Archive of Our Own

So tell me baby, pretty baby

that this house is not a graveyard,

Tell me how to stay strong

and carry you home

ICANTDOITALONE-3OH!3

Podfic by the most amazing Rambling_Company can be found here

xXx

Steve

It didn't matter how much Steve explained. Not one member of the Party was going to get it.

Tommy and Carol would, but then, they were no longer on speaking terms. A fact that hurt even if it was for the best--particularly in times like these, because they got it.

They understood how he had been ensnared with the very same wealth people mocked him for. What it meant when his parents demanded Steve drop everything and go on vacation, his own plans be damned.

They knew, because their families had done much the same, and so the lives they led also were tethered to leashes made of their parents' design.

Dustin, whose mother bent over backwards to try and better her kid’s life, didn’t even have a frame of reference for this kind of thing, let alone sympathy.

"Do they not understand you have a job?" Dustin asked incredulously, and Steve didn't have the emotional bandwidth to explain that his parents didn't consider working at Family Video to be a real job.

As far as they were concerned, Steve could quit if he had to, and then go find another job when they were done using him to play the nice, All-American family.

Likely for business purposes.

"They aren't the type to care." Steve said instead.

It was easier than getting into it.

(Easier than explaining the BMW wasn't in his name, but his parents.

How his money went into a bank account they had access to.

That practically everything he owned was actually owned by Richard and Stella Harrington, and both were quick to remind him of that fact the second they felt Steve was acting out of line.

And boy, had he been acting out of line.

Getting into fights.

Turning their punishment of working a job they picked specifically for the humiliating outfit, into the far worse public embarrassment of being involved in a mall fire--an embarrassment because Steve had "lost" the keys to the BMW, had "put himself in danger" playing hero instead of letting the perfectly capable firefighters do it, then “paraded around” with bruises all over his face, racking up medical bills.

Truly a sin for someone who hadn’t made it into college.)

So no, this vacation they demanded Steve drop everything for was not anything close to a reward, or even something they were doing to spend time together. There was a reason they needed Steve, and as far as they were concerned, Steve was at their beck and call until he shaped up and got his life back on track.

His own plans be damned.

"That's not fair though!" Dustin burst out and Steve sighed in relief, because here at least, he knew what to do to distract his younger friend.

“We planned our trip months ago!” Dustin continued, looking two seconds away from giving in and stomping his foot.

The kid might have been smarter than Steve--smarter than most people really--by a hell of a lot, but he was still fourteen.

Smarts, Steve knew, didn't exactly equate to emotional intelligence, and it definitely didn't stop rampaging hormones.

Ice cream on the other hand, was a great aid in both areas.

"You better be making this up to us." Dustin threatened thirty minutes later, spoon wedged deep into a sundae. “We can’t do, like, half the stuff we were going to do without you!”

“I'm sure you guys didn’t need me to play ghost runners or whatever.” Steve said, but was quick to back down when Dustin nearly threw his spoon at him.

Rather than antagonizing him more, Steve dutifully raised his hand to put over his heart. "I swear on your mom that I’ll make it up to you.”

Dustin rolled his eyes, but otherwise, finally, let the whole thing go.

Stupidly, Steve thought this meant the worst was over.

He was wrong.

xXx

Mike hadn’t cared.

El and Will hadn’t really either, though both expressed some sadness that Steve wouldn’t be participating in the camping trip that the Party as a whole had been looking forward to for the past few months.

Erica had simply snapped at him, making him promise much the same as Dustin had that he would be making it up to her sometime in the future. Likewise, she had been bought off by ice cream (even if she insisted it didn’t count because Steve owed her ice cream anyways.)

Max was the surprising emotional standout.

"You can't tell them no?" She demanded, arms crossed over her chest.

Lucas was hovering awkwardly at her shoulder, shooting "what can you do?" vibes as hard as he could at Steve as his (currently on-again) girlfriend outright dressed the elder boy down; her shoulders creeping up higher and higher until she seemed to realize she was visually giving away her upset and forcibly relaxed them.

Unlike Dustin and Erica, her tirade was very out of character and Steve was growing more concerned by the second that something was wrong the more she spat at him.

“I mean for fucks sake, didn’t you tell them you had plans!?” She finished, eyes narrowed in rage.

Which was rich coming from someone whose stepdad had Billy Hargrove running all over town before he’d run off after the guy’s death, but then, Steve knew better than to bring all that up.

(The image of Max, unresponsive in the hospital with casts on almost every limb, was still too fresh.

Even now he didn’t like to push her, even if the Party as a whole did their best to take notice when one of them was isolating themselves again.

Max, though she was down to one crutch, was still inclined to use it as a weapon and very much enjoyed practicing her swings on people’s ankles.)

“I did indeed. They don’t care and they’re not giving me a choice, but for what it’s worth I am sorry.” Steve tried to keep his voice even and out of angry-shrieking range, and vaguely prayed it was working. “I swear, I will make it up to you guys, even if we have to go on a second camping trip.”

This was clearly not the correct thing to say.

Though judging by the murderous rage being aimed his way, Steve was pretty sure nothing short of “You know what you’re right, let me go tell my parents to fuck off!” would make Max happy.

“So you’re seriously just going to drop everything, all our plans, your job, us,” She took a very threatening step forward and despite her being a full foot shorter than him, Steve had to fight not to take a responding step back. “So you can go play rich boy in the Bahamas?”

“We’re not going to the Bahamas--” Steve tried, but was interrupted with a loud “ugh!” of disapproval.

“Whatever makes you happy, Steven.” Max spat, and then turned on her heel, storming off towards the rest of the Party (who had taken one look at Max’s face and fled into the arcade so she and Steve could “talk.”) “I’m sorry us peasants weren’t good enough to hang around!”

“Sorry man.” Lucas apologized quietly, on his way to run after Max.

Steve just scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed.

xXx

“The kids are mad at you.” Nancy announced, appearing across the Family Video counter like a phantom.

Steve swore, nearly dropping his stack of VHS’s, while Robin (who had clearly seen Nancy approach) cackled at his fumble.

“Yeah, I did get that memo.” Steve said, after he stabilized his stack, safely moving them from his arms to the counter.

Nancy peered around them, her face giving away nothing. “It is kind of shitty to cancel at the last minute like that. We were relying on you to drive.”

An old fury shook itself awake in Steve’s chest, taking an interest in the conversation the second Steve realized what Nancy was here to do.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and pressed it down, back into the box he’d slammed it in all those years ago.

“I’d leave the keys to Robin here, but unfortunately, someone failed their drivers test.” Steve said instead, jamming his finger over his shoulder and blatantly attempting to pass the buck.

Robin, who absolutely knew that was what he was doing, faked a gasp and kicked at his ankles.

“That crotchety asshole failed me on purpose!” She protested, spinning to face Nancy. “He made like, three misogynistic comments before we even got in the car!”

“Pointing out that he knew the car wasn’t yours wasn’t misogynistic, he was just surprised to see me letting you use the Beemer.” Steve shot back, rolling his eyes. “I don’t exactly let a lot of people drive it.”

Unspoken was that Steve’s BMW was one of the town’s more unique cars, and thus easily identifiable by the locals at large.

“How is that better!?” Robin returned, but Nancy cleared her throat before they could successfully get the Steve-and-Robin show on the road.

“The point is that we--but really, the kids, were counting on you.” Nancy said, dipping into her patented “I’m upset with you” tone.

A year ago it would have cut Steve to the bone, even if he didn’t show it.

Now he just stared tiredly at her back.

“I’m sorry, Nance, but it is what it is.” He said simply, hoping the apology (even if he knew it wasn’t so much a real apology as it was something he said to keep the rage from breaking out and wrecking havoc via his mouth) would soften his ex. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Given the abrupt narrowing of her eyes, it very much did not help his case.

“For someone who was so vocal about trying to change I have to say this is pretty disappointing.” Nancy said simply, but with just enough of a tone that Steve had to close his eyes for a second.

Feel the way that old anger, the one that had powered King Steve, hit the bars of its cage.

Robin stilled immediately next to him, her head ping-ponging between Steve and Nancy both as she too, clocked that Nancy was pissed, and here to chew Steve out about it.

“Um.” She said, voice going high in discomfort.

Steve grit his teeth. “I don’t exactly get a say in these things, Nancy. You know that.”

He had to work to keep his voice even, fighting against the ice that wanted to sharpen his own tone.

It was just---Nancy did know.

Steve had told her all those years ago, in the safety of her arms, about his parents' expectations. Their predetermined path, the way they dictated large swathes of his life.

How they’d allowed him to pick which sports he played, but required that he play a sport no matter the time of year.

That the pool they had installed wasn’t for him, he just got to use it as much as he did in part because he’d joined the swim team, and the kind of mental mind games he and his parents played about things like that.

Apparently either Nancy had forgotten, or simply hadn’t taken it in to begin with because she wasn’t backing down.

(Not that Steve had ever seen Nancy Wheeler back down.)

“I know you have trouble juggling your parents' plans with your own.” Nancy said, and her tone was absolutely icy now. “I certainly remember waiting for a date that never happened.”

Steve sucked in a breath through his teeth, knowing immediately what Nancy was referring to.

“I told you they came home unexpectedly.” He said, arms now crossed against his chest, nails digging into his arms as a way to help himself stay grounded. “They wouldn’t let me use the phone until the next day and I apologized.”

“And I recall having a lovely conversation with your mother where she said otherwise.” Nancy said, her words punctuated by another high pitched “Uhhhh.” from Robin.

“Funny how you believe my mom over me.” Steve said and whoops, yup, he definitely sounded mad now.

So much for all the effort he’d put in to staying calm.

“Because I look at actions, Steve. Patterns. The same ones you kept repeating.” Nancy was clearly about to escalate, and Robin, bless her, had had enough.

“He-eeey.” She said, wedging herself in between Steve and the counter Nancy was starting to lean over. “I totally get it, you’re both upset, but this maybe isn’t the venue to fight about it? There are customers in the store and--sorry Nancy--but I do kinda need Steve for work, so…”

She trailed off, glancing nervously between the two of them.

Nancy took a breath, blasting it out of her mouth like an academically inclined dragon. “You’re right. I’m sorry Robin.”

She then turned on her heel, making her way to the doors. She paused before them, and Steve prepared himself because he knew whatever she was going to say next, it was going to hurt.

“I wouldn’t care if it was just me, Steve, but the kids don’t deserve you pulling this shit. Not after all they’ve been through.” With that, Nancy pushed through the door, head held high as she stormed to her car.

As was typical for Nancy’s aim, she scored a direct hit.

Steve, somehow, resisted throwing things.

“Can you believe her!?” He said, the second the doors were closed and Nancy safely out of eyeshot. “Coming in here like that!?”

