Chapter Text
“Thanks for the ride, Harrington,” Eddie says with a nod when they pull up in front of his trailer. Turns out Harrington does know exactly where he lives. He decides it’s probably best not to ask any follow up questions about that. His brain already feels like it’s about to explode with the sheer amount of insane, inconceivable things that have happened today.
He gets out, opens Chrissy’s door for her, then watches in baffled silence as Robin tumbles out of the other side with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. Harrington exits the car like a normal person but leaves the engine running—probably for a quick getaway; can’t have King Steve seen hanging around with trailer trash for too long, after all. The radio’s blasting out some pop song that Eddie would never admit to liking but is actually absurdly catchy.
Harrington catches Chrissy’s eye and says, “Eddie said you came here to buy something?”
Chrissy fiddles with her sleeve, glancing away, but she’s not nearly as nervous as she was when they met up in the woods. “Special K, yeah.”
“Where’re you planning to take that?”
“Oh my god, you’re such a fucking mom,” Robin snaps, smacking at him.
Harrington bats her hand away, and then the pair get into a slap fight like a couple of five year olds.
“What is the deal with you two?” Eddie asks, with morbid curiosity.
“We’re platonic soulmates,” Robin says, abandoning the slap fight. “Emphasis on platonic. With a capital ‘p.’”
Harrington points at Eddie. “If you hear Henderson say anything different, smack him upside the head for me. The kid will not let go of the idea of us dating. It’s exhausting.”
Robin gags and shudders. “God, like I could ever date you. Can you even imagine?”
“Thanks, Rob. You sure know how to boost my self esteem. And I wasn’t trying to be a mom before.” He settles his hands on his hips, immediately invalidating his point. “I just wanted to know if Chrissy would need a ride home, or if she’d be staying at Eddie’s until it wore off. And before anyone suggests it, no walking alone at night on my watch.”
“Yeah, really disproving the mom allegations, there, Harrington,” Eddie says, utterly deadpan.
Robin nods. “Exactly. That’s, like, a textbook cool mom thing to say. ‘I don’t care if you want to do drugs or get drunk, honey. I just want to make sure you’re somewhere safe if you do.’”
Harrington drags a hand down his face. “Next time we have a mall situation, I’m letting you get interrogated first.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Robin scoffs. “You’re way too protective for that.”
Harrington groans but doesn’t argue.
“Mall situation?” Eddie asks. “Like, Starcourt?”
Harrington bobs his head. “Yeah. We were there for the— Fuck, what was it? A fire, right?”
“Yep,” Robin confirms, popping the “p.”
Eddie frowns. “You were there for the fire, but you don’t remember it.”
“I was, like, super concussed,” Harrington says, with a lazy wave of his hand. “And high, as Robin mentioned. And that’s all we can say with all the NDAs we signed.”
Robin boos him. Then she stage whispers, “Russians,” which explains absolutely nothing and just gets her elbowed by Harrington again.
“Shut up,” he hisses. “I am not fighting the US government for you.”
“Oh, so you love me enough to fight the Russians but not our own government?”
“I won’t have to fight them because I’m going to kill you before they get a chance to.”
“Um, there’s someone waving at us?” Chrissy cuts in, hunching in on herself and shuffling closer to Eddie.
He glances up. “Oh, that’s just my neighbor—”
“That’s one of Steve’s infinite children,” Robin says.
“I do not have infinite children,” Harrington sighs.
“How many do you have?” Eddie raises an eyebrow. “The three boys and Red, so four?” Which isn’t really that many. Not that he’d admit as much when it meant agreeing with Harrington.
“Five actually,” Harrington corrects, without even a moment’s pause. “Or seven, if you count the two that moved to California.”
“Which he does,” Robin says.
Harrington nods. “Which I do,” he agrees.
Alright. Eddie doesn’t really know what he was expecting.
Harrington turns and waves back. Then his hand falls to his hip again, and he calls, “Mad Max, we are going to have words later!”
She doesn’t bother to say anything, just flips him off and goes back to feeding the dog.
