Chapter Text
Chapter 1
His hair was fine.
Right? Steve liked it, that was for sure, but he couldn’t stop fucking with it in the bathroom of Family Video. Too flat, too fluffy. A disastrous middle part that made him look like his douchebag father did in highschool.
“Maybe I should just shave it…” he grumbled as he trudged back out, defeated.
Robin looked at him warily.
“Does that mean everyone’s gonna call you ‘Steve ‘The Head’ Harrington’?”
“The ladies already do.”
Robin waved her right hand. “Lady here! No, we do not.”
Before Steve had time to roll his eyes, she hopped up onto the counter and studied him.
“So why, exactly, are you screwing with your hair? Last I heard, your ‘process’ for doing it was sacred and perfect in every way. What’s with the change of heart, huh?
He ran his fingers through it another few times.
“It’s fine, I guess. But there are better looks out there. I mean, Eddie Munson?”
Robin’s puzzled expression begged him to finish his thought.
“It’s all curly and perfect. He even rocks the bangs, somehow. And recently he’s been putting it in… what would you call it… an updo? A bun? It’s messy, but it always falls exactly where he needs it to. I’m sure he doesn’t even do anything to it. The son of a bitch has never managed to have a bad hair day in all the time I’ve known him.”
He was spacing out on the register, and he was lucky he couldn’t see the face his best friend was making.
“So… you want long hair?”
“What? No. Never have.”
The bell chimed.
Dirty blonde curls bounced as she made her way to the counter. A blue miniskirt, a white blouse with pink frills by the wrists. Pristine white converse. Perfect makeup. What was it, professionally done?
Steve wouldn’t know; he was spacing out on the register. Robin elbowed him, hard, in the stomach. He doubled over a bit, but of course, the customer comes first.
“How can I help you today?”
“Well, handsome, I’m just looking for something new… anything you recommend?” The girl looked up at him through her eyelashes.
“Our new releases are right over there.” He pointed. “Robin will ring you up whenever you’re ready.” He remembered he had some work to do in the back anyway; new shipments, returns, all that.
“Well, I was really hoping for someone with expertise to show me, so could you?”
Steve shrugged and led her to the place he just pointed out, explaining what was new and popular as he went. When he was finished, he told her to let them know if she had any more questions, and started to head back to his post behind the counter.
The new customer looked a little baffled. “Um, ok…”
Steve smiled at her and made his way to the infinite number of boxes that had to be sorted. Why is she confused? I showed her where they are. Whatever, Robin will deal with it.
When he came back out, she was already gone.
“Is it weird that I don’t like when customers come in? Maybe customer service just isn’t my calling.”
He got smacked.
“Alright, what the hell, Rob? First an elbow to the gut and now you’re gonna give me a concussion, what’s the deal?”
Robin threw her hands up.
“What was that?! I don’t know if you noticed, dingus, but an angel chewing bubblegum just walked in, practically kissed you right on your stupid forehead, batted her eyes, and then walked out, gaining nothing but a copy of Little Shop and a look of disappointment. What happened? Steve, what was the first thing she called you when she came in?”
“I don’t know?”
She put a hand right up to his face, as if she could pause his presence to have time to think. Her face was dead and focused.
Then, dramatically, “OH…”
It was a drawn out sound. Robin shook her head and patted Steve’s shoulder.
“Oh buddy, you’ll figure it out, I believe in you. Oh, Steve.”
Like a chiding mother?
So whatever that meant. Steve’s anxiety (which came in waves) poked him about it for a few hours, but eventually with a shrug and a non-committal swear, he was able to let Robin’s shenanigans drift from his mind.
There were plenty of other things to stress over, after all.
His parents were home for once in their lives, and they dragged him, with guilt trips and pleas and little threats, to family dinner. As if Steve owed them anything after the minimal help they had been in his life.
He prodded his lukewarm food and stared at the ugly childhood wallpaper his parents still had in their dining room, refusing to make eye contact; he was there, dressed cleanly, hair tamed and a polite tone in his voice when he had to respond to them. It was enough to fuel their image of him, and that was all he’d give.
“So, Steve, I’ve seen you and that Robin girl together working at… “
“Family Video.”
“Yes, there. She seems nice,” his mother said, encouraging him to go on.
Steve knew this would happen at some point, and he was not in the mood. Never would be. But he had a role to play.
“You’ve never met her, mom. And we’re just friends. She’s interested in someone else, and that’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” his mom said at the same time his father said, “Do you like Nancy?”
“Yes, and no. I’m totally over Nance, and really, I’m happy where I am.”
“I don’t know, I just think you’d be happy with a nice girl like her.”
Something about the way he said ‘girl’. What would he think of Robin?
Fuckin’ dick. He’ll never change.
“Yeah, well, it didn’t work out. That’s that.”
“Is that an attitude, Steven?”
This spiel again. Steve was 20 years old, his own man, with his own friends, who made his own choices and killed a bunch of monsters from another dimension with just a bat and some nails. He fidgeted with his hands beneath the table and kept his composure the best he could. As badly as he wanted to scream at his father, maybe sock him a few times, he’d never get out of here if he didn’t pretend for now.
