Chapter Text
If Steve Harrington could talk to his past self, he’d punch him.
He thought about it, sometimes. Whenever he did or said something that came across wrong, or too mean, or too stupid, he’d imagine it. Just one good punch, right to his own stupid, smarmy face. He’d like to think it’d make him feel better.
He’d try to remember how it felt when Jonathan punched him the first time, then the second, the third… The feeling of a plate breaking over his head, being beaten mercilessly by people and creatures bigger and stronger than you over and over again. If he could remember the pain, he could remember the lesson, just like his Dad taught him.
The lesson is, mostly, that he sucks. He knew that. He knew that, logically, and yet he still didn’t think he’d really learned it, you know? Every time he wondered if it was the last time, if he finally understood what he was meant to, if he was done and different and better now – and then someone would remind him of himself, of the irreversible pain he’d caused his whole life, and he’d gear up to try again.
Presently, the person seemingly tasked by the universe with ‘reminding him’ was none other than Eddie Munson. Something about Eddie had really wormed his way past his walls and into his heart, not dissimilar to the way Robin had when they first worked together, and Steve found himself wanting to hang out with him more and more. Sure, maybe the fact he was officially initiated into The Party after his involvement with the latest (and hopefully last) installment of The Upside-Down had something to do with it, or the fact that Steve had fireman-carried his near lifeless body out of that hellhole with all the strength he had left and got him to a hospital just in time before also collapsing – either way, Steve wasn’t complaining. He’d made sure to visit him in the hospital every time he visited Max, making sure Eddie never heard any of the people that kept trying to find his room to say or do something dumb, and would keep him up to date on everyone and everything outside his hospital room. When Eddie had finally been cleared to go home, he’d made sure to be there with Hopper to help him and Wayne collect their surviving items from their government-issued storage unit, and take them to their new slightly-bigger, slightly-nicer, government-issued mobile home. During the past few months that Eddie had gotten all healed up and back into everyday life, he’d made sure to invite him to every hangout, dinner, and movie night that was held. It was great – Eddie seemed to fit right in.
It was great. It was. It was just – no matter how much fun they had, how much goofing around or how many deep conversations were made, there was always at least one comment. Steve knew he deserved it, but it always seemed to undercut all the fun he’d been having in a few seconds flat. Eddie’s comments weren’t even anything that bad, they were just truthful observations, and maybe that’s what cut Steve the deepest. Every time Eddie implied he was just acting nice to get back with Nancy, or made a jab at how he wouldn’t understand any of their struggles, or called any and all of his interests ‘normative jock nonsense’, or kept calling him King Steve despite how many times Steve asked him to please stop – he would clench his jaw, smile, and laugh along. On the inside, though, it always felt like someone was scooping out pieces of his heart, little by little, with a rusty spoon. Especially when everyone else laughed along with him and no one disagreed. Steve would laugh and discreetly pick at his cuticles, reminding himself – if you remember the pain, you remember the lesson.
It also… made Steve just a little bit insecure about the friendship, if he were honest. Which he wasn’t – with anyone except for Robin.
“If Eddie did secretly hate me, you’d have to tell me. That’s what best friends do.” Steve said, leaning his elbows up on the counter while Robin separated stacks of tapes on the floor. It had been a particularly slow day at Family Video, giving him hours to ruminate over their latest group hangout.
Robin sighed and looked up at him, exasperation clear in her face. “I’ve told you a million times, dingus, Eddie doesn’t hate you. Have you ever known Eddie to be someone who could keep his thoughts and feelings to himself?” She rolled her eyes as she spoke, then went back to the task at hand. “Plus, yeah, that’s what best friends do – so I definitely would have told you already if Eddie didn’t like you.”
“Alright, alright,” Steve obliged, “Just – how are you so sure?”
The tape in Robin’s hand made a plastic thud as she nearly slammed it into the stack with how strongly she waved her arms at him, “How are you so sure he hates you?” She demanded.
“I’m not sure he hates me,” Steve countered, “It’s just… a feeling.”
“A feeling?” Robin deadpanned.
