Chapter 1
Notes:
This fic started off as a 2.5k oneshot where Steve crashed the D&D game to force the kids (and Eddie) to go to the gym to support Lucas. Then I remembered Chrissy, and it spiraled out of control.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Eddie has his players on the edge of their seats, so wound up that half of them scream when the door slams open.
“Hey, shitheads!” Steve “the hair” Harrington barks, looming in the doorway like a monster from the Abyss. “What the fuck are you doing in here? Get your asses down to the gym right fucking now.”
Eddie gapes. First of all, the audacity— Second, he’s never been much for physical fights, but if this douchebag thinks he can bully any of Eddie’s kids, he’ll have to go through Eddie first.
“Let’s go! Move it!” Harrington snaps, making an impatient gesture down the hall.
Eddie rises from his throne and steps in between him and the kids. “What’s your problem? Here to bully the freaks?”
“I don’t have any issue with you, dude,” he says, surprisingly gentle for someone who was just practically shouting at a bunch of freshmen. “But I really have to grab my kids and haul ass back to the gym, so could you move?”
“What’s up? Is it a Code Red?” Dustin asks, and Eddie has a moment of whiplash before he remembers the kid’s weird, inexplicable hero worship for this washed up asshole.
“Lucas is actually playing in the championship game right now, and you little shits are missing it!”
Dustin visibly wavers, which is truly unacceptable. “So what?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “He chose his side.”
“His side—? What the fuck are you talking about? They’re his friends; they should be there to support him.” He glares at Eddie, hands on his hips, before turning to Dustin. He points emphatically down the hall. “Go!”
Dustin goes, running like a bat out of hell. So much for the future of Hellfire.
Mike, at least, protests, “He should be here playing with us!”
“Mike Wheeler. Nancy is in that room, and I will absolutely tell her that you chose D&D over seeing Lucas play for the first time.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Mike challenges. Half of Eddie wants to cheer—Yes! Stand up to the jock! Show some spine, unlike Henderson (that traitor)—and the other half wants to roll the kid up in bubble wrap because what the fuck is he thinking? Sure, having a spine is great in theory, but Mike is at that weird lanky teen stage where he looks like his body is just a collection of twigs, and Harrington could absolutely snap him in half with almost no effort.
“Try me,” Harrington growls, baring his teeth in a feral grin, bloodlust in his eyes. Huh. That definitely should not be doing something for Eddie right now.
Horrifyingly, Mike stands up. “Sorry, Eddie,” he mutters, slinking out the door like a scolded dog, then taking off towards the gym.
Harrington does a quick visual sweep of the room, freezing when his eyes land on Erica. “He’s your brother,” he groans with exasperation. “Why are you still sitting there?”
“Uh, we’re in the middle of combat? You can’t boss me around like those nerds. Besides, I doubt Lucas will even get his hands on the ball anyway.”
Harrington pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “Are you even part of this campaign?”
“No. I subbed in because Lucas couldn’t make it.”
“You realize that’s fucked up right?” Harrington asks, hands on his hips.
Unbelievably, Erica wilts a bit under his disapproving gaze. She opens her mouth to protest—
“If you don’t go to the gym to support your brother right now, I won’t drive you to my house for our next D&D session.”
Woah woah woah. Hold up. Did Steve Harrington just say that he plays D&D?
“I’ll get my mom to drive me.”
“Robin and I will never play with you again.”
She clenches her jaw but stands and points at him dramatically. “You owe me!”
“Yes, yes, I know. Move it!”
“I’m going! Jesus, you’d think we were dealing with the commies again.” And with that, she, too, sprints away.
Then it’s just him and his bandmates in a room with Steve Harrington, who turns to look at him with fire in his eyes, arms crossed over his chest. “Why didn’t you reschedule for Lucas?” he demands.
Eddie scoffs, though he feels like he’s lost his footing, the ground unstable beneath him. “We’re not going to reschedule for a single basketball game.”
“It’s the championship,” Harrington says, like that matters.
“So? It’s the end of the campaign.”
“That makes this worse. You know that right? You’re just finishing the campaign and don’t even care that Lucas can’t make it?”
And something in his tone actually makes Eddie’s stomach twist with guilt. God, unacceptable. How dare this jock make him feel guilty? He doubles down, lifting his chin imperiously. “He could’ve chosen to skip the game tonight.”
“And you could’ve chosen to wait until after spring break.”
“Jeff is graduating this year,” he says, though it feels far less relevant than when he brought it up in the cafeteria.
Harrington scoffs and throws up his hands. “Unbelievable.” He turns and gets a single stride down the hall before he stops, whirling back into the room abruptly. His hand darts out, and Eddie flinches, expecting a punch, but instead Harrington grabs his wrist and starts dragging him down the hall.
“What? Let go!”
