#helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

I couldn’t get my earlier post out of my head, and then this happened so… I hope you enjoy a little famous!Eddie and dingus!Steve ficlet (ft platonic soulmate Stobin)

Part one | part two | part three

—

Steve and Robin had lived in Indy all of their lives. They shared the same schools, same teachers, same jobs, it would never end. They were platonic soulmates in a way they understood but couldn’t explain to anyone else, and that was okay. It worked for them.

Since they graduated, they’d been ice cream scoopers, movie rental employees, pizza makers, delivery drivers, movie theater security, bartenders, and now - surprisingly - musicians.

They had originally started messing around with song covers during their bartending era. Every Thursday was karaoke night, and they were both too competitive to see it as anything other than a chance to win, both trying to upstage the other. After a while, Steve started writing songs in his free time and Robin wouldn’t let anyone but her sing them. She posted their songs on Tiktok and Instagram just to see what would happen, and eventually they made their way onto Spotify and other streaming services.

A few of their songs went viral enough that they had a steady stream of listeners, and spent their free time putting more and more songs together. Their boss even let them play live at the bar on Wednesdays (and of course they’re still just as passionate about karaoke night).

It was a few months into their Wednesday shows when he showed up. Eddie Munson. It was just another bar in Indy, just a stop on their tour, just a coincidence that he happened to choose Robin and Steve’s bar. Steve noticed him during their set, and he was so glad in that moment that Robin was the lead singer because he was absolutely sure his voice would have cracked. Corroded Coffin was one of Dustin’s favorite bands, the kid wouldn’t shut up about them any time a new album or single was released.

Steve knew they were in Indy on tour, he’d witnessed Dustin’s spiral about not being able to afford a ticket, but he couldn’t believe they stopped in this bar. Dustin was gonna freak.

Once Robin and Steve finished their set, they went back to the bar to resume their actual jobs and Steve was once again stunned when Eddie Munson walked right up to him for a drink. Obviously Steve should have expected that, what else was someone going to do at a bar? But seeing someone he knows from the multiple posters plastered over Dustin’s bedroom wall, right in front of him - in the flesh, was beyond anything he could have predicted. Internally, he was absolutely freaking out.

Externally, he tried to keep his professional mask on. Munson was a regular customer, just a guy buying a drink, Steve could handle it without a meltdown. But man was the guy attractive. His band tee was ripped at the hem, jean vest with all its pins and buttons catching the light, and Steve could see the tendon in his neck pull as he laughed at something his band mate next to him said. Steve wanted to bite it.

He finished a customer’s drink, collected their card, and braced himself as Munson stepped up to the bar, a dimpled smile on his face that made Steve’s heart flutter like a dying butterfly in his chest.

“Nice set, man, your friend’s voice is gorgeous,” he said. “Can I get three rum and cokes?”

Grabbing three glasses from the bar, Steve began on the drinks. “Absolutely,” he said, his smile probably nowhere near Eddie’s level. “Are you here often, or just visiting?” Steve asked, attempting to play it cool, like Eddie was just any other person. This is ridiculous, Steve’s gonna throw up. Keep calm.

Eddie looked him up and down and smirked, “Just visiting for the weekend,” he said. A growing lump in Steve’s throat made him want to scream ‘I know!!! I know why you’re here!!! I know who you are!!! Hi!!!’ but he shoved that down as far as it could go, ready to choke on it if need be.

Steve set the finished drinks on the bar in front of Eddie, the musician handing over his card in exchange. “Open or closed?” He asked.

“Open. So, are those songs originals?” Eddie leaned into the bar, putting his face just a bit closer to Steve’s. He was gonna have a heart attack before the night was over, for sure, if Eddie kept this up.

“Oh, yeah, I uh… I wrote them,” Steve stuttered out. This was insane, he could pinch himself, there was no way this situation was happening. Eddie was gorgeous, dimples firmly in place because he wouldn’t stop smiling or smirking, his curls just begging for Steve to bury his hands in them and bring their faces closer. If Steve hadn’t been on the receiving end of hundreds of Dustin’s rants about Corroded Coffin, he knows he’d still want to drag Eddie out back and see what those lips tasted like, if they felt as much like sunshine as they looked.

Eddie nodded appreciatively and looked Steve up and down once again. “I’d love to hear more some time,” he said as he turned to leave, three glasses balanced in his hands.

“Well there’s karaoke here tomorrow night,” Steve blurted out, all attempts at remaining calm flying out the window because was that Eddie flirting with him? How did we get here? “You could stop by if you’ve got any free time.”

Eddie laughed, amusement flickering in his eyes and suddenly Steve remembered chasing fireflies in Robin’s backyard when they were kids. He started walking backwards towards his friends, “I’ll see what I can do!” he said with a raised voice, flashing one more smile that made that butterfly in Steve’s chest absolutely flip out. He was frozen in place, the shock of the whole situation settling deep in his bones. Honestly, Steve wasn’t sure he was still alive. Did he choke somewhere between the stage and the bar? Did he even make it to work in the first place? What day was it?

“Earth to Dingus!” Robin shouted at the other end of the bar. “A little help here?” she frantically gestured around her to the rising number of patrons.

A pretty decently sized mob was forming around the bar, snapping Steve out of his rock-star-induced-coma. He could freak out later in the privacy of his own home, right now he had work to do. And if his brain short circuited every time Eddie ordered drinks, that was nobody’s business but his own (and Robin’s).

—

Thank you so much for the encouragement !

#these dingi have somehow snapped me out of my writers block #help I can’t stop thinking about them #I’ve never successfully flirted with a bartender but I’m sure rock stars have a different score sheet #steve harington #eddie munson #steddie #famous eddie munson #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin #steddie ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #robin buckley #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

Okay man idk idk this worm wouldn’t leave my head I just love making Steve miserable and tbh he’s not even sad enough here so I’m still not satisfied, I want that man ripped in two

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

“Steve Harrington is dead! So what the fuck are you?” Eddie screamed in his face. The world froze for a second. Not the same frozen-in-time that Steve got from downing a bottle of whiskey, where he was the only one on earth and it didn’t matter what happened to him. This was like ice down his neck. Like a shock up his spine. Steve stared at Eddie like he’d just grown three heads.

“Dead?” He repeated back. “What the fuck do you mean dead? C’mon Eddie, seriously you’re freaking me out!”

Eddie just stared at him, and in the silence Steve could hear people at the front door, yelling over each other, calling out to Eddie, checking if he’s okay. He thought he recognized the voices, but that didn’t make any sense. There were always ghosts at Steve Harrington’s door, but they were just in his head. Now, they were banging on the wood as someone fumbled for a pair of keys, and Eddie glanced nervously in their direction. Steve couldn’t get any words to choke out past the growing lump in his throat, couldn’t get any air into his lungs to beg Eddie to tell him what was going on.

The key finally clicked through the latch, and the door swung open with a bang. A stampede of feet trampled their way into the kitchen where Eddie still had Steve pinned to the wall, still stared at him without saying anything.

Steve frantically turned his head toward the people he’d seen die, the people he couldn’t protect, who haunted his every waking thought. He didn’t even care that the motion dug the knife into his throat. They were there. They were right there. Dustin and Eleven, Max and Nancy and Robin. Robin was staring at him, holding Dustin back by the shoulders, and looking like the world was crashing in on her. Steve knew his own expression was the same, couldn’t believe his eyes. Eddie’s grip on him loosened and Steve slid to the floor, unable to hold himself up anymore on wobbling legs. He kept staring up at them all, noticed the age that hadn’t been on their features when they’d… when they’d left him. He took in every line, every scratch, every healed over scar that spoke of years and years of life, life that Steve knows they didn’t get to live.

The air still wasn’t making it past the lump in his throat and he tried to breathe deeper, tried to grasp onto one breath, one lungful of air, but it wasn’t enough. The kitchen swam around him, and he was certain that people were yelling or talking or making noise but Steve couldn’t process any of it, he just saw Dustin eaten alive by demobats, wounds too wide to heal. He saw Robin and Nancy pinned to the wall of Henry Creel’s house, the air getting squeezed out of their lungs and they were gasping just like him, pulling in air that wouldn’t come and listening to the blood rush through their ears. He saw it. He was there.

Until he wasn’t.

Until Eddie was in front of him again, hands on the side of his face, telling Steve to breathe and count the pictures on the wall. His eyebrows scrunched up, pictures on the wall? What pictures?

But Steve looked behind Eddie to the usually bland kitchen wall. There used to be a large painting of nothing, some pretentious gold accents that his mother liked, but he had burned it in a drunken moment of pain. The painting he remembered wasn’t there either, and instead of a blank wall there were dozens of pictures. They looked like family pictures, photos of him and the kids, of the kids by themselves, of him and Robin. There were even pictures of he and Eddie — which Steve knew they never took — and blank spaces that were clearly waiting for more. Waiting for more memories, for more additions and times to look back on.

“Steve, Steve are you with me?” Eddie asked, begged, pulling Steves attention back to the man’s face. He didn’t look angry anymore, but Steve couldn’t tell what emotion was there. He’d never seen it on Eddie’s face before. “How many pictures? Steve?”

“Th-Thirty-Eight?” he whispered back. Eddie nodded, hands still clutching Steve’s face but they were gentler now, not directing his view or holding him still, they were just… touching.

“Is it really you?” Dustin asked from where Robin was still holding him back. Steve glanced over at him, taking in the age and the height, the features that were so new to Steve he seemed almost like a stranger. Whatever had happened, Steve knew he wasn’t dreaming or dead or hallucinating, because through all of his nightmares, the ghosts never aged. They all stayed exactly the same as they’d died, Steve couldn’t even picture them aged if he’d wanted to, all he ever wanted to do was forget. But there they were, there they were, and Steve didn’t know what to think.

He nodded at Dustin’s question. His cheeks were cold, Eddie’s hands had dropped from his face and he was standing by the kitchen counter, arms crossed. The distance between them was suddenly an ocean and Steve was almost sad to see it. Eddie was the only familiar thing in this room to him, the only one who wasn’t impossibly here, the only one who didn’t make Steve feel like the world had ended and was now taunting what he could have had. He still looked like he didn’t believe it, like he was calculating something in his head and didn’t trust Steve at all. He wished Eddie’s hands were still on his face.

Still, no one moved toward him and he couldn’t really blame them. He didn’t know what was happening but he hadn’t ruled out some kind of trick yet. This could all be a trap somewhere in his mind, and if it was, it was the cruelest trick Vecna had ever played. But Eddie had said the same thing, right?

“Well we can’t just leave him on the floor,” Robin said. Her voice was quieter than Steve had ever heard it before. The usually boisterous voice that spoke a mile a minute was soft, hesitant, like she was trying not to wake a sleeping dragon — or agitate a dead man.

She slowly stepped out from behind Dustin and walked over to Steve. He watched as her sneakers stopped an inch away from his own, the gap both too close and not close enough. She stuck her hand out, and his eyes flicked carefully between her outstretched hand and her face. What if he reached out and she disappeared? What if he grabbed her hand and she pulled him into a trap? What if she disintegrated into dust the moment their hands touched? But she was right, he couldn’t stay on the floor.

As if she were made of tissue paper, he slowly and delicately reached out his hand, stopping just a breath before touching her palm. He glanced back at her face, took in the gentle curve of her lips as she tried to give him a reassuring smile, however small it was. He placed his hand in hers.

She was so warm. Her hands were soft, though callused in a few places Steve didn’t remember, and she gripped onto him like a lifeline. Her trembling fingers sank into the rough edges of Steve’s hand, and he could feel the dirt caked under his nails but she didn’t seem to mind, just gripped his hand harder. He couldn’t believe how much he craved that touch over the years. He ached for it. Blood pounded through his ears, as if he were underwater, and the only thing keeping him from drowning was the grip Robin had on him, keeping his head above water.

She was so warm. His heart was in his throat, and Steve was choking now for a different reason. It had been years since he felt Robin’s touch — since he felt anyones touch, really — and his eyes burned, throat clenching around the sudden sharp pain that spoke of unshed tears.

He didn’t think he would ever have this back, assumed he would drink himself into an early grave, assumed that the only way he’d see everyone again is if he died as well. If he followed them into the next life, then he’d get his family back.

But here they were. Here Robin was, hand in his, and she was so warm.

Instead of pulling Steve to his feet like she’d intended, Robin sank to the floor with him. He gripped her hand, her arms, her shoulders, he gripped her so tight just to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere and he could feel her damp tears against his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt.

“I missed you,” she whispered into the fabric, voice as raw as Steve felt.

“I missed you too, Robs. I missed you so much." He clutched at the back of her shirt, face buried in her shoulder and prayed to a god he didn't believe in that this wasn't a trick, that he really had his family back.

—

A little more comfort in this part. I still don't have a plot in mind but I guess my brain is just winging it because I keep thinking of scenes and I just gotta write them down. I've already got most of a part three done, because this part was getting long and I cut it. Stay tuned, folks.

@weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot

#stranger things #stranger things fic #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #parallel universe au #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stobin #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #dustin henderson #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

Coffee shop AU where Nancy keeps getting love letters written on napkins and can’t figure out who it is. She thinks it’s maybe Jonathan because he’s artsy and probably good with his words, or Steve who’s getting Eddie to write them but neither really make sense. Robin helps her try and sleuth out the admirer but they keep hitting dead ends because Robin is deliberately sabotaging the hunt. She doesn’t want Nancy to figure out she’s the one writing the letters because she’s much better at talking on paper and doesn’t want to ruin the friendship they’ve just barely started

#think Nancy and Robin in the archives s4 #but Robin keeps leading them to bogus dead ends #and Nancy is a little sad because whoever is writing the letters really seems to get her #the way no one else really does #imagine it guys #IMAGINE IT #I think I’m on to something here #ronance #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things #prompt #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

What's this? A page ripped out of Eddie's songbook? 👀 I imagine Eddie and Steve broke up, Eddie left Hawkins and became a rockstar, but still regrets running away. Eventually I want to do a fic with a complete song list but that will take me ages

[Written lyrics under the cut]

Keep going Indiana Boy, it'll all be alright I felt your tears in the middle of the night I think about you now every minute of my life There's a polaroid in my pocket and it's sharp as a knife Keep going Indiana Boy, I know that it's hard You've folded and shuffled, were played like a card But Daddy's gone now, I heard on the phone And I just see your face, always lost and alone You've been good, little boy You've been so good and so brave Oh, my sweet Indiana Boy Listen please Indiana Boy, your only crime was being small You were trampled by a man so used to being tall I hope you're alright, I hope you've found peace I hope you stared that fucker down and showed him your teeth You've been good, little boy You've been so good and so brave Oh, my sweet Indiana Boy I think about you now, I thought about you then I think about you always, it doesn’t matter when Oh, you've been good, little boy You've been so good and so brave The sweet Indiana Boy I didn't get to save Oh my sweet Indiana Boy I didn't get to save

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #songfic #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #poetry #song lyrics #I haven't written a poem in so long wtf #rockstar eddie munson #eddie munson song lyrics #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m warning y’all now, I think this is my favorite part so far because I have issues

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

“We should call your mom,” Nancy nodded.

“My what?” Steve yelled, startled out of his thoughts. The absolute last thing he wanted was for his parents to come home. Why would Nancy even suggest that? He hadn’t seen his parents in years, and he’d very much like to keep it that way.

The crew all trained their eyes on him once more, confusion clouding their faces.

“Your… your mom?” Nancy questioned, uncertainty seeping in over her once-sure suggestion.

“Nance, I haven’t seen my parents since graduation, why would I call them?”

“Graduation?”

“Haven't seen them?”

“Your dads alive?” Dustin interjected over Nancy and Robin. His heart dropped into his stomach.

Steve… Steve couldn’t even begin to process which piece of information was most shocking. His dad was dead? His mom was… here? Present in his life, in the party’s lives? Enough for Nancy to want to call her at least. His dad was dead?

“I..,” he started, but didn’t actually know what to say. He should be happy his mom was here, right? Or… or sad his dad's gone? But what did it even matter, his dad could be dead in his world, too, for all he knew. But, the knowing was what caught him off-guard.

Instead of finishing his sentence or responding to the party, he pushed himself to his feet and followed the path back outside.

“Nice going, dipshit,” he faintly heard Max say before a smack and an ouch sounded from behind him. He kept going.

The pool wasn’t empty, like he’d left it in his world. He didn’t even notice the first time while trudging past it in the blinding sunlight. Now, he could see the rays of light reflect off the water like sparkles, glittering as if this was any other day, like everything was as it should be. He sat down at the edge, knees drawn up to his chest and watched as a few leaves floated by.

The sun pricked at the skin on his face, and he closed his eyes against the bright daylight. The orange glow behind his eyelids helped to calm his racing thoughts, though there was nowhere else for his mind to really go. So much had happened in just one morning, more than had ever happened when dealing with The Upside Down from his perspective. At least during their most hectic days they were all on the same page, all huddled together to fix something obviously wrong. Now, however overwhelming his excitement at having his family back was, was this really right? Now he was the outsider, he was the thing out of place. But, did he even want to go back to his world? There was nothing there for him.

Nancy, his worlds Nancy, and Jonathan had gone off to separate colleges. The surviving kids were all off at different schools for their senior years, Steve didn’t even know where they planned to go after graduation.

He had tried to go to college. He’d followed his father’s expectations again, tried to sink into a mindless pattern of following tasks, hoping to keep his mind off of everything.

