann’s glassy eyes staring back up at him, the front of her dress dark with blood, three distinct bullet holes torn into her. In the distance, he heard footsteps, voices echoing down the hall.
“—round up any stragglers, Henry wants everybody in the chapel when it happens.”
A hand grabbed his arm and yanked, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his yelp. Robin’s eyes met his in the dark of the half dug tunnel she had pulled him into, pressing them both into the dirt as John and Lewis walked by, guns in hand, stepping over Ann’s body as they continued down the tunnel. Robin’s hand didn’t slip away until the voices were out of earshot.
“Rob—“
“They tried to round us all up and bring us down to the tunnels, they said, they said there was going to be a raid, and we had to go to the chapel for safety, but when we got down here, we saw—“ Robin swallowed hard.
“The bombs.”
Robin nodded. “Ann… she wouldn’t go, she wanted to leave, and they— they shot her. I hid in the commotion, but they took everyone else to the chapel, they want us all together for… for the end.”
“The kids?”
“Still in the house. I saw John coming and there was just… there was just something wrong so I told the kids… I told them we were playing hide and seek and not to come out until me or you found them, no matter what.”
Steve slumped in relief.
“But, Steve.” Robin blinked back tears. “El’s with Henry, I couldn’t get to her all day, I—“
“Okay, it’s okay,” Steve said, even though he felt like his heart might give out at any moment. “First things first, let’s get Max and Dustin out of here, okay?”
Robin nodded. Peering out into the tunnel, they moved quickly back towards the house, climbing the stairs, and splitting up to search with whispered calls of the kids names.
“Max,” Steve called softly. “Max, c’mon.”
The cabinet under the sink opened slowly and Max climbed out with a wary expression. “I thought you left.”
“Not without you, little red.” Steve pulled her into a rough hug. “Now, we just—“
The sound of the gunshot echoed through the kitchen, the bullet buried in the cabinet by Steve’s head. Shoving Max behind him, Steve turned to find Billy grinning at him, gun leveled at his face.
“Hey, pretty boy, thought you’d run off like a coward.”
“Billy, put the gun down before someone gets hurt,” Steve said.
“Oh, I don’t need a gun to hurt you.” Billy threw the gun aside before rearing back to swing.
Steve rolled under the first hit, landing a punch of his own, but it only made Billy laugh. They traded punches as they moved through the kitchen, Max crowded up against the counters trying to stay out of the way. Steve got one good hit in, two, three— Billy broke a plate over his head and his vision flickered out for a split second, but it was long enough for Billy’s fist to connect with his stomach once, twice. Slamming Steve down onto his back on the floor, fist raised for another hit—
“Stop!”
Blinking spots out of his eyes, Steve looked up to find Max pressing the gun to the back of Billy’s head, her hand trembling, but her eyes like stone.
“Leave him alone, Billy.”
Billy laughed, licking blood from his lips, even as he held his hands up in surrender. “You wouldn’t. You don’t have the balls, shithead.”
“Try me.” Max jammed the gun asked his skull. “Get off of him.”
Billy’s jaw worked, but he rose slow, leaving Max to press the gun to his back instead. Steve got up slowly, blood rolling down his face and matting in his eyebrow.
“Steve, I—“ Robin cut herself off as she took in the scene, keeping Dustin behind her.
Steve pulled his axe free from where it was strapped to his back, taking a step out of the kitchen. “We’re all going to go to the living room now where I’m going to pry a window open and then Rob, Dustin, Max, and I, are gonna go.”
“Walk.” Max ordered.
Billy laughed, but let himself be marched into the living room. Lifting the axe, Steve brought it down on one of the boarded up windows, the wood splintering underneath his swing. Again. Again.
“After all this time, after the whole saint act and you’re just a coward when it finally comes down to it!” Billy shouted. “When the day of judgment you’ve been begging for is here, you’re running scared!”
Glass shattered as Steve pried the boards free and he cleared it away from the windowsill.
“Pussy,” Billy spat.
“Rob, you first, I’ll pass the kids out to you,” Steve said.
Robin nodded, letting him help her climb out the window and drop down into the grass. Dustin went out next, Robin keeping him from falling on his butt from the eight feet from the window to the grass. Steve turned back for Max, but Billy moved at the same time, twisting around and grabbing the gun from her hands in one quick move. Max’s eyes went huge as it was pointed her way.
“Hey,” Steve said and the gun swung back towards him instead.
“You know what I can’t stand, Harrington? A fucking hypocrite. You’ve been looking down on me the whole time I’ve been here, perfect, saintly, virginal Steven! You’re still fucking looking down on me when you’re running with your tail between your legs!”
“It doesn’t have to go like this,” Steve said. “You can leave, Billy, you can come with us.”
Billy’s laugh was sharp as broken glass. “I’m not a fucking pussy like you.”
Steve’s eyes caught on the blink of a red light in the corner of the living room on the little package of C-4 on the bookcase before it went off. Billy shoved Max hard enough that she went sprawling in Steve’s direction as the second floor collapsed down on top of them. Steve curled himself around her as much as he could while wooden planks slammed down onto his back like a ton of bricks, and his vision went black.
“—illy! Billy!”
Steve opened his eyes, vision slanting sideways before righting itself to find he was half buried under the second floor, curled over Max, who was alive and breathing underneath him. Each inhale coated his mouth and throat with dust, lining his lungs like sandpaper. Max coughed up Billy’s name, tears cutting through the dust on her face as she looked over at Billy who was pinned under a large section of floor, a metal rod, likely built into the frame for support, through his midsection, pinning him to the floor like a gruesome butterfly. Biting back a cry, Steve shoved the debris off himself and Max, who scrambled over to Billy.
“Billy, Billy, hey.” Max put a hand on his cheek.
Billy's breathing came in tight, but he met Steve’s eyes with a gaze like steel.
“Max, c’mon.” Steve hauled her up to her feet.
“No, Billy, I—“
“There’s more C-4 in the basement, I have to get you out right now.”
Max babbled at him, but he hauled her up to the window, now crooked, but still open. Robin was holding Dustin tight to her a few feet away from the partially collapsed house, but the relief was clear on her face when she saw them. Letting go of Dustin, she helped him get Max out the window to her, holding her tight when she tried to climb right back in, still calling for Billy.
“There’s a fence post marked with a crow by the edge of the property, I’ve dug a trench there to get under the barbed wire. Eddie’s van is right across the street from it.” Steve tossed the gloves out to her. “I’m going through the tunnels to grab El, and I’ll be right behind you.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Robin said.
“It’ll be easier by myself, Rob, you’ve got to get the kids out of here,” Steve said.
“If you’re not there in ten minutes, I’m coming to get you,” Robin said.
Steve managed half a smile in spite of everything before stepping back from the window. Billy’s breathing was coming in short and staccato. Kneeling down beside him, Steve took his hand in his own.
“Max,” Billy rasped.
“She’s out, she’s safe,” Steve said. “You saved her.”
Billy’s teeth were stained with blood. “Henry’s got— got Eleven in— chapel.”
“I know.”
Billy shook his head. “No, first bombs to draw in the police, the whole— whole farm is rigged to blow from— from tunnels—“
Steve’s heart stopped. “Henry’s going to draw the police in and then kill everyone in one big blast.”
Billy bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Not as dumb as— you look— pretty— pretty boy.”
“I know you don’t believe, Billy, why… why did you help him? Why didn’t you leave?”
“Wanted to watch my old man burn in hell before I did.”
Steve swallowed, squeezing Billy’s hand tight, but it was cold and limp in his own. “My friend believes in reincarnation and if you get another chance, I hope it’s kinder to you than this one was.”
Billy’s chest had stopped moving. Steve reached over to close his eyes, murmuring the final rites even though he wasn’t sanctioned to give them. He knew CPR, but he also knew that with a rod buried in Billy’s stomach and no immediate medical assistance on the way, there wasn’t any point. There also wasn’t any time.
Moving through the rubble, Steve shoved some aside to get the door open to the basement. A few of the wooden steps had splintered and broken, but the C-4 had yet to go off in the basement, likely waiting for the police to move in closer first. Running down the dirt halls, Steve only slowed as he reached the chapel basement. Crumpled in the corner were two more bodies, riddled with bullet holes, but Steve couldn’t make out who they were, only that they were curled inwards, like they had been holding one another. Lewis’ body was on the steps, gun slipping from his fingers, and blood running down his throat from a hole in the bottom of his chin. Steve stepped over him and kept going.
The chapel was filled with smoke, fire licking along the wooden walls, eating away at the curtains, and feasting on the kindling of Bibles. There must have been C-4 in the rafters because it had come down in pieces around the edges of the building and there were holes in the ceiling. The cross that had stood proud on the roof had broken in two, half inside the chapel. Outside, Steve could hear gunfire and the shouts of a few familiar voices, he thought he heard John shouting about the Babylonians, but inside the chapel, there were a few more bodies obscured by the smoke and only Henry standing on the dais, facing El, with a thick remote in one hand hand, a revolver in the other.
“You are the last in a long lines of false prophets, I am the one true prophet! At last the world will see! He will see! I was the first Brenner took in, he brought home others, other children, but I was his most loyal, his favorite, until you!” Henry gestured wildly at El with the revolver, who looked up at him with wide eyes.
Steve tackled him, both of them landing hard on the dais, wood creaking underneath them. Pinning Henry’s wrist, he wrestled the remote free, but that left Henry open to pistol whip him. The force of the metal against his cheek knocked Steve off of Henry, the remote skittering across the dais, almost out of sight in the smoke. Wrestling for the gun, it went off above both of their heads, bullet ripping a hole through the ceiling, and sending a rafter crashing down towards them. Henry rolled out of the way, revolver clattering across the floor, and off the dais. Steve tried to twist away, but it slammed down on his arm, and the crack of the bone felt louder than the gunshot had been in his own ears.
“You’re pathetic,” Henry rose to his feet, putting his foot on his broken arm. “You came to us crawling on your knees, begging for attention like a dog for scraps, and whoever gave you even a second of it had you eating out of their hand!”
Steve cried out, tears blurring his vision, making the flames look like the hazy glow of streetlights in the rain.
“You’re a dog who doesn’t learn to stay down when it’s kicked.” Henry leaned more weight on his arm, and Steve’s vision cut out like a TV losing its signal. “Stay down.”
Steve felt the weight of Henry leave him, blinking away tears to try to clear his vision, but watching Henry walk away through he smoke was like trying to open his eyes under water. Prying the board off of his arm made him gasp for air, but breathing in the smoke felt like every inhale was laced with sand. Several feet away, he could see El trying to pull a board off of her leg, and he crawled to her. The dais underneath her ankle was stained with blood, the nail of the board had buried itself deep in her leg. Tears cut through the grime on her face, breathing coming in short, and blood running from her nose.
“I’m going to pull this out, take a deep breath.” Steve put one hand on her leg above the wound, the other on the board.
She gulped in a deep breath, but it only made her cough. Steve ripped it out in one move, her scream ringing through the chapel, followed by hiccuping sobs. Hauling her up to her feet, an ominous creak made him look up, and he shoved her off the dais as the burning remains of the cross came crashing into the chapel. It knocked him off to the side, but he managed to roll to keep from getting trapped under the wreckage. It felt like he was breathing in the embers crumbling off the wood, still he forced himself up onto his knees as Henry emerged from the thick smoke, remote in hand, standing over him.
“This is the God you believe in?” Steve asked, injured arm tucked in close to his body. “One that wants you to slaughter dozens of people, people with families who will miss them? Children you watched grow up? That you taught the word of the Lord to?”
“If God wanted to stop me then he would!” Henry let out a maniac laugh.
The gunshot echoed through the chapel and Henry crumpled like a paper doll. El standing behind him, the revolver in her hand still aimed high, aimed where Henry had been standing. Laying on the floor, the blood pooling around his head was eerily familiar, eyes still open.
“He just did,” Steve rasped.
Rising slowly, he took the revolver from El’s hand, her eyes still fixed on Henry’s unmoving body. Steve scrubbed the handle quickly on his own shirt to erase her fingerprints before wrapping his own around the handle. Looking around, he grabbed a Bible from the windowsill, bracing it on the floor and pulling the trigger with a muffled bang as it tore a hole through the pages. Steve threw the Bible into the flames crawling up the walls, setting the gun down near Henry’s body.
“El.”
El’s eyes moved slowly over to his.
“We’ve gotta go,” Steve said, the air was thickening with smoke, but he paused to put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be scary out there, there’s going to be men with guns, so just do what they say, okay? Even if they separate us, I’ll come find you. Do what they say, but don’t say anything without me, do you understand?”
“Understand.”
“Can you walk?” Steve asked.
Leaning heavily into his side, El limped towards the study, the chapel crumbling around them and filling with thick black smoke. It took Steve a few tries to tear the boards from the window, climbing out first so he could catch El as she came tumbling out. She made a sound like a wounded animal when her leg knocked against the frame so he rather than put her down, he hiked her up onto his back in spite of the ache and started walking through the field, embers drifting in the sky above them, and he caught a glimpse of a burning yellowed page.
“Stars,” El said, looking up at the embers floating down around them, looking like they were falling from the starry-sky overhead.
“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice rough. “Falling stars.”
A helicopter light swept back and forth, gunshots in the distance, and there was shouting off to the right, so Steve walked left. He walked towards the fence post he had carved into even though he knew he would never make it past the police to Eddie’s van, but he could still picture it in his mind. Still picture the blankets piled up in the back, sitting with all of his kids around him, Robin in the passenger seat, and Eddie’s foot on the gas taking them all far away from the burning buildings behind him, from the distant screams that Steve prayed he would be forgiven for not looking back towards, for not turning around to see whether a member of his family was trapped inside the collapse, or being dragged out by the police, or holding the body of someone who had been gunned down.
The light washed over them, rendering Steve blind, until the spots he was blinking away turned into fast approaching men in tactical gear, aiming guns right at his chest, El’s arms tightening around his throat.
“Don’t move! Don’t move!”
Steve felt every breath of his own and the shallow rise and fall of El’s chest against his back as the men approached.
“Hands! Show us your hands!”
“My friend is hurt, her leg, I’m going to put her down slowly, please…” Steve’s voice broke a little and he coughed to try to clear it. “Please don’t hurt her.”
“Put her down! Show us your hands! Hands!” The voices overlapped, but their tones were identical.
Steve set El down slowly in the grass, letting her sit, and putting his hands up.
“On your knees! On your knees!”
Steve sank down slow, his hands in the air, but was quickly knocked flat onto his chest as hands grabbed him, roughly checking him over for a weapon before cuffing him, and hauling him back up to his feet. El had gotten a rough pat down, but the SWAT officer that picked her up was far gentler, carrying her princess-style while Steve was marched forwards out of the lines of the firefight. The agony of his aching arm twisted behind his back made his knees weak, but he managed to stay upright.
“Move, move, move!"
Steve looked over his shoulder at the collapsing buildings and he could see figures with guns clashing, but he couldn’t see who was who, only that there were bodies falling, and distant shouts. The long grass brushed against his legs and the taste of smoke grew fainter as they were brought up from the valley towards the street where there were police cars piled up along the road, the barbed wire fence knocked flat.
Chapter Text
“Chief Hopper?” A small voice asked, and he turned to find Will Byers standing in the station, holding a newspaper, and Jonathan hovering a foot behind him. “I’m ready to talk now.”
Hopper waved them into his office.
“I did run away,” Will said. “But after a few weeks Father Brenner found me and brought me to his farm here.”
Hopper’s back straightened. “You went willingly?”
Will fiddled with his newspaper. “I didn’t… I thought my family was better off without me, and he said I could have another family with him and everyone else on the commune, and that… and that he would help fix me.”
Hopper’s eyes narrowed. “Fix you how?”
Will fixed his eyes on the ground.
“Did he hurt you?” Hopper asked.
Will shook his head. “No, I mean, it was mostly prayers, and chores, and… and fasting sometimes, or at least for the kids it was.”
“How many kids?”
“Just four of us, including Father Brenner’s daughter.”
“Brenner’s daughter?”
“Eleven,” Will said. “He… he thinks she’s the next prophet for, um, Armageddon.”
Hopper made a continue gesture.
“I, um, I didn’t know, my family was looking for me until Steve told me he saw a missing poster for me.”
“Steve?”
“Harrington, he’s one of the older kids, around Jonathan’s age, he goes out and passes out fliers with Robin.”
Hopper nodded, pieces of a puzzle starting to slot into place with the boy in his Sunday best handing him breadcrumbs.
“He snuck me out in the middle of the night and brought me here.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this then?” Hopper asked.
“Because it wasn’t time yet.”
“Time?”
Will held out the paper, folded to the cartoon section, a drawing of dinosaurs at the top.
“Steve said he would leave me a sign in the newspaper if things got really bad and I needed to tell you. He also said that he would leave me a package.”
“A package?”
“At the bus station, he rented a locker there.”
Hopper stared at him. “Who does this kid think he is? James Bond?”
Will fidgeted. “Are you… are you going to raid the farm?”
“You said it wasn’t that bad for the kids,” Hopper said. “What about the other people there? What happens if they break a rule.”
“I… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Will’s voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. “There’s bullwhips in the chapel, but we only have goats. No cows.”
Jonathan looked nauseous.
Hopper grabbed his jacket. “Let’s go.”
Will led them into the bus station, reaching under a trash can near the door and feeling around until he found a key. Opening up a locker revealed stacks of paper, drawings of thirty seven people and their names, though some of them only had first names, and four pieces paper covered in lines.
Hopper turned it over.
“It’s a map,” Jonathan said, piecing the papers together into the blueprints of the commune with a label in the basement of the chapel marked ‘women and children’.
There were tunnels drawn that Hopper had no knowledge of based on the thin case he had been keeping as the Final Chapter in case of an event like this and several of the tunnels were marked with the word ‘bomb’ here and there.
“Shit,” Hopper said.
Will looked pale. “Bombs?”
Jonathan quickly tucked the papers into the stack. “I—“
Hopper took the paper from his hand, pulling out his radio, and starting to make calls. Within the hour he had assembled a SWAT team, going over what the city had for the land and comparing to the drawings as they built a tactical plan.
“Alright, listen up!” Hopper clapped his hands together. “Once it’s dark, SWAT will roll in for a tactical assault. Our priority is the women and children who should be located in the basement of the chapel according to my informant.”
“And we’re sure this informant can be trusted?” One of the SWAT asked. “The tunnels listed here… they’re not on any of the property records.”
“Our guess is that they’re from prohibition,” Hopper said. “If we had more time we could try to get eyes and confirm, but according to my source there’s an imminent bomb threat and we know they have at least three children on the premise.”
“Sir, should we call in the FBI?”
“After the last mess they made?” Hopper scoffed. “No, they haven’t crossed borders, it’s our jurisdiction. I don’t want a word of this getting out to anyone, we handle this quick and quiet. No press, do you understand me?”
There was a chorus of ‘yes, sir’.
“Alright,” Hopper said. “Let’s get moving.”
The sun was sinking as they drove to the property, parking a little ways down on the dirt road, and setting up a perimeter. SWAT readied themselves, a helicopter a few miles off, circling, waiting for their call.
“Sir,” an officer stepped up to him. “There’s a van parked nearby, guy says he knows you.”
Frowning, Hopper followed the officer a little ways away, the van partially off the road. Murray was leaning against the side of it, giving him a little finger wave once he saw him, and Hopper ground his teeth.
“Who tipped you off?” Hopper asked.
“Oh, a little birdie.” Murray said.
Hopper grabbed him by the collar and shoved him up against the van. “Which of my men told the fucking press that—“
“Easy, tiger, it was one of my interns, she’s trying to get a camera set up right now actually. She’s a real go-getter, apparently she tried to do a story on this place awhile back and she noticed when an old friend started acting funny, thought something might be going down tonight, and low and behold all the calvary is here.”
“Go home.” Hopper let him go.
“You’re lucky I didn’t call the rest of my guys down here!” Murray called after him. “Not that they would be able to find this place, I had to ask some hick for directions—“
Hopper turned back. “You what?”
“My intern gave me turn by turn directions, but we still had to ask some farmer where to find this place.”
Hopper pulled the folded up papers from his jacket, holding them out. “Was it one of these?”
Murray sifted through the drawings, stilling when he came to one. “It was… it was this guy, what are these?”
“These are the members of the Final Chapter, who you just tipped off.”
Murray paled. “No, she— she would’ve recognized one of the members."
“They’ve been recruiting.”
Leaving him behind, Hopper marched back to his men, rallying SWAT, and going over their orders one last time as the helicopter moved into position overhead.
“Go, now,” Hopper said.
An explosion went off.
SWAT flooded the field, greeted with gunfire, but only one side of the fight had body armor. Murray was quickly joined by other news crews arriving on the scene, and Hopper directed his officers to keep them at bay, the others handling the few Final Chapter members SWAT managed to actually arrest, and talking with fire and rescue.
“Any sign of the kids?” Hotch asked into his radio.
“Negative, we’re clearing the church now.”
Hotch lowered his radio as he caught sight of SWAT carrying a teenage girl towards the ambulances, followed by another escorting a handcuffed Steve Harrington a few paces behind. Bruises littered his face, blood matted in his hair, and still rolling down the side of his face to drip off his chin. The collar of his sweater and a patch-sewn denim vest Hopper swore he had seen before were stained with blood.
“Hey! That one’s mine.” Hopper barked.
The SWAT officer brought Steve over, whose eyes were watching SWAT carry the girl, Eleven by Will’s descriptions, over to the ambulances, even as Hopper undid his cuffs. Steve held his arm in close, curled around his ribs. The girl was watching him with big eyes over the officer’s shoulder, but Steve gave her a little encouraging nod as she was handed off to the EMTs.
“You okay, kid?” Hopper asked.
Steve opened his mouth only to cough, spitting out a mouthful of black saliva… and blood. Hopper caught his arm as Steve’s knees started to give out, shouting for Callaghan, who he handed off his radio to.
“Easy, kid, c’mon.”
Hopper brought him over to the EMTs, sitting him in the back of the ambulance where they were quick to assess him for smoke inhalation, and fitting an oxygen mask over his face. Eleven wiggled free from her own EMTs and shock blanket to limp over to Steve, who lifted one arm to let her cuddle up next to him, even though the action made him wince. The EMTs tried to check his injuries, but he waved them off.
Steve pulled the mask away. “Survivors?”
“We’ll know more once the firefight is over and we can get bomb techs and firefighters in there to start searching,” Hopper said.
Steve looked away.