“No,” Harrington snaps, hand like a vice around his wrist. Eddie tries to tug himself free but immediately realizes it’s a lost cause. Stupid strong jock hands. “You’re coming to support Lucas whether you like it or not.”
Eddie throws a wide-eyed, panicked look over his shoulder, but his three remaining players just give helpless little shrugs as he’s dragged towards his inevitable demise, not moving to aid him at all. Cowards. He’ll kill their characters if he ever manages to break free.
Harrington practically sprints, grumbling under his breath the whole time. “I swear, if I miss him making a shot because I had to deal with your screw up and come knock some sense into the kids—”
“That session was important,” Eddie complains.
“Spring break is literally a single week long. I don’t think it’s the end of the world to wait.” He adds something else under his breath. It almost sounds like, “Believe me; I’ve seen the end of the world.”
“It’s also not the end of the world to not watch a basketball game. You didn’t have to drag my players out to see it.”
“They’re my kids,” Harrington counters. Which is both rude and bizarre. Why should he get claim over them when he’s just a dumb jock? He’s not related to them. He doesn’t care about them. Obviously not, or he would’ve let them keep playing rather than force them to go to a basketball game like all the other boring, normal people in town. “And I don’t want them to ruin their friendships with Lucas because of your campaign.”
Eddie wants to protest because this situation is in no way his fault, but Harrington’s barreling on, “Believe me, if I knew where Max was, I’d be dragging her here, too. And honestly, it’s pretty fucking rich that they’d pick your campaign—no offense—over supporting Lucas, when Mike spent all of summer break ignoring Will when he wanted to play. Do you know how many free ice cream cones I had to give that kid? He’s always so sad! And Mike just abandoned him after he was—” Harrington shoots a look at Eddie, seeming to suddenly remember his presence “—after he got lost in the woods. Y’know? And then he moves away, and D&D is immediately cool again, and they all join a new party? I’m gonna get El”—Who the hell is El?—“to kick all their asses the next time they come to visit.”
And that should set off alarm bells in his head, a jock threatening freshmen with violence, but the tone is weird. Irritated, yes, but with an underlying current of fond exasperation, of indulgence. It sounds less like a bully targeting some children and more like a parent saying, “Kids. What can you do, right?”
“And, like, we talked about making time for your friends and being supportive even if you’d rather be doing something else, even if you think it’s more important. The only reason Scoops Troop was even formed—which, don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful for—was because everyone else ditched Dustin on his first day back from camp, when he was trying to introduce them to his girlfriend.”
Jesus Christ, Harrington talks a lot. The kids probably just completely tuned him out whenever they allegedly had their ‘friendship is important!’ meeting or whatever he’s going on about.
“And Erica— God, that girl is smart. But she apparently just loses her mind when it comes to D&D. I sometimes wake up in a cold sweat thinking about how she tried to bike to Indy to sell that acid to replace her books, you know?”
Eddie is honestly kind of fascinated—not in a positive way; more like how you just can’t help staring at a car crash as you pass it—by how Harrington’s brain works. Is he aware that Eddie has no fucking idea what he’s talking about?
Before he can ask any of the infinite questions that little anecdote raised—(For example: Acid as in LSD or, like, vinegar or some shit you’d use in chemistry class that could melt your skin off or whatever? And no matter what option it was, why was Erica in possession of it in the first place? Who was she planning to sell it to? Why was she biking to Indianapolis? And how did King Steve get involved in any part of it?)—they reach the doors to the gym.
Harrington drags him inside to an empty spot on the bottom row of the bleachers but doesn’t drop Eddie’s wrist, probably—rightly—assuming that he’ll bolt if given half a chance. Luckily, the way they’re sitting hides the fact that they’re a bit too close to holding hands in public for Eddie’s comfort. The kids are sitting in a little huddle across the gym, right next to the marching band, looking miserable and frustrated. One of the band players leans over, whispering to them, and they smile, postures relaxing a bit. They look back at the court and cheer as Lucas gets his hands on the ball for a second.
A blonde woman a couple rows above the kids catches sight of the two of them, waving at Harrington, and he halfheartedly waves back. She frowns and crosses her arms when he doesn’t make any move to join her, but Harrington doesn’t notice, attention already pulled back to the players like a moth to a flame.
“Did you seriously ditch your date to steal half my party?”
“Hmm?” Harrington tears his eyes away from the court to glance at Eddie. “Oh, yeah, I did.”
“...Why?”
Harrington frowns. “I told you. The kids should be here supporting Lucas.”
“But why do you care about their relationship? Why do you care about any of them?”