“No. Sorry.”
He stood, and they didn’t stop him.
“I’ll clean up, you don’t have to worry about it.”
Transparent smiles made their way to his parents’ faces, and he supplied one in return, only to roll his eyes as soon as he turned to the sink.
Thank god he couldn’t smell in his nightmares; the Upside-Down reeked. Blood and ooze and whatever the hell the creatures were made of had made Steve’s visit all the more unwelcoming. Yet here he was again, with three blurry faces he knew the names of by his side. Awaiting the next fight.
The timeline was always wonky in his dream version, though. Something informed Steve he was bleeding and couldn’t stand anymore, and then the three figures were hovering over him, asking things he couldn’t really hear with worried expressions. Nancy was helping him to the ground, and kidding herself by thinking he could be safer down here.
And then came the helpless part. With a spotlight on someone in particular, this time.
Steve had his shirt on, but something repressed itself into Eddie leaning over with a denim vest offered in his hand.
“For your modesty, dude.”
Was he looking at him differently? There had been something different. Steve stared at him for a long time after that little comment back when the world was ending. There was something about a handkerchief that he’d heard in a snide remark from Tommy H., but it was fuzzy now.
Eddie’s back was turned to Steve, who was gripping the vest with bloody hands, unable to move.
Before he knew it, he was screaming, Nancy was screaming, Robin was screaming, and Eddie wasn’t screaming because Eddie was busy dying. Twelve bats eating him alive. Whatever cries he may have had were strangled as he choked on blood. His goddamn handkerchief was soaked with red.
At least this time he wasn’t screaming in real life. Steve’s jaw was screwed shut so hard it felt like he’d break his teeth. It was hot, cold, too much of everything but at least it was fucking real. Four in the morning, and nothing was comfortable anymore. He needed a shower, or to throw up everything in his stomach. Option two sounded pretty nice, and a minute later he was shaking and crying on the floor in his bathroom. Silently, of course.
Robin and her good fucking sleep schedule. Her fucking apologies when he’d told her the next day at their shift, the last time. Steve refused to guilt trip his best friend again, accidentally or not. His fingers slipped on the numbers of his phone but eventually he got there, and it was ringing.
He’s dead.
“Hello?”
“Eddie.”
“Harrington?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and wiped away some embarrassing tears of relief. One too many rings and Steve would have hung up and suffered by himself the rest of the night like he usually did.
“I’m sorry to bother you, man, really, but I-”
“Are you ok? You do not sound ok… what happened?”
Toxic masculinity crept in and Steve could feel himself getting uncomfortable with the vulnerability. Not that he hadn’t overcome a lot of that, but there was still some hesitation there.
However, it was beaten by how absolutely fucked up he felt right now, and there was concern in Eddie’s voice.
“Well, nothing much, just dreamt that you died, in the Upside-Down. All gorey, like a fuckin’ horror movie, too. So, I’m, um… I’m sorry to keep you on the phone like this. But, uh… it’s just good… to hear you. Talking. And not dead.”
To the point.
“Well then let’s talk, Stevie. I’m here for you, so don’t apologize again. We’re gonna talk about whatever you want.”
“Is that an engine rumbling? Who the hell is driving…” He checked his clock. “At 4:30 AM?”
“Oh, yeah, my uncle works pretty late. I mean, say what you want about your job, but at least you only have to talk to people when the sun is up.”
Steve’s mouth split into a smile for the first time this morning.
“Unless I’m talking to Eddie Munson in the middle of the night. As I do.”
A chuckle came from the other end of the line.
“Wait, ok, Harrington, listen to me - will you be okay for a few minutes? My phone doesn’t reach this far, the stupid fucking…”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he responded automatically, with no thought about the fact that he couldn’t get his hands to stay still. Or why Eddie’s phone would be going in and out. The new mobile ones were a little better, but still, if he was at his house, it shouldn’t be-
“Really, Steve, I need to be sure, I’ll only be gone for… four minutes, tops. But if you need me right now I’ll change the plans up.
“Plans?”
“Don’t worry about it, please, just trust me. Will you be okay?”
“Yes,” he said, with the same amount of false strength that he showed most of the time.
“Ok, ok dude, I’ll be back soon. Just take some deep breaths. I’m here. I’m alive. We made it.”
With that, the call ended, and Steve’s room was again filled with silence. It was the same kind of edge that he had back when he was a kid, watching Carrie way too early after insisting he was old enough for it. Reality blurred with possibility of the worst, and there was no proof his head was wrong. Steve stared at his knuckles thinking with every single fucking second that passed that it was long enough, longer than the four minutes Eddie had laid out for himself for whatever reason.
An hour later, the clock showed four minutes had officially passed, and Steve held the phone tightly, debating whether Eddie meant he would call back, or if Steve had that responsibility, and he was waiting for nothing.
He’s dead.