“God, I love that kid,” Harrington tells Eddie, utterly delighted. Then he looks back at Max and cheerfully shouts, “Rude! Come over when you’re done. I baked cookies.”
“What?” Robin gasps, whacking him in the arm. “Since when have you had cookies?”
“I baked them for Lucas in case we lost,” Harrington says defensively.
“Steven J. Harrington—”
“J?” Eddie asks, bemused.
“It’s not a J.”
“Steven J. Harrington,” Robin repeats through gritted teeth, “are you saying you baked your sad kid cookies and kept this knowledge from me?” She turns to Eddie and Chrissy with wide eyes. “I don’t know what he puts in those things—”
“You’ve literally read the recipe. It’s just peanut butter, chocolate chips, oats, flour—”
“But I swear, they’re the best things I’ve ever eaten. Fucking rude that he wouldn’t tell me about them.”
“They were for Lucas!” Harrington cries, dodging as she tries to smack his arm again. “If I’d told you I was baking them, you would’ve found a way to eat them all before the game even started.”
“Ok, fine, maybe that’s true”—(“‘Maybe,’” Harrington mocks under his breath)—“but you could’ve mentioned them when Chrissy and Eddie got to the car. You’re failing at your hosting duties.”
“Y’know, that’s actually an excellent point, Robin.” He shoots Eddie his most charming King Steve smile. Eddie is completely indifferent to it. He feels nothing. Not a thing. “Eddie, Chrissy, would either of you like a cookie?”
Robin crosses her arms over her chest and grumbles, “I’m going to feed you to a demogorgon.” She marches over to the trunk, fishing a key out of her pocket.
“Did you seriously steal my spare key?”
“Yes,” Robin says without any remorse. “For emergencies.”
“Unbelievable,” Harrington sighs.
“Lucas only gets cookies for losing?” Eddie asks. He might need to get his eyes checked because it sure as hell looks like Harrington blushes at the question.
Steve Harrington bakes. He baked cookies to give to one of his seven children in case he was sad about losing tonight. And now he’s blushing because Eddie teased him. No, it has to be a trick of the light. Or— Eddie very calmly reaches up and pinches himself on the arm. It hurts, but honestly, he’s still not going to rule out a dream at this point.
“I have more at home that I’ll give him tomorrow. I just figured it probably wouldn’t be very cool for him to show up with a tin of cookies from his babysitter. Also, I didn’t know if there would be enough for the whole team and whoever else is going to the party.”
“Oh, yeah, good call, then,” Robin says, a bit muffled around her mouthful of baked goods. “Someone would’ve been murdered in a fight over the last one for sure. We would all wake up to the news talking about another tragedy in the formerly ‘quiet and peaceful’ town of Hawkins, Indiana.” Robin snorts. “Peaceful.”
She doesn’t bother to close the trunk as she returns to their little huddle (because she and Harrington are both apparently maniacs who were raised in a barn), holding the tin out to Chrissy like an offering to a god.
“Oh, I couldn’t…” Chrissy trails off, staring at the cookies with a troubling amount of longing.
“No worries if you don’t want any, but I promise you won’t regret it. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said they’re the best.” Robin shrugs. “And honestly, you deserve at least one. You were out there flipping and bouncing around. All I had to do was stand in one spot and play my mellophone, and I still felt like I was gonna pass out from hunger.”
Harrington snags one for himself, then rounds on Robin with an incredulous, “Did you seriously not eat a snack before the game started? You know your blood sugar gets low when you have marching band in the evening.”
“Jeez, sorry, mom,” Robin says, sticking her tongue out at him. She turns back to Chrissy. “Do you mind if I keep eating?”
“It’s fine,” Chrissy says, still looking a little too much like a starving animal for Eddie’s peace of mind. She throws a furtive glance towards him, and he moves without even thinking.
