Chapter Text
Steve Harrington did not feel sorry for himself.
Sorry? Absolutely. For himself? No.
He felt sorry for how he treated Nancy, for what he said to Jonathan, how he let Tommy make a mess of The Hawk’s sign. But not for himself, even if he couldn’t blink without wincing and something smarted when he moved his jaw. Even if his knuckles ached and a molar was wiggling a bit too much for his comfort. The way Steve figured it, all together that was roughly only half of what he deserved.
Getting the shit beat out of him for being an idiot wasn’t necessarily unfamiliar to him, though the low-grade agony in his face was.
With a heavy sigh, Steve dipped the rag into the bucket of pink, soapy water and returned to scrubbing the red spray paint off The Hawk’s sign. It was slow-going, and the sun was setting, but he had just a bit of the last letter to clean, and then he would be done. He would be free to go home and figure out his next move.
He didn’t have any more friends, what with his fight with Tommy and Carol, and he was pretty sure he didn’t have a girlfriend anymore. Not after his stunning display of class and conflict resolution.
“Well, well, well,” came a sarcastic yet excited voice from below. “If it isn’t the King of Hawkins High himself, Steve Harrington.”
Steve groaned, the title bringing a sour taste to his mouth. Some king he supposedly was. He didn’t even recognize the voice, but that didn’t say much; Steve probably wouldn’t recognize the voices of most of the kids he went to school with because, as he was very quickly learning, he was exactly that sort of asshole.
“Didn’t know you could actually do honest work,” the person continued, and the comment stung a bit, even if it was a fair assumption. “Though is it honest work if you made the mess in the first place?”
“Look man, I get it—” Steve started as he looked down, deliberately angling his face to hide the bruising, and abruptly froze.
Beaming gleefully up at Steve was the Freak. Something-Munson. His first name was escaping Steve, and not for any reason that was good or defensible. Steve knew him by appearance and reputation alone, and he was pretty sure he could count the facts he knew about him on one hand. He dressed weird, had long hair, listened to shitty music, had an even shittier van, and dealt drugs. He had seen Tommy meet with him before they went to parties enough times to know at least that much. In the end, Steve had almost exclusively only heard him referred to as either the Freak or simply Munson.
“You were saying, Harrington?” Munson urged; his grin was broad but mean.
“What do you want, Munson?” Steve asked instead, returning to his chore.
“Heard from a little birdie that you were reduced to janitorial work. Obviously, I had to see that for myself before I would believe it,” he replied easily, and Steve scoffed.
“You came all the way out here just to watch me clean a sign? I’m honoured,” Steve muttered darkly.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was already in the neighbourhood,” Munson said, and Steve heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter being flicked. When Steve glanced back down, Munson was leaning against the light post and taking a long drag from a cigarette.
“C’mon, man,” Steve practically whined as he scrubbed the last of the graffiti off the sign. He was done with his chore and he really didn’t want to deal with Munson’s smug face when he climbed down and revealed his bruised face. “I know I’ve been a douchebag—”
“Been? You’ve been a douchebag? As in past-tense?” Munson asked with a loud, bitter laugh. Steve could hear the eyeroll in Munson’s voice when he added, “I don’t think you get to decide when you aren’t a douchebag anymore, Harrington.”
Steve was at a loss with that, wracking his brain for a single time he was ever rude or mean to Munson. The thing was, Steve was never deliberately mean to people, his fight earlier with Jonathan notwithstanding; he just didn’t care, or tried to seem like he didn’t, as if he was above caring. For fuck’s sake, Steve couldn’t even remember Munson’s first name.
Tommy and Carol were the mean ones, and he did nothing to try to stop them. How many times, unbeknownst to Steve, had Tommy harassed Munson and his friends? Or how many times had Steve just tuned it out?
“Fine! I know I’m a douchebag, but don’t you think this is kinda childish?” Steve grumbled, crossing his arms over the top of the ladder and dropping his forehead onto them.
“Oh, it definitely is,” Munson agreed happily, and Steve shouted when the whole ladder shook. Munson had kicked it lightly, just enough to rock it but not so much that it actually fell over. “Gonna stay up there forever, Harrington?”
“Not forever,” Steve replied, shrugging. “Just until you get bored and leave.”
“Then you’ll be up there forever,” Munson sing-songed. “C’mon, Harrington. I don’t bite, promise.”
Steve felt his face heat, his chest and stomach fluttering with an emotion he couldn’t place immediately. Shame? Humiliation? He stopped inspecting those thoughts too closely and climbed down. When Steve was back on solid ground, he turned to face Munson and stood up straight. He was taller than Steve by just a bit, but it was enough that he had to look up slightly to meet his eyes.