He ran his hand through his hair, once, twice.

A third time for good measure.

“Yeah, that was seriously public for her.” Robin agreed, sliding up next to him. “Like really public.”

Steve shrugged, because well. Not really.

Not anymore.

But Robin didn’t know that, just like Robin wasn’t entirely familiar with the depths Steve’s parents went to save face. They hadn’t exactly had time to really dig into it all, given how fast the Vecna situation had hit after Starcourt and the sheer PTSD both incidents had caused.

Most nights they spent together was spent trying to avoid reliving nightmares, not discussing ones they were currently still living in.

A fact that Steve was more than happy to bring her up to speed on, but to do so involved a lot of backstory, and backstory involved Nancy, and God, he was fucking pissed at Nancy.

Soon it was an hour into his rant and he hadn’t actually gotten around to the sheer level of shit his parents would pull, too busy with Nancy and old echoes of ‘bullshit.’

He only stopped when Robin put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly.

“Dingus. You know I love you, and I know you’ve changed, but you do gotta admit, canceling at the last minute is kinda shitty and I get why they’re upset.”

It was like the carpet had been pulled right out from under Steve, yanked so quickly he’d have to pinwheel to keep his feet.

“What?” He said, eyes round in sheer surprise.

“I just mean like, I get your parents are dicks but,” Robin’s face screwed up, looking like she’d sucked a lemon. It was her “I’m going to say something you don’t like face” and it hit Steve like a punch to the gut.

“Our shift’s almost over and no offense, you’ve started to repeat yourself about Nance, and I get it! I do, memory shit is hard!” Robin’s hands moved as she talked, her bracelets jingling as if punctuating her point.

“But I also think admitting you double booked yourself on accident and just taking responsibility for it would help smooth things over. Middle ground, you know?” Robin waggled her hands in a gesture that, for the first time in a long time, Steve didn’t understand.

He found himself suddenly struggling to breathe.

“Are you--are you saying you think I didn’t tell them I had a trip already planned?”

Steve wasn’t sure how he managed to get it out. Wasn’t sure how he was doing anything, given the heat that was shooting through him, a hot mix of confusion and betrayal as Robin fidgeted to his left.

“No! Okay well,” The lemon face got worse for a second. “I’m just saying you did kinda forget to pick me up that one time, and you do kinda blame your parents when stuff like that happens.” She bit a nail, peering at him out of the corner of her eyes.

“I don’t--” Steve said, completely knocked adrift. “I…”

Robin didn’t believe him.

His Robin.

Who wasn’t--wasn’t exactly siding with Nancy, but wasn’t saying she was wrong either, or that she understood that this shit was out of his control, and in fact, was kind of implying that Nancy was right more so than Steve was and---and--

There was a ringing in Steve’s ears he wasn’t sure actually existed.

“I’m sure a lot of it is your brain injury. The doctors said your short term memory can take a while to fully come back and I totally get why you don’t wanna say that, I just, I think it would be better if--Steve?” Robin jumped back as Steve finally found his footing, swiping his jacket and punching out before she could catch how badly his hands were shaking.

“I’m leaving.” Steve told her, his own words a million miles away, entirely uncaring if Keith fired him.

Keith was likely going to fire him anyway, given Steve was about to ask for a week-long vacation not even four months after the whole Vecna ordeal.

“Wait, Steve, hey--Dingus! I wasn’t done, I mean, I had more to say I, dammit Steve--!” Robin called after him frantically as Steve bolted for the door.

Steve ignored her, aiming for the Beemer and swinging himself numbly into the driver's seat when he got it open.

Put the car in park and avoided Robin’s face entirely as he backed it out, punching the gas far harder than he needed to.

The Beemer roared in response, nose rising as it shot forward.

Robin was his best friend. His fucking--platonic soulmate, as she kept calling him. The very idea that she agreed with Nancy in general was a blow but in this?

Against his parents?

Naousa rolled angrily in Steve’s stomach, matching the sudden wetness that coated his eyes.

Angry and needing an outlet, Steve stomped hard on the gas, taking the next corner far too sharp and making the beemer fishtail, tires squealing .

He didn’t know where he was going.

He figured he’d find out when he got there.

xXx

Given what Steve knew about the universe at large, (nevermind Hawkins) it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to hang around the quarry at night.

But then, summer was in full swing. Kids were home from college and itching to find a place to party without parental overhead.

Deep to the left side of the water, around a few bends and tucked oh so neatly out of sight, was a place where one could do just that.

Party.

This stretch had long been claimed by the college kids of Hawkins, and guarded zealously for it.

With the sheer number of drunk people whooping and hollering around the bonfires below the ridge where everyone parked their cars, Steve figured he was safe enough.

Even if he was up with said cars, sitting alone.

Not like it mattered. If a demodog or demogorgan or demo-fucking-dragon decided to come along, Steve had half a mind to just let it have him.

It felt easier than trying to fix the current mess his life was in.

So he sat up here, blowing through the alcohol he’d purchased from the one gas station that never carded, drinking his problems away.

(That also wasn’t the best course of action but with his parents home to spring the whole “vacation” ordeal on him, it wasn’t like Steve had a choice.)

He hadn’t grabbed a lot--had been so damn upset and struggling to hide it that he’d picked up a four pack of wine coolers instead of the intended beer he’d wanted. It was all he had though, and so he chugged the last bottle with a wince and wished he was a hell of a lot drunker than he felt.

Then promptly caught sight of the person walking towards him, and wondered vaguely if he was drunker than he felt.

Of all the people to come and offer him a can of beer, Steve would have never expected Tommy Hagan.

He eyed it and his old friend both, before slowly reaching out and taking the can.

“Heard you and your parents are doing CoHo this year.” Tommy said casually, leaning up against the front of the Beemer like it was old times.

“Yup.” Steve replied, drawing the word out.

“Angie Tideman’s parents are going, they’re bringing her with .” Tommy said it casually, and had the good graces not to grin when Steve audibly groaned.

“Oh god.”

Tommy sucked on a lip, nodding absently. “Yeah.”

Then; “It gets worse.”

Steve, who now knew what this conversation was about, instantly began tearing into the beer can. “How can it get worse? You know what Angie’s like.”

Angie, whose full name was Angelina, lived a few towns over. Born to wealthy parents who doted on their beloved only child, Angie had more in common with your average shark than she did her fellow humans.

A comparison that, frankly, was unkind to sharks.

She was without a doubt the most selfish person Steve had ever had the misfortune of encountering, and the mere idea of being trapped in a room with her made his skin crawl.

Their parents were business buddies though, and god forbid he ever insult a business buddies kid,

“She goes to Purdue, you know, with me and Carol.” Tommy said, instead of answering directly. “We cross paths a lot, party wise.”

Steve stayed silent.

Knew how Tommy talked, how his stories meandered. Especially the juicy ones.

“She’s been talking a lot recently. Given you don’t look all that informed, I’m gonna assume the one person she hasn’t talked to is you.”

Steve gripped the can of beer, a sudden, sick fear blooming in his gut.

“Tommy.” He said mildly, not loud enough to really interrupt, but with enough force to let his former friend know to get to the point, now.

“Got all super fancy right before we left for summer break. Hair done, whole new wardrobe, nails, you know.” Tommy waggled his fingers playfully, but dropped them when Steve just stared. “Went full whore on us. I swear she was making out with any guy who even looked at her--”

“Tommy.” He repeated, this time a hell of a lot firmer.

Done pushing, Tommy let go of the proverbial bombshell. “Apparently you’re planning on proposing to her this summer. She’s gonna return next year as an engaged woman, with you in tow, because apparently, you got into Purdue. Congrats by the way.”

Tommy clapped him on the shoulder, right as Steve’s mouth went dry.

For the second time that day, he found himself fighting the burning heat of embarrassment and fury as it rolled through him.

“I’m proposing.” Steve said, as if saying it out loud would scare the very idea away. “To Angie.”

“Yeah we kinda figured you didn’t know.” Tommy said with a snide little grin. To the average outsider it was mocking, but Steve knew better.

Tommy was uncomfortable, because Tommy had understood what Steve’s parents had done.

“What I’d like to know is just how much Angie’s parents paid to get you into Purdue. That’s gotta be a minimum fifty thousand dollar donation at least.” Tommy removed his hand, to instead lean his shoulder against Steve’s. Like this was the old times, before they’d fought. “ I didn’t think they had that kind of money to throw around.”

A past conversation with his father struck Steve, running through the front of his mind like a bad horror movie.

“They sold the estate.” Steve said vacantly, the implications not quite hitting. “The one they’ve been trying to get rid of forever, over in Cape Cod.”

“Oh shit.” Tommy said, blinking as he too, recalled what was likely his father telling him the very same news.

“They sold the place on Cape Cod, and they used part of the funds to fucking buy me like a toy.” And yeah, saying it out loud, it definitely sounded bad. “I didn’t think Angie even liked me.”

“Does Angie like anyone?” Tommy asked, incredulously, but nudged Steve’s shoulder again when his joke didn’t net him the laugh he wanted.. “I mean, you had to know your old man had plans to straighten you out. He keeps getting mad at my dad, because the ass won't stop making jokes that I’m going to take over the company instead of you.”

“And this is it. Attaching me to Angie.” Steve said vacantly. “Because they know if I get married…”

He’d put his wife first. His family, first.

The one he’d wanted, dreamed of, since he first realized he didn’t have one.

He’d been playing checkers the entire time, too busy fighting fucking monsters and Russians to realize his parents had upgraded to chess.

In a dizzying array of mental connect-the-dots, Steve replayed the last years worth of conversations. All the odd little things they’d said. All the dumb things Steve had just ignored.

They’d warned him.

Had told him he better shape up, or they’d be forced to do something drastic.

That his parents hadn’t wasted all this time, effort, money on him, for him to throw away his life like he was.

“You better start acting right and figuring out how to get your life back on track, because you won’t like what happens if I have to fix it for you. You get a month Steven, and after that? Well. Just remember you forced my hand..”

They knew. They knew him, and what made him tick.

“I think the real question is what Angie’s parents see in you.” Tommy teased, but then they both knew the answer to that puzzle.

For all that Steve’s mom complained about her husband, the guy was a shrewd and calculating businessman. Those weekends, then weekdays, then more and more time away hadn’t just been so he could go screw his secretary.

Richard Harrington had fast tracked his business to the point where it was now getting attention. The business journal, ‘Top 50 Companies to Watch’ kind.

Even if Steve fucked up entirely, he was set to inherit a fortune and a business that would continue adding to it, for some time to come.

Provided he did what his parents wanted.

Such as marrying Angie.

Thing was, if his parents did what they always did, and held their wealth (his car, his home, his life and all the little things in it) against him like a gun to his head, if Angie got that ring around her finger?