He’d lasted one semester before dropping out. It was all just so exhausting, the world had almost ended and no one even knew. What did calculus matter at that point? He’d spent so long following his father's orders, so long reciting a script he’d been taught since birth. He thought it would be easy to slip back into that routine, follow the script like it’d been waiting for him to return.

It had been fine for a while, he pushed the thoughts to the back of his head, focused on completing assignments and tasks and doing anything to keep his mind on autopilot. But the dreams he couldn’t stop. Every time he’d closed his eyes, he was back there, watching his friends die. His nights were covered in blood and vines, screaming and squealing of bats from above a dried out lake. He wasn’t able to follow the script anymore, enough swigs of alcohol were the only things that kept the nightmares at bay.

He’d had panic attacks when the phone would ring, thinking it may have been his parents to tell him what a failure he was, or worse that they were coming home and he had to pretend everything was normal, put on the act of the perfect son. They never called, though. The panic attacks stopped after a while, the ringing phone drowning out into the background. The calls weren’t usually important. He was alone, trapped in his pristine tower.

But now his father, the Richard Harrington of this world was dead. His mother didn’t have anyone to follow on business trips, no one to keep an eye on to maintain a marriage neither wanted. She was here. Here for the party, here for this world’s Steve.

What would she say when she saw him? Would she be surprised? Happy like the people in the living room? Or would she be suspicious of this new person wearing her sons face? Suspicious like Eddie, who still hadn’t shown his face since the kitchen. Steve figured he was upstairs somewhere, hiding out until Steve was gone.

Or... or even worse, was she exactly like he'd known her to be? Would she hang up the phone, think it was a prank call or that it just didn't concern her? Would he get his hopes up and then have his world crash down once more at the realization that she still didn't care about him?

Every possibility just sucked. The weight on his chest that had lifted since the kitchen was back, pressing incessantly on his lungs, clogging his throat. No matter the outcome, no matter who this world's Linda Harrington was, Steve couldn't see any of this going well. He hoped the crew in the living room hadn't called her yet, wondered if maybe he could convince them not to at all.

He glanced up to the second floor of the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of curly brown hair or a flash of a ripped black t-shirt but the windows remained empty. The blinds to his bedroom window were shut tight and for a moment Steve pictured Eddie sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting anxiously until Steve was gone. He could picture the man’s leg bouncing nervously as he chewed on his nails, boots tap tap tapping gently against the hardwood floors. He could see the band tee and torn jeans a stark contrast against his horrible tan plaid walls. A soft smile tugged at his lips before Steve remembered why Eddie would be nervous in the first place. He wasn’t their Steve. This wasn’t his house. That wasn’t his Eddie.

Just when Steve started to wish he wasn’t alone, Robin made her way out of the back door and Steve felt his eyes prick again. She sat quietly next to him, drawing her own legs up in a mirror to his.

“We didn’t call your mom,” she whispered, before he even opened his mouth. Steve imagined that even in infinite worlds, every Robin could read every Steves' mind. He choked back a sob and buried his face in his knees. Her head rested against his shoulder and they stayed quiet for a few more minutes, just being present in a universe where they were both whole again.

Once Steve had had enough of the silence, felt it cloying around the edges, slinking over his skin like oil, he opened his mouth to speak. He wasn’t sure where he was going with his words or what would come out, he just started to talk.

“When you were little, did you ever go the department store with your mom and just… wonder how long you could hide before she noticed you were missing?” He started.

Robin didn’t nod or speak, just let him continue.

“I did,” he said. “I would hide in the racks of clothes and just… sit there. I’d usually get scared and come out and she wouldn’t say anything or do anything, and I was never sure if she even knew I'd been hiding.

“But, one time I just… stayed. Just to see. I didn’t care if she got mad, I wanted her to get mad or, or scared, or just… anything.”

He didn’t know why he was telling her this. He didn’t want pity or for her to feel bad for him, but once he started talking he just couldn’t stop, like a compulsion. It felt like he was throwing up these words all over the pavement, choking them out of his throat. At least he was telling her this piece of his past, and not something else he'd rather keep hidden for now.

“She left me there,” he whispered. “I don’t know if she did it as a punishment or forgot she even took me, but she was just… gone.”

He felt Robin choking up beside him, like his words were clogging her throat as well.

“She sent the nanny to pick me up.”

“You had a nanny?” Robin cut in, lifting her head off his shoulder. Steve just gave her a blank stare. “Sorry, right, not the point. Continue.” He took in her red rimmed eyes, took comfort in the fact that she was crying for him, though he felt awful for it.

“I was six. I never hid after that. I was too scared that it would happen again. She didn’t cry or yell when she found out I was missing, just sent the nanny and then gave me this… look, when I got back home. Like I was gum on her shoe, like I was an inconvenience.

“Eventually she stopped taking me and just left me at home. And then both of them just… left. Came back every few months just to leave again and after graduation they just stopped coming back at all. Even after the earthquake, they didn’t come back.”

He paused, wrapping an arm around Robin’s shoulders. He just needed to hold something, it was more for his comfort than hers. His emotional support Robin.

“I just,” he trailed off, not really sure where he was meant to be going with this. He just wanted her to know. Wanted someone to know, about him, about this stranger thrust into their lives. He wondered how the other Steve had lived, what his childhood was like. When did he meet Robin? Or Eddie? Did he have friends that Steve never even met in his world? Or was it all the same people?

“I just wouldn’t know what to do if I saw her again, is all,” he muttered in closing. Robin still didn’t say anything, just let them sit and hold each other. He missed this. He missed Robin. He missed having another half of himself, someone who didn’t feel like another person. Whenever they touched it felt like his own skin, like an extension of himself folding together and existing as it should and he hadn’t felt whole in so long.

“We’ve gotta tell her at some point, Stevie,” she said. “She lives here too, and she won’t be gone all day. I’m sure it would freak you both out if she just showed up and saw you.”

Steve nodded. He squeezed her shoulder a little tighter.

“Okay. But can we wait a little bit? Just an hour?”

Robin tucked her head into Steves neck and nodded. “Just an hour.”

—

Oh boy oh boy I really loved writing this one! Hope it’s as satisfying to read ✨

@weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues

#stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #max mayfield #dustin henderson #hurt/comfort #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #fanfiction #parallel universe au #steddie #stobin #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

Ever since the Upside-down and Vecna and the world going to shit, Steve’s spent a lot of time roaming the bars inside and out of Hawkins. Once he’d finished with his dad’s liquor cabinet and the only liquor store in town stopped selling to him, he started being a regular at multiple establishments.

It was hard, after losing Max and El and Will and others Steve couldn’t think about without ripping open the wounds again. The portals were all closed, but at what cost? The world was technically saved, but Steve’s was a wreck. The metaphorical wounds were still ripped up and bleeding, fresh holes that would never quite stitch themselves over and heal.

His parents never came back, and he couldn’t even blame them, it’s not like he expected to be worth it to them. He was an adult now, on his own, there was no need for them to come back and pick him up. Honestly, he never wanted to see them again, didn’t really even know who they were. Steve had lived with practical strangers his whole life, made a semblance of family from skin and bone, and had it all ripped away from him.

Steve Harrington was always meant to be alone.

So he drank, went back to King Steve’s routes, used the alcohol to ground him while his mind drifted away to heaven or hell or wherever. It didn’t matter, because Steve never remembered the night before. The nightmares melted with the sunrise, the tremors and gasps, and flooding eyes gave way to cotton mouth and hunger in the daylight, and the blinding sun made it easier to forget all the bad things. Easier, but altogether impossible none the less.

So Steve didn’t quite remember how he ended up in the woods behind his house, dead leaves tangled in his hair and a particularly sharp twig shoved into his spine. He groaned against the sunlight blinding him through the branches and dug the stick out from under him, standing up on wobbling legs to trudge back inside. It wasn’t uncommon to find himself on his porch or lying in an old and tattered lounge chair, or even on a park bench some times. He wandered a lot. There was nothing else to do.

He still had money in his trust fund, still had his parents house to stay in, it wasn’t like anyone was knocking on his door to put him back together. Eddie was somewhere, in another state or wherever he ran off to. Again, Steve couldn’t blame him, either. Wayne wasn’t here anymore, there was no reason for Eddie to stay after everything. There wasn’t any reason for Steve to stay, but there wasn’t anywhere for him to go, either.

So he stayed. So he drank. So he blacked out and woke up outside sometimes.

He rested against a tree for a minute, trying to gain his bearings and see past the blinding sunlight, rubbing circles into his eyes until he saw sparks of white behind his eyelids. He was probably a mess, probably looked half dead, hadn’t been able to look into a mirror in months.

Blinking out into his backyard, he could see a bit better now but the world still wobbled on its axis just a bit. It would probably be another half hour until he was sober enough to see straight, but he wasn’t going to stay in the burning sun for that. He trekked across the dead grass of his yard, using passing lawn chairs and tables as crutches to make the distance more bearable, ignored the memories pressing at the edges of his mind and embraced the pain in his head to push the thoughts away.

The house seemed a bit cleaner on the inside than he last remembered, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he cleaned, but he couldn’t remember much of anything these days. That was the point, after all.

Steve rounded the hallway into the open arch of the kitchen entry — hoping he had some cereal left in the pantry somewhere, not brave enough to handle the stares and whispers he’d get at the diner or grocery store — when he was roughly slammed against the kitchen wall. His head swam with the abrupt movement, stomach churning uncomfortably. He blinked against the sudden impact, feeling one of his own kitchen knives at his throat; pressing, but not digging, a warning. The knife wobbled slightly before the grip righted, pressing just a bit stronger than before, a threat.

Steve opened his eyes, trying to get his brain back online in his hazy state. Putting the pieces together slowly. Brown hair. Curly. Angry eyes. A set grimace on his lips. Eddie Munson. The last time Eddie Munson had a sharp object to his neck, Steve was pinned to the wall of Reefer Rick’s boat house. Now, pinned to the wall of his own kitchen, Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away, couldn’t fathom what Eddie would be doing here, either.

“Eddie? What the fuck are you doing in my house?” He asked, pushing through the uncomfortable cotton mouth and stale alcohol taste on his tongue.

Eddie just stared at him, the hand fisted into Steve’s shirt tightening. He winced.

“Seriously dude, what are you doing?” Was he still asleep outside? Was he ever outside? What the hell did he drink last night?

Eddie kept staring, glaring, like Steve did something wrong again. Steve always did something wrong, he just couldn’t figure out what. The grip on his shirt tightened again, pinching Steve’s chest and clearing his head just a bit more. Definitely not a dream.

“Who are you?” Eddie growled out, shoving Steve harder into the wall.

Steve blinked. What? That was not the question Steve was expecting. Not that he was expecting any of this, really.

“Who. Are. You?” Eddie repeated.

“Steve. Harring-ton?” Steve replied, following the other man’s cadence, words dripping with confusion.

Eddie’s glare tightened like his grip, knife digging into his throat just a bit more. He was sure his brain should be screaming danger, danger, danger, but the fact that it was Eddie standing in front of him was throwing him way off kilter.

“Seriously, Eddie, what’s going on?” Steve begged, unsure if the confusion muddling his brain was because of the alcohol, lack of any decent nutrition for the past few months, or something else. Did he seriously miss something so big that had Eddie up in arms like this? He couldn’t possibly look so bad he was unrecognizable.

“Is this some kind of trick from Vecna? Hm? What are you?”

“Eddie, man, I seriously have no clue what you’re talking about!” Steve’s voice was gaining a more hysterical edge at this point, but it had no effect on Eddie what-so-ever. “I am so not sober enough for this, just tell me what’s going on!”

“Steve Harrington is dead!” Eddie yelled in his face, “Steve Harrington is dead, so what the fuck are you?”

—

If y’all have world building questions pls ask in the replies because maybe it’ll get me somewhere near a plot. Anyway, please enjoy sad lonely Steve

#sorry #i just thought ‘Eddie can’t imagine a universe where he doesn’t love Steve but Steve can’t imagine one where someone loves him’ #and then this happened #so #ouch #anyway I had a lot of fun making Steve sad #hope you had fun reading sad Steve #idk if I’ll do more parts because I can’t figure out a plot #but the bunny is there #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #eddie munson #parallel universe AU #helpimstuckwriting #steddie #angst #hurt/comfort #well really just the hurt #sorry again #cw alcohol abuse #steve harrington

[helpimstuckposting]

Part one | part two | part three

Artwork

—

Robin and Steve went up to sing a few more times, though Steve was still emotionally rattled a bit. Give me your phone, Eddie had said, come to the show any day this weekend, he said, just text me and I’ll come out to give you a pass. What the fuck was Steve’s life right now? Once he told Dustin about this, Steve was going to have bragging rights for the rest of their lives, the kid would never have the high ground again. No matter what his ego said.

Eddie was back at the table with his band mates. Jeff and Gareth, Eddie had introduced them. Steve was just a little bit tempted to do a Corroded Coffin song to fuck with Eddie, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to pull off the vocals anyway. The band had refused to go up at all, said they had to rest before their show tomorrow, that causing a commotion wouldn’t be a good idea either. Steve was a little bit sad he wouldn’t get a personal show in such close quarters, that would have really made Dustin jealous. As it was, Steve could probably claim this as the kid’s birthday gift for life. Not that he would.

He was almost more excited just to tell Dustin than he was to go to the show at all. Though, he was very excited, this all still felt like a hallucination. Robin had pinched him multiple times, just to check he wasn’t dreaming. Not that he asked her to, she just did.

He couldn’t tell what Eddie was saying to his band mates, but Steve could still see the wide smile on his face, and for once Steve didn’t choke on his words or skip a breath.

Across the bar, stage lights in his eyes, he could see Eddie throw his head back and laugh - the pull of his skin making Steves mouth water. He was so drawn to Eddie, to the soft edges and eyes that held fireflies, and sure he was nervous around him, who wouldn’t be? But at this point, Steve could either not do anything and he’d never see Eddie again, or he’d shoot his shot and if Eddie rejected him the outcome would be exactly the same; Steve had nothing to lose. If he had to wrap himself just a bit in King Steve in order to finish the song calmly and walk over to Eddie, that was his business. Everyone needed armor now and again, and growing up the center of attention taught Steve exactly how to pull that armor out and engulf him.

After their song, probably the last of the night, Steve marched right up to Eddie’s table with a new-found determination. He had nothing to lose.

“Hey Eddie, can I talk to you?” He asked, lightly brushing his fingers against Eddie’s forearm. He didn’t want to grab and seem too forward or pushy, didn’t want to seem crazed or too much.

“Sure!” Eddie replied, glancing once over to his friends (who shot him mocking looks and little smirks) and leaned heavier into Steve’s touch. He followed Steve over to the dark hallway past the stage, the one leading to the bathrooms. It was a bit dingy, but perfectly quiet and out of the way for what Steve wanted to say.

Steve turned around to face the rockstar, felt closed in with him in this little space. The worst Eddie could do was take back his offer to go to the concert this weekend, that’s it. Steve kept repeating it over and over again in his mind, trying to convince himself he could really do this. Before, in school, Steve had been so cocky and so confident. It didn’t matter that Robin always told him to cool it, to humble himself, he was a Harrington, he was King Steve, all the girls wanted him and all the guys wanted to be him, it was easy.

But then a high school girlfriend, one he was genuinely serious about, had called his love bullshit. She said he wasn’t worth it, that it was all an act and their relationship was another bullshit dance their parents had pushed onto them. He never felt like King Steve after that, not really. He felt the mask and the act and the character he played but he never felt like that person again.

Here, in the back of the bar with the lights dimmed and the music from the stage dampened between the close walls, with Eddie looking at him with so much patience for someone he only met yesterday, he felt like it didn’t matter if he had the kings mask on or not. He could be Steve and that would be okay.

“Steve?” Eddie asked when Steve hadn’t said anything. His fingers trailed lightly against Steve’s forearm, gently gliding into the palm of his hand. Steve clasped onto the soft touch, turning his palm into Eddie’s.

“I was wondering how long you were going to be in town?” Steve said, his inflection pitching up into a question.

“Tuesday we’ve got another show about two hours from here. Going back to our roots, so to speak, and after that we’re back on the road,” he replied. So, four days. They had performances Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and Steve worked the weekends anyway. He could take Dustin to the show on Friday and then maybe… if Eddie was free, maybe Monday…

“Would you go to dinner with me?” Steve asked, tugging on the hand still held in his own. He pulled Eddie toward him just a step, letting the musician get closer if he wanted to. If he chose to.

Edit took a step closer, then another, the tips of their shoes stopping against one another.

“I’d love to,” he whispered between their shared space. “Does Monday night work for you?”

Steve huffed out a laugh, “Monday is perfect,” he said. “I’ll probably stop by your show tomorrow, if that’s okay?” Steve still wasn’t quite sure he was awake and not hallucinating, that he wasn’t drugged and unconscious in a hospital bed somewhere. He just wanted to double, triple and quadruple check that he was fully awake and welcome to just show up at this concert without a ticket.

“I said any day this weekend, of course you’re allowed to come tomorrow.”

“Well, sorry for kind of not believing this is actually happening after a rockstar I met yesterday said I could just show up to his concert completely unannounced without a ticket and waltz right in like some kind of famous lunatic or something!” Steve shouted a bit more than he intended to, quieting quickly and glancing around to make sure he wasn’t causing a scene.