Harrington presses his lips together, fighting to keep a straight face. “I’m their babysitter,” he says. It’s clearly an inside joke, and Harrington shoots him a wolfish grin. Eddie hates seeing it this close. It sets off butterflies in his stomach, which is both stupid and unacceptable. This is Steve Harrington, the straightest man in Hawkins and an irredeemable asshole. He may be objectively attractive and have great hair, but he should not be making Eddie’s heart flutter, no matter how sharp his smirk is.
Harrington’s attention is—predictably—back on the court, but Eddie can’t help staring at him. He feels like the world has tilted on its axis, maybe flipped upside down completely. Never in a million years would he have imagined himself sitting in the gym during the championship basketball game, all but holding hands with Steve Harrington, who has apparently adopted Eddie’s pack of nerdy freshmen.
Then Harrington’s breath catches, and his fingers tighten on Eddie’s wrist, dragging him in even closer as he starts to stand up. Eddie looks back at the court just in time to see Lucas’s feet leave the floor, the ball flying through the air. The buzzer goes off, and Eddie thinks, Huh, does that still count?
A second later, the ball swooshes through the hoop to a thunderous roar from the crowd, which answers that question. Harrington whoops beside him, almost deafeningly loud, jumping in place (and Eddie really never expected him to be the type to jump for joy). Eddie cheers with him. Fine, he’ll admit it: He’s proud of the twerp, even if he is sore that Lucas would choose basketball over his campaign.
“It’s not you.”
“What?”
“He didn’t choose to play basketball because he dislikes your campaign,” Harrington says, apparently reading his mind. “He was hoping that if he played, he’d get popular enough that people would stop bullying him and his friends.”
Oh. Eddie’s heart clenches. He’d been reading the whole situation wrong. But it makes sense. Eddie never had the option to not be a freak, so he took that label and turned it into armor, made himself untouchable. He plays up the drama, the “demonic possession.” He’s weird and a nerd and a drug dealer, but people don’t pay him much attention beyond that. He’s off-putting intentionally; he scares people away before they can get a good look. So he may be a freak to them, but he’s not queer. (It also probably helps that Eddie refuses to deal to anyone who knocks his lights out, which keeps most of the jocks in line.)
Lucas and Dustin can’t hide like that. Mike could probably fly under the radar, but he seems to be too preoccupied with being surly and unpleasant to bother.
“C’mon,” Harrington says, dragging him forward with a spring in his step and a wide grin. It lights up his whole face, and Eddie thinks that he could spend hours staring at it. Not that he would because Harrington is still a dick. One insightful comment about Lucas doesn’t change that. “Let’s go congratulate him.”
“Not meet up with your date?”
Harrington waves the question aside. “She genuinely thought Tammy Thompson’s singing was good.”
Eddie snorts. “Yeah, for a muppet.”
“That’s what I said!” Harrington laughs. “We all know Tammy Thompson’s a total dud.” The last part is said slightly louder. Not loud enough to draw the attention of the crowd, but loud enough for the band player who had talked to the kids earlier to catch.
“Steve!” she scolds, reaching over to smack his shoulder, though she snickers as she does it.
“What! You agreed with me, Robin!” He shoves her back playfully. “And it was under the influence of whatever shit was in those syringes, so I know you weren’t lying.”
Eddie carefully files that grain of information into the folder he’s just created, dedicated to figuring out what the fuck is going on with Harrington and why he seems so different from just a couple years ago.
Robin notices the way Harrington is still holding Eddie’s wrist, and her eyebrows climb. Eddie braces himself, but she just leans forward with a sly little smirk. “Damn, Steve. I was gonna tell you that your date left and add another tally to the ‘You Suck’ column, but it looks like you found yourself a new one. Finally a mark for ‘You Rule.’” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
Ok, and here come the slurs—
Harrington rolls his eyes. “No, he’s just here as a punishment for not rescheduling the end of their D&D campaign so that Lucas could make it. I was worried he would bolt if I let him go.”
Is Eddie losing his mind, or did King Steve just ignore the implication that he was on a date with a dude? And he’s still holding Eddie’s wrist. Maybe he just missed the hint. That’s possible, right? He is a dumb jock, after all. (Or maybe he’s far, far cooler than Eddie expected. No, there’s no way.)
Robin frowns at Eddie. “You wouldn’t reschedule?”
“Hey”—Eddie lifts his free hand in surrender—“I’ve already been put in my place by Harrington here, so you don’t have to bother.”
“Ok,” she says slowly. “But just know that if you upset any of the kids, Steve and I will feed you to a demogorgon. Or the mind flayer.”
“Robin!” Harrington hisses, elbowing her in the side, then throws a pointed look towards Eddie. Which is a weird reaction to an even weirder threat. Is he supposed to be scared of a couple of D&D monsters? They do know he literally DMs the game, right?
She rolls her eyes, complaining, “God, you’re so dramatic. Wait here. I’ve gotta go change out of this atrocious polyester prison before I die.” She looks back at Eddie and makes an I’m watching you gesture, then drags her finger across her throat. “Demogorgon and/or mind flayer. Don’t test me.”