“Sir, please put your mask back on,” the EMT said, holding gauze to the wound on his hairline, looking at Hopper. “We need to get him to the hospital for a scan, he could have a concussion, and he needs stitches.”
Steve opened his mouth to argue, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by a call of his name. A blonde roughly his age shoved her way through the police, and Steve’s mask fogged up as he tried to call, ‘Robin’ back to her. Behind her was Eddie Munson —the owner of the vest Hopper realized quickly— with a hand on Dustin Henderson’s shoulder and Max Mayfield wearing his leather jacket like a cape though it slipped off to the ground as the children charged past the police to crash into Steve. The impact earned a little pained grunt, but it was quickly followed by a laugh as he wrapped his arms around all three of the kids and tried to reach for Robin, who helped sandwich the kids between them. Over Robin’s shoulder, Steve looked at Eddie, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to him as he hovered a few steps away.
Robin pulled back, tears streaming down her face. “Never do that again.”
“Okay,” Steve said with a little laugh, tears in his eyes.
Robin stepped away, wiping at her face, but the kids stayed close, crowding up against him, and Dustin worried over El’s injured leg. The EMTs retreated a little, apparently giving up on controlling the situation, and in the privacy of the commotion, Eddie cupped Steve’s face in both of his hands. Hopper could only just hear him over the hubbub.
“Hey angel,” Eddie said softly, wiping the tears from Steve’s face.
“Thank you,” Steve said.
“All I did, baby, was keep Robin from running right after you, which was pretty damn hypocritical because all I wanted to do was the exact same.” Eddie’s voice shook. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“For keeping them safe, for taking care of them, for…” Steve swallowed. “For waiting for me.”
“I told them you’d come back,” Eddie said. “How’s that for faith, angel?”
Steve laughed, though it turned into a cough, earning concerned looks from the others.
“Shit, sweetheart, are you hurt?” Eddie asked.
“A building fell on me,” Steve said. “And I got punched. A lot.”
“Broken.” Eleven poked one of his arms, and Steve hissed even though the touch was light.
Eddie’s gentle concern turned to wide eyed alarm, mirrored by the others.
“Hospital, hospital, we’re going to the hospital,” Robin said.
Steve readjusted his arm, face going pale from the pain. “Ah, fuck.”
“Language!” All three kids said in unison, ghosts of smiles crossing their faces.
The EMTs pushed the kids aside, trying to coax him to get into the ambulance properly, and having better luck with getting El onto the gurney. Steve protested, but it mostly devolved into coughing.
“I’ve got them,” Eddie said. “We’re right behind you, okay?”
“Promise?” Steve rasped.
“Pinky promise.”
Steve still pressed a kiss Max and Dustin’s hair before letting Robin and Eddie pry them away, though both of them protested at being separated from Steve and El, but the EMTs managed to close the back of the ambulance, and start the engine.
Once the ambulance took off, Hopper turned on the others. “Munson. Come here.”
“What was that? Head back to my van? Sir, yes, sir!” Eddie gave him a sloppy salute, nudging the kids, who took the cue to start edging away.
“Munson, you know I have to take them into protective services. Don’t make this difficult,” Hopper said.
“All due respect, Chief, but over my dead body,” Eddie said with a smile. “I’ve got a promise to keep.”
“Munson,” Hopper started forwards.
Eddie looked ready to flee, the others already several steps behind him.
“Chief Hopper!” A young woman shoved past a police officer to stick her recording device in his face. “What do you have to say about the events that went down tonight?”
“No comment.” Hopper knocked her hand away, but she stepped right back into his path as he tried to follow Eddie’s quickly retreating form, the kids already running down the road ahead of him.
“Chief Hopper—“
Hopper tried again to move around her, but whoever she was, she was tenacious. With a sigh, he fixed his attention on her.
“Let me guess, Murray’s star intern?”
Her smile was sharp. “Can I get a quote?”
“You can get out of here before I arrest you for interfering.”
Hopper waved over an officer and they took her by the arm to lead her away from the rest of the crowd.
“You want me to go after the kids?” Callaghan asked.
“No,” Hopper said, their shapes lost in the dark of night. “I know where they’ll be.”
By the time the FBI arrived to take over, the fires had all been put out, and all the ambulances had left.
Chapter Text
“Hey,” Steve said, giving him a tired smile as Eddie stepped into the hospital room, it had taken an agonizing amount of arguing with the nurses to get his room number.
El sat by his feet, wearing a hospital gown with bandages wrapped around her legs and the other kids quickly crowded around her asking about her injuries. Steve himself had stitches along his hairline, two in his bottom lip, his arm splinted, likely scheduled to be casted by the look of it, and bruises littering almost all visible skin.
Eddie held his face gently in his hands. “Hey, baby, how are you feeling?”
“A lil sore.”
“A building fell on you, dingus,” Robin took the chair by his bed. “Don’t say, ‘a lil sore’.”
Steve opened his mouth to argue, but the door banged open, and they all looked up to find Will standing there, a flustered Jonathan a few steps behind him. All of the kids lit up, scrambling off the bed to pile into a puddle of a hug on the floor, holding tight to one another, talking over each other, and laughing through their tears.
“I heard what you did,” Jonathan said.
Steve tensed, opening his mouth, but Jonathan wrapped him up in a fierce hug, murmuring a thank you into his hair. Both of them looked a little teary-eyed as they parted, but no one commented. Once the kids detangled themselves, they rearranged themselves onto the bed again. Will giving Steve a far gentler hug than his brother had and earning a hair tussle.
The growl of Dustin’s stomach made them all look over.
Dustin flushed. “We skipped dinner.”
“We can grab something from the cafeteria,” Robin said.
Max wrinkled her nose. “Hospital food? I’ll pass.”
“I’ll run and grab something,” Jonathan said.
Steve opened his mouth, clearly about to protest.
“It’s the least I can do,” Jonathan said. “Seriously.”
Steve looked at the kids, then nodded. “Okay, thank you.”
Jonathan nodded, giving Will’s shoulder a squeeze before leaving the room.
“Are you okay?” Will asked.
“I’ll be fine, kiddo.” Steve gave him a smile, though it was lopsided due to the stitches in his lip. “Hey, tell you what, you can draw me something cool once they get a cast on me, how’s that sound?”
Will’s answering smile was shy.
“I call dibs on signing first,” Robin declared.
“What? No!” Dustin protested.
“Too slow, Henderson.” Robin shrugged mercilessly.
Steve laughed.
The kids caught each other up on their stories of great escape, though El said little at all, as they waited for Jonathan who returned with burgers, fries, and sodas. Sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed, Eddie stole fries from the packet sitting in his lap while Robin took sips of Steve’s soda even while it was still in his hand. The kids tore into their food, but once the had decimated their food they fell asleep one by one like little kittens with their bellies full of milk. Jonathan excused himself to call his mom. Curling up in the chair, Robin let her eyes slide closed after taking a long look at Steve who was idly chewing on the straw of his soda.
“Oh.” Eddie clapped salt from his fingers before unclipping the cross from his neck, and holding it before him. “I bet you’re missing this.”
Steve hesitated, holding the pendent between his forefinger and thumb.
“…do you want it back?” Eddie asked gently.
“Yeah,” Steve said, looking at the kids dozing around him. “I’ve still got faith.”
Eddie clipped the cross back around his neck and Steve straightened the pendent.
“You still believe?” Eddie asked.
Steve fiddled with his cross. “When my grandmother used to take me to church I would pray for a family who loved me and I… I can’t change how I met them, but I found them, my family, and tonight, they’re all safe in this room with me. I don’t… I don’t know what else I believe right now, but I got my happy ending tonight.”
Eddie let out a soft sigh, gently, so gently pulling Steve closer to his chest. “Funny, I was going to say it seemed like a damn good beginning.”
Steve tipped his head back on his shoulder to give him a tired smile. “Maybe we’re both a little right then after all.”
“If I get to have you in every life after this, then I’ll call that heaven, darling.”
“Crickets.” Steve flushed. “And here I thought you were going to give me some come on, like, ‘I’ll show you heaven, baby’.”
Eddie laughed. “Only if you ask nicely, Stevie.”
“You’re awful, devil-spawn.”
“Then how’d I get me an angel like you, huh? Musta been real good in my past life.”
“Or I must have been really bad.”
Eddie laughed again and Steve bit back a smile as he shushed him to keep from waking the kids.
“My heaven’s your hell?” Eddie asked with amusement.
“It’s an efficient system.” Steve sniffed.
“I’m using that for a song.”
“Make sure to give me credit.”
“What? For bullying me?”
“Mhm.” Steve tucked his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. “Hey, Eds.”
Eddie carded his fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Mhm?”
“Thank you for coming to find me this time.”
“You can return the favor next life, darling.”
“M’kay.”
Eddie felt Steve's breathing even out, each inhale shallow as though his body was trying not to aggravate his ribs, lips parted and breath warm against Eddie's neck, his body lax with sleep. It was dangerous to be curled up with the beautiful boy in his arms in a hospital, but none of the nurses had commented so far. He wondered if they had seen so many grieving families that a little extra proximity seemed entirely natural after the ordeal they had all been through.
Eddie looked up as the door opened, making eye contact with Chief Hopper. Steve stirred, brows furrowed, and making an unhappy sound that Eddie only heard due to their proximity. Shushing him, Eddie stroked his fingers through his hair until his angel settled back down against his chest again. Hopper watched the interaction, but didn’t comment. The kids stayed fast asleep, all tangled up in one another, and squishing Steve underneath their combined weight.
“What’s going to happen to them?” Eddie nodded down at the kids.
“As the star witness, El’s going to have to be put into protective custody, especially since we don’t have an official headcount for everyone in the cult, nor any disillusioned previous members who might have a vendetta. I’m working on getting the paperwork sorted so she can stay with me in the city.
“I’ve got a call out to a Claudia Henderson, she’s the birth mom, she was young when she had him, and hasn’t seen him since the day he was born, but… but she said she’d come down.”
“And Max?”
Hopper’s lips flattened out into a fine line. “Her mother will be charged for child endangerment at the very least and possibly conspiracy to murder, so she’ll be considered a ward of the state.”
“…no chance the court would give Steve custody?”
“A brainwashed twenty year old with no job prospects or place to live? Not a chance.”
Eddie bristled, but he knew Hopper was only telling him what the courts would say, so he bit back a sharp retort in Steve’s defense.
“In a year or two… maybe,” Hopper said. “He’s still young, but he could make a case as an adopted older brother of sorts if he had a stable job, decent place to live, and passed all the inspections.”
“When’s CPS coming?”
“Not tonight,” Hopper said.
Eddie chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Actually, can you make a call for me? It’s to a Wayne Munson. He’s, uh, he’s got a knack for troubled teens.”
Hopper gave him what could have almost been an amused look. “Yeah, I’ll bet he does. What’s the number?”
Eddie listed off the number for him, Wayne might not have had a fostering license, but he at least had a little understanding of how the system worked and how to work it after taking in Eddie and getting the papers through for adoption later. He also happened to have moved into Hawkins, Indiana the previous year where Will would be returning in the fall to restart school. The door cracked open, another officer peeking inside.
“Chief?”
“What?”
“The FBI has gone over the scene and new evidence has come to light,” the officer said, his eyes flicking down to Steve.
Hopper’s expression darkened, stepping out of the room. Eddie’s heart kicked up in his chest, arms tightening around the boy in his arms as he strained his ears to listen to the furious whispers behind the door. There was a knock on the door.
Steve startled awake with wide eyes.
“Easy,” Eddie said, even though his stomach felt like it was filled with lead.
“Wha—“ Robin wiped sleep from her eyes and the kids stirred and woke as two FBI agents stepped inside the hospital room.
“Mr. Harrington, I’m Agent Lewis and this is my partner Agent Johnson, we need to ask you a few questions about tonights events.”
Steve sat up straighter. “Can we do this in the morning?”
“We’ve recovered a gun, ballistics match the bullet taken from Henry Creel to the weapon, and your fingerprints are on the handle.”
Eddie tensed up, but Steve’s shoulders relaxed against him.
“Can you explain that?” Lewis asked.
“I shot him,” Steve said, his voice calm. “He was holding a remote that could have killed everyone on the farm.”
“Steve Harrington.” Johnson produced a pair of cuffs. “You’re under arrest—“
The others began to protest, several of them reaching out as though they would physically intercept the arrest.
“It’s okay!” Steve gently detangled himself with a little wince. “It’s okay. I have to go with them now.”
“Steve—“ Robin started.
“It’s okay,” Steve said softly before looking at the kids. “I need you all to be good and take care of each other, okay?”
“It’s not right, you didn’t do anything wrong!” Dustin said. “You were protecting El!”
“That’s not for me to decide.” Steve let the officer cuff his wrists together, holding his hands up by his ribs as though they were in a sling, but he leaned in close to Eddie.
“Stevie…”
Steve smiled. “Can you hang onto this a little longer?”
Eddie’s hands shook as he undid the clasp of the necklace, chain pooling in his hand.
“Take care of it for me, okay?”
“I will,” Eddie said, holding it tight.
Johnson held onto Steve’s good arm as he led him out of the room, starting his spiel over from the top because they had talked through his Miranda rights the first time. Eddie looked down at the cross in his hand.
Chapter Text
Steve’s whole body ached sitting in the plastic chair of the interrogation room, one hand cuffed to the table, the other in a sling they had provided for him, his arm still yet to be casted.
“Mr. Harrington, you admit to shooting and killing Henry Creel?”
“Yes, I thought he was going to kill El and everyone else in the Final Chapter with his bomb,” Steve said.
“Now, ballistics match, gun matches your prints, but the angle.” Lewis dropped the photo of Henry’s bloody face on the table before him. “The shooter would have had to be considerably smaller than Mr. Creel for the bullet to enter his skull from that angle.”
Steve met her eyes with a slight lift of his eyebrows.
“And the only other person in the chapel was Eleven, correct?” Lewis said.
“I was on my knees,” Steve said easily.
“And where was Eleven?” Lewis asked.
“Swab my fingers,” Steve said, holding out his good hand. “You’ll find gunpowder residue."
“Mr. Harrington,” Johnson said. “You do realize that it will be more difficult for a jury to believe that it was self defense when a twenty year old who willingly stayed in a cult engaged in criminal activities, including the covering up of the murder of Martin Brenner, than it would say, a fifteen year old girl?”
Steve met his eyes. “I’ve broken a tenet and I’m willing to face the consequences.”
Johnson sighed, stepping back.
“Mr. Harrington, do you understand that there is a lot of negative media attention on the situation and you risk losing based on current prejudice and not on the merit of whether your actions were in self defense?” Lewis asked.
“You have heard that the ancients were told ’you shall not commit murder’ and ‘whoever commits murder shall be liable to the court’,” Steve quoted easily.
Both agents exchanged a look before picking up their files and moving towards the door.
“You’ll be processed shortly,” Lewis said before stepping out of the room.
Before the door closed, Steve heard her say, ‘fucking martyr’. He was photographed and fingerprinted, but he was first brought back to the hospital to get his arm casted before being transported to Indianapolis Detention Center.
“Shit,” one of the guards whistled as Steve changed into the uniform. “Look at the punching bag.”
“Hey, wait, I know that face, that’s one of ‘em cult members,” another said.
“No shit.”
The whispers continued as Steve was led to his cell down the hall. He stifled a flinch as someone slammed their hands against the bars of their own cell, barking at him as he passed, and then laughing once he was out of range. There were a few whistles and a call of ‘pretty boy’ that made his stomach churn to think of Billy, but he played deaf until he reached his cell. A man in his thirties looked him over from the bottom bunk of the cell as a guard gave him a shove inside.
“Ain’t no one signed your cast,” the man drawled. “Don’t got no friends?”
“Looks like,” Steve said mildly, setting his belongings on the top bunk. “I’m Steve.”
“Joe.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Joe snorted. “No, it’s not.”
Steve smiled. “No, it’s not, but I was raised with manners.”
“Yeah? That what they taught you in that cult?”
“Charm school,” Steve said dryly.
Joe rolled his eyes then went back to the book he was reading. Steve climbed up into his bunk, staring up at the ceiling, and listening to the distant sound of the guards shouting at various inmates. The guard called lights out and the place went dark save for the hall lights. A thump made Steve startle, but it was only a book landing beside him.
“Here, make you feel right at home,” Joe said.
It was a copy of the Bible.
Steve’s public defender smelled like mustard and was more than a little displeased that Steve had actively admitted to killing a man on record, even if it was self defense. They would be entering a plea of ‘not guilty by reason of self defense’ and moving to have the trial as soon as possible so that the prosecution wouldn’t have time to look for anything else to stick him with such as conspiracy to murder for Father Brenner.
“The bail hearing will be an indicator of how receptive the public is to you,” Mr. Mulloy said. “You have a strong case for self defense, but with the publicized nature if you get let off too easy there might be major upheaval, so however the judge settles will let us know how warm our jury’ll probably feel about you. Bail hearings are typically within forty-eight hours, it’s a bit backed up at the courthouse after all the fireworks, but I’ll push for ‘em to get your hearing quick.”
“I won’t be able to pay bail,” Steve said.
“We’ll be moving to have this trial as quick as possible anyways, kid,” Mr. Mulloy said. “The longer you sit in here, the more likely the prosecution will come up with something else to stick you with. Main problem with the public right now is that most of the big names died in that shit show, so they’re looking for someone to blame.”
“Do you know how the others are doing?” Steve asked.
“Not my case,” Mr. Mulloy dismissed. “Now, let’s talk about how you’re gonna behave in the courtroom…”
Steve tapped his fingers against the table, nodding along at the right moments until the meeting was over. The only information that stuck in his head was that they were only allowed visitors once a week and that phone privileges had to be earned unless it was to his lawyer. Laying in his cot, he turned the Bible over and over in his hands, running through scenarios.
If the kids were in foster care there was absolutely nothing Steve could do from the inside and even if he got out, if he had any kind of record he could kiss trying to adopt them down the drain. Not that he could even if he didn’t, he had no place to live, no steady income, and was only twenty himself. Even if he had taken the kids and ran, they wouldn’t have made it far on the little cash he had squirreled away especially not under the spotlight of the Final Chapter’s conclusion. Closing his eyes, Steve tried to feel comfort knowing Robin would look after the kids the best she could, that Eddie would look after Robin, that Will was safe with Jonathan.
“Visitor.”
Steve frowned, getting to his feet, he couldn’t imagine that seeing his lawyer twice in one day was ever good news. Except when he was brought to the visiting room, Nancy Wheeler was sitting on the other side of the table, press pass pinned to her blouse. Slowly, Steve sat down opposite her.
“I didn’t think I was allowed visitors until after my bail hearing,” Steve said. “How’d you get in?”
“Murray has some pull with the Warden,” Nancy said. “Which I’m pretty sure just means blackmail.”
“And he sent you to collect the exclusive I promised him?” Steve asked, exhaustion bleeding into his tone.
“I asked to come,” Nancy said.
Steve almost laughed. “Of course you did.”
“To make amends,” Nancy said. “Steve, I… I know I didn’t handle this the right way before, but what I wanted then is the same as what I want now, to help, to give people the truth.”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters, especially now before jury selection,” Nancy said. “We have to get your story out, we have to make you sympathetic to the public, and we need to do it now.”
“Do you know how the kids are?”
Nancy reached into her jacket, pulling out a folded up piece of paper, and sliding it across the table. Unfolding it revealed a drawing of Steve in knight’s armor, and he recognized Will’s style immediately.
“Will’s still staying with Jonathan, actually, since my little brother, Mike, came in town, they’ve been hanging out practically every day. El’s staying with Hopper, she’s under protective custody because of her, um, status in the cult, and he found emergency placements for Dustin and Max.”
“So they’re separated?” Steve asked.
“Hopper managed to get in touch with Dustin’s birth mother, she was young when she gave him up for adoption, and she didn’t know that his adoptive mom had passed away until he called her. She’s driving up tomorrow for a visitation. She’s thirty, works as a tailor, unmarried, and has no other children.”
“You think she’ll take him in?” Steve asked.
“I know she’s coming up tomorrow.”
“And Max?”
“Eddie’s uncle knows his way around the foster care system, he came up yesterday, and had a visit with Max this morning that sounds like it went okay.”
Steve’s eyes widened. “Eddie’s… Eddie’s uncle is thinking about fostering Max?”
“That’s what it sounds like,” Nancy said. “And he lives in Hawkins, just like Mrs. Byers, so Max would be with Will.”
“But Mr. Munson doesn’t even know her,” Steve said. “Why would he…?”
“Eddie said that Wayne understands what it’s like to build your own family, that he would want to help keep yours together,” Nancy said.
Steve’s eyes stung. “And Robin?”
“Staying with Eddie.”
Steve had a million more questions to ask, but his throat was too tight to get them out.
“Steve.” Nancy reached across the table, putting her hand on his arm. “Everyone’s safe, so now it’s your turn, okay?”
After Nancy’s betrayal of the Final Chapter had been uncovered, it was weeks before Father Brenner let Steve return to work at the soup kitchen, and only three hours into his shift, she came marching back into the kitchen.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Steve said, turning away from her, and towards the stove.
Nancy reached for the collar of his sweater, tugging to look at the bandages, and he flinched away. “What did they do to you?"
Steve knocked her hand away. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”
“Would I have deserved being torn apart by rabid dogs?” Nancy demanded.
“I can’t talk to you, Nancy, you have to leave."
“No, we’re going to the police, your injuries will be more than enough proof—"
“Of what?” Steve turned on her. “That I was walking home late after working here and a hungry stray dog attacked me? Because that’s what I’ll tell them.”
“I’m trying to save you!"
“And in the process you nearly got us both killed!”
Nancy flinched.
“Go to the cops, Nance, and then you can watch me get gunned down with the rest of my family on the eleven o’clock news."
“They’re not your family."
“They’re the only family I’ve ever had. They care about me. I love them."
“Steve."
“Leave,” Steve said, quieter, turning back to the food. “Haven’t you done enough?”
Steve swallowed once, twice. “What do you want me to do?”
Nancy pulled out her notebook. “Tell me everything, start at the beginning, it’s okay if it’s not perfect, I’ll clean it up.”
Steve took a deep breath. “When I turned fifteen, I hadn’t seen my parents in five months. The last time we talked, my father told me I was a fool for wanting to go to art school and threw out all of my supplies, that I was a disappointment, that I was no son of his. I spent the next few months trying to be everything he wanted, I played basketball, I passed my classes, I made friends, I partied, I dated girls, and my parents… they never came home.
