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deadsetobsessions · 4 months

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Your name is Tim Drake and you are nine years old.

Today, tomorrow, and soon, you're going to save Robin.

----

Tim stares at his reflection on the sink tap. It trembles, along with the plane, as he contemplates his situation.

His face is rounder, now, with unfamiliar baby-fat rounding out the sharp lines he'd come to expect. Even with the subpar reflection, Tim can tell that his dark eyebags are all but gone, replaced with youthful skin.

Magic. He's being quite literal, seeing as he's been tossed into the body of his younger self at the hands of a crazed magician.

He could find a way back... or he could create a completely different timeline by fixing everything that went wrong. It's not like he has anything to go back to, anyways. That crazed magician was actually competent and killed everyone he ever cared about. Tim barely got away with his life. He could go back to save that shell of a world- surrounded by people whose minds were broken beyond magical and medical repair- or stay here, fix his own personal troubles and cut off the magician before he could start with his world domination bullshit.

Well, Tim already has an idea of what he wants. So he begins a list, after having oriented himself.

Save Robin

There's no point trying to convince Bruce that he knows where Jason's being held. So, Tim finds himself on a plane to Ethiopia a day before Jason's meant to die. This was long before Barbara even thought of being Oracle, and the tech is ancient in his hands. In short order, nine year old Tim has a trust fund with millions in it, all siphoned from billionaires like Lex Luthor and his own parents.

Tim toddles back to his seat, after washing his hands because he still can't shake the extra bit of paranoia that came with a missing spleen. Oh. Tim blinks guilelessly at his seat neighbor, smiling like Timothy Drake, Angel of a Son as he reels from the realization that he still has his spleen.

Tim adds another box to his list:

Keep Ra's away from my spleen, creepy bastard.

What else...? Ah, the League of Assassins.

Damian

Tim pauses. Holy crap. Damian's only six right now. Tim moves Damian's box upwards in urgency. Tim might have a mildly antagonistic relationship with his younger brother back then, but he wants baby pictures of his siblings, dammit. He's gonna put that photography expertise to good use if it's the last thing he does.

Watch over Z, Owens, Pru

'They're alive!' His mind screams. Cold rationality slaps the sentimentality down with a quick 'But they won't be if I fail.'

His mind wanders to Dick Grayson. He scowls as something pops up in the back of his head.

Catalina Flores

Contact Nightwing- in space

He's gotta call Dick back from that Teen Titans mission, Jason's gonna need all of the support he's going to get.

Find Cass

Train Steph

Save Duke's family from Venom

Tim taps at that last point. He'll save them. But that might mean Duke might never join their family.

But he'll be happy and Tim... will deal with it. He'll be the only one mourning, anyways. To end on a lighter note, he adds something that he should have done ages ago.

Give Tam a raise.

Tim sighs as he gets out of the airport, the hired escort he found and vetted, delivering him to a predetermined hotel. They think his parents are already inside. He laughs and does not say anything to make them think otherwise. He has so many things to do, Tim laments as he settles down to track the Joker's movements. Here. That's where Jason's being held. Being tortured.

He can, however, knock two things off his list in one go. Tim picks up the burner phone he acquired. He doesn't have time, or else he would have done this sooner and saved them all the trouble.

[RR: Are you in Ethiopia yet?]

[Deathstroke: Payment confirmed. In Ethiopia.]

[RR: Third building by the docks.]

An hour.

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Target spotted.]

Ten minutes.

[Deathstroke: Target eliminated. Bringing Robin to Safehouse.]

Twenty minutes.

[Deathstroke: Basic first aid applied. Leaving.]

[RR: Secondary payment sent. Confirm?]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Pleasure doing business with you.]

Tim sprawls on the king bed. He sighs a breath of relief. He'd check on Jason in person, if he weren't paranoid about leaving traces that would get back to him. Tim's pretty sure that Deathstroke's going to get hunted down in the near future, regardless, so he made sure to add a huge tip on top of the extra fees for burning one of Deathstroke's safe houses and the emergency first aid. He taps into the rudimentary camera Deathstroke had given him the access codes to, to stare at Jason's rising and falling chest. On a further table, the Joker's head laid in a preservation box.

He bypasses all of the security on the Teen Titan's tech to send Dick a message.

[Robin has been retrieved from the Joker. Contact Batman for details.]

Then, he sends Bruce the location of the safe house. Tim spends the rest of the day staring at Jason and watching his father in another timeline break as he huddles close to the broken body of Tim's Robin.

Timothy Drake destroys the burner phone.

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nina-scribbles · 5 months

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"Contrary to popular belief, Izuku Midoriya hadn’t actually intended to do anything illegal. Apparently vigilantism actually IS a slippery slope, and the transition from neighborly, helping old ladies with their groceries, to leaving would-be muggers tied up in alley-ways… is rather quick and easy to slip. Who coulda guessed?"

- Serendipitous Encounters on Ao3

(Excerpt from chapter one, art from a scene in the soon-to-be-posted chapter five, bc i just couldn't get it out of my head lol :3 )

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estrellami-1 · 5 months

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If I Should Stay

…I’m sorry. Not really. Also quick housekeeping: I will not be online pretty much at all for a month starting Dec. 15th. I don’t know how long this fic is gonna be; I’m currently writing part 41 (which is insane, how are any of y’all still here, I’m in love with y’all) and don’t have much time to write currently, and won’t have any time to write during the month I’m off. Hopefully this wraps up before I leave so it’s all a moot point, but I wanted to let y’all know early, just in case it does affect the posting schedule.

Part 1 | . . . | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38

“Oh, poor baby,” Eddie teases, absolutely delighting in the blush that pops up on Steve’s cheeks. “Is your best friend being mean to you?”

There’s a sparkle in Steve’s eye and a tilt to his lips that he can’t hide, even as he pouts and nods when he faces Eddie. “The meanest.” His gaze travels to his bowl, and his eyes suddenly narrow.

“I didn’t touch it,” Eddie swears. “Not after Allison warned me off.”

Steve sighs happily. “Knew you were good for something,” he tells his sister, moving to press a chaste kiss to Eddie’s lips before hip-bumping Allison as he grabs his bowl.

Allison squawks. “Excuse you, I made that food, you ungrateful brat!”

Just then Dustin barges in. “I heard food,” he says, making a beeline for Steve and his bowl. “Ooh, this looks good!” He helps himself to a taste, and Eddie and Allison watch with thinly-veiled amusement as Steve resigns himself to looking up, praying for death; whether for himself or for Dustin, no one could say.

“Dustin Clarence Henderson,” he starts, only to be immediately swamped by noise.

“Who told you that?” Dustin shrieks.

“You did, genius,” Steve retorts, pointing at himself. “Future, remember?”

At the same time, Eddie makes a funny little squeak noise. “His middle name is Clarence?”

“Shut up!” Dustin shrieks, resorting to swatting at Eddie’s arm.

“Ow, you little psycho, get off me! Steve! Steve, a small child is attacking me!”

Meanwhile, Allison is laughing hysterically. “Now I know why Robin kept calling you their mom!”

Steve spins around to stare at Allison, betrayed, only to have his bowl snatched from his hands by Dustin. “Payment for full-naming me,” Dustin says, mouth already full.

Steve groans, wipes a hand down his face, and intones, “I hate all of you.”

“Lies,” Allison says happily, “Lies and slander, you love us and can’t imagine your life without us.”

Steve flips her off.

Eddie grins at Alli, eyes sparking. “I like you.”

Dustin looks between them, lip curling. “Ew, dude, she’s way too old for you.”

Eddie and Allison look at each other before bursting out laughing.

“That’s not what I mean,” Eddie assures Dustin. “Trust me, I do not want to date her.”

Dustin narrows his eyes. “That’s… correct, but it sounds rude.”

