Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

HAWKINS - NOVEMBER 1985

-STEVE-

***

“—and he’s so cool, Steve,” Dustin was saying, all grin with a happy chuckle reserved for pure giddiness.

Steve wasn’t really sure where he was. The surrounds were faded, milky at their edges, but that’s what life was supposed to look like, right? Definitely.

Oh, yeah! He was driving Dustin… somewhere.

Dustin, now occupying his Bimmer’s passenger seat kept on explaining, “And then Lucas did this really cool spell that did really awesome spell things—” Steve had a vague awareness that Dustin sounded a little… off. Wasn’t he usually a little more creative when he talked about this shit? Using weird words and references? Whatever. “—and I think he might be, like, the greatest person ever, man. Like absolutely the coolest. So much cooler than you.”

“Hey!” Steve protested, and suddenly the car was just gone. But, again, that’s how life worked, right? One moment then the next. The next, in this case, taking place in the high school parking lot. Which totally made sense. Dustin gave him an uninterested look from where he stood on the pavement, the area surrounding him a little blurry. It didn’t matter; it wasn’t in focus. “What the hell do you mean, he’s cooler than me, dude?”

Dustin shrugged. “He is.”

Well… That just wouldn’t stand. Steve couldn’t have Dustin Henderson claiming Eddie Munson was cooler than him. That was just false. A bald-faced lie!

So it didn’t surprise Steve at all when he blinked, stepped once down the school hall—doors be damned—and then he was alone, entering that stupid, gaudy theatre club room they used for their games. Steve remembered being in there a few times for… other reasons. Reasons that involved needing an abandoned space and a girl’s hands all over his body. But the details never mattered, so while he stood there now, the background was a smudged mix of dark ambiance and strange stage props.

“Munson!” Steve called, because surely he was there.

And suddenly he was, stepping out from behind a kingly chair Steve was pretty sure wasn’t there a second ago. It didn’t matter. Again, whatever.

“King Steve,” Eddie said mockingly, all full of that attention-seeking charisma Steve remembered from last year. He stretched his arm out to rest his elbow on top of the chair and arranged his expression into a smirk.

Wait. Why was that making Steve’s heartbeat pick up? Why did the dastardly glint in Eddie’s eyes pull at a string deep down in Steve’s abdomen, making some ballooning feeling take shape? And when had Steve stepped into Eddie’s space, or had he stepped into Steve’s?

“You came to tell me to get fucked?” Eddie whispered meanly, reaching out a ring-adorned hand to curl its fingers around the underside of Steve’s jaw—wait, Steve was pretty sure they’d been surrounded by drama shit. When had they gone… to a club?

Steve had only been to a club once in his life, thanks to Tommy figuring out a way to sneak in during a trip to Indianapolis in ’83. Why were Steve and Eddie at a club?

Eddie’s opposite hand smacked over Steve’s jean-clad crotch, prodding none-too-gently.

Oh. They were in a club because that’s where things like this happen. Steve assumed.

Steve was backed against a wall, his breath turned heady, the feeling of Eddie pressing against him a dangerous sort of intoxicating. “Something like that,” he murmured against Eddie’s hair, closing his eyes at the feeling of lips on his neck, kissing that sensitive spot near its junction that always sent a tingling rush down Steve’s spine.

“You sure about that, Harrington?” Eddie’s hand slipped up, pulling cloth with it, and then down into the band of Steve’s pants, teasing down his happy trail. Inching closer to what Steve realised was his own arousal come to life with eager intent. “’Cuz I can show you a much better time than just, you know, getting the crap beat out of you again.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asked, feeling like he was losing himself to this. He looked down—when had Eddie unzipped Steve’s jeans? Gotten on his knees in front of him?—and got an eyeful of Eddie’s hand spread on Steve’s exposed stomach, his big brown doe eyes looking up as his tongue extended just below the tip of Steve’s swollen cockhead.

Their gaze connected and Steve felt hunted. Caught and devoured in the eroticism that was ring-hugged fingers wrapped around his dick, one rebel metalhead flattening his tongue against flushed, velveteen skin.

Steve wasn’t even sure if Eddie’s mouth moved when he heard his voice say, “I’ll rock your fucking world, Steve Harrington.”

…

Then everything whited out and blacked in, and Steve was not it a club.

He was not in some dreamscape manifestation of debauchery, and he was instead alone in his bed an hour before dawn, breathing heavy and staring at his dark ceiling, distantly aware of a stickiness around his upper thigh that had not been there when he’d gone to sleep earlier.

“Holy shit,” Steve murmured to the night-greyed plaid walls.

CHAPTER ONE

HAWKINS - MARCH 1986

-STEVE-

***

Steve was finally released from the impromptu triage tents the government had set up, NDAs signed and a sigh on his lips. His sides still ached, and he was pretty sure the smell of soot and Upside Down funk wasn’t going to leave his nostrils anytime soon. Even so, he was alive—survived the apocalypse again—and so had everyone else.

He was pretty sure the others had left already, returning to awaiting family members who had been searching for them in the aftermath of the earthquake.

Steve squinted up at the inky night sky past the floodlights. He had no idea what time it was, only that the air smelt like ash and it carried the distant doppler of sirens on the main streets. What a mess.

When he looked down, something caught his eye between tents. A conversation held in private, where Eddie pressed against his recently wrapped waist and stared in a mesmerised, stony shock as some uniformed higher-up explained something to him with a clipboard.

As if sensing Steve’s gaze, Eddie flicked his attention to the side. Steve hesitated, feeling that look bore into him a little too deeply, then he offered a terse wave. Barely a flick of his wrist.

Eddie’s mouth formed a solid line, his head nodding back. Then he turned away.

Something inside Steve’s stomach curled in on itself woundedly, pitying that nothing else came to pass. That Steve was going to leave these tents, walk right past that manned barrier, and that was going to be it. And all there was to show for it was a half-assed wave and a tight smile.

But Steve didn’t live in a fairytale. There wasn’t opportunity to thank Eddie for keeping Dustin from the fray, then yell at him for throwing himself into it.

There was just a wave and a nod.

Steve looked away and continued on his way. He trekked all the way to the barrier, was directed to a car, and driven to an empty house.

Inside, he flipped on the lights and half expected them to flicker. They wouldn’t, though. Vecna was charbroiled, defeated body and mind. Now all that was left was an angry dimension that refused to close a few portholes. But that wasn’t Steve’s problem.

Not anymore.

He toed off his shoes and dumped his outer layers by the door. He’d toss them out later.

Climbing the stairs, he tried to not imagine slimy vines slithering on the walls. He abandoned a carpeted hallway for a tile floor and didn’t bother to close the bathroom door. No one was home. They never were.

It was harrowing to peel off the rest of his clothes. Crust and grime melded, sticking to his skin. Finally bare, it was then, only then, that he looked in the mirror.

There stood Steve Harrington. Battered. Bruised. Bloodied and marked.

He barely recognised himself, covered in hell dimension dust and smeared with dirt and mud and sludge. His hair was matted and his neck still shined red, as did the sides of his brutalised torso, bright in irritation against whatever bacteria he’d waded through.

They’d told him to keep clean, watch for signs of infection, and take these pills. He wasn’t exactly told what they were, but that they should help stave off anything deadly.

Steve complexion was sallow, and he leant towards his reflection, staring into his own hazel irises. No black eye this time. At least there was that.

He wondered if Robin’s parents were huddled around her. If Nancy was sat with a hot tea and a layer of milk, Karen at her side as they waited for Mike to come home. If Dustin was snuggled with Twos, or if Ms Mayfield made it to the hospital yet. If Lucas was by Max’s side.

Then he thought about Eddie and his dumb flat smile at Steve’s dumb flat wave.

Everything still felt hazy after the extreme drop in adrenaline. Steve backed away from the vanity and stepped into the shower. Back to normalcy. One step at a time.

***

HAWKINS - MAY 1986

-STEVE-

***

 “—and he’s so cool, Steve!” Dustin was saying, leaning on the counter of the recently remodelled Family Video. “He said he’s giving Will, like, all of his campaign notes. All of them, Steve! Hellfire will live on—isn’t that awesome?”

“Nice,” said Robin. She was over by a stack to the left, a grimace on her face but the comment had neither been enthusiastic nor sardonic.

“And you’re sure that’s a good idea?” Steve asked, dropping a stray pack of Nerds back in its pile. “After, like, the whole thing?”

“Yes!” Dustin said vehemently. “It’s the best idea. We’ve got to establish the group’s innocence. If we just let it fade away, it would be like admitting it was part of the problem. And it wasn’t. And Eddie’s name has been cleared now anyway. You heard them call out Henry Creel as a culprit, copycat of his father, or whatever. And if Eddie’s name is cleared, Hellfire’s name is cleared.”

Steve offered an unconvinced eh, then said, “I don’t know if that’s how it works, man. People will still be, like, assholes. You know?”

“Where’s Eddie been, anyway?” Robin asked, sidling up to the counter and popping her gum. “He’s not at school, stomping around on lunch tables, metalhead evangelist extraordinaire.”

“Didn’t you know?” Dustin looked between them, his hold on the VHS case he picked up falling limp at the wrist. “The school board thought it might be too disruptive to bring him back in with all the rumours and, uh, animosity and whatnot. They had him take his finals early and… well, this year was his year! He graduated early.”

“Oh,” Robin said unceremoniously. “Good for him.”

“Right?” Dustin responded with unmatched earnest.

“So why hasn’t he come around?” Steve asked, ignoring the way Robin’s attention tracked over to him with thin amusement.

He should never have mentioned that dream to her. She hadn’t shut up about Steve living out his masochistic fantasy but boat-house version for the remainder of March and into April. It hadn’t really been taken seriously, Robin chocking it up to male aggression getting mixed with hormones. But Steve hadn’t mentioned the dream he had featuring a panic the-world-is-ending-so-lets-get-our-jollies-while-we-can session, also starring one Eddie Munson, just two weeks ago. Nor had he come clean about the interspersed dreams he’d had throughout the years where it hadn’t been Eddie, but someone.

A nebulous, definitely-a-guy someone.

He was a little scared to ask if that was… expected?

He didn’t want to say normal. It was normal to be… non-heteronormative. He fully believed that.

He just wasn’t sure if that was him. If that made up part of the Steve Harrington puzzle, like maybe he’d been looking at the pieces wrong? But having a face included in those particular, once-ignored dreams sort of threw Steve for a loop. And after the whole latest Upside Down stint paired with a shamefully—and brutally—desperate version of himself in his recent dream, Steve was honestly starting to wonder: I’m I into Eddie?

“Uh. Hello?” Dustin said, snapping his fingers in front of Steve’s face. “Did you even hear me? He’s keeping a low profile and can’t sell anymore. He’s also, like, terrified of Hopper, especially now that he’s Chief again. So he got a job at the factory with his uncle. He says the pay is alright. It’s better when he takes a night shift.”

“Wow, a real, true working man!” Robin snatched the VHS case from Dustin and put it back in the return pile. “Sounds like Eddie’s a tax-paying adult and everything. Who’d have thunk it possible!”

Steve hadn’t figured Eddie as the type of guy who’d take up his uncle’s trade. He figured he’d want to get the hell out of Hawkins. Explore and go be… well, Eddie out there somewhere.

“He’s staying in town?” It took Steve a moment to realise he’d asked that.

Dustin gave a distracted nod, peering at the couple that just entered the store. “Uh-huh. For now. He said he wants to make a plan, whatever that means for him.”

“Excuse me—” the kitten-heeled lady said, and from there the workday fell back into place.

***

-EDDIE-

***

Eddie got his timecard stamped, slotted, and logged. He sighed as he pulled back a few loose, sweaty strands of hair, tucking them into his haphazard hair tie. Evening shifts weren’t as bad as night shifts, but they still kind of sucked balls.

His hands felt cramped, and he wasn’t practising guitar as much as he’d like to. He felt way more lethargic now, too. And it didn’t help that he’d get this weird twinge in his side if he moved in just the wrong way.

Side effect of recovery from interdimensional demon bat bites, he guessed.

He wasn’t even entirely sure what part of what he was making. All he knew was connect part A to part B to part C, rinse and repeat. It was boring. And tedious.

But it paid alright. Enough that he might be able to work through the summer and make a lumpsum to move to Indianapolis. Or further. Way further.

He was in jeans and a relatively nondescript tee-shirt. Wayne had said he’d need to tone it down for the job. And he was right. Eddie wasn’t allowed anything that might put him in danger—so most necklaces, chains, definitely rings—or cause distraction—so metal band shirts with haunting imagery or otherwise.

On the positive side, he found out that some of his and Wayne’s co-workers—older than Eddie, younger than Wayne—actually dug metal too. Neat-o.

But Eddie felt plain. Plain and tired. And in desperate need of cigarettes.

It actually wasn’t until he was inside the shop that he spotted Steve’s Bimmer through the window. When he looked at the counter, none other than Steve Harrington himself was turning around, a pack a Marlboros in his hand.

“Steve!” Eddie said, feeling spotlighted under the yellow glow above them. The shop was mostly empty. Just the cashier and a trucker reaching for a soda in the fridge. Eddie hadn’t seen Steve for a month. And Steve blinked at him like he hadn’t seen Eddie in a decade.

“Uh,” Steve began, then he seemed to get a hold of himself. “Hey. How have, uh. How have you been?”

There was something in the air between them. Eddie wasn’t really sure what it was, exactly, but a tension stretched and sizzled, and he gave Steve a suspicious leer as he kicked himself into action, passing by to ask for his own box of Winstons. Then he tossed over his shoulder, “I’m alright. What’s got you out, man?”

“Just dropped Rob home,” Steve said behind him. Eddie thanked the cashier and snatched the box off the counter. “Would have stopped in on the way, but like, she’s pretty against—”

“Smokes. Yeah,” Eddie said, spinning on his heel and inviting Steve to follow him with a flick of his eyes. “I remember.”

They stepped out and shuffled over into the lonely, poorly lit section down from the door, cicadas’ cries picking up beside the croak of an occasional frog near the bushes. The night outside was clear, miles from how it’d been the last time Eddie set eyes on Steve.

No burning, no lingering dread. Just placid evening stillness and the occasional car whizzing by on the freeway.

Eddie tapped out a cigarette, placed the butt on his lips, then held up his lighter. Behind its glow, he glanced at Steve, who seemed preoccupied with watching the abandoned road.

“Need a light?” Eddie asked.

Steve shook himself from his reverie and stared at the lighter pinched in Eddie’s naked fingers. He gave an awkward, short laugh, then pulled out his own pack of cigarettes. When Steve didn’t take the offered lighter, Eddie’s impatience won over and he sparked it on the end of Steve’s cigarette. When the flame clipped out, Eddie focused back on Steve’s face and… what was that look? That scrutinising thing tearing across Steve’s expression?

“You, uh. You okay, Steve?”

“You’re lacking all your Eddie, man,” said Steve.

“Clothes don’t make the man, Harrington,” Eddie said with a scoff, feeling sweet relief as he took a long drag. “Dress me up any way you want, I’m still Eddie Munson.”

If Eddie hadn’t been looking, he wouldn’t have caught the flush that coloured Steve’s face a pleasant pinkish. But he was looking, so he did notice. And… hmm. That’s peculiar, isn’t it?

“Sure, yeah,” Steve said distractedly. He took his own drag, a little more fidgety than Eddie’s, and blew it out the opposite end of his mouth.

Eddie contemplated Steve, in all his dull-grey striped shirt glory. The Family Video vest must be tossed somewhere in the Bimmer. Steve, still jock-shaped but categorising in Eddie’s mind as friendly jock-shaped, looked over at Eddie with a quirk to his furrowed brow.

Eddie asked, “You sure you’re alright, man?”

“Um,” Steve said eloquently. Then he continued, “Yep. Yeah, dude. Totally fine.”

“Right,” said Eddie.

“Yeah.” Steve pulled his cigarette from his mouth and held it down, flicking the ash with his thumb as he turned toward Eddie, a passing car lighting up his profile for a split-second. “Hey, sorry. It’s like, been a while, hasn’t it? Dustin said you’re… working at the factory? And—Oh shit, yeah!—You’ve graduated! Congrats, man!”

Eddie lulled his head to the side and gave a closed-lip smile around his cigarette before mumbling. “Just good to have it, like, done and over.”

“You know, I…” Steve trailed. Eddie fixed his posture and gave him a questioning raise of his eyebrows. “I never catch you around. If you—I mean, it’s fine if you’re, like, not interested, but you can hang with Robin and I. We, uh, watch movies and stuff. Or, like, I guess we could find something to do with Dustin, right?”

Hawkins hadn’t felt like Hawkins since Eddie saw Chrissy levitate into the air, but this was a whole new strain of weird. If Eddie wasn’t mistaken, Steve was… trying to get his digits?

“You asking for my number, Steve?” Eddie ventured, and Steve’s face blossomed red again. And that couldn’t be right. That wasn’t right, right? Steve should have just played that off, scoffed and told him, don’t be a weirdo, Munson. But he didn’t.

Instead, what he murmured was:

“You’re making that sound like something it’s not, man.” Steve seemingly gave up as he took another drag of his cigarette and looked back at the road.

Eddie stared at his profile, Steve’s freckles barely visible on the shadowed side he looked on from. He was exhausted from work, from life, and he was pretty sure Steve wasn’t a douchebag at this point. So Steve’s reaction was… intriguing. Eddie might be projecting—he was probably projecting—that Steve might have thoughts. Thoughts Eddie only carries with him when he visits Indianapolis to get the fuck away for a while.

Allowing himself to indulge in that next-to-nil, slim splinter of a chance, Eddie exhaled a plume, watching it dissipate as he asked again, “Do you want my number, Steve?”

Steve’s cigarette was held idle by his waist, neglected and cherry malting grey. He looked back at Eddie, and it felt like they were having a conversation held over two frequencies. The one being spoken, and the one being transmitted through probing gazes and careful squints.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, then whatever it was died on his tongue and he adopted this narrowed, confused expression. Like he was trying to figure out a riddle Eddie had just tossed at him. “Am I being weird? I feel like I’m being kind of weird.” Steve gave a half-hearted, depreciating chuckle. “Sorry, man. I just, uh—”

“Want to hang out, or something,” Eddie finished for him.

Steve hummed a distracted affirmative, then clicked his tongue against his teeth disappointedly when he noticed his dead cigarette, left to the side too long.

Eddie flicked his eyes from Steve’s hand to his mouth, paired with a quick tip of his chin in indication. Steve lifted his cigarette and slotted it between his lips, then Eddie leant forward with his own cigarette kissing the end of Steve’s, sucking in to bring it back to life.

Over the smouldering cherry, flecks of warm light casted a glow over Steve’s eyes, making their hazel reflection a little brighter. The silent reticence behind shone through, too. And Eddie was thoroughly entertained, if nothing else.

He drew back and murmured, “You can have my number, Stevie. Of course, you can.”

Pulling at the sharpie forgotten and wedged into Steve’s shirt pocket, he uncapped it and yanked Steve’s arm over. Steadied in Eddie’s grasp, he carved his phone number in ink on Steve’s wrist, then returned the pen and decided to make his tactical escape with a smirk and a solute.

“See you around, man,” Eddie called as he neared his van.

Steve just stared after him, the burning end of his cigarette once again snuffing, forgotten.

Eddie hadn’t felt that sort of rush since his first time in a grungy dive. Or when he was about to die with a swarm of bats at his back. Because he’d just teased his luck with goddamned Steve Harrington. And said Steve Harrington had just… let him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO

-STEVE-

***

“Do you wanna hang out with Munson tonight?” Steve asked as he flipped the Family Video sign closed.

Robin closed the cash register, noting down the final count on a notepad beside her. She sent a sidelong look Steve’s way. “You just want to, what, drop by his new trailer and ask him to come out and play?”

“Uh,” Steve began, hesitant as he started pulling off his Family Video vest. “No. He, ah… He gave me his number last week. So I can just, like, give him a ring once we get back to mine.”

He and Robin had a Friday night ritual of watching whatever was the last movie returned to the store that evening, which ended in some form of disaster more often than not. People in Hawkins usually had shit taste, it turned out.

Robin straightened out her back and tapped her fingers on the notepad with a pinched look. “Uh-huh. When did you even run into him?” She cast her attention to the top of the return stack, then her tough-nut demeanour sputtered as she let loose a laugh and gestured to the VHS case. “It’s apparently Victor/Victoria tonight, just so you know—who rented that!?”

“At the gas station. It was just coincidence,” Steve said, flipping off switches until the store was dark, save the light streaming in from the parking lot. “What’s Victor/Victoria?”

Robin swiped the plastic case off the counter and presented Steve with a cover he couldn’t really make out in the dark. Robin’s sharp grin, however, he could spot clearly. “You know what? Sure. Give him a call. I could use the extra entertainment.”

***

-EDDIE-

***

“Who’s calling?” Eddie asked ill-manneredly as he picked up the phone. He’d only just stepped in the door of Wayne’s trailer from another long evening shift, feeling coated in dust and grease and who knew what else from the factory.

Big Joel had nearly lost a finger today, and that had been a whole load of anxiety Eddie had not needed. Thankfully, Big Joel was a-okay, and Eddie had somehow made friendly with the usually stone-faced lug when he’d offered him some of the blunt he’d been smoking in the back alcove to calm down. They hadn’t talked, exactly, it was more so grunts and silence. But Eddie had felt kinship in that final nod farewell. He’d take it.

“Uh, hey, Eddie,” a voice said on the opposite end of the line.

Eddie knew that voice. It matched with muscles and coiffed hair and Bruce Springsteen jeans. “Steve?”

“Yeah. Hey,” Steve said, then came an awkwardly long pause.

“Um. What’s up, man?” Eddie offered in an effort to get… whatever this was moving.

If he were entirely honest, he hadn’t really expected Steve to call. It had been a fun exchange, and Eddie delighted in the fact that he felt secure enough that Steve would not punch his lights out if he pushed a few taboo buttons for the sake of a cheap thrill. But Eddie and Steve were some strange version of trench buddies. Forever bonded in a trauma-induced understanding that the world was more than its surface, and yet not quite friends.

“So. Yeah, do you want to come over to my house?” Steve asked.

It took a moment for Eddie to sieve that through his brain. “What?”

“To, like, watch a movie.”

Eddie blinked at the plush, new cushions that came with their equally new, mid-tier trailer, courtesy of government hush compensation. “You’re inviting me over. To watch a movie.”

It was a classic situation. Jock calls pretty girl and invites her over to an empty house under the guise of watching a movie. Pretty girl goes over, and then the night somehow ends up with her on her knees with the jock’s hand in her hair.

But Eddie wasn’t a pretty girl. And Steve wasn’t really your typical jock, not anymore.

So what the hell was he calling Eddie for? Did he actually want to be, like, pals? Buds?

“If you’re, like, busy or don’t want to, that’s totally fine, man,” Steve said, and did Eddie detect a hint of defensive panic? “Robin and I are here, though, if you, um. If you want to hangout. With us.”

Right. Steve had mentioned something about him and Buckley having movie nights. And it seemed tonight was Eddie’s impromptu inauguration into them.

If anyone had told Eddie a year ago that he’d be hanging out with Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley, just the three of them, on a Friday night, he’d have laughed in their face. Tonight, however, he gave an amused huff and said, “Only if popcorn is included.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

“Great. Let me shower off the factory then, uh. Then I guess I’ll be right over.”

“Sweet. Um, yeah, see you soon, man.”

“Yep.”

“Alright, cool.”

“Right… Bye, Harrington.”

“Uh. Yeah, Bye Munson.”

***

The last time Eddie had pulled up to Steve’s house was in late ’83 when he’d thrown one of his final big bashes. It was the perfect place to unload overpriced stock, and Eddie stayed just long enough to explore all corners, sell to half the attendees, and witness exactly two expensive decorations being cracked into pieces.

Now, Steve’s house was quiet and tucked into the woods, the depths of which looked far more damning after he’d seen a similar reflection of them in an alternate dimension.

So that’s how Eddie ended up trekking up to the door, bags of copious beer in hand—because he was going to need a crutch to get through this strange and unexpected affair—greeted by not Steve, but Robin. Who honestly smiled far too wide when she saw him.

The night went from odd to downright bizarre when he found himself on Steve’s chair, silently refusing to join the too-familiar cuddle fest happening between Robin and Steve on the couch, her twiddling feet stretched across Steve’s lap, as she extended the remote towards the VCR, finger on the play button while announcing, “And now, lady and gents, it’s time for our main feature: Victor/Victoria!”

Eddie’s finger slipped as he was cracking his can of beer open, the tab smacking back solidly on its metal top. He’d seen this movie. And Julie Andrews dressing in drag to play a character dressing in drag to… also dress in drag—it was tri-layered if considered too deeply—whilst having a gender-questioning relationship with the co-star of the production was definitely, definitely high on the list of movies Eddie had not expected.

“You know this one?” Robin asked with what really looked like a purposefully innocent, slow blink in his direction. Steve’s gaze followed right behind her, curious and unbothered in the dim-lit interior of the Harrington family room.

Eddie did not know what was going on here. And he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it.

“Heard of it,” Eddie decided to say, levering the beer can’s tab again to have it open with a satisfying hiss. He took a long swing, thinking, how the ever-loving hell did I end up here?

“It’s starting,” Steve supplied as his hand came down to rest on Robin’s ankle, squeezing.

The thing was, Eddie had always been too curious for his own good. And that was exactly how he ended up here, at Steve’s house, on what may have been a stay-in date between Buckley and Harrington. But, he’d definitely seen Robin staring at Tammy Thompson the way Eddie used to look at Kyle Westley, before he graduated and moved across the country.

But maybe she hadn’t figured that out yet. Whatever feelings she may have had. Because despite Steve and Robin’s deflection of platonic relations, they looked mighty comfortable, and Eddie could understand how through Dustin’s young eyes they looked smitten.

It hadn’t gone anywhere for Steve and Nancy, much to Eddie’s surprise. Eddie figured as much when he’d been at the grocery store and passed an aisle where Nancy and Jonathan stood hand-in-hand, choosing between Red Delicious or Granny Smith.

The fact that the miraculously alive Jim Hopper bagged the honestly cool-as-hell Joyce Byers was a mystery to Eddie. He’d later learned she went to break him out of a prison camp, which, what the actual hell? But Joyce had always been nothing but kind and accepting to Eddie, and he’d seen her likeness in the old theatre club pictures that haunted Hawkins High’s prop room. So there must be some appeal to Hopper’s scary, shouty-ness. He guessed.

The main issue that was that Hopper had arrested Eddie. Twice. And it didn’t seem like he’d forgotten about it either, given the way his eyes would track Eddie whenever they were in the same vicinity. Which wasn’t often. But it had happened a few times at the end of March. Particularly when Eddie was briefly introduced to his secret daughter, El. Or Jane. Or, as Eddie liked to refer to her, Super Girl.

So Eddie sort of glazed over and made it through two full cans before Steve was scoffing at the TV, saying, “It would have been better if he wasn’t sure,” right after the characters of King and Victoria kiss. “Like, it cheapens it that he peeped on her.”

Eddie, normally loud and nothing short of dramatic, had instead been carefully quiet and contemplative throughout the feature. In truth, he’d been half watching the TV, half watching Steve and Robin in fascination, because how was this real life right now?

Robin’s reactions were visual, and she may well have been more fidgety than Eddie himself, which was saying something. She would drop her jaw in a gasp, kick at Steve’s thigh when something noteworthy was happening, or make approving or disapproving noises at on-screen events. Steve’s reactions came more in the form of expressions or commentary. Like the later, and baffling:

“I knew it! As soon as Squash said he’s gay! Romance in the air!”

“Him and Toddy, it was inevitable,” Robin agreed with a sagely nod.

“You think they’ll, like, grow old together? Well, older?” Steve asked with a snickering laugh, which Robin mirrored.

And Eddie had just about enough. He scooped out popcorn and tossed a few their way, earning their complaints and attention, as he said, “Is this a typical Friday? You sit here and watch, like, progressive media? What the fuck did I stumble into?”

Suddenly Steve got this look about him. Eddie could see the way something in his eyes shuttered, and he set his beer down, his hands landing in a weirdly protective way over Robin’s shins. Robin, however, waved a noncommittal hand and gave Eddie an expectant stare as she said, “You should have been there when I got Steve to watch The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It was, and I am in no way exaggerating, belly-achingly hilarious.”

Eddie glanced from Robin to Steve and back again, the flashing of the TV catching their angles in different shades of white. He took a long gulp of what was now his third beer, then he slammed it on the side table, some liquid escaping and splashing over the wood, as he said, “Robin Buckley, are you what I think you are?”

“Whoa, man,” Steve was interrupting, that same guard dog energy about him. “What are you—”

Robin curled upward and smacked at Steve’s arm, saying, “Shut up, Steve.” While Steve looked utterly betrayed, Robin continued, “Yep!” The P was popped with giddiness. And then, carefully, she rested a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “And Steve knows.”

There were a lot of jumbled thoughts ripping through Eddie’s brain. Between the scramble, what managed to escape was, “So, Steve’s best friend is a band geek lesbian. And he’s aware of this.”

“Honestly, man, don’t be an ass about it,” Steve said as a warning, which tore Eddie from whatever tipsy cloud he’d been swimming through, and he held his hands up in non-aggression.

“No! No, man. No. I definitely do not give a shit about Buckley being into boobs—”

“Jesus, not you too,” Robin grumbled.

“Because that would be monumentally silly, considering I’m not.” It took Eddie a full five seconds to realise he’d just come out to Robin Buckley and Steve fucking Harrington, of all the goddamned people. The number of people who knew in Hawkins was small, dwindling with each graduating class. Even his band had never confirmed they knew, but Eddie was sure they suspected, considering his relatively obvious disappearing acts after making eyes at whichever hot showgoer caught his attention after their away shows.

“Not what?” Steve asked, seemingly still confused.

A nervous laugh bubbled from Eddie’s throat.

“Steve,” Robin said in a soft reprimand, and it seemed to trigger something for him, since his eyes widened and his posture relaxed as he sank back into the couch cushions.

“Holy shit. Okay. Right.” Steve cleared his throat, then—terrifyingly—looked Eddie straight in the eye. “So is Julie Andrews like, objectively hot in a suit, or is that just me?”

Eddie’s mind was melting. He was sure of it. He floundered for a second, then asked, “Like, does she make a hot dude?”

“Yeah?” Steve asked.

Robin looked like she was holding in a laugh, eying Steve affectionately.

