FIC HIGHLIGHT ALERT!!

who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now. 

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard. 

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work. 

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“ 

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone. 

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened? 

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it. 

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?” 

No. “Thanks.” 

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening. 

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she— 

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees. 

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again. 

“Hi.” 

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“ 

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.” 

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe. 

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again. 

“What about Steve.” 

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth. 

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.” 

“He… He’s hurt.” 

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.” 

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“ 

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.” 

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her. 

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it. 

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall. 

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled. 

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he— 

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine. 

People don’t just die. 

They don’t. 

He’s fine. 

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression. 

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this. 

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently. 

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue. 

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time. 

He needs a smoke. 

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life. 

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes. 

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles. 

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him. 

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him. 

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt. 

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit. 

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or— 

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate. 

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.” 

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while. 

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie. 

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.” 

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug. 

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it. 

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself. 

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t? 

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs. 

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off. 

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?” 

It’s stupid. Don’t say it. 

“Eddie?” 

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out. 

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues. 

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state. 

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing. 

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year. 

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three? 

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does. 

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues. 

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person. 

It’s so fucking surreal. 

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead. 

And silence reigns. 

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.” 

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped. 

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues. 

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.” 

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat. 

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.” 

Tell me about your favourite person. 

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into. 

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her. 

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.” 

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication. 

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?” 

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head. 

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.” 

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin. 

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…” 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now. 

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does. 

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there. 

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now. 

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him. 

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then. 

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare. 

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve. 

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring. 

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next. 

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.” 

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.” 

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean? 

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.” 

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse. 

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley. 

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth. 

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley. 

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing. 

“Why’d you call me?” 

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson. 

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips. 

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.” 

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession. 

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?” 

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow. 

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?” 

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue. 

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers. 

“What, the ice cream parlour?” 

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…” 

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses. 

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened. 

“He saved your life?” 

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation. 

“In the fire? Were you there?” 

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.” 

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again. 

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters. 

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?” 

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.” 

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.” 

It is, isn’t it? 

You’re so blue, Stevie. 

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice. 

Yeah. Yeah, he is. 

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look. 

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago. 

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around. 

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around. 

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait. 

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence. 

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?” 

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.” 

🤍🌷 tagging: @theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

by Aureiya

Eddie Munson can’t help being curious about Steve Harrington, especially once he sees what the man keeps in his trunk

Words: 5410, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, M/M

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Dustin Henderson, Robin Buckley, Corroded Coffin (Stranger Things), Nancy Wheeler, Will Byers, Eleven | Jane Hopper

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Additional Tags: Mystery, Steve Harrington’s Nail Bat, Getting Together, Recreational Drug Use, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Secrets, Government NDAs, Pining, Steddie Week 2024 (Stranger Things), Labyrinth (1986) References, First Kiss, Pre-Season/Series 04, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington Are Best Friends, POV Eddie Munson

Read on Ao3

⭐️Radio Star⭐️ (part three)

(part 2) (part four)

Robin was sprawled across the couch, glaring into the tea that Steve had brought her, her feet propped up on the opposite armrest as she looked up at him. “What is this?”

“Tea,” Steve said simply, shrugging and kicking her legs gently out of the way before sitting down. The documentary was on the TV, and this was the first time she had torn her eyes away from it in the last hour. 

“This is not tea, Steven.” She muttered, stretching over to place it down on the coffee table.

He rolled his eyes and pushed himself up enough to reach over and grab the cup, some of the liquid running down the side of the mug and onto his hands. It wasn’t hot, because Robin didn’t like hot tea. Or iced tea. She would only drink kind-of-warm tea, which he thought was weird, but never commented on.“You didn’t even drink any, how do you know?”

“Because it’s the stuff from the advent calendar, and that stuff is horrid.” She sat up, which jostled the couch cushions and made more tea spill onto him, and he sighed.

“It’s horrid?” 

“Yes, it is horrid.”

Steve took a sip and forced himself to swallow, gagging slightly. “What the fuck is in this.”

“I told you!” Robin shouted, throwing her hands in the air and flopping back down on the couch, which made even more tea spill into Steve’s lap. “Why did you even keep the calendar? It’s October!”

In truth, he had only bought it because it was on sale last year and he thought it might be fun to try, but every bag tasted slightly like licorice and it really was horrid—he just wasn’t going to admit that to Robin, because he hated when she was right. And he was not about to throw away ten dollars of perfectly (disgusting) fine tea bags just because Robin was picky about what she drank.

“If you drank the tea more than it would be gone sooner—“

Robin reached over and took the tea out of his hands, getting up and pausing the documentary before going into the kitchen and, presumably, dumping down the sink.  