Allison laughs again. “Don’t worry, kiddo, I know what he means, and I wouldn’t want to date him, either.”

Dustin narrows his eyes at Allison, then shrugs and turns to Steve. “Okay. What’re we gonna do about Dart?”

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, he helped last time.” He winces. “Just, uh, keep him away from your cat.”

“Okay, but I can’t keep hiding him in my closet, dude.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, dude, it worked fine enough last time.” Steve sets his hands on his hips and stares at Dustin.

He huffs and spins on his heel, walking out of the room. “Whatever! Guess I’ll just keep him, then!”

A beat passes before Eddie looks at Steve. “It’s his tone, right?”

Steve starts laughing. “You say the exact same thing three years in the future.”

Eddie grins back at him, and Allison sighs.

Steve looks at her. “What?”

She shrugs. “Nothing, just. You two are cute. It’s fun to see relationships just starting out, y’know?”

Steve snorts. “Romantic.”

Allison raises a brow. “Like you aren’t?”

“…Touché,” Steve finally says.

Eddie grins. “Personally, I like seeing this sibling dynamic.”

Allison cocked her head. “Your uncle never had kids?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t think he dated much, t’be honest. And then I came along, and how’re you supposed to explain that to a date, right? So I think he just… stopped.”

Allison nods, impressed. “It takes a special kind of person to do that.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, grinning. “He’s kinda the best.”

“I bet,” Allison says warmly.

“Steve,” Dustin calls, “how d’you work the TV remote?”

“The little shit,” Steve mutters again, walking out to help to the sound of Eddie and Allison laughing.

He sticks out in the living room for a few minutes, showing Dustin the remote and helping him pick a channel, before Eddie’s voice catches his attention. “Uh… Steve? Steve!”

He sounds worried, so Steve hurries back in. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie points wordlessly at Allison, who’s sitting still, eyes pointed at something off in the distance. As they watch, her eyes begin to roll back in her head. “No,” Steve whispers, then louder. “No! Allison!” He runs to her, taps her on the cheek, shakes her shoulders, does whatever he can think, but nothing works. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, looking around with wild eyes.

“Eddie,” he gasps, running back to the phone. “Robin- I need-”

“My number?” Eddie confirms, reciting it when Steve nods.

He waits impatiently for the phone to connect. “Hi, Mr. Wayne,” he says as politely as he can manage, though he knows his voice is thin. “Can I speak to Robin, please?” One more pause, then his voice breaks when he says, “Robin? It’s Alli. He’s got her.” He swallows, takes a breath, and says in a voice barely above a whisper, “Vecna’s got my sister.”

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#stranger things #if i should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #Allison Harrington #dustin henderson #robin buckley #wayne munson #platonic stobin #time travel #fix it fic #fix it #time travel fix it #starambles

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acowardinmordor · 1 year

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Thank christ everyone in Hawkins already thought he was a freak. Freezing mid-word in a monologue while the memory of his own failing pulse faded from his ears was exactly as weird as the fact that he was delivering the monologue from on top of a cafeteria table. The students who were ignoring him continued ignoring him. The ones paying attention waited for whatever dramatic continuation he’d have after a pause.

Eddie waited on the table, staring across the room to look at Chrissy Cunningham for a few seconds, then hopped down, speech abandoned, with scattered jokes in the room around him.

“Henderson,” he snapped as a summons, then headed for the exit.

“What was that dude? You were just getting going.”

“No talking.” He spun, holding up a finger dramatically. “Come with me, I need your brain.”

“In a zombie way or in a Dustin is Always Smarter than Me way?”

That didn’t get an answer, and Eddie didn’t speak again until he got to storage room off the stage, flipping on the red gelled lights, and closing the door.

“Alriiiiight. Ed, this is getting super weird now. You planning on explaining why I don’t get to finish lunch? You gonna talk before I miss class? I know you don’t care, but I actually go to my classes, it makes it much easier to pass them you know?”

Unusually still, Eddie slumped against the wall, and fiddled with his rings.

“Do you think if Frodo knew what it was going to cost to destroy the ring -- Before it started and Gandalf showed up. Like. If Frodo knew that it was -- Or, no, wait, if Sam knew what was going to happen, do you think he could have stopped it? Everything that went wrong?”

“Uhhhh. What? This is why we’re here? To talk about Lord of the Rings?”

“Just do your thing, Dusty-buns. Be the smart kid in the room. If Sam knew what was coming, could he have made it better?”

“Okay, you gotta stop getting high during school, dude, but sure, I can indulge your random thought exercise for a minute. I think if Sam knew what was coming, he wouldn’t have let Frodo leave the Shire. No hobbits in the Fellowship at all.”

Eddie winced. “Yeah, probably true. Sam was the smart one. But say he didn’t... run away. Say he wasn’t a coward about it. Could he fix things if he knew about stuff, or would trying make it worse?”

“Eddie,” Dustin prodded suspiciously, “Did you actually read your homework about Oedipus and now you’re trying to make it about a book you like? Wait. Are you trying to make me do your homework for you?”

“Just answer it, you brat. If he could change things, does he go all out? Explain it to Gandalf from the beginning? Make sure they skip Moria? Does he wait until the last minute so things don’t do the butterfly thing and he has more control to help? Does he practice with a sword or fight the barrow wights or make Elrond send Glorfindel with them? What would he -- what should he do? If he knew what was coming.”

An eye roll. Christ, the attitude on this kid.

“Dude, you’re weird today. This is for the campaign, isn't it? Great. But you know I’m going to figure out your surprise early because of this, and it’s going to ruin it for me. So you owe me big time. I want to roll with advantage the entire session today.”

Dustin paused to think, but the response came fast enough that he must have thought about it before.

“Your question doesn't really matter. If Sam knew what was coming for some reason, before it all started, then he already changed everything. It doesn’t matter if he wants to be subtle. He already started the butterfly effect. Just knowing it’s coming would make it all different even if he didn’t mean to change things. Sam would trust Strider sooner. He’d try to keep them safe in the Barrow Downs. Or, I don’t know man, he’d pack extra waterskins to make it easier to get across Mordor and that would slow him down and get him killed before they left the Shire.

“Or the other option: it’s like Oedipus, and everything he does to save them ends up changing nothing. Fate and shit. But you asked about what he should do, dude, so. That’s an easy answer. He has to try. No choice. Either he can make things better or he can't. But he has to try. Spiderman and Uncle Ben, that’s the answer to this ridiculous scenario,” Dustin finished with a shrug.

“That was talking about having super powers.”

“Uncle Ben was talking about everything. With great power…”

“Comes great responsibility,” Eddie finished.

“And knowledge is power. No choice.”

“So Sam Gamgee should just yell fuck it, and go all out, huh?” Eddie muttered, flopping himself into a sprawl over a musty chair.

“You really gotta stop getting high in the bathroom during second period, man.”

The red gel over the lights was to stop spill during shows. One of the bulbs was dying, and making the glow flicker a bit. Not lightning, no switch to creepy blue-grey in between, no bats screeching or flecks of death lingering in the air. A reminder though. Enough of one.

Dustin glanced at the flicker, and the flinch Eddie would have ignored a week ago made sense now that Eddie knew what could follow. The exasperated look, and the bit of indulgence as he let Eddie have his dramatics made the memory -- Memory? Vision? Prophecy? -- of Dustin sobbing above him a sharper contrast.

“You done?” Dustin asked, “cause I’m still hungry.”

Standing up, cracking his knuckles against his jaw, Eddie snagged the kid into a tight hug. “Ah my good young adventurer,” he said as he pulled away to hold him by the shoulders, “We’re just getting started.”

Pretending to be normal and giving a performance made his skin crawl, so he went back to a serious expression.

“Okay dude, seriously, what is wrong with you today?”