Harrington looks frantically around the room, oddly desperate for a topic change. His eyes land on Lucas, Dustin, Mike, and Erica, talking a few feet away, and he lifts an arm to wave them over. “Lucas!”
Lucas bounces over, accepting Robin’s high five as they pass each other, and Harrington drags him into a one armed hug.
“That was a fantastic shot! Whoever taught you must’ve really known their stuff, huh?”
Lucas rolls his eyes with a grin before noticing Eddie. He blinks, like his presence might just be a hallucination. Eddie’s right there with him; this whole night feels like a hallucination. “You came to my game?” he asks, utterly baffled.
“Didn’t really have much of a choice,” he drawls, waving towards the arm still being held hostage. He’s fairly certain he won’t be getting it back ever again. Maybe he could convince Harrington to switch to handcuffs, which at least wouldn’t be actively trying to crush all the bones in his wrist— Oh. He clears his throat as his wrist is slowly shattered. “But, uh, yeah. You did good, man. Great shot.”
Lucas lights up, and the crushing pressure around his wrist eases. “Thanks. That— means a lot.” He glances away for a moment, towards Mike, who gestures emphatically as he says something to a frowning Dustin and Erica. “So, uh. Did they win the battle?”
“Nah, man. Half my players were dragged out before we could even really get into it. Guess we’ll just have to finish the campaign after spring break.”
Lucas beams. Ugh. What is it with sports boys making him feel guilty tonight? Lucas looks so thrilled that he’ll get to play in their final session, and Eddie feels like a complete monster. He kinda wants to run into the woods and never return. He’ll hide out in Reefer Rick’s boat house or under Skull Rock or something, anywhere to get him away from the clear delight on Lucas’s face.
God, if Harrington doesn’t let him go soon, he’s gonna gnaw off his own arm like a coyote in a trap to escape this whole mess.
A moment later, Lucas is dragged away by the other basketball players—yuck, but also thank god because Eddie really didn’t want to have to try to talk about sports; he’s content to be supportive from afar, like a divorced parent who only gets custody once a month. (Before he’s whisked off by the jocks, Harrington murmurs a reminder that Lucas shouldn’t let the other guys pressure him into anything, and if he ever feels unsafe, he can call Harrington for a ride; seriously, dude, I mean it; call me.) There’s clearly a weight off Lucas’s shoulders as he trots away.
Harrington’s thumb sweeps back and forth across Eddie’s pulse, and when Eddie musters the strength to look up at him, Harrington is staring back with such a warm and fond expression that it steals his breath. What is happening here? It can’t be what he’s thinking. Can it? No, definitely not. Unless…?
“Hey, Steve,” Robin cuts in, walking back over sans uniform, an unimpressed look on her face. “Can you stop making googly eyes at Mr. Hellfire here for long enough to drive me home?”
Harrington glances over at her, and Eddie can breathe again—even as he tenses at the phrase googly eyes, though Harrington just ignores it again and starts leading Eddie towards the doors. “Yeah, of course. Can you ask if any of the kids need rides? We’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
Huh. Maybe Harrington really is a babysitter. Certainly not the profession he would’ve expected from the resident pretty boy, asshole jock, but why else would he be offering to drive around a bunch of freshmen like it was a regular thing?
“—Eddie?”
“Huh?”
“I was asking if you need a ride.”
“Oh,” Eddie says, a bit dumbly. He blinks twice and manages to drag his eyes away from Harrington, looking across the parking lot. “No, I’m good. I have my— Fuck!”
Harrington startles a little, pulling him in closer, which is surprisingly nice and protective and— Eddie mentally slaps himself. He is not going to stand here swooning over Steve Harrington. No way. Not even a little bit.
“What’s up?” Harrington asks, tense as a bowstring.
Eddie gestures towards his van with a scowl. “Some fucker slashed my tire.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Harrington breathes, relieved, which is fucking rude. Then he seems to realize what he said and winces. “I mean, that sucks. Obviously. Do you have a spare?”
Eddie puffs up his cheeks in that way that makes Wayne compare him to an angry chipmunk. “Nope. It’s whatever. I don’t live too far from here. I can walk.”
Harrington frowns. “It’s dark out.”
“So?” He raises a brow. “I know my way around; I won’t get lost.”
Harrington shakes his head and declares, “No, it’s not safe. I’ll drive you.”
Eddie is about to argue, but he pauses. Harrington didn’t say that it might be unsafe. He said it with absolute certainty. Like he knows about some monster lurking in their town. Which is absurd, obviously. Sure, the past few years have been weird, with people going missing and then turning up dead, but that doesn’t mean there’s any danger now. Those were chemical leaks and a mall fire and one kid who got lost in the woods. (Which, by the way, did anyone ever figure out the identity of whoever they actually fished out of the quarry after the Byers kid turned back up?) There’s nothing that would put him at risk.