“So on my fifteenth birthday, I packed up, got on a bus, and left. I ended up in Chicago after awhile. I don’t know that I really had a plan, just that my house was so… quiet. I sold caricatures sometimes, if the weather was nice and people were in a good mood, but money went fast and I ended up on the street. I used to sneak into church, at first it was just to be out of the cold, but I liked to the stories they told during mass, so I came more often, and one day Father Brenner came to give a sermon.
“I always left a few minutes before the end, just incase a good Samaritan wanted to turn me into social services, but Brenner found me. He just… he just talked to me. He asked me what I knew about the Bible, he told me stories, he told me that he saw good in me, that God did, even after I told him that I was never good enough for my parents, that I didn’t think they’d even noticed I’d run away.
“Brenner told me that I could have a home, a family, who would love me, so long as I lived in accordance to God’s laws. All I had to do was mind my manners, say my prayers, do my chores, and there was a warm bed and three square meals and someone to talk to about all my questions big or small, someone to tell me how to be good.”
“So you went,” Nancy said.
“It’s cold in Chicago.”
“And then?”
“And then three months in, he asked if I thought I was a man after I questioned him and God and the tenants one too many times, and I said yes. So he treated me like one. Kids ask stupid questions, they’re disciplined. Men sin, and they atone. I atoned.”
“What did you atone for?”
Steve told her.
He told her how extra chores for talking back turned into raking the field until he passed out of exhaustion. How going to bed without dinner turned into three days of fasting. How slaps on the back of his hands with a ruler turned into the scars from a whip on his back.
He told her that his faith wavered as the other kids came, that somehow the stinging slaps of a wooden ruler against his knuckles that he had merely rolled his eyes at when he was fifteen seemed unbearable when Dustin’s hands were so small, and El’s were always cold, and Will needed his for drawing, and Max’s were already scraped up from roughhousing in the field.
His faith wobbled when Robin came, when they almost took a bullet for one another, when she laid in his bed crying that she ran before she could even tell her parents who she loved because the just the thought of how they would react was an unbearable weight to carry, and Steve told her that he loved her anyway.
His faith withered and died under Eddie’s bright smile and warm voice and gentle hands.
Nancy recorded it and took notes on what she decided were the important pieces in her notepad in her neat but slanted cursive, interrupting only to ask for more detail. He gave it to her where he could, but some of his story deserved to crumble to ash where the rest of his secrets burned up still hidden under the floorboards of his room on the farm.
“Times up,” the guard called.
Nancy clicked her recording off, picking up her notebook.
“Nancy,” Steve began, his voice rough from talking for so long.
“I’ll get it right this time,” Nancy said. “I promise, Steve.”
Steve nodded.
The morning before his bail hearing Joe tossed his newspaper up onto Steve’s bunk and he saw Nancy had gotten her hands on his yearbook photo from freshman year, smiling tentatively at the camera, hair neatly combed, and the line of his jaw softer than the one he saw in the mirror. Steve didn’t remember ever looking so young, didn’t remember being young, but he looked it in that photo. The title of the article was, ‘The Protector of the Flock’, Murray’s name came first in the bylines, Nancy’s second. It had quotes, all anonymous due to the sources ages, of how he took care of the younger members of the flock.
“When the Final Chapter found me on the street, they promised me a home, a family, and that’s what Steve was for all of us kids, even if the Chapter wasn’t.”
“I don’t think any of us realized, not until the end, how much Steve tried to shield us from. To me, the Final Chapter, was prison, but without him it would have been Hell.”
“Steve made us breakfast in the morning, asked about our day, made sure we did our homework, and listened to whatever problems we had, big or small. The Chapter told us that God loved us, I don’t know if I believe that anymore, but I know Steve did. I’m sure of it.”
“Big brother.”
Steve folded it up and tucked it in between his mattress and his wall, blinking back the tears that hadn’t come when telling Nancy his story.
Chapter Text
Eddie sat on the edge of his seat in the courtroom, eyes glued to the door. Robin, Jonathan, and Argyle sat beside him as close to the front as they could get, ignoring the press crowded in the back, though Nancy had managed to elbow her way to the front of the pack along with a camera man from the Post, and Murray was likely lurking somewhere nearby.
The door opened and camera flashes went off as Steve was led into the courtroom, chains clinking around his ankles, and wrists bound to the one around his waist, like a belt over his blue detention center uniform. His chin was held high, but without his usual product, his hair fell in his eyes, long enough to brush his shoulders. The bruises were a watercolor of blues and purples on his skin, dark circles under his eyes, and white cast around his arm. Standing before the judge, Steve didn’t look back as the press shouted his name and took pictures of the back of his head.
“Order,” the judge demanded, slamming her gavel, and the court went silent.
“Mr. Harrington, you are facing charges of voluntary manslaughter in the case of Henry Creel, accessory to the murder of Martin Brenner, and child endangerment. Do you understand the charges you’re facing?”
“Yes, your honor,” Steve said, voice calm, and meeting her eyes.
“And what do you plead?"
“Not guilty, your honor.”
“To all charges,” the defense attorney, Mr. Mulloy, added.
“On what grounds?”The judge asked.
“Self defense, your honor,” Mr. Mulloy said.
“I will now hear arguments for bail.”
“The prosecution believes that due to the attention on the case at hand it is in the best interest of all parties that Mr. Harrington is remanded to the detention center awaiting trial, especially considering his prior track record as a longterm runaway, he may have connections and means to flee and he has no ties to the community,” the prosecution said.
Eddie ground his teeth and Robin squeezed his hand so tight he could feel his bones shifting under his skin.
“Your honor,” Mr. Mulloy protested. “Mr. Harrington, quite simply put does not have the means to flee on account that he doesn’t even have a bank account to his name due to being kidnapped by this cult at the age of fifteen, anything more costly than being released on his own recognizance is unreasonable.”
“I’m not inclined to release someone accused of second degree murder on his own recognizance, Mr. Mulloy,” the judge said.
“Mr. Harrington, in fear of his life and the life of a young girl, shot the man holding the remote to a bomb that would kill not only him and the young girl, but also dozens of police officers. It would be a mistake to unduly punish a man who has already been through so much.”
The judge did not appear impressed. “Save it for the trial, Mr. Mulloy.”
“Yes, your honor.”
The judge looked at Steve for a long minute. “Mr. Harrington, it’s my understanding that you cooperated with the police before and after the raid and also confessed to the murder while in FBI custody, is that correct?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t regret my actions, not to save the life of someone I love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to face the consequences of what I’ve done. If I am justified, a jury will decide so, and if not, then I will face my penance.”
Mr. Mulloy looked a little like he wanted to strangle Steve, but the judge looked pensive.
“Do you have any intention of fleeing?”
“No, your honor.”
“Your honor, you cannot trust the word of someone facing these charges,” the prosecution protested.
“I won’t flee,” Steve said. “Because I do have ties to this community, even if they’re not blood.”
“Given the serious nature of what you are being accused of, I cannot in good conscious release you on your own recognizance, but I will set bail at $5,000.”
Robin made a noise as though she were punched in the gut.
“The court is adjourned.”
Mr. Mulloy was speaking to Steve, but the latter didn’t look particularly upset by the outcome, nodding along. Eddie stood to try to catch his eyes, but Steve didn’t look back as the crowd as he was led out of the courtroom. Following the bustle of the crowd the rest of them were buffered out onto the steps outside the courthouse, Nancy breaking away from the rest of the press to join them off to the side. Robin had yet to be bothered by the press; she had been out of sight by the time the news vans arrived on the raid, and her name hadn’t been leaked by the police department. At least not yet.
“Five thousand dollars!” Robin raved. “He shouldn’t even be charged with anything! Henry was going to blow the whole compound to pieces!”
“It’s actually a good thing,” Nancy said.
Robin wheeled on her with an incredulous look.
“Five thousand dollars is ridiculously low for a murder charge,” Nancy said. “That shows that right now the court is in our favor, even if they’re still pursuing the charges as of right now.”
“As of right now?” Jonathan asked.
“A case like this is fought in the court of public opinion,” Nancy said. “With most of the major players of the cult not making it out of the raid, that leaves the anti-cult groups grasping for a scapegoat, but if they start seeing Steve as a victim, the pressure on the prosecution will decrease, and they’re more likely to plead him out.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Robin stressed.
“I know,” Nancy said.
Eddie squeezed Robin's hand, but kept his eyes on Nancy. “How did he look? When you visited?”
Nancy’s lips flattened into a line. “Tired.”
“I don’t blame him,” Jonathan said. “Will’s barely sleeping either. It was almost impossible to get him to stay home today, but I don’t want the press to put the pieces together about him. He doesn’t need that attention.”
Hopper had stayed home with El to try to minimize the spotlight on her as well, though the media had already plastered her across the papers as ‘the child prophet’ of the doomsday cult.
Robin crossed her arms. “It’s probably for the best, Steve wouldn’t want the kids to see him like this.”
“They’ll probably still see it on TV,” Argyle said. “There were a lotta cameras in there.”
“Then I hope their temporary placements are hippies that don’t believe in television,” Robin said.
“Any updates on the situation?” Nancy asked.
“Wayne’s running all over the place to try to get his foster license,” Eddie said. “He had to drive back to Hawkins to meet with a social worker for a home inspection this morning.”
“Hopper said Dustin’s meeting with his birth mom went well,” Robin said.
Robin called almost every night to talk to El, though the latter wasn’t much of a conversationalist, she seemed to appreciate having someone to say goodnight to, and Hopper kept them in the loop as much as possible on both the kids' cases and what he knew about Steve’s though it was mainly out of his hands now aside from his own date to testify at his trial. Eddie never could have imagined the cop who picked up for dealing on a semi-regular basis to have his home number and tell him that, ‘Steve’s a good kid, we won’t let him take the fall for this, just keep your head down, Munson’.
Eddie checked his watch. “I’ve got a shift. I’ll see you at home, okay?”
Robin nodded.
There was a distinct possibility that Eddie put ACDC’s new record in the swing music section, but Steve’s words in court were eating away at him, afraid that his boy was all too eager to make himself a martyr, to take unearned penance because he had spent so long being handed crosses of guilt that weren’t his to bear. The bell chimed. Eddie only looked up when the footsteps came right to the front desk, Gareth and Jeff standing before him. They had wanted to come to court that morning, but with how big the case was seating was limited.
“We saw it on the TV,” Jeff said.
“Five thousand,” Gareth said with a bitter note. “That’s one semester’s worth of tuition.”
Eddie set the records down with a thump. “We’re bringing him home.”
“You win the lottery?” Jeff asked, eyebrows raised.
“He can’t stay there,” Eddie said. “He thinks… he thinks he’s guilty, that he deserves it, I can see it in his eyes. We’ve got to get him out.”
“We are not equipped for a jail break,” Gareth said. “So, unless you want a cell next to his, you’re going to have to come up with the money somehow.”
“Put up fliers,” Eddie said. “We’re having a show tomorrow night and we’re taking donations.”
“You really think that’s going to cover it?” Jeff asked.
“It should make up the difference at least,” Eddie said.
“The difference of what?” Gareth asked.
“What I get for my van.”
Both boys eyes went wide.
“…we’ll get those fliers up,” Jeff said.
Finished with his shift, Eddie stepped out of the record store to find fliers plastered on just about every telephone pole he came across on his walk back to his apartment, and almost smiled. Robin was inside his apartment, papers from the last week spread out across the floor, and different jobs circled in blue marker. His TV was playing on low, rerunning clips from the courtroom, and Eddie’s stomach knotted looking at Steve in chains again.
“We’re cutting over now to one of our reporters in Houston outside Harrington Holdings, trying to get a hold of CEO Richard Harrington, who has so far declined to comment on his son’s trial and involvement in the doomsday cult known as The Final Chapter.”
Eddie clicked the volume up a few notches, pausing in the living room. Richard Harrington looked almost exactly as Eddie pictured he would in an expensive, but horrendously boring grey suit complete with watch, cufflinks, and shined shoes. His hair was beginning to thin, combed back with gel, and he had wrinkles on his forehead, but none by his eyes or mouth. Each step was quick, not giving a second glance to the reporter running after him.
“Mr. Harrington, Mr. Harrington, what do you have to say about your son’s involvement in The Final Chapter?”
“It’s downright Darwinian that the people stupid enough to believe that doomsday spiel kill themselves over it and spare us their idiocy.”
“Your son—“
“And anyone that stupid is no son of mine and you can quote me on that.”
“Asshole.” Robin slapped her hand against the button, turning the TV off. “Five thousand dollars would be nothing to him.”
“We’re getting him out of there,” Eddie said. “I’m getting him out.”
Robin looked down at her hands. “He didn’t look for us today.”
Eddie’s felt nauseous. “You said he doesn’t like people seeing him like that.”
“I think… I think he was more afraid that if he turned around we might not have been there… and I think, I think a little part of him wants us to leave him to rot.”
“I will never do that,” Eddie said, more viciously than intended.
Robin looked up. “I know, but sometimes, sometimes I don’t think Steve ever will. Sometimes I think that part of him that knew how to be loved was carved out before I met him and now when I tell him, when I show him, it just slips right through that empty space and out again.”
“We’ll just have to prove it then,” Eddie said.
Eddie knew his van would get scraped for parts, but he still went through and wiped it down in the morning, though all it appeared to do was make every nick and ding more visible on the paint job. The smell of weed was embedded in the upholstery, but he cleaned out the back of it, rolling up blankets, forgotten cigarettes, pens, crumpled up papers from attempted songs, and old flannels he had forgotten. Opening the glove box, he found Steve’s “contingency plan”, entirely forgotten after the events of that night.
Each letter was labeled with a name: Robin Buckley, Max Mayfield, Dustin Henderson, Eleven, Will Byers, and Eddie Munson. Eddie’s hands shook as he opened his, pulling out first the signed napkin from that night at the bar, then his folded up flier from Hellfire’s first concert, then an illustration of a crow peering down into a pond where the shape of a fish was distorted by the ripple of the water, a guitar pick in its beak, perched on the string of an acoustic guitar, with a nest built in the sound hole.
Gently, he folded the papers back up to fit into the envelope again. Picking up Robin’s envelope, he pulled the papers out afraid he would find the words, ‘goodbye’ somewhere inside, but it unfolded to reveal a sketch of her laughing, nose wrinkled, eyes mostly shut, and half turned away. It was done in shades of orange like a sunset and far more realistic than any of the little doodles Eddie kept tucked into his wallet. Each of the letters had sketches of the people they were addressed to, not all of them polished, and perhaps a little unflattering in their accuracy, but clearly drawn with a loving hand. In El’s and Max’s envelopes there were friendship bracelets, in Dustin’s a broken antique watch, in Will’s half finished comic strips he never turned into the Post, and to Robin was an enamel pin with two interlocking female signs.
Repacking the envelopes, Eddie brought them up to his apartment along with the rest of his belongings, and tucked them into the little box of Steve’s belongings he kept hidden away in his closet like he could protect him by proxy of keeping his handful of possessions safe.
Setting up the venue with the boys and Robin, Eddie looked up in surprise to find Jonathan and Argyle rolling kegs inside.
“I feel obliged to say we don’t have a liquor license in this joint,” Eddie drawled.
“Yeah, forget trespassing,” Gareth said. “That’s the real problem here.”
Jeff snorted.
“We got the kegs for free,” Argyle said, slapping the keg. “I know a guy who owes me a favor, figure even if we only charge a couple bucks, should help a little.”
“And we pooled some used tapes,” Jonathan said, gesturing to the milk crate on his hip. “They might not all be of the metalhead persuasion, but I figure it’s another couple of bucks and the right venue for it.”
Eddie opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Nancy climbing through the makeshift entrance, her hair cut just below her jaw when it had been down to her shoulder blades that morning.
“Wheeler.” Eddie blinked. “New look?”
“Hundred fifty.” Nancy held up a few bills. “There’s a salon in town who will pay since they make their own wigs.”
Jeff held out the donation jar… which already had a few bills in it.
“Who…?” Eddie glanced around.
“Sold a few old textbooks… and some of my notes,” Jeff said.
Eddie’s chest felt tight, afraid he might cry if he said anything.
Jeff squeezed his shoulder. “Steve’s good people, man, we’ll get him out. Don’t go selling your van for scraps just yet, okay?”
Eddie blinked hard several times. “So not metal to make me cry before our gig.”
Jeff laughed, stepping away.
Idling on stage as the venue filled, Eddie fiddled with his guitar as people bought cups of lukewarm beer and rifled through the cassette collection. Gareth turned his drumsticks over and over in his fingers while Jeff leaned back against the stage, talking to a few returning fans. Catching his eye, Eddie gave him a nod, and he wrapped up his conversation to join them on stage. Signaling Argyle, the music stopped, and he switched the speakers over to their instruments and microphone.
“Tonight’s gonna be a little different for those of you who have come to a Hellfire show before, because tonight, we’re taking requests!” Eddie said, pointing over. “These two fine ladies, Nancy and Robin raise your hands please.”
They both raised their hands, waving notepads.
“Will take your suggestions and pass ‘em on up to us and if we know it, then, you’ve got it!”
There were a few cheers and people moved closer to Nancy and Robin, ready to give their suggestions.
“We’ve also got a donation jar,” Eddie said. “A good friend of mine… a good friend of mine is currently stuck behind bars for standing up for his freedom and the freedom of his friends and family, so we’re gonna break him out! Donate what you can! Buy some cassettes! All proceeds are going right to his bail!”
There were several cheers and hollers.
“I usually dedicate a song to him in our sets,” Eddie said. “But, uh, tonight, every songs for you, Stevie, so, let’s go! Shout it out! What song are we starting with?”
Eddie listened to various shouts, but he latched onto (Take These) Chains.
“Take These Chains? Judas Priest? Aw, come on, you’ve got a wicked sense of humor, but, yeah, let’s do it, ready boys?”
Eddie sang until his voice was more of a croak than anything else, even though Jeff had taken a few of the songs when Eddie hadn’t known the lyrics as well. They had played as many requests as they knew, even making the crowd laugh by butchering Like A Virgin. Eddie’s fingertips stung, red and swollen by the time the crowd had trickled out, and he slung his guitar over to his back.
“What have we got?” Eddie asked.
Argyle counted up the tally from the beer, Jonathan thumbing through what he got for cassettes, and Nancy pulling out cash from the donation jar which was stuffed with coins and crumpled ones. Sipping water, Eddie twisted at the borrowed necklace around his neck.
“Four-thousand, three hundred, twenty three,” Nancy said for final tally.
Eddie’s voice came out barely a rasp. “Okay, okay, we’re short, like, what a little under seven hundred?”
“We could try again tomorrow night?” Jonathan said.
“We won’t get a crowd again so soon,” Jeff said. “And Eddie’s voice is shot.”
Gareth fiddled with his with his watch before pulling it free. “You can sell this.”
Eddie turned. “Gar, no, absolutely not, my van—“
“Your van has been with you since you got your license and it’s worth a lot more than seven hundred, my watch will get us a couple hundred, and I know a good pawn shop in the area,” Gareth said.
“My camera should get a couple too,” Jonathan said.
“Jonathan, you can’t,” Nancy said. “You need it for school, your portfolio, to freelance for papers.”
“I’ll pick up extra shifts, save up, buy a new one. Steve brought Will back to me,” Jonathan said. “That’s worth more than any camera.”
Eddie opened and closed his mouth.
“Pawn shop still open?” Jonathan asked.
Gareth glanced at Jeff’s watch. “For another hour.”
“Let’s go,” Jonathan said.
All seven of them went to the shop, but only Jonathan, Gareth, and Eddie went inside with fifteen minutes to closing.
“John,” Gareth said.
John sighed. “Make it quick, boy, let’s see it.”
Gareth pulled his watch free, setting it down on the counter. “It’s an A11, genuine WW2 era military watch, went to Germany and back with my grandfather.”
John picked up the watch, turning it over. There was a crack in the face, the hands stuck at three and eleven, and the leather band worn and scuffed. Setting it back down, he slid it back towards Gareth with a slight shake of his head.
“It get this beat up in the war?”
Gareth’s jaw worked. “A vintage A11 goes at around three hundred these days.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” John said. “It’ll cost more to fix it than it’s worth. I’m not an antique dealer. Pass.”
Jonathan set his camera on the counter. “It’s a Pentax MX, mint condition. With both lenses it’s going for around eight hundred fifty in stores right now.”
“I ain’t a camera store.” John turned the camera over in his hands. “I’ll give you an even four hundred for it.”
“Four hundred?” Jonathan repeated incredulously.
“Not gonna work,” Gareth said. “We need seven hundred.”
John gave them all a long look. “Owe a bookie?”
“Can you do seven hundred or not?” Gareth asked.
John’s eyes flicked over them, landing on Eddie. “Tell you what, throw that cross in and I’ll give it to you.”
“What? No.” Eddie put his hand over the cross.
“Solid gold, no nicks, likely from the 1920s, it’s worth two hundred, maybe even three hundred.”
“It’s not for sale,” Eddie said.
“I ain’t given you seven hundred for this.” John gestured to the camera. “So, if we don’t got some kinda deal, get on out so I can close up shop.”
Eddie’s jaw worked, pulling his guitar over his shoulder, and unzipping his case. “How much for this?”
“Eddie—“ Gareth started.
Eddie ignored him, setting it on the counter. “It’s a BC Warlock, best guitar for metal, I replaced all the strings two weeks ago. She plays like a dream.”
John looked it over with interest. “I’ll take it and the camera for seven hundred.”
“Eight,” Gareth said. “You’re robbing them blind and you know it.”
“Seven fifty, call it good will,” John said. “I ain’t a charity.”
“Deal,” Eddie said, buckling his case, and forcing himself to step back from the counter.
John handed over seven-fifty cash and Eddie managed to walk out of the store with the money in hand, and the others looking at him expectantly.
“Let’s go get him,” Eddie said.
Chapter Text
“Hey, jailbird!”
Steve couldn’t help his grin, forcing himself to walk the last few yards until he was through the gate of the detention center, and picked up his pace. Eddie’s arms wrapped around his waist, lifting him right off his feet, and spinning him in a circle. Letting out a laugh, Steve’s own arms wound around his neck, staying close even as he was set on his feet so bask in the warmth of Eddie beaming at him. Robin weaseled in, and Steve wrapped his good arm around her to pull her close, his cast still hooked behind Eddie’s neck. Steve’s eyes were wet, so he closed them, and let out a laugh to release the pressure in his chest instead.
“It was a hard sell to convince the kids not to try to tag along to see you,” Robin said, detangling herself.