Christ, Dustin was going to be insufferable when he found out that he was Eddie’s first choice when he had a life altering crisis over a shift in his understanding of the universe. That he was where he went for advice. And that Eddie followed his advice. He was going to be awful, and Eddie really hoped he'd be around to suffer through it.

“Go tell Hellfire that tonight’s session is canceled.”

“What!?”

“Then grab Robin and find out if Steve is at work today.”

“WHAT? You don’t even like--”

“Then get your radio, get the rest of the party, and definitely get Max. We’re all ditching out the rest of the day. Meet me at my van. Nancy can take some of you. I’ll get the rest.”

“...Eddie?” Dustin’s voice wobbled a bit that time. He was starting to put it together.

“Yeah, man,” Eddie confirmed on a loud exhale. “I’ve gotta go talk to a cheerleader and try not to get punched because of it. You gotta get the others.”

“Eddie,” the plea, the denial in his voice was fucking painful.

“Sorry, buddy. It’s Code Red.”

Part Two>>

On Ao3

#eddie munson #time travel fix it #at least this one'll stay a ficlet #flip the board

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xiaq · 7 months

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Steddie Time Travel Fixit: Pt. 6

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7

Steve wears the Hellfire shirt.

He wears it half tucked in to a pair of tight distressed jeans with black lace-up shitkicker boots, both of which Eddie knows Steve has never worn to school before because he would have fucking remembered.

His hair is just as stupidly teased as usual, but paired with the rest of him it looks a whole lot less preppy and a whole lot more like he should have a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a leather jacket over his shoulder.

And Eddie knows that he should be focused on whatever the hell is happening with the kids and Hopper and the fact that Steve apparently has war flashbacks involving D&D characters but all that mystery falls to the wayside when the former reigning jock king is walking around the hallways like a living breathing wet dream in a shirt Eddie created.

Eddie is but a man.

Distractible.

Fallible.

Horny.

Steve catches him staring from down the hall and gives him a lazy two finger salute, grinning with the kind of ease that comes from being attractive and knowing it.

It should be infuriating.

It is not.

“Is this a dream?” Gareth says, drawing even with Eddie. “This has to be a dream, right? No way is Steve fucking Harrington wearing a Hellfire shirt.”

“I don’t know about you,” Eddie says faintly, “but if this was my dream he wouldn’t be wearing anything at all.”

“Oh, gross.”

“Look at him,” Eddie insists. Ever since that time at Jeff’s last year when the band was all high and Eddie got a little too honest, they’ve all sort of ignored the fact that Eddie is gay. They don’t ask him about girls and he doesn’t talk to them about guys. But this is…a special circumstance.

And it’s fine. Because Eddie is not the only person looking. Everyone is looking—some with sneers or confusion but most with envy or probably equal amounts of the lust that Eddie is currently trying to subdue. Even the straightest guy in the world has to admit that Steve is—

“Yeah,” Gareth says. “I mean no, still gross because it’s Harrington, but yeah I can see how—no. Never mind. I’m going to class.” Gareth pauses. “Wait. Do you think he’s going to sit with us at lunch?”

He sits with them at lunch.

Eddie more or less sleepwalks through his morning classes and leaves History before the bell so he can get to the lunchroom first and he does not save Steve a seat. He has no expectations when he enters the cafeteria. No hopes related to the company he’ll keep while consuming his soggy PB&J. He just has a jacket that ends up on the seat next to him and when Jeff tries to move it he maybe glares at him a little.

When Steve moves the jacket so he can sit down, Eddie does not glare.

“Fucking figures,” Jeff mutters.

Eddie is never going to live this down and he doesn’t even care.

“Nice shirt, big boy,” he says, because apparently Eddie’s mouth is just saying things.

Steve stills. For a moment, Eddie is reminded of the night before–of terror and gasped breathing. But then, just as quickly, he’s grinning at Eddie like some sort of sunshine creature, like joy incarnate, plucking at the tight fabric straining across his chest.

“I dunno, I don’t think I’m particularly big, it’s not my fault you gave me such a small size.”

“Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” Eddie retorts.“Everyone who signed up at the beginning of the year got one custom made,” he gestures to the guys as proof before drumming his fingers against Steve’s shoulder. “This’s one of mine and the most exercise I get is hauling amps and running from cops.”

Steve reaches over to wrap his hand around Eddie’s bicep and it’s Eddie’s turn to go still under the heat of his palm and the weight of his attention. Steve meets his eyes for a fleeting second before they flick down to his own fingers. Steve squeezes.

“You seem plenty fit to me.”

“Amps,” Eddie repeats. It’s a little breathless. It’s fine.

“Jesus christ,” Jeff mutters.

Steve’s hand is still on his arm when nearly half the basketball team approaches, detouring to stop on their way to their standard table.

He wouldn’t say that a hush falls over the cafeteria but there are certainly a lot of eyes suddenly on their table. And not much talking.

“What the fuck, Harrington,” one of them––Eddie doesn’t know, nor does he care to know, his name––says. “You ditched us for the freaks?” He looks genuinely baffled, which Eddie has to admit is fair. “Is this some kind of joke? Does Munson have something on you?”

Steve leans away from the table, hand moving from Eddie’s arm to the back of his chair, he hitches his opposite elbow on the back of his own chair. He kicks one foot up to brace on the table leg. It’s the stereotypical jock position: chest wide, staking a possessive claim, except Eddie isn’t a cheerleader.

“I don’t like what you’re implying,” Steve says.

“Dude, whatever it is,” the guy’s eyes linger on Eddie in a way that Eddie really does not like, “we can take care of it.”

Steve sighs.

It’s long and loud and purposeful.

“Listen, I feel like maybe Hagan hasn’t held up his end of our bargain, so let me make this as clear as I can and we can all be mature about it. Ah––” he interrupts himself, raising his voice a little, “No, hey. Look at me. All of you.” His tone is calm and level and patronizing in a way that Eddie knows would be infuriating if it was directed at him.

“I need you to understand,” he says slowly, making eye contact with each of them in turn, “That I’m not joking. I’m not posturing. If you touch Eddie, if you touch anyone at this table, you’re going to have a lot more to worry about than passing your driving test or making the starting lineup. There are people in the world with real problems and if you fuck with any of my new friends, you’re going join them.”

A couple scoff. Tommy, near the back, is distinctly silent. And without their usual ringleader, no one else volunteers to step forward as the aggressor.

“What happened to you, man?” One of the guys says instead.

Steve sighs again. It feels more genuine this time. “I grew up,” he says. “I recommend it.”

And then he just…waves them off, like he’s tired.

And they leave.

The group retreats to their own table in a wake of low murmurs, and everyone lets out a collective exhale.

Except for Steve, who is leaning into Eddie’s space again.

“You were weirdly quiet through that,” Steve murmurs, pushing Eddie’s hair over his shoulder so he can whisper in his ear. It’s an entitled gesture. The heat of his breath, fanned against Eddie’s neck, sends goosebumps down his arms.

“If I’m mouthy, it tends to just piss people off,” Eddie mutters back. “And I’m trying not to cause trouble for you seeing as you seem to create plenty for yourself.”

“Do what you want,” Steve says easily. “I know how to fight.”

Eddie tells his dick to calm the fuck down.

Now is not the time.

“Besides,” Steve whispers, even quieter, lips practically against Eddie’s ear, “I think I prefer you mouthy.”

Fuck.

This is flirting, right? It has to be flirting.

He makes frantic eye contact with Jeff and––yeah, judging by the expression on Jeff’s face Eddie is not making shit up. Steve Harrington is hitting on him. In the school cafeteria.

“Oh hey,” Steve says abruptly, turning to pull a Tupperware container out of his stuffed full backpack. “I made cookies last night if you guys want some.”

“Cookies?” Gareth says faintly.