Steve would bow to their whims.

Because they could fluster him into proposing so he didn’t embarrass Angie, and her parents and anyone else who’d undoubtedly be watching. They’d make a spectacle of it.

Because once he did propose, they wouldn’t let him back out, burying him under guilt trips and veiled threats until he was marched down the aisle in a groomsman suite and told to stand.

Because against all common sense, Steve wanted a family who loved him so desperately he’d chase it like a dog if he was presented with the opportunity and told to make it work.

It didn’t matter that Angie was selfish.

Steve would try anyway.

His parents were maneuvering him as easily as they had back when he was a kid, using love as a tool to get him to do what they wanted and even seeing the nose hanging from the rafters, they knew just the right words to get him to place it around his neck.

“Thought you’d wanna know.” Tommy finished, pushing himself off Steve’s car. “Before your parents sprung it on you.”

“Sonofabitch.” Steve hissed angrily, a million thoughts racing through his head, the heat of being caught in a trap blasting down his spine.

“Yeah.” Tommy added, rather unhelpfully. “But hey, given that you’re about to go on vacation to propose, why don’t we consider this,” here Tommy swept his hand, gesturing to the party below, “your proposal party?”

It was a downright horrible idea.

But then, Steve didn’t exactly have a better one.

Not when the world itself seemed against him, grinding its heel into his back and laughing about it.

He knew the drill. If he went down there, arm in arm with Tommy, then it wouldn’t matter that half those kids were from a few towns over, driven in by new college buddies.

They’d see him as a reason to get wild, absolutely uncaring that they didn’t know who the hell he was.

Steve needed that.

People who weren’t mad at him, buying into the easy lies his parents wove, or who didn't understand the games played against him.

“Fuck it.” He announced, standing up from the hood of his car as Tommy’s grin morphed into something he used to see in the days of old, back when they were sneaking drinks from their parents' alcohol cabinets. “This way at least I get a party.”

Not like his parents were going to let him have an engagement party. Or a bachelor party, or likely let his ass back into Hawkins.

No matter how long the engagement.

Tommy cheered, raising his arms to the sky and Steve grinned wildly with him.

He’d figure out how to get out of all this later--but for now, he wanted just a few damn hours where he didn’t have to think.

Not about his parents, or Angie, or possible attempts to force him into marriage, like this was the ye olden days and Steve was a Victorian maiden who needed to be brought to heel.

Likewise he didn’t want to think about the Party, or Russian torture, or how Nancy could be so damn smart in some things and downright stupid in others.

He absolutely didn't want to think about Robin.

“Hey boys and girls, look who I drug up!” Tommy yelled as they approached and soon, word had spread.

This was Steve’s proposal party, and he was here to get absolutely smashed (while encouraging everyone else to do the exact same, in his honor.)

Which would be how Eddie found him a few hours later.

Still at the quarry, crossfaded off his ass, a forty in one hand and a lawn dart in the other.

“Are you kidding me, Steve?” Eddie grit out, desperately trying to wrestle the lawn dart out of his hand. “You’re fucking partying with Tommy Hagan!?”

Steve blinked at him a few times, finally catching on that Eddie was in fact, actually there.

“When did you show up?” He asked, though given the wince on Eddie’s face and just how hard it had been to move his lips, Steve correctly assumed he’d slurred the shit out of the question.

Somehow, Eddie understood him anyway.

“Robin called me a while ago, gave me a list of places you might be. Almost skipped this one until I stepped out of my van to take a piss and heard the party.” Eddie explained, and somehow while doing so, he’d successfully gotten a hold of the dart.

He was now working on removing the 40 ounce.

Steve frowned, using his newly freed hand to grip it closer to his chest.

“Harrington.” Eddie warned, and oh, wow, they were back to last names huh?

Well why not, it wasn't like his night could get worse.

“This is mine, Munson.” Steve fired back, putting as much vitriol into Eddie’s last name as he could.

This did not detour the metalhead.

“Come on man, give me the bottle.” Eddie said firmly.

Steve shook his head stubbornly, enjoying the way his hair whipped at his face. “No.”

Another man stumbled over, a guy Steve absolutely did not know. He frowned, looking between Eddie and Steve.

For two seconds, Steve thought they might have trouble, and given the way Eddie was tensing, he clearly thought so too.

Instead, New Guy just kind of rocked on his heels. “Hey, shove off it, buddy. It’s this guy's bachelor party, let the man drink!”

Eddie’s face did something complicated then, pulling the sort of expressive looks only he could manage.

It was both adorable and hilarious, and if Steve hadn’t just been reminded of the very reason he was drinking, he’d have told Eddie so.

“Yeah!” He said instead, raising his hand in the air, toasting his bottle of forty against the other guy’s red solo cup. “It’s my proposalengagmentbachelor party!”

Given the second, adorable-slash-hilarious look on Eddie’s face, Steve assumed those words hadn’t come out right either.

“Okay.” Eddie said hands on his hips in a stance Steve was pretty sure Eddie had gotten from him. “Here’s what's going to happen. You’re going to put the bottle away. Then you’re going to give me your car keys, and then the two of us are going to my house to sleep whatever is happening here, off.”

At least, that's what Steve thought he heard. It was a pretty un-Eddie like speech, and Steve maybe, might have been the one to say it, because he maybe, might have been mocking what Eddie had actually said.

Maybe.

It was hard to know, given that Steve’s thoughts were a thick soup on a bit of a time delay, and he was having a hard time figuring up from down, let alone what Eddie had been actually saying.

Speaking of;

“When did I get into your car?” Steve asked, blinking as the van’s passenger seat appeared before him.

“Just now.” Eddie said, helping him in.

“Huh.” Said Steve, and then he maybe passed out a bit, because once again, he found himself awake and alert at a place that wasn’t where he’d just been.

“Come on.” Eddie said gently, one of Steve’s arms over his shoulder as Steve leaned heavily into him, guiding the jock up the stairs and into the small house he and Wayne now called a home.

The guy might have muttered a few things about bachelor parties along the way, but Steve was too focused on walking straight to really take notice.

It's holding me
Morphing me
And forcing me to strive
To be endlessly
Cold within
And dreaming I'm alive

Hysteria, Muse

xXx

Steve

Steve didn't recall going into the house.

Didn’t remember falling asleep on Eddie's couch.

(Does have a vague memory about being in the van, insisting he was going to marry a shark.)

Knows he couldn't have been out for long, given how the room tilts about when he opened his eyes and sat up.

'Still drunk.' Steve thought coherently--and very much at odds with the way the walls seemed to pulse.

"You good man?"

Steve turned to find a familiar mess of hair.

"Eddie." He identified, more to ground himself than anything else.

The older teen's curled up in an armchair opposite the couch. Awake but relaxed, tight black pants traded for black pajama bottoms.  

The chain's have disappeared, alongside everything else but a thread-bare band shirt and his rings. In place of it all, Eddie's got a book in his hands.

Steve recognized it as The Hobbit by the tape on the cover.

The very sight is comforting--familiar in a way that feels like a balm on a wound. 

"Yeah.” He said, voice rough. “Don't think I can drive home though."

Eddie snorted. "Given how drunk you are, I wouldn't let you."

Which is fair, since Steve is slowly recalling how he may have thrown up in one of Wayne’s new house plants.

(Whoops.)

'I'm…less drunk." Steve decided, after taking stock of himself.

“I'd say so, since you no longer sound like you shoved a box of rocks in your mouth " Eddie put his book down, gifting Steve with a hint of his usual, roughish grin. "Also we may have left your car at the quarry."

Which is roughly when Steve's brain decides it should shove the rest of his missing memories at him.

The facts were thus:

Eddie had shown up at the quarry to witness Steve at his worst, going so far as to hear the entire bachelor party spiel the random group of partiers had latched onto.

Dragged Steve’s drunk ass to his house, helping him along the way as Steve alternated between talking wild shit about Angie, sleeping, or throwing his socks up. 

Planted Steve on the couch, and spent his evening babysitting while Steve slept it off. 

Now Steve was awake--and Eddie was going to want answers. 

Under usual circumstances, Steve would be horrified, but right then he can only find it in himself to be thankful it was Eddie who found him in the first place. 

See--Steve has spent plenty of his own nights watching Eddie. Making sure the other was okay, keeping him free from pain or PTSD, or even just hanging out when Eddie wanted someone there to play music.

(Just because Vecna was gone, didn't mean the lot of them had gotten over carrying tapes around--or wanting someone around to play your song, should the asshole manage to claw his way back to life.) 

It was a familiar thing between them now. 

A comfort.

It made the anger, all the fucking hurt that Steve had carried all day, finally ease down. Let him breathe, when it felt like he hadn't been able to fully catch his breath before. 

Of course, Eddie has to go and ruin it by adding; “Couldn't risk that head of yours anyway, big boy. I couldn't handle it if another car wreck did you in."

Ice dumped down Steve’s back, adrenaline and horror barreling through him in a double hit. 

He's never told Eddie about his head.

Not yet, not beyond ‘Yeah I’ve had a few concussions.’

Didn't want to be looked at, treated, differently. It's why he downplayed it. Kept it hidden from the kids and made sure most everyone, but especially Eddie, didn't know.

"Robin mentioned my head injury, did she?" Steve said slowly, finding himself feeling far more sober than he had a second ago.

It had to be Robin, who told. Could only be Robin, since Robin was the only person who knew.

"Yeah, she said you had some crazy brain--injury. That she has one too." Eddie admitted, and Steve immediately clocked the way he cut himself off.

"But?" Steve challenged.

Eddie covered himself well, but not well enough. He winced even as he said; "There's not a but, Steve, she just said--"

"But," Steve interrupted, "my brain was already damaged. But, the night I got the traumatic injury, I'd already taken a few hits to the head. But I got another concussion when the damn bats took me down."

For a second he's animated, fiery. "But I have problems that will take years to heal, that may never fully heal, so my injury is worse." 

Implied: it was bad enough that he needed to be looked after, that he didn't always make the sanest decisions on his own anymore. 

Steve scrubbed angrily at his eyes before any tears could gather and fall. "I don't need a reminder that my brain is fragile."

"She's just worried about you." Eddie said, catching on to how much of a sore spot he’d just walked into and back-tracking accordingly. “She only told me because she'd never seen you that upset."

He leaned forward in his chair, legs falling to the floor and elbows balancing on his knees. "She was freaked out, Steve. More than she was with Vecna."

Steve scoffed in reply. 

Looked away.

Didn't want to feel the ache of pain that came from knowing he'd made Robin that upset.

Not when she'd fucking told Eddie.

(What else, had she mentioned, about his brain damage, Steve wondered.

Did the check lists he made to keep himself on track come up? The post-it note reminders?