Coast clear, his eyes darted back to Eddie who was pulling a strand of hair over his lips, and very clearly trying to hold back his laughter. Steve rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe how quickly he was thinking fondly of this rockstar, like he knew him, like was comfortable being around him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Eddie laughed, “I promise it’s allowed. Just text me when you’re outside and you’ll be lead into the venue, okay?”

Steve nodded, tugging on Eddie’s hand just to remember the feeling.

The two groups dispersed shortly after their conversation, Steve and Robin heading back to their apartment while Eddie and his band mates went back to their hotel or bus or wherever musicians on tour stayed while in town. It was late, around 1am, but Steve couldn’t wait to tell Dustin the news. The little twerp would be awake anyway, Steve was certain.

He called the second they got back to the apartment, Dustin picking up on the second ring.

“What’s up, what’s wrong, what happened, are you okay? Is Robin okay?” He answered in a panic.

“What, I can’t call my favorite duckling just to talk?” Steve replied, trying to lighten the mood so Dustin wasn’t worried.

“Duckling? Steve what the fuck, it’s one in the morning!”

He rolled his eyes, though Dustin couldn’t see, “oh what, like you were asleep? Tell Suzie I say hi.”

“Hi, Steve!” a soft voice crackled through the line. Dustin and Suzie always FaceTimed until one of them passed out, talking about nerd things until some ungodly hour. He smirked down the line.

“Yeah, okay, whatever. Why are you calling?”

“You’re gonna want to sit down for this, Buddy, are you sitting? Are you planted firmly on your ass?”

“My ass is firm,” Dustin joked back, a small ‘very firm’ chirped in the background.

“I… did not need to know that, never ever say that to me ever again. I hate you so much.”

Steve could practically hear Dustin rolling his eyes over the speaker. The kid was predictable, Steve could probably guess his every move on the other side of the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the love of your life, what do you want? Why do I have to be sitting?”

“Robin is the love of my life and you know it,” Steve said. He took a deep breath, preparing to give the best news of Dustin’s life. “So you know that band you’re obsessed with?”

“Do I know the band I’m obsessed with? Yes, Steve, I know Corroded Coffin.”

“Okay, you keep up this little attitude of yours and I won’t tell you I just got tickets for their show tomorrow,” Steve blurted out. He was half expecting Dustin to continue through more arguments about his attitude, completely bypassing what Steve just said. Of course, Dustin was never one to miss the important information.

It was silent on the other end.

Steve pulled the phone away from his ear, waiting a few seconds before the inevitable scream from the other end. He could hear Dustin yelling back and forth between asking Steve questions and relaying the information to Suzie. He wasn’t loud enough to hear any actual words or questions, but there was no way in hell Steve was going to put the phone back to his ear with Dustin going berserk on the line. He didn’t want to ruin his hearing before even stepping foot inside the concert venue, how ironic would that be?

“Dustin!” Steve shouted into the receiver to no avail, “Dustin… Dustin! I swear to god I will answer your questions but you have to ask them one at a time, bud.”

There was a deep breath, a few muffled reassurances from Suzie, and then it was quiet again. Steve hesitantly placed the phone to his ear, waiting for the first question.

“Steve… how the hell did you get tickets? The show was sold out! All the days are. I know, I checked!”

“Okay, so I… didn’t technically get tickets,” Steve cringed.

“… WHAT? YOU-,”

“Dustin! I swear to god, I’m getting us into the concert tomorrow.”

“How, Steven?? HOW are you getting us into a sold out concert tomorrow for the biggest band to perform in Indy in years, the day before opening night?”

“Okay first of all, never call me Steven again. Ever. You got that? Never ever. And second…,” he paused, mulling over his choice of words, “I uh… I know a guy who’s working the venue.”

Steve could only hear Dustin’s breathing over the speaker. He didn’t know if he broke the kid or if he was trying to decide if Steve could be trusted after nine years of friendship. Maybe Dustin thought he was delusional, he wouldn’t be the first person to think that tonight.

“Is this a rich person thing?” Dustin finally asked.

“A rich- Dude, I make $20 an hour, no this isn’t a rich person thing, Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered. A snort like a lawn mower revved from behind Robin’s bedroom door, and Steve contemplated the pros and cons of shaving her head in her sleep for the third time that night.

“Well sorry! Forgive me for not believing you!” Dustin shouted sarcastically, the earlier hysteria bleeding into his words again (though thankfully not as much as before). Steve told Dustin to take another deep breath before continuing.

“He told me to text him when we got there, they’ll let us through. I already told him we’re going tomorrow, he’s prepared and reassured me like three times that he’ll personally make sure we’re let in. Do you want to go or not? I swear to god, kid, I could still rescind the offer.”

“Steve if you take this back I will shove my hand so far up your ass-”

“Oh like you could take me, Henderson, I don’t think-”

“You lost to Jonathan, I think I could do just fine.”

“Sounds like you don’t want to see a concert tomorrow, I think what you mean to say is ‘Oh my god, Steve, this is the best news of my life, you’re the greatest guy ever, I can’t believe I know someone who can get me into a concert for my favorite little rock band’,” He taunted, raising his voice to a pitch that absolutely wasn’t Dustin’s, but he knew it would rial the kid up anyway.

Henderson’s put-upon sigh crackled through the receiver, and Steve couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. Dustin could be exasperated all he wanted, Steve knew this was going to be an amazing experience for him, even if they had the shittiest seats possible.

“They’re metal, Steve. Metal.”

“Yeah, yeah, pick you up at 7!”

“This better not be a trick, or-,” Steve hung up before he got caught in another round of banter. Cutting Dustin off always brought Steve a sick kind of pleasure, the kid could go on and on and on, honestly it was self preservation. He headed to his room to finally sleep, kicking Robin’s door as he went. She would be spared from a buzz cut tonight, he was in a good mood.

—

I’ve started tagging these as ‘the upside downers’ because that’s what I’m naming Stobin’s band, if you want to follow that tag specifically! I also always tag helpimstuckwriting for any of my writing

Tag list:

@weirdandabsurd42 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @snapshotmaestro @youraveragemushroom @stxrcrossed186 @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @notfrogsunderatrenchcoat @irethsune @m-owo-n @phantomcat94

#i hope I got the banter right #i always feel like I’m terrible at dialogue #i like writing it but the ‘he said’ ‘she said’ tags are so awkward #sorry if it sucks lmao #stranger things #the upside downers #stobin #steddie #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie munson #dustin henderson #stranger things ficlet #stranger things fic #famous eddie munson #fanfiction #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

They made their way back to the Harrington house in relative quiet. Steve didn’t feel as panicked as he had that morning thanks to the talk he'd had with Eddie. Though, whatever reaction the gate had to Steve was… concerning to say the least.

He felt grimy and sweaty as he trudged through the last few trees and into his backyard. Wearing the same clothes two days in a row wasn’t Steve’s best idea. He was glad no one had commented on it, though he was a bit surprised even Mike hadn’t said anything. He kicked off his muddy shoes at the back door, following the rest of the Jabberwocks into the house.

Yesterday he had felt too weird about going through OtherSteve’s closet, though right now he just felt kind of desperate to change. The others congregated on the couches in the living room while Steve headed straight for the stairs, calling out that he’d change and be right back down. It would be a bit before the rest of the party joined them anyway.

He felt a little more comfortable in the house on his second day, a little less worried that OtherSteve would pop out like some cosmic entity and scold him for the intrusion. It still didn’t feel like he belonged, would take a while for that to happen — if he even got the chance — and Steve was only just beginning to imagine himself staying long enough for that to happen. If Eddie was right, if they figured out a way for him to stay, if he didn’t have to leave, his life would be so different. Maybe he could be okay again.

He walked into the bedroom, closing the door gently behind him, and made his way over to the closet. It was a simple wooden door, nothing fancy, not even a mirror hanging from the frame.

He paused when he opened it, unsure of what he was really seeing at that moment. Half of the closet was full of henleys and soft-looking cable knit sweaters, light colored t-shirts and various colored jackets he’d expected from basically his own closet, but the other half was clad in leather and ripped black tank tops, band tees and torn jeans. It looked like Eddie’s clothes. It looked like Eddie lived here.

Did Eddie keep clothes in Steve’s closet? Why? He looked back over his shoulder at the wall of posters full of bands he didn’t know, eyes flitting back and forth between the few posters with names he’d recognized before, the bands from Eddie’s battle jacket.

Was this actually Eddie’s room? But then why didn’t Eddie tell him, force Steve into one of the other spare rooms last night instead of taking one for himself? He clearly knew this was the room Steve expected to be in. There were also trinkets that definitely belonged to Steve on the desk and nightstand, and half the closet were clothes Eddie would never touch, let alone wear in public.

Steve stepped dazedly into the small space, thoughts running around in confused tangles of yarn that weren’t quite connecting. He thought back to the photos on the kitchen wall with Steve and Eddie wrapped around each other, and the countless times since he woke up here yesterday morning where Eddie looked at him like something was missing, like he was thinking of something specific that Steve couldn’t put his finger on.

If Eddie had simply moved into the Harrington house for some reason, that still didn’t explain why this room seemed to be half his, like they shared it. It just… well, Steve wasn’t stupid, he was there when Eddie had come out to him just that morning, he knew what this room and these things implied. Everything here pointed to a life lived together, but Steve was straight as far as he knew so could that be right? Sure, Eddie was comfortable to be around no matter which universe he was in. He was… gentle, despite his loud demeanor, and he was good at quieting the bad thoughts rattling around in Steve’s mind.

Even throughout their first stint in the Upside Down together, a brush of their sides or a squeeze to the shoulder, the soft dimpled smile Eddie had tossed his way, it all settled something in Steve’s chest. He’d thought this Eddie and Steve were closer, really close judging by the way Eddie had disappeared the day before but this was more than he’d ever expected. Was it even possible? Was Steve just reading into things?

Slowly, he reached out to touch a leather sleeve in front of him. It was soft, worn. He thought about today in the woods, how he kept focusing on Eddie’s lips, how he remembered doing that before, too. How often had he been sneaking those glances? Even without realizing?

Steve brought the sleeve to his nose, slowly breathing in the scent of tobacco and leather, and hints of the cologne Eddie sometimes sprayed when he remembered. This was definitely Eddie’s stuff, no doubt in Steve’s mind. This single closet smelled more like home than Steve’s whole house ever did, and maybe that meant he and Eddie weren’t so out-of-left-field as he’d thought.

He stepped back, letting the sleeve drop and opening his eyes. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. He’d ask Eddie about this tonight, after the party left and they were alone. For now, Steve turned to the other side of the closet and swapped his shirt for a Hawkins high school band sweatshirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. If they were about to have another planning session that could change Steve’s life, he might as well be comfortable.

He tossed the dirty clothes into a hamper at the back of the closet and turned to leave, his eye catching briefly on a lone shoebox sitting on the top shelf. It was on Steve’s side of the closet, sitting among what he assumed were just boxes of clutter. It would be easily overlooked, a shoebox in a closet, but Steve had the same exact one in his own closet.

It was an old box, weathered at the corners but still sturdy. He’d put every happy thing inside of it; his favorite movie tickets, the yoyo his nanny bought him for his seventh birthday, a pressed flower from his first boutonniere. He’d put photos of him and Nancy inside, some sparkly rocks that Robin had just placed in his hand and called pretty, one of the miniatures the kids had painted and left in his living room one day. Little things. Things that mattered. It’s the box he would grab if the house caught fire.

Hesitantly, he stepped forward and tugged the closet door closed, arms reaching out to grab the box from the shelf before he had even made up his mind. He shouldn’t look. He really shouldn’t look, he didn’t have the right to. But… he was Steve. He should know the kind of life he could have had, he should know what kind of things he’d find important or meaningful. Right?

He took the lid off the box.

It was full of trinkets, just like he'd expected, but the stories they told were of a different life. Instead of a yoyo, there was a little book of nursery songs for beginners to play on the saxophone. There were three miniatures instead of one, painted in matching color palettes. He found more sparkly rocks, different than his own, and friendship bracelets made from chunky beads.

In the corner of the box, tucked away neatly, was a small, clear container with polaroids inside. Steve turned his back to the closet door and slid down it, setting the box in his lap as he hunched over to look.

He picked up the little container with both hands, sliding the pictures out with care. They were just like the photos in the kitchen, of trips to the beach and sleepovers, of pool parties and birthdays. The party in various groups showed up, Robin was in most of them. Eddie was in every single one.

He and Steve stood close, draped over each other or with faces squished together. In some, they were looking directly at the camera or making faces. In others, they looked at each other. There were pictures where Eddie looked at the camera while Steve looked at him, and Steve… Steve looked at him like he hung the moon. Like the sun rose and fell only to see him, like the stars themselves couldn't shine as brightly. Like every other cliche that’s been written and sung and professed about since the dawn of time.

Steve had never looked at anyone that way. Nancy was right, he was just bullshit. Is that how she felt with Jonathan? Is that how it’s supposed to feel?

He traced his own expression, completely enamored. How many times had the Steve of this world sat right here, holding these pictures, seeing the way he looked at Eddie? Did they look at these pictures together? What did it feel like to wear that expression? It was hard to look away, to pull himself from the trance his own face had him in, but there was one more picture and when Steve saw it, it was like the world stopped around him.

They were kissing. He and Eddie. They were kissing. Steve's hand was threaded in Eddie's hair, the brown tendrils curling through his fingertips. Their eyes were closed, fully immersed in the other, lips together in what was definitely not a chaste kiss.

As he stared, he couldn’t help but wonder what Eddie’s lips tasted like, what they felt like to be pressed against his. Eddie knew what they tasted like, knew what he tasted like. Steve wondered if he thought of that every time they locked eyes. Was Eddie the type to kiss fast and hard? Would he push forward with the confidence of all his tabletop lunchroom rants? Would he press hard like he stamped his combat boots into the dirt?

Or did he kiss soft? Soft like the way Steve’s eyes looked in the previous pictures. Soft like the sunset over lovers lake, soft as the tendrils of hair OtherSteves fingers carded through as they kissed.

Steve squeezed his eyes together to stop the burning. He shoved the stack of pictures back into the small container, shoved the image to the back of his mind, too. The Steve in those pictures was dead. The man who looked at Eddie with stars in his eyes was dead. He shouldn’t be thinking about Eddie like that, it had only been six months, he couldn’t image what he was going through, how much Steve’s presence was fucking with him. No wonder he spent the whole first day avoiding Steve, he’s surprised Eddie had spoken to him at all.

He sighed, breath pushing through his lips in a shuddered rush while he tried to pretend his heart wasn’t clawing its way up his throat. Steve carded his fingers through his hair, shoving it out of his face. He reached out to put the Polaroids back into the box and paused. In the crowded corner he’d pulled the pictures from, there was another box. It was small and black, just a cardboard box with a lid, and it was just small enough for the Polaroids to cover up. Or to hide?

He swallowed, suddenly his mouth was too dry. He shouldn’t look. If OtherSteve was hiding it, he shouldn’t look. He shouldn’t be looking at any of this.

He reached out to it, fingers tracing over the plain black lid.

“Steve!” Robins voice shouted from the staircase landing.

He jumped, choking on the heart in his throat and worried that Robin would burst into the room to find him snooping, but no further noises wandered toward his ears. He quickly shoved the Polaroids back into the box, refusing to look at the little black box he just covered back up.

“Just a second!” He called out, carefully putting the shoebox back on the top shelf, hoping it looked like he hadn’t touched it at all.

Robin was waiting for him at the bottom landing of the staircase. The second he looked her in the eye, Steve could tell she was desperately trying to seem casually uninterested. She leaned against the banister, eyes trying to cling to his own but she kept taking glances at his sweatshirt. She knew. She knew he went into the closet, that he saw Eddie’s half. He kept eye contact, knew she would crack eventually, especially as she fidgeted more and more.

She glanced past the stairs, into the living room before darting her eyes back to Steve’s, then the door behind her. The other two groups would be back any minute.

She stepped forward, dropping the façade of ignorance, and put a hand on his arm.

“Ask him when the kids leave, okay?” she whispered, glancing down at the sweatshirt again. He nodded. He’d ask tonight, when the house was cleared and silent, and they were wrapped in the compelling embrace of the darkness. It was always easier to speak honestly at night, whether it was the calm brought by the silence or the dark that obscured your vision, it didn’t feel as vulnerable. It felt safe, like the darkness itself could keep your secrets. He’d wait until then to talk to Eddie.

—

More midnight talks on the horizon for our boys, but next up is figuring out what the fuck that weird tree is doing

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou @1-8oo-wtfbro @grimmfitzz

#something something nursery rhymes vs dead flowers #something something lost figurine vs gifted figurines #Steve’s mother gave him the music book #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #the party #hurt/comfort #steddie fic #stranger things fanfiction #helpimstuckwriting #parallel universe au

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

After the three groups split, the Jabberwocks (El, Robin, Steve, and Eddie) waited on the back porch for the other two groups to walkie back confirming their starting positions.

They dawdled by the door, flashlights and a compass secured in a backpack just in case they were out longer than planned. Steve figured it wouldn’t take long though, they’d check the pool and they’d check the woods around Loch Nora and either they found a gate or they didn’t. It seemed straight forward enough, especially with El’s help on their team.

“Three of Hearts in position,” Jonathan’s voice cracked through the walkie speaker, “Over.”