“Yeah, peanut butter chocolate chip. The kids I babysit wanted some so I made a double batch to share. They’re good, I promise. And I substituted applesauce for some of the sugar and oil so they’re not as unhealthy as they could be––but don’t tell the kids that.”

He peels off the lid and Eddie is hit with the second-most heavenly smell he’s ever encountered. The first may or may not be Steve Harrington himself, who is now handing him one of the cookies. Eddie takes it wordlessly, watching as Steve stands to carry the container around to everyone else.

Gareth leans across the table so only Eddie can hear him. “How confused is your boner right now?” Gareth whispers.

Eddie suppresses a slightly hysterical whine. “Oh, are we talking about this? We don’t need to talk about this.”

“I think we’re going to have to if he keeps this shit up.”

“No,” Eddie says. “No, no. I’ll be fine. I just need to…get my head straight.”

“Good luck with that.” Gareth takes a bite of his cookie, “Oh, damn, these are good.”

Eddie eats his own cookie and tries not to moan about it.

He’s fine. Everything is fine.

••••

Steve Harrington is good at D&D.

Eddie had been worried, at first, that Steve might not take things seriously. That he’d laugh at their silly voices or make fun of the guys who wear costumes or just…make it clear that he thought they were ridiculous. Childish.

Instead, he maybe takes things too seriously––asking detailed questions about terrain and weather patterns and doing so many perception checks that Jeff is about ready to strangle him an hour in, but his overly cautious approach uncovers more than one trap Eddie had set. Steve is excellent at strategy and disconcertingly good at organizing the party when there’s something to fight. Even more disconcerting, most of his strategies appear to involve martyrdom and it’s only through Eddie fudging his combat rolls a little that Steve’s character survives the night.

He’s not perfect, of course. Steve’s math skills are abysmal and he constantly has to be reminded what his modifiers are, which Eddie does gently and without complaint, because he’d copied down Steve’s stats the night before and he doesn’t want Steve to be embarrassed. The guys will definitely never, ever, let him live it down, but he figures he’s already lost so much credibility with them at this point a little more won’t be the end of the world.

And Steve keeps smiling at him, so.

Worth it.

When Steve’s watch alarm goes off, a minute before 7pm, he makes a hasty exit for the bathroom, bag in hand, and the other guys decide he must have some sort of medication he has to take and he didn’t want to do it in front of them. Eddie doesn’t correct them, doesn’t know how he would even try to correct the assumption because he doesn’t actually understand what Steve is doing. But it does remind him that there is a Mystery afoot and Eddie really should be trying to figure out what the hell is going on instead of just…mooning over Harrington’s pretty face.

Then again, nothing is stopping him from doing both.

The guys warm to Steve by the end of the session, patting his back and calling goodbye as they exit the doors under the external halogen lights.

The night is quiet and cool and when Steve offers to drive Eddie home, Eddie can only say yes. Eddie slides into the passenger seat, tossing his backpack into the back, and decides to take the opportunity to snoop. He opens the glove compartment and pulls out the handful of cassettes inside.

“Oh,” Steve says, “wait, that’s not––”

There’s Dio and Metallica, Iron Maiden and Motorhead, and then the artists Eddie suspected all along: Madonna, A-ha, Donna Summer, ABBA, Journey, The Eagles and—oh.

Fleetwood Mac. With Landslide on the B side.

It’s shiny and new. No scuffs on the case.

“Shit,” Steve mutters under his breath.

“When did you even have time to get this?” Eddie asks, baffled. And maybe he shouldn’t assume, maybe he’s completely off-base, but Steve looks like he’s been caught doing something illegal so he thinks the assumption is apt. “You left our place at like 10pm last night and you’ve been in school all day.”

“I have a free period before lunch. The record store is a five minute drive from campus.”

“But…why?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, with the soft resignation of someone lying. It sounds more like, “I can’t tell you,” which makes Eddie want to shake him.

Eddie considers Steve’s shadowed face: his downturned mouth and his stupidly long eyelashes. He looks tired.

Eddie exhales. “Well, we’re listening to it.”

Steve doesn’t argue.

He doesn’t say anything else at all until they get to the trailer and he’s hurrying around to open Eddie’s door for him and get his bag from the backseat like Eddie is some girl he’s dropping off after a date.

“Oh wait,” he says, ducking back to grab his own bag. “I have—hold on, it’s—there we go.”

He emerges with another tupperware container in his hands, this one smaller than the one he passed around at lunch.

“I thought Wayne might want some,” he says shyly, eyes on the cookies in his hands. “As a thank you. For yesterday.”

Eddie is going to scream.

“That’s really nice. I’m sure he’ll love them, and if he doesn’t I’ll eat them because apparently you’ve been possessed by Betty Crocker’s ghost. Or—actually I don’t know if she’s dead or not. Or if she was a real person. Anyway, the point is that—“

Steve is smiling at him. Softly. Like he’d be happy to listen to Eddie ramble as long as he wants.

Eddie clears his throat. “Wayne should be home if you want to give them to him.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll, uh, walk you in.”

So much screaming.

Steve does walk him in, hands over the cookies to a baffled-looking Wayne, and then touches Eddie’s hand—hardly a touch at all really, his first two fingers resting, briefly, on Eddie’s wrist, his thumb tucked just under the meat of Eddie’s palm, almost like he’s checking Eddie’s pulse.

“Goodnight,” he says.

Eddie doesn’t even know if he responds.

He’s still looking down at his wrist when Steve’s car engine starts and the headlights fan over the windows before everything goes dark and still outside.

“So,” Wayne says. “Is he…”

“What?” Eddie asks blankly.

“...your sweetheart?”

That’s enough to break Eddie out of whatever trance he’d been in. “My–? Jesus. No. You know who you’re talking about, right?”

“I know what I’m seeing,” Wayne mutters. “Not sure I’m happy about it.”

Eddie’s stomach immediately goes sour. They’ve never actually discussed Eddie’s romantic preferences. Wayne knew. He had to know, considering the circumstances in which Wayne became Eddie’s guardian. But they’ve never said anything out loud to each other and Eddie was hoping to continue that tradition potentially for forever.

“Wait,” Wayne says, moving forward to squeeze his shoulder, “I didn’t mean––fuck, you know I’m no good at this shit. Come sit down.”

They move to the couch.

They sit.

Wayne digs the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“I don’t care who you’re sweet on or who you bring home, you hear me? As long as they treat you right and they don’t get you into trouble. But that Harrington boy… I get the feeling he’s trouble. And with his folks being who they are, I just want you to be careful. That boy has a history and I don’t know what it is, but I’d wager it isn’t pretty.”

“I don’t know what it is either,” Eddie murmurs. “He’s not––I don’t think he’s bad trouble, though. He’s trying to protect me. Us. At school. Even though it’s put a giant target on his back. He’s quit basketball and joined Hellfire and he’s. I don’t know. I like him.” It feels like a confession.

“I wonder how his Daddy feels about all that,” Wayne murmurs. “You ever seen him come to school hurt?”

Eddie considers. “I don’t know. Why?”

Wayne just looks at him.

“You think his parents––?”

“I think I know the kind of boy his father was. I can imagine the sort of man he turned into.”

Eddie feels chilled all the sudden. He gets up from the couch to close the open window above the sink. It doesn’t help. He rests his hands, fingers splayed, on the countertop. He taps his nails on the fornica.

Abuse wouldn’t explain the kids or the panic attack or why he suddenly seems obsessed with Eddie. But it would explain some things.

“I’m not going to start avoiding him,” Eddie says.

Wayne sighs. “I didn’t expect you would. Considering.”

Eddie doesn’t ask him to elaborate.

He holds up the container of cookies Wayne had abandoned on the counter, then carries them over to the couch when he nods.

Wayne selects the largest one from the top. “Did he actually play your dragons game?”