“Yeah, Robs, a feeling.” But even as Steve said it, he could feel his point not getting across. He groaned and ran his hands over his face, scrubbing at his eyes. When he opened them again, Robin was staring up at him, eyes squinted in the way they get when she practically reads his mind.
“Why are you so worried about Eddie not liking you?” She asked.
Steve took a deep breath, brought his hands under the counter so he could absently pick at his cuticles where Robin couldn’t see to chastise him, “I don’t know,” He said at first, “I… Everyone likes Eddie. Which they should! Eddie’s great! It’s just – Eddie’s always been great. He’s always been himself, and he’s always encouraged the kids to be themselves, too. It just kind of feels like a test, like if Eddie doesn’t like me, then the kids don’t like me, then I’m doing something wrong. I just… want to be the best person I can be.” He shrugged lamely at the end and wouldn’t meet Robin’s gaze. The skin he’d been picking at on his thumb ripped off completely, and he could feel the small amount of blood start to pool.
“Steve,” Robin called softly. Steve met her eyes again, “Eddie’s great, but he’s not a God or something. I’m not saying he doesn’t like you, but I am saying that if he didn’t, so what? That doesn’t mean you’re not being the best version of yourself, it would just mean your personalities aren’t compatible. Which they are, because he does like you, just as much as he likes all of us.”
Steve turned and busied himself with getting a band-aid from where he knew Robin kept a tin for him. “Right, right…” He trailed off. “But… what if he likes me the least?”
“No one hates you!” Robin shouted and threw an empty VHS shell towards him. Steve laughed and ducked down behind the counter to dodge it, preparing to shield himself from a barrage of more hollow plastic, when a familiar voice sounded along with the doorbell chime from the front of the store.
“Who does no one hate?” Eddie asked, already laughing at their shenanigans while Robin tossed one more at Steve for good measure.
“Hey, Eddie!” Steve greeted happily, immediately standing from his crouched position. It ended up being a mistake, as he had to grip the counter to steady himself while a wave of vertigo hit him. It was a common occurrence for him at this point, and any rare occurrence where someone – Eddie, mostly – noticed, he didn’t say anything, and they didn’t ask. He could tell Eddie noticed now though, his lips still upturned in a smile while a laugh spilled out, but his eyes were looking at the hand that gripped the counter, and he had just the slightest furrow to his brow.
Robin, not noticing the moment of silence between the two of them, continued. “Steve!” She shouted again, this time pointing an accusatory finger his way. “Edward, dearest, will you please tell dingus here that no one secretly hates him?”
Steve’s breath stuttered, a flush creeping up his face, eyes going wide in surprise. He should know better by now, but he hadn’t expected her to be so blunt about their private conversation so quickly. Time felt like it slowed down as he waited for Eddie to answer, with his heart seeming to beat too quickly against his chest, and he watched as Eddie’s eyes slowly trailed up his body to meet his and hoped Eddie’s next words would finally put his mind at –
“I don’t know,” Eddie said, his friendly smile becoming a devilish grin, “Harrington here does have quite the reputation.” He put his hands to his hips and leaned toward Robin in a conspiratory way, angling the both of them like they were high-school gossips making fun of him. It mirrored his past self and his friends in a way that made something start to churn in his stomach. When he glanced at Robin for her reaction, he was met with an equally cheeky grin, and the feeling rose to his chest. “He’s made quite a few enemies throughout high school, I have to admit. But, hey! If any ex-girlfriends or ex-lackeys do come in, I’m sure they’d have no problem saying it to your face, so I actually do think Robbie’s right. No one secretly hates you.”
The image of Nancy Wheeler, blackout drunk and wine-stained, comes fresh to his mind. Bullshit, she spits.
“Ha, ha.” Steve deadpanned, rolling his eyes but keeping a fond smile plastered on. Robin held her hands up in the air toward Eddie, making grabbing motions at him until he laughed and offered his own to grab onto and help her up off the floor. As soon as Eddie turned, Steve looked to Robin once more, and saw that she was laughing along still. God, he needed to get it together and laugh along, too. “As long as none of them actually walk in here, I think we’re good.” He said.