“Well, man, she’s playing a guy. But like, a guy in drag. So a guy dressing as a chick. But like, I don’t know? Maybe?” Feeling untethered, Eddie flicked his eyes back to the screen and tried to see it. But Julie Andrews still looked like Julie Andrews, and Eddie was more of an Eddie Van Halen guy, which he realised was a little narcissistic in more ways than one. “Not my type.”

“I don’t know. She sort of has a David Bowie look. And Bowie can be hot,” Steve considered.

Eddie dragged his gaze back to Steve, and he was very interested to find Robin giving the former King the same vein of cautious appraisal. Steve, seemingly aware of both their stares, took his beer and promptly took to chugging a few gulps to avoid immediate conversation.

“Since when do you think Bowie is hot?” Robin asked, somewhat accusingly.

Steve shrugged, purposefully not lowering his can. “He has a magnetism, I don’t know.”

“Can we just—Hold on.” Eddie resituated himself to have his feet firmly planted on the floor. “I’m a little confused what the hell is happening. Was this all a kooky, like, coming out thing you planned? I mean, actually. What the fuck is happening here.”

“No!” Robin interjected, pulling her own feet off Steve and matching Eddie’s posture, turning herself the right way around on the couch. “No, seriously. Not planned. We always watch the last movie returned on the day and it was—” she gestured, “—this.” Eddie could see a sense of panic rising in her as she went on. “Steve was going to ask you to join, like, before this was on the agenda. And I know Steve, so I knew it was going to be fine, and I also—uh.” She paused, guiltily eying Eddie. “I also knew you’d be, um. Like, safe. Too. I thought it’d be fun to watch you both realise the other isn’t a massive bigot?” Even as she said it, Eddie could tell by her tone and her cringe that she didn’t fully believe that was a good idea of fun anymore.

But there was something else in that sentence that rang loudly in Eddie’s head.

“You knew I’d be safe? Because I’m just that counterculture, or like…”

Robin bit her lip with a pinched brow and a grimace. “I’m not—” She flicked her eyes to Steve, who had been bouncing his attention between them like a ping-pong match. “Kyle,” she said finally. “I was late for band practice.”

And Eddie had finally managed to snag Kyle not twice, but on three occasions before he graduated and left forever. And maybe that was precisely why Eddie had gotten the chance that year. Apparently, Buckley had witnessed the one time they risked a handsy make-out session under the bleachers, smelling like stale cigarettes and weed. He was probably lucky, he guessed, that it had been her and not anyone else.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Right,” he drew out the vowel.

And Steve’s face had gone red again, colour highlighted in the flashing feedback of the forgotten movie, white noise in the background.

“And Steve is…?” Eddie asked, flicking a hand his way, because he was genuinely curious. Was Steve? Eddie didn’t really think so, but he had just said that David Bowie, who was certainly glamourous but not exactly voluptuous, could be hot.

“A friend,” Steve said with a tight smile. “And totally in favour of, like, homosexuality.”

Eddie’s eye twitched slightly. “Interesting answer, Harrington.”

“He means,” Robin said with a put-out sigh, “he’s cool with it. And, like, supportive.”

Steve stared at Robin, who stared at Steve, then Steve took a large inhale and asked, in a sort of brattish way, “So can we talk about Vickie?”

Robin gasped and kicked at his calf. “Oh my god, Steve!”

***

-STEVE-

***

Steve was drunk. He was drunk, and his night had been a rollercoaster of revelations.

First, Eddie’s gay. He’ll come back to that.

Second, Robin knew Eddie was gay for a while, however long that was.

Third, she’d not sought him out as a fellow gay person—which, kind of fair, considering maybe she’d been wary of him for other reasons and never thought they’d be more than passing classmates.

Fourth, yeah, Steve's pretty sure that’s the first time he’d vocalised thinking another guy was attractive in an explicitly sexualised context. He’d said it offhandedly in a non-committal way before, the way you do when encouraging a bud they can get the girl, or acknowledging your competition, or whatever. But he’d definitely thought guys were attractive plenty of times.

Fifth, the star of Steve's not-so-straight dreams just admitted to liking men. So, again:

Eddie’s gay. And Steve might also be a little gay. And he didn’t know what to do with that information. So he decided to just drown it in beer.

“You’re telling me you’ve never kissed a girl? Not one fair maiden under your bonnet?” Eddie asked, cheeks flushed on his fifth beer, a grin on his lips as he continued, “Oh, Buckley. No! We can’t stand for this! You need this!”

“I do!” Robin agreed, leaning over the arm of the couch to give Eddie a wobbly point. “You’re so right! I do!”

“Buck. Buckster—”

Robin grimaced. “No, I don’t like that.”

“Okay,” Eddie continued magnanimously, “Buckley, then. Come with me to Indy next weekend. I know exactly where you need to go.”

“I’m bringing Steve,” Robin declared, and Steve found himself yanked into her shoulder, his arms spilling over and him palm bracing him on the armrest. He was a lot closer to Eddie now, and Steve felt like he needed another gallon of shitty booze.

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

Ouch, Steve thought, looking around for an open can. He didn’t care if it was someone else’s at this point.

“Because he’s Steve!” Robin pouted. “I need my Steve!”

Eddie watched as Steve picked up what was maybe not his can and took a swig. “What, will he be there when your hand’s shoved up a skirt too?”

“Oh my god! Ew, no!” Robin pushed Steve away from her in a knee-jerk reaction, which had him tumbling to the floor in an uncoordinated roll. “And who said that’s going to happen!”

Steve groaned, muttering, “Jesus, Rob…” and then he collected himself and smacked his hand down on a knee—not his own—to push himself up, coming to face—

“Hey there, stud,” Eddie said with a heavy look, and Steve realised he was situated between Eddie’s legs, on his knees, pushing his way up into Eddie’s space. Eddie’s playful, and probably harmless, come-on slipped from his expression the longer Steve stayed frozen in place, and it turned into something more watchful and tentative.

Steve forgot about a lot context. His world was awash with hazy recognition, the muffled din of neglected infomercials, movie long over and random channel selected, and his mind kept pulling images of his traitorous dreams to the surface. Only now he was in the position Eddie had previously occupied. But Steve sort of… liked the way he looked from this angle.

Eddie’s hair was somehow a little more wild, maybe from the way he’d rubbed his head back into the wing of the chair when he’d last giggled delightedly at something. His legs were solid, caging Steve into a space carved out for him, and his Bambi eyes pierced Steve’s own like he read something Steve had unwittingly written within them.

“You’re hot in like, a different way,” said Steve. He’s not entirely sure why that made Eddie’s eyes widen; it was an honest thought. “Bowie has this, ah, sort of charm, I guess. But you’re…” Steve felt a familiar thrill at the way Eddie’s attention affixed to him. The way Eddie’s eyes flickered to his lips for a second. Steve knew when he’d done it right. Reeled him in. He lifted up more and purposefully dragged his hand from Eddie’s knee up to mid-thigh, touch light until he squeezed as he looked through his lashes at Eddie, who seemed deeply invested in whatever Steve might say. “You’re like, kind of hot in this dark and sexy way…” Steve was only a few inches from Eddie’s face now. He offered a winning smile, the one that always got him a swoon. “You know?”

Eddie didn’t swoon, though. Instead, he adopted a feral grin and smacked his hand down on the one Steve had over his thigh. It was honestly difficult to tell if he was pulling it higher or keeping it in place. “Not sure I do, man.”

“Okay.” Robin’s voice registered before her presence did, and Steve was confused for a moment, because Robin never featured in Eddie dreams. Robin gave a stilted laugh and started prying at Steve’s shoulder, urging him to move back. Steve just blinked at her because what? Why was she here? “Maybe it’s time for a water break.”

Steve still didn’t quite move, fingers planted firmly on Eddie’s thigh.

Robin gave him a lost, bewildered look before she unsteadily got to her feet and confirmed to herself, “Water. I’ll bring all of us some water.”

Steve blinked again and Robin was partway to the kitchen and out of sight.

“Steve,” Eddie said, and it had Steve turning toward him again. He was so close, and his cheeks were pinkish, his eyes big and brown, his tongue peeking out to slide nervously across his lips. “I’m a little drunk, man. And, uh. I think you are too.” Steve had watched the slip of Eddie’s tongue, and Eddie had watched him do it. “You can’t just call a guy sexy, alright? That, like, implies some shit.”

Steve was tired of pretending he didn’t have a clue. That he didn’t admire certain things or notice other things. That he didn’t have dreams that would have gotten the shit kicked out of him if he spoke about them to at least three quarters of the people in his former circle. That the guy in front of him, who apparently was a potential option, if he found Steve at all desirable, didn’t feature in some of his more embarrassing, never to be spoken of slumbering escapades.

And Steve was at least four-and-a-half cans in. So that made things easier.

“So, yeah. Be implied, or whatever,” Steve murmured, drifting closer. Eddie’s breath, full of hops and tobacco and a touch of earthy musk, cascaded off Steve’s cheeks. Steve bumped his nose against Eddies in a daring gambit, whispering, “You’re kind of hot in like, a sexy way, Munson.”

Steve could feel it. That moment, the one where would they crashed together, was just one smile away.

Then Eddie was laughing and leaning back, out of range, pulling his hand off Steve’s and instead folding his arms across his chest. That way, he sat lorded over Steve, and Steve hated that Eddie watching him from a height made his stomach flip, even when he was, maybe, rejecting him. “You nearly had me there, Harrington. Great joke. Not sure what you’re getting out of it, but good fucking job, man. Really sold it. But like, you don’t think that.”

Oh. Eddie didn’t believe him. Thought Steve was too straight to be even a little bent.

Hm. Well… Steve was stubborn.

He placed his opposite hand on Eddie’s other thigh, effectively spreading his knees wider and allowing Steve to crowd his space more. Steve recovered some of the distance that Eddie retreated, and he said, “Don’t act like you’re in my head, man. You have, like, no idea what goes on in there.” Steve kept looking at Eddie’s lips. Eddie’s cool demeanour had shrunk and dissolved into something confused and searching. “I’m pretty sure I have a handle on what I like.”

“You’re not going to catch me in the tub and find Edith, or some shit, Steve. This isn’t Victor/Victoria.”

“I’m not looking for Edith. And like I said, it would have been better if he hadn’t known she wasn’t a dude. It, like, cheapened the whole thing. Because it shouldn’t have mattered.”

Eddie peered at him with heavy scrutiny, something like an epiphany shining behind his eyes. “Steve, are you b—”

“Water!” Robin screeched from the bend into the kitchen, trying to balance three glasses in her hands and nearly letting one slip.

Steve, being Steve and not wanting glass shards all over his floor, sprang into action with a muttered curse as he pushed off Eddie’s legs, making quick strides to take the stray, unstable glass. “Jesus Christ, Rob. Ask for help next time!”

“I will, when you’re not feeling up Eddie!” Robin hissed, thrusting a glass Eddie’s way when she reached him.

Eddie laughed that awkward, disbelieving laugh again, discarding the water glass and picking up his half-drunk beer instead. “No, no, Buckley. That, uh. That was not happening.”

Steve, being sensible, chugged at least half his glass before cracking open a new beer. He gave an annoyed hum, then smiled sardonically and said, “We were just having a chat.”

“About—!” Robin cut herself off, expression turning cross before it slipped into exasperation. “Okay, fine. Whatever!” She pointed to the television. “Find some better infomercials. Maybe we can make a game out of them.”

“Now we’re talking!” Eddie said with a grin, settling back into his chair.

Steve watched him for half a second longer. He’s pretty sure he knew what he was about to ask. And… Yeah. Maybe Steve was. Maybe that was part of his puzzle.

Maybe Eddie was the first one to finally fucking call him out on it.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE

-EDDIE-

***

Eddie awoke to an elongated doorbell buzzer, and it pinged around his aching head like a trapped fly. He groaned and pressed a sticky palm on his temple. “What the fuck is that?”

“No,” Robin grumbled from… somewhere, then there was rustling and the sound of rattling, falling cans. “Nope. Definitely no.”

“Shit,” came Steve’s voice, then more clattering of cans. “Ah, fuck. It’s too early. Or maybe it’s late. Jesus, my head!”

The doorbell chimed again, this time in quick succession, and Eddie huffed angrily and blearily pushed himself off—Steve’s crumpled shirt? What the hell?

Sure enough, Steve was sprawled on the floor, naked, hairy torso on display. There was a smattering of crunched cans around him, and Eddie had vague memories of the two of them having a downright stupid posturing contest of shot-gunning beer.

“What the actual fuck,” Eddie murmured distantly, then the doorbell kept up its grating pattern long enough that he stood and stumbled ahead, guiding himself down the wall with muttered curses and half-open eyes. When he finally made it to the door, he yanked it open and bit out, “What!?”

Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Erica, Byers’s brother Will, and Hopper’s daughter El all stood on the patio. Max probably would have been there, too, if she was off bedrest. Another few weeks, he’d been told. Eddie felt tension in his brow and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Steve!” he called, hating how it made his head throb. “Your children are here.”

“Why are you here?” Dustin asked, genuine confusion creasing his features.

Mike and Erica were trying to peer around him, Lucas opened his mouth to say something, but ultimately didn’t, and the last two just stared. So Eddie again called, “Steve—!”

“Shut up, Munson!” Robin barked, and she must have thrown something, since a clang echoed behind him.

A hand clapped over his shoulder and Eddie realised only just then that skin met skin. So he looked down and saw that, yep. He was shirtless as well, but in fact with much less hair than Steve touted. And all of his scaring was on gnarly display—ah. In a similar fashion to the beer contest, they had been comparing scars. Like a pair of absolute meatheads.

Hanging out with Steve was ruining Eddie.

“Guys,” Steve said, voice scratchy, sounding positively wrecked. Had they smoked last night? “Why are you here so early?”

“Why are you naked?” Mike asked, aghast. “Why are you both naked?”

“We’re not naked,” Steve said, unamused.

Eddie let go of his hold on the door in favour of rubbing his forehead. “Jesus H Christ, I feel like dog shit.”

“Are you guys hungover?” Lucas asked. And yeah, he would actually know, wouldn’t he. “You look, like, a minute away from puking.”

“Don’t say puke,” Eddie muttered, and Steve followed it up with:

“Yeah, man. Please don’t.”

“Great! Well,” Erica said with a gesture behind them, “why not sweat it all out in the sun.”

Steve groaned a pathetic noise and said, “Dammit, I did promise that.”

Eddie, too achy to speak, nudged Steve, his elbow landing against a healed scar on Steve’s ribs. Steve looked over at him with a frown, then muttered pool, like that explained it. And, in a way, it did. Big house. Big pool. A bunch of mooching kids. Eddie grunted back.

Cavemen they had become, indeed.

Steve looked over his shoulder and his body tensed. “Jesus Christ. Uh. Yeah.” He turned and smiled sickeningly sweet at the group in front of his door. “Hold that thought!” And then he pulled Eddie out of the way and slammed the door shut, making sure it was locked.

Eddie, who hadn’t been ready for manhandling, made a noise of complaint, asking, “What, Harrington? I’m fragile right now!”

Steve extended his arm to the family room and Eddie—Ah. Eddie got it.

The place was a wreck. Eddie’s shirt was literally hanging from a lampshade, cans littered the ground, popcorn and something that looked like brownies—he hoped—made a trail across the floor. And then there was Eddie’s bag of weed and rolling papers, just laid out on the coffee table. Robin, for all her sins, was wrapped up in a blanket behind the couch.

“Wow-wee,” Eddie contributed.

Steve looked like he wanted to be doing literally anything else. “Clean. Cleaning time. Now.”

Eddie wanted to protest, but the doorbell started up again, so he called, “Christ—Shut up!” through the door and sighed. Then got to work.

***

It wasn’t until Eddie was packing away his papers and baggie that he remembered a little more from the previous night. Some, perhaps, extremely important details.

Details that involved Steve’s hand on his thigh and his eyes tracking to Eddie’s mouth; the words hot in a dark and sexy way. And it would have been better if he hadn’t have known she wasn’t a dude. And because it shouldn’t have mattered.

Eddie had almost asked. And that answer would have really mattered. Because Eddie would love to know if Steve Harrington—who was nothing like Eddie assumed, and somehow still was in some conventional ways—was reachable. Of all the guys who had looked at Eddie, Steve’s gaze had felt the heaviest. He’d seen Eddie at some of his lowest. And yet his eyes still lingered anyway. Eddie had sort of assumed his and Steve’s collision would veer away, like crashed asteroids in space, drifting until gone.

Apparently not. Because now Eddie was sat at Steve’s poolside under the blazing sun in a borrowed pair of swim trunks, wondering when it might be appropriate to ask if Steve’s bisexual or not.

Life was utterly fucking baffling.

“So,” Dustin began, sitting his sopping wet butt down on Eddie’s lounger. “You’re, like, pals now.” It wasn’t a question but a statement.

Eddie squinted at him and sucked his sugary iced tea through a twirly straw. The unlikelihood of the whole scenario was laughable. “I guess.”

“You guess?” Dustin asked flatly. “You answered Steve’s door without a shirt on.” Eddie indicated to Dustin’s current state of bathing suit. “Dude, that’s different.”

“We were comparing scars,” Eddie whispered conspiratorially. “I think I won.”

Dustin grimaced, then shook his head pityingly. “I’m happy for you and your so-called win.” He sobered and inspected Eddie’s gaze. “But actually, are you guys going to hangout now? ‘Cuz, like, if you are… that’d be kinda cool, dude! You’re both awesome, so you should be friends. Really.”

Eddie saw the earnestness in Dustin’s expression and a soft smile pulled on his face. He really did love this kid. He was a good soul, and there weren’t enough of those in the world.

And, hey, two birds with one stone, right? This would help determine his answer.

“Hey, Steve!” Eddie called across the lawn, and Steve looked over from where he’d been speaking in hushed tones with Robin. “And Robin! You good for next weekend?”

Behind the blinking faces of nosy, confused teens, the two of them shared a look, then Robin smiled wide, calling back, “You’re on, Munson!”

Steve followed up with, “Sounds like it!”

“What’s happening next weekend?” Mike asked from the deep end, his splashing match with Lucas paused. Will and El had floated around the shallow side to avoid collateral. Erica had a plethora of toys Eddie was pretty sure were not Harrington property around her, given their long manes and pony shape.

“Nothing,” Eddie said with an impish smile.

Mike’s mood plummeted. “Dude. Come on. Don’t have, like, secrets with them.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Robin asked.

“You’re friends with Steve,” Mike shot back.

Steve scoffed, arms folded. “You’re literally in my pool right now.”

“Yeah!” said Mike. “There’s something wrong with me too!”

Eddie blinked with a slow-spreading smile. Did Mike just admit to being friends with Steve?

“We’re going to Indianapolis,” said Steve. “Not that it’s any of your businesses.”

“That is a long drive,” El said, and Eddie wondered if, and when, she’d been.

Will twisted around once in his floaty, then asked, “We can’t go, too?”

It was the look on Robin’s face that gave it away. That sparkly, joyful widening of her eyes as she stared directly at Jonathan Byers’s younger brother.

Ah, Eddie thought, yet another gay kid stuck in a small-minded town.

It was all but confirmed when Robin sing-songed, “Maybe in a couple years, kiddo!”

Steve gave her a sidelong glare. “Rob.”

“Why are you headed out of town?” Dustin asked, a little quieter and more downtrodden.

Eddie wanted to be honest with the kid. He wanted to be a bit more transparent, and he really didn’t think it’d be an issue—not with him. But, in truth, he wasn’t ready. And this particular outing involved more than his secret alone.

“Sometimes it’s nice to head into the city, man,” Eddie said softly. He’d mellowed around Dustin. Especially after Dustin had personally helped him bloodily stumble back out of the Upside Down. “More people. More things to do, places to see. It’s only, like, one weekend. We’ll be back, Dusty-buns, don’t you worry your fluffy head.”

Dustin frowned. “Don’t call me that, dude.”

“Hey, Steve!” Lucas called from the pool. “You have time to shoot some hoops, man?”

Steve jumped to his feet with a big, stupidly bright smile. “Always, dude!”

Once a sports blockhead, always a sports blockhead. Unfortunately for Eddie, Steve was an actually nice, brave, soft-hearted blockhead who wasn’t really a blockhead at all and might be bisexual. And it was driving Eddie absolutely mad not knowing.

“Nice!” Lucas said, then he shrugged at Mike’s disappointed arm spread. “Hang out with your girlfriend, man,” Lucas suggested snippily. Eddie wondered if that was a pointed jab.

Eddie’s eyes tracked Steve walking back toward his house, presumably to head to the driveway where the hoop was bolted to the garage wall. When he drifted his gaze back, Robin was watching him from across the pool.

Suddenly, an unfathomable question from Dustin met his ears: “Dude. Do you have a thing for Robin?”

Eddie laughed miserably and scrubbed his hands down his face. “No, man. I do not.”

***

-STEVE-

***

“I don’t know, Steve. It’s been tough. I think she’s having a hard time, like, feeling like she’s being a burden.” Lucas tossed the ball, and it wobbled on the rim before pitching through it. Steve caught it on the way down. “I don’t know how to, like, support her better. You know?”

“You love her, huh?” Steve asked, heart bleeding on his sleeve.

Lucas gave him a look, “Of course, I do, dude.”

“Look, man,” Steve started, giving the ball a dribble. He was quick on his feet, and it took one feign left to actually go right and shoot a hoop. He scored. “From my perspective, you’re doing a pretty damn good job. Like, you obviously care. I think she knows that.”

“I know,” Lucas said, holding the ball still where he’d caught it. “I know, Steve. But I wish I could do more.”

Steve offered Lucas a soft smile. “Watch the elbows.”

“Huh?”

“The elbows, man. They telegraph where you’re moving. But, like, they’ll telegraph where the other guy is going too.”

“Oh,” Lucas said, blinking. He experimentally held the ball like he was playing, dibbled twice, then understanding dawned on his face. “Dude, that’s genius.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself, man. Best thing you can do is be there. And you’re doing that.”

“Yeah,” Lucas said, forlorn. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for, uh, well you know.”

Suddenly the garage door was creaking up, first revealing Eddie’s tattooed legs before exposing his scarred torso and equally inked arms. Steve thought it was a little unfair that Eddie, despite not having any sort of sport training regime, still managed to hold onto whatever muscle developed across his chest and arms from—what, playing guitar? Jumping fences? Never sitting still?

Regardless, there Eddie appeared. Still shirtless, still in Steve’s life. But now holding a half-melted popsicle.

Steve had tried to not remember the previous night. But the image of his hand on Eddie’s thigh was burned into his brain. So Steve did what any rational person would do; pretend it didn’t happen. That would totally make it go away, right?

“Keith called. Your weekend part-timer called out,” Eddie said, then proceeded to lewdly press his tongue on the bottom of the iced treat, dragging it to the top, watching Steve as he did. Steve was convinced he might keel over then and there.

“He needs me?” Steve asked.

Eddie wrapped his mouth around the top of the popsicle and sucked, popping it back out and saying, “Someone needs you.”

Eddie had to know what he was doing. Steve was sure Eddie knew what he was doing.

“Do we have to leave, Steve?” Lucas was asking, and—Lucas!

Lucas, standing next to Steve. Lucas, still there beside him. Right. Right, right, right.

“Uh. No. No, not if—Eddie, can you take Robin home later? Sorry, this is probably your day off. Do you, uh. Do you mind?”

Eddie gave him an indistinguishable look for a moment. It was that one where all his persona seemed sloughed off, and what was left was someone Steve wanted to know a little better. Maybe be a little closer with. Someone who, like Steve, was breaking into adulthood and viewed life just a bit differently than the years before.

“Sure,” said Eddie. “Free food and lodging for a day? I’ll take it. When do you need the horde gone?”

“Six at the latest—get them home for dinner.”

“You’ve got it, Stevie,” Eddie confirmed with a salute. Lucas walked past him to put away the basketball. Steve was ready to pull the garage door back down, then Eddie, still at a safe distance, asked a little quieter. “You’re sure about next weekend, man?”

Steve paused for a second, then he yanked the garage door down and looked over his shoulder with a determined look in his eye. “I think it’s been a long time coming.”

Let Eddie take from that what he would. From Steve’s perspective, it looked like Eddie took exactly what Steve meant, his Bambi eyes staring right at Steve as he said, “Good to know.”

Then Steve’s brain caught up with a small detail and he asked, “Munson, did you, like, answer my phone?”

“Said I was your cousin,” Eddie told him with a snicker, receiving an incredulous look from Lucas as he slipped behind Eddie and back into the house.

Steve scoffed and gave a tired, “Dude.”

***

-EDDIE-

***

“Thanks for the ride, Munson,” Robin was saying as she started slipping out of the passenger seat.

They’d spent the drive talking about literally anything other than Steve, and Eddie had made sure to slip a good metal tune in. For educational purposes.

Robin paused before she stepped out. “Um. Next weekend. What am I—What am I preparing for, exactly?”

Eddie tapped his steering wheel, the metal of his rings thumping against the leather. “We’re just staying downtown for a night, Buckley. Don’t worry. There are a few places where, uh. Where people like us hangout. I think it might be good for you to, like, witness people less reserved, if nothing else.”

“Do you go often?” Robin asked curiously. Quietly.

Eddie gave her a sidelong look. She really had just been stuck here, huh?

Eddie had started making trips to Indianapolis as soon as he turned sixteen. Back then it had been to source his less-than-legal goods to sell. It was around a year or so later that he’d met Rick, ironically not in Hawkins, when he’d been making a dodgy deal in the city after a Corroded Coffin away show.

Rick said he recognised him. Told him Eddie didn’t need to travel so far for supplies.     

Then as soon as he hit eighteen, he was pulling overnighters on his own. Staying in motels, figuring out what the city had to offer. That’s when he finally found his people. It had been luck, more than anything else. But find one place, it seemed, and you were into the fold.

Two years on and he’s halfway certain he knows at least a quarter of the Indianapolis gay-friendly establishments. And he’d be a bad friend if he didn’t share the wealth, right?

But Robin had asked if Eddie went often. He wasn’t sure he had a right answer for that.

“I’ve been known to disappear on occasion,” is what he went with.

“And Steve’s definitely coming?” Robin asked, hopeful.

“Don’t trust me?”

“No,” she said flatly.

Eddie appreciated the honesty, at least. “Yes, Buckley. He said he would.”

“Okay,” said Robin. She hesitantly extracted herself from Eddie’s van. Then she paused. “About Steve…” And here it comes. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on with him.” She wasn’t really looking at Eddie. Instead, she cast her gaze around everywhere but him, her hands wrapped tightly around the straps of her bag. “I think maybe… the movie messed with his head, or something. Or maybe I’m confusing him. Don’t, um—” she finally peered at Eddie then, guilt painted across her expression, “—don’t blame him, please? He didn’t mean anything, like, shitty last night. He wasn’t, um. Being mean or teasing you. He’s not an asshole, you know? He actually is, like, super supportive! I mean, when I told him about me, his first reaction was basically to tell me Tammy Thompson sounds like a muppet and that I could do so much better—so, yeah. I think, maybe, he was doing that for you but, um. Kind of fucking it up?” Robin took a deep breath in after her run-on speech, the early evening insect calls filling the silence that followed.

Eddie, who was still just idling in Robin’s parents’ driveway, staring at her while she’d been rambling, blinked to re-wet his eyes and gave himself a moment to form his next statement.

“I don’t think… he was trying to be mean,” Eddie said carefully.

“No!” Robin agreed gratefully. “No, he wasn’t. I promise!”

“But—” he cut himself off.

No, that conversation was better had between Steve and Robin themselves. Eddie wasn’t even entirely convinced that what he suspected—especially given how Steve’s pupils dilated at Eddie’s purposeful popsicle show—was for sure, one hundred per cent true. And he didn’t feel it was his place to intervene here. If Steve was what Eddie thought, he’d talk to Robin about it eventually. And maybe it did all come down to confusion.

But Eddie wasn’t so sure. The way Steve had doubled down, wedged himself between Eddie’s knees like he belonged there—and holy hell, what a thought—mixed with the strange appraisal he’d offered behind the glow of a cigarette outside a lonely, abandoned gas station…

After what they’d all been through, Eddie had learnt that everything, and everyone, had layers. Even if they weren’t expected or apparent at first. Sometimes people surprised you. So he continued, “Um. Yeah, nevermind. Look, we’re cool, alright? Steve and I. It’s all good, so don’t worry about it.”

Robin smiled broadly. “Great!”

And that, Eddie guessed, was that.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FOUR

-STEVE-

***

It was the last weekend of May, and it was also the Saturday he and Robin and Eddie were meant to head to Indianapolis.

Steve was having a bit of a meltdown. Or a lot of one.

“What the hell do you wear to a gay club?” he hissed to himself, flinging a shirt that looked too sporty, he assumed.

Or was that him being weird about it? Gay people could be sporty. Steve was sporty, and he was—

“Oh my god,” he muttered, both wishing that Robin was there instead of having stayed home the night before to pack and also thankful that she wasn’t, so he didn’t have to explain his current panic. He picked up a marled purple shirt, darker on its trim, and he shuffled to the mirror, holding it up in front of him. “Does this say I might be bisexual? Like, probably am, but haven’t really committed to it yet?”

Steve’s own flushed face stared back at him, judging.

Jesus Christ, he wasn’t sure he was ready for this.

He already had everything packed. He was just… spiralling. The one thing he wanted was his leather jacket. It was already a bit too hot for it, but the nights weren’t sweltering yet, cool when the sun went down, and Steve was conceited enough to know he looked good in it.

And it offered a nice little shell that Steve could turtle into when he was faced with the inevitable reality that yeah, he was probably super bisexual.

He’d not yet been exposed to much real guy-on-guy relations. But he suspected that might change. Tonight. That it might be right there in his face. And there was the distinct possibility that he might see Eddie, like, actually flirting with someone.

That thought made his stomach sour.

So. Yeah. Maybe he had a crush on Munson. That’s fine. He was fine. It was a crush. And they lived in a small town with a small population. What Steve needed was exposure.

Steve’s doorbell rang, and he was sure it was Robin imitating Dustin.

“Christ,” Steve mumbled as he gave himself one last commiserative look in the mirror. “Man up, Harrington.” His reflection crinkled his nose and, yeah. Maybe that advice was in poor taste. “Or, whatever. You know what you mean.”

He blinked at himself. The doorbell buzzed again.

“God, I’m pathetic, talking to myself. Okay! Time to go!”

***

INDIANAPOLIS – MAY 1986

***

Steve was miserable. He’d been stuck in the back of Eddie’s van the whole drive, unable to hear what Robin and Eddie were talking about over the blasting metal music.

