Archive of Our Own ^beta

Greg took a deep breath and flexed his fingers around the steering wheel as he crossed the state line into Maine. It wasn’t far now. Just over an hour left according to the expensive sat nav mounted on the dashboard. The dread he’d been feeling ever since he got into the car settled deeper into his bones. It weighed him down, made it hard for him to breathe. Greg decided that he hated Maine. The trees were too tall, the roads too empty, the air felt unsettled. He got the sense that everything was there to consume him. When he looked down his knuckles were white, very consciously he forced his grip to loosen. The last thing he wanted was to crash here, who knew what could be lurking out in those woods.

Tom yawned loudly, “is there anywhere to pull over here?” he peered around as if he’d somehow missed a Walmart out in the middle of the forest, “we’ve been driving for-fucking-ever,”

“It’s, uh, it’s been like, four hours?” Greg glanced over at Tom, trying his best not to come off as too judgy. He didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for a Tom tantrum right now. Not today.

“Yeah,” Tom scoffed indignantly, “if this were any other circumstance I’d be taking a private jet this distance, Greg ,” he spat the name at Greg’s face, the way Tom always did.

Greg sighed quietly, ignoring the antagonism. Tom couldn’t even actually afford his own private jet, he only took them when he was with the family, same as Greg. Pointing that out wouldn’t be doing himself any favors though. “Well sorry I’m not like, Logan Roy levels of rich, man, it’s not that far a drive,”

“Maybe with your youthful exuberance this is easy, Greg,” Tom shot back sarcastically, “but men my age require a higher speed of travel,” Greg did his best to hold back his laugh. But Tom noticed, and tacked on, “just ask your dad, he’ll get it,”

Greg’s insides swirled at the mention of his father. He shut up and glanced over at the sat nav again. Two minutes closer now. A shiver wracked his body.

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about,” Tom told him loudly. If he wasn’t driving Greg would’ve dropped his head to his hands. “I mean, c’mon, Greg, he’s the one who asked to meet you , what’s he gonna do? Ask you to his house just to walk out on you again?” Tom chuckled at his own joke.

Greg just kept his eyes on the road, forcing down a litany of terrible things he wanted to shout at Tom for saying that, instead mumbling a weak, “leave me alone man,” Tom looked at him, and Greg could practically see the venom about to be spat from his tongue. He tried to diffuse by giving him an actual answer, “it’s just weird okay? I don’t know what he wants with me y’know, and I don’t exactly trust him,”

Tension sat deep in his chest as Greg watched Tom in the rear view mirror, trying to gauge his reaction. He let his body settle when Tom just huffed and rolled his eyes, “C’mon, Greg, I’m just joking,” 

Tom apparently picked up that Greg wasn’t getting any less stressed and he continued, a little softer, “look, you’re the one with all the power now, Greg. You have a good career and a great fucking life. You’re dad’s probably just some washed up old asshole trying to reconnect with his son in some lame attempt to get over a late mid-life crisis, you have nothing to worry about, buddy,”

“Yeah,” Greg let go some of the tension in his shoulders, “I guess you’re right,”

“Damn, fucking right, I’m right,” Tom sat back and crossed his arms, “now take a detour through the centre of Portland, we’re at least stopping for a fucking coffee,”

Greg squinted down at the sat nav, confused by Tom’s request since they already had to go through the middle of Portland to get to his dad’s place on the outskirts. 

“It's, like, weird that there’s two Portlands right?” Greg mused out loud.

“God, Greg,” Tom sighed the sigh he reserved exclusively for when Greg didn’t know something  that Tom personally considered common knowledge, “there are tons of Portlands, now get on finding us a fucking coffee place,” he pointed at the sat nav aggressively.

“Uh, do you think you could do it? I’m kinda like, driving here,” Greg gestured weakly to the steering wheel in his hands.

Tom sighed like it was an unreasonable request, but he did begrudgingly lean forward and start to put in where he wanted to go.

Greg glanced at the ETA displayed at the bottom of the screen, watching as it changed from two thirty to two forty with the coffee stop. Not long now. A new wave of anxiety washed over him, and he clenched his fingers tight around the steering wheel again.

Steve glanced up from his book to look at the clock for the forty-eighth time. It was nearly two, and all he’d done so far today was sit here and worry about what time it was. It was ridiculous. Eddie would be home soon at least, before Greg got there if he had any luck. It felt weak, being unable to face his own son alone, but just thinking about the last time he saw him, that time in his life, the person he was and the people he knew, he could hardly bear it. 

That world he used to belong to was this all-consuming darkness that would slowly tower over you with its infinite mass, and before you even knew what was happening it would swallow you whole and spit out a shadow with glassy eyes and Armani skin. Now his son had become one of those zombies, even after everything Steve had done to prevent that. 