“Well, good luck with that,” Eddie said, still laughing, “I’m just here because I have been tasked by Henderson to share the news: the Byers are having a cookout on Saturday, and we’re all invited. Even you, your highness.” He does a mock bow and Steve lightly bats at the air in an attempt to get him to stop. “And alas! I know my visit has been short, but speaking of that little pipsqueak, I have to go pick him up. Just wanted to run in and let you guys know so he didn’t complain all night.”
He brought his hand to his head, saluting them both as he walked backwards out of the store, grinning all the way until he almost ran into an elderly woman and her grandson walking past outside.
“See, dingus?” Robin laughed, the both of them still watching Eddie profusely apologize to the grandmother. “Eddie doesn’t hate you at all.”
“Yeah,” Steve said. “I guess he doesn’t.”
He hoped he sounded like he believed it.
The rest of the week was not Steve’s best. The days all passed by achingly slow, with him and Robin working separate shifts. He’d gotten little to no sleep every night, riddled with nightmares so real and violent he’d wake up sobbing hard enough to gag and be sick – either that, or wake up screaming until his voice was gone, echoing off his empty walls.
Finally, Saturday arrived, but Steve still felt like shit. He'd woke up with a pounding headache behind his left eye, and realized he wasn’t hearing the sound of his alarm clock. He sat up slowly, massaging his forehead, before glancing at the time. He’d assumed the pain must’ve been so bad he’d woken up before it went off, but – he rubbed his eyes and looked again. He overslept by a long shot, and was now running very late.
Letting out a string of curses, he ran wildly around the room, quickly got dressed, sprayed random amounts of hairspray and cologne, and put on his shoes. In record-breaking time, he was grabbing his keys and getting in the car, peeling out of the driveway and heading for Robin’s.
When he arrived at Robin’s house, however, she was getting into the passenger side of her mom’s car. Had Steve really been late enough that she’d asked her mom to drive her? He cringed to himself as she shouted his name and ran to his car.
“Hey dingus! I tried to call you but you didn’t pick up!” She told him, leaning down a bit to actually be eye level with him at the window. “My mom decided totally last minute that she needed my help, of all people, for her errands today.”
In mention of Robin’s mom, Steve turned his head and saw her watching the two of them talk, an impatient scowl starting to form. He waved, but she ignored it and looked toward the house.
“I can’t make it,” Robin continued, “But tell Nancy I’ll call her tonight, okay?” She stood completely again, brought her fingers to her lips, and made a gross fake kiss sound, definitely getting spit on them. Before Steve could stop her, she brought it to his face and pressed it to his cheek, wiping the spit there. As he sputtered and wiped his face with his sleeve, she cackled and yelled, “Thanks Steve! You’re the best!” then ran back to her mom’s car.
Steve let them pull out first and smiled to himself at her antics. As he sat a moment longer, something heavy seemed to settle on his shoulders; having Robin with him was supposed to make him feel better. She made every hangout better, he thought. He loved everyone that was going to be there, truly, but Robin could make even the most heinous situation feel like a great one. She also seemed to know him better than he knew himself, and could tell when he was hurt, or tired, and would usually already have them home and going to sleep by the time he could put a name to the feeling. It was a bit selfish, but he’d hoped she’d be a lifeline for him today.
He sighed and shook his head. No big deal! He was just hanging out with friends, nothing could go too wrong, right?
When he pulled into the Byer’s driveway, he realized he was the last one there. He cringed to himself once more and quickly got out, sprinting up to the house and up the steps. As he walked through the house, it was mostly quiet – the only real sounds he could hear were the muffled screams and laughs of the kids outside. He paused for a moment, just to listen. He breathed in, and out, imagining any nervous energy expelling with his breath. It sounded like home here, and he loved it.
“Steve, honey? Is that you?” Joyce’s voice called.
He walked to the kitchen, finding her pulling a delicious-smelling pie from the oven. “Hey, Ms. Byers,” He greeted with a smile, “Could I help you with anything?”