They watched the rest of the movie in silence, and Steve had to stop her from putting it on again, before going up to change. He had slept in jeans before, and he never wanted to do that again, even if he didn’t have a choice, like the last time. Because honestly? The shorts from his old work uniform would have been more comfortable to sit in the bottom of some creep's dingy basement with, but the two of them hadn’t known that when they had changed into their normal clothes before leaving.

Robin was still laying on the couch, but she looked half-asleep by the time Steve came back, and he considered waking her up to drag her to bed with him, but she probably would have hit him with the pillow if he tried. So he let her stay there, trudging off to bed and trying to find a place to lay that wasn’t covered in Robin’s things—books and her little shark stuffed animals that she insisted he get her for Christmas. And he never argued with Robin when it came to sharks.

Steve dropped onto the bed and huffed, his face pressed into the pillow, his eyes closed and his muscles trying to relax. Sleeping had always been hard, but it got worse—especially when he slept alone. He was seconds away from deciding it was best to squeeze on the very little part of the couch that Robin wasn’t taking up when the doorbell rang, and he shot up, flinching slightly. The strangled noise from the living room let him know that Robin had done that, too. 

“It’s okay,” He rushed out, getting up and hating the way his body sagged slightly as he made his way back through the hallway. “It’s just the door. I’ll get it.”

He looked over to Robin, who had pulled the blanket over her head and curled up beneath it, some of her hair peeking out the only indicator that she was actually under there.

He was so fucking tired. If this was their neighbor here to complain about their bushes one more time, he was going to strangle the old woman. 

The entire world was yellow underneath the blanket, which was still dark, but light enough for Robin not to feel panicked. She could hear Steve grumbling to himself as he walked past her, and it took her a moment to calm her breathing.

It was only the doorbell, right? She wasn’t going to die, there was no one out there that wanted to kill her. Again. It was probably just their elderly neighbor coming to tell them that their bushes looked ugly, which honestly? It was kind of rude, but it was fun to see Steve trying and failing to be nice, when he really just wanted to be a bitch to the woman. 

Robin liked Ms. Hilda, though, because sometimes when Steve went out by himself (which rarely ever happened) she would come over with food and hang out until Steve got back—and Robin loved the company, even if all Ms. Hilda talked about was how Robin needed to be less dependent on that boy, because she was her own woman and could do her own things.

And that was true. To…some extent. She could do things on her own, it just always kind of felt like the world fell apart without Steve and then she would get panicked,and then she would probably cry because she really hated being alone, and—oh, now she was thinking about this all too much.

“Hey,” Steve said, his words short and clipped, muffled through the fabric of a blanket, and there was a quick ‘hey’ said back at him, the other person sounding out of breath—and Robin knew that voice. 

She shot up, the blanket falling off of her and messing up her hair even further. There was Vickie, standing in the doorway, her short red hair swept to the side slightly in the little curls that they were always in, her pale skin flushed and her freckles looking like stars. Robin liked stars. She was wearing a green t-shirt and a long skirt that fell to her ankles—a picnic skirt, Robin thinks it was called—a yellow one with little buttons that went all the way down the front, her black boots a bit muddy at the bottom. She smiled at Robin past Steve—but it wasn’t the crooked little smile that made Robin’s heart flutter—it was a small, guilty one. One that looked sad.

Robin’s face flushed and she practically ran into the bedroom, hearing Steve sigh as she slammed the door behind her and sunk to the floor, her face pressed into her hands. What could Vickie possibly want with her, now? To embarrass her further? In front of Steve? In her own house?

(Well—technically it was Steve’s house. And even then, it was technically his parents house. It wasn’t big like the one he used to live in—the one that Robin had always refused to go inside because it made her feel very, very alone and tiny—this one was small with wooden floors and white peeling paint. His mom and dad had bought it, and continued to pay the bills for it, as an ‘apology’ for not helping look for him when he and Robin had gone missing—even though they had looked appalled at the idea of their son wanting to live in ‘this….thing.’ )

She heard footsteps in the hallway and Steve muttering some kind of apology to Vickie before there was a knock on the door—one that rattled through her fucking spine since she still had her back pressed to it. “Hey, Bobby?”

“Hm?” She choked out, her throat already feeling tight and itchy as her skin crawled and her bones ached. She got like this when she was sad. Steve said it was okay that she felt things with all of her, but she fucking hated it.

“Do you need me to come in?” His voice was gentle and it made her want to sob—so she did. A little bit, her finger tips pressing into her palms and leaving marks, little half-moon shapes that she smoothed over as she sighed wetly.

“No. I’ll be out in a minute, just—just let me change, first.” She sat up and waited until she thought he was back in the living room and grabbed her headphones, shoving them on and taking…probably the deepest breath she’d ever taken in her life—one that made her cough slightly as she cleared her throat and put on her music to just relax for a second (even though she ended up skipping through songs for a good minutes while she slipped on some jeans and a t-shirt—that was probably Steve’s—so that she wouldn’t have to talk to Vickie in a tank-top and her underwear).

