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queenlucythevaliant · 4 months

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Tell Your Dad You Love Him

A retelling of "Meat Loves Salt"/"Cap O'Rushes" for the @inklings-challenge Four Loves event

An old king had three daughters. When his health began to fail, he summoned them, and they came.

Gordonia and Rowan were already waiting in the hallway when Coriander arrived. They were leaned up against the wall opposite the king’s office with an air of affected casualness. “I wonder what the old war horse wants today?” Rowan was saying. “More about next year’s political appointments, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“The older he gets, the more he micromanages,” Gordonia groused fondly. “A thousand dollars says this meeting could’ve been an email.”

They filed in single-file like they’d so often done as children: Gordonia first, then Rowan, and Coriander last of all. The king had placed three chairs in front of his desk all in a row. His daughters murmured their greetings, and one by one they sat down.

“I have divided everything I have in three,” the king said. “I am old now, and it’s time. Today, I will pass my kingdom on to you, my daughters.”

A short gasp came from Gordonia. None of them could have imagined that their father would give up running his kingdom while he still lived.

The king went on. “I know you will deal wisely with that which I leave in your care. But before we begin, I have one request.”

“Yes father?” said Rowan.

“Tell me how much you love me.”

An awkward silence fell. Although there was no shortage of love between the king and his daughters, theirs was not a family which spoke of such things. They were rich and blue-blooded: a soldier and the daughters of a soldier, a king and his three court-reared princesses. The royal family had always shown their affection through double meanings and hot cups of coffee.

Gordonia recovered herself first. She leaned forward over the desk and clasped her father’s hands in her own. “Father,” she said, “I love you more than I can say.” A pause. “I don’t think there’s ever been a family so happy in love as we have been. You’re a good dad.”

The old king smiled and patted her hand. “Thank you, Gordonia. We have been very happy, haven’t we? Here is your inheritance. Cherish it, as I cherish you.”

Rowan spoke next; the words came tumbling out. “Father! There’s not a thing in my life which you didn’t give me, and all the joy in the world beside. Come now, Gordonia, there’s no need to understate the matter. I love you more than—why, more than life itself!”

The king laughed, and rose to embrace his second daughter. “How you delight me, Rowan. All of this will be yours.”

Only Coriander remained. As her sisters had spoken, she’d wrung her hands in her lap, unsure of what to say. Did her father really mean for flattery to be the price of her inheritance? That just wasn’t like him. For all that he was a politician, he’d been a soldier first. He liked it when people told the truth.

When the king’s eyes came to rest on her, Coriander raised her own to meet them. “Do you really want to hear what you already know?”

“I do.”

She searched for a metaphor that could carry the weight of her love without unnecessary adornment. At last she found one, and nodded, satisfied. “Dad, you’re like—like salt in my food.”

“Like salt?”

“Well—yes.”

The king’s broad shoulders seemed to droop. For a moment, Coriander almost took back her words. Her father was the strongest man in the world, even now, at eighty. She’d watched him argue with foreign rulers and wage wars all her life. Nothing could hurt him. Could he really be upset?

But no. Coriander held her father’s gaze. She had spoken true. What harm could be in that?

“I don’t know why you’re even here, Cor,” her father said.

Now, Coriander shifted slightly in her seat, unnerved. “What? Father—”

“It would be best if—you should go,” said the old king.

“Father, you can’t really mean–”

“Leave us, Coriander.”

So she left the king’s court that very hour.

It had been a long time since she’d gone anywhere without a chauffeur to drive her, but Coriander’s thoughts were flying apart too fast for her to be afraid. She didn’t know where she would go, but she would make do, and maybe someday her father would puzzle out her metaphor and call her home to him. Coriander had to hope for that, at least. The loss of her inheritance didn’t feel real yet, but her father—how could he not know that she loved him? She’d said it every day.

She’d played in the hall outside that same office as a child. She’d told him her secrets and her fears and sent him pictures on random Tuesdays when they were in different cities just because. She had watched him triumph in conference rooms and on the battlefield and she’d wanted so badly to be like him.

If her father doubted her love, then maybe he’d never noticed any of it. Maybe the love had been an unnoticed phantasm, a shadow, a song sung to a deaf man. Maybe all that love had been nothing at all.

A storm was on the horizon, and it reached her just as she made it onto the highway. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Rain poured down and flooded the road. Before long, Coriander was hydroplaning. Frantically, she tried to remember what you were supposed to do when that happened. Pump the brakes? She tried. No use. Wasn’t there something different you did if the car had antilock brakes? Or was that for snow? What else, what else–

With a sickening crunch, her car hit the guardrail. No matter. Coriander’s thoughts were all frenzied and distant. She climbed out of the car and just started walking.

Coriander wandered beneath an angry sky on the great white plains of her father’s kingdom. The rain beat down hard, and within seconds she was soaked to the skin. The storm buffeted her long hair around her head. It tangled together into long, matted cords that hung limp down her back. Mud soiled her fine dress and splattered onto her face and hands. There was water in her lungs and it hurt to breathe. Oh, let me die here, Coriander thought. There’s nothing left for me, nothing at all. She kept walking.

When she opened her eyes, Coriander found herself in a dank gray loft. She was lying on a strange feather mattress.

She remained there a while, looking up at the rafters and wondering where she could be. She thought and felt, as it seemed, through a heavy and impenetrable mist; she was aware only of hunger and weakness and a dreadful chill (though she was all wrapped in blankets). She knew that a long time must have passed since she was fully aware, though she had a confused memory of wandering beside the highway in a thunderstorm, slowly going mad because—because— oh, there’d been something terrible in her dreams. Her father, shoulders drooping at his desk, and her sisters happily come into their inheritance, and she cast into exile—

She shuddered and sat up dizzily. “Oh, mercy,” she murmured. She hadn’t been dreaming.

She stumbled out of the loft down a narrow flight of stairs and came into a strange little room with a single window and a few shabby chairs. Still clinging to the rail, she heard a ruckus from nearby and then footsteps. A plump woman came running to her from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron and softly clucking at the state of her guest’s matted, tangled hair.

