Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's been a long time since Steve Harrington woke up in a hospital room. 

Oh, sure. He's seen the inside of Hawkins Memorial ER more times than he cares to count these past few years. In '83, when Jonathan Byers had given him the beating that finally knocked some sense into him and he was still young enough for his mother to put up a facade of caring, she'd dragged him there when he returned home swollen and bloodied to ensure that he didn't have a concussion. And then in '84, when he'd been beaten half to death by Billy Hargrove in the name of protecting Lucas, he'd dragged himself to the hospital because the kids' noble effort at a patch job left a little to be desired and he was concerned about open wounds getting infected, particularly given their exposure to that rancid Upside Down air. In '85 he and Robin had both been swept along there in the aftermath of the 'fire' at Starcourt, then separately sequestered into private rooms and interrogated into the wee hours of the morning by government officials when Steve accidentally let something slip about Russians. 

But that was Hawkins Memorial, and he was awake on arrival for each of them. This time? It's different, and he knows it as soon as his eyes open. 

All at once, he's hit with the sickening memory of what happened before. He'd been elated, leaving the Creel house, ecstatic. They'd won. They'd actually won. A well-aimed Molotov from Robin and a bullet directly between the eyes from Nancy's sawn off, and they'd watched the bastard crash through the wall, crumble against the ground below and burn away like sticks on a campfire. In the excitement of it all Nancy had kissed him, the way she did before they knew about demons and Demogorgons and little girls with superpowers and then, adrenaline-fuelled, she'd kissed Robin as well in the same way and Robin had looked shocked only for a second before she whirled around and also planted one on Steve and he'd picked up both of the women he loved, swung them around and the three of them had screamed with joy because they'd won. They'd run and skipped back through the woods, laughing and whooping and hollering like children, no longer concerned about vines or bats or disfigured superpowered child killers. 

It had shattered in an instant as soon as they arrived at the trailer park. 

Because Dustin had been there, sitting and sobbing, loud and hysterical, while he clung like his life depended on it to the bloody, unconscious body of Eddie Munson. Steve had kept running, crashed to his knees beside Henderson and pulled him in close like he could make it all change if he could only hug the child hard enough. Dustin had cried so hard that it made both of them shake, choking out words like bats and brave and didn't run while Steve shushed him, forced back his own tears, and pressed soothing kisses into sweat-soaked curls. Nancy had been the one to scrabble through torn flesh and thick, congealing blood to find a whisper of a pulse at Eddie's neck. He was barely alive, but alive all the same, and that was all Steve needed to know. The kids' MO may be that friends don't lie, but Steve's - after 'protect the kids' - is 'no man left behind'. He'd scooped Munson into a bridal lift and, after hearing that the dumb dying bastard had cut the rope and rendered the trailer gate more or less useless, had marched resolutely back through the woods, to the road where poor Fred had died, and made damn sure all of his family got back Topside before the hideous crack sealed for good. 

To his credit, he'd stayed conscious long enough to haul Eddie to the stolen RV and set him down on the bench. After that, it had taken only a couple of seconds for the adrenaline to wear off and for his body to catch up with the fact that, actually, he'd lost a hell of a lot of blood and hadn't slept in days and had been strangled by hell vines for a solid fifteen minutes. He'd crumpled then, his legs simply giving up and his knees buckling beneath him while his vision when blurry and someone - maybe Robin - yelled his name and everything faded to black. 

Next thing he knows, he's waking up. 

It's not Hawkins Memorial ER. It smells similarly of disinfectant and chemicals, but he's in a small, private room that looks more like a holding cell than a hospital, save for the beeping monitors and glistening drips he's hooked up to. As soon as his eyes flutter open, somebody cries out that he's awake and he's descended upon by Robin and Nancy, both of them hugging him hard. 

"Hey, hey, ease off, I'm an invalid here," he mumbles, but he hooks an arm around each of them and squeezes as tight as he can muster. 

"Don't you ever fucking scare me like that again, Steve," Robin scolds, straight into his ear. "I mean it. I thought you were dead." 

"So did I," he admits, as the girls peel away from him. "What happened?" 

"You passed out," Robin explains like that wasn't already obvious. "Right on the floor of the RV. Puked as you went down too. Totally one of your sexiest moments." 

"The doctors think you had a delayed reaction to the physical trauma," Nancy provides, more helpfully. "The adrenaline kept you going for a while and then when it wore off you just kinda hit the deck." 

"Doctors?" he repeats. "So I...am in the hospital?" 

"Hawkins Lab," Nancy says, with a wince. "Owens insisted you and Eddie both be brought here to monitor any potential side effects from the bat bites." 

"They literally reopened it just for this," Robin tacks on. 

Gee. Doesn't that just make a guy feel special? 

"Eddie's okay then?" he asks, and the girls exchange a look. 

"I don't know if 'okay' is the word I'd use," Robin says uneasily. "He got chewed up pretty bad. Lost a lot of blood. He's alive and they say he's gonna pull through, but they're keeping him in a coma for now." 

"What about everyone else?" Steve asks. "Max? Dustin? Lucas? Erica? Tell me they're okay." 

It sounds pathetic and desperate, but Steve simply can't care. He feels pathetic and desperate. Nancy and Robin share another one of those looks. 

"Erica is okay," Nancy says, slowly, like she's choosing her words very carefully. "Physically, at least. Lucas is too, mostly. He...I guess Jason showed up at the Creel house and the two of them got into a fistfight. He's a little dinged up, but he'll be alright. Dustin hurt his leg and his shoulder coming through the gate after Eddie but he'll mend."

"And Max?" it's barely more than a breath. 

"She's alive," Nancy says, nervous in a way that Nancy Wheeler simply isn't. "But...well, they're not sure if or when she'll wake up. And if she does, the chances of her ever seeing or walking again are...not zero, but close to it." 

And in that moment, Steve's shocked that the heart monitor keeps beeping because he swears he feels it break right down the middle. 

"Hawkins is kinda crazy right now," Robin says, probably in an attempt to change the subject. "I guess the earthquakes came through Topside as well. There's a lot of buildings destroyed, a lot of people hurt and homeless." 

"It's a disaster, but at least it gives the powers that be a premade story that the kids can tell their parents," Nancy adds. 

"Are my parents okay?" Steve asks, sitting up straighter in bed in panic before he can stop himself. The last time he was home, his mother had been drinking whisky in the kitchen, despite it being noon on a Wednesday, and his father had been locked away in his office insistent on not being disturbed. He feels like there's ice in his stomach and the thought of his last words to them being maybe see you later. The girls look at each other like that for the third time. 

"They're fine, Steve. Your side of town held up pretty well," Nancy says, and Steve sags back with a sigh of relief. 

"Do... do they know I'm hurt? Has anybody called them?" he asks, that stupid childlike hope that he can never seem to shake starting to well up inside him again. Nancy's biting her lip again and Robin is fidgeting like she's trying to physically hold herself back from saying something she shouldn't. 

"They know, yeah," Nance says, delicately, like she's holding something back. "Robin and I went out there to tell them." 

"Are they here?" he asks, and Nancy shakes her head. "Is...is my mom coming? Is she allowed?" 

"She's allowed, yeah," Nancy tells him softly. "But uh...no. She's-she's not coming." 

"Wha-" is all Steve manages to get out before Robin loses her composure. 

"They left, Steve," she blurts out, and the three of them are silent for a minute. They left. Went out of town when they know Steve is hurt and (kind of) in the hospital. Of course they did, he chastises himself for being stupid enough to think otherwise. He takes a deep, shaky breath to swallow the tears, then forces a smile. 

"Well, that's understandable," he lies. "Business trips don't stop for earthquakes or injured sons, right?" 

"They're not on a business trip, babe," Robin says, her expression dark in a way that Steve has never seen it be before. "They left. Moved away from Hawkins. They're gone." 

Oh. 

"Oh," it comes out wobbly, halfway to a sob. 

"They left this," Nancy says, softly, pressing a folded piece of paper into his hand. "Your mom said you should call when you're awake." 

Steve just stares down at the phone number in his mother's handwriting and tries his damnedest not to cry.

*

He waits until the girls have been ushered out by a stern-sounding nurse before he asks to use the phone. He weakly protests the call being monitored, but doesn't press too hard because he doesn't want the privilege taken away. So he allows an orderly to sit in the dank little room with him while he dials the number and faces the other way, lips pressed together in a tight line. 

The phone picks up after three rings. 

"Katherine Harrington," she sounds...happy. Chipper, almost. Not at all like someone whose only son is injured, in a town that just experienced several earthquakes. 

"Hey, Momma. It's me," he says, his voice soft and hoarse. 

"Steve. You're awake. Good," she says and really, she could try harder to sound like she means it. 

"Yeah," he says. "I'm awake. A little bruised up but I'll live. Nance said you and Dad are gonna be out of town for a little bit?" 

Because there's still some tiny, stupid, juvenile part of him that is hoping against hope that the girls had simply gotten their wires crossed, that his parents don't really care so little that they'd simply up and leave him behind without even waiting for confirmation that he's gonna be okay. 

"Your father and I have made the decision to move elsewhere," she says, as simply as if she was telling him the weather. "Hawkins is too much trouble, it's not safe there anymore." 

"Right," Steve licks his lips nervously and swallows. "So um... the house..." 

"We'll be selling it," she informs him. "You're welcome to stay there until we find a buyer, and you'll be given access to your trust fund which should be plenty to find a place of your own." 

"Where...where are you guys? I could go right now and buy a plane ticket and-" he begins, but she cuts him off with an exasperated sigh. 

"Steve. You aren't a child anymore," she says.

And she's right - of course she is, he's damn near twenty for God's sake - but it stings anyway. Because when he was a child, she at least pretended that she cared, had dutifully feigned believable interest in his life and hobbies, had kissed scraped knees and hugged away bad dreams and driven him to the ER after beatings that he definitely deserved. Then he turned 18 - literally his eighteenth birthday - and she'd told him he was a man now and it was time to stand on his own feet and she'd pulled as far away as his father, no longer interested in acting like she ever wanted to be a mother in the first place. 

"You really left me," he whispers it, doesn't really mean to do it out loud. 

"For heaven's sake, don't be melodramatic," she snaps, offers no words of comfort or reassurance. Steve sighs heavily, rubs a hand over his face, which is now wet with tears. 

"I'm sorry, Momma," he says, shakily, not really sure what he's apologising for. Maybe it's for pissing her off with the melodramatics. Maybe it's for calling and disturbing what is clearly a shiny new life she and his father have decided to build. Maybe it's for ever being born and burdening her with his existence in the first place. 

"Don't call me that, Steve," she says and then the line clicks and beeps and she's gone. 

Just like that, Steve Harrington is alone. 

Chapter Text

Steve Harrington is a lot of things. 

He's a certified, verifiable badass who can take on eldritch horrors beyond human comprehension and barely bat an eye about it and somehow simultaneously a godawful fighter with a real penchant for getting his ass kicked by mere mortal men. He's a four-time interdimensional war veteran at the ripe old age of twenty and has taken all of the consequent trauma into his stride in a way that can only be described as admirable. He's astonishingly selfless, would give away the clothes off his back if he thought somebody else needed them more. He's generous, always offering a place for his friends to hang out, to eat, to spend the night and he never makes any welcome feel overstayed. He's fiercely loyal, sometimes to a fault, willing to do absolutely anything for the people he cares about, even if he does half-heartedly complain about babysitting duties sometimes. He's funny, often without ever intending to be, and he has a laugh that sounds like music. 

Point being, there are a lot of words one could use to describe Steve Harrington but, typically, late is not one of them.

 Which is why, on a frosty afternoon in January 1987, Eddie Munson is startled to receive a phone call informing him that Steve is over an hour late to pick up Dustin from school, and would Eddie please come collect him instead before he actually, literally freezes his nuts off. 

He goes, of course - has his shoes on and his keys in hand before he even hangs up the phone. He and Steve are similar in that way; if Dustin Henderson needs anything, anything at all, either man will drop whatever he's doing instantaneously to give it to him. Little shit has both of them well and truly wrapped around his little fingers, and God if he doesn't know it. It absolutely does not help to keep his ego in check, something both older boys complain about extensively, and yet they seem incapable of stopping. Case in point: Eddie swore up and down that he'd never set foot anywhere near Hawkins High School ever again after they allowed him to graduate only in absentia when he got his official government pardon, to keep controversy at a minimum. Yet he still willingly hauls Henderson's ass to and from the god-forsaken place whenever Steve can't, and he has no intention of stopping. The kid is special. He can even play Nancy Wheeler like a fiddle if he really tries. 

When Eddie pulls into the parking lot, he finds Dustin huddled down inside his winter coat, hands shoved into his own armpits to keep his fingers from going numb. It's a truly bitterly cold day, with a brutal biting wind and the promise of snow in the air. That makes Steve's absence even stranger - it's so very unlike him to leave any of his kids, but especially Dustin, literally out in the cold. 

Henderson says as much as he clambers up into the van. 

"I'm worried about Steve," is his greeting, and Eddie feels it would be inappropriate to say that he is too. 

"I'm sure he's fine," he says, nonchalantly. "He's probably sleeping or something."

"Nuh-uh," Henderson protests. "I was calling his landline off the hook. You know he doesn't sleep through the phone ringing." 

The kid has a point, Eddie thinks. Steve's not the soundest sleeper at the best of times, and certainly not when he's just grabbing an afternoon nap. The phone ringing is one of the sounds that always jolts him awake, as it usually means one of the kids needs something. Eddie calls it his Mother Hen Instinct. 

"Well, look,  are you sure he's not just at work? And he forgot to tell you? Or he did tell you and you forgot?" Eddie suggests, and Henderson - the little shit - just rolls his eyes like it's the dumbest thing he's ever heard. 

"I wouldn't forget," he chastises. "And I already thought of that. He isn't at work. I called them when he didn't pick up at home." There's half a beat of silence and then "Apparently he didn't turn up for his shift last night either." 

Oh shit. 

"Oh shit," Eddie says because that's definitely unlike Steve. He hasn't just 'not turned up' for a shift since Spring Break last year, back when they were all in the throes of dealing with... 

"What if something happened?" Dustin asks and he looks absolutely terrified. 

"I'm sure it's nothing like that," Eddie says, and it's an absolute goddamn lie. He's not sure. He's rarely been less sure of anything. "He's fine. I'm sure he's fine." 

They're both quiet for a couple of seconds. 

"We could swing by his house, though. Just to confirm that he's fine," Eddie offers, and Dustin heaves a huge sigh of relief. 

"Yes. Let's do that," he says. 

* 

They don't really 'swing by' Steve's house, because it's not really en route to either of theirs. In fact, it takes them a good nine miles out of the way. It's in one of the nice parts of town - not quite Loch Nora, but still fancy by Eddie's standards at least.

The Harringtons hadn't so much kicked out their only son as just skipped town and sold the family home from under him, thrown a frankly absurd amount of cash at him and told him to figure it out. At least, that's what he'd said when he'd curled up in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs at Eddie's bedside when he came back from the dead in Hawkins Lab. They'd spent a lot of time together in those few weeks, when they were both being prodded and poked at and tested on by scary government people in white lab coats. Had he been alone, Eddie thinks, he'd have been completely terrified. But Steve's presence through it - the way he'd laughed whenever Eddie made an inappropriate joke that the staff glared disapprovingly about, the way he'd shuffle down the corridor to Eddie's room every night so they could sit and talk in whispers - had been an immense comfort. Eddie likes to think he comforted Steve too, when he held his hand whenever the staff did anything involving needles or when he'd read to him aloud from the Lord of the Rings books he'd annoyed the staff into getting for him. On those nights, they'd usually fall asleep together, pressed close in a tangle of limbs because of how they had to squeeze together on the narrow little hospital bed. Steve always managed to wake in time to sneak back out before the staff caught them and the two of them have still yet to discuss it. 

When they'd been let out, Steve had made short work of finding himself a place to live. He'd toyed with the idea of an apartment only very briefly - it'd be cheaper and quicker to close on - but decided he wanted somewhere with more space, a spare room where his friends could crash if they needed to, a backyard where everyone could relax in the summer months, where the kids could hang out and play and act like kids for the first time in years. He'd settled on a modest two-bed-one-and-a-half-bath cottage near the edge of town where the neighbors are mostly older couples who keep to themselves, with decent yards in front and back and no pool. He'd been very clear that there should be no pool. It's become the go-to hangout spot for the kids, much to the delight of Karen and Ted Wheeler. Eddie spends an awful lot of time there too, more than he'd care to admit, honestly. It's because Nancy moved off to Boston to study at Emerson and Robin is busy taking classes at the local community college, he tells himself. Steve needs adult company, so he doesn't go mental from spending all of his time with teenagers. Absolutely no other reason Eddie spends, like, every other night at his place. 

When they pull up on that freezing January evening, nothing is immediately amiss. Steve's car is pulled into the driveway where it always is. His meticulous flowerbeds are undisturbed, the front lawn mowed into neat rows, same as usual. The front door isn't flung open or smashed off its hinges and none of the windows are broken or tampered with. The only light from the house is the soft glow of a lamp in the living room, tinged slightly blue by the filter of drawn curtains. Eddie lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding at the comforting normalcy of it. 

"See, what'd I tell you, man?" he nudges Dustin gently. "He's fine. He probably fell asleep in his chair watching The Price is Right like the middle-aged dad we all know he really is." 

"I still wanna go check," Dustin insists, getting out of the van and fumbling through his coat pocket for the key Steve gave him.

It occurs to Eddie quite suddenly that perhaps Steve didn't answer the phone because he was otherwise occupied. The government-mandated version of the events of March '86 had presented Steve as every bit the hero that he truly is - and then some. If women weren't throwing themselves at him before, they certainly are now. Not that Eddie thinks Steve has ever had any problem getting laid, but these days it seems like he can snap his fingers and a woman positively desperate to fuck him will practically materialise from thin air. He doesn't bring them home that often - in fact, it sounds like more than anything Steve has taken to wooing these eligible bachelorettes in oh-so-romantic locations like the backseat of his Beamer or the alleyway behind the bar where he's been working. But it's not unheard of for him to bring an especially lucky lady back into the sanctuary of his cottage, the little safe haven he's built for his chosen family. Eddie definitely doesn't get jealous about it, totally doesn't fantasise about being the one clambering breathless over car seats or scratching his knees on alleyway asphalt or digging his fingers into the plush velvet armrest of Steve's couch. Absolutely not. 

"Henderson wait - for God's sake at least knock first! He might be-" he's jogging after the boy, babbling in an attempt to get him to slow the hell down, but of course Dustin doesn't listen. The headstrong little bastard has never listened to a grown-up a day in his goddamn life, and usually, Eddie admires him for it but now it makes him want to push the kid over a little bit. 

By the time he reaches the stoop, Dustin already has his key in the lock and is turning the handle. Eddie starts to protest again, but he's cut off by Dustin flinging the door open and calling out frantically. 

"Steve? Are you okay? Answer me if you aren't dead!" 

And then there's a strange sound from the living room, something familiar that Eddie can't quite place immediately. Like a mewling cat, maybe, and he figures it must be something on whatever movie or TV show Steve is watching, until he hears Harrington making soft, cooing shushing sounds. He exchanges a look with Henderson, like when the hell did Steve get a pet and why the fuck would a pet make him late. By way of answering, Dustin strides the couple of steps across the hallway and throws open the living room door. Sure enough, Steve is planted in his armchair, but he's not watching The Price is Right and he certainly isn't asleep. He looks like he hasn't slept at all, in fact. He's glaring up at the two of them, hissing admonishments like 

"Can you two keep it the fuck down? I'm trying to get her to sleep." 

Because - oh. Steve's cradling a little bundle against his chest, wrapped up tight in his arms like he's afraid to let it go. The bundle is the source of the strange little mewling sound, clearly it contains whatever pet Steve has managed to pick up. Except that, after half a second to register exactly what he's seeing and hearing, Eddie realises it's not a pet at all, and the sound is crying, not mewling. Because Steve Harrington is sitting in his armchair, livid and sleep deprived, and he's holding a- 

"Holy shit," Dustin says. "Steve is that a baby?!" 

Yeah. One of those. 

Chapter Text

It's not very often that people knock on Steve Harrington's front door these days. 

Everyone he cares about has their own key - it was the first thing that he made sure of after he'd gotten all of his shit moved in. He'd tried not to make it a big deal, handed each of them out individually and quietly, but they'd all given him huge bear hugs about it and Robin and (to Steve's surprise and Erica's mortification) Lucas had cried. Only Eddie hadn't really gotten emotional - instead he'd just given Steve a friendly shoulder-check and one of those crinkly, dimply smiles of his and said "your funeral, big boy. You'll never get rid of me now!" 

Like Steve minds. Like that wasn't the whole point in the first place. 

He's actually delighted at how often his family use his house. He worried, at first, that this house would feel as empty and quiet as the one he grew up in, despite the significantly smaller size. But it doesn't; in the months that Steve has lived here, he's found himself serenaded by a near constant symphony of banging doors and raucous laughter and "hey, only me" called cheerfully from the entryway. The pantry that he keeps well stocked with the kids' favorite snacks sees delightfully good use and he has more of their favorite VHS tapes and records than his own, by this point. 

Of course, sometimes they let themselves in quietly. They're all hurting, still, fragile developing psyches damaged beyond repair by the horrors they're far too young to have beheld. Save for Will and Eleven, they can't honestly tell their parents why they sometimes wake screaming in the night, but they can tell Steve. Steve can take them into his arms and rock them gently and kiss their hair while they gasp out explanations of sleeping visions about democreatures and death and the acrid smell of the Upside Down that none of them seem able to purge. 

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Dustin is his most regular visitor, trumping Robin only because she has so much college classwork to do and spends so much time on road trips out to Indy to visit Vickie. Henderson comes over almost every afternoon after school, stays for dinner most nights too. Claudia doesn't seem to mind. She thinks Steve is a good role model for Dustin and besides, a few months back she snagged herself a mystery Fancy Man and she welcomes the freed-up time to spend with him. More often than not, the kid will spend the night. He has nightmares, just like the rest of them, but he's not a screamer like Mike or Erica or, hell, Steve himself. Instead, he'll shuffle teary-eyed into Steve's room, gently poke the elder awake so that he shuffles backwards and lifts the corner of the blanket. They'll curl beside each other, Dustin sniffling out the dream, usually the same one ("I really thought he was dead, Steve, I felt him go limp") and Steve offering soft words of comfort ("it's okay buddy, he's okay, he's safe now, we all are") until they both fall back asleep, much sounder in each other's presence. 

Eddie himself is around a lot too. He jokes that he's like a stray cat, only keeps coming back because Steve keeps feeding him. And it's true enough that Eddie seems to get most of his meals at Steve's place these days, but Munson is the cook of the pair. It's become a regular occurrence for Steve to wake up to a kitchen full of teenagers and Eddie, with flour in his hair and a bowl of pancake batter under one arm, telling them all to be fucking patient if you value your characters' lives. Or Steve will get home late from a busy shift at the bar, the kind where he's barely had a minute to stop and take a sip of water, let alone eat dinner. He'll find a plate made up of whatever Eddie made earlier with a note saying something like hope you're not too tired to eat, pretty boy - E. Most of those nights, he'll find Eddie already asleep in the guest room, curled up like a cat as he does, sometimes alone, sometimes with a protective arm tossed over one of the kids. Steve won't ever confess it, but it makes his heart swell up to see that his little family are so easily willing to treat his home as their own. 

Point being, Steve Harrington has no shortage of people coming and going from his house, but they usually let themselves in. So when he gets rudely awoken from his pre-work nap by a knock on the door on a frosty afternoon in January 1987, it's immediately a confusing surprise. 

He drags himself from his blanket nest on the couch, rubbing the gunk from his eyes with the heels of his hands. 

"I swear to God if one of you little shits has lost your key, I'm not getting you another I-" he begins, though it's a lie and he knows it. 

When he opens the door, however, he sees nobody.

He frowns in confusion and rubs his eyes again, like the knocker might materialise if he can get his vision in focus enough. It could be a kid playing ding-dong-ditch, he briefly notes, but it's unlikely. This neighborhood is full of retirees and young professionals and newlyweds with small children. Aside from his own band of waifs and strays, there aren't really any rowdy kids kicking around here and besides, school isn't out for the day yet. He's just beginning to convince himself that he imagined the knock, dreamed it, maybe, when a soft rustling sound like shifting fabric by his feet catches his attention. He drops his gaze downwards and immediately freezes. 

On his doorstep, wrapped in a bundle of pink and white blankets inside a carrier, is a tiny, sleeping baby. 

* 

It takes Steve an entire two minutes to react, not moving out of his startled reverie until the baby moves in their sleep again, making a gentle little cooing sound around the pacifier in their mouth. At that, his eyes snap back upwards, frantically scanning the surroundings for the kid's parents. There's nobody, the street is silent. Not a soul walking around, and the only car in Steve's driveway is his own. He considers calling out, but realises in an instant that doing so will wake the child. When he looks down again, panicked, he notices there's something stapled to the uppermost blanket on the bundle. 

An envelope. 

An envelope with his name on it. 

Shaking, he crouches into a squat and peels the note away from the blanket, gentle so as not to rouse the baby. He really needs glasses to read these days, and his trembling fingers don't help matters, but if he squints he can just about make out what the letter says. 

Steve, 

I want to preface all of this by letting you know that I really, really tried. I tried to be a good mother, I promise. But I can't. I don't have it in me. 

I'm sorry that this is the way this had to happen. I wish I could have called you as soon as I knew I was pregnant, but my parents sent me away to my Aunt's house in Michigan to avoid bringing shame on them and I wasn't allowed to contact you any more. Not that I think you were interested, really. You never did call me after Spring Break.

I was supposed to give her away, once she was born, but I couldn't. At first I thought I wanted this, thought I could do this even if I had to do it alone. I do love her, Steve, I promise I do. And I thought that loving her would be enough and that I'd be able to move past any negative feelings I have towards this baby but I just can't. Every time I look at her I feel so much love, but also so much resentment and anger. I'm angry at my baby and that frightens me. Sometimes at night when she's crying and crying and I can't get her back to sleep, I think about doing things that make me disgusted with myself. I'd like to say that I would never actually act on any of it, but it's been getting harder and harder to say that with any certainty. 

I know you wouldn't, though. You're an asshole for never calling me again, but you're a good man, Steve. You're a kind man. You've got so much patience and so much love to give, and I've seen how good you are with kids. I just know that you're better equipped to do this than I am. 

Steve, this is our daughter. Your daughter. Her name is Elizabeth and she was born on December 5th 1986. Her birth certificate and all of her medical documents are in the bag that I am leaving with her, as well as some supplies that should get you through the first couple of days. 

I hope you can love her more than I could. 

Brenda

His hands have stopped shaking by the time he finishes it. His whole body has frozen, locked into place, crouching in his own doorway while a baby sleeps in a carrier on his doorstep. His baby, apparently. The words on the page start to blur again; not from his damaged vision or from shaking hands this time but, rather, from the tears that are threatening to spill out of his eyes. The only thought running through his head is what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck because really, what the fuck? He's always been so careful, always wanted to avoid exactly this. He and Brenda had sex plenty of times, sure, but he doesn't ever remember doing it unprotected. He briefly entertains that she's got the wrong guy, that some other dude knocked her up and she's just pinning it on Steve because maybe he's the more stable option. He's not entirely convinced, though. Brenda wasn't exactly difficult to woo into bed, but she wasn't really the type of girl to sleep around with multiple guys at once either. Steve's fairly sure he was the only one she was seeing at the time which definitely means... 

Fuck. 

The baby - Elizabeth - stirs again in her sleep, makes a little whining sound like she might start crying and holy shit Steve can't cope with that, not when he's on the brink of tears himself. Mercifully, though, the baby's face just wrinkles in what looks like mild discomfort and then she sighs and relaxes once more, sleep undisrupted. It's enough, though, to kick Steve's ass into gear. It's far too cold out for a baby, even one wrapped up in a whole bunch of blankets. Besides, neighbors will start looking soon, if they haven't already and Steve is decidedly not prepared to have those kinds of conversations here and now. So, half-numb and half-dazed he takes the baby carrier and its contents, as well as the satchel bag dumped beside it and goes back inside the house.

*

The next 24 hours or so feel entirely surreal. 

Steve takes the baby to the living room, places the carrier gingerly on the couch and sits beside her, just staring for a minute. She's truly tiny - if the birthdate Brenda gave is accurate, she's almost two months old. Her tiny nose and fat little cheeks are bright red from the cold. She has impossibly long lashes on her closed eyes and an already thick shock of light brunette hair. She looks fragile. Precious. Breakable. 

He manages to wrench his eyes away long enough to start rifling through the bag she was left with. Sure enough, he finds the birth certificate, declaring her Elizabeth Marie Harrington, born in Grand Rapids, Michigan on 5th December 1986. She weighed 6lbs 2oz, her mother is Brenda Crystal Spearman and, right there in black and white, her father is Steve David Harrington. His eyes start to sting, so he sets the certificate down with shaking hands before the tears splash out. He pushes through the rest of the contents of the bag. There's a bunch of medical documentation he can't quite bring himself to sift through, and not a whole lot else. One change of clothes, a few diapers, a nearly-empty package of wipes, two bottles, one of which is full, and a can of formula which, upon picking it up and shaking it, he discovers is only half full. 

Before he can really make an assessment of how screwed he is here, there's stirring from the carrier, Elizabeth kicking her little legs with more gusto than she has yet. Horrified, Steve watches as her eyes - hazel, he notes, just like his - flutter open. She blinks at him for less than a second, and then her little face pinches and crumples and she starts to cry. 

"Oh hey, hey, no, don't do that," he mumbles, frantic. She doesn't understand, of course. Her tiny mouth opens in a wail so wide that the pacifier drops out, rolls away under her blankets. 

"It's okay, it's alright," Steve tries to soothe, though he feels anything but. The baby's face is rapidly turning deep crimson and Steve swallows shakily. "Should I pick you up?" He immediately cringes at himself. She's two months old, idiot, she can't answer. "I'll pick you up. C'mere." 

His hands are shaking more than ever as he fumbles with the blankets, pushing them aside to get the carrier's buckle. It takes him three tries to undo it and he has to take a couple of deep breaths to steady himself before he scoops her out. 

It's not the first time Steve has ever held a baby, but it's been years since any of his cousins were this little and none of them was ever mid-screaming fit when he held them. Elizabeth is squirmy and restless, not settling in his arms, and it makes him want to throw up with panic. 

"What's the matter, huh?" he tries to keep his voice level, he really does. But it comes out higher than normal, hitching and cracking wetly in the middle. "Are...are you hungry? You need a bottle? Let's give you a bottle, yeah?" 

He extracts the full bottle from the diaper bag and cautiously presses the teat to the baby's mouth. Mercifully, she latches on and her crying subsides as she starts to drink hungrily. 

"Oh thank God," he whispers. He watches her for a couple of seconds. She's intently focused on the task of drinking, those big familiar eyes crossed a little as she looks down at the bottle. A chubby little hand comes up to rest on the side of it, close enough to Steve's that their fingers brush. Now that she's stopped screaming, some of the tightness in his chest is lifting. She's beautiful, he thinks, like a little cartoon cherub. I made something beautiful, he thinks. 

"Hi, Elizabeth," he squeezes her gently. "I'm your Daddy. It's just you and me now." 

The next day goes by in a blur of much of the same. Elizabeth will sleep for a couple of hours and then wake up crying. Steve manages to soothe her back to sleep each time, though some of them are easier than others; when she's wet all the way through her onesie, it's simple enough to decipher that she needs a diaper change (which Steve struggles through but manages eventually). Other times, it's much more difficult; on several occasions, she wakes completely clean and dry and refuses to take a bottle (another struggle to make) and the only way that she'll relax again is if Steve walks in laps around his living room, rocking her in his arms and cooing softly. He doesn't sleep himself, not a wink. For the stretches that the baby sleeps, tucked back into her carrier because Steve isn't really sure where else to put her, he sits stiffly on the couch, staring at her the entire time like she might disappear if he takes his eyes off of her for one second. For the first time ever, Steve is glad that nobody comes over. 

Until they do. 

The afternoon after Elizabeth arrives, Eddie and Dustin come barrelling into his house right as he's finished feeding the baby and is rocking her back to sleep. They burst through the living room door like they would on any other day and Steve deliberately glares daggers at them. 

"Can you two keep it the fuck down?" he whispers, furious. "I'm trying to get her to sleep." 

"Holy shit," is Dustin's response. "Steve, is that a baby?" 

"Sh, sh, sweetheart, it's okay," he ignores Henderson in favor of murmuring softly down at Elizabeth. Her cries are half-hearted at this point, tired little sobs that are getting weaker and weaker as her eyelids start to droop. "That's it, baby. Back to sleep, Daddy's got you." 

He's aware that Eddie and Dustin are still standing in the living room doorway, both staring at him slack-jawed like they've seen a ghost or something. He's deliberately avoiding looking at them, but he can feel their eyes on them like they're burning. The silence that stretches out is thick and tense, feels like it could be eternal until Eddie shatters it. 

"Uh...Harrington? What's going on here, man?" 

"This is my daughter," it comes out flat, robotic, mercifully not betraying any of the panic that mostly has given way to exhausted numbness. 

"Daughter?" Dustin splutters. "How do you have a daughter?!" 

"Well you see, Henderson, when a man and a lady like each other very much..." Eddie starts to answer, and the kid cuts him off with a sharp dig to the ribs. 

"Yeah I got that part, asshole," he says. "I mean who the hell did you knock up, Steve? Nancy? Robin?!" 

That's enough to make Steve actually look up and scowl at Henderson a little bit. For a smart kid, he's dumb as hell sometimes. He doesn't have to tell him off, though, because Eddie beats him to it. 

"Christ Henderson, you've got that huge brain in your head. Use it sometimes, won't you?" he admonishes. "Have you seen Buck or Wheeler running around pregnant lately?" He pauses, turns to Steve. "It's a good question though, dude. Who is the mom?" 

"Brenda Spearman," Steve says. The other two exchange a look, like they're having some kind of silent argument. Dustin loses. 

"Is Brenda here?" he asks. 

"No," Steve answers. "She just...just dumped her on the doorstep and ran." 

He can't help the way that his breath hitches and his voice cracks at the end of it. Dustin gasps and curses under his breath, but Eddie just makes a little sympathetic sound and crosses the room, sits carefully beside Steve on the couch. 

"She's sweet," he says, softly. "Does she have a name?" 

"Elizabeth," Steve answers, quietly. 

"That's pretty," Eddie coos. "When did she get here?" 

"Uh...yesterday. Around this time, I guess? I was taking a nap before work and- shit! I missed work," Steve groans, head falling back to hit the couch. 

"Let's not worry about that right now," Eddie says. "Have you slept? You look exhausted, man." 

Steve just shakes his head. 

"I was scared that if I fell asleep and she cried and I didn't wake up-" he begins, panic building again. Eddie shushes him softly, and if Steve had more of his bearings he'd probably glare at him about it. 

"Okay," he says, and Steve envies how firm and even his tone is. "Here's what we're gonna do. Henderson and I are gonna watch Miss Elizabeth for the next couple hours. You, Daddy-o, are gonna go lay down and get some sleep." Steve starts to protest, but Eddie holds up a finger to stop him. "Bup-bup-bup. I don't wanna hear it. Being sleep deprived is the last thing you need right now. You gotta get some rest before you snap, sweetheart. Give Little Missy to Uncle Eds and take your ass to bed for a little while, alright?" 

He puts his arms out expectantly and maybe it's something in his tone, or maybe Steve really is just extra exhausted, or maybe it's the fact that Eddie called him sweetheart. But he finds himself doing as he's told, gently depositing the sleeping child into Eddie's outstretched arms and trudges to his bedroom, where he collapses fully clothed onto his bed and falls asleep. 

* 

He jolts awake several hours later, when the sky outside is dark and snow is settling thick on the window ledge. 

He's immediately aware of the quiet stillness of the room, telling him that his baby is no longer in close proximity. He flings the blankets back and springs out of bed, staggers down the stairs and frantically follows the sounds of talking into the kitchen. 

The sight he stumbles into is so strange, he all but screeches to a halt. Dustin Henderson is sitting at the table beside a stack of books with titles like The Common Sense Book of Baby and Childcare, flicking through an open one and scribbling into a notebook as he reads. Eddie Munson is standing at the stove, shirtless and with his hair scraped back into a bun. He's holding little Elizabeth against his shoulder with one hand and stirring something in a pot with the other. She's awake, one chubby hand splayed across the scar where Eddie's spider tattoo used to be, and he's babbling away to her.

"...so then in January '82, he's performing in Des Moines, right? And somebody throws a stunned bat onto the stage - I know, I know! A real life one, crazy, huh? Well Ozzy picks the damn thing up and he just tears its head straight off with his teeth - I know, right? Isn't that just the most metal thing you ever heard?" He glances up, spots Steve in the doorway and grins. "Speaking of bat-biting badasses, here's your Daddy!" 

"Hi," Steve says, a little awkwardly. Then "You don't have a shirt on." 

"Nope," Eddie confirms. "Somebody spit up all down my back when I was burping her, isn't that right Miss Lizzie?" 

"She puked?!" Steve surges forwards, arms out for the baby. "Oh my God is she okay?!" 

Eddie chuckles lightly as he hands her over. 

"She's fine, sweetheart. Babies puke all the time," he reassures. "You look better. More rested." 

"I feel it," Steve admits. "How long did I sleep?" 

"Almost four hours," Dustin pipes up. "Did you know babies don't grow kneecaps until they're between two and six years old? And you're not supposed to give 'em just plain water before six months, or honey before a year." 

"Where'd you get all the books from?" Steve asks. Henderson shrugs, eyes still on the page in front of him. 

"Library," he says, simply. "Eddie went out while you and Lizzie were both asleep." 

"Old Mrs Cuthbert had a lot of questions about why I needed baby books, I had to make up some bullshit about studying for a night class I'm not even taking," Eddie grins. "Thankfully the clerk at the grocery store was less nosey. Don't think I could've explained away formula and diapers so easy." 

"You bought formula and diapers?" Steve asks, and Eddie's nose crinkles like he's stupid to even ask. 

"Yeah, man, we probably wouldn't even have made it to tomorrow with what we had," he says, like it's no big deal. 

"We?" Steve repeats, before he can stop himself. Eddie and Dustin look at each other. 

"Of course, we," Henderson says. "You didn't think we were gonna make you deal with this alone, did you?" 

"No man left behind, right? Isn't that what you say?" Eddie tacks on. "We're family, sweetheart. We're in this together." 

And, for the first time in a day and a half, Steve feels like he can relax. 

Family. Together. 

They've got this.

Chapter Text

It takes Steve all of five minutes after waking up to flip back into Mother Hen mode. It's honestly impressive and (not that Eddie is willing to confess it) pretty goddamn hot. 

Once he's blinked the sleep out of his eyes, he starts getting on Henderson's ass to put the parenting books away and do some damn homework, and then he slips out of the room to go call work and offer an explanation. Eddie half-hears it through the wall, mumblings of "...baby on the doorstep..." and "...promise I'm not shitting you, Linda..." then a sigh of relief and a "thank you". 

Eddie had figured Steve's manager would be cool; Linda is an old, old friend of Wayne's who taught Eddie how to sew when he was a young teen. After that asshole Keith had fired Steve and Robin for missing too much work over Spring Break last year, Eddie had put in a good word for both of them at the bar she owns and they've been working there ever since. Steve, unsurprisingly, has taken to it like a duck to water, social butterfly that he is. As for Robin, she's been swept straight under Linda's wing - it's nice for her to have an older lesbian she can go to for advice, and it helps that Linda is willing to work around both her class schedule and her "visiting Vickie" schedule. 

Steve comes back into the kitchen right as Eddie is taking dinner off the stove. It's nothing fancy, just mac n cheese from a box, but Steve has a habit of treating anything Eddie cooks like it's gourmet and he beams over the top of Lizzie's head as he comes back in. 

"Smells great," he comments. Eddie chuckles. 

"I'll pass your compliments to Mr Kraft," he says, pushing a plate across the counter. Steve's a little awkward, eating with one hand and supporting Lizzie against his hip with the other. "You wanna put her in the carrier? She just had a bottle, she'll probably sleep." 

Steve swallows, looks down at the baby in the crook of his arm. Her head is turned sideways, cheek pressed up against his chest. Her face is tilted upwards, looking up at Steve with sleep-droopy eyes. A soft little smile comes over his face as he meets them, an expression of such genuine love and affection that Eddie thinks his heart might explode. 

"No," Steve says gently, towards the baby instead of the room. "I've got her." 

* 

Henderson, reluctantly, allows Eddie to take him home after dinner. The ride home is quiet, a little awkward. In fact, neither of them speak until they've pulled up outside of the Henderson home. 

"Brenda's a fucking asshole," Dustin says, with conviction. 

"Languge," Eddie scolds half-heartedly. He doesn't entirely disagree, but he'd also read Brenda's note while Steve slept. Dustin hadn't. It doesn't exactly sound like this was an easy decision for her to make, even if she did go about it in the worst possible way. 

"Lizzie's so little. And it's so cold," Henderson's voice is much smaller now. "What...what if Steve hadn't been home?" 

Honestly, the thought had crossed Eddie's mind earlier too, but he'd banished it immediately. He shakes his head. 

"Let's not think about that," he says softly. "He was home. That's all that matters." 

"How can a mom just ditch her baby like that?" Dustin sounds incredulous and Eddie is hit, not for the first time, with a pang of appreciation for Claudia Henderson. Dustin's father may be a deadbeat who was off the scene before day one, but that woman has made damn sure that her son never knew anything but a mom who absolutely dotes on him, to the point where he struggles to fathom anything else. He'll never have first hand experience of a so-called mother who cares more about chasing her next fix than caring for her kid, like Eddie does. He'll never know the sting of being entirely rejected and left behind by the person who is supposed to love you more than anything, like Lizzie will one day. 

Like Steve does. 

Dustin must be thinking the same, because he speaks up again. 

"Brenda did the same as what Steve's mom did to him," he says. 

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, because what the fuck else is he gonna say? 

"He's gonna be alright, isn't he?" Henderson asks, and it's so goddamn earnest that Eddie might just cry. 

He doesn't of course. 

"Of course he is," he says. "Look, I'm gonna go back there tonight and make sure he's okay, alright? Like I said. We're family. In it together, right?" 

"Right," Dustin agrees, with a tight little smile. 