Steve squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
Letting go of her hand, he stepped up to Hopper. “Thank you for taking in El.”
Hopper put a hand on his shoulder. “How’re you holding up, kid?”
Steve managed a smile. “Believe it or not, I’ve been worse.”
“One step at a time,” Hopper said, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re out right now, focus on that.”
Steve ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back out of his face, feeling underdressed all of the sudden in the hospital sweats he had been brought to the detention center with. His hand went instinctively to his throat, but it was bare, and he let it drop.
“I talked to the social workers,” Hopper said. “I’m picking the kids up in an hour, the social workers like to keep visitations in public places more or less, but due to the publicity of your case they’ve okayed my apartment provided they supervise.”
Steve nodded. “I understand.”
“Which gives you enough time to do your hair if you rush,” Robin teased.
Steve shoved her. “Shut up.”
“I’m going back to keep El and the social worker company while Hopper picks up the other kids, I just…” Robin squeezed his hand. “Just had to see you.”
Steve squeezed back before letting go.
“C’mon.” Eddie took his hands, leading him back towards his van, only letting go to open the door for him. “Here you are, angel.”
Steve climbed into the passenger side, doing his buckle as Eddie got behind the wheel and he couldn’t help his laugh as Dio began playing as soon as the engine started, adjusting the volume. Eddie tossed him a little grin, pulling away from the detention center, fingers tapping against the wheel. Climbing the stairs to Eddie’s apartment gave him a strange sense of deja vu, but also felt entirely foreign at the same time.
“Well, jailbird.” Eddie leaned against the door to close it. “What do you want to do with your hour of freedom before you’re torn limb from limb by little hellions?”
“Shower,” Steve said honestly.
Eddie laughed a little. “Yeah, I should have seen that coming. I’ll get something for your cast. I don’t think I have any clothes that matches your, uh, style, but you’re welcome to whatever I’ve got.”
“Thanks.”
Rifling through Eddie’s clothes felt similar to looking through his cassette collection with the majority being band t-shirts, though there were a few from horror movies, and a couple plain black ones. His hand curled around the same Metallica t-shirt he had worn last time and he pulled it out, grabbing a pair of jeans, and socks to go along. Setting them on the bathroom counter, he fiddled with the shower.
“I come bearing plastic wrap!” Eddie held up the tube with a little grin.
Steve gave him a little smile, extending his arm and Eddie mummified his arm with layers of plastic.
“There,” Eddie said, tearing the end of it, and pressing a kiss over his bundled hand. “All set.”
“Thank you,” Steve said quietly.
“Course,” Eddie said, just as soft, stepping back. “Take your time, okay? I’m gonna rustle up some grub.”
Steve watched him head for the kitchen before closing and locking the door. The warm water was fickle, but he lingered under it, scrubbing himself clean down to his fingernails. Even if he could shower, they were quick and perfunctory and under the eye of the guards and other inmates, and it was the first time in days he actually felt clean as he stepped out, drying off with a somewhat bleach stained towel. Eddie’s jeans were more fitted than he typically wore but he had to cuff them at his ankles. The Metallica t-shirt hugged his shoulders and it smelled like Eddie’s laundry detergent. With the little product he found, he styled his hair to the best of his ability, before stepping out of the bathroom.
Eddie was singing in the kitchen, though his voice was low and raspy, like he had been spent his night shouting, so it was a rough rendition of Prisoner of Your Eyes. Steve’s lips curled up, padding into the kitchen as his buttery spatula turned into a microphone.
“Hey.” Eddie turned with a smile. “There you are, pretty boy.”
Steve’s face warmed.
“Oh!” Eddie ditched the spatula, twisting his hair out of the way, and unclipping his necklace.
Eddie stepped up to him, close enough that their noses almost brushed as he reached around to clip the necklace around Steve's neck again, fixing the cross so it hung straight.
“There’s my angel, huh?” Eddie teased, but there was a tentative note to his voice.
As though he hadn’t kept Steve’s only possession safe for him. As though he hadn’t raised bail to get him out of jail. As though he hadn’t let Robin stay in his apartment free of charge. As though he hadn’t called up his uncle and asked him to take Max in.
Steve cupped Eddie's face with one hand and kissed him. Eddie made a little sound of surprise, but his hand quickly slid to curl around the back of his neck, the other bracing on the kitchen island behind Steve to press closer. His lips were chapped, skin warm under Steve’s palm, and steady as the counter behind him. Eddie’s smile broke the kiss and Steve ducked his head slightly as Eddie pulled away to flick off the burners and serve up slightly burnt grilled cheese, though Steve ate it in seconds, licking butter from his fingertips.
“I, uh, I hope it’s not presumptuous, but I put my address on your bail thing? Nancy said she could take in Robin, since I’m not exactly living in a palace over here,” Eddie said as Steve started on the dishes.
“I can’t ask you for anymore charity, Eds, you’ve already… you’ve already done so much for me.” Steve toweled off his hands.
Eddie’s arms wrapped around his waist, pressed up close behind him. “I thought charity was in the Bible, baby. Besides, it’s, uh, it’s not entirely unselfish, I like having you here.”
The last part was murmured into his shoulder as though it was a secret.
“I’m paying half the rent.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Eddie—“
“I can already cover the rent of this, uh, lovely little place, and you’ve got plenty of other bullshit that you have to spend your money on in this capitalist society.”
“I’m paying for all the groceries then.”
Eddie opened his mouth to protest.
“It’s self-serving,” Steve said, tossing a smile over his shoulder. “I’m not living on ramen and cigarettes.”
Eddie opened and closed his mouth. “…deal.”
“And I’m cooking.”
“Then I’m doing dishes.”
“Laundry.”
“Vacuuming.”
“Cleaning the counters.”
Eddie flipped him around, pressing him up against the counter. “Oh baby, I’ll clean your counters.”
Steve laughed. “Ew. I don’t even want to know what that was supposed to mean.”
Eddie laughed. “Uh, I think it means we’ll take turns with chores.”
“Deal.”
Eddie took his hand and made him shake on it, earning another laugh, and Steve felt lighter than he had in years even with the sword of Damocles still hanging over his head. Steve could hardly hold still for the duration of the car ride, his knee bouncing until Eddie’s hand settled on his knee, and squeezed. Pulling up in front of a brownstone building, Steve was out of the car before the engine was off, rocking on his toes as he waited to be let in, Eddie a step behind him. Hopper opened the door for him, but Steve only made it a few steps inside before Dustin collided with him, knocking the air out of him with an oof.
“Hey, kiddo.” Steve’s throat felt tight, tussling his hair, and looking up at the others.
Max hovered close by, but she had her arms wrapped tight around herself. She was out of reach, but Steve still extended his arm towards her, and she closed the space in seconds to press herself up against his side. El and Will were quick to follow and he tried to get his arms around all four of them. A social worker was standing in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee, Robin and Jonathan a few steps away smiling at him, though he could hardly see them through his blurred vision. Letting out a little laugh, Steve let them go to wipe at his eyes.
“Missed you,” El said softly.
“I missed you too,” Steve said. “I want to hear everything, so, c’mon, get me up to speed.”
Steve got their stories in bits and pieces as they interrupted one another and interjected their own comments. Will had been spending a lot of time with one Mike Wheeler, who also appreciated Dungeons and Dragons, and they were hoping to get a campaign together. Dustin had met his birth mother, one Claudia Henderson, who apparently had burst into tears upon seeing him and then shown him numerous photos of her cat that she kept in her wallet. Max had been stuck in an all girls group home which she was unsurprisingly tight lipped about, aside from saying it was ‘fine’. El informed him that Hopper didn’t make waffles as well as he did.
“That’s because they’re Eggos,” Hopper said, looking mildly embarrassed, but trying to cover it with a glower. “Ain’t nobody got time to make the real shit every morning.”
“Steve did,” Max said.
“Steve used to wake up at five am, go for a run, feed the animals, shower, and make breakfast before God was even awake,” Robin said.
“God doesn’t sleep,” Dustin said with a frown.
There was a certain tension in the room from the mention of God, but most of it was radiating from the sharp watch of the social worker, her eyes cutting into Steve.
“Yeah, well, Hopper does, so you get frozen waffles,” Hopper said.
El pouted.
Steve bit back a laugh, tussling El’s short hair. “It’s okay, we’ll make waffles again sometime soon, okay?”
El gave him that big-eyed look that Steve always interpreted as a smile; her lips didn’t turn up, but her face was open and attentive.
“Hey, Will, have you ever played would you rather?” Dustin asked. “Eddie taught us.”
The following game was likely the most creative would you rathers Steve had ever heard, though some of the references to DND creatures went over his head, and a few of his own questions got booed for being boring. Boring was a bit of a force of habit for him at this point trying to keep the kids entertained within the strict guidelines of "appropriate talk" in the Final Chapter, but he did get several stumped looks over ‘would you rather have ten really mediocre friends or one super loyal dog’ and a brief argument over whether or not talking to the dog counted as social interaction. Dustin said he would invent a communicator and Max started complaining so loudly about breaking the ‘rules’ of would you rather that Steve took her to the kitchen under the guise of getting water to cool off. She slammed several cups down on the counter, just short of breaking any of them.
“Hey.” Steve put a hand on Max’s shoulder. “How are you? Really?”
“You’re the one facing murder charges,” Max bit back.
“Yeah,” Steve said. “But the worst part of it is that it keeps me from being with you guys, so c’mon, talk to me.”
“I hate the group home,” Max said. “The girls all suck.”
Steve hummed sympathetically. “And Wayne?”
“He’s… he’s fine,” Max said, slow, and tentative like she was trying the word out. “Y’know, despite how Eddie turned out.”
“Hey! I heard that!” Eddie said from where he was setting up an intricate card game.
Steve bit back a laugh, giving a little shake of his head.
“I wish…” Max trailed off, eyes on her sneakers.
“Wish what?” Steve coaxed.
“I mean, it sucked, I hated the farm, but… but I wouldn’t mind, if it was just… if it was just us.”
Steve wrapped her up in a hug. “I wish you could stay with me too.”
Max hugged him back fiercely, fingers curled tight in the back of his shirt, and head tucked under his chin. She only held on for a few seconds before pushing him off, and wiping quickly at her eyes. Stomping away, she sat down hard next to Dustin, and ignored his presence entirely. Moving to the kitchen to collect himself for a moment, Steve almost jumped when El appeared beside him as he filled up a glass of water.
“Lie,” El said, quietly, barely audible.
“Yeah,” Steve said, glancing at the social worker, but she wasn’t looking their way. “I did lie because I love you and I will do whatever I can to protect you.”
El fiddled with his sleeve, giving it a little tug. “Love.”
Steve’s heart squeezed. “Yeah, I know, but I’m the big brother here, so I get first dibs on who protects who, got it?”
El’s brows furrowed slightly, but she didn’t argue.
“Hey, knock knock.”
“Who?”
“Woo.”
“Woo who?”
“What are you so excited about?”
El ducked her head as she smiled.
Chapter Text
Eddie held the door open, bell chiming over head. “After you, angel.”
Steve gave a little shake of his head, but stepped inside the diner. Wayne was already sitting at one of the booths, sipping his coffee, raising his mug in hello once he saw them. Nudging Steve in first, Eddie slid in close enough that he could easily press his knee against his thigh. Reaching across him to grab the sugar packets, squished Steve somewhat, earning a look somewhere between amused and exasperated, but it also made his knee stop bouncing under the table.
Steve offered his hand across the table. “Mr. Munson, it’s nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“My boy damn near made my ears bleed talking ‘bout you.” Wayne shook his hand.
Steve’s face warmed. “I appreciate what you’re doing for Max.”
“Still a lotta paper work to go,” Wayne said.
Darla made her way over with a coffee pot, pouring both of them a helping.
“Thank you,” Steve said.
Darla gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. “You folks ready to order?”
“What if I want to hear the specials?” Eddie asked with false innocence.
“Don’t mind him,” Wayne said. “I’ll have the Butcher’s breakfast.”
“Hm… let me think…” Eddie tapped his chin.
Darla bopped him over the head with her notepad.
“Violence!” Eddie cried out, cowering away. “I’ll sue!”
Wayne gave him an unimpressed look. “He’ll have a stack of flapjacks. You?”
Steve stacked the menus. “I’ll have the spinach omelette, please.”
“Ew, what’s wrong with you?” Eddie asked, sitting up straighter.
“What?” Steve asked. “You don’t like spinach?”
Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Are there people who do like spinach?”
Steve blinked at him.
“Getting Eddie to eat a vegetable is like trying to give a cat a pill,” Wayne said.
“Hey!” Eddie squawked, but Steve was biting back a smile.
“Max’ll eat her vegetables,” Steve said, knee picking up to a bounce under the table “Except for cooked carrots, she hates the texture, but she’ll eat just about anything else. If she tells you she drinks coffee she’s lying.”
“I can’t promise it won’t be TV dinners, but she’ll fed,” Wayne said.
Eddie put a heavy hand on his knee to settle him.
“Sorry.” Steve ducked his head slightly.
“Don’t apologize for trying to take care of your family, boy,” Wayne said. “I know you’d take her in if you could, ’n I know you don’t know me from Adam, but I’ll do my best to be a damn good runner-up.”
Steve gave him that big, brilliant Steve Harrington smile. “After meeting Eddie, I have no doubt she’s in good hands.”
Eddie contemplated swooning right out of the booth onto the greasy diner floor and Wayne’s own eyes widened a bit.
“Where’d you find this kid, Eds?” Wayne asked, voice gruff, but his eyes had gone fond.
“In a wet cardboard box on a street corner,” Eddie said. “Can I keep him, Uncle Wayne? Can I?”
Steve gave him a flat look, but Eddie only grinned at him.
Wayne snorted.
“Actually,” Steve said, turning back to his uncle. “We met because apparently he couldn’t assault the ears of passing pedestrians on a different side of the street.”
“I had dibs on that corner!” Eddie protested.
“You did not have dibs, you weren’t even there! I got there first!”
“I have long standing dibs!”
“The rule of dibs is you must be within sight of the object of said dibs.”
“Uh, says who?”
“Uh, says everyone who has ever called dibs? You gotta see the car if you want the passenger seat, Eds, that just the rules.” Steve said with a haughty little sniff.
Eddie wanted to grab his face and kiss him senseless in the cracked red leather booth. It must have shown a little in his eyes because Steve pinked and looked away which only made Eddie want to bite his jaw to taste the edge of the blush. Clearing his throat, Steve turned his attention back to Wayne.
“Eddie says you work construction?”
“Foreman,” Wayne said. “Done it right outta high school, allowed me to move ‘round a bit with the work, they’re always buildin’ something somewhere.”
“I’ve only ever really done a little carpentry, roofing, flooring,” Steve said. “A little wiring, but Dustin’s already miles ahead there, and the only electricity we really used was for the lights.”
“Done just about everything before becoming foreman,” Wayne said. “Though my bones got a little old for brick ’n drywall ‘bout five years back.”
“I’ve thought a little about going into construction,” Steve said, turning his coffee around in his hands. “I dunno that anyone’ll be willing to hire me with my face splashed across the papers.”
Eddie knocked their knees together. “What about art?”
“I need an actual job, Eds.”
“…and how did you make your money up until now? Oh, that’s right, selling comics to the paper,” Eddie said.
Steve glared.
“You make comics?” Wayne asked.
Steve turned his coffee around in circles. “Not really. I mean, I’ve sold a few to the local paper, but it’s not like that’s a way to make a living.”
“It’s a hard way to make a living,” Wayne said. “But it’s work like any other.”
Steve’s eyes widened, lips slightly parted.
“You any good?” Wayne sipped his coffee.
Eddie beamed, pulling the scraps of drawings out of his wallet. “The best.”
Steve flushed. “You kept those?”
“Of course I did.”
Steve hid his face behind his hands as Wayne looked at the little drawings, letting out an amused snort at the sketch of Eddie as a devil worshipper, horns, tail, and all. Eddie tucked away the drawings again as Darla returned with their plates to save them from a syrupy death and the conversation slipped away as they enjoyed their breakfast. Wayne would hear no argument over covering the bill, taking it up to the counter to pay, though the conversation he had with Darla seemed a little longer than discussing the total and tip.
Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Darla’s giving him her number, isn’t she?”
Steve grinned as he followed his gaze. “Looks like.”
“Uncle-stealer.” Eddie scowled.
Steve laughed. “Hey, bright side, maybe Wayne’ll be up here more.”
“And Max’ll get a grouchy step-foster-parent,” Eddie said, then tilted his head to the side. “…a second grouchy foster parent.”
“Birds of a feather,” Steve said.
“And here I was thinking opposites attracted.” Eddie sighed dramatically, leaning against him as they made their way for the door.
Steve pushed him back to his own feet. “Looks like you were wrong, devil-spawn.”
“You’d never go for a bad boy like me?”
“Why, I couldn’t possibly,” Steve said, completely flat.
Eddie cracked up, bell chiming overhead as they stepped out into the street, Wayne joining them a moment later, tucking a suspiciously written upon receipt into his pocket.
“Thank you for breakfast, Mr. Munson,” Steve said. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Wayne looked amused. “I’ll keep you updated on the case.”
“Thank you.”
Eddie gave Wayne a hug goodbye before they turned in opposite directions, Wayne for his truck, and the pair of them for Eddie’s apartment.
“I can’t believe you keep my drawings in your wallet,” Steve said, sounding a little awed, and more than a little mortified.
“It’s not like I’ve got any money to keep in there,” Eddie joked.
Steve laughed a little.
Eddie bumped their shoulders together. “I was serious though, about the art thing. I know I don’t exactly live glamorous, but I don’t want to be forty wondering what I could have been if I gave it a real shot. If it doesn’t work out, hey, that’s life, but at least I won’t have any what ifs at the end of the road.”
Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“Reach out to Murray,” Eddie said.
“I’ll think about it.”
Eddie caught his belt loop and gave him a little tug. “Hey, I’ve got an idea.”
Steve blinked, but followed him as they turned away from their usual walk home. It took a few tries for Eddie to find the gallery opening he had passed a few weeks before, paying the cover change, and stepping inside. Steve’s eyes went wide as he took in the art lining the walls. The artist had thirty paintings adorning the walls of various sizes of canvas, but all were linked by a running theme of public spaces.
Steve moved through the gallery as though on a tether, and Eddie watched him drift from one painting to another. Wearing a pair of Eddie’s blue jeans and one of his few plain black t-shirts, he looked timeless against the white walls, a painting that critics would argue over the decade of. It could have been a young man from the ’75, returned from the Vietnam war. An artist from ’85 who refused to call himself such. A poet from ’95 looking at an old collection of paintings for inspiration.
Steve came to a stop before a painting of a diner, not dissimilar to the one they had gone to for breakfast, except it was clearly late at night. There was a man slumped over the counter, eyes following the waitress, who was looking at the slow filling coffee pot, leaning her weight on the counter from a long day of standing. By the window was a young women with smudged makeup, lit by the red glow of the 24 hour sign, staring out the window, menu forgotten in front of her. Several tables away was an old man with a book and an untouched cup of black coffee. In the distance was the figure of the cook, by the open back door, smoking a cigarette. A tear slipped down Steve’s face.
“Woah, hey, what’s wrong?” Eddie asked.
“Can’t you feel it?” Steve blinked away another tear. “It’s loneliness.”
Eddie looked at the painting again, thinking of the the hollow feeling in his chest as he listened to ‘Fade to Black’ by Metallica. I was me but now he’s gone. The painting was entitled, ‘Conversations Between Me and the Empty Diner Seat’.
“I see it,” Eddie said.
Steve smiled, looking over his shoulder at him, eyelashes still wet. “Are you just looking or do you see it?”
Eddie laughed a little. “Point taken.”
Steve smiled, looking back at the painting. Eddie ended up leaving without him to head to work after an hour, and though Steve had drifted through the gallery once more, he had ended up moored by the painting of the diner again by the time he had to say goodbye.
Stepping into the apartment after his shift, Eddie found Steve in the kitchen, singing along to the radio with his wooden spoon as a microphone, and what looked like the start of spicy chicken tacos on the stove top. Closing the door gently, Eddie tiptoed into the kitchen, and reached for the radio— A greasy spatula slapped his hand away.
“Nice try,” Steve said.
“Shouldn’t I get radio privilege in my kitchen?”
“Do you want any of these tacos, or…?”
Eddie held his hands up in surrender. “God forbid.”
Steve smirked. “Blasphemy.”
“I’ll show you blasphemy, baby.” Eddie crowded him up against the counter.
Steve stifled a smile. “Really? That’s the line you’re going with?”
“Depends… how’s it working for me?”
Steve sighed. “I don’t know what it says about me if I say yes…”
“That you’ve got great taste?”
“Oh, well, in that case.”
Eddie kissed him, but they were both smiling into it, so he ended up pulling back with a laugh, and letting Steve finish making them dinner instead. Settling down at the table, Eddie devoured two tacos before even making an attempt at conversation, but Steve ate with a little more grace… and in reasonable sized bites.
“Where’s your darling?” Steve asked, looking over at the empty stand.
“Baby, you know I’ve only got eyes for you,” Eddie crooned.
Steve gave him a flat look, but he was biting back a smile. “I meant your guitar, Eds.”
“It’s, uh, it’s in the shop, there was a little damage to the pick board from the rain after all,” Eddie said.
Steve made a sympathetic noise. “I bet that makes rehearsal a little difficult.”
Eddie tried for a smile. “Just a little.”
The conversation slipped into more practical matters like Steve’s next meeting with his lawyer, who should have the date for his preliminary hearing, and how the kids were moving along in the foster care system. Eddie did the dishes, smacking Steve away with a dishtowel when he tried to help, who laughed and ended up sitting on the fire escape, with his sketchpad on his knees, the door ajar behind him. Drying off his hands, Eddie hunted for his cigarettes with the thought of joining him, but a knock caught his attention first. Gareth was on the other side when he opened the door.
“Hey, Gar, what’s up—“ Eddie stopped in his tracks. “What is that?”
Gareth held out his guitar. “Thought you’d recognize your sweetheart.”
Eddie took the case from him, opening it up to find his Warlock without a scratch on it. “How did you—“
“Traded my drums for them,” Gareth said. “So I guess the bands still on pause for a second unless you want to add plastic to our sound.”
“Gareth, you can’t—“
“Shut up,” Gareth said. “It’s already done, okay? So just… just say thanks and move on.”