“Oh, Harrington,” Munson laughed—no, practically crooned, his eyes wide and bright as he reached up to touch the bruising. “Who did this to you?” he asked, his tone downright giddy.
Steve didn’t know how to answer that, even if he wanted to. He felt pinned under Munson’s dark eyes, with how wide they were as they took stock of his injuries. Opening his mouth to say something, his voice died in his throat, and he quickly wet his lips again with his tongue.
Then Munson pressed his thumb against Steve’s bottom lip roughly, splitting it open again.
“What the fuck, man?” Steve hissed, swatting Munson’s hand away as he reared back. Reaching up to gingerly touch his lip, he frowned as his fingertips came away a bit bloody. “Seriously, the fuck is your problem?”
“You haven’t answered the question, Your Highness,” Munson hummed lightly.
Steve rolled his eyes and sighed heavily with his exasperation. He could just turn and walk away, there was nothing legitimately keeping him there on that sidewalk. There was no reason he had to subject himself to Munson’s ridicule.
However, Steve figured the news would be all over the school first thing Monday morning anyway. Why not just satisfy the Freak’s curiosity?
“Jonathan Byers,” he answered, shrugging at Munson’s incredulous look.
“That quiet kid?” Munson asked doubtfully. “Didn’t know he had it in him.”
Steve chuckled miserably. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” he said, sighing heavily. “We done here?”
“Kinda wanna know what you did,” Munson replied with a thoughtful tilt of his head.
Steve remembered everything he had said to Jonathan and felt sick to his stomach at the thought of repeating any of it now.
“Doesn’t matter, Munson. I got what I deserved, it’s done, good-bye,” Steve bit out, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He was already forming a plan to go to Jonathan’s house and apologize.
Munson hummed thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes at Steve before he shrugged. “Whatever you say, Your Majesty,” he said with a loud laugh, patting Steve’s injured cheek roughly.
Steve hissed and swatted at Munson’s hand again, but he was already yanking his hand back. “Knock it off,” Steve snapped, glaring at Munson as the man started backing away with a bouncy step.
“I’ll see you around, Harrington,” Munson said with a wink before spinning on his toe and walking away, that same little bounce in his step.
With a tired and confused glare, Steve went into the theatre to let them know he was done.
❖
Obviously by the time everyone returned to school on Monday, the news that Jonathan Byers beat the shit out of Steve Harrington was barely a blip on anyone’s radar. Between the middle school being closed after a pipe allegedly burst, Barb’s disappearance going public, and Will Byers rising from his grave, no one cared about Steve’s black eye and Jonathan’s split knuckles.
Which was nice, because at least that meant Steve still had people to hang out with at lunch without getting too many weird looks. Tommy and Carol’s faces when he sat down next to Jonathan was a bit satisfying, though. Were they expecting him to come moping back to them? Maybe he would have if he hadn’t fought an interdimensional creature over the weekend and had his place in the universe put into perspective.
“I’m surprised you even came to school today, Jonathan,” Nancy said thoughtfully, her voice snapping Steve out of his thoughts. “I thought you would be staying at the hospital with your brother.”
“I wanted to, but Mom wouldn’t let me skip,” he replied, fiddling with the frayed edges of the strap on his bag. He was clearly distracted, his leg bouncing nervously under the table while he glanced around. “She said I missed enough class last week.”
Steve glanced down at the empty stretch of table in front of Jonathan while he and Nancy quietly talked and frowned.
“You planning on eating anything, Byers?” Steve asked before he could stop himself.
Jonathan ducked his head, and his cheeks flushed a bit. “The food in our fridge went bad with all the power issues over the weekend, so I couldn’t pack a lunch,” he explained, shrugging half-heartedly.
When Steve opened his mouth to ask why he didn’t just get his lunch at school, Nancy kicked him lightly under the table and shook her head. He was so close to telling her off and continuing with his questions when it finally clicked. How stupid and self-absorbed could he be that he could just forget that some people couldn’t always afford cafeteria lunches?
“That makes sense,” Steve said instead before shoving his tray closer to Jonathan. “I can’t finish most of this, if you want any.”
“I’m not going to eat your food, Steve,” Jonathan replied flatly, and Steve had to work not to glare.
“I had a big breakfast,” Steve lied easily, then he smirked and added cheekily, “Also, my jaw still hurts too much to chew through half the shit they serve us here.”
At that, Jonathan barked out a startled laugh, as if he was surprised that Steve would make a joke at his own expense. Shaking his head, Jonathan grabbed the Jell-O cup and spoon, and Steve gasped in mock outrage.
“I just told you that I couldn’t eat because my face is busted, and you took the one thing made for people with busted faces?” Steve complained. “Unbelievable.”
Jonathan just laughed as he dug into the Jell-O, actually managing to meet Steve’s gaze as he did. “Your face isn’t busted,” he said after a bit, rolling his eyes when Steve let out a dramatic scoff.