“Alright. You’ve piqued my interest. Let’s see if Harrington’s baking is really all that.” He plucks the cookie from Harrington’s hand—because Robin is too focused on staring adoringly into Chrissy’s eyes and hoarding the rest of the cookies to herself to actually offer him one, no other reason—and takes a bite. (Harrington doesn’t protest or punch him for stealing the cookie; he just stares at Eddie’s lips with a strange intensity.)
An absolutely mortifying noise crawls out of his throat at the first taste, and Eddie immediately wishes for the sweet release of death. He patiently waits for the ground to crack open below his feet in some sort of extremely localized earthquake and send him plummeting directly into hell. When it becomes clear that no salvation is coming, he mentally dusts himself off and asks, “What the fuck, Harrington? Where did you learn to bake like this?”
Harrington had been extremely focused on staring holes into the side of Max’s trailer, but he turns back at the question. And Eddie may have been able to brush off the earlier blush as a trick of the light, but there’s absolutely no doubt that he’s blushing now. Eddie knew he was pretty before, but, like, fuck, he’s pretty.
“Oh, uh, I actually taught myself.”
“Fuck off, dude.”
Harrington’s brow furrows.
Eddie clears his throat. “I mean, that’s crazy. Robin wasn’t exaggerating when she said these are fantastic. Are you secretly planning to open a bakery or something?”
Harrington laughs, leaning back against the hood of his car. “I’ll get back to you on that one. First, Rob and I should probably make sure that we’re not cursed to have our workplace destroyed every year.”
“Ugh, don’t jinx it,” Robin groans, taking a fourth cookie from the tin and waving it around as she talks. “I nearly had a heart attack when Keith forgot to tell us we were closing for renovations last month. I may not like Family Video, but trying to find a place that had two open positions was a nightmare last time. And then having to sweet talk Keith into giving you a job? Gross. I am not ready to go through something that traumatic again any time soon.”
Chrissy finally grabs a cookie, taking a tentative nibble, and her eyes go huge.
“Right?” Robin asks gleefully. “I swear I could live on these things.”
Chrissy hums in agreement, and Robin looks at her like— well, like a lesbian seeing a really hot girl. Which is a terrible attempt at a simile, but his brain is still frantically trying to process the fact that Steve Harrington is some sort of baking prodigy.
Eddie didn’t really expect to end up standing in front of his trailer eating cookies—that are, in fact, fucking insanely good—with a band geek and both current and former Hawkins High royalty tonight, but well. Here he is.
Chrissy doesn’t really seem in any rush to buy anything anymore, content to just eat a cookie and chat with Robin. She’s far more calm than she was earlier, no longer looking like someone being haunted by a particularly malevolent spirit, which is good. Eddie doesn’t have any issue with the idea of selling her Special K, but if watching Tweedledee and Tweedledum’s bizarre comedy act helped her somehow, he’s not going to complain. Easier than worrying that a cheerleader might accidentally overdose in his trailer or hate the experience and send the cops after him or something.
“Oh, hello there!” Harrington says, completely out of the blue.
Eddie follows his gaze, eyes nearly bugging out of his head when he realizes the creature at Harrington’s feet is Golem, the old, scrappy, nasty tomcat that’s lived in the trailer park longer than Eddie has. Honestly, he’s probably been here longer than Wayne.
Eddie’s managed to befriend every other stray in the trailer park, spending his hard earned money on cat food to leave out for them. But Golem is his white whale. He’s been trying to get the cat to warm up to him since the day he moved in with Wayne, but he’s never gotten through to him; he still hisses if Eddie so much as dares to make eye contact. And now he’s twining around Harrington’s legs like some friendly, well socialized housecat.
Eddie has—frequently—speculated that Golem’s immortal, that he’s been around for so long that he’s seen all of humanity’s evils, and that’s why he’s so unfriendly. Apparently he’s actually just an ungrateful little shit and a goddamn class traitor. Of course he’s cozying up to Harrington; he can probably smell the rich person stink clinging to his preppy clothes. He wants to live in a mansion in Loch Nora rather than appreciate everything Eddie’s done for him.