“Us, too,” Max answered. There was a pause over the radio and Eddie rolled his eyes, likely imagining the fit Dustin was throwing trying to get his hands on the walkie instead of Max.

The walkie crackled again and Max’s voice sighed in agitation over the speaker. “Tea Party in position,” she muttered.

“Remember to walkie back as soon as the Looking Glass is spotted, and don’t go through-!” Dustin’s voice crackled through before the line cut off.

Steve nodded, sharing glances with their little group as they stepped off the porch and made their way through the backyard.

“I’m assuming you don’t feel any gates in the pool?” Steve asked.

El shook her head. “Not near the house, either,” she added. She paused, though, a confused squint to her eyes. “Wait, did you say in the pool?”

Steve squinted back. “Yeah? Isn’t that where Barb was?”

El shook her head, glancing at Eddie and Robin. “When I saw her, she was in your yard, right there.” She pointed off to the side of the pool, closer to the edge of the house.

“Do you think that matters?” Robin asked, looking around the yard as if she could will herself to see what El had.

The teen shrugged, “I’m not sure. It would make more sense if the gates from Steve’s world were open instead of ours, since that’s where he came from. Do you remember where the rest of them would be?” she asked him.

“I mean… I don’t know where the demogorgon opened most of them, they were all over the place. Nancy and Jon found one though, when they were looking through the woods so I know there’s gotta be some out there.”

El nodded and made her way to the edge of the property, leading the other three into the woods. Eddie skipped ahead of them, stopping the group from going any farther.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, hands up as if stopping a wild animal in its tracks, “If the Looking Glass could be universe-specific… could other universes just slip through any old gate? How many should we be looking for?”

The group paused at the implication. What Eddie was saying was right. What if Steve wasn’t the only one to slip through? Could there be more Steves? Could there be other universes with open gates? Steve shook his head, putting a hand on one of Eddie’s arms to push it back down to his side.

“Let’s just… focus on one issue at a time, okay?” he said, stepping around the arm he just put down and turning to face the group again. He nodded toward the woods, gesturing for them to continue onward. El looked between the two men. She seemed slightly nervous at Eddie’s implication, but shook her head and continued forward without another word, like Steve suggested.

Stray branches cracked under their feet as they trudged along through the underbrush, Steve hanging behind just a bit so he could keep everyone else in his sight.

Without Vecna’s vines choking the life out of the trees, the forest was much less daunting. The bright afternoon light spilled through the branches, making it seem more like they were out for a hike and not a mission. Bits and pieces of conversation from El and Robin drifted back toward Steve, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Instead, he let the hum of their voices drift through his ears like static, filling the trees with their gentle sounds.

Eddie stopped walking for just a second, waiting for Steve to catch up to him before resuming his steps side-by-side. As their shoulders bumped, Steve was hit with the memory of their first trek into the Upside Down. He’d thought Eddie was just some weirdo who’d gotten attached to Dustin, a reluctant member of the party who just happened to save Steve because he didn’t want to be left alone. Eddie’s presence had calmed his nerves, even then. His rambling, nonsensical tangents about Ozzie and Nancy and the Munson Doctrine, as if he needed something to cling to in order to fill the silence and couldn’t help but fill it himself.

This Eddie seemed quieter, somehow. No, not somehow, he was quieter, like the Eddie from his world couldn’t handle his own thoughts for too long, like he wrapped his words around himself like a blanket, like his rings of armor. Steve wondered briefly if he’d ever actually seen Eddie be comfortable, if maybe they weren’t as close as he thought they were. The Eddie next to him now just walked, and bumped shoulders, and mulled over his words in his head. The Eddie next to him now seemed comfortable with Steve at his side, seemed almost relaxed. Or, as relaxed as one could be while looking for a potential portal to another dimension.

Steve knew he should be looking out for said portal (or portals), should try and remember where the gates had been seen in his world, but he was honestly starting to spiral a bit. He’d thought the Eddie from his world was calm around him, too. He’d thought their weekly calls had maybe brought his walls down just a little, that maybe he trusted Steve, like Steve trusted Eddie.

But, seeing how the man was when he was genuinely relaxed, when he was comfortable in a silence, it had Steve questioning everything. He couldn’t help but remember their conversation from the kitchen that morning, how Eddie hadn’t told Steve about himself, how he didn’t seem to know the Eddie from his world as much as he thought he did. He wanted to know this Eddie though.

A hand grabbed Steve’s arm to slow him down. His heart skipped in his chest before he realized it was Eddie and not a threat. He really shouldn’t be so deep in his thoughts all the time.

“Yeah?” he asked, glancing down at Eddie’s hand. He didn’t remove it like he expected, just kept his hand clasped around Steve’s wrist.

“Are you okay?” he asked, squeezing Steve’s arm gently, comfortingly. Steve paused, steps faltering to a stop, and looked at the man before him.

“I’m fine,” he said, clearing his throat and squinting at the metalhead. “Uh… why?”

“You’ve been pretty quiet since the munchkins stormed in this morning, so I just wanted to check.”

Eddie had been talking to Robin when the ‘munchkins’ arrived, then he’d been goofing around with the boys and Steve had wandered into the kitchen. Eddie had been arguing with Robin, had been wrestling the kids, had been eating breakfast through a dramatic story, had been everywhere all at once. When did he notice Steve? When had he realized he wasn’t talking? How did he know?

“I didn’t… I didn’t think you’d notice,” Steve mumbled. He glanced over at the retreating backs of Robin and El, conversation still filtering through the trees as they meandered further and further away.

Eddie was looking only at him, for what seemed to be the first time that morning. Steve kind of felt like running in the opposite direction; shaking Eddie’s hand off his arm, digging his heals into the dirt and sprinting away from his questions. Instead, he felt the weight of himself settle into his shoes, felt the warmth of Eddie’s palm against his pulse and looked up, meeting Eddie’s gaze straight on.

“Of course I noticed,” Eddie said, and Steve couldn’t help thinking back to Dustin’s arms wrapped around him in the kitchen. He thought of El and Max fitting themselves around him when they first arrived. Steve scratched at his nose to distract himself from the sting in his eyes.

“I just… I just, uh,” he cleared his throat, not really sure where the words were going. “Dustin said he was glad I’m here. That… that he’s happy to see me even though I’m not the right Steve.” God, his voice cracked. This was embarrassing.

Eddie nodded, letting Steve mull his own words over without interruption, and Steve couldn’t help glancing down at his lips. They were pressed in a hard line, a determined line, like whatever Steve needed to say was the most important thing right now. Even though they were hunting for a literal tear in the universe, even though Steve couldn’t hear El and Robin’s voices anymore and they should probably think about catching up.

Again, Steve’s mind kept flashing to them in the Upside Down and for some reason most of his thoughts revolved around how Eddie’s lips looked then, too. Though usually loud and boisterous, Eddie always had a serious set to his face when things were important, voice hard but spoken softly like he was desperate for his words to sink in. Steve took a deep breath and thought about how to convey that same earnestness.

“I don’t think it’s a good thing that I’m getting attached. What if I have to go back? What happens then?” he whispered, afraid saying it any louder would break whatever confessional Eddie had wrapped around them.

“I hate to break it to you, Harrington, but we’re already attached. Henderson was right, we’re all glad to have you here. It would hurt no matter what, if you started pulling away now or not.”

Steve nodded. He knew Eddie was right, there’s no way he would be okay if he distanced himself from the party. It would still hurt when he left, if he left.

“Besides,” Eddie continued, tipping his head closer into Steve’s space, “we’ve got options. We don’t even know if you have to go back. Maybe the gates closed already, maybe we won’t find it, maybe El can close it on her own, there are options. Don’t count yourself out just yet.”

Steve let the words wash over him like a comforting blanket, holding him tight in their embrace. He hoped Eddie was right, he hoped they could close it without issue, he hoped he’d be able to stay here with everyone he loved, but-

“But what if I have to be on the other side for it to close? What if it won’t close without me?” he asked Eddie, as if he had the answers to the universe.

The metalhead stepped back just once, just enough for them to gently begin their walking once more, and slipped his hand back to his side. He must have noticed El and Robin were far ahead, too. Steve's wrist felt cold.

Eddie glanced at Steve from the corner of his eye, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he leaned into every step he made. Steve felt almost… off-balance — like Eddie had torn him from the comfort of a warm blanket pile and tossed him into the backyard. They were only a couple steps apart but it felt almost cavernous.

“Do you want to stay here, Steve?” Eddie asked, keeping a slow pace to stay close to Steve’s side.

“Of course I do,” Steve said. Why wouldn’t he? Why would he want to go back to an empty house he’d nearly trashed more than once, empty liquor cabinets collecting dust like every other surface of the house? Why would he want to go back to a world where everyone he loved was either dead or gone? Where they’d all left him behind? Of course he wanted to stay.

“Then we’ll do everything we can to make sure you do,” Eddie replied. He said it so solidly, so sure in his words, like that was all there was to it. He picked up his pace a little bit, like the conversation was over and everything had been said and decided. That was it, he was saying, nothing else to do. Of course Steve wanted to stay, of course they would let him, of course they would fight for him, Eddie was saying. For a second Steve thought he wouldn’t be able to breathe, that the air had fully escaped his lungs and he’d just collapse to the ground from the struggle to hold it in, until Robin’s voice called out just a few yards ahead.

“I think we found something?” she called, voice completely unsure.

The two men picked up their pace to a slow jog, following the direction of her question. They found the two women standing in front of an old tree, bark dry and cracked around the base. As far as Steve could tell, there wasn’t anything odd about the tree at all but El was staring at it intently, hand reached out to touch. Robin was cringing away as she watched, as if the tree would explode once disturbed, but El’s hand landed on the old bark without so much as a twig snapping.

They all stared at the tree. It was just a tree.

“El?” Steve called out. She turned her head to him, hand still gently placed against the bark.

“It feels different than the others. It feels… familiar,” she said. “Like a piece of me.”

They all nodded, as if that made any sense. Still, nothing happened and the tree remained a tree.

Quietly, carefully, like Robin’s anxiety was leeching into his mind, Steve stepped up beside El. He reached out his hand, like he’d just seen her do, like she currently was, and tried to place his hand on the bark. Instead, he saw the wood at the base of the tree split and widen the closer his hand got.

He yanked it back, stepping away with his arm clutched tightly to his chest. Robin and Eddie had quickly stepped up beside him, like they were prepared to pull him away even farther if the tree decided to play any tricks. The tree, however, just stitched itself back together as Steve stepped away. The bark seemed to grow, as if they were watching a timelapse of skin healing.

They all stood staring at the old, unblemished trunk again, suspended in the quiet as they held a collective breath. Nothing happened. As they stared, the tree remained a tree and though El’s hand was still placed on the bark, the wood remained silent and unchanging.

Steve stepped up to it again, both Robin and Eddie’s hands tightening their grip on his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Robin demanded, voice shrill and panic coating her words.

“I just… want to try something,” he said, gently shaking off their hands. He placed his on the bark once more, the wood splitting and opening just like the first time.

It looked like flesh, the bark tearing an almost rectangular hole in the trunk, like the wood was alive, like it was breathing. They all watched, though nothing else happened.

El removed her hand from the bark, the split remaining open, and she walked around Steve to stand in front of it. It wasn’t red like the gates to the Upside Down were, like blood would come rushing out if you took a knife to it. Instead, it glowed an almost yellow color, as if there was sunlight peeking through a sheer white curtain on the other side.

Eleven reached her hand out once again, but before she could make contact Steve stepped away and the gate closed for the second time. She looked up at him, annoyed. “What was that for?” she huffed, standing to her full height.

“I’m not letting you get sucked into a tree,” he stated flatly and crossed his arms against his chest. He stepped back, putting more distance between himself and the mystery tree. “If you fall into that thing, Dustin’s gonna kill me.”

“Oh, right, like Dustin’s ever been the authority on anything,” Robin scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“If you want to listen to him bitch and moan about falling into the stupid mirror glass or whatever then be my guest!”

“It’s the Looking Glass, Alice,” Eddie piped in, patting Steve’s shoulder gently. He rolled his eyes, giving Eddie the driest look he could possibly muster, and shouldered past him to grab the bag Robin had set on the ground.

Inside, he grabbed the walkie, clicking the talk button and calling for the other groups to respond. “We found the mirror glass or whatever,” Steve spoke into the receiver, glancing back at Eddie with a smirk.

Dustin’s voice immediately crackled through the radio. “It’s the Looking Glass, Steve!” he called back. Steve shook his head as he listened to Eddie’s laughter behind him, smile pulling at his lips while waiting for his actual sentence to sink into Dustin’s brain.

“Wait, you found it?!” the walkie screamed.

“Yeah, we found it, but it’s… weird. Meet back at my place and we’ll tell you all about it, over and out,” he said, not letting Dustin get more than a ‘weird how?’ out, before he clicked the walkie off and shoved it back into the bag.

Robin tossed it back over her shoulder and patted Steve’s head before turning back the way they came. It didn’t seem far from the house, they hadn’t been walking for long, but Steve couldn’t help the shame that washed over him for being so drunk that night he couldn’t even remember crawling through a fucking tree into another world. He hoped they could figure out the gate, that he could stay here, and hoped that he’d never drink that much ever again.

—

It seriously took me an embarrassing amount of time to come up with those stupid group code names until I woke up a couple days ago like hey wait a second, this is like alice in wonderland smh you do not want to know the even dumber names I had picked out before

anyway, happy new year 🥂

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #stobin #alternate universe #hurt/comfort #eleven hopper #tw mentions of alcohol abuse #helpimstuckwriting #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

When they finally got around to leaving the backyard, once Steve had collected all the little bits of himself that felt tattered and stretched to their limits, he glanced back at his bedroom window. He caught the blinds swaying just a bit, as if someone had been peaking through and just stepped away. It was easy to imagine Eddie, pulling his mess of curly hair over his face to hide even though Steve hadn’t seen him. He wished he’d come back down.

Eddie was the only constant back in his world. He may have been states away, chasing some kind of purpose that Steve had lost among the bodies, but he called at least once a week. Just to say hi. Just to make sure they were both alive. Steve thought maybe he’d been so used to calling Wayne, he just didn’t know what to do without him. If Steve could be that filler in his life, that voice on the end of the line whenever Eddie reached for the phone out of habit, that was fine by him. It was the only thing he’d started to look forward to.

He wondered if his Eddie would be sad when no one picked up the phone this week. Steve felt a little like the small child hiding amongst the clothing racks again. He’s sure Eddie would notice. He’s just not sure if he’d care. Maybe he’d also send the nanny if he could.

Steve steeled his thoughts as they stepped back into the house, trailing slightly behind Robin as if that would delay the inevitable. She told him it was okay, that he could trust this different version of his mom but he wasn’t quite sure he could believe her. Maybe this Linda was different. That still didn’t make her his mother.

Back in the living room, Nancy, Max, El, and Dustin looked up when he entered. Dustin looked so apologetic that Steve almost felt bad for his reaction. He looked like he wanted to tell Steve sorry, that he didn’t mean to blurt that out, or that he didn’t mean to startle him but he couldn’t get the words out. Steve just nodded at him with a small reassuring smile and ruffled his hair as he passed, sitting back down on the couch with Robin.

They were back to the looking at each other thing, so Steve took pity on them and broke the silence.

“I'm okay, we can call her. Did you tell everyone else?” He asked.

Nancy shook her head. “We were waiting for you, we didn’t want to do anything behind your back.”

Steve nodded, heart squeezing tightly in his chest at the reminder that they cared enough to do that, to wait for him. He turned to the kids that were no longer kids, sitting together on the second couch, Dustin on the left and the two girls on the right.

“Still got the walkies?” He asked. Dustin nodded, pulling the two-way radio out of the bag at his feet.

“Always,” he replied.

“Are you ready?” Nancy asked, eyes caring and worried. She emphasized that it was okay if he wasn’t, if he wanted a few more moments to prepare for what was sure to be a stampede. Steve reassured her it was fine, that they’d have to say something eventually, and Robin squeezed his knee to offer her support, letting her hand rest there to keep him anchored to the spot.

“The rest of the boys should be in town. Will and Mike work at the arcade and Lucas is working at Family Video.”

Steve smiled, it seemed like they’d passed down their shitty strip mall jobs to the next generation. It was still so weird to know the kids were the same age he was when Starcourt opened, older than Robin was.

Dustin clicked the radio on and took one more glance at Steve before pressing the talk button.

“Mike, Will, Lucas, this is Dustin, do you copy?” He waited a few seconds, static coming through the other line. “I repeat, Mike, Will, Lucas, do you copy?” Another few seconds of pause. “We’ve got a 10-17, I repeat, a 10-17, do you copy?”

The line clicked in response. “Uh, what’s a 10-17 again?” Mikes voice filtered through the speaker.

“I think it’s a request for a pick up?” Will’s voice responded on the same line.

“That’s a 10-16, isn’t a 10-17 out of service? Why are you telling us you’re out of service? Over.”

The line clicked again, “That’s a 10-7, Mike,” Lucas’ voice responded. “Over,” he tacked on.

Dustin was clearly ready to vibrate out of his shoes in disappointment. The voices filtering through the static of the walkies made something fuzzy in Steve’s brain. The banter and the arguing and the crackling of the speakers, he could remember it like it was yesterday, like he hadn’t been missing it for four years. He was starting to get misty-eyed again and clutched onto Robin’s hand, still resting on his knee. She squeezed back.