"Okay. Good. Now get the fuck out of my car before your miss your damn curfew," Eddie replies. "I love you, buddy, alright?" 

"Love you too, man," Dustin gives him a friendly nudge in the ribs, then climbs out of the van and disappears inside the house. 

* 

Eddie finds Steve pacing the living room when he returns, a sleeping Lizzie still clutched to his chest, some dumb soap opera playing on the TV at a low volume.

"Hey," he says, gently. 

"Hi," Steve replies, with a soft little smile. Eddie lingers in the doorway, takes a moment to absorb the scene. There's something cozily domestic about it, something he wants to step into and stay in forever. 

"How're you feeling?" he asks, eventually. Steve lets out a shaky breath. 

"I don't think I've ever been more terrified in my life," he admits. 

"No?" Eddie replies, a little amused. After all, it was less than a year ago the guy was facing off against literal demons. 

Like he's reading his mind, Steve huffs a little laugh. 

"Nah. Henry Creel's got nothing on fatherhood," he says. Then he bites his lip, shuffles his weight from foot to foot. "Linda gave me the rest of the week off." 

"Good," Eddie nods once. "That's good. I'll call Nicky in the morning, see if I can swing a few days too, so we can figure some shit out. I'll take sick days if I need to." 

He won't need to, he knows that already. Nicky down at Thatcher Tire reminds Eddie distinctly of his Uncle Wayne; he's also a gruff-but-kind sort, and has an uncannily familiar habit of ruffling Eddie's hair and calling him 'son' when ever they speak. He's one of the few people in this god forsaken town who believed from the start that Eddie was innocent, it's why he got offered the damn job in the first place. Nicky Thatcher has a decidedly paternal soft spot for Eddie Munson, and Eddie knows that all he has to say is that he needs to take care of some family and he'll be told to take as many days off as he needs. 

"You don't have to do that," Steve protests, but Eddie shakes his head. 

"I want to," he insists. Frankly, he just doesn't want to leave Steve by himself right now. He seems calmer than earlier, more put together, but he's still pretty frazzled. He needs the support.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve grins. 

"Don't mention it, big boy," Eddie smiles back. Steve yawns quite suddenly, removes one hand from Lizzie's back to rub his eyes. "Why don't you go to bed? I can take Lizzie for a little while." 

"Yeah. Yeah, bed sounds good," Steve agrees. "But actually I was gonna..." 

He trails off, biting his lip. 

"Gonna what?" Eddie asks softly. 

"Forget it, it's dumb," Steve mumbles. Eddie shakes his head. 

"Try me," he says. Steve swallows. 

"Would...would you read to me? Like you did at the lab?" Steve says it so quietly Eddie barely hears it. But he does, and it makes him melt, just a little bit. 

They go up to Steve's room, get Lizzie changed and settled as safely as they can on his mattress, flat on her back loose blankets and pillows pushed well away like Dustin's library books had suggested. They'll start looking for a crib tomorrow, Eddie thinks, as he and Steve slot themselves into the bed alongside her. He's retrieved one of the books he stashed months ago on the shelf in the guest room, and he expects Steve to simply lie beside him to listen to him read. Instead, the younger man curls into his side, lays a warm, heavy arm across his middle and lays his head on Eddie's bare chest. After a moment of surprise, Eddie lets his free hand, the one not holding the book, come up to card through Steve's hair. Steve preens a little at the touch, snuggles in a little more in a way Eddie can tell is involuntary. He has to clear his throat to hide the hitch in his breath before he starts. 

"In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit." 

Chapter Text

Bringing Lizzie to bed was, it turns out, a great idea. 

She sleeps for an uninterrupted 4 hours before she wakes for a bottle, twice as long as any stint she got in last night. It's not until the clock on his bedside table glows 2AM that Steve is roused from sleep by her crying. He's only vaguely cognizant of the warm body stirring on his other side as he scoops the baby into his arms and nestles her against his chest. 

"On it," Eddie's soft, sleep-rough voice startles him a little, though not as much as the gentle brush of lips against the back of his shoulder before Eddie rolls out of bed and is making his way out of the door and downstairs before Steve can protest. He returns moments later with a damp cloth and a full bottle which he holds out to Steve with a stifled yawn. 

"I coulda done it, you didn't need to get up," Steve says gently, as he raises the bottle to Lizzie's mouth. Eddie just gives him a sleepy smile as he drops to sit on the bed beside him. 

"Steve, if I was averse to getting up I wouldn't have offered to stay," he says, leaning up against the pillows beside Steve and Lizzie. And Steve is incredibly sleepy, which is why he's also incredibly honest. Or, at least, that's what he'll keep telling himself. 

"I'm glad you did stay," he says. "I don't think I could've gotten through the night without you." 

It must be a trick of the very low light, because Steve could swear that he sees Eddie blush. 

"You're sappy when you're tired, Harrington," he says, the tone light and teasing. "Of course I wasn't gonna leave you man. You looked ready to go off the deep end when I took Henderson home. Plus, y'know. It's, like, twenty degrees out and given the choice between sleeping in your warm ass house and freezing my nuts off at the icebox I live in? No brainer, dude." 

It's a lie and they both know it. Eddie runs hot, always toasty warm to the touch, and Steve has seen the guy going out to smoke in the snow wearing nothing but a threadbare jean jacket without even bristling at it. Steve's appreciative of it, actually; with Eddie in the bed he hasn't had to turn on the little space heater he keeps in his room. 

When Lizzie's taken her fill from the bottle, Eddie takes it and places it on the side table then gently helps Steve to rearrange his arms so he's holding Lizzie against his shoulder. 

"So she doesn't get trapped wind," he explains. "You gotta rub her back until she burps." 

"You really studied the hell out of those parenting books, huh?" Steve teases with a smile. Eddie shrugs. 

"Studying isn't really my style, babe," he says, grinning back. "That was all Henderson, honestly." 

"Then how do you know so much about babies?" Steve asks, feeling his brow furrow a little in confusion. For a split second, he imagines he sees a flash of something in Eddie's eyes, a look of oh shit I said something I shouldn't. But in a blink it's gone, and Steve chalks it up to an illusion caused by darkness. 

"You're not the only one with babysitting experience, Harrington," he says, lightly. "I used to help out with some of the younger kids at the trailer park in the summer for a little extra money." 

And, well, that makes sense. Eddie is objectively good with kids, and not only their own little gaggle of teenagers. Holly Wheeler has been utterly besotted with him ever since that night last summer when Ted and Karen were out of town and Eddie had not only insisted she be included in their board games night, but had somehow convinced the entire group to abandon Monopoly in favor of donning tiaras and playing Princess Tea Party. It figures that he'd have experience. 

Steve's train of thought is interrupted by Lizzie burping at his shoulder, and then something warm and wet and slimy hits his bare back. 

"Oh. Ew," he grimaces, and Eddie just laughs.

"Sweet aim, kiddo," he comments. "Here, Daddy-o, lean forward." 

Steve does, and Eddie uses the cloth he fetched to gently wipe the spit-up from the back of Steve's shoulder. It's only because Steve is so very, very tired that he sighs softly and leans into the touch a little bit. 

"I guess I'm gonna have to get used to being puked on, huh?" he says, and Eddie huffs a quiet little laugh. 

"Looks like we both are," he says, reaching out a gentle finger to brush against Lizzie's round little cheek. "She's cute enough to get away with it, though." 

"Yeah," Steve agrees, from the heart, looking down at the child who is drifting back to sleep against him. "Yeah, she is." 

* 

Steve is woken twice more through the rest of the night. 

The first time, Lizzie is crying softly again. This time he scoops her up and slips downstairs before Eddie stirs. He feeds her in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and murmuring sweet, soft things to her. This time, even in his sleep addled state he has the foresight to throw a dishtowel over his shoulder before he burps her and when he takrs them both back to bed, Eddie rolls over, presses his chest up against Steve's back and drops an arm around his waist with a mumbled there he is which the sleep deprivation makes him like a little more than he usually would. 

The second time, Eddie beats him to getting up to feed the baby. The sound that wakes him isn't Lizzie crying, but a soft shuffling sound by the window. When he rolls over to face the noise, he sees Eddie perched on the sill, cradling Lizzie so that she's facing out of the window, and he's quietly, sleepily explaining to her what snow is and how she'll have so much fun playing in it when she's bigger. For a minute, Steve is tempted to go join them, but he finds himself stuck, entranced by the sight. There's something so blissfully domestic about it, beautiful and cozy in the cold, watery light of the early morning. So Steve just stays quiet and content, watching the pair until he drifts back off to sleep again. 

* 

When morning proper rolls around, Steve is woken for the third time by a different noise. 

Voices, from the kitchen. Music too - not Eddie's usual thrashing guitars and pounding drums. Something a bit more radio-friendly, more like something Steve would choose himself. Lizzie is laying awake beside him, not crying, just gurgling and cooing, thoroughly fascinated by her own toes. Steve smiles at her, reaches out to pick her up. 

"G'morning, baby," he mumbles. "Let's go see what Uncle Eds is doing, huh?" 

Because really, his curiosity is well and trully piqued when he opens the bedroom door and realises that the music is Springsteen, who Eddie usually adamantly refuses to listen to, and hears a loud booming laugh that is a little too rough and deep to be Eddie's. 

Because it isn't Eddie's, Steve realises when he enters the kitchen and is greeted with Jim Hopper cooking bacon and eggs on his stove. Joyce Byers is there too, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Eddie is perched on the counter about halfway between them, wearing Steve's yellow sweater and nursing his own cup of coffee between both hands. 

"No, no, the underage drinking was June '82," he's saying, smiling wide, all dimples and mischief in his eyes. "In May '81, you busted me for stealing cigarettes from the gas station just off of Third. You seriously don't remember? You didn't even take me to the station, just drove me straight back to Wayne's and he gave me this lecture right there on the stoop and finished it up with...:"

"And hell, kid, Marlboro? If you're gonna break the law, at least steal some goddamn Camels." 

Hop and Eddie say it in unison and then burst out laughing. Steve lets out a little involuntary chuckle as well, and it makes all three sets of eyes turn to him. 

"Good morning, honey," Joyce says, with that kind of gentle, maternal smile that always puts Steve at ease. 

"Uh...morning," he replies. "What's happening here?" 

"Henderson's been running his mouth again," Eddie provides. 

"Claudia called me last night," Joyce explains. "Dustin started asking her about baby stuff and ended up telling her what happened. Don't be mad at him, sweetie, he just wanted to help." 

And Steve is mad, a little bit. He didn't really have any kind of game plan for telling everyone about Lizzie, but he'd have preferred to have done it on his own terms. Still, Joyce is right. There's no way Dustin told his mom with any kind of malicious intentions. It's easy for him to forget, sometimes, that the kids are still just kids and that they do kid shit like tell their parents when something scares them. He'll spare Henderson an ass-kicking for this, he supposes. 

"It's fine," he says, shifting weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. 

"So I made some more phone calls," Joyce informs him. "It's been so long since either of my boys were babies, I didn't have much of their stuff laying around but Sue and Charles still had Erica's old crib in storage and Karen had a big bag of Holly's old baby clothes. Nobody had a stroller so we swung by Melvald's on the way here to pick one up." 

"Mrs Byers..." Steve starts, but she silences him with a wave of her cigarette. 

"First off, I've told you a million times it's Joyce," she says. "And don't you dare tell me we shouldn't have. You do so much for our kids, Steve. Let us help out with yours." 

"Besides," Hopper chimes in, removing pans from the burners and going to the cupboard to look for plates. "You and Munson? Left to your own devices? What are you gonna feed her? Hairspray and shitty metal tapes?" 

"James Hopper! Words hurt, you know," Eddie scolds, with no real heat, springing down from the counter to point him to the correct cabinet. He bounces over to Steve, puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

"You look a little overwhelmed, dude. Why don't you sit down?" he says, softly. Steve nods, because, yeah, it is all a little bit overwhelming. Hop and Joyce and Eddie are all being incredibly casual about this, like it isn't a huge fucking deal. Steve's still knocking Joyce's words around in his head. "You do so much for our kids, Steve. Let us help out with yours." 

Which. Huh. That sure is something. 

Because Steve really doesn't feel like he does that much for the kids. He plays taxi, sure, and lets them use his place as a meeting spot but he does that as much for his own benefit as theirs. It's the only way to slow his always-racing, always-worrying mind, to keep the kids in as close proximity as he can without being overbearing. He's not entirely convinced that the Upside Down shit is done for good, and he needs the kids in arms reach if something happens. It's not really a noble endeavor when his motivations are so selfish. 

He's also just wholly unaccustomed to having the adults in his life want to help him out with anything. Even before he turned eighteen, his parents' caring only extended as far as performance. Now it doesn't even go that far. He hasn't spoken to them in months, not since his mom called and he foolishly thought it was to wish him a happy birthday but instead she just told him that they were kicking him off their health insurance. He wonders, briefly, if he should call and tell them about Lizzie. No, he thinks. That could go one of two ways - either his mom answers and is wholly disinterested and gets annoyed at him for bothering her or his dad does and he gets yelled at about what a moron and a disappointment and a disgrace to the Harrington name he is. 

He glances between Hop and Joyce, looking for some inkling of that same sentiment in either of their faces. He doesn't find it. Hopper is testing the temperature of a bottle of formula on the inside of his wrist, humming along to the radio as he does. Joyce is smiling across at him with a warm, soft look of affection in her eyes. When Hop brings the bottle over, her smile widens a little. 

"Can I?" she asks. 

"Yeah," Steve says, after a split second's hesitation. His instict to protect, protect, protect has well and truly kicked in for Lizzie, perhaps more so than for anyone else. He'd tear a Demogorgon apart with his bare hands to keep her safe. But he's not looking at a Demogoron right now. He's looking at Joyce Byers, who is tenacious and tough and far kinder to Steve than he has any right to, given some of the things he said about her family in 1983. Lizzie doesn't need protecting from her. She's safe. She's family. 

She accepts Lizzie into her arms with the expert hold of a loving mother and immediately coos at her. 

"Oh Steve, she's beautiful," she says. 

"Isn't she?" he strokes a curl back from her forehead and Lizzie makes a happy little gurgling sound before she latches hungrily onto her bottle. "Prettiest thing I ever made, that's for sure." 

"Got her Daddy's eyes, doesn't she?" Eddie chimes in, coming to the table with two breakfast plates and placing one in front of Steve. 

"Yeah, yeah, they're both adorable," Hop joins them all at the table.  "You boys better eat. We got a crib to build and a hell of a lot of unpacking to do." 

Steve is still a little overwhelmed by it all, but there's a warm pleasant feeling in his chest, one that he never felt in childhood but is becoming gradually more accustomed to ever since supernatural horrors flipped his life on its head. 

Home. 

Chapter Text

Just as Eddie predicted, Nicky is entirely understanding when he asks for time off. 

He makes the call after getting shooed away from crib-building by Steve and Hopper after one too many "is that a screwdriver in your pocket or are you just happy to see me" jokes. Honestly, he's kind of happy to let them get on with it. Give him a broken bicycle or a busted engine and he could fix it with his eyes closed and one hand behind his back, but furniture assembly? Well, that never has been his forte. 

So he goes willingly out of the guest room, with one last quip about leaving the macho men to do the macho man shit, which earns him a playful swat on the head from Steve. He goes to the kitchen to use the phone - not that he thinks Joyce would mind him making the call in the living room with her, and it's not exactly that he's bothered about her overhearing. It's just that he's anticipating a degree of awkwardness, and if he's gonna squirm about it he'd rather do it alone. 

"Good morning, thanks for calling Thatcher Tire, this is Nicky, how can I help you?" the gruff voice comes over the line after three rings. 

"Hiya, Nicky. It's Eddie," he says.

"Hey, kid," Nicky says, and Eddie can't help but smile at the way his customer service voice immediately drops away. He hears the soft clicking of a cigarette lighter and Nicky taking a drag. "How's it going?" 

"Uh...I'm alright, man, but I need to ask you a favor," Eddie says, nervous. "I'm gonna need a few days off. Like, til the end of the week, maybe?" 

"Why? You sick?" Nicky asks, sounds genuinely concerned. 

"Not exactly," Eddie replies, twiddling the end of a strand of hair, an anxious habit of his. "It's a...a family thing." 

"Family? Your uncle sick?" Nicky asks. Eddie lets out a shaky breath. 

"No, Wayne's fine," he assures. "It's kinda weird. My buddy, Steve? He has this kid. A baby. Who he didn't know about until, like, two days ago when her mom just sort of dumped her at his house." 

"Jesus. Poor kid," Nicky comments on an exhale. Eddie's not really sure if he means Steve or Lizzie. It applies to both, he thinks. 

"Yeah," Eddie agrees. "And he's...alright, for now. I think he's still kinda processing, you know? It doesn't seem like it's fully sunk in for him yet and..." 

"You wanna be there for him when it does?" Nicky finishes for him. Eddie makes a little affirmative noise. "He the one whose parents skipped town on him?" 

Because maybe Eddie mentioned that once, when he and Nicky grabbed beers after work and Eddie drunkenly ranted, at length, about how he knows too many kids with shitty parents and it's just not fucking fair. 

"Yeah," Eddie says, but then he glances towards the living room, where he can see Joyce perched on the sofa with Lizzie and a picture book. "Well. His biological parents." 

"Alright," he hears Nicky take another drag on his cig. "Take the rest of the week off, kid, alright? Help your buddy get on his feet. I'll see you Monday." 

"Thanks, Nicky," he says. "I owe you one." 

"Don't mention it, kid," the boss says. "And Ed? You're a good friend. Your pal is lucky to have you." 

Which makes him immensely glad he made the call in the kitchen, because he'd be humiliated if Joyce Byers saw him blush. 

"Thanks, Nicky," he repeats. "I'll see you Monday." 

For a moment he contemplates going back upstairs to bug Steve and Hopper some more, but he's a little concerned about pushing his luck there. Steve doesn't really get genuinely annoyed with him all that often - in fact he seems to have more patience for Eddie's bullshit than most other people - but he still seems pretty antsy and on edge today, like he could maybe be pushed to annoyance more easily. 

He also seems to have managed to land himself firmly in Hopper's good graces, which is only a little bit surprising. Generally speaking, befriending a cop - even a retired, formerly presumed dead one - is in direct opposition to the Munson Family Code of Conduct. But. Well. Hopper's always been different, at least as far as Eddie is concerned. Has been ever since Eddie was eleven and got busted shoplifting from the supermarket when his old man blew their grocery budget on getting high again. Hop had taken one look at him - skinny, dirty, bruised, hair messily buzzed to hide the chunks his dad had yanked out a few days prior - and taken pity on him, letting him off with a warning and giving him a candy bar and a can of soda. The then-Chief had even done him the courtesy of dropping him off a block from home, quietly aware of the consequences of Ronnie Munson finding out that his son had been caught breaking the law. 

So, he doesn't go upstairs. Instead, he wanders through into the living room, sits on the couch by Joyce and starts rifling through the big bag of clothes from the Wheeler's place. From the looks of it, Karen Wheeler never parted ways with a single thing Holly wore from birth to two years old before now. 

"Gee, kid, looks like you're set for the next couple years," he comments, feels a pang in his chest when Lizzie smiles at the sound of his voice. "Some of this stuff is cute too...some of it less so." 

He holds up a godawful canary yellow dress, emblazoned with gaudy bright red flowers and edged at the neck and sleeves with hideous white lacey ruffles. Joyce raises her eyebrows at it too, laughing and it must startle Lizzie because her face screws up and she starts to cry. 

"Oh don't worry, sweetheart, Uncle Eds will burn the ugly dress before your Daddy can make you wear it," he says. "I won't let him infect you with his horrible fashion sense, don't worry." 

He reaches out to give her tummy a gentle tickle, and she wraps her whole tiny fist around one of his fingers, her crying subduing as she hangs on. 

"She likes you," Joyce observes, with a little smile. "You're good with her." 

"That's 'cause I like her, too," he says, softly, more towards Lizzie than Joyce. 

It's not the only reason why. 

He almost told Steve last night, when he asked how Eddie knows so much about babies. But it was a nice moment, soft and warm, and Eddie didn't want to ruin it by getting upset. So he'd deflected, and it hadn't really been a lie. He did spend several teenage summers letting the younger kids in the trailer park follow him around like little shadows while their parents were working or drinking or otherwise occupied. None of them had been quite as young as Lizzie, though. He hasn't looked after a kid that little since- 

"Oh my God what a cute little dress!" 

Steve's voice as he enters the living room derails his train of thought immediately. 

"Steve. Absolutely not." 

* 

It's mid afternoon by the time Joyce and Hop leave. Eddie finally makes himself useful by assembling the stroller, which is just mechanical enough for him to be the best man for it. Steve plops Lizzie into it as soon as it's standing firmly and gives it a test drive around the living room. Joyce insists on making lunch for everyone and afterwards, Hopper takes a turn at feeding Lizzie her bottle. There's something sweetly amusing about such a big, rough-around-the-edges man so gently cradling this precious, tiny wisp of a baby. It's almost enough to respark the passing crush Eddie had on the cop when he was, like, sixteen. 

They go when it's time to pick El and Will up from school, promising they won't say anything more until Steve is ready to do so himself. Once they've driven away, Steve takes Lizzie up to her new crib for a nap. Eddie hovers in the doorway, watches as Steve lays her down and strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. 

"Hey," Eddie says, softly, after a long moment of just watching Steve watch Lizzie. Steve turns, almost looks a little startled that Eddie's there. "How you feeling?" 

And it's as if everything that's happened in the past couple of days hits Steve all at once. He takes a breath in as if he's going to say something but before he can, he makes a choked like gasping sound, buries his face in his hands and starts to cry. 

It just about breaks Eddie to see. Steve is one of the strongest people he's ever met; for God's sake, the guy is a real-life action hero. Eddie's been anticipating him breaking over this at some point, but it doesn't make it any easier to see. 

"Oh, Stevie," he whispers. "C'mere." 

He reaches out, bringing Steve into his arms. He comes willingly, hugging Eddie tight and sobbing quietly into his shoulder. Eddie brings a hand up to stroke his hair, rubs the other up and down his back gently. 

"I'm sorry," Steve's voice is muffled against the fabric of Eddie's sweater - or, actually, it's Steve's sweater, just the first thing Eddie grabbed when he stumbled out of bed to get the door this morning. 

"What are you sorry for?" Eddie asks, gently. 

"I'm being stupid," Steve replies, breath hitching as he tries to calm himself down. 

"Hey, stop that," Eddie chasties. "You're not being stupid at all, okay? Honestly, I'm surprised it took you this long. If some chick I hooked up with dumped a kid on my doorstep and ran? Dude, I'd have been bawling within the hour. You're taking it so well." 

"What if I suck at this? What if I can't do right by her?" Steve's sobs have reduced to sniffles now. Eddie actually laughs at that, pushes Steve back gently by his shoulders so he can look him in the eye. 

"Steve, listen. I know what a shitty dad looks like," he says. "We both do. And you? Fuck, man, you're the furthest thing from a shitty dad. Hell, just the fact that you're worried about being good at it puts you miles ahead of a lot of guys." He's emboldened by the way his words seem to be soothing Steve, so he brings one hand up to cradle his cheek. "I'm not telling you this is gonna be easy, 'cause it isn't. But you've got this, sweetheart. A-and you've got me, right? I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure it out together, okay?" 

It's the right thing to say, clearly, because Steve sighs and relaxes, leans into Eddie's hand a little. 

"Thanks, Ed," he says, and Eddie is so, so tempted to lean in and kiss him about it. 

He doesn't.

* 

There next visitor comes later in the evening, when it's already getting dark outside and the two of them have settled on the couch, Steve propping Lizzie up with her back against his chest so she can watch Knight Rider too. The front door flies open halfway through the first commercial break and, like a hurricane, Robin whirls into the living room. 

"What the hell, Steve? Tell me why I went in for our day shift today and Linda told me you've taken a week off without telling your best friend why and - oh shit, that's a little baby person," she cuts her own ramble short. 

"Hi Robbie," Steve says, awkwardly. "Uh...this would be the 'why'." 

"I-wha-" Robin gapes, and Eddie almost wishes he had a camera, because 'Robin Buckley, speechless' is surely a once in a blue moon sight, worthy of documenting. 

"This is Elizabeth," Steve says, waving a hand at the baby on his lap. "She's...my daughter." 

"Daughter?!" she repeats. "Who the hell did you knock up?!" 

"That's exactly what Henderson said," Steve grumbles. 

"It's a valid question!" Robin says, incredulous. Her eyes land on Eddie and she raises her eyebrows. "And why the hell are you so calm about this?! When did you find out?!" 

"Yesterday," he says, and she gasps like she's mortally offended. 

"You told Eddie before me?!" she says, glaring back at Steve. "What the hell, man. I thought I was your best friend." 

"You are!" Steve looks equally offended that she'd even say that. 

"He didn't exactly tell me," Eddie provides, trying to be helpful. The look they both give him tells him he might not be. Still, he goes on. "I kinda found out the same way you did, Buck. Henderson and I came over yesterday and Papa Bear over here just had Lizzie right there." 

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "Brenda just kinda...left her here. Two days ago. I didn't even know she was pregnant. I've kinda been on autopilot since." 

"What do you mean she left her here?" Robin's expression softens. Steve shrugs. 

"I mean what I said," he says. "She just...dumped her on my step and took off. Went bye-bye. Said she couldn't be a mom and left her here with me." 

"Oh, Steve," she says. She approaches the couch slowly, like she's approaching a predator, and kneels down so she's on eye level with Lizzie. Hilariously, she actually offers the baby a hand to shake. Lizzie blinks at it, then wraps both of her fists around two of Robin's fingers. Robin grins at that. 

"Hey there, Lizzie. I'm your Auntie Robbie," she says, so earnest that it's heart achingly endearing. "You're extremely cute but also kind of terrifying." 

"You wanna hold her?" Steve offers. Robin flicks her gaze back up to him, glances over at Eddie who gives her his best reassuring smile. 

"Alright. Yeah," she nods, getting to her feet, then sitting back down in the armchair and extending her arms. Steve gets up too, hands the child over and gently directs Robin on exactly how to arrange her arms. He turns and smiles at Eddie, so sweet and warm it makes him melt. 

"She's almost due a bottle, Ed, do you wanna go fix it?" he asks, and Eddie finds himself beaming back. 

"On it, sweetheart," he says, getting to his feet and heading through to the kitchen. When he comes back, he sees Robin now cross-legged in the armchair, bouncing Lizzie in her arms gently. Steve is perched on the arm rest, one arm leaning acros the back of the chair, leaning in to talk softly to both of them. He's smiling, really smiling, looking genuinely relaxed for the first time in two days. 

And, for the first time, Eddie really believes it when he tells himself we've got this. 

Chapter Text

Robin stays late, which Steve is grateful for. Everything always feels better when she's around. 

She's good with Lizzie. Surprisingly so, actually. She's not exactly a fan of babies as a concept, says she finds them overwhelming and way too loud. And sure, she holds the baby like she's afraid of dropping her, even when she's just sitting in the armchair with her legs tucked criss-cross underneath her and Steve perched as close as he can beside without squishing the pair of them. But she, seemingly on instinct, knows the exact right things to say and the exact right soft, cooing tone to say them in whenever Lizzie starts fussing. She also manages to feed the kid a bottle, once Eddie helps her get the angle properly right, and she beams proudly about it in a way that makes Steve's heart soar. 

When Lizzie falls asleep in her arms, Eddie offers to take her to her crib, but Robin shakes her head. 

"Absolutely not. Never," she protests. "She sleeps here now. If I gotta sit here until I starve to death? So be it." 

"Hey! You think I'm gonna let you starve to death in my house?" Steve replies, giving her a teasing tweak on the nose. "Don't say stupid shit, Rob." 

"Aw, Steve, you gonna hand feed me?" she says, with a smirk. 

"Actually I was thinking more run food through the blender and you can both take a bottle at the same time," he teases, and she moves just enough to elbow him in the ribs as she tells him how gross that is. Eddie snorts a little laugh, rolling his eyes fondly at the pair of them. 

"Speaking of food, what are you guys feeling for dinner?" He asks. "I presume Good Lady Buck is staying." 

"Let's just order pizza," Steve says, resolutely. "I really don't feel like doing dishes tonight." 

"Well, you know I'll never say no to pizza," Eddie grins. "What say you, Buck?"

"Food that I'm not paying for? Obviously I'm in," she comments. 

"Great," Eddie pushes to his feet. "I'll go call." 

"If you get pineapple again I'm gonna cut your hair in your sleep," Steve threatens - no, assures - as he leaves the room to use the kitchen phone. Eddie simply flips him the bird over his shoulder. 

As soon as he's out of earshot, Robin turns to Steve, a pinched expression somewhere between offended and confused on her face. 

"So," she says. "You gonna tell me what's going on there?" 

And now Steve is confused. 

"What's going on where?" he asks, and she rolls her eyes like he's being deliberately obtuse. 

"You and Munson?" she prompts. 

"Oh!" Steve says, with a little laugh. "He stayed over last night to help out with the baby. Honestly, it was kind of a blessing cause I was like this close to a full on freak out and - what? Stop looking at me like that! What?!" 

"When were you gonna tell me that you two are like...a thing?" she hisses, and Steve's sure if she didn't have an armful of baby she'd be folding them in that I'm your fourth grade teacher and I'm very disappointed in you way that she does ssometimes. Steve's so shocked and confused he splutters because, literally, what? 

"What?!" he says. "We're not a 'thing'. We're just friends. Where are you seeing a 'thing'?" 

"I dunno, man," she says. "Maybe the fact that there's a perfectly good, empty couch right there and he chose to spend the last hour sitting on the floor with his head in your lap instead?" 

Which. Okay. She has a point there, almost. Eddie had ignored the couch in favor of sitting on the floor in front of the armchair that Robin and Steve have smushed both of their bodies into. And he had leaned back against Steve's legs and kinda rested his cheek against Steve's knee whenever he turned to talk to either of them. But it wasn't...like that. Eddie's just a touchy-feely kind of guy with absolutely no concept of personal space. He gets close up like that on everybody. Besides, Robin can't exactly say anything about that, given she and Steve are practically sitting in each other's laps right now. 

"Yeah I think you're reading too much into that," he says, and she just raises an eyebrow. 

"Okay, what about the fact that he's helping you raise your baby?" she says, and that comes so out of left field that it makes Steve actually splutter with shock. 

"That is not what's happening," he denies fervently. 

"Oh yeah? Did he go to work today?" she asks, and Steve doesn't know what the hell that has to do with anything. 

"No," he says, honestly. "He called out for the rest of the week so he could..." 

Shit. 

Robin is right. 

"Yeah, okay, but it's really not like that," he insists. "He's just helping out as a friend. 

She studies him intently, eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up a little bit. Then she sighs and shrugs. 

"Alright. If you say so," she says. Steve's about to argue with her, insist further that it's really, really not like that but Eddie is sauntering back into the room. He looks between the two of them, smirking. 

"Alright, Buck, what are you telling Stevie to make him blush like that?" he asks, which just makes Steve's cheeks feel even hotter. 

"I'm not blushing, fuck you," he lies. "I'm just...a little warm." 

"Warm?" Eddie repeats, the edge of a laugh in his voice. "Uh-huh, whatever you say, sweetheart." 

He flops back into his previous position, settling backwards against Steve's shins again, letting one hand come to rest around his ankle in a way that is a lot more grounding than it should be. Robin grins smugly and mouths sweetheart at him, which just makes Steve flip her off because fuck you, Robin, he calls everybody that..right? 

Robin only concedes to hand Lizzie off when she wakes up fussy and just a little bit stinky. She claims that changing diapers is outside the remit of "fun auntie" duties, which makes Steve laugh and Eddie roll his eyes. 

"You gotta get a stronger stomach, Buck," he says. "Kid's a projectile yakker and she's got killer aim. 'Specially when it's on her papi, isn't that right, Stevie?" 

"Yeah, no kidding," Steve laughs as he unrolls the changing mat onto the floor. "Got me right in the hair this morning, didn't you, Little Stinky?" 

Lizzie coos in response, waving her chubby little hands in the air like she's just so proud of herself. 

"She puked in your hair?! And you didn't immediately drive her to the nearest cabbage patch?!" 

And it's a joke. Of course it's a joke. Steve is fully aware that Robin is joking. But it hits him like a barb in the chest, because the idea of abandoning this kid - even if he has only known her for three days - is utterly repulsive to him. He doesn't say that, of course. He styles it out instead, does an over-exaggerated gasp and cups his hands over Lizzie's ears gently. 

"Don't listen to Auntie Robbie baby, she doesn't mean it," he tells her. "Daddy would never leave you at the cabbage patch, I promise." 

Lizzie kicks her legs and blows a little spit bubble in response. 

Steve's quietly impressed with himself for the way he's got the hang of changing a diaper so quickly. When Hop had seen him do it earlier, he'd clapped Steve on the shoulder and called him a natural, and the unfamiliar warmth of fatherly pride had made him flush and stammer a little. 

Once he's resnapped the poppers on her onesie together, he lifts her up to his chest and she instinctively snuggles into him with a soft little sigh. It makes his heart flood, honestly, the way she's latched to him as readily as he has to her. He ducks his head to press a kiss to the top of hers, nosing gently at her curls and grinning as he marvels at how they already smell like home to him. 

"That's it, sweetie, all clean," he mumbles, and she coos happily and nuzzles closer into him. When he looks back up, Eddie and Robin are both watching him quietly. Robin is smiling at him, like she does sometimes in their softer moments when he lets himself be really vulnerable around her and she tells him how proud she is. But Eddie? Eddie is looking at him with the softest expression Steve has ever seen on him. It's full of fondness and affection, maybe even closing in on adoration. 

He's about to say something, maybe a dumb joke to cut the awkwardness he's started to feel, when a knock on the door does it for him. 

* 

It's after 10 when Robin asks for a ride home. Steve tries to get her to stay, but she insists her mom is dragging her to some family thing first thing in the morning so she's probably better off at home. Eddie takes her while Steve gets Lizzie bathed and ready for bed. He finds himself genuinely worrying that Eddie's not gonna come back this evening, that last night really was a one off and that he's in it by himself from now on.

It all melts away when the front door swings open and then clicks shut and Eddie calls 

"Honey, I'm home!" 

Which. All things considered, makes Steve blush a little bit less than he expects. He's laid Lizzie in her crib for the night and is back in the living room with the TV muted and the door open, being hypervigilant for any sound of her waking unhappy. Eddie leans against the door frame across from him with a soft little smile on his face. 

"She go down okay?" he asks, and Steve nods. 

"Out like a light as soon as she finished her bottle," he says. "She saw a lot of people today, I think it wore her out." 

"I think it wore you out," Eddie smirks. "You look exhausted, Stevie." 

"Yeah, I feel it," Steve admits, yawning and stretching to prove his point. His elbows crack as he stretches and it makes Eddie laugh a little bit. 

"You're getting old, Harrington," he teases, and Steve flips him off. 

"Fuck you, dude, you're older than me," he says, but there's no bite to it. It's all very friendly. Light. Teasing. If Steve was talking to a girl he might even call it flirting. Eddie laughs, holds his hands up like he's admitting defeat. 

"Alright, alright," he says. "I think it's time for you to turn in, sweetheart. You want me on the couch tonight or..." 

No. Steve does not want that. Not at all. 

"Actually the heater in my room is busted," Steve says. "Given you're like a living space heater anyway..." 

"Sure, Stevie. I'll crash with you," Eddie gives him  a smile that is all but dazzling.

The two of them head up to Steve's room and each change into a set of his pajamas. Steve gets into bed first, takes his usual spot nearest the wall. Eddie slides in beside him and they both lay on their backs, staring at the ceiling, silent for a few long moments. 

"You did really good today, Steve," Eddie eventually says, barely more than a whisper in the dark. "I know this isn't easy for you. But you're doing so well." 

"Thanks," Steve replies, glad they aren't facing each other so Eddie can't see the way he blushes at the praise. And then, because he's sleepy and feeling a little brave "I think it'd be even harder without you." 

Eddie huffs a little laugh at that  

"I think you're giving me too much credit, sweetheart," he says, but his fingers find Steve's under the covers and he twines them together. "But thanks, man. Whatever you need. I got you." 

"Thank you, Ed," Steve says into the dark, and he means it. 

Tucked up side by side, in the room with the space heater that is in full working order, albeit unplugged, they fall asleep happy. 

Chapter Text

It doesn't take long to fall into a routine. 

Lizzie is a mercifully good sleeper, especially in her crib. She doesn't wake up fussy all that much, but they take it in turns to go to her when she does. They've taken to sleeping with the door ajar, just to be extra sure that they hear her if she needs them. 

Because. Well. That's a thing, apparently, the two of them sleeping in the same bed. After the night that Steve spews his frankly obvious bullshit about his heater being broken, it's become an unspoken agreement that they both sleep in his bed together. They always start the night barely touching, if at all, but Steve Harrington is evidently a sleep cuddler and Eddie inevitably wakes each night to find Steve's arms and legs tossed over his torso, clinging to his side like a koala. He could, he supposes, extract himself from the tangle of limbs, probably without waking Steve in the process. Thing is, he doesn't really have any inclination to and it doesn't seem like Steve does either. Whichever man gets out of bed to tend to the baby, they end up back in the same position within a minute or so of him returning. 

They've taken to having breakfast together too. Eddie tends to cook, because he's better at it, while Steve gets Lizzie ready for the day at the table. It's quickly becoming one of Eddie's favourite things to watch, Steve fussing over his baby. He coos at her softly, sweet things like "let's get you dressed, huh, sweetie-pie?" and "oh, look, we've got such a pretty dress for such a pretty girl" and he blows rapberries against her tummy and tickles her chubby little toes before he tucks them inside her socks. Seeing the way he is with Lizzie makes the whole "six little nuggets" speech Steve gave to Nancy all those months a little less mockable; he was built for fatherhood, is what's becoming clear. 

It's over one of these breakfasts on Thursday morning that Eddie lets Steve know that he's going to go home at some point that afternoon. Steve's hands freeze in the middle of doing up Lizzie's poppers.

"Oh," he says, and Eddie is sure that he imagines that his hands are shaking a little as he resumes fastening the onesie. "Yeah, sure man. Thanks uh...thanks for the help."

"Hey," Eddie says. "I'm coming back. I just gotta go pick up some stuff, okay? I can't keep wearing your clothes, man, it's killing my image." 

He plucks at the pale blue sweater he's wearing to emphasise his point. Steve's wardrobe is predominantly made up of bright and pastel colors, which look fine on him - good, even - but make Eddie feel a little silly and out of sorts. The feeling of the fabric isn't quite right either; Steve uses the fancy laundry detergent, so his clothes are always soft, but they lack the grounding heaviness that Eddie seeks out in flannel and denim and leather. 

"You're coming back?" Steve repeats, visibly relaxing. 

"'Course I am, stupid," Eddie replies, no venom to the name. "I told you didn't I? I'll stay as long as you need." 

"You sure? 'Cause I can-" Steve starts. 

"Dude," Eddie cuts him off, reaching over the table to put a hand over Steve's. "I'm coming back, alright?" 

He half expects Steve to pull his hand away, but he doesn't. Instead he flips his hand to squeeze Eddie's fingers. 

"Alright," he says, with a smile that threatens to tear Eddie's heart straight out of his chest. Not for the first time in the last few months, he silently curses this stupid, schoolgirl-esque crush on Steve Harrington that he can't seem to shake, because it makes him entertain the ridiculous notion that they're having A Moment right now. 

Any moment they may or may not be having is interrupted by Lizzie gurgling where she lays on the table, like she's put out and being temporarily ignored. 

"Besides," Eddie gently extricates his fingers from Steve's and pokes her gently in the tummy. "You think I'm gonna stay away from my favorite Harrington? You're crazy, dude." 

That makes Steve laugh, and he keeps looking at Eddie with that same little smile, until he has to turn away to avoid falling any more. 

* 

Eddie has chosen his time to go pick up his stuff deliberately. He knows it's one of Wayne's days off, and he likes to make sure he sees his uncle in person at least every couple of days. He tries to conceal it under a guise of "you're a grown man now, son, you can do whatever you want", but Eddie knows that, after spring break last year, his uncle starts to worry if he's gone for more than a few days at a time. 

Sure enough, he finds Wayne in the driveway with the hood of his truck popped, tinkering with the engine. With the government hush money, he probably could've splurged on a brand new one that wouldn't need so many repairs so regularly -probably could have afforded a bigger house too - but, well, old habits die hard and Eddie's convinced his uncle could be a billionaire and he'd stay as frugal as he's ever been. 

"Don't you throw your back out hunching over like that, old timer," he says, as he hops out of his own van. 

"Not too old to give you an ass-whooping, boy," Wayne shoots back, straightening up. It's an empty threat, of course. Wayne's never so much as raised his voice to Eddie, let alone his hand. He wipes his hands off on a rag and then shoves them into his pockets. "So, where you been?" 

"Steve's," Eddie replies, though he guesses Wayne probably already suspected that. "I'm gonna go back, actually. I uh...I might be staying there for a little while." 

"Oh yeah?" Wayne raises an inquisitive eyebrow. 

"Yeah, it's uh...it's a long story," Eddie says, and Wayne huffs a small laugh. 

"Good thing I got time, then," he says. "You wanna tell me over coffee? I was gonna start a pot." 

Eddie nods and follows his uncle to the kitchen, starts making the coffee before Wayne can even try. He can't help a little smile when he opens up the mug cabinet; all but a couple of his uncle's original collection were destroyed in the "earthquake", but he's spent the past few months rebuilding it with gusto. He seems to gain a new one every time he's in the vicinity of a thrift store. And that's not even starting on the one's he's been gifted, including his new firm favourite; a ridiculously large one Robin brought back when she visited her grandmother in Florida last summer. It's an obnoxious shade of green, emblazoned with a crude cartoon gator and the words See Ya Later, Alligator! It's completely hideous - exactly the quality Wayne seeks out in his novelty mugs - and it's definitely the thing that solidified Robin's spot as Wayne's favorite of Eddie's friends. 

"So," Wayne says, as Eddie sets the two cups of coffee onto the table. "What's this long story? You haven't got yourself in trouble again, have you?" 

"I haven't," Eddie fidgets with his sleeve a little, thinking about how he should word this. In the end, he decides the best course is just outright saying it. "Steve has a kid." 

"Steve has a kid?" Wayne repeats, and he really only looks a little bit shocked. "Since when?" 