It’s like the tiny orange kitten from that movie, who went and got adopted by a rich little girl and immediately ditched all his poor, semi-homeless friends because eating regular meals out of a fancy bowl in a giant empty house was so much better. But at least the girl was nice and clearly loved him, which Harrington obviously wouldn’t.
Just when Eddie thought he couldn’t get any worse, Harrington crouches down, stretching a hand out, and Golem sniffs his fingers daintily before bumping his head into them. A loud purr rumbles out of him as Harrington starts petting under his chin. He puts his paws up on Harrington’s knee, and Harrington giggles. Truly the most awful person Eddie has ever had the misfortune of meeting. (Other than Tommy H. And Carol. And Jason. And Andy. And, honestly, lots of other people—)
“Oh, you’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” Harrington murmurs, scooping the cat into his arms.
Eddie fully expects Golem to maim his face now that it’s in range—because clearly that’s what the cat was doing: lulling Harrington into a false sense of security until he was close enough to murder.
Instead, Golem rubs his head against the bottom of Harrington’s jaw before turning to shoot Eddie a smug look.
Eddie’s jaw drops. He’s never felt so affronted in his life.
He’s pretty sure the Munson Doctrine is lying shredded at his feet, torn up like Golem’s claws should be ripping into Harrington’s face. Maybe he’s somehow stepped into the Mirror Universe, where the heroes become villains with dumb facial hair, and the bad guys turn out to be surprisingly decent people. Whatever the case, there’s still one thing that he’s certain of. He’s seen the aftermath; he knows that Harrington lost two fights—badly—in the span of a single year. He can say with complete confidence that Harrington is not a badass.
(He really should learn to stop declaring things like that, even in the (dubious) safety of his own mind because the universe just loves to prove him wrong. (God, if ‘86 isn’t his year, it better be because he’s been eaten alive by a pack of rabid dogs or the actual Demogorgon, Prince of Demons, not because of something stupid, like forgetting to hand in an assignment or flunking a final again.))
As soon as the thought forms, the streetlight above them starts to flicker. Golem launches himself to the ground, and Harrington snaps out of his lax posture, going tense and quiet as he scans the area, like a prey animal suddenly sensing a stalking predator.
No, he realizes, as Harrington’s head turns and Eddie catches the look in his eyes. Not like prey at all. Like one of those big game hunters, the lunatics who go after bears or wolves. Like someone who knows they’re hunting something deadly, something that could kill them, but also knows that they’ll win. (Once again, what the fuck has Harrington been doing in the last couple years?)
“Don’t worry; that’s normal,” Eddie says, to fill the sudden, uncomfortable silence.
The words don’t do anything to settle him. In fact, they actually make him feel worse; his voice is far too loud in the otherwise quiet night. Like, weirdly quiet. He can’t even hear that unbelievably annoying bug that screams at, like, a thousand decibels outside his window all night long. Even the music from Harrington’s car sounds weirdly muffled, like he’s ducked his head underwater or something. Rather than think about the goosebumps running down his arms, he adds, softer, “The power’s always shitty in this part of town.”
“Right,” Harrington says, though he doesn’t relax in the slightest.
“Did you guys hear that?” Chrissy asks, so faint he almost misses it. She's staring off into the distance, standing so still it doesn’t even look like she’s breathing.
If Harrington’s a hunter, then she’s definitely prey. She’s frozen like a deer in headlights, a rabbit looking up just in time to meet the glare of a fox.
Tharn.
The world goes dead silent for a beat, like a record player with the needle suddenly lifted. Then Golem lets out an ear splitting, bone chilling yowl, fur puffed up to make him look bigger as he stares straight ahead at literally nothing.
“Rob?” Harrington says, scanning the tree line.
“On it.” She scrambles to the trunk, then dashes back to Harrington’s side. “Batter up,” she says, though it’s far more subdued than anything else she’s said today.
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck is that?” Eddie yelps as Harrington spins a baseball bat studded with nails around in his hand. He winces at both the volume and pitch of his voice, but, genuinely, what the fuck is that? And is that blood on his insane murder weapon?