“Sure thing!” She chirped, and Steve smiled. He wouldn’t tell anyone, since it felt kind of embarrassing, but he loved helping Joyce. She could ask him for help with anything, and he’d say yes. She was always kind while telling him what she needed him to do, and never once made him feel stupid if he didn’t really understand what she was asking, she just explained it differently. She was soft and kind in a way that no mother he’d ever really known had been before. His own was distant and cold, and always absent regardless. Tommy Hagan’s mom had been nicer than his own, but it wasn’t ever sincere - he could tell. Tommy admitted to him once that his mom had called him ‘a bad influence’, which Steve thought wasn’t exactly fair, since the reason she thought that was because Tommy had blamed a fight their group had gotten into with another squarely on him, and he’d let him. Mrs. Wheeler was kind to him in the same way – he could tell she didn’t like him dating Nancy at all, and that she knew his reputation.
“Could you put these chips in bowls for me, hon? Oh, and there’s more soda boxes for the cooler outside we need to take.” Joyce interrupted his running thoughts.
“Yes ma’am.” Steve laughed and smiled when she waved a hand to admonish him for calling her such. He went around and gathered the haphazardly-laid chip bags from around the kitchen and set them all together in one spot to make it easier. He moved around her to the lower cabinet he knew the larger bowls were kept in and bent down to grab a few. As he stood back up, though, a wave of vertigo hit him. He set the bowls on the counter and leaned against it, breathing deep a couple times as he waited for the room to stop spinning.
“Steve? You okay?” Joyce asked, suddenly next to him.
He didn’t reply for a moment, letting the dizzy spell pass. His eyes struggled to focus, and when they finally became clear again, he realized Joyce was looking up at him, waiting for a reply. Her eyes studied him intensely, and – they were always so round and so openly full of emotion. He felt like a fish out of water, unsure of what to do with the attention. He could see the worry so clearly in her face that he had to look away. He ran a hand through his hair nervously and chuckled, then pushed himself off the counter. “I’m fine, Ms. Byers,” He said casually, “Just had a dizzy spell is all. I’m okay.”
He busied himself with taking the bowls to the chips, opening each bag, and pouring them in. Joyce said nothing at first, but then, “Well, Hop’s going to be done grilling soon anyway. Make sure you get enough to eat, okay? It’s hot out there, wouldn’t want you to pass out.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything at all, just hummed. Joyce seemed to accept his noncommittal sound, though, and they finish preparing everything and grabbed it all to take outside. They left the pie inside to keep cooling, and Joyce carried two of the chip bowls in each hand, while Steve carried another with the soda boxes squeezed under his other arm. After they’d emptied everything into the cooler, Joyce studied him while he stood back up. He did his best to look fine, and like he wasn’t lightheaded at all. After a few long moments, Joyce sighed, leaned over, and rubbed his arm. “Thanks for your help.” She told him, and then walked over to talk with Hopper, who brought her in for a kiss as soon as she got close enough.
Steve looked out at everyone around the yard, a smile creeping onto his face once more. Half the kids had water guns, the other half water balloons, and they seemed to be having some kind of team-based fight with them. Joyce and Hopper were now together at the grill, laughing and talking quietly in a private moment. The older teens were off to the side, each one sporting a beer and just talking together. He watched Nancy throw her head back in a laugh and appreciated how carefree she seemed in the moment. Jonathan, too, as he gestured the smallest bit and mimed posing in different ways with a camera. His eyes found Eddie next and –
His breath caught in his throat. Eddie was wearing an ‘Iron Maiden’ tank top, the arm holes big enough to show his sides as he moved around animatedly, and Steve could see the demobat scarring if he raised his arms just enough. He’d definitely lost some muscle mass in the hospital, but his physical therapy appointments seemed to be doing him well, and he’d gained some of it back. The shirt certainly helped with making it look like he'd gained it all back already. He still had his usual black ripped jeans and his reeboks on, but his hair – his hair was tied back in a bun, a few stray pieces still falling around and seeming to frame his face. The sun created a yellow-orange hue that positively glowed through his curls, and for some reason, Steve didn't want to look away.
That is, until he felt his leg get suddenly get wet.