Eddie nearly chokes on a laugh, helping himself to a cookie as well. “He did. Wasn’t half bad, either.”

Wayne takes a bite. His eyebrows go up. “Shit, did he make these?”

“He did,” Eddie says.

“Well. I suppose we can keep him around.”

Pt. 7

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve/eddie #eddie/steve #myfic #time travel fix it #stranger things fic

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novasillies · 6 months

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Interlude: August

' Derek shrugged, “Never know when you might turn on me.”

Stiles’ protests were muffled by a gentle peck on the lips. He chased after the touch, lashes fluttering, as Derek backed away again. The wolf grinned at him. Stiles grumbled.

And it was okay. And Derek was still looking at him as if he were a treasure. The wolf’s lip quirked up and he made a sudden movement. Laughter bubbled out of Stiles’ throat as his boyfriend - Boyfriend!! Fifteen-year-old Lydia would jump for joy! - yanked him off of the soft grass. He wrapped one arm around the spark’s back and the other over his legs, making him sit sideways in his lap. Stiles yelled some sort of protest through his laughter, squeezing his eyes shut as the wolf shoved his face into the curve of his neck, right where it met his shoulder.

“Oh, get a room!” '

— Twice and For All chapter 39, 'Interlude: August'

read more here! :)

#title:#Twice And For All #fanart #fanfic #ao3 #sterek #spark stiles stilinski #time travel fix it #slow burn #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #derek hale #my fic #sterek fic #sterek fanart #stiles x derek

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justsalpals · 6 months

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Time Travel Fix-it Fics: the past archive crew is shocked and pleased by how much nicer future!Jon is to them than their current Jon

My belief: the archive crew doesn't notice future!Jon is nicer to them, because they're too busy being disconcerted by how he skitters around corners and stares with a million eyes and keeps hissing and muttering about how they need to murder past!Jon before it's too late. or at least cut out his eyes, come on everyone be reasonable.

#future!martin tells them not to worry about it everything is fine and good. but you might want to stop staring back into the abyss :)#jonmartin #(I guess only in the tags but I'm counting it)#the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #time travel fix it #been a while since I was in my tma headspace but hearing jonny as the narrator in stp brought me right back

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enigmatist17 · 7 months

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Catch me thinking of Commander Fox time traveling back to his first week on Coruscant, waking up screaming and clawing at a lightsaber wound that wasn't there. It takes an hour to realize he wasn't dead now, that his armor was a basic Corrie red that Fox had almost forgotten from so long ago. He's younger now, without the aches and pains due to years of torture at the hands of Palpatine, and that hits him like a freight train when he realizes it's early in the War.

So many are alive, he is alive, his small beginnings of a soul that never had a chance to grow has been resewn, ripped from him piece by piece during the War until he was a husk that dies at the hand of a monster.

The air, despite being thick with the smog of a city that never stills, is the sweetest thing in the galaxy when he sneaks out to a covert he had frequented in another life.

His soldiers see a change, a man who was slightly fumbling with how to instill their hand as Guardians suddenly seemed to have changed overnight. There's a weariness behind his eyes now, and he moves as if he should be older, more pained, yet catches himself as he gets them into patrols that are better coordinated and safer in the long run. Fox also has them set about setting up a rotation within the Jetti temple, and while the Jetti are confused, some of them are happy to speak with the troops.

As predicted, one of the Jetti who Fox had met in passing takes an interest in the clones without a Jetti to lead them, and Quinlan Vos makes the choice without much fuss. Palpatine is irritated, but all Fox cares about as he's lashed out at with lightning is that his men will be safe this time. The pain hurts skin that hadn't toughened up over time, but Fox doesn't utter a sound and merely pretends to let the Sith order him to forget.

The chip doesn't work now, but better to play pretend until he can strike.

A coded message he sends out, one that would seem a glitch to clones who didn't understand, is eventually answered with the arrival of Captain Rex, Commander Wolffe, and men from various units. It's phrased as a random check from units in the field, but they all share the same haunted eyes and only need look at each other to know.

Rex holds his ori'vod close that night, silencing the thousands of apologies with a small shake of his head. This time they won't let it happen, they won't let the cracks that went unheeded grow until the galaxy collapses in on itself, no they'll prevent the cracks from growing in the first place.

When they begin planning, secret communiques with forces that grow the more they let others in on their terrible future, Fox can feel that it's going to work.

It better, or by spit or hatred, he'll come back over and over until he succeeds.

He's not going to lose this time, you can count on it.

#personal #star wars #clone wars #the clone wars #commander fox #fix it au #time travel fix it #order 66 fix it #captain rex #just something small #I love imagining Fox having his second chance #he deserves it :(

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this-acuteneurosis · 18 days

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Reliant

Leia's used to relying on her self, even in dangerous situation. But it's always nice when she has backup.

#Duty Bound #Star Wars fic #time travel fix it #Leia Skywalker #Lyra Erso #Galen Erso #Jyn Erso #C-3PO #General Grievous #Anakin Skywalker #Captain Rex #Padmé #Amidala #Dormé #Eirtaé #Sabé #Shmi Skywalker #everyone is having a bad day #Don't Look Back

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deadsetobsessions · 3 months

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Tim had forgotten, in his one man (and the admittedly liberal usage of hired guns) crusade at everything that had hurt his family, that he was technically a child. A time traveling 21 year old Tim Drake in his younger body, sure, but he’s still a nine year old child.

Tim was violently, unpleasantly reminded of this as he opened his front door to… Gotham Primary’s truancy officer.

Oh shit. He still had to go to school. Tim scrambled for an excuse.

“Hello, Timothy. Are your parents home?”

“Uh- no, sir. Only my nanny. I’ve been really,” think, Timothy, think! Are you Red Robin for nothing? “really sick. She went out for some medicine.”

Tim knew what the officer saw as he looked down at him, a pale, drawn little boy who looked like a sickly Victorian child. He has no idea that Tim had the beginnings of lean muscles and strong grip strength underneath his baggy clothes.

“I see. I’ll have to talk to your nanny, then. We need to be informed of when you’re ill, Timothy.”

“Oh. She-” shit, shit, shit! “Doesn’t speak English.” Was that racist? That felt racist. Gods, he probably sounds like a snobby classist elite. “I’ll let my mom know to email you, sir?”

The truancy officer sighed. By Tim’s lucky stars, he agreed. The man pulled out a singular paper from his plastic folder, clearly used to this kind of thing, especially from the elites of Gotham, and said, “Email the school. And have her sign this note, please.”

Tim nodded seriously. Like hell he would.

When the officer was gone, Tim closed the gate immediately. He had forgotten to close it after getting back home from stalking the Bats last night. Well, Bat, singular, because Jason was still benched.

Tim sighed, grabbing a pen to fluidly forge Janet Drake’s signature on his paper about truancy and proper procedures and what not. Then, he moved to the computer, easily stealing his mother’s credentials, emailing the school about his sick leave, and their decision to have him home schooled.

He’d miss Ives, but honestly, Tim needed the free time. Plus, maybe this way, he’ll graduate high school this time around. He drafted another email to the counselor, asking them what kind of curriculum and tests he needed to pass to obtain future degrees and what not.

He gets an email back, with all of the testing required and the steps “Young Timothy” should take in order to succeed in the rest of his academic career. Tim would like to point out he’s nine, and that this was pretentious. Helpful, sure, but pretentious all the same.

“That’s what people don’t mention about time traveling. It’s all fun and games until you get hit with the mundane and tedious things.” Tim muttered, setting up his appointments for testing. He’ll have to find someone to drive him to the tests…

His mind turned to his neighbors… hm. That’s a possibility.

Tim wiped all traces of his activities from his mother’s email, doing a quick and hidden bit of rerouting to get any educational emails regarding him sent to his own inbox.

Tim swigged a mouthful of coffee and continued on his merry way.