Eddie opened and closed his mouth. “I…”
Gareth shoved his hands into his pockets. “Look, Steve might be a hero to those kids, but you… you saved me, okay? Yeah, I needed a place to live and a job and food and all that, but you saw past that, you saw that I needed a reason too. That I needed more than just surviving, that’s what you did for me, you made me… you made me realize that there could be more to life, that I could have more, that I could have friends and music and a passion, and I haven’t… I haven’t had that in a long time, so, yeah, I traded my drums for your guitar, and I don’t regret it.”
“Start running if you don’t want me to hug you.”
Gareth sighed, but didn’t move so Eddie slung his guitar over his back to wrap his arms tight around him, trying not to cry into his shoulder. Gareth patted his back, giving him a sarcastic little ‘there, there’ that made Eddie laugh as he pulled back.
“You’re the best of us, you know that, Gar?”
Gareth reddened. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”
“I can’t believe I’m your hero.” Eddie clapped his hands over his heart, pretending to swoon.
“God, I never should have told you that. It went right to your head, didn’t it?”
“Oh absolutely, I’m gonna be absolutely insufferable now.”
“As though you weren’t insufferable before?”
“Hey! You can’t call your hero insufferable!”
Gareth just groaned.
“You want to come in? Stevie made tacos,” Eddie said.
Gareth hesitated.
“C’mon.” Eddie nodded his head, stepping back from the door. “His cookings way better than mine, you’ll be missing out."
Gareth followed him inside, accepting the plate, and joining them out on the fire escape. Steve greeted him warmly, moving further into the corner to make space for them, and asking if he had been keeping Eddie in check while he had been gone. Eddie lit up a cigarette, protesting half heartedly as Steve and Gareth teamed up to make fun of him, and smiling in between breaths of smoke. Gareth stayed late into the night and left with a rough sketch of what Steve jokingly called their album cover, Hellfire written in sharp spiked letters and with a demon snarling below it. Exactly the type of look that would have the PTA moms throwing a tantrum over, and had earned a full laugh from Gareth upon seeing it.
Chapter Text
Testifying on his own behalf at the preliminary hearing left Steve feeling like a towel that had been wrung out too many times and it was a relief to be out on the stone steps before the court house.
“It went okay, right?” Robin said. “I think it went okay.”
Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“It’s just a preliminary hearing,” Hopper said, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. “You ain’t had a grand jury yet, they haven’t even decided whether you’re gonna be charged with all of that, kid.”
“Right.” Steve took a steadying breath. “Right.”
Hopper reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, holding out an envelope to him. “Here.”
“What’s this?” Steve asked.
“Call it your college fund,” Hopper said. “Your parents and I had a talk about what’s considered child endangerment and came to an understanding.”
Steve stared down at the check, not comprehending the numbers on the paper before him, then looked up at Robin. “Do you want to go to college?”
“And your money managing privileges have immediately been revoked,” Robin said, taking the check.
“What? Hey!”
Robin smacked his nose with the envelope like a misbehaving dog. “You cannot immediately turn around and spend this on me and the kids, Steve.”
“…why not? I could get Dustin that bike he wanted!”
Robin smacked him again.
“Hey!”
“What about art school?” Eddie nudged his shoulder with his own.
Steve shook his head. “It’d be a waste. If either of us should go to college, it should be Robin, she’s way better at that school stuff.”
“Then I’ll get a scholarship,” Robin said.
Steve opened his mouth to protest.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Robin said. “Can we at least agree to talk about apartments, and groceries, and other necessities before you blow it all on the kids?”
“…deal.”
Opening up a bank account at twenty when the tellers were looking at him somewhere between outright disdain and blatant pity wasn’t an experience Steve ever wanted to go through a second time, but he did walk out with enough cash not to sweat grabbing a milkshake for him and Robin to share before heading to the thrift store to buy clothes that didn’t say things like MegaDeath and Slayer and Dio across the chest.
Steve reached out for a white button down, then let his hand fall. “I don’t think I know what I like anymore.”
“…me neither,” Robin said, looking a little overwhelmed by all the options before them.
“Pick for each other?”
Robin grinned. “Five outfits, go.”
They split up, heading in opposite directions, but Steve didn’t let himself be limited by the women’s section. Men’s jeans, a pinstripe vest, a blue striped button down, a knit sweater, suspenders, and tartan pants, a white sweater vest, and a grey T-shirt printed with bleached eyes all got loaded up into his arms. Robin had her arms full of colorful fabrics by the time he found her next to the dressing rooms. Steve hung up his haul in one changing room, Robin did the same in the one next door, and they swapped places.
Fitted blue jeans were familiar, but the pink t-shirt was new, cut to hit right at the waistline, and he snagged the heart shaped sunglasses to match as he stepped out, giving a spin to make Robin laugh. She looked far more at home in tartan trousers, blue button down, and patterned vest than she ever did in smocks and sweaters.
“You look like the leader singer in a pop band,” Robin said.
“Thanks.” Steve winked behind his sunglasses.
“Outfit two!”
A blue striped polo, green athletic shorts, a color blocked t-shirt, black pants, and… and a soft purple sweater. It was so light it was barely lavender, soft as cashmere in his hands, and a size or two too big. It might have come from the women’s section, but the tag didn’t tell him either way. It went in the keep pile along with several other finds. They both ended up walking out in new outfits and bags in their arms; Robin in jean shorts, a loose button down, and an unbuttoned vest, Steve in a pair of looser light wash jeans, a cropped Madonna t-shirt, and a pair of sunglasses. Making the executive decision not to care if he looked ridiculous was more freeing than the imposed modesty Brenner had on the farm, especially not when he could feel the sun on his skin. Robin looked like she felt similarly, rolling up her sleeves to her elbows, and placing her own sunglasses on her nose.
“Alright, next order of business, I’ve looked at a couple of apartments for us,” Robin said. “We can call and set up a visit sometime this week.”
“We should probably hold off on that until we know if I’m going to prison or not,” Steve said.
“You’re not,” Robin said. “I’m calling and setting up the viewings.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be the realist?”
“I am.”
Steve laced their fingers, swinging their joined hands. “You get a call back from the library?”
“Not yet,” Robin said. “But I also gave my resume to the bookshop down the street, so, it’s not my only prospect.”
“Looks you’ll be breadwinner then, since no one’s looking to let a soon-to-be convince work at their construction company.”
“Hey.” Robin elbowed him.
“I’m joking, gallows humor since I’m about to be on death—“
Robin jabbed a finger in his face. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
Steve laughed, giving her a little spin to distract her as she tripped over her own feet.
“Have you looked at scholarships?” Steve asked once she got her balance again.
“A few,” Robin said. “Nancy’s been helping me look at options, but I would have to apply for the winter semester unless I wanted to try community college, they have rolling admissions.”
Steve hummed.
Robin bumped their shoulders. “You could apply with me.”
“I’m basically illiterate, Rob. It’d be a waste of money.”
“That’s just what Brenner wanted you to think. You have dyslexia, you’re not stupid.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t just Brenner,” Steve said quietly.
“So you know a lot of assholes,” Robin said.
Steve barked out a surprised laugh.
“You’re not stupid just because they told you so.” Robin squeezed his hand. “If you were stupid, none of us would have made it out of there.”
“That wasn’t smarts that was—“
“No? You didn’t plan for months? You didn’t talk your way out of trouble with Brenner? With Henry? Multiple times? You didn’t come up with failsafes and back up plans?”
“That’s different.”
“Well, knowing how to do Calculus never saved my life, so…”
Steve bit back a smile. “Robin.”
“There’s different ways to be smart, Steve.”
Steve only hummed, continuing to swing their hands as he walked her back to Nancy’s apartment building.
Robin waved a finger in his face. “Call Murray, look at community college, and be free on Wednesday to look at apartments.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Robin gave him a hug that felt somewhat chastising somehow before unlocking the door and he held it open for her so she could slip inside with her bags. Making his way back to Eddie’s apartment, he paused at the top of the stairs as he caught a glimpse of a newspaper with his own name printed on it sitting outside a neighbor’s door.
Steve picked up the newspaper, a photo of him in an orange jumpsuit and chains on the front page, and the headline, ‘Steve Harrington Leads the Lambs to Slaughter’. Inside sources place him handing out fliers and recruiting new members to his doomsday cult, how many of the casualties would have lived long lives if their paths had never crossed Harrington's? Devastated mother of Ann Jones, is outraged by the sudden influx of sympathy for a man who helped covered up the actions of those responsible for brainwashing her daughter…
Steve dropped the newspaper back at the foot of the neighbors door, unlocking Eddie’s apartment, and stepping inside. Picking up his sketchbook from the coffee table, he sat down on the couch resisting the urge to pick up the remote and find out if the TV shared the newspaper’s opinion.
You cannot outrun your sins, Steven. Looking away from the mirror doesn’t make you any less stained by what you have done. You have to repent.
Steve pressed the tip of the pencil so hard against the paper that it tore here and there when his hand was too heavy as he sketched. The lines came out sharp and messy as he created something vaguely humanoid, an amalgamation of words handed to him by Father Brenner, Henry, the radio, the TV, the newspaper bleeding together in his brain like an out of tune radio that refused to turn off.
“Stevie baby, I’m home!” Eddie entered the apartment in one sweeping motion, kicking off his shoes, and tossing his leather jacket over the wobbling coat stand.
“Oh, shoot,” Steve said, sitting up straighter.
“And there’s that warm welcome I was hoping for,” Eddie said with a playful smile as he walked towards him.
Steve shook his head. “No, I was going to get started on dinner, the chicken needed time to thaw.”
“Well, I’ve got it on record that I make a mean grilled cheese,” Eddie said with a lopsided smile. “Or we can order pizza if you don’t mind a little wait.”
Steve’s shoulders relaxed. “I.. sorry, I really did mean to cook.”
“That’s nothing to be sorry over, baby,” Eddie said. “You know you don’t have to cook, right? You’re perfectly entitled to ordering yourself a pizza and then telling me to fend for myself when I get home.”
Steve fidgeted with his pencil. “Duties were a lot more… defined in the chapter, not only by gender, there was always an expectation of what was to be done that day. There were always tasks that needed doing, that you were expected to do, and if you didn’t… well, you were letting down the whole family.”
“Sweetheart.” Eddie hooked a finger under his chin. “You’re not going to let me down. You don’t feel like cooking? We’ll order in. You don’t want to do your laundry, hell, I think I’ve stretched it out almost two months before I caved once. You don’t want to do the dishes tonight, that’s fine, they’ll keep until tomorrow. That’s the beauty of living life by your own rules.”
“Pizza sounds really good.”
Eddie kissed him before pulling away with a smile. “I’ll put in an order. Oh, hey, what’s this? Looks like a blockbuster worthy horror movie monster.”
Steve glanced down at the monster on the page, thinking, it’s a self portrait.
“I love a good monster movie, hey, you seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show? It’s going to blow your mind,” Eddie said, stepping away to pick up the phone and place their order.
Steve closed the sketchbook, picking up the remote to turn the TV on to hunt for a monster movie. They ended up catching the tail end of Rocky Horror, Eddie pausing it to explain what he could, but it mostly sounded like nonsense to Steve without any proper context, but he could admit there was a certain… appeal to Frank-N-Furter.
“I dig the look by the way, hot stuff.” Eddie said, tugging on his shirt. “Though I think I’ll miss the band t-shirts a little, you looked metal.”
“Even without the piercings and tats?”
“You’ve got the spirit.”
Steve paused. “You did your own piercings, right?”
“Yeah, and even a couple of my tats, well, the stick and pokes at least.”
“Would you pierce my ears?” Steve asked.
Eddie blinked. “Seriously?"
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, I can do that, what are we thinking? Just your lobes?”
“Yeah, think so. I mean, if I hate it, I can just take them out, right?”
“For sure,” Eddie said. “You want it now?”
Steve nodded.
Eddie collected his needles, antiseptic wipes, and a pair of plain black stud earrings. Setting it all aside, he washed his hands, and motioned for Steve to sit on the edge of the tub in the bathroom. Crooking a finger under his chin, Eddie tilted his head back to meet his eyes, brushing his hair back behind his ears. Antiseptic wipes went over the skin first, then he made two dots with a cold, wet, felt-tip marker, stepping back to look at them before picking up a sterilized needle.
“It’s gonna sting a little,” Eddie said apologetically.
“Okay,” Steve said softly, curling his fingers in the legs of Eddie’s jeans.
Cupping his face with one hand, Eddie slipped the sharp needle through his ear in one quick motion, a soft sting in its wake. Leaving the needle in, Eddie picked up an earring, exchanging the steel for the stud.
“That’s it, there we go, halfway there,” Eddie murmured.
Steve’s eyes fell half shut as Eddie repeated the action on the other side only giving a little shiver when light fingertips grazed the delicate skin behind his ear.
“There we go, all done, sweetheart.”
Steve rose as Eddie stepped aside, looking at the fresh piercings in the mirror. There was a hint of blood, the skin pink and protesting, but he liked the look of them. Among all the scars there would be one he had chosen for himself and chosen whose hand to deliver it by. Eddie wrapped his arms around his waist, looking over his shoulder to meet his eyes in the mirror.
“Like it?”
“Yeah, thank you.”
“Anytime, baby, anytime.” Eddie pressed a kiss behind his ear.
It was a lazy night in, finishing off the pizza in a few rounds as they talked over whatever movies they could find on cable and ambled towards getting ready for bed. Steve lingered on the couch even as he stifled yawns, in his pajamas and with his teeth brushed, but content to stare blearily at the TV screen while Eddie’s fingers carded through his hair.
Steve could feel the sting of a dozen lashes on his skin, blood staining the wood before him as the tail of the whip dragged along the floorboards of the chapel. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Father Brenner’s eyes as he circled him, waiting for a proper confession.
“You’re rolling in sin,” Brenner said. “Laying in filth with that deviant, corrupting the souls of those kids you claim to love, allowing Robin to pervert herself, betraying everything I taught you.”
Steve’s eyes stung.
“You think the God’s laws went up in flames with all of us? You think He’s no longer watching because I’m not there to keep you in line?”
“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered.
“No, you’re not, but you will be when your precious little family joins your soul in Hell.”
The whip came down hard enough cut through to his spine.
“Stevie, hey, hey, wake up, sweetheart.”
Steve woke with a sharp inhale, tears in his eyes. Disentangling himself from Eddie, he turned away to blink away his tears, but Eddie cupped his face with one hand.
“Hey, it’s okay. Nightmare?”
“Yeah, ’s stupid.”
“It’s not.” Eddie pulled him back down to lay on his chest again. “You want to talk about it?”
Steve shook his head.
“…you want to cry about it?”
“M’not crying.”
“You could if you wanted to.” Eddie stroked his hair. “It might make you feel a little better.”
Steve gave another little shake of his head.
“Standing offer.”
Eddie put on another movie, though they ended up making their way to bed before it was half over, and Steve tucked himself under Eddie’s chin, like if he made himself small enough, the dreams wouldn’t find him in Eddie’s arms.
Waking up alone was mildly disorienting and for a split second Steve thought he was back in the attic of the farmhouse without Eddie’s warm arms around him, but he could hear him singing in the kitchen. Rolling out of bed, Steve shuffled out to find him making breakfast. Attempting to make breakfast, the pancakes were like different paint swatches of shades of brown and in odd shapes.
“Morning, angel.”
Steve scrubbed at his face.
“You want coffee?”
“Mhm.”
Eddie set coffee and the best three pancakes from the stack before him. Steve’s throat felt tight as he remembered mornings on the farm where he set the best of the batch before the kids and ate the undercooked and overcooked ones by hand, leaning against the counter.
“Now, if I give you food poisoning keep in mind that it’s the thought that counts,” Eddie said.
Steve laughed, blinking away tears. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Eddie grinned.
Breakfast washed away the lingering remnants of his dream, knees knocking under the table, batting Eddie away when he tried to steal bites of his pancakes, and stealing sips of Eddie’s too-sweet coffee when he wasn’t looking. Cleaning up breakfast, Steve started deep cleaning the apartment as anticipation built in his chest of what they had planned for the evening.
Steve had managed to visit El a few times a week at Hopper’s, talked to Dustin over the phone since he had moved in with his birth mother (who Steve had also spoken to on the phone and seemed like a lovely woman) and now that Wayne had been granted emergency custody of Max there was no longer any need for supervised visits. Steve couldn’t leave the city since he was on bail, but Hopper was bringing all of the kids up to see him at six pm for a rousing game of DND.
Jonathan, Argyle, and Will arrived first, the latter shyly offering Steve his sketchbook to flip through. Though he snatched it out of his hands when Nancy and Mike arrived, shoving it under the couch like a teenager hiding a beer can from their parents. Steve bit back a laugh, having caught a glimpse of a sketch of a gangly, dark haired boy in the later pages, rising to say hello to Nancy as Mike walked right for Will.
“Hey, Nance, how’s it going?” Steve asked.
“Here.” Nancy held out an envelope.
Steve’s eyes widened. “Murray took the comics?”
“It’s under an alias. The Post won’t get any bad rep no matter which way the trial goes.” Nancy winced. “Not that—“
“Think he’ll keep me on when I’m in prison? I can mail them to him.”
“You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.”
Steve bit back a laugh. “Want a beer?”
“Please.”
Steve fetched the other refreshments, answering the door at the next knock, and Dustin, El, and Max came spilling in, an aggravated Hopper standing behind them. Steve guessed it had been a long drive with all three of them in the car.
“Steve!”
“Dustin!”
Steve grinned as they went through their handshake, messing up his hair once they finished, and Dustin knocked his hand away, still smiling as he bounced over to talk DND with Eddie. Steve pulled Max in for a hug, even though she was standing with her arms crossed, and glaring at the wall behind him. Slowly, she unfolded, loosely hugging him back as though reluctant, but her shoulders relaxed as he tucked her under his chin.
“Hey, Mad Max,” Steve pulled back, hands on her shoulders to look her over. “Hawkins treating you okay?”
“Not a lotta cars.” Max shrugged. “A lot of place to skate.”
“Happy to hear it.”
“Little red!” Eddie waved her deeper into the apartment, handing her a Coke. “How’s the old man?”
“Why are there so many mugs on the wall?”
Eddie snickered. “Everyone’s got to have a hobby.”
“Mugs are not a hobby!” Max threw her hands up.
Steve bit back a laugh, holding out his arms for El, who tucked herself close a little more delicately, and he kept her tucked against his side even as she pulled away, smiling shyly up at him.
“Hey, Hop, thanks for bringing them,” Steve said.
“Yeah, well, I keep Advil in the glovebox,” Hopper said.
Steve snorted. “If only the Final Chapter believed in medicine.”
Hopper raised an eyebrow. “Oh, we’re making jokes now?”
“I do write comics for a living,” Steve said.
Hopper raised a hand and Steve tensed for a second, but all he did was mess up his hair, and Steve couldn’t help his smile.
“Stay out of trouble,” Hopper said.
“Yes, sir.”
“I meant the brat.”
El gave Hopper a mock-innocent look Steve was mildly afraid he had taught her by accident, and Hopper gave her an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture before stepping away from the door. Closing the door, Steve looked over to find the boys already setting up DND at the kitchen table, but Max had dropped down onto the couch, talking with Robin.
“El, you want to play?” Will asked.
El shook her head. “Girls day.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Girls day?”
El nodded, taking his wrist and pulling him to sit on the floor of the living room. Max was quick to abandon Robin in favor of her, spilling the contents of her backpack onto the floor, eyeliner, mascara, an eyeshadow palette, and two bottles of nail polish.
“…girls day, got it,” Steve said.
Max held up a bottle of nail polish. “Pink or sparkles?”
“Sparkles,” Steve said. “Definitely sparkles.”
Robin snickered. The others talked above them as Steve caught up with El and Max in-between the girls attempting to figure out different makeup techniques and using him as a practice dummy. Apparently, Max had called Lucas who had promptly given her his address and asked to be penpals, she was slightly pink as she said, ‘at least it was something to do in boring-ass Hawkins’ which meant she had already written him. According to El, Hopper didn’t know very many jokes, but he had introduced her to riddles.
The sound of Eddie’s voice raising made Steve look over, trying to stifle a laugh as he caught sight of the enraptured looks on Will, Dustin, and Mike’s faces as Eddie mimed out the epic battle supposedly taking place among the dice and little figurines.
“Hey! Hold still. Do you want your eyeliner to come out straight or not?” Max asked.
“Yeah, Steve,” Robin said with no small amount of amusement. “You don’t want to mess up your makeup.”
“Why aren’t you participating in girls day?” Steve asked.
“Uh, because I don’t look good in red lipstick,” Robin said.
El perked up. “Red?”
Nancy smothered a laugh. “I think I have some in my bag.”
Steve sighed, but let Max move his face this way and that as she practiced her eyeliner. Her own was perfectly sharp and winged thanks to Nancy’s skilled hand. El had insisted on doing her own and ended up looking like a raccoon or a really, really enthusiastic goth, but she seemed to like it that way.
“Fine,” Steve said as Max nearly took his eye out with a mascara wand. “But I’m not going through this for free, my price is gossip, say, Max, what exactly did Lucas say on the phone?”
Max reddened, waving the mascara wand threateningly at him. “Watch it, I’ll make you look like a clown.”
“…because I don’t already?” Steve asked.
Robin tilted her head to the side. “It’s actually going better than I thought it would.”
Nancy shook her head. “It’s just because he’s pretty, it’s like those popular girls in high school who made clumpy mascara look like a trend but really, they were just good looking.”
Robin snapped her fingers. “True, so true, I had a very unfortunate headband phase thanks to Missy Delgado from Biology. Turns out, it was not the headbands, it was her.”
Steve snorted.
“We’re back!” Jonathan said, Argyle a step behind him, both carrying pizzas.
Argyle blinked as he took in the scene. “Dude, you look sick.”
“You can be next,” Max said.
“Sweet,” Argyle said.
Eddie moved to rise from the table, eyes trained on the pizza.
“Wait, wait, we’re mid-battle!” Dustin protested.
“Take a dinner break,” Steve said.
Dustin looked at him like he had just said he didn’t believe in God.
“You can’t take a break mid-battle,” Mike said. “Lives are on the line!”
“Fine,” Eddie said. “And then demogorgan killed everyone, the end!”
The kids all protested, but Eddie bit back a laugh as he moved to collect his pizza, and they were quickly mollified at the prospect of warm cheesy goodness. Holding two plates, Eddie paused in in his tracks as his gaze fell on Steve, lips slightly parted as he took in the sight of him. Steve raised his eyebrows in question, and Eddie quite literally shook it off, holding out a plate with a deep bow.