“You’re all useless, it’s urgent business! I repeat, urgent business! Over!” Dustin yelled through the receiver.

Max rolled her eyes on the couch next to him and sunk back into the cushions, arms crossed. El followed her example, crossing her arms as well and relaxing into Max’s side.

“You don’t have to repeat everything, you know,” Mike answered back, tone snappy and impatient. The familiar sound of arcade games crackled out vaguely in the background and Steve could picture him leaning against the prize counter, rolling his eyes as he ignored some little kid in favor of answering Dustin.

“My shift is over in thirty minutes, how urgent are we talking?” Lucas responded.

“Uhhh,” Dustin glanced at Steve, eyes looking just this side of manic, “Try back from the dead urgent.”

“What?”

“Dead?”

“Who’s dead?”

“Who’s back?”

Dustin pressed the talk button to cut them all off again, “Just finish your shifts if you have to and meet back at Base Nora, he’s not going anywhere. Over and out.” Mike, Will, and Lucas tried calling out over each other, the line cutting in and out about ‘who’s not going anywhere?’ and ‘what are you talking about?’, but Dustin just clicked the walkie off instead of answering.

Max leaned forward again, arms still crossed against her chest, and looked at Dustin like he’d finally lost it. “That was the absolute worst way you could have handled that.”

“Yeah but how fast do you think they’ll get here now?” he responded. Steve shook his head as a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He had to admit Dustin was clever. Rude as hell, but clever. Max just smirked back at him.

“Oh they are so fired.”

“I don’t think Keith can afford to fire them,” El laughed.

Keith, Family Video, the kids, it was all so similar to his world. If it was just this, just the party and Robin and Eddie, it would be fine. The fact that his house was Base Nora, that it was clearly well used by many people and filled with laughter and the sunlight of the morning peaking through the windows, it filled Steve with longing for what he’d lost in his world.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d opened the blinds in his house. It was always dark, quiet. He barely even turned the lights on most days, just fumbled through the house hungover and half blind. If it was just the kids they had to tell, he’d be excited to see their reaction, to know that everyone was safe.

However, with the conclusion of one task, the other much more daunting task was at hand. The lightness in Steve’s chest from the kids’ banter was slowly stripped thread by thread, unraveling the warmth he felt and replacing it with cold dread. Robin pulled him up and they all made their way back into the kitchen.

He glanced again at the picture wall, taking in the images he was too panicked to really see before. He stepped closer. There was a picture of the party at a beach, though Steve didn’t know where. He’d only ever seen beaches from expensive hotel windows, before his parents deemed him old enough to stay home alone. Here, the other Steve was smiling, arms around Eddie and Robin, who both had their hair up in buns, kids fighting in the background. There was another picture of the party in his living room, blankets strewn around the floor, kids huddled around with a movie on in the background. He couldn’t tell which movie, but the kids weren’t looking at the screen anyway, they were all huddled around laughing at he and Eddie, sleeping soundly splayed out on top of each other.

Steve wondered how much happier this Steve was. How much more he had. He did things, went places, surrounded by friends, always touching and talking and laughing. He had the party, all safe, he had his mom. But he’d died, left it all behind and Steve was in his place, taking that spot from him. It didn’t seem fair. Steve really didn’t belong here.

“Steve?” Robins voice called as softly as he’d ever heard her. He turned away from the pictures to where she was standing by the phone, already held in her hand. She tilted her head toward the dial on the wall, silently asking if he’d like to do the honors.

He shook his head but walked over to her, stepping in as close as he could. She wrapped an arm around his waist and held the phone to her ear, inexplicably dialing the Wheeler’s number. He glanced over at Nancy, leaning against the archway to the kitchen.

“Our moms have girls’ days sometimes. That’s where they all are now,” she whispered as Robin finished dialing. He could hear it ring. The phone anxiety was creeping back up on him, clawing at his throat. What if she’s mad they interrupted, what if she’s sad he’s not really her Steve, what if she doesn’t care, what if-

“Hi Karen, can I talk to Linda?” Robin’s voice cut through his spiral. He could hear Mrs Wheeler on the other end calling out for his mom, heard giggling in the background and wondered how many of their parents were there. Linda. Robin Buckley was on first name basis with his mother. The more things stay the same, the more they change or whatever the fuck that saying was.

“Hello? Robin?” His mothers voice called out through the speaker. Robin gripped his waist tighter, squeezing three times. He tapped her hand three times right back. It was okay. He’d be okay.

“Hi Linda. I uh… sorry to interrupt!” Robin responded.

“Oh, nonsense, is everything okay? You’re all there, right?” Her voice was so soft, so kind. The last time he’d heard the same voice it was cold, hard like stone. A frigid ‘We’re very disappointed in you, Steven’ tossed his way before his father threw down job applications on the kitchen table. He blinked back the memories and tried tuning back into Robin.

“-don’t really know how to explain it, we just… uh. It’s about Steve.”

It was silent on the other end of the line. The static counting down the seconds before his mother cleared her throat to respond.

“What about Steve, Dear?”

Robin turned to look at him, a vague panic in her eyes as she didn’t know how to respond. They probably should have thought this through more, figured out something to say before calling. It was too late now.

“Um… uh… Something… happened this morning and we think it’s, you know, campaign related,” Robin emphasized, as if she were adding a wink, wink onto the end of her sentence.

She continued, “There’s some, uh, gates we think have opened and someone’s stumbled back into our lives.” Steve felt her shrug helplessly, letting go of his waist to give Nancy a sort of ‘please help me, I’m drowning here’ look, gesturing frantically to the phone. She marched over to them and slid it out of Robin’s hand, stepping in between the two of them.

“Hi, Linda. We think you should come home and see for yourself. It’s a lot, so just… try not to freak out,” Nancy added. Robin smacked her hand to her forehead, that would definitely make someone freak out.

Steve didn’t hear the end of his mom’s call, just the whispered frantic arguing between Nancy and Robin. Eventually, though, Robin hung up the phone and they all looked at each other. At least that was over now. The actual explaining this though was going to be harder. Where did they even start? Everyone was going to flip out the second they saw him, and Steve was exhausted enough already. He couldn’t wait for this part to be over, he just wanted to rest.

This much energy, this many people and conversations and socialization wasn’t something he was used to anymore. It was a bit suffocating, but that could also have just been the panic. It would take about fifteen minutes to get here from the Wheeler’s house, same for the boys at the strip mall — though, Steve wasn’t sure if they’d finish out their shifts first or just make a break for it. They were never good at impulse control.

He decided to sit on the staircase at the entryway. He figured being right there would sort of rip the bandaid off, so to say. So, he sat on the cold hardwood steps, felt Robin plop herself down next to him, and he waited. The dark wood table against the wall of the entryway was the same in his world, though there was a vase of fresh flowers, recently filled. Alive. In his world, they were never real to begin with. Instead, there was a large vase of scented sticks, some minimalist bullshit decor that meant nothing. He stared at the flowers, outlined each and every one to keep his mind away from the panic, to keep himself rooted to the spot.

He used to sit here after saying stiff and formal goodbyes to his parents. He’d watch them leave, tell them have a safe trip, close the door behind them and then just… sit on the stairs. He’d sit for minutes or hours or whatever amount of time it took him to get over himself and get back on with his life. Who cared about some superficial woes of a rich boy? What was he going to say, that he missed parents he never really had? That he wanted his mommy? It was pathetic. So he’d dust himself off, though a spec of dust probably didn’t exist anywhere in the Harrington house, and call up Tommy and Carol to tell them he had the house to himself again. He could fill it with as many people as he wanted before they got back, he was fine.

Now, instead of shaking himself out of it, he was snapped back by the sound of high heels against the brick steps outside. He held his breath, or maybe he just forgot to breathe all together. Before the handle was touched, a stampede of sneaker noises caught up to the heals on the steps, the panting and gasped complaints bleeding through the door.

“Hi, Mrs Harrington,” he thought it was Will’s voice that filtered in.

“Hi, boys. I’m assuming you got a cryptic call as well?” She teased. She teased. He’d never heard that tone before in his life.

“Yeah, Dustin called right in the middle of our shifts!” Lucas accused, as if Dustin didn’t specifically tell them to finish their shifts before coming over.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for that?” She asked

“Oh please, Keith can’t afford to fire us anyway,” Mike muttered.

With the greetings out of the way, someone finally gripped the handle. The rattling of the metal put a fire under Steve’s ass and before he knew it, he’d booked it around the corner and just out of sight.

“Wait, Steve-,” Robin shouted after him, though the door finally opened and she was confronted with four startled faces before she could run after him.

“Steve?” Lucas shouted.

He muttered a quiet fuck under his breath and braced himself. He couldn’t just leave Robin floundering around by herself out there, that was too cruel. So, instead of being an absolute coward he took in a deep breath, held it for just a few seconds until his lungs felt stretched to their limits, and then he let it all go as he stepped around the corner.

—

Sorry about that one guys, I hate cliff hangers but I never know where else to stop these lmao you'll meet Linda Harrington in the next one! We'll also hear from Eddie 👀

I'm still adding to the taglist as well, so feel free to ask!

@weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland

#how many times can I use the word vague challenge #I hope I'm doing the dialogue okay #I'm much better with emotional descriptions than dialogue or scenes lol #I have so many scenes for this just scratching around my head #I've discovered I just love sad!steve #hurt/comfort #steddie #steddie fic #fanfiction #stranger things #dustin henderson #robin buckley #the party #max mayfield #el hopper #steve harrington #stranger things fic #nancy wheeler #helpimstuckwriting #parallel universe au #stranger things fanfiction #stobin

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

The Linda Harrington that Steve had known in his 22 years held herself like a skyscraper. She was tall and pristine, glistening with expensive jewelry her husband had bought her instead of saying sorry. She dressed in beige and creme, and in an especially formal occasion she’d maybe find herself in navy. Her eyes were cold and dark. As a child, Steve found her terrifying and he’d spent countless hours imagining those eyes melt, tried picturing her with the same soft looks other moms had at school when picking up their children. He never quite got it right.

She smelled like soap and Chanel No. 5, and Steve couldn’t remember what the touch of her skin felt like. It was probably smooth and pristine like everything else about Linda Harrington, but he hadn’t felt her arms around him since he was a child, and he couldn’t remember what it felt like — if it had felt cold like her stare, or clinical like their whole damn house did.

She held herself high, with a dignity that didn’t include stooping down to Steve’s level to look him in the eyes, or kneeling by his side when he scraped his knee. Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen his mother kneel. He’d never seen her with delight in her eye, or shock, never seen her with tears.

Her hair was always wound tight at the crown of her head, kept off her shoulders to display her long neck and the necklaces that adorned it. He’d never seen her hair down outside of a precisely planned formal event where it cascaded perfectly over her shoulders.

But the Linda Harrington of the world he’d found himself in was everything his mother was not. She stood at the threshold of her own house, pink blouse gently tucked into a worn pair of jeans, hair blown and curled into a more modest version of Farrah Fawcett’s. She had laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, and tears welling up like a dam was about to break. She held her hands over her mouth, staring straight forward at Steve like she’d never seen something so amazing or breathtaking, like he was the eighth wonder of the world and she’d just found herself in front of him.

He felt himself squirm under her gaze, the weight of it heavier than any look he’d caught in her eye previously. He’d spent hours, so many hours, imagining her eyes full of love and he’d never once seen it until this moment. He didn’t know she could make that face. And all it took was a different life, a different world, a different Steve. This look didn’t belong to him.

The three teenagers were losing it just behind her, yelling and talking over each other, asking questions Steve couldn’t move to answer.

Robin moved instead, shuffling in behind them and shoving them through the door so she could close it. She yelled at them to sit in the living room and they’d explain everything that had happened that morning.

Linda moved closer, cautiously, as if Steve could blow away to dust at any moment. He'd done the same to Robin just that morning, thought he'd blink and she'd disappear. His mother would have rather died than show anyone that kind of weakness, including her son.

This Linda, however, stepped forward again. She was just a foot away from Steve, and she looked so small. It didn't matter if Steve had grown six inches or six feet taller than his mother, she'd always seemed to tower above him, but the Linda he looked down on now seemed like he could pinch her and she'd break.

"Hi," he whispered, the words almost swallowed in his throat before they touched the air. He was at a loss for anything else to say.

She seemed to almost crumple in on herself, collapsing against him and holding on tighter than anyone ever had. He thought of all the times he'd been dumped, lost a game, or failed a test and craved his mother's comfort like water. He'd been so thirsty for it, so desperate, and all he'd received in return was a barren wasteland of disappointment. The desert sand of familial love had kicked up dust and dirt and choked him for decades, starved him of any attachments this Steve seemed to have in spades.

"Oh, Stevie," Linda sobbed against his neck, tears sharper than the blade Eddie had cut him with. He'd heard this sound before. Though he'd never seen his mother cry, he remembered a time when he was little — somewhere around fifth grade maybe. It was the first time his mother had found out about his father's cheating, the last time she'd stayed home while he was away on a business trip. Through his parents' bedroom door, he'd heard these same sobs. Her gasping, hitching breaths had seeped through the crack in the door like a creeping fog, rolling through the halls and pitching the whole house in an eerie quiet.

These sobs were different, though. He could hear her smiling through her gasps, felt her warm hands cling to the back of his shirt like she never wanted to let him go. His throat burned and he felt like he was drowning, the dry desert sand he'd swallowed over the years flooding with a sudden downpour.

He lifted his hands to her back and held on tight, memorizing the feeling of her in his arms. Slowly they untangled, his mother taking his hand in hers and leading him to the sofa, sitting as close as she could and still staring at him with endless amounts of wonder swimming in her eyes.

He, Robin, and Nancy took turns recounting the events of that morning. Steve described how he woke up, how Eddie found him; Robin pitched in about their banging on the door thinking Eddie was in trouble, and finding Steve standing in the kitchen.

“He had no idea how he got there. I think he really freaked Eddie out,” Nancy said, glancing at Linda. Steve saw her nod in understanding, though he still couldn’t figure out why Eddie was reacting like this compared to everyone else.

“So what exactly do we think is going on?” Mike cut in. He and Lukas were sitting on the armrests of the other couch, Max, El, Dustin, and Will taking up the cushions.

“Parallel universes!” Dustin blurted, excitement still dancing in his voice. He went on to recount the same explanation he gave earlier, dramatic clap and everything (though Steve didn’t flinch this time).

“What does this mean, then?” Linda asked quietly, squeezing tightly onto Steve’s hand. He didn’t quite feel comfortable leaning on this version of his mother yet, but he couldn’t help thinking over and over that this was still his mothers hand, that this was what it would be like if he’d ever held it for comfort, for support, to feel her warm hand squeezing back. He couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet.

Instead, he turned just slightly to look her in the eye, and said the same thing he did earlier, “I’m not your Steve,” though this time he was much more scared of the reaction. She could loosen her grip, drop his hand all together and let him fall untethered. She could be scared of him, of this stranger with her son’s face. She could yell, tell the room that she was furious they got her hopes up only to crash them to the ground because this wasn’t her Steve.

She did drop his hand.

Steve’s heart dropped with it for just a moment until her hands came up to cradle his face. She held him, gently, like a porcelain doll she was afraid to crack, or perhaps like one that had already been cracked and she was scared to damage any further. He felt her thumb stroke delicately across his cheekbone, and he swallowed around the tightness stabbing at his throat.

“You are Steve Harrington,” she whispered, tears in her eyes once more, “and any Steve Harrington is my baby.”

His nose pricked as any words got caught in his throat, her face becoming blurry. This felt like a dream, like every wish he’d ever made on a candle or a shooting star or an eyelash on his cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and felt her thumb wipe away the tears that followed, the lump in his throat constricting his air. He tried to breath in as best he could, though it came out like a strangled sob instead. He could hear her shushing him, felt her pull him toward her chest and he felt so small next to her again.

Not in the way his mother always made him feel small, but in a new way. He felt like a small child being cradled to his mother’s chest, held tightly against all the sorrow and the fear, held gently like being swaddled to sleep. Even if he does go back, if he has to leave when they close the gates, he hopes this Linda Harrington will remember him. Maybe this one wouldn’t have sent the nanny to find him. Maybe this one wouldn’t have left him behind. Maybe she wouldn’t have even let him hide in the first place. The Steve Harrington of this world was either the luckiest Steve, or the most pitiful for losing it all.

He kept his face buried in his mother’s shoulder while Dustin and Nancy explained the theory about potential open gates. El chimed in again about helping to check, to figure out which one was open or if there were multiple. In the meantime, Steve tried schooling his face back to normal, wiping the tears from his cheeks as discreetly as he could. He didn’t want to completely break down in front of a room full of people, didn’t want the kids to see him like that.

Once he’d collected himself, he pulled his head up and joined the conversation once more. Robin slipped her arm around his waist and squeezed while his mother gripped his hand. He’d probably break down again — take the time to let the emotions of the day take over and wash themselves out — but for now he just put his own arm around Robin and squeezed his mother’s hand.

It took a while for the group to come up with a few plans, organize a few teams, and suggest days where they’d be able to go out and check gates. The sun had begun to get low on the horizon, and Steve’s eyes stung with exhaustion. His head pounded in his skull from everything that had happened — the information, the crying, the stress, the lack of any alcohol in his system — and he kind of wished he could wash it away with a glass of something strong. He didn’t want to miss anything, though; he didn’t want to scare the kids, either. Today was worth remembering.