“Dear, dear,” said the woman. “Here’s my hand, if you’re still unsteady. That’s good, good. Don’t be afraid, child. I’m Katherine, and my husband is Folke. He found you collapsed by the goose-pond night before last. I’m she who dressed you—your fine gown was ruined, I’m afraid. Would you like some breakfast? There’s coffee on the counter, and we’ll have porridge in a minute if you’re patient.”

“Thank you,” Coriander rasped.

“Will you tell me your name, my dear?”

“I have no name. There’s nothing to tell.”

Katherine clicked her tongue. “That’s alright, no need to worry. Folke and I’ve been calling you Rush on account of your poor hair. I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but it looks a lot like river rushes. No, don’t get up. Here’s your breakfast, dear.”

There was indeed porridge, as Katherine had promised, served with cream and berries from the garden. Coriander ate hungrily and tasted very little. Then, when she was finished, the goodwife ushered her over to a sofa by the window and put a pillow beneath her head. Coriander thanked her, and promptly fell asleep.

She woke again around noon, with the pounding in her head much subsided. She woke feeling herself again, to visions of her father inches away and the sound of his voice cracking across her name.

Katherine was outside in the garden; Coriander could see her through the clouded window above her. She rose and, upon finding herself still in a borrowed nightgown, wrapped herself in a blanket to venture outside.

“Feeling better?” Katherine was kneeling in a patch of lavender, but she half rose when she heard the cottage door open.

“Much. Thank you, ma’am.

“No thanks necessary. Folke and I are ministers, of a kind. We keep this cottage for lost and wandering souls. You’re free to remain here with us for as long as you need.”

“Oh,” was all Coriander could think to say.

“You’ve been through a tempest, haven’t you? Are you well enough to tell me where you came from?”

Coriander shifted uncomfortably. “I’m from nowhere,” she said. “I have nothing.”

“You don’t owe me your story, child. I should like to hear it, but it will keep till you’re ready. Now, why don’t you put on some proper clothes and come help me with this weeding.”

Coriander remained at the cottage with Katherine and her husband Folke for a week, then a fortnight. She slept in the loft and rose with the sun to help Folke herd the geese to the pond. After, Coriander would return and see what needed doing around the cottage. She liked helping Katherine in the garden.

The grass turned gold and the geese’s thick winter down began to come in. Coriander’s river-rush hair proved itself unsalvageable. She spent hours trying to untangle it, first with a hairbrush, then with a fine-tooth comb and a bottle of conditioner, and eventually even with honey and olive oil (a home remedy that Folke said his mother used to use). So, at last, Coriander surrendered to the inevitable and gave Katherine permission to cut it off. One night, by the yellow light of the bare bulb that hung over the kitchen table, Katherine draped a towel over Coriander’s shoulders and tufts of gold went falling to the floor all round her.

“I’m here because I failed at love,” she managed to tell the couple at last, when her sorrows began to feel more distant. “I loved my father, and he knew it not.”

Folke and Katherine still called her Rush. She didn’t correct them. Coriander was the name her parents gave her. It was the name her father had called her when she was six and racing down the stairs to meet him when he came home from Europe, and at ten when she showed him the new song she’d learned to play on the harp. She’d been Cor when she brought her first boyfriend home and Cori the first time she shadowed him at court. Coriander, Coriander, when she came home from college the first time and he’d hugged her with bruising strength. Her strong, powerful father.

As she seasoned a pot of soup for supper, she wondered if he understood yet what she’d meant when she called him salt in her food.

Coriander had been living with Katherine and Folke for two years, and it was a morning just like any other. She was in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee when Folke tossed the newspaper on the table and started rummaging in the fridge for his orange juice. “Looks like the old king’s sick again,” he commented casually. Coriander froze.

She raced to the table and seized hold of the paper. There, above the fold, big black letters said, KING ADMITTED TO HOSPITAL FOR EMERGENCY TREATMENT. There was a picture of her father, looking older than she’d ever seen him. Her knees went wobbly and then suddenly the room was sideways.

Strong arms caught her and hauled her upright. “What’s wrong, Rush?”

“What if he dies,” she choked out. “What if he dies and I never got to tell him?”

She looked up into Folke’s puzzled face, and then the whole sorry story came tumbling out.

When she was through, Katherine (who had come downstairs sometime between salt and the storm) took hold of her hand and kissed it. “Bless you, dear,” she said. “I never would have guessed. Maybe it’s best that you’ve both had some time to think things over.”

Katherine shook her head. “But don’t you think…?”

“Yes?”

“Well, don’t you think he should have known that I loved him? I shouldn’t have needed to say it. He’s my father. He’s the king.”

Katherine replied briskly, as though the answer should have been obvious. “He’s only human, child, for all that he might wear a crown; he’s not omniscient. Why didn’t you tell your father what he wanted to hear?”

“I didn’t want to flatter him,” said Coriander. “That was all. I wanted to be right in what I said.”

The goodwife clucked softly. “Oh dear. Don’t you know that sometimes, it’s more important to be kind than to be right?”

In her leave-taking, Coriander tried to tell Katherine and Folke how grateful she was to them, but they wouldn’t let her. They bought her a bus ticket and sent her on her way towards King’s City with plenty of provisions. Two days later, Coriander stood on the back steps of one of the palace outbuildings with her little carpetbag clutched in her hands.

Stuffing down the fear of being recognized, Coriander squared her shoulders and hoped they looked as strong as her father’s. She rapped on the door, and presently a maid came and opened it. The maid glanced Coriander up and down, but after a moment it was clear that her disguise held. With all her long hair shorn off, she must have looked like any other girl come in off the street.

“I’m here about a job,” said Coriander. “My name’s Rush.”

The king's chambers were half-lit when Coriander brought him his supper, dressed in her servants’ apparel. He grunted when she knocked and gestured with a cane towards his bedside table. His hair was snow-white and he was sitting in bed with his work spread across a lap-desk. His motions were very slow.

Coriander wanted to cry, seeing her father like that. Yet somehow, she managed to school her face. Like he would, she kept telling herself. Stoically, she put down the supper tray, then stepped back out into the hallway.