By the time they reached the motel, dusk was setting in, and Steve breathed a sigh of sweet relief when the music cut with the ignition. He didn’t hate metal music. But he sure as hell didn’t enjoy listing to it at high volume for, like, two hours.

“Sorry, man,” Eddie said as he opened the back of his van, releasing Steve. “We can go more mellow on the way back. Might be hurting anyway, if our night goes the way I’ve planned it.”

“And what did you have planned?” Steve asked suspiciously as he crawled out, yanking his bag with him.

Eddie grinned mischievously. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know, my precious little sheepie.”

“Aren’t your sheep the Hellfire kids?” Robin asked, coming to stand beside Steve, offering an apologetic smile.

“Sure. But I’m leading you on this journey of self-discovery. Thus, thou are’st sheep.”

“As long as you aren’t leading us to slaughter,” Steve said ill-temperedly. His head sort of ached, so sue him.  

Eddie hummed, slamming the van doors shut. “Hm. I wouldn’t put it that way, sweetheart.”

A tingle zipped from Steve’s navel through his neck and to his head. Eddie was watching him while pretending like he wasn’t, spinning his keyring on his finger. Steve was not about to let him have the satisfaction, so he leant on the back of the van, crossing his ankles in his classic cool-guy pose, and he said, “Do your worst then, babe. We’re at your mercy.”

The slow-spreading grin that crept across Eddie’s face reminded Steve of the Cheshire cat.

“Steve,” Robin chastised tiredly.

She’d confronted him their first day working together that week. Made sure he knew that there were lines he shouldn’t cross. Boundaries that needed to be drawn in the sand. And that Steve had done a good job of stomping all over those on Friday night.

It was within the same conversation that Steve really appreciated the bravery it must have taken Robin, even fucked up on interrogation drugs, to come out to Steve. Because even though he loved her, trusted her, and honest to god cherished her—he couldn’t do it.

Not then. Not in the days that followed.

The words would form and then dry up on his tongue. Like speaking them as truth to someone else would cement it into the universe, and Steve would forever be something a little extra than he’d been. He knew it was a conversation that would happen. And that it should happen soon. Maybe yesterday.

But on that day, when she’d gently basically told him off for teasing Eddie, he’d just apologised and said he wasn’t thinking. Wasn’t trying to offend Eddie.

He opened his mouth to do damage control, but Eddie beat him to it.

“No, no, Buckley. Let Steve be a little controversial.” Eddie winked at him. “I don’t mind one bit. Enjoy it, even.”

“But Steve,” Robin said in a hushed whisper. The parking lot was full of cars, not people, but she was cautious. Rightfully so. “You can’t just go, like, flirting with a gay guy tonight, okay? Not if you don’t mean it. And you’ve made your love of boobies, like, abundantly clear, so…”

Steve did not miss the long, peeling look that Eddie gave him a head above Robin. It made him feel unravelled, threadless and partially undone. Like Eddie could tell.

Steve smiled, covering his doubt, and he scoffed. “A little trust, Rob? Geez.”

Robin gave him an exasperated look, then they abandoned the van and booked into their room—two beds, and Steve wasn’t exactly sure which one he was meant to sleep in.

Rather than ask, he dropped his bag on the scratched-up old chest of drawers and spun on his heel, demanding, “Okay. Dress me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m walking into.”

And then he knew that was an awful idea. He didn’t like the look on either of their faces.

***

-EDDIE-

***

Eddie hadn’t meant to lose them, but he had.

The night started fine. Quiet and hesitant on his companions’ sides, but they relaxed after a drink or two. The thing was, it wasn’t a magic land of sexual freedom, or something like that. There were just a few places Eddie knew of where it was the unspoken understanding that if you were there, you were probably gay. There was still this lingering cautiousness, though.

Being accepted didn’t necessarily equate to being open and uninhibited.

There were touches, maybe. Pressing fingers and hands on exposed skin that looked a little questionable. But rarely did you find a couple pressed together in dancing rhythm. Seldom did you see lips chasing lips in the open. It was still dark corners; scan without scrutiny and you would miss it. Hidden alcoves, and sneaky romps in enclosed spaces.

Rather than hide entirely, they all just hid in plain sight.

So now he stood in the dingy bathroom of the Purple Parrot, its industrial walls plastered with posters, graffiti, and a few generous dick drawings, staring at his eyeliner-smeared reflection in a panic, sweat on his neck and ringed hands gripping the sink basin.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

Steve and Robin had been pretty tied at the hip. Then some petit girl with a blonde bob that looked sort of French had started chatting up Robin. While Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what the it look was for ladies these days was, Steve had given Robin a thumbs up on her outfit, and it, apparently, helped draw in this chick who wore a bright green pair of dungarees.

And Eddie would have stayed with Steve. He really would have.

If the smokin’ hot guy in leather pants and rocker hair hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder and asked him if he knew of any good places to compare. Compare what, he hadn’t specified, but Eddie was pretty sure he knew, and he was pretty sure he was down to do it. And so, maybe a little selfishly, in retrospect, he’d scampered off with rocker dude, where they found themselves a nice little hidden corner by the emergency exit, and he enjoyed some heavy petting and an intense make-out until drunk-laced guilt weighed him down enough that he apologised, skittered off, and returned to the bar to find—no one.

Well, there were plenty of people. But not his people. Who he was responsible for.

“Fuck,” he swore again, gripping the ceramic harder.

A muffled noise drew his attention to the stall in the back corner and, yep. Those were two sets of legs in there. Eddie was about to turn and give them privacy, he didn’t need to be there, but something stopped him. An unnamed dread. Because he was pretty sure he knew the pants pooled on the ground on top of familiar sneakers. The undone belt looped through them, its buckle clacking on tile when the feet under it shifted.

Holy shit, Eddie thought, unable to tear his eyes away from what was very likely the former King of Hawkins High on the receiving end of oral in a well-known gay bar. Oh Jesus Christ. Fucking—Shit! Are you kidding me? Jesus. Fucking. Christ!

Eddie didn’t need to be there. He did not need to be there.

So he left the bathroom. Walking through the bar floor felt hazy. Floaty. Like Eddie had taken something he didn’t remember dissolving on his tongue. He meandered through the crowd, faces shadowed and blurring in the lowlight interior, flashing lights casting across the tops of their heads every once in a while.

Eddie went back to the bar. And Eddie ordered a drink.

“Holy shit,” he said into his glass, ignoring the strange look the bartender gave him as he tended to a different customer. “Holy fucking shit. Are you kidding me?” The dull disbelief had worn off, and now Eddie was… sort of aggravated. “I left my fun to check on your jock-ass to find you—” He didn’t finish his sentence. He was still in public, drunk patrons filtering behind him and wedging themselves against the bar top to order a drink. “Be implied, he says. Well, I’m damn well fucking implied, dude!”

Eddie guessed he had his answer now.

… Jesus H Christ.

“Eddie!” Robin’s voice entered his atmosphere, its joyful tilt in direct opposition to Eddie’s mood. She elbowed some tall guy out of the way and squeezed in next to him, all shiny smile and giggles. But alone, no blonde-bobbed girl in sight. “Eddie!” Robin said again, then she leant over to his ear and shout-whispered, “I just got kissed goodbye. By a girl!”

Ah, fuck, Eddie mourned dreadfully in his head. I need to be, like, happy about this for her.

“Yeah?” Eddie forced a smile and offered her his beer. “For real, Buckley?”

She nodded enthusiastically and grinned around the rim of the glass. “Yep!” Then she looked around, and Eddie felt the rotten pit in his stomach fester. “Where’s Steve?”

“Here!” Steve shouted from over Eddie’s shoulder, appearing like he was summoned. “Right—Right here.”

“Where’d you go?” Robin asked, then she took a sip, handed the beer back to Eddie, and flapped her hand. “Nevermind. You’ll never believe what just happened!”

When Robin leant over to whisper in Steve’s ear, Eddie made himself turn to look at Steve. The evidence was all there. Steve’s hair was dishevelled, more than usual, his shirt mussed, and his belt had bypassed a loop entirely. Fuck. That actually happened then.

Their gazes connected and Steve looked… frazzled. And sort of guilty.

Robin was still chattering in Steve’s ear, and Eddie still harboured misplaced frustration. But he also didn’t want to be an asshole. Not to Robin. Not to Steve. Not to a guy who was just figuring himself out.

So Eddie mouthed, you good, man?

Steve gave him a tight smile, and it looked awfully fake. Was he going to hide from Eddie, too?

Eddie wasn’t sure how to navigate this. He was enough drinks in that his brain didn’t feel like submitting to nuance, but he also didn’t want Steve to just clam up. Eddie had, when he first ventured into quick rendezvous. It was a different world. And not what Steve was used to.

Eddie pointedly made a go of scanning Steve head to toe, pausing his attention on the missed belt loop. It wasn’t enough, the fact itself not so strange, but maybe Steve would get the message. And perhaps he did, his fingers prodding there to find that, yep, it wasn’t threaded through.

Steve blanched and eyed Eddie with startled reservation.

Ah, shit. Eddie didn’t want to be in this situation. Even so, he mouthed, it’s cool. Relax.

Steve didn’t really relax, per se, he more so plastered on a plastic smile and paired it with an overly enthusiastic laugh. “That’s great, Rob!” he was saying.

Eddie wondered what he was thinking.   

He didn’t find out. Robin wanted to dance.

***

-STEVE-

***

“Tonight was fantastic!” Robin squealed as she flopped down on the left-side bed, arms fanned out wide. “God, I can’t believe she kissed me!”

Steve hadn’t really felt like himself for the last hour or two. What he did feel was emancipated from something. Which was maybe his last shred of doubt.

It had been surreal. A bit of a rush, and honestly kind of a blur. There was a guy, who had a sort of preppy vibe, not so dissimilar from Steve, and he’d sidled up asking, did Dorothy invite you out? And Steve might not be the sharpest or well-travelled tack of the bunch, but he knew what that alluded to. Steve swallowed his anxiety and decided, yeah. Yeah, I know Dorothy. So then preppy guy chatted Steve up for a bit. Gave him the eye. Then somehow that landed Steve in a grungy stall with preppy guy on his knees in front of him.

So, yeah. Steve wasn’t straight. Straight guys didn’t do and enjoy that.

Steve had categorised him as hot in a classic way. As it turned out, guys could be hot in many different ways, according to Steve. But hell if his stomach didn’t summersault looking at Eddie after that, a part of him wishing it hadn’t been preppy guy at all but metal guy. In particular, that metal guy named Eddie Munson.

And then Eddie had, somehow, seemingly caught him out.

Steve didn’t know how to cope with that. So he didn’t. Whether he addressed it or not, though, Eddie knew. Eddie was aware. And Steve felt kind of screwed for a reason he couldn’t accurately place.

“Glad you got some action, Buckley,” Eddie said tiredly but genuinely. He dropped down on the opposite bed. And Steve was feeling a little like this was a test. Where was he supposed to lay down?

Robin sorted that out for him. “Stinky boys over there.” She pointed blindly at the bed Eddie occupied. “You kick sometimes, Steve.”

“Great,” Eddie mumbled sarcastically.

“Light!” Robin demanded—they hadn’t even changed! Or, like, done anything to prepare for sleep. But whatever, Steve flipped the switch and doused them in darkness, the damp hum of the AC rattling in the corner a shitty, creaking lullaby.

Muted beams from the city streets outside streaked across the stained carpet, and Steve refused to look at where he knew Eddie still sat upright on the bed. He fiddled with his belt buckle and pulled it loose, distinctly aware of the skipped loop, and he held it a moment before haphazardly collecting it on chest of drawers beside his gaping bag.

Eddie, it seemed, had no issue tossing his own belt on the floor, which gave a jingling thump, much to Robins displeasure as she grumbled and turned to face away from his side of the room, folding herself under a blanket as she did.

Steve dared to look up, focus on Eddie, but Eddie wasn’t looking at him. He was staring at a wall, which was… weird? Then Eddie’s gaze cut to his and Steve startled.

Eddie mimed a cigarette and nudged his head in the direction of the bathroom.

It hadn’t even occurred to Steve that he nodded until he was following Eddie to the shoddy ensuite, Robin’s light snores narrating their shuffled steps.

When Steve clicked the door shut behind him, Eddie turned on the extractor and pushed the window wide open, not bothering with the light and instead relying on the glow from the neon sign across the alleyway. It bathed them in a muted yellow, and Steve couldn’t help but feel it was still a little too bright.

True to his intentions, it seemed, Eddie slipped out his Winstons from his back pocket and offered one to Steve. It was an easy choice to take it, and easier still to accept the proffered lighter and flick it to life, searing the end of the cigarette.

Steve sucked in and exhaled languidly, leaning toward the window. His nerves were already vibrating less. Calming under the soothe of tobacco and nicotine.

“So, you had a good night?” Eddie ventured, taking his own long drag. He wasn’t looking at Steve, his attention instead pulled to the corner outside where alleyway met street.

“We don’t have to do this, man,” said Steve. Playing pretend didn’t feel good right now. It didn’t feel right, not when foundations had been built and moulded in a hellscape haunted by monsters that shouldn’t exist. “I guess you know. Somehow. Was it that obvious?”

“Only if you walked out of the toilet feeling like a creep for being able to pick someone out by their shoes and pants alone.”

Steve held his mouth steady around the cigarette for a stint. Not breathing, not comprehending. Then that sentence crashed down on him, and he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, muttering, “Shit. Really? Jesus Christ, so you, like—right. No secrets there, then. Great.” It’s not like Steve was loud. He didn’t think he was. But he didn’t think he’d literally been caught with his pants down.

“I didn’t, like, stay,” Eddie murmured as he huffed out a puff of smoke.

Steve eyed his profile; wild long hair, dimples flattened by a serious tone, big brown eyes peering out and away. This moment felt like strange sanctuary. Only Steve and Eddie. It felt a little like it had outside the gas station.

Eddie gave a half-grin then, leaning against the wall. “Was he hot?”

“Hot in a preppy way,” Steve said, willing his heart to calm its pounding. “Don’t think he’d have been your type.”

There was a weight to the way that Eddie’s gaze pinned on him, voice a little rasped as he said, “You don’t know what I like, Harrington.”

“Dark threads and tattoos?”

An amused chuckle curled from Eddie’s lips, matching their quirk and the reappearance of a dimple that Steve hadn’t realised he kind of missed.

Eddie swiped out his tongue with a good-humoured shake of his head. “Am I that predictable?” Then he took a long drag, exhaling and saying, “Maybe that’s what I typically, like, go for. But… can’t blame a guy for having wandering eyes outside his genre.”

“You’ve been with a prep?”

“I don’t kiss and tell, Stevie.” Eddie smirked. “Or fuck and tell, for that matter.”

“Jesus. It’s weird to think about you, like…” Steve trailed. He was feeling a little overheated, the smoke lingering a too long in the air, his shirt humidly sticky against his skin.

Eddie blinked over at him, smirk fading. “You still coming to grips, man? Don’t, like, rush it. You literally have the rest of your life to figure it out.”

“No,” said Steve. His hands started feeling a clammy. The fingers that pinched his cigarette jittery. “It’s weird because you’re, like, hot in a sexy way.”

The re-admission lingered between them for a few ticks. Eddie finally plucked the cigarette from his mouth and let it hang with his hand out the window. He appraised Steve with a squinty, half-amused grin. “You’re telling me Steve Harrington actually thinks I’m sexy? I get you hot and bothered?”

Steve could tell Eddie didn’t believe it by the way he said it. But Steve did. Steve knew.

“Sorta, yeah,” Steve said, letting his cigarette linger outside the window beside Eddie’s. “Sorry.” It hadn’t been apologetic. Steve wasn’t really sorry at all.

Eddie’s squint grew uneven, a brow raised, his grin disbelieving as he scoffed, laughing it off as he said, “Don’t fuck with me, man.”

“Wasn’t asking to fuck,” Steve countered. “Just saying you’re, like, a good-looking guy, Munson.”

He probably shouldn’t be having this conversation. Not after drinking. Not after getting his dick sucked by some random guy he didn’t even learn the name of. Not when they were alone in a bathroom on Saturday night in a rundown block in Indianapolis.

But shit. Here he was.

A wheezy laugh bubbled from Eddie’s throat, and he turned away to ash his forgotten cigarette. “Don’t, ah. Don’t give a guy ideas, Steve.”

Steve flicked the charred end of his own cigarette, then took a long drag and watched the way Eddie’s gaze shifted to focus on the way Steve’s lips formed a seal around the end. Steve exhaled and groused, “Have whatever ideas you want, man. I’m not policing you.”

“Well thank fuck for that. My mind’s not rated G,” Eddie murmured, gaze drifting down to Steve’s shoulders, chest, waist. Lower.

“Care to share?”

“This is dangerous territory, Steve,” Eddie warned. Steve found he didn’t really care. Not then. So he shrugged with stubborn impatience. “This is not smart, man.”

“No,” Steve agreed, “it’s not.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I failed senior year twice and you couldn’t get into college.”

“Low blow.”

“I could blow lower,” Eddie countered lightning quick, focus darting down to Steve’s crotch.

“Is that an offer?” Steve asked, chest hammering.

“It could be.”

“How about you just kiss me instead?”

Eddie didn’t wait. He shot out his hand and wrapped it behind Steve’s neck, yanking him closer and pressing their mouths together. Steve was hyperaware of the cold rings that pushed into his nape, his feet skidding forward a step to bridge the same gap his chin had.

Kissing Eddie was mesmerising. Steve wanted to file each new discovery in its own folder. Plush lips and a teasing tongue. Stubbled jaw and demanding fingertips. When Steve’s free hand found Eddie’s waist, he appreciated it as flat and tapered. Not muscled or soft, but something that just fit right with Eddie.

Outside the window their loose fingers bumped, and Steve lost his cigarette. With a partial glance to the side, he pulled and tossed Eddie’s Winston to drop in the alleyway, then he threaded his fingers through, directing their shared grip up and against the static upper pane, pressing Eddie’s knuckles against the interior glass.

Eddie’s free hand wound into Steve’s locks and pulled him back. He heaved heady breaths as he whispered, “This is, like, an awful and fucking dangerous road, man.”

Their air mingled and Steve struggled to think clearly. Logically. “Let’s sleep,” he decided, because Eddie was right. “We’re not sober. We should sleep.”

Eddie flicked his eyes down and, despite his rational observation only moments prior, he trailed his fingers from Steve’s scalp back to his neck, pressing there as he gave a devious grin. “Steve.”

“What?”

“Steve!” Eddie couldn’t seem to help himself, a giddy, pink-cheeked expression taking shape. “You’re, like. Hard. For me—”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Eddie—”

“I seriously do get it up for you.”

Of course, Steve was hard. They’d just been hot and heavy, and Steve had basically been living one of his embarrassing dreams, and that’s what bodies did when they were turned on. Steve knew. Eddie knew. And Eddie was—

Steve pitched his lower half forward, pulling Eddie’s waist forward, connecting stiff denim on denim where Eddie touted his own thickly outlined want. “Hypocrite,” Steve murmured.

“Oh, don’t do that, Stevie,” Eddie reprimanded, but it definitely sounded more like goading. Eddie’s hand curled with rough intention over Steve’s knuckles, then he dragged his other hand from Steve’s neck to his ass, pressing him close. Eddie drew forward and chuckled against the edge of Steve’s chin, whispering in his ear, “That’s a bad idea, sweetheart.”

Steve went to remove his hand from Eddie’s grasp, but Eddie held it there, arm flexing, their brief standoff rattling the pane. Oh, Steve thought, his breath getting caught somewhere between his chest and throat. Eddie’s, like… strong. Right. Shit.

“Huh,” Eddie hummed in consideration, tilting his head for a better view. “You’re kinda… into that?” The pads of Eddie’s fingers dug deeper, demanding Steve’s hand in place.

“Hm?” Steve asked distantly, realising he’d been staring at where Eddie’s hand viced over Steve’s. He blinked, slinking his gaze back to Eddie’s, where he’d pulled back in observation.

“Jesus, Steve,” Eddie whined with a self-pitying line of a smile. “You’re gonna be the death of me, man.” With a visibly pained look, Eddie dislodged his hold and gently pushed Steve back, far enough that Steve had to steady himself a step. “This is not the time to explore this. Or, like, that. But, hell, Steve. You, uh. You definitely make a man curious.”

Steve wanted to complain, say this could easily be resolved before going to sleep. But he knew that was his cock and not his head, and his head told him to cool it before they did something more stupid than they had already. He was sobering, had been since they walked back to the motel, but this was still… He probably was going to have one hell of a time wrangling acceptance that this was all real when he woke up in the morning. Well, later that same morning.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced. “Let’s… Let’s sleep. Think about, like, bugs or something.”

“That’s your trick?”

“You have a better one?” Steve asked, taking another step back and raking a hand through his sweaty hair. He sighed and peered back at Eddie, who was gazing out the window again.

“No, dude. Not really.”

***

-EDDIE-

***

It had been a struggle to sleep. The AC unit sputtered and barely made a dent in the humidity, so they’d made a silent and painful agreement to shed layers and pretend they hadn’t, jeans off, briefs and tee-shirts on, lest Robin murder them on sight.

So that’s exactly how Eddie woke up with good old morning wood, his body still missing satisfaction he sacrificed twice the previous evening.

“Oh, fuck off,” he muttered under his breath, because he did not want to deal with that right now.

Sure. Bugs.

Centipedes. Spiders. Roaches. Those weird, quick bathroom bugs…

“You good there, man?” Steve murmured beside him, cracking a bleary eye open.

“Will be in a minute. Do me a favour and get out of my sight,” Eddie said with a strained sigh, dropping his arm over his eyes. Christ.

“Huh?” Steve asked, then came an illuminated. “Oh. Got it. Yep.”

Centipedes. Spiders. Roaches. Bathroom bugs.

He heard Steve rustle the blanket and toss it back at Eddie, presumably for his modesty—the irony was not lost on Eddie—and then there was more shuffling and the soft click of a bathroom door.

Centipedes. Spiders. Roaches. Bathroom bugs.

“Ugh,” Robin groaned from across the room.

CENITPEDES. SPIDERS—

“What time is it? Oh my god, my head is booming!”

Oh thank god. Eddie sat up, modest and family friendly. Ready to face Robin. “Time for us to eat something awful for our health, but deliciously greasy. You say aye?”

“Aye,” Robin grumbled, rubbing her fist into her eye.

It was soon joined by Steve’s, “Do I have to? Say aye? It’s, like, pretty damn dorky.” He reappeared in Eddie’s eyesight, looking like he’d splashed some water on his face and through his hair. His pants were back on, at least.

“You have a secret handshake with Dustin,” Robin told Steve with a point-blank stare. “You, Steve Harrington, are a dork.”

Steve gasped. “You take that back!”

“No! No, I won’t!”

Eddie collapsed back down on the pillow behind him and groaned. “Stop bickering,” he hissed. It felt like there was a construction zone in his head. The silence elongated, then he grumbled out, “Okay, sorry. I’m grumpy. Let me get my pants.”

“Gross, Munson!” A pillow flew his way from Robin’s direction. “I don’t want to look at your hairy legs in the morning!”

Eddie waved her off, stood with achy knees, then stumbled around Steve and managed to find his discarded jeans. He plucked out his Winstons, fishing one out and popping it between his lips, then he proceeded to squeeze into his jeans, one leg at a time.

He was halfway through buckling his belt when Steve said, “That’s mine, dude.”

Eddie looked down and raised his eyebrows. So it was. He slipped it loose again and blindly held it out to Steve, looking for wherever the hell he’d dropped his own.

Steve again came to the rescue, dropping it down beside him.

“My thanks,” Eddie groused as he finished looking… absolutely sleep deprived and like he’d been up to no good. One glimpse of his reflection in the mirror told him his hair was not taking well to the damp room. “Jesus,” he muttered, sidling up to the oxidised glass, patting at his frizzed locks.

“See, if you used better shampoo, man—”

“You shut your pie hole right now, Harrington!”

“Just saying, dude.”

***

HAWKINS – MAY 1986

-STEVE-

***

So they hadn’t talked about it. Defaulted back to something like ignorance is bliss, even if it was more like, it doesn’t exist if we don’t mention it.

Sunday was a slog, full of hangover and dehydration, and both he and Robin had passed out in the back of Eddie’s van, metal soundtrack blessedly low and mere background noise in Steve’s two-hour nap. Eddie, understandably exhausted after chauffeuring them, hadn’t said a whole lot as he dropped them off, instead offering a lazy wave and a congratulations to Robin, who had managed to somehow forget that she had her first kiss until that very moment he’d dropped them off at Steve’s.

Robin gasped, holding her hands in front of her face excitedly, and Eddie pulled away just in time to avoid her shout of, “Oh my god, Steve!”

But he still hadn’t told her then. Or that night. Or on Monday. Or the week after.

It stirred up too much inside him, and he wasn’t really sure he wanted to get into the Eddie portion of it, since he wasn’t entirely sure where they stood. Were they friends? Steve thought so. Did he fuck that up? Maybe. But Eddie also seemed pretty blasé about the whole… everything. So maybe he just didn’t really care. Maybe, for Eddie, it was just another snippet in life that came and went, and Steve just happened to be around for it.

He didn’t really get the chance to ask, since his next weekend shifts conflicted with Eddie’s weekend shifts—and being an adult sucked—and he’d barely seen him in passing.

And then none of it seemed to matter much anymore. Not when they got the call.

Not when Will Byers was missing. Again.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE

HAWKINS - JUNE 1986

-STEVE-

***

Summer had arrived by the end of June, making itself known in a heatwave that swept across the country. Robin graduated, as did Nancy and Jonathan, and Joyce had prepared a celebration at the unofficial Hopper-Byers cabin that coming weekend. It would be the first time the whole of their Upside Down crew was together, including Max, who’d been cleared for wheelchair access.

It was the middle of Steve and Robin’s shift when the Family Video phone rang.

Steve picked up the receiver. “Hello, this is Family Video. Steve speak—”

“Steve!” It was Nancy on the line, sounding caught up and sniffling. “El’s been radioing everyone but you’re—You and Robin are at work. But Steve.” She paused to swallow. “Will’s missing. He’s—He’s gone. We woke—We woke up, and he was just gone.”

“What?” He asked, trying to process that it could still be happening. Why was it still happening? Hadn’t Vecna—Henry? One?—been burned up? Like, entirely made crispy? Hadn’t El closed all the gates? “How?”

“Jonathan found drawings in his room of—Of that damn Mind Flayer thing. It might be, um. El thinks it’s the Upside Down itself. Or… Or maybe something beyond it.”

“Steve?” Robin asked. She must have noticed some expression on his face, concern washing across her own as she meandered over.

“Turn the sign and get a walkie from our locker,” Steve asked, or demanded.

Robin nodded dutifully and did as told. While she did, Nancy continued, “Do you think you can come over here?” By here, Steve assumed she meant the cabin.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”

The crackle of the walkie network got louder as Robin stepped out of the back, coming to the main counter.

“—do not know!” El’s voice, distraught and punctuated with quick breaths broke through. “I cannot find him, Mike!”

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Mike was asking, sounding just as manic. “He has to be somewhere!”

“Get here soon, Steve,” Nancy requested by way of farewell, then the line went dead.

Steve held the phone to his ear for five seconds longer, staring blanky at the walkie Robin held, eyes misty as she cradled it.

“Mike, stop shouting, man!” Lucas interjected.

“Dude, we all want to find him,” Dustin added a little quieter.

“You don’t get it! You weren’t there when—!”

“Mike,” Eddie’s voice broke through, and Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever actually heard him over these staticky waves. “We’ll find him, man. Alright? We’ll find him.”

“Steve,” Robin said, taking a deep breath.

“Yeah, I, uh. I know. I’m not ready either.”

“Well, shit. Here we go again.”

***

The clearing in front of the cabin was packed with cars and bikes. It seemed like Steve and Robin were the last to arrive, and Steve parked the Bimmer between two spindly trees.

They were greeted at the door by Dustin, who ushered them in with a grave expression, and soon they were shoved into the too-small space that was the family room, huddled near just beside Lucas and Max, the latter of whom was frowning deeply and looking better but still fragile in her wheelchair.

Joyce had Jonathan’s hand in a chokehold, and Hopper had a reassuring grip on her shoulder. Eddie, Steve noticed, was next to Nancy, both of them focused unerringly at the back of Mike’s head, who himself seemed to be in a quiet stand-off with El.

What the hell had Steve missed?

“Well,” Mike prompted, gesturing frustratedly at El. “That’s got to be it, right?”

El had her fists balled by her waist, a stalwart expression painted across her face. “I do not know. I cannot feel a gate. Opening a new one would be… dangerous.”

“If… If Will’s not here, then…” Joyce said, wincing and sending a leering look at a lamp, like it had something to do with it.

“El, I don’t want you to do something that could hurt you, or worse, alright?” Hopper said, then he took a fortifying breath. “But what are the chances that Will is in the Upside Down?”

El turned her hardened gaze to him, saying, “He is not here. So he must be somewhere else.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Hopper pointed out, stern but calm.

“I do not know. I do not know!” Tears finally carved down her cheeks, and El rubbed a wrist against them to whisk them away. “I cannot tell!”

“Okay, kiddo.” Hopper moved forward and pulled El into his embrace, petting at her head. “Alright. We’ll figure it out. We’ll work together and come up with something.”

Mike swivelled on his feet once, letting loose what Steve honestly couldn’t describe as anything other than a growl, then he deflated and turned back. “I’m sorry, El. I—I don’t mean to be, like, mad at you. I know you want to find him as much as I do. This… This just sucks.”

“Understatement,” Dustin grumbled, then Lucas elbowed him and said:

“Dude, shut up.”

“I think I will need to open a gate,” El admitted, the words muffled against Hopper’s shoulder.

“To the Upside Down?” Jonathan asked, brow drawn and looking severe.

“I do not know,” El admitted, pushing away from Hopper. “Let me try one more time. To see.” She looked up at Hopper. “Please fill the tub?”

Hopper really looked like he wanted to say no, but he patted her cheek affectionately and turned to do exactly as she asked.

“Joyce,” El said, her lip quivering.

Joyce gave a wounded noise, letting go of Jonathan’s hand as she pulled her into a tight hug, saying, “Oh, honey.”

“Hey,” Eddie said, startling Steve, who hadn’t even realised he’d approached. Eddie gave an apologetic chuckle before he tapped at his back pocket. “Cigarette?”

“Uh. Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Steve said, not missing the glare Robin gave the now-exposed Winstons as she stepped around them to speak with Nancy and Jonathan.