Then, when she could hear Steve walking back towards the room—probably to drag her out of the room by her ankles if she wasn’t ready already—she opened the door and he jumped back slightly, squinting slightly as he took in her frazzled appearance.

“Do I look okay?” She whispered, pulling at her hair slightly.

Steve reached over to smooth it down slightly and then paused. “Yeah, good enough. Also stop taking my clothes. That’s my Beatles t-shirt.”

Robin looked down, and sure enough, she was wearing the brown tie-dye with John Lennon’s face in the middle. “It’s not a Beatles t-shirt, Steve, it’s a Beatle t-shirt. Singular. There’s only John.”

Steve huffed and rolled his eyes. “Fuck off and go talk to your girlfriend—”

“—Language. And she’s not my girlfriend—“

“—And I have a shirt with all of them on it, it’s just in the wash!” He called over to her as she walked to the living room, which got him flipped off over her shoulder as she sat down on the couch. Vickie was sitting opposite of her in the armchair, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, her knees pink and her socks green with little yellow flowers. 

“Hey.” She whispered, her eyes watering slightly, and Robin wanted to reach over and touch her, but she didn’t, her hands clenched into fists in a way that she knew was making Vickie think she was mad. She wasn’t.

“I’m so sorry—“ Vickie started to say, at the same time that Robin started, “I’m not mad—“

“Oh,” She whispered, laughing quietly and wiping her eyes. The rim of them went red when she cried, and her nose went all pink-colored, and gods, she was fucking pretty. “Sorry.”

“Don’t—don’t say sorry,” Robin rushed out, her hands reaching over the coffee table before drawing back against her chest quickly. “I—I get it, I really do. I know I’m not the most…date-able person alive, and I’m really not the best person to live with either, I mean, I-I’m surprised Steve hasn’t kicked me out yet—“

“I would never do that, although I have thought about it,” Steve muttered as he stumbled into the kitchen, looking exhausted. Robin rolled her eyes but turned around to face where he had just been standing.

“You can go to bed, Steve, you don’t have to stay up for me.”

All she got was a mumbled, “I’ll be fine, Robs.” In response.

“Anyways, as I was saying—“ She started as she turned back around to face Vickie, but she was cut off when Vickie grabbed her face and pressed her lips against hers, putting most of her weight against Robin. And oh shit—when had she gotten up? Where was she supposed to put her hands? Was she supposed to kiss back? How was she supposed to kiss back?

All of those questions were short lived when Vickie pulled away, her nose even more flushed. It wasn’t the best kiss, because Vickie was crying, so it was kind of wet and tasted like tears, but holy fuck, Robin wanted to do it again. With less tears this time. 

“I—“ she tried to speak, but Vickie only squished her cheeks in her palms lightly and kissed her again. 

“No—you don’t get to say that stuff about yourself.” She whispered, eyes searching over Robin’s face in such a caring way that made her insides twist into knots and her organs want to explode. “You…I…I really don’t know what to say right now…”

“That’s…you were apologizing for something…? Before I interrupted…?” Robin whispered, hooking her arms around Vickie’s waist, and it felt normal enough, plus Vickie didn’t pull away, so maybe that’s what she was supposed to do with her hands?

“Oh. Oh, right! I—I’m sorry I missed out date, I really didn’t mean to stand you, up—“

“—I know—“ 

“—but I volunteer at a food donation place, and they needed more people to come in and help sort the produce, and I—they called me this morning, so I came in, and I totally forgot to call you and tell you about it! And I swear, the organizations who donate wait until some of the food starts to go bad to send it in, which is so screwed, I mean—we could hardly use any of it!” She paused and took a slow breath, sighing. “Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Only a little bit, but it’s okay.” Robin whispered, sounding out of breath even though she wasn’t the one who had been talking.

“But I—I think…I think I might be falling in love with you.” Vickie laughed slightly when she said it, but she looked serious enough.

Robin felt her heart stop, and she tightened her hold on Vickie’s waist, if only slightly. She could tell that Vickie noticed, though, in the way that she moved just a bit closer, which made Robin whisper out a small, “Really…?”

Vickie nodded. “Really. Really really, Robin.”

Robin tried to speak, but she felt like dying. She wanted to peel off her skin, crawl back under the blanket, and let her bones just rot. After a few moments of watching Vickie’s lips, she started to whisper, “I think I might—“

Before she was cut off by fucking Steve, coming out of the kitchen. “Hey, Robs, I’m going to head off to—“

“Steve!” She hissed, turning around and glaring at him, and when Steve noticed how Vickie was practically in Robin’s lap, his face went bright red and he cleared his throat. 

“Shit, uh…sorry, sorry. Carry on…whatever you’re doing.” He cringed slightly and looked them over before walking down the hallway.