It was several minutes more before the king was ready to eat. Coriander heard papers being shuffled, probably filed in those same manilla folders her father had always used. In the hall, Coriander felt the seconds lengthen. She steeled herself for the moment she knew was coming, when the king would call out in irritation, “Girl! What's the matter with my food? Why hasn’t it got any taste?”

When that moment came, all would be made right. Coriander would go into the room and taste his food. “Why,” she would say, with a look of complete innocence, “It seems the kitchen forgot to salt it!” She imagined how her father’s face would change when he finally understood. My daughter always loved me, he would say.

Soon, soon. It would happen soon. Any second now.

The moment never came. Instead, the floor creaked, followed by the rough sound of a cane striking the floor. The door opened, and then the king was there, his mighty shoulders shaking. “Coriander,” he whispered.

“Dad. You know me?”

“Of course.”

“Then you understand now?”

The king’s wrinkled brow knit. “Understand about the salt? Of course, I do. It wasn't such a clever riddle. There was surely no need to ruin my supper with a demonstration.”

Coriander gaped at him. She'd expected questions, explanations, maybe apologies for sending her away. She'd never imagined this.

She wanted very badly to seize her father and demand answers, but then she looked, really looked, at the way he was leaning on his cane. The king was barely upright; his white head was bent low. Her questions would hold until she'd helped her father back into his room.

“If you knew what I meant–by saying you were like salt in my food– then why did you tell me to go?” she asked once they were situated back in the royal quarters.

Idly, the king picked at his unseasoned food. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me, Coriander. My anger and hurt got the better of me, and it has brought me much grief. I never expected you to stay away for so long.”

Coriander nodded slowly. Her father's words had always carried such fierce authority. She'd never thought to question if he really meant what he’d said to her.

“As for the salt,” continued the king, "Is it so wrong that an old man should want to hear his daughters say ‘I love you' before he dies?”

Coriander rolled the words around in her head, trying to make sense of them. Then, with a sudden mewling sound from her throat, she managed to say, “That's really all you wanted?”

“That's all. I am old, Cor, and we've spoken too little of love in our house.” He took another bite of his unsalted supper. His hand shook. “That was my failing, I suppose. Perhaps if I’d said it, you girls would have thought to say it back.”

“But father!” gasped Coriander, “That’s not right. We've always known we loved one another! We've shown it a thousand ways. Why, I've spent the last year cataloging them in my head, and I've still not even scratched the surface!”

The king sighed. “Perhaps you will understand when your time comes. I knew, and yet I didn't. What can you really call a thing you’ve never named? How do you know it exists? Perhaps all the love I thought I knew was only a figment.”

“But that’s what I’ve been afraid of all this time,” Coriander bit back. “How could you doubt? If it was real at all– how could you doubt?”

The king’s weathered face grew still. His eyes fell shut and he squeezed them. “Death is close to me, child. A small measure of reassurance is not so very much to ask.”

Coriander slept in her old rooms that night. None of it had changed. When she woke the next morning, for a moment she remembered nothing of the last two years.

She breakfasted in the garden with her father, who came down the steps in a chair-lift. “Coriander,” he murmured. “I half-thought I dreamed you last night.”

“I’m here, Dad,” she replied. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, the king reached out with one withered hand and caressed Coriander's cheek. Then, his fingers drifted up to what remained of her hair. He ruffled it, then gently tugged on a tuft the way he'd used to playfully tug her long braid when she was a girl.

“I love you,” he said.

“That was always an I love you, wasn’t it?” replied Coriander. “My hair.”

The king nodded. “Yes, I think it was.”

So Coriander reached out and gently tugged the white hairs of his beard. “You too,” she whispered.

“Why salt?” The king was sitting by the fire in his rooms wrapped in two blankets. Coriander was with him, enduring the sweltering heat of the room without complaint.

She frowned. “You like honesty. We have that in common. I was trying to be honest–accurate–to avoid false flattery.”

The king tugged at the outer blanket, saying nothing. His lips thinned and his eyes dropped to his lap. Coriander wished they wouldn’t. She wished they would hold to hers, steely and ready for combat as they always used to be.

“Would it really have been false?” the king said at last. “Was there no other honest way to say it? Only salt?”

Coriander wanted to deny it, to give speech to the depth and breadth of her love, but once again words failed her. “It was my fault,” she said. “I didn’t know how to heave my heart into my throat.” She still didn’t, for all she wanted to.

When the doctor left, the king was almost too tired to talk. His words came slowly, slurred at the edges and disconnected, like drops of water from a leaky faucet.

Still, Coriander could tell that he had something to say. She waited patiently as his lips and tongue struggled to form the words. “Love you… so… much… You… and… your sisters… Don’t… worry… if you… can’t…say…how…much. I… know.”

It was all effort. The king sat back when he was finished. Something was still spasming in his throat, and Coriander wanted to cry.

“I’m glad you know,” she said. “I’m glad. But I still want to tell you.”

Love was effort. If her father wanted words, she would give him words. True words. Kind words. She would try…

“I love you like salt in my food. You're desperately important to me, and you've always been there, and I don't know what I'll do without you. I don’t want to lose you. And I love you like the soil in a garden. Like rain in the spring. Like a hero. You have the strongest shoulders of anyone I know, and all I ever wanted was to be like you…”

A warm smile spread across the old king’s face. His eyes drifted shut.

#inklingschallenge #theme: storge #story: complete #inklings challenge #leah stories #OKAY. SO #i spend so much time thinking about king lear. i think i've said before that it's my favorite shakespeare play. it is not close #and one of the hills i will die on is that cordelia was not in the right when she refused to flatter her dad #like. obviously he's definitely not in the right either. the love test was a screwed up way to make sure his kids loved him #he shouldn't have tied their inheritances into it. he DEFINITELY shouldn't have kicked cordelia out when she refused to play #but like. Cordelia. there is no good reason not to tell your elderly dad how much you love him #and okay obviously lear is my starting point but the same applies to the meat loves salt princess #your dad wants you to tell him you love him. there is no good reason to turn it into a riddle. you had other options #and honestly it kinda bothers me when people read cordelia/the princess as though she's perfectly virtuous #she's very human and definitely beats out the cruel sisters but she's definitely not aspirational. she's not to be emulated #at the end of the day both the fairytale and the play are about failures in storge #at happens when it's there and you can't tell. when it's not and you think it is. when you think you know someone's heart and you just don'#hey! that's a thing that happens all the time between parents and children. especially loving past each other and speaking different langua #so the challenge i set myself with this story was: can i retell the fairytale in such a way that the princess is unambiguously in the wrong #and in service of that the king has to get softened so his errors don't overshadow hers #anyway. thank you for coming to my TED talk #i've been thinking about this story since the challenge was announced but i wrote the whole thing last night after the super bowl #got it in under the wire! yay!#also! the whole 'modern setting that conflicts with the fairytale language' is supposed to be in the style of modern shakespeare adaptation #no idea if it worked but i had a lot of fun with it #pontifications and creations

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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Part Two of Class of '85.