It wasn’t until they were stood outside under the first oranges of sunset that Steve realised how much tension had been in that room. In the open air, the constriction that had wrapped around his chest loosened, and Steve whistled low and deep. “Wow.”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie agreed, passing over a cigarette, first lighting Steve’s, then lighting his own. “So, Baby Byers went missing before, right?”

Steve hummed, breathing out a long line of smoke. “Yeah, dude. Back in ’83. He was like, snatched. Brought to the Upside Down by a Demogorgan—”

“Demogorgan?”

“Not your Dungeons and Dragons shit. But yeah, that. And then the government tried to cover it up. Long story short, Joyce didn’t give up, Hopper got involved, and El helped get him the hell out.” Steve paused for a beat. “Jesus, that poor kid. I mean, like, all of them. But Will keeps getting haunted by this. He was like, um. Possessed? In ’84. It… obviously traumatised Mike.”

“Traumatised is one word for it,” Eddie said grimly.

Steve peered over at him curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at him, then flicked his eyes to the closed door for a second. “You don’t see it? Jesus H Christ, that kid had a temper tantrum if I’ve ever seen one. Like full-on panic, crying, shouting. Nancy and I had to literally force him into a chair. I thought Hopper was going to kill him.”

“I mean,” Steve considered, eying the smouldering cherry at the end of his cigarette. “They’ve been friends for like, ever.”

When he glanced over, Eddie was giving him a look.

“Oh. Oh, really? You think so? Mike?”

“I’m always right.”

“So what, you clocked me?”

“I did actually, yeah.”

“… Really?”

Eddie chuckled softly, taking a drag and nodding.

“When?”

“Had suspicions outside the gas station. Then when you said King shouldn’t have cared, be it lord or lady.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t say it like that. And also, I mean, that’s not that damning. I could’ve just been, like, supportive of it.”

“Feeling up my leg and calling me dark, sexy-hot right after did not help your case, man.”

Steve snorted out a laugh and awkwardly hissed through his teeth. “Yeah, alright.” It was a long quiet, strangely liminal as sherbet colours continued to bleed across the sky, the forest rustling and carrying earthen musk along with it. Steve leant on the railing and turned Eddie’s direction, a little dour. “Are we okay, man? I just—I want to make sure. We didn’t really…”

Eddie held up a halting hand. “All good, Harrington. Don’t you worry.”

“So we’re like… friends?”

That seemed to give Eddie pause. Until he said, “Sure.”

“We’re not friends?”

“No,” Eddie backtracked. “No, we are.”

“You, like, hesitated, dude.”

“Not sure I think of you in a strictly friendly way, is all,” Eddie mumbled, leaning over the railing as he drew the last puff from his cigarette.

“Oh,” said Steve. “So why didn’t you call?” That earned him a snicker.

“Steve,” Eddie admonished, an amused glint in his eye. “We’re not dating, man. We made out, like, once.”

“What?” a voice came from behind them, and Steve was eternally grateful that it was nearly always Robin who looked for him, seconded only by Dustin. Who honestly would have been a disaster here. Robin quickly manoeuvred around the screen and shut the door behind it, but not before chancing a quick glance behind her, and she stepped into the stillness of the deck. “What did I just walk out to you saying?”

“Whoops,” Eddie mumbled, immediately reaching for a new cigarette and discarding his old one in what was probably Hopper’s old beer can.

“Uh,” Steve stalled. His heart was pounding needlessly fast. This was Robin. Robin, for god’s sake. “It’s not… what you think?” He tried. And he didn’t even know why.

Robin smacked his arm. “What the hell, Steve Harrington?” Then, for good measure, she smacked Eddie’s arm too, making him flinch and give her a glare. “When!?”

It seemed neither of them wanted to answer that, since Eddie focused on long drags and Steve took his sweet time discarding his spent cigarette.

“Okay,” Robin said frustratedly, “fine. But Steve.” Her big, sad eyes turned on him, and Steve felt remorse gurgle up his gut and into his lungs. “Why didn’t you say anything? Were you experimenting?”

“Um,” Steve stalled again. “No. No, not experimenting. Just… Menting.”

“What does that even mean, man,” Eddie muttered.

Without really thinking about it, Steve shifted his gaze to Eddie and muttered back, “You know exactly what it means, Munson.”

It surprised Eddie enough to blink up at him from where he’d sank down on the railing, an entertained and intrigued something swirling around behind those brown eyes of his. “Guess I do.”

“Okay, stop. Pause.” Robin shifted back and folded her arms. “Rewind,” she finished, and seemingly couldn’t help the short snicker at her own joke. Then she was serious again. “What? Steve. Are you—You felt like you couldn’t tell me?”

Steve, pretty sure his blood was rushing between his feet and head like one of those oceanic jelly toys, cleared his throat and said, “I mean. I had sort of. Mentioned it. Once. And then you accused me of masochism.”

Eddie’s elbow slipped and he almost didn’t catch himself before slamming his chin down. He made an odd laughing noise and smothered a smirk, waving one hand tersely as if to say, I mean, maybe she’s not wrong.

Steve just hoped that Robin didn’t catch on to that.

She hadn’t, and instead she was staring solely at Steve with a knit brow and concentration. Then her hands flew to her mouth and she whispered, “Oh my god! No, Steve! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—I just didn’t think you were, like… It was one time. I thought maybe you were just being a macho, hormonal boy!”

Steve could tell his face was starting to heat by the buzz under his skin. And Eddie had just decided to slump over and watch him with his head on his arm. Waiting to see what Steve would do. “Uh. Yeah. Nope.”

“So… Steve. You’re—” Robin cut off and whispered heavily, “—bisexual?”

Eddie raised a lazy hand. “Can confirm.”

Robin reared back like she only just remembered he was there, then she got what Steve inwardly dubbed the crazy look. “When? When, when? How?”

The front door jiggled and soon Dustin was tossing open the screen and pulling back the handle, shouting an urgent, “Guys! El thinks she has a lead!”

And, yeah. There were far more pressing things happening than Steve’s newly admitted sexuality.

***

“There is a… thread,” El explained, wiping at her bloodied nose. “It connects from here to the Upside Down. And then it keeps… going,” she said, a confused crease to her brow. “But I think I felt Will. A fragment of his steps.”

“So we go to the Upside Down,” Mike determined, sat on a far chair with Nancy’s hand on one of his shoulders, Lucas having taken the place Eddie used to occupy.

Dustin had assumed position near Max, who wrinkled her nose and said, “Give her a second to breathe, Mike. Christ.”

“No,” said El. “No. Mike is correct. But we will have to… search. It is like following an echo. And it does not feel like it is always in the same place.”

“I don’t want you kids heading into that mess,” Hopper said, a comforting arm around Joyce. “You don’t need to run in and be reckless, alright? We’re here. Adults are in the room. We go.”

“No,” Mike said, defiant and daring Hopper to deny him.

“Excuse me, kid?” Hopper said, slipping away from Joyce. “You want to try that again?”

“We’ve been there,” Nancy offered. She had that hard look about her. The one that screamed determination. “Steve, Robin, and I. And Dustin, actually.” She flicked her gaze to Dustin, who responded with a dry laugh and gummy smile. “But I don’t really think you should go, Dustin. Sorry. But, with all due respect, everyone else is an adult.”

“What are you trying to say, Wheeler?” Hopper asked, the curl of his lip an early indication of his pre-emptive displeasure.

“Let’s work out a system. We know the walkies still work from the Upside Down to the Rightside Up. We tested that last time. If we need to… let’s do expeditions. Rotate groups so a few of us are always searching, and those who aren’t are resting. Recuperating.”

“You and mom can’t just do that alone,” Jonathan reasoned beside Nancy. “Let’s do this in a way that everyone gets out. Everyone.”

“Kids…” Joyce bit her lip, glancing at the older members of their strange, trauma-bonded crew. “I guess… you’re not children anymore, huh?” She turned to Hopper. “Hop, what do you think?”

“I think that I hate this idea,” Hopper grumbled. Then he sighed and continued, “But I see the logic.” With reservation, he turned toward Steve, Robin, and Eddie. “And you guys are on board with this? She’s right. You have been there.”

“U-um,” Robin stuttered beside Steve. “It’s not, like, my favourite place. But, yeah. For Will.”

“Don’t get me wrong.” Eddie gave a disheartened laugh. “That place is, like, literal Hell on… not-Earth. And not somewhere I want to be. But… We can’t just be leaving Will the Wise to fend for himself. So, like, I guess it’s back to Mordor.”

“Was that a yes, Munson?” Hopper asked sharply.

Steve nearly snickered at the way Eddie straightened up like a military roll call.

“Yes! Yes. That was a yes.”

“Steve?” Hopper asked. It sounded tired, obligatory. Like he already knew the answer. And it was Steve he was asking, so of course he did.

“Yeah. Always,” Steve said, and Hopper gave him a longsuffering, exhausted look.

“Why are you all such good fucking kids? Have some self-preservation,” Hopper muttered, but behind it was a proud smile, hidden beneath a slow-growing beard.

“So. What first?” Lucas asked.

Dustin raised his eyebrows with a weary sigh before saying, “Supplies.”

***

-EDDIE-

***

There was a lot of noise in the Hopper-Byers cabin. Everyone seemed to be planning, making an argument for something, or offering assurances of some kind. Eddie still felt new to this, and Dustin—the perceptive little butthead he was—seemed cognisant of that and stuck by his side.

Eddie wasn’t even entirely sure what was decided and how, but it turned out his van was the largest vehicle at their disposal, and all he really heard was you better drive safe, Munson, from Hopper. Who still terrified the living daylights out of him. So he nodded and got the fuck out of his cabin, into the safety of his van.

And then Steve was suddenly plopping himself in the passenger seat, saying, “Yeah, uh… He didn’t trust you to know where you’re going.”

“I don’t,” Eddie said, as if he shouldn’t be expected to. He was just ordered to go, so go he did. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, rings thumping in rhythm, and took a deep breath.

“You alright, man?”

“No, dude,” Eddie hissed. Then he pushed down his anxiety and huffed. “Sorry. I just—I didn’t think I’d go back. Like. Ever. But, fuck, Steve. We can’t just leave a kid to, like, wither there. And not Will—Jesus. Life is rough enough for people like us, you know? And now he’s got all this shit. I just… I don’t know. I hope he’s okay, man. I hope this is quick.”

Steve hummed softly in agreement. “Kid’s had it tough.”

“Steve,” Eddie said quietly, letting vulnerability seep through in the confines of his van. “Being gay in our fucked-up society comes with a whole lot of persecution and fear and hate—and like, people are still dying, man. And not getting help or treatment because of stupid stigmas. So, for him, he’s looking at a world that hates him for existing without even knowing him. And then there’s a whole separate dimension that apparently has it out for him too, so danger literally lurks in every corner. How the fuck is that fair? So, like, no. We’re not just gonna let the poor kid disappear. Fuck that. People… People care about him. Hell, don’t we all need that? But like, Christ. He’s still just a kid, Steve!”

Eddie forced air back into his exerted lungs, blinking against what really felt his eyes tearing up, and he let loose a sombre laugh.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Sorry, man. I just—That’s really shit.”

Steve was quiet for a stint, and Eddie could feel his stare against his profile. Then Steve asked, “You clocked Will, too?”

Eddie snorted and turned to give Steve a bemused look. “That’s what you have to say?”

But Steve was looking at him with heart-pulling softness, a gentle smile turning his lips ever so slightly higher. And Eddie felt that look settle somewhere in his chest, furrowing and making a nest there. Carving something that would never quite go away.

“We’ll get him home, man,” Steve said fondly.

Eddie felt the tension in his face ease, his shoulders dropping. He gave Steve a sad, lopsided smile. “One of my flock is missing, Stevie.”

“One of my rugrats is gone, Ed.”

Eddie didn’t really think about it. The whole thing played out like instinct, his hand reaching over the console to grab Steve’s, commiserating as he gave it a squeeze—

Then he promptly ripped himself back as the posterior doors of his van tore open and Jonathan and Dustin came climbing in. And Dustin, who largely hadn’t been paying them much mind, paused halfway through his crawl and looked up. He blinked in confusion and said, “What are you waiting for? Turn the key, dude!”

And so Eddie did.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SIX

-STEVE-

***

“And that’s definitely everything on the list?” Steve asked, scanning the hasty, chicken-scratch scrawl that Hopper had ripped off a notepad and shoved in Steve’s hand on the way out. And that was fine—really, it was. Steve got the distinct impression that Hopper trusted him, for some weird reason. Like, considered him the adult of the young adults, somehow.

But that also put a monumental pressure on his shoulders to not fuck up.

Always the babysitter, the frequently recycled thought twisted though his head again.

“Yeah,” Jonathan said next to him, peering at the list. “I think so.”

Steve grimaced unsurely, then scanned his eyes across the aisles of the outdoor enthusiast shop. No Dustin or Eddie in sight. He sighed. “Where the hell are those dumbasses?”

“I only ever…” Jonathan began, hesitant. Steve shifted his attention over, and Jonathan thinned his lips with a grim inhale. “I only ever saw the Upside Down for like, maybe a minute. Is this enough? You guys were down there for, what? Half a day?”

Air inflated Steve’s cheeks, then he blew it out in a puff. “Man, I don’t know, maybe? We didn’t really have a plan on the first go. We like, just wandered the woods. Went to the Wheelers’ house. It was, uh. Bizarre, dude. Like, nothing was right.” Steve glanced back at the list. Flashlights. Batteries. Rations and jerky. Rope, knives, ammunition. It was like going to war. “Second time it was with a plan. We had a destination; went armed and ready. This is, ah… This is a little different, though. This time.”

“Yeah…” Jonathan trailed. The tacky store music bulked the silence from crackling speakers, and Jonathan looked out of place next to camo grieves. “Sorry, man. That you’re dragged back into this. Again. But, uh… Thanks. For helping look for my brother.”

“Yeah, dude,” said Steve, “of course.”

“And, uh. Eddie Munson,” Jonathan said quieter, gaze flicking up. “He’s like… reliable?”

Steve blinked at that question. Right. Jonathan barely knew Eddie. To him, he was just the drug-dealing metalhead from school. The guy who’d failed twice and made a scene in high school lunchrooms. It was strange, Steve considered, that Eddie had swiftly moved away from those being his sole markers in Steve’s eyes from when he’d jabbed him with an oar.

Or maybe even before that, if he were honest. Around when Dustin started singing the guy’s praises, and then Eddie Munson became more than that guy from school. His name was spoken at Steve with admiration. A character in stories told by the kids when he’d cart them around. He was suddenly more, and nuanced—no longer a cardboard cutout of teenage rebellion—and he was from that point on a presence in Steve’s life before he stood next to him in the face of demobats and hivemind vines.

“Yeah,” Steve decided without room for doubt. “He, uh. He actually really is.”

As if to directly oppose Steve’s inspired praise, Eddie and Dustin burst back into their line of sight, looking like they were playacting a scene from some safari survival show. Dustin had a pair of binoculars, scanning the so-called horizon, and Eddie was holding a fishing rod like it was a spear. Steve took a calming breath through his nose.

“You’re sure?” Jonathan asked, hesitant.

“Unfortunately,” Steve said dryly, “yes.”

***

It wasn’t that Steve had avoided telling Robin. Not really. He just hadn’t actively tried to since he’d had solidified revelations. And experiences.

But he was starkly reminded of why her knowing was such a big deal in his head as soon as he, Eddie, Dustin, and Jonathan stepped back into the cabin. Her eyes immediately swivelled to his like a homing beacon from where she stood beside Nancy at the dining table—which now looked like a war table, Hopper and Joyce leaning over taped pieces of paper—and they pierced like a javelin before slipping to Eddie.

Robin knew Steve.

Robin knew Steve too well.

She knew Steve admitted to having, at the very least, one naughty dream about the guy over half a year ago. She knew Steve was a hopeless romantic, if not a little fast and loose with his sexual exploits. She knew Steve had a tendency to fall quick and hard, then crash and burn just as spectacularly. And she knew that Steve had truly loved Nancy. And that he craved finding love again, whatever that looked like.

Robin knew how dangerous having a thing for Eddie might be if Steve let himself get caught up in it. Because Steve wore his heart on his sleeve, open and ready for the taking. But the likelihood of Eddie Munson being a permanent fixture in Steve’s life was slim to none.

And Steve knew that. He definitely knew that.

And it wasn’t going to be a problem. It already wasn’t a problem. A one-time thing. Maybe a two-time thing, if the moment felt right and Eddie was amicable to it.

But it wasn’t going to be a problem.

So he wished she’d stop glancing at them like that.

“Rob,” Steve called, urging her over to him with a beckoning finger. He was not about to spend the next however long they might need to search for Will with her suspicious glares. “Come here.”

“I’m not a dog, Steve,” she said, but heeded his request anyway. Jonathan took her empty spot, dropping his arm around Nancy, and Dustin leered at them as he went to join the circle of kids by the couch, Eddie close on his heels.

Steve and Robin stepped outside, night looming above them now, and Steve did not want a re-run of Robin’s untimely interruption earlier that day, so he directed them to the Bimmer and gestured for Robin to join him inside. She did, and as soon as the car doors shut, Steve let out a heavy sigh.

“Rob—”

He didn’t get to finish before she launched herself over and threw a hug over his shoulders. “Dingus, I’m so sorry. And so happy for you! And, like, selfishly excited, too. You’re—Steve, you’re like me!”

Steve dropped his hovering hands to pat at her back as he smiled grimly. “I’m nothing like you Rob. Be real. But, like. I guess I am, yeah.”

“Steve,” she said with a sniffle, holding tighter. “I’m so sorry I teased you and called you a masochist? Maybe you’re just a little freakier than, like, me. I don’t know what you do.” She pulled back and gazed at him sternly. “And I don’t need to know what you do, either.”

Steve mimed zipping his mouth. “My lips are sealed, Rob.”

“I mean…” she began with a careful squint. “I guess you have to be a little freaky, if you’re into, like, the literal King of Freaks.”

Steve made a disgruntled noise and extracted himself from her, folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah, that’s what I want to talk about. Because you’re giving me looks, Rob. And I don’t want you to do that, like, this whole however long, alright? It’s not a big deal—”

“I heartily disagree—”

“—and you don’t need to make anything Eddie-related a big deal, okay? Small crush. Small make-out. And now we’re good. Alright?”

The light bleeding from the cabin filtered across her face in glowing yellow, making the creasing of her scrunched reaction heightened in contrast. “Um. No? It is a big deal. You like a boy, Steve!”

“That’s not—Oh, right.” Steve laughed awkwardly under his breath. “So, that dream? The one I told you about? Definitely not the only dream I’ve had. Just, like, no one else had, uh, distinguishable features. And, anyway, I’ve hooked up with a guy who’s not Eddie, so. Uh. Yeah. Small crush. Small make-out. We’re all good.”

Robin floundered, hands slowly rising before they flicked out in a what-the-fuck gesture. “Steve, what!?”

“Oh,” Steve said, making a gesture that probably meant something, but most definitely looked a bit ridiculous with his wrinkled nose. “Right. Uh, yeah. That happened.”

“Oh my god!”

“Uh…” Steve felt the need to scoot back, put distance. He scratched at the side of his face. “Turns out getting head from a dude is, like, just as good.” He shrugged, Robin scowled.

“Lips! Sealed, Steve!”

“Right, right. Yeah, totally.” Steve opened his mouth to continue, thought better of it, then stayed silent and peered over at Robin warily. “So...”

“Okay. Right. So this is just… part of things now.” Robin grabbed his hand in hers and squeezed. “Part of you. You know I love you, right, Steve?”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled softly. “Yeah, Rob. I love you too.”

Light suddenly highlighted Robin’s face in a way that was suspect, flooding too brightly. Steve turned to look toward the cabin, spotting Dustin, Mike, and Lucas squinting behind the glass of the window. Trying to peep on them.

“Christ,” Steve muttered.

“How many times can you say platonic with a capital ‘P’ before it sticks?” Robin asked.

“It’ll never stick,” Steve grumbled as Dustin squinted more to try and see against the dark.

Distantly, Steve wondered how they might’ve reacted if it were him and Eddie out here instead. Probably just as nosy, but for entirely different reasons. Like fascination that Steve ‘Babysitter’ Harrington and Eddie ‘Cool Dungeon Master’ Munson were friendly.

Well, Hell literally froze over—or boiled over?—so, sure. And Steve, as it turned out, had a penchant for collecting dorky weirdos at his side and finding himself strangely happy about it.

“Maybe we should just say we’re dating,” Steve considered as he went for the driver’s side doorhandle. “Would get them off our backs.”

“In your dreams, Steve,” Robin said, then, with recent context, corrected with, “or, um. Thankfully not in your dreams. Ew.”

“Uh. Yeah, no. Definitely not.”

Robin exited the car with an emphatic, “Gross.”

***

-EDDIE-

***

The night was weening, and tempers were getting short, Eddie noticed. There was some sort of planning stand-off happening between Hopper, Joyce, and Nancy. But Eddie had actually worked an early morning shift that day and thus hadn’t slept in what was nearing 24 hours.

“In half,” Joyce was arguing. “The more people staying together, the better!”

“It’s more efficient if we do pairs, Joyce. We cover more ground,” Hopper reasoned tiredly.

“But you risk blind spots. Issues if there are injuries. Trios make more sense,” Nancy said stubbornly.

Eddie slunk down against the wall he’d settled near, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He wanted to help. He really did. And the sooner they pin down a plan, the sooner Will Byers would—hopefully—be in the clear. But he also just wanted to sleep.

A hand nudged his shoulder, and he blinked himself back to alertness, looking over and realising that Steve had sat next to him. “You alright, man?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie. Lethargy bled through, and he was sure Steve could hear it. “Yeah, totally, one hundred per cent fine.”

“You look dead on your feet.”

“Technically, Steve, I’m not on my feet.”

Steve glanced down, lingering maybe a second too long on where Eddie’s ass met the floor. “True.”

“—I don’t care, I’m going, too!” Mike’s shout brought their attention back to the group, where he’d stood near his sister with folded arms. “Seriously, you treat us like we haven’t dealt with shit. We have. And we’re pretty much as old as you were when this started!”

Nancy opened her mouth to retort, but the thought fizzled, and she instead connected gazes with Jonathan across the room.

“Wow. That’s… true and weird,” Steve mumbled beside Eddie.

“Fine,” Hopper caved. “Fine. Joyce with me. Nancy with Jonathan. Steve, you take Mike. And that leaves Buckley with… Munson.” Hopper’s eyes landed on Eddie, and soon a look of consternation puckered his mouth and scrunched his nose. “Nope. No. That doesn’t work.”

“I told you.” Joyce poked at Hopper’s arm. “Pairs is a bad plan!”

“Groups of three,” Nancy determined. “Everyone else on standby, rotating. The first group should have someone who’s been there before. Who understands the environment.”

“Then who first, Ms Woman With a Plan?” Hopper asked.

“Well. Me, I guess. As a guide. And you. And—”

“Me,” Mike supplied, stepping up. “I’m your third.”

Hopper gave a pained, deep inhale, then he sighed and turned to Joyce. “I’ll look everywhere, Joyce. We’ll find Will. And if not on the first try, we’ll keep going.”

“Nance,” Jonathan said with a frown. He didn’t speak further, but Nancy smiled sadly at him.

“You’ll replace me, okay?” She turned to Steve then. “Steve, could you guide next?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure,” Steve said, flicking his gaze from her to Jonathan then back again.

“Hey,” Lucas said, sitting up from where he’d been on a chair next to Max. “Listen. I know you guys won’t be happy about this, but Dustin and I deserve to go too. Will is—yeah, he’s your son, Ms Byers. And your brother, Jonathan. And, like, if this were Erica, you better believe I wouldn’t stick around to hear the word no—thank god she’s at camp—but, uh. Look, Will is our friend. He’s… He’s family for us, too. Dustin and I. We have to be able to be on the ground and looking, man. That’s our choice.”

Beside him, Dustin was nodding his head, sombre. “And I’ve been there. Nancy even said; I’ve been there before, in the thick of it.”

“And I’ll be with El, here. Relaying.” Max gestured to her wheelchair. “I don’t think this baby is ready for the Upside Down… But we won’t be alone. When you’re rotating, or whatever. There will always be people there. And people here.”

“So, two groups of three. Four people on standby,” Nancy determined. “Fine.”

“So group two is me and Steve and… who?” Jonathan asked.

“I’ll go with Steve,” Mike determined, and it turned a few surprised stares his way. But he was looking at Jonathan. “You can stay with Nance, Jonathan.”

Eddie chanced a glance at Steve and saw him sporting a contemplative expression, pinned on Mike with a drawn brow. But Steve had mentioned that he’d watched over these kids through shit like this for years now. Maybe that held credence, in Mike’s mind, as surprising as his decision had come.

“And I feel like Hopper, Nancy, and I on a team is just an argument waiting to happen,” Mike muttered, crossing his arms. And… Yeah. That sounded accurate.

“Steve?” Hopper asked for validation.

“Uh, yeah! Yeah. All good,” Steve confirmed.

“You boys mind if I join the party?” Joyce asked with a tight smile, mind obviously preoccupied with thoughts of her missing son.

Eddie saw Steve prepare to shake his head and say of course we don’t mind, but it was Mike who spoke up first, saying, “We’ll find him, Ms Byers. Together.” And, huh. It looked like Wheeler had grown up sometime between the start of his freshman year to the end of it. Maybe Steve wouldn’t be playing babysitter so much as leader this time around—and, really, hadn’t him and Nancy already done that last time, too?

Eddie nudged Steve with his shoulder. “Good luck out there, man.”

Steve looked over with a grim smile. “Yeah. Thanks, dude.”

***

-STEVE-

***

One day, two groups, no progress.

They’d scoured the Hawkins’s Upside Down, tuned into their walkies to listen to El’s directives, relayed usually by Max. Sometimes by Dustin. She’d said the traces were mobile and fleeting. Unpredictable. So they’d split in two directions on the hope that one of their groups would come across a trace at the right time. Or that they might see something worthwhile on the way.

What Steve mostly saw was shared stoic comradery between Mike and Joyce that had him both surprised and relieved. They had one unified goal, and they weren’t about to stray from that. And Steve told them his learnt basic principles: don’t touch the vines, or any other type of slimy vegetation; keep and ear out for monstrosities, the bats might be dead, but the rest weren’t; stay close, quiet, and in cover when possible.

It had been his mighty displeasure to report back, an hour or two in, that they had a sighting of a small demobat flock. “Uh, hey,” he’d said into his walkie. “So, looks like those demobats aren’t as dead as we thought. Sighting near Quarry Road.” And then he remembered, because they were in a more formal operation now, and Hopper held one of these walkies by Upside Down Main Street, “Um. Over.”

There was the static crackle of radio waves, then Hopper’s voice cut through, “Noted. Thanks for the update, Harrington. Demodogs in the centre of town. No demogorgan sightings. Over and out.”

It might have been Hopper using the language that Dustin was always pushing, which Steve had always found childish then, when they hadn’t actually been militant. It might have been that Hopper trusted him to watch over his now-partner Joyce, even if they hadn’t formally admitted it yet, and his daughter’s boyfriend, Nancy’s brother. But he suddenly started feeling the weight of this excursion more. And Will Byers was still unaccounted for.

Steve’s eyes scanned the crackling red sky and dust-moted horizon, the forest casting ominous shadows across the baren, empty road. If he had to imagine Hell, this would be it.

Their watches didn’t work here, so Steve only knew by his exhaustion and Dustin’s message of: It’s time, guys. Head back. It hit eight o’clock, and it was time for the next changeover and four-hour shift. They hadn’t uncovered much more than the Upside Down being just as hostile as it had always been. They’d been careful, and no one had to use a firearm or weapon yet—Steve’s nailbat stayed blessedly monster-blood-free this time. He put a hand on Joyce’s shoulder and said, “We’ll hit a breakthrough, Joyce.”

She smiled with effort, responding, “I know, Steve. I know.”

“Steve,” Mike said from his opposite side. His expression was stony, determined. “Thanks. For being here. For looking.”

Steve, knowing Mike Wheeler long enough now, didn’t say of course or always, or anything like that. Instead, he nodded and bumped a loose fist against his arm in a show of companionship. Mike nodded tersely back at him, then they set off back towards the Upside Down reflection of the cabin in the woods, where El had ripped a small, contained gate, guarded by Lucas and Robin while Dustin assisted inside and Eddie rested up for his stint in the Upside Down.

Last time, Will had been missing for a week. Steve really hoped it wouldn’t be that long this time around.

When they got back, the four in the Rightside Up were geared up to recon until midnight, replacing Nancy, Steve, Joyce, and Mike this time. Steve watched as Hopper left with Eddie and Dustin, and Jonathan left with Lucas and Robin. He wondered, too, if they’d watched their previous groups head off with the same trepidation he’d felt in his chest then.

Eddie didn’t look at him, seemingly psyching himself up by shaking out the jitters in his wrists. Dustin, however, looked back at Steve and gave him a grin that didn’t meet his eyes. Steve smiled back with a half-hearted wave, hoping it relayed come back in one piece, preferably breathing and unharmed, please.

Robin stared at him silently for a long time, and Steve stared right back.

Before she stepped into the red, glowing gate punched into a tree, she’d sniffed and called back, “Love you, Dingus!” like it might be her last time saying it.

Steve watched the empty space where she’d just disappeared into the fizzing tear. Then he quietly murmured back, to the desolate summer air, “Love you, Rob.”

Next to him, Nancy gently touched his arm in an effort to comfort him. And Steve wasn’t sure what she thought. What that exchange looked like to her. But Steve stood and stared at the pulsating, thin gate a little longer. Maybe he should have told Dustin he loved him before he stepped into its mouth. Maybe he should have called hey, Eddie, and said something. Anything. Maybe he should have told Hopper and Lucas and Jonathan to not do anything stupid. To make sure they made their way back.

Something settled into the back of his mind. A morbid thought that told him, every time someone walks through that gate, they might never come back out.

Steve really hoped they found Will. And soon.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER SEVEN

HAWKINS - JUNE 1986

-STEVE-

***

“—I don’t know, man! Hop said a bunch, alright? So, like, grab a bunch!” said Steve.

Eddie gave a disparaging look over his shoulder from where he was hunched over a wheelbarrow of discount fireworks. “That’s great, Steve. Thanks.”

It was the last week of June, and Will was officially missing for longer than the last time.

“Steve?” a familiar voice said.