Quickly sidestepping, he looked over to find his attacker, and found none other than Dustin. “You should really pay attention to your surroundings,” He said, voice trying to imitate a wild-west style cowboy, water gun still aimed at Steve.
“Why you –” Steve reached out and grabbed Dustin before he could think to get away and pulled him close, arm wrapping around his head to noogie him. “You’ll pay for that!” He yelled, and was delighted to hear Dustin’s giggles as he tried to escape. They tussled for only a moment before Steve let go, but he kept his hand on Dustin’s shoulder and squeezed.
“You’re late. Food’s almost ready.” Dustin informed him seriously, as if he didn’t already know himself.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. Overslept.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. As he looked out at the other kids again, he noticed Mike and Will making an alliance. Will was on the side of the water balloons, and Mike on the side of the water guns. Now, however, Mike was shielding Will with his whole body, looking around for anyone aiming Will’s way. Lucas, on the water gun side, tried to shoot at Will, but Mike successfully blocked him. Max, on the side of the water balloons, was currently wheeling her chair to the hose near the older teens to refill some balloons, El walking with her. Steve leaned over and whispered into Dustin’s ear, “Lucas is distracting Mike, so Will is only covered on one side. If you go around the bush and stay low, they won’t see you. You should go that way and ambush Will there.” Dustin nodded as he spoke, and now had the biggest grin on his face. He smiled up at Steve one more time before running off to put their plan into action.
Steve watched him go and set off to grab himself a beer before joining the other teens his age. He probably shouldn’t, he knew, as he could already tell his headache would soon become a migraine either tonight or tomorrow, and adding a hangover to that was always a recipe for disaster. But, well, he was here to have fun! That was a problem for later Steve. Hopper nodded to him in greeting as he pulled one out of the cooler, and he jogged over to his friends.
“Ah, his highness has arrived!” Eddie shouted to the others. He did another pretend bow as Steve walked up and Steve made a show of fondly rolling his eyes. “We’ve been waiting for you, man.” He said.
“Sorry, I overslept.” He admitted, taking a bottle opener from Jonathan and popping open his drink.
“So… no Robin?” Nancy asked, standing next to him and leaning in to speak.
Steve grinned. “Sorry, Nance, her mom decided last minute she needed her help on some errands and she couldn’t make it. She said to tell you she’ll call later tonight, though.” Nancy seemed to like this response, as she grinned herself and lifted her head higher. When she looked over to Steve again, Steve wiggled his eyebrows suggestively until she laughed and lightly smacked his shoulder. They separated and she went back to her spot beside Jonathan again, while Steve stood next to Eddie.
The conversation picked back up, and Steve tried to keep up with their conversational pace. His head pounded still, and he realized he should’ve taken some Tylenol before he left the house. He could ask Joyce for some, but she was already onto him, and he really didn't want to make anyone worry. The sun and sweat started to make him feel gross - Whenever the food was done, he was surely going to sit in the shade.
Laughs erupted around the group, and Steve realized he’d zoned out again.
Thankfully, his saving grace came in the form of Dustin running up to him, his smile beaming from his face. Once he reached Steve, he took a moment to catch his breath and then spoke, “Your plan worked!” He said, “We won the war!”
“Awesome, man!” Steve laughed and offered him a high five, which Dustin accepted gleefully.
“Hey, uh,” Dustin moved to stand between Eddie and Steve, and he gestured with his head down to their hands, staring down Hopper as if he'd turn and catch them any moment, “You, uh... you guys should grab me one of those.”
Eddie and Steve erupted into laughter at the same time, and Steve clapped Dustin on the back. “Nice try, bud. I don’t think so.”
“No way.” Eddie added.
Dustin pouted at them both. “You’re not even old enough to drink either, technically.” He sulked, going to sit with El and Max in the grass nearby.
“Sorry, bud!” Steve called after him, laughing still.
The conversation continued, and while Steve really did try to pay attention, it only seemed to worsen his headache. He started to feel some nausea rise in his stomach, and he focused on a point on the ground to will it away.