June 6th, 1985

1. Make Sure Eddie Lives

Convince Wayne to move away? (how??)

Befriend Eddie sooner? (tried and failed)

Graduate Early?

2. Save Max

Stop Billy on Fourth July. Save Billy? Does he deserve it?

3. Help El With Powers. How?

Save Hopper? How to learn location of Russian prison if saved?

4. Convince Everyone To Move Out of Hawkins

That's all that's written on this slightly crumpled piece of paper.

Eddie hadn't even meant to read it; when he'd shaken out the grey sweatpants it had fluttered free, slowly falling to the ground, and when he picked it up to put it back in the drawer he caught his name. And he's always been far too curious.

Eddie knows as soon as he's read it that he absolutely shouldn't have. It's too late though. He's read it, he knows now, and he can't really unknow it.

This is the list of things Steve is trying to change in this timeline.

It knocks the air out of Eddie and his knees feel a little weak suddenly. He drops himself to the floor, one hand clutching the sweats, the other the note.

Make sure Eddie lives.

Eddie lives.

Which implies that Eddie died.

Eddie's not sure what that says about him, that he's never made the connection of Steve's soft I can't lose you confessions and that he might mean Eddie is dead, and not, like, having fled Hawkins before Steve could confess his lo-feelings or something.

He's never really taken the time to stew in what Steve meant because as far as Eddie was concerned, there was no losing him. Steve's already changed the way Eddie's life plays out; he's graduated a year sooner than he did in that other timeline. He's got a part time job at the local mechanics. And though he doesn't know details, he does know that still being in high school led him to the event Steve wanted to change.

Which was his death.

He takes several deep breaths. He's not going to die because Steve's already saved him so he can deal with this. It's not even an issue.

Moving past that. Save Max. There's no last name written, but both he and Steve know only one Max. Then the line below that. They both hate Billy, yes, but what's throwing Eddie off here is the written, then stricken out, does he deserve it? The use of save gives him pause, too. It says Make sure Eddie lives and save Max. So, Max doesn't die? What does she need saved from then?

This is when Steve finds him, entering the room with a, "Did you get lost, Eds? It's the top dra- oh," Steve is stopped two steps into the room when Eddie looks up at him.

"I didn't mean to read it but I saw my name and..." Eddie says, trailing off because he doesn't actually have anything to add. He's worried for a second that Steve will be mad at him but that thought goes as quickly as it appeared. Steve moves into the room, dropping to his knees before Eddie, hands coming to cup his face.

"Oh, babe," Steve's voice is gentle, his thumbs even more so as they swipe across his cheek. "I'm so sorry."

Eddie should be the one apologizing. He's done the one thing he wasn't suppose to. He's read the list! He knows the future! (sorta) "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have read this."

Steve makes his I-want-to-argue face but it smooths over. The tone in Steve's voice when he speaks, sounding older than his years and so fucking tired, it break Eddie's heart. "I should have burned that. This isn't your burden to shoulder. I'll just take that and you can try and forget."

He's reaching for the paper and Eddie pulls his hand behind his back, away from Steve's grasp. "No."

"No?" Steve looks surprised. Honestly, Eddie's also surprised.

"You don't have to shoulder this alone," Eddie says, "I can help. We can fix this together."

It's strange to see hope mixed with sorrow in Steve's eyes. "I can't- there's so much I don't even understand, don't even know how to explain."

"Sweetheart, let me help," Eddie whispers, shifting to his knees to easily slide into Steve's space, press soft kisses to his face between his words," I (kiss) want to (kiss) help (kiss). Let me (kiss)."

On the last kiss Steve angles his face, capturing Eddie's lips with his own, his hands still on Eddie's face allowing him to hold Eddie steady as he presses in, deepens the kiss, runs his tongue along Eddie's lip and Eddie flicks his own tongue out in return. They kiss in an odd, calm-but-desperate, deep-but-lazy, soft-but-messy way. They end it panting, foreheads pressed together to feel grounded, Steve's hands still on Eddie's face, Eddie's hands braced on Steve's thighs as he leans into him.

"Once you know, you can't unknow. It's fucking terrible, Eds," Steve whispers, "I don't want to do that to you. I don't want you to hurt."

"But you hurt," Eddie counters, "and if you hurt, I hurt. Thems the rules."

Steve laughs and kisses him again, just a quick closed lip peck, "Dustin told me once, you die, I die. Mutual destruction really shouldn't be the first go-to for showing affection for the people I care about it."

"Says the man whose favorite way to show affection is stepping between someone and a fist, or claw, or whatever."

Steve rolls his eyes and pulls back. "Weren't you going to shower?"

"Plans change. We gotta finish arguing about you telling me about this," he waves the paper, now even more crumpled, between the two of them, "so that you can let me help."

"How about you take that shower, and meanwhile, I'll cook dinner and think about finishing this 'argument' you want to have," Steve says, and even though Steve doesn't physically make the air quotes motion, Eddie still hears it in his voice.

Eddie concedes on this, though, and after stealing a soft shirt from Steve's closet, does go shower. When he's done, he takes his time detangling his hair and towel drying it as much as he can before changing into the pilfered clothing and going down to dinner. Steve is washing up the dishes he used while cooking (because this fucker cleans as he goes, what kinda sicko does that?) so, Eddie gathers plates and utensils and sets the table (because they're the kinda sickos that eat at a dinner table) .

Dinner is pork chops, mashed potatoes, and green beans. It's delicious.