Steve felt plummeting dread settle in his stomach. He turned slow and saw Tommy, back for the summer. Steve was pretty sure he got into University of Indianapolis. The pasty bastard.

“Uh. Hey,” Steve said carefully.

He’d not spoken to Tommy since the end of his junior year. And now here he was studying him in the middle of a heatwave, at a pop-up fireworks stand of the interstate, dry air killing the grass and making the use of said fireworks questionable at best.

Tommy, popped collar and shielded from the sun in a baseball cap, opened his mouth to say something else, then his gaze caught on Eddie, who rose from his riffling, an armful of exploding array varietals pulled close.

Eddie didn’t exactly look phased by Tommy’s presence, but he didn’t seem all that comfortable about it, eyebrows raised as he glanced from Steve to Tommy then back.

“So… Yeah. I’m just gonna, like, purchase these suckers now—” Eddie paused as he was slinking away, thinning his mouth to a line, then saying, “You’ve got the…”

Steve made an ah noise, then he slipped out his wallet, which held the cash Joyce had provided. He held it out for Eddie, who shuffled briefly in a doomed attempt to snatch it, arms full. Steve sighed and shoved it in Eddie’s back pocket instead.

“Thanks, man,” Eddie said briefly before taking long strides away.

Leaving Steve with Tommy alone. Which Steve could handle. Totally. It was just Tommy.

Steve had seen Tommy pee his pants in the car after too much soda at boy scouts. Steve had ran with him, laughing and punch-drunk while they fled a bouncer from the Indianapolis club they’d snuck into several years too early. But Tommy would’ve spat nasty names and kicked him for the sake of it if he had any idea what Steve had been up to on his most recent trip to the city.

“Wow,” Tommy said with mirth, freckled face morphing with a joking smile. “You’re pals with Munson now, huh?”

Steve couldn’t quite read the tone of it.

“Yeah,” Steve replied. “I am. Learned to keep better company.”

“Munson is better company?” Tommy scoffed, gazing off into the horizon line full of wheat fields and one big billboard for the all-inclusive family resort eight miles down the road. “Never thought I’d hear that alright. Then again, you got a bit weird senior year, huh? Iced us out. What did Nancy Wheeler do to you?”

Steve folded his arms, evaluated Tommy. He could take him. He’d fought worse.

“You don’t know Nancy, man. Don’t pretend you do.”

“I mean, I hung out with her back then, same as you. Jonathan Byers, though. Didn’t see him coming. That sucked, huh?”

“All that shit’s old news, dude. Get some better material.”

There was a glimmer of a shift in Tommy’s eyes, a hesitation, then he said, “Look, Steve. I’m not trying to, like, start a fight. I just don’t get it. You never actually told me why you just, like, shut us out. Just told me to fuck off and never looked back, man. And we’re not kids—like, I’m not some crybaby in a schoolyard playground, or whatever bullshit—but we’d been friends since second grade. And then you just—what? Decided we weren’t good enough for you anymore?”

Steve blinked, his coiled tension loosening as his arms separated, one hand coming to rest on his hip instead. He was probably in that pose the kids liked to call his mom stance. Whatever. It was Steve stance. “What? Dude, why do you care? We just—We weren’t on the same page anymore, man. That’s it.”

“So, what? You’re on the same page as Munson? And some random kids—like that little nerd with no teeth?”

“We don’t bring that up, dude! Not cool.”

“I—” Tommy gave an exasperated scoff. “Alright. Whatever. Look. I don’t live in Hawkins anymore. Life in the city is different, man. I’ve seen all types over the last year, and Hawkins really is just, like…” Tommy scowled and cast a look across the sweeping landscape, cicadas loud and sweat gathered on his collar. “This place is a shithole, Steve. I know we fell out. That’s fine. But do yourself a favour and get the fuck out of Hawkins while you can. Take up interning at your dad’s firm’s branch in Indy. I don’t get why you, like, stayed. It’s fucking bonkers. I sure as hell wouldn’t’ve.”

Steve didn’t really know what to say. It’s not like he hadn’t considered leaving. But there was Robin, who would actually be unwittingly joining Tommy at University of Indianapolis in the autumn. And there were the kids, who had three more solid years to withstand. And there was Steve, who… Well, he didn’t know. But he was the babysitter. He couldn’t leave now.

Well, definitely not now, with Will still missing.

But even if Steve did leave, it wouldn’t be through his dad and his connections. And the funny thing was, he wouldn’t have begged his dad for a role even when he’d been friends with Tommy. Which, really, had Tommy ever known him at all? Or had Steve just never actually let him in? Always saving face and acting like he knew exactly who he was, who he was meant to be.

In reality, Steve Harrington was a work in progress. And Steve was… okay with that.

He was figuring it out.

“Yeah,” is what Steve eventually said. “Maybe.”

“Alright,” Tommy said dejectedly. “Well. Good luck with everything then, Steve. It was good to—Well, maybe it wasn’t. But whatever. See you around. Or, like, not.”

Tommy turned and pointedly started picking through fireworks, so Steve took that as a clear sign to disengage.

When Steve got back to Eddie’s van, Eddie himself was sat in the back with the doors open, airing out the heat that had accumulated inside.

Eddie perked up at the noise Steve’s feet on gravel, cracking a lazy eye open. “You good?” he asked.

Steve shrugged. “Sure.”

Eddie didn’t comment further, only eyeing Steve briefly, then he scooted out and clapped Steve on the shoulder when he passed him by on the way to the driver’s seat.

The whole encounter at the stand had left Steve feeling a little sour. Maybe Eddie could tell, because when Steve turned on the radio rather than play Eddie’s Metallica tape, Eddie just kept driving without complaint. And Steve watched Tommy and the fireworks stand grow smaller in the sideview mirror, fading with little more to consider.

As they zipped past parched fields, the speakers keened Don Henley’s lyrics about the boys of summer being gone.

***

HAWKINS – JULY 1986

-EDDIE-

***

The Fourth of July didn’t feel celebratory.

Eddie had spent the morning plucking his unplugged guitar in the back of his van, his Dustin-given walkie propped up on stray crate.

“—demobat nest by the high school—” Jonathan’s voice cut in through crackling static.

“—make sure—okay? Over and out,” Joyce responded, her message choppy between the Upside Down and the Rightside Up.

Eddie held still for another minute or two, waiting. Dread and anticipation building.

But nothing happened. So he nodded to himself and kept plucking a tune without name.

The afternoon and evening saw him at the plant. Wayne tapped his shoulder at some point, and Eddie followed him. Exhausted. A little distant.

They’d made it outside and Wayne rested a heavy hand on Eddie’s shoulder, a firework whistling high in the far distance, exploding in a burst of orange and blue against the dusk above. Eddie felt a little silly for not realising before why Wayne had come by.

“Happy Forth, Ed,” Wayne groused, patting his back.

Eddie thought about Wayne, sticking by him through thick and thin. Taking him in when his dad went to jail and his mom had long since split.

He’d looked her up once. Just curious.

It was an obituary from 1979 that he found.

Eddie thought about Joyce looking for her boy in grey dust and red skies. Eddie thought about a kid missing that he’d only just come to know, but would, ideally, like to continue to know in the coming future.

Another firework burst and Eddie watched it fade in smoky trails.

“Love you, man,” Eddie told Wayne quietly.

Wayne didn’t say it back. He rarely did. But Eddie knew Wayne loved him.

Never doubted it for a second.

***

-STEVE-

***

Steve was just emerging from the gate as a firework exploded.

He jumped and nearly fell into Dustin, who grabbed at his arm.

“Dude!” Dustin said, steadying Steve as he sidestepped to avoid further crushing. Another burst of light cracked above and sizzled yellow and blue far above the treeline, maybe a few miles off. “Oh, right,” Dustin mumbled to himself. “It’s the Fourth.”

“Yeah,” Steve said as him and Dustin stood to the side to not block Jonathan and Joyce’s exit.

Dustin smiled to himself, maybe a little morose, and Steve ruffled the top of his fluffy head. “Happy Fourth, Steve.”

“Yeah,” Steve repeated. Then he yanked Dustin into his side and said, “Yeah, dude. Glad I’m with you for it.”

Dustin’s smile melted into something happier, paired with a scoffed chuckle. “Ya big softy,” he joked, nudging him with his elbow.

Steve just laughed right back, a special thankfulness settling in his chest that he could make this kid smile. That Steve was someone this scrappy teenager appreciated. That he’d become someone worthy of that, maybe.

When he looked to the side, Joyce and Jonathan were huddled not unlike Dustin and Steve, and Steve was suddenly smacked with the reflection that it was a heavily familial position. Like Dustin was his actual younger brother. And… Yeah.

Yeah, Steve thought that sounded about right.

Another firework burst, and Steve thought maybe he should call Robin when he got home. See if this holiday was markedly better than last year’s—which he imagined it was, given last year’s was pretty ridiculously horrible.

If nothing else, all this supernatural nonsense had done something invaluable for Steve. The results of which were connected by Code Red walkies across the span of Hawkins.

If he’d left. If he’d not picked up that bat. If he’d not decided to stay.

Steve wouldn’t have what he had now.

“Steve?” Dustin asked quietly.

Steve blinked down at him, realising then that there was a glassiness across his vision. He huffed and looked up to stave it off. “Nothing bad, man. It’s—It’s all good.”

Dustin was silent for a stint, then he slipped his arm behind Steve and patted at his back. “Love you, man.”

Steve let out a soft, wounded hum and swallowed, pressing his mouth into a weepy smile as he flexed his hand on Dustin’s shoulder, jostling him good naturedly. “Yeah,” Steve said. “Yeah. Love you too, buddy.”

***

-EDDIE-

***

Eddie parked over crumpled leaves in front of the Hopper-Byers cabin.

Mid-July, and they still hadn’t found Will.

Their efforts had transformed. It just wasn’t practical, as callous an admission as that was, to keep their pace. After the expedition of four on the Fourth, they’d settled on one group of three on a daily evening shift, rotating. So the adults could keep their jobs. So the kids didn’t arouse suspicion by never returning to their parents’ homes. And Erica was back now, but there was no way in hell they were letting her into that devil’s lair, so she stayed up top with Max and El. It helped, though, her being there. Support for Max, and another person to relay El’s messages.

And Super Girl was not a machine. After two days straight of constant searches, she’d passed out for a full 24 hours. Hopper put his foot down then. El needed rest and recouperation too. So, sometimes, they went in blind, when she was over exerted or sleeping.

Tonight, it was him, Steve, and Hopper. The trio was always shifting, never the same due to their nature of rotation. The last time it had been the three of them, it was after several exhausting days and had been an incredibly silent affair.

Eddie couldn’t believe it was only around two months ago that he, Steve, and Robin had been living it up in downtown Indianapolis. It seemed like a world away now.

Everything, even when he wasn’t actively in it, revolved around the Upside Down.

Work, sleep, Upside Down. Sleep, Upside Down, work. Upside Down, Sleep, work.

Rinse, repeat.

He felt a little bad that he’d not been around Wayne much. And he could tell that his uncle would silently lift a brow at his predictable departure, probably looking more tired than he ever had. Wayne hadn’t asked, but Eddie knew he wondered. Worried.

When he entered the cabin, Steve was already there, sorting through what supplies they might need. Eddie was vaguely aware that they would be patrolling the old Hawkins lab area. Hopper had previously gone in but found nothing. Nancy had been close to what El called a trace once near the church, but it hadn’t panned out.

They were often re-treading ground now, just hoping that something would happen.

Morbidly, Eddie wondered when they would eventually call it. If they would ever call it.

“Hey, man,” Mike said, tossing him a padded vest. He was a near-permanent fixture at the cabin, sallow with lack of sleep, bruised with fatigue.

“You ready for this?” Steve asked before he pinched a wrench between his teeth to sort through a mess of ropes instead.

Eddie glanced at where Joyce had fallen asleep on the couch at some point, and where Jonathan and Nancy were huddled in the kitchen space, frowning over their coffee mugs.

“As I’ll ever be,” Eddie decided.

***

Eddie hated this part. The transition from summertime woods to drab, haunting grey. The crack of red lightning above. The stagnated stench of rot mixed with pungent ozone. Nothing felt real here, like a nightmare come to life, but he watched as Hopper trekked ahead with purpose, Steve following right behind. So what else was Eddie meant to do except for keep pace or be left in this hellscape?

***

“Go for the legs!” Hopper was shouting, unloading his own pistol into one of two of the demogorgans.

They’d been skulking around the forest before venturing into the frozen Hawkins Lab, fussing and trying to figure out how to make the elevator go to the deeper levels without electricity. El had once mentioned that she couldn’t see there, like there was interference.

Originally, Steve was meant to fiddle with the mechanics, but then he’d gone and muttered about how Eddie had hotwired a camper van—which, great anecdote to share in front of a cop—and Hopper had paused, groaned, then delegated that Eddie be the one to work with wires. So now Eddie stood with clippers and pliers in hand, and Steve was setting down the portable battery he held, grabbing his own pistol, gifted by Hopper, rather than his trusty bat.

“The legs!” Hopper was shouting again, the command followed by several rounds against a new demogorgan crawling out of a darkened stairwell. “Jesus—where are they coming from!?”

Steve let loose a short array, three of the four bullets hitting their target, causing a chittering demogorgan to squeal as it collapsed on sheered legs, skidding across tiles with a trail of blackened goo. Hopper felled the one by the stairwell, but it was starting to feel like the whole building was coming alive, a distant growl heard from a dim hall around the corner.

Eddie started tossing tools in their small carry bag, picking up the portable battery that Steve had set down. And his hands were full, so he was really hoping that both Steve and Hopper liked him enough to keep him out of harm’s way. “Steve,” he said with urgency, an indication that they should move.

“We need more than guns here,” Hopper groused. “We need fire. This won’t work.” He shot at a demodog that was starting to prowl through the lobby. “Should have brought those fucking fireworks. Let’s move out, kids!”

Hopper led the retreat, Steve manning the back. And it looked like they’d make it back fine, without a scratch. Until something new pounced from the brush, growling low and spinning quick, its long tail wrapping around Steve’s waist, its spiked end lodging into his back. Steve’s pained shout echoed as he struggled in its snare.

The beast was low and lithe like a demodog, but with a ridged back, reptilian.

A dark, corded, Upside Down reptile from Hell.

Eddie was very much not a fan of it.

***

-STEVE-

***

It was raining when they re-emerged from the gate. Steve’s back was radiating pain, zinging scatteringly from the point of impact.

“Steve, you need to—”

Steve didn’t wait for Hopper to finish, instead trekking his way across mud and clipping up the puddled deck. A ringed hand held the screen door open for him—Eddie, he considered distantly—and then his shoes were leaving sludgy prints across the wooden floor.

Dustin rose at his re-entry, Steve’s name squeaking through his lips. Mike was slowly rising from his chair behind him, eyes wide. Did Steve look that bad?

“Shit, Eddie!” Dustin said, edging forward before halting his step. “What happened to you guys?”

It wasn’t Eddie who answered, but Hopper. “New goddamned demon to deal with. A dinosaur-looking thing, shit…”

Steve hadn’t stopped walking, and the pace that Eddie kept told him he was right behind him. They’d both gotten serrated by that damned tail, Eddie by trying to pick Steve back up off the ground. Then Hopper got a good shot on it, exploding entrails all over the two of them. They probably looked like death.

If Steve felt like his skin was melting off where he’d gotten stabbed in the back, surely Eddie was feeling the same where he’d been caught above his hip.

A curse slipped from Steve’s tongue as he tore into the bathroom—which El, thankfully, did not occupy, presumably sleeping off a void-hangover. Eddie slipped in behind him and Steve scrambled to shed his soot-soiled gear, get a look at his back. The mirror was small, so by the time that he got his vest and shirt off, he was turning desperately to see what the damage was.

“What’s it looking like, man?” Steve ground through grit teeth, addressing Eddie while he still tried to get a good angle.

Eddie sucked in a pained breath and said, “Pretty much like this…”

Steve’s brain was still addled in post-combat haze, so his turn towards Eddie was delayed. When he did, he saw him standing in the small space between the tub where Steve had wedged himself by the sink, his shirt off and pulling the band of his jeans down far enough to see the wound above his hip, the skin looking burnt and discoloured purple where the tail had impacted.

“Potion for poison?” Eddie asked in morbid humour. “I feel like I’m dissolving to my bone, man.”

“Yeah, fucking same, dude.” Steve finally managed to twist and see his back, the same angry and purple-red by his mid-spine. “Shit.”

“Oh, that looks bad!” Dustin said from the doorway. Where Steve only just realised he’d been standing, gawking at them, half intrigued at a new Upside Down beast attack, half horrified at the gruesome sores on display.

“Dude,” Steve hissed.

Then the door was slammed shut, Hopper’s voice resonating through the wood, “Wash it off, boys! Best you can do right now!”

Eddie didn’t hesitate before fiddling with his belt, nimble fingers quick to work. Steve considered saying something, because wash it off probably equated to hop in the shower, and that seemed like skipping a few steps for them. But, then again, it felt like his skin was sloughing off in painful rips, so… Whatever.

Steve dropped his pants and wedged off his shoes while Eddie turned the faucet, the showerhead coming to life with the rattle of pipes. Everything sort of froze for a moment, and then Steve looked at Eddie and Eddie looked back at him, brown eyes wide, mouth thinned, thumbs in the band of his briefs.

“Yeah, man. I just—wounds, dude,” said Eddie.

With little more in the way of warning, Steve became acquainted with the shape of Eddie’s flaccid cock, snug between a thatch of dark hair and a weighty sack. And now he lived with the knowledge that Eddie was uncircumcised.

For a second, Steve felt like he couldn’t breathe. For a second, he wondered how much it filled out. If it became thick with veins, or if it curved or not. What it might look like engorged, milky beads dripping in hot anticipation.

And oh god, Steve needed to stop! Like, right now!

Eddie was stepping over the lip of the tub, standing under the spray, his hip under its waterfall. “Fuck, man!”

Steve pushed down his salacious thoughts and grimaced. “Feels that good, huh, Ed?”

“Just fan-fucking-tastic, man,” Eddie sneered. Then he held out his hand. “Come get naked? Join the fun?”

Steve huffed an unamused laugh, but pain won through, and he peeled off his own briefs—Eddie glanced once then looked pointedly away—and he stepped into the tub. The spray cascaded over Eddie’s shoulder as he manoeuvred to the side, allowing Steve space to get his back under the water.

“Ah, shit—” Steve muttered, trying to get his positioning right. Hands clasped on his shoulders, moving him, and the water pelted against his wound, and he took a sharp breath, his own fingers wrap around Eddie’s biceps. It took a moment, then he regained a sense of reality and looked ahead, finding himself remarkably closer to Eddie. “Uh. Hi.”

“Hi,” said Eddie. “Come here often, Stevie?”

“Only every few days.”

It was slow, but a cackle snuck up from Eddie’s throat, and he casted his eyes around the now foggy bathroom, all wood and shitty, kitschy décor. “What did we do in our past lives, man? Also, uh. Sorry, about like, the, uh. Nudity.”

“Uh. No, no. Totally, um. Totally fine with nudity.”

Eddie blinked at him. “Is that right?”

“Yeah, um. Yeah, but I don’t mean—Actually, yeah. Just. Yes.”

The shower pipes rattled again, and they stood in the steadily rising pool filling the bottom of the tub. Hopper needed to clear his pipes, it seemed. But Steve slowly removed his hands from Eddie’s arms and laughed depreciatingly at himself.

“Sorry, man. I shouldn’t be, like… Not here. Now,” Steve said, a little embarrassed. He could blame the corrosive for splintering his thoughts, his reasoning. But he’d been thinking about Indy since… Indy. But there was still a time and place, and this was neither.

But Eddie’s fingers tightened on his shoulders, and he said, “Don’t, uh. Don’t be sorry.” He shifted closer, breathing Steve’s air.

Steve’s eyes locked on his, and it felt like the world outside that short porcelain barrier didn’t exist. He thought, just for a moment, that Eddie might lean in and press his lips to his.

But, instead, Eddie whispered, “Hopper and, like, everyone else is right outside that door, Steve.”

Steve didn’t break their stare, his heart speeding up and thumping against his ribcage as he asked, “Do you, uh. Do you need a place to clean up? Like… more than, um. This?”

Eddie hesitated, looking like he’d say no, then he asked, “No one’s home?”

“They never are, man.”

“Yeah. Sure, yeah. Okay.”

***

-EDDIE-

***

Okay. So. The space above Eddie’s right hip still felt like it was on fire, Steve made a very interesting suggestion that Eddie would really like to follow through on—no matter how idiotic, if his gut was right about his intentions, cultivating this doomed whatever it was between them—and now he was stuck in a room full of people, feeling like he was buzzing out of his skin for at least one of several reasons.

“Yeah, there’s something new over there,” Steve said, affirming Hopper’s question of, isn’t that right, Harrington, referring to the demolizard. “And, uh. Don’t let it hit you. Hurts like a bitch.” Steve glanced at Joyce. “Sorry. Language.”

“Are you boys okay?” Joyce asked with a wrinkled nose.

“They showered,” Dustin supplied with a dismissive hand. “They seem fine.”

Mike stared at them silently, flitting his gaze back and forth with a drawn frown.

“It is growing,” El said, curled up at the edge of the couch with Hopper by her side. “Changing. I do not know why.”

“We need to be better prepared. And it’s like a damn nest in Hawkins Lab.” Hopper sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I had to wager where we’d find something, it’d be there. We’ve got to see what’s on the lower levels.”

“That’s not a four-hour trip, Hop,” said Joyce.

“No,” Hopper agreed. “It’s not.”

“Well,” Nancy tapped at her chin, considering. “Let’s make an infiltration plan.”

“Yeah,” Joyce said, sounding a little desolate. “Yes. But first, you kids should rest. Tomorrow is Saturday. We can… We can start early. Eight o’clock sharp.”

Jonathan rested a consoling hand on Joyce’s shoulder. “Sure. That sounds good, Mom.”

***

It was simple. They just headed out, went the same way.

When Eddie pulled up in Steve’s driveway, rain pattering on the roof of his van, his mind drifted across every reason why making more of this was a bad idea. Former jock. They were friends now. Dustin. Upside Down nonsense to deal with. Eddie was trying to leave Hawkins. It would probably just fuck things up. Risking the Party having questions.

But also. Eddie was in Steve’s driveway. And Steve was… fascinating.

When they’d barely made it in the door, dripping and soaked through from the torrent outside, Steve just gave a hitched, unsure laugh before turning to Eddie, hand extended towards his empty house, and said, “Welcome home, man.”

Eddie stood there on the threshold, door not yet shut, rain pelting behind him and clothes stuck to his skin. He stared back at Steve, who watched him with this searing, searching vulnerability. Eddie realised he liked hearing welcome home. And he liked hearing welcome home from Steve. So, he said, “It’s, uh. Nice to be home.”

Steve gave an amused smirk at that, a warmth curling around his almond irises.

Eddie watched him drop his keys and strip his drenched coat at the side table. It wasn’t anything novel. Just soft movements someone might make regularly. A vision of someone going about their routine. Something that Eddie was suddenly privy to when he previously hadn’t been. And it felt nonsensical, really, that it’s what got a blush to heat his face.

Steve, who had the humour of a middle-aged man. Steve, who bossed his rugrats around like it was his job but loved them all in equal measure. Steve, who regularly laid down his life for them, who was a family man. Who would randomly burst into song, fuss over hosting, and who adored Robin for everything that made her annoying and everything that made her fabulous. Who Eddie had gotten a taste of in a dirty bathroom with a cracked window peering out a neon-lit street. Who looked at Eddie like maybe… Maybe he…

Oh, god. Eddie might like Steve.

Steve looked back, an eyebrow quirked at the draught from the door.

Oh, god. Eddie did like Steve.

“Ed?”

Oh, god.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER EIGHT

-STEVE-

***

Steve had a problem and its name was Eddie.

It wasn’t just that he liked his Bambi eyes or his sort of naughty-feeling tattoos or his dark, rocker, against-the-grain thing going on. He also liked Eddie.

Eddie was dorky. He was lame in exactly the way that pulled on Steve’s heartstrings, and he cared about their strange little Upside Down crew the same way Steve did. He was passionate about his music, charismatic in a way that commanded a room, and he was unapologetically him. And Steve was… interested.

And this was still a terrible idea. He shouldn’t have invited him back.

“You, uh, want me to show you where the first aid stuff is?” Steve asked.

A rivulet of rain slipped down from Eddie’s forehead and over his cheek, resting on the line of his chin. He gave Steve a long look that probably said something, but Steve was a little too scared to decode it.

“Sure. Then, ah... Are you hungry, Steve?”

A smile crept across Steve’s face, and he gave a breathy, relieved chuckle.

Food! Food was on Eddie’s mind. Of course it was. Steve could do food. He could so do, like, nourishment. “Uh, yeah. Dinner—Or like, food. Casual food sounds... nice.”

Eddie smirked at him, eyes crinkled with amusement, and Steve’s stomach did cartwheels.

Food. Food, he could do food. What did Eddie like?

… Mac n’ cheese?

***

The kitchen table was a strange combination of dirty plates, bandages, and a baseball cap Steve kept meaning to give back to Dustin.

“Steve,” Eddie said suddenly, picking at the lid of antiseptic cream they’d both smeared on their wounds. “What’s your favourite?”

“Huh?”

Eddie directed his gaze toward Steve, pinning him. “Food. Favourite.”

“Uh.” Why was he asking this so seriously? “I don’t know. Burgers? Tacos are good.”

Eddie nodded like it was filed away. Then he asked, “Colour?”

“Yellow?” Steve responded, confused. “Dude, why are you—”

“It’s weird, you know?” Eddie interrupted, leaning forward, elbows on the table, chin on his fist. “I feel like I know you on this, like, cosmic level after all the Upside Down shit. Like, there’s this, uh. I don’t know, man. There’s this thing in my head now that like, oh yeah. Steve Harrington. But it’s not like oh, Steve Harrington. It’s like, yeah! Steve Harrington. That guy. You—You know?”

“Uh—”

“But it’s also like… I don’t know the little stuff.” Eddie tilted his head, squinting. “What’s the mundane I never had time to find out? I feel like I’m in the house without ever seeing the yard.” He paused, glancing to the side. “No pun intended. I’ve seen your yard.”

Steve felt a bemused smile tugging across his face. Eddie was gazing at him with those attentive, mesmerising eyes of his, cheeks coloured rosy from… what? Embarrassment? If it was, he just ploughed right through it.

“You curious about me, Munson?”

“A little,” Eddie threw back whip quick.

“Oh,” Steve said, the thump of his chest skipping its rhythm. “I, uh. I don’t know, man. I’m not that interesting. I like sports. Always liked swimming best. But I don’t really spend much time in the pool since… Well, it was mostly basketball after that. I’m not actually a real movie buff, which nearly didn’t get me the job at Family Video. Thank god for Robin. I used to collect baseball cards—dude, none of this stuff is like, shit you would care about. I don’t know. I liked that Star Wars movie with the bears?”

Eddie had been slowly leaning back the longer Steve babbled, and he snickered at the last admission. “Oh yeah? The bears, huh?”

Steve gave Eddie a sardonic look. “What about you, then? Mr game guy, metalhead with a band. Used to sell drugs out of a tin lunchbox. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m great at crosswords.”

“Nice. I’m killer at puzzles.”

Eddie held his hands up in success. “Match made in heaven.”

Steve chuckled at that. “We don’t exactly match up like peanut butter and jelly, man.”

“Actually,” Eddie said consideringly, standing and rounding the table. He looked down at Steve mischievously. “No, we do. See, me and another nerdy metalhead, jelly on jelly. You and another jock, butter on butter. But you and me…” He gestured between himself and Steve.

“A classic sandwich, huh?”

“Totally.”

“Hey, Ed?”

“Ya-huh?”

Steve swallowed his nerves. “…You ever think about Indy?”

Eddie leant down and brushed a lock of Steve’s hair off his forehead. “Yeah. I do.”

***

-ROBIN-

***

Where the hell was Steve?

She’d been tuned into the radio last night, got the message about convening for The Big Plan at the Hopper-Byers cabin this morning. And she assumed Steve would pick her up. Because he always did. But they were supposed to be there in thirty minutes. And Steve wasn’t here. Why wasn’t he here?

Robin wasn’t the best with patience. She never had been. And she should probably give it five more minutes… But she also felt antsy and nauseous and nervous.

She picked up her phone and punched Steve’s number across the clacky buttons, twisting the quirked cord around a finger as the dial feedback trilled in her ear.

Finally—finally—the receiver clicked and Steve’s groggy, “Hello?” came though.

“Steve!” Robin huffed. “Were you sleeping!?”

Okay… Maybe this was her fault. Maybe she shouldn’t have just assumed that Steve would come pick her up. Even though he literally always does.

“Rob?” Steve asked, still not quite sounding coherent.

There was a noise she couldn’t clearly decipher, like a thump and a groan? But too far from the phone. Maybe Steve’s bed had finally given out.

Steve cursed under his breath then said, “Uh. We—I need to shower. Then I’ll come get you.”

“Well, I already showered. So hurry your ass up, Dingus!”

And then, something happened that had Robin’s brain freezing, gears stopping. Something happened that required an instant reboot. Something happened that sounded a lot like Eddie’s muffled, sleepy question of, “Is’at Robin?”

And, really, Robin wasn’t even sure she heard it at all.

At least not until there was what sounded like a minor struggle and then Eddie’s voice came through, loud and clear, “Sorry, fair maiden Buckley. My fault. Our precious Stevie will be over in, like, no time.” Then came the blearing, static buzz of a disconnected line.

Robin took the phone from her ear and stared at it, muttering a disbelieving, “… What?”

***

-STEVE-

***

“Okay, so…” Robin said, dropping into the passenger seat. “Was Eddie, like, in your bed this morning?”

A broad, ring-adorned hand sliding down his chest, tracing hot skin. The press of a tongue on his neck, teeth grazing behind it, another hand pressing into the junction of his waist and hip.

“Uh,” Steve said, pressing his mouth in a line and patting his steering wheel twice in an effort to stall. “Yeah, I guess.”

Robin gave him a deadpan look. “You guess?”

Dark curls falling over his shoulder, the warm shape of a body to his, mouthy kisses across his chin. A pleased noise escaping Steve’s throat before he dropped himself lower, wanting to touch, taste. The curl of want low in his abdomen, burning.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, Uh. Maybe,” said Steve. He extended his hand behind the passenger seat and turned his torso to back out of the driveway. “I guess.”