How he was better about getting his days mixed up, but still confused all the small things?

The way his dad had found his calendar once and mocked Steve for days about it.

Humiliation squirmed in his gut as the parade of shit Steve needed to appear normal danced through his head. Each one a reminder of what he'd lost and who he'd been.

He never would have accused Robin of spilling his secrets prior to today, but his stupid, damaged brain kept replaying the look on Robin's face. How she hedged, because she thought he'd been the one to mess up.

Not in the same way Nancy did, but was blaming it on Steve's brain injury really any different?

It didn't fucking feel different.)

“I’m worried about you, Stevie.” Eddie continued, and he didn't hide how much he meant it in the way he stressed the words. 

Pity Steve was too lost in his own hurt to hear it.

"I mean shit, I don't think I've ever seen you that drunk, not even at that party at Tina's." Eddie moved one arm to rub at his neck, a dead give-away for when he was uncomfortable, and Steve hated that he'd caused that too. 

Wished he could go back to feeling vacant. Dark and empty like his parents' house, instead of the guy who kept fucking up everywhere he went.

"Did Robin tell you we had a fight earlier?" Steve said instead, fighting down the rising panic that Eddie knew. 

(It had him spiraling almost worse than the idea that his parents were trying to pawn him off. 

Would things change, now that Robin had confirmed that his brain--that Steve, was damaged?)

"She said you and Nancy got into it first." Eddie replied carefully--and wasn't it crazy that Steve knew him well enough to catch it? That Eddie was going with the flow here, trying to tamp back his own worry while still working out what happened.  

Steve couldn't read a lot of people anymore. Not like he used to be able to.

But he could read Eddie.

"And that you were pissed at her too. It was why she had me look for you while she went and asked the kids if you were with them.” Eddie continued.

The kids meant 'Dustin or Max' but Steve couldn't fault Eddie for trying to imply he was as close to them as others.

"Did Robin say why we fought?" Steve asked, and found himself praying the answer was no--because he couldn't handle another fight. Not about his brain or his parents. 

'Definitely not with Eddie.' That traitorous inner voice whispered.

(Screw it, it was probably damaged too.)

"I cannot say enough how freaked Robin was, Steve. I'm amazed I understood her to begin with.” Eddie spoke it lightly, like they were back to just bantering, but Steve knew better. "She didn't tell me shit." 

This was Eddie doing what he did best. Helping other people when they broke down.

Not that Steve had ever been able to get him to admit that.

"Are you gonna tell me what it was about?" Eddie continued, still keeping his tone light. 

Like the truth wouldn't change things. 

Telling him no would only end in failure--they both knew Eddie had the upper hand here. That he was too good at getting secrets out of Steve.

(Out of everyone, really, but he had figured out Steve’s buttons faster than most. Ducked his head --often literally--under the jock's defenses, getting up in Steve’s space to bat his stupidly large doe-eyes about.

Leaned over to touch Steve on the arm or shoulder, voice dripping in the kind of nicknames Steve was desperate to hear from a lover.

Steve had no defense for it. Couldn’t figure out how anyone did, once Eddie had figured out what worked on him.

Of course, Steve was well aware things Eddie did affected him more than it effected most--but that was apart of something else that had long gone unspoken. 

A thing he'd been working his way towards bringing to light, and simply hadn't had the time he needed to get it there yet. 

Now Steve's not sure he ever will.)

Which brought him back to the present. He couldn't tell Eddie no, and the asshole would catch him out instantly if he lied. 

He couldn't tell Eddie the truth, either.

Not right now, not when Robin hadn't understood.

If she, Steve’s best friend, his platonic with a capital P soulmate, hadn’t believed him, then how could anyone?

How could Eddie?

The very thought of him reacting the same way Robin had made Steve's chest constrict, so tight he had to force his next breath, and the one after it too.

The walls pulsed again as panic made him lightheaded and Steve picked a thread on Eddie's jeans to focus on before he lost it entirely.

Even without looking at his face, Steve knew Eddie was growing more and more concerned by the second, which meant he had to make a snap decision. 

Lying, even by omission, was a sin-- but then, no one had ever accused Steve Harrington of being a saint.

He couldn’t give Eddie the answers he was really looking for, couldn't risk his parents spoiling things yet again, but he could give Eddie something else. Something that had already been offered, a thread Steve could finish out.

"It's called a coup-contrecoup concussion." He said, as if the words weren't burned into his very being. "I had to ram a car into Hargrove's Camaro, back at Starcourt. To stop him from killing--" The words tangled together and he choked to a stop.

Weirdly, Steve found he can't say Nancy's name.

"From killing people." He managed instead, then coughed to clear the tightness out of his throat.

"My brain hit the front of my skull, and then rebounded and hit the back. It messed up a lot of different--” He fished for the word, before landing on; “centers."

Eddie, forever game, went right along with him.

"Sounds metal." He said--and though his tone is perfectly even, it burnt Steve anyway.

That this is anything other than horrific. Twisting him into a person he isn't, making him unreliable to the point where Robin would rather blame it over any explanation Steve offered. 

"It comes with a lot of very un-metal bullshit." The curse is harsh in his mouth, and Steve spits it with a fury he knows throws Eddie off.

He regrets it immediately, and has to drive his nails into his palm to stop himself from apologizing.

For a second, everything is silent.

"I didn't mean it like that, man." Eddie said finally. There’s hurt in his voice, twisting shame farther into Steve’s gut.

Knew he was lashing out and somehow couldn't stop himself from doing it anyway.

Eddie didn’t deserve this.

Didn’t deserve to witness any of the breakdown Steve was hurtling towards.

(Truthfully, Steve knows he doesn't deserve him.) 

"I know." Steve said, voice dropping its anger in admittance, in apology. "And I know I have problems. Memory problems. Math problems, spelling problems.”

He was even bad at directions, now.

“Four different doctors couldn't tell me what's permanent and what would heal. All they can tell me is that if I hit my head again, there’s a chance that not remembering where I left my keys will be the least of my problems.”

A terrifying prospect, given how often his life turned into a horror novel.

If he started losing it, who would the kids go to? Who would help Dustin, or hurl Max out of the way? There was too many of them to protect, too much danger lurking around every corner and Steve was already damaged, he could take it--

Except they told him he couldn’t.

"Okay, so--what? I can't see Rob's and Nancy getting mad about that." Eddie asked, clearly trying to weave this into the events of today. He’d done a remarkable job of being still (for Eddie) but the fidgeting was creeping back in the form of spun rings and jumping knees.

He frowned suddenly, looking hard at Steve with a barely-veiled panic. "You didn't try to do something stupid with your head, did you?"

"No." Steve said, and realized that he'd been long on his way to sober. Didn’t trust that he was, not exactly, but that alcohol-coated view, the one that put some distance between Steve and his life, had faded some time ago.

Idly, Steve wished it would come back.

"It's complicated." He sighed, uncaring of how dramatic the sound came out. "She thought I wasn’t owning up to my brain injury causing problems.”

Which was a half-truth.

A partial admittance.

(It was neatly carving his parents right out of it, and Steve hoped what was left was good enough to pass under inspection.)

"Was it causing problems?" Eddie wiggled about in his seat impatiently. “You're uh,--injury?"

It was that impatience that made this so tricky.

"It wasn't my brain that fucked up." Steve said flatly, staring Eddie down and desperately trying to figure out how to wiggle away from the truth. “It just sucked that she didn’t believe me. That she wouldn't take my word for it. Like I can't be fucking relied on, to be able to know what's my head and what isn't." 

Eddie's head tilted, curls cascading down one shoulder. It wasn't fair how cute it was. “Okay--so what did fuck shit up? If you know that, you can prove it’s not you. Buckley ain't the type to deny hard evidence." 

(Noted absently, the southern twang that Eddie was fighting to keep out of his voice. That it only showed when he was trying to play at being anything other than upset. ) 

Steve paused, trying to think of a way to answer that, and found himself coming up empty.

"It's not exactly something easy to prove." He said uneasily, so tired of the way panic clawed up his throat, of the hand it made to squeeze his stomach. "It's--that part doesn't matter. She basically agreed with Nancy that I'm shitty, but her excuse was that my brain was making me shitty instead of me just being shitty." 

"It can't be that hard to come up with something that explains it." Eddie insisted. His leg keeps starting and stopping, bouncing for a few seconds before jerking to a stop. It's unusual, not-typical, and Steve's panic starts to fight him for control as Eddie added; "Walk me through what happened. I am sure we can find something that proves it wasn't you or your brain to both of them." 

Steve's never been good at winning fights, but he's awful at winning them against himself. 

Winning a duel battle against his own blind panic and Eddie's desire to help him?

He was screwed. 

The clock, a cheap digital one that had somehow ended up on the fireplace mantel, caught Steve's eye, and in desperation, he grabbed for the world's oldest excuse. 

"Look it’s late." Steve started, slowly making moves to get up.

Eddie rose with him

"Let's just head to bed and we can talk about it tomorrow--"

"Steve," Eddie interrupted, and it's clear he's abruptly hit the end of his patience with how fast he spoke. "You were wasted at the quarry with Tommy Hagan, telling everyone it was your bachelor party while Robin and I hunted all over town for you. Something's wrong. Not you and Robin fought wrong, something's seriously wrong, and you're trying to hide that from me." Eddie stepped up, into Steve's space as he searched the others face. "You're really making me work for a straight answer here, Sweetheart."

Just like that, Steve's panic won its fight. 

Because this was something familiar. Something Steve should know. 

Eddie had a million and one nicknames for Steve, each trotted out at a different time. Big boy was said teasingly, often when Eddie wanted to goad him into something. Handsome was when Eddie wanted something, the word usually crooned while he cartoonishly mimed batting his eyes.

His Majesty was for times when Eddie was annoyed, Lover Boy when he was discussing Steve’s dating life, and Sweetheart--

Sweetheart was his endearment. A fond thing, a happy thing.

Here it sounded exasperated.

It sounded like--well, Steve didn't know, which was the entire point.

Just like with Robin early, he no longer had a proper read on Eddie. 

Steve got took a sidestep, away from the couch. “I mean it, Ed’s. It’s--we’ve been up long enough. I just want to go to bed.”

Eddie sidestepped right with him.

“And I meant it when I said I was worried about you, Steve.” And yup, nope--that’s exasperation, in Eddie’s voice, plain as day.

How long had he been holding it back? When Steve had thought he was backing off, when Steve thought Eddie knew how upset he was getting--had Steve read him wrong? 

Had that all been in his damaged, messed up head? 

“On the drive here you made me promise to watch the kids in case you “couldn’t figure out how to tell them no.” Eddie made the quotations with his hands. "I know you don't remember that, but you started crying when you said it." 