He must have been staring for a while, because the next thing he knew, Eddie was snapping his fingers right in his face.
“Hello!” Eddie’s voice called, dragging out the ‘o’. “Earth to King Steve! Hello!” Steve flinched away from the snaps and looked back up at the group. He blinked a few times to try and wake himself back up, his eyes unfocusing and refocusing again. “Us mere peasants would like to conversate with his highness, if he’d allow.” Eddie said with a flourish to his voice. Steve hated it. The heat was getting to him – he could feel the irritation rise like bile to his chest, and he stopped himself from sincerely rolling his eyes this time.
Instead of reacting, he smiled at the group apologetically. “Sorry,” He said sheepishly, “What were we talking about?”
“Well,” Eddie continued, “I actually just finished my story. But what about you, Steve? What has the King of Hawkins been –”
“Dude, can you stop?” Steve interrupted and raised a hand to rub at his left temple.
A moment of silence passed, and then, “Excuse me?” Eddie asked, all pretenses of their original conversation gone.
“I get it, man. We – We all get it. I’m an asshole. Can you stop being such a fucking freak about it?”
As soon as the words left Steve’s mouth, he froze. He imagined everyone did, based off the tense silence that immediately followed.
Dustin breaks it first. “What the hell, Steve?”
Steve dropped his hand to his side and kept his eyes closed, sighing. “That was – yeah, okay, that was really, really mean. I’m s –”
An explosion of pain burst under his left eye as Eddie punched him, the momentum sending him stumbling backwards before he caught himself. He shook his head a bit, trying to hear what everyone was saying again over the ringing now sounding through his head. “Okay,” Steve gritted out, “Alright, yeah, I deserved –”
Before he could finish his sentence, Eddie grabbed him by the shirt collar, getting in his face. Steve did his best to remain calm, though he’s really not a fan of this whole thing anymore, and he’d much rather he never get into another fistfight again.
“What the hell is your problem, man?” Eddie seethed.
“I don’t have a problem, Eddie. That came out wrong. I’m –”
“Came out wrong?” Eddie asked mockingly, a high-pitched incredulous laugh escaping him. Steve didn’t think he was doing it on purpose, but he was shaking with anger, and it meant Eddie shook Steve around a bit while his hands were fisted in his collar.
Suddenly, all at once, Eddie wasn’t Eddie. The features of Eddie’s face morphed into one of the Russian guards, shaking him and asking questions, also not believing him. Steve’s hands shook, and with a voice that was probably shaking just as much, he demanded, “Let go of me.” Eddie didn’t let go, however, and he probably hadn’t even heard Steve over the stream of ranting he was doing. He just – he was still shaking Steve.
Steve felt the panic start to claw it’s way up his shaking hands and reach into his chest, into his throat, tigthening. “Fuckin’ – get off me!” He yelled, and pushed the man off of him as hard as he could.
The man – Eddie, not a Russian soldier, Eddie Munson – stumbled backwards until his feet met the hose laying on the ground, and he promptly fell backwards, landing on his ass and scraping his hands trying to catch himself.
People were talking. People were yelling? No, not yelling. Just talking louder. He couldn’t rip his eyes away from Eddie, eyes wide as he watched him start to almost vibrate in anger. He wanted to apologize, to run over and offer him a hand to get up, to clean the scrapes he’d caused. He wanted to do or say something, anything, but he couldn’t breathe. His hands felt numb now, and he was frozen to the spot. All the hot summer air was suddenly cool, too cool, like he was back in that godforsaken base, and he needed to find Robin, and he couldn’t breathe –
Eddie sprung back up and tackled Steve.