His new goal?

Find Cassandra Cain.

#Tim drake #Timothy drake #Batman #red Robin #time traveling tim drake #time travel fix it #scheming tim drake #Tim drake vs truancy officer #listen I went to a private school #they legit called me ‘young’ in an email to my mother #Tim drake vs the education system #Tim Drake and his mortal enemy: school #tim: I will never finish high school

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amidnightjen · 10 months

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At which point he was unceremoniously grabbed and dragged into a supply closet, the door slamming shut behind him as something collided with him, resulting in a face full of hair and - because his mouth had been open on a protest - a mouth full of it too.

“Wha-at?” he sputtered around a mouthful of what was definitely hair and those were definitely arms wrapped around him trying to squeeze the life out of him and he knew the familiar puff of air being breathed - shakily - into the crook of his neck. He’d just - it had never been - and hold on hadn’t - “Eddie?”

Because, it wasn’t all that dark in the supply closet and despite, having a face full of dark curls obscuring his vision, he did recognise those dark curls even if there wasn’t as much of them as he remembered.

“Hey, Stevie.” The words were shakily muttered into the crook of his neck and Steve automatically raised his arms to wrap around Eddie because he knew how to offer comfort in times like this even if he had no idea why he was the one being tasked with it because he and Eddie -

Holy shit.

“Eddie?!”

He felt Eddie nod, still apparently unwilling to let Steve go which - holy shit. Steve knew how, well, no he knew when, he’d gotten here but last he’d seen Eddie…

“Holy shit, you’re alive.” It was Steve’s turn to squeeze Eddie because holy shit, the last time he’d seen Eddie had been in the Upside Down and most of his insides were very much on the outside. What was left of them that was. Jesus Christ, no wonder Eddie was freaking out.

As if he could read Steve’s thoughts, Eddie finally pulled away only to wrap his arms around himself protectively. “Guess death by demon bat didn’t stick.”

“Didn’t - ” Oh, holy shit. “It hasn’t happened yet.” And then he realised what he’d said but also that Eddie had ambushed him for a hug in a school supply closet and asked, “How’d you know it was me?” Because if he’d been wrong, he’d have been at risk of a serious ass kicking.

(Not by Steve but Tommy might have considered it his duty.)

“You keep staring at Robin when you think no one’s looking.”

And Steve would deny it if anyone else had said it but it was Eddie, Eddie who wasn’t dead because it hadn’t happened yet, and so he said, “She’s my best friend.”

And Eddie smiled, a soft and brittle smile, but genuine all the same. “Platonic with a capital P.”

#july writing challenge #stranger things #pre steddie #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #time travel fix it #wip excerpt #steve x eddie

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estrellami-1 · 5 months

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If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35

Eddie shifts nervously as he waits for Steve to open the door. He’s halfway expecting Robin, which is why he completely blanks when Allison opens the door instead.

She casually leans against the doorframe and crosses her arm, raising a judgmental eyebrow. “Yes?”

He winces. “Is Steve home?”

“Maybe.” She studies her nails. “Why should I let you see him?”

He takes a deep breath. “I fucked up,” he says, more confidently than he feels. “I’d like to apologize.”

She hums. “And if he decides not to forgive you?”

Eddie spreads his hands hopelessly. “I’d deserve it.”

She tilts her head. “Would you keep trying?”

“It depends on how I feel he means it, what you say, and how he responds to it when I do try again. If I do.”

“Damn,” Allison says, smiling. “I like you.”

Eddie blinks. “Thank you?”

She pats him on the shoulder. “C’mon in. Just know I was the one who taught Steve how to swing a baseball bat.” She smirks as she shuts the door behind him.

Eddie gulps as Steve calls from the kitchen, “Al? Who’s- oh,” he says, walking into the living room and stopping short at the sight of Eddie.

He’d had half a smile on his face that quickly drops at the sight of Eddie. Eddie feels his heart drop in tandem. “Steve,” Eddie says, begs. “Can… can I talk to you?”

Steve looks at him for a moment, then glances behind him to toss a hand towel back in the kitchen. He clenches his jaw and nods. “Sure.”

Allison slips past him and ruffles Steve’s hair on her way to the kitchen. “Asshole,” he mutters.

“Bitch,” she calls back at him before the door shuts behind her.

Eddie snorts, then sobers when Steve raises a brow his direction. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, just… is that what having a sibling is like?”

Steve’s expression softens as he glances behind himself. “Yeah.”

Eddie takes a breath and glances at the ground, building his courage, before looking up at Steve. “I’m sorry. I didn’t give you any chance to speak, I just assumed and when you didn’t say anything—again, because I didn’t give you a chance to—I took it as confirmation.” He shifts. “I’m not… this isn’t an excuse, okay? It’s an explanation. And it’s me saying I’m not willing to let it get in the way of us before we’re even a thing. I’m a runner. If things don’t go my way, if they get hard, if I get scared—hell, especially when I get scared—I run. I run, and I hurt people.” He takes a breath and looks Steve in the eye. His hands are shaking. “Like you. I hurt you, and I’m sorry. And I’m… I’m not going to run. Not now. Not later. I do believe you’ve changed—the past few days are evidence enough—and I want to get to know you.”

Steve takes an eternity—five seconds—to process his words. “What you said hurt me,” he says quietly. “And I’m not sure I can get over it just like that.”

“I’ll grovel every day if I have to. Until you believe me.”

Steve offers him a half smile. “That’s the thing. I do believe you, Eds. And I want us to be okay again. But I think it’s gonna take some time.”

Eddie nods. “If there’s anything I can do, to prove I mean it…”

Steve offers him a cheeky grin, and his heart skips a beat. “Kiss me?”

It’s half-joking, half-serious, and Eddie takes it as the olive branch it is. “Absolutely,” he immediately answers, smiling, moving to cup Steve’s cheeks in his hands.

He leans in and kisses him, slowly, heartfelt, the way Steve deserves to be kissed, then leans back and swipes his thumbs over Steve’s cheekbones. “God,” he murmurs. “You’re incredible, d’you know that?”

He feels the heat from Steve’s blush in his palms. “I’m just me.”

“No such thing as just when it’s you,” Eddie answers, completely serious.

Steve chuckles and rests their foreheads together. “How long did Robin yell at you?”

Eddie’s brows furrow. “I haven’t seen her. Wayne pulled the story out of me and said I was being an idiot.”

Steve begins to snicker. “Last I knew, she was heading over to give you a piece of her mind.”

Eddie chuckles, then suddenly pales. “Oh, fuck.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“Knowing Wayne? He invited her in. They’re best friends now.”

“I see no downsides to this.”

“They’re going to gang up on us, Steve. It’s all downsides.��

“Nah. You, maybe, but Robs and I are soulmates.”

Eddie gasps and puts a hand to his chest. “Are you insinuating you’d chose your soulmate over your-”

He stops short, heart thumping oddly. “Um. Steve?”

“What are we?” Steve answers.

“Yeah.”

“That’s… a really good question, Eddie.”

#if I should stay #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #NOW I can finally use that tag!!!#even if they’re still not completely sure where they stand #they’ll get there eventually #Allison Harrington #oc #my oc #time travel #fix it fic #time travel fix it #starambles

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a-vivid-dreamer · 1 month

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Sword’s Metronome AU (11)

A mysterious swordsman referred to as “Yanqing”.

He is noted to be the latest addition of the Stellaron Hunters.

Despite extensive searches, no current databases across the galaxy have any information on his identity nor record of his birth.

(Felt like trying my hand at making a sort of fake splash art for him. Honestly had so many different ideas on how to make this but this one seemed to cooperate with me so I went with it, haha.)