“My monster hunting bat,” Harrington says with a grin. “Robin mentioned her.”
Oh of course. The bat that he used to fight off the “dogs,” which Eddie had assumed were feral and/or rabid. Well, you know what they say about assuming: You draw totally reasonable conclusions with the information provided, and then the person you’re talking to starts acting like monsters are real. (“De—” Robin had started, before she cut herself off. Demons, maybe? Jesus Christ, even thinking that is fucking insane.)
“Is she having a seizure?” Max asks from right behind him, apparently done feeding the dog and feeling the need to join the “send Eddie Munson to an early grave” team effort. He startles, stumbling to the side and just barely managing to stay on his feet. He’s pretty sure his heart is about to give out, and that’s before he follows her line of sight to find Chrissy, completely motionless other than her eyes darting around under her lids.
“Chrissy?” Robin asks, shaking her shoulders gently. Then she shakes her more forcefully and repeats, louder, “Chrissy?”
Harrington herds Eddie and Max closer to the car and Chrissy’s frozen form. He keeps himself between them and the rest of the trailer park, murder bat still held at the ready.
Robin asks, a bit desperately, “Steve? You’re a lifeguard; you know first aid. What do you do for seizures?”
“Rob, I really don’t think this is a seizure.”
“Shit. Have you seen this before?”
“Nope. This is a new one,” Harrington bites out. “Fucking fantastic.”
Eddie grabs fistfuls of his own hair, staring at Chrissy with wide, terrified eyes. “Jesus Christ. This is just a really bad trip,” he says, like maybe if the words are spoken aloud, they’ll become the truth. They don’t feel any more convincing out in the open, but Harrington barks a laugh, which is nice.
“Trust me, I’ve been trying to convince myself of that since ’83,” he says, voice wry. The interaction is no longer nice.
Max makes a startled noise in the back of her throat, and Eddie whips his head around. She wipes at her nose, hand coming back smeared with blood. Eddie has the sinking feeling that he’s just been introduced as a new character halfway through a horror film.
A feeling which increases exponentially when he turns back to look at Chrissy and finds her rising into the air.
Everything suddenly seems like it’s been dialed up to eleven. Eddie is fully convinced that he’s losing his mind when Harrington’s radio—still on because he never bothered to turn off his car—starts absolutely blasting the most incongruous song possible:
Well I can dance with you, honey
If you think it's funny
Does your mother know that you're out?
“Is this fucking ABBA?” Eddie wails. “This is not an appropriate song choice!”
“Sorry I don’t have a special mixtape for levitating cheerleaders!” Harrington snaps.
They’re all shouting Chrissy’s name—which is obviously fucking useless, but what else are they supposed to do?—and the lights are flickering and the dog is barking and Eddie’s pretty sure that he’s gonna die from stress before whatever’s happening with Chrissy is through and—
And I can chat with you, baby
Flirt a little, maybe
Does your mother know that you're out?
Chrissy gasps in the air above them. Then she drops, Robin stumbling forward to catch her—or, more accurately, break her fall, as they both go tumbling to the ground.
“Good catch,” Harrington says, still keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. Then, voice low, like he’s soothing a wild animal, “You’re ok, Chrissy; we’ve got you.”
Robin wheezes out a thanks, and sets about checking on Chrissy, who’s shaking and sobbing in her arms.
“Max,” Harrington says, taking charge like he was born for the job, like he’s had practice. King Steve, some stupid, awestruck (and probably partly hysterical) part of him thinks. “Go see if you can get in touch with the Byers. Keep your walkie on you, and let me know as soon as you reach them. Or if you see trouble. We’ll be over in a few minutes, as soon as Chrissy’s ok to move.”
“My mom’s home.”
Eddie’s wrestling his keys out of his pocket before she even finishes the sentence. He fumbles them, nearly dropping them twice with how badly his hands are shaking, but he manages to toss them over to her, and she nods once, determined, before sprinting to his trailer door.
“Eddie. There’s a walkie in my glovebox.”