Once Robin heard the door close, she looked back at Vickie. “I’m not…I don’t kiss a lot, so…”

“I could show you?” Vickie rushed out, looking down at Robin’s lips, her hands slipping from the sides of her face to her shoulders. “I have—I’ve done it before.”

Robin nodded and stood up, bumping into Vickie slightly and taking her hand. Fuck, her hands were sweaty. Was Vickie weirded out by that? She didn’t seem to be. “We have a guest room? It’s more comfortable than the couch.”

“Mhm. That, uh…that sounds nice.”

Fuck, why did she put on jeans? Of all pants? Steve’s t-shirt was off and kicked to the edge of the bed, and her hands were fumbling with the button. These jeans were…probably a bit tight on her, but she hadn’t thrown them out yet because then Steve would have taken her to get new ones, and she really hated going to the store. No—her and Vickie were about to have sex (if she was reading this whole thing correctly) why was she thinking about that right now? She just needed to focus on getting her fucking pants off, and—

“Robin?” Vickie’s lips moved off of hers for a moment, just far enough away to say something, and Robin practically gasped for air, pressing her forehead to Vickie’s shoulder. Vickie’s bra was slipping off, and for a moment Robin felt guilty for staring, but wasn’t that the point of getting undressed like this? To admire the other person?

“Hm?”

“Do you need help?” 

“I, uh…no, no, I’ve got this.” She muttered, finally undoing the button and pushing the jeans past her hips before tossing them somewhere near the door.

Vickie’s eyes glanced down slightly, and Robin felt her face flush, shifting uncomfortably. “I…”

“You…you know we don’t have to do this, right? We can just…we can just kiss.” Vickie sounded slightly guilty when she said it, but there was a faint trace of disappointment in her eyes as she looked back up and kissed Robin’s shoulder.

Robin shivered slightly and wrapped her arms around Vickie’s waist. “N-no, no. We can, if you want. It’s fine.”

Vickie looked at her for a moment—like, really looked at her—and it was really cute the way her eyes scrunched at the corners when she thought. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m sure.”

Robin woke up that morning with her face pressed into the pillow, someone else’s leg over her’s, and almost all of her clothes gone. Her bra was slipping down her shoulders, almost completely off, and her underwear was…somewhere. She sat up and gently moved Vickie’s leg off of her before getting up and putting some clothes on—grabbing Steve’s t-shirt from the floor and muttering, “Sorry you had to see all that, John.”

Steve was in the living room, sat on the couch and drinking tea. He kept making a face every time he took a sip. Robin still didn’t understand why he kept the calendar. He could have just thrown it out. 

“Morning.” She muttered, tossing Steve’s shirt to him as she plopped down in the armchair. Was she supposed to wait for Vickie to wake up, too? 

Steve fake-gagged and threw the shirt back at her. “I’m not touching that thing until you wash it.”

“We didn’t even do anything—“

“The walls are thin, Robin, I heard everything—“

“—plus you’ve offended John.”

Steve nearly spit out his tea, which didn’t really mean anything because the tea was fucking gross. “I’m sorry?”

“No, don’t say it to me, say it to John.” Robin muttered as she picked up the t-shirt off the floor from where it sat at her feet.

“I am not apologizing to a John Lennon t-shirt.”

“Steve.”

“What?”

She tossed the t-shirt back to him, and it hit him in the face. “Fucking apologize to the John Lennon t-shirt.” 

Steve held the t-shirt at arm's length and frowned. “This is so fucking stupid. I’m sorry.”

She smiled and stood up, taking the t-shirt back from him and going to put it in the wash. Everything felt…weird, now, but she wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or not. She just couldn’t wait for Vickie to get up so that she could change the sheets and stop worrying about it.

Pinterest board!

Hallo! I really hoped you guys enjoyed this part, because it’s the longest part I’ve written for this so far, and i spent all day working on this instead of hanging outside in the snow :)

comments and reblogs are appreciated, and feel free to send me asks and stuff because getting them makes me very happy ⭐️

IF YOU SAY ANY MISTAKES. I AM SO FUCKING SORRY. I DON’T HAVE A BETA READER FOR THIS I JUST WRITE AND THEN IMMEDIATELY POST. SORRY.

if you’d like to be tagged, let me know in the comments, and if you don’t want to be tagged but still want to follow along with the story, you can either follow my blog, or follow the tag “Radio Star by Finn”

taglist!:

@strangersteddierthings @an-atlas-or-other @aol19 @randombibitch @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @stillfullofshit @steventhusiast @estrellami-1 @jaytriesstuff

@itsthestrangestthings (so…I scrapped the make-out scene, lmao. And I got…whatever this was…? Also not as many sharks as I thought there would be…but there will be more throughout the rest of the story 🦈)

@5ammi90 @absolutegremlin

I think that’s everyone, but if I missed you lmk!!!

also I know there was no steddie in this part but I’m still tagging it as that because I like to use the same tags for fics regardless—just in case someone stumbles upon this part intending to read a steddie fic (since there’s some in the other parts)

Do you have any buddie fic recs that is a /must/ read for Buddie shippers ( sorry I don't ship Bucktommy 🥹)

Boy do I ever!!!

honey, when you call my name - @hippolotamus (Explicit)

"Eddie witnesses the Buck/Lucy kiss, has himself a little panic, and decides to do something about it when Buck does his Buck thing and won't stop pushing Eddie's buttons" It's spicy, it's sweet, it's packed full of feels and there was not a dry eye in the house!!