#a-vivid-dreamer artworks #sword’s metronome au #honkai star rail #alternate universe #hsr #yanqing #digital art #time travel #time travel fix it #time loop #yanqing hsr #yanqing honkai star rail #fake splash art

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hood-ex · 5 months

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I love time travel fix-it fics where people go back to the past as the damaged people they've become. They're hardened by life and all the hell it's foisted on them, and they're more experienced than they ever were. They still love all the people they want to save, but they express their love differently because of all the trauma they've accumulated, whether that means being more affectionate or less affectionate than they once were.

#dick and bruce dude wheeeew this is gonna be a doozy #time travel fix it #fics

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xiaq · 7 months

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Steddie Time Travel Fix-it: Pt. 7

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6

Eddie is good at puzzles

Cryptograms, jigsaws, Rubiks cubes, mazes. For all the trouble he has in school, he’s always loved word search and crossword assignments. He finishes first; he saunters up to the teacher’s desk; he slaps it down in the assignment box. He grins as they grade it with grudging respect. The strategy required for D&D was just as appealing, initially, as the escapism.

So. Eddie is good at puzzles.

Until, of course, Steve Harrington appeared in the early-morning hallway of Hawkins high, apparently having turned over an inexplicable and very puzzling new leaf.

Steve Harrington is unsolvable.

And it makes Eddie crazy.

He’d written out a list detailing the nuances of the Steve Harrington Puzzle. That was the title on the piece of the paper he’d torn out of his campaign spiral: There was the sudden friendship with Robin Buckley and the additional strange company he’d been keeping with Nancy and Jonathan and Barb. There was quitting the basketball team and absolutely burning bridges to ash with his former friends.

The panic attacks, related to flickering lights and D&D monsters The kids. The walkie-talkie check-ins and mentions of gates.

Chief fucking Hopper’s involvement.

The weird obsession Steve seems to have with Eddie. The flirting.

The baking.

Okay, the baking could be normal, but it’s still potentially out of character enough that Eddie doesn’t scratch it off the list.

Eddie's first hypothesis is drugs, even though that doesn’t explain everything.

As long as he’s not leaving town, there’s only one person Steve could be getting drugs from if he’s not getting them from Eddie. So Eddie walks to the gas station down the road and calls Rick from the pay phone outside.

“Hey. Weird question. Are you selling hard shit to Steve Harrington on the side?”

Rick laughs at him until he hangs up. That’s fair. It was a long shot anyway.

His second hypothesis is…

Well, that’s the problem. He doesn’t have a second hypothesis. Because nothing explains all of the everything going on with Steve and even drugs only explain like…half of it.

Eddie crumples up the paper and tosses it in the trash and the Steve Harrington Puzzle remains unsolved through Saturday night as he loads up his guitar and amp into Gareth’s mom’s car.

One of them really needs to buy a van or a truck or something. Showing up to your metal gig in a minivan is not the cool aesthetic they’re trying to embody.

Eddie has been trying not to have expectations. Just because Steve said, several days before, that he was going to come to their gig didn’t mean he’d actually show up. And unlike Eddie’s embarrassing, seat-saving hope from Friday, his anxious door-watching as they set up and then take the stage at Hideout does not pay off.

Steve doesn’t show.

Maybe he forgot. Maybe he changed his mind or something better came up or maybe he never intended to come at all.

It doesn’t occur to Eddie that there’s another potential reason until he gets home, hoarse and jumpy with endorphins to find a note from Wayne by the phone.

Steve called. Said he’d been in an accident and was sorry he couldn’t come. Sounded rough. Left his number for you.

Eddie calls the number, even though it’s late. It rings. And rings. And rings. They have an answering machine, because of course they do, but the woman on the recording sounds like a stuck up bitch and Eddie lingers, just for a moment, trying to think of something to say, before hanging up.

He tries again on Sunday, just past lunch. Still no answer.

By Monday morning he’s vacillating between annoyance and concern which takes a careening turn down the concern offramp when he catches sight of Steve in the hallway. His face is beat to shit and his neck––

His neck looks like someone tried to fucking hang him.

But despite the bruises and the line of stitches at his temple and the general signs of a thorough ass-kicking, Steve is moving through the tide of students around him with the unmistakable swagger of someone who won.

It really does make Eddie want to see the other guy.

Eddie isn’t thinking. Well, he is thinking, he’s thinking what happened and are you ok. He’s not thinking about optics as he pushes his way through the other students in the hallway, grabs Steve’s wrist and drags him into the bathroom. It’s empty, thank god.

“What happened?” Eddie says, tugging down the collar of Steve’s shirt so he can better see the—Jesus, the ligature marks on his throat. “Are you ok?”

Steve’s hands catch around his shoulders, pushing him back with an infuriating little smile that says he’s enjoying Eddie’s reaction. Enjoying Eddie’s concern about him nearly being killed, the sadistic asshole.

“Hey, easy,” Steve says, “I’m fine. Though that does hurt a little so maybe let go of my shirt, yeah?”

“Oh what, you can pull me into bathrooms and feel me up but I’m not allowed to return the favor?” Eddie snarls.

Steve goes delightfully pink. “Okay,” he says. “I’ve apologized for that.”

Eddie lets go.“And you still haven’t explained it.”

“I can’t.”

“And all of this?” Eddie gestures to encompass the entirety of Steve’s stupid, muscular, injured self. He’s wearing the same jeans and boots as he was on Friday, this time paired with a black T-shirt that is likely intentionally a size too small. “Can you explain this?”

“I––”

“Can’t.” Eddie finishes with him.

At least Steve looks cowed about it.

“Are these the worst of your injuries or are there more under your clothes?”

Steve opens his mouth and Eddie interrupts before he can say anything. “Don’t lie.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “My back is a little beat up, but it’ll be fine.”

“Let me see.”

“What, do you have a medical degree, now?”

“Let me see.”

“Fine. Fine,” he turns, bracing one hand on the sink and using the other to hike up the back of his shirt. “I forgot how goddamn annoying you are when you’re––”

He cuts himself off, going still. His eyes are wide where they meet Eddie’s in the mirror. “I mean. Sorry. Whatever. Look, I’m fine.”

Eddie looks.

“Oh my god.” He’s touching the mottled bruise down the left side of Steve’s spine before he realizes he’s going to do it and by then it’s too late. He tries to be gentle, at least. “What hit you, a truck?”

“Eddie.”

“Are you pissing blood?”

“Only a little. Honestly, I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Eddie drops the shirt and lets Steve turn to face him, but he doesn’t step back. Instead, he leans closer still to inspect the tidy line of stitches hugging Steve’s temple.

“At least everything looks clean,” he murmurs, pushing Steve’s hair out of the way. “Did you go to the hospital for these? Please say you didn’t do them yourself.”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer, though, because Tommy Hagan pushes his way into the bathroom. Where Eddie currently has Steve pressed against the sink, nearly hip to hip, with his hand on Steve’s face.

He’s going to die today.

“Oh, fuck off, Tommy,” Steve says with a degree of annoyance that Eddie finds commendable considering the circumstances.

“What are you––what’s going on?” Tommy says as the door slides shut behind him. “Did Munson do that to you?”

Steve scoffs and Eddie should probably be insulted. Steve slides around him, putting himself just a hair in front of Eddie as he half-turns to face Tommy. One of Steve’s hands is on Eddie’s chest and Eddie isn’t sure how it got there, but it’s steady and firm, like he’s holding Eddie back.

“No,” Steve says. “He’s just a concerned citizen. What do you want?”

“He was touching you,” Tommy says, low and quiet and weirdly hurt.

“He was,” Steve agrees easily. “But there’s nothing wrong with that. Friends touch each other all time, right? No reason to make it weird.”

The words land like a blow. Eddie watches as Tommy physically recoils from them.

“Steve.” Tommy sounds wounded.

“Tommy,” Steve answers, dispassionate.