When the house thinned out (Linda doing an exceptional job at handling the kids arguments and promising they could come around first thing tomorrow), Robin excused herself to one of the guest rooms and his mother hugged him one last time before she slipped into her own room.

He wanted to reach out to Robin, ask her to stay and sleep in his room, but he wasn’t sure what the dynamic was with his mother here. Did she know about Robin? Were they allowed to share a room? He couldn’t really sleep without someone else there, hadn’t slept sober in quite a while, either. Maybe he’d ask later, but for now he’d just watch Robin walk into a room two doors down, catching his eye one last time before she slipped away. He’d see her in the morning, he promised himself, she’d be there in the morning.

When he opened his bedroom door, he’d half expected to see Eddie sitting on the edge of his bed, startled by the company and nails half chewed to oblivion. Instead, he found a room with navy blue walls and a large selection of posters, no plaid to be seen. He’d always wanted navy walls. The posters were of bands he’d mostly never heard of; maybe a few of them he’d seen on Eddie’s jackets. They covered one wall entirely, though his world only had one framed picture of a luxury car. This room looked lived in, customized and comfortable, another difference to his.

He laid down in his bed, much more relaxed and broken-in than his own expensive mattress. Everything in this world seemed to cradle him, like it was holding on to something it didn’t want to let go. Maybe that was the trick, maybe this really was a trap designed to keep him here. He shook his head against the soft pillow; the wrinkles at the corners of his mother’s eyes and the age on the kids faces were proof enough that this was real. He had to remind himself that they were real. This was real.

Though the house was dark and quiet and Steve knew he’d been lying down for quite a while, he still couldn’t feel sleep creep up the edges of his mind. He was so tired, so exhausted, and still he was wide awake, unused to comfortably falling asleep on his own.

Instead of staying in bed, he got up and waded across the darkened bedroom to the door. Steve slipped quietly down the stairs and back out to the pool. The water gently sparkled in the moonlight, the blackened depths twisting into memories of a cold lake and a bright red gate. He sat down again, not really sure why he kept coming out here instead of going somewhere else to collect himself. Old habits perhaps.

It had been years since his pool had been filled. He let it fall to ruin when his parents hadn’t come back, let the tiles crack and the paint peel, and the lounge chairs be weathered by dust and dirt and precipitation. Maybe this pool reminded him of what his life could have been like, full and sparkling.

Steve shivered against the cool night air, the not-quite-summer breeze rustling through the trees and right through his thin t-shirt. He probably should have grabbed a sweatshirt or jacket but he couldn’t quite bring himself to rifle through OtherSteve’s closet. The room itself already felt like someone else’s, it felt wrong to look through what didn’t belong to him.

It was quiet out here, with the woodland animals all asleep like the people tucked in upstairs. The water lapping against the side of the pool filled Steve’s mind with a calm concentration; he wondered briefly if this was what El felt when listening to static, if the gentle hum of electricity calmed her mind of other thoughts like the water did for Steve in this moment.

He startled when the glass door slid open, half expecting Robin to slide in next to him like she’d done earlier in the day, but he was surprised to find a hesitant Eddie standing by the door instead. His dark curls were tossed up in a messy bun, a few strands poking loose like he’d been tugging at it.

Even though he’d seen Eddie that morning, everything that had happened that day made it feel longer, like he really had been in California and only just arrived. Steve nodded in his direction, turning back to the water to try and keep from making Eddie uncomfortable. He didn’t know why the man had avoided him all day, but Steve didn’t want to make it worse. He had every right to be skeptical and cautious.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice echoed against the pool tiles. Eddie spoke softly in the dark, hesitating to make much noise, but the whisper was deafening nonetheless.

Steve shook his head, sparing a side glance at Eddie before looking back at the black water. “Not really good at sleeping anymore,” he said back, just as soft.

He listened as Eddie’s footsteps on the stone tile came closer, stopping a few feet away. He sat down, farther than Robin had earlier in the day but still closer than Steve had expected. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he say something? Or let Eddie be the first to talk? Should he apologize? Steve didn’t know what for, but he still felt like maybe he should.

“I’m sorry-,”

“I’m sorry-,” they both started at the same time. Steve glanced over to catch Eddie’s eye, saw the startled look and felt bad for not waiting until Eddie had spoken first. This was already weird, Steve didn’t want to keep making the situation awkward at every turn, though he still wasn’t sure why it was more awkward around Eddie than the others. He may have a hunch though.

Eddie swallowed, eyes seemingly calculating every question in the universe before he blinked and looked away, down to the water that Steve had been watching for who-knew-how-long. An owl hooted in the distance.

Steve waited for Eddie this time.

—

This part and the next part are two of my favorites

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou

#stranger things #steddie #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #parallel universe au #robin buckley #max mayfield #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #stobin #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

Okay this ones a bit sillier, I'm just a hostage writing their banter into existence. There is no stranger things without silly banter, and I am just a mere mortal passing the message, bound by the laws of this world. Still sad tho, can't forget that.

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

From his huddle on the floor, Steve felt more hands on his shoulders and his back, felt more arms wrap so tightly around him and he’d never felt more secure in his life. His cheeks hurt and the muscles in his neck pulled uncomfortably around the lump in his throat, his clothes were days old and covered in dirt from the woods outside, and he had no idea what was going on but his arms were full of Robin and he could feel Dustin clinging to his side, and Nancy carding her fingers through his hair. El and Max were crying, everyone was crying, but Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this happy.

He was so scared, so scared, that when he let go it would all be gone. He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it, this time.

He felt Nancy step back, the warmth from just above his shoulder gone and he panicked, tearing his damp eyes away from the crook of Robin’s neck to look up. She was still there, smiling with tears in her eyes and she looked so young all of a sudden, Steve could imagine her face aglow with the rainbow lights of the Upside Down Lite Brite, excitement in her eyes like a child waking up on Christmas to find everything she ever hoped for under the tree.

“I’m gonna get the first aid kit,” she whispered, shuffling into the hallway. Always the responsible one.

Robin and the kids finally pulled away, helping him to his feet, and they hadn’t disappeared. A weight in his chest lifted slightly, the unsurety of it all still pressing down but one piece had been relieved. They weren’t going to disappear on him.

They made their way from the kitchen into the livingroom, sitting Steve down on the once pristine white couch. It was now a dull eggshell, years of wear sinking the cushions in and making it more comfortable than he ever remembered. His parents would flip if they saw it. Not that he ever wanted them to come back.

Nancy entered the room with a small white tackle box, sitting down opposite Steve and Robin on the coffee table in front of them. He glanced to his side and noticed a smudge of blood on Robin’s cheek, the one she’d had pressed into his neck. She didn’t have a cut on her face and for a brief moment he wondered where the blood came from until Nancy pressed a wet cotton ball into Steve’s neck. He remembered the knife Eddie had held to his throat, the sharp movement he made when the party burst through the door earlier. The blade must have sliced him and he hadn’t even noticed.

The party was quiet as Nancy patched him up. For some reason, Eddie was nowhere to be seen. He seemed like the most suspicious out of everyone and Steve couldn’t figure out why, but right now there were clearly more pressing matters at hand.

Steve looked around the room at the faces he never thought he’d see again, in the house that was definitely different than his own in the slightest of ways, but more lived in, more comfortable. Full of pictures he’d never taken, but he was clearly present for somehow.

“What…,” he started to ask, throat scratchy, not really sure how to begin. Nancy put away the gauze and tape, closing the tackle box with a quiet click. Everything from the morning flicked through Steves mind and though most of it was hazy, he tried his best to piece it all together. This clearly wasn’t a dream, and it didn’t seem anything like Max had described Vecna’s mind powers to be.

“What’s the date?” He finally asked.

Dustin squinted at him. Okay, maybe Eddie wasn’t the only suspicious one. “It’s May 8th, 1990,” he replied, “It’s been six months since you died.”

Died. There it was again. But the date was correct, Steve remembered that much.

“Listen. I know this sounds… crazy, but-,”

“Crazier than a girl with superpowers and a hell dimension?” Dustin cut in. Steve blinked up at him. He hated when he was at a lower eye level than the kid, made him feel smaller like somehow Dustin was the adult in the situation. The tone didn’t help either. Steve missed it so much.

“Okay, fair.” He started again, trying to gain his bearings and make sense of the situation, put it into words that they’d understand. “You keep saying I died, but for me… I remember you guys dying.” He glanced at them all again. They were watching him with varying levels of confusion, Nancy’s lips were pursed and Max’s were, too, in a similar way.

“The last time we fought Vecna, a few of us barely made it out alive. It’s been… it’s been years since I last saw you guys.”

They were quiet. He watched as they flicked their eyes back and forth between each other. He felt like an outsider once more, like they were speaking a language he didn’t quite know yet, like he was back in the Byer’s living room while Jonathan and Nancy tried to get him to leave. Before everything fell apart.

“All of us?” Max finally spoke, asking the question they were clearly communicating between all of them.

“Not… not all of you. But, Will and El… Dustin, Max… Robbie,” he looked at all of them as he said their names. “The rest of the kids moved away with their families, Eddie left when Wayne died. I’ve been..,” he paused for a breath. They were all still so quiet, letting him finish, though he took a bit to stumble through the words, “I’ve been alone for years. The Hawkins I know is a ghost town and I have no idea how I got here.”

No one really spoke, they just kept looking at each other. Steve glanced back between each of them, feeling like he was failing some sort of test he never studied for. He always hated silence, lived with it so long it became loud and overbearing. He didn’t want it to be so quiet when he was surrounded by people.

“I don’t think I’m your Steve,” he finished, just for one more thing to say, one more break in the quiet.

“Parallel universes,” Dustin muttered to himself. He seemed almost… excited? Like there was a new code he cracked or a gadget he could take apart.

Nancy and Max just squinted at him, the former glancing back to Steve out of the corner of her eye, assessing. She always stayed quiet until she’d figured out the next move, calculated all the variables in her head before saying them out loud. Dustin seemed impatient, rolling his eyes to the heavens and back down again.

“Like The Dark Tower?” he tried, groaning when met with more silence. “Stephen King?” Steve briefly wondered if Dustin ever got tired of acting like he knew more than everyone in the room. The kid needed a reality check in Steve’s opinion, but unfortunately for him, Dustin usually did know more than Steve.

“You know how The Upside Down is like a copy of Hawkins?” Dustin tried again, and the crew nodded back. “Well that’s like our world folded over on itself, it’s an extension and not a separate entity.” He held his hands like two Cs, miming a piece of paper being folded in on itself. “But a parallel universe is like a completely separate world.”

Dustin suddenly clapped his hands together. Steve flinched at the sharp noise, but Dustin didn't seem to notice, separating his hands by just a centimeter and keeping them held out in front of him. “It’s an alternate dimension that runs parallel to ours, with just slight differences leading to separate outcomes.”

“Like Narnia?” Steve asked. Robin let out a soft ‘ohhhh’ and pointed at him. Dustin groaned and his whole body seemed to sag in a parental-like disappointment.

“No, Steve, not like Narnia!”

“I don’t know, it sounds kind of like Narnia,” Robin said.

“Yeah, Narnia was a separate world,” Steve nodded at her.

“Enough about Narnia! It’s not like Narnia!”

“Seems like Narnia,” Robin muttered, but Dustin ignored her and powered through, though El was giggling to herself and that seemed like a win in Steve's book.

“Narnia is an alternate universe that’s completely different than ours. I’m talking about the same world with the same people, but certain decisions cause a split that leaves the world slightly different than the next one. We’re all fundamentally the same, but some of our experiences might be different! For instance, our fights with Vecna turned out different results. Okay? Do you get it now?”

Max rolled her eyes “Don’t have a conniption, you’re not the only person in the room with brain cells, you know.”

"Okay, let's just..," Nancy began, holding her hands up placatingly, "Let's take a breath and pretend Dustin is right, that this is some kind of parallel universe."

"I am right," Dustin muttered to himself, though no one paid him any attention, all eyes focused now on Nancy.

“If Steve is from a parallel universe, then… how did he get here?” she asked. Eyes turned from Nancy to Steve again, and Steve did his best not to cower under the microscope. Carol had taught him to hide his emotions, keep calm and collected, ‘people will respect you more, Steve, just look like you don’t care’. He stared back at them.

“I just… I remember waking up in the woods-,”

“What were you doing in the woods?” Max interjected.

“I… it doesn’t matter. I took a nap and woke up in the backyard, that’s it,” he lied. He didn’t want to delve into his traumas now. Though these people looked like his family, they hadn’t gone through the same thing he did. They didn’t know him the way they should. He could tell them later, if he needed to, but not right now. Robin still looked at him like she knew, though, still seemed to be able to read his mind, ‘I’ve got two brain cells, Stevie, and one of them is yours.’

He sighed as the crew all looked at each other again, resigned to remaining on the outside of this team that wore faces he’d longed to see again. He wasn’t their Steve, and they weren’t his family. They had codes all their own, glances that meant something he couldn’t translate, memories he wasn’t a part of. Steve Harrington was always meant to be alone.

“Wait,” Robin broke the silence. Steve watched as he could see the gears turning in her head, it reminded him of the look she got seconds before cracking the Russian code at Starcourt. “Wasn’t there a gate near your backyard already? From Barb?”

Steve blinked at her. Parallel universe or not, it seemed some events stayed the same.

Nancy filled in Robin’s train of thought, bouncing to the next. “Like you somehow came from the old gate?”

“Did you know that keeping scars healed is a continuous process?” Robin’s train of thought bounced again, seemingly out of nowhere. “The body needs to constantly focus attention on keeping the old wounds healed, it’s called collagen synthesis, which requires vitamin C. So, if you get scurvy the body can no longer maintain the process and your scars can reopen. Bones that have been healed for like twenty years can actually shatter again, too, it’s pretty creepy when you really think about it, like we’re never really fully healed even after decades and-,”

“Robin,” Steve cut in. “Are you suggesting the universe has… scurvy?”

“No? Well… I mean, I guess. I just mean, what if closing the gates wasn’t just a one-and-done thing?”

Nancy seesawed her head back and forth, “Like, what was holding them together is no longer working?” she added. Robin nodded, holding her palms up like Vanna White, presenting Nancy’s contribution to the room.

“Isn’t that kind of a stretch?” Dustin asked.

“We could check the gates,” Max said, “See if they’re still closed?”

El nodded, sitting up a bit straighter, “I can feel them out, see if anything has changed.”

They all worked so well together. Steve had forgotten how easily they came up with plans, the pounding of his heart against his chest as adrenaline raced through his body, sharpening his mind. It all felt so quick, so practiced, no time for dilly-dallying, no time for uncertainty. But… if they found out the gates had opened again, what then? Would he need to go back to his world in order to close them? He looked at each party member one by one, took in their enthusiasm at creating a new plan, at figuring out a puzzle placed in front of them. What if he didn’t want to go back? What was there to even go back to?

“Maybe-,” Steve cut through their chattering voices, and they paused to focus on him. “Maybe we should just check the backyard first. See if that gate is open, and then we can worry about the rest. We should also probably tell the rest of the party, they don’t know any of this has happened yet.” And maybe that could buy him some time.

Just… just a couple more days, a couple more hours at the very least. They weren’t his family, but they were closer than he’d ever thought he’d have again. He wasn’t quite ready to give them up just yet.

“Right,” Robin said, placing her hand gently on Steve’s arm. He wondered how desperately she had craved her own Steve’s touch, if she had sat awake at night feeling like half of herself was missing, ‘two brain cells, Stevie, and one of them is yours.’

She squeezed his arm, and he already knew the answer. She was still Robbie.

“We should call your mom,” Nancy nodded.

“My what?”

—

It’s the little things 👀 expect the unexpected, Stevie

@weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03

#Eddie’s having a rough time #you’ll see why #stranger things #stranger things fic #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #stobin #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #hurt/comfort #still not quite reached the comfort yet #sorry folks #(no I’m not) #parallel universe au #helpimstuckwriting #dustin henderson #max mayfield

[helpimstuckposting]

TW: mentions of child abuse, panic attack

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

The glow of the porch light backlit Eddie in a warm yellow, the light glinting off his hair. Steve watched him quietly as he sifted through his thoughts, the winding branches of them playing plainly across his face. It was both comforting and unsettling, how familiar this Eddie was. He wasn’t like Nancy, who was the same but hadn’t talked to Steve in years. He wasn’t like Linda Harrington, who was so completely different than the mother he knew in his world. He wasn’t like the others, who Steve had been mourning the loss of for years. He was just Eddie. Just the same Eddie.

Maybe this Eddie was more paranoid, more uncomfortable around him, but it also reminded Steve of how Eddie was when they had first met. It was so easy to just sink into the silence as he waited for the person beside him to speak.

It took a few more minutes, the water lapping against the edge of the pool filling the quiet, harmonized only by the rustling of leaves in the forest nearby.

“I get that this isn’t your fault,” Eddie started. Steve sat and listened, as Robin had done for him earlier. “It’s just… hard for me… to see your face.” He seemed to be struggling for the right words, calculating the correct way to phrase things.

“I don’t mean to take it out on you or anything, but I know you’re not our Steve and that’s… that’s something I’m struggling with.” Eddie blinked a few times, squeezing his eyes shut tight before slightly shaking his head and opening them again.