But Harrington’s hand has tightened on his wrist again, like he thinks Eddie might break free and run off into the woods never to be seen again. So, “Fine,” he says. “But don’t expect me to pay for gas.”
Harrington lets out an aggrieved sigh. “No one ever does.” He sounds so much like an exhausted dad that Eddie can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out of him. Harrington looks delighted at the sound. Then he glances back at Eddie’s van and tilts his head. “Hey, uh, is that Chrissy Cunningham standing by your van?”
“Damn,” Robin says, reappearing on Harrington’s other side and scaring Eddie half to death. “I didn’t think Queen Chrissy was the type to slash tires.”
Harrington tilts his head and makes a considering noise. “I don’t know. I feel like she has it in her.”
Robin glances at him and snorts. “Yeah, I guess rich kids are the ones who go the most feral when given half a chance.” She mimes swinging a bat, and Harrington elbows her.
“Shut up. You’ve never even seen me use her.”
“No, but I’ve gotten the play by play at least a dozen times by now.” She puffs out her chest, deepening her voice for dramatic effect. Eddie briefly wonders if she’s ever thought about playing D&D. “A fog sweeps into the junkyard, obscuring your view. You can hear Dart prowling and finally catch sight of him, but he’s not taking the bait. So you bravely heft Mrs. Harrington—”
“Ew, that is not her name.”
“—so you bravely heft your bat—which is named something you’re too embarrassed to tell me—and step out of the fortified bus to be the bait.‘Human tastes better than cat, I promise.’ But then! The horror! Dart isn’t alone; he’s brought friends, a whole pack of de— dogs, lying in wait. They attack! You dodge out of the way, roll over the hood of a car, and hit one as you come back to your feet.” She mimes another swing, and Harrington rolls his eyes with a sigh.
“You barely make it back into the bus alive. The dogs batter the outside of the bus, trying to break in to devour you all. As you brace the door, trying to keep them out, one jumps onto the roof. It looms in the open hatch right above Max and opens its terrible, disgusting mouth. You shove her aside, putting yourself in harm’s way again to save her life. Luckily, the dogs run away seconds before your untimely death. Thus making a trio of twelve year olds fall madly in love with you.” She sweeps into a dramatic bow, and Eddie would clap if he wasn’t still being restrained.
Harrington scowls. “One, you have to know the kids are exaggerating. And two, I’m positive none of them said anything about being in love with me.”
“One: Yeah, ok, maybe they’re exaggerating that one, but I distinctly recall a man trying to pull a gun on us and you deciding to scream, run directly at him, and then tackle and wrestle him until you managed to knock him unconscious. And if that’s not rich kids gone wild, I don’t know what is.” She shoots him an extremely judgmental look. “And two: They didn’t have to. I can see it all over their faces whenever they retell the story. Or, Max and Lucas, at the very least. Jury’s still out on Dustin.”
“Gross, Rob. Those are my kids. Were you drugged again?” Harrington looks her up and down, and Eddie glances between them, trying to find any hint that they’re joking because, uh, hello? Drugged? Again? “Why are you being like this?”
“No, dingus. I’m just riding the high of our victory. Go, Tigers!” she cheers. Harrington raises an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes. “Ok, fine. A certain somebody laughed at my joke, and I’ve decided to focus on the elation I feel tonight and save the soul crushing terror and probable panic attack about the other thing I said for our shift tomorrow.”
Harrington looks at her for a moment longer, then nods. “Alright, fair.”
“Drugged?” Eddie asks.
“Russians,” Robin answers, as Harrington jabs an elbow into her side and says, “Long story. You don’t want to know.”
Uh, Eddie absolutely wants to know. He’s never wanted to know anything more in his life. God, it’s like Harrington doesn’t understand him at all. Unfortunately, Harrington’s face makes it abundantly clear that he won’t be elaborating any time soon. Maybe Dustin knows what the hell they’re talking about.
“Right,” Eddie says, drawing the word out as he glances between the pair.
“So, are we gonna do something about the queen of Hawkins High slashing your tires?” Robin asks. Then, to Steve, “Oh, also the kiddos are good. They all have rides.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t the one who did it,” Eddie says. Harrington and Robin both turn to look at him in eerie unison. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he continues, weakly, “I was supposed to drive her back to my place after the game.”
Robin raises an eyebrow. She lets go of Harrington and swings around to hang off of Eddie instead, giving the bandana in his pocket a pointed tug. “I didn’t really think she was your type,” Robin murmurs, thankfully quiet enough that only Eddie can hear. “Honestly, I was pretty certain that she’s much closer to my type than yours.”