"Since Sunday night," Eddie tells him. "Or...she's almost two months old, so I guess since December? But he's only had her at his place since Sunday. I went over on Monday and he was freaking out, I couldn't leave him." 

"Who the hell did he knock up?" Wayne asks, and it makes Eddie smirk. Buck was right, a valid question indeed. 

"This girl Brenda he was seeing back before...before everything happened," Eddie says. They have a tendency to dance around talking about everything that happened last year, partly because of the NDA Eddie signed and partly because it's difficult for both of them emotionally. It's the only time Eddie has ever seen his uncle cry, when he woke up in the lab and Wayne had taken him into his arms like he did when he was a child, and choked out "I thought I lost you, baby, don't ever do that to me again" between sobs.

"How's he holding up? He need anything?" Wayne asks, and Eddie shakes his head. 

"He's getting into the swing of it," he says. "Joyce Byers and Hopper caught tell of it and they swung by on Tuesday. I think we're gonna be okay for now." 

"Well, you let me know if you think of anything you need," Wayne says, with a little smile and it makes Eddie feel warm inside. Wayne Munson may not be perfect, but he's never shown Eddie anything but unconditional, unwavering love and he's eternally grateful for that. 

It doesn't take long for Eddie to gather the clothes he wants to take back to Steve's. He grabs a few tapes, too, because frankly if he has to listen to Cyndi Lauper or Duran Duran or Wham! one more time he's going to loose his goddamn mind. He picks up his acoustic guitar too - she just barely survived the quakes, though he did have to get her restrung - entertaining sickeningly domestic ideas of playing lullabies. He digs in the bottom of his closet too, for the little box of precious things that were salvageable from the trailer's wreckage. He retrieves the little stuffed bunny rabbit, who is looking a little more sludge grey than soft pink these days and whose stuffing has deflated to make it sag. Lizzie's still too little to properly appreciate stuffed animals, he knows that, but he thinks he'd like for her to have it when she's bigger. It had been left behind in the commotion of that awful night twelve years ago, and he's long since grown out of believing he'll ever get to return it. It might as well get passed on to somebody who will definitely get to keep it. 

Wayne's still in the kitchen when he heads back downstairs, guitar across his back and packed box in his arms. Eddie notices the way his uncle's eyes flash to the rabbit and wills him not to say anything. He doesn't, mercifully, though what he does say is almost worse. 

"You'll be careful, won't ya, son?" 

"Careful how?" Eddie asks, nose crinkling in confusion. 

"Just...I know you're real sweet on this boy," Wayne says, with a sigh. "I just don't want you to get hurt, is all." 

"I'm not sweet on Steve," Eddie lies, in what he hopes is a believable imitation of incredulity. "I'm just helping a friend." 

He maybe doesn't need to say it quite so vehemently. For one, Wayne has always been able to tell when he's lying so it's kind of an exercise in futility anyway. For another, he knows Wayne is right - his crush on Steve is not only juvenile, it's also unrequited, given Steve is definitely straight. It's probably safest for his own emotional wellbeing to not get too attached, but he's gonna elect to ignore that common sense part of his brain. 

"Alright, bud," Wayne concedes, holding his hands up in defeat. "Just remember, you call me if you need anything at all, okay?" 

"I will," Eddie says, setting the box down so he can pull his uncle into a hug. "Thank you." 

* 

When he gets back to Steve's house he finds dad and baby both laying on their fronts on the living room floor. Steve smiles up at Eddie as he walks in. 

"We're doing tummy time," he explains. "I looked at some of the notes Dustin left. Apparently it's good for her shoulder and neck muscles." 

"Is that right?" Eddie drops to sit beside them both. "You gonna get big and strong like Daddy, huh?" 

"Oh, stronger. If she can't kick my ass by her first birthday, I've failed as a father," Steve jokes, and it's nice to see him really smiling. His cheeks and nose are a little pink - Lizzie's too - and there's a little bit of fog on his glasses. 

"You're both a little apple-cheeked there. You been playing in the snow?" Eddie asks. 

"We took a little walk around the block," Steve says, with a shrug. "Figured I'd take the stroller for a real test drive, you know? I was gonna go to the park but...I dunno, it felt a little too public. I don't think I'm ready for that many people to know yet."

"That's okay," Eddie assures. "You can tell people at your pace." 

"Yeah," Steve agrees. They're both quiet for a little, content in watching Lizzie push herself up and down on her forearms and kick her little legs behind her. Then, Steve speaks again. "I should probably tell the kids soon. If Henderson didn't beat me to it." 

And, well, Eddie's had that thought too. Not that he doesn't trust the kid or anything but it's deeply suspicious that none of the kids have dropped in all week. They've clearly been told something that's making them keep their distance. 

"You wanna invite 'em over?" Eddie suggests, and Steve nods. 

"I'm thinking we host dinner and a movie night at the weekend?" he suggests. "I think Nance is home this weekend, we could invite her too. Get it all out of the way in one go?" 

"Sure," Eddie agrees, ignores the little pang he feels when Steve's eyes go soft on Nancy's name. It goes away anyway, when Steve beams over at him. 

"I cleared you a space in the wardrobe and the dresser whenever you're ready to put your stuff in there," he says. Eddie just smiles back. 

Jesus Christ, Wayne was right. He is absolutely sweet on Steve Harrington. 

Chapter Text

Clearing space for Eddie's stuff in the closet and the dresser had felt a little like a risky move on Steve's part - a bit presumptuous, maybe. He doesn't want Eddie to feel obligated to stay, after all, but he'd been pleasantly surprised when the metalhead had come back with a guitar and a whole box of his belongings. 

He's been thinking about what Robin said. He stands by his own statements, of course - there's nothing going on with he and Eddie. Steve doesn't even like guys like that and, even though he knows Eddie does there is approximately zero chance that Steve is his type. He's never mentioned any exes, but Steve figures he probably goes in for the headbanger crowd, guys like himself with long hair and tattoos and lots of jewelry. Or maybe he prefers the nerdy sort, someone who will understand all of his references and get as excited about fantasy games as he does. The chances of his type being "preppy, clean-cut ex-jock" seem astronomically low. 

Not that it matters. Not that Steve cares what kind of guys Eddie likes. And anyway, Robin's got it completely twisted. It's not like he and Eddie are doing anything that's, like, couple-y. He's less intimate with Eddie than he ever was with Tommy H, and there were certainly no feelings there beyond platonic. 

Eddie starts unpacking while Steve puts Lizzie down for her afternoon nap. She's taking well to her crib, which he's grateful for. He's familiar with all the horror stories, about kids who just won't go down and parents running on just a couple hours of sleep for days on end, but Lizzie doesn't seem to present that issue. He does wonder, briefly, if he simply skipped that part, if Brenda went through it all and that's why she found it so hard to cope. He'd probably have some sympathy for her if he weren't still so angry.

When Lizzie is fully settled and Steve's satisfied that she's sound asleep, he crosses the hall to find that Eddie's preferred method of unpacking is apparently 'dump everything out on the floor and sift through it all at once'. 

"There's probably a more efficient way to do that," he says, leaning against the doorway. Eddie gives him the middle finger without looking up. 

"This way works for me," he insists, though the pinch of his brow says otherwise. 

"You want some help?" Steve offers, crossing the room and kneeling beside Eddie before he can give an answer. "Okay, how about this: we do three piles - stuff that needs to be hung in the closet, stuff that can go in the dresser and everything else?" 

"Three piles. Yeah. Sounds good," Eddie says, with a nod. 

Unsurprisingly, Steve's method works far better and between them they've gotten all of Eddie's clothes stored away and any miscellaneous items piled onto the bed to put away next. Steve squeals with delight when he shuffles the tapes into a pile and finds Woody Guthrie and Willie Nelson and Dolly Parton amongst the Metallica and Megadeth and Black Sabbath, amused beyond belief that Eddie "I'd rather be eaten alive again than listen to anything on mainstream radio" Munson is a goddamn country music fan. Eddie tries to play it cool, shrugs and says it's what Wayne raised him on, but Steve sees the way his cheeks tinge pink.

The last thing is a stuffed animal, a saggy little rabbit with long floppy ears and a silky bow at its throat. It's a sweet little thing, in remarkably good condition for how old it seems to be. Steve's never really been one for soft toys - even as a child he didn't care for them, something about the texture of their fur setting his teeth on edge - but he can see the appeal for others. Nancy always had teddy bears on her bed and Robin can't sleep without the amorphous stuffed creature her grandmother made when she was a baby which she thinks is supposed to be a cat but could also be an elephant. 

"This little guy staying in the bed?" Steve asks, indicating the rabbit to Eddie, who is slotting his tapes in alongside Steve's in some kind of order that seems to make sense to him. He pauses his task, bites his lip as if he's afraid Steve is gonna make fun of him again. 

"I thought Lizzie could have it, actually," he says, eventually, and that could very well be the sweetest thing Steve has heard in years. 

"Ed, that's really sweet," he says, before he can stop himself. Eddie just shrugs again, blushing as he turns back to face the shelf of tapes. Steve can't help pushing on. "Was it yours when you were little?" 

"Uh. No," Eddie says, without turning back to face him. "It...it belonged to my sister, actually." 

That gives Steve pause. Until now he'd been operating under the assumption that Eddie is an only child. He's certainly never mentioned any siblings prior to now. 

"I didn't know you have a sister," Steve says, after several awkward seconds of silence. 

"Yeah," Eddie says, shuffling some more tapes around. "I mean. If you want to split hairs she's my half sister? We have different moms." 

"Oh," is all Steve can say. He can tell this is touchy, doesn't want to push Eddie to say any more. He does anyway. 

"She's with her mom. Or, like, she was last I knew," he says. "I haven't seen her since...well, I haven't seen her in a long time. I kinda always planned to give her bunny back to her when I saw her again but I don't see that happening. So I want Lizzie to have it instead." 

"You sure, man? It sounds like it's really important to you," Steve's voice comes out soft, just a hair above a whisper. 

"Lizzie is really important to me," Eddie replies, equally quiet, his hands pausing over the tapes for just a second. Steve wonders if he should say something, a thanks or some words of comfort. Before he can, however, Eddie lets out an obviously forced laugh. "Jesus, Harrington, kinda rich for you to make fun of my music. Do you have every Hall & Oates album?" 

Just like that, the subject is changed and Steve isn't keen to broach it again. 

* 

It's dark when Steve wakes up, cold and far too quiet. 

Eddie's not in bed, the sheets where he'd been lying before icy to the touch. He's been gone a while. The silence in the house is heavy, unsettling. 

Except. No. It's not silent. There's a sound across the hall. 

It's quiet, so that Steve has to strain to hear it, but it's there and it's upsettingly, horrifyingly familiar. A wet, laboured, guttural breathing that he heard for the first time in 1983. 

Panicked now, he's out of bed and across the landing faster than he's ever moved in his life. The scene he's greeted with is straight out of a horror film. The carpet is sticky, sopping wet from the pool of blood where Eddie lays, face down, whole chunks of flesh missing from his torso and legs. There's something huge and dark and glistening on the crib, crouched on it's haunches and hunched forwards, weird elongated hands reaching down, that horrible flower of a face wide open as it...

"No!" the sound tears out of Steve in a shrieking sob. "No! Lizzie!" 

"Steve? Stevie, sweetheart, you're having a nightmare, I need you to wake up. Can you wake up for me, baby?" someone is shaking him awake, speaking softly but frantically to him. 

He bolts upright as soon as he's conscious, moving so fast and so suddenly that Eddie only narrowly avoids being headbutted in the face. 

"Lizzie," it's the first word past Steve's lips. "Where is she? Did it get her?" 

"Lizzie's asleep in her crib, baby, she's fine," Eddie assures. "I just gave her a bottle ten minutes ago. Nothing got her, she's safe." 

"And you...you were hurt, there was so much blood I..." Steve trails off, hands coming up to dig into his own hair and tug in an attempt to ground himself. 

"Hey," Eddie says, gently. "I'm not hurt, okay? I'm fine. You were just having a bad dream. There's nothing here. We're all safe. It's okay."

Steve turns to Eddie, blinks hard a couple of times. He's right. He's all in one piece, no blood at all, kneeling on the bed beside Steve in the gray t-shirt and blue boxers he wore to bed. There are tendrils of hair around his face, ones that have escaped the ponytail he always sleeps in. Even in the low light, Steve can see the genuine worry and concern in his eyes and it makes him want to cry. 

He doesn't, manages to exercise at least some self restraint. He does, however, fall against Eddie so heavily it knocks them both into laying down. After Eddie gets his breath back, he brings his arms to wrap around Steve's middle and squeeze him hard. And it's nice. It's really nice. Steve has woken up wrapped around Eddie most nights this week and, while Eddie has never made any attempt to push him away, it's been a long, long time since Steve has been held like this. Maybe that's why he admits what he does next.

"Don't usually have nightmares when you're here," Steve mumbles, from the place where his face came to rest in the curve of Eddie's neck. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Eddie asks. One of his hands trails lightly up Steve's back, hesitates for just a second at the base of his neck, then comes up to pet his hair gently. Steve can't help the way he sighs at that, snuggles in even closer. 

"No," he says, plainly. "Can I stay here, though? S'nice." 

Eddie laughs at that, a sweet, low, breathy thing, and hugs Steve even tighter. 

"Yeah, baby," he says. "You can stay right here." 

*

Inviting everyone over on Saturday turns out to be more stressful than Steve anticipated. 

He and Eddie both agree that cooking is out of the question, opting to feed the kids with takeout and snacks instead. Not like any of them will complain about that. Still, even with the reduced prep time, Steve is anxious all day.  He doesn't know how much the kids know, or how they'll react to Lizzie. He can't shake the gnawing panic of what if they hate her, even though he knows that's stupid, like, objectively. 

He's so wrapped up in his own nervousness that he doesn't notice that Robin seems to be on edge too from the moment she arrives - early, because of course she is. He doesn't notice anything is wrong, in fact, until she drops a bowl of potato chips when she's carrying it to the table and curses really loud, balling her hands up into fists and pressing them into her temples the way she does when she's really frustrated. 

"Hey," he sets down his own bowl with a frown and approaches her, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. "You good, buddy? What's going on?" 

"IbrokeupwithVickie," she says it so quickly, in such a garbled mess, that it takes Steve a second to realise what she's said. 

"Oh, Robs," he says, when he figures it out. "You wanna tell me what happened?" 

She sighs a shuddery breath and drops her hands away, coming forwards to rest her head on his shoulder with a soft thud. 

"I liked her, Steve," she says. "I really, really liked her. And I thought we could make long distance work for us but it just....didn't. It felt like she didn't want to put the effort in, you know? I was always the one going to her, I was always the one to pick up the phone. She seemed less and less excited to see me every time I visited so eventually I just straight up asked her if she thought we were working out and she said no so we ended it." 

"I'm sorry," Steve pulls her closer into a hug. "But it'll be okay. You're a catch, Robbie. You'll find another girl." 

"Am I, though?" she says, with a groan. 

"Duh," Steve replies. "You're, like, one of the smartest people I know. Plus you're funny and hot. You're basically the entire package." 

"Shut up, dingus," she mutters, face flushed tomato red as she shoves him gently. 

"No, no, he's right," Eddie chimes in, coming into the room with a still-waking Lizzie in tow. "I don't even like chicks so you know I'm objective when I say you, Buck, are a totally hilarious, very brainy smokeshow." 

"Oh my God, both of you shut the hell up," Robin buries her face in her hands, embarrassed, but not before Steve sees the little smile on her face. 

"And, you know, when you're ready to get back out there, I know some bars in Indy that you might find interesting," Eddie suggests, which does make Robin perk up a little. 

"That does sound fun," she says. And if Steve feels a pang of jealousy, it's about the two of them hanging out together without him. Definitely not about Eddie in a gay bar, where there are probably a ton of guys who really are his type. 

Before he can chime in with anything, there's the scuffle of a key in the lock and they all three exchange a look. 

"Guess it's showtime," Eddie says, with a smile Steve finds deeply reassuring. 

He goes out to the hallway, finding that the kids and Nance have all arrived at once, must have all piled into her car in a way that he's so sure is totally legal. 

"Hey, guys," he says, and it's a little awkward. Which he hates. It's never awkward with his kids. Dustin is watching him with a look that is in equal parts apologetic and reassuring. 

"So what's this big secret that meant we couldn't come over all week?" Mike Wheeler, never one to mince his words, speaks up first, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from Nancy. 

"It's...not really a what. Moreso a who," he says, and they all just look at him blankly. He sighs. "There's someone I want you all to meet." 

"I called it!" Lucas pipes up. "Steve has a new girlfriend. Mike, you owe me ten bucks." 

"Bullshit he has a new girlfriend," Mike retorts, with a scoff. And look. Just because it's true doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a little bit. 

"Don't be a dick, Mike," Will chastises, though he doesn't look entirely like he disagrees. 

"No, he's right," Steve says. "Look, just...follow me." 

He turns on his heel, goes into the living room with the group trailing behind him like a brood of ducklings. He takes Lizzie from Eddie, who gives him a comforting little wink, and then turns back to them. 

"So. Guys. This is Lizzie," he says. 

They all just stare at him, slack-jawed. Even Nancy looks utterly gobsmacked. Dustin gives him a silent thumbs up and mouths nailing it and Steve can't tell if it's sarcasm or not. 

"That is a baby," Eleven is the first one to speak. 

"Yeah," is Steve's only reply. 

"Steve," Nancy speaks up, slowly. "Whose baby is that?" 

"She's uh...she's mine. My baby," he says, clearing his throat a little. "My daughter." 

That's what it takes to kick them all into gear, all talking at once. 

"What the fuck, Steve, who the hell did you knock up?" Max Mayfield never really was the queen of tact. 

"Dustin! You knew and didn't tell us? Dick move, man," Mike accompanies it with a shove. 

"A baby. Like, an actual baby," Lucas seems to be having trouble processing what he's seeing, blinking slowly as he takes it all in. 

"Just putting it out there, you all owe me ten bucks," Will pipes up, because of course that perceptive little shit was the one to figure it out. 

"What is 'knock up'?" El's question at least brings an awkward silence over the room. Eddie breaks it, clearing his throat. 

"Okay, guys, why don't we all just settle down, huh?" he says. "Let's not overwhelm the baby." He glances at Steve. "Or her dad. Questions one at a time, alright?" 

"Mine first," Max insists. "Who the hell did you knock up?" 

"Brenda," Steve finds his voice. "Brenda Spearman? I was seeing her last year and...well. This happened." 

"How come Dustin knew before the rest of us?  Blatant favoritism, Harrington," Mike scowls and Steve rolls his eyes. 

"I didn't tell him. He found out," he says. 

"Exactly," Dustin pipes up. "And I didn't tell you because it's Steve's thing to tell. It's called being a good friend, you dick." 

The two of them start to tussle a little bit, but Steve's attention is drawn to Nancy, the wide-eyed, slightly sad way she's looking at him. 

"What happened?" she asks, gently. "Is Brenda around, or..." 

Steve just shakes his head. Her expression changes into something he hates. His weak spot for Nancy Wheeler will probably never fully heal over, but he's resigned himself to the fact that she doesn't feel the same. He can handle her rejecting him at this point, can even take seeing her happier with someone else than she ever was with him. But right now? Right now she's looking at him with a sense of such genuine pity that it might make him fall in love with her all over again, and he can't handle that. So he breaks her gaze and turns instead to El at her side. 

El isn't looking at him. She's staring intently at the baby in his arms like she isn't quite sure what to make of her. She catches Steve watching her and offers a little smile. 

"She is very cute," she says. 

"Isn't she?" Steve agrees, looking down at her. So far, she seems unphased by the room full of strangers, content to just blink at them all with big, curious hazel eyes. When he looks back up, Eleven is still smiling, directly at Lizzie. There's a softness in her expression, a look of genuine affection. For all Steve knows she's capable of, El possibly has the gentlest heart of all kids. "You wanna hold her?" 

"Yes!" it's a chorus from all the kids, rather than just El, and Steve is awash with relief instantly. Of course the kids don't hate his baby. 

"Alright you can all have a turn, but some ground rules," he says, so-called 'Mom voice' out in full force. "You're all gonna sit the hell down to hold her and everyone is gonna be calm and quiet while you do. If she gets fussy while you have her you give her back to me or Eddie, no arguments. And if any one of you little shits drops my baby, there will be hell to pay. Got it?" 

"Yes, mother, we got it," Max says, sarcastically, and the rest of them grumble along with her, though they do all settle quietly and wait patiently for their turns. Steve hands her to El first, shows her how to properly fold her arms and support Lizzie's head. His heart melts when Lizzie makes her happy little gurgle-coo and Eleven just beams about it. 

When he starts to head back to the kitchen to grab a bottle for her, Eddie very gently squeezes his hand. 

"Crushing it, baby," he whispers, soft enough that nobody else will hear. 

Steve has to hurry out of the room before the rest see him blush. 

* 

The kids end up falling asleep in front of a movie, piled on top of each other like puppy dogs on the couch. Steve ushers Eddie and Robin and Nancy into the kitchen so they can talk without disturbing the younger ones, joins them after he dutifully drapes blankets over the sleeping teens and gently removes Max's glasses so they don't get warped out of shape in her sleep. 

He finds that Nancy has taken Lizzie when he goes to the kitchen. Which. Once upon a time, seeing Nancy Wheeler holding his child would have absolutely turned Steve to goo. It still does warm him, a little bit, but less so now. Maybe he really has let go. 

"She looks like you," Nancy tells him as he leans against the counter, beside where Eddie has taken his customary perch. "She has your eyes." 

"I know, poor kid, right?" he jokes, and Eddie knees him gently with a scoff. 

"Knock it off, stud, you know how cute you are," he says, and it doesn't sound all that much like teasing. Clearly Robin thinks so too, because she waggles her eyebrows at Steve in a way that makes him flip her off.

"What exactly happened with Brenda?" Nancy asks and Steve's kind of grateful she waited until they were away from the kids. 

"I dunno," he shifts a little uncomfortably. "I thought we were being careful but I guess not careful enough, right? The note she left said she was gonna tell me but...well, clearly I got a little preoccupied over Spring Break and then her parents found out and sent her off to her Aunt's in Michigan and I guess...I guess she couldn't cope. Left her on my doorstep with this note saying she thinks I'd be a better parent than her." 

"I think she's right," Nancy says. "Not that I think she'd be a bad parent, that's not what I'm saying. But...you're gonna be a really great dad, Steve. I just know it." 

"He already is," Eddie chimes in, giving Steve's shoulder an affectionate Steve. "Absolute natural, huh, sweetheart?" 

"Yeah, well. I got babysitting practice," Steve mumbles, hoping to god he isn't blushing as much as he feels like he is. There's quiet for a few moments, then

"Jonathan and I broke up," Nancy blurts out, and it's met with sympathetic noises all round. "I think we just...want different things, you know?" 

Some mostly suppressed, jealous part of Steve's mind wonders exactly how it happened. If she told Jonathan Byers that he was bullshit, if he teared up and begged her to say she loved him. Not likely, he thinks. It was probably amicable, mutual, a lot more grown up than all of that. 

"I just broke up with Vickie, too," Robin says, interrupting Steve's train of thought with a sympathetic little smile. 

"Jeez, ladies," Eddie says. "Welcome to the heartbreak hotel, am I right? Quick, Stevie, let's say mean things to each other so we can all be sad!" 

"Shut up, asshole," Nancy says, but she's smiling, no venom to her words. Since the whole Vecna thing, she and Eddie have forged a bit of an unlikely friendship. She knows enough about nerd shit through Mike to keep up with his references and he seems genuinely interested in how her journalism course is going. They make an odd pair, Steve thinks, but then again so do he and Robin. 

"We should have a girl's night," Nancy suggests, attention turning back to Robin. "Watch some sad movies and eat ice cream and get over it together?" 

"Y-yeah," Robin smiles back. "Girl's night. I'd like that." 

Lizzie yawns and stretches in Nancy's arms, makes a tired little whiny noise. 

"Uh-oh, someone's sleepy," Steve pushes away from the counter, reaches out to take Lizzie into his arms. "I'll take her up stairs and get her into her PJs. Ed, you got the bottle?" 

"On it, sweetheart," Eddie swings down from his seat on the counter, offers a little salute and clicks his heels. 

And Steve is so busy smiling at him about it that he misses the way Nancy raises an eyebrow at Robin and mouths "Are they..." and certainly doesn't catch that Robin mouths back "oh, totally." 

Chapter Text

Eddie ends up offering to take half of the kids home, if for no other reason than to kill the argument about who gets a seat in Nancy's car and who has to be squished down in the foothold. Not that it matters much. Dustin, Lucas and Max are all asleep within a couple of minutes of piling into the van. 

Robin gets a ride with them too, throwing her bike in the back and calling shotgun, which Henderson only protests half-heartedly. 

She chatters away, as she does, for the whole ride, and Eddie is only half listening. Lizzie was fussier than usual when Steve was putting her down, not settling as easy even after her bottle. He knows, really, that she's probably just a little colicky, but he finds himself panicking a little bit that she might be sick. He could see the same in the pinched furrows between Steve's eyebrows, and he's keen to get back to both of them as soon as possible.

He's thinking about it so hard that he doesn't even realise Robin's gone quiet after they've dropped all the kids off. Not until she starts speaking again. 

"So. You and Steve seem...cozy," she says. 

"Dunno what you mean," he replies. A lie. He wonders how much Steve has told her. If she knows about the bed sharing or that Steve spent half of last night practically on top of him, snoring softly into Eddie's shoulder. 

"You just seem to have gotten really close since you started co-parenting, is all," she says. He forces a laugh there, one that is almost believably incredulous. 

"That's not..." he splutters out. "We're not co-parenting, Buck. I'm just helping him out for a little while, is all." 

"Dude," she says, and if he wasn't watching the road, he'd probably see her roll her eyes. "He told the kids to give Lizzie back to either him or you if she got fussy. You switched out turns to change her diaper. You made her bottle while he got her ready for bed. You guys are co. Parent. Ing." 

Which. Shit. He can't really fight her on that. 

"Okay, you got me," he concedes. "But it's not...we're just..." He's floundering, looking for an excuse. But, really, with Robin, he can be honest. "Steve is straight." 

"Oh," she says, like she's thinking hard about something and damnit, he hates when she does that. "So if he wasn't..." 

"I probably wouldn't be his type anyway," Eddie says, with a shrug that he hopes is passably casual. Because it's true - it must be. Eddie's too grimy, too rough around the edges for a clean-cut Golden Boy like Steve Harrington, especially given the hangup said Golden Boy appears to still have on prim and proper Nancy Wheeler. Eddie's telling himself that the split second of what looked like hope in Steve's expression when she said she and Byers have split didn't hurt. He's almost convinced. 

But, of course, that's not the only thing he noticed with Nancy tonight. 

"While we're talking about dumb gay crushes on our straight friends," he says, thankful for the opportunity to change subject. "I saw you blush when a certain Miss Wheeler mentioned girl's night. Care to elaborate on that one, Buck?" 

"I did not blush!" she says indignantly, but a quick glance in her direction tells him she's beet red again now. "And I don't have a dumb gay crush on Nancy. I just...I might have had a girlfriend but it's been a while since I've had like. A girl friend. I never really had friends who were girls growing up and the ones I did have weren't like girl girls you know? Like we didn't really do the whole 'painting each other's nails having sleepovers giggling about boys' thing but I know Nancy did do all that and that's probably what she's expecting from a girl's night but I don't really know how and-"

"Robin," he cuts her off, and she groans. 

"If they get back together, I'll probably die," she says. 

"Me too," he agrees. "Let's share a grave plot. Here lies a pair of queers who fell for the prettiest straight people in all of Indiana." 

And that makes her laugh, at least. They drive the rest of the way to her house in amicable quiet, but she hesitates before getting out. 

"For what it's worth, I think you have less to worry about than I do," she says. 

"What do you mean?" he asks, because fuck if that doesn't spike his heart rate just a bit. 

"Just...I've seen Steve with a hundred girls at this point and I've never seen him look at any of them like he looks at you," she says. And then, like the absolute goddamn menace she is, she says bye and hops out of the van, like she hasn't just sent him into a full-blown gay panic. 

* 

He returns a much quieter house. Lizzie is no longer screaming, but Steve is shuffling around the kitchen, putting away the dishes he clearly just got done cleaning. 

"You should've waited," Eddie tells him. "We could've done that together." 

"I had to do something to distract myself, else I was just gonna hover in her doorway all night," Steve admits, wiping his hands on his jeans and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Eddie frowns. 

"She okay?" he asks, and Steve sighs. 

"I think so," he says. "I just...she never cries like that. What if she's sick?" 

Eddie has the same worry, but one look at Steve's expression kills any urge to say as much. Steve isn't worried. He's panicking. 

"I think she was maybe just a little overwhelmed," Eddie says, gently. "That was a lot of people tonight, baby. It was maybe just a bit much for her." 

Which is true enough. Lizzie had seemingly enjoyed the attention all of the teenagers lavished on her, and Eddie and Steve were never more than arm's reach away if she did get fussy, but that had to be a lot for such a little person to take in. Hell, Eddie's got damn near twenty-one years on her and he gets overstimulated when there's too many people sometimes. 

"What if that's not it, though, Ed? What if she's sick?" Steve sounds like he's trying not to cry. 

"Well...other than the crying does she seem sick? Did she have a temperature?" Eddie asks. 

"I don't know. I didn't check," Steve says, and he looks like he's fucking furious with himself for that. "Oh my God. I should have checked, how could I not check I-" 

He's digging his fingers into his own thighs in a way that looks like it hurts, so Eddie steps forwards and takes hold of his wrists gently. 

"Steve," he says. "It's okay. She's asleep now, right? So, we'll let her sleep. We can take her temperature if she's fussy when she wakes for her bottle, okay? And if it's high or if she still doesn't seem right, we'll get her to a doctor on Monday. It probably won't even come to that, 'cause I'm sure she's fine. Alright, baby?"

Steve just stares at him for a second, breathing shakily. Then he nods. 

"Yeah. Alright," he says, slowly. "I'm sorry, Ed. I just...I'm so scared I'm gonna fuck this up." 

He really does start to tear up there, breath hitching and voice wobbling in the middle. 

"I know you're scared," Eddie tells him, quietly. "But it's gonna be okay, Stevie. You love her, don't you?" 

"So, so much," Steve all but whispers. "I'd take on anything from the Upside Down with my bare hands for her." 

"Then there you go," Eddie gives him a little smile. "You know, this really smart guy I know once told me I should give myself a break. I think you should listen to him too." 

"He sounds awesome," Steve jokes, with a smile back, and it makes Eddie laugh. 

"Yeah, he's the coolest," he says, with an affectionate eye roll. "And he's a great dad too, okay? You've got this, baby." 

"Nah, Ed. We've got this," Steve beams, and then pulls Eddie into a tight hug. 

They head upstairs shortly after, once the kitchen is sufficently tidied that Steve won't be antsy about it all night. Eddie showers first, because he's always quicker about it, then settles into what has become his side of the bed, book in hand. He's a good twenty pages in when Steve emerges, dressed in just a pair of pajama pants and no shirt, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. He smiles at Eddie, drops the towel in the hamper before he crawls into bed himself. 

"I checked on Lizzie on my way," he says. "She's not warm to the touch. I think I panicked for nothing." 

"Told you," Eddie replies, allowing Steve to nudge into his side and lay his head on his shoulder. Apparently cuddling is something they do when awake now too, which Eddie's stupid gay little brain is definitely being absolutely normal about. 

"Whatcha reading?" Steve asks, squinting at the cover. He snorts a laugh. "Is that guy's name really Philip K Dick?" 

"Mature," Eddie rolls his eyes. "I'll have you know Mr Dick is one of, if not the, greatest scifi writers of the twentieth century. This is the book they based Blade Runner on." 

"I like that movie," Steve hums, bringing an arm to rest over Eddie's middle. 

"You want me to read to you?" Eddie offers, putting his own free arm around Steve's shoulders. Steve thinks for a second, then shakes his head. 

"Nah. I'm happy just hanging out here," he says. Which. Yep. Very, totally, completely normal about it.

It's quiet for a long while and Eddie honestly thinks Steve has gone to sleep until he speaks up softly. 

"You know you make a way better pillow than Tommy ever did," he murmurs, which is a revelation and a half and Steve doesn't even seem to realise. 

"You used to lay on Tommy like this?" Eddie asks, sounding a lot more casual than he feels. 

"Mhm," Steve replies. "Or he'd lay on me. You know, when we were watching movies or when we'd stay at each other's houses or whatever." 

And oh. Oh fuck. Steve's saying all that so casually, like him snuggling up with his guy friends is no big deal, something he does all the time. 

Maybe Robin is onto something after all.

* 

Monday comes around a little too quick. 

Usually, Eddie would be practically bouncing with excitement to get back in the shop.  He's always found peace in tinkering with engines. Probably why it took him less than a day to get the hang of hotwiring, one of few times he felt like he really made his father proud. The shop is loud, but it's the right kind of loud - clanging metal and whirring machinery and the radio at full volume on an actually decent station. He loves the smell of grease and oil too, reminds him comfortingly of hugs from Wayne. 

But Monday morning, he feels kinda bad for leaving Steve. They've managed to figure out their work schedules around one another: Eddie works at the shop til 5 while Steve stays home with Lizzie, and Steve is only taking evening shifts at the bar, so he's going out a couple hours after Eddie gets home. The whole thing was Steve's idea, but that didn't really squash any of Eddie's worry about leaving he and Lizzie alone this morning. He elects to call on his lunch break and check in on them. 

He's grateful, though, that Nicky doesn't seem to have told anybody else about why he was absent. The other guys in the shop greet him with their customary series of grunts and mumbles except for Fran, Nicky's wife who handles most of the admin side of stuff, who pokes her head out of the office to grin at him and tell him she's glad he's feeling better. 

He's been under the hood of a Buick which probably should have been brought in months ago, for all the problems it has, most of the morning when Nicky himself approaches. 

"How's it going, son?" he asks, offering out a styrofoam cup of the god-awful coffee from the vending machine in the breakroom. Eddie takes it, grateful for the warmth, since the shop feels like a damn meat locker. 

"This owner needs to be thanking whatever God they believe in, 'cause the fact that this thing has completely exploded is a goddamn miracle," Eddie indicates the Buick's engine with his wrench. "Hope you prepared 'em for how much it's gonna cost, Nick, else they're gonna have a heart attack." 

"Yeah, I told 'im, still think he'll be surprised, though," Nicky chuckles. "I meant how's it going with you, though. How's the baby?" 

"Baby's good," Eddie says, can't help the way he perks up at the opportunity to talk about her. "Elizabeth, is her name. Or, we call her Lizzie." 

"Lizzie," Nicky repeats. "That's real pretty. Remind me again what happened there." 

Eddie sets his wrench down, nestles both hands onto the coffee cup. 

"My buddy Steve was going with this girl last spring. Brenda. Guess she got knocked up but all that stuff happened with...well, with everything that happened," he deliberately dances around it, because he still can't bring himself to say when I got accused of ritual sacrifice and everyone in town wanted to kill me about it. Nicky just nods, like he understands. "Steve kinda got caught up in it all, you know? Didn't have time to call her or anything. Her folks sent her off to stay with her aunt and I guess they just lost touch? Then last week she just ditches the baby on his doorstep with a note saying she can't do it any more and, well, here we are now." 

"Shit," Nicky says, with a low whistle. 

"Yeah," Eddie agrees. "Shit." 

"And this Steve," Nicky says, as Eddie takes a long sip of coffee. "He your boyfriend?" 

Which makes Eddie choke on his coffee so much that Nicky has to whack him on the back. 

"Jesus, Nicky," he says, when he's recovered. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not-"

He doesn't finish the sentence, because Nicky gives him a very pointed look. 

"Son," he says. "Give me a little more credit than that. I'm not judging ya. Fran's got a nephew who is...like that. Lives up in New York with his man. They both dance on Broadway. Nice kids." 

"Right," Eddie feels a little like a weight has been lifted. It's tricky around here to know how people will react, usually safer to expect hostility and act accordingly than to assume acceptance. He'd just about had the shock of his life at sixteen when Wayne didn't kick him out after coming home early and finding Eddie on the couch with his tongue down the neighbor boy's throat. In fact, Wayne hadn't even seen all that surprsied - his reaction had mostly been an incredibly awkward talk about safe sex and an admonishment that Eddie could do better than goddamn Peter Kirk.

 He'd been equally surprsied that Steve was cool with it; they'd never crossed paths much before last March, so Eddie had never been on the receiving end of any of King Steve's bullshit, but he witnessed plenty of it. High school Steve had bandied around words like queer and fag as readily as any of his friends. More evidence that he's changed, Eddie supposes. 

He realises that Nicky is still watching him expectantly so he clears his throat. 

"Steve's not my boyfriend," he says, eventually. "He's not...he likes girls. Clearly, with the whole baby thing." 

"Right, I believe you," Nicky holds his hands up in defeat. "But, you know. Fran's nephew likes girls too. Some folks like both, I guess." 

Some folks like both. 

Well. Isn't that interesting. 

Chapter Text

The Monday Eddie goes back to work, Steve is an absolute bag of nerves. 

It's the longest he's been alone with Lizzie since she arrived. And it's not like he doesn't want to spend time with her. If he spends every second of the rest of his life with her, it won't be enough. It's just that he's still gripped with the debilitating fear of fucking this whole "fatherhood" thing up. It all feels a lot easier when Eddie is there. He always knows exactly what to say to settle Steve's racing mind, plus he's amazing with Lizzie. Cradles her against his chest and talks softly to her like she's the most precious thing in the entire world. He even sings to her, whenever he tucks her into her crib and thinks Steve can't hear. He's got a nice voice, a little softer than Steve expected it to be, just the smallest rough gravelly edge to it. The first time Steve heard it, he thought he was gonna have a heart attack purely from how sweet it was. 

But he leaves Monday morning. Has to. He still reaches over the breakfast table to push a strand of hair out of Steve's sleep-hooded eyes. 

"You gonna be alright today, baby?" he asks, softly, because apparently that name is sticking around. Steve doesn't entirely hate it. 

"We'll be fine, Ed," Steve says, bouncing Lizzie gently against his shoulder. She's still pretty sleepy too, dozing against him after her morning bottle. He's considering going back to bed, honestly, taking Lizzie with him for a snuggly nap til it gets a bit brighter out. Eddie grins across at him, leans over to stroke a finger against Lizzie's cheek. 

"I'm gonna miss you today, sweet pea," he coos. "You be good for Daddy, okay? Don't spew in his pretty face again and you and I will throw that rager we talked about when he's gone later, alright?" 

"Don't you start influencing her already," he grumbles, but it's all in good fun. Eddie gasps, clutches his chest like he's offended. 

"Me? Influence her?" he says. "I think you'll find it's the other way around, Daddy-o. I am an angel and she's a menace, I tell you. She whispers to me. Tells me to commit acts of downright mischief." 

Lizzie just blinks those big eyes up at Steve, sucks on her binky and snuffles against his t-shirt. Steve snorts a laugh. 

"Fucking weirdo," he teases. "Go to work, idiot, you're gonna be late." 

Eddie pretends to pout but he's heading towards the door. 

"I've changed my mind, Liz," he says, sticking his feet into his work boots. "Your Daddy is mean. Do puke in his face. Aim for the eyes." 

"Work! Go!" Steve prods him in the back, but he's laughing. He likes this, the casual domestic silliness. The kind he saw on TV as a kid, that he wished his parents would do. 

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Eddie is laughing too. He turns back on his heel, leans in to plant a kiss on top of Lizzie's head. "Bye-bye, sweetheart. I'll see you soon." He murmurs against her hair. Then he straightens to give Steve that thousand kilowatt smile. "You too, baby. Just call the shop if you need me, alright?" 

"We'll be fine, man. I promise," Steve smiles back. "Have a good day at work, yeah? We'll see you when you're home." 

He takes Lizzie's arm and makes her wave her chubby little fist as Eddie pulls out of the driveway, down into the street, and then disappears around the corner. 

* 

It's mid-afternoon when Steve hears a knock at the door. It startles him because...well, the evidence of last time is currently sleeping in her stroller in the living room. He's just about adjusting to that surprise. He doesn't think he can take another. 

But it's not that. Of course it isn't. 

It's actually Joyce Byers, bundled up in a big winter coat that is probably Hoppers, grinning pink-cheeked at him from under a scarf and woolly hat. 

"I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd swing by," she says, and Steve's pretty sure it's a lie, but he smiles at her anyway. 

"Of course. Come on in," he says, stepping aside. He takes her coat as she shrugs it off and hangs it on the rack just inside the door. "Lizzie just went down for a nap, but I just put on a pot of coffee if you want some?" 

"Coffee would be great," she says, following him to the kitchen. "How're you doing, sweetheart? You look better than last time I saw you." 

Joyce calls him 'sweetheart' as casually as Eddie does, and it warms him in an entirely different way. Even before he turned eighteen, his mom had never really been a "calls her kid petnames" type of mother, save for the odd honey around company. Those had always felt stilted, awkward, like a rehearsed line she was reading off some invisible cue card. But Joyce, Joyce always sounds like she means it. Like she actually cares. 

"I feel better," he tells her. "I think the shock has mostly worn off." 

"She a good sleeper?" Joyce asks, and Steve nods as he passes a mug across to her. 

"Brilliant, honestly. Usually only wakes once or twice a night," he says. 

"Think yourself lucky," she replies with a chuckle. "Neither of my boys were. Will was chronically colicky and I don't think Jonathan slept through a whole night until he was three." 

"I was a nightmare too, or so I'm told," he says it light heartedly, tries to match her tone, but something sad flashes across her face. It strikes him that maybe she wasn't complaining about Will and Jonathan being bad sleepers as babies, she was simply stating it as fact. She probably doesn't hold it over them when they do something to piss her off like his mother always has. 

"The kids love her, by the way," Joyce swiftly changes the subject, and Steve is grateful for that. "El hasn't stopped talking about how cute she is." 

"Yeah, I thought she was gonna try and smuggle her out of here at one point," Steve chuckles. It's true. All of the kids had treated Lizzie with a softness Steve doesn't often see in them, but Eleven especially had absolutely doted on her. She'd listened reverently, solemn faced, when Steve had explained how to hold the baby to properly support her head, had rocked her gently from side-to-side in a way that seemed natural, almost absent minded. She'd even sat beside Eddie and had him walk her through how to change a diaper. So I can help next time, she'd said. 

"Did mean a very awkward conversation in our house that night though," Joyce winces. "Birds and the bees? I let her dad field that one. Both of them went a whiter shade of pale about it. She might not look at you the same for a little while. Sorry." 