Eddie scrabbles for it, bringing it back like it’s the fucking holy grail itself. Their fingers brush when he hands it over.
Alright. That’s it. Eddie’s throwing in the towel. Time to admit that he has a giant, embarrassing crush on Steve Harrington, former straight, popular, asshole jock, current bisexual mother of seven, baker extraordinaire, and (apparently) experienced monster hunter. A man who he clearly severely misjudged. (Damn. He’s gonna have to tell Dustin he was right about the dude.)
“Welcome to the team, I guess,” Steve says with a grim smile. He adjusts his grip on his bat, spinning it in one hand, then clicks the button on the walkie and says, “Kids? We’ve got a Code Red.”
Later, after Vecna slash Henry slash One has been staked through the heart and beheaded and had bright green “commie” acid thrown on him courtesy of the most badass eleven year old Eddie has ever known (and he cannot believe he ever tried to scare her away from Hellfire) and then lit on fire until nothing remained but a pile of ash that the scientists carefully collected to go set on fire even more—
And after Eddie has surprisingly not been eaten alive by any Upside Down monsters (primarily due to Steve fucking Harrington stalking over to him, zipping up Eddie’s jacket like he was a toddler about to go play in the snow, making unflinching eye contact, and growling, “Leather fucking armor. Use it.”)—
After all that, Eddie asks, “So what is your bat named?”
“Oh,” Steve says easily. “It’s Hel.”
Eddie squints at him. It takes a good ten seconds for the words to process, then he says, “Sorry, Hell? Like ‘bat outta hell?’ Are you telling me it’s a pun?”
“One ‘l,’” Steve corrects, not really denying it, exactly. “She’s from Nose mythology, the ruler of the underworld, and—”
“Oh my god, you’re a nerd,” Eddie says gleefully, leaning into Steve’s space. “It’s a double pun?”
Steve blushes fiercely, but he shoots Eddie a smug little smirk, moving in even closer and dropping his voice as he says, “I think triple, technically, now that I’ve actually used her on Upside Down bats.”
“You’re incredible,” Eddie breathes, reaching out to cup Steve’s cheek. It’s definitely too soon, but fuck it. They fought literal monsters and traveled to alternate dimensions and survived the end of the world together. No one can tell them they’re moving too fast. “I fucking love you.”
Most people would balk upon hearing a declaration of love from someone they’d never even kissed. Steve just looks at him with stars in his eyes and says, reverent, “I love you, too.” He turns his head just enough to press a kiss to Eddie’s palm, and—
Alright. Eddie has no choice. No other option. He closes what little distance is left between them and gives in to the urge that he’s been feeling—if he’s honest with himself—ever since Steve unceremoniously crashed through the door to Hellfire and changed the course of his life forever.
Back then, he compared Steve to a creature from the Abyss. But now he’s been to the Abyss or one of the other lower planes and miraculously made it back alive. He knows better. Steve’s a cleric, devoted and valiant and fiercely protective.
And Eddie is fucking head over heels, irrevocably in love with him.
(And when Robin swans into Steve’ house fifteen minutes early for their movie night the next day—just letting herself in with another stolen key, Chrissy following with no protests because Robin and Steve have no manners and are terrible influences—she finds Eddie and Steve making out on the couch and immediately starts shrieking about the injustice of Steve kissing a boy before she kisses a girl.
And also: “Gross, Steve! You would’ve let me just sit on that couch covered in all of your—” she waves a hand about “—fluids?!”
Steve chokes, sputters, “Jesus, Robin, what fluids do you think—”
“Oh my god, you want me to think more about your fluids?”
“No! Don’t think about my fluids ever!”
“I am literally begging you two to stop saying fluids!” Eddie cuts in, pulling at his hair. His pleas are, of course, utterly ignored.
“Then why would you tell me to think about your fl—”
Chrissy comes to his rescue. She rolls her eyes fondly, grabs Robin by the suspenders, and drags her into a kiss that leaves her speechless for a remarkable length of time.)