Eddie’s jaw drops because who just says that? Eddie is the capital “f” Freak of the school, and even he wouldn’t just casually come out to someone he’d only just met. Sure, he’s flagging, so she probably had a pretty good idea that he was safe, but what if the bandana had just been a coincidence? What if she’d been wrong? Before he can figure out how the fuck to respond, Harrington comes to his rescue. Ugh, rescued by Harrington. This is the one and only time he’ll ever be grateful to have the dude around.
Harrington shoots, like, a weirdly sympathetic look at Robin, then tilts his head like a puppy and asks, “I thought she had a boyfriend?”
Eddie absolutely will not read into the slight frown that crawls onto Harrington’s face when his eyes dart from Robin to Eddie. It means utterly nothing.
Then he realizes what Harrington is actually asking and nearly chokes. Does Harrington seriously think that Chrissy would cheat on Jason with Eddie, of all people? “For drugs. We’re doing a deal. She wanted something stronger than weed, which I don’t carry around.”
Harrington’s brow smooths, and he nods like everything is suddenly right with the world. And then the frown comes back as he looks back at Chrissy. His hand tightens on Eddie’s wrist again, apparently subconsciously.
“What is it now?” Eddie asks, rolling his eyes. “You got a problem with the idea of me dealing to a cheerleader, King Steve?”
“No, I don’t care about that. Just— Is she ok?”
Eddie shrugs. “Don’t know, honestly. She acted like a spooked horse when we met up in the woods, and then she asked for something stronger. But we don’t exactly know each other well. She could’ve just been nervous buying drugs for the first time.”
Harrington’s still frowning, tapping an absent minded rhythm against Eddie’s forearm. “Well, I can drive her to yours, too. I don’t want her walking around this late either. Or going to the basketball players’ party if she’s not feeling alright.”
Steve Harrington, knight in shining armor, apparently, protecting kids from—feral? rabid?—dogs (maybe?) and driving people home so they don’t have to walk around the spooky woods of Hawkins. Eddie could swoon. Except he wouldn’t. Because this is still Steve Harrington. Straight asshole jock. He’s not swoon worthy in the slightest. He’s not.
Eddie takes a step in Chrissy’s direction. He’s brought up short by the hand still holding his wrist. “Are you going to release me so I can get her?” Eddie asks flatly. Harrington squints at him for a moment, studying his face, and Eddie rolls his eyes. “I promise I won’t go running off into the woods.”
“Friends don’t lie,” Robin interjects extremely unhelpfully.
Eddie sighs. “Jesus Christ. I’m not lying. I am going to walk over there, tell Chrissy the plan, and walk back here. It’s like thirty feet. I’m not going to run, and nothing’s gonna eat me, or whatever you’re worried about.”
“Knock on wood,” Harrington mutters.
Eddie is losing his mind. Maybe he’s the one who needs the Special K. He tries to wrench his arm out of Harrington’s grasp again, giving him his best puppy dog eyes when it doesn’t work.
“Fine, fine. I’ll let you go.” He points at Eddie’s face. Eddie experiences a moment of derangement where he thinks about biting his finger. That would definitely go well for him. “No running.”
Harrington finally drops his hand, and Eddie’s wrist immediately feels cold and bereft. Jesus Christ, he’s gotta get a grip on himself. This is getting ridiculous.
Eddie briefly considers scampering off into the woods just to fuck with them, then realizes it’s probably a terrible idea. If Harrington had no qualms grappling a man with a loaded weapon, he certainly won’t hesitate to tackle Eddie onto the asphalt, likely breaking all of his bones in the process.
He glances around as he walks towards his van, double checking that there aren’t any basketball players loitering about, then raises his hand and calls, “Hey, Chrissy.”
She startles a little but quickly spots him. She meets him halfway, hands twisted together in front of her. “Your van—?” she starts, worried.
Eddie sighs. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with it in the morning. Harrington offered to drive us back to my place, if you don’t mind.” Her eyes slide to something over his shoulder, which is the only reason he doesn’t have a heart attack and literally die when he turns and finds Harrington and Robin standing right behind him. Apparently they can move like goddamn ghosts when they want to.
Harrington has his arm slung over Robin’s shoulders, and when she realizes Chrissy is looking, she shoves him away so hard he nearly falls on his ass. “Hi! Chrissy, right?” she asks, surprisingly sweet and innocent for someone who just assaulted her friend (boyfriend? beard? He’s genuinely got no idea what’s happening in that relationship).
Chrissy nods.
“I’m Robin, and you probably know Steve.” She lowers her voice a bit and adds, “Don’t worry. He’s not as much of a douchebag as he used to be.”
“Thanks for the glowing recommendation, Rob,” Harrington sighs.