“Steve,” Robin intoned, shoving her bag into the backseat.

“Steve,” Eddie whispered like a prayer, looking down at Steve from a height, a clipped moan loosed when Steve pushed back stretched foreskin, his lips closing around the ridge of Eddie’s cockhead, salt and tang on his tongue. Fingers woven into Steve’s locks, gripping in ecstasy. Muttered encouragement, filtering into Steve’s ears and settling boilingly in his gut.

“Steve!” Robin called haltingly, and Steve jerked the wheel.

“What!?”

Robin pouted and huffed, “You missed the turn.”

“Oh,” said Steve. “Right.”

“Did… Something, um. Did something happen last night, Steve?” Robin asked.

Steve did a U-turn, focusing on getting them back on the right path. It was overcast after the previous night’s rain. It made him think of falling asleep tangled with Eddie’s limbs, messy and sweaty and with the lingering warmth and musk of arousal.

Eddie had returned the favour Steve have given so freely. Taken Steve’s cock in his mouth, eyes locked on Steve’s through heavy eyelashes. Grinning sinfully as he drew whimpers from Steve’s lips, a bracing hand shoved against bare skin at Steve’s hip, cold metal biting pleasurably into the root of Steve’s dick.

It made him think of mussed sheets and Eddie’s soft, sated chuckle as he nuzzled his head onto Steve’s shoulder, playing with Steve’s hand, outlining his fingers and knuckles as if he were creating a chart. As if he simply enjoyed discovering Steve’s palm in intimate detail, a part of him that could be explored in the solitary peace of Steve’s bed to the backtrack of steady patter against the window.

Intimacy could be contrived. Steve knew this.

He’d taken his dates home, entertained them. They’d giggle and pet their fingers down the hair on his chest, tell him how fun it all was. And then, come the next day, they’d be gone. Because it had been empty pleasure for them. And empty pleasure for Steve.

But Steve recognised the feeling he’d drifted off to—woken up to—with Eddie occupying the space by his side. It was a flutter that made him nauseous, an electric buzz that filled him from his stomach to the crown of his head.

He hadn’t realised he was smiling absently until Eddie had finished yawning, squinted at him and suspiciously asked, “What?” with dimples creasing pleased lines over his cheeks.

And because of that—because of all of that—Steve was terrified.

And they were about to venture into Hell today.

So, when he answered, he said, “No, Rob!” He added a scoff, giving her an eye roll. “He didn’t have, like, medical shit at his uncle’s trailer. We got wailed on by a new demolizard, uh, thing. So he came to mine and we just, like… cleaned up and passed out.”

Robin hummed at him but didn’t look away, her stare burning into his profile.

“Good morning, Stevie,” Eddie said with a soft grin, poking at the tip of Steve’s nose. “Your hair, man. It’s never looked better.”

Steve blinked, then carded his fingers through his dishevelled tresses with a huffed laugh. He nudged at Eddie’s shoulder. “What about you, dude? Cousin It, over here!”

“Ouch! Harsh!” Eddie grabbed at the end of a curled strand then pulled it over his face, pretending to be demure. “And after I was so fuckin’ nice to you last night, too,” Eddie said playfully, dropping his pinched hair, expression smoothing. “How’s your back, Steve?”

“My back? Uh. Ed, you didn’t stick anything—”

Eddie laughed, placing a gentle, calming touch against Steve’s chest. “Your wound, man. Mine’s a bit sore. Sorta itchy, actually.”

Steve glanced down at where Eddie had gestured at the space above his own hip, shiny, raw, and purple-red where he’d been hit with a spiked tail, a new scar to join the rest. Similar shapes to what Steve had, a rough-skinned map of mirrored wounds. Bodies that matched.

“Oh,” said Steve, “Yeah, Ed. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Steve was not fine. Steve was so horribly, terrifyingly far from fine.

***

-EDDIE-

***

Eddie had backed out of Steve’s driveway. Then promptly found a side street to pull into and park again, staring at the middle-distance once he’d killed the engine.

Hawkins looked dreary under grey skies, the greens of grass and trees dull. There was a stillness around him that made the livewire in his chest all the more electric.

What the hell was Eddie doing. Really. What the hell was Eddie doing?

He’d spent the early evening trying to spark life into a rusty elevator, running from monsters, and then getting slashed by one said monster. Then he’d showered with Steve Harrington in Chief Hopper’s bathroom. Then he’d gone home with Steve Harrington, had Steve’s Harrington’s lips around his cock, with Eddie having gone and returned the favour in earnest.

And it was the noises, man. The little sounds that Steve didn’t know he was making. The way Steve looked at him between heady breaths. The trust that Steve gave Eddie without hesitation. It had felt like Steve was his. That Steve had just handed himself over, as if that were a viable option. As if nothing outside them, in that moment, mattered.

Fuck. Eddie had never had that. Not really.

His escapades were fleeting, never more than the touch and satisfaction it brought.

But Steve looked at him like he wanted Eddie. And that was… new.

They’d passed out after that. Well and truly exhausted from the workday, the expedition, and the sexual affair to follow. A bit lame, maybe. But something about that had felt comfortable. Strangely natural. Which was a little overwhelming, if Eddie were honest, in the most confusing way.

And Eddie didn’t even think Steve realised how he’d been in the morning. Hands finding excuses to brush against Eddie’s skin, his gaze lingering. Steve nearly fucking kissed him goodbye, for god’s sake!

And Eddie had… sort of wanted him to.

Eddie dropped his forehead on the steering wheel and blew out a long breath. “What am I doing, man? What the fuck am I doing? Shit.”

He didn’t really have time to figure it out, though, did he? Will the Wise was still out there, somewhere, and today was—hopefully—the day they’d make proper headway on getting the kid home. That’s what mattered right now. That’s what Eddie needed to focus on.

Like an afterburn, the image of Steve’s nervous laugh right before he first kissed Eddie last night materialised in his mind. Eddie’s stomach flipped over itself, fluttery as his heart lodged in his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie murmured, closing his eyes tight. “Get your shit together, Munson.”

***

-STEVE-

***

It was a mess when Steve and Robin arrived. Piles of supplies in makeshift categories, Nancy arguing with Hopper over what was needed and what wasn’t.

How many of them were going in? Steve didn’t actually even know what the plan was.

Partway through Hopper’s request that everyone fall in, Eddie crept in smelling like cigarettes. He gave a terse laugh and a wave at Hopper’s glare, then his gaze lingered a little longer on Steve as he found a place beside Mike near the side table. Steve wondered what Eddie saw when he looked at Steve. Did he seem different? The same? Did it matter?

Maybe it didn’t even fucking matter. Maybe Steve was making something out of nothing.

El shuffled into the space next to Hopper and said, “I want to go. But I cannot. Someone has to be here to open the gate, and if I—If I couldn’t return, neither could you all. So I have to stay. I cannot see into the Upside Down Hawkins Lab. There is… a barrier? Like a wall. I cannot see beyond it. But I will try.”

“Within reason,” Hopper reminded her sternly. “She won’t be alone. Max and the Sinclairs will be here. Murray is on his way. But the rest of us…”

“We’re all going,” Joyce declared. “Hop said there’s a nest in the Lab. And we’re going to have to face it. Together. With everyone watching each others’ backs.”

“We’ve all done this before,” Nancy said to the group. “We know the risks. But no one gets left behind.”

Jonathan took a deep breath, then said, “I know this is a lot to ask. Of all of you. But Will is out there. He’s still out there, I’m sure of it. And we’ll find him.”

“And we won’t stop,” Mike added, a harsh frown on his face, “not until Will’s back.”

Dustin sniffled and tossed his hand to float in their haphazard circle. “I’m in,” he said, nodding at Mike.

Mike extended his own arm, as did El, and Lucas, and Max, and Erica.

Nancy stoned her expression and threw her hand into the mix, Jonathan doing the same beside her. Joyce was the next, then Robin, then Eddie.

Steve hesitated for only a second longer—because this was ridiculous—and shared a look with Hopper before he and the Chief joined in.

“Let’s get Will!” Dustin cheered.

But it was a strange and tight feeling that settled in Steve’s chest when they said goodbye to those who would remain in the Rightside Up, an unspoken understanding that it might be their last chance. Steve approached each of this little rugrats with a hug, telling them to hang in there.

Max surprised him when she grabbed his hand as he drew away, telling him, “You come back, Mr Mom. Alright? I’m serious.”

“Yeah,” said Steve. “I always do. Hawkins’s best babysitter.”

“Hawkins’s best older brother,” Lucas corrected softly.

Steve didn’t say anything to that, didn’t trust himself to, but he nodded with misty eyes.

It wasn’t until Steve was outside with the rest of them, separated and waiting by a tree, that Eddie came over and silently offered him a Winston. Steve accepted it, equally quiet, and it felt fitting in some cosmic way that Hopper found his way to Steve’s opposite side, lighting up his own Camel. The three of them watched the remainder of the farewells, Mike and El’s the most teary. There wasn’t much being said, not really. It was all grappling hugs and long, loaded looks that Steve thought might be saying a whole lot more than words could.

At least until Mike said, in a way that almost sounded like a guilty admission, “I love you.”

El gave a watery, strained smile and choked out a sad, “I know.”

Steve wasn’t really sure why that hit him right in the chest. Why that felt more heart-wrenching than it should. But Eddie must have gotten it, because he’d quietly murmured a reverent and airy oh fuck… like he had. And then, perhaps weirder, Eddie took a long drag and gave Hopper a commiserating pat on his shoulder—which was the most contact Steve had ever seen them share. Hopper just grunted, then gave a deep sigh.

“It’s probably time to go,” Hopper said wearily. “No time like the present.”

When Hopper stepped away, neither Steve nor Eddie spoke immediately. Steve furrowed his brow, trying to figure out how to articulate whatever the hell was running through his head, then he said, “Hey, Eddie.”

Eddie looked over when Steve turned to him, complexion pale with nerves. By-product of preparing to enter a debris-ridden, red-stormed hellscape.

“Yeah, Steve?”

Steve found he didn’t have more to say. He instead stared at Eddie’s big brown eyes, wondering if that might be enough.

Maybe it was, because Eddie gave a wry smirk and glumly said, “Yeah.”

As if that answered it, whatever it was. But Steve answered with his own yeah anyway. Because maybe that was all there was to say for it. Maybe that’s all there was to say.

***

-JONATHAN-

***

Jonathan held Nancy’s hand as they stared into that awful, glowing red portal.

Will was coming home. That was what would happen, and there were no two ways around it. And Jonathan sort of despised the Upside Down. In the same way the whole place was stuck back in 1983, it was like the rest of them couldn’t move on because the Upside Down hadn’t. It still haunted their nightmares, reared its ugly head when it pleased.

They were a family again. Hopper wasn’t his dad, but Jonathan held little love for Lonnie. And Jonathan liked seeing his mom happy. The way she would hold her coffee cup with two hands, smiling behind it as she gazed at Hopper—or maybe Jim, now—over its rim. Jonathan wanted that for her, especially after she lost Bob. And it felt like… maybe there was more history between Hopper and his mom than was let on. They’d known each other for a long time, after all.

Beyond that, Jonathan had a sister now. El, or Jane in public. Sure, she was a little strange, but who the hell wasn’t in their household? Jonathan had always been a bit of an outcast, he knew that, and Will—Jesus. Will.

Will had gone through some of the worst of it. Taken. Hunted. Possessed. Haunted.

And then, the real kicker, his sister, who Will adored, was dating the kid he was in love with. The kind of romance that could make Will a target in a different way.

God, Jonathan just needed him to be safe, feel loved. And now he was taken from them again, missing for a month. It was well beyond time to get him home. And Jonathan would sacrifice everything to get that done. Because that’s what brothers did. That’s what Jonathan did, and always would, for Will.

There was the noise of shifting forest debris next to him and Jonathan’s eyes tracked to Mike’s back as he passed him. Mike had this fierce determination that Jonathan recognised from when they chased El across the dessert. It was heartening that it extended to Will as well, but Jonathan worried that it might make Mike reckless. Rash.

He shifted his attentions to observe the rest of their group, unable to keep the thought that Dustin and Robin weren’t suited to this. That they shouldn’t be going, maybe more of a risk factor than a helpful one. Then his gaze landed on Steve and Eddie, a little further, smoking the last of their cigarettes before they turned to stubs.

Steve was a given at this stage. Where Jonathan once wouldn’t have bat an eye if he’d fallen off the face of the Earth, he cared about the guy now. Considered him a friend, even. Or maybe the sort of relationship you had with a cousin. Family by blood or circumstance, and loyalty because of it, even if you weren’t really the same.

Eddie, however, Jonathan couldn’t really grasp. The last memory Jonathan had of Eddie was when he goaded Mark Bradley, telling him to do his worst near the south exit of the school, knowing Mark couldn’t do anything since he’d already gotten two demerits and a third would get him kicked off varsity. And then, suddenly, he had been at their cabin when everyone reconvened to go over what the hell happened in March. Eddie was surrounded by all Will’s friends, sharing looks with Robin Buckley, and him and Steve exchanging what honestly looked like weird, jock-ish claps on their arms or shoulders and sporting matching shiny red lines around their neck. He was told they had more mirrored injuries than that, but he hadn’t seen them.

Eddie had just melded into their lives like he was supposed to be included, maybe more so than Robin, who’d been largely delegated as Steve’s friend who also knew Dustin and Erica. Although even that seemed to have shifted, Nancy more comfortable with her now.

But, for Jonathan, he still looked at Eddie and saw that guy from school, or the local dealer, as it were. Something he hadn’t taken advantage of before California, but probably would have done soon, if the Upside Down hadn’t resurfaced.

Eddie said something short to Steve, who responded back just as curt, then they sort of… watched each other for a long stint. Jonathan really couldn’t figure their relationship out. It seemed like they were friends? Maybe? But Steve also seemed to form these connections with people that went beyond what friends usually meant.

Maybe it had something to do with charisma. Dustin had it. So did Robin. So did Eddie. All of them, bursting with whatever energy it took to command the attention of a room.

Steve Harrington was a bit of an enigma. But Steve and Eddie as pair seemed like a dichotomy that wasn’t supposed to happen. Yet it did, and Jonathan didn’t quite get it.

In the end, what did it matter? As long as they all shared the same goal.

As long as they brought Will home.

“Ready, folks?” Hopper asked, weighted down with weaponry and a backpack of untold horror meant for the creatures of the Upside Down.

No one said yes. No one was. But they sure as hell all went anyway.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER NINE

-EDDIE-

***

The crunch of Upside Down was heavy under Eddie’s feet. They’d be here for a day at minimum. They had enough to last for three, just in case.

The whole gang of them were hoofing it through the woods, Dustin leading the way with Steve right beside him, and Nancy only a step behind. Woods because there were so many of them. Hopper said it was better to stay out of the open. So dank brush and foliage it was.

Eddie had never been hunting. He imagined it felt something like this.

But less greyscale. More green.

“Hey,” Mike said by his side.

He and Mike were flanked by only Hopper and Joyce, Jonathan and Robin in the middle before them. Eddie stepped over a dead vine and glanced at Mike.

“Hey, what’s up, man?”

“I just—I don’t know if I said, like. Thanks, I guess. For… Jumping back into it again. I know the spring sucked for you, so…” Mike trailed, ducking a low-hanging branch.

Spring did suck for Eddie. Mike wasn’t wrong.

“I mean,” Eddie began, wrinkling his nose. “Can’t abandon one of the flock, right? And, uh. Will can’t abandon his duties. He’s got the whole Dungeon Master title to inherit.”

Mike huffed a sad laugh at that, then quieted. They made it another dozen steps before he said, “He’s been… somewhere for a month, man. I just… I don’t know what that would have done to him. If he’s alright. If he’s even still—” Mike cut himself off hastily, grimacing. “It’s making me feel crazy. It’s like this whole last month, I just feel like I’ve jumped off the ledge of the quarry, but I haven’t stopped falling. I haven’t hit the water yet. Just…”

Mike mimed with his hand starting above his head then levitating around waist height.

Eddie’s heart clenched in his chest. Mike might love this kid and not even know it.

But he wondered. That last interaction with his girlfriend was hard to watch. The way Mike said I love you. And he sounded like he meant it. He loved Super Girl. But there was something else in that I love you. An apology. A beg for forgiveness.

Love and being in love were different.

Some part of Mike figured it out.

And El did, too.

I know, she’d said. Words that sounded a little more like it’s okay.

Eddie’s eyes scanned the dire, bleak forested horizon. They might die out here. It was a real possibility. They might exchange their final words. Their last goodbyes, if they were lucky enough to be afforded the time to do so. But these people—all of them—were a different breed. Moulded into it by circumstance, maybe. But Eddie liked to know that people like this existed. Loyal. Brave. Real, true-life heroes.

If he walked with them, would that eventually make him one too?

If nothing else, if he had nothing else to contribute, at least he could lean towards Mike and quietly say, only for his ears, “I think it feels like that. When someone you love is in danger.”

Mike’s gaze shot over to him in knee-jerk shock, then he looked away and his eyelashes fluttered. He said, “I mean. Sure. Will is my friend, and like. Of course I love him. Why wouldn’t I?”

Eddie scanned around them again, dropping a hand to Mike’s shoulder to lead him just a smidge further. This wasn’t a conversation for Joyce and Hopper to overhear, or even Robin and Jonathan. It was just Mike and Eddie.

Eddie might die out here. But he really didn’t think Mike would. And if he could just swallow his pride, his fear, and help one kid along the way. Even if he read it wrong. Even if it was a failed gambit. At least he’d be paving the way for Will, if he ever had the chance to open that daunting closet door. Step out into a world that welcomed him.

A small part of him remembered his conversation with Steve months back. Also in the Upside Down. Also under dire straits. And Nancy did love Steve.

But it turned out to be the same way Mike loved El.

“There are a lot of people out there who are scared,” Eddie began, his heart thumping in his chest. He could play brave, but it was still terrifying. “Of saying the wrong thing. Of someone seeing past and knowing. I’m, uh.” He looked intently at Mike, who stared back quietly, anxiety wrapped up in his expression. “I’m not a guy to be scared of.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “I’m one of the ones who’s usually scared.”

Mike’s chest puffed in and out a few times with heavy breaths. He blinked rapidly against glassy eyes, and said, “What I’m most scared of right now, man… Is not finding him or finding him but it’s too late. I can’t… I can’t think about—I can’t deal with anything else right now.”

“Alright,” Eddie said. “That’s all good, man. It’s just… It’s all okay. Whatever it is. Wanted you to know that.”

Mike’s brow furrowed and he set his jaw with a silted nod. Then his eyebrows knit further, and his head whipped back to face Eddie. “Wait. Hold on. You? You’re—?”

“Hey!” Robin hollered, drawing their attention to her impatient swoop towards the blank space they were meant to be. “Have a secret chit-chat another time. Come on!”

Eddie looked from her to Hopper’s stern expression and slowed steps behind. He sighed.

Grabbing back onto Mike’s shoulder and steering him back to where they were, Eddie muttered, “Guess we’ll just have to live through this shit to finish that conversation.”

***

-STEVE-

***

“What the hell are they doing?” Dustin grumbled under his breath, turning his wary eyes away from Mike and Eddie’s return to the line to keep stomping ahead.

“It’s good,” Nancy piped up to Steve’s right. “That Mike’s talking to someone.”

Steve looked at her questioningly as he cleared a fallen tree trunk.

“He hasn’t been,” Nancy continued. “Talking, I mean. He’s been so focused on all this. I think he’s bottling.”

“Bottling and Mike Wheeler sounds like a bad combination,” Steve jested.

Nancy gave him a dry look. “You have no idea.”

“Give the guy a break,” Dustin said from up front. “Will’s, like, his best friend. I think he’s—I don’t know. He said California was weird. And then all that shit happened, El getting taken. I…” Dustin’s thought tapered. He sent a glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“They buried someone,” Nancy murmured. “He died in Argyle’s van. Mike didn’t even tell me. Jonathan did.”

“Shit…” said Steve.

He didn’t know that. Mike Wheeler and Will Byers had to bury someone? Steve trusted that Jonathan was like Steve. He would just do what he had to do. But Mike and Will? In Steve’s eyes, they were still those little middle school rugrats.

But not really, huh? Not anymore. Hell, they’d been dealing with real, absolutely shitty stuff even since the beginning. Steve should have taken them to the arcade more. To be kids.

“He lost Will. Then El. Then nearly Will again. Then El again. And again. And now Will. Again,” said Dustin. He sucked in a deep, grounding breath. “I think he’s just scared. We all are.”

“I mean, didn’t you all?” Steve asked, halfway regretting it as soon as he said it. Eddie’s nonplussed expression when Steve justified Mike’s reaction appeared in his mind’s eye.

“All what?” Nancy asked.

“Uh…” Steve shouldn’t have said anything. “Lose them. All those times.”

“Sure,” said Dustin. “But it’s different.”

“It is?” Nancy pressed, head tilting inquisitively. “How?”

Steve stayed quiet this time. Maybe Eddie was right. Maybe Dustin sensed something but didn’t quite have his finger on exactly what it was.

“It just is,” Dustin supplied with a shrug.

***

-EDDIE-

***

They were outside the Lab again, but with a whole hell of a lot more of them than last time.

Eddie was next to Robin now, who was huddled near Nancy. And that was honestly fair. If Eddie had to place bets on who was most likely to keep everyone alive, Hopper, Nancy, and Steve were all dancing at the top of the list. Jonathan and Joyce were somewhere just below that, then that left the rest of them to scramble.

“Having the time of your life, Buckley?” Eddie asked sardonically.

Robin gave a scoff, then said, “No. That was in Indy.”

A snicker crept through Eddie’s throat, and he coughed to smother it. “Magical Indy.”

“You guys went to the city together?” Nancy asked, something about her tone a bit… miffed?

Eddie studied her for a moment. She looked right back, unabashed.

“A while back, yeah,” Steve chimed in from Nancy’s opposite side.

Nancy blinked and turned his way, then looked back at Robin and Eddie with a quiet, “Oh.” She bit her lip and said, “I see.”

Robin squinted in befuddlement, and Eddie was starting to feel like Nancy might be reading into something that didn’t exist. Something like Eddie and Robin, which was ludicrous.

Just as he opened his mouth to refute whatever assumption was made, Hopper cleared his throat to garner their attention.

It was time, and they didn’t have any more moments to spare on the Rightside Up.

***

-STEVE-

***

“Hop, to your left!” Steve shouted, firing off a round on a speeding demodog. It whined and flopped to the side, pushing over one of those new, spiny demolizards beside it.

Hopper shot twice at the demogorgan that was gaining on his left. “Thanks, Steve!”

“Get down!” Nancy yelled, and both Steve and Hopper dropped while Nancy took out the leaping demolizard, its neck blown through as it smacked to the floor.

“Sharp aim,” Hopper commented.

Nancy just smirked coyly.

“How are you doing, Ed?” Steve called over his shoulder, muscles tense as he stared at the rightmost stairwell.

The rest of the group were huddled by the elevator, Eddie and Jonathan working together to spark the thing to life. Steve hoped their crew and gear didn’t max out capacity. That would suck. A lot.

“Better if you don’t distract me, Stevie!” Eddie called back with false saccharine sweetness. “Wish your guns weren’t so goddamned loud!”

Steve thought about the camper last March. What Eddie had said. And maybe it was the adrenaline that had him snarking back, “But you’ve got this, don’t’cha, big boy?”

Barely a second passed before Eddie was hurling back, “Shut up, Steve.”

“Don’t worry,” Robin said from somewhere behind him. “Steve will drive the elevator. It’s fine.”

“Ha fucking ha, Buckley. A guy says one thing just one time and you guys can’t let it go.”

“Steve will drive the elevator?” Jonathan asked, confused.

Steve blinked at the empty corridor, his aim going lax for a moment while he remembered that most of their weird little Hawkins crew were just there. Listening. And that may have been a really weird ribbing for them to overhear, especially without context.

“Inside joke. I guess,” Steve said, pretending he didn’t feel Hopper’s hard stare against his profile. “When Eddie was hotwiring the RV. He said—”

“Again, great anecdote to tell the cop, Steve!” Eddie hissed, a clang and a quiet curse followed it. Then, “Oh, thank god—Got it!”

The ding of the elevator professed his success, and Steve looked over his shoulder to see it in working order. Which, against the rest of the decrepit hall, looked hardily eerie.

Bags were shoved in first, then the crew not holding firearms squeezed in. Steve, Nancy, and Hopper were backing their way in when another two demodogs prowled on the periphery, making their exit more dramatic than intended.

Ammo was blasted and Steve stumbled back, tripping over what he was pretty sure was someone’s foot and crashing into what he was pretty sure was someone else’s chest. Dustin frantically slammed his hand on the close door button once everyone was in, the thump of a raging demodog denting the metal as it sealed shut.

“Jesus,” Steve muttered under his breath, then he peeled himself from what turned out to be Robin’s arms. “Thanks, Rob.”

“Anytime, Steve,” she said breathlessly, staring at the newly bulged metal.

“El can’t see us anymore,” Mike said blankly on the far side, pinned between Joyce and Nancy. “We’re in the blind zone.”

“There’s an answer here,” said Joyce. “There has to be.”

“Stay on your toes,” Hopper ordered the group of them. “We have no idea what we’re walking into.”

It was that statement that had Steve grasping at Robin’s hand because, yeah. They really didn’t. And if Robin died here, that was on Steve. He dragged her into this.

“Steve?” Robin asked softly, trying for private.

Probably failing while they were packed in like sardines.

Steve didn’t respond, just turned himself and jammed his shoulder against the elevator wall so he could better look at her. He offered a glum smile.

She studied him shortly before offering her own back.

“You’re such a bleeding heart, Steve Harrington,” she admonished lightly.

But there was love behind it. Beautiful, perfect, platonic love, and Steve couldn’t imagine a world without Robin Buckley. So he’d make sure he never had to.

***

-EDDIE-

***

Eddie watched Steve smile at Robin and his chest felt like it was imploding.

Steve loved so unapologetically. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Steve Harrington existed.

It wasn’t fair that Eddie got to know him. Though the Hellfire kids, the Upside Down nonsense. He could have gone his whole damn life just blissfully thinking Steve was some washed-out jock, none the wiser. He could gone without the doomed pining.

But now they were journeying into the volcano itself. Doom surely doubled.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Nancy watching him. Well, watching him watch Steve and Robin. Nancy got that contemplative, pinched look on her face again.

Eddie sighed through his nose and looked up at the elevator ceiling.

He really fucking wished he had a cigarette.

***

-STEVE-

***

The elevator dinged and the doors opened into darkness.

It was the sort of endless void that looked like it could swallow him whole, leaving nothing behind, just a memory and maybe a scream.

One light beamed on, and Steve could barely make out Hopper’s silhouette behind it, his hand holding the flashlight steady. The stream of brightness illuminated beyond what the weak elevator bulbs washed over. But it was all still white tiles and walls. And quiet.

This is where El grew up? It looked like an asylum.

Jesus. How fucked up was that?

“I lead,” Hopper ordered. “You follow. Steve, man the rear with Nancy.”

“Right,” said Steve.

Down here, it would be Hopper’s word. His direction.

“Joyce,” Hopper said shortly, and Joyce came to his side silently. “Jonathan, Munson, Buckley… Eyes open. Same you two, Mike. Dustin.”

Steve flicked his own flashlight on while he waited to act the caboose with Nancy, the group of them filing out of the standing elevator. He tracked each of them as they went, and Eddie did this subtle, squinty thing with his eyes as he passed.

It surprised Steve that he read it as a quiet checking in. A soft, you good?

Steve gave him a flat attempt at a smile in return.

Eddie didn’t look satisfied, but he kept on anyway.

In the back, Nancy beside him, each step felt like a heartbeat. Steve hadn’t really been scared of the dark before all this. Before Vecna and secret codes. Billy and monsters in walls.

Now every dark corner looked like a threat, and every breath he tried to quiet shook in his throat, saddled with trepidation. Steve didn’t like fear, tried to not let it in. But he lived with it. Made due with false bravado.

It didn’t help that he wasn’t looking ahead anymore. That he and Nancy were walking backward, attention darting across hidden crevices and signs of doors cracking open in silent ambush. Steve could turn around and everyone could be gone. He could take a step back and fall over one of them, dead.

Nancy shifted jerkily beside him, her flashlight zipping to a door slightly ajar. She reached out behind herself and snagged whoever was there, several feet stopping their progression as result.

They waited, and Steve resisted the urge to stare at the same egress Nancy highlighted. He kept monitoring the other side of the hall. If he didn’t, it could mean death. If he didn’t, it could be catastrophic by his negligence.

Nothing happened. No monster burst forth, no sudden sounds erupted.

They kept moving.

The further they went, something started echoing.

It was like the distant tumble of rubble, and the distorted warp of something familiar. Something Steve had heard a lot lately, he thought. But louder, as if tearing through heavy particles, shredding and recreating. And then there was the shuffling.

It unnerved him, dread leaden in his stomach.

One step back. Another. Then came a gasp and Hopper hissed:

“Lights, off!”

Steve listened, the beam of his flashlight cut abruptly. It was again only darkness.

Except it… wasn’t.

There was light, odd colours that didn’t make sense, casting long spindles down the hall, originating from behind Steve’s back. It was Nancy’s hand on his shoulder that got him to turn, seeing a shut door illuminated through its edges, the shifting brightness just enough for him to read Rainbow Room between the shadows of heads in front of him.

“Here,” Hopper whispered, and it sounded bent by the warping light. “El said she was here when…”

Steve didn’t find out what El said happened here. The shuffling stopped. The tumble of rubble subsided. And something heavy scratched at the door, the knob turning slowly.  

***

-EDDIE-

***

The radiance that burst forth blinded Eddie in a split-second of shock. He raised his arm to his eyes with a curse, stumbling into the corner of the T-bend of where the hallway split off, his hands grappling to find solid wall to push his back against.

Scrapes against tiles and panicked shouts felt deafening after the long silence, and Eddie’s heart rabbited as he struggled to adjust his eyes, lower his arm. When he managed to, he almost wished he hadn’t. It would have been easier, in a way, to just let fate have him.

Whatever that room had been, some penitentiary playroom, it wasn’t now. Blood was smeared across the floors and walls, and Eddie couldn’t tell if it was new or old. Glass was scattered, some observation room exposed behind it, a hellish gate twisting feverishly on its backmost wall.

But before that seared portal, before all that blood and glass and those relics of broken childhooods, were beasts. Horrible, nightmarish shapes. Creatures on their haunches, demothings chittering and growling, spilling from some tunnel burrowed into a side wall, presumably leading up and out. Out of their nest. This nest.