"It's fine," Steve laughs a little. Honestly, it's kind of his fault. El had asked him what 'knock up' means again that night, quietly and to the side. Steve had just shifted awkwardly and told her 'you know what? Your parents can probably explain better than me.'

"She also said that you're a really good dad," Joyce tells him, and Steve feels a little swell of pride. 

"Yeah, well. I'm not exactly doing it alone," he's referencing all the help she and Hop gave last week, but she gives him a soft little smile.

"Eddie does seem really good with her," she says. "The kids say he's still staying with you?" 

That shouldn't make Steve blush. For one, it's just objectively true. Eddie is still staying with him, and seems to be planning to do so for the foreseeable future. For another, it's not like it's anything sordid. They're just friends. 

Just friends. 

"Yeah, he's been a big help," Steve says, because Joyce is still looking at him like that. "Guess it helps that he's basically just a big kid himself." 

"Yeah, he certainly does seem to click with them," she says. "So, the real reason I came. Hop and I are planning a dinner on Sunday. Will's inviting all of the kids, our friend Murray and Jonathan's pal Argyle are coming in from out of state. We'd like you to come, all three of you." 

Steve feels himself grin wide there. Growing up, he thought he hated family dinners. They were always tense, awkward affairs where he was expected to be on his absolute best behaviour and his father watched him like a hawk. Steve was supposed to be quiet, polite, respectful. His cousins were wild, loud and brash and undignified, and David Harrington would not have it said that his damn wayward sisters and their yuppie husbands were better at child rearing than he was. So Steve was supposed to be good and set an example. No matter how hard he tried, though, he always managed to commit some misdeed or another - a dropped fork, a forgotten "please" or "thank you", a laugh that was a little bit too loud and went on a little bit too long, the one time he was permitted to go play with the other kids while the adults had wine and he'd gotten dirt around the cuffs of his good trousers. Then his dad would yell at him the entire ride home, about how Steve had promised not to embarrass him tonight and he was completely useless and that they were going to leave him at home by himself next time. He'd always wished they would. 

Family dinners now aren't like that. They're full of sound - friendly bickering, laughing, singing, everyone talking over one another. Dropped cutlery is cause for lighthearted ribbing, not a lecture about being a stupid, clumsy waste of space. Laughs can't be too loud or too long, not when they're shared with people you love that much. Last time, the day after Christmas, Steve had gotten his whole ass covered in dirt because the kids had egged him on to have a tree-climbing race with Eddie and of course the branch had snapped just as he'd taken the lead. Eddie had laughed at him, jumped down nimbly himself and hauled him up with a hand, light-heartedly called him spider-monkey for days afterwards. 

"We'll be there," he tells Joyce, and she beams back. 

* 

It feels weird, going back to work that evening. Not quite the same as those days after they fight off the Upside Down bullshit once again and have to try and go back to their normal lives, but it's in the same area. 

He'd made dinner before he left - chili, because it's the dish he's best at and Eddie's favourite. Eddie had been delighted, teased Steve about what a good housewife he'd make and that definitely didn't do anything to Steve. Not at all. Not even a little bit. 

He feels guilty, leaving Eddie alone with Lizzie, and he says as much. 

"Don't be stupid, dude," Eddie tells him. "We're gonna have a great time. I got a whole night planned. We're gonna crank the tunes, hit the Similac and get fuckin' wild. Ain't that right, Lizziepop?" 

"Crank your tunes and you might scare her," Steve teases. 

"Oh, no," Eddie deadpans. "I'm gonna do it. Get a good music education into her young. I will turn your baby into a metalhead, Harrington. It's happening. Accept it." 

"Does that mean I'm gonna have two of you bullying me about my Wham! tapes?" Steve groans, like it actually bothers him. 

"Absolutely that's what it means," Eddie replies sweetly. "Now, you better get that ass out of the door. I believe Buck's threats last time you were late involved castration of some kind." 

"Okay, I'm going," Steve slings his jacket on, briefly plucks Lizzie out of Eddie's grip to hug her tight and plant a kiss on her forehead. "I'll see you in the morning, sweetheart. Be good, I love you." He takes one last deep breath in, like he might forget what she smells like if he doesn't inhale it right now, then hands her back over. "If she struggles to go down or gets extra fussy or anything, call me and I'll come home, okay?" 

"Steve. We'll be fine. Go to work," Eddie assures. "Have a good shift. Say hi to Buck for me. I'll see you when you're back."

"It might be late," Steve tells him. "Don't feel like you have to wait up for me." 

"Steve," is Eddie's only reply, with a pointed look. 

"Alright! Alright! I'm out the door," Steve says, flinging it open. "Goodnight, be good. Both of you." 

With that, he finally actually goes to his car and heads towards the bar. 

* 

It's a predictably quiet shift. The bar is just outside of Hawkins proper, and it's never very busy on a weeknight. Don't get it wrong - the town has no shortage of heavy drinkers of the breed who frequent bars on a work night, but they tend to favor the seedy dive bars on the other side of town, the one's with a decidedly more...conventional clientele. 

The Green Cow isn't technically a gay bar. It never would have lasted if it was, not in Hawkins. But for those in the know, it's the place to come if you don't want to drive all the way to Indy in search of a place you can be sure is safe. Linda's the one to thank for that; she's a tough old broad who takes no bullshit and, despite being barely five feet tall, can and will give a grown ass man the bum's rush without even turning a hair. Steve's seen it with his own eyes. She's also been with the woman she calls her wife for almost 30 years, and woe betide anybody who has anything negative to say about that. 

Honestly, Steve can see why she and Wayne Munson are such close friends. 

She beams at Steve and Robin as they enter the bar on Monday night. 

"Here he is, Big Papa," she greets, making Steve blush and Robin bust out laughing. "How's that little one of yours, then?" 

"She's great," Steve tells her. "You wanna see pictures? I've got pictures." 

He digs his wallet out of his back pocket and fishes the two polaroids out, sliding them across the bar. Linda picks them up, careful to keep her fingers off the glossy surfaces. She coos at the first one, a snap that Eddie had taken of Lizzie napping on the couch in a onesie he fashioned out of one of his old t shirts. 

"Oh isn't she precious," Linda says. Her eyebrows shoot up when she flips to the second picture. "That's Eddie."

She's right. That one's a picture Steve took, of Eddie propping Lizzie against his chest in the backyard. They'd taken her out, bundled up in some of the winter gear that Karen Wheeler donated, to watch the snow and she had been entirely fascinated by it. Eddie is severely underdressed for the weather, because of course he is, and it shows in the pink tinge to his nose and cheeks and fingers, but he's looking at Lizzie like she's the most precious treasure in the world. It might be Steve's favorite photo. 

"They're co-parenting, Lin," Robin says, with a suggestive waggle of the eyebrows. Steve rolls his eyes. 

"Would you quit it with that? He's just helping me out, is all," he says, making his way behind the bar and tucking the polaroids back into his wallet. 

Lin just laughs, comments that she has some admin stuff to do and she'll leave them to it out here. Steve busies himself cutting lemons while Robin checks that the dayshift bartenders stocked the fridges properly. She's humming while she does, a tune Steve only half-recognises as one of her old songs from band. 

"So," she interrupts herself. "You think you're going back to a baby with a tattoo? I wouldn't put it past him, compensation for sleeping on your couch all week." 

"Well, he has threatened to turn her into a metalhead," Steve replies, dumping sliced lemons into their container and wiping the sticky juice from his fingers on Robin's apron, rather than his own. She swats him away with a sound of disgust. "But he's not sleeping on the couch, so there's nothing to compensate for." 

"Wait he isn't? I thought you turned the guest room into a nursery," she says, nose crinkled in confusion. 

"We did," he confirms, grabbing the spray and wiping any citrusy residue from the work surface. 

"So where is he sleeping?" she asks, and Steve can't help looking at her like she's being a bit dumb. 

"My room," he says, maybe a little slowly because he feels like that's obvious. Her face pinches even more. 

"Your room? Like...in your bed? With you?" she asks. He laughs, flicks her with a bar towel. 

"Duh, I wasn't going to make him sleep on the floor," he says. 

"So. Let me get this clear," she says, pushing her bangs back like she does when she's thinking about something. "You and Eddie are raising a baby together and you've been sleeping in the same bed and you're still calling it platonic." 

"Yeah," Steve confirms. "There's nothing un-platonic about sharing a bed, Rob. You and I have done it a bunch of times." 

"Well, that's true but-" she begins. 

"Besides," he cuts her off. "It's just like...a guy thing. He wears more to bed than Tommy used to and it wasn't un-platonic with him either." 

"Whoa, whoa, hold the phone," Robin stops dead in what she's doing. "You used to share a bed with Tommy?? When he was wearing...not much??" 

"It's not like we were naked every time," Steve explains. He always kind of assumed girls did the same, but hey, maybe not, because Robin splutters in shock. 

"Every time?! Are you telling me, right now, that you, Steve Harrington used to sleep in the same bed as Tommy Hagan naked sometimes?!?!" she says, and he doesn't like how incredulous she sounds. 

"Robbie it's just a guy thing," he insists. "That's probably why you don't get it." 

"I don't think I'm the one not getting it here, Steve," she says. He scoffs. 

"No, you definitely are," he says, maybe a little pricklier than is necessary. "I'm telling you, it's a guy thing. It's just...just a thing that guys do. It's like practice kissing, you know? Surely girls do that too?" 

"Steve," she says, looking just totally baffled. "Respectfully. What the fuck is practice kissing?" 

"You know," he says, and goddamn he wishes there were customers here to provide distraction right now because she doesn't look like she knows. Not at all. "When you kiss your friends to practice for when you have partners in the future." 

"Dude," she says. "That's...that's not a thing." 

"Of course it's a thing," he scoffs. "Tommy and I used to do it all the time in middle school." 

"Just you and Tommy?" she needles. "If it's such  a 'thing' how come you didn't do it with your other friends?" 

"Well-" he starts to protest, but he can't really thing of an argument. Which is really what makes the penny drop. 

Shit. 

"Shit," he whispers. Then. "Oh shit. Is that why he never liked my girlfriends?" 

"I think so, buddy," Robin gives him a pat on the shoulder. "I think so." 

* 

It's the small hours of the morning when Steve gets home and he's spiralling. Hard. 

Everything he and Robin had talked about has well and truly opened the floodgates. If everything he did with Tommy wasn't just normal guy stuff, then what the hell does it all mean? What does the fact that he liked it mean? And what the hell does it mean for how he feels about Eddie? 

Because, honestly? If Eddie was a girl who held him at night and sang his kid to sleep when she was fussy and called him baby like that's his name? He'd ask her out in an instant. Maybe even pop the big question, honestly. But Eddie's very much not a girl, and he's never before even entertained the idea that he might like guys. 

Because Steve's not gay. He knows he isn't gay. He definitely, absolutely likes girls - hell, he spent almost the entirety of his late teens in love with Nancy Wheeler, and he's absolutely positive that was real. And besides, it's not like he impregnated a girl by being unattracted to them. But when he thinks about it, really thinks about it in the way that he's being forced to right now...maybe he has felt that way about guys. Maybe he felt that way about Tommy. 

Maybe he feels that way about Eddie. 

He has every intention of talking to him about this when he gets home, wants to do it before the adrenaline wears off and he chickens out. But he comes back to a quiet house, the lights shut off and the kitchen and the living room tided just right. He creeps upstairs, pokes his head into Lizzie's room to find her sound asleep, snoring softly and sucking on her fist. He takes a deep breath before he goes into his own room, half expects to find Eddie propped against the pillows with book in hand, waiting for him. 

He doesn't. 

Eddie is asleep, laying on his front with the covers shucked back to his waist. His hair is mostly loose from it's tie at this point, loose strands framing his face, turned towards the door. His arms are up at right angles, hands pressed flat against the pillow beside his head. He looks like an angel drying his wings, Steve thinks. 

He could wake Eddie to talk about it, but the sight of him sleeping so comfortably in what has become their bed sticks a pin in the adrenaline that Steve had been full of just moments ago, lets all of the air out. He doesn't want to spoil something beautiful. 

Instead he undresses down to his boxers, then perches on the edge of the bed, watches Eddie for a second. Before he can stop himself, he's reaching down to brush errant strands of Eddie's hair out of his face and back behind his ears. He stirs then, rolls onto his side with his nose crinkling and eyes fluttering open. He looks a little panicked for just a second, but his eyes go soft again when he spots Steve. 

"Hi, baby," he mutters, voice soft and rough from sleep. 

"Hey," Steve replies, with a little smile. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." 

"It's okay," Eddie smiles back. "Good shift?" 

"Yeah. Little boring," Steve lies. "Happier back here with you." That's true, at least. 

"You sap," Eddie teases, then he stretches out the arm closest to Steve, makes a little grabby hand motion. "C'mere." 

Steve goes, slips underneath the covers and allows Eddie to pull him close with an arm around his waist. He brings his own arm around Eddie in return, snuggles as close as he can get, lays his head on his shoulder. 

"Night, baby," Eddie mumbles into his hair. 

"Night, Ed," Steve whispers back. 

Eventually, in each others arms, they fall asleep. 

Chapter Text

The mood in the house shifts a bit now they're both back at work. 

It makes sense, Eddie supposes. The week before, they'd practically lived on top of each other, spending every minute together. Now, they just have the couple hours between Eddie getting home from work and Steve going out, maybe an hour or so over breakfast on the days when Steve manages to drag himself out of bed before Eddie leaves and a little time last thing at night if Eddie can stay up until Steve gets home. 

It kind of feels like it might be something more than that. Steve seems to have become...confused, for lack of a better word. He doesn't really seem to know what he wants any more. Some days, he's clingier than ever - like Tuesday evening, when Eddie does the dishes after they have dinner and Steve thanks him by pressing up behind him for a hug and doesn't let go until he's done cleaning up. Other days, he seems to be forcefully holding himself back from all those soft, affectionate touches - like Thursday night, when instead of wriggling his way sleepily into Eddie's arms, he lays all the way at the other side of the bed and says no thanks, I'm a little warm, when Eddie reaches for him. 

Eddie's pretty sure he knows what's happening and is kind of dreading the inevitable. He's seen this before - a sweet, handsome straight boy who is charmed enough by him to think maybe, he might be curious but ultimately decides he'd rather have the white picket fence American dream with a nice, pretty girl he can take home to Mom and Dad. It's not the first time Eddie's been burned like that - far from it - but it's the first time he's been this invested. He's come to love Lizzie like she's own, and it's gonna fucking suck to have that attachment ripped apart again. Not to mention, he's absolutely ass-over-tit in love with Steve and he wants to bawl even thinking about him being with anybody else.

Nothing has crashed down by Sunday, though, so Eddie counts it as a win. 

They spend longer than is probably necessary getting ready to go out. Dinner at Joyce and Hop's isn't exactly a formal or fancy occasion, so they don't exactly dress up, but...well, it's a social occasion, one that they're not hosting, and they're both treating it as an opportunity to cut loose a little bit. 

Steve spends longer on his hair than he has in a couple weeks, even busting out the Farrah Fawcett spray for the occasion. He fusses over it for a while, ducking in front of his dressing table mirror to adjust a strand here and there at least four times before Eddie tuts at him. 

"Will you knock it off?" he chides. "Your hair is fine. You look fantastic." 

Steve lights up at the compliment, always does at any kind of praise. 

"Yeah?" he says, turning to face Eddie. "Don't scrub up so bad yourself, Munson." 

Eddie hasn't put quite as much effort into his appearance, but he washed his hair this morning and he's wearing his one pair of black jeans without holes in the knees. Lizzie's the real star of the show, though. Steve braved the public with her one day earlier in the week and bought her a brand new outfit to wear tonight, even picked out a new pink binky to match the dress. If Eddie didn't know any better, he'd say she knows exactly how cute she looks, because she smiles and gurgles and kicks every time either of them look at her. 

Steve drives there, absolutely insists on it, something about Eddie's driving not being suitable for little passengers. Which, like. Rude, but fair. 

They're apparently the last ones to arrive. Jim and Joyce have pooled their hush money to expand his old cabin, rather than look for a new place. Something about Hop feeling safer in the woods. Eddie gets it, kind of. He doesn't find much comfort among the trees himself these days - too many bad memories about vines and earthquakes and meetings with sweet girls that launched him into all this in the first place - but he can see why somebody like Hopper would feel protected by the solitude offered by the woods. 

They find the cabin's living room already bustling with life. Mike, Lucas, Will and Dustin are having a very heated debate (about soda flavors, if the way Will tells Lucas "pipe down, New Coke, you have bad opinions" is anything to go by). Max, Robin and Eleven are squashed onto beanbags in the corner, deeply engrossed in the task of bedazzling Max's cane with stick-on rhinestones. Jonathan is lounging on the sofa with a stranger who has an impressive amount of hair, even by Eddie's standards. Murray, who Eddie met once very briefly last summer and immediately fell into admiration of his no-bullshit take on the world, is arguing with Erica about something in the middle of the room, like she isn't literally twelve years old. Joyce and Hop are nowhere to be seen, but over the sound of the living room Eddie can faintly hear them both singing along to Jim Croce off in the newly built kitchen. 

Eleven is the first one to get up to greet them. She springs to her feet with a sound of delight and bounds over to them, announcing excitedly

"Lizzie is here!" 

"Gee, thanks, kid. What are we, yesterday's trash?" Eddie teases, and she looks at him completely deadpan. 

"You are not trash," she tells him, so earnestly it's almost sweet. "Lizzie is just much cuter than both of you." 

Almost sweet. 

"I dunno, her pops might give her a run for her money. Especially when he's spent this long on his hair," Eddie nudges Steve gently in the ribs, just to see him blush. It works, because of course it does, and Steve mumbles something at him that might be shut up, man. 

"You do look very handsome, Steve," Eleven tells him, patting him on the shoulder in a way that makes Eddie bite back a laugh. Henderson be damned, El might be his favorite kid. "But Lizzie is still cuter. Can I hold her? Please?" 

"Sure, just lemme get her out of the carseat," Steve looks thankful to have a change of subject. He plops the carrier into the armchair and busies himself extracting the baby. 

"Eddie," Dustin is barrelling over to him, pulling him into one of those rib-crushing hugs. They've only gotten tighter since the Upside Down, Eddie has noted. Like Henderson is afraid that Eddie will bolt into harms way again if he doesn't hang on tight enough. "Settle this debate for us, will ya? It's a hot, sweltering summer day. You go to the fridge and grab a cold-ass pop to cool down with. Ideal world, what exactly is in there?" 

"Dr Pepper, obviously," Eddie replies because, as far as he's concerned, that's the only answer.

Apparently Henderson doesn't agree, because he groans and shoves Eddie away. 

"What do you even know," he grumbles. Apparently both Sinclair siblings agree, because Erica stops bickering with Murray for a beat to shoot out. 

"That's a freak answer, Freak." 

Lucas groans too, though he's laughing as well. 

"Why would you trust Eddie? He also likes circus peanuts," he says, so Eddie flips him off. 

"That's big talk from a guy I just heard liked New Coke," he shoots back. "Seriously, Sinclair? I thought you were better than that, man." 

"Hey, I liked New Coke," Steve pipes up, lifting his head from where he and El have been collectively fussing over Lizzie. Eddie sighs affectionately. 

"You're lucky I already like you and your kid so much, Harrington," he teases, knocking an elbow against Steve's arm. "Because that could've been a dealbreaker." 

"If it means anything, I like Dr Pepper," the stranger on the couch pipes up. He has a pleasant, surfer-esque California drawl and Jonathan is looking at him like he hung the moon. 

Maybe, Eddie thinks, he knows what Nancy meant when she said they wanted different things. 

"Oh shit, you guys haven't met," Jonathan says, like he's just realised. "Argyle, this is Eddie and Steve. Steve, Eddie. This is my...friend, Argyle." 

It's barely a beat of a pause, blink and you'll miss it. But Eddie catches it, knows it well from experience. He definitely knows what Nancy meant. 

"Nice to meet you, my dudes," Argyle pushes ro his feet, and Eddie half expects a handshake or maybe a fist bump. Instead he hugs them both, Steve first and then Eddie. It's a short-lived thing, but incredibly warm, friendly. It's not just a formality, Argyle hugs like he means it. Eddie likes him already, even more so when he drops his voice and whispers. "Jon said you and I might have a lot in common." He makes a subtle smoking gesture, not that he needs to. From the outfit, to the red rim of his eyes to the vague fug that lingers under the smell of cologne and shampoo, this guy has stoner written all over him. 

"I think we might," Eddie agrees, with a small laugh. "Later, though. Away from little ears." 

"Right on, my man," Argyle agrees with a wink, flopping back into his seat beside Jonathan. At that point, Hop appears around the doorway, wearing a novelty Kiss the Cook apron. 

"Dinner in ten minutes," he announces. "I need at least one of you little shits to go set the table." 

Steve moves to do it because of course he does, but Hopper holds up a hand to stop him. 

"Not you. You either, Munson," he says. Not that Eddie was planning to offer. "You get one night off from parenting. Will, Wheeler, Henderson. Table. Go." 

The three boys grumble but go to do as they're told. 

"There are beers in the fridge if anybody wants one," Hop announces, then, because Lucas and Max both look like they're about to pipe up. "Anyone over eighteen. Murray, vodka?" 

And honestly, until Hop addresses him, Eddie kinda forgot that Murray was even in the room. His bickering with Erica had come to a close when Erica decided she'd won and flounced off to join the other girls in the crafting corner. He's been quiet ever since. Eddie looks over and notes that Murray is watching he and Steve, where they still stand close together, narrowed eyes moving between the two of them like he's deep in thought about something. And shit, Eddie really hopes the dude isn't going to turn out to be a bigot, because Joyce seems to really like him and that could make things real awkward. 

"You know me Jim," Murray says, turning to the former cop with a grin. "I'll never say no to vodka." 

* 

Dinner is good, as it always is. 

Joyce Byers is not exactly Martha Stewart - a far shout from it in fact - but let the record show that she makes the best god damn spaghetti and meatballs Eddie Munson has ever had. He told her that one time last summer, entirely earnestly, and she'd smugly made him repeat it in front of Will and Jonathan. Clearly it's a long standing debate in their household. 

Despite Hop's protests, Steve and Eddie insist on taking dish duty after dinner. The kids have a rapid fire rock paper scissors tourney to determine who gets to give Lizzie her bottle, and Lucas flips them all off when he comes up triumphant, makes a little speech how it was destined because he's clearly her favorite uncle. Robin "helps", which mostly involves her sitting on the counter sporadically throwing spare plastic gems at Steve's head. 

"Are you not gonna get in there and defend my honor?" Steve grumbles to Eddie, when a pink heart shaped one bounces straight off his forehead. 

"Am I going to put myself between you and Buck two beers in with a fist full of projectiles?" Eddie asks. "Sorry, baby. I'd run back into a swarm of demobats for you in a heartbeat but Tipsy Armed Robin? You are on your own."

"That means he's on my side," Robin teases, and then cheers when a green diamond lands smack in the middle of Steve's carefully styled coif. 

"Unbelievable," Steve huffs, plucking the gem out and flinging it at Eddie. "Here I am, being savagely assaulted, unprovoked, by a madwoman and you're siding with my attacker? What kind of an example does that set for our kid, huh?" 

And Steve is joking. Obviously. His tone is light hearted and he's grinning from ear to ear. But that 'our' catches Eddie off guard a bit, hits him right in that spot in his gay little heart that Steve has made his home. He's about to stammer out some half-hearted attempt at a smart response while Steve flicks water at Robin, making her squeal and flee the kitchen, when he's saved by an interruption. 

"You know, I'm not usually one for babies but I gotta admit, Steve. As far as babies go, that's a good one," Murray waltzes into the kitchen, drained glas sin hand. This guy must have a liver of steel, because he's put away nearly half a bottle at this point and seems barely tipsy. 

"Thanks," Steve replies. "She is good. Sleeps really well, which is nice." 

And maybe Murray isn't tipsy, but Eddie might be, just a little bit. Or maybe it's the way the intensity of the older man's gaze makes him nervous, like a child being chastised by a patient teacher, that makes him blurt out. 

"Yeah, it's great. This one is a real bitch if he doesn't get his beauty sleep," he nudges Steve in the ribs when he says it. 

"Oh, so we are co-parenting," Murray says. "I wondered if it was more than just a carpool." 

"Yeah, Eddie's been a real big help," Steve says. His tone is casual enough but he's not looking at either of them. Murray smirks, looking between them. 

"Oh, I bet he has," he says, and that makes Steve splutter a shocked laugh. 

"No, man, it's nothing like that it's- we're just friends," he says. "Right, Ed?" 

"Right. Just friends," Eddie agrees dutifully. Murray just gives them a look, eyebrows raised. Steve scoffs. 

"Don't make it fucking weird, man," he says. Murray crosses his arms, looking deeply amused. 

"Why would it be weird, Steve?" he asks, just a hint of a challenge in his voice. It takes Eddie by surprise a little. Maybe he was wrong about Murray being a homophobe, because that kind of sounds like the opposite. Clearly Steve picks up the same vibe, because he goes red and starts stammering. 

"No! God, no I didn't mean like because he's- I mean there's nothing wrong with- I'm not like, homophobic, it's just that we're not-" 

Murray just cuts him off with a laugh. 

"You know," he says, as he grabs the vodka bottle and refills his glass. "People love to talk about this town being cursed, and I think they're right. But I don't think it's monsters or the Upside Down or Russians. You know what I think the Hawkins curse is?" He drains the glass, knocking it back like water. "I have never met two people from this town who can just admit it when they're blatantly in love with each other." With that he deposits his glass into the sink. "Well. Jim has a radio he wants me to take a look at. I should go find him. You boys have a nice night." 

He claps each of them once on the shoulder, and then walks out of the room like he didn't just say all of that. 

They're quiet for a moment that feels like forever. Eddie washes the glass in the sink, not daring to look up at Steve, who is twisting the dish towel between his hands, looking at the ground. 

"That guy is crazy," Eddie eventually breaks the silence, stealing a glance in Steve's direction. Steve forces a snort of a laugh. 

"Yeah. Totally mental," he agrees. "I mean, what is he even talking about, right?" 

"Right," Eddie says, and the quiet falls over them again. This time, Steve breaks it. He moves closer, close enough that Eddie can hear how shaky his breaths have become, and, with a nervous swallow, gently brushes his fingers against Eddie's. 

"Hey, Ed?" he whispers. Eddie finally looks at him and oh God. He looks so softly serious, that nervous pinch between his eyebrows, those eyes wide and earnest and a little bit sad and flitting around Eddie's face like they're not really sure where exactly to look. Eddie sucks in a nervous breath. This is it, he thinks. He's either gonna break your heart or make you the happiest man in the world. 

"Yeah, baby?" he replies equally quiet. 

Before Steve can say anything else, they're interrupted by the sound of Lizzie crying in the other room and Dustin calling 

"Steve! She pooped!" 

With an apologetic little smile, Steve gives Eddie's fingers a squeeze and goes to her. 

Well. 

Shit. 

* 

Later, under the guise of gathering wood for the fire the kids have successfully bullied Joyce and Hop into letting them have, Eddie takes a walk with Argyle. It's just the two of them: Jonathan is far too immersed in a game of Clue with Will and Max and Robin to be interested, and Steve insists on staying to put Lizzie down for a sleep. Mike and Dustin try to tag along, both with a knowing glint in their eyes, but are given a firm 'no'. 

"Woods at night is no place for little bros," Argyle offers to soften the blow and, low enough so no proper grown ups here, Eddie tacks on. 

"I told you. I'll start taking you on 'walks' when you're eighteen. Seventeen if you behave." 

And they grumble about it, but ultimately stay put. 

So they're alone and actually half heartedly collecting sticks, because coming back high and without firewood sounds like a recipe for a lecture from Hop, when Argyle pulls two joints from his pocket and offers one to Eddie with a flourish. 

"Purple Palm Tree Delight," he announces. "California's finest, brochacho." 

"Thanks," Eddie pulls out his own lighter to spark up, tosses it over to Argyle to light his own. The first pull hits him harder than he expected, and he coughs like he hasn't since his early teens on the exhale. 

"Oh, sorry, dude. Probably should've warned ya," Argyle says, with an apologetic laugh. "Byers assures me it's stronger than the shit you guys have out here." 

"Yeah, no kidding," Eddie agrees with a laugh. "You might actually test my tolerance for the first time since I was fifteen. Nicely played, my friend." 

Argyle takes a little bow, with a wide smile. 

"Fifteen, huh? But you're making the little dudes wait?" he observes. Eddie shrugs. 

"I dunno man. Took me three tries at senior year to graduate," he says. "And to be honest I think even the third time was more of an apology for the whole townwide witch-hunt thing than a reflection of my actual schoolwork. Being stoned all the goddamn time at their age probably didn't help. One of those 'do as I say, not as I do' scenarios I guess. You know what I mean?" 

Argyles nodding like he does. 

"Yeah, right on, man, I get it," he says, then blows out a thoughtful line of smoke. "That's some solid parenting right there. You're a good dad." 

Eddie's glad it's getting dark and Argyle won't see him blush. 

"Thanks. I'm not her dad, though," he says, even as that our kid echoes around his brain. 

"Oh, right. Stepdad, then?" Argyle corrects himself cheerfully, and Eddie huffs a humorless little laugh. 

"Nah, Steve and I aren't a couple," he says. Argyle stops so abruptly that Eddie almost runs into him. He turns, squinting at Eddie in the dwindling light like he's trying to figure out if he's joking or not. 

"You sure about that, my dude?" he asks, slowly. 

"Pretty sure, yeah," Eddie replies, trying to keep his tone even. 

"But like...why?" Argyle asks and, honestly, it stumps Eddie a little.

"What do you mean, why?" he says, and Argyle just shrugs. 

"Well, you guys clearly like each other. Like a lot," he says. "Just seems weird you wouldn't like. Do anything about it." 

"Steve doesn't like me. Not like that," Eddie mumbles, taking a drag of his joint just for something to do other than talk more. Argyle's nose wrinkles up in confusion. 

"No, he definitely does, dude," he says. "Like. I know I don't know the guy and I'm probably not the smartest person who ever lived, but I'm pretty sure nobody looks at anybody like that unless they really, really like them like that."

"How does he look at me?" Eddie asks, because he's kind of high as fuck and people keep saying that these past couple weeks but he doesn't really know what it means. 

"Like he thinks you're the most beautiful fuckin' thing in the world, man," Argyle says, with a tone of such sincerity that Eddie almost believes him. 

He thinks about what he saw on the couch when he arrived at the Byers-Hopper house. 

"Like how Jonathan looks at you?" it comes out before he can stop it and this time it's Argyle who blushes and goes all coy. 

"I mean. I guess so," he says. "Look, all I'm saying is it sure as shit looks like the two of you have it bad for each other. In fact, I think even little homie back there with the coke bottle glasses could see that. You should talk to him, man. What's the worst thing that could happen?" 

I could get my heart torn out, he thinks. He doesn't say that, though. 

"Yeah. Talk to him. I'll talk to Steve." 

* 

In the end, it's not an awful lot of talking. 

Mostly because Argyle's shit really is stronger than Eddie is used to and by they stumble back with their frankly pitiful (and, it turns out, unnecessary) harvest of firewood, he's having to make a conscious effort to not just lay down on the forest floor and take a cozy little nap right there. 

The kids had gone off in the opposite direction, actually found enough wood to get a decent little bonfire going and are making s'mores on it upon their return. He's vaguely aware that Dustin is talking to him about something, possibly D&D related, but he's only half tuned in because he can see Steve sitting alone on the swing seat on the porch, watching the fire. 

"Hey, Eddie," Dustin's fingers snap in front of his face. "You listening to me, man?" 

"No," Eddie says honestly, and it makes Dustin scowl. 

"You're high," he says and Eddie laughs. 

"Oh yeah," he agrees. He gives Dustin's hair a firm ruffle. "How about tomorrow, when I'm not high, you can talk my ear off about what ever you want, huh? I'll even buy you ice cream for your troubles." 

He doesn't wait to get an answer, just strolls away, swiping half a sleeve of graham crackers en route. He hops up the steps to the porch lightly and comes to a stop right in front of Steve. 

"Well hey there, Stoney Baloney," Steve teases and its so cheesey and so goddamn adorable that Eddie might actually have an aneurysm. 

"Hi, baby," he replies, slotting down onto the swing beside Steve so they're pressed together from shoulder to ankle. He rocks a little on his feet, pushing the swing gently back and forth. Steve lets him. 

"You know, you don't have to sit here with me," Steve says. 

"Want to," Eddie tells him. "Happier here with you." 

It might just be the warm glow of the fire combined with the harsh yellow of the dim porch light, but he thinks Steve might blush at that. 

"Good walk with Argyle then, I take it?" he asks. Eddie laughs, pulling a cracker out of the sleeve and snapping it in half. He shoves one half into his own mouth and gives the other to Steve. 

"Mission gather firewood was an unmitigated disaster," he says. "Mission get Eddie more baked than he's been since his sophomore year? A roaring success!" 

There's a beat, time for Eddie to think. The last thing he has ever wanted to be is like his father, and if he really thinks about it "ditching parenting duties to go get high" is as classic a Ronnie Munson move as any. He doesn't want to be like that. Doesn't want Steve to think that he's like that. Doesn't want Steve to be mad at him. 

"You're not pissed off, are you?" he asks. Steve gives him that confused puppy dog face which is so achingly pretty. 

"Why would I be pissed off?" he says. Eddie shrugs, eats another cracker. 

"I dunno. I went and got stoned and left you to look after our baby," the 'our' slips out accidentally, but Steve doesn't even seem to notice. 

"Ed, you've been a miracle this past two weeks," he says, gently. He reaches out a hand to brush Eddie's hair off his face and then leaves it there, palm pressed warm against the scar on Eddie's cheek. "She's fine, she's sleeping and I have our whole family here if I needed help. You deserve to let loose a little. I don't mind. Promise." 

Eddie leans into the touch, sighs a little when Steve's thumb starts stroking along his skin. Steve is gorgeous like this, in the low warm light that would be unflattering for most people. He's all golden skin with a constellation of moles and big, kind eyes and soft little smile on those pretty pink lips. 

"That stuff Murray said," Eddie says. Whispers, really. "I am, you know. With you." 

Steve could pull away there. Draw his hand back and recoil in disgust and never want to talk to Eddie again. 

He doesn't. 

He just smiles and says

"Yeah. I am with you, too." 

Chapter Text

Fuck the Upside Down. Forget about Demogorgons. Nuts to Henry Creel. Murray Bauman, Steve thinks, is a demon. A weird, paranoid, balding, middle aged demon.

Or maybe he's just a dude with no filter and a poor grasp of social cues. Like a weird, paranoid, balding, middle aged Robin. Either way, he's seemingly got a habit for making things violently uncomfortable. Like walking into a room and telling two guys who are just friends "I think you're in love with each other" and then just walking out like it's not a big deal. 

Which. It isn't. Because Steve's not in love with Eddie. He just...likes him a whole lot, is all. Likes sliding into bed with him every night and waking up in his arms every morning. Likes doing silly domestic shit like feeding each other while they cook dinner together or when Eddie tucks his feet into Steve's lap when they're watching TV on the couch. Likes how sweet and goofy and gentle he is with Lizzie. Likes to look at him whenever he can without getting caught, all that soft hair and those doe eyes and the sharp angle of his jaw and...

Okay. Maybe Steve is in love with Eddie Munson. 

He doesn't get a chance to tell him, though, because when he tries to the kids start yelling about Lizzie needing a diaper change and it really kind of kills the mood. Not to mention fully stamping out any courage Steve had to say it in the first place. Because it's a terrifying prospect, frankly. The last person he felt this way about was Nancy and he still hasn't fully gotten over how that turned out. If Eddie has the same reaction, tells him I don't love you and walks away to be happier without him? That might be the thing that finally breaks him. 

So, with the moment lost, he doesn't say anything. Stays deliberately within earshot of everybody else so that he's got an excuse not to have that conversation. He must seem on edge, at least a little, because Robin keeps giving him that worried look that she does whenever he's especially antsy. He ignores it as best he can. 

Eventually, Eddie leaves with Argyle under the flimsy guise of finding wood for bonfire the kids have insisted on. Steve feels guilty that he's a little relieved, the tension just from being around Eddie easing just a bit. 

"Well," Lucas gets to his feet from the beanbag in the corner. "I'm gonna go actually find firewood since Cheech and Chong out there definitely aren't bringing any back. Anybody coming with?" 

Mike, Erica, Max and Dustin all shuffle to get their coats.

"Take a torch," Steve reminds them. "And Mayfield, baby Sinclair, remember, the cane is a mobility aid, not a weapon. I don't care how annoying they are, if I find any of these boys beaten to death in the woods I'm not driving you anywhere for two months, got it?" 

Max flips him off for that, and Erica mumbles something about knowing how to hide a body. Admittedly, it makes Steve's heart rate pick up a little bit as they head out of the back door, calling goodbyes to Joyce and Hop and Murray on the way. It's been almost eleven months since any stirrings from the Upside Down, but he's still not entirely convinced the woods around Hawkins are safe. For a split second he entertains the idea of going with them, but he has a baby in his arms who is starting to reach the fussy-sleepy stage.

"She can sleep on my bed. I don't mind," Eleven offers, like she can tell what he's thinking. 

"Thanks, sweetie," Steve replies. "You want to help me put her down?" 

"Yes!" El springs up to her feet, practically skips to her bedroom, leading the way. Steve can't help but grin at her childlike eagerness. After everything she's been through, it's nice for her to get to just be a kid. Steve shrugs the diaper bag off of his shoulder and holds it out to her. 

"Alright, Auntie El. If you could do the honors of grabbing a fresh diaper and her PJs, we'll get Miss Missy all ready for a sleep, huh?" Steve says, and El immediately starts rummaging in the bag. He lays Lizzie down on the floor to change her, kisses her wiggly little toes so she'll make that happy cooing sound which is promising to become a laugh any day now. "That's right, sweet girl, you're getting to have a little slumber party in Auntie El's room. Isn't that so exciting?"

"Here," Eleven hands over the diaper and little folded pajama set, then kneels beside him while he wrestles Lizzie's bendy little limbs into them. El reaches out a finger to stroke at Lizzie's hand gently, then lights up like a Christmas tree when a chubby little fist wraps around the digit. 

"Why don't you give her a cuddle to help her go to sleep while I get the bed ready," Steve offers, and El just beams even more. He shows her the proper way to cradle the baby against her chest, exactly the right bouncing-rocking motion to make her eyes start to droop. He turns to start moving El's blankets, making sure there's nothing loose for Lizzie to get tangled in, and is infinitely glad that his back is to the girls because Eleven starts softly singing You Are My Sunshine and it makes his eyes feel very wet. 

"Okie dokie, all set," he announces, when he turns back around. Lizzie is almost asleep, snuggled firmly against El's shoulder, one hand wrapped around a strand of hair. If she's pulling, the shit-eating grin on El's face doesn't show it. Steve feels his own expression go soft. "You really love babies, huh?" 

"Babies are nice," she says quietly, slowly. Like she's afraid of disturbing Lizzie. "They haven't seen any of the bad stuff yet. They don't know how scary the world can be. They make me happy." 

And damn, if that doesn't want to make Steve cry for entirely different reasons. He doesn't know much beyond the bare bones of El's life story, but he knows tbat it's tragic and that the tragedy started pretty much at day one. He wonders how long she got before she found out how scary the world can be. 

"She likes you a lot too," he says, to change the subject and push off the tears. "Don't tell the others, but I think you're her favorite." 

It's true, he thinks. Lizzie is happy to play with and be held by any of the others while she's awake, but she's a little more discerning about where she sleeps. Despite the best efforts of Lucas and Dustin and even Joyce, the only people she's fallen asleep on so far are Steve, Eddie and Robin. And, now, Eleven. He gets it. She's comforting by nature, very sweet. It's no surprise that she makes Lizzie feel safe. 

When Lizzie starts softly snoring, Eleven finally sets her down, on her back at Steve's instruction, and gently extracts her hair from the baby's grip. 

"You are a good dad, Steve," she says, and he feels a blush tinge his face just a little. 

"Thanks. Kinda feels like I'm making it up as I go, though," he says, and she shrugs. 

"Well, you are doing a good job," she reiterates.  "You and Eddie both are." 

"Yeah, he is good with her, isn't he?" Steve replies, and she nods firmly. 

"Yes. He is a good guy," she says, and it's not surprising. She and Eddie have been close since they met last summer and he'd called her "totally metal" and she had lit up and called him "bitchin" in return. Much to Hop's horror and everyone else's amusement, she loves his music, and over these months he's helped her build quite the collection of metal tapes. He's been teaching her to play the guitar, too, a favor which she returns by teaching him whatever new craft hobby she's picked up that month. It's a sweet, sibling-like little relationship that they've cultivated. "Is that why you chose him to be your boyfriend?" 

Steve has to restrain himself from making a surprised sound that might wake the baby there. He plays it off as a shaky laugh instead. 

"Eddie isn't my boyfriend, sweetie," he says, and damn Harrington don't sound so sad about it. 

"Oh," she looks confused. "Then why do you guys act like that?" 

"Like what?" he asks, and for the second time tonight his heart starts pounding a mile a minute. 

"Like you are each other's boyfriends," she says, like it's obvious. "You do everything that girlfriends and boyfriends do with each other except for kiss. But I figured you just did that when we aren't there." 

"Ah. Well, it's complicated," Steve says, with a sigh. Of all of the people to be having this conversation with, Eleven Hopper might be the one he expected least. 

"Is it?" she asks, but it's not sarcastic or mocking. She's being genuine. Because of course she is. She's not stupid, far from it, but she comes at things from a very sheltered place sometimes. In general, it's a heartbreaking tragedy, whenever she realises those places she's one step behind the others. Other times it manifests like this - the achingly earnest way she simply doesn't understand prejudice. Steve recalls last summer when, on a roadtrip to Lake Michigan, some asshole trucker at a reststop had hurled a slur at Lucas (and gotten a taste of Jonathan Byers' mean right hook for it). El simply hadn't been able to grasp the concept of people hating each other for something as arbitrary as skin color. Of course "well, it's complicated because we're both guys and some people - my father included - think guys who date other guys should be put down like dogs and also I'm still kinda struggling with admitting that maybe I like guys because I was raised with that shit and internalised it from childhood" isn't something that occurs to her. That's plain as day when she asks, very simply "Do you love him?" 