Chrissy glances at Eddie, hesitant, and he shoots her a smile. “It’s cool. They’re not gonna rat you out or anything. Harrington used to buy from me when he was still king of the school.”
“And Steve and I became best friends when we were insanely high. Like, I genuinely have no idea what we were on, but it was a trip. We watched part of that movie—”
“—the confusing one where Alex P. Keaton’s mom wants to bang him—”
“—and then we both went and puked—”
“—and shared some deep, dark secrets—”
“—and now we’re bonded for life!” She pats his cheek, then pinches it. “He can never get rid of me.”
“God knows I’ve tried,” Harrington says, deadpan.
Chrissy muffles a giggle with her hand, and Robin looks like she might pass out at the sound. “I didn’t realize the three of you were friends.”
“We’re not,” Eddie says. Harrington shoots him a wounded look, like crashing Eddie’s D&D campaign and dragging him to a basketball game he didn’t want to go to should’ve been enough to earn him friend status.
“We share custody over the same group of nerds,” Harrington explains as he leads them back over to his car. “I get them on weekends and most afternoons, and Eddie has them during weekdays and Hellfire nights.”
Chrissy nods like this makes total sense, while Eddie just stares frozen and befuddled. Here he is, feeling maybe a little bit jealous (ugh) of the relationship Harrington seems to have with the kids, and Harrington is just easily talking about it like they’re coparenting the twerps. Has he somehow stepped into an alternate dimension? How is this happening?
“And Steve and I met working at Scoops Ahoy in the mall last year,” Robin adds.
“May those stupid little hats burn in hell,” Harrington says solemnly.
Robin ignores him and continues, “And now we work together at Family Video.”
Chrissy nods, shooting Robin a sweet little smile as she asks, “You’re in marching band, right? I’m pretty sure I saw you playing, at least.”
Robin looks like she might actually die. Harrington steps on her foot. “Yes!” She nods like a bobble head. “Sure am. I play the mellophone.” She then mimes playing a trumpet, and Eddie just barely manages not to wince.
Harrington’s fingers twitch, like he wants to smack her hands out of the air. Instead, he just takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a long, long moment, clearly fighting back a sigh. After composing himself, he glances at Robin and asks, voice playful, “So, Robin, you want shotgun?”
Robin looks at him with fire in her eyes. “Eddie already called it, remember?” she says, voice sugar sweet and utterly deadly.
Harrington smirks. “Of course. How could I forget?” Then he pulls her close to whisper something in her ear and gives her the most “Go get ‘em, champ!” pat on the back Eddie has ever seen.
Holy shit, he realizes, the stars aligning and a lightbulb going off in his head. Harrington knows that Robin’s queer. And he’s being her wingman. (At least, he’s like 90% sure that’s what’s happening right now.)
He’s not sure how he managed to get into the car since his whole brain was focused on that earth shattering epiphany, but when he blinks back onto the Prime Material Plane, Harrington is staring at him expectantly, hand hovering over the gearshift.
“Can I help you?” he asks, a bit defensively.
“Yes, you can, actually,” Harrington says sweetly. Then he orders, “Seatbelt.”
He points towards it, like Eddie might not understand what he’s talking about. What, does Harrington think he’s some sort of caveman who’s never heard of seatbelts? Just for that offense, he’s not going to use it.
(And the thing is, he was going to put his seatbelt on. The moment he’d gotten his license, Wayne had taken him by the shoulders, stared into his eyes, and said, “I know I can’t stop you from driving like a damn maniac, but do me a favor and wear your seatbelt, yeah? I don’t want to get a call about them having to scrape you off the road because you flew through the windshield like a dumbass,” which was fair, honestly, and Eddie hadn’t hesitated to agree; Wayne didn’t need that kind of stress in his life. But now that Harrington’s ordering him to—)
Harrington must see something in the mulish set of his jaw, because his eyes narrow. “I’ll sit here all night if I have to.”
“It’s really not worth fighting him on this,” Robin says from the back, exhausted (and safely buckled in).
Eddie sighs and gives in. It’s not admitting defeat—because he would never let a jock win—it just happens to be in his best interest. He doesn’t want to drag out this interaction any longer than necessary, after all. Or die in a car crash.
Harrington shoots him a blinding—and infuriatingly triumphant—smile after the seatbelt clicks.
“So do I get a gold star, or what?” Eddie snarks.
Harrington laughs. “I don’t have my stickers on me, but I’ll have Henderson drop one off for you at your next game.”
Eddie genuinely cannot tell if Harrington is fucking with him right now.
Then Harrington puts a hand on the back of his seat, twisting around as he pulls out of the parking space, and the terrible part of Eddie that’s completely ruled by teenage hormones thinks, Oh god. Hot.