It took a second for Eddie to realise bullets were flying, their impact why four-legged monsters were heaping dead at the tunnel’s exit, Hopper and Nancy’s aim piling them where they streamed. The bullets would run out, though.

Eddie had been armed. Hopper had looked him straight in the eye as he slapped the gun into his palm, said nothing, his harsh gaze daring him to be irresponsible.

Eddie had never used a firearm. Had never wanted to.

But it was chaos—Eddie could barely tell where everyone was, who was monster and who was friend—so when his eyes caught on Dustin hunched over his open backpack, digging through it while he gave a pitchy, distressed sound, Eddie stopped thinking. He just did.

In two strides he made it to where Dustin was, curling over him while he fished out his pistol, squinting to try and detect anything dangerous pouncing, lunging.

Dustin jumped at Eddie’s presence, then his watery eyes catching and Eddie’s name tumbling from his mouth, relieved. But there wasn’t time. Of course not.

Because they were in a goddamned monster nest.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie saw movement in the filtering dark. A shadow lumbered, a demogorgan advancing, its calculated gait predatory. Eddie’s chest thumped, blood rushing through his veins. He lifted his gun, taking haggard breaths through his nose as he aimed.

Aimed, steadied, breathed—

A bullet erupted from the barrel and pierced through the air, lodging in the demogorgan’s fleshy shoulder.

“Fuck!” Eddie cursed, but he could barely hear himself, distortion heavy from the sparking gate in the room beside him, the vicious pangs and shouts of a struggle still rising. He steadied himself again, aimed, squeezed the trigger.

This time the demogorgan shrieked as its throat ruptured, and Eddie’s breath went ragged, a sickness rising in his stomach.

Fire burst to life beneath him, and Eddie saw Dustin had aimed a firework launcher at the hulking, still-advancing beast. Dustin snatched the strap of his bag and pushed back against Eddie, urging them both away from the blasting propulsion. The rocket whistled as it leapt from the ground, hurtling towards the demogorgan until it smacked into it and, lodging in its core, pushed it back. An array exploded, sparking purple and erupting a spray of gore.

The musty air around them smelt noxious, like ozone and smoke and burnt flesh and blood and rancid, sickening rotting. Eddie’s gut curdled, flipped over itself, and he swallowed the vomit that threatened to purge itself from his body.

Immediate threat nullified, Eddie maintained the levelled the pistol in one hand, but he wrapped his other arm protectively around Dustin’s chest, pulling his back to Eddie’s front.

This kid was not dying. Not today. Death would have to get through Eddie first.

He chanced a look around and…

Oh, god. They wouldn’t win this.

Demobeasts of strange shapes and sizes were crawling over the corpses of those felled by the tunnel entrance. Hopper was making a valiant effort staving them off, unloading rounds from what Eddie assumed was his second firearm. Joyce was beside him, frantically working to light and launch a flaming bottle at the onslaught that just kept coming.

Mike was between Jonathan and Nancy, the three of them backed against a bloodstained, rainbow-printed wall. Jonathan took aim at a demolizard and missed once, hit the next time. Nancy blasted through a demogorgan with several shots, then her trigger clicked empty, and she dropped her gun, yanking a second from her belt, face contorted fiercely.

Jesus. Don’t mess with Nancy Wheeler.

Mike was pressed against the wall, eying the warbling gate just through the broken window, his temptation writ so morbidly clear across his face.

And then came a scream. Piercing, high and terrified, followed by Steve’s yell. A gut-wrenching, devastating thing, fit around just one word:

“Robin!”

Eddie’s attention snapped over and he saw Robin being pulled by the leg, fruitlessly kicking, blood tracking behind her as a fleshy demogorgan dragged her backwards.

Steve slammed himself ahead, swinging out his nailbat—gun gone somewhere, discarded and out of ammo, maybe—to land it against the demogorgan’s nape. The hulking creature chittered angrily, wriggling in pain, then it spun recklessly, Robin yanked with it.

“Ste—!”

Her cry never finished. Robin was smacked against the wall in the demogorgan’s chokehold, body going limp, docile as she was dragged across the ridges of broken window, into the observation room. Her hand was the last bit of her to slip the threshold, flopping over the ledge then gone.

“Rob!” Steve shouted as he leapt after her, palm sliced through on a sharp shard. Not that it stopped him. Through the shattered gape, now standing on the other side, Steve raised his nailbat and swung hard at the demogorgan’s back, growling, “Fucking cunt!” as he landed the blow and tore bloodied flesh from its new wound. “You’re not taking her!”

The demogorgan howled, stumbled, then… it pitched into the pulsing gate. Robin slipping away with it.

Just for a breath, Steve stood there, the silhouette of him outlined against the twisting red and iridescence of the gate, back smattered in viscera of demobeasts, nailbat sturdy in his hand.

“Steve!” Dustin called. Sobbing. Begging him to don’t, please don’t.

Steve looked over his shoulder, spotted Dustin and Eddie through the din of a battle still waging. It was the saddest, most resigned smile Eddie had ever witnessed from Steve. Full of regret. Of shattered affection.

His eyes flicked up to Eddie, just briefly. The smile slipped, cracked.

Then he turned and forced himself through the gate, there and gone in an instant.

“Steve!” Dustin wailed, clambering to get out of Eddie’s grip. “Steve, no! Steve!”

Eddie’s brain slogged through processing. Robin was taken. Steve was gone. Dustin was weeping, grieving.

Shots fired around them. Fire burst in the corner of the room. Hopper shouted, “We’re running out of fire power here!”

They were losing. They were losing.

They’d already lost.

All there was left to do now was retreat. Eddie could gather that. He was a runner, after all.

Except for maybe when it counted. Maybe, when it counted, he wouldn’t run.

Joyce was moving towards where Dustin was garbling Steve’s name. Jonathan was pulling at Nancy, urging her towards the door. Nancy was clicking yet another spent firearm, elbowing in front of Mike, who looked ready to bolt into the gate behind Steve. Prepared to take the plunge, if only to find Will on the other side.

It didn’t make sense. The memory that played in Eddie’s mind then. Just from earlier that morning. Yawning with a stretch in Steve’s bed, that soft, contented look on Steve’s face.

“What?” Eddie had asked, a persistent smile pulling across his face.

Steve had blinked himself from a stupor and chuckled at his own expense. “Nothing, man. Just… I don’t know. You’ve got a nice face to wake up to, I guess.”

“Oh, yeah? You angling to wake up to my pretty mug again?”

Steve had grinned crookedly, covering desire with a jest, saying, “Don’t mind me, dude. Just Hawkins’s resident hopeless romantic over here. Can’t help it if I’m sappy.”

Eddie might die. He might. But he wasn’t going to die a coward who wouldn’t follow Steve Harrington into Hell. Again. That’s just the kind of idiocy Steve inspired in him, apparently.

Just as Joyce was arriving, Eddie bent down and pulled Dustin’s head towards him, pressing a sloppy kiss against his temple, saying, “I love you, man.”

“Eddie?” Dustin’s voice wobbled and he gazed up. “No. No—What are you—? Eddie—!”

Eddie sprinted against the grain, steadying his firearm as best he could to stave off the scrambling demodogs that still spewed from the tunnel Hopper was retreating from. In his periphery, he saw Jonathan bullying Nancy and Mike towards the door, Mike literally clawing into him to try and get by, seeking a path to the gate. Jonathan must have managed it, though, because while Eddie was hopping over the window’s broken ledge, he saw that Jonathan had the door swinging shut, blocking them all out and himself in.

The shouts that followed were a mix of Mike’s lament, Nancy and Joyce’s fretful call of Jonathan’s name, and Dustin’s broken sob of, Eddie!

Jonathan slammed the door and crammed a chair under the door’s knob, pushing himself off it and running across the room, narrowly avoiding a demolizard’s tail as he cleared the window.

Eddie shouldered through the gate, and Jonathan pushed in right behind him.

To unknown realms, Eddie thought wryly, they would venture.   

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TEN

-STEVE-

***

The demogorgan was dead. Steve had carved out enough of its meat that it collapsed on the other side, a clinical room lit up only by the searing light from the gate behind him.

There was rust-stained tile instead of carpet, and no small box of an observation room. No rainbows. Just an empty space, corners shadowed and vacant. A stagnant, musty smell, like it had suffered from lack of airflow for far too long.

Robin was sprawled out on the floor, blood in matted her hair, leg torn with gashes and cuts on skin where she’d been dragged.

Steve’s fault. This was Steve’s fault.

“Rob,” Steve ventured brokenly. “Robin. We got to go.”

He dropped his nailbat and knelt down beside her, tried her shoulder first. Nothing. Then he moved some of her hair from her face, her expression lax and nonresponsive. Steve’s hand came back sticky, dyed red.

“Rob,” Steve repeated, quietly. So quietly. He might break her. Break their chances of getting out. “Rob, come on. Work with me here. Rob…”

Solitude compounded on Steve. He dropped further, his ass hitting the floor, and he gathered Robin in his arms, holding her to him. Maybe he could transfer his heartbeat to her. She was still breathing this low, rattling noise. She was still there. But then why did she feel so far away?

Steve cradled her closer, his hand rubbing over her cheek, trying to rouse her, smearing blood across dirty skin.

There was skittering somewhere in the distance, down long corridors Steve couldn’t see. A pressure welled behind his nose, in his throat, and his vision grew murky.

“Rob. Robin? Can—Can you hear me?”

A guttural sound gurgled up his chest, a low, hiccupping sob.

“Rob. I’m so sorry. I’m s-so sorry. Robin. Rob. Rob, please…”

Light flared behind him, bouncing off something new, but Steve couldn’t look up. Couldn’t look away from Robin. She might wake up. And this was Steve’s fault. His arms tightened protectively and he sniffed wetly.

“… Steve?” his name was called. Eddie. Eddie had called his name.

Steve shut his eyes, his fingers again in matted hair. He could stop the bleeding. That might help. It would help. Keep it in her veins, where it was meant to be.

Light curled across the sterile-looking room again before it settled, the muted scrape of shoes on tile sounding. Heavy breaths, but there was still quiet. So much quiet.

Robin wasn’t talking. She was always talking. Why wasn’t she talking now?

“Rob,” Steve said again, but he didn’t even sound like himself. He could barely get her name out. “Rob, please. I know—I know I—Rob, just, please…”

“Steve?” Eddie asked again, tentative. Closer.

A hand reached out for Robin—Or maybe it was for Steve.

Steve flinched at the touch, eyes flying open, and he twisted away, gritting out a thick, “Don’t touch her!”

Robin could get hurt. More than she already was.

Robin was hurt. Robin was hurt. Robin wasn’t waking up.

This was Steve’s fault. He brought her here. He brought her into it.

Eddie’s shape looked blurry behind tears, his worried expression melted like a watercolour painting. Beyond him, Jonathan watched warily, eyes darting from the warbling gate to Steve on the ground.

Eddie lifted his hands slowly in a form of nonaggression, lowering himself to crouch beside Steve. His eyes tracked over where Steve was huddled, a tight frown pulling at his mouth. Then he said, “Steve. We need to go. Find somewhere safe. And it’s not behind us.”

Steve’s chest crumpled in on itself, and Robin’s knuckles dragged as he held her impossibly closer. “Robin. Eddie. Ed—Robin’s not—She’s not alright, man. She’s not—”

“It’s time to go, Steve. We can’t stay here,” Eddie instructed, focused but voice shaking. Eddie was scared. They were still in danger. Steve was putting them in danger. “So grab her, and let’s go.”

Steve stared at Eddie, breath heaving as he tried to fall back into himself. Robin didn’t need Steve to break down. Robin needed Steve to hold strong. To get shit done. To fucking go.

“Right,” Steve said, throat constricted. He sniffed. “Right. Yeah. Let’s…”

With effort, he loosened his grip and dropped his backpack on ground to make room for Robin. If he had to carry her for minutes, hours, days. So be it.

Robin draped lifelessly over him, her head lulled against the back of his neck, her arms drooping over his chest. Steve’s hands supported her between her thigh and underside of her knees. Steve sniffed again, blinking away tears. Swallowing remorse.

Jonathan picked up the nailbat, sidestepping silently away from the gate. Eddie snatched up Steve’s discarded backpack, hauling it uncomfortably next to his own, sacrificing one shoulder to each.

Jonathan’s flashlight beamed to life. He took the lead, glancing over his shoulder once to softly demand, “Just keep your eyes on my back and follow. Let’s get out of here.”

***

-EDDIE-

***

Steve was not alright. Eddie could tell, Steve was the sort of not alright that would build up and shatter under pressure. Like a glass with a fissure, cracking all at once but stable until something tapped it.

But on he went, Robin hefted on his back, taking one step after another in line with Jonathan’s careful traipsing.

Eddie could hear noises in the distance. He didn’t think they were alone, wherever they were. Wherever looking remarkably like where they’d just been, but even more empty.

When they reached a boxless elevator shaft, that was all but confirmed.

So they were back in the Lab? Eddie couldn’t get used to this Upside Down shit. And, honestly, he didn’t want to.

Scrr-tch.

It was a noise they’d been hearing for a while now. Careening around bends or from lightless corners.

Jonathan’s flashlight zipped to the side, illuminating—nothing. There wasn’t a trace of anything in the ceiling’s architecture. Scrr-tch, tch. Jonathan’s beam shifted, casting upon the grate of a ventilation shaft.

And yeah, Eddie was pretty sure he saw a tiny claw peek out, maybe a sharp fang.

“Shit,” Jonathan muttered under his breath. He aimed the stream like a beacon in the dark up the elevator shaft, particles of dust or spores or something drifting across its glowing river. “There’re rungs. We can climb to a higher floor. Take the stairwell from it.”

“Lead on,” Eddie encouraged, keeping a cautious eye on the now-dimmed duct vent.

Scrr-tch, tch. Scrr-tch.

Steve didn’t seem in the mood to banter. Or contribute much at all in the way of words.

Eddie unravelled rope and carabiners from his supplies, wrapping Robin flush to Steve’s back, tying securing knots like he’d practiced dozens of times now. He yanked in a swift holding test. It passed. Steve nodded at him.

Jonathan clamped his flashlight between his teeth and swung his weight onto the ascending rungs in the shaft.

Up they went.

***

The floor they’d evacuated to was equally as unforgiving and dark as the originating one, but at least it had a door to a stairwell. Skittering and the suspect thunk and drag of something far off narrated their walk to the exit route. When they made it to the stairwell, the air inside wallowed a whistling echo, spare clinks and clanks making Eddie’s heart skip a beat.

Steve was huffing in exertion, but he didn’t stop, so neither did Eddie or Jonathan.

***

They made it out, into the lobby. Beyond the doors, trees rustled with wind, and the glass partition rattled with the pelt of blackened rain, sharp flashes of red lightning cracking across the wide expanse of sky beyond.

“Are we still in Hawkins?” Eddie dared to ask.

Jonathan gave him a wary sidelong glance. “I don’t know. Could be.”

Steve adjusted his hold on Robin, setting his jaw. “Let’s go to my house. Recoup.”

It wasn’t met with resistance. So they continued, but only after Jonathan had cautiously stuck his hand into the downpour just to make sure it wouldn’t melt their skin off. It didn’t, and they stepped into it, hiking back through the woods, taking the bend towards Loch Nora.

Until Loch Nora wasn’t there. Wasn’t anywhere. Just trees and slop and mud and wind.

Eddie felt the chill of the storm settle into his bone, his clothes dying onyx, his skin smeared with grainy droplets of sooty black.

How many layers of Hell were their meant to be? And they were only on what? Two?

“We’ll try my old place!” Jonathan shouted over the howling wind, brushing wet from his face and eyes and flicking it to the side. It didn’t help much, he still struggled against the raging storm, the foliage quaking around them.

The whole forest felt angry, volatile. And Eddie could swear something was watching them.

Jonathan turned and squinted where they towed the line of the road towards Hawkins Lab and the park reserve. “It’s this way!” he determined with an indiscriminate point.

But Eddie and Steve followed. What the hell else was there to do.

Blessedly, the old Byers’ house was present, lonely in an offshoot of forest pines. Jonathan barged into the door, knocking it open despite its lock, and Eddie wasn’t sure if it looked how it should. He’d never once played witness to the Byers’ residence.

The floorboards creaked and doyleys occupied almost every surface. A rotary phone sat by the door, and an old ‘30s-looking crank gramophone was nestled in beside dated furniture.

Jonathan stopped by a wrinkled calendar at the door while Steve offloaded Robin onto a garishly patterned couch, pulling roping loose as he did.

“1959,” said Jonathan. “This is Hawkins, 1959.”

***

-STEVE-

***

The Byers’ house had always run on well water, and since this Hawkins was not strangely adverse to liquid, the taps knocked to life and allowed Steve the chance to fill a large mixing bowl he found in the kitchen, a towel paired with it beside him.

He sat on the side table, brushing an old book out of the way, and he wrung the towel in his hands while Jonathan lit a few more candles and shook out his match.

“Shit, Rob,” Steve mumbled as he flattened cotton to his palm and rubbed at her face first. “What a mess you are, huh?” He dipped the towel, squeezed, then pushed at her hair. Dried blood slipped down her face and ear in dirty pink trails. “You just got more highlights, too…” The towel was already mucky, so he dipped, squeezed, and went back to it. “I hope this won’t have fucked them up somehow. Steve, it cost me two weeks of work for this! Yeah, I know. I know it did. But I told you it was too blonde. You’re not a blonde kinda chick, Buckley. Hate to tell ya.”

Robin’s freckled face was visible now, her hair wet and flat and mostly clean. Slicked back by Steve’s efforts. Her neck still looked gnarly, though. Crusted with dried blood. He scrubbed there next.

Steve shifted and repositioned himself on the coffee table, propping her leg on his knee, rolling her ripped pants to the top of her shin. He really hoped that hint of white was just her pale-ass skin and not a sliver of bone exposed.

“Jesus,” he murmured, frowning.

The slices around her ankle weren’t even, crisscrossing over themselves, and there was a long tear that followed the line of her leg, tapering below the knee.

“Okay,” Steve said, taking a fortifying breath. “Let’s—Let’s clean this up, huh, Rob?”

Eddie took it upon himself to empty the bowl, bringing back fresh—or as fresh as could be, wherever they were… or whenever they were—water. He sat to Steve’s left, scanning Robin head to toe. “You gonna marry her one day, Steve?”

Steve let out a surprised laugh, his hand pausing where it held the sopping towel to her ankle. A lavender marriage. He could picture it. The joy faded out and it only left the misery of the current circumstance behind it, Steve sniffing against the tickle of weepiness, blinking his eyes to stave it off. “If that’s what makes sense. Yeah. Maybe.”

“You’ll get the chance to hash that out with her, man. Both of you. When we’ve left this place far behind, alright?” Eddie said, far too smug for it to be honest.

Steve appreciated it anyway. The hope. Something to latch onto—a future beyond this.

“We need to get in dry clothes, dude,” Eddie said softly. “All of us.”

Jonathan, who had been checking cabinets and drawers, piling anything useful, chimed in, “Mom said she and Dad bought this place from an old widower. She’s got plenty for Robin, and I checked the closets; she still had some of her husband’s clothes.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, processing. He looked down at Robin, eyebrows knitting. “Yeah, right. We should… Uh…”

“Steve?” Eddie asked carefully, leaning into his view.

“There’re some boundaries that just, uh. I shouldn’t—”

Eddie held out his hand, indicating for the antibacterial cream and bandaging with impatient fingers. “I’ll take point. She might still hit me, but…”

Steve gave him a long, hard look. But, yeah. That probably made the most sense. Eddie, ostensibly, was not a self-proclaimed boobie-lover.

“Okay,” said Steve.

“So give me the shit, don’t be weird about it,” said Eddie.

Steve hesitated.

“Look—I don’t know what it is between you guys and Robin, but maybe neither of you should? I could—” Jonathan started awkwardly, aiming for diplomatic.

Both Steve and Eddie twisted his direction with a definitive, “No!”

“O-oh,” Jonathan said, taking a step back. “Okay. No, um. No harm meant.”

“Give me the shit, Steve,” Eddie ordered, and this time Steve complied.

“Just don’t put her in something stupid. She’ll murder you. Then me.”

“Yes, m’lord. Only the finest for the lady.”

***

Eddie had changed Robin first, putting her in the least offensive thing he found, which were elastic-waisted navy slacks and a salmon-coloured cottony top. He’d laid her out on the old lady’s bed, calling in Steve when she was decent to help him finish with the wound dressing.

Then Eddie spirited himself away into the hall bathroom to wipe off the Upside Down crud and change, Steve switching with him before Jonathan rounded out the last turn.

Once done, Eddie passed him in black slacks that were too short, and an untucked, equally black button-down. He looked like a waiter-gone-wrong. Steve snorted as he squeezed by, then got to work sorting himself out.

A few minutes later he was mostly clean, also in too-short slacks, but with a brown version of what he was pretty sure was the exact same top as Eddie’s.

Jonathan passed him with stilted eye contact before he yanked the bathroom door shut and left Steve to wander.

First checking in on Robin—no change—Steve sighed heavy and walked out into the candlelit living room… where music was playing?

Eddie was standing beside the gramophone, arms crossed as he watched the record turn. It was a slow, jazzy thing. Eddie’s gaze flicked towards Steve’s.

“Okay. In my defence, the band is called Horace Heidt and His Musical Knights, and I got curious. I mean, knights? Right?” Eddie gestured to the needle skidding over vinyl. “But then I got, like. This.”

Steve blinked and huffed a laugh, sidling up to Eddie and matching his stare at the old gramophone. “It’s not so bad. Kinda nice, actually.”

The song playing faded, then a new one started with old-timey, dreamy trumpets. Eddie raised a wary brow at Steve. But then the tune softened, lyrics proclaiming: I don’t want to set the world on fire… I just want to start a flame in your heart...

There was a fluttering low in Steve’s stomach, a heat spreading over his cheeks as he continued to stare. Something shifting in the air, wicks flickering soft haloes over the room.

Eddie bit his lip, considering something, then he held one arm up and the other down. And Steve knew what he was doing. He just didn’t believe he was doing it.

“You trying to dance, Munson?”

“Humour me, man,” Eddie encouraged.  

So Steve did. He threaded his right hand through Eddie’s raised in the air, stepped closer to match the hold Eddie placed on Steve’s waist. The romantic strum of guitar paced their sway, one half-step back. Forward. To the side.

Steve watched the firelit glow sweep back and forth over Eddie’s face, lighting up his eyes. His amused smile. Steve chuckled lowly to himself, then started humming to the bridge, words stretched and dulcet. Piano joined the percussion, and Steve murmured gently against it, “…want to set the world on fire…”

Eddie snickered, his fingers gripping tighter. His hand holding faster on Steve’s waist. Stepping closer.

“…I just want to start…” Steve continued quietly, a hush falling between them as he started feeling drawn into those big brown eyes across from him. Watching him. Seeing him so strangely clearly. Eddie’s smile curled in on itself, shrinking, levity falling into… something else. Steve searched his gaze.

“Stevie. Sweetheart,” said Eddie. Two names carved for Steve. Two names reserved for Steve alone. Something about Eddie’s expression looked pained. “Don’t start. I might not want you to stop.”

“Then I don’t stop,” Steve whispered back, eyelids heavy.

After all, he really didn’t want to. After everything, when nothing had quite stopped, this day feeling like punch after punch. And now Eddie was dancing with him in a candlelit living room, an old love song playing beside them. And god it was nice. It was so goddamned nice. And Steve felt selfish. But fuck, he wanted to be. He needed to be.

“Steve,” Eddie murmured, his eyes falling to Steve’s lips.

“Hm?”

“If—”

A door shut loudly in the hallway and Steve ripped himself from Eddie, remembering their surroundings. Their situation.

“Um—” Steve began, rubbing at his forehead and bridge of his nose.

“Don’t,” Eddie said shortly. He feinted in place, train of thought upended, then plucked the needle up, silence embracing them. “Sorry. My fault, man.”

“What?” Steve asked, lost. “Sorry?”

Jonathan rounded the corner, head down and veering to the collection of supplies he’d compiled before, picking through it. He cleared his throat. “Let’s figure out our next step.”

Eddie didn’t look back at Steve as he walked over to Jonathan.

But Steve watched him go.

Sorry? What the hell for?

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ELEVEN

-EDDIE-

***

Eddie listened to static as Jonathan tuned the knob on his walkie. The candles were bleeding into themselves, wax pooling and carving melted rivers. Nothing had come through yet, just different variations of electric fuzz.

“Alright,” Jonathan was saying. “Okay. I can’t—I can’t go back. Not now, not when I’m this far.” He set down the walkie and observed his collected supplies—a flashlight, some more rope, a firearm. “Will’s got to be here. Or… Or this is the right track, at least.”

Jonathan shifted, looking to where Eddie and Steve had settled themselves on the couch and rocking chair respectively.

“I don’t want to force—”

“Dude, stop,” Steve cut Jonathan off, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re not.”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie said consideringly. “I kind of figured that was a point of no return.”

“Right,” Jonathan said, blinking. A little shy. “Right. Sure.”

They’d rationed out some of the food they’d taken, scattered on the coffee table for everyone to pick at freely. Eddie took advantage of just that and snatched a piece of jerky, biting into it and ripping a shred with a twist of his chin.

Steve finished a swig of whatever was in his thermos and opened his mouth to say something. At least until a creak sounded and they all froze in place.

Then a groaned, weak “Steve?” drifted from down the hall.

Eddie had never seen anyone get up and around a rocking chair so quickly. So swift, in fact, that Eddie had barely blinked before Steve was already launching himself down the corridor.

“Jesus,” Eddie murmured. “Lucky Buckley.”

He’d go check in a few minutes. Give them the chance to hug it out, or just stare at one another and, like, quietly sob. Whatever the hell they did.

Eddie wasn’t jealous, not really. Except maybe he was. Just a little bit.

He wanted Steve to love him like that.

… Huh. Wait. Did Eddie just admit something to himself there?

Well, that was exactly it, right? Shit. He wanted Steve to love him.

He wanted to be loved by Steve.

Eddie was so beyond fucked.

“You don’t care?” Jonathan asked in that calm, soft tone of his, drawing Eddie’s attention up from where he’d been fiddling with the jerky wrapper.

Jonathan Byers. Eddie still felt like he barely knew the guy. But he was sort of a fellow freak, wasn’t he? An outcast? Their personalities, though. They felt so weirdly polar.

“About what?” Eddie asked, genuinely baffled.

“That they’re…” Jonathan trailed, studying Eddie with this peeling, quiet scrutiny.

If Eddie were entirely honest, he wasn’t really sure what Jonathan was implying. About Steve and Robin. About Eddie and Robin. Or, hell, Eddie and Steve.

When Eddie just stared back, Jonathan looked away and muttered, “Nevermind.”

“Byers.” Eddie wouldn’t let it sit. Something had it grating at him. “What?”

“I mean. I don’t—Whatever’s between them, man. I think it… I think it’ll last.”

“Uh…” Eddie didn’t know what to say. What came out was, “Yep.”

Jonathan shifted his eyes back, a grave expression on his face. Something that felt akin to a curtain being lifted, a construct gone. “Oh,” he said. “It’s not her.”

Eddie’s heart flipped and plummeted. He felt like the couch had been kicked out from under him, Jonathan’s eyes so goddamned knowing, understanding, and then Steve was calling:

“Ed! Tell Rob I did not see her in her birthday suit—Christ, stop smacking me!”

The way his muscles had tensed made it difficult to extract himself from the awful, floral couch. Eddie stood and hollered, “I didn’t even change your undies, Buckley!” And because he was so natural at snarky recompense, he didn’t stop to think about it when he added, “Like I’d wanna see that—come on!”

“She says she hates you!” Steve called back.

Eddie huffed, rolling his eyes with an amused smirk. Then his gaze shifted back to Jonathan.

“I didn’t mean to call you out.” Jonathan smiled at him with his eyes, a kind gesture to calm Eddie’s nerves. “You don’t have to worry about me, man.”

And there really must have been something wrong with Eddie’s brain chemistry, because as he stepped around the furniture and toed into the hallway, he casually threw back, “Didn’t think I had to anyway—” he knew it’s not what Jonathan meant, that the guy was being accepting and placating, but he was still a bit thrown by Jonathan warning Eddie off Steve and Robin, like Jonathan hadn’t been the other guy between Steve and Nancy, “—you’re not even in the running, Jonny Boy.”

***

-STEVE-

***

“Madam Buckley,” Eddie said as he dramatically swung himself into the room, hanging off the doorjamb. “You don’t think that our sweet Stevie of the Harringtons was the perfect gentleman?”

Steve gestured towards Eddie. “Exactly,” he said.

Robin wiggled against dusty pillows and grimaced as her ankle must have caught on wrinkled sheets. “Whatever. I wouldn’t even actually care. I trust you. Just, ick.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve started strong, but then he huffed and looked away. “It didn’t feel right. So, like, we picked him.”

Eddie sauntered in and plopped down on the bed next to Steve, placing himself at the end of the mattress. “The guy with guaranteed no ogles. None. The only tits here that get me going are Steve’s hairy nipples.”

Steve’s face burned red, and he twisted where he sat, breathing out a scandalised, “Dude!”

Eddie shrugged at him, smiling innocently in a way that had Steve’s chest filling with pleasant, warm fuzz. Then Eddie’s smile took a lecherous turn, his eyes scaling up and down Steve’s torso. The exact kind of look that had blood traveling dangerously south.

“Ew. Get a room,” Robin scoffed, gingerly rolling up one of her sleeves to mid-arm before starting on the other one. “Don’t be gross and flirt in front of me.”

“Rob!” Steve warned in a hiss. “Jonathan is—”

“He just Sherlocked me,” Eddie said flatly.

Steve slowly turned Eddie’s direction again. Jonathan what? Like, he figured Eddie out? Clocked him? How? Why?

“What?” Steve asked.

“Oh,” Robin said, her voice still a bit rough from the trauma and disuse. Or maybe this time it was emotion. “How… was he?”

Eddie shrugged again. “Fine. Nice, actually. I’m the mean girl here, not Jonathan.”

Robin scoffed. “If anyone’s a mean girl, it’s Steve.”

“Um. No! I am not,” Steve protested.

“You’re mega bitchy, Steve,” Robin told him, mouth curving into an endeared smile.

“It’s part of your Harrington charm, don’t worry,” Eddie said, smacking a hand down on Steve’s knee and shaking it.