And fuck it. He's got no reason to lie to her. Besides, she's painfully perceptive sometimes and he can't bare for her to fix him with that look she does whenever she reminds someone that friends don't lie. 

"Don't tell anyone," he forewarns. "But yeah. Like, a lot, actually." 

"Then you should tell him," she says, like it's that simple. "If you love somebody you should always tell them." 

"What if he doesn't love me back?" Steve doesn't really mean to say it out loud, but it's out there now. She gives him a look that would be condescending from anybody else. 

"Steve," she says, patting his arm gently. "I do not think you need to worry about that." 

* 

By the time Eddie and Argyle return, the kids have the fire burning big and bright and have set up a s'mores assembly line. Steve's a few feet away, on the back porch swing near the open back door, keeping an ear out for Lizzie. He watches, amused, as Dustin and Eddie have a conversation. Or, Dustin has a conversation. Eddie is somewhere else, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, expression blank, until Dustin snaps his fingers in his face. Eddie blinks hard then cracks a grin, says something that makes Dustin glare. He ruffles the kid's hair before he half-skips away, practically dancing over to Steve and stealing a sleeve of crackers en route. 

He comes to a stop right in front of the porch swing, so that their knees are knocking together. He's got this big, dopey smile on his face and he reeks of weed (moreso than usual), but there's also an underlying smell of the woods. He's beautiful in the low-light, Steve thinks. 

"Hey there, Stoney Baloney," he says, and immediately kicks himself because it's the stupidest, corniest thing he could have said. Eddie doesn't seem to mind though. He lets out a little laugh and flops into the seat right beside Steve, pressed up close. 

"Hi, baby," he replies. He starts to rock the swing gently, a motion so casual Steve thinks it's probably absent minded. 

"You don't have to sit up here with me, you know," he says, gently. He doesn't want Eddie to miss out on the fun for his sake. Eddie just shakes his head. 

"Want to," he says, in a sure mumble. "Happier here with you." 

And Christ. It's probably the weed talking, Steve knows that, but it sends his heart into butterflies nonetheless. 

"Good walk with Argyle then, I take it?" he teases softly. Eddie laughs at that, snapping a graham cracker and feeding half to Steve. 

"Mission gather firewood was an unmitigated disaster," he laughs, around a mouthful of cracker and damn, Steve is gone for this boy because that should be gross but it isn't. It's charming. Endearing. "Mission get Eddie more baked than he's been since his sophomore year? A roaring success!" 

That makes Steve laugh, then they dip into a comfortable silence. Or, maybe it's not that comfortable, because Eddie gets this look on his face, all pinched concern, like he's thinking hard about something that's worrying him. 

"You're not pissed off, are you?" he eventually asks, in a voice that is so small and sad the Steve swears he feels his heart break. 

"Why would I be pissed off?" he asks and Eddie just shrugs, shifts his weight a little and eats another cracker like he's avoiding answering. Then he sighs. 

"I dunno. I went and got stoned and left you to look after our baby," he says, miserably. 

Our baby. 

"Ed, you've been a miracle these past two weeks," Steve says, honestly. There are strands of hair in Eddie's eyes, so he reaches out to brush them back, then lets a hand rest over the scar on his cheek. "She's fine. She's sleeping and I have our whole family here if I needed help. You deserve to let loose a little. I don't mind. I promise." 

He strokes a thumb over the jut of Eddie's cheekbone and Eddie sighs, leans into the touch like a cat. He's looking at Steve all droppy eyed and smiley and dopey, and Steve wishes he had a camera because he wants to remember that image forever. 

"That stuff Murray said," Eddie eventually whispers. I've never met two people from this town who can admit it when they're blatantly in love with each other. Oh shit. Is this it? Is this the you're bullshit moment? The one where Eddie reiterates again that Murray is fucking crazy, because of course that's not true. Steve's a pretty face and a good fuck and not a whole lot else, and Eddie wouldn't know the second part so why on earth would he be in love with Steve? Why would anybody? Steve's about to back off, try and style it out by laughing about how fucking nuts that guy is, can't believe he's such good friends with someone as grounded as Hop, when. 

"I am, you know. With you." 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Well that's. Huh. That's new. 

A smile finds its way onto Steve's face before he can stop it. 

"I am with you too," he breathes. 

Eddie's eyes go wide there, like he wasn't expecting it either. 

"You are?" he says, slowly, like he's trying to process it. "You...you know what I'm saying, right? Like you get what I'm telling you? 'Cause if you're confused and think I'm telling you something else then this is gonna get real awkward for both of us and-" 

"Ed," Steve cuts him off. "I love you." 

Eddie's expression goes soft there. He brings up a hand to rest over the one Steve still has cradling his face. 

"I love you, too," he says, and Steve is hit all at once by the realisation that that's the first time anyone has said it back since he was a kid and his mom had to keep up appearances at school drop-off. He knows Robin loves him, Dustin too, but they never say it. It must show in his face, because Eddie's brow furrows. "Hey, no, baby, what's wrong?" 

"Nothing," Steve says quickly.  "Nothing wrong. Just...god, I really fucking love you, dude." 

Eddie laughs there, loud enough that it pulls the attention of Murray who raises his eyebrows and looks absolutely smug as fuck. Steve's not sure if he wants to punch him in the face or kiss him on the mouth. 

Speaking of kissing. 

"Come on," he gets to his feet, offers a hand to Eddie who looks confused but takes it, let's Steve pull him to his feet. Steve's got an excuse about going to check on the baby at the ready, but nobody seems to notice when they slip back inside the cabin. 

He has all of three seconds to think about it before Eddie gets with the program and is crowding into his space, backing him against the wall with hands on his waist and leaning in for a kiss. 

It's messy, as far as first kisses go. Different from what Steve is accustomed to. He's used to girls, who chastely press their lips to his and let him take control of it, whose lips taste like watermelon or strawberry or peppermint, who touch him gossamer-light with soft, manicured hands. Hell, even kissing Tommy when they were kids had been different to this - those had been all awkward, clumsy things, conducted under bedsheets by flashlight, neither of them sure where to put their hands and both too scared to do it with tongue. 

Eddie though? Eddie seems to know exactly what he wants and just how to get it. He's all teeth and tongue, pulling Steve's bottom lip into his mouth and sucking, biting gently, licking across the back of Steve's teeth like he's trying to burn the taste of him into memory. He hasn't shaved in a couple days so there's a scratch of stubble that is hotter than it has any right to be. The hands that find their way under the hem of Steve's shirt are strong and warm, calloused ring laden fingers rubbing little circles into the scars on his hips. He tastes like weed, a little sweet from the crackers and Steve thinks it's the best goddamn thing he's ever tasted. His own hands have found their way up to the back of Eddie's neck, keeping him close. He's not running away. Not this time. Not from Steve. 

Eventually, they pull apart a little, foreheads resting together. 

"Hi," Steve breathes into the space between them. Eddie chuckles. 

"Hey," he replies. "I've been waiting a long time to do that." 

"Yeah?" Steve asks. "How long?" 

"Roughly since I woke up from the dead and got told you carried me out of Hell," Eddie mumbles, lips pressed against Steve's temple. "My hero." 

"That long?" Steve's eyes flutter shut as Eddie kisses gently down the side of his face. "Why didn't you do anything about it sooner?" 

"Are you kidding?" Eddie laughs against his cheekbone. "Never in a million years did I think King Steve the ladies man was into boys, let alone nerdy, grimy, metalhead boys."

"Not grimy," Steve mumbles, as Eddie's lips find the shell of his ear. "You're beautiful, Ed." 

Ed just breathes out a laugh there. 

"How about you?" he whispers, and the hot, low vibration of it straight into Steve's ear makes him whimper just a little bit. "How long has King Steve been into The Freak?" 

And Steve takes a second to think. Really think, cast his mind back to the first time he looked at Eddie and thought I want to put my lips on this man. 

"The boathouse," he gasps, because Eddie is kissing the hinge of his jaw now. "That first night we found you when..." 

"When I shoved you against a wall with a broken bottle to your throat?" Eddie pulls back to look up at Steve, eyes glinting with mischievous amusement. "That did it for you, huh? Shit, baby. Maybe we should be calling you the Freak." 

"Shut up," Steve grumbles. "Get back up here and kiss me again." 

Eddie obliges, bringing his lips back up to Steve's. It's slower this time, sweeter. It's a gentle movement of lips against lips, Eddie's hands sliding up the back of Steve's t-shirt, Steve's coming down from Eddie's neck to his hips, slipping around the front to find his belt buckle and- 

"Oh come on guys," they spring apart at the sound of Lucas' voice in the doorway. "You couldn't have waited until Valentine's Day? Now I owe Mike fifteen bucks." 

Eddie's expression goes through all the things Steve feels in quick succession: panic, fear, confusion then relief. Then, as if they've just heard the funniest joke in the world, all three of them burst out laughing. 

"What's so funny up there? Lucas are you getting marshmallows or not?" Erica's voice calls from outside.

"I'll give you twenty if you don't tell anyone what you saw," Steve promises, and Lucas just grins at him. 

"You got a deal, lover boy."

Chapter Text

Eddie stopped believing in any kind of higher power when he was twelve years old but now, at almost twenty one, he's starting to reconsider. Because it can only be by some miracle, some divine intervention, that he manages to keep his hands off of Steve for the rest of the evening. 

It's not easy, especially when Steve kicks into full babysitter mode after Mike and Max get in a stupid prod-and-poke fight that starts to get a little out of hand when Max gets her walking stick involved. Steve inserts himself between them declaring that he doesn't give a shit who started it, he's finishing it. It's hotter than it has any right to be, this version the kids scathingly call 'Mama Steve'. He has to avert his eyes before the urge to grab Steve and kiss him again gets too much to resist. Apparently it shows in his face because Robin sidles over to him with this smug, shit-eating grin and two beers in hand. 

"Shut up," he says, as she plops herself down beside him, pressing a can into his hand.

"I didn't say anything!" she protests. He just scowls at her. 

"I can hear you thinking," he murmurs, plucking out a cigarette, which makes her glare in return. Still, she doesn't take it from him and throw it away this time. 

He's tempted to tell her, practically bubbling over with excitement. She'd probably be thrilled for him and he knows that if Steve has told anybody anything, it'll be her. But he's not a dick. Isn't going to out him until he actually knows for sure that that's okay. So he doesn't bring it up, choosing instead to deflect. 

"So. It's been a week since girl's night. How did that go, exactly?" he asks and, to his delight she blushes deep red in the glow of the fire and taps her fingers nervously on her own can. 

"Really good, actually," she says. "I uh...I think I'm going up to Boston next weekend? To visit? Sleeping over at her dorm?" 

"Shit," he says, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "Really?" 

"Yeah," she says with a shaky laugh. "We were watching movies and I started talking about how I miss the Family Video discount and she talked about this little woman-owned indie video store near her dorm and it sounded really cool so I said 'oh that sounds really cool' and she was like 'oh it is, you should come out there and check it out!' and I said I would and then it ended up in us making plans and now I've taken next weekend off work and bought plane tickets and I'm kinda freaking out. Does it seem like I'm freaking out?" 

"Little bit, yeah," he tells her, and she laughs again. 

"We've been talking on the phone all week as well," she says. "I don't know if I'm just like, deluding myself and buying too much into it but it feels a little bit like...maybe she might like me? A little? But then that might just be me missing social cues?" 

She's looking at him with big, earnest eyes when she says it, and it's his turn to laugh. 

"You're asking me for advice on social cues?" he says. "Come on, Buck. Be real." 

"Touché," she says, and her eyes flick between him and Steve like she has some kind of point. 

Bitch. 

* 

They leave around 10, spared the task of taking any of the kids home by Will and Eleven's insistence on a slumber party. They end up giving Robin a ride, though, and she calls shotgun because of course she does. It might be for the best anyway. Lizzie wakes up and cries when Eddie goes to take her out Eleven's room, and she'll only settle in the car with his hand on her cheek, thumb stroking gently at the soft little hairs on her forehead. Steve keeps giving him these looks in the rearview mirror, all soft, fond eyes that look like he might start crying at any moment. If Buck notices, she's got enough tact to keep it to herself. 

From the sound of it, she's already told Steve about her plans next weekend, because he's asking her about flight times and gates and if she's absolutely positive her dad doesn't mind taking her to the airport.

"Yes," she says, with an exasperated eye roll. "He's got shit to do in the city anyway, two birds one stone or whatever. Jeez, dingus. You don't need to 'Mama Steve' me, you've got real mom duties to attend to now." 

"I'm a dad, not a mom, dickhead," he grumbles, though it's notably half-hearted. "Besides, Lizzie has two of us. I'm sure I can spare a couple hours to take you to the airport." 

Something flashes across Robin's face that tells Eddie she caught that too. Steve's demeanour doesn't change; he just keeps his eyes on the road, fingers drumming on the steering wheel with the beat of the song coming softly through the radio. He does that, sometimes, makes silly double entendres without even realising what he's said. Given tonight's revelations, though, Eddie's not entirely sure it was accidental. 

"He's right," Eddie blurts out, to fill the quiet more than anything. "If you need him, take him. Then Lizzie and I can listen to good music without someone insisting we do a damn Tears for Fears song next." 

"Hey, that's unfair," Steve protests. "You play her your music every night while I'm at work and I'm just trying to introduce some balance. Rob, you know she wouldn't go down for a nap the other day until I put a Black Sabbath album on? Goddamn Black Sabbath! I hadn't even heard of them a year ago and now this guy has me singing them to get our daughter to sleep? Not fair! I won't be outnumbered! I'm gonna make her like Duran Duran too if it kills me." 

And, well. That one definitely didn't feel accidental. 

"Don't listen to him, Buck," Eddie leans forward between the front seats as best he can without removing his hand from Lizzie's face. "He was humming Paranoid while he was fixing his hair today, he just doesn't want to admit I have great taste." 

"Oh, you wanna go there, asshole?" Steve shoots back. "Remind me again which of us was singing Head Over Heels in the shower the other day? As in the damn Tears for Fears song?" 

Well. Shit. He didn't realise Steve had heard that.

"Oh my God, really?" Robin sounds absolutely delighted in a way that Eddie hates. "You like Tears for Fears? You, Eddie?" 

"No," he lies, feels his face flush hot. "He's lying. He can't prove anything." 

"Aw, Ed, are you blushing?" Steve coos, and it should really be condescending but he's smiling and Christ he has a pretty smile. 

"He is!" Robin joins in with a laugh. "Oh my God. Stop the presses, Eddie "I'm a metalhead and that makes me better than you" Munson loves Tears for Fears."

"I hate both of you," he grumbles, flopping back into the seat. "You're lucky our kid is in this car, Harrington, else I'd put you in a chokehold and kill all three of us." 

It's definitely not an accident when Eddie says it. Neither Steve or Robin react to it. Almost like it's the most natural thing in the world. What's less natural is the little sound, barely noticeable, that Steve makes when Eddie threatens to choke him. Which. Okay. He'll tuck that one away for later. 

Robin clambers out of the car outside her house with a "night dingus, night dipshit, goodnight sweet girl, Auntie Robbie loves you" over her shoulder and then it's only a short drive home. Lizzie is out like a light at this point, soothed by the gentle motions of the car and the calloused warmth of Eddie's hand on her face the entire journey. She doesn't even wake when Steve comes around the car to gentle scoop her out of the seat and tuck her into the warmth inside his jacket. 

"Good thing we already got her PJs on," he murmurs, more to himself than Eddie. "I think I'd rather die than wake her up right now." 

Eddie agrees. It probably won't be long til she wakes of her own accord for a bottle anyway. And she's so sweet when she's asleep, chubby little cheek pressed against Steve's chest, long eyelashes fluttering softly against her cheek. One of her hands is clenched in a loose fist, resting right on top of Steve's heart. He's looking down at her all soft and happy and paternal and Christ. Eddie is so in love. 

He says as much, because that's a thing he's allowed to do now, and Steve beams at him.

"Love you, too," he says, like that's a thing that pretty boys like him actually say to Eddie. "Can we love each other indoors, though? I'm about to freeze my ass off out here, dude." 

"Sure thing, baby," Eddie leans over to plant a kiss at the corner of Steve's mouth because you better believe he's smooching this guy as much as physically possible now that he can. He drops one on top of Lizzie's head as well, before he turns to unlock the door. 

Eddie excuses himself to the bathroom while Steve gets Lizzie down in her crib, partly to take a leak but also partly to splash himself with the coldest water he can get out of the tap, just to be absolutely sure he isn't dreaming or dead and by some miracle in heaven or on some weird alternative plane of reality where Steve Harrington confessed to being in love with him just a couple of hours ago. But the water is almost icy enough to sting, and when he blinks his eyes open again nothing has changed. For the second time tonight, he finds himself thanking a God he's not sure is there. 

He finds Steve still in Lizzie's room when he emerges from the bathroom, sitting in the chair they've pushed into the corner, still cradling her in his arms. 

"I didn't wanna put her down just yet," he admits, with a little smile. 

"That's sweet, baby," Eddie replies, in a tone that, mercifully, doesn't betray the way that makes him melt. The little stuffed bunny is tucked into Steve's arm as well. Lizzie had become sweetly attached to it, in a way that fills a long-vacant hole in Eddie's heart. She's developed an achingly familiar habit of clinging onto the long floppy ears and rubbing them against her face whenever the toy is within grabbing distance, in her stroller or the little bouncy chair they got her or during tummy time on the living room floor. "Kimmy Rabbit was a good idea, huh?"

He doesn't really mean to say it aloud, regrets it as soon as he does.

"Kimmy?" Steve repeats softly. "That what your sister called her?" 

And Eddie could lie. Probably should lie, so he doesn't have to get into it. But he doesn't. 

"Uh, no. She just called it Bunny," he says. "Kimmy is my sister. I kinda started calling it that after...y'know." 

Steve doesn't know. Of course he doesn't. Very few people do. Hell, Eddie would be surprised if Kimmy knows. She was so young when it happened, she probably doesn't even remember that she has a big brother. That night is probably gone from her memory completely, or else it's blurred and hazy, something she can write off as just another childhood bad dream. 

"Ed?" Steve's voice is quiet, tinged with worry. And Eddie really should just stop there. Should smile at Steve and kiss him and help him lay their baby in her crib and then take him to bed and kiss him some more. That'd be the sweet way to go about things, the easy way. 

But Eddie Munson had never been in the business of making things easy for himself. 

"When I was seven, like six months after my mom died," he blurts it all out in a rush, unable to stop himself. "I come home from school one day and my old man is there with this baby. And he tells me that this was my baby sister, Kimberley. He said that her mom was sick, too sick to take care of her, so he and I were gonna do it now. And we did. Even...even my dad stepped up in a way he never did for me, which really kinda fucking hurt, actually. Don't get me wrong he stil wasn't a good father, but he always made sure she was clean and fed and he got sitters for her whenever I was at school and he was...doing whatever the fuck he did through the day, because it sure as shit wasn't working." 

Steve's sympathetically pained expression is too much, so Eddie closes his eyes and takes a deep shaky breath before he continues. 

"Kimmy...she lived with us for like a year and a half. I did my best by her, I tried so hard to keep her safe and happy. Used to steal candy and little toys and shit just to make her smile. Tried to hide her from all the sketchy shit our dad was doing. I was her first word, you know? First thing she ever said was Eddie. Anyway, this one night right before her second birthday we wake up in the middle of the night to all this banging and yelling and, like, that wasn't unusual. Dad owed a lot of people money and shit, there was always someone mad at him pounding our front door down. I did what I always did when it happened and I hid me and Kimmy under the covers in my bed and started reading to her to try and drown it out.

"This time, though, it wasn't just at the front door. Couple minutes later my bedroom door bursts open and there's this lady. Tells me she's Kimmy's mom and that she'd come to take her away. I guess she'd gotten better or gotten clean or whatever, 'cause she didn't look sick or like a junkie or whatever the fuck made my old man take Kimmy away from her in the first place. And I tried to fight with her. Told her Kimmy was my sister and she couldn't take her away from me, but she just asked me what it felt like not having a mom and if I wanted Kimmy to feel that way too and...shit, Stevie. I didn't. I didn't ever want her to feel that way. So I just...stopped fighting her. I um...I told Kimmy that it was okay and she should go with her mommy and that I would come see her again as soon as I could. So they went. And I guess they moved away 'cause a couple weeks later when I went to the address her mom was supposed to live at the place was abandoned. My old man never really forgave me for that night. He was never a good dad, not to me, but um...after that night he got a lot worse. Like I never really felt like he liked me all that much but it didn't feel like he hated me up until then and-" 

He's cut off mid-sentence by a pair of strong, warm arms coming around his waist. Steve has set Lizzie down at some point and is hugging him now, peppering kisses against his temple and murmuring soothingly. 

"It's alright, Ed. You're okay, I got you. Me and Lizzie, we're not going anywhere." 

"You promise?" Eddie chokes out, clinging to Steve like he's a life raft and it's totally, completely pathetic but he's kind of past caring. Steve makes a sad little sound and squeezes him tighter. 

"Yeah, sweetie, I promise," he says, pulls away a little bit to cradle Eddie's face in his hands, wipe the tears away gently. "Christ. I love you so much." 

"I love you, too," Eddie says, with a sniffle and one last shuddery breath. Then he forces a sad little smile. "Sorry. That was kind of a lot." 

"It's okay," Steve says, leaning in to plant a kiss on Eddie's forehead. "I think we're both tired. Let's get to bed, huh?" 

* 

It's different, waking up the next morning. 

Obstensibly, it's all the same. Eddie wakes tucked into Steve's side, cheek pressed against that tatch of hair in the middle of Steve's chest, which is a little damp because Eddie's a chronic sleep-drooler. It's a position he's become familiar with these past couple weeks (Christ, is that all it's been?), but it feels different this time. More intimate, somehow. He's reluctant to peel himself away, a feeling only bolstered when he starts to move and Steve whines and hangs onto him. 

"Stay," he mumbles sleepily, and Eddie laughs a little. 

"I can't, baby. I gotta go to work," Eddie whispers, and Steve wrinkles his nose without opening his eyes. 

"Nuh-uh. Fuck work. Stay in bed with me," he says. 

"Tempting as that is, sweetheart, Nicky has already given me enough time off lately," he says. "Besides, I think someone is gonna want breakfast and a diaper change any minute now." 

As if on cue, there's a stirring from across the hall - not quite crying, but the grumpy little sounds she makes first thing to let them know she would like to be fed right now, please. Steve sighs dramatically, then opens his eyes and smiles blearily at Eddie. 

"G'morning, beautiful," he murmurs, so casual it makes Eddie blush. 

"Morning yourself," he replies, leans in to kiss the tip of Steve's nose, making his sleepy smile wider. "You want me to get her, baby? It's still early, you can lie in a little." 

"Nah, I'm up," Steve says, sitting up with a yawn and a stretch. "I'll make coffee and formula if you take diaper duty?" 

"You got a deal, sweetheart," Eddie steals another kiss, just before he can, before he swings himself up out of bed, retrieves one of his own t-shirts and a pair of Steve's pants and then heads across the hall. Lizzie stops grumbling when she spots him, gives him a big toothless grin instead. 

"Mornin', precious girl," he says, scooping her up out of the crib and planting a fat kiss on her forehead. "I hope you had the sweetest dreams. I know I sure did. Had the craziest, wildest, most far fetched one that your daddy was in love with me and something must be absolutely cuckoo bananas in the world 'cause when I woke up this morning and I was still in it. Isn't that so insane?" 

He says it as he lays her down on top of the old dresser they've converted into a changing table and in response, she blinks at him, grabs one of his fingers as he unfastens the snaps on her sleepsuit and, with all the sage wisdom of a nine week old baby, says "Gah." 

"Mmhm. That's right, angel," he coos. "Your daddy is a real sweet guy and it's fuckin batshit insane that he chose to love a rat bastard like me. But I'm glad he did - d'you know why? Cause I love him too. So, so much. But - and don't you ever tell him I said this - I think I might love you a teensy bit more." 

He finishes tucking her into her little outfit for the day with a flourish, kissing her forehead again on the more. 

"Okay, sweetie, all clean. Let's get breakfast." 

* 

It's a long shit at the auto shop. In part because apparently nobody in the entirety of Hawkins has had car troubles in the past few days, so there's pretty much sweet FA to do. But mostly because Eddie is itching to get home, to see Steve and give him a kiss and a cuddle and maybe see if they have time for a little more if Lizzie goes down for a nap before Steve has to leave for work. 

Which. Look. It's something he's keen to do. Eager, even. He and Steve might have been practically strangers until a year ago, but he wasn't so far removed that he didn't hear the rumours in high school. Steve didn't have a reputation as a ladies man for nothing. Eddie may not have been popular, but being the school's resident weed man had definite perks, and one was being privy to gossip in social circles he never ran in. He sold to enough of the pretty, popular girls to have overheard, on multiple occasions, that Steve Harrington is not only hung like a horse but good with his hands and his tongue as well. A generous lover too, by all accounts, always tried to get the girl off first and, on the occasion he was first past the finish line, was willing and eager to go down on her until she got there too. 

So Eddie is definitely excited about that side of things. He's just a little nervous too. 

It's not like he's some blushing virgin, though he has nowehere near the wealth of experience that Steve does. It's just that his sexual encounters up until this point consist of two humiliatingly awkward, fumbling sessions in the costume closet with Marybeth Jenkins from Drama class in sophomore year, a handful of furtive, secretive mutual blowjobs with some of the closet cases on various of the school's sports teams and a string of one night stands with mostly nameless, mostly older men he met at shows and in those spots on the outskirts of Hawkins. He's never been with somebody he cares about as much as he cares about Steve, and certainly never with somebody who seems to care so much back. Functionally, he's pretty sure it's the same, but it feels like there's more weight to it now, something deeper. 

"Earth to Munson," he's jostled out of his reverie by a friendly shake of the shoulder by Dan, a coworker who is only a couple years older than him who he vaguely remembers for being an even bigger dick than King Steve while he was at school. Unlike Steve, Dan hasn't entirely grown out of it. 

"Sorry, man, just thinkin' about shit," Eddie mumbles in response. 

"Ooh, don't hurt yourself," Dan teases, with a dig to the ribs that is probably supposed to be friendly but is a little too hard. "I said we're gonna go grab a beer after work, you coming?" 

And usually Eddie would, because after work beers mean Fran and Nicky will be there and they never let Eddie pay for a drink. But now he's accutely aware that he needs to be home before Steve leaves, needs to be there to look after Lizzie. 

"Sorry, man," he repeats. "Can't. I got plans." 

"Plans? With who?" Dan asks, 'cause he's nothing if not a nosy bastard. 

"Just a friend," Eddie replies, vaguely. Dan studies his face for a second, then barks out a laugh. 

"Oh, I get it," he says, in this stupid teasing voice, like he's caught onto some big joke. "Plans with a friend. I've heard that one before." Then, he turns and calls over his shoulder. "Munson's out, guys, he's got plans with his girl." 

And look. Eddie's not stupid. Nicky might be cool with the gay thing, but that makes him an anomaly, especially amongst these kinds of guys. Telling most of his coworkers actually guys, I can't hang out tonight I have to go home to my boyfriend and our baby sounds like a recipe for a broken nose at best. Letting them think he's got a girlfriend might be for the best. 

"Alright, you got me," he holds his hands up as if in defeat. "I got a girl and I have plans with her." 

"Since when do you have a girl?" Terry pipes up from across the room. "You never mentioned her." 

"Can't a man have his mysteries?" Eddie shoots back. 

"She cute? You got a picture of her?" Georgie chimes in. And. Fuck. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. He kinda wasn't expecting the third degree. 

"Yeah, like I'd show you old pervs," he scoffs, trying to keep it light. They take it in good humor, responding with laughs and good-natured middle fingers. 

"She's gotta have a name, at least," Dan says. 

Eddie panics. Says the first girl's name that springs to mind. 

"Nancy," he says, before he can stop himself. "Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler." 

Shit. 

"Nancy Wheeler? Ted and Karen's kid?" Terry sounds as surprised to hear it as Eddie was to say it. "I thought she went off to New York or Boston or somesuch for one of them fancy colleges?"

"Um. Yep. Boston," Eddie nods. As a damn good DM he generally prides himself on his ability to think on his feet, but he feels kind of backed into a corner here. "I'm uh...calling her. Tonight. We're doing the long distance thing so we kind of have to schedule phone calls." 

"And how the hell did your white trash ass land a nice girl like that, huh?" Georgie asks, and Eddie is about to stumble through some answer when Dan bursts out laughing. 

"Come on George, you know this," he says. "The more prim and proper she looks the filthier she actually is. In fact this one time, senior year of high school, I'm hooking up with this cheerleader, right?" 

And for once, Eddie is grateful for the colossal douchebag Dan is because the conversation steers firmly away from any pretend relationship of Eddie's and into a bawdy lockerroom-esque bragging session about Dan's filthiest exploits. His taking the floor also allows Eddie to slip out, relatively unnoticed, and start the drive home with an unpleasant knot in his chest. 

It unfurls when he gets home and walks into the living room to find Steve sitting on the floor, talking excitedly to Lizzie in his lap. He smiles wide up at Eddie as he walks in. 

"Oh good, you're home! Watch this," he says, setting Lizzie onto her tummy on the floor. "Okay, sweetheart, showtime. Go on, you can do it, show Daddy what we learned how to do today." 

And fuck. Daddy. If those little utterances of 'our daughter', 'our kid', 'our baby' , the ones that maybe, feasibly could have been slip ups have been making Eddies heart flutter, then that? Well that just about makes it stop entirely. 

Almost as much of the swell of pride he gets when Lizzie, with an expression of sheer grit and determination, rocks herself slightly on her forearms, once, twice and, on the third, rolls over completely from her tummy to her back. Steve immediately goes into applause, bending down to smoosh kisses all over Lizzie's face, making her screech happily. 

"Wow, baby, that's amazing," Eddie goes to kneel beside both of them. "Such a clever girl, huh?" 

"She really is," Steve coos, picking her up and snuggling her in close. Eddie leans over to give Steve a kiss, and Lizzie reaches up to tug a wayward strand of his hair. He wrinkles his nose and gently pulls it out of her grip, cautious of the motor oil that always manages to find its way in there even on slow days. 

"Ah-ah, precious. Daddy's still all stinky from work," it feels strange to say. Strange, but right - especially with the soft little smile Steve gives him when he does. "I'm gonna take a shower, alright?" 

"Don't take too long," Steve replies, with a smirk and flutter of eyelashes. "I might start to miss you." 

"You are so corny," Eddie groans, giving him a gentle shove. He follows it with a kiss on top of his head after he pushes to his feet, and grins at the sound of Steve telling Lizzie okay, lovebug, let's keep practicing as he heads upstairs for his shower. 

He really doesn't take long. He's always been a quick showerer, keeps to only the necessities, doesn't really enjoy spending time under the hot spray like Steve seems to. He's cleaned dried and re-dressed in less than fifteen minutes, waltzing down the stairs ready to get in Steve's space and shove his tongue down his throat for a little bit. 

He doesn't get the chance. 

When he gets downstairs he finds the kitchen occupied not only by Steve and Lizzie, but also Dustin goddamn Henderson. 

"There you are! Finally! God, take your goddamn time," the kid grumbles. 

"Hello to you too, butthead," Eddie shoots back. "That was a quick as hell shower, learn some goddamn patience." 

"No," Dustin replies. If he wasn't holding the baby, he'd probably fold his arms and stick his chin out in that defiant way he does. "You said we could pick up the conversation you were too damn stoned to have last night today. And I was promised ice cream." 

This kid and his damned tone. 

"Yeah, I guess I did say that," Eddie concedes with a sigh. He shoots an apologetic look at Steve, who just smiles back at him. 

"I gotta leave like, now, anyway," he says. "Carl called out so Linda wants me to go in early."

"Okay," Eddie nods, a little relieved. A night hanging out with Dustin will probably be easier if he's not actively fighting the urge to tackle Steve the whole time. There's an awkward little pause as Steve gets ready to leave, one where he looks unsure as to whether to kiss Eddie goodbye or not. He apparently lands on not. 

"Alright, well. I'll see you later. Lizzie, you keep these two out of trouble, huh?" he says, gives them all a silly little finger wave on his way out the door. 

"So," Dustin pipes up. "Where are we going for ice cream?"

* 

Henderson spends the car ride to the ice cream place chattering at length about some new computer system that Suzie is putting together. Honestly, it's all a little beyond Eddie. He's a nerd, sure, but he's a fantasy nerd with an edge of scifi and a soft spot for musical theatre. Not a sciencey nerd, certainly not a computer nerd. Half of the jargon Dustin throws out sails straight over his head, makes about as much sense as Lizzie's babbling at the toy she has hanging from the carry handle of the carseat, but he nods whenever it feels appropriate. 

He's only half-listening anyway. His mind is racing a little because, amongst all the technological nonsense, Dustin is still talking about Suzie and he sounds softly affectionate about her in the same way Eddie feels for Steve. Plus Dustin is his best friend, or one of them (even if that is a little pathetic, given the age gap) and he really doesn't like keeping things from the kid. Which is probably why he blurts it out when Dustin is still mid sentence. 

"Steve and I are together. Like, a couple." 

"Uh-huh," Dustin says, as simply as if Eddie had pointed out the weather. "Anyway, like I was saying she actually sourced all the parts from-" 

"Wait, pause," Eddie says, frowning. "The hell do you mean 'uh-huh'? I kinda just dropped a bomb on you there, bud."

"Uh, no," Dustin says, cocky like always is. "You didn't. Like, no shit you and Steve are a couple." 

"You knew? Did he tell you?" Eddie asks. Dustin gives him a look, then rolls his eyes. This fuckin' kid. 

"Nobody had to tell me anything," he says. "You two aren't exactly subtle, you know. You've been making eyes at each other since last year. I mean, congrats on both pulling your heads out of your asses for long enough to realise, I guess, but it's not exactly earth-shattering news, Ed." 

There's a couple of seconds of silence, which Eddie breaks. 

"So does like...everybody know?" he asks, and Dustin shrugs. 

"Depends what you're asking," he says. "Does everybody know you two want to bone each other and have pretty much since you met? Absolutely, yeah, literally everyone who has ever spent thirty seconds around the two of you does. Does anybody else know that you're actually boning? No, I think that's just me." 

"First off, I will literally pay you to never say bone to me again," Eddie replies. "But okay...yeah. That's good, I guess." A beat. Then "You're not the only one who knows. Sinclair does too." 

"Lucas?!" Dustin says, sounding mortally offended. "You told Lucas before me?!" 

"No, dude, we didn't tell him. Last night at Joyce and Hop's, when he came into get marshmallows, Steve and I were...y'know. Making out a little bit," Eddie explains, a little awkward. 

"Ew," Dustin says, cringing. "I mean. Not ew like ew but ew like gross, that's like hearing about Joyce and Hop making out." 

"You're the one who was just talking about boning," Eddie replies, but he's laughing. Any tension he felt about telling Dustin is well and truly gone. After a minute of comfortable silence he tentatively asks. "So you're like...okay with it? Me and Steve being together? It doesn't bother you?"

"Dude. No," Dustin says. "I spent months trying to get you guys to hang out. I knew you would like each other. You guys are, like, my two favorite people and you like each other enough to bo-to date? Not only do I get what I wanted, it also means I was right." It's incredibly sweet, in a very arrogant Dustin Henderson kind of way, and Eddie finds himself smiling. Even moreso when Dustin tacks on "You two better hadn't break up, though. I am not choosing sides." 

"Wasn't planning on it buddy," Eddie laughs as they pull up to the ice cream place. "Was not planning on it." 

Chapter Text

It's as slow a shift as any Monday in the bar, populated only by the handful of regulars who trudge in dutifully week after week. They mostly sit alone, nurse their beers on solitary barstools, while Steve flits between them making idle conversation. A couple of them - mostly guys old enough to be his dad - lay it on a little thick with the flirting. Steve doesn't really mind, didn't even before he had his revelation that maybe he's...not entirely heterosexual. He's always taken well to compliments, liked being told how handsome he is, and well...he hasn't been the King of Hawkins High, who girls fall over each other to flutter their eyelashes at, for a long time. He'll take his flattery where he can get it. Plus, you know. Steve's kind of an idiot but he's not stupid and he's certainly not above flirting back a little bit if it means he gets bigger tips. 

So he leaves at the end of the night with a pocket full of small bills and his ego thoroughly stroked. He's in an absolutely fantastic mood, on top of the world, driving with the windows down to let the fresh air in, favorite tape in the car stereo and his best friend singing along in the passenger seat, on the way home to his boyfriend and his baby. He hasn't felt this good in years, not since before he went toe-to-toe with a Demogorgon for the first time. It's the elation that's absolutely bursting out of him which makes him tell Robin, just blurt it out while she's mid-singalong. 

"Me and Eddie are dating." 

Robin stops singing, but she doesn't say anything either. Which. Fuck. Robin not talking is generally not a good sign. 

"Or maybe dating isn't the right word?" Steve babbles, just to fill the quiet. "But. We're together? Boyfriends? I think. I mean we haven't really talked about it or put, like, an official label on it or anything. It literally just happened last night but realistically I think it's been building for a while? I mean, at least since he's been staying at my place and-" 

"Steve," she cuts him off, and when he glances over she's look at him with soft eyes and a little smile. She reaches over the centre console to give his arm a gentle squeeze. "Breathe, buddy. I'm happy for you." 

"I guess I owe you an apology, huh?" he says, with a little laugh. "Looks like you caught on before we did." 

"Dude. Respectfully," she says. "You've been dancing around each other for months now. Everybody caught on before you did." 

If Lucas' comment about owing Mike fifteen bucks is anything to go by, she's probably right. Steve's kind of kicking himself for not realising sooner. He thinks back over the past year, all of the interactions he and Eddie have had. Wonders how different things could have been if he'd realised certain things about himself earlier. Maybe he shouldn't be mad at Brenda; maybe he should be thanking her. Her leaving Lizzie on the doorstep was apparently the push he and Eddie needed.

"Hey," Robin says softly, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Thanks for telling me, Steve. I know it's a lot for you to process. You know if you need to talk about, like, anything you can talk to me, right?" 

"Yeah," he says, with a little smile at her. "I know. Thanks, Robbie." 

"So. Tell me all the details," she says. "What exactly happened last night?" 

* 

Steve finds Eddie still awake in the bedroom, sitting propped up against the headboard, reading a book. Steve leans against the doorframe and smiles at him. 

"Hey," he says. "It's late. You should be asleep." 

"Couldn't," Eddie replies, setting his book down. "Heard on the grapevine that the hottest guy in Indiana was on his way over. Thought I might be able to tempt him into a goodnight kiss." 

Damn, that was smooth. Smooth enough that it makes Steve blush and stutter a little. 

"Oh yeah? Gonna kiss yourself, huh?" he says, and then blushes even harder because that was a lot cornier than it sounded in his head, certainly far less smooth than what Eddie had said. Apparently Eddie agrees, because he snorts out a laugh then sits up straighter, holding his arms out towards Steve. 

"Come kiss me you corny bastard," he says, and Steve doesn't need any more encouragement than that. He pulls away from the doorframe and strides across the room, shrugging out of his shirt and hopping out of his jeans as he goes. He crawls into the bed, hitches a leg over Eddie's so he's effectively straddling his lap. He ducks his head down to plant a soft kiss on Eddie's lips, a simple, sweet closed-mouths affair that only lasts a couple of seconds. When he pulls away, he rests their foreheads together. 

"Hi, baby," Eddie whispers. "How was work?" 

"It was fine," Steve replies. "Missed you. Did you have a good time with Dustin?" 

"Yeah, it was nice," Eddie brings a hand up to rest on Steve's cheek. "I kinda told him about us. That okay?" 

Steve smiles, leans into the touch a little. 

"S'fine. I told Robbie," he replies. "She was...not surprised, honestly." 

"Henderson wasn't either," Eddie chuckles. "In fact, he seemed like he was actively expecting it. I think everybody saw this coming except for us, baby." 

Which makes Steve laugh. Yeah. That sounds about right.

"Are we stupid?" he says, and Eddie just smiles at him. 

"Oh, complete idiots, both of us," he agrees. Leans forwards to kiss the tip of Steve's nose. "S'okay, though. Boys as pretty as you can get away with being a little dumb." 

Fuck. Why the fuck does that go straight to Steve's dick? 

He's about to come back with some totally smooth, suave, cool line that is in equal measures sarcastic and witty, but before he even gets the chance to string it together, Eddie gives him a mischievous little grin, plants his hands firmly on Steve's hips and, in a show of truly surprising strength, flips the both of them over so that Steve is laying flat on his back, pinned to the mattress by the weight of Eddie's hips on his own. Eddie's hovering over him, hands planted on the pillow on either side of his head, loose strands of hair tickling Steve's cheek.

"Fuck," he whispers, barely more than a breath. "My beautiful baby. Prettiest boy in the entire fucking world." 

Steve swallows on a shaky breath. Nobody has ever called him pretty so goddamn earnestly. Handsome, sure. Hot, more times than he can count. Nancy had even called him beautiful once or twice. But pretty? Pretty is something he's only been called teasingly, when Robin tells him not to worry his pretty little head about something or in a snide, scathing way, like when Billy Hargrove had called him pretty boy on the basketball court. Truthfully, he usually feels kind of sour towards it as a compliment for himself. Pretty is a word for girls and flowers and sunsets, things which are soft and delicate and fragile. All the things Steve isn't, can't be, wasn't even allowed to consider under his father's constant insistence that he "be a real man". Up until this very moment, Steve Harrington has accepted prettiness as something he can behold, but never be. 

But right now, with Eddie Munson over him, trailing touches feather-light over his eyelids and  cheekbones, looking at him like he hung every star in the sky himself, Steve believes it. Feels like the prettiest boy in the entire fucking world. 

"Ed," his voice comes out a little strained, a little desperate, when his boyfriend's lips find the place where his jaw meets his neck. 

"Love you," Eddie mutters against his skin. "So much. You're an angel, baby. So fucking pretty. So fucking perfect." 

Eddie's kissing and licking and sucking his way down to Steve's chest, making sure to graze his lips over every scar he comes across on the way. Steve brings one of his hands from its resting place on the pillow to pet at Eddie's hair, stroking little circles against his scalp which make the older man keen against his flesh. It's all new for Steve - he's been kissed and licked and sucked in these places before, but never like this, never so gentle and earnest and reverent. With girls in the past, this kind of touching had always felt frenzied, in the heat of the moment, or like it was nothing more than obligatory reciprocation. With Eddie, it feels like an act of worship. 