Nancy was smiling brightly when Steve glanced over at her, and his heart stopped under the warmth of it. She was so beautiful, and so smart, and so kind. He hoped he could earn back her trust, that he could make up for how awful he had been to her, because he loved her so deeply it honestly scared him a little. But he decided he could learn to be happy with just this—friendly banter at the lunch table, nothing but friendship between them—if that was what he had to do to keep Nancy in his life.
“Can you believe this guy?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow at Nancy as he pointed at Jonathan, his grin wide. He flinched when the healing cut on his lip split open again. “Ow, shit, see? My face is broken, Byers. You literally actually broke it.”
As Jonathan and Nancy laughed and went in on Steve for making a big deal out of nothing, Steve’s attention was pulled across the cafeteria when someone stood up on their chair. It took only a couple seconds for Steve to recognize them as Munson, and Steve watched him curiously. He was talking animatedly to his friends, big grin plastered across his face as he recounted something to them. Munson met his eyes from across the room, paused for just a moment, then winked at Steve.
Steve looked away, his face and neck feeling hot, to find that Jonathan and Nancy were eying him almost suspiciously. “What?” he asked, picking up a chicken nugget and popping it into his mouth.
“You have an issue with Eddie?” Jonathan asked, his tone a bit defensive and Steve frowned. He thought he had a decent idea of the circles Jonathan ran in, and he was fairly certain they didn’t intersect with drug dealers.
“No!” Steve said, shaking his head quickly, drumming his fingers on the table. “Not at all. I don’t even know him, why would I have a problem with him?”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you get to know someone before having a problem with them?” he asked, and Steve cringed. That was fair.
“You were staring at him for a while, and you looked tense,” Nancy elaborated, shrugging when Steve looked at her.
“It’s nothing. He just came out to watch me clean The Hawk’s sign over the weekend—”
“You cleaned the sign?” Nancy asked, her eyebrows raised and a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Uh, yeah? But whatever, that’s not the point here. Anyway, he showed up, laughed at me about getting beat up, and I was just thinking about that,” Steve replied, and when Munson’s group of friends burst out into laughter loud enough to interrupt most of the conversations nearby, he cringed. “He’s probably telling them all about it now.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive four people laughing at you, Steve,” Jonathan replied, nudging him with his elbow.
“I didn’t think you’d be friends with someone like Munson,” Steve confessed, and Jonathan frowned.
“I’m not. Nothing against him, obviously, he’s a great guy actually,” he said, shrugging. “Just not the type of person I hang out with.”
“You don’t ‘hang out’ with anyone,” Nancy needled, and Jonathan gaped at her.
“I’m hanging out with you right now, aren’t I?” he defended himself quietly, smirking slightly.
Steve made a face. “This might be a dumb question, but you sounded pretty defensive over someone you’re not even friends with,” he said, and Jonathan shrugged.
“That’s not a question,” he pointed out instead of answering and Steve groaned.
“You know what I mean, Byers,” he sighed, scrubbing his face.
“Fine, Steve, you’re a dick to most people, at least you used to be, and this new Steve is still really fucking new. So yeah, I saw you basically glaring at one of the other weirdos in this town and I got protective,” Jonathan answered in a rush of words, fidgeting under the discomfort of speaking so much.
Steve nodded at that, biting the inside of his cheek when he felt the urge to defend himself, especially since he knew he couldn’t. Jonathan was right, and of course he was also kind enough to stand up for Munson, even if they weren’t friends. Steve could probably learn a few things about that.
“That’s… fair,” Steve eventually said, and Jonathan visibly relaxed. “How do you know him?”
“We’ve been in shop together since I was a freshman,” Jonathan replied, shrugging. “And I asked him for help for my brother’s birthday last year.”
“For your brother’s birthday?” Steve asked incredulously, glancing back at Munson. What would a drug dealer know about presents for kids?
“You do know he’s more than just a drug dealer, right?” Jonathan said flatly, and Steve grimaced, not realizing he said that out loud.
“Sorry, yeah, of course,” Steve conceded, and Jonathan rolled his eyes again. This time, it seemed to be less actually annoyed and more teasingly long-suffering.
“He plays this game that my brother plays. I don’t know much about it, but it’s important to him, so I wanted to get him something for it,” Jonathan said, and it sounded like he was going to leave it at that before he elaborated, “I knew Eddie played it because he has his whole Hellfire Club. So, I asked him for some ideas.”
“Huh,” Steve said thoughtfully, reassessing his assumptions about Munson, reordering the facts to include ‘plays some kind of game and runs a club for it.’ “Interesting.”
“Steve,” Nancy warned, and when he looked at her, she was wearing her stern face, the one where she pressed her lips into a thin line and widened her eyes at him.