They just chat about the day under the silent agreement that serious conversations were for after dinner. Eddie packages up leftovers and wipes down the counters while Steve finishes dishes and Jesus Christ when did they become so normal and adult?

Well, Steve's been an adult for a while, technically, but also, he's still just barely 18 and that's just- Eddie tries not to think about it too much, the difference between Steve's age in relation to the amount of time it's been since he was born, but also since he was forced? chosen? made to? relive 3 years of his life again.

"Alright Stevie," Eddie says, crawling into his lap on the couch, his legs bracketing Steve's, pulling Steve into him, Steve's head on his chest and his head resting atop Steve's, a mirror of their first interaction, at that party that feels so long ago and also just like yesterday, "I do have a question about your list that I feel is safe to ask and for you to answer."

"Hmm?" Steve hums back, arms wrapping around Eddie as Steve nuzzles against him.

"Befriend me got crossed out, so getting me to graduate early was the option you seemed to be going with. Obviously, befriending me ended up working. So, how in the hell did you plan to make me graduate early if we weren't friends?"

Steve snorts a laugh and says, "you're gonna laugh at me."

"Of course, I am. Tell me anyway."

"I was going to attempt doing your homework and turning it in on your behalf. I even practiced making my handwriting look different."

Eddie does laugh at him, so much that his sides start to hurt, and he would have fallen off of the couch if Steve wasn't holding him so tightly.

Then Steve has the fucking nerve to say, without the slightest hint of embarrassment, "told ya you'd laugh at me."

Well, Eddie's got no choice but to take Steve's face in his hands and kiss him senseless after that.

"Can you tell me what you mean by save Max?" Eddie asks when the kissing is done and the mood changes to serious again.

"Eds-"

"No, listen. I was thinking in the shower and like, I'm not going to get all philosophical on you, but I do think you can tell me, and we can figure out things together, maybe, and I won't interfere or do anything to, like, jeopardize the timeline. Just listen and troubleshoot."

Steve pulls back from their cuddling to eye Eddie skeptically. "I don't believe any of that for a second."

"Yeah," Eddie sighs, sagging forward to rest against Steve as he leans back against the couch now, "I just- I want to save Max, too. Let me help."

"It should have been someone else."

Eddie hears the cut off sob, presses himself down like a weight blanket, "someone else?"

"To get the second chance, the do over," Steve says, voice wet and pained, "it should have been someone else. Someone who-who remembers shit, and actually knows things. Someone smarter. I'm so afraid that I'm going to fuck this up. But then I feel like shit for wishing this was someone else's problem instead of mine."

"But it wasn't someone else," Eddie says, "it was you." Then he waits for Steve to collect himself and speak.

"The Party, they think I shouldn't tell anyone," Steve presses a kiss to the top of Eddie's head that he hears more than feels, "if I change too much, I could end up fucking up a thing that has to happen for us to win. I shouldn't tell people, or warn them, because if they make decisions based on knowledge they shouldn't have? That could get someone killed."

"So tell someone not involved. Or someone who isn't involved yet. Someone not around during the events. Then none of you are making decisions you wouldn't have already been making, but someone behind the scenes can change things. Maybe even last minute?"

That seems to give Steve pause. Eddie wants to pull back to look at him, his thinking face is adorable, but instead he shoves his face into Steve's neck and just breathes him in.

"That- I hadn't even thought of..." Steve kisses Eddie's temple, "Eddie, baby, you're a fucking genius."

"I know but it's great to have it acknowledged."

"Alright, off, I've gotta make a phone call before it gets too late," Steve says, shoving at Eddie. Eddie goes willingly, rolling a full 360 off Steve's lap so he's kneeling on the couch, elbows resting on the back of it. His eyes stay on Steve, though, tracking him as he stands, adjusts his shirt as if anyone but Eddie can see him now, before moving to the phone. It's not mounted to the wall in the living room, just sat on its own table in a corner, chair nearby.

If Eddie's gaze drifts down to Steve's butt while his back is turned, dialing whoever he's calling, well, Eddie's got no shame in that. He's allowed to look.

"Hi Hopper, it's Steve. I need you to get Dr Owens to get a hold of me. I know you have a way. No- you've got to- ok. No. Yes, this is important. Something- there is something else coming. We're not in the clear yet. No! You know I cannot tell you that. We all agreed that I wouldn't tell you anything! Hop- Hop- HOPPER. I promise, I swear on my life, El will be fine. She'll be okay. I... I just need to talk to Dr Owens. Thank you. Have him call on a Tuesday, I'm always off on Tuesdays."

Eddie listens in on the whole conversation, because if it was meant to be private, Steve would have used the kitchen phone, or the one in his room. Rich people have more than one phone, Eddie's learned. Excessive. "Sounds like it went well?"

Steve wrinkles his face in a grimace. "It's still weird as fuck. They know I'm not lying about the future thing. Not when- ever since-"

Steve can't say it again, but Eddie knows what he's talking about.

Bob Newby.

Steve blames himself hard for him. With whatever happened before Steve's time travel shit -the thing that was so bad something answered Steve's prayers and wishes to change it- Steve hadn't even been thinking about Bob. It wasn't until Steve saw Bob at the Hawkins Lab that he remembered the outcome.

He'd tried to change it, to save Bob, but in doing so he'd just endangered himself more and then Bob's death, his sacrifice, had been in protecting Steve instead of the surprise attack that had apparently been what took him last time.

Steve still can't look Joyce in the face, much less meet her eye.

Eddie hates that there's nothing he can say to alleviate this guilt from Steve. He's tried but Steve... Eddie won't even forget how his voice cracked when he said 'I knew he was going to die! I knew it, should have remembered it, but instead of someone without several concussions and memory issues getting a second chance, it's me! The fuck up! I didn't remember Bob and now, this time, it's my fault he's dead.' And Eddie didn't have the words to make it better.

Still doesn't.

"So, he's going to have the Owens dude call?"

"He's going to try," Steve says, "but can't promise. So, we'll see."

June 24th, 1985

Steve is in the bathroom when it happens. The phone rings, and Eddie's in the kitchen, so he picks it up, and says, "Harrington residence."

"Is this Steve Harrington?"