“For the princess.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”
Eddie dropped down beside him, sitting criss-crossed with his knee on top of Steve’s thigh. Out of habit, Steve’s eyes went out to check the others expressions, but no one blinked at the proximity, and he relaxed into Eddie’s side, picking up his own slice of pizza. Around them, the others had broken into twos and threes to talk; Argyle fascinated by the friendship bracelets El and Max had made, Jonathan was listening to Will, Dustin, and Mike give him a play by play of the events of dungeons and dragons, while Robin and Nancy discussed what sounded like French politics.
Closing his eyes, Steve thought if he had the recording equipment Eddie was on the hunt for, he would record the sound of all of their voices blending together around him. Opening his eyes, he looked over at Eddie to say as much, but didn’t get far.
Eddie’s thumb slid along the edge of his mouth. “You smudged your lipstick.”
Steve’s heart skipped. Eyes tracking the red smear on Eddie’s thumb as he pulled away, picking up his soda and spreading it further with the help of the condensation on the can. Eddie quirked one eyebrow at him as he took a sip, Steve’s eyes following the lift of the can to his lips, then meeting his eyes.
“This is a good look for you,” Eddie said. “You should get all dolled up for our next show, a little eyeliner, a little leather…”
Steve rolled his eyes.
“When is your next show going to be?” Jonathan asked, turning away from the dungeons and dragons conversation.
“To be determined,” Eddie said. “We’re trying to finalize a complete set of our own songs, but it takes a little tinkering.”
“You guys should go on tour,” Argyle said.
“I think people need to, uh, actually know who we are before we go touring the nation,” Eddie said.
“Not necessarily,” Nancy said, tilting her head to one side. “You could put an ad in a couple of papers across the states to see if anyone’s looking for live music for a night and if all fails, you could set up events in public parks, sell your own tickets, or even rent a venue or two.”
“I’ll like how you think, Wheeler,” Eddie said, drumming his fingers on Steve’s knee.
“Can we go to your next concert?” Max asked.
“No,” Steve said in unison with several of the other grown-up-type-people.
Max scowled, looking away.
“Some other time, Red,” Eddie said. “In a venue with less uh drinking and d-r-u-g-s.”
Will laughed and Jonathan sighed.
“Though El looks like she’ll fit right in,” Eddie said. “Very metal.”
“Bitchin’,” El said mildly, earning several laughs.
“Yeah, exactly,” Eddie grinned. “Bitchin’.”
“Language,” Steve said.
“El said it first!” Eddie protested.
“Yeah, but you’re supposed to be a role model,” Steve said.
Eddie made an incredulous noise. “Me? I’m a role model? Have you seen me?”
Steve sipped his drink, giving him an ‘I don’t know what you mean’ type of look, and grimacing when he left red lipstick all over the lip of the Coke can.
“I think you would make a great role model,” Argyle said.
“Yeah, to the angsty teens of America,” Jonathan said.
Eddie flipped him off.
Steve smacked his hand aside.
“That’s not role model behavior, Eddie,” Nancy said with mock disappointment.
“What will the children think?” Robin nodded.
Eddie groaned, slumping down into Steve’s side, who bit back a laugh to give him a mocking sympathetic pat on the head.
“Fine, no concert, what about a piercing?” Max said.
“Not without guardian permission,” Eddie said, sitting up straighter.
Both El and Max looked at Steve expectantly.
Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh, um…”
“Please,” El asked, blinking those big brown eyes at him.
“Yeah, Steve, pretty please,” Max said, barely hiding her smirk.
Steve hesitated. “You know you’ll have to clean them twice a day for a couple of weeks, right? Or they’ll get infected?”
“Yeah, we know.” Max rolled her eyes.
“I’m serious,” Steve said. “You don’t clean them and they’ll get all gross with this yellow gunk—“
“We promise to clean them, right, El?” Max said.
“Promise,” El said.
Steve thought it over, but looking at Eddie he doubted Wayne would have a problem with a piercing, and if Hopper had a problem, Steve figured he could talk him around.
Steve sighed. “Okay.”
Max and El high-fived.
“Food first, then piercings,” Eddie said.
“And our game?” Mike asked.
“I told you, the demogorgan killed them all,” Eddie said with a maniacal grin.
The boys all began protesting and Eddie caved with a laugh and a promise to resume the game after he pierced the girls ears. Steve cleaned up the living room while Eddie got his needles, Max and El sitting side by side on the couch as he talked them through aftercare and let them pick a set of earrings from his own collection.
“Alright, Mad Max, I’m going to mark the spot with a pen.” Eddie wiggled his pen.
Max tucked her hair behind her ears, and tilted her chin up.
Eddie marked the spot, pulling a needle from its wrapper. “There’s going to be a little pinch when the needle goes through, and it’s going to sting a little when I get the earring in, okay?”
“Okay,” Max said.
“One, two, three.” Eddie slid the needle through quickly.
Max grimaced as he exchanged the needle for an earring.
“Half way done,” Eddie said. “You know when I got my first big tattoo, I made one of my friends come with me to hold my hand?”
Max blinked. “Really?”
“Oh yeah, it hurt like a bit— like you wouldn’t believe, and I’m kinda a wuss about this stuff.” Eddie slid the needle in while she was distracted, changing it out quick for an earring. “There, all set, little red.”
Nancy offered her compact for Max to look at them. “…thanks.”
“Your turn?” Eddie asked.
El nodded. Max offered her hand as Eddie got the needle ready and El’s lips quirked up as she took Max's hand in her own.
“Ready, ready?” Eddie asked.
“Ready,” El said quietly.
“One, two, three…”
El didn’t even blink.
“Other side… and there, you’re all set. Two little metalheads in the making.”
Max offered El the compact and she blinked down at her reflection, then up at Steve.
“Match.”
Steve smiled. “Yeah, El, we match.”
El’s lips quirked up.
“Yes, yes, you all look great. DND?” Dustin said impatiently.
Eddie laughed. “Yeah, okay.”
Steve settled down in the armchair with Robin who wiggled to make space for him until she got her legs over his, elbow resting on his shoulder, close enough that would get them both a scolding form Mrs. Chambers. Argyle and Jonathan had succumbed to Max and El’s attempts at makeup with varying enthusiasm, but equal good humor.
“They’re doing well,” Nancy said quietly.
“Yeah.” Steve smiled.
“And you?” Nancy asked.
“Could be worse,” Steve said.
“Ever the optimist,” Robin snorted.
“Don’t listen to the news, okay?” Nancy said. “It’s all inflammatory and speculation.”
“…says the reporter,” Robin said.
“Well, you can read my articles if you want,” Nancy said with a smirk.
Steve laughed a little. “Got it, stay away from anything without Wheeler in the byline.”
Eddie managed to wrap up the session by the time Hopper’s knock came on the apartment door. Hopper stared at Steve when he opened the door for him, stepping inside, and Steve tensed as he realized he hadn’t washed any of the makeup off.
“Hey, Hopper.” Jonathan waved, his own face similarly done up.
El bounced over, still looking like a raccoon, pointing at her face. “Pretty.”
“Yeah,” Hopper said. “Nice look, kid.”
“Bitchin’,” she said seriously.
Hopper choked a laugh. “Uh, yeah, kid, bitchin’. You all ready to go?”
The other kids collected their belongings, talking over each other as they headed for the door.
“You all look like a six year old took a marker to her Barbie collection,” Hopper said.
“Thanks,” Steve said dryly.
“Looks like they had fun at least,” Hopper said with a sigh.
Steve smiled. “Yeah, they did.”
Steve wrangled Max, El, and Dustin into hugs before Hopper herded them out of the door. The others trickled out afterwards, leaving Steve, Eddie, a couple slices of luke-warm pizza, and the aftermath of a nasty DND battle.
“Oh thank god. I thought they would never leave!” Eddie said dramatically, striding across the room.
“What?” Steve laughed. “You said you were excited to play your nerd game—“
Eddie pulled him in for a kiss, cutting off the rest of his sentence, but Steve leaned into the kiss regardless. One of Eddie’s hands tangled in his hair, the other settled low on Steve’s back to pull him closer. Steve’s fingers curled into the front of Eddie’s shirt to keep him close, but pulled back to breathe, leaving lipstick on Eddie’s face.
“You smudged my lipstick,” Steve said petulantly.
“Oh, baby, I’m going to do a lot worse than that.” Eddie yanked him close by the belt loops.
Steve laughed a little, but followed the pull.
Chapter 33
Notes:
I did not expect this story to be as long as it’s winding up to be, but we’re getting close to the finish line! Thank you all for sticking with it.
Chapter Text
On the street corner where Eddie used to play was a woman who looked like she had never left the 70’s… or her acid trip. In the crook of her arm was a basket filled with fresh cut sunflowers and her long skirt swayed as she hummed along to a song only she could hear.
“Three dollars for a flower,” she said as he passed. “A sunflower for your morning star.”
Eddie slowed, pulling out a couple of bills. She smiled brightly at him, handing over a sunflower in exchange.
“Have a good day,” Eddie said.
“You too.” She smiled, looking to be a thousand miles away, but wherever she was it had to be beautiful. “You too, friend.”
Humming to himself, Eddie picked up his pace on the way back to the apartment, jogging up the stairs.
“Stevie baby,” Eddie called, stepping inside the apartment, keys jingling in hand.
Stepping out of the bedroom, their bedroom, Steve was a vision in his blue jeans and white sleeveless tee, a block of blue across the chest, and his arms bare. His hair was softly styled, a few strands falling into his face, smattered with freckles from all the time he spent out on the farm, and now out on the balcony with his sketchbook.
“Hey, darling,” Eddie said, heart falling all over itself in its haste to run into his arms. “I’m here to pick you up.”
Steve stepped closer. “Pick me up?”
Eddie produced the sunflower from behind his back. “You think I forgot about our date?”
Steve’s eyes widened, taking the sunflower with gentle fingers. “Our date?”
“Grab your shoes, sweetheart.”
Steve held the flower close to his chest, looking at him with something not unlike awe before moving to put the sunflower in the tallest glass he could find in the cabinet, and pulled on a pair of white sneakers. Eddie took his hand to tug him out of the apartment, door pulled shut by Steve’s hand like a chain reaction, and practically ran down the stairs, earning a startled laugh from Steve. Opening the passenger side door, Eddie dipped into a bow.
“After you.”
Steve rolled his eyes, but climbed inside, and let him close the door for him. Rounding the van, Eddie got behind the wheel, and pulled away from the curb. The first stop was a drive through, ordering two milkshakes, burgers, and fries which Steve got the honor of holding in his lap.
“If you don’t tell me where we're going soon, I’m going to start eating fries,” Steve threatened.
“That’s a fucked up hostage situation strategy.”
Steve popped a fry into his mouth and smiled.
“You’re cold, Harrington.”
On the edge of town a drive in movie theater had been set up for the weekend, horror movies only, and Eddie added his van to the crowd of cars.
“On account of the fact that you’re the talk of the town, I thought this might help avoid the cameras a little,” Eddie said.
Steve gave him that same awestruck look again.
“And I figured nobody’d see if I got fresh with you,” Eddie grinned.
Steve laughed bright and loud, filling the van with the sound. Eddie did kiss him quick and soft before setting them up to tune into the movie and getting a blanket from the back to keep them warm as the temperatures dropped with the sinking sun. They divvied up their food as the screen lit up and the movie started to roll, elbows bumping and brushing, and shoulders pressing together as they each stole sips from each others drinks and murmured their own commentary.
In the dark of the van, Eddie made good on his joke to get fresh with him, making out over what turned out to be a very important fifteen minutes of the movie and leaving them to make up more and more ridiculous explanations for what was happening in absences of following the actual plot. By the time the credits were rolling they had both laughed themselves to tears twice. Watching Steve catch his breath, his face flushed from laughter, and eyes bright, Eddie thought that he finally understood why even metal artists would write a love ballad now and again because there was no other way to share the soft warmth of the moment he was submerged in.
Reaching past Steve, Eddie pulled a marker out of the glove box, uncapping it with his teeth. “Give me your arm.”
“What for?”
“I didn’t bring my notebook.”
Steve laughed, but held out his arm, letting him scrawl half thought-out lyrics along his skin until he had covered one arm completely up to his shoulder and the other up to his elbow.
“No autograph?” Steve teased as he pulled the marker away.
Eddie tugged the collar of his shirt down, signing just below his collarbones, delighting in the flush of Steve’s face.
“For my number one fan,” Eddie winked.
“I don’t even like metal.”
“Blasphemy, baby.”
Steve laughed.
Eddie kissed him once more before pulling out of the lot to bring them back to their apartment. Laying down on the couch, Steve looked content to let Eddie copy over his lyrics into his notebook, letting his head rest in his lap as Eddie fiddled with his guitar and falling asleep while Eddie muddled his way through a love song.
The love song was nowhere near stage ready for Hellfire’s next concert, but a few of their other songs were and they decided to mix them in with some fan favorites. Steve came early to help them set up, carrying in pieces of a drum kit.
“Where did you get that?” Eddie asked.
“Same shop you got your guitar restrung?” Steve said teasingly.
Eddie opened and closed his mouth.
“I heard the end of your conversation with Gareth,” Steve said, setting the drums down where Gareth’s buckets were currently sitting. “You sold your guitar for my bail.”
“It’s just a guitar,” Eddie said.
“No,” Steve said. “It’s not.”
“It is compared to you.”
“You didn’t have to do this,” Gareth said, holding his drumsticks close to his chest.
“Call it pay back for all the free concerts I got,” Steve said easily. “Now, how do we put all this together?”
Steve helped Garth put the drum stand together while Jeff and Eddie made sure the speakers were working properly and their instruments were in tune. Gareth tested out his drums, filling the space with an impressive solo that made Steve cheer and request pop songs. Steve sat on the edge of the stage as Hellfire fans came trickling into the venue, saying hello to Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle as they arrived, and swinging his legs like a kid on a swing set. Eddie hooked up his guitar, the fans quieting down as he gave a few test chords, and Steve slipped off the edge of the stage.
“Got a request, angel?” Eddie asked.
“I want to hear an original,” Steve said.
Eddie smiled. “For you, baby? Anything.”
Stepping up to the microphone, Jeff, and Gareth fell into place behind him, at the ready.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight! I’m hoping by now we’ve converted some of you to Hellfire fans. We’re gonna start with one of our own called Whispers of the Damned. Gareth, kick us off!”
Gareth brought them crashing into their first song of the evening and Eddie lost himself to the music, playing a blend of their own songs and a few fan favorites as the night wore on. The crowd appeared infected by their energy, the mosh-pit bouncing off one another like bumper cars and he caught a glimpse of both Steve and Robin laughing as they knocked one another around. Pausing to take a sip of water, Eddie caught his breath before addressing the crowd again.
“We’ve got a very special guest for you tonight,” Eddie said, playing the opening chords to Jailhouse Rock earning a couple of cheers and whoops. “Our very own jailbird!”
Steve took Eddie’s hand, letting him pull him up onto stage beside him under the cheap lights they had rigged up.
“Say hi to your adoring fans, darling.”
“Hi,” Steve said with a little wave. “Thank you for all your help.”
Eddie’s arm hooked around his waist, yanking him in close. “He’s an angel, huh? Got the voice of one too, so he’s gonna help me out on this next song.”
Steve’s eyes widened, shaking his head.
“Aw, he’s a little shy, come on, baby, what should we sing?”
The crowd shouted out a few favorites for them.
“Ozzy? Yeah, let’s have a little Ozzy. Gareth!”
Gareth kicked up a beat, strumming at his guitar Eddie found his way to the opening of Over the Mountain, Jeff following his lead.
“You remember this one, angel?” Eddie asked, even though he knew the answer.
“Yeah,” Steve smiled. “I know this one.”
Eddie started them off. “Over the mountain, take me across the sky, something in my vision, something deep inside…”
Steve laughed a little when Eddie pressed his back against his own, forcing him to step up to the microphone, but obliged. “I heard them tell me that this land of dreams was now, I told them I had ridden shooting stars, and said I’d show them how.”
Eddie leaned in closer to join him. “Over and over, always tried to get away, living in a daydream, only place I had to stay, fever of a breakout burning in me miles wide…”
Steve unhooked the microphone so they could share it easier, smiling at him as they sang, letting Eddie play with the tune a little while he kept to the original melody, the bass line to his guitar.
“Don’t need no astrology, it’s inside of you and inside of me. You don’t need a ticket to fly with me, I’m free, yeah.” Steve’s head tipped back, out of the microphone’s range, smiling up at the loose boards overhead at the glimpse of city sky. “I’m free.”
Eddie stepped away to play them out, looping around Steve again and again like an overeager dog on a leash until Steve had to stand still or else trip over the cords. As soon as Eddie played the last chord, Steve looped the microphone cord around him in retaliation, giving him a yank so he stumbled and yelped to the amusement of the crowd. It took some undignified hopping and stumbling to untangle themselves, but Eddie managed to catch Steve’s wrist to bring the microphone to his face.
“Alright! That’s our show for tonight! Thanks for coming out! We are Hellfire!”
It may have only been about fifty people cheering and clapping, but for Eddie it felt like he was staring out at a stadium of thousands with Steve grinning at him, and his bandmates behind him. Argyle switched the speakers over to the radio as the band unhooked their instruments before hopping down off the stage.
“So, is the hunt for a lead singer over?” Jonathan asked.
Eddie opened his mouth.
“Absolutely not,” Steve said, taking a sip of Robin’s beer.
“You could, you’re not half bad,” Jeff said.
“I think I’ll stick to one pipe dream at a time,” Steve said dryly.
“You wound me.” Eddie swooned backwards, but Steve caught him by the strap of his guitar before he could go too far.
“Have you thought about making comic books?” Gareth asked. “They’re gaining traction.”
“I, uh.” Steve ducked his head. “I think if I gave it a real shot I’d go for kids books.”
Eddie squeezed his hip. “You’re unreal, you know that?”
Steve gave him a confused look.
“I think you would be good at that,” Nancy said.
“I don’t know,” Robin said. “I think your kids would totally idolize you if you created a superhero.”
Steve laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“If I were to make a superhero it would be… Mushroom Man,” Argyle said.
Nancy wrinkled his nose. “Mushrooms?”
“Mhm, make everyone chill out and commune with the world,” Argule said.
“Ah, those kind of mushrooms,” Jeff said.
Eddie snickered. As they cleared a couple beers they each came up with their own ridiculous superhero ideas and argued over whose superhero could kick whose superhero’s ass until Jonathan dragged Argyle away for a smoke break before Nancy could strange him for suggesting Mushroom Man would make Shotgun Susie so zen she wouldn’t want to shoot him. Steve stifled his laughter into Eddie’s shoulder so he wouldn’t find himself on the wrong side of Shotgun Susie, but Nancy still threw him a half hearted glare.
“Want to dance?” Steve offered his hand in way of apology.
Nancy knocked back the rest of his beer, taking his hand and letting him tug her into the throng of people jumping along to the radio. Gareth slipped out to follow Jonathan and Argyle and Jeff begged off under the excuse of having to work the next day, leaving Eddie and Robin leaning against the broken down bar. Eddie watched Steve spin Nancy in, spin her out, until she laughed and he let go of her hand, clearly forgiven for doubting Shotgun Susie.
“I have plans to smuggle him to Canada,” Robin said.
Eddie choked on his beer.
“Y’know, just incase,” Robin said.
“I… can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“Good, then you’ll have plausible deniability if the time comes.”
Eddie shook his head. “You are one of a kind, Robin Buckley.”
“Eh, you’re okay yourself.”
Eddie snorted. “Thanks.”
As the night wore on, their friends dwindled, and their fans slipped out the doors until it left only the two of them. Eddie played Heaven and Hell on his guitar, the excitement of the night still electric under his fingertips, and Steve abandoned his attempts to clean up the plastic cups to hop up on stage beside him. Setting his guitar aside, Eddie picked up the microphone instead, listening to his voice fill the empty bar where there had been dozens of voices before.
Eddie looped the cord of the microphone around Steve’s waist, tugging, and he laughed as he lost his balance, tumbling into his space. Leaning in, he sang a verse or two of his own into the microphone, sharing Eddie’s airspace. Putting one hand on the back of his ribs, Eddie felt the vibration of the words, like putting his hand on his car stereo after turning It as high as he could go. His own voice was rough and ragged from the performance, but Steve’s voice was soft and sweet like a little too much Coca Cola in a whisky soda.
Eddie nipped at his jaw as he sang and Steve’s words stuttered over a breathless laugh. The next few words were murmured into Eddie’s mouth as Steve turned to try and kiss him, but he was smiling too wide. Cupping his face with one hand, Eddie turned it into a proper kiss, but a step back had Steve tripping over the cord and they both went down with a squeal of the microphone, breaking apart with some of their laughter reverberating through the speakers to fill the bar.
In between kisses, Eddie managed to detangle Steve from the cord wrapped around his waist. Sliding his hands up under his shirt, Eddie’s fingers slid over the silken scars, savoring the warmth of his skin, and digging into the muscle of his back. Curling one hand around his hip, Eddie tangled their legs together. Steve’s fingers just brushed his hip, the touch tentative as he played with the hem of his shirt, and Eddie pulled back to meet his eyes.
“Can I?” Steve asked softly.
Eddie stretched out on his back. “Baby, you can do whatever you want to me.”
Steve’s fingers were light as they skimmed under his shirt and Eddie encouraged the touch with a little arch of his back. Each touch edged the hem of his shirt up until Steve could trace the edge of the spider on his hip, the words along his ribs, the line of his sternum, the demon head on his chest, the bats along his collarbones. Eddie let him explore, watching him with amusement as the tips of his fingers, turned into the sweep of his thumb over the curve of his ribs, to the slide of his palm down his stomach, callouses catching on his skin. Bumping his knee against Steve’s hip, Eddie couldn’t help how his eyes crinkled as Steve’s gaze lifted to his.
“You like the ink, baby?”
“It’s like… it’s like when you go to a museum and you’re looking at a piece of art and you find that one detail that clues you into what the rest of the painting wants to say. That’s what your tattoos remind me of.”
Eddie’s breath caught in his chest, but he tried for a smirk. “What does my ink say, huh? That I’m mean and scary?”
“That you’re clever.” Steve’s thumb skimmed the more delicate lines of his spider, up to the lyrics. “Thoughtful.”
The demon head. “Expressive.”
The wyvern curled on his arm. “Protective.”
The bats. “Free.”