Whatever may come (your heart I will choose) - @hippolotamus (Mature)

"The Story of Eddie and Christopher Diaz" The number of times I yelled at Hippo while reading this,,,, it is incredible!! 30 chapters of Buckley-Diaz family feels, Eddie's heartbreaking backstory and FUCK if I could read it for the first time again, I would!

James Bond AU Series - @princessfbi (Teen & Explicit)

James Bond AU with 007 Agent Eddie Diaz and Buck as Q. Incredible. No notes. Read them back to back in one sitting, and then read them again immediately after. No prior knowledge of James Bond needed (cause I sure didn't have any) but be prepared to have the sudden urge to go watch all the films.

Kink Club AU Series - @princessfbi (Explicit)

"Canon compliant one shots where Eddie works at a Kink Club as a side hustle and meets Buck there before his first shift in 2x01." This series is insanely good. 5 perfect fics of the boys and BDSM, it is incredibly hot, full of feels and just.... yeah. Incredible. Please do read the tags before each fic though, especially if BDSM isn't your thing.

because we'll all arrive in heaven alive - @neverevan (Explicit)

"During a search and rescue, Eddie disappears without a trace, leaving Buck to grapple with the sudden possibility of a life without him." I was literally on the edge of my seat with every single chapter release. It's SO angsty and delicious and absolutely incredible, and I think also very feasible for what could happen in canon should Timothy ever decide to be as mean (affectionate) as Newbie was by putting the boys through this.

Out Of Order, Still In Line - @neverevan (Explicit)

"When Buck finally gets to the Clinic, the long awaited release doesn’t seem to come; cue Eddie to the rescue." One of the first Buddie fics I read and it altered my brain chemistry a little. Lord have mercy. It's just ... you gotta read it. Like, Jesus 🥵

My Blood on Your Skin (My Rose on Your Snow) - @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Explicit)

"When Eddie needs cash and fast to take care of Christopher, his LAFD Academy buddy suggests a job as a bouncer at Elysium - an exclusive sex club in downtown Los Angeles. Eddie doesn't care what goes on there, so long as he's paid, but he finds he cares a lot bout the club's enigmatic owner, Evan Buckley, and it's not long before the two of them are violating every boss-employee rule in the book. But there's something different about Buck and the club, something not quite... human. If Eddie wants to keep Buck, he's going to have to delve into the world of immortals, and all the risks that implies." Honestly I think the blurb says it all. I read this at my cousin's wedding (literally just before the ceremony and during the reception fsdkjdfs) because I literally couldn't put it down. Incredible Greek Gods integration and so. fucking. hot. Sorry Caleb, I hope your matrimony is holy but this was so worth it.

stuck now so long, we just got the start wrong - @daffi-990 (Unrated at present)

"Probational Firefighters Evan “Buck” Buckley and Eddie Diaz meet on a call which ends with them at odds with each other. As the months roll by, they keep running into each other on the job, much to Eddie’s dismay and Buck’s delight. Can they put aside their first opinions and misunderstandings and allow the seeds of friendship, and possibly something more, to take root?" This AU has been eating me alive with snippets for the last few months and the chapters are FINALLY being published!! Stay tuned for weekly updates about our idiots being - well - idiots. Daffi has written them so well and I don't think I could yell louder about this one if I wanted.

Cow Eyes - @theotherbuckley (General)

"'Eddie's in hospital and Buck tries not to break down' fic except its actually just a cute silly little fic" Exactly what is says on the tin. Cute, silly, fluffy and entirely adorable. High!Eddie is fucking hilarious and Worried!Buck has my whole ass heart. Love this fic, have read it many times, will read many times more

Both Blade and Branch - @cal-daisies-and-briars (Mature)

"The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back." Orpheus and Eurydice vibes but somehow more heartbreaking because it's the Boys? Literally every chapter I was gobsmacked and the fact that I couldn't read it in one sitting due to Life™️ was frankly criminal.

what humans do - @gayhoediaz

""…and the thought that she had just escaped death by such a narrow margin made me realize the intensity of my feelings toward her.” Eddie swallows. “‘What’s the matter?’ I couldn’t tell her, so I kissed her instead,” Buck goes on, and since Eddie’s eyes are focused on the page, they drift ahead a little bit, and the next few lines have him swallowing once again, taking his hand back to brace himself against the mattress as he slowly starts to push himself up to sit. “Kissing is what humans do when words have reached a place they can’t escape from. It is a switch to another language. The kiss was an act of defiance, maybe of war. You can’t touch us, is what the kiss said. ‘I love you,’ I told her, and as I smelled her skin, I knew I had never wanted anyone or anything more than I wanted her…” Buck trails off when Eddie reaches for the book, gently luring it out of his grasp. " One of the best getting together fics I've read. So sweet, so hot, full of feels, and also just very 🤯 in many places. Just insanely well written and perfect imagery.