Steve nodded. He understood, was having the same issues with his mother and the rest of them. It was weird to know they weren’t the people he shared memories with, especially Eddie who was so similar to his own Eddie Munson.

“I know,” Steve replied. He was still watching him, still seeing other thoughts fly across Eddie’s face without being said aloud. With Robin he could tell what the words were, could read them like a well-worn book that Steve had dog-eared and underlined, knew the next line before he read it. With Eddie, it was like pouring over a book written in a language he couldn’t read. He could see the words floating over Eddie’s face, knew there were sentences and questions and monologues that Steve hadn’t quite translated or figured out yet.

He’d never had to learn Eddie before. The Eddie of his world was so open, so talkative and expressive. He’d shut down when Wayne had died, spent a few weeks in a quiet just like this but he still talked to Steve. Maybe they just didn’t have anyone else.

“Steve and I were… we were close, so it’s hard to… to see you. But that’s not your fault and if Linda can handle it, then I’m just being a baby,” Eddie said. He trailed off a bit at the end, like he didn’t actually believe his words but felt like he should.

“You’re not,” Steve replied. “It takes… time. I get it. It’s only been a day and I don’t know if I’m just broken and my brain’s stopped processing shit or…,” he kept his eyes on Eddie, on the curls falling from his bun, the redness around his eyes. He looked tired. He was still staring into the dark water of the pool, not sparing Steve a glance but if that’s what he needed to be able to talk then Steve wasn’t going to push him.

“You’re allowed to take time. You’re allowed to… to not interact with me at all, it’s okay. I don’t know what you and your Steve were to each other, but I feel like I’m taking up space I shouldn’t be in.”

Eddie flinched. He locked eyes with Steve for the first time since he’d slinked into the backyard, and Steve could see a sort of apology in his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he said. “It’s not your fault you’re in this position, either. You’re not taking anything and you shouldn’t have to apologize for being here.” Steve blinked at him. He wasn’t sure what to say, but could see Eddie gearing up to say more.

“I’m kind of used to doing that, anyway,” Steve said before he could continue. Eddie looked pained, the sharp look flashing across his face easy for Steve to read this time. He looked like he wanted to apologize again, which wasn’t Steve’s intention. He’d meant to reassure Eddie, tell him that it wasn’t anything new or that Steve minded, that he really was sorry to make Eddie uncomfortable in his own world that Steve didn’t belong to in the first place.

“I heard what you said to Robin earlier,” Eddie whispered, “about your mom.” He seemed to abandon whatever he was going to say before Steve had put his foot in his mouth and made Eddie more uncomfortable.

Steve remembered the blinds swaying in his window, oddly comforted by the fact that it was Eddie. He wanted Eddie around, would have told Eddie himself about how his worlds Linda Harrington was, would have told him more if he had the chance. Now, he had the chance, but he didn’t know if Eddie would be okay with hearing more.

“I get having shitty parent issues,” Eddie continued. “My mom passed away when I was six. Not exactly the same type of left behind, but still. I get it. My dad was…,” Eddie paused, glancing up to the darkened sky, a few stars blinking out behind a whisp of clouds.

Steve continued to watch him. Eddie fiddled with his rings the same way he was familiar with, twisting and tugging and sliding the metal against his skin. Steve knew how smooth the rings were inside, knew that they made his Eddie feel stronger, like armor. He wondered if this Eddie wore them for the same reason.

“I didn’t tell her everything,” Steve whispered. Eddie stopped fiddling and turned back to Steve. He looked like he was actually listening, like he was okay with Steve continuing, with learning the rest of the story.

“When I was little, if my mom wasn’t around, my dad would…. I mean, he wasn’t very good at parenting,” Steve started. This was something he’d already considered telling Eddie, in his world. Since Robin was gone, Steve really had no one to talk to outside of his and Eddie’s weekly calls. They hadn’t exactly progressed to sharing their shitty-father-stories but Steve had just felt compelled to let Eddie in at some point. Maybe he would have gotten to it on this week’s call, if he hadn’t been snatched off into an alternate universe.

He took a breath, prepared for what he hoped was the last emotional conversation of the day.

“He would get angry really easily, especially when he drank. It didn’t matter how young I was, he just cared about how well I was upholding the Harrington image.” Steve chuckled a bit darkly, biting his lip as he thought about how to phrase this. “I uh… I was always really good at fucking that up in his eyes.”

Steve remembered the story he told to Nancy about crawling backwards, his little baby mind not quite grasping what other babies did. He told her that he fell down the stairs, that he’d given himself a bump on the head to knock him straight. That’s what he’d heard from his parents countless times at parties, entertaining guests and business partners with a silly tale about their adorable child. They’d laughed, reminiscing like amused parents did, but Steve always heard the bite to their tones, felt the words like sharp accusations. His father’s eyes turned darker when the knock to the head came up, and sometimes Steve wasn’t so sure he was telling the truth.

“I used to play it off a lot. I’d tell Tommy and Carol that my dad was going to kick my ass if I broke any rules. I’d say it in school, too, and if you say it casually enough or laugh it off then people don’t really notice, you know? And when you’re on the basketball team, it’s actually really easy to ignore the bruises, too.”

His dad was furious when he joined the swim team, though. It was a whole season without physical contact, there was no obvious way to explain an injury but when Steve made captain his father couldn’t complain. He patted Steve on the shoulder when a business partner brought it up, said that Harringtons were always exceptional leaders. All Steve really cared about was that the swim team gave him a couple months of rest from his father’s particular form of parenting.

“I don’t think my mother knew about it, he only lashed out when she wasn’t around.” He cocked his head to the side, squinting at the dark water. “Or at least, I hope she didn’t know,” Steve mumbled. It was one thing to leave him alone with his father when she was in the dark about it all, but it was another if she’d known and just ignored it. He liked to think she wasn’t that neglectful.

Eddie stayed silent, but Steve could feel his eyes on him. The quiet felt cloying once more, like it was squirming under Steve’s skin and he had to keep going, to fill the silence, or else it felt like he’d go crazy.

“I thought maybe if I said it enough, if I joked about it enough then maybe someone would realize it wasn’t one.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat, feeling like he was once again forced to choke on his words or throw them up for the world to deal with. “I mean, I didn’t want anyone to know, right? But maybe if I didn’t actually say it, if someone just paid attention, maybe I wouldn’t have to do anything about it. But that’s stupid, it wasn’t anyone else’s problem but mine, and I feel like I should have done something but no one would care, right? Like I’m just this privileged rich kid, I’m King Steve,” he spat, “I had everything I’d ever need, more than enough, so who really cares if my dad roughs me up a little? And now I’m an adult, I’m not a kid anymore, so it’s not like there’s anything to do about it except complain and when Dustin said that my dad was dead in this universe, I don’t know, I was a little relieved? But that’s awful, right? Like, I shouldn’t be relieved that he’s dead, right? And then I just think maybe I am a bad son, maybe he was right and there’s something wrong with me and I don’t know what to do,” Steve choked out, realizing belatedly that he was crying, streams of tears tracking their way down his cheeks, hot against his face in the cool night air. He knew he was going to break down at some point, he just didn’t think it would happen right when Eddie finally gave him the time of day.

He could no longer see the backyard, his tears blurring the night and dark water into one black mass. He gasped out, squeezing the bridge of his nose to try and ground himself, to squeeze the tears back into his eyes but they kept coming. He was so embarrassed, to spring all of this on a practical stranger who had just spent all day trying to come to terms with Steve’s entire existence. Now this wrong NotSteve was completely shriveling into a tattered mess at his feet, and that revelation just made Steve gasp harder, unable to gain purchase on a sustainable lungful of air. His chest burned white-hot like he’d just come in from a run across town, and he’s sure this is what it would have felt like if the demobat at his throat had just kept squeezing and squeezing all the breath out of Steve’s lungs.

He felt a line of warmth at his side and realized with a start that Eddie had scooched closer to him, pressing his side along Steve’s and dragging a firm arm around his shoulders. The sudden movement made Steve’s heart leap into his throat and for a split second he’d felt like running from a threat but Eddie wasn’t a threat, Eddie was never a threat, so Steve sunk into his side and cried until his head felt like it was going to burst.

Eddie just sat there, stroking a gentle hand over Steve’s hair. He knew it was probably disgusting, he hadn’t showered in days and definitely still had a leaf or two tangled in it from his woodsy bed that morning. As much as Robin was his soulmate though, he was glad she didn’t have to see him like this. Eddie felt more real, more tangible, and Steve also knew that he’d understand having issues with his father, being in his uncles care and all.

Eddie’s fingers gently trailed down the nape of his neck, sending shivers down his spine like he was dragging a feather instead; tickling, toying, clawing. Steve’s shoulders twitched at the feeling, unused to a touch so… gentle, so careful it burned. He cleared his throat and pulled back from Eddie’s neck, facing the water once more but not going farther. They kept their sides pressed together, knees knocking next to each other as they pulled them to their chests.

“You know,” Eddie started, breaking the silence left in the wake of Steve’s breakdown. He glanced to his left, watching the words pass over Eddie’s face before he gathered them up to speak. “I never really told anyone what happened to my dad. Do you know about him?” He rested his head on his arm, turning to look back at Steve, finally speaking eye-to-eye.

Steve shook his head, “I mean, I know what everyone else does. Shitty father, arrested for dealing, you went to live with Wayne when he was sent to prison.”

Eddie nodded, rocking his shoulder gently into Steve’s. “Yep, that’s what everyone thinks. I never told them otherwise, they didn’t need to know.” He turned his head back to the water, Steve keeping his eyes on Eddie’s face. Maybe if he watched him closely enough he’d be able to read the words before they were spoken. Maybe he’d learn him as well as he knew Robin.

“My mom died when I was six. She was sick. My dad was never good at responsibility, and he kind of… forgot that he needed to take care of me. He only really remembered I was there when he needed me to do something for him. If he needed someone close to the ground, someone who could squeeze somewhere he couldn’t fit, someone who could run faster and hide better. Then, he’d remember me and teach me what ‘needed to be done’,” he said, using air quotes to finish off the sentence.

“Once he didn’t need me anymore he forgot I was there again. I got real good at scavenging for my own food, but I had to be careful because if I ate too much from the cupboards he’d notice and he’d beat me for it.” Steve startled at the casual tone. If my dad finds out we were drinking he’s gonna kick my ass.

Calm.

Casual.

“He wasn’t the type to care about appearances though. Never cared how loud he yelled or where the bruises ended up, he just… wanted me out of the way. It was better to be invisible until he needed me.”

Steve was mesmerized watching Eddie fiddle with his hands. He’d lace his fingers together, squeeze until his knuckles were white, wring them out, get distracted by his jewelry and then twist and twist the rings over and over. He twisted each ring individually, then ran his fingers across all four; twisted one off his finger just to slide it back on and twist it again. Then, he’d notice the fixation and lace his fingers together again, squeeze until his knuckles were white, wring them out, and start all over. Again and again.

“At some point, I can’t even remember what happened or why he started yelling, but he just screamed and screamed,” Eddie continued while Steve focused on his hands, the rhythm, the pattern, “He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me across the room to yell right in my face. I guess someone else in the trailer park called the cops because the next thing I know, my dad was being dragged out of the door and they were taking pictures of the bruises, asking all sorts of questions.

“Trailer parks are pretty much all the same. Thin walls, close together, everyone kind of hears everything. By the end of the week, I was tossed onto Wayne’s front porch with a trash bag of clothes and not much else.” He stopped fidgeting, unclasping his hands to sit on them instead. Steve pressed closer to his side, hoping the warmth between their arms would help even just a little. Eddie sighed, turning his head to look at Steve once more.

“It took me a long time to realize it wasn’t my fault my dad was in prison. I kept thinking, if I hadn’t done whatever I did to make him yell, if I’d been better at disappearing then maybe he wouldn’t have gotten mad. But, it didn’t matter what I did or how good I was or how well I listened, nothing would have changed how my dad reacted. It was his fault, not mine, and I was better off with Wayne.”

Eddie held Steve’s gaze, eyes flicking back and forth between his. He nodded slightly, leaned forward just a bit, and stared so hard that Steve swore he could feel it like a touch. “It wasn’t your fault, how your dad reacted. It wasn’t your fault, and you’re better off with him gone. It doesn’t make you a bad person to be glad that he’s in the ground, he was the wrong one, not you. I don’t technically know you that well, but you’re a good person, I can tell.”

If Steve had any tears left in his system, he was sure he’d be crying again. As it was, his eyes were dry but he swallowed around the lump in his throat and felt a tension snap inside him, like the relief was finally allowed to sag into his bones. He nodded at Eddie who nodded back, pleased that Steve seemed to have listened. His eyes locked onto the bandage on Steve’s neck.

“And I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he said, contrite as Steve’s ever heard him.

“It’s fine, not like it’s the first time Eddie Munson has ever threatened me with a sharp object,” Steve chuckled. Plus, he was sure the cut had stopped bleeding at this point, Steve didn’t think it was that deep to begin with and it was definitely his fault he was cut.

Eddie blinked and cocked his head to the side, obviously baffled.

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve laughed, “it’s a long story.”

“Still,” Eddie replied, “I’m sorry.”

“How about we start over?” Steve asked, pulling away just a bit to hold out his hand. Eddie looked between the outstretched hand and Steve’s face, not quite sure where this was going yet.

“Hi,” Steve said, “I’m Steve Harrington.”

Eddie chuckled, nodding his head and slipping his hand into Steve’s. “I’m Eddie Munson.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Eddie.”

They smiled at each other, the tension from the morning all but dissolved in the chilly night air. Their palms were warm against each other, though the tips of their fingers were cold. And, as they breathed in the air filled with the scent of pine and old leaves, the faint smell of chlorine filtering up from the pool water, Steve felt the rest of the tension bleed out of him. They’d figure out what they had to tomorrow, he’d make decisions he wouldn’t want to later, but for now he and Eddie just shook hands like the strangers they were, meeting each other for the first time.

“It’s nice to meet you, Steve Harrington.”

—

THEY'VE SPOKEN! The children are together at last. I've been using this story mostly as a character study, I hope you like where my steve and eddie are going! Also, I hope the pacing isn't weird, I realize it's been just one dramatic scene after another in every part lol

@devondespresso @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland @shunna @fangirltofangod @howincrediblysapphicofyou

#stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #parallel universe au #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

Advice

Song: Advice by Cavetown

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Playlist

A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z

—

Eddie wasn’t unfamiliar with bad days. In fact, he’d say he was intimately familiar with them. Biblically, even, since they’d fucked him so often. And usually he was able to adjust, to improvise, to calm down and save any serious outbursts for the privacy of his own bedroom. Or van, depending on how truly awful the day was.

Today, he didn’t make it to his room, or to the van. Instead, he walked right out of his last class of the day and trudged straight to the picnic table in the woods behind the school. He figured he had around twenty minutes to get his anger out before someone tramped along looking to buy weed. He was too wired to sit, so he set his little black lunchbox on the table, and started pacing back and forth to try and relieve some pent up energy.

He was off to a rough start from the second his alarm went off. Or didn’t go off, in the case of that morning. Somehow, the stupid electricity in the trailer had gone out at some point in the middle of the night and reset the clocks, making Eddie an hour late to the start of his day. He’d skipped breakfast, and forgot his smokes in the process which meant that all of his teachers were more unbearable than usual.

Then, he skipped lunch to run across the street and buy a pack from the convenience store to take the edge off, but apparently his dad was in town because the man behind the counter had called him Junior with that face people made when they treated him like shit splattered across their shoes. If Al was in town that meant either he hadn’t bothered to check in on his son, or Wayne was keeping it from him and both options pissed Eddie off.

On top of that, Mrs. Click had lost his essay and then claimed he’d never turned it in which was bullshit because Eddie knew for a fact he’d turned it in on time, he’d stayed up all night writing it. In between classes, someone had graffitied “Satanist Freak” on his locker, which normally wouldn’t bother Eddie at all but then he’d gotten yelled at to clean it up, like anyone would think he wrote it himself. The authority figures in this batshit town were driving him insane.

As if that weren’t fucking enough Tommy goddamn Hagan (who Eddie was pretty sure had written the little love letter on his locker) had deliberately poured his entire water bottle on Eddie’s lap in the middle of class, and then played it off as an accident to the teacher. He’ll probably get detention for ditching after that, but Eddie was fucking exhausted. Why him? Why did everything have to hit the fan all at once? Couldn’t he just have one bad thing happen per day? He’d take one bad thing a day for the rest of his life over all the shit piled on top of him in the last seven hours.

And! Eddie was sure the fact that his father was in town would bite him even harder in the ass until the son a bitch left again. He couldn’t stand the thought of going home to see his smarmy fucking face after the last time he was in town and conned Eddie out of his savings and the contents of his lunchbox. It was fucking ludicrous that the town hated him for his father when Eddie got the worst end of the stick his whole life. At least the other people could avoid him, could walk away or, hell, even call the cops on the bastard if they wanted. Eddie couldn’t ever get away from him. Every time Eddie even looked at a mirror, Al Munson looked back.

He could feel the buzzing adrenaline bubbling up behind his eyes, stabbing its claws into his sinuses. His hands shook as he tugged them through his hair and he could not let this shitty day make him cry. He wasn’t going to let the town win, let his teacher and Tommy win, let Al Munson win. He clenched his stupid shaking hands into fists and dug his nails in as hard as he could, trying to steady his breathing, but it didn’t work. He could feel the build up behind his eyes and all the shitty events of the day clogging his throat like it was strangling him from the inside.