He closed off that line of thought. It wasn’t too late, he could still help. If he could at least try his best at being a father for once then there was still a chance.

The sound of jangling keys snapped Steve out of his ruminating. The jangle of those keys and the creek of the door had some pavlovian effect on him, forcing the tension from his muscles and the anxiety from his mind. He smiled softly as Eddie walked through to the living room.

“Hey,” Eddie grinned at him and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek on the way to hang up his jacket, “Greg isn’t here yet?”

“Nope,” Steve flicked at the edges of the book cover in his hand, “he said he didn’t know exactly when he’d get in though, so, it’s not a worry, y’know?”

Eddie shot him a concerned look and sat down beside him on the sofa. “You sure you want to do this, baby?” He took Steve’s hand in his own, carefully rubbing a thumb over his knuckles.

“I have to,” Steve thought about the kid he left behind, his wide, starry eyes and excited grin. How could anyone leave that kid? “I owe him an explanation,” he squeezed Eddie’s hand.

There was a moment of silence, before Eddie brought his other hand up to cup Steve’s face, “you’re doing the right thing,” he whispered to him softly. 

Steve relaxed into his touch, and leaned in to kiss him. He kept their foreheads together as he said, “you know I love you?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckled, “you only tell me constantly,” with an obnoxious grin Eddie stood up and ruffled Steve’s thinning hair before waltzing out of the room.

“Asshole!” Steve shouted after him affectionately.

All he heard in response was Eddie cackling from the kitchen.

Steve was shaking. He wasn’t sure why. It was either the drugs choking his bloodstream or the cold tiles he was laying on. Or both. The phone rang sharp against his ear, it was painful, and he wanted to hang up. But he couldn’t. This was too important to leave. Besides, he’d paid so much to have someone track down this number, sunk cost dictated that he had to go through with this call now.

It felt like hours he was there. Laying on the cold tile floor of the fourth or fifth kitchen. He wasn’t listening when Logan told him how many kitchens this particular estate had, mostly he had just wanted to ask him why he possibly needed more than one. Why he needed this house at all? 

Everywhere in here felt empty and cold, impersonal. Apathetic hatred seeped from the walls and hung in the air, finding ways to sink into the bones of the occasional inhabitants. The kids didn’t play here, they stared blankly at the walls and found ways to torment themselves and each other. 

This kitchen was nothing. It wasn’t even real. It was nothing like the tiny space he’d stood in with Eddie Munson as he helped him gather his things before they were all sent away. That kitchen was warm. It breathed and warped itself to hold them close. It was a real space that held a real memory of gentle laughs and soft touches. It was still the memory he retreated into when he wanted to feel like a real person again.

“Hello?” A tired voice said when the ringing finally stopped.

Steve almost cried, “Eddie?”

“Uh, yeah,” there was shuffling on the other line, “who is this?”

“It’s Steve,” he held his breath in the following silence.

“Holy shit,” Eddie mumbled, “it’s- is it really you, man?”

“Yeah,” Steve laughed wetly as he tried to push down his tears, “yeah it’s really me,”

“Fuck,” Eddie said under his breath.

Steve stayed quiet as he heard more movement on the other end of the line. He didn’t know what to say. Everything he felt about Eddie felt too precious and fragile to say out loud.

“Where are you? Where did you end up?” Eddie eventually filled the silence.

The cold from the tiles seeped through Steve’s shirt and chinos, he shifted in discomfort, “New York, I, uh, I met this woman, our families knew each other, and I’m living out here around her and her family just now,”

“Oh,” there was a disappointed edge in Eddie’s voice, “I’m back in Indiana,” he laughed with very little humor, “Indianapolis though, y’know Sinclair and Mayfield moved down here as well?”

“I didn’t,” a small smile crept onto Steve’s face as he thought about Lucas and Max again. He hadn’t seen them since they were kids, he’d thought about them though. Sometimes when he’d see Siobhan he’d do a double take at her wild red hair. “How are they? Do you still see them?”

“Hell yeah I do, couldn’t get those little shits away from me if I tried,” his voice was full of a kind of fondness Steve hadn’t heard for years, “they’re still together as well, can you believe that? They got engaged a few months ago,” Eddie paused for a moment before hesitantly adding, “they said they wouldn’t start planning the wedding until you showed back up, Harrington,”

Something twanged in his heart upon hearing his old name. Tears welled in Steve’s eyes, “really?” he whispered, clinging onto the phone like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Yeah, man, we all miss you like crazy,” Eddie’s voice was so soft, it sounded like warmth and hope and that night in the Munson’s kitchen. It sounded real.