The first bite of anger bled into his words as he asked, sounding almost pissed off; “I get it, I get you don't want to talk about it, but you're scaring the hell out of me here Steve. Can you at least tell me who you can’t say no to?”

Eddie took another step closer, chin raised. Fear already had Steve in a chokehold, his brain spiraling endlessly between Eddie knowing about how bad his head was, and that he was mad, mad like Nancy had been the kids had been, and God if a fight was inevitable, if he couldn't just leave things alone--

In the moment, terror snaps to anger. 

('It's a defense mechanism. Your body makes you pick between fight or flight.' A nurse explained to Steve once, the night after the the tunnels.

She had only been told only the Billy Hargrove part of that story, and apparently thought it was an appropriate time to try out armchair psychology. 

It wasn't pertinent then, but Steve thinks about it now.) 

"I don't want to talk about it because you won't get it, Eds." Steve snarled, throwing himself forward. Came chest to chest with Eddie the same way he’d stepped up to Tommy, the day they stopped being friends.

Says it with all the fire in him, the anger he kept trying to kill that plagues him anyway. And perhaps that rapid, emotional switching is his stupid head--he knows he can get like this because of it.

Right now?

Steve doesn't want to blame anything on it. Not when it's easier to pretend there's a solid line between Robin's dismissal and the truth. A hard thing Steve can't cross, like a brain injury is a cut he can bandaid over. 

"Try me." Eddie challenged, matching Steve tit for tat and staring right into Steve’s eyes like their noses weren't practically touching. 

"Nancy didn't get it." Steve shot back, heatedly. "Robin didn't get it. Why would you?"

“For starters, I'm not Nancy or Robin." 

Eddie jabbed a finger into Steve’s shirt, right next to his heart. "See, both of them would be howling about why you told everyone you were having a bachelor party. And I know that isn't even what you were all fighting about to begin with, because Robin would have told me! But no, I was good, I sat down tried to coax it out of you like the fucking pied piper!”

Steve glared, but didn’t remove the finger from his chest.

(Was still too busy clenching his fists.)

"I'm fucking out of my mind here, Steve and I'm done pretended like I'm not, so please, give me something to work with here! Some reason, for all this!" Eddie's voice cracked at the end but he held his anger throughout.

A fury Steve could feel, given the way Eddie trembled with it, the finger planted in Steve's chest betraying him. 

It wasn't a fucking bachelor party," He corrected immediately, "it was a proposal party!”

"A proposal?” Eddie jerked his finger back like he’d been slapped. “Who the hell are you proposing to!?"

Horror spills across the older teens face, along with something that reads a little like betrayal and--maybe, possibly, there had been another reason Steve hasn't wanted Eddie to know about his parents' plans just yet.

Just as there was, maybe, possibly, another reason Eddie couldn't know how badly his brain was damaged.

"No one--it's not going to happen, I'm not going to let it happen!” Frustrated and hurt and done, Steve took the stupid nurse's advice and flipped his stance from 'fight' to 'flight.'

Took a step back, and fully planned to dart around Eddie if he had too.

Made a frayed and thoughtless plan that involved locking himself in the bathroom and never coming back out.

(He could live in that bathroom. Could refuse to come out of it for forever, and then he wouldn't have to deal with his parents, or Angie, or the consequences of refusing both.)

"You saying you're not letting a marriage proposal happen, sounds an awful lot like there is a marriage proposal," Eddie smacked the side of his hand against his open palm, "actually happening!"

For a second Steve thought he could get past him, could say something--anything--to throw Eddie off his back and make a break for the bathroom.

Until he realized the ass had managed to block the hallway, as if anticipating what Steve might try and do. 

Was even angled just so, so that if Steve tried for the front door, Eddie would make it there first.

Steve was trapped. 

He was trapped, Eddie was angry at him, and he was far, far too exhausted  to prevent the breakdown he'd been hurtling towards all day. The one he'd tried to hide with alcohol, then half truths, and finally just plain old dodging. 

"My parents found a girl they want me to marry." Steve blurted out, half hysterical. "The fucking vacation they’re forcing me on is a trap to get me to propose, because her fucking parents bought my way into Purdue. MY parents agreed to it because it's a good business deal--they get to use her to against me, and get me out of Hawkins all in one go.  Is that what you wanted to hear, Eddie? That my parents are doing their damndest to mess my life up!?”

Who sends a look like he’s insane.

"What the fuck Steve.” Eddie said, frozen in disbelief. “Tell them no!"

A harsh bark of laughter escaped Steve’s mouth. "Yeah, because they're gonna do all this shit and then just take no for an answer!”

He threw his voice into a falsetto mockery of his mothers prim, WASP accent. “Our bad Steven, we should have asked if you wanted us to completely bulldoze your life. We’ll just tell the family who bribed the college for you that we owe them one. They’ll understand darling it's fine."

He shakes his head disgusted.

"Is this what the fight was about? Your fucking psycho parents?" Eddie demanded. "You know you can just-- leave, right!? Take the Beemer and blow! I did it, how do you think Wayne got me!?”

Like Steve's parents wouldn't report the car stolen. He shoved his hands into his hair. "I told you you wouldn't get it!"

Both their voices rise, pitching higher and higher in anger and frustration, but it was Eddie who broke first and started yelling.

"God no wonder Nance and Robs both chewed you out. Congratulations!" Eddie crowed. "You’re right! I don’t get it, because no one in their right mind would ever even consider saying yes to this shit! A fucking--arranged marriage!?" "

It’s not the same argument Nancy had used, and it’s world’s away from Robin’s point, but in Steve’s head they’re all one and the same.

All he can do is watch as his stupid mouth and his stupid parents and the combination of the two start the end of another friendship. 

The killing blow wasn’t even that Eddie didn’t believe him.

It was that Eddie didn’t understand.

Couldn’t understand, Not when he had left his own parents. 

“You’re nineteen, Steve!” Eddie continued, voice thunderous, and Steve had only heard it like this during Eddie’s worst nightmares.

When he faced Vecna and the bats and Carver down all at once in his dreams, his fear building into something so extreme Steve usually had to hug him while he thrashed, waking him up with a steady stream of assurances spoken in his ear until Eddie stopped screaming. 

“What is so hard about telling your parents to go screw themselves!?"

"Because I don’t have Wayne, Eddie!” Steve screamed back.

Full blown, loud as he could, louder than he had at Erica back when he’d been terrified and panicking and hiding it with anger. 

“You could leave because you had a place to go, a person who loved you, who would take you in! I don’t. I don’t Eddie” Steve stressed, “It’s not the same situation at all!”

Eddie whirled, hair flying, finger pointed in righteous fury, as he screamed “Yes you fucking do--”

And then promptly choked when a deep cough interrupted him.

"Apologies boys. I've been standing here waiting for this to calm down, but since it seems to be going the opposite way, I figured I might as well join you." Wayne said, standing in the entryway to the kitchen.

Eddie and Steve both stared as the older man walked into the living room, plopping down in the arm chair opposite Eddie’s like they hadn't just been mid-screaming match. 

He had a pudding cup in one hand, and waved at them to sit with the other.

“It’s…” Eddie said, eyes darting between Steve and his Uncle, voice scratchy from yelling. “not a good time right now, Uncle Wayne.”

Truly, the understatement of the year.

Steve felt his fight or flight instinct find a higher gear. An impressive feat, given the sheer energy he'd used in the last twenty four hours.

"You'll have to forgive me, but I overheard a bit of your disagreement." Wayne continued, ignoring Eddie entirely.

He punctuated his words by ripping open the pudding cup.

“You know, I knew your parents back in high school.” He said to Steve, stabbing a spoon into the chocolate mass. “Richard was in my class, Stella a year or so below.”

Slowly, and only after a long look at each other which communicated that they both knew neither could escape now, Steve and Eddie both sat back down.

"We weren't friends." Wayne stared at his pudding for a moment, as if to examine it. “Sure you know why.”

An awkward pause ensued, as neither teenager dared breathe a word.

Not until Wayne spoke again.

“That fancy car you drive in their name, son?” he asked Steve, scooping a good portion of pudding onto the spoon, and then into his mouth.

Caught off guard, Steve defaulted to how he answered his own father.

“Yes, Sir.”

Wayne hummed.

Swallowed.

Popped the spoon back out of his mouth.

“They got access to your money?” He asked, like they were talking about football.

“Yes, Sir.” Steve said, a touch quieter this time. “Most of it anyway--I’ve been hiding some away, when I can.”

Wayne nodded.

“Smart.” He said, and both of them ignored how Eddie looked utterly lost in this conversation.

“Your birth certificate and such locked up?”

Steve’s voice promptly decided, of its own violation, that it didn’t want to speak above a whisper anymore. “Yes Sir. It’s locked in a safe in my dad’s office.”

“”You’re sharp, so I assume they got it set up so you can’t sneak it out. I also assume they like to  threaten you with,” Wayne looked back down at the pudding but spun the spoon in a sort of “etc, etc” circular gesture, “getting kicked out, cut off, left on your own to starve without the car?”

This time Steve just nodded.

“Mmmm.” Wayne stabbed the pudding again, digging into the sides of the plastic cup.

Steve couldn't make heads or tails with it.

“They hit ya?”

Steve shot a glance towards Eddie, who shot one right back.

“You don’t gotta answer.” Wayne said calmly, catching the discomfort.

“I--yeah.” Steve didn’t know where he found the strength to answer. “Not like, regularly. But you know--most parents do it so…”

He trailed off, looking between Eddie and his Uncle.

“Richard wouldn’t go for the face, too public. Can’t really see him using his hands either. Belt’s too expensive to swing around. Cane?” Wayne mused, asking in the same way one would ask what kind of soda a person liked.

Casual, no pressure, seemingly nothing hidden in his words.

Steve grimaced. “It was my grandfather’s.”

It was surprising how easy Wayne was making it to discuss this. Like it wasn’t this secret Steve carried, how he was held up to unrealistic expectations, and punished when he failed to live up to them.

How his dad had asked him if he liked fighting, two weeks after Billy had decked him with a plate.

(Asked him if he still liked it after taking out the cane.)

“My daddy--Eddie’s grandpa, was like that too.” Wayne took another bite of pudding. Swallowed it whole before putting the cup down. "Nasty fella. Cane always was the worst.”

Silence reigned once again for the length of time it took for Wayne to eat his next bite of pudding.

He didn’t rush it, and Steve felt himself relax inch by inch, pulled out of his need to bolt by the easy calm the elder Munson carried with him.

Wayne squinted at him, drumming the spoon thoughtfully on the edge of a cup.

Finally, he asked; “You eighteen, son?”

“Nineteen, Sir. Almost twenty.”

Wayne hummed again, and then tilted his head in the same way Eddie did when he was figuring out a puzzle.