Warmth settled low in his stomach, building with each little trace of his tattoos even as innocent as it may have been. Eddie couldn’t get a proper breath in as he stared up at Steve who sat back a little, looking a little abashed, as he smiled down at him.
“Or that I’m biased.”
“You’re a goddamn sweet talker is what you are.”
Steve laughed, hands settled on his hips, the warmth of his skin muted through the denim, but the brush of his fingers above his waistband practically branded him. It was barely a touch, the lightest skim of Steve’s fingers along his waistband, and the button of his jeans. Eddie rubbed his knee against Steve’s ribs, sliding back and forth. The button of his jeans slipped free, fingers ghosting along his zipper, and Eddie couldn’t help the way his breathing hitched, twitching under his touch.
Curling and uncurling his fingers, Eddie kept his hands up by his head even though he wanted to tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair, and tug him into a kiss. To get his own hands on warm, scarred skin, to turn them over so he could trap Steve between the floor and the shelter of his own arms. Instead he kept still as Steve unzipped his jeans, fingertips grazing him through the thin material of his boxers.
“Baby, you’re killing me,” Eddie’s voice came out strained.
Steve laughed a little, tugging down his boxers to curl his hand around him, and Eddie’s breathing caught in his throat at the feel of his calloused palm. It took Steve a few rough strokes to get a feel for it, his other hand sliding along his side, bracing himself as he dipped down, his breath warm against his hip. Tangling one hand in his hair, Eddie kept him from his destination.
“Hey, hang on, sweetheart.”
Steve faltered, his touch turning light and loose. Lifting his hips, Eddie pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, his other hand still buried in Steve’s hair, thumb sliding along the delicate skin behind his ear. Flipping open his wallet, he pulled the wrapper out with his teeth before tossing the wallet off to the side.
“You can keep going if you want, baby, but this first, yeah?”
Steve flushed, taking the wrapper from him, ripping it open. “If you say anything I’ve seen on a subway poster, I’ll leave you to handle this yourself.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Eddie grinned.
Steve rolled on the condom, his touch lingering, and Eddie resisted the urge to roll his hips up into the loose circle of his hand. It took Steve a few deep breaths before he lowered himself back down, breath ghosting over the tip of his cock. Carding his fingers through Steve’s hair, he looped a few of the longer strands through his fingers to keep them out of his face, watching those big brown eyes. Flicking his tongue over the tip, Steve took another shaky breath before running his tongue along the length of him.
“That’s it, baby, just like that.”
Steve rested the head of his cock on his tongue for a moment before trying to take it into his mouth. Eddie’s thighs tensed, knee pressing against Steve’s shoulder and his fingers tightening in his hair slightly. Taking a shaking breath, he relaxed his fingers, pressing his thumb against the hinge of his jaw.
“Relax,” Eddie said softly. “Relax your jaw, darling, breathe through your nose.”
Steve inhaled and sank down another inch, tearing a curse from Eddie’s throat. His tongue pressed against his cock as he swallowed, taking him further into his mouth before pulling back, dragging his tongue over the tip of his cock as he pulled off. Only taking half a breath before taking him back into his mouth, testing his gag reflex.
“Easy, love, easy,” Eddie’s voice came out rough, thighs tensing around his shoulders.
Steve braced one hand on his hip, the other stroking what he couldn’t fit into his mouth so that his lips kissed his knuckles as he found a rhythm. He could only take about half of him, but it was all Eddie could do to keep from rolling his hips up into the motion, fingers tangled in Steve’s soft hair, and the other scratching at the floorboards.
“God, sweetheart.”
Eddie tugged on his hair which proved to be a fatal move as Steve lifted those brown eyes to meet his, pupils dilated, and lashes wet from blinking away reflexive tears, his face flushed. Eddie came with a bitten back curse, earning a soft sound from the back of Steve’s throat from the way his hips hitched. Pulling off, Steve wiped his face on the back of his hand, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Eddie pulled him down for a kiss instead, feeling him pant against his lips as Eddie came down from his high.
One hand tangled in Steve’s hair, Eddie curled the other around his hip, pulling him flush to his body. Pressing his thigh up between his legs, Eddie could feel him hot and hard even through two layers of denim. Steve let out a little squeak as their positions were flipped, looking up at him with wide eyes.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that, baby? God, what am I going to do with you?” Eddie asked as though he didn’t already have one hand working open the fly of his jeans, leaning in to scrape his teeth along Steve’s jaw, and bite at the delicate skin of his throat between words.
“Fuck,” Steve’s breathing caught as Eddie got his hand around him, hips hitching up into the touch.
“You’re so good, sweetheart, so sweet, makes me want to eat you alive, baby.” Eddie bit down hard on the crook of his neck.
Steve bit back a moan, fingers curling tight in the back of Eddie’s shirt to pull him closer, and tipping his head back. Eddie’s stroked him quick and rough, but by the way Steve’s hips rolled into his hand, he didn’t mind the pace.
“Fuck, Eddie, I—“
“You feel good, baby? You want me to suck you off or do you want to come just like this— oh, fuck, there we go, sweetheart, so good.” Eddie worked him through it until he could feel him shivering underneath him, pulling back with a grin.
Steve looked dazed as their eyes met, and Eddie couldn’t help giving him another biting kiss for lack of a better way to express the unbearable fondness his ribs were trying and failing to contain in his chest. Pulling back, he cleaned them up half heartedly before settling down on the stage again, curling his arm around Steve’s waist to feel how they fit together. Steve leaned back into him, even though they were both a little too warm, and a little sweaty from their afterparty.
“Hey, angel, can I ask you a question?” Eddie asked, fingers skimming up and down his side.
Steve hummed his agreement.
“Did you kill Creel?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said softly, thumb sliding back and forth over his ribs. “I didn’t think so.”
Eddie didn’t ask who did because he knew, he knew the handful of people Steve would be willing to go to jail for and only one of them had been inside that burning church with him at the time.
“You know if you keep tryin’ to play the martyr, darling, we’re gonna have to start a whole new religion after you.”
Steve’s laugh was a soft, surprised little thing, warming the space around them.
“It’d be one of those new age, love everyone type of deals,” Eddie said. “I’m thinking a farm, and charity work, and an orgy every Friday.”
Steve kicked his shin. “That last part’d be your religion, gutter brain.”
“I don’t think so, baby, I don’t share,” Eddie said it casually, but his hand tightened on his hip for a moment. “I would make a damn good cult leader though.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s universal among rockstars,” Steve said dryly.
Eddie laughed. “Yeah, I’d do terrible, terrible things if Kirk Lee Hammett asked me to.”
Steve gave a slight shake of his head.
Eddie’s voice softened. “I wasn’t joking though, sweetheart, I don’t want you to become some saint of selflessness. I know you love those kids, but, baby, you gotta love yourself a little too, if only so that you’ll give the people who love you a chance to. It’s not a happy ending without you here.”
Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“…I mean, who do you think you are?”
Steve twisted around, jabbing a finger into his face. “Don’t make the joke.”
Eddie grinned, nipping at his finger. “Jesus Christ?”
Steve groaned, burying his face in his chest.
“I think you’ve reached your quota on martyrdom,” Eddie said, stroking his hair. “You’re gonna have to let one of us take the next one.”
“Okay,” Steve said softly. “Okay.”
Chapter Text
Steve flipped through the empty pages of the sketchbook, dragging his thumb along the rough edge as he sat by the window, looking out at the grey dawn of morning. Distantly, he could make out shapes of people starting their days, bustling off to work, and a few who may have been dragging themselves back home. Settling on an empty page, he tapped the tip of his pencil against the page.
“Stevie?” Eddie stumbled out of his bedroom, hair falling out of his ponytail, and scrubbing at his eyes which were barely cracked open. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, eyes drifting back out the window. “Go back to bed, Eds, it’s early.”
Eddie shuffled over to him, draping himself over his shoulders, and tucking his face into his neck. “What’re you drawing?”
Steve looked down at the page. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Setting the sketchbook down in the windowsill, Steve got to his feet, taking most of Eddie’s weight with him. Eddie made a half conscious sound, going easily when Steve walked them back to the bedroom, and climbing back into bed. Through the open windows, he could hear a handful of distant cars, the summer air drifting along their skin and rustled the sheets slightly. A warm hand tucked up under his t-shirt, thumb sliding soothingly along his hip.
“Bad dream?” Eddie murmured, nose tucked against the back of his neck.
“I don’t remember it.”
Eddie’s sleep rough voice hummed America, holding Steve close enough to his chest for him to feel the vibration of it. Turning over in his arms, Steve breathed in the smell of cheap laundry detergent, warm skin, and the lingering scent of cigarettes as he fell back asleep.
Their morning had fallen into routine; Steve woke up first, often early enough to work out in the living room, shower off, and start breakfast before Eddie stumbled out at the smell of coffee. After doing the dishes, Eddie either left for a shift at the record store or started working on Hellfire’s first album, today, he headed off to the record store.
With enough in the bank from his parents check and a little cash coming in from the comics he sold to Murray, Steve abandoned his usual job search instead to head over to Hellfire’s makeshift venue, leaving a note on the fridge of his plans incase Eddie beat him home. Their last concert had put two more holes in the floor, not quite enough to break an ankle, but one pair of platform boots had paid the price.
There was enough broken fixtures in the bar —tables, chairs, plywood that should have been on the windows— that he could fix the hole in the floor of the abandoned bar as well as a few other boards that were one good step away from giving out. The work was familiar, sweat running down his throat, and sticking his clothes to his skin. It killed most of his day, the growl of his stomach dragging him out of the bar, and his feet carried him over to Eddie’s favorite sandwich cart.
Buying a sandwich, his eyes lingered on the soup kitchen across the block, it was two hours until dinner. Eating slowly wasn’t enough time to talk himself out of it, and he crossed the street, hesitated before the back door. Steve tentatively stepped inside the kitchen, following the smell of something getting a little too hot on the stove to find Susanna standing over it, her hair gone to frizz with the heat, and her stress radiating off her in waves.
“Steve? Thank god, you take over here, I’ve got a few newbies butchering our can arrangement in the back, only came in last week—“ Susanna slapped a spoon into his hand.
“Are you sure it’s—“
Susanna left the kitchen door swinging after her.
“—okay that I’m here,” Steve trailed off, looking down at the spoon, then out at the kitchen. “Alright, then, let’s see what’s salvageable.”
The vegetables were a little overcooked, but they passed a taste test with a little salt, and the chicken came out pretty decently. Cooking almost went by too fast as he moved along to the familiar crackling-pop of the old radio in the window and the warmth of the stove top he knew just how to handle. It had been his asylum when he was with the Final Chapter, now knowing he was going home to the safety of Eddie’s apartment once his shift was up, it only felt like a dryer warm sweater. Carrying the dishes out to the table, he heard a few warm calls of his name, and he felt them like a kitten kneading its sharp claws on his skin. The pinprick ache of missing familiar faces even if not quite friends.
“Hallelujah, he’s returned,” Marty said, ambling up to the serving station. “Suz, don’t know her salt from her pepper.”
“Hey, now, don’t start on Susanna, you know she runs this ship.” Steve waggled a pair of tongs at him.
“Being a good captain don’t mean she can cook,” Marty said. “Just means she can steer straight.”
Steve bit back a laugh, loading up his plate. “It’s good to see you, Marty.”
Familiar faces greeted him warmly, or indifferently depending on their usual disposition, but the newer ones gave him wary looks.
Lily stepped up, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I-I saw you. On the tellie.”
Steve tensed up. “Oh yeah?”
Lily nodded, her hair falling right back into her eyes. “Said all sorts of mean things about you.”
Steve swallowed. “That right?”
Lily met his eyes. “I didn’t believe a word.”
Steve’s chest squeezed. “Thanks, Lily.”
Handling the dinner crowd was like slipping back into an old pair of jeans, worn soft from wear, and he was humming by the time he carried the dishes into the back.
“Need a hand, altar boy?”
Steve turned to find Eddie leaning by the back door, clearly coming straight from his shift at the record store.
“Only if you keep your paws off my radio,” Steve said.
Eddie clicked his tongue, looking considerate, tilting his head to one side. “S’a hard bargain.”
“…you can dry.”
“Mm, sold.” Eddie stepped up beside him at the sink, bumping his hip against Steve’s own.
Trading stories about their days nearly lead to the death of a dish due to Eddie’s exasperated handwaving as he verbally decimated a customer who didn’t understand that there was a difference between rock and metal. A few of the other close calls could be blamed more on the little hip check battle between the two of them and the intentionally elbow knocking. Honestly, it was a miracle they only broke one cup through the process.
Steve gave Eddie a little shove. “Go get a broom.”
“Why me? You broke it.”
“I broke it? You broke it.”
“Like hell—“
“Language.“
“It’s not a swear, you say it in church!”
“It is when you use it—“
It was another five minutes of squabbling and a best out of three round of rocks paper scissors before Eddie had to fetch a broom, but despite his protests, he was stifling a smile the whole time. Steve bit down on the inside of his cheek, pulling the drain on the sink to let the soapy water wash away.
“Steven? Steven Harrington?”
Steve turned to find a man in a wool suit and with a wispy excuse for a mustache standing in the kitchen. Frowning, he picked up a towel, drying off his hands.
“I’m sorry, sir, only volunteers can be in the kitchen, if you’re interested in joining you can speak to my supervisor Susanna out front about opportunities—“
“I’m not a volunteer, I’m a reporter with the Chicago Press—“
“I’m not talking to any reporters, please leave.”
“The article in the Post indicated that there was physical abuse at the hands of the other members of the church, but you’re not a minor, you haven’t been for nearly three years, why didn’t you leave?” The reporter shoved his recording device in his face.
“I’m not answering any questions, please leave.” Steve stepped back, but the counter was behind him.
“Unless of course you were complicit in the crimes committed by the church?”
Steve tried to step past him, but the reporter grabbed his arm, yanking him back into place.
“Should I take your silence as yes?”
“No.”
“No, what? No, you didn’t willingly recruit other members into your abusive cult? We have witnesses that place you handing out fliers—“
“Let go of me.” Steve tried to push him off.
“Are you going to push me? Because that’s assault, Mr. Harrington, and we wouldn’t want to add that to your growing list of charges, would we?”
Steve glared at him, fingers curled into fists, but holding entirely still.
“Now, while I’ve got your attention—“
“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie asked, marching back into the kitchen.
“Private conversation, run along,” the reporter said without glancing over.
“It’s fine, Eddie,” Steve told the counter just to his left.
“Yeah, okay,” Eddie said quietly, before raising his voice. “Susanna!”
“Susanna?” The reporter repeated bewildered.
Susanna came marching into the kitchen. “Hey! You can’t be back here! It’s volunteer personnel only!”
“I’m not a volunteer—“
“Then you’ve got no business in here, this is a soup kitchen, mister.” Susanna grabbed him by the back of his tweed jacket, yanking him off of Steve more out of sheer surprise on the reporter’s part than brute strength, and marched him towards the door.
“Hey, now—“ the reporter tried, but sounded flustered.
“If you feel like doing a little charity, then you come back tomorrow ten am and I’ll put you to work, that is if you got any kindness in your heart at all, if not, then I better not be seeing you around here disturbing my actual volunteers—“ Susanna was still ripping into him as she walked him right out of the kitchen.
“You okay?” Eddie asked, moving to his side.
“Yeah,” Steve said, rolling down the sleeves of his sweater. “I’m fine.”
“Steve.”
Steve looked away. “I shouldn’t have come, the folks here, they’ll spook if there’s press. I should have known better.”
“Hey,” Eddie said.
“Let’s just… let’s just go,” Steve said quietly.
Eddie frowned, but let the walk back to the apartment pass in silence, and accepted Steve’s mumbled excuses of ‘tired’ once they reached their destination.
The next day, Steve headed back to the broken down bar after Eddie left for work, losing himself in the familiar motions. There were a few graffiti tags here and there along with abandoned cans which he had moved mostly to a pile in the corner with plans to throw them out later.
Steve picked up one of the cans, giving it a little shake, surprised to find there was still paint in it when he gave an experimental spray. It took a few tries to get the nozzle to do what he wanted, but watching the white paint bloom over faded graffiti was addictive. Hunting through the place, he collected all the cans, swapping only once he ran out of colors until he had taken up nearly an entire wall, dragging over a chair to reach as high as he could go.
“Woah.”
Steve turned to find Eddie standing behind him, eyes wide as he took in the painting. Neon eyes and a wingspan of fifteen feet occupied the wall before him, his angel haloed with fragments of latin verses of the Bible. In the radiating glow around his angel were shadows attempting to claw their way into the light. As he lowered the can Steve was surprised to find his arms were sore from the effort, hands splattered with paint, and he had no idea of how much time he had spent on it.
“Uh.” Steve wiped his face on the back of his arm. “I was just messing around… it kind of got away from me.”
“This is insane,” Eddie said, stepping up beside him, running his eyes over it. “This is… this is beautiful… kind of terrifying, but beautiful.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “You should keep going.”
“Keep going?”
Eddie held out his arms. “Look around you, you’ve got endless canvas.”
Steve’s lips turned up. “What if it’s not metal?”
“Angel, you’re got metal in your soul.”
Steve picked up a can, looking at the walls around them, and Eddie fiddled with the radio until Ozzy Osbourne began to play, and he kept painting. Blurred faces, mockeries of stained glass windows over the boards keeping the daylight out, lyrics of Eddie’s songs bleeding into Bible verses, horror movie monsters met Goliath, Leviathan, and dragons, and his own hand prints slapped here and there like a signature until every can he found was empty.
Dropping the last can, he wiped sweat from his face with the hem of his t-shirt, his clothes sticking to him with sweat, and his hair falling in his eyes. Pushing it back out of the way, he found he had paint covering both palms, splatters all the way up to his elbows, and he could feel it crackling on his cheek. The final outcome was rough, like flipping through a sketchbook ranging from full fledged paintings to half hearted ideas.
“I can see it,” Eddie said, turning in circles.
“It?”
“You,” Eddie said, fingers brushing the walls getting a hint of blue on his fingertips. “It’s beautiful, but it’s… it’s terrifying, it’s sharp, that’s how you see the world around you, but the people you love…”
Eddie smiled at the softer shapes.
“You drew them softly, warmly.”
Steve felt hollowed out looking at the all of his thoughts splayed so prominently around him for Eddie to pick apart, but his fingers were gentle as they skimmed his art, his fingertips stained as he pulled them away.
“You’ve been hurting for awhile, I can hear it.”
The bar around him was a little blurred and Eddie’s fingers were sticky against his cheek as he wiped away a few tears that slipped free, cupping his face.
“You’re screaming with it.”
Steve crumbled. Eddie slowed his descent down to the splintered floorboards, one hand cradling his face, the other curled around his waist. One hand clutched at Eddie’s arm, the other braced on the floor, feeling the course grains under his palm, as he gasped for air. Eddie leaned their foreheads together, thumbing away tears.
“Let it out, I’m here, I hear you, I know it hurts.”
Steve screamed, letting his throat echo through the bar even without any amp, drowning out the radio playing around them. Eddie didn’t try to quiet him, hand gentle as he held his face, bearing witness to the pain he had carved into the walls. It left him scraped raw, but unlike confession it felt like he had excavated festering wounds.
“Oh, shoot,” Steve wiped at his nose.
“What?” Eddie asked.
“I left a handprint on your jeans.” Steve sniffled, there was a pink and blue hand print on the thigh of Eddie’s black jeans.
Eddie blinked, looking down at it, then laughed. “That’s alright, baby, adds a little character.”
Steve let out a wet laugh, wiping the rest of his tears away.
“You know, I’m totally asking you to design my next tattoo. I want a Steve Harrington original.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking Icarus.”
“Isn’t that a tragedy?”
“That depends.” Eddie gave him a crooked smile. “On whether or not it’s worth it to touch the sun.”
“And you want to live on a legend?”
“You know me so well, baby.”
Steve smiled. “Yeah, I see you, Eddie Munson. I see you.”
Chapter 35
Notes:
One more chapter to go! Thanks for sticking with it!
Chapter Text
Eddie woke up to an empty bed, the murmur of the sleeping city filtering in through the open window with the breeze stirring through his hair. Slipping out of bed, he wiped sleep from his eyes as he drifted out of the bedroom into the living room. Following the sound of the radio, he found it sitting in the doorway of the fire escape, pinning down several sheets of paper while Steve continued to draw by the weak kitchen light. Wearing boxers and a soft purple sweater, there were pink marks on his thighs from sitting on the metal grates of the fire escape, and the fancy markers Robin had convinced him to buy were staining the sides of his hands and even a little bit of red on his cheekbone.
“Hey, darling,” Eddie said.
“Hi,” Steve said, but it was distracted, eyes never leaving the page before him.
The radio was murmuring Tears for Fears as Eddie picked it up, setting it aside to sift through the drawings. The figures were familiar, the kids drawn with the ease of practice but the settings were entirely different, a small town overcome with vines, shadows, and a spider-like figure looming in the distance of a red-grey sky. It looked like a comic book in the making. Settling down on the fire escape, Eddie lit up a cigarette as he thumbed through the pages, delighting in the obviously dungeon and dragons inspired monsters, and even without words he could see there was a thread to the pages of small town kids facing off against great big mythical monsters. There was a rough sketch of Steve himself in the pages, only half finished like he couldn’t get his own features right.
“You didn’t do yourself justice, pretty boy.” Eddie waved the paper.
“I’ve never really tried to draw myself before,” Steve admitted, fiddling with his pen. “And there weren’t a lot of mirrors on the farm.”
“You forgot a lotta my favorite features,” Eddie said, holding Steve's face in one hand. “These little beauty marks, like Edie Sedgwick, those farm boy shoulders, what were you doing? Bench pressing cows?”
Steve laughed. “Uh, no, making repairs and sowing crops.”
“And?”
“And a lot of pushups.”
Eddie grinned. “That’s what I thought.”
Steve gave a little shake of his head. “Guess I’ll need a little more practice if I’m actually going to make something out of this.”
“A comic book?”
Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I just… I don’t know. I had an idea, and I’ve drawn the kids a dozen times over, so when I started sketching they just kinda came out.”
“This looks way, way cooler than superheroes.” Eddie admired the demogorgan sketch. “…and not a bad way to work through what you’ve been through.”
Steve looked away, chewing on the end of his marker.
“I’m not an artist, but I can see the parallels,” Eddie said gently. “And I don’t think the kids would mind seeing their own fears turned into something a little more digestible than the complexities of brainwashing and religious abuse. Seeing themselves facing off against evil and not just surviving it.”
“You think?” Steve asked softly.