“I miss you too,” Steve said in a way that meant I love you.

“How long are you just gonna sit in this car being a pussy, Greg?” Tom complained, as if he had any idea what Greg was going through right now.

That was his dad’s house, right in front of him. In that building was the man who had walked out on him when he was ten, the man who’d left him to his unstable mother and neglectful grandfather, ensuring he’d spend his formative years going hungry and ostracizing himself from everyone around him. Greg had no idea how to feel about any of this. He thought he’d have worked it out between that first phone call and now. But even facing it down, his emotions were all spiraling in his chest so much that wasn’t able to pick one out. 

“Can I just like, have a minute, Tom?”

“You have had a minute, Greg,” Tom raised his voice, not quite shouting yet but getting there, “You’ve had a lot of minutes actually, now it’s time to be a big boy and either go the fuck inside or pussy out and go the fuck home,”

Greg huffed, like a teenager, before begrudgingly getting out of the car and quickly marching himself to the front door, Tom close on his heels. He hovered his fist in front of the door. The seconds ticked past and still his hand hovered in the air. Every possible future for this interaction swirled in his head. It was too much, how was he meant to deal with this? Whatever happened here could determine whether or not he had a relationship with his dad tomorrow. He couldn’t even decide if he even wanted a relationship with his dad. He didn’t know what was better, he didn’t know what would happened, he didn’t know what he wanted, he didn’t-

“Oh for fucks sake,” Tom leaned past him and knocked loudly on the door before returning back to his side.

Ten seconds - that felt to Greg like ten hours - passed before the door in front of them finally opened. Behind it stood a man Greg was surprised he still recognised. His dad did look older now, subtle wrinkles pulled at the side of his eyes and his forehead, and his widow's peak cut higher into his hairline. It distracted Greg for a moment as he considered that it perhaps boded well for him that his dad still had most of his hair.

"Greg," his dad said quietly, like he was in shock. For a moment he fumbled with his arms, obviously unsure whether he should be going in for a hug or not. 

Greg just watched him blankly.

“Uh,” his dad glanced at Tom behind him. There was a spark of recognition in his eyes, but he turned to Greg and asked, “who’s this?” with a tense smile.

“Tom Wambsgans,” Tom held his hand forward, “I’m a friend and colleague,” he smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Rather than placating, it seemed to set his dad on edge, “Steve,” he said, apprehensively shaking Tom’s hand, “Hirsch,” he added a moment later.

“I, uh, I thought- your names George?” Greg said before he had even thought about it.

“Ah, yeah,” Steve said like he’d just been caught out in a lie, “technically, I’ve been going by my, uh, middle name out here,” he continued, sounding more like he was coming up with additional lies rather than telling the truth.

For a moment they all just stood there awkwardly. Greg didn’t know what he was meant to be doing here, how was meeting your estranged father again after twenty years supposed to go?

“Would you like to come inside?” Steve finally managed.

Greg was quiet until Tom turned to him and he remembered that he had to answer, “uh, sure, yeah, lets go,” he gestured weakly into the house.

The house was nothing like Greg expected, which was to say, it was nothing like the house he remembered growing up in. It was cluttered but not in a messy way, there was just a lot of stuff. The two console tables in the hall were filled with plants and keys and little trinkets, eclectic rugs stretched over the hardwood floors, lovingly framed photographs lined every wall. Greg noticed Tom stop by one photo in particular. Steve looked younger in it, more like how Greg had remembered him, it was probably taken only a few months after he left. He and another man stood either side of a red-haired woman in a white dress, she looked remarkably like Shiv had on her wedding day.

Steve stopped walking and looked back at them, coming over to look at the photo as well.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Tom said, not taking his eyes off of the photo, “she looks at a lot like my wife, Shiv,”

“That’s my friend Max,” Steve laughed a little, “her and Shiv looked pretty similar as kids as well. How long have you been married?” There was an indiscernible edge to his tone.

“Almost two years now,” Tom smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. Greg tried to casually pat him on the back in comfort but Tom just looked confused at him.

“Are you married?” Greg asked Steve more accusingly than he intended.

Steve faltered on that for a moment, “uh, yeah, I am, have been for a few years now,” 

Greg silently seethed at that. It felt odd, it’s not like he particularly wanted his parents to be together, they hadn’t been good for each other, he knew that even as a kid.

“He’s just through in the kitchen if you wanna, y’know, say hi and stuff,” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, staring at Greg intently, almost desperately.

Greg just shrugged, he actually didn’t really want to meet the man who had a big hand in ruining his life, but he thought it was probably too late to back out now.