(The very same Eddie who remained shockingly, unnaturally silent, as his Uncle pulled the bits Steve could never say right out of him, bit by bit)

“You know what they’re using to make you propose?” Wayne asked and Steve sucked in a breath, wincing.

Of course Wayne had heard that part.

“No, but Tommy said they--my parents,” And fuck did it sound so dramatic, spoken out loud like this. “kinda sold me out.”

Steve ignored the way Eddie tensed, focused entirely on Wayne.

"The agreement is that they’ll force a proposal in exchange for getting me into Purdue. Getting me into Purdue means cutting me off from everyone they want me cut off from. Marrying me off means…”

“You’ll put your family first. Because you're a good man.” Wayne finished for him, like it made perfect sense. “You’re a good man, and they knew they could use that goodness against you.”

For the first time in the past twenty four hours--for the first time in his life-- Steve finally felt like someone understood him.

Saw through his parents' pretty façade to see the mind games beneath.

"You're trusting Hagan’s word on this?" Eddie said, tone ricocheting between disbelief and anger.

"No, but I know him and I know my parents." Steve retorted. "There was an envelope I got from Purdue two days ago. I thought it was another rejection letter but,” He shrugged, in something that felt an awful lot like defeat. “it was too large for that."

The stupid envelope had even felt weird, like there might be confetti in it.

"Maybe they're asking for donations!" Eddie shot back, breaking his weird moment of stillness. All his limbs seemed to move at once, foot tapping and leg bouncing, one hand wrapping his hair so tightly around his finger it changed colors.

Like he was making up for earlier, and had to show how upset he was now.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Sure Ed's, and maybe my parents, who have repeatedly told me they'd step in if I didn't do what they wanted, and who have been pushing Angie down my throat since we were thirteen, have actually decided to have a real family vacation for once!”

"I'm just saying maybe you should double check before jumping to--to conclusions--"

"My mom asked me last week to get out my grandmother's ring.” Steve was too tired to get mad again. Not after he’d been on an emotional rollercoaster for hours.

His voice lost the angry tone it’d tried to take, burnt down to something defeated. “They even brought up Angie last time I spoke to them. All Tommy did was connect the dots."

Eddie made an angry noise, arms winging into the air.

“Enough.” Wayne drawled, freezing their argument a second time.

He didn’t even have to raise his voice to do it.

Embarrassed he'd forgotten the elder Munson was in the room, Steve ducked his head to stare at the floor.

“You met the gal they’re hooking you up to, son?” Wayne said, gently pulling the conversation back on track.

Like this was just a few people sharing a meal, and not his parents trying to ensnare him for life.

(He knew what to do, when it came to monsters. The answer to a gun wielding Russian soldier was the same as it was for a demodog. You grabbed a weapon and you swung.

Steve had no fucking clue what to do against his parents.

With anyone like them really, people who lied like they breathed, convincing the world around him that the problem was forever with Steve and not them.)

“Yes, Sir. She’s--” Steve blinked, and found himself surprised to find he’d started crying.

Touched a tear idly, and felt the opposite one escape to make a track down his cheek. “Not very nice.”

“They never are, son.” Wayne sighed. “Lucky for you, I happen to know a lady myself. Her name’s Amy, and she’s one of the clerks down at the courthouse. I’m sure she’d be happy to help you get some replacements of all the birth certificates and’ such your daddy’s got locked up.”

Wayne put down the pudding cup, leaning forward in an echo of the way Eddie had earlier.

He nodded to his right, towards the small hallway that led to the three bedrooms the new Munson house offered. “We got a guest room, Steve. It’s yours, if you want it.”

"They won’t let me keep the car.” Steve said, belatedly realizing he was really crying now. The ugly, disgusting kind, that came with snot and a clogged throat. “I'm going to lose my job without the car. I wouldn’t be able to pay for anything.”

Not rent, or food.

Definitely not gas.

"Eddie here can drive ya, now that he's well enough. It'd be good for him, get him out of the house." Wayne countered evenly. “Though I don’t want rent. Government owes you boys enough."

In an angry mutter he added; "It’s downright criminal they never gave you anything for your part.”

Which wasn’t exactly true--they paid all the medical bills.

“Anonymous benefactors” was the official explanation, not that Steve was stupid enough to buy it. They’d only done that much because they wanted to examine his injuries.

Do more tests than was necessary to save his life, at the very least. Fuck knew what tests they'd run on Eddie, who'd practically flatlined in the Upside Down. 

Not that it mattered, just then.

“I couldn’t--” Steve tried to get out.

“You can.” Wayne told him bluntly. 

Steve cut another glance to Eddie.

“Its not, I, I don't know if I'm going to college or what I'm going to do and I don't, I can't impose on you--" Steve said, desperately trying to round up his thoughts, the feeling of utter guilt of having to rely on them so much just to contribute, the panic they'd toss him aside if things went wrong. 

Nevermind The Thing, the one with Eddie, the one they didn't speak about. 

Steve couldn't play with it, if he lived here, on Wayne and Eddie's goodwill. Couldn't help himself either because he'd be living with Eddie full time. 

Which just put pressure on the whole thing it didn't need and added yet another layer of sheer panic to the swarm currently eating Steve alive.

“Look, It don’t matter to me none if you and Ed’s end up fucking or fighting.” Wayne said, as if somehow able to read Steve's very thoughts. 

He didn’t even have the grace to look amused or abashed when Steve almost shot off the couch, Eddie shouting out a horrified;

“Wayne!”

“I got eyes, son. I ain’t gonna pretend I don't.” The older Munson said flatly, doing a great job of looking annoyed at them both. 

Likely because Steve knew Eddie was queer--and Wayne knew, Steve knew. Had in fact been there when Eddie had accidentally outed himself high off some pain pill or another back in the hospital.  

(Wayne was an older man, beaten down by a life lived in a factory, but Steve had never doubted for an instant that Wayne didn't have some fight left in him with the way he'd straightened himself out, eyes on Steve as Eddie rambled out his secret in the form of a movie complaint.  

Steve in turn, held Wayne's gaze as he reached out to pat Eddie's hand, agreeing calmly that yeah, Han Solo was very hot, Luke really should just bang him instead of his sister.) 

He turned to once again address Steve, as if he didn't just ignite a bomb between the two younger men. “You dragged my boy out of hell. You guarded his bedside until you had to be dragged out, and don’t you try to lie to me and say you weren’t ‘cause, I was there when that nurse figured out you were injured. Her yellin' woke up the whole floor.” In a mutter, Wayne added: "The fact you didn’t get sepsis is a damn miracle.”

Likely because Steve had turned that particularly incident into something of a spectacle.

Couldn’t tell anyone but Robin why he was so against having a doctor look him over, but at least the hospital nurse had quickly been replaced by one of Owen’s people.

They at least, were well aware of his problem with needle wielding authority figures.

“Far as I’m concerned, you're family, kid. You’ll always have a place here. Rent or no rent.” Wayne said, and had the good decency to pretend he couldn’t see that Steve’s entire face was covered in tears.

(The same kind his father would have torn into him for showing.

Men didn’t cry--and Steve himself had barely broken even under honest to God torture--but this wasn’t getting punched. Wasn’t biting his lip and digging his nails into his palms to focus on something other than how hard his gut hurt.

This was someone telling him he was worth being family.

The thing his parents made him crawl through the mud and their whims for. The thing they dangled over his head, so he’d do as they said.)

Wayne gestured vaguely at Eddie. “I mean it though. If you two muck about and it don’t end well, I ain’t fixing it.

Eddie groaned and buried his face in his hands, as if this was somehow more embarrassing for him than Steve.

(Steve would have laughed if he wasn’t so tired, burnt out right down to the bone.)

“You don’t have to make a choice now.” Wayne said, as Steve stared at him, entirely overwhelmed. “In fact, I think it’s better if you don’t. What you’re doin’ ain’t easy. Taking the time you need is the smartest thing you can do.”

Steve nodded, relieved.

He hadn’t thought Wayne would give him time.

(No one, not even life and the hell dimension underneath them, had granted Steve that much. Let alone an adult.

‘Eddie's right. You are an adult you know.’ The stupid voice pointed out, as if one suddenly knew everything there was to know about life once one turned eighteen.)

“Guest room ain’t yet made up but you know where all the stuff is.” Wayne said finally, signaling the end of the conversation and gesturing down the hall. “Pretty sure you’ve got stuff in there that’s yours anyway.”

Which wasn’t wrong--Steve had claimed more than a few drawers. Had spent enough time here, in the Munson house to store away a handful of clothes and toiletries.

(Even hair spray, though he wrapped it in his least favorite sweater, hiding it from Eddie.)

“Right.” Steve said, finally getting up the energy to stand, still scrubbing his face with his sleeve. “Thanks. I--” He paused, completely overwhelmed as he stared at Wayne.

“Thanks.” He choked out, because really, what else was there to say?

“Anytime Steve.” Wayne said, and Steve almost laughed, because it was the first time Wayne had ever used his actual name.

He turned and made his way down the hall--felt more than he saw Eddie go to follow him.

Pretended he wasn’t relieved to have a moment alone when Wayne called Eddie back.

He could do this. Go to the bathroom.

Wash off his face.

Take that moment to finish his breakdown off, before he had to apologize to Eddie.

(Had to apologize to everyone, really. If he ended up not being strong enough to tell his parents no--if they had another set of cards up their sleeve to hit him with, if they managed to cut him off from Hawkins entirely…

Steve couldn’t bear to end things on poor terms.

Even if he had to lie and say he was coming back. Even if he had to support them from afar, with the only thing left he could--money when it was needed, advice on the phone given when he could find the time.

Steve would find the time.

Chained to Angie, locked up at Purdue, parents breathing down his neck, it didn’t matter.

Steve wanted--needed, his friends--but Eddie and Robin?

He couldn’t live without them in his life.)

xXx

Well

Are you mine?

(Are you mine tomorrow?)

Are you mine?

(Or just mine tonight?)

R U Mine? Arctic Monkeys

Eddie

“Slow your roll there son.” Wayne commanded, as Eddie went to follow. “Where you goin’?”

Eddie shot his Uncle an incredulous look.

“I need to talk to Steve.” He said, instead of the million other thoughts flying rapidly around his head.

(Things like how Steve’s parents were complete and utter pieces of shit--and how Eddie had missed that. How Steve had spent nothing but time with Eddie, yet hadn’t told him his parents were holding his entire life over his head.

How Eddie felt like a fucking monster, because he been so wound up, furiously upset that all this had happened, that Steve might be leaving, that he couldn’t even comfort him when he cried.

How his Uncle had outed his crush to one of the very few men in his life who knew Eddie was queer, and didn’t treat him like a leper after, and Eddie needed to fix that too.)