Also I have a small list of authors whom I love dearly:

@spotsandsocks @exhuastedpigeon @wildlife4life @thewolvesof1998 @thekristen999

@steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck @fortheloveofbuddie @rainbow-nerdss @bidisasterevankinard

@aroeddiediaz @jesuisici33 @wikiangela @loveyouanyway @kitteneddiediaz

@actuallyitsellie @dangerpronebuddie @loserdiaz @elvensorceress @underwaterninja13

@smilingbuckley

Literally anything these wonderful people (and the authors of the above fics) have written is well worth a read. I would rec all of their words and make individual recs for all their fics but I fear I simply do not have the words.

I might also humbly suggest some of my fics, which you can find here! Happy reading!!!

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiemicrofic.

Mordor It Was

Steddie Microfic January Prompt: New || Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 517 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Post-Bat Attack | POV: Eddie | Tags: S4 Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Will Make Sure Of It, And Then Not Go Away. Pre-Steddie

The darkness takes hold faster than Eddie imagined. He didn't think one bite, followed by another, and another, could fuck up his whole world this much. But it has, and now he's faced with the reality that he's gonna die here. On the ground, having run in the wrong direction.

Having failed.

And that's something he's gonna have to live with. Just, not for very long. He can feel his pulse hammering, beating in his chest. His neck. As the blood pulses out of him, spilling onto the filthy ground below.

He wanted to do better, wanted to not run away this time, but he still managed to fuck it up. 

Goddamnit.

He's made peace with it, even if Henderson isn't as accepting of what's coming. Maybe it's the blood loss making Eddie feel serene when he should be fighting, panicking.

It doesn't matter.

Steve Harrington is here, fighting for him. 

Eddie kind of wishes he wouldn't. He's floaty, no longer feeling pain, and anything Steve can possibly do will disturb that, surely.

"Eddie, for fuck's sake," Steve's saying, and Eddie tries to open his eyes.

"Eddie!"

His eyes snap open. Steve is hovering, "Good. That's good. I'm going to pick you up. Don't fucking die."

He's definitely gonna die, but he nods. He'll try his best.

Steve tugs on him, and the pain that sears through him is above and beyond anything he's ever felt. He lets out a hoarse scream.

"I know, I'm sorry," Steve says, throwing him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing at all, repeating his previous order: "Don't fucking die."

But Eddie thinks he'll do just that.

When he wakes up, he's in a sterile hospital room. Machines are beeping, whirring, and he thinks this has to be the calm before the storm.

But Steve Harrington's sitting in the chair next to him, looking comfortable, his feet propped up on Eddie's bed, reading a book.

Harrington reads? 

Eddie squints, tries to look closer, to see what he's reading, and realizes it's not a new book. No, it's his own copy of The Return of the King. He recognizes his own paperback's well-worn, dog-eared cover.

"My book," Eddie croaks, and Steve startles so bad, the book goes flying, skittering across the tile floor.

"I'm sorry. Wayne left it. I was bored," he starts, then immediately changes direction, "You're okay, it's okay," already pressing the call button, hammering it with his thumb, as if he's convinced Eddie's gonna drop dead in the next five seconds without help. 

The way the room fills, maybe he will. Steve has backed up against the wall, the book clutched to his chest. 

There's poking, and prodding.

Wayne rushes in, and Steve still stands there.

Finally, the crowd thins. Apparently, he's gonna live.

Steve sits back down.

"So, what's new?" Steve teases, and Eddie laughs. His throat is hoarse, dry. Steve pours water from the pink, plastic pitcher, directing the straw to his mouth. 

Eddie takes the longest, best drink of his life, then says, "Not much. You?"

Steve holds up the book and grins, "Learning about Mordor."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

what does he even think about....

My original piece for the Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang

I was so fortunate to have @sidekick-hero as a collaborator for this design as well.

Please take the time to check out their fic, Emotional Motion Sickness

Worthy of A Celly

By Asexual_Asshat on AO3

The guys all shot-pointed looks at Eddie, Jeff being the first to say “Eddie has a huge crush on this one NHL goalie.”

Eddie felt his face slide into a pleased grin as he nodded. “Steve Harrington. Toronto Maple Leafs.”