"Uh, no, but if we just wait a moment he'll be available soon."

The voice on the other end hums, "I do have a time limit to this call."

What an odd thing to say- oh. Oh shit. "Dr Owens?"

There is silence on the other end and Eddie's afraid he's fucked this up for Steve until he hears, "and just what else has Steve Harrington told you?"

Eddie's got a choice to make now. He can lie, or he can tell the truth. Both options have consequences, he thinks, but Eddie knows what he wants to outcome to be, so he moves to get line of sight on the hallway Steve should soon be appearing from and says, "Just listen, please. I don't know nearly enough but I want to help. I can help. Listen to what Steve has to tell you, and fucking believe him. If you think I can help with anything after that, call again on Saturday. Between ten and two."

"I'll listen," is the only response he gets, and they sit on the line for what feels like an eternity before Steve comes into view. Eddie shouts his name into the receiver, feeling bad about that only after Steve's taken the phone and Eddie has retreated to the backyard, both to smoke and to give Steve privacy.

Steve is on the phone for almost four full hours. Thirty minutes into the call, Eddie suggests he take the call to his room, so he can at least sit down. Steve agrees and hands the phone to Eddie, who listens for the confirmation that Steve has picked up the upstairs phone before he hangs up the downstairs one.

As much as he wants to eavesdrop, he wants Steve's trust more. Steve is trusting Owens, and if Owens decides it, he'll get ahold of Eddie. If there's nothing Eddie can do to help, then he'll just have to be here for whatever the aftermath is.

June 29th, 1985

To say that Eddie is shocked that when he answers the phone on Saturday and it's actually Dr Owens on the other line would be an understatement. He knows he offered, and he hoped, but no amount of hope makes something happen.

"Your juvenile record leaves a lot to be desired, Edward Munson," Dr Owens says in leu of any other greeting when Eddie picks up with the usual 'Harrington residence'. Eddie doesn't like that the government wasted no time digging into him. He really doesn't like that Dr Owens know his name. "I am not one to hold someone to past mistakes. You wanted to help, and reluctant though I am to admit it, there is something you can do."

"Anything."

"Alright. What you need to do is be at the Fourth of July carnival, on the lookout for Joyce Byers and Jim Hopper. They'll get there later in the day, but I don't have an exact time for you. As soon as you've found them, tell them to go to Starcourt Mall because that's where the kids are. Then you go home."

Eddie wants to know why he can't come with them to the mall but knows better than to do that. "Okay, I can do that."

"I hate to be the one to remind you, but lives are at stake here. Do what I've told you and nothing else."

"I know."

"And..." Eddie can hear the hesitation in his voice, "and just know you might not see some people you are used to seeing in the days leading up to the Fourth. Don't go looking for them."

Jesus H Christ. How is Eddie supposed to not do that? How is he supposed to be okay with people being missing? He must take too long to confirm because Dr Owens speaks again.

"Edward. I promise you, they will all make it through this."

"Okay."

Hanging up with phone feels very final. He doesn't like that Dr Owens didn't assure him of their physical safety. Didn't say they'd be okay. Or that they'd be unscathed. It was basically the nicest way the guy could have said no one you care for dies this time.

July 4th, 1985

Eddie spends all day at the damn carnival. He posts up around noon, which is probably way too early but he's not going to fuck this up. He hasn't seen Steve in two days and he's trying not to freak out. Dr Owens said they'd all live but fuck, in what condition? Eddie doesn't know what's happening, what was supposed to have happened without Dr Owens involved, and hates that he doesn't know how these changes Dr Owens are making to the timeline will effect Steve.

In the other timeline he knows that Steve lives, at least. This time...

The sky starts to darken when a Cadillac pulls up hot and going much faster than it should be, flying past Eddie's van to find parking closer to the entrance of the carnival. It could just be some drunks excited to ride a Ferris Wheel but Eddie's going to investigate.

Eddie recognizes Hopper instantly, the unfortunate side effect of being with Steve. The Chief of Police has become a common occurrence, with Steve inviting everyone over for pool parties, or them being invited to the Byer's for Barbeques.

"Hopper! Joyce!" Eddie yells, getting their attention before they've made it past the last row of cars to the entrance.

"Eddie! Thank God!" Joyce rushes to him, Hopper hot on her heels, along with two people he doesn't recognize. "Where are the kids?"

"Starcourt Mall," Eddie says, "you have to get to Starcourt Mall as soon as you can."

Hopper looks back to the Cadillac, then to Eddie's van. "Everyone in the van."

"Oh, I'm not supposed to-"

"Van. Now."

Eddie scrambles into the driver's seat, buckling up as Hopper ushers the strangers and Joyce in before pulling the doors closed behind him. "Get a move on it, kid!"

Eddie starts the van and guns it. It'll be fine. He'll drop them off and then go home and wait. Like he's supposed to.

Except that doesn't happen. Hopper orders him to drop them off near the entrance, then park in a far back corner and wait. And how can Eddie argue with the Chief of Police?

It does give Eddie a view he never thought he'd see outside of horror movies. About an hour passes before another car pulls into the parking lot, stationing itself facing the mall, and the Wheeler's car still parked along the curb. The headlights on the car go out, and just as Eddie is leaning forward to try and get a better look at the car, something climbs atop the mall, pulling his attention from the car and holy shit what the fuck is that thing.

Eddie clamps both his hands over his mouth to stop from screaming. Then that thing drops into the mall and someone steps out of the car. The person makes it three steps from their car before what looks like the entire US military floods out the entrance of Starcourt, and several military vehicles come barreling around the mall, probably from the employee parking area.

Then there's a knock on Eddie's window and he's fairly certain he almost pisses himself in fear. He whips his head around to look and he just sees some older guy frowning at him.

"Edward," the man's voice is slightly raised but familar, "I believe I told you to go home."

"Holy shit!" Eddie unlocks his door and shoves it open, forcing Dr Owens to step back. Eddie goes to climb out but his seatbelt chokes him because he forgot he was still buckled in. He unbuckles but Dr Owens has moved back into his space, keeping him in his van.

"I'm Sam Owens," he finally, officially, introduces himself. "Care to explain?"

"Hopper made me do it."