He takes a shaky breath and is hit with a wave of Harrington’s cologne. It’s probably something he put on special for his date. (His date that he ditched so he could spend more time talking to Eddie—) Harrington seems like the type of rich dude who’d have a different cologne for every occasion. Whatever it is, it smells incredible. It’s probably worth more than the entire trailer park, which Eddie should find offensive just on sheer principle, but honestly, all he can really think about is how much he wants to bite at Harrington’s forearm.
“You need directions?” Eddie asks as he battles off the horny demon in his brain.
“No, I’m good. I know where you live.”
Before Eddie can ask why Harrington knows where he lives—is he being stalked or something?—Robin launches into a summary of her day. It’s so routine, so familiar, the teasing little back and forth that she and Harrington settle into as she fills him in on the new gossip, that Eddie almost feels like an intruder. Or, he feels like he should feel that way. Instead, it’s weirdly comfortable to just listen as Harrington and Robin banter, and they never seem thrown off when he interjects.
Harrington has just finished whining about how much it’s gonna cost to take all the kids out for ice cream to celebrate Lucas’s game-winning shot, like he’s not absolutely loaded, when Robin says, “I still can’t believe they brought Tammy Thompson all the way back from Nashville to sing at the championship.”
“I know!” Chrissy hesitates for a second, then adds, “This is going to sound mean…”
Robin waves away the concern. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m sure everyone in the car has said worse.”
“Yeah, Rob’s a real asshole.”
“Case in point,” Robin says, through gritted teeth. “Ignore him. You were saying?”
“I kinda thought she sounded like a muppet,” Chrissy admits, voice a bit timid.
Robin lets out the loudest, most braying laugh Eddie’s ever heard, clapping her hands together like a sea lion. “Literally all of us have said that at some point!”
Chrissy’s nervous expression shifts into a grin, and she leans closer. “Really? God, I thought I was the only one.”
“No, no, she definitely sounds like a muppet. That time when Steve and I were high out of our minds, he did this impression of her, and I swear I nearly peed, I was laughing so hard.”
Harrington makes a thoughtful noise. Then, quietly enough not to disturb the girls giggling in the back, he asks, “Do you think Tammy Thompson’s singing is some sort of litmus test?”
Eddie stares blankly at the side of his head. “For?”
“Finding friends of Dorothy.”
Eddie feels a bit like someone just set off a firework inside his head. His thoughts are traveling faster than light. Or possibly swimming through molasses. He’s not really certain. There’s just a jumbled mess of half formed conclusions that he agonizingly starts to sort through.
One: Steve Harrington knows what Friends of Dorothy means, which confirms Eddie’s suspicion that he knows that Robin is queer. Two: Harrington thinks that Chrissy is queer. Three: Harrington thinks that Eddie is queer. Four: Harrington seems to have no problem being in a car with three maybe-possibly-probably queer people—actually, he seems to be enjoying the experience. Five: He’s absolutely trying to set up the two girls in the back seat. Six: Harrington was the first one to mention that Tammy Thompson sounds like a muppet—
Hold up. Did King Steve just casually come out to him?
He turns, openly gaping. “I— You—?”
And then Harrington has the audacity to fucking wink at him. Holy shit. Harrington did just casually come out to Eddie “the freak” Munson after trying to set up his lesbian best friend and Queen Chrissy Cunningham.
This is the single strangest fucking thing that’s ever happened in this town, no doubt about it.
Notes:
I’d love to hear what you think!!
The whole thing is written and edited, so I’ll be posting the second chapter in a week (or sooner if I get impatient lol)Titles for both the fic and the series are from “Does Your Mother Know” by ABBA.
Thanks to hexmionegranger for betaing! And to Hirikka for reading all four thousand drafts this went through.
Feel free to say hi/send prompts/ask me about my wips on my new stranger things sideblog or my main writing blog!
Chapter 2
Notes:
Thank you so much for all the comments!! I haven’t had a chance to respond to them yet, but know that I read them all kicking my feet and giggling, etc. Shorter chapter this time, but I hope it lives up to expectations! Also, please forgive the anachronism and just pretend that Oliver & Company came out before March, 1986. My brain latched on to the idea and refused to let go.
Quick CW: Chrissy’s eating disorder is mentioned, though Eddie obviously doesn’t know exactly what’s going on there.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
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.)
Notes:
Again, I’d love to know what you think!!
I definitely want to revisit this verse in the future (currently working on a Robin pov fic where Chrissy breaks up with Jason), but I don’t think the series will update very often. Saving Chrissy breaks a lot of the season 4 plot, and trying to manage those changes while also keeping the bones of s4 the same is a big undertaking lol
Thanks again to hexmionegranger for betaing! And to Hirikka for being a sounding board and inspiring some of my favorite parts.
Feel free to say hi/send prompts/ask me about my absurd number of wips on my new stranger things sideblog or my main writing blog!