Steve squeezed his temples and just tried to stay calm.
Four hours later. A knock. On his window.
Steve whipped his head around to find Eddie, bright smile and a speaker between his teeth, waving at him. His arm was shaking as he tried to hold on to Steve’s windowsill. Steve quickly unlocked his window and dragged his friend inside by his wrist.
His eyes should have been on the door, with the whole ‘his parents would probably kill him’ thing, but they weren’t. Steve must have memorized every detail of Eddie’s face in the dark right then.
Still, there were some questions to be asked.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered with an incredulous look on his face.
“Figured you could use the real thing, not just my lullaby voice on the phone, so hey, I’m here.”
He’s here.
Steve said nothing, but his face showed more than he would have liked as he pulled Eddie to his chest and threw his arms around him. He didn’t want to let go, but a little voice in his head that sounded a lot like Tommy H. told him to and he just didn’t have the energy to ignore it tonight. Besides, his curiosity about the speaker was getting the better of him. He looked from Eddie to it and back, raising his eyebrows.
“We’re gonna play a game,” Eddie said simply, still keeping his voice low. To Steve’s horror, Eddie pulled a cassette from his back pocket and slipped it into the deck. Quietly, a metal song began to play.
“The two of us are gonna have a conversation, just like we usually do. But if I see you slipping away, Harrington…”
He paused and put his left hand on the volume knob.
“I turn it up one notch. You said your parents are home, right?”
Steve wore a tired, grateful smile.
“You’re so evil, man.”
“The whole town seems to think so.”
“I mean, that kid Jason was a dick anyway, right?” Steve shuddered thinking back to it. Jason was a year, maybe two years younger than him, and they’d met a few times. “Can’t believe he’ll be going out into the world and being an asshole with a highschool diploma. Scary shit.”
He did feel bad for him, though. What happened to Chrissy… Steve wouldn’t wish that on anyone. That boy was traumatized, for sure. They all were, come to think of it, with everything that had happened.
Metallica got a little louder in his ears.
“You had that look,” Eddie explained, staring at him protectively.
Even in the dark, his hair looked damn good.
“Do you, like… curl it, or anything?” Steve gestured vaguely to the top of his head.
“Nah, but I do wash it every once in a while. Shocking, huh? You can touch it, if you want, everyone says it’s pretty soft.”
He was too tired to miss that opportunity. Because, fuck, he did want to, and it was pretty fucking soft if you asked him.
“You’re not wrong, Munson. But I’m still jealous you don’t have to do anything to it.”
“Please , you’re known for your perfect, fluffy, model hair and you’re complaining?”
“But you don’t understand, I have a process-”
“Do you, now? Oh, I can picture it perfectly… King Steve with four bottles of hairspray every morning, spending 45 minutes in front of the mirror…”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Mr. Flawless, I can’t wait until you sleep on it the wrong way and you wake up looking like a founding father.”
He wasn’t crying anymore.
But Steve couldn’t be happy, no, that wasn’t allowed. He saw that he’d left the window wide open, and the fears flooded in again.
Another notch louder. Too loud, and dangerously close to waking his parents at this point. But better that than bracing his forearms on the toilet and hurling his guts up again, right?
Now, Eddie wasn’t waiting for him to get there himself; he put a palm on Steve’s chest and pushed him backwards so he was laying down properly. Steve felt a flush creep to his cheeks, and ignored it more than he’d ignored most other things in life, so much so that he’d forgotten about it a few seconds later. Eddie was beside him now, the speaker resting on his ribs. It was a tight fit, but it worked.
“So, tell me about… that job you had, at the ice cream place.”
“Scoops Ahoy.”
“That’s the one,” Eddie said, shaking his head. “If only I could have seen you in that little uniform I’ve heard so much about.”
Steve scoffed. “That stupid hat cost me so many dates.”
“Right, right, it was the hat…”
He elbowed Eddie. “Look at me and tell me I’m not pretty. You can’t.”
His companion threw his hands up. “I can’t.”
They listened to the music, pressed shoulder to shoulder. Steve couldn’t focus on a spot in the darkness, so he closed his eyes and relaxed into the pillow. In a last ditch effort to make sure his parents stayed asleep, Steve grabbed Eddie’s wrist and tried to pull it off the volume knob. Before he could follow through, he drifted to sleep.
SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, AND YOU’RE TO BLAME-
Steve tumbled out of bed and onto the floor, heart hammering.
DARLIN’, YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME-
The speaker was blasting. In his sleep, Eddie’s fingers had slipped and he suddenly cranked the volume way high. He was up now, scrambling toward the window as Steve frantically turned it down. Eddie gave a panicked salute and jumped off the windowsill, landing, miraculously, in the bushes. He booked it to his car just as Steve’s dad came in.
“Why the hell are you playing music that loud this early?” he grumbled. It was six in the morning.
“Um… sorry,” was all Steve could come up with. His father huffed and went back to bed, leaving Steve to put a hand to his forehead and stare at the wall, stunned.