“Let him have a moment.” Wayne told him.

“But—“

“Butt in the chair, Eds.” Wayne said, staring Eddie down.

Just as he had when Eddie was ten and had gotten caught stealing from the gas station down the street.

(Or when he’d been twelve and Hopper had returned him to Wayne’s door, hand firmly on Eddie’s shoulder, to discuss why egging police cars wasn’t a smart idea. Thirteen and in trouble for smoking weed for the first time, fifteen and sobbing because the neighbor had caught him caught him kissing another boy and told Wayne to “straighten him out,” sixteen--

And on, and on.)

Eddie dropped into the chair with a huff, crossing his arms defensively across his chest.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” Wayne asked, and his voice, though perfectly fine for Eddie’s ears, had dropped low enough that Steve wouldn’t be able to make it out. “I aint seen you go off on someone like that in a long time.”

Eddie shrugged, knowing full well he was shutting down. That his voice was full of a southern tilt he fought hard to hide. “It was just a fight.”

Wayne raised one eyebrow.

He did it in the exact same way Spock raised his own, the very basis for many of Eddie’s own looks.

(It was just as effective on Eddie as his own eyebrow raises were on his players.)

“You got real heated there, for just a fight.” Wayne said simply. As if said fight hadn’t led to Steve admitting his parents had him over a barrel.

Got him so upset that he’d gone and gotten trashed with Tommy Hagan instead of Eddie-- a fact Eddie couldn’t get over if only because he had seen how that insufferable asshole looked at Steve.

He’d eat his fucking guitar if Hagan wasn’t queer himself. 

“I did not.” Eddie spat back, before realizing he’d given himself away.

Sat for a moment, mad as hell, as if his Uncle had a hand in catching him out on his own bullshit.

“Okay.” Eddie growled the admittance, collapsing back in the chair, face pointed determinedly at the ceiling. “I may have gotten a little heated.”

“Mmm.” Which was Wayne speak for ‘get on with it.’

On Eddie went.

“I just--I’ve seen Steve fight. Not this kind of fight a real fucking fight, the ‘for your life’ kind, Wayne.” Eddie spoke rapidly, anger faltering in the face of the one adult in his life he trusted, wholly and completely.

Burned away to the frantic fear that had gripped him, from the moment he’d found Steve, drunk and acting off.

“He never faltered, he never really even panicked that whole--you know.” Eddie waved a hand in a circle, to encompass the entire hell week Hawkins had barely survived. “I was a mess, but Steve? He was solid the whole way through.”

Solid in a way that Eddie had taken strength from, again and again, because if King Steve could face down demonic monsters, then Eddie damn well could too.

(Not that King Steve was a real person. No, that version of Steve had been a figment of imagination. A role Eddie had assigned him, that hadn’t reflected reality.

The truth was, Eddie had barely known Steve in high school. Taken all of one class with him, and heard the rest through the rumor mill.

Took it all as fact after he’d gone to a house party once or twice, to deal.

Because, as that stupid fucking, awful week had proven, it wasn’t Steve who was stuck in high school and it’s dumb, bullshit politics. It wasn’t Steve who had made doctrine that had been as shallow as he accused everyone else of being.

It’d been Eddie's stupid ass all along, playing the role not of a banished fighter or a glorious bard, but as a big fat hypocrite.)

“He can do all that, totally unphased--but the second his parents come home, and demand he do some crazy shit, and suddenly he’s drunk off his ass at the quarry cause he can’t say no?!”

The words fall out faster than he can think them, all filters long gone, bowled over. “He can carry me out of a literal hell dimension, up a rope and to the hospital, but he can’t tell his parents he won’t be their little trick pony!?”

Eddie makes a disgusted noise.

Not at Steve, but at himself.

Because Steve hadn’t trusted him--and that was Eddie’s fault.

(Because Steve shared a bed with him more nights than most. Because Steve woke up and made Eddie pancakes the way he liked. Because Steve had once dropped his head onto Eddie’s shoulder after a nightmare, clutching at Eddie’s back like Eddie was the only person who could ground him--and Eddie had stupidly, selfishly, thought that might mean something, other than comfort.

The proposal might be forced, but if Steve went along with it, if he got his six kids, a wife and a stupid Winnebago…

How could Eddie compete?

Steve deserved those things.

He didn’t deserve his fucking awful parents, but Eddie wasn’t blind either.

Steve wanted, craved, a family--and the easiest thing to do in life, was to go along with his parents wishes.

The hardest thing--harder than telling his parents no, harder than not taking the chance to go to a damn good college, to escape Hawkins and the supposedly closed hellscape that lay underneath it--wasn’t even Steve admitting he might be queer, and if he was (Eddie thought he was but what the hell did he know?) it wasn't even dating a man.

It wasn't even dating Eddie himself. 

Because Eddie wasn’t just a queer, but an acquitted murderer, unconfirmed Satanist, former drug dealer, and a person who was half terrified of being outside most days due to how people treated him.

His feelings tangled together into a clump of rage in his chest, making him fight to breath through the terror that was the very idea of losing Steve.)

All his anger had burnt down to the ground, and in the wake of it all, all Eddie wanted to do was cry.

“So you’re telling me that if your daddy showed up tomorrow, you wouldn't shit yourself?” Wayne asked, pulling a startled laugh out of Eddie before he raised his hands up to cover his face and smother the sound.

He kinda wanted to hide there forever, behind his palms.

“I mean yeah, because it meant he broke out of jail.” He said, voice muffled.

Wayne made the noise he always made when he was trying to cover his own laugh with a snort.

“I know your daddy’s a sore spot for you. We both know your momma’s an even bigger one. Steve's relationship to his parents are the very same--its a sore spot, Ed’s.” Wayne explained, rational and patient as ever. “He ain’t thinking with his head right now. Same way you don’t, when your daddy’s involved.”

Eddie kinda wanted to throttle him a little, for bringing such perfect logic into this,

“You don’t even have a concussion.” Wayne added, and Eddie groaned through his fingers.

“I know.” Eddie said and just barely held back asking if Wayne had one--because why else would he blurt out, to Steve, they the two of them weren't very platonic with each other? 

('Absolutely not with a capitol P anyway.' A voice that sounded disturbingly like Robin's said. Eddie ignore it.)

“If you know, then you also know you need too be the cooler head right now. That it’s your turn to drag him out of hell.” He paused to let his words sink in, before causally continuing: “You want my advice, Ed's?”

“You’re gonna give it to me anyway old man.” Eddie said, trying to grumble but just sounding cowed instead.

“I wouldn’t if ya didn’t need it, son.” Wayne bantered back--and he made it feel like bantering, instead of a dressing-down.

Like Eddie hadn’t let his terror come out the same way his asshole father always had, yelling at the person he loved instead of listening to them.

“You go in there, and you tell your boy you were scared.”

Eddie jerked. “He’s not my boy Wayne--”

“You were scared,” Wayne talked right over him, emphasizing the word, “and you tell him you’re sorry. You beg his forgiveness, and you ask what you can do to help him feel better. Wanna guess what you do after that?”

Eddie dropped his hands off his face, can’t help the sass in his answer. “I do what Steve says?”

“Got it in one, smartass.” Wayne said fondly. “You do what he needs you to do for him, and you be done yellin’ at him while you’re at it.”

With that, Wayne pushed off from the chair, collecting his empty pudding cup along the way. “ I think you both have had enough yellin’ for a while.”

“Yeah.” Eddie agreed, before throwing himself up and out his own chair in a far less graceful (but much quicker) way than Wayne had. “I can do no yelling.”

“Good man.” Wayne said, walking over to clap him on the shoulder.

Eddie leaned into the touch, resting his forehead against his old man’s shoulder. He’d always been tactile but ever since Vecna he’d been downright clingy.

Not that Wayne had complained.

(Likely, because the old man himself had become more touchy after seeing his nephew in the hospital, six million wires sticking out of Eddie’s chest.

That part of his recovery hadn’t been pleasant for either of them.)

“One last thing.” Wayne called, as Eddie pulled away, headed towards the guest room where Steve was taking an awfully long time to get into his pajamas. “If you two have make up sex--”

“Wayne!” He screeched, face flushing firetruck red.

“I’m just saying, I don’t wanna hear that either.” Wayne said, pitting his hands up in a pantomime of the classic “don't shoot” pose.

“Oh my god.” Eddie moaned, before escaping down the hall.

Hopefully before his Uncle could loudly announce anything else horrifically embarrassing that Eddie would have to fix. 

xXx

“Did your Uncle just ask if we were having sex?” Steve asked, and in any other context Eddie would have burst into laughter (or more likely, loud and flustered denial.)

Now he just sighed.

“How much of that did you overhear?” Eddie asked instead of answering, as he came into the guest room, closing the door behind him. 

“Not a lot, Wayne’s quiet.” Steve admitted, standing awkwardly with a blanket in his hands. “He got a little loud with that last bit though.

“You’re telling me.” Eddie muttered, before finally clocking what Steve had been doing.

The smallest of the three bedrooms in the house, the Munson’s guest room hadn’t actually been set up yet. Not properly--all it had was Wayne’s old cot on the floor, in between a couple pieces of thrifted furniture.

Steve’s dresser was in here, full of his stuff. He insisted his stuff vanished in Eddie’s room, never to be seen again--s if Eddie hadn't seen the shit he tried to hide, Farrah Fawcett hairspray and all--but Steve himself stayed over in Eddie’s room.

In Eddie’s bed.

Like a kick in the gut, Eddie realized Steve was setting the room up to sleep there.

Here--and not with Eddie.

"Is this--is about what Wayne-- He started, abruptly and utterly terrified that he'd misread Steve entirely. That the relationship Eddie had thought they were building towards was one sided, all in his head, and while Steve was fine with him being gay, being gay with a crush on Steve himself was a step too far. "I--he--the sex thing was a joke I swear--"

"Oh." Steve interrupted, catching on. "No I don't--you know I don't care about that. Fuck I knew." He didn't laugh, looked too tired to laugh, and just stared at Eddie blankly instead. "You're kinda obvious man, no offense." 

Which would have been humiliating if the sheer relief hadn't practically sent Eddie staggering back into the door.

It was short lived of course.

If Steve didn't care about his crush but was still setting up in here, then Eddie had still majorly fucked up. 

Like a man possessed, he reached out, hand clamping around Steve's wrist.

“Are you that mad at me?” He asked quietly.

Steve blinked. “What?”

“I know, you’re mad.” Eddie admitted, very firmly not looking at Steve, and doing a damn good job of pretending he was fighting down the tremble in his arms.

Had he fucked it up this badly?

Turned into his fucking dad and chased away the one person who made him feel like his life wasn’t completely over?