Steve didn’t really want him to take it away, either. So he didn’t complain when Eddie left it there, leaning over Steve to say to Robin:

“How are you feeling, Buckley?”

“Like some demon clawed my ankle to shit and rammed my head against a wall.”

“She didn’t remember what she ate for breakfast,” Steve informed Eddie. “Classic concussion.”

Eddie, who was still leant over Steve’s lap, looked alarmed at that. “Oh, shit—You like, should not sleep. You’re lucky you woke back up! Jesus H. Christ, you could’ve just coma’d out on us, man.”

“Just more for Steve and I to bond over.”

“A coma?” Eddie asked, confused.

“Concussions,” Robin answered.

Steve gave a destitute laugh. “Great.”

A soft knock on the doorjamb had them all turning—except for Robin, who just looked up—and seeing Jonathan standing there, a taunt, awkward smile in place.

So… Jonathan knew about Eddie. Or guessed about him. Honestly, Steve would be surprised if Jonathan didn’t know about Will. They seemed impossibly closer after their California stint, Jonathan’s gaze often tracking Will. Just making sure he was okay.

“Hey, Robin,” Jonathan began, then he stepped in, a water bottle in hand. “I thought you might want something to drink?”

“You, Jonathan Byers, are just a little angel, aren’t you?” Robin lifted a weak-willed arm with grabby fingers.

Jonathan didn’t side-eye Eddie as he passed him. Didn’t do much of anything in the way of recognition at all, actually. He just acted exactly as he always had, focused on his task. In this case, handing Robin her water.

Eddie, however, had only watched Jonathan for a couple steps before he looked away, fixing a stare at the knotted floorboard sticking up a little further than the rest in the corner. And the funny thing was, Eddie didn’t seem to have remembered that he’d rested his hand over Steve’s knee at all.

But Steve did. As soon as Jonathan’s gaze glanced there, once he was relieved of the bottle.

Steve just sort of… froze.

But Jonathan said nothing. And Eddie didn’t move his hand.

There was a quiet that fell over the room. Maybe it was Robin’s concussion. Or maybe it was whatever look Steve had on his face. But she said, very openly, “You think girls’ll dig nasty leg scars?”

Steve whipped his head her way, eyes wide in a you-just-said-that look. But Robin was just sat there biting her lip, staring at the bottle in her hand. Waiting.

“Chicks dig scars,” Eddie muttered blandly to Steve’s left. “Isn’t that what they say?” He finally removed his hand to shrug his shoulders and resettle. “Wouldn’t know, would I… Do they, Harrington?”

“Uh,” Steve began dumbly, feeling put on the spot. “Ah—I don’t know, man. I mean, do you?”

His eyes tracked to Eddie’s, and Eddie was giving him a very pointed, entertained and smug little smile. “I’m not a chick, Steve.”

“You’re the only one running,” Jonathan’s soft voice cracked the atmosphere, and Steve looked up at him in questioning. Jonathan, however, was looking at Eddie, perplexed. Then he schooled it and flattened his mouth into a tight, awkward smile again. “Can I… make an assumption that everyone is on the same page here?”

“You mean about how bikinis don’t do it for Eddie and swim trunks aren’t much of my thing?” Robin asked brightly, gulping down another swig of water. “Sure! Assume away.”

“Oh,” Jonathan said, looking a little faint. Or at least overwhelmed. “Right. That. Um. If… If I’m trying to be supportive of someone, what—how can I, uh…?”

“Say Tammy Thompson sounds like a muppet,” Robin said, snickering.

“Or throw in a nice zinger, like asking if Julie Andrews is hot in a suit because maybe she looks like Bowie—” Eddie gave Steve a wary look. “Which, like, I still don’t see, dude. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was drunk!” Steve huffed, crossing his arms obstinately.

“Look, maybe the kid and I can have a heart-to-heart over a dungeon-planning session. Real, like, lowkey,” Eddie said to Jonathan, ignoring Steve.

Jonathan blanched. “W-what? You mean, Will?”

“Takes one to know one,” Robin supplied helpfully with a wrinkled nose. “Applies here too.”

“How—?”

“Infamous gay-sniffer here next to me—” Steve began, bulldozing over Jonathan’s question, gesturing to Eddie, then cutting himself off with a grimace. “Okay, that didn’t come out sounding like I thought it would. Uh. Sorry?”

“I sniff gays,” Eddie said nonchalantly. “Don’t know if I’m infamous for it, though.”

 “Jesus Christ, you’re so weird, dude,” Steve said around a dry chuckle.

Eddie smirked at him. “You don’t hate it.”

“Ugh. Stop flirting!” Robin complained, leaning back into the pillows, their frilled edges ruffling.

“You know, I don’t appreciate your homophobic aversion to the way I talk, Buckley,” said Eddie.

“Literally a lesbian!” said Robin.

“Yeah,” Eddie gave her a contemplative squint, “I saw the look you gave me at big boy. Fine until it’s two dudes, huh?”

Robin made an aghast noise and flicked her wrist to point at Steve, saying, “It’s Steve!”

Eddie grinned and Steve felt foreboding slam him like a wave. That was a mean grin.

“Well. Steve’s definitely a big boy,” Eddie said catching Steve’s gaze. Steve felt it pierce him to his centre, recollections of Eddie’s lips around the heft of his cock, tongue languidly tracing its sensitive frenulum as Eddie moaned his appreciation, his hands curling around Steve’s hips— “Or so the girls around school would say.”

“Don’t talk about Steve’s dick. Thank you,” Robin muttered offhandedly.

Steve, remembering to breathe, tore his attention from Eddie and sneered at Robin, “Um. Rude. I’ve got a great dick, alright?”

“Good for you,” Robin grimaced back at him.

“Steve,” Jonathan said, reminding them all that, yes, he was still standing there. Witness. Jonathan had his hands pressed to his face, the silvers visible between fingers flushed. When he moved his hands away, his expression looked a little wrung out. “I literally punched you for being a bigot, man. What the fuck, dude.” Jonathan gave a dry laugh. “And now… two of your seemingly closest friends are gay? I guess? And you know?”

Yeah. Steve didn’t like thinking about that. How lame and stupid he’d been. Spewing shit without really considering it. Probably making people like Robin and Eddie scared. Or at least uncomfortable. Hell, maybe not even people like them, but them themselves.

“Uh. Yeah,” said Steve. “I was, like, such an asshole then, man. I, um. I definitely see that now. Have for a while. If, uh. If I hadn’t said it already, I’m really sorry. That was insanely uncool of me.”

“Helps that you’re just a giant fucking hypocrite,” Robin chided.

And that was definitely the concussion speaking. Because Robin would not have subtlety outed him under any other circumstance.

But Steve loved her. And her stupid concussed brain. And maybe he should just say it.

Put it out there. Make it real, and not something stuck in Indianapolis or between sheets that Steve and Eddie had shared.

“Yep,” said Steve. “It would make me a giant hypocrite.”

“You’re… not…?” Jonathan’s question tapered.

“No. I’m not,” said Steve. “But I’m also not, not.”

Suddenly the room felt very small. Sound sort of whooshed away, Jonathan’s blank stare pinning. Until Jonathan was laughing a little hysterically, and, well, that was sort of rude, wasn’t it?

Jonathan waved a hand in front of him, saying, “Sorry! Sorry. No, it’s just—A gay guy, a lesbian, a bisexual man, and a straight dude walk into a bar—or… or something like that. There’s got to be a joke in there somewhere, right?”

“Confirmed straight, so I was right,” Eddie said, for some reason deciding it was the perfect time to drop a heavy hand back on Steve’s knee.

Jonathan grappled for his breath and smiled. It was a joyful, comfortable thing, and Steve felt… safe. Happy. What a weird, perfect group of people. And it included his ex-girlfriend’s current boyfriend. Life was fucking bizarre.

“Absolutely, man,” Jonathan told Eddie. “And… Yeah, I think maybe I was wrong.”

Steve wasn’t really sure what the core of their conversation was, but Eddie got that soft, satisfied look on his face that only appeared once in a while. In those few and far between times where he was gentle rather than brash and loud.

“Maybe,” is all Eddie said.

***

-EDDIE-

***

They decided they would sleep. Prepare to trek somewhere else after some shuteye.

It was a matter of safety more than anything else, but it was still weird as fuck that when they fell asleep, it was crunched onto the bed like sardines. Despite Jonathan definitively not being in competition with Eddie for Steve’s affections, he still managed to basically play big spoon to their resident ex-jock, whose little spoon was Robin, who was sandwiched in by Eddie on the edge of the mattress.

When Eddie woke up, it was to a still-dark room, his hand tossed over Robin’s stomach, hair in his face. Steve’s hand rested over Eddie’s arm, like Robin was their child or something, and Eddie rasped a groggy, “What the fuck?”

Which earned him Robin grumbling in her sleep and effectively elbowing him off the bed.

The shift under Steve’s fingers must have woken him up, because he blinked blearily and whispered, “Eddie?”

“Present,” Eddie raised his arm.

“Wha’…?” Jonathan groused, sitting up, rubbing at his eye. And, admittedly, it was a pretty comical sight when Jonathan double-took at Steve then Robin beside him, confused as all hell, then he seemed to get his bearings and muttered. “Right, right.”

But the reprieve of the previous… night? Whatever it was, the reprieve was gone. And now they had a job to finish.

***

“Let’s go into town!” Steve called against blackened rain and howling wind.

“What!?” Jonathan yelled back, squinting.

“Town!” Robin supplemented, leaning on Steve for support. Her leg was still finicky.

“…What!?” Jonathan asked again.

Eddie got up right next to his ear and shouted, “Town!”

“Oh, shit!” Jonathan cringed back from Eddie, but he gave a weak thumbs up in agreement.

 ***

“Jesus,” Robin was saying as she stumbled into the librarian’s chair. “Some shitty-ass weather we’re having. It’s like it’s raining oil!”

Eddie scanned the rows of books. The public library looked mostly the same. But there weren’t any tables in the back corner, no computer terminals sat on top of them. Of course not. It was 1959, and all they had were books. So many books.

Jonathan was tuning his walkie again, and every once in a while it sounded like he would get a weird clicking noise. Until he lost it and tried to find it again.

Steve was swinging his nailbat in the lobby, preparing to lob another swing at whatever might come to tackle them. Classic jock behaviour. Eddie watched the ripple of Steve’s arm under shifting fabric. Shit. Eddie had a thing for jockishness now. Fuck.

But on a finer point, it was actually a bit weird that nothing had attacked them yet.

“Martin Brenner,” said Robin.

Eddie looked over from where he’d been pretending to study the spine of some obscure history book.

“Why does that sound familiar?” she asked.

“As in, Dr. Brenner?” Jonathan piped up, fingers stilled on the knob. “That was El’s… Uh. He led the experiment in Hawkins Lab.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Okay, and?” Eddie prompted Robin, who startled, the chair under her rolling.

“Oh! Right! Well, it’s just, he lives here, apparently?”

“In the library?” Steve asked—and bless him. Eddie kind of adored him and his silly presumptions. He really just wanted to pinch his cheeks and tease his nose—

“In town, Steve,” Robin corrected, tapping a stray pencil on a sheet of paper. “I guess he didn’t have a library card, though? He checked out a book, but all his details are written here. Like, his home phone, address and stuff.”

“What book?” Steve asked.

“A text on Jungian psychology,” Robin said blandly.

“Well… That’s something, right? Maybe we try there?” Jonathan asked.

The four of them exchanged blank, flickering looks for long seconds.

“Tell Nancy how appreciated she is when we’re back topside,” Robin ventured glumly.

“By like, all of us. We’re not the brains of this shit, man,” Eddie added.

Nancy had been a huge asset to them last March, her and Steve balancing the direction of the investigation and infiltration nicely. And Jonathan was great and all. But the guy wasn’t Nancy.

“Yeah,” Jonathan agreed. “Yeah, I definitely will.”

***

It turned out, while Nancy’s guiding instincts were sorely missed, they’d gumshoed their way into a promising lead anyway. The house itself was laughably 50’s. A picket fence, plots that probably would have had flowers dotting across them. Perfectly picturesque from the outside and every window they could see into.

But inside, Jonathan’s walkie was screeching pitchy static.

The entryway was small, narrow, and it was decorated like a movie set. Bland. No faces. No family.

But it was the basement where the walkie screamed the loudest. At least until they got next to a relic of a switchboard spread across a lone table, and suddenly the noise stopped, leaving only one loud and clear voice coming through the small speaker in Jonathan’s hand.

“Day 42,” said Will. “No answering frequency. The boat hasn’t sunk yet. The food’s running out.” There was a sharp intake of breath. “But I closed the gate. Dimension X is gone. And if any of you government assholes hear this… I hope you never find it again.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWELVE

-STEVE-

***

Steve had never seen Jonathan look so manic.

He was shouting against his walkie, trying to reach Will, who seemed just on the other side. A side that couldn’t be reached, only heard.

“Will!” Jonathan was saying, tears collecting in his eyes. “Will! I’m right here!”

“—the water is still stagnant. The sky’s still black—”

“Will,” Jonathan begged, thumb jammed on the walkie’s button. “Please!”

“O-okay,” Robin tilted her flashlight towards the lonely, disconnected switchboard. “Why here? Why can we hear him here?”

Steve jerked his own flashlight up and accidentally blinded both Eddie and Robin before he dipped the angle again. “Should we just… try shit?”

“Could trying shit end the world somehow?” Eddie asked.

They all three looked at one another while Jonathan stumbled next to Steve, gripping the walkie so hard it might break. “I’m fucking up those switches,” said Jonathan, and Steve would have laughed at the intensity of it on any other day.

But that day wasn’t today, and Steve hovered his hand over a big, flat button, waiting for the others to join him. If they did this—if they risked this—they would do it together. Jonathan followed Steve’s charge, Eddie and Robin joining behind him. Spread across buttons, handles, and switches, they all took a collective breath.

***

-EDDIE-

***

If he were entirely honest, Eddie hadn’t expected anything to happen.

He thought they’d try some shit, fail at it, then have to test something else.

Well. Colour him foolish, because it definitely did something.

The switchboard lit up apropos of nothing, blinking and clicking, bathing the basement in an eerie red glow.

“Oh, shit,” escaped Eddie’s mouth. Then came the pressure, like being ripped apart and built anew. Eddie imagined it felt like opening an escape hatch on a pressurised aeroplane. Which was dumb, because Eddie had never been on an aeroplane. Not once. “Steve!” he called, reaching out to anchor him. Or maybe become anchored himself.

Steve squinted against the sheer force of something incomprehensible, bracing himself on the switchboard’s edge. He extended his arm, reaching for Eddie.

The pressure was building towards something, apparently, because as soon as their fingers linked, a powerful jolt drove them away from the flashing buttons.

But Eddie held onto Steve. He wasn’t about to let go.

***

-STEVE-

***

A shout hurtled from Steve’s throat as it felt like the world itself was twisting like a fucked-up snow globe. His hand was dovetailed against Eddie’s, and they were flung a short distance. With a jerk, their grip snapped loose, but Steve was pulled in and a heavy bang rung out, Steve’s body falling into Eddie’s, arms wrapped tightly around Steve’s middle, securing him.

When everything stopped, when the suffocating pressure released, Steve breathed heavy against the flesh of neck in front of him, familiar dark hair tickling his forehead. His one hand held against Eddie’s shoulder and the other braced on some sort of cold, metal surface.

Adrenaline coursed through Steve’s veins, his huffs ragged as his brain caught up with the fact that he was still alive. “Fuck,” he mused reverently against Eddie’s neck. It calmed him and sent him reeling at the same time. The faded scent of cigarettes and something woodsy, all melding with this lingering musk that was just Eddie.

Below him—below him?—Eddie let loose a rasping laugh, his arms slipping down so his hands could instead wrap over the curve of Steve’s ribs. Feeling returned to Steve in pieces. The press of his thighs caging over Eddie’s hips. His chest pressed and heaving against Eddie’s. His crotch low in a tantalising cradle against Eddie’s. The shudder of Eddie’s ragged breath against his ear. And Steve wanted. Holy shit, he wanted so bad.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. His brain was spieling the name on repeat.

It could be like this, couldn’t it? In a different situation?

Heady breaths and wandering hands. Eddie pushing his hips up, the sticky press of tender flesh, the slide of Eddie’s uncut cock against his own—or back, further back. If Steve just tilted his hips a little. Invited Eddie in after he’d been teased and stretched. Made ready, because fuck that’s what Steve wanted, wasn’t it? He wanted to be taken, to know what that felt like, to let Eddie have in a way Steve had never experienced, never allowed. To swallow Eddie’s praises or pleads with his own, his body pressed against the lowest part of Eddie’s abdomen, Eddie sunk deep, the heat between them palpable.

Steve felt like he was high, his blood thumping, rushing.

He pulled back, mourning the loss of Eddie’s skin so close. But finding Eddie’s eyes made it worth it. Big, chocolaty pools that focused only on him. Something in Steve sang, and its hymn sounded a whole goddamn lot like Eddie whispering sweetheart against his ear.

Eddie tried to catch his breath, smirking as he joked, “This is a nice position, Ste—”

Steve didn’t let him finish. No. Steve just took what he wanted.

***

-EDDIE-

***

When Steve’s lips crashed onto Eddies, they did so with the intent to devour.

A gasp crawled up Eddie’s throat, but it was smothered against the demand of Steve’s mouth. Urged out of existence by Steve’s hands as they settled at the junction of Eddie’s neck and chin.

Eddie chased Steve’s desperate licks and nips, matching them with his own, a boiling and contented simmer resting low in his gut at the clipped sounds of approval it drew from Steve. His hands squeezed Steve’s torso, then they dragged down, his fingers finding the hem of Steve’s shirt, slipping under it and digging his nails into soft flesh.

“Eddie,” Steve whined, and Eddie felt satisfaction ripple through him. The pure want in that one utterance had him feeling alive and a little debauched. Awakened something that craved more. That rumbled deep at the thought of Steve whining in that same tone, desperate and begging, but fucked out and a hell of a lot more naked.

Until a throat cleared. Purposefully loud, and incredibly awkward.

Oh. Right. Fuck.

***

-STEVE-

***

Steve didn’t hear at first. The pads of his fingers pressed defiantly against Eddie’s neck and chin, urging him to don’t go. We’re only getting started.

But Eddie’s hands abandoned his waist, levering up like he was being held at gunpoint. And he was looking over Steve’s shoulder, twisting his chin away in escape. Then his gaze tracked back to Steve’s as he murmured, still a little breathless, pupils blown wide, “We got caught up in the moment, Steve.”

Steve still hadn’t quite worked through what was happening—why the hell are Eddie’s hands not groping the fuck out of me right now?—when Robin’s voice broke in, saying:

“Like hell nothing happened, Steve Harrington!”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, god. This was… compromising.

Robin continued, despite the fact that Steve refused to turn and give her the satisfaction of seeing Steve be caught out. He stared at Eddie, who looked squeamish and flush-faced, as Robin mimicked, “We just fell asleep!” Then, “Bullshit! That was not new!”

Okay. Steve hated that word more often than not. So he’d blame the adrenaline comedown and his annoyance on his choice to bite back, “Well excuse me if I don’t think I need your permission to suck dick, Rob—”

Steve wished he’d turned around sooner. Because Will fucking Byers was in his brother’s arms, the both of them teary faced and staring at Steve and Eddie’s heap with wide eyes.

“Ohmygod, Will,” Steve breathed in an embarrassed string. And then—because holy shit, it was Will—Steve shoved of Eddie and scrambled back to his feet. He glanced at where Robin was holding steady to a switchboard handle, then he stopped in front of Will I’m-Alive Byers with a skid. “Will! You’re—Dude, you’re here!”

Steve flicked his eyes around an… old navy vessel… uh… bridge?

“Where the hell are we?” he asked, train of thought entirely derailed.

But Will, it seemed, was broken, because he simply responded back, “Oh… my god…?”

***

“Great,” Robin was saying. “So how do we get out?”

They’d covered a lot of ground. Once everyone took a breath and just bulldozed right past Steve’s brief make-out with Eddie—and he wasn’t stupid enough to think it wouldn’t come up again, but he was all too happy to jump into the crux of their Upside Down problem—there was time to take stock. Gather information.

Will was alright. He was exhausted, lethargic from stale non-perishables, but not splintered like he had been after his first disappearance. He mostly just seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, spitting the terms scientists and government every time he said them.

He told them the Mind Flayer wasn’t real. Not exactly. It was more like a displaced essence that Henry Creel had conjured corporeal. And it just didn’t want to be here. It craved to be home, in its own origin, where it belonged.

None of it was meant to be here. To merge and mingle, Will said.

Dimension X was a name the scientists came up with. For these realms, Will called them, that shouldn’t exist. Bridges of pocket dimensions between Earth and… somewhere else.

Will said he saw it. Just from a distance. On the other side of a gate.

“It was green,” Will told them. “Lush and alive and… and beautiful. Untouched by our flamethrowers and bullets and knives. And we just couldn’t leave it alone. They never wanted to be here, were never supposed to be. So the Mind Flayer returned, and it leant me the power to close the gate. For good.” Will had scoffed then. “I guess I didn’t think about after. Being stuck here.”

“It used you,” Jonathan had determined sourly.

“I think I knew it would,” Will had admitted. “But I still think it was worth it.”

Eventually, after circling around the oddness of the navy vessel—a 1943 ship called the USS Eldrige, apparently—and how it seemed to be the origin of this whole mess, its ghost floating on lifeless waters for over 40 years now, Will said he read in the captain’s log that it was part of a war effort. A camouflage experiment gone wrong. The last entry had them attempting it that day, in 1943. It had obviously gone awry.

And that brought them to now, Robin’s question lingering between them.

“I don’t know how we might get out,” said Will. He leaned on Jonathan’s shoulder, who sat next to him. “I’m sorry.”

“We could try the switchboard again?” Steve asked. It worked the first time. Why not again?

It didn’t, though. No matter what they pulled, what they pressed, it didn’t warp them back to that stupid basement.

Steve frustratedly raked his fingers through his hair, frowning. “Well, that’s just a whole load of steaming shit.”

“El’s been searching for you,” Jonathan told Will softly, the two of them near the leftmost side of the switchboard. “Has been since day one. Everyone else, too. They’ll figure it out. Figure out a way.”

“We’re gonna get fired from the stupid video store, aren’t we?” Robin asked Steve.

Steve scoffed. “Jesus. Yeah. Probably.”

“I’m sorry, guys,” Will offered glumly.

Steve waved him off. “Don’t be.”

***

-EDDIE-

***

Hours passed. Will showed them to the mess hall. Rations were shared.

It was while they were sat at a thin metal table, cranked lamps slowly dimming until someone winded it up anew, that Will said, “So, are we just going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

Eddie glanced over at Will, jerky half-hanging from his mouth before he hesitantly chewed it to bits. Beside him, Steve asked, “That what didn’t happen?”

Will gave him a deadpan gaze. “That you didn’t have your tongue shoved down Eddie’s throat.”

“Oh,” Steve said shortly, setting down his bottle of water.

“I mean, we hadn’t really gotten that far—” Eddie was saying, before Steve elbowed him in the ribs. “What?” he asked irately, elbowing Steve back. “We hadn’t.”

Steve’s face was flushed, and he flicked his eyes across everyone at the table before settling them on Will. “Okay, look. I’m only… I’m only going to say this once. And then we drop it. No more nosy digging. No more trying to find out more. That’s mainly targeted at you, Rob—” Robin eyed him with her nose scrunched like a bunny, “—I figured a few things out. Had some experiences. This thing between Eddie and I… It just sort of, like, happened. And that’s that. Alright? No more prying.”

Eddie’s brain buzzed. This thing between Eddie and I… It was officially a thing? Steve considered them a thing? A good thing? Like, a potentially long-term thing?

Steve turned to look at Eddie, his face splotching rosily as his eyes turned inquisitive.

“What?” Steve asked.

Eddie must have been gazing at him differently.

Did Steve want a continuing, capital ‘T’ thing with Eddie?

They still might never get out. Might never get the chance to see the ‘90s. Break into the year 2000. But, if they did, would Steve be next to him to ring it in? Would he reach out and smile, dragging Eddie close to kiss him with a laugh, long years down the line?

Fuck. Eddie wanted that. And he felt so stupid for it, because Eddie didn’t get to want things like that. But, shit… Eddie wanted Steve so bad.

Eddie wanted to be loved by Steve, because he was pretty sure he already fell for him. Eddie had never been in love before, but when he looked at Steve, he felt it.

He saw his happy smile when the kids said something silly. His scowling face when he chided something just left of truly mean, usually aimed at some minor annoyance. His dorky-ass tendency to break into song, tell a corny joke. His power to move fucking mountains when someone wedged into his heart needed him to. A hundred different frames of Steve, hinging on that memory he had of waking up in the morning next to him, surrounded by quiet and soft sheets, nothing but the two of them in the world for that one, precious moment.

Jesus. Eddie fucking loved Steve, didn’t he?

He wanted a future with a shitty little apartment, somewhere they could host The Party, because he knew Steve would want to. He wanted to come home and see Steve’s jacket on the hanger. He wanted to see Steve’s face in the crowd when he played at some local watering hole in the city. He wanted nondescript moments of absolutely nothing, just spent by Steve’s side.

He wanted the chance to discover it all, and trust Steve to discover him too.

Fuck. Fuck. Eddie was in love with Steve.

What the hell did he have to lose? Jesus, they were at the end of their rope anyway, weren’t they?

“I like this thing, you know?” Eddie admitted, and it felt like only Steve was in focus, everything else blurring. “You and me.”

Steve studied him for a moment, and Eddie had not ever seen Steve look bashful. Never. But he did then, his smile stretching wide, cheeks still pleasantly ruddy, his eyes tilting down to the table with a delighted-sounding, overwhelmed little laugh.

“Yeah,” said Steve.

Maybe Eddie already died. Fuck.

A sniffle broke the dreamy bubble, and Eddie snapped his attention to its source. Which was Will, hands in front of his face, tears cresting on his cheeks.

“Oh—” Steve began, “Oh, uh. Will, what—?”

Will removed one hand to hold it out, waving away his concern. Then he blubbered, “No, n-no. It’s just—It’s so nice! You guys are—It’s… It’s just really nice!”

That seemed to be about all he could get out, Jonathan’s hand rubbing consoling circles on his back as Will wiped fruitlessly at tears and sniffled again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie caught Robin looking at the two of them, sporting a small, pleased smile. Happy. So genuinely fucking happy, it broke Eddie’s heart a little.

Jesus H. Christ. Eddie had found his people, hadn’t he?

***

-STEVE-

***

“Ed,” Steve breathed into the muggy air, his protective vest already discarded, Eddie’s hands back where they’d been—back where they should be—under Steve’s shirt, scraping at his skin. Eddie’s mouth traced slow, languid kisses over the column of Steve’s neck, and the tips of his right-hand fingers teased the band of Steve’s pants, daring to press at the plane between his hip and groin. “Fuck, I need this… Want this so fucking bad.”

What they decided to define as evening had come. No one made obvious complaint when Eddie mentioned he was heading to the deck for a smoke, and Steve just silently got up behind him to follow.

They weren’t hiding anymore. It was just a thing that was happening. And that was… nice.

To be fair, they did smoke a cigarette each, flicking the butts into the oily ocean lapping at the ship. But then Eddie gave him a look. The one Steve knew all too well because it was usually the look he gave. He’d grabbed Steve’s hand, led him to some abandoned room further down the deck, and pulled Steve in like he belonged there.

It was dark, but Steve had seen the space before the door closed behind him. A simple room, not furnished with more than a desk and a chair, a cabinet bolted to its wall. Now it was only the ambient glow from the fog light seeping into the porthole that illuminated their silhouettes. But Steve didn’t need much light to touch. To taste and feel.

Eddie’s wandering exploration brushed against course hair, tidied because that’s how Steve liked to keep it. Somewhat grown out because he hadn’t had time for routine.

Eddie’s lips tracked up Steve’s jaw and he whispered huskily into Steve’s ear, “Had me thinking all sorts of things, Stevie. Saying my name like you did, on top of me like that.”

“I want—” Steve’s breath hitched when Eddie licked the shell of his ear. “Fuck me.”

It had really just been meant as a languishing expression of being really fucking aroused, but Eddie laughed with bite, the nails of his left hand sinking into Steve’s side, making Steve gasp an embarrassingly wanton sound, his back arching at the sharp sensation.  

“Believe me, I really fucking want to,” Eddie said, hushed against Steve’s ear.

The image formed clearly in Steve’s mind. His bed, his body under Eddie’s. Or maybe over. Or maybe on his back. Or on his front. Or on his side. As long as Eddie was pressing his fingers to him, playing him like a guitar until Steve moaned a pretty tune for him. Oh god. Steve wanted that.

He wanted to pant, blissed out and incoherent as Eddie took control, his hand wrapped around Steve’s slippery cock. Wondered what it might be like to have Eddie gently touch his perineum like Steve tried earlier that summer, fingers greased and pushing deeper.

He’d found that spot he’d heard vague rumours about. The ones he’d thought had been false, or at the very least exaggerated. As it turned out, they weren’t.

He wanted Eddie to work his fingers against his puckered hole, making Steve mutter overstimulated nonsense, then press himself in and connect them wholly. Make Steve feel like that was perfection, like their bodies were made to find solace and pleasure and euphoria together. Sweat and gasps and wet claps of carnal ecstasy.

He wanted Eddie to claim him, call him his. Tell him that he fucking loved him. Shit.

“I want it so fucking bad,” Steve said hoarsely. And, oh god, he did. He wanted Eddie to dance with him again, a cheesy romantic tune in the background. He wanted to have dinner with him, catch up about the kids and whatever the hell happened throughout the day. He wanted Eddie to turn around and smile at him, and for it to feel like home. “I want you so fucking bad, Ed.”

Eddie Munson. King of Freaks, dramatic fool, and the most honest, salt-of-the-Earth, true-to-who-he-is guy Steve had ever met. And Steve was sort of obsessed with him for it.

Eddie shifted, his forehead pressing against Steve’s, their breath mingling. Steve could barely make out the edges of a smile as Eddie said exactly what Steve prayed to hear:

“You have me, Steve. You’ve absolutely got me, man. Hook, line, and sinker.”

“I can’t believe I like a nerd,” Steve whispered back, everything in his body humming.

Eddie scoffed and planted a kiss on Steve’s lips, murmuring, “I think you mean: metal badass.”

Steve was done for. Done in by Eddie fucking Munson.

And he honestly couldn’t be happier about it.