He whimpers a little when Eddie presses a firm kiss to a particularly bad scar on the flesh of his left pec. Whether it was left behind by demobats or Russians or Billy, Steve can't quite remember, but Eddie makes a little cooing noise against it regardless. 

"My brave baby. Warrior King Steve, yeah?" he whispers, pulling away enough to look up and meet Steve's eyes. "Though I've never seen a king quite so pretty. Maybe you're more like a princess." 

Which. Fuck. Fuck. Eddie definitely meant that as a joke, had that teasing little glint in his eyes when he said it, but it has Steve hauling him upwards by his hair, pulling their bodies flush against each other and crashing their mouths together in a hot, hungry desperate kiss. Eddie makes a little sound of surprise into Steve's mouth before he gets with the program, starts kissing back with tongue and teeth and one hand fisted in Steve's hair, the other scrabbling at his chest until calloused fingers find a nipple and squeeze it. 

"Fuck, Ed," Steve pants. "Want you. Need you." 

To make his point, he grinds his hips upwards. Apparently Eddie is just as into this as he is, because he's met with a similar hardness in the front of the metalheads pajama pants, wonders if he, too, has a wet spot like the one Steve can feel developing in his own boxers. Eddie makes a sound that is somewhere between a sigh and a moan and nods eagerly. 

"Yeah, yeah, baby, whatever you need," he mumbles, planting kisses all over Steve's face. "You got rubbers, princess?" 

"Why? You worried about getting me pregnant?" Steve huffs a laugh, assuming it's another joke. But Eddie pauses, gives Steve a serious look, then sighs when he doesn't get it. 

"No, baby, just I uh...I haven't been tested since the last guy," he says, with a flush that is deeper than the one he's worked up by making out. "There's probably nothing to worry about but, y'know. Better to be safe until we know."

Which isn't something Steve had even thought about, but he guesses it makes sense. He doesn't exactly make a habit of watching or reading the news, but he isn't completely unaware of what's going on in the world. If Eddie has been hooking up with guys, the caution makes sense.

Thing is, it's been a while since Steve brought a girl back to the house. This is a sanctuary, a safe place for his family. He doesn't like to bring strangers into it all that often. The handful of condoms he kept in the drawer just in case are long gone, and he used the last of the pack in his car with soom girl whose name he can't even remember like a month ago. 

"I can go to the pharmacy and pick some up tomorrow," he says, tone apologetic. He chews his bottom lip for a second, thinking. "Should...should I get tested too?" 

"I mean, it's not a bad idea," Eddie says, with a shrug. "There's a place I go to a couple towns over. We can make appointments the same day, make a little day trip of it." 

"Yeah. Nice romantic outing to the STD clinic," Steve snorts, and Eddie rolls his eyes, before dropping his head to Steve's shoulder and pressing a chaste little kiss to his collarbone. Steve's still hard, suspects Eddie is too, but he's flagging a little. That little distraction was enough for the mood to be gone. Steve sighs. "I'm sorry." 

"What are you sorry for?" Eddie asks looking up at him with curious eyes. 

"That we can't have sex tonight," Steve says, and even he's a little shocked by the sting of tears in his eyes. Not because he's sad that they couldn't do it, though it's admittedly a bummer, but because he's done this dance before. This is the part where whoever he's with peels themselves out of his arms and gets dressed and asks for a ride home. Nine times out of ten, it's also when they stop returning his calls. This is where, time and time again, he's fucked up even though he knows better. Because he learned very early in his dating life that being a good lay is really the only thing he has going for him and if he wants anyone to stick around for more than a couple of dates, he has to be willing and able to put out every time. 

"Hey, baby," Eddie's voice is soft as he comes up to lean his forehead against Steve's. "It's alright. We've got plenty of time to do that stuff, right?"

"Right," Steve says, wraps his arms around Eddie tighter even though it doesn't seem like he's going anywhere. "You're not upset?" 

"I'm not upset," Eddie confirms. "I love you, Stevie. I absolutely wanna have sex with you at some point, but for right now? I'm happy just to cuddle." There's a beat of silence, then he adds. "Unless you want to do something else. We can still do hand stuff." 

"Cuddling sounds nice," Steve says, quietly and Eddie gives his a dazzling smile. 

"Cuddling it is, then," he says. He flops down onto the bed beside Steve, pulling him in with an arm around his waist and tangling their legs together. Steve squeezes back, burying his face in the curve of Eddie's neck. They're quiet for a long time and Steve honestly thinks Eddie has fallen asleep until he speaks again. 

"You cool with it if I tell Wayne?" he asks, and Steve nods. He's come to like Wayne Munson an awful lot over this past year. He's a good man,  kind and stoic and dependable and he loves Eddie in exactly the way Steve always wished his father would love him. He's only half clued in to what really happened last spring, but seems satisfied with what he does know. "As long as I know my boy is safe," Steve had heard him tell an orderly at the lab. "I don't give a rats ass what the government is hiding." 

"We should have him over for dinner," Steve suggests. "Let Lizzie meet her grandpa." 

"Grandpa Wayne," Eddie says, and then he laughs. "He's gonna shit his pants about that." 

Steve laughs too, snuggles closer in. 

"I might tell some people from work, if you don't mind," he says. Linda will be happy for him, he thinks. And some of his regulars. 

"Sure, baby," Eddie says. Then the hand that has been stroking Steve's back pauses. "I kinda accidentally told the guys at my work that I um...that I'm dating Nancy." 

That shocks Steve into fully pulling away and he stares at Eddie, puzzled. 

"Nancy? Why?" he asks. Eddie just shrugs. 

"They were bothering me about having a girlfriend and hers was the first name I thought of," he says, a little defensive. Steve thinks for just a second, and then bursts out laughing. 

Because objectively, it's hilarious to imagine. Eddie and Nancy are friends, for sure. Got pretty close over last summer. They bicker like brother and sister and riff off of each other extraordinarily well but they're the oddest couple Steve can imagine. He laughs even harder when he thinks about the prospect of Nancy taking Eddie home to her parents, imaginging Ted Wheeler's reaction to being told "this is my boyfriend, he grew up in a trailer park and he sells drugs and also got accused of triple homicide". 

"Alright, it's not that funny," Eddie rolls his eyes, but he's grinning too. 

"It is," Steve giggles. "You gonna tell her? Oh my God please do it when I'm home, I need to be here for that phone call." 

"You're a dick," Eddie says, giving Steve a playful shove. "My boyfriend should absolutely not be taking this much glee in my suffering! For shame!" 

He's digging his fingers into Steve's sides now, just enough to tickle. Steve retaliates in kind, getting his hands into Eddie's armpits until he's laughing and gasping too. Eventually, Eddie manages to catch his wrists, pull them away and pin them at his sides. 

"She's gonna kill me, isn't she?" he says, and Steve lets out a last, weak laugh. 

"And dump your body in the quarry," he agrees. "I'd offer to protect you, babe, but frankly Nancy scares me too much." 

"That's a very valid fear, I totally understand," Eddie nods. Then he sighs, leans forwards and kisses Steve on the forehead. "I love you." 

Steve just smiles, melts into it, truly content for the first time in years. 

"I love you, too." 

Chapter Text

It's pretty remarkable, Eddie thinks, watching just how fast Lizzie is developing. She turns ten weeks the day before Valentine's Day, and she's successfully mastered the art of holding her head up and following sounds around the room with her gaze during tummy time. She's filled out some, too, officially out of her newborn clothes and into the next size up with adorably chunky, rolly arms and legs and round little cheeks that Eddie and Steve both love to squish, just to make her laugh. Because she laughs, now, too - proper laughing, not just the happy garbled coos she made before. That one, Steve is awfully proud of because apparently it means she's ahead of where the books say she should be in terms of milestones and thus, in his eyes, makes her a tiny genius. 

They've apparently got Wayne to thank for it. He'd been decidedly unsurprised to hear that Steve and Eddie are a couple - in fact he'd responded with a faux-shocked "you and Steve? No! You gotta be pulling my leg, son!" (And people wonder where Eddie gets it from) - and then absolutely delighted to be bestowed the honor of 'grandpa'. He'd arrived the night they had him for dinner armed with a plastic grocery bag of baby toys and picture books and a casette copy of The Johnny Cash Children's Album. Lizzie had loved it, giggling out her first proper laugh to The Dinosaur Song. 

She seems to be getting used to her own limbs too, becoming a lot more coordinated. She's started reaching out and trying to grab stuff, though she doesn't have the dexterity yet to hold onto them for long. Still, she's giving it a damn good go, and her favorite thing to grab at seems to be Steve's glasses. It doesn't help that Steve can't stay even remotely stern when she laughs: it's become almost like a game to her - she manages to yank them off his face, he tells her "Lizzie, no, that's naughty!", she squeals with laughter and he can't help but crack a smile. 

That's the exact scene Eddie comes downstairs to on Valentine's Day. It's a Saturday, so he doesn't have to work and he sleeps a little later than usual. He reaches out blindly for Steve when he wakes up, then opens his eyes with a frown when his fingers only meet empty space and cool sheets. He pushes himself onto his forearms and squints around the room to confirm Steve isn't there. And that won't do. Eddie has become very accustomed to sleepy morning cuddles, and he's a creature of habits before he's anything else. He rolls out of bed and pulls on a t shirt over his boxers, then wanders out in search of his boyfriend. 

He follows the smell of bacon down to the kitchen, where Steve has plonked Lizzie's bouncy chair onto the counter while he cooks. Evidently, she managed to nab his glasses while he was trying to give her a bottle.

"I already told you, lovebug, you can't have those," he says, in his best approximation of a firm voice. "Dada needs 'em to see your pretty face." 

"If Dada wants to see a pretty face, he could also look in a mirror," Eddie says, coming up behind Steve to wrap his arms around his waist and plant a kiss on his cheek. "Mornin', baby." 

"G'morning," Steve replies, twisting his head to smile back at Eddie. "Happy Valentine's Day." 

Which is something Eddie typically doesn't do. The very concept of Valentine's Day kind of offends every single one of his non-conformist, anti-cosumerist sensibilities. But Steve, sappy bastard that he is, loves it. He'd made puppy dog eyes and all kinds of promises at Robin until she'd agreed to take his busy Saturday shift so he and Eddie can spend tonight together. He's being elusive about exactly what his plans are, but Eddie's got a pretty good idea. Between both of their work and Lizzie's sleep schedules, they haven't actually found the time to do much of anything sexy just yet, barring a couple of snoozy early morning handjobs. Which Eddie isn't complaining about; Steve more than lives up to his high school reputation, both in his skills with his hands and the size of his dick. Eddie's eager to discover what else about him is true, and if it takes a manufactured corporate holiday to find out then so be it. 

"Back atcha, baby," Eddie mutters, slightly muffled against Steve's bare shoulder. "Waking up to any empty bed didn't feel very romantic, though. I missed our morning cuddle." 

"Me and Lizzie were gonna bring you breakfast in bed," Steve says and shit, if that doesn't just make Eddie absolutely melt. Objectively speaking, he has eaten breakfast in bed before, if you count half a slice of cold pizza you were too stoned to finish the night before and left on the nightstand as breakfast. But being brought breakfast that somebody else went out of their way to make for you? Well that's a different thing entirely. That's a pure and simple act of love. 

"You're gonna spoil me, princess," he presses his lips to Steve's neck. Apparently it tickles, because Steve giggles and shrugs him off, goes back to attending the pans on the stove. 

"You cook for me like every day," he says, cracking an egg on the side of the pan. "Let me take care of you for once." 

"You take care of me plenty," Eddie replies, because duh, he's literally been living in the guy's house rent-free for almost a month. "In fact, you do nothing but take care of other people." 

"Yeah, well. It's what babysitters are for, isn't it?" Steve says, and his tone is light but there's a self-deprecating edge to it that Eddie doesn't like. He's about to say something, chastise Steve for not knowing his worth, but he's interrupted by Lizzie making a loud sound from her bouncer, seemingly indignant at the lack of attention. He turns to her with a smile. 

"Sorry, sweetie, Daddy's being rude, huh?" he says, scooping her up out of the chair to kiss her on top of the head. "Good morning, my best girl. Did you have the sweetest dreams?" 

"She's been a menace all morning," Steve says. "You know she nabbed my glasses three times already? Almost managed to throw 'em across the room once, too." 

"Is that right?" Eddie replies, more to Lizzie than Steve. "Clever girl! You got Dada's sick throwing arm, huh?" 

She makes a little noise that almost sounds like agreement, then reaches up to grab a loose strand of Eddie's hair and pulls. Which. Ow. 

"You deserved that," Steve teases with a laugh as he starts constructing two breakfast plates. "I was thinking maybe we go shopping this afternoon? See if we can get her one of those little activity gyms so she's got shit to grab at when she does tummy time." 

"Sounds like a nice idea," Eddie agrees. "I've got a couple things I need to do this afternoon, though. Maybe go without me?"

Steve frowns there, all furrowed brow and pouty lips, and Eddie had to exercise an extraordinary amount of self-control to not kiss it right off of him. 

"I thought we were spending today together," he says. 

"We are!" Eddie reassures. "Just...Gareth kind of desperately needs car help and I promised him I'd go take a look. It'll be a couple hours, tops. I'll be back before dinner, I promise. And then tonight you can really show me how bad you wanna take care of me, yeah?" 

Steve blushes a little there and bites his lip, which is in equal parts adorable and devastatingly sexy. 

"Yeah, okay then," he says, with a tantalizingly little gleam in his eyes. 

*

It's a lie, of course. 

Gareth isn't having car troubles, to the best of Eddie's knowledge. Even if he was, his mother has made it plain as day that she doesn't want Eddie anywhere near her house anymore, so it's unlikely he'd be called on to take a look. Steve has been told that so it was a slightly risky cover but, well, he hasn't got the greatest of memories (probably a result of all those concussions over the years). He doesn't question it even for a second. 

And Eddie really does hate Valentine's Day as a concept, usually. But he loves Steve more than he hates consumerist bullshit and he's willing to put his morals aside to make his baby smile. He's also willing to put the work in to make that happen - even if that work means a two-hour round trip to a florist a few towns over to find his favorite flowers. Red roses are traditional, of course, and he could have gotten them in Hawkins pretty easily. But Steve doesn't like red. Steve likes yellow, and apparently yellow roses are a lot harder to come by. The one flower shop in downtown Hawkins didn't have them, had looked at Eddie like he'd waltzed in and requested they hand him the holy grail when he asked for them. So he's made it his mission this past week to secretly call every florist between Hawkins and Indianapolis and locate at least one with yellow roses. The nearest one is several miles away, but Eddie has committed to it now and so he sets out on the road just after lunch. 

The woman behind the counter beams at him when the bell above the door alerts her to his entrance. 

"Hello, dear," she says. "What can I help you with?" 

And Christ, the warm tone is nice. Eddie isn't exactly the hot topic of Hawkins anymore - even for the people who don't entirely believe in his innocence, the rumor -  mill has moved on and he's more a passing whisper than the center of gossip these days - but it doesn't mean he's being accepted with open arms. He's gotten accustomed to frosty receptions, even if they're ostensibly polite. He smiles wide back at her. 

"Hey," he says. "I called a couple days back? About yellow roses?" 

The lady practically squeals with delight and claps her hands. 

"Oh, yes!" she says. "Just a moment, dear." 

She disappears into the back room, and Eddie takes a minute to look around, fidgeting with his rings. The environment is a little overstimulating; practically stuffed to the brim with plants in every color imaginable in tones ranging from soft pastels to eye-stinging brights. It makes for an intoxicating mix of smells, heady and earthy and cloying. It's making Eddie a little dizzy, honestly, and he has to keep repeating in his head that Stevie is worth it, Stevie is worth it, Stevie is worth it. 

"Beautiful, aren't they?" the woman emerges from the back with an armful of 18 yellow roses. "You seemed very keen to find these. They for your special someone?" 

"Yeah," Eddie says with a nod, choosing to focus on watching her wrap the flowers in pale green paper to distract himself from how overwhelming the surroundings are. "I know red is more traditional and I could've gotten red ones back home in Hawkins, but I really wanted yellow. It's his favorite color, so." 

He freezes, immediately realizing his mistake. Damn stupid flowers and their damn stupid overstimulating nature making him let his guard down. He braces himself for the reaction, for her to glare and yell and tell him to get the hell out of her shop. 

She doesn't. Instead, she just smiles warmly at him. 

"You've come all the way from Hawkins just to get him roses in his favorite color?" she says. "Wow. He sounds like one lucky fella." 

Eddie grins, feels his cheeks go a little bit hot. 

"Well, he deserves it," he says. "He's really special." 

The lady makes an approving little hum as she finishes up wrapping the bouquet with a satin-y white ribbon. 

"Here you go, dear," she smiles as she hands them over. "Happy Valentine's day." 

*

When Eddie arrives home, he finds that Steve really did go shopping. 

He did, indeed, get the activity gym he'd set out for and is actually assembling it on the living room floor when Eddie gets back. There are a couple other bags from the baby store on the couch, mostly full of clothes and soft toys. Steve looks up with a sheepish smile. 

"I kinda got carried away," he admits, waving at the bags on the sofa. "Everything was so cute." 

"God you really are such a mama," Eddie chuckles. Steve sticks a finger up at him and then gives him an up-and-down look, noting the way his hands are tucked behind his back.

"Whatcha got there?" he asks, and Eddie grins at him. 

"Close your eyes and hold your hands out, angel," he says. Steve gives him a suspicious look at first, but he does it. Eddie presses the bouquet into Steve's waiting hands. "Alright, baby. Open 'em. Happy Valentines" 

Steve's eyes flutter open, and he looks at the flowers he's now holding with a confused little frown. 

"You bought me flowers," he says, a little flatly. 

Shit. For all Eddie had researched actually getting the roses, he hadn't really thought about how Steve would react. Now, seeing the reaction, he feels stupid as hell for doing it in the first place. Of course Steve doesn't want flowers. Why would he want flowers? He's a guy, so traditionally masculine, even if he does let Eddie into his softer moments. King Steve may be long gone, but Steve Harrington is still a macho ex-jock at his very core. Not the kind of guy who wants to be gifted a bouquet. 

"Ed," he says, in a soft little whisper, looking up to meet Eddie's eye with tears glittering in his own. "You bought me flowers?" 

"Uh, yeah," Eddie rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "I kinda didn't thi-" 

He's cut off mid-sentence by Steve practically throwing himself at Eddie, flinging his arms around his neck and pressing their lips together in a hot, frenzied kiss. It's so sudden that Eddie actually staggers back a couple of steps, the back of his knees hitting the arm of the couch. He wraps his arms around Steve in turn, kisses him back with equal fervor. Steve is like a ravenous animal, all teeth and tongue and saliva and little whimpering noises. Eddie gives it back just as good, biting at Steve's bottom lip, licking along the backs of his teeth and the insides of his cheeks. It's a sweet, hot taste, one that Eddie wants to get lost in forever. After what could be minutes or hours or days or lifetimes, they come up for air, panting into the centimeters between them and pressing their foreheads together. 

"You like 'em, then?" Eddie asks, with a little laugh. Steve smiles a little bashfully. 

"I love them," he says. "Where did you even find yellow roses?" 

"A little shop out in Arlington," Eddie replies, and Steve's eyes widen a little in disbelief. 

"You went to Arlington? Just to get me flowers?" he asks, softly. 

"Sure I did," Eddie replies, bringing a hand up to swipe at Steve's spit-slick lower lip. "Worth it for that reaction."

Steve just beams, presses a little kiss to Eddie's thumb, and then detangles himself from his arms. 

"I'm going to get some water for these," Steve says, bringing the flowers up to his face to sniff them. He grins coyly at Eddie over the top of them. "I just put Lizzie down for a nap in her crib. She'll probably sleep for a couple hours. Why don't you go wait in our room and I can thank you properly?" 

Eddie swallows at that. He knew this was coming today, of course. Steve's hinted at it plenty over this week - hell, Eddie outright propositioned it himself just this morning. But now that it's actually being laid out on the table? Well, it makes him just a bit nervous. He doesn't let it show, though. He just gives Steve a smile back and says 

"Sure thing, princess."

*

It takes Steve longer than it probably should to find water for the flowers. So long, in fact, that Eddie starts to worry that he's changed his mind. He's just about to push up off the bed and go find his boyfriend to remind him that he doesn't have to rush into anything, when the door swings open and there stands Steve in nothing but his underwear. Eddie can't help the noise that escapes him at the sight - they're seemingly new briefs, black and snug with a light satin-y sheen. The high cut of the legs has his strong hairy thighs on full display, the thick outline of his cock visible, half-hard, through the thin fabric. He looks almost shy as he stands in the doorway, chewing the skin around his thumb and shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

Eddie, still fully clothed and cursing himself for it (though he at least had the foresight to tie up his hair and get out a condom and the tube of KY jelly), pushes himself up onto his knees from where he's been sitting on the bed and reaches out with one hand. 

"C'mere, baby," he whispers. "Lemme see you." 

Steve does, dropping his hand away from his mouth with a smile and crossing the room to stand at the end of the bed, right in front of Eddie. He lets both of his hands settle on Steve's waist, rubs little circles down into his hipbones with his fingertips. He lets his eyes rake over Steve in all his glory; the solid planes of his pecs under that thick thatch of hair, the gentle swell of his biceps, the soft expanse of his belly, all of it covered with a dusting of moles and freckles that are scattered over him like scars, disrupted only by the thin, silvery-pink stripes of healed scars, evidence that he's the bravest person Eddie has ever known. 

"God, baby, look at you," Eddie breathes out. His eyes flick up to Steve's face, dark eyes meeting hazel, and he watches as those lovely pink lips part on a shaky breath. "Prettiest boy in the entire fucking world." 

And then he's being kissed, sweeter and gentler than before, and pushed back onto the mattress by his shoulders until he's half-reclined, resting on his hands and shifting up the bed until he's leaning on the pillows and allowing himself to fall flat, wrapping his arms around Steve's shoulders to bring him down too. Steve breaks their lips apart and brings his up to Eddie's forehead, then kisses his way down the side of his face to the shell of his ear. 

"Why don't we do something about those clothes, huh?" he whispers, and it's low and rough and ragged in a way that goes straight between Eddie's legs. He nods frantically, pushing at Steve to sit up so he can yank this damn stupid t-shirt over his head. Once it's tossed to the floor, Steve pushes him flat again with a firm hand on his chest and leans over him. Eddie blushes a little, feeling slightly scrutinized. It's not that he's self-conscious about the scars per se, he's just acutely aware of them at all times. Steve's fingers trail down his torso, brushing lightly over every one of them, pad of his thumb rubbing over the spot where his left nipple used to be. Eddie swallows shakily, and Steve's hands come back up to cradle his face. 

"You're beautiful, Eddie Munson," he whispers. 

"Fuck, Stevie," he replies, and it's a little whinier than he'll admit to. "How do you want me, princess? Just on my back or..."

"Actually," Steve says, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth like he's nervous to say the next part aloud. "Actually, Ed, I was kinda thinking...I hoped that you would...y'know." 

Oh fuck. 

"You wanna bottom, baby?" Eddie whispers. Steve swallows and then nods wordlessly. Christ, this boy is a dream come true. Eddie's bottomed before and it was fine, but topping has always been his preference. Still, he hadn't even really entertained it as a possibility with Steve, had just assumed right out of the gate that he'd be so accustomed to the one doing the fucking that him being on the receiving end was completely off the table. And now he's sitting here, outright asking Eddie to fuck him? 

Eddie must be dead. He must have died and gone to heaven. That's the only explanation for this. 

"Is that okay?" Steve asks, tentatively, and Eddie realises he's kind of just been staring agape at his boyfriend for the past few seconds. He smiles. 

"Yeah, princess, that's okay," he says, bringing a hand up to stroke Steve's cheekbone. "That is so okay. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you." 

"Shit," Steve sighs. "I love you, so much." 

"I love you too, baby," Eddie replies, pressing a firm little kiss to Steve's mouth. "Why don't you lay down for me, huh? Lemme take care of you, sweetness." 

Steve just nods and swings his leg over, so he's not straddling Eddie any more, lays down on his back on the bed. He's a work of art, legs splayed out a little, arms by his sides, fingers toying with a loose thread on the duvet. Eddie ducks to give him another kiss and then gets up for just a second to shuck off the jeans that are becoming positively suffocating. He grins down at Steve as he climbs back onto the bed just between Steve's thighs. He lays firm hands on them, thumbs trailing back and forth over the thick later of hair on them. God, Eddie could eat him alive. 

"How you feeling, princess?" he asks, gently. 

"Eddie," Steve whines, high in his throat. "Not that I don't love being caressed like that, but can we get this show on the road? I need you. Now." 

"Aw," Eddie coos, a little condescending on purpose. "My baby's a little needy, huh?" 

"Your baby is gonna choke you with your own hair if you don't hurry up and fucking touch me," Steve says through gritted teeth, grinding his hips upward against Eddie's emphatically. He's as rock hard in his briefs as Eddie is in his boxers, a wet spot starting to spread across the soft black fabric. Eddie just smiles down at him. 

Steve Harrington, the brat. Eddie is delighted. 

"Oh, you want me to touch you, princess?" he says, pressing his weight down to still the rolling of Steve's hips. Steve lets out an absolutely sinful groan and nods, eyes fluttering closed. Eddie laughs. "Okay, baby. I'll touch you." He slides his hands up Steve's thighs, lingers over the waistband of his boxers just long enough for Steve to whimper, then carries on up to his nipples. 

"Fuck," Steve whispers when Eddie takes one of the little pink nubs between his fingers and pinches. 

"You're sensitive here, huh, baby?" Eddie says, with a smile. He leans down and presses his tongue to Steve's chest, licks up over the teased nipple with a wide, broad stroke and then starts sucking, doing his damndest to leave a mark that will take days to fade. There's a little sharp twinge at the nape of his neck as Steve's hands come to tangle in his hair and tug. 

"Eddie," Steve pants. "Eddie, come on, man. I'm gonna cream my fuckin' pants if you keep that up. Fucking. Touch. Me."  

Eddie unlatches from Steve's pec and grabs his wrists, disentangling those long fingers from his hair. He pins them to the pillow beside Steve's head and hovers over him, close enough that their lips brush together when he talks. 

"Alright, brat," he says. "Here's how we're gonna do this. You're gonna keep your hands right here and keep your hips still. I'm gonna take those slutty little briefs off and I'm gonna finger you open, then I'm gonna fuck you into the mattress until you can't remember your own name. If you're a good boy and stay still, I might even touch your cock. You got it, princess?" 

Steve's gone all wide eyed, frantic and desperate, nodding so vigorously that he almost headbutts Eddie in the nose. 

"Yeah, I got it Ed," he says. "I'll be a good boy. Such a good boy for you, do whatever you tell me. Just touch me, please. Touch me however you want. Please." 

Jesus. Eddie really does need to get a move on, because he isn't going to last at this rate either. 

"So pretty when you beg, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss to Steve's lips. He rocks back onto his knees, in between Steve's thighs. He doesn't waste any time reaching down to yank Steve's underwear off, tossing them over his shoulder into a corner of the room. The motion is so sudden it makes Steve yelp out a surprised laugh, but he keeps his hands where Eddie put them. Good boy. His cock is hard, already red and leaking precum into the hair that trails from Steve's bellybutton the neatly groomed thatch nestled at the base of his cock. Much neater than last time Eddie had his hands down here. 

"You been doing some landscaping for me, baby?" he asks, stroking his fingers through it, making a loose ring with them at the base of Steve's shaft. Steve swallows shakily, then nods. 

"Yeah," he says. "Wanted to be pretty for you, Ed." 

He flushes there, all the way down to his chest. Eddie just grins at him, tracing little patterns on his hip with his free hand. 

"You're always pretty for me, doll," he says. 

Steve coughs like he's embarrassed and turns his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Eddie tuts. 

"Hey, pretty baby, none of that. Eyes on me," he orders, softly. After a seconds hesitation, Steve obeys, lifting his chin and opening his eyes. Eddie gives him an approving smile, squeezes the grip on his cock lightly just to make him gasp. God, Eddie wants nothing more than to get his mouth around Steve and suck him til he can't see straight. Their appointment at the clinic is on Tuesday and, suddenly, three days feels like a lifetime. 

Eddie reaches over to the nightstand to grab the lube, then hikes one of Steve's legs up onto his shoulder, turning his head to plant a kiss on the inside of his knee. Steve watches, wide eyed, as Eddie pours a generous amount over his fingers, rubs it between them a little to get it warmed up.

"You ready, princess?" Eddie asks, gently, as he reaches down and presses one slick finger against Steve's hole. He nods, but he's tense, knuckles white where he's gripping the pillowcase by his head. Eddie tuts again. "I need you to relax, sweets. Can you be a good boy and do that for me?"

Apparently, those are Steve's trigger words, because as soon as Eddie calls him a good boy he goes loose and languid. Steve Harrington, the brat with a praise kink. 

If Eddie isn't already dead, this boy might just kill him. 

Steve hisses a little as Eddie presses his finger inside. Eddie coos in response. 

"I know, baby. A little cold, huh?" he says. "How's it feel? Not hurting you, am I?" 

"No," Steve shakes his head. "Doesn't hurt. Just feels weird. Good weird." .

"Good weird, huh?" Eddie says, working his finger in to the knuckle and starting to move it in and out at a gentle but steady pace, one that makes Steve gasp and shudder. "Nobody ever touched you here before, princess? Never have one of your little girlfriends pop a finger in while you fed her that pretty dick?" 

"Jesus Christ, Ed," Steve huffs. "You can't just say shit like that, holy fuck." When Eddie pauses, Steve realises he's been asked a question. "No. Nobody's ever - ah fuck - ever done that before." 

"Nobody, huh?" Eddie asks, pressing a second finger in and making Steve choke out a stranged whine. "Not even you, princess? You never get curious about what it would feel like and shove your own fingers up here?" 

"N-no," Steve stammers out. He's flushed bright red now, sweaty from the obvious effort of holding still. He swallows a moan and exhales a shaky breath. "I thought about - shit, Eddie - about it but I-I was scared. Scared I'd hurt myself." 

"Not scared with me, though?" Eddie asks, scissoring his fingers just to make Steve groan at the stretch. Steve shakes his head. 

"Know you wouldn't hurt me. Never hurt me. Love me too much," he says, between breathless moaning sounds. That makes Eddie beam. 

"That's right, baby," he says, softly. "I love you so much. I'd never hurt you. Gonna look after you, aren't I?" 

He accompanies the last words with a crook of his fingers, curving them until they find-

"Oh FUCK, EDDIE," Steve all but screams it. 

"Shh, princess," Eddie says, though he's grinning at the reaction. Lizzie is a good sleeper, but he's still cognizant of potentially waking her up. 

"What did you do?" Steve pants. 

"That's your prostate, baby," Eddie tells him, brushing against it again to make him whine. "Your G-spot, basically. Feels good, huh?" 

"Yeah," Steve nods. "Too good. You need to get your cock in me like now, Ed, or I'm not gonna last." 

And Eddie doesn't need much more encouragement than that. He pulls his fingers out of Steve, eliciting a little sound of protest, and wipes them on the bedsheets. He tears the condom packet open with his teeth and shoves his boxers down just enough to free his own neglected cock so he can roll the rubber on and apply a little extra lube, just in case. He turns to kiss the inside of Steve's thigh as he slowly lines himself up and gently, slowly, presses into him. 

Steve makes an absolutely sinful sound when Eddie bottoms out, arching his back off the bed in a movement that seems involuntary. 

"Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck," he whispers. His eyes - hooded and glassy by now - meet Eddie's and he gives him a wrecked little smile. "Can I have a kiss? Please?" .

And if Eddie wasn't borderline sex-drunk himself, he'd probably wax lyrical about how amazing it is that Steve can be so sweet and so sexy at the same time. 

"Any time, baby," Eddie says, leaning down to catch Steve's lips. The movement bends Steve's leg, brings his knee up to his chest, a position he doesn't even flinch at. Flexible, athlete boyfriend. Eddie can do a lot of things with that. 

Eddie's hands find Steve's, and he weaves their fingers together as he licks into Steve's mouth and starts to rock his hips. 

"Fuck," Steve whimpers, into his mouth. "Feel so - fuck. So fucking god." 

"Mmhm," Eddie agrees. "You feel good too, baby. So fucking tight." 

"I mean it," Steve pants, as his head drops back into the pillow and Eddie takes the opportunity to latch onto his neck. "I'm really not gonna - Christ, that's nice - not gonna last long, man."

"That's okay, princess," Eddie murmurs into the hot skin of Steve's neck. He's got a couple minutes left in him at best too. "Let's give you a hand, huh?"

He brings both of their hands down to Steve's cock, wraps his own over Steve's and starts pumping slowly. 

"Oh, fuck," Steve chokes out. "'Cause I'm a good boy, yeah?" 

"That's right," Eddie says, pressing kisses along his jawline. "My good boy. Best boy in the world. Love you so, so much." 

"Shit, fuck," Steve gasps, and Eddie can feel how close he is from the way he clenches around his cock, the way every muscle in his body tightens. "Love you, too." 

"Why don't you be a really good boy and cum for me?" Eddie whispers directly into his ear. 

That's all it takes. Steve gasps out one final groan and then he's spilling his load all over both of their chests and hands. Eddie fucks him through it, his own orgasm following shortly after with a shout of Steve's name muffled by teeth sinking into a meaty shoulder. 

He doesn't pull out straight away, just collapses on top of Steve, mess be damned. Steve chuckles a little, wiggles his hands free and strokes Eddie's back with one, his hair with the other. 

"That was- wow," he says, finally. 

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, breathlessly. "Wow." 

They lie in a comfortable quiet for several long, cozy moments. Then Steve clears his throat. 

"Nice as this is, babe, we're gonna start getting sticky real soon," he says, with a grimace. "We probably have time for a shower before Lizzie wakes up." 

Eddie huffs a laugh of agreement as he pushes himself up and pulls out of Steve, who winces a little at the loss. Edddie peels off the condom, ties it and drops it into the waste paper basket. Steve is a vision beneath him, still flushed and sweaty, hair an absolute mess, dopey little smile on his face, chest and stomach streaked with glistening cum. Eddie loves him.

"Come on, princess," he offers out a hand. "Let's go get cleaned up." 

Chapter Text

Being in love with Eddie Munson is one of the easiest things Steve Harrington has ever done. 

There are simply so many things about him to love. Steve could fill a million and one notebooks with all the things he loves about the metalhead and still have more to go. It's a little crazy-making, to be honest. He thinks about Eddie near-constantly: how sweet and goofy and good he is with Lizzie; how excited and passionate he gets when he talks about D&D or music or his fantasy novels; the way he absent-mindedly pokes his tongue out a little when he's concentrating on something or pulls his hair over his face when he's thinking hard; the way he looks when he comes home from work with that hair scraped back, covered in car grease and oil, totally exhausted but still managing to smile and kiss Steve and Lizzie hello as soon as he comes in the door; the way his lips feel when he presses them to every inch of Steve's body like he's trying to commit every scar and blemish and mole to memory; the way that he'll casually lay his head on Steve's lap - or even sit there himself - when they have their movie nights on Steve's nights off; the delighted little half-laugh, half-squeal he makes every time Steve picks him up (which he does at every available opportunity and in every possible way - bridal style, over-the-shoulder fireman-esque, with Eddie's arms around his neck and legs around his waist); all of those stupid sweet little pet names that Eddie absolutely showers him with. Baby. Sugar. Doll. Sweetheart. Good boy. Princess. 

Which. Steve has kind of already made his peace with the 'good boy' thing, has known he was into that since that time Nancy had called him it with her hands fisted in his hair while he went down on her and it had made him cream his pants before either of them even thought about touching his dick. They hadn't really spoken about it and Steve had been too embarrassed to outright ask her to call him it again, but she'd clearly cottoned on that it was a thing for him because she kept doing it. Or maybe it was equally a thing for her and that's why she kept it up. Either way, it was enough to solidify it as something that Steve is really really into so of course Eddie - that perceptive bastard with his eerie ability to read Steve like a book - figured it out straight away. 

But princess? Princess is new. Princess is different. It's not like he's never been called it before. Especially after his fall from the grace of high school popularity, some of the other dickhead jocks at Hawkins High had sneered at him in the locker room, a demeaning play on the stupid King Steve nickname he'd never even liked in the first place. When goddamn Billy Hargrove and his ilk had spat princess at him, he'd hated it, wanted to smack the bastards in the mouth about it. But when Eddie says it? When Eddie says it, it's completely different. Because he doesn't spit or sneer. It's not demeaning or degrading or mean. It's sweet. Adoring. Almost reverent. It makes Steve feel loved, wanted. Gives him that soft, warm, fuzzy feeling in his head that he also gets whenever Eddie calls him pretty. 

So Steve is madly, deeply, head-over-heels in love with Eddie and it is so so easy, especially given how well the family take it.

Too easy, almost. So easy that it's making Steve panic a little bit, because things never seem to stay easy for him for long. 

As February comes to a close and the winter starts to thaw and melt into spring, a number of things happen in quick succession. 

Lizzie is growing and developing at a rate that Steve can't quite believe. At the start of March, she turns three months and by now, she can hold her head up well enough that she can sit if she's being supported, either by being held or by the elaborate nest of cushions that Eddie likes to build for her on the couch. Her personality is really starting to come through, as well; she's got favorite toys that she reaches for over others in tummy time, favorite songs on both Steve's and Eddie's albums that she giggles and claps her fat little hands along with, favorite books that send her off to sleep at bedtime snuggled into one of their chests, even a favorite person if the way she absolutely lights up whenever Wayne is around is anything to go by. 

Lovely as that all is, Hawkins remains a small town and Steve is fully aware that he's starting to become the subject of gossip. 

Nobody says anything to him, of course, not directly anyway. The town might be populated by nosey old gossips, but most of them aren't stupid and possess at least a little bit of tact. Still, the fact that the wild Harrington boy not only stuck around in town while his respectable, sensible parents had the good sense to leave the horrors of Hawkins behind but is now running about town with a baby in tow and no mother in sight is exactly the kind of scandal which is perfect fodder for the rumor mill that this town operates on. He's learned to simply grin and bear it when he runs into people he's vaguely acquainted with on the street or in the grocery store and they gasp in faux confusion and bend down to peer into Lizzie's stroller and ask him "and who is this little cutie?". He's learned to answer their questions through gritted teeth that he can pass off as a smile, give them enough information to get them to leave him alone as soon as possible but hopefully not enough to run off and discuss him with the rest of the supper club. 

He reaches his limit, though, when he takes her to get her twelve-week immunizations. He's already on edge because he's not a big fan of the doctor's office, to begin with, and because Lizzie had cried and cried when she'd gotten her first vaccinations at eight weeks and it had absolutely broken his heart. Plus, Eddie is working so he's had to come to the appointment alone. Which, he's vaguely aware is probably better for rumor-dodging purposes (after all, the 'Steve Harrington is running around with a baby and no wife' gossip is annoying, but 'Steve Harrington is running around with a baby and is suspiciously cozy with that Munson boy we all thought was a serial killer last year' could be dangerous) but still, the emotional support would be nice. He's just thinking that maybe he should have asked Robin or Joyce to come with him when someone sits down in the waiting room chair right beside him. 

"Steve? Oh wow, it is you!" it's a familiar, grating voice. Shirley Frances is an old neighbor who lived on the same street as his parents in Loch Nora, the kind of woman who likes to know everything about everyone and takes active glee in stirring the pot. She'd regularly played cards with his mother, but even she wasn't a fan of Shirley's. Once, after a glass too many of wine, his mother had told Steve that Shirley is a mean-spirited two-faced old bitch, and Steve had frankly had no choice but to believe her. It takes a certain kind of person to make Katherine Harrington lower herself to swearing, even Steve had never pissed her off that badly. Shirley is a piece of work and, honestly, the last person Steve wants to deal with today. 

"Hello, Shirley," he says, tightly. He focuses his eyes on the reception lady, imploring her with his mind to call his name and wave him through to the doctor's office so he doesn't have to attempt small talk. 

"And here I thought you Harrington's had moved out of town," Shirley laughs in that false, too high-pitched way that makes Steve want to pull his own skin off. 

"Mom and Dad did," Steve tells her, though he knows she already knows this. "I stuck around." 

"Well, clearly," Shirley says, sounding far too amused for Steve's liking. Please just call us through, Doctor Jones, I'll do anything for you. "You didn't want to go with them?" 

"No," Steve says, flatly. "I had a lot of friends who were affected by the earthquakes last year. I wanted to stay and help." 

"Oh, but of course," Shirley coos in a way that is frustratingly condescending. "You did an awful lot to help, didn't you? I remember seeing you in the paper." 

Which makes Steve blush a little. He'd volunteered at the relief shelter until it was deemed no longer necessary and had helped with some of the rebuilding efforts. He'd also been painted a little too favorably in the government coverup of what really happened, a story spun about a Victor Creel copycat killer occupying his idol's old house who had been killing kids left right, and centre and framing Eddie to throw heat off his own trail, how the house had been felled by the earthquakes and that Steve and the Sinclair siblings, simply in the right place at the right time, had dug Eddie and Max (the intended fourth victim) out of the rubble just in time. Lucas and Erica, being minors and all, were granted a little more anonymity about it all at the request of their parents but someone down at the paper had gotten ahold of it and published some article alongside a grainy blown-out version of Steve's senior yearbook picture. It'd all been a bit much for him, honestly, felt like undue, undeserved praise that'd be better handed to someone else. It had been a huge relief when all the dumb hero worship had started to die down and he felt like he could go to the store without anybody gushing over him again. Trust someone like Shirley to bring it back up. 

"And who have we got here, then?" Shirley taps a finger onto the side of the stroller, and it takes every ounce of Steve's willpower not to yank it away from her reach. For a second, Steve considers lying to her, telling her that he's babysitting for a friend or that he's taken a nannying job or something. But it's pointless. Shirley definitely knows the truth and if she runs off to tell the coven that not only is Steve Harrington apparently a single father but he's actively trying to cover it up, it'll simply cause a gossip shitstorm that Steve simply doesn't want to deal with. So he's honest. 

"This is my daughter," he says. Keeps her name to himself. An asshole like Shirley doesn't get that. 

"Oh, Steve!" Shirley gasps, and it's so false Steve can't help rolling his eyes. "It really has been too long. I didn't even know you'd gotten married!" 