“But I didn’t think--I don’t--” for the first time in a long time, Eddie struggled to find the right words.

What he wanted, what he needed.

What Steve meant to him.

“I don’t want to sleep without you.” It was a painful admittance, scraped directly from his heart and offered on a platter, for Steve to do with what he wished.

Steve, who had every right to be mad at him.

Who could tell him no, after how Eddie had just acted.

Wayne hadn’t been wrong--had his nephew dead to rights in fact, when he’d brought up Eddie's issues with his parents. When he called Eddie out on being scared. 

Which Eddie was.

He was completely and utterly terrified of losing Steve, and that fear had made him try to fucking--argue, this entire situation away.

Like if he just yelled enough, Steve would snap out of it, announce that Eddie was right all along. Or--admit it was a prank, some sick joke.

They’d all laugh and hug, and the screen would fade to black as the credits rolled, life solved in that simple easy way a sitcom liked too. 

All loose strings tied up, all the right people happy, every villain punished.

Here in the aftermath, Eddie was realizing somewhere in his head he thought he could apologize, go to sleep, and talk things out in the morning. Come up with a plan. get Steve away from his parents, right the world for the second time that year. 

‘You’re a fucking moron.’ A voice that sounded remarkably like Gareth and Robin combined informed him.

Like he wasn’t aware of the fact.

“I didn’t think you’d want me around you, right now.” Steve admitted, his own voice raw.

“Of course I do, Steve. I always want you there, even when I’m upset. You’re--” Eddie cut himself off, swallowed.

“You’re you.” He finished, loading those two words with every ounce of emotion he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“You just spent the night babysitting my drunk ass.” Steve replied, as if that was all that had happened.

Like he owed Eddie for doing it.

“Never-mind all the shit my brain or my parents.” He finished, sounding just as lost as Eddie did. "I thought you'd be sick of it all." 

“I could never be sick of you.” Eddie said vehemently, finally looking the man he loved in the eye. 

Saw the hurt he’d caused, in the way Steve’s face was still swollen from crying.

Faced up to it and vowed to make it better.

He stepped forward, changing his grip from Steve's wrist to his free hand. When he wasn’t immediately swatted away--and slotted there fingers together.

“I mean, that all scares the shit out of me.  It scares me that your parents are fucking using you like this--hurting you, like this. It fucking terrifies me that you could fall tomorrow and bonk your head and be fucking--gone, just like that. But I'm never going to just-- ditch you just because of that, Sweetheart. I have my own mess I come with. It's the price of being human, we get to carry each others garbage." 

He took a breath, trying not to ramble but needing to fix this. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Steve. I shouldn’t have yelled, I know that. I need you to know I know that.” Eddie was outright pleading, and didn’t care a lick that he was doing it.

“I’m sorry.” Steve said, voice small, throwing Eddie for a loop.

“Why are you apologizing?” Eddie asked, half hysterical. “Your parents are being fucking dickbags and I yelled at you instead of trying to help because I freaked out. The only person begging for forgiveness here should be me.”

Which he would, on hands and knees if that's what Steve wanted. 

Steve shrugged, his own eyes moving to the right of Eddie’s.

“Do you?” Steve asked suddenly, almost nonsensically.

Eddie stared at him, confused. “What?”

“Do you,” Steve repeated, “still want to sleep with me?”

Which was not anywhere near where Eddie was prepared for this conversation to go--a reason he would later insist, is the only reason why he blurted out: “Well not right now.”

Steve eyes popped wide, shooting back to look at Eddie.

Who has figured out that wasn’t, at all, what Steve had meant, and is now trying very hard to get the floor to swallow him up for it.

”Oh my god.” Eddie’s face has never felt so red in his fucking life. 

“I mean--I didn’t--yes, I do want to sleep with--next! Next to you, and you don’t have to fucking, deal with my--I know now isn’t the right time but you don’t have to--you don’t--” Eddie stuttered, growing more horrified by the second as his words just tumble out out of him in a messy spray.

Like his gift for speech had full blown abandoned him, the bardic fighter he always say himself as waving goodbye as he once again had to face down that who he thought he was and who he actually was were two different people entirely. 

Steve made a noise that sounded sort of like a snort, before slowly turning into something like muffled laughter until he stopped trying to hide it altogether.

Humiliation would once again, be burning him alive if he wasn’t so busy beating himself up for being a fucking moron.

‘Amazing Munson. A true nat one.’

Wayne’s already outed his crush though, and normally Eddie would have taken his recovered van and fled for the hills before Steve could move their fight into something physical--but he knows Wayne.

The old man wouldn’t have brought it up without a reason.

Hadn’t in fact, brought it up to Eddie at all.

He’d brought it up to Steve,--as if the younger teen was the one with the crush.

A hope, tiny as it was, that Eddie clung too if only because Steve was still letting Eddie hold his hand. 

“Wayne knew I was going to ask you out.” Steve said, confirming the thought before Eddie could dramatically decide Wayne had misread the room and drown in his sorrows.

“What?” Eddie said, dumbstruck.

“The camping trip. I was working on this whole sort of date night we could go on. I was gonna take you up to this little spot I know, where you can see the stars.” Steve said, shuffling the blanket around in the hand that’s not holding Eddie’s.

“That’s more of a me thing than a you thing, so I tried to sneak some of your tapes a few weeks ago, to make a mixtape with. I was gonna bring a boombox up there, play it for you and give the tape to you after. Wayne caught me, and he uh, had a song suggestion."

Eddie’s thoughts spun at a thousand miles a minute, everything too fast and too slow all at once. “What song?" 

"The Beach Boys--Wouldn't It Be Nice." 

“That asshole.” Eddie said, faintly. “My mom used to play that song for me. He didn’t even give me a heads up.”

“I figured it was important.” Steve said, pulling their joined hands back, drawing Eddie closer to him. "He said you needed it because you'd be too uh, hard to get through too, otherwise." 

Eddie snorted, letting Steve maneuver him. 

“He's not wrong."  Eddie said as he went, before finding himself pulling taught against Steve's chest.

To it he whispered, "I’m really sorry, Steve.”

“I know.” Steve whispered back, dropping the stupid blanket to the ground. “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“If I don't forgive you, then I can’t kiss you.” Steve said, like it was a fact of life and not an admittance that shot through Eddie like a live wire, his newly freed hand going to Eddie’s waist. “And I kinda think I've earned a kiss today, so I'm going to forgive you.”

Eddie huffed a laugh--one that didn't last long, as Steve bent slightly to press their lips together and swallow it. 

(As far as first kisses  though it wasn't great--they were both tired, teary and holding each other far too tight to make it comfortable--but that didn't stop Eddie from later insisting that it was downright magical. 

Because to him?

It was. 

"You don't have to date me to live here you know." Eddie said, a little while after they parted. The blanket had long been dropped to the floor, Eddie as close as he could physically get to Steve. "I don't want you to think you have to date me, to escape your parents."

Steve just dropped his chin on top of Eddie's curls, resting against him for a moment. 

"I know." He whispered.

"I want you to be happy. Even if it's not with me" Eddie finished, pretending for all it was worth like it wasn't killing him to say.  "You deserve to be happy, Steve." 

He got the life squeezed out of him in response, before Steve dropped more of his weight on Eddie, letting the older teen hold him up. 

"I want to be happy with you." Steve admitted, and Eddie answered by rocking them back and fourth.  "I just wish it was easier." 

"No matter what happens, Stevie, with your parents or with anything else I've got you." Eddie whispered, rocking them both. "Me n' Wayne both--we've got you." 

So quietly he barely heard it, and  Steve responded; "I know." 

xXx

A long while later, Robin would bike to the Munson’s.

She and Steve would have a long talk out on the porch, Robin crying first and Steve right after.

It had a lot to do with Steve’s brain injury, concussions in general, and their fight, all wrapped up in the context of his parents--or the parts that Eddie caught did at least, but did his best to give them space.

Robin still knew far more about Steve’s head injury than Eddie did, but he figured he’d learn more when Steve wanted him too.

Given they had a lot of other things happening, Eddie figured it’d be a while before it came up again--and found that he was fine waiting.

This was part of building the relationship they were no longer tiptoeing around. 

Later still, Eddie would fend Dustin off at their door while the younger boy shrieked in fury that Steve had moved into Eddie’s without telling anyone--a fact Steve just deadpan admitted to.

(And then Eddie spent a while working on painting his miniatures while Steve talked Dustin, and then to Max, and then to Lucas and Erica, because the gremlins were apparently busy little bees who somehow always knew when and where to swarm when they were needed.)

Finally, an impressive number of days later, given Steve had completely cut communications with them, Richard and Stella Harrington would show up to the Munson’s house, demanding to see their son.

They would announce, loudly, to anyone in the neighborhood who could possibly be listening, that Steve had overreacted to a rumor.

They didn’t know what he was talking about.

That there was no proposal.

All he was doing was causing problems, imposing on Mr. Munson, and that Steve needed to come home.

Now.

They didn’t back down when Steve told them no. They didn’t back down when he said he was done begging them to be in his life, his mother cooing to him like a child to just ‘Please, come home.’

Their faces said everything for them, when Steve finally lost it and threatened to call Angie’s parents.

Right then.

Right there.

They insisted he was acting insane--but Eddie had seen the rage in their eyes.Recognized it for what it was, as Steve’s father snarled that he had done everything he had to do, as a father, to get Steve’s life back on track. That Purdue was nothing to sneeze at. That Steve was throwing his life away for nothing at all.

That Angie was going to be the kind of girl Steve needed if he wanted to finally get serious about his life.

Became furious when Steve shakily told him that he was serious about his life--and how he wanted to live it.

Eddie stood right next to Steve, as Richard Harrington stepped forward and hissed lowly that this was Steve’s last chance.

If he didn’t come with him, then Steve was disowned.

“Guess I’m a Munson then.” Steve had replied, his own eyes doing a quick sweep of the street, before turning and planting a quick kiss against Eddie’s cheek.

It was worth the shocked gasp it got them, Stella Harrington’s mouth hanging to the floor as Richard’s face purpled in rage.

(They’d hurled a few slurs that had made Steve cry later, but Eddie couldn’t even pretend he cared.

Steve was finally free of them, and the way they used love like a chokechain.)

Soon, Eddie thought, they’d talk more about Steve’s head injury.

He was already growing more comfortable with the routines he used to get him through his day, the things he needed to feel normal.

Eddie wasn’t gonna rush him.

Figured they had all the time in the world, to talk about whatever Steve wanted.

A post it note smacked into Eddie’s head, and he instinctively reached up a hand to grab at it.

“Remember to kiss Eddie later.” He read dutifully, before looking up.

Steve grinned at him, leaning it. “Well if that’s what it says, I guess I have to do it.” He said, before pressing their lips together sweetly.