He let out a frustrated yell, grabbing his lunchbox from the table and using all of his energy to chuck it across the little clearing, across the lunch table, and straight into a tree. It smashed against the bark with a rattle, hitting the ground without even breaking the latch. Eddie knew the thing wouldn’t break, though it might have been sporting a few new scratches and a dent. It made him feel a little better, though. Maybe he could understand why someone would do sports. Maybe. Sometimes.

“Damn, you ever try shot put?” a voice called out through the clearing.

Eddie whipped his head around to find the king himself, Steve Harrington sauntering towards the picnic table. Schools out then, he thought, grumbling in his mind like a child. Of course The King would need to stock up, it was a Friday after all.

“With an arm like that, you’d do pretty well,” he added when Eddie didn’t respond.

“I don’t know what the fuck shop put is, but I’m not in the mood, Harrington,” Eddie called back, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping a boot onto the wooden bench next to him. The second he did, he felt like an idiot, like some kind of alpha-male posturing to seem tougher. He put his foot back on the ground.

“It’s shot put, it’s… never mind,” Steve cut himself off. “Anyway… uh.” He looked nervous, rubbing his hands awkwardly before shoving them into the pockets of his pristine blue jeans. It eased some of the tension in Eddie’s shoulders. He wanted to laugh. He made the king nervous, made him look a bit scared, even. It was comical. Wayne would think it was downright hilarious.

“What do you want, Harrington?” Eddie called. The King was still standing by the treeline, a good few yards of space between them.

“Do you have any joints left? Maybe a baggie of flower or something?” he responded. Eddie rolled his eyes. The royal court was predictable, as always.

“Like I said, I’m really not in the mood.”

“I’ll pay extra,” Steve added, shrugging his shoulders. Eddie paused, contemplating the offer. He did need the money, he always needed the money, and he knew Harrington was good for it. Eddie could probably double the price and The King wouldn’t even bat an eye.

He sighed, glancing at his toppled lunch box on the ground. Eddie rolled his eyes, deciding the money was worth more than his peace and quiet. He cracked his neck before trudging over to the black metal box, noticing Steve’s flinch as he did. The boy tried to cover it, Eddie could tell, but he wasn’t quick enough and Eddie couldn’t quite hide his smirk as he snatched the lunchbox up and walked back to the table.

He sat down, placed the container on the rough wooden surface, and gestured to the bench opposite him. The King paused briefly before joining him, sitting down quietly and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

“How many joints?” Eddie asked.

“How many you got?”

He glanced into the lunchbox, stomach aching as he shoved the actual lunch aside to open the little metal Altoids tin. He had four joints left, a few less than Harrington’s usual haul, but enough. He gathered them all up, pulling out an empty baggie and wrapping the joins up tight. Eddie held up the baggie for Harrington to take before grabbing another, prepacked with an eighth of flower.

“Eighth or a quarter?” Eddie asked, grabbing a second baggie.

“You got a half?” Harrington asked, squinting a little like he was sheepish to ask the question. Eddie would have found it cute if he wasn’t so annoyed at that moment. He rolled his eyes instead.

“If I had a half, I would have asked, Princess,” he snapped. If Harrington had looked sheepish before, he looked downright contrite now. It made Eddie feel a little bad, but he held his glare without backing down. The world had been shit to him today, he didn’t have to care about hurting The Kings feelings.

“An eighth or a quarter ounce, Harrington?” he asked again.

“Quarter,” he mumbled. Eddie pulled both baggies out, holding them toward Harrington to take. He didn’t. Instead he looked from the baggies to Eddie’s face, eyes contemplating something and Eddie hoped like hell that Steve wouldn’t ask, but like everything else today, the world didn’t listen.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and Eddie’s anger reared its ugly head again.

“I don’t want to talk, Harrington.”

“Are you sure? Because you kind of look like you need it. Are you okay?” he asked again.

“You want a hint?” Eddie snarked, snatching the baggies back. If His Highness wasn’t taking his gold then Eddie could keep it for himself for all he cared. “Are you hungry?” Eddie asked him.

Steve looked confused, his brows scrunching together like he was trying to connect the pieces of conversation that was running away from him.

“I… why?” he asked.

“Because you can eat my fucking shorts, Harrington. I said I don’t want to talk, so take the weed, leave the cash, and leave me the fuck alone,” Eddie spat, tossing the baggies between them on the table.

“I just mean, maybe I can help! Give you some advice or-“

“I know you’re trying to help, it’s very nice of you to pay your loyal subjects some attention but you don’t know anything about me, okay? I don’t need your advice, and I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Eddie gave up, decided this was a failed transaction and he should pack his shit and leave. He made a move to stand, reaching for the baggies on the picnic table, but he was beaten to the punch. Harrington grabbed the baggies out from under his hand, quickly tossing way too many bills on the wooden table. Forget double, Eddie’s pretty sure it was enough for a whole ounce. He stared, dumbfounded, at the cash in front of him and looked back up at Harrington. He was standing now, just a step away from the bench he’d been sitting on a second ago.

Eddie snatched the cash and tried to reign in his expression. He wasn’t really sure what his face was doing, couldn’t tell if he’d schooled it or not, but Harrington wasn’t giving anything away.

“I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, I swear.” He held a hand up, like Eddie was some kind of rabid animal Steve was trying to placate. “I just… I know what it feels like to not have anyone to talk to. So, like… if you need an ear-“

“I don’t ’need an ear’, Harrington, I need you to get out of my face, I need your court jester Tommy to leave me the fuck alone, and clean my locker while he’s at it! I need Mrs. Click to find my fucking essay because I’m already failing her class, and I need people in this godawful town to stop treating me like I’m just a clone of my father!” Eddie yelled. He huffed out a large breath, startled at his own outburst. By the glint in Steve’s eye, it was exactly what he’d been trying to pry out of Eddie. He looked pleased that he’d just been screamed at, and it just pushed all of Eddie’s buttons.

How the fuck did he even do that? They didn’t talk. Steve bought weed from him before his parties, and ignored him in the hallway. That was it. That’s all they ever were. So how the hell did he just get Eddie to tell him what was bothering him? Maybe the town was wrong, and they got the wrong witch when they put Eddie up on a pyre. He felt the sudden urge to yell ‘I saw Goody Harrington with the Devil!’. Somehow, he didn’t think that would make this conversation any better.

Eddie crossed his arms like a petulant child, and he couldn’t help but notice Steve slot his hands onto his hips like some kind of scolding housewife. Everything Harrington was doing made Eddie feel smaller and smaller.

“Just… leave me alone,” Eddie sighed, feeling deflated. “I don’t owe you anything, okay? You’re not my friend, you’re not my mom,” Eddie rolled his eyes and stared pointedly at Steve’s soccer mom stance. A blush bloomed across his cheeks, and Eddie watched as he took the hands off his hips and shoved them back into his pockets. Eddie couldn’t decide if Steve’s jeans were more dad jean or mom jean but he shook the thought from his head before he figured it out.

“Right… well,” Steve sighed, pulling a hand out of his pocket and patting it lightly on his thigh. Eddie had a sudden flash of Steve wearing horn rimmed glasses, saying ‘Welp, I better hit the road’, and Eddie couldn’t figure out when Steve had gone from King to Single Father during the span of their conversation. “Thanks for the… stuff,” Steve said awkwardly. Jesus Christ, Eddie needed to get a hold of himself and quickly. It was ridiculous how endearing he was finding this, and being weirdly attracted to a father figure act was not something he needed to be unpacking right now.

“Thanks for the cash,” Eddie said back, just as awkwardly tossing a salute in and immediately wanting to jump off a cliff. He needed to get out of here. Quickly, he packed up his lunchbox, tossing the cash inside before latching it shut. He turned back toward the direction of the school parking lot and prayed that Steve would let him go without another word. He tried not to dwell on the fact that it felt a lot like tucking his tail between his legs.

“See you next Friday!” Steve called out behind him.

Eddie was halfway back to the trailer before he realized the weight in his chest was significantly lighter than it had been all day. He tallied it up to Steve being in league with the devil. They’d go back to not speaking in the hallways, and he’d forget all about their conversation today, and that was it. Eddie just hoped he’d forget it too, and tried not to think about exactly how many witch’s marks Steve might have that Eddie couldn’t see.

—

This was inspired by me being unhinged and thinking of Steddie literally every single time a song came on from my playlist so I wanted to challenge myself and see if I could write 26 of them. If anyone wants to try this challenge, go for it! I just thought it would be fun. I linked the playlist above, and I might add or subtract songs to it depending on how I'm feeling

Tagging some people who might be interested or helped me out with picking songs! Thank you for the suggestions (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@estrellami-1 @weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @devondespresso @captncalamity @sluttysteddie @blahblah-hilariousname-blah @cringevalue @thereallifecath

#stranger things fic #songfic #a-z songfic challenge #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #advice by cavetown #hurt/comfort #pre steddie #no upside down au #pre upside down #really this fits wherever you want it to #pre season 4 stranger things #steddie fic #fanfiction #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

Okay but hear me out.

What if Steve was really into astrology? What if Steve really likes stars and constellations?

His parents left him alone a lot as a kid, in a big, dark, empty house, and instead of turning on lights and radios to pretend he isn’t alone he goes outside to look at the stars. Next to the woods in Hawkins, Indiana the stars are bright and clear and he sees patterns in them like the W he sees in the winter, or the three stars in a row that are really bright.

He checks out books from the library on the weekends to learn what they are, what they mean.

The W is Cassiopeia, a beautiful and vain queen who angered the gods with her narcissism and was tied to a chair in the sky. The three stars are the belt of Orion, an angry hunter who drank until dangerous and hunted even a goddess, killed by a scorpion and preserved in the stars.

They kind of remind him of his parents. A selfish queen and an angry hunter. His parents leave for months on end but these constellations are trapped in the sky, right in his backyard. Some nights he goes out and talks to them, as if his parents are the ones trapped here with him. Sometimes he just watches, feels their presence like people, and feels just a little bit less alone.

He doesn’t tell anyone. Tommy would think it was stupid and he doesn’t really talk about himself to anyone else. No one really knows him, what he likes or what he does with himself all alone in his giant house. The stars know. Orion and Cassiopeia. They know everything about him, and he knows everything about them, and sometimes that makes him feel better.

When he can’t see them, it’s like his parents have left all over again and he’s even more alone than before, but he still watches the stars. He waits for them to come back, he waits for his parents.

Years later, after everything with the Upsidedown, with El, and Vecna, he and Eddie are still awake in Steve’s dark house. Neither are able to sleep because of the nightmares, but Eddie tells Steve his moles look like constellations and Steve feels a little bit closer to the stars. Feels less lonely than he has in a very long time.

Sorry I am so very emotional about these boys

#steve harington #head canon #steddie ficlet #ficlet #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things fic #if I weren’t so shitty at finishing stories I’d love to actually write this #but alas #i am just here #anyway I’m so so normal about Steve Harrington #i love him a normal and healthy amount #also this popped into my head because I used to be scared of walking alone #and I would prentent that Orion was walking with me and protecting me #helpimstuckrambling #helpimstuckwriting

[helpimstuckposting]

Tommy’s Party

—

Tommy wandered slowly around the party, the thrashing thrum of bodies pulsing to the music that was loud enough to shake the walls. The sweat in the air was palpable, fogging the glass of the kitchen windows and making it harder to breathe by the second. The more he pushed past the slippery skin of sweat slicked arms and elbowed past faces he’d never even seen before, the more irritated he became.

This was ridiculous, it was his own party, his own attempt to escape his thoughts and yet they kept pressing at the edges of his mind, squeezing against the shell of his skull. He felt like he was going to explode.

He kept shoving through the crowd, finally pushed past to reach the sliding glass door out to the balcony. It was significantly cooler outside, the humid fog trapped behind the sliding glass shield. He looked out over the Indianapolis skyline, letting the thrum of the dulled bass calm his mind quicker than anything else he’d tried that night.

He was here.

Steve was here.

He hadn’t seen Steve since their last fight, right before their lease in Hawkins was up and Steve decided he didn’t want to be associated with Tommy anymore. He couldn’t even… he didn’t get why Steve suddenly seemed to hate him, suddenly found his jokes annoying or his touch grating.

He never got to find out what exactly pushed Steve over the edge. It felt like somehow, while his back was turned, Steve grew up without him. They’d always done everything together, had sleepovers and joined the same sports teams, complained about the same classes and joked about the same things. They were always together, always knew what they were thinking, their worst moments. Steve knew everything about him. But one day, Tommy woke up and found that he no longer knew anything about Steve.

And now he was here. Tommy had been passing off his drinks on other people — the buzz in his mind getting more nauseating than fun — and he didn’t want people to start asking why he wasn’t drinking, so he’d been pretending to keep pace with everyone. He’d seen a group of people he didn’t recognize goofing off in the living room, and when one girl bent to laugh he saw a face he’d been trying to forget for the past three years.

He wanted to go up to him. He wanted to reach out and act like they hadn’t drifted apart.

Hey there, bud.

How’s it going?

He was frozen to the spot though. He could see the girl he didn’t know laughing along to Steve’s jokes, adding her own, keeping up the laughs until they were both keeled over. Just like he used to. Like they used to be together.

So he’d left his drink on the counter and booked it to the balcony to get some air. He could still see them from his position, though they were farther away now.

Whoever she was, she looked like she was having fun. They both looked a bit smashed, giggly and giddy with the vibes of the party dancing around them. Tommy could remember their last party together, too. Steve had dipped out early, they hadn’t even said more than a slurred ‘hello’ to each other before he was gone.

Later that night, he heard Steve’s whispered “I don’t really do this much,” as he crept in through the door. Tommy had scoffed into his pillow, knowing that was a bold faced lie, but when he woke up the next morning to a busted up pair of converse next to his and Steve’s sneakers he felt a foreign pang in his chest. Girls never stayed over that long, whether they ducked out on their own or Steve asked them to leave he wasn’t sure, but he’d never woken up to a pair of shoes he’d never seen before.

Then they’d gotten into an argument a few months later, and Steve was gone. No more shoes, no more whispered conversations as he passed by Tommy’s door, no more parties where they hung off each others every word and laughed until they couldn’t breathe or get anymore words out.

He looked happy, now. Tommy wondered if that was the girl he’d snuck in three years ago, if she was the one who slipped into Tommy’s place as Steve’s #1, if they would leave this party and smoke by themselves before stumbling home just like he and Tommy used to.

Used to, used to, used to.

He watched as someone next to the girl pushed lightly against Steve’s chest, like he was being playfully reprimanded for something. Tommy couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a guy, their curly brown hair long and impossible to see around. The three were all the same height, looked like they were plucked straight out of an after school special about friendship or some other bullshit.

He thought of their own trio, of his and Steve’s sleepovers that Carol would sneak through the window to join. How they’d stay up all night because Steve’s parents weren’t home and his nanny slept like the dead. They hadn’t been the same height since middle school, but they’d all curl up with their heads pressed side to side as they stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars on Steve’s bedroom ceiling.

Tommy thought he was so cool just because of those. He’d begged his mom for stars just like Steve’s but she’d just complained about putting them up and the marks they’d leave on her ceiling so she never bought them. He loved sitting under the stars with Steve and Carol. In high school they’d pass a joint back and forth, the stars a little aged around the edges, but still bright in the dark bedroom.

He’d actually bought a pack of them a couple years ago. They’re still stuffed in his closet. Tommy was too lazy or too busy to go through the trouble of putting them up, but he did open the package, though. Stuck one star on the side of his nightstand, the lonely thing glowing all by itself in the dark, and Tommy stared at it until he would fall asleep.

He wondered if the stars were still stuck on the ceiling of Steve’s childhood bedroom. Glowing in the space where three friends used to cling to each other.

Pain stabbed at Tommy’s throat and he looked away before he did something stupid, like start to cry. He knew it was just in his head, but he could swear he still heard them laughing over the sound of the music. He wondered if Carol had seen him yet or not. He hoped not.

Glancing back over his shoulder, the group of three had moved out of his range of sight. Maybe they’d left, maybe they’d stepped out to smoke, maybe they were getting more drinks, Tommy didn’t know but he was too wired to make his way back into the party just yet.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

Carie-berry 👑

where are you? did you ditch me? I tjink nats ruining the bathroom lmaooo

He groaned, hoping there wasn’t a mess to clean up tomorrow.

‘nah just stepped out for a sec, too high 🍃💨’ he lied. ‘I’ll find you in a bit’.

A few more breaths. That’s all he’d take. A few more breaths, then he’d step back into the apartment and go back to pretending Steve Harrington was just a memory, like the little bag of tacky stars in his closet.

—

Every single time I listened to Tommy’s Party by Peach Pit, this idea popped into my head so I finally wrote it. I’ve thought a lot about Tommy and Carol and I don’t think they’re bad people, just shitty teenagers, and it’s not really fair that Steve had people to teach him how to be a better person but Tommy only had Steve:(

Hope you liked 💕

#peach pit #Tommy’s party #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #stranger things fanfiction #tommy hagan #steve harrington #stobin #steddie #if you squint #outside perspective #hurt/comfort #except there’s not really any comfort lol #helpimstuckwriting