There's this tone to her voice. She's egging him on. Daring him to lie. 

Bitch. 

"I'm not married," he says, curtly. Shirley practically cackles. Steve has never wanted to be elsewhere more in his life. 

"Well, isn't that modern," she says. "You kids and shirking tradition, eh?" 

Steve just mumbles something incoherent and stares hard at the clock on the wall. Lizzie's appointment was supposed to start a minute and a half ago. Curse you, Doctor Jones, and your minor tardiness. 

"So," Shirley continues, and Steve grits his teeth. "You're babysitting today, then? Giving mommy a well-deserved day off, I suppose?" 

That's what tips Steve over the edge because fuck that. 

"Actually, Shirley, her mother isn't in the picture," Steve snaps. "And even if she was looking after my kid wouldn't be fucking babysitting, it'd be parenting. If you really, really feel the need to pry, I was never even really dating her mother, let alone even considering marriage. We just had sex. A lot. Is that what you need to hear? David and Katherine Harrington's boy isn't only the family disappointment, he's also sleeping around so much that he knocked a girl up while he was still a teenager himself! A girl who, by the way, didn't even want to be a mother and ditched the baby on my doorstep with a note like a goddamn Cabbage Patch Kid when she couldn't handle it anymore. Is that what you were fishing for, Shirley? Is that hot enough gossip to take back to your book club or do you need all the sordid details of the conception too, you miserable, nosey old hag?" 

Steve's a little out of breath by the time he finishes, a little hot in the face. He becomes acutely aware of the silence in the room and looks around to realize all eyes are on him.  In a horrifying, humiliating moment he realizes that he's been yelling, that everyone else waiting for an appointment heard and so has the receptionist. So has Lizzie, if the way she's paused playing with her bunny and is fixing Steve with big, confused, teary eyes is anything to go by. 

Shit. 

"Oh, hey, no, I'm sorry, sweetie," he coos softly, focusing on the stroller because it's less humiliating than acknowledging the rest of the room. "Dada didn't mean to shout, I'm sorry." 

"Elizabeth Harrington? Doctor Jones is ready for you." 

Thank fucking God. 

He doesn't let himself think about it for the rest of the day. He cleans the house from top to bottom even though it doesn't really need it and preps dinner even though it's his night off and he and Eddie usually cook together for those.  He pours extra effort into doting on Lizzie, too. She reacted better than she did to the last round of shots, but she's all sniffly and extra cuddly all afternoon and honestly, that's kind of okay by Steve because flipping into caretaker mode does wonders to quell his stress. 

Eddie notices something is up almost as soon as he comes in. His usual tired smile fades to a concerned frown as soon as his eyes land on Steve. 

"You alright, baby?" he asks. Steve shrugs. 

"Long day," is all the explanation he offers. "I drew you a bath. Dinner will be ready in ten." 

Because sometimes, caretaker mode extends to Eddie as well. Steve likes looking after him, and Eddie doesn't protest being looked after. 

"Thank you, princess," Eddie says, leaning in to give Steve a kiss on the forehead before he disappears off to take his bath. 

They don't talk about it until later, when Lizzie is in bed and they're watching a movie on the couch, Steve laying on his back with Eddie tucked between his thighs, head laying on Steve's bare chest. 

"You wanna tell me what's got you so tense today, angel?" Eddie asks, rubbing a hand over Steve's stiff shoulder as if to prove a point. 

"I ran into Shirley Frances at the doctor's office," Steve says, with a sigh. 

"She's that rich old broad with the annoying yappy dogs, right?" Eddie asks. "Drives that ugly ass green Ford?" 

"That's her," Steve chuckles in confirmation. 

"Was she mean to you?" Eddie asks, lifting his chin to look Steve in the eye. 

"Not, like, openly," Steve says. "She was just being weird and intrusive and gossipy. Asking questions I know she knows the answer to just to make me squirm. I kinda yelled at her." 

"You yelled at her?" Eddie repeats and he's frowning, but he has an amused glint in his eye. 

"Yeah," Steve sighs. "She was like a dog with a bone. I snapped, called her a nosey, miserable old hag."

"Baby!" Eddie gasps like he's scandalised, even as he laughs. Steve can't help a weak smile too. 

"I know, I'm just sick of this town and its rumor mill," he says. 

"Yeah, well, you don't have to tell me about that," Eddie comments, leaning up to press a little kiss to the underside of Steve's jaw. "I'm sorry you had a shitty day, princess. Want me to take your mind off it for a little bit?" 

"Mm. Yeah," Steve sighs, letting his head drop back so Eddie can get at his neck. 

It really does feel too easy. 

A couple days after Steve's run in at the doctor's office, Eddie turns twenty-one. 

Steve has managed to trade off a shift, even though it's a Friday and it means that he'll be working every weekend for the forseeable future but it's worth it, he thinks, to spend the evening with his boyfriend. They've arranged a get together with the family with movies and takeout and cake that Steve is planning to secretly bake while Eddie is at work. They're likely to end up with at least a couple of the kids staying over, especially now that they've converted the seldom-used dining room into a downstairs guest room. 

They spend the morning alone together, waking up even before Lizzie does to roll around in the sheets together until they're both hot and sticky and sweaty. When they're done and panting for breath, Eddie peers up at Steve through his eyelashes, chin pillowed on his hands ontop of Steve's chest. 

"Thanks for that, princess," he smiles. Steve grins back, pushes his bangs back off his forehead so he can dip down and kiss it.

"Anything for the birthday boy," Steve replies. "I wish you didn't have to go to work. Wish you could stay here with me all day." 

"Jesus, Harrington, you're insatiable, aren't you?" Eddie snorts a laugh. "You just got the most mind blowing head of your life twice and you still want more?"

"Well, that's presumptuous," Steve teases. Eddie gasps in mock offence and slaps him lightly on the shoulder. 

"It's my birthday, be nice," he scolds. "Besides. Am I wrong?" 

Thing is, he isn't. Steve had had more than his fair share of blowjobs prior to meeting Eddie and most of them were pretty good. But Eddie has a knack, some skill that Steve has never come across before and God, is it good. It helps that he seems to genuinely love doing it and apparently lacks a gag reflex. He's so good at it that it frankly makes Steve a little self conscious about his own skill and inexperience. Not that Eddie's complained - quite the opposite, in fact. He repeatedly showers Steve in that sweet praise that scratches his every itch every time Steve blows him. 

"I'm gonna take that look as a 'no, Ed, you're totally right you're the best dick-sucker I've ever dated and also the hottest person I've ever been with too'," Eddie says smugly, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

"Most annoying person I've ever dated, that's for sure," he says, flicking Eddie's nose. Eddie makes a wounded noise like he's offended, clasping at his chest and rolling off of Steve like he's been shot. 

"Such cruelty from the man who professes to love me! And on my birthday no less! I'm hurt! Heartbroken! Wounded!" he says, overdramatic as ever. Steve groans and rolls his eyes, but he's laughing. 

"Was that supposed to make you seem less annoying?" he asks, rolling over to prop himself over Eddie on his hands. He's beautiful in the mornings, especially mornings like these when he's all sleepily sex-satisfied, with those slightly glassy hooded eyes and a soft little grin that doesn't fade for hours. Steve smiles back down at him. "You're lucky you're so damn cute, Munson, else you might annoy me out of loving you so much." 

And Steve expects another sarcastic, annoying response. Instead, Eddie just reaches up to stroke his cheek and goes soft in the eyes when he says 

"I love you, too, princess." 

Across the hall, their daughter starts to stir and, in the warmth of each other's embrace, they get out of bed to start their day. 

*

Eddie's home a little earlier than usual, breezing through the door while Steve is putting the finishing touches to a devil's food cake that came out only the tiniest bit lopsided. Lizzie is sitting nearby in her bouncer, cheerfully bashing together the spoons Steve handed her to entertain herself while he was busy. 

"Ooh, sounds like we've got a little drummer in the household," Eddie says, crouching to plant a kiss on Lizzie's forehead. "Gonna give uncle Gare-bear a run for his money, huh?" 

He straightens and turns to Steve, pulling him into a tight hug from the side and planting a kiss on his cheek. 

"Hey, baby. I missed you today," he says. He smells faintly of beer, under the usual motor-oil-and-car-grease scent that Steve privately finds insanely sexy. 

"I missed you too," he says, honestly. "You been drinking, birthday boy?" 

"Yeah, a little bit," Eddie confirms. "We closed the shop early and the boys wanted to take me for my first legal drink. That okay?" 

And Steve kinda wishes that he'd gotten a phone call or something, but it is Eddie's birthday and besides, if it makes him like this, even cuddlier than usual, it's kinda worth it. 

"Sure, it's okay," Steve says, turning in Eddie's arms to face him fully. "You have a good time?" 

"Mhm," Eddie hums in confirmation. "They wanted me to stay out, but I told 'em the missus was expecting me home." 

"Oh that's what I am, huh? The missus?" Steve says, eyebrow cocked like he's got a problem with it. Like it doesn't send a jolt of heat to the parts of his brain he's not quite willing to unpack just yet. Eddie just grins at him, like he knows exactly what it does. 

"Don't think you have much grounds to complain about that when I get to come home to you singing to our baby in your pretty apron like a good little housewife," he says and the tone is light, teasing but oh fuck, Steve's jeans definitely weren't that tight when he put them on. Eddie reaches out a thumb to swipe a streak of cocoa powder from Steve's cheek. "You been baking, sweetheart?" 

"Yeah," Steve gestures to the cake on the counter behind him. "I was gonna do, like, traditional birthday cake but I know you like chocolate better and besides I have my Nana's recipe for this so-" 

He's cut off mid-sentence by Eddie planting a firm kiss on his lips. 

"Do you have any idea how much I love you, Steve Harrington?" Eddie murmurs as he pulls away just far enough to rest their foreheads together. Steve smiles back at him. 

"Mm, not sure I do, Eddie Munson," he replies. "Maybe you should tell me more."

He's about to lean in for another kiss when they're interrupted by a gagging noise in the doorway. Apparently the kids have arrived and let themselves in. El and Max, naturally, make a beeline for Lizzie, while the boys hover in the hallway. 

"Lizzie, your dads are nauseating sometimes," Dustin says. Eddie flips him off. 

"Can it, Dusty Bun," he says. "We've all heard you cooing at Suzie Poo on your little radio. I can guarantee you two say way cornier shit that Harrington and I ever do to each other." 

And, well. Steve's not quite sure about that. He's utterly enamoured with the praises Eddie loves heaping him with, but it truly can get pretty cheesey sometimes. Still, Eddie's words seem to have their desired effect and Dustin flushes. 

"Suzie and I do not coo," he protests. "We have incredibly deep and meaningful conversations because we both have emotional intelligence and maturity." 

"Yeah, and I have a super hot boyfriend so which of us is really winning?" Eddie shoots back, which gets a groan out of the kids and makes Steve blush. "How did you little assholes get here anyway? I thought we were picking you up later." 

"Gareth brought us," Mike pipes up, and it's only then that Steve notices that Gareth is, indeed, there, lingering at the edge of the group.

He looks a little awkward, like he always does at Steve's house. He's been over a couple of times since last summer, whenever Eddie has commandeered the kitchen for a campaign. He remains a little cagey around Steve - likely a remnant from being on the receiving end of he and Tommy H's shit at least once in high school - though he's admittedly relaxed a little bit. Especially since that one day in the fall, when the D&D game had been in full swing when Steve answered the phone to a lady looking for her daughter Annabelle. Steve had repeated the name aloud, ready to tell the woman she had the wrong number, but Gareth had sprung up mid-roll, panicked and beet red and looking near tears and taken the phone from Steve without making eye contact to mutter a disgruntled "what is it, mom" into the receiver. 

And look, Steve is kinda stupid and big enough to admit that. But it hadn't taken him that long to put two and two together. Gareth had avoided him for a while after that, skipped a bunch of D&D sessions until Eddie had confronted Steve to ensure he wasn't gonna be "fucking weird about it". Steve had been a little put out by the implications of that, but he understood. Hawkins isn't exactly kind to anyone who deviates from any kind of norm, as his ragtag little family of misfits is very well aware. He may not understand whatever Gareth has going on, but he figures if it makes him happy and he isn't hurting anyone then there's no reason to not respect it. Besides, as far as he's concerned, Gareth is fucking obviously a dude and to call him anything else feels simply incorrect. He'd said as much to Eddie and Gareth had started showing up again, started smiling at Steve a little more often. 

He's smiling at him now, tight and awkward, fidgeting with his car keys. 

"Hope it's okay," he says. "Figured none of us have anything better to do so..." 

"Totally fine," Steve assures him, and he relaxes just a little bit. 

"Right-oh," Eddie announces, with a sharp clap of his hands. "I am going to take a shower and then we can get this party started, yeah?" 

* 

It's much later in the evening when Steve finds himself alone with Gareth.

Movie night is in full swing. Lizzie has been put to bed and they're watching some corny horror B-movie from the sixties that Eddie insists in one of his favorites. It's a squeeze to fit everyone into the living room, so they're all kind of piled on top of one another. Robin and Nancy have claimed the armchair and they're huddled under a blanket but Steve is almost certain that Nancy is literally sitting in Robin's lap, which is...incredibly interesting and something he'll definitely be revisiting with Rob at a later date.

The rest of them are spread across the couch and the floor around it in various clusters and configurations. Steve himself is sitting on the floor, back resting against the couch, with one of Eddie's legs draped over his shoulder and his fingers carding absent-mindedly through Steve's hair. And it's nice, having all the people he cares about in his living room like this. But it's a small living room and a lot of people and since Starcourt, Steve doesn't always do well in spaces where he feels cramped. When it starts to get a little claustrophobic, he disentangles himself from his boyfriend and announces he's gonna go make more popcorn. 

He doesn't expect to be followed, but while he's fiddling with the microwave he hears somebody clearing their throat behind him. He turns to see Gareth idling near the doorway. 

"Thought you might want some help," he offers. And Steve is perfectly capable of operating his microwave and dumping the popped corn into a bowl, but one good look at Gareth makes him think that maybe that's not his real intentions, so he just nods. Sure enough, Gareth pipes up a couple of seconds later. 

"So," he says, drumming his fingers on the countertop. "You and Ed." 

"Yeah," Steve says. "Me and Ed. I know it's kinda out of left field." 

"Not on his part," Gareth snorts. "He hasn't shut up about you for, like, a year, dude. It'd be cute if it wasn't so fuckin' annoying." 

Steve laughs a little there, though he feels a blush creep into his face. He knows Eddie had a crush on him for a long time because Eddie told him as much but the fact that he was gushing about said crush to his friends? That makes Steve want to dance with excitement. 

"You reciprocating? That was more of a shock," Gareth presses on. "Didn't even know you liked guys, man." 

"Honestly? Took me 'til now to realise it too," Steve replies, with an awkward shrug. He's still working that one out. Eddie has assured him that, apparently, it's a thing for some people to like both, said Nicky has a nephew or something who does. Research has told him that the term is bisexual and Steve has been tentatively wearing it like a new jacket; getting an idea of how it suits him, a feel for the fit, before he really commits to it. 

"You guys are moving pretty fast, huh?" Gareth comments. Because, of course he does. From the outside, Steve is fully aware that he and Eddie's relationship looks like it's gone from naught to a million at breakneck speed. Hell, they started at co parenting and worked backwards to 'I love you'. Thing is, Steve's watched the world almost end too many times to care about taking things slow. He's burdened with the knowledge that the ground could tear open and a psychotic half-alive demon of a man, backed by an army of eldritch horrors, could lay waste to life as they know it at any point. He's become therefore determined to make the most of the time he has while he has it, and if that means falling hard and fast in love with possibly the best person he's ever met, so be it. 

Of course, he doesn't say all of that to Gareth. Can't, even if he wanted to. So instead he just shrugs. 

"I guess so," he says. "I guess when you know, you know. Y'know?" 

"Yeah," Gareth says slowly, like he's thinking. "Listen, Steve. I like you - which, trust me dude, is not something I ever thought I'd say to you. Under that preppy shithead exterior you're a good dude and you're actually pretty cool. But I love Ed way more than I like you. And I know he comes across all tough and self assured and like he knows what he wants but he's kinda fragile underneath it all, y'know? He's a really easy guy to hurt, Steve, and I've seen him get hurt before. I really don't ever want to see him get hurt again. By anyone. Do you get what I'm saying?" 

Steve does get it, after a second. A shovel talk. From Gareth Emerson. Steve's too amused and, honestly, touched by it to even worry about the fact that he's effectively being threatened in his own home. 

Because Steve's heart had broken for Eddie when, in the lab, he'd found out that other than the kids, his old friends wanted nothing to do with him. Even after his name was officially cleared, it was tainted just enough that they were afraid to be associated with him, didn't want the trouble of being his friend any more. The news had been delivered via a very stressed out Dustin, that Corrodoed Coffin had found a new front man and the Hellfire Club had disbanded and a new campaign group had been formed. Eddie had kept it together when Henderson was there, even fired off a few jokes, but as soon as the kid had left he'd broken down and cried about it. Even Jeff, who had been Eddie's best friend since middle school and who used to sneak Eddie into his bedroom to crash on nights when it wasn't safe to stay home with his father, was publicly denouncing any ties they had. 

And then Steve's heart had mended a little bit, when they'd left the lab and pulled up at the house Wayne Munson had bought with his hush money. Gareth was there, perched on the doorstep and fidgeting with the bandages wrapped around one of his hands, and he'd flown at Eddie for a hug that knocked the wind out of both of them, apologising that the rest of their friends were "snakey fucking assholes" and assuring Eddie that he'd never doubted him. He's stuck by Eddie ever since, and Corroded Coffin had to find a new drummer too. 

With all of that knowledge, Steve doesn't take the shovel talk personally. Instead, he just gives Gareth a smile and ruffles his hair, like he would to Dustin. 

"Noted, buddy. Lucky for both of us, I love him too, and I'm not planning on hurting him. Thanks for looking out for him."

Gareth grumbles and shoves him off, but then hooks an arm around Steve's neck for a quick hug as the microwave dings. 

Being in love and happy with Eddie Munson really is too easy. 

The next event is a house visit from Wayne Munson a couple days after Eddie's birthday, on an afternoon when Eddie is off work and Steve hasn't left yet. 

Usually, that's a relatively happy occasion. Especially for Lizzie, who is apparently Grandpa's Girl through and through and basically ignores anybody else in a room that Wayne is also in. Wayne has no complaints about it; he's cut out for the grandfather live, with his gruff-but-gentle demeanour and all his stories about growing up amongst the Appalachian mountains down in Georgia and his seemingly encyclopedic knowledge of nursery rhymes. The two of them are usually happy as clams in the armchair, Wayne chatting away to her, responding to her little coos and gurgles and babbles as if they're having a real conversation. It warms Steve to his core, frankly, reminds him of his own grandpa before he passed when Steve was only six. 

This time, though, Steve can tell from the off that things are different. Wayne comes in with anxious energy, a kind of nervousness that Steve has seen on Eddie countless times, but never on the usually-stoic elder Munson. And truthfully, they're kind of all on-edge right now; in a week's time it'll be a year to the day since they shut the Upside Down and everyone seems acutely aware that this is the longest they've gone without any stirrings since it all began. Which, obstensibly, is a good thing, means they closed the gates for good. But they're all kind of on eggshells, anticipating some other bullshit rearing its ugly head and dragging them back into the fray. 

That doesn't explain why Wayne Munson is so antsy, though. He's half in the dark, still, about everything that's happened and seems content that way. But he still comes to Steve and Eddie's house a bag of nerves, all distracted eyes and fidgeting fingers. It's so out of his character that Steve finds it kind of unnerving. 

Eddie notices too. 

"What's eating you, old timer?" he asks it casually, with his usual teasing tone, but Steve can see the worry in his eyes. He's not used to seeing Wayne like this either. 

"I gotta tell you something, son, and I dunno how you're gonna take it," Wayne says, though he's not looking at Eddie. He's looking at Lizzie, who he's bouncing restlessly on his knee. "And before I tell you, I just want you to know that however you feel or however you react it's okay and I got you, son."

"Wayne," Eddie straightens up a little beside Steve, tense but trying to hide it. "Just tell me, man. It can't be that big of a deal." 

Wayne sighs, closes his eyes for a second, then opens them and forces himself to look at Eddie. 

"I got a call from the prison last night," he says. "About your father." 

At Steve's side, Eddie goes board-stiff and when Steve turns to look at him, he sees that he's gone ghostly pale and wide-eyed. Steve's a little startled by the reaction. He knows Eddie's father was violent when he was a kid, knows that he's been in prison for something since Eddie was twelve. He knows about what happened with Eddie's baby sister, how that drove his father to be even worse than he was before. He knows that Eddie hates his dad, has spent much of his life trying his damndest to be everything his father isn't. But this? This is fear. No, more than that - it's terror. Eddie is terrified at the mention of his father, in a way Steve hasn't seen him be since he was hiding out in the boathouse with a murderous mob on his heels and a murder accusation hanging over his head. 

"Please say they're not letting him out," Eddie's voice comes out shaky, cracking in the middle like he's about to cry. Steve instinctively puts an arm around him but Eddie doesn't melt into it, doesn't snuggle in. He sits bolt upright, stiff and afraid and shaking a little. 

"No, son. Not as such," Wayne says, with a sigh and a swallow. "Ed, buddy. Your old man is dead." 

After that, things get a bit less easy. 

Chapter Text

His twenty first might just be the best birthday that Eddie has ever had. 

Not least because he wakes to the soft, wet heat of Steve's mouth latched onto his chest, kissing a steady trail downwards. 

"Mm, mornin' friendly," he murmurs sleepily, pawing down blindly until his fingers find Steve's hair. 

"G'morning, beautiful," Steve hums against his skin. "Happy birthday." 

"Thanks," Eddie smiles, eyes fluttering open to look down at Steve. The light filtering into the room is weak, pale and watery. Eddie groans a little bit. "Baby, what time is it?" 

"Five thirty," Steve says, looking up with a little sheepish smile. "I figured we won't have much time between you getting home and everyone arriving. Wanted you all to myself for a little bit." 

It's far too sweet a sentiment for Eddie to actually be annoyed, especially when Steve is mouthing at the space just above the waistband of his boxers. He looks up at Eddie through his lashes with a smile that would seem coy if Eddie didn't know better.

"Can I?" he asks, fingers toying with the elastic of said waistband. Like Eddie is gonna say no. 

"Sure thing, princess. Go nuts," Eddie chuckles. 

Steve just beams up at him after that, a smile so dazzling Eddie almost stops him for a kiss. He doesn't get the chance, however, because a moment later, Steve has yanked his boxers off and swallowed him down to the base. It was a pleasant surprise, that Steve was not only eager to learn how to give a decent blowjob but is also a quick study when he wants to be. The combination of eagerness, swimmer's lungs and  a gag reflex so strong it's almost alarming have left Eddie reeling in a way he never quite has been before. And Steve is so self-conscious about it, always sidling up to Eddie hours after the fact and checking in "that was good for you, yeah? Anything you want me to do different? I want to make you feel good", which would make Eddie's heart melt if it didn't send all of his blood to his dick. 

Steve's got an admirable determination to swallow, too, and he's mostly got the hang of it at this point. When he pulls back and rocks up to sit on his heels, there's only a small drizzle of cum escaping over the centre of his bottom lip, which he scrapes up with his thumb and licks up in an absolutely sinful way. With a shuddery groan, Eddie pushes himself up, takes Steve by the shoulders and shoves him to lay down on his back. 

"Ed wha-" he gasps out. Eddie beams down at him. 

"Your turn, big boy." 

* 

Steve insists on making pancakes for breakfast afterwards, sitting Eddie at the table with an armful of Lizzie while he cooks. When he brings the plates over, he also deposits a rectangular package wrapped in sleek, glossy black paper decorated with glittery silver stars and a shiny silver bow. Eddie frowns. 

"Stevie, sweetheart. I told you not to get me anything," he says, slowly. Steve shrugs. 

"I didn't," he says, with a cheeky little twinkle in his eye. "Read the tag." 

With a confused pinch between his eyebrows, Eddie flips the gift tag that is taped on top of the parcel. He immediately huffs out a laugh. It's written in crayon, in Steve's handwriting, but certainly not proclaiming to be from him. 

Happy Birthday  Daddy! Love you lots - Lizzie. 

Eddie ducks his head to kiss the baby in his lap. 

"Oh it's from you, precious girl?" he says. "You did the wrapping and the writing all by yourself, huh? Dang, you are a clever baby, maybe we should get you on the TV."

"Bah," Lizzie replies, grabbing a strand of Eddie's hair and sucking the end of it into her mouth. 

"Open it," Steve encourages. "I wanna see what she got you." 

Eddie rolls his eyes good naturedly, with a smile, then peels the parcel open gently to avoid tearing the paper and ruining the pattern on it. When it falls away to reveal what's inside, Eddie has to suck in a breath and blink back tears. 

It's a picture frame, dark silver and metallic with an ornate, leafy design etched around the four sides. It contains a photo from a recent family dinner night, a candid that Jon had managed to snap of Eddie and Steve and Lizzie tucked into the corner of the Byers-Hopper couch. Lizzie is in Steve's lap, snuggled against his chest, but she's hanging onto two of Eddie's fingers, trasfixed by the shine of his rings. Eddie is beaming down at her, mid-laugh, leaning into Steve, who has an arm slung around his shoulder. Steve isn't looking at Lizzie - his gaze is fixed on Eddie and it's so fond and affectionate that it reminds Eddie of the conversation he had with Argyle in the woods: "How does he look at me?" "Like he thinks you're the most beautiful fuckin' thing in the world, man." 

Eddie looks up across the table at Steve with tears glittering in his eyes. 

"Thank you, princess," he says. Steve gives him a coy little smile. 

"Welcome. It's not from me, though. It's from Lizzie," he says, which makes Eddie laugh a little. 

"Well, then, thank you, precious girl," he says, lifting her up to eye level so he can kiss her all over her face to make her squeal with laughter. 

It's the happiest Eddie has been in years. 

* 

He gets home from work earlier than usual, even with the guys insisting on dragging him to the bar for a couple beers now that he's legally allowed, like it ever stopped them before. He returns home to find that Steve has baked a birthday cake, something nobody has done for Eddie since he was thirteen and Wayne's best efforts had nearly set fire to the trailer. The resulting cake had had a crunchy burnt black crust but the inside had been perfectly edible so they'd split it for dinner and then Wayne had given Eddie his own acoustic guitar that he'd had since he was a teenager himself. It's a sweet memory, the first good birthday Eddie remembers having, and definitely tied for best with this one. 

Because Eddie spends the evening of his twenty first birthday surrounded by people who love him; his friends, his boyfriend and their beautiful baby. It's like magic - better than any campaign, any album, any high has ever made him feel. He's so elated that he's almost not anxious to broach that topic with Nancy when he finds himself in the kitchen with her on a snack refresh run, Lizzie balanced on his hip with one hand while he pours M&Ms into a bowl with the other.

"You doing something different with your hair, Nance?" he asks, just to break the ice. "Whatever it is, you should keep doing it. It suits you. You look real pretty."

And really, he should have known better than to think Nancy would fall for that bullshit. She's way too smart. She looks at him for a moment with her eyes narrowed and lips pursed. 

"What do you want?" she asks eventually. Eddie gasps like he's mortally offended. 

"Miss Wheeler! You dare cast aspersions on my character?! On my birthday?!" he says. It makes her lips twitch a little, but she doesn't actually smile. Not yet. 

"It's not casting aspersions if I know it's true," she says. "What do you want?" 

"Okay, before I tell you this, remember two things. Firstly, it is my birthday which means, legally, you aren't allowed to yell at me. Secondly, I am holding a baby which means if you shoot me she's a potential target," he says. She quirks an eyebrow. 

"Eddie," she says, in a stern tone that absolutely screams oldest daughter. 

"You're gonna laugh," he assures, and she just makes a noncommittal noise, tapping her well-manicured fingers on the counter as if to tell him to get on with it. He clears his throat and drops his eyes, focuses on his own fingers where he's toying absent mindedly with the top of the bag of candies. "I might have accidentally told the guys at work that you and I are dating." 

"You told them what?!" she says, just a hair louder and shriller than usual. 

"Ah ah," he says, taking half a step back even though he hasn't moved. "Birthday, remember? Can't yell. I can explain." 

"Then explain," she says, folding her arms and tilting her chin up defiantly. 

"I kinda implied something about dating someone and they got on my ass about having a girlfriend I hadn't told them about. I couldn't tell 'em the truth - group of shop guys in Hawkins finding out they've got a faggot in their midst? They'd make Carver and the God Squad look like a welcome committee. Your name was the first one that came to my head. I'm sorry." 

Her expression softens there, eyes full of something between pity and understanding. 

"Well. I guess I understand that," she says. 

"You want me to tell 'em we broke up?" he offers. "I'll tell 'em you realised you were too good for me and dumped my ass. Really sell it to 'em. You know I can cry on demand?" 

She does smile there, just a little upwards quirk of the lips. 

"You know what? No," she says, like she's thinking. "Keep telling 'em we're dating. It helps keep you safe, and it might get back to my folks. Which, Ted won't be delighted that it's you, but if they think I've got a new boyfriend they might get off my ass about being...single." 

She hesitates a little bit before the last word, like she intended to say something else and changed her mind at the last minute, which Eddie might have to raise with Robin at some point. He saw how close they were sitting in that armchair. 

"Bah," Lizzie pipes up in his arm, as if announcing that they haven't paid attention to her for long enough. To make the point, she grabs a strand of Eddie's hair and tugs. "Gah."

"That's right, precious girl," he responds, gently extracting his hair from her chubby fist. "Aunt Nance is a real pal, huh?" 

"Come on, loverboy," Nancy says, with a soft smile. "Your birthday party awaits." 

She picks up a bowl of snacks in each hand and heads back to the living room, giving him a friendly little hip-check on her way past. He finds himself grinning, lifting Lizzie higher up and whirling her around to make her scream with laughter. 

It's definitely the happiest he's been in years. 

The high of his birthday crashes unceremoniously two days later when Wayne comes over, nervous in a way Eddie has never seen before, and tells him that his father is dead. 

It takes a second to sink in when Wayne says it. The words seem to echo and stretch out into the tense awkward silence that follow him saying them. 

Ed, buddy. Your old man is dead. 

It's not like Eddie wasn't aware that this would happen. Of course, he's always known his father would die one day, has been especially aware of the fact ever since that day he got home from school and found his mother on the bathroom floor. Parents die, usually before their kids. It's just a fact. 

And honestly, a small part of Eddie always thought he wanted this. Certainly, he spent a lot of nights in those angry, mixed-up early teen years thinking sourly about how much more poetic and satisfying it would have been if his father was dead instead of just arrested. He spent a lot of his younger years thinking he would feel safer and happier if he knew his old man was gone forever, not just put away for a while with the potential for him to be back around again before Eddie reaches his late thirties. 

But now, hearing that it's actually happened, he doesn't feel washed over with the comforting warmth of relief that he'd expected. Instead he gets the same horrible, hollow sinking feeling gut that he'd gotten as a child, when he picked the lock on the bathroom door and found his mom slumped against the side of the bathtub with vomit in her hair and a needle still stuck in her arm. Then, as a child, he'd screamed until he threw up himself, until the next door neighbor had rushed over to see what was happening and then promptly whisked Eddie over to her apartment and told her husband to call 911, tightly whispering something about corpse removal and finding the fucking father. 

Now, as an adult, he just stares straight ahead at Wayne, jaw slightly slack and eyes starting to sting. 

"Honey?" Steve says, softly at Eddie's side. Eddie's suddenly aware of the warm weight of his boyfriend's arm around his shoulders. Eddie wants relax, melt against Steve's side, maybe bury his face in his neck and cry a little bit. But his body won't let him. Instead, he sits stiff and so tense that he's shrinking in on himself. He heaves a shaky breath, attempts to swallow the lump forming in his throat. 

"How?" he asks, in a dry, crackly, shuddering whisper. 

"Well, they said it looks like suicide," Wayne says, voice steadier than his face gives away. 

Suicide. 

On hearing that word, Eddie is taken back to being nine years old, on a night shortly after Kimmy's mom had taken her back, a night when he'd already been on the receiving end of his father's belt because Ronnie Munson was high and his son was there. Eddie had been in his room, reading silently and praying it was enough to keep him out of trouble for the rest of the night, when his father had appeared in the doorway with a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand and a pistol in the other. It remains the most frightened he's ever been, far worse than hiding from a lynch mob or facing off against a hundred or more flying demons. He'd hit the deck in that moment, curled up in the fetal position and sobbing while he begged his father not to do it, trying to reason with him that the neighbors would hear and they'd surely call the police. 

But the gunshot he'd been waiting for never came and so he'd gotten bold, unfurled from ball he was curled into and dared to peek out. There he saw his father with the gun pressed to his own temple with a shaking hand. 

"I could do it, you know," he'd said, slurred by the drugs and the booze. "I could pull this trigger right now and leave you with fucking nothing. You already took everything from me. You know your mother was fine before she got pregnant with you. You made her that way, you fucking poisoned her. You killed my wife. You sent my baby away. Why shouldn't I do it? Why do you deserve fucking anything from me?" 

And honestly, that had scared Eddie even more. It'd only been two years since he'd seen his mom's dead body and he still saw it clear as day every time he closed his eyes. He didn't want to watch his dad die too. Besides, terrified as he was of his father, he was right - he was the only parent Eddie had left at the time, would be for another year, 'til Ronnie's estranged older brother by some cosmic coincidence rolled into town for work and quietly told the nephew he barely knew that he always leaves the trailer door on the latch, if he ever needs anywhere to go. 

So, even though he'd been so scared he wanted to throw up, Eddie had decided to be brave. He'd gotten up slowly, breathing slow and shallow with panic as he'd started to cross the room.

"It's okay, Dad," he'd all but whispered as he crossed the room. "I'm sorry for all the things I did and how I am. You-you can do whatever you want to me, okay? Just-you don't gotta hurt yourself. It doesn't fix anything if you hurt yourself. It won't bring Mom or Kimmy back."

"Don't you fucking talk about them," his father had spat it out with such venom that Eddie had stopped and taken a sharp step back. "You don't get to say their names." 

"Okay," Eddie had nodded, with a deep breath to try and steady his shaken nerves, before he started moving forwards again. "That's okay, Dad. I won't talk about them any more. I won't talk about either of them ever again. Just...you're tired, Dad, and I think a little drunk. You-you should go to bed, you'll feel better in the morning." By that point he'd been directly in front of his father, close enough to smell the whisky on him, to see the way every muscle in his body was vibrating with adrenaline. Against his better judgement, he'd extended his own shaking hand. "G-give me the gun, Dad. Give it to me and go to bed and you'll feel better after you sleep it off, I promise." 

And he truly hadn't expected it to work, not really. But it had, at least in a fashion. Ronnie Munson had not so much handed the gun to Eddie as dropped it with a clatter at his feet as he crumpled against the doorframe with a body-wracking sob. Eddie had kicked the pistol, just out of arm's reach so Ronnie couldn't pick it up again, then offered soft soothing words as he gently took his father by the forearms and guided him slowly to his bed. He'd waited there, despite his father's half-hearted protests, 'til the sobs gave way to snores. Then he'd gone back to his room, stashed the gun in his backpack and stayed awake until it was time to go to school. He chose to walk that morning, despite the frosty chill in the air, so that he could make a detour by the river and chuck the pistol into it. 

That wasn't the only time in Eddie's childhood that he'd had to talk his father down, but it was the first and the one that still sticks with him the most. He'd had a shocking success rate at halting his old man's suicide attempts, but now, of course, he's really gone ahead with it. He's gone ahead and killed himself because he's been in jail and nobody was there to talk him down. Eddie wasn't there to talk him down. 

But, of course, Eddie is the reason he was in jail in the first place. Eddie was the one who tattled to a teacher about the reason he had fingerprint bruises on his neck and a split in his lip. Eddie was the reason CPS had been called, and the reason CPS had reported to the cops. If he'd kept his damn mouth shut like he was always warned to, they wouldn't be here right now. It's his fault his father is dead. 

It's his fault his mother is dead. 

Both of Eddie Munson's parents are dead and it's his fault. 

"I um...I gotta go outside," he mumbles, getting to his feet. His chest is constricting and he's starting to sweat and he doesn't want Steve to see that. Definitely doesn't want Lizzie to see it. "Gotta go...go for a smoke." 

"Alright, sweetie, I'll come with you," Steve starts to get up too, but Eddie stops him with a shove to the chest that is maybe a little too sharp. 

"No," he insists, shaking his head. He doesn't want Steve to see him like this. "No, please. Neither of you. I...I want to be alone for a minute." 

Steve looks unsure, Wayne even more so, but Eddie doesn't give either of them a chance to protest. He strides on legs that are much sturdier than he feels to the front door, grabs his leather jacket from the coat hook and goes outside. He pauses at the end of the driveway, tries to force himself to think clearly, but he can't. Can't stop his mind from racing, that voice he thought he'd silenced years ago taunting him loud as ever. 

You killed her and now you've killed him too. They're both dead and it's your fault. You have their blood on your hands. 

And he doesn't know what to do. Every coping mechanism ever recommended to him flies away, just out of reach, so he can't remember a single one. He's standing there, struggling to breathe properly, with the voice practically screaming at him and he doesn't know what to do. 

So he does the thing that he apparently does best. 

He runs. 

Chapter Text

Eddie's been gone for exactly six and a half minutes when Steve starts to panic.

Wayne is still there, has tasked himself with making coffee, speaking softly to the baby propped on his hip the entire time. Steve's pacing the living room, hands flexing repeatedly at his sides to keep them from fisting in his hair with stress. He hasn't sat down since he twitched the curtains and saw that Eddie hadn't stopped at the end of the drive. He's nowhere to be seen, seemingly vanished into thin air. Steve's panicking, furious at himself for allowing Eddie to go out the door by himself. Now he's gone, taken off somewhere in that horrible upset state, and Steve has no idea where he is or if he's safe. 

His pacing is stopped by the sound of cups clinking down onto the coffee table. Wayne is back in the room and for a second they both just look at each other like neither of them knows what to say next.

"I should go look for him," Steve says eventually. Wayne just sighs. 

"You won't find him if he don't want you to," he says. "He's gonna want some space right now. He'll come back when he's ready, son." 

And Steve would like to argue, tell Wayne he doesn't know what he's talking about, that they can't leave him alone when he's like this, that Steve has found him when he was missing before and damn it, he can do it again. But Wayne has known Eddie so much longer, knows him better. And he doesn't exactly look thrilled about letting Eddie be alone right now. So instead of biting back, Steve just nods and takes a deep breath with his eyes closed. When he opens them, Lizzie is staring at him with big, anxious eyes like she can tell something is off. Instinctively he reaches out and takes her from Wayne's arms, bringing her to his own chest and planting kisses on the top of her head. 

"It's alright, sweetie. It's gonna be okay," he mumbles into her hair. Then he swallows, looking up at Wayne and biting his lip anxiously. He has so many questions and no idea how to articulate them. He knows a little about Eddie's father, more than he knows about his mother. Knows that Eddie hasn't seen him in years, never had any inclination to visit him in prison. He's gleaned that there was quite a bit of violence in Eddie's childhood, mostly from his father. He knows how much it upsets Eddie to talk about him, so he doesn't push or pry. He's never spoken to Wayne about any of it, though, never even heard the older man acknowledge that he has a brother, let alone talk about the things he's done. Steve's itching to know more, but it feels awkward to ask outright. 

"What happened, exactly?" is what comes out. Steve's not sure exactly which part he's asking about. Wayne sighs, takes a sip of coffee. 

"He asphyxiated, apparently," Wayne says. "They found 'im alone in his cell with a bedsheet 'round his neck so it looks self-inflicted but they ain't ruling out foul play yet." 

"Jesus, they think somebody else might've done it?" Steve says, horrified. Wayne just chuckles darkly. 

"Wouldn't surprise me," he says. "If they did he probably had it coming." 

And that shocks Steve. Wayne Munson is a pretty gruff dude and he can be startlingly blunt at times, but one thing Steve has always noted about him is how kind-natured he usually is. Sure he can be a little abrupt, sometimes verging on brutally honest, but Steve has never heard him say anything actually mean-spirited before now. It must show in his face, because Wayne sighs again. 

"My brother wasn't a good man, Steve," he explains. "Matter of fact, he was about the furthest thing from it. I know it ain't nice to say, but there's not a single person 'scept maybe Ronnie himself who is worse off for him being dead." 

"Oh," Steve replies, because he can't really think of anything to say. "I know he and Eddie weren't close." 

"Yeah, that's the nice way of putting it," Wayne raises an eyebrow, looking morbidly amused. "Ronnie did a lot of shitty things in his life and he hurt a lot of people, but Eddie got the worst of it. I ain't gonna tell you anything that's not my business to tell, but my brother put that boy of mine through hell and then some."

"Right," Steve says tightly, around the lump in his throat. He turns to look out of the window so Wayne doesn't see the embarrassing tears stinging his eyes. Partly because it fucking breaks him to think about Eddie suffering, especially as an innocent kid. But mostly because hearing in that fiercely protective tone just how much Wayne loves Eddie puts a warm squeeze on his heart. He clears his throat a little, trys to blink the tears away, staring at Eddie's van in the driveway. He can't have gone too far without it, at least. "He'll come back, right?"

He doesn't really mean to say it out loud, cringes at how juvenile and pathetic it sounds. Wayne doesn't tease or scold or mock though. He just claps a fatherly hand on Steve's shoulder.

"To you? 'Course he will," he assures. "You're good for him, Steve, you and Lizzie both. I don't remember the last time I saw him smile about anything the way he smiles at you two. He'll go do whatever he needs to do to cool off and he'll be home before you know it." 

Steve really does start crying at that. 

* 

Eddie does come back, eventually. It's exactly two hours and eighteen minutes after he left - not that Steve's counting or anything - that he walks back in the front door. 

Wayne is gone, back to his place just on the off chance that Eddie went there instead, and Steve has been distracting himself by babbling to Lizzie and cleaning parts of the house that are already spotless and playing music just on the side of too loud ever since. At the sound of the door opening, he jolts up from where he's been sitting in the armchair so quickly that Lizzie makes a startled little sound of protest in his arms. He shushes her apologetically and hurries out to the hallway, where Eddie is peeling off and hanging up his jacket. He's very obviously been crying - hard, and a lot, if the redness of his eyes and cheeks is anything to go by - and his hair is sticking up and odd angles like he's been running his hands through it or tugging on it. 