He frowned at her in confusion. “What?” he asked.
“Knock it off,” she insisted, tilting her head forward.
“Knock what off?” Steve asked, legitimately confused by her scolding tone.
“You know what,” she replied, and even though he didn’t know what he was knocking off, he just held his hands up in surrender. He’d try to figure it out later.
“Fine, fine, knocking it off,” he said, and when he was rewarded with the return of Nancy’s smile, he actually let it go.
When the final bell of the day rang, Steve met up with Nancy and Jonathan in the hall before heading out to the parking lot. Nancy split off with a parting wave to both of them when she spotted Mrs. Wheeler’s car at the curb, leaving Steve and Jonathan to stand there awkwardly together.
Jonathan glanced up and down the queue of waiting vehicles and huffed, smiling a bit. The expression was fond, affectionate, and Steve couldn’t help but mirror the smile.
“I think my mom forgot she drove me to school this morning,” he said at Steve’s questioning look. “I spent the night at the hospital and didn’t sleep much, so she didn’t want me driving.”
“I’ll give you a lift,” Steve insisted, shaking his keys. When Jonathan opened his mouth to protest, Steve shook his head. “I don’t want to hear it, Byers. How are you planning to get home? Or back to the hospital? C’mon, I know we’re barely friendly, but I want to help.”
Jonathan glowered at him, chewing on the inside of his lip before he sighed and looked out at the parking lot.
“Okay, thanks,” he conceded and followed Steve to his Beemer, raising an eyebrow at the vehicle as he opened the passenger door.
“Hey, Byers!”
Both of them looked up to see Munson hurrying over with a stack of what appeared to be magazines and a notebook in his hands. Steve leaned an elbow on top of his car while he watched Munson, intrigued.
“Hey, Eddie, what’s up?” Jonathan greeted awkwardly, ducking his head.
“For your brother, while he’s in the hospital,” Munson said, holding out the stack. “I heard about him, y’know, being found? So, I dug out all my favourite old magazines and shit. Plus, a bonus notebook full of Munson Originals I made when I was around his age that he’s free to use in any campaign.”
“Wow, thanks man,” Jonathan said with a breathy little laugh. “He’ll love this. I’ll definitely give this to him if he’s awake.”
“Oh shit, is he in a coma or something?” Munson asked, and his concern was so heartfelt that Steve found himself reassessing Eddie Munson for the second time that day.
“Not really. He was in pretty rough shape when they found him, I guess, so he’s sleeping a lot,” Jonathan replied, and Eddie clapped a hand on his shoulder with a warm smile.
“He’ll be okay, man,” he said, and his smile widened when Jonathan returned it with a nod.
“Yeah. Yeah, he will,” Jonathan agreed, and Steve couldn’t help the smile that came to his own lips. Then Jonathan asked, “Are you gonna want all this back?”
“Just the magazines if you remember them. The notebook is all his,” Eddie said with a grin, patting Jonathan’s shoulder before stepping back.
“Thanks, man,” Jonathan said again, his cheeks pink from the attention.
It was at that moment that Eddie looked over at Steve with a smirk. “I see you two made up?” he pointed out, and Steve’s smile dropped while he rolled his eyes.
“Yup, made up within an hour of you harassing me, Munson,” Steve said flatly, but there was a teasing, self-deprecating edge to his tone.
“Wow, did King Steve actually have the humility to come and apologize, Byers?” Eddie asked, and he seemed genuinely surprised when Jonathan nodded. “And you accepted it? I mean, Harrington here wouldn’t even repeat what he said, so I was thinking it was pretty bad.”
Jonathan glanced at Steve, his brow furrowing before he shrugged. “Yeah, I accepted the apology. For now,” he said, smirking a bit. “He’s on probation.”
“You’re a better man than me, Jonathan, I’ll give you that,” Eddie laughed. “Not sure I would take on the headache of rehabilitating this guy.”
“Okay, are we done talking about me like I’m not standing right here?” Steve snapped sourly, feeling his anger get hotter when Eddie looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, a strange smirk on his lips. “I know I offered you a ride, Jonathan, but I do have shit to do after I drop you off, so can we go?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Harrington, I was about to leave,” Eddie answered, holding his hands up and backing away slowly. With one last wink in Steve’s direction, Eddie turned and ran over to his van where his friends were standing, watching the entire thing.
Steve watched the four of them goof off as Eddie arrived before they all piled into the van, tearing out of the parking lot only a few moments later.
“You good, Steve?” Jonathan asked, hesitating before getting into the Beemer.
“Yeah, man,” Steve replied, turning what he hoped was his most winning smile toward Jonathan. It hurt his face, but if Jonathan’s tentative smile was anything to go by, it did the trick. “I’m good.”