Steve’s head bounced off the ground a bit, but it was enough. Looking up at Eddie and the sky past him was like looking through a kaleidoscope - there were multiple Eddies, and they along with the sky seemed to spin and sway, and there were lights almost like rainbows that he couldn't remember if they were there before. It hurt, he realized, and he still couldn’t exactly make out any words anyone was saying. He wheezed out a breath, then tried to catch a new one so he could start begging Eddie to get off of him, please, when Eddie’s hands went to grab at his collar yet again, and –
The sun glinted off Eddie’s silver rings as they came closer to Steve, and Steve was gone. The Russian Doctor loomed over him, his hand reaching to painfully grab into his hair, the other hand holding the longest, most terrifying syringe Steve’s ever seen, going straight for his neck. No, it couldn’t happen again, he wouldn’t let it, no, no, no –
He made an aborted attempt of a scream and punched wildly into the air. His fist connected with something hard, and the Russian Doctor cursed but let him go –
The Russian Doctor’s voice sounded a lot like –
No, wait, he wasn’t there. He wasn't... Starcourt was gone, he – Eddie was –
He focused and looked, and Eddie’s nose was bleeding. It was pouring blood, in fact, and Steve felt horrible. Eddie whipped to look back at him, and he was pissed.
“Oh, fuck,” Steve said hoarsely, “Shit, Eddie, I didn’t mean to do that. Shit, I’m so s–”
In the blink of an eye, Eddie was on top of him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back. He punched Steve, once, then a second time, and a third, before –
“Hey!” Hopper’s voice boomed across the yard. He ran and grabbed Eddie’s arm as he raised it for a fourth punch and yanked him away from Steve. “Knock it off!”
Separated, Steve and Eddie both took a moment to breathe, heaving. Steve’s head swam, and he struggled to single out Hopper’s voice amongst the ringing.
“Munson, whatever Steve said or did isn’t worth this. Or have we all forgotten I’m the Chief again, and I’ll arrest both your asses if you keep this up?” Hopper yelled.
Frowning, Steve pushed himself to sit up. First he saw Eddie, Dustin now kneeling next to him with a roll of paper towels for him to hold to his nose. Eddie didn’t answer, just glared at Steve as if he’d been the real enemy all along instead of everything they'd faced. Steve felt awful - he hadn’t meant to do that at all, he just thought –
“Get up, Steve.” Hopper demanded. Steve didn’t move immediately. he really didn't trust himself not to get dizzy as soon as he stood and fall right back over. He looked around at the rest of his friends, and –
Everyone is looking at him like – like he’s – like they hate him. Disapproval, disgust, anger, shame, disappointment, they all – Steve can’t breathe again. It hits him square in the chest, and – no one is on his side? No one? No, there weren’t sides, he knew, he was an asshole, and he’d deserved it, but… no one is even asking if he’s okay. No one brought him paper towels for his face, though his can feel where Eddie’s rings cut into it. They… he’d asked Eddie to stop so many times! He tried to apologize like four times, if Eddie would just let him get a word in! He’s not – he can’t breathe – They’re looking at him like he never changed and they knew it. Like he’s still the same asshole from high school and he always will be, like he'd just proved it. He can’t stand it.
“Harrington, up, now!” Hopper commanded, and this time, Steve complied. Hopper reached for his arm to help him up, except he didn't say anything as he did it, and Steve yanks his arm away, thinking of the strong arms of the Russians intending on dragging him down the halls and back into that room. He realized his mistake too late, and now Hopper frowned at him, disappointment etched deep into his face. When Hopper reached for him again, Steve let him. He put a hand to Steve’s shoulder and guided him through the yard, back through the house, and back out to his car. “Go home, Steve.” Hopper told him. “And whatever the hell you’ve done, fix it before you come back here, alright? We can’t have any rifts in this Party. Am I making myself clear?”
Steve was silent. Whatever I’ve done? He thought. He didn't even know what he’d done to Eddie – other than everything in middle and high school, he guessed. But if that’s what Eddie was mad about, Steve didn't think he could fix it. If defending someone’s honor to tens of strangers and saving their actual, literal life didn't prove he'd changed, Steve doesn’t know what would - he was serious. He… he didn't know what to do anymore. About anything, any of it. He couldn't change Eddie’s mind – he couldn’t change anyone’s, apparently! He’d forever be – he’s going to be King Steve forever! For the rest of his stupid life! The only thing he thinks he could’ve done differently was die any of the multiple times he came close, maybe that would have been enough for everyone.