"Hey, honey," Steve says, trying for a reassuring tone. Eddie gives him a tight little smile back but doesn't say anything. Steve reaches out and puts what he hopes is a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm glad you're home." 

"Of course I'm home," Eddie says, flatly. "You have a shift tonight, right? I gotta be home to take care of Lizzie." 

"I was gonna call out," Steve says. Eddie frowns in response. 

"Why?" he asks, like Steve had suggested something ridiculous. Steve shrugs one shoulder a little awkwardly. 

"I thought you wouldn't want to be alone," he says. Eddie laughs there, dry and sad and insincere. 

"I'm fine," he lies. "Besides, I wouldn't be alone. Would I, precious?" 

At that, he reaches out and takes Lizzie into his arms, and gives her a kiss on the head. For the first time in the entire exchange, he looks a little less than utterly distraught. Usually, it would warm Steve's heart, seeing Eddie look at their daughter with so much genuine affection. But right now, Eddie is blatantly lying to him about being fine and it makes Steve more worried than anything. 

His worries aren't dampened by the very fake smile that Eddie gives him, which doesn't reach his eyes. 

"Did you eat dinner, yet?" he asks like it's any other normal night.  "I can cook. How long have we got til you have to leave for work? Enough time for me to make pasta?" 

"Uh, yeah, probably but-" Steve begins. Eddie cuts him off, sidestepping him to the kitchen. Steve follows him, lingering in the doorway, as Eddie puts Lizzie into her bouncer chair and hauls it up onto the counter. 

"Why don't you go get ready while Lizzie and I make dinner?" Eddie says as he starts pulling pans out of the cupboards and putting them on the stovetop with maybe a little bit more force than is necessary. 

"Ed," Steve says, gently. "I really don't mind staying home if you need me to. I'm sure Lin will understand." 

"I said, I'm fine, Steve," Eddie says, sharply, as he goes to the fridge to start pulling out ingredients. It hurts, not just because of the tone. Eddie hasn't called him just plain Steve for a long time now - he's been sweetheart or baby or princess or Stevie for weeks. It feels a little pathetic, the way tears prick at his eyes just from being called by his name, but it's deeper than that. They've been so good together so far, haven't had a single argument or serious disagreement, and it kind of feels like they might be on the brink of one right now. 

"You don't seem fine," Steve mumbles because he can't help himself. He might have put the King Steve days long behind him, but he still defaults to being kind of an asshole when he feels backed into a corner sometimes. Eddie pushes the fridge door shut with such force that it slams and rattles so hard that a couple magnets fall off the front. 

"Well, I am," he says, tone bordering on anger. "I'm fucking fine, Steve. Why wouldn't I be fine? I've got no reason to not be fine. Go get ready for work. I...I don't want you to stay home." 

And, mood that he's in, Steve's halfway tempted to snap back, tell Eddie he's being stupid and stubborn and that his father dying is a perfect reason to not be fine, actually. Part of him wants to argue that it's his goddamn house, his name on the mortgage, and he can stay there whenever he goddamn pleases. He wants to rise to the bait and bite back at Eddie until they're both mad and yelling and hurting each other's feelings. But he's spent the past few years making a conscious effort to be a better person, to not lash out in order to make himself feel better. Plus, he's acutely aware of Lizzie's presence in the room. She's already sitting very still in her bouncy chair, eyes wide and unsure. Steve grew up with his parents screaming at each other in front of him, and he's not all that eager to give his own daughter the same experience. So, quite reluctantly, he concedes defeat. He closes his eyes and presses his lips together, taking a deep breath through his nose to calm himself. 

"Alright, Ed," he says, as cheerfully as he can manage. "I believe you. I'll go get ready." 

* 

Sometimes, the near-telepathic link Steve and Robin have developed in the past couple years is a blessing. They can usually pick up when the other is on the brink of a panic attack and can help to fend it off before it even starts. She has a frankly spooky ability to call him in the middle of the night right after he's just woken up from a nightmare. He always knows when she's starting to get overwhelmed and freaked out in a social situation and how to make excuses and steer her out of the room so they can decompress together. Sometimes, it's absolutely great. 

Other times, Steve curses their closeness. Like when she climbs into the passenger seat of his car, gives him one up-and-down look, and frowns even though he's giving her his best everything is cool and I'm so charming smile. 

"What's up, dingus?" she asks. And Steve could lie to her. He could tell her that nothing's wrong, he's absolutely fine, doesn't know what she's talking about. But she'll know that he's lying because that accursed closeness means she always does. 

"Ed's dad died," he says, and Robin's eyes go wide. 

"Like...his dad dad?" she asks, and Steve nods a confirmation. "Shit. Do you know how?"

"Suicide, apparently, but Wayne said they're not ruling out murder yet," he says, almost wincing at how the words feel coming out.

"Shit," she repeats. "Is Eddie okay?" 

"No," Steve says, honestly. "But he's trying to pretend he is." 

"You could've called out. Lin would've understood," Robin says, and Steve can't help huffing a laugh there. Sometimes it really does feel like they share a brain cell.

"I was going to," he says. "He said he didn't want me to." Robin is quiet there, watching him in that expectant silence that she does sometimes, when she wants him to talk about his feelings but doesn't want him to feel pushed. "We...had a fight? Kind of? I mean. It wasn't really a fight. He kinda booked it when Wayne told us, I don't know where he went but he came back and he'd definitely been crying, Rob. Like really crying. And I tried to talk to him about it but he just kept snapping at me that he's fine and I kinda got the sense that he really, really doesn't want to talk about it but I think he'd feel better if he did. Right? That's what you always say, isn't it?" 

"It is," she confirms. "And he probably would feel better. But it might be difficult to talk about. I mean his dad wasn't...he didn't treat Eddie so good, right?" 

"By all accounts, that's putting it nicely," he says. "Wayne hates the guy, Rob. Said he had it coming if someone else killed him." 

"Shit," she says again, sounding thoroughly shocked. "Uncle Wayne said that?" 

"Right?" Steve agrees. "I don't even want to think about what Eddie's dad must've done to make Wayne say shit like that. About his brother." 

"Yeah, me either," she says, then sucks a contemplative breath through her teeth. "So Eddie's probably got some really...complicated feelings, right now. And it's probably difficult for him to talk about." 

"Yeah," Steve says, with a weary sigh. They're both quiet for a while, until he speaks up again. "So what do I do, Robbie? I'm kinda new to the whole 'not being a shitty boyfriend' thing and I really don't want to fuck this up with him. How do I help him through this?" 

"I don't know, Steve," she says, sounding apologetic. "I guess, you just...support from an arm's length? Like, be there for him when he's ready to talk, but let him be ready on his own terms." 

"Yeah," he says, with a nod. "Yeah, okay. I think I think I can do that." 

*

Steve has maybe the worst shift he's ever had at the bar. He's distracted all night, to the point that he fucks up three different drink orders and gets yelled at by two customers because of it. The second time he has to walk away and take a five-minute breather in the breakroom, else he'll say things to the customer that will surely get him fired. Even the usually ego-inflating flirting from his regulars doesn't make him feel better. Tonight, instead, it just reminds him painfully that he's got a boyfriend at home who, under any other circumstances, would also flirt with him in the same way but is too sad to do so right now. He contemplates calling a couple of times throughout the night, but lets Robin talk him out of it each time. He doesn't really want to continue the fight that almost started before their awkward, near-silent dinner. So he pointedly doesn't go anywhere near the phone and is incredibly relieved when the end of their shift rolls around. 

He must still look really sad when he drops Robin at the end of her driveway because she gives his hand a little squeeze and tells him it's gonna be okay before she climbs out of the car. He tries his best to believe her on the drive home. 

He founds the house dark and silent, which is only slightly surprising. It's after midnight, a perfectly reasonable time to be in bed, but Eddie isn't exactly the most reasonable guy in the world and he's got a bit of a habit of waiting up for Steve after shifts these days. More often than not, Steve will find him on the couch with some shitty late-night show playing on the TV as background noise and Eddie will give him a sweet, tired little smile and say "hey, baby" and reach out to pull Steve down into his lap and give him a kiss. Steve will chastise him good-naturedly for staying up so late when he has work himself in the morning and Eddie will just kiss him again and say something like "I couldn't sleep without seeing that pretty face, Princess" and then Steve will carry him to bed and they might fool around a little, but more likely they'll just snuggle, totally content to just breathe in each other's space and fall asleep in each other's arms. Steve's almost disappointed that that's not what he's greeted by.

Almost, because when he goes upstairs to the bedroom he finds Eddie curled up on his side with his back to the door. Lizzie is in the middle of the bed, flat on her back in a diagonal starfish, occupying the most space such a tiny little person possibly can. Eddie has one arm extended towards her, hand in a loose fist like he fell asleep holding her hand. They've discussed co-sleeping before now but, after that first night when they had no other choice, they've decided against it, mostly at Steve's insistence. He'd dutifully studied Dustin's notes from the parenting books, even read a couple of them himself, and firmly convinced himself of the benefits of Lizzie having her own bed. But tonight it warms his heart. Maybe Eddie is still annoyed at him, and he's almost definitely still sad as hell. They've probably got a rough and bumpy ride while they deal with this, but right now Steve can't bring himself to care all that much. Because the two people he loves more than anybody else in the world are snuggled together in front of him, warm and cozy and domestic. And as he crawls into bed beside them both, he's entirely convinced that they can do this. 

Chapter Text

The day after his father dies, Eddie is woken by the dual sensations of his trilling alarm and a tiny fist tugging sharply on his hair. 

He reaches back blindly to smash the snooze button and gently extracts his hair from Lizzie's hand with a slight groan. He blinks awake blearily to find her grinning toothlessly beside him on the pillow. Despite the hollow ache that has settled into his chest in the last twenty four hours, he finds himself smiling back at her. 

"Morning, precious girl. Did you have the sweetest dreams?" he says, softly. On her other side, Steve stirs, groaning a little and smushing his face further into the pillow. On any other morning, Eddie would lean over and wake him with soft kisses peppered across his cheek and temple so they can get ready for the day together. 

This morning, however, he kind of dreads Steve waking and looking at him in the way he has been since Wayne visited yesterday. It's a look full of adoration and affection and pity and Eddie can't stand it. His entire life he's either feared or hated his father - a combination of the two, mostly - and there's absolutely no reason for him to feel so goddamn bereft. There's something wrong with him, clearly, some screw deeply, irreparably loose to make him sad that the monster of a man who terrorized his childhood is finally gone for good. He wants nothing more than to bury that inexplicable sadness and ignore its existence, just pretend that everything is normal and fine and doesn't really get why Steve won't just let him.

So this morning he doesn't wake him. Instead, he just scoops Lizzie up out of their bed, telling her that they'll leave Dada to sleep in a little while they go get ready. He considers making breakfast once he's gotten both of them cleaned up and dressed and made Lizzie her bottle, but he feels kind of sick, honestly, so he sticks to coffee. Makes it black and strong with probably more sugar than is necessary and sits at the table with Lizzie on his lap while he sips at it. She's playing with the chain bracelet on his wrist, thoroughly amused by the sounds it makes when she picks it up and moves it around in her little chubby fist. He can't help smiling softly at the way she looks up and giggles at him with every rattle and jingle. 

He loves her, pure and simple. She's found a place in the softest, warmest place in his heart, tucked neatly there alongside Wayne and Steve and Dustin Henderson. Her little laugh has become his favorite sound and his heart flutters every time she looks up at him with those big hazel eyes, totally identical to Steve's. He'd do anything at all to make her smile, do even more to keep her out of harm's way. And usually, when he thinks about how much he loves this little girl, it makes him feel all warm and mushy inside, much like he felt when he put together his first D&D campaign or when he heard Sabbath's Master of Reality album for the first time. Right now, though, it just makes that horrid gnawing feeling in his chest so much worse. Because right now, it just makes him acutely aware that his father never loved him. Can't have done, since he did the functional opposite of protecting him from harm. And it's not like Eddie was ever under any kind of delusion about how his father felt about him: his early childhood was filled with bitter resentment for how unwell pregnancy made Eddie's mother and later resentment flowered into outright hatred which Ronnie had made absolutely no effort to mask. 

It's exactly that knowledge that makes him feel so shitty now. Because it should be so easy to take this as good news. The death of the man who treated him so poorly for so long should be a blessing, cause for celebration rather than mourning. But he can't shake this feeling of emptiness, so reminiscent of the feeling he had when his mother - who had loved him, as much as she could given all the problems she had - died. He feels deeply stupid and kind of pathetic about it. 

He doesn't notice that his eyes are hot with tears until Lizzie reaches up to hang onto a strand of his hair and fixes him with a curious look. 

"Bah," she says quietly, and if Eddie didn't know better he'd convince himself she's asking him what's wrong. She'd seemed to pick up on it last night too, snuggling herself into his chest and whining whenever he tried to put her down, like she just knew he could use a cuddle with her right now. 

"Sorry, precious. Daddy's still just a little sad right now," he tells her, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "I love you so much, precious girl. And I'm never gonna do anything to hurt you or Dada, not deliberately at least. I'm gonna keep you as safe as I can, both of you. Because the two of you mean everything to me. And I promise, sweetheart, I'm not going to fuck you up like my old man did to me. I promise. You got that, precious?" 

"Gah," she says, as she snuggles into his chest, like she really does get it. 

* 

Steve wakes shortly before Eddie leaves and they don't talk all that much, mostly because Steve is giving him that exact look he'd been worried about and he can't stand it. Still, he allows himself to be kissed on the way out of the door, responds to Steve's "have a good day, honey, I love you" with a tight smile and a "thanks, babe, you too." 

As it goes, he does not have a good day. In fact, he has one of the worst days he's ever had at work. He's all fingers and thumbs, keeps fumbling and dropping tools and he's struggling with jobs that are usually an absolute cakewalk. The others notice, too, teasing him with the kind of light hearted ribbing that he'd usually go along with but today has absolutely no patience for. He tries to take it with good humor, gritting his teeth in something that he hopes passes as a smile. But around midday, he drops a wrench for the third time and Frank makes some smartass comment about firing the juggler and Eddie snaps, calls him a stupid old bastard and kicks the dropped tool hard enough that it hurts his toes even through his boots. 

The whole shop falls silent, save for the music blaring from the crappy radio in the corner, as Eddie breathes deeply and stares at the wrench where it's skittered across the floor.

"Ed. Why don't we go talk in the office?" Nicky offers and Eddie wants to tell him that he can go fuck himself, too but he's accutely aware of all of the eyes on him, which is fucking humiliating. So he nods once, follows Nicky into the tiny office without taking his eyes off the ground. He slumps heavily into the uncomfortable folding chair on one side of the desk, expecting Nicky to sit on the other side. He doesn't. Instead, he leans back against the edge of the desk, so close their knees are almost touching and sighs heavily. 

"The hell is going on with you today, son?" he asks but it's gentle instead of accusatory. 

"Nothing, I'm fine," Eddie mumbles, painfully aware that he sounds like a petulant child. 

"No you're not," Nicky says, folding his arms across his chest. "I know we all have our off days, Ed, but I've never seen you like this. You have a fight with your boy?" 

"No," Eddie replies quickly, though he's not entirely sure that's true. He'd snapped at Steve last night and Steve had looked incredibly hurt, and Eddie feels fucking awful, but he's not certain it counts as a fight. Nicky doesn't look entirely like he believes him either. 

"What is it, then?" he asks. Eddie just huffs and sinks back in the seat in response. Nicky sighs again. "Look, son, you don't have to tell me, but if I don't know I can't-" 

"My dad died," Eddie blurts it out without really meaning to. "Yesterday morning. Or Saturday night. I dunno. I found out yesterday." 

"Oh," Nicky says, and he's got that soft, sad pity look that Eddie is trying to avoid from everyone. "I'm sorry, Ed." 

"I'm not," he scoffs, perhaps just too vehement to be believeable. "I hadn't seen him in years anyway." 

"Still, that's gotta smart," Nicky says and Eddie barks a laugh. 

"I promise, Nick, I do not care," he says. "I...good riddance, you know?" 

"You sure?" Nicky says. He looks unconvinced. 

"Positive," Eddie assures, though he isn't. 

"Well, okay," Nicky concedes. "But...I want you to go home for the rest of the day." 

"What?!" Eddie shoots up straight in the chair. "Nicky, no, I'm fine."

"No, you're not, kid," Nicky sighs. "You're out of sorts today. Maybe you're tired. Go home, sleep it off. Come in fresh tomorrow if you feel up to it."

"Nicky I-" Eddie starts, but Nicky holds up a hand to cut him off. 

"Not a request, son," he says. "I hate to pull rank on you, Ed, but this is me as your boss telling you to go home for the day." 

And Eddie can't really argue with that. 

* 

Steve looks suitably surprised to see Eddie walk through the door at half past noon. 

He's giving Lizzie a bottle in the kitchen, dishes from his own lunch ready to be washed in the sink. He gives Eddie a confused little smile. 

"Hey, babe," he says. "Felt like coming home on your break today? I already ate lunch, but I can make you something." 

"Nicky sent me home early," Eddie says tightly. Steve gets that awful sympathetic look that makes Eddie's gut churn. 

"Oh, honey," he says. "Do you...wanna talk about it?" 

"No," Eddie says, flatly. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine." 

"You sure? If Nicky sent you home maybe-" Steve begins, and he's looking at Eddie with such genuine affection and pity that it just makes him snap. 

"I'm fucking fine, Steve!" he almost yells. "I told Nicky and I've already told you that I am fucking fine! Why would I not be fine?! This changes nothing for me. It...it makes things better, even! I'm glad he's dead!" 

"Ed-" Steve reaches out to touch him, but Eddie steps back sharply. Doesn't want that gentle caress. Doesn't need it. Doesn't deserve it. 

"Stop it!" he says, and he really is shouting now. "Stop doing that. Stop looking at me like that. I keep saying it; I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fucking fine! Why will none of you people just let me be fucking fine!" 

It's only when he's done that he notices the shaky sniffling breaths coming from Steve's arms, the way Lizzie has hidden her face against his chest, peering at Eddie with one wet eye that is wide and confused and...afraid. 

His daughter is afraid of him. 

Shit. 

"Oh, precious, I'm sorry I-" he steps forward to try and take her, but Steve moves her out of reach. 

"I'm gonna go put her down for a nap," Steve says, voice carefully expressionless. 

"Stevie-" Eddie starts, but Steve walks past him and up the stairs without a word. 

* 

It's a long time before Steve comes back. So long that Eddie wonders if he's fallen asleep too. When he does come back, that gut-wrenching expression of pity is gone, replaced by something else, a kind of quiet anger Eddie has never seen on Steve before. 

"Princess, I'm-" Eddie tries, but Steve cuts him off. 

"Eddie, I understand that this is a difficult time for you," he says, cold and even, like he's planned it all out. "And I know that you won't talk to me, though I can't fathom why. But we are not gonna be the kind of parents who yell at each other in front of our daughter. I am not gonna allow you to do that to her." 

"Of course," Eddie nods. "I didn't mean to-" 

"Why won't you just talk to me, Ed?" Steve says, and it almost breaks Eddie's heart. Because he would talk, if he could, but how can he? How can he tell Steve that he's so fundamentally fucked up in the head that he's grieving for the man who quite literally tortured him for over a decade? How could he say that and expect Steve to still love him? 

So he doesn't. 

"There's nothing to talk about," he insists. "I'm-"

"I swear to God, Eddie, if the next word out of your mouth is fine," Steve says, closing his eyes and shaking his head. 

"But I am," Eddie says. "Of course I am. My dad hated me, Steve, and I hated him right back. The guy tried to kill me when I was fuckin' twelve, for fuck's sake, and he did plenty more fucked up shit before that. I'm not sad that he's dead. I'm not. Because...because if I wasn't then that means I didn't really hate him and if I didn't really hate the guy who did all that then what the fuck is wrong with me?" 

Well. It's out there now, and that pity is back in Steve's eyes, along with the glitter of tears. 

"Eddie," Steve sighs, going for a hug which Eddie dodges. 

"Please don't touch me," he says, tightly, because if Steve does touch him, it'll break the dam. Eddie will crumble and cry and crawl into Steve's arms and he won't ever crawl back out again. 

Steve looks at him for a second, seeming hurt. Then he sighs. 

"Okay." 

His arms drop back down between them like a lead weight.  

On the one year anniversary of Preventing the End of The World, Hopper and Joyce insist on having everyone over for dinner. 

On the surface, it's just the same as every other family dinner - Joyce and Hop dance and kid around and cook together, Dustin and Mike are bickering about characters from some movie they just saw, Max and El are braiding each other's hair and fussing over Lizzie and Erica is poking her tongue through the space where she just lost her last baby tooth because it makes Lucas gag. It's light, fun, full of the usual air of familial levity. 

But there's tension, too, under the surface. They're all a little on edge, all accutely aware that they came this close to not all being here by now. By all accounts, this is the longest they've gone without running into some Upside Down business since 1983, and there's a distinct sense of dread, a worry that it might not all be done after all. 

Steve and Eddie have their own tension, too. They've been on eggshells all week, ever since the day Eddie got sent home from work early. They haven't fought again, exactly, but that sweet playfulness that's been a part of their relationship from the start hasn't come back yet. They've been sleeping with their backs to each other and Steve hasn't scooped Eddie up to carry or cuddle in days. The conversation they do have is civil, polite for Lizzie's sake, but it's also brief and infrequent. It's beginning to feel less like they actively live together and more like they just exist in the same space. 

Eddie's struck with that same feeling when he's lying awake on the fold-out couch, staring at the ceiling. Joyce and Hopper had insisted everyone stay the night which Eddie had pretended to be enthusiastic about. Putting up a front that everything is fine is tiring enough through the day; keeping it up overnight is downright exhausting. At least, now, with everyone sleeping, he doesn't have to pretend any more. 

Steve's asleep, snoring softly in that way that Eddie finds adorable under normal circumstances. Lizzie is at the foot of the couch in the travel crib Joyce insisted on buying for sleepovers, sprawled on her back with one little fist up by her face, like she might be sucking her thumb. It's all a bit much for Eddie, might make him cry if he keeps looking at either of them. So he doesn't keep looking; instead, he gets up and finds his cigarettes, going out to the porch to spark one up. 

It's only about ten minutes before he hears footsteps which make him tense up. He assumes it's Steve, who he desperately wants to bring into a hug and apologise but also kind of doesn't want to see. He's about to express the later, tense up and draw into himself when a soft voice comes from the back doorway. 

"Hi, Eddie." 

"El?" he turns to face her. "It's late, buddy, what are you doing up?" 

"I couldn't sleep," she says. "I saw you come out here and thought you might be cold. I brought tea." 

She lifts her hands a little, indicating the two steaming mugs. With a little smile, he scoochs over a little on the step so she can sit and takes the proferred cup. 

"You are sad," she says, and it's an observation, rather than a question. The kids know - probably from Steve - what happened but they've also evidently been told not to ask about it, because none of them have even mentioned it, not even to offer the empty condolences everyone else has levvied Eddie's way. He sighs. 

"Kinda," he says. "Kinda wish I wasn't, though."

She's very quiet and still for a moment, like she's thinking about something. 

"Wasn't he a good man? Your dad?" she asks, and he actually laughs. 

"No," he says, honestly. "Not even a little bit." 

"Oh," she says, face pinching in what looks like deep thought for a moment. When her expression smooths out, she continues. "It has been about a year since Papa died. Dr Brenner, from the lab. We...thought he had died before, but he actually, really died for real last year right before...right before Henry did. He was not even a little bit good either." 

"Yeah, I figured that much," Eddie says, because he wasn't really under any impression that the dude even tangentially responsive for all of that mess was anything other than a monster. El smiles dryly. 

"He was not even a little bit good and I did not want to be sad when he died," she says. "But...before Hopper, he was the only father I ever knew and I found that when he died I was sad. Kinda." 

Which. Huh. That hits Eddie in a place he didn't expect. He's felt since he met her that he and El are sort of kindred spirits, but just in that way that he always does with the weird freaky outcast kids (even if this one happens to be the most badass weird freaky outcast kid he's come across to date). Maybe they have more in common on a personal level than he initially realised. 

"Did you know that my brother is missing a tooth?" she says, so suddenly it startles him. 

"Huh?" he blinks at her, confused. 

"Jonathan," she clarifies, though that's not really the part he didn't get. "He's missing a tooth. Back here." 

She taps at her own lower jaw, as if that makes her point here any more apparent  

"Oh," Eddie replies because, honestly, what else does he say? "Okay." 

"It happened a couple of years ago," she says. "Right after we moved to California. He got an um...an access? No, an abcess! He got an abcess in his tooth and it got really sore and rotten so they had to pull it. But it was not like Erica's missing baby tooth, which will grow back. It was a grown-up tooth, so it'll never come back." 

"Right," Eddie says, slowly because he's still sort of reeling from the breakneck speed at which they've gone from shitty dead dads to dentistry. 

"Right when he first got it pulled, he did not like it," she goes on. "He said that he could feel a space, now, with his tongue and that it felt strange and wrong and he didn't think that he'd ever get used to it. And even though the tooth was infected and rotting and it hurt him a lot, it filled that space. It took a long time, but eventually got used to it." 

"Uh-huh," Eddie nods, trying desperately to fathom where she could possibly be going with this. 

"I think that sometimes people are teeth," she says. "I think that sometimes there are people who leave a space in your life but it's okay because before too long somebody else is going to come along and fill that space and they will be better and stronger and stay for even longer." She takes a sip of her tea before she goes on. "And then I think that sometimes there are people who leave a space in your life and nothing ever fills it again. And I think that, with those people, even if they are bad and rotten and they hurt you a lot...there's still a space. And it still feels strange and wrong for there to be a space where there wasn't one before. And it doesn't get filled in but, after a while, you get used to it." 

Oh. 

"Oh," Eddie says, taking a sip of his own tea. It's a little hit strong and a little bit sweet, but it's a nice gesture and it is warming on the chilly night. After letting her words process for a moment, he huffs a laugh. "You know, you're getting really good at analogies, kid. My old man, a rotten tooth, huh? I've heard him described less aptly, that's for sure." 

At that, she starts laughing too, until they're both bent double, hands over their mouths to stifle the giggles so they don't wake anybody inside. When he manages to collect himself, he slings an arm around her and squeezes her into a side hug. 

"Thanks, kid," he says, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "I think I needed to hear that." 

"I am glad I could help you smile again," she says, beaming back at him. "You will get used to it, Eddie. The space. And while that's happening, I just got the new Anthrax album. You can come over and listen with me any time." 

"I might just take you up on that," he chuckles. She pats him on the shoulder before pushing to her feet. She pauses before she goes back in. 

"Eddie? Steve loves you. A lot," she says. "And I know that you love him a lot too. And I think he could help you get used to the space. You two should not be mad at each other any more." 

He blinks at her, confused. 

"Can you read minds?" he asks, earnestly. She shakes her head. 

"No," she says. "But I am getting quite good at reading people. And you and Steve were being...not subtle." 

"Right," he says, with a sigh. "We're not mad at each other really, just...a rough patch. We'll be okay, sweetie. Promise." 

"Good," she smiles, then yawns and stretches. "Goodnight, Eddie." 

"Goodnight, El," he replies, smiling back. 

He heads inside not long after her, slips back under the blankets on the fold-out. Steve has turned in his sleep to face the middle of the bed. Tentatively, Eddie shuffles closer to him and gently pulls him into his arms. 

"Mm. Wha-" he mumbles. 

"Just me, princess," Eddie replies, quietly. Steve blinks at him blearily. 

"Ed?" he whispers, like he can't quite believe it. 

"Yeah, baby, it's me," Eddie kisses his forehead. "M'sorry, Stevie. I've been an asshole." 

"S'okay," Steve replies, snuggling in. "I shoulda been more patient. I was the one being an asshole. I'm sorry." 

"Maybe we're both assholes," Eddie says, and Steve laughs quietly. 

"Oh we definitely are. That's why we work so good," he says, pressing a little kiss to Eddie's jaw. "Love you, asshole." 

"I love you too, sweetheart." 

Chapter Text

Lizzie is a winter baby, but it's the spring when she really starts to come into her own. 

She's becoming more accustomed to her hands and feet, as well as he ability to jam things into her own mouth. As a result, she's developed a habit of sucking on her own toes and knuckles which is completely adorable if also a little gross. Her vocalisations have changed, too, evolving from mostly coos to full blown babbles, not to mention the little raspberries she blows. Her motor skills are coming along as well - by the middle of April, she's developed the ability to shake the toys she picks up in tight fists, making excellent use of the rattles that Wayne bought for her, much to Steve's chagrin and Eddie's delight. 

He's determined to nurture anything resembling musical talent in her. As headache-inducing as the rattles can be, Steve can't help but smile at the way she squeals with laughter whenever Eddie picks one up too so they can "harmonize". Eddie, at least, shakes out coherent tunes - usually Sabbath or Metallica ones - and he insists that Lizzie is getting the hang of it too, though Steve isn't quite sure. He sings to her, too, even more so than he used to. That part, Steve really loves, though it makes him regret that he never got to see Eddie perform with the band. Sometimes he'll pull out his guitar, give her a rattle in each hand and declare that she's having a "jamming session with Daddy" while she shakes intermittently along to acoustic versions of Eddie's favorites. 

They sound at least twice as good as the generic elevator music they pipe into the grocery store at a volume just loud enough to be annoying. 

Frankly, Steve hates the grocery store at the best of times. There's always way too many people and the fluorescent lights are way, way too bright and faintly buzzing in a way that makes Steve want to claw his eyes out, kind of. There's also always a cloying smell of bleach drifting up from the squeaky linoleum and on more than one occasion it's triggered his migraines. It's always Hell, especially going alone, and today - his first Saturday afternoon of in weeks - is certainly no exception. 

So he's already pretty overwhelmed and kind of grumpy when he walks out, wishing more than anything he'd been able to ask Eddie to tag along (because he's learned the hard way that his boyfriend can't be trusted to grocery shop alone) when he hears a familiar voice in the parking lot. 

"Steve? Steve Harrington?" 

He straightens from where he's been loading the trunk of his car and turns to see a lanky red headed man standing behind him. Jay Delaney had been a grade ahead of Steve at Hawkins High and his predecessor as captain of the swim team. They hadn't been friends, exactly - certainly civil for the sake of teammate camaraderie, but even at his absolute worst dickhead teenager moments, Steve had thought Jay was an insufferable douchebag. His parents had been even richer than Steve's, a fact which he'd always flaunted as if it made him somehow superior to other people, and the way he'd speak about girls had always raised eyebrows even amongst the bawdiest of locker room banter. He hasn't changed much since high school, at least insofar as his appearance and it's the same leery grin that Steve remembers from school that he finds when he turns around. 

"Hi, Jay," he says, flatly. He can think of about a thousand people he'd rather be talking to right now and Henry Creel isn't not on the list. 

"Fuck, man," Jay laughs. "It's been a while, huh? How the hell are you?"

"I'm good, man. You?" Steve replies, though he doesn't actually give a rat's ass. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," Jay nods. "Say, did I hear you've got a baby now?" 

Steve would like to deny it, say that Jay has heard wrong just to cut the conversation first. And he would, really, if he didn't have two cans of Similac in his hands right now. 

"Uh, yeah," he admits. "Yeah, I do." 

Jay laughs like Steve has just told him a brilliant joke. 

"Shiiiiit dude," he says, giving Steve a punch on the shoulder that is just a little too hard to be friendly. "I always knew you were a player but fuck, man. Whose is it? Was it that Wheeler bitch?" 

Steve flexes his fingers to prevent his fists from clenching. 

"Uh. No," he says, trying to be diplomatic. "No. Nancy isn't the mom." 

"Ah, figures," Jay says, and his tone is almost apologetic. Dick. "Always did take her for a fucking prude - to be honest it blew me away when you were interested in her, you horny bastard. So, come on, man. Don't leave me hanging - who the hell did you knock up?" 

Steve doesn't want to tell him. God, he doesn't want to tell him. But he feels really trapped right now and he never has been that good at thinking on his feet. 

"Brenda Spearman," he confesses, before he can stop himself. Jay's eyes go wide, in something like shock and recognition. 

"Damn, man, is that why she left?" he gapes. Steve just makes a noncommittal noise and Jay laughs again, a filthy, perverse thing that makes Steve's skin crawl. "Well, shit. Sounds like you almost dodged a bullet, hard luck on getting stuck with the kid I guess." 

Steve's jaw clenches at that. 

"I like being a dad," he says, and it has just enough venom to it to make Jay take half a step back and hold his hands up as if admitting defeat. 

"If you say so, bro," he says, in a tone that is so patronizing Steve is tempted to deck him right there in the middle of the parking lot. "Can't be easy by yourself, though? Surely you're angry that that dumb whore left you to raise a rugrat by yourself?" 

"Who says I'm doing it by myself?" Steve snaps, before he can stop himself, and Jay smirks and raises an eyebrow. 

"Oh yeah? You get a new bitch?" he asks. "'Cause last I heard, Wheeler dumped your ass for that Byers freak. It's not that loser band chick I hear you work with, is it?" 

"I don't see how it's any of your business," Steve says it through gritted teeth, turning away from Jay to avoid hitting him. 

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. We're not really friends any more, keep my fuckin' nose out or whatever," Jay says, like they were ever friends in the first place. "You gotta be careful though, Harrington, 'cause there's all kinds of rumors about you, you know?" 

Steve turns back to face him, is about to ask him exactly what rumors those might be, but he catches himself before it comes out. That conversation sounds like it really could devolve into a fistfight. 

"Yeah, well, we're not in high school any more," Steve huffs. "I don't really give a shit about rumors." 

And it's mostly true. Watch the world almost end four times and other people's opinions of you start to feel pretty inconsequential. 

Jay narrows his eyes at that, then shrugs. 

"Whatever you say, man," he concedes. "Good to talk to you. Maybe see you around." 

"Yeah, you too," Steve lies, thankful that the conversation has come to an end. He waits until Jay is out of sight before he gets in the car and drives back home. 

* 

He arrives back to find Eddie and Lizzie in the living room, her cradled in a nest of cushions and him kneeling in front of her with a toy in each hand, apparently using them like puppets as he tells her some fantasy story. When Steve is done putting away groceries, he loiters in the doorway, smiling softly at them. For a couple of minutes they're both so engrossed in the story that neither of them notice, but Steve doesn't mind at all. 

Because it's a beautiful thing to behold. Jay's words bounce around in Steve's head, the way he'd talked about Lizzie like she was some kind of a curse or a burden, like Steve was so unlucky to be a dad. He certainly doesn't feel that way. Lizzie feels like a blessing, as does Eddie; the way he stepped in immediately when he saw that Steve needed help and has stuck around, no questions asked, has truly been Steve's driving force these past few months. He's certain he couldn't have done this without him, would have spiralled and fuck things up long before now had he been alone. 

Eddie notices him, eventually, and looks up to smile at him. 

"Hi, princess," he says, softly. Steve beams back. 

"I love you so much," he says, by way of greeting. Eddie's huffs a surprised little laugh. 

"I love you, too, Stevie," he says. Steve responds by closing the gap between them, cupping Eddie's face in his hands and leaning down to kiss him gently. Eddie smiles against his lips, raising up on his knees and bringing his own hands up to cover Steve's and stroking thumbs softly along the backs of his knuckles. When their lips part, Steve brushes his against the tip of Eddie's nose. 

From her little pillow nest, Lizzie makes a sound that sounds like a protest, reaching her arms up like she's demanding to be included. Steve smiles at her as he picks her up, lifting her high and kissing her on her nose too. 

"Hey, sweet girl," he says. "Did Dada interrupt storytime? I'm sorry." 

"We were just revisiting C.S. Lewis," Eddie provides. "We've been reading The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe at bedtime, thought we could maybe use some visuals." 

He's still kneeling in the same spot by the couch, and he tilts his head to rest his temple against Steve's hip. Steve tucks his hair behind his ear with the hand not holding Lizzie and smiles down at him. 

"Thank you, Ed," he says. Eddie smiles back, taking his hand and kissing the back of it. 

"Thanks for what, princess?" he asks. 

"Being such a good dad," Steve tells him, which makes him absolutely beam. Steve's been going out of his way to tell him stuff like that recently, ever since Eddie opted not to go to his own dad's funeral. It really kind of seems like he's needed to hear it, and in response he's been opening up a little. Every so often, he'll drop out a little snippet of his childhood, like when they were doing the dishes and Eddie quietly told him "he threatened to kill himself before, when I was a kid. I always had to talk him out of it." or when they were in the shower together, and Eddie had murmured that he wholeheartedly believes that his father would have killed him if a neighbor hadn't called the cops one night when he was just twelve, or when Steve had crawled into bed beside him one night and Eddie had whispered to him that Wayne was the only adult in his childhood who ever gave a shit about him and told him about all the times he'd fantasized about running away from his father to be with his uncle. Steve's heart breaks every time, though it's always mended a little by how Eddie looks like he's had a weight lifted. 

"You're a great dad too, baby," Eddie says, using the leverage of Steve's hand in his to get to his feet and plant a kiss on Steve's forehead, then Lizzie's. "I'm glad we're doing this together." 

"Yeah," Steve smiles. "Me too." 

* 

It's when Lizzie's gone to bed that they really talk about it. 

They're on the couch watching some corny B-movie. Or, Eddie is watching it, from where he's been hauled to sit sideways on Steve's lap. Steve is preoccupied with pressing open-mouthed kisses to the hinge of Eddie's jaw. Eddie's putting in a valiant effort into ignoring it and focusing on the TV, but when Steve's lips find their way to that spot just behind the ear where he's always very sensitive. 

"Stevie," he giggles, twisting his head away gently. "Not that I'm complaining, princess, but you're being a real lovebug today. What's brought this on, huh?" 

"I'm just glad you're here," Steve says, hooking a finger under Eddie's chin and turning his head gently back to make eye contact. "You could've left me high and dry but you didn't. You really are such a good dad, and I'm glad you stuck around long enough to let me find me that out." 

"Of course I stuck around, princess," Eddie whispers. "You needed help. I wasn't going to abandon you." 

"Never stopped anybody else," Steve says, biting his lip. "Didn't stop Brenda." 

"Don't, baby, you'll hurt yourself," Eddie gently thumbs his lip out from his teeth. "Did something happen today?" 

"Yeah," Steve sighs, pressing a soft kiss to the digit. "You remember Jay Delaney?" 

"That ginger dickhead on the swim team?" Eddie scoffs. "Yeah I remember him. Had to blacklist the asshole because he wouldn't stop trying to haggle me for cheap cocaine." 

"Sounds like Jay," Steve says, humorlessly. "I ran into him in the grocery store parking lot. He said some stuff about Lizzie. Or moreso about Brenda? How she ditched me with Lizzie. And I didn't really agree with the stuff he was saying, 'cause y'know I like being Lizzie's dad and he was being kind of a pig about Brenda but...shit, dude. I really wish Lizzie had a better mom." 

"Baby," Eddie coos, softly, stroking Steve's hair back from his forehead. "I wish all three of us had better moms. Lizzie deserves a mom who wants to be involved and you deserve a mom who knows how amazing you are and my mom...well, she wanted to be better, I know she did. I think she and I both deserved for her to be better." 

"Yeah?" Steve asks, tentatively. It's fragile territory. Eddie's been slowly opening up about his dad, but the only time they've spoken about his mom was Steve's birthday last year, when Eddie brought her up in order to lend Steve a crying shoulder about his own terrible mom. She's clearly a source of a lot of trauma for Eddie, so Steve typically doesn't push him about her. 

"Yeah," Eddie sighs, the hand in Steve's hair stilling. "She was...so sick, dude. Like, mentally. She always had been, I think, a little bit but I guess pregnancy and post-partum whatever just really threw her off the rails. Started hearing voices and seeing things and shit, 'scept she was afraid to get help 'cause my grandma was in the loony bin when she was a kid and she didn't want to go the same way. So she...self-medicated. Heroin, mostly, but honestly, man, she'd take anything she could get her hands on. And most of the time she was so high she didn't know her own name or so sick with withdrawals that she couldn't do anything but hug the toilet bowl, but sometimes she'd- I dunno, find the sweet spot. Strike some balance, where she was...I mean she wasn't good because she was still using but she was lucid. Present, y'know? She'd bake cookies or take me to the park to feed the ducks or teach me how to play the fuckin' guitar and I could almost pretend I just had a regular mom. She'd been on one of those stretches for weeks when she OD'd." 

Eddie's eyes are glittering by the time he's finished, and Steve feels his own starting to wet. He blinks the tears away, draws Eddie closer and tucks his boyfriend's head under his chin. 

"I think you're right," Steve says softly, pressing a kiss to Eddie's crown. He smells like their shared shampoo and a little like smoke. Like home. "I think we all do deserve better."

"Yeah," Eddie says, his voice thick. 

They're both quiet for a minute, while Steve mind ticks at a rapid pace. Eddie loved his mom dearly, that much is evident, and her dying clearly had an effect on him in a profoundly different way than his dad's death. 

"Hey, Ed? Where's your mom buried?" Steve asks gently. When Steve's beloved Nana had passed when he was in his early teens, he found spending time by her grave theraputic. Perhaps Eddie can find the same solace at his mother's  graveside. Eddie shifts in his arms without looking up at him. 

"She isn't," he responds. "She was cremated. She loved hiking, before she got sick and even after, when she was doin' okay, so my old man had her cremated and we spread her ashes out at one of her favorite spots in the woods." 

There's another pause, another moment for Steve to think. Then, something hits him. 

"Near Skull Rock?" he asks, and Eddie just nods. "Is that...is that why you went there while you were on the run?" 

"Yeah," Eddie says and it's not even a whisper, barely more than a breath, but Steve catches it. He clears his throat, willing his voice to come out more evenly because dammit he is going to be strong for Eddie right now. 

"Y'know, if you ever wanna go up there, I'll come with you," he offers. Eddie tilts his head up to blink at Steve, like he's asking really? Steve gives him a watery smile in return. "Yeah, babe, of course. We could even...even take Lizzie up there. I know it's not quite meeting her grandma but it could be-" 

He doesn't get to finish, because Eddie cuts him off with a kiss. 

"Fuck, Stevie. What did I do to deserve you?" Eddie asks. "I love you so fucking much, dude." 

"I love you too, man," Steve replies, with a smile. Eddie smiles back, through the tears. 

"And hey that's one thing Lizzie has on both of us, right?" he says. "Two parents who love her and each other. And that's what really matters?" 

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "Yeah, it is."