The interviewer's eyebrow crooked. “Oh yeah? You a big hockey fan?”

His mouth opened but Gareth beat him to it “No, you don’t understand. He had never watched a full game before this in his whole life. The only things he knows about hockey is what has to do with Steve.”

Words:1,360 Chapters: 2/2 Language: English

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Dustin Henderson, Gareth (Stranger Things), Jeff (Stranger Things), Unnamed Freak (Stranger Things), Freak AKA Grant

Additional Tags: NHL player Steve Harrington, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Getting Together, Canadian Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Gay Steve Harrington, First Date, First Kiss, Famous Eddie Munson, Famous Steve Harrington,Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Famous Corroded Coffin (Stranger Things)

tw:// (fake) gun, threat of violence, not suicidal ideation but I'm kinda worried about michael's canonical lack of hesitation to jump into mortal danger*

.

.

'give will a gun' you say. okay and what if He does.

(*if you don't think michael wheeler would do this i'm so sorry but see: stranger things 1x06)

(one day I’m) gonna cut it clear

have this sad stuff I wrote last night to try and cheer myself up :)

(Sorry for any mistakes this was copied and pasted from photos of notebook proper :/)

TW: mentions of past trauma and paternal abuse

The first time that Eddie had cut his hair short, he had been eight and messing around with his mom's fancy brass scissors—the ones where the blades were a beak She used him to cut string from her quilts, and to trim his uncle’s hair when the man wasn't out in his boat. Eddie had used them to chop his hair off, watching The long brown curls fall onto the rug that his dad had bought as a wedding present for his mom.

It was rough and scratchy. Probably cheap, too. 

He sat there on his knees, one hand curled around the scissors, the other feeling through his choppy strands, staring down at the loose hair on the floor.

His dad had hit him for that, grabbing him by the arms and shoving him into his room with a sharp “the hell were you thinking, girl?” before he had locked the door.

Eddie had cried all afternoon, begging to no one, because he was sorry and he didn’t want his hair short anymore. Because he had cut it to stop people from calling it pretty but he knew they still would. Because he didn’t want to be trapped in the suffocating Georgia summer heat that was seeping in through the windows anymore.

When his mom had come home from Auntie Lacy's house—not his real aunt, but she got sad if Eddie didn't call her that, seeing as how she was close enough to family as is—he still remembered how broken she had sounded, finding Eddie laying on the wood floor in just his underwear, tucked away in a corner, panting.

She had drawn him a cold bath, hushing him softly when he complained about the cool water.

“My baby,” She had whispered, her accent seeping through her words. It wasn't like the southern one that she put on for his dad—some kind of Eastern European that he couldn't remember. She never talked about where she came from

"Your hair was so pretty.”

Eddie had turned to press his face into his mom’s palm, whimpering, “Don’t want it short anymore. M’sorry, mama, m’sorry.”

She had fixed his hair after that—made it look more even and neat. She had let him curl up in her lap afterwards, the bird scissors on the coffee table and the chopped strands gone from the rug. Her thin fingers pet through his hair—but there really wasn’t anything to pet through anymore, just gentle touches smoothed over his scalp, kisses pressed to the lop of his head where he could nearly feel her lips.

"It will grow back, iubirea mea," She assured him, rocking him in her arms as his fingers dug into the folds of her white dress. She smelled like cinnamon and sunscreen, and that incense that Auntie Lacy always burned. "It will grow back, Edith.”

"Eddie," He had whispered, his words unsure and choked as he closed his eyes and waited for her to hit him—to lock him back in his room with his bolted windows and stiff mattress.

But she just kissed his hair again, taking nis hand and rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.

"Eddie," she agreed, holding him tighter when he sobbed and nodded, her fingers soft and warm against his. “My sweet Eddie. My baby." 

The second time his hair was cut he was thirteen. He had cried the whole way to the shop, gripping at the hair that fell just past his shoulders, like if he held on tight enough, it wouldn't have to go away.

“Stop crying,” his dad had snapped, his hands tight on the wheel of his Chevy truck. "If you wanna be a boy so bad, then fuckin’ act like one. Gonna look like one soon, too.”

He pulled Eddie out of the car. “This’ll show you. I ain’t raise my girl to be no fuckin’ queer,” he spat. “That was all that bitch’s doin’, ain’t it? Good thing she’s gone.”

“Don’t talk about mom like that,” Eddie sobbed, barely forcing the words out before he had stumbled backwards, face stinging and red from where his dad had hit him.

“She ain’t your mama no more. Ain’t that right, girl? Now fuckin’ get in there and tell the lady you want it all gone, or I ain’t letting you out of your room for a week,” his dad threaten, grabbing the collar of Eddie’s shirt. “A fucking week, you hear?”