Dr Owens doesn't even look surprised. He looks away from Eddie now, towards the flurry of movement happening around the mall. Eddie's eyes follow and he watches as Billy Hargrove, who he can now make out thanks to the spotlights from the fucking helicopters, gets tackled by two men twice his size.

"You're going to save him, right?" Eddie asks.

At that, Dr Owens does look surprised. "We're going to try."

He thinks of Steve's note. Save Max. Save Billy. "You better succeed."

Dr Owens looks like he agrees. He also lets Eddie stay. Make him sit in his car like he's in time out, and it feels like forever, but as soon as everyone Eddie's come to care about comes out the front door, Dr Owens tells Eddie to follow him, and they go join the group.

Steve looks beat to shit and Eddie runs to him, pulling himself back before he can fling himself at Steve and pull him into his arms.

"Jesus, Stevie!" Eddie says, taking in his puffy eye and split lip, and he can't stop the hand that reaches out to touch even though he absolutely should not be reaching for him in public- Steve slams into him, tucking his face into Eddie's neck. He doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Steve, starts whispering, "I've got you. I'm here and I've got you."

Steve finally pulls back when Joyce approaches, "Steve, let the paramedic look at you."

Steve steps back then but doesn't put distance between them. It reminds Eddie of what he said at graduation. 'I'm not afraid of a single person in this town'. Eddie wishes he wasn't afraid, either.

"Come with me?" Steve asks. Eddie nods, and follows.

They wait while Robin Buckley gets looked over, then it's Steve's turn. Robin takes Steve's place beside Eddie and they watch as Steve is examined. Eddie sees Robin giving him sideways glances, like she's afraid to fully look at Eddie, which is... something.

Once Steve is freed from the medic he steps up on Eddie's other side, the one Robin isn't stationed at, and says, "I need to talk to Owens before we can leave."

"Oh, uh, I'm kind of the Byers' and Hopper's ride. And the weird dudes they came with. They don't speak English."

Steve barks out a laugh at that. "Murray speaks English. And hooboy did we have to hear it from him. He doesn't trust the government."

Eddie doesn't know which of them was Murray, but he agrees. He gestures towards the mall, which some people seem to actively throwing gasoline on in an attempt to burn it faster? Eddie doesn't know. "Well, can't say I trust 'em either if this is the result."

"This is the Russian government's fault," Robin says.

"Oh, no, the Russians wouldn't be this kind of particular problem without our government," Steve says.

Robin just blinks at him. "Are we... still drugged?"

"You were drugged!?" Eddie whips around to Steve.

"Truth serum," Steve nods then seems to realize how quickly he said that and frowns. "It's taking longer to wear off. Or maybe this whole issue was resolved sooner than last time?"

"Shhhh!" Eddie shushes him with a hand on his mouth, looking frantically at Robin to see if she caught was Steve just said. "Stevie. Do not talk anymore tonight."

Steve licks his palm.

July 13th, 1985

It's an uncomfortable gathering around the table. Dr Owens, Chief Hopper, El, Joyce Byers, Steve, and Eddie are sitting at the Harrington dining table. They've all only just sat down, eyes on Steve.

"What do you mean you can't find me?" Steve asks as a whisper. With how silent it is, though, everyone hear.

El frowns. "You are gone. I cannot find you like I could Billy, or Dad, or Dr Owens. I do not know why."

After El had some rest and recovery, Steve had asked if she would look in his memories. Or be present while he remembered them. It was Dr Owens idea; maybe El could remember details that Steve himself did not pick up consciously, but heard to saw nonetheless. They'd attempted it last night to no success.

"Perhaps this has something to do with what... brought you back to this time," Dr Owens says, picking his words carefully with how slowly they left his mouth.

Steve nods before slumping in his chair, his brows furrowing as he thinks. Eddie thinks he's ridiculously cute when he makes that face. Joyce asks Dr Owens a question but Eddie's focus is on Steve. They're sitting next to each other, so he braves bumping his knee against Steve's. Steve responds by flashing him a smile and immediately hooking his ankle around Eddie's before falling back into his thoughts.

Eddie half listens to the conversation around him, half worries about Steve and what it means for him that El cannot find his mind. That being a by-product of the time travel thing seems logical. If Steve's consciousness was dropped into a younger body, the two minds couldn't exist at the same time. So perhaps, because El is searching for a Steve that, technically, no longer exists, she might not be able to find him?

"What about Project NINA?" Steve asks, bringing all conversation to a halt.

"How do you know-" Dr Owens cuts himself off. "No, I know how. Better question. What happened that we needed to actually use Project NINA?"

Steve looks haunted again, like he does when he remembers the timeline he destroyed. "Vecna happens. Spring break of '86. I- we can't talk about that here. I think- he can get inside people's head. Read their minds."

No one says it out loud, but everyone's eyes go to El for a moment and she looks uncomfortable.

"What if," Steve starts, like he's having a realization himself, "what if the reason I can't be found is for my protection? Vecna can read minds, get in there and make you think things- what if I'm being protected by whatever sent me back? Vecna doesn't know that I know what he's up to, 'cause he can't read my mind and know what happens in the future. Can't stop me from trying to stop him! Project NINA is like, a bring back memories thing, right? Take me there. Set it up away from Hawkins and take me there."

They discuss some more, trying to say a lot without saying anything incase Vecna was listening in right now. That's a thought that will keep Eddie up for months.

It's gets decided on that El will go with, to be able to try and reach Steve while he's trying to find his own memories. Hopper is going with because he's not letting El go alone, and that's when Eddie speaks up.

"Then I'm coming, too."

"Eds," Steve looks torn, like he wants to smile and frown at the same time.

"No. If Hopper's going for El's emotional support, than I'm coming for yours."

It's decided. Dr Owens will work on Project NINA, and arrange for them all to be picked up when it was ready.

"One last thing," Steve says, "once you're away from Hawkins, call me. There's someone I don't want involved in this. He's done enough damage. Oh, also, invest in some goddamn swim caps. If you think you can shave my head, or anyone else's, for your dunk tank, then you're going to get hit."