He must have been silent long enough to warrant a reaction, as Hopper sighed wearily at him. “Do you need me to drive you home?” He asked.
Steve felt like he was going to implode. He quickly shoved it all deep, deep down, and made his face blank. Just like high school, just like Dad, he thought, just get home, get to your room.
“No.” He replied quietly, and before Hopper could say anything else, he’d gone.
In what felt like a blink, he was home. He realized he was sitting in his car, just staring straight ahead at his house, headlights still on and car still running. He didn’t remember the drive. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and let go, then did it again. A few tears started to slip out, and he hurried to get out and inside the house before the sobs broke loose.
As soon as he closed and locked the door to the house behind him, the tears doubled. Alone his big, empty (always empty, always empty) house, he let out a whimper and didn’t attempt to wipe at his eyes anymore - there was no point. The dam had broken now, and... He was broken.
He walked farther in and got to the main floor living room. He turned his head to where he knew hung one of two family pictures in the entire house. The one hanging on the wall here was taken when he was 5 years old, and was probably the last family photo they ever took, since the other one was right after he was born in the hospital. He stared. He stared at it, until –
An ugly sob ripped out of his chest. He took the picture from the wall and held it, sliding down the wall to the floor with it cradled in his hands. Another sob shook his entire body, and he looked at the photo again. He looked… happy, he thought. He doesn’t remember taking the photo, so he’s not quite sure if that was genuine. He doesn’t really remember how early his parents started spending most of their free time drinking, or how early his Dad started getting more and more violent with him. They look happy in the photo, too. Was that real? Or had they always been miserable with him as their son?
He sobbed again and ran a hand over his face to try and see past the tears. He wanted that happiness back, if it was real. He wanted his – he wanted a family, a real one. He wanted real parents, he wanted – he wanted siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins and holidays and – he wanted parents, parents who wanted him - he wanted someone to be there right now, to hug him and hold him and tell him it’s alright. He wanted to be better – to be better, and good, good enough to deserve love, and kindness, and hugs, and kisses on the head, and – he wanted to go back before the Upside Down, he wanted to go back to when he knew his friendships weren’t real, and he didn't have to guess or keep trying to figure out what it was anyone wanted from him - he wanted to go back to before he was born, he wanted to disappear, he wanted to not hate himself anymore, he wanted – God, he wanted – he... he wanted –
“Fuck!” He screamed and threw the picture at the wall. The glass shattered at the end of his scream, punctuating it, and then –
He was looking up at the ceiling.
He didn’t understand. Everything hurt. The world seemed to be tilting, his head was killing him, his body felt like he’d run a marathon, his face pounded, and his heart hurt. He laid there for a while longer, crying and letting the world spin, before propping himself up to try and get up from the floor. A wave of nausea hit him with such force he cried out before promptly being sick on his parent’s carpet – oh, they were going to kill him for that. He whined and dropped the arm propping him up, coughing on the acidic taste left in his mouth. Everything hurt so much.
After a few minutes, he couldn’t stand the smell anymore and pushed himself to stand. He realized he didn’t know where to go in his own house - everywhere was just too far away. A moment passed, and his body moved without thinking.
He was stood in front of his parent’s bed.
His parent’s room was the master bedroom, and it was on the main floor. It was massive, but more importantly, it was strictly off limits. Steve hesitated for only a moment more before he threw himself in, burrowing himself under the covers on his mom’s side and moving to hug her pillow tight. More sobs rang themselves out, growing worse now even when he thought it impossible, and he tried desperately to see if he could smell her perfume on the pillow, searching for any kind of familiarity and comfort at all.
The pillow smelled like nothing. She had only used it one night 6 months ago. Even if it did smell like her perfume, Steve wouldn’t know the smell. She never got close enough to him for him to smell it on her.
A cry ripped from him that felt like it set his chest on fire. He sputtered and tried to catch his breath for the next sob, but it pushed out anyway, making him heave. He lay there and continued to cry, waited for it to stop, but it never did. He cried until it exhausted him, until sleep overtook him. He surrendered himself to it, hoping and praying that somehow, some way, tomorrow would be a better day.
He doubted it.