That was the day that Eddie had left with Wayne for Indiana. His dad—no, Al, he wasn’t Eddie’s fucking dad anymore—hadn’t cared that Eddie had left. He had probably told all of his drinking buddies that “the other bitch is finally dead,” just so no one who might miss him in the town would go looking and bring him back. It would have only been Auntie Lacy. He still missed her sometimes.

Wayne hadn’t minded that Eddie didn’t want to wear the dresses or the skirts that he had packed from Georgia—took to buying him jeans when he had the money for something extra.

He had saved up for two years, working extra shifts and on holidays, so that when Eddie turned sixteen he could take him to the doctors and get him the stuff that made his voice drop. Eddie didn’t remember what it was called—hadn’t been able to hear the doctor over the ringing in his years from how hard his jaw was clenched as he tried not to cry in front of her and Wayne.

“Gonna get you fixed,” Wayne had said on the ride back to the trailer, and Eddie had laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.

“M’not a dog, Wayne.”

He had let Wayne do the shots, since anytime he tried to do it himself, his hands would snake too much.

“Haven't even done it yet, boy," Wayne muttered, his face annoyed, but his tone soft and sympathetic. "Just breathe."

Eddie did, but he had still flinched away again, just one more time.

The third time it was cut would be soon, if Eddie could just force himself to fucking man up and do it. He had just driven back from the antique shop down the road, bought those scissors he had seen nestled in between the old watercolor tins full of white chalk sticks and the black and white photos of men in long coats and hats—women with their hair up in a portrait studio, loggers standing on the planks stuck into trees as they worked, children sat on stools and chairs with dead-eyes.

They were bird scissors, brassy-brown and shining, still sharp. Like his mom used to have.

He looked out at the trailers he drove past. Two mail boxes until home. His stuff was in the back of his van, all the important stuff anyway, packed away into three boxes. Three.

And then he was home, into the house and then to the bathroom. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. And maybe he was crying. He was so fucking sick of crying.

His arms ached as he stretched the scars to reach up and grab a strand of hair, cutting. It was only an inch or two off the bottom, on a piece that he could easily tuck away and hide, but he still broke down—dropping the scissors and sobbing into his hands as he sank to the bathroom tiles on the floor.

He didn't want to cut his hair, but he had to. And he didn't know why he had to, which made him cry harder—hysterical sobs and gasps that no one but the nearly-empty shampoo bottles strewn sideways on the drain on the shower floor could hear.

He sounded like he was dying.

Maybe he was.

He Knew what it felt like to die — to have the skin ripped away from his insides, his body bloody and aching.

This hurt worse

It hurt worse than the hell he had been through.

It hurt worse than hearing Steve cry and break over him in the hospital, when his body was too sore to move—to cradle him gently like his mom used to do, brush a hand over his hair and whisper gentle names in a language that he didn’t know—a quiet "just breathe, my baby. Lucrul meu dulce. You can be sad, but don't let it choke you. You can cry, but don't let it make you forget how to live. How to breathe. How to smile."

Eddie pulled himself up, dragging himself out of the bathroom and over to the phone on the wall in the kitchen.

He spun the rotary, hearing it whir and click after each number. A number he had whispered to himself night after night until he was sure he wouldn't forget it. But now his brain was fogged as his breath caught on a whimper, and he couldn't remember if it ended in a six or a nine.

Six. He spun to a six and watched it move back, the phone gripped in both hands as it rang.

“Hello?” And Eddie sobbed again at the sound of Steve's voice.

"Hey," he choked out, willing his voice To be level and his breathing to be calm, but to no avail.

‘Baby," Steve breathed, and god, Eddie didn't think it was ever possible for him to grow tired of hearing Steve call him that. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Eddie shook his head as an instinct, his eyes squeezed shut and his jaw set, strained words coming out as he spoke again. "Need you to come over. Want to cut my hair.”

"Your hair?" Steve parroted back, his voice unbelievably soft, so soft that it made Eddie's chest ache a bit inside.

"Yeah."

Steve didn't ask why, even though he knew that Eddie's hair was important to him. He did offer to do it for Eddie—being the one out of the two of them who was more knowledgeable on the subject—but Eddie declined, saying that he needed to be the one to do it himself.

“I just need you to be here when I do it," Eddie whispered. He would have asked Wayne to sit with him, but Wayne was at work, and Eddie wasn't supposed to bother him unless it was an emergency.

He knew that Wayne would have come straight home if he had called to ask, though.

“I’ll leave now, alright?" Steve whispered. “Ten minutes, You go rest, get yourself a drink. Whatever you need to do baby, then I'll be there. Promise.”

“Okay" Eddie whispered, and even though Eddie wanted a reason to procrastinate this further, he hung up the phone, listening to the dial-tone sound off for a few minutes before shuffling over to the living room and pressing his face into a scratchy pillow. 

He tried to calm his breathing while he waited for Steve.

Should I make a part two? Maybe?? If you guys want??

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