Tommy’s eyes move to Eddie. Move to Steve’s hand on Eddie’s chest. He turns abruptly and shoves his way back out of the bathroom with a muttered curse.

Steve watches him go, and then, when he turns to face Eddie again, his mouth twists.

“Shit, I wasn’t thinking. I sort of implicated you, there. I swear he won’t tell anyone, though, even if he does think we’re––whatever. I can,” Steve exhales, shoving a hand through his hair, and then winces, either because of the stitches or his side. “I can tell him you turned me down.”

As if that would happen.

“No,” Eddie says. “It’s fine. I mean, a lot of people already assume that I’m––” he knows he shouldn’t ask but he can’t seem to help it, “––wait, are you?”

“Yeah?” Steve says, like it should be obvious. “I like both. Either. All.”

“Right.” Eddie says. Like his entire worldview hasn’t been shaken to the core. “And you and Hagan—?”

Steve leans back against the sink. “I’m honestly not in the practice of outing people, if I can help it.”

“Hey, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Yeah,” Steve says finally. “I know.” He’s got his hands braced on the lip of porcelain on either side of his hips. It makes his biceps look enormous. “We didn’t have a thing,” he murmurs. “Not really. I wanted to, which is embarrassing in retrospect, but––” he laughs and there’s nothing comedic to it. “Some guys are just fine with you giving them handjobs in the dark, but god forbid you ask them to kiss you in the daylight, you know?”

Eddie does know.

“Their loss,” he mutters.

Steve bites his lip. “Hey, so. I’m sorry I missed your show. Can I buy you dinner tonight as an apology?”

Eddie might not recover from the conversational whiplash. “What?”

“I can pick you up at seven?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay, cool. We should get to class.”

And then he’s gone.

Eddie has a quiet, 30 second, existential crisis before following him.

***

Steve takes them to the diner again: same booth; same waitress.

She doesn’t try so hard this time to get Steve’s attention, either because she learned from last time or because Steve’s face looks like it’s been put through a meat grinder.

Regardless, they’re mostly left to their own devices and Steve gets him talking about the Lord of the Rings and once again Eddie finds himself flailing his way through a long-winded rant while drinking a chocolate milkshake. Steve watches him fondly.

He keeps forgetting that Steve is a giant, potentially dangerous, puzzle that needs solving in the face of his fond looks. It’s really becoming a problem.

Eddie is trying to find an elegant way of inviting Steve back to his place when Steve’s ever-present overstuffed backpack makes a static noise and then Eddie hears the muffled sound of Chief Hopper’s voice saying: Steve, you there?

Steve is out of the booth, throwing money on the table, in seconds.

Eddie scrambles to follow him.

Steve unzips his bag and pulls out the walkie before he’s even out the door.

“Hop?” he asks into the receiver. He doesn’t hold the door for Eddie which Eddie will be bitchy about later.

Are you still at the diner? Hopper asks. He sounds out of breath.

“Yeah.”

I’m two minutes away, meet me in the parking lot.

“It’s happening now?”

It’s happening now. Sorry, kid, I know you probably haven’t recovered from Saturday yet but––

“No, it’s fine.”

Two minutes, Hopper repeats. Be discreet.

Steve starts running.

By the time Eddie catches up to Steve at the back of the parking lot, he’s got the trunk of his car open and he’s pulling basketball uniform shirts out of a giant duffel bag. Previously hidden under the layer of jerseys are—guns.

Holy shit, that’s a lot of guns.

And grenades? Probably. Eddie has never seen a grenade in real life but he’s reasonably sure those are grenades.

“What.” Eddie says.

Steve zips the bag back up, cursing, and reaches for a baseball bat wrapped in a towel. Except when he pulls it out by the handle, the towel falls away and Eddie realizes the top of the bat has been gored through with at least two dozen nails: Spiked and lethal and covered in a red brown patina.

It could be rust.

Eddie is pretty sure it isn’t rust.

“Steve,” he says.

And Steve meets his eyes with a disturbing degree of calm.

Neither of them has a chance to say anything else, though, because Hopper's truck is careening into the parking lot and literally screeching to a stop a few feet away from them.

Steve tosses his bag of guns and his murder bat into the truck bed with a degree of familiarity that Eddie does not want to think about.

“What the hell, Steve,” Hopper is saying through the open window, “what part of be discrete did you not––oh.”

Eddie turns and when Hopper’s eyes settle on Eddie’s face, he stops talking.

“Eddie,” he says.

And that is not a way that Chief Hopper has ever said Eddie’s name before.

“Hop,” Steve says levelly.

“Fuck,” he says, still staring at Eddie like—Eddie doesn’t even know. Like he’s a ghost, maybe.

“Right,” he says. “Munson.” He drags his attention back to Steve. “We need to go. Now. Is he—“

“No.” Steve says. “Absolutely not.”

“Am I what?” Eddie asks.

Steve is shoving something into Eddie’s chest. Eddie’s hand comes up automatically to close around—keys. Steve’s keys.

“Do you know where my house is?” He asks.

“Yeah? Everyone knows where your house is, dude.”

“Don’t go home. Wayne is working tonight, right?”

“Yeah, but—“

“I need you to trust me. Please. Go to my house and––wait, no. The pool.”

He looks at Hopper.

“Henderson,” Hopper says. “The Henderson’s house. The other kids are already there. No nearby gates.”

“Gates? What the fuck are you two talking about?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Hopper says.

“Where are you going?” Eddie demands. “What is going on?”

“Eddie,” Steve says, urgent and terrible and wild. “Please.”

There’s an undeniable supplication in his tone, in his eyes, that makes Eddie say: “Okay. Alright. Just––tell me what to do.”

Steve pulls out a sharpie and a butterfly knife from his pockets. He pushes the knife into Eddie’s hand that is already holding Steve’s keys. He takes Eddie’s other arm and turns it palm up, uncapping the sharpie with his teeth. He writes hurried instructions across his wrist.

“Ok,” he says. “There. Take my car. Go to Henderson's house. Stay with the kids until I come back, okay?”

“When will you come back?”

“Late. Early. I don’t know. Before school tomorrow.”

“Steve,” Hopper says.

“Just don’t go back to your house, ok? Don’t go anywhere near Forest Hills or Lover’s Lake. We’ll get a message to Wayne too, but. Don’t go back. Go to Henderson's. Wait for me.”

“Steve,” Hopper says.

He squeezes Eddie’s arm. He lets go like it hurts him.

Steve climbs into Hopper's truck and Eddie watches them pull out of the parking lot with a dread he can’t explain sitting like stagnant water in his chest.

Eddie’s pulse is loud in his ears and heavy in his stomach as he considers the black ink on his arm; the knife; the keys. There’s a thunderhead building, eerie and green, eclipsing the sunset in the distance.

He walks to Steve’s car, closes the trunk, and opens the driver’s side door. He sits. He cranks the engine.

Dio is playing.

He looks at the instructions on his arm, directing him left onto Main Street, and for a minute he considers obeying. He doesn’t. He puts the car in gear and turns right toward Forest Hills.

He’ll go to Henderson’s. But Steve is acting like the trailer park is going to get bombed in the night and there are things at the house that…there are things he needs. He still half thinks this is all some giant prank, but Steve’s injuries are real and the guns were sure as hell real and Hopper is real. If something terrible is going to happen tonight, Eddie has to save his guitar, his mom’s records, the t-shirt from the first concert Wayne ever took him to. He’ll need to get Wayne’s favorite mug and the rosary Wayne’s mother left him and their social security cards and other important documents from the drawer in the kitchen.

It’ll take five minutes. Guitar. Milk crate of records. One bag of assorted shit. And then he’ll go to Henderson’s.

Five minutes.

In and out.

It’ll be fine.

#steddie #time travel fix it #steve harrington/eddie munson #eddie x steve #myfic #stranger things fic

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