“Yeah,” Eddie said, holding out his cigarette. “I think so.”
Steve took a drag, blowing it out into the night air. “It’s… it’s hard when what you’re afraid of doesn’t have a face.”
Eddie took his cigarette back, taking a drag for himself.
“It may have been Father Brenner delivering punishment, but he wasn’t who I was scared of, it was… it was more complicated than that. It was his interpretation of God. How do you stop being afraid of a series of beliefs? They can’t be put behind bars, they can’t die, they’re all being,” Steve said with a bittersweet smile.
“So this is…?” Eddie held up a landscape.
“I suppose it’s… it’s a universe where those beliefs were right, a parallel to the world I hope we’re living in. A different world with a kinder set of beliefs.”
“A face to the fear.”
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God… and God said, ‘Let there be light’, and there was light,” Steve quoted.
“…like in the Exorcist how you need the demon’s name to cast it out,” Eddie said.
Steve laughed. “Yeah, exactly like that, maybe if I can put it on paper one of these days we’ll both get a full night’s sleep.”
“Oh, baby, you can keep me up any night.”
Steve shoved his shoulder and Eddie laughed. Setting the drawings back under their radio-paperweight, Eddie leaned his shoulder against Steve’s only to realize his own face was on the paper currently being sketched. Each piercing was exact, three in one ear, five in the other, his guitar pick around his neck, a little frizz to his curls, and a scar on his chin from accidentally smacking himself in the face with his guitar when he was fifteen and trying to do a spin around his body. It was imperfect, not drawn to flatter, but Eddie was flattered regardless because Steve had drawn him like he spent hours staring at him to get the details of what made him Eddie Munson down on paper.
“And who is this handsome devil?” Eddie asked, blowing smoke into Steve's face. “Your other boyfriend?”
“Like you’re not enough of a handful on your own?” Steve said dryly.
“Hey!”
Steve bit back a smile.
“You draw me a lot?” Eddie grinned.
“Don’t get a big head,” Steve said, though he looked a little pink. “You just happen to be my on hand reference at the moment.”
“I’m always happy to be, uh, on hand, darling, you know that.”
“You’re awful.”
“You bring it out of me,” Eddie said. “There’s just… there’s just something about you that makes me want to bite a really big piece out of you whenever you’re in the room."
“Romantic,” Steve said flatly, but he was still fighting a smile.
Eddie bit down hard on his shoulder.
“Ow!”
Eddie laughed, letting go to kiss his jaw instead, and give him a lighter bite over a slow-fading hickey.
“There’s something deeply wrong with you,” Steve laughed.
“It’s like when you see one of those little bunnies and you just want to squeeze until they pop.”
“Deeply wrong.”
“Let me see these on hand references.”
Steve sighed, but handed over his sketchbook, though he didn’t watch as Eddie delighted in finding several sketches varying from little cartoonish drawings to more realistic depictions of him and even just a few doodles of his tattoos on their own.
“Hang on.”
Eddie climbed to his feet, fetching his Polaroid camera from a kitchen drawer, and snapping a photo of Steve’s face when he turned to look at him as he rejoined him on the fire escape.
“Hey,” Steve protested, covering his face with one hand.
“They’re for your references,” Eddie set the first photo aside. “C’mon, let me see you, baby.”
Steve flushed, but dropped his hand, glaring half-heartedly at the camera as he snapped another photo. “My hair’s not done.”
“A pretty boy’s a pretty boy, baby, all dolled up or not.” Eddie snapped another photo before setting the camera aside.
Steve gave a little shake of his head, but cozied back up to him once he sat down again. Finishing his cigarette, Eddie coaxed Steve back inside and to bed. Though once he fell asleep, Eddie fiddled with his camera, no photographer himself, but he didn’t worry too hard over the angles as he kicked off his pajamas and took a couple more "reference photos” of himself to tuck into Steve’s sketchbook. It seemed only fair considering he kept one Polaroid of Steve glaring at the camera to keep in his wallet. Setting the camera aside, he curled around Steve letting the sound of his soft snoring lull him back to sleep.
Eddie woke up to the smell of coffee and The Temptations spilling from the radio. Making his way to the kitchen, he bit back a smile as he watched Steve sing along to the radio, wearing only that soft purple sweater he loved and boxers.
“I don’t need no money, fortune, or fame. I’ve got all the riches, baby, one man can claim. Well, I guess you’d say, what could make me feel this way?” Steve flipped a pancake with only the pan, pumping his fist to himself when he caught it again.
Eddie laughed.
Steve flushed as he turned to look at him. “Oh come on, like you could flip a pancake.”
“I can certainly try.” Eddie stepped up beside him. “But we might spend the day scraping batter off the ceiling.”
“Sit down.” Steve handed him a mug. “I’m almost done anyways.”
Eddie kissed him good morning before taking his seat. Steve flicked off the burners, preparing two plates, but set them aside to answer the ring of the telephone.
“Steve Harrington speaking,” Steve said.
Eddie tried not to laugh at the prim and proper way he answered the phone, but by the way Steve flipped him off he failed. Steve’s shoulders straightened, face going blank as whoever was on the other line continued to speak.
“Yes, okay, right,” Steve said faintly. “Thank you.”
“Stevie?”
“That was my lawyer,” Steve said, phone still dangling from his fingertips. “The grand jury made their decision on whether to indict me, I have to go to the courthouse to hear their decision from the judge.”
“Oh,” Eddie said.
Steve released the phone, receiver bouncing on the cord. “I have to… I have to get dressed.”
“I’ll call the others. Hey.” Eddie rose to catch Steve’s arm as he passed. “Even if you are indicted, there will still be a trial. It’s not the end, okay?”
Steve nodded.
“I’ll call Robin,” Eddie said. “You’re not alone in this, okay? We’re right there with you.”
Steve stepped away, disappearing into the bathroom with a change of clothes. Eddie’s hands shook as he called Robin, then Hopper incase he hadn’t been kept up to date before getting dressed himself. Steve stepped out of the bathroom in a button down and trousers, his hair perfectly done and fiddling with the cuffs. Eddie pulled him into a hug and Steve tucked himself down into his shoulder, clutching at his jacket.
“I’m right here, we’re all standing right behind you, and we’re not going anywhere. I won’t abandon you, Steve Harrington.”
Steve held him even tighter and he could feel his shaky inhale before he pulled back and gave him a smile. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”
It was a quiet walk to the courthouse, Robin waiting for them inside who took a hug of her own, and Hopper spoke quietly with Steve as they waited for the doors to open, though Eddie wasn’t sure there was any real reassurance he could offer him. Mr. Mulloy collected Steve while the rest of them settled into the wooden benches, sitting as close to the barrier as they could get. The press crowded in behind, cameras already flashing to get pictures of the back of Steve’s head.
Eddie’s hands shook as the judge took her seat and Robin grabbed his hand in her own as the gavel banged, holding so tight he could feel her short nails cutting into his skin. Hopper sat on the very edge of the bench, the holster on his hip empty where he had to leave his gun with security, and twisting his Stetson in his hands. Steve stood with his chin raised, hands folded behind his back, feet braced like whatever the judge said might knock him to the floor like a swift uppercut.
“Steven Harrington, the grand jury has elected not to indite you. On any charge.”
Eddie felt like chains had been broken around his ribs, allowing him a full breath for the first time in months. Beside him, Robin let out a wet laugh, squeezing his hand. Steve stared at the judge with awe, hands loose by his sides, and lips slightly parted as though trying to find the right words to say.
“The only evidence of a crime the prosecution could provide were your fingerprints on the gun that killed Henry Creel which was determined to not only be an act of self defense but also what kept several others from losing their lives that night, including our own local law enforcement. You will be released on your own recognizance.”
Steve’s voice was thick. “Thank you, your honor.”
The judge dipped her head. Steve shook hands with his public defender before stepping out of the pen into the crowd where the cameras flashes around him, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Robin pulled him in for a hug, Steve tucking himself down smaller to hide his face in her shoulder, neither of them appearing to care about the press snapping photos. Behind her back, Steve managed to take one of Eddie’s hands, out of sight line, and Eddie squeezed back hard.
“C’mon, let’s get you out of here, kid.” Hopper cleared them a path through the courthouse, though each step they had to push past reporters.
“Steve Harrington!”
Eddie caught a glimpse of metal aimed through the crowd at Steve and he only had just enough time to step in front of him. The shot cut through his arm like a knife through butter and the pain of it sent him to his knees. Blood ran down his arm, dripping onto the stone steps, his vision darkening at the edges, but he could still see the reporters fleeing down the steps. Hopper hauled him back out of the way, but Steve stayed facing the snub-nosed revolver in the shaking hand of a woman in her fifties with red rimmed eyes.
“Mrs. Jones,” Steve said.
Mrs. Jones’ lip quivered, bony fingers tightening around the trigger, deaf to the courthouse officers shouting at her to lower her weapon as they reached for their own. Eddie tried to get to his feet, but Hopper yanked him back before he could get any closer, his other hand tight as a handcuff around Robin’s arm as she tried to do the same.
“If you hadn’t told the police, my Ann would have still been here,” Mrs. Jones said.
“I know,” Steve said, sirens calling in the distant, and officers trying to clear away other pedestrians. “I was too late. By the time I went back, she was already dead.”
Mrs. Jones made a sound in the back of her throat like an animal that thought it was about to die.
Steve stepped slightly closer, hands still raised, though they were shaking. “She was our school teacher, just like you, right? She said that it was all she wanted to be ever since she was a little girl—“
“Don’t.”
“—because she watched you do it for twenty years. All the kids, they… they loved her.” Steve stepped closer, close enough that there was only four inches between his chest and the gun.
“She— she could have had her own kids, she could have—“
“She didn’t want kids,” Steve said gently. “That’s why you two fought, right? She only wanted to teach them, not have her own.”
“I loved my daughter.” Mrs. Jones jabbed the gun at him.
“I know,” Steve’s voice wavered, but he pressed on. “I know, you tried to raise her right. Catholic, right?”
Mrs. Jones glared at him.
“You’ll see her again,” Steve said.
“She died in sin.”
“She died a well-loved school teacher, a daughter, and a friend.” Steve eased the gun out of her hand, giving her his own to clasp instead. “And let’s pray that’s how the Lord receives her.”
Mrs. Jones crumpled and Steve went down to his knees with her, letting the gun go skittering down the steps, and holding her hands with both of hers as she started to recite ‘Our Father’. Steve said it with her, even as the police came running up the steps, shouting at passerbys, and taking the gun that Hopper had snatched up. The police reached to grab her.
“Wait,” Steve said quickly. “Let her finish, please.”
The officer paused with his hands on her arms, but waited until she had said amen to haul her away, leaving Steve kneeling on the stone steps, watching her wail as they carried her towards the waiting police cars below.
“Amen,” Steve said, the prayer lingered in the stretching distance between them.
“Steve!”
Robin crashed into his side, Eddie only a step behind, both of them wrapping him up into their arms right there on the stone steps, and he bowed his head, as a shaky exhale tore out of his chest, clutching at their arms. Robin’s face tucked into his shoulder, tears soaking into his sweater, and Eddie could only say, ‘never do that, never do that again’, his hands shaking against him.
“Your arm—“ Steve pulled back.
Eddie looked down at his arm, the sleeve of his leather jacket was torn, material slick with blood. It felt like someone took a hammer to his arm, but he would have thought there would be more blood.
“We need EMTs!” Steve shouted before pressing his hand hard over the wound.
“Shit,” Eddie cursed, blinking spots out of his eyes.
“Hey,” Steve said with a weak smile. “You did say the next one was yours.”
“I stand by it,” Eddie said shakily.
“My hero,” Steve said.
“I want that in writing,” Eddie said as the EMTs pushed Steve aside to assess him.
“You’ll need stitches,” the EMT said. “Can you walk? We’ll take you to the hospital.”
The pair helped him stand, walking him down the steps to the ambulance, which Steve climbed into the back of.
“You can’t—“ The EMT started.
“He just took a bullet for me, I’m riding with,” Steve said.
The EMT clicked her tongue, but closed the doors.
“Think they’ll give me the good stuff?” Eddie wiggled his eyebrows.
The EMT snorted. “For this? You’ll get a local numbing agent and extra strength Tylenol.”
“Aw, man.”
Steve bit back a laugh, shaking his head, but his eyes were warm where they met Eddie’s.
“It’s gonna leave a metal scar though, right?” Eddie asked.
The EMT just rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, Eds, it’ll be bitchin’,” Steve said.
Eddie grinned. “Hey, what do you say we get out of this town, Stevie-boy? I’ve been thinking it’s time Hellfire went on tour…”
It took a little convincing (from several parties) before Steve let himself say yes to joining Hellfire on tour for the rest of the summer, but the kids were settling in okay, and Robin didn’t mind apartment sitting while she applied to colleges. Eddie still planned on swinging by Hawkins on their way back so they could visit the kids before returning to Indianapolis as a surprise for Steve who had already bought a criminal amount of stamps for postcards.
“That’s the last of it.” Eddie set his guitar case in the back of the van.
Steve sat among the blankets and pillows (and pieces of Gareth’s drum kit) with a book open in his lap on Buddhism. Over the past few months he had worked his way through parts of the Torah, the Quran, a translation of The Book That Tells the Truth, and even the Satanist Bible which Eddie had lying around from a gag-gift. By the look of the thrifted books around him, it seemed like there would be a shift towards Eastern religions next.
“You ready to get out of here, angel?”
Steve looked up with a smile. “Just waiting on you.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, but helped him out the back of the van. They managed to fit their instruments, a couple duffle bags with clothes and toiletries, and the other band members in the van. Steve took passenger seat and immediately made everyone groan when he clicked over to a pop station.
Steve laughed, popping open the glovebox. “Hold your horses, it’s just gonna take a second to dig through the mess of Eddie’s tape collection.”
“Seatbelts?” Eddie asked.
In the back there were two extra clicks.
“The babysitter thing is rubbing off on you, huh?” Jeff said.
“Hey, c’mon I’ve got to be, uh, a role model, right, Stevie?”
Steve gave him a flat look, but the corners of his mouth were turned up.
“It’s a town full of losers and I’m pulling out here to win,” Eddie said to himself, taking the Springsteen tape from Steve’s hands, popping it into the player, and starting the engine to Thunder Road.
Chapter 36
Summary:
A glimpse five years in the future!
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Five Years Later
Sitting on the couch, sketchbook in his lap, Steve turned the volume up on the TV at the sound of Eddie’s voice after the commercial break. Lounging like a prince in his throne, Eddie sat opposite an evening talkshow host.
“Now, you’ve never made it a secret about your lifestyle—“
“That I’m queer,” Eddie said with a hint of amusement.
“—but your fans have been questioning why you’re so open about that fact, but are unwilling to share anything about this mysterious partner of yours.”
“Ever since our first album got picked up, I made it clear right off the bat that I wasn’t willing to sacrifice who I was just for a couple extra bucks, I mean, that’s just about against everything metal stands for. If I can’t be other within the metal community then where can I be?"
“Then why hide your, um…” Cheryl waved her hand as she trailed off.
“My angel,” Eddie said.
“That’s how your fans have been referring to him and how you talk about him in all previous interviews. Not to mention in several of your songs this ‘angel’ character is mentioned in one way or another.”
Eddie smiled. “Yeah, it’s a little bit of an inside joke between me and Angel as much as it is an attempt at anonymity, I mean, I’m just about incapable of not talking about my baby, so I had to call him something when I started getting more attention.”
“Why not his name? If you’re not ashamed of your lifestyle that is.”
“That has everything to do with protecting him and nothing to do with our relationship. Angel had a few unfortunate run-ins with the media in previous years, so neither of us were willing to subject him to any more of that kind of attention.”
“Are we supposed to take that to mean Angel is famous?”
Eddie let out an amused hum. “I wouldn’t say famous, perhaps, uh, appreciated in his field might be more accurate, but he’s not interested in being on anyone’s front page. Which I understand, even though it is a damn shame for the rest of you, he’s a vision.”
“Will we ever get to meet this Angel? Your fans are desperate to know more.”
“I won’t say never,” Eddie said. “If the world becomes a little kinder, then, maybe, but my angel is quite content with the sidelines at the moment. He’s got his own career and his nonprofit work that he wouldn’t want to be detracted from by the attention the press might drum up.”
“Non-profit?” Cheryl asked.
“My angel does some work with the Lost and Found Foundation, which if you haven’t heard of it, works primarily with runaways and homeless kids to try to find them a safe environment to grow up in. It provides resources within the family court system, shelters, soup kitchens, clothes drives, educational resources, and support groups.”
“That sounds like a lot of territory.”
“Yeah, I suppose it’s mainly an organizer if that makes sense? It helps kids find where they fit in the world and makes sure they’re going into safe hands, whether it's leaving an unsafe home situation or finding resources for scholarships for lower income families. It’s all about trying to make sure they know that there’s a place for them somewhere, where they’ll be safe and cared for without stipulations.”
“Is this the same charity Hellfire held a concert for last month?”
“That’s the same one, all the proceeds, aside from what we paid our crew, went right to the Lost and Found Foundation.”
“You seem pretty knowledgeable, is Angel a founder?”
Eddie gave her a sly smile. “I don’t give away identifying details, Cheryl.”
A decent chunk of the money Steve had gotten from his parents had gone into starting the Lost and Found Foundation rather than going to college like Robin had, but Joyce had been the one to help him bring the charity to its feet, and he would pretty much consider her the frontman so to speak of the organization.
“What details can you give us?” Cheryl asked. “Paint us a blurry picture. Is he a metal head like you?”
Eddie laughed. “Ah, no, Angel’s not very into metal, much more of a top 50s type of guy.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, not at all, he’s kind of the opposite of my leather and chains get up. Our friends like to joke that we never look like we’re going to the same place. He’s got an affinity for these knit sweaters, it’s pretty cute actually, he looks a bit like he’s heading off to mass more often than not.”
Steve looked down at the purple sweater he was wearing, though with all the idle doodles he had drawn on his jeans, he wouldn’t say he qualified as church-ready.
“Mass? Is he religious?”
“He’s got faith,” Eddie said easily.
“Are you religious?” Cheryl’s eyes widened. “I can’t imagine so, especially not with the irony of your whole look.”
She gestured to the crosses hanging from his neck and the rest of the get-up.
“These are a bit of an inside joke actually.” Eddie gestured to the crosses. “Angel buys me one on every tour, y’know, to keep me safe while we’re apart, it’s just a bonus that it pisses off the soccer moms.”
Steve bit back a smile, twisting at his own cross. Hellfire’s first tour, Steve had bought a post card at every gas station they slipped into, sending an entire fleet to Robin and the kids. Eddie hunted down novelty mugs for Wayne as they went and he had jokingly offered to buy a cheap black cross for Steve to start his own collection. In turn, Steve had looped it around his neck for ‘protection against the outraged soccer moms’ his music would no doubt incite. After Hellfire really took off, Steve hadn’t been able to join them every tour, but he always made it to at least one show, hunting down a cheap cross somewhere to give Eddie backstage.
“Is religious a point of contention in your relationship? Especially with what you sing about. I can’t imagine any devout Christian being particularly pleased about that.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Eddie said. “We’ve got a little bet going on who’s gonna be right at the end of the line, but hey, we’ll just have to wait and see like everyone else, right?”
“There was also a rumor, that it’s Angel’s voice in the background of one of your more recent tracks, but there’s no name listed in the credits aside from the other members of Hellfire.”
“Yeah, that’s my angel.” Eddie smiled.
“For those of you at home, we’ll play the clip,” Cheryl said.
A few idle strums of Eddie’s guitar as he played with the chords. “C’mon, angel, sing one with me.”
“Like hell.”
“Blasphemy, baby.”
“You’re existence is blasphemy.”
Eddie laughed. “C’mon, just a few bars, you’ve heard me sing it enough.”
“You’re wasting air time.”
“When aren’t I?”
A laugh. “Alright, Eds, what are we singing?”
A far gentler voice joined Eddie on a revamped version of his single Fourth Street Sinner, drifting in and out like he was nowhere near close enough to the microphone and there were bits and pieces of Eddie teasing and laughing throughout the song.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it, darling?”
“Well, you’re no George Micheal.”
“Wham? No!”
There was a sound of a scuffle, a bright clear laugh, and then a clash of symbols.
“Watch the drums!”
A laugh. “Tell your frontman to watch his hands then.”
“Can’t keep ‘em off you, angel.”
“Can you keep from banging me into a drum set?”
“Oh, baby, I’ll—
Another brief scuffle then static.
Eddie laughed at the clip. “Oh, man, I forgot how much of that made it in there. It took a little convincing for Angel to let us put that one on the track, but I think our fans reaction speaks for itself.”
“Some of them asked if he was a singer himself.”
“Only in the safety of our apartment, or, uh, if ABBA is on when we go out dancing.”
Cheryl laughed. “ABBA, huh?”
“I’ve warmed to it.”
“That’s about all the time we have for now, but I think I can safely say that this will not be the last we see of you, the people have more questions for the mysterious Eddie Munson.”
Eddie smirked. “I live to entertain. Thank you for having me.”
Clicking off the TV, Steve set his attention on the half finished comic panel before him. Anonymous cartoons in papers turned into a calendar, turned into designing book jackets, album covers (for Hellfire at least), three children books, and then, then the series of graphic novels that had actually brought him to popularity in the field, with a helping hand from Will when he wasn’t caught up with his studies at California Institute of the Arts.
“Hey, angel,” Eddie called as he stepped inside their apartment, a few hours later, coming right from the set.
“Over here,” Steve called back, pinning up his comic panel to see it next to the previous pages.
Eddie wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing up behind him. “You watch my show, baby?”
“I’m pretty sure its Cheryl’s show, says so in the name and all.”
“Stevie…”
“Yeah, I saw it, rockstar.”
Eddie kissed his jaw before resting his chin on his shoulder. “Is this the new one?”
“Mhm.”
“I still think it would be a great plot twist if you killed me.”
“I’m not killing your character for shock value.”
“I could come back as a vampire or something!”
Steve bit back a laugh. “I’m not here to make your vampire fantasies come true, Eds.”
“…what about other fantasies, are those on the table?”
“You’re awful,” Steve said.
Eddie sighed. “I should have known you wouldn’t take my advice, all your stories have a happy ending.”
“Yeah.” Steve looked out at the illustrations of their friends and family decorating the mantle, changing with them over the years and with his own evolving art style. “They do.”
Notes:
Thank you all for reading! I wish there was a kudos button for your comments, they always make my day.
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