That night, Steve finally tells him what happened. What Dr Owens and he had planned. Steve only told Dr Owens about the Fourth of July, wanted to only change the last possible moment for worry of alerting Vecna to what was happening, worried about Vecna changing the plan if he knew.

He talks about Billy being possessed, how Will was, too, once. Dr Owens thinks they've managed to do that for Billy, but just to be safe, they're taking Billy somewhere. Steve didn't ask, but they're telling his dad that he got a scholarship to some college or other, full ride kind of thing. Max knows the truth, but she also knows he's alive. And knowing he's alive means Max isn't going to pull away from her friends.

Steve says he hopes that means Max is saved.

Eddie learns that Steve and Robin are going to become insufferable best friends, so Eddie had better make peace with that now.

Ha takes it all in, listens as Steve tries to downplay what he went through with humor. Like it was easier to endure just because he knew it was coming this time. It does end with Steve crying, just repeating they lived, this time, no one died, they're fine. And Eddie's smart to enough to know Steve isn't meaning all the people who did become a giant flesh monster; he's talking about they people he cares about. Hopper, who apparently died-but-didn't-die, and Billy.

He learns that last time El lost her powers, probably due to losing Hopper. But she didn't lose Hopper, or even have to fight the giant flesh monster. With the plans Dr Owens made, they'd already stormed and cleared the Russian base below Hawkins. It wasn't Dustin and Erica who freed Robin and Steve from their restraints, but some US military men. They'd waited until the Mind Flayer attacked the mall, dropped down inside it before torching it. They still needed the mall to burn down - there was a Russian base below it, after all.

Once Steve is finished, Eddie kisses his forehead and maneuvers them down in bed so he can spoon him. Steve melts into his touch, pulling Eddie's arms more firmly around him. Steve likes to be the little spoon, Eddie's happy to learn.

"I'm going to come out to everyone. Before we leave," Steve says, long after Eddie thought he's already fallen asleep. "You don't have to. We don't have to tell them we're together, but I want them to know."

The thought terrifies Eddie. He's been beaten up for the assumptions, it's hard to him to imagine what might happen if that words are made true by speaking them out loud. "Can I think on that?"

"Of course."

July 15th, 1985

Eddie does think about it. He thinks about coming out to this little family they've cultivated and it's hard. Coming out to Wayne had been rough, and he was one person! And he'd told Jeff. But Gareth and Brian had just kinda... put the pieces together and told Eddie they didn't care who he liked so long as he never picked his boytoy over Hellfire night (and so far, Eddie hasn't!). Eddie can't imagine telling up to fourteen people all at once.

Fourteen separate people who could hate him.

But Steve seems so sure they won't. That he won't lose anyone when(if) he comes out to them. And fuck, the scariest part if that he kind of wants to. If he and Steve do this together, if they know they're together, he could hold his hand when they're all together. Sit as close as he wants to without the fear of being found out because they'd already know.

But if they aren't okay with it. Or they aren't okay with Eddie.

These people, this group, was Steve's first, so they might be willing to forgive Steve for his temporary lapse in judgment, but Eddie hadn't done anything to earn their trust. Respect. Willingness to not beat him to death for being gay.

And also, a tiny part of him is afraid of losing Steve if he can't commit to coming out.

"Steve," Eddie whispers as they sit on the couch, a movie playing but Eddie's not watching. "I'm scared."

"What?" Steve sounds so confused, and he quickly looks between Eddie and the movie. It's so enduring that Eddie must laugh about it, just a little.

"Not of Footloose. Of telling people. About us."

Steve's face softens and he looks so fond that Eddie aches. "That's okay, Eddie. You don't have to."

"But what if...."

"If?" Steve prompts.

"What if I'm never ready to come out? What if I- if we can't- What does it mean for us, if I never get there?"

"Oh," Steve says, like the thought that Eddie would never come out hadn't ever occurred to him. "Well, then I'll just be the bisexual who never dates again and lives with his best guy friend for the rest of his life."

That's like a gut punch in the best way. That Steve says it so easily, like he plans to stay with Eddie until he dies. Eddie can't fathom that. "Careful, Stevie. With words like that I might get ideas about you."

Steve looks serious now, but with a little upturn to his mouth. A small, secret smile. "Ideas, hmm. What sort?"

"That you might adore me."

"Well, I do adore you," Steve says simply, easily, "I love you, Eddie."

Eddie freezes because that's not- Steve couldn't possibly mean- that's. What. Eddie and he haven't even said the word boyfriend to each other yet and Steve's... Steve is looking at him with such fondness, adoration, love. Butterflies erupt in Eddie's stomach and as quickly as that little bit of dread had filled him, it's gone even faster. Eddie flings himself into Steve's lap, the need to kiss him until both of them are light headed is the only thing left inside Eddie.

Eddie doesn't say it back, can't really, but Steve must know because he keeps repeating it, with every breath Eddie allows him to take in between kisses.

The next morning, Steve wants to comes out to his found family at their Good Luck Project NINA BBQ, because Hopper, El, Steve, and he are going to be heading to Indianapolis that evening to be picked up by Dr Owens men tomorrow morning and everyone wanted a last get together.

Steve is fearless. Steve is fearless, and so strong, and he loves Eddie.

So, when he calls attention to everyone and starts the speech he rehearsed with Eddie, Eddie steps up. Slides his hand into Steve's, gripping it probably to the point of pain, but there. It doesn't matter how they'll react, because Steve loves him. And he loves Steve.

(And if he clocks Lucas and Max exchanging money about it, well, he can't even be mad about that.)

#steddie #my fic #i have taken some liberties with the starcourt scene because lets face it #the timeline/amount of time that has passed between scenes is unreliable anyway #so im gonna be unreliable in a better way #which is lowering the amount of trauma these kids have just a lil bit #also i know it is a mix bag on how we feel about billy hargrove #i just think that steve would try and save him because of the whole Max almost getting Vecna'd in the graveyard thing yknow?#steve can hate billy and still want him to live for max #also STOP SHAVING ELS HEAD #especially when the scenes are of her fainting/passing out/being DRUGGED and waking up with her hair gone without her consent or knowledge #ew wrong ick YOU KNOW WHAT THE TROPE IMPLIES DUFFER BROTHERS IM ONTO YOU

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