It was strange, seeing Greg again. Steve had seen him through screens and TV cameras of course but nothing could quite prepare him for actually seeing Greg , in front of him, in the flesh, as an adult. If he still talked to his parents he would ask them if it was the same for them, if seeing your child as a fully grown person was meant to be disorienting and uncomfortable. The first thing he noticed was how tall Greg suddenly was, he easily towered over Steve. Greg had been a pretty lanky kid but Steve was still taken aback by his height. He definitely got that from his mother’s side, Steve remembered Ewan being pretty tall as well.

Eddie sat on the island in the kitchen, he was texting someone - probably Dustin - but he turned as Steve led Greg and Tom into the room.

“This is my husband, Eddie,” Steve gestured to him awkwardly and walked over to stand beside him. The tension in his shoulders dropped a little as Eddie rested a hand on the small of Steve’s back, “Eddie, this my son Greg, and-”

“Tom Wambsgans,” Eddie cut in with a grin. Tom startled slightly at the recognition, which only encouraged Eddie more as he leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Tom recovered quickly, laughing a little, “nice to meet a fan,”

He laughed at his own joke and Eddie joined in, putting on a very pleasant tone as he said, “oh I’m not a fan,”

Steve subtly hit Eddie on the shoulder as the room dissolved into awkward silence.

“Well,” Tom started, though he didn’t seem to have any idea of what to say next.

“Can I get you guys something to drink?” Steve cut in with a clap, “or a snack maybe? It’s a pretty long drive from New York,”

Steve busied himself looking through cabinets to see what he could offer. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tom whisper something to Greg, to which Greg rolled his eyes and smiled fondly. Steve didn’t know how to feel about that, how to feel about Tom at all really. He knew what Eddie had told him, that he was the head of a corrupt right-wing news station which peddled misinformation designed to stir up fear and hatred, and that he was an overall terrible person set on corrupting the masses. But Steve was struggling to consolidate that version of Tom with the Tom he was meeting now, with his lilting midwestern accent and his apparently genuine care for Greg. Steve was all too familiar with the fake niceties of the super-rich, and though Tom was clearly trying very hard to fit that type, it was obvious that it was just that, just trying .

“What, like, do you have?” Greg leaned into Steve’s space to peer past him into the cupboard.

“In terms of food or drink?” Steve looked up at Greg, and wondered if he’d ever get used to looking up at his son.

“Um, both? I guess?” 

“Okay I mean we have water, obviously,” Steve gestured to the sink next to him and Greg nodded like it was an interesting and insightful discovery, “then there’s some coffee back here I think, and tea. And in terms of snacks,” Steve crouched down to the cupboards under the counter, Greg almost dropping to join before settling for leaning back on the counter, “uh, looks like it’s just popcorn or breadsticks,” he put both on the counter and shot Greg an apologetic look, “sorry, some friends came round with their kids the other day and kinda cleared us out,”

Greg shrugged, “I could go for breadsticks,” he started eating one before offering the packet over to Tom, who looked around the room for a moment before taking one for himself.

“I’ll take a tea, thanks,” Tom spoke up, holding the breadstick like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

Steve nodded at the request and put on a polite smile as he got everything together.

Eddie hopped off the island and pulled out a chair at the dining table, patting it and saying, “come sit, Greg,”

Steve caught Greg glancing at him for a moment before going to sit down, bringing his breadstick packet with him.

“So, how did you and Steve meet?” Tom asked Eddie as he sat down at the table uninvited. Trying his best at small talk to edge away the mounting tension in the room.

Steve continued his tea making and listened carefully to what story Eddie was going to give them.

“Oh we went to high school together,” Eddie said, and Steve let out the breath he’d been holding. It wasn’t a lie and it was much easier and safer than explaining why and how they actually met, “we hung out a little just after we graduated but everyone moved away for college and stuff, you know how it is, but we didn’t see each other for a long time after that,”

“That’s when he had me?” Greg said mid breadstick, his tone indiscernible.

“Yeah, uh,” Steve turned to see Eddie looking at him for assistance, “you’re probably better asking Steve about that one,”

The room fell quiet again as they all watched him bring over the tea and sit down.

“Yeah, well, my parents knew the Roys’ and they kinda set me up with, uh, your mom,” he gestured at Greg, as if there was anyone else in the room he could be talking about, “um, I guess the rest is kinda obvious?” Steve fiddled with the handle of his mug.

Greg set aside the breadsticks and picked at the edge of the placemat in front of him on the table, “yeah, I mean, I guess I just kinda wanna know like, why did you, uh, leave? Y’know? Like was it just, uh, just Eddie or…?”

Eddie rested a hand on his knee and Steve took a deep breath.

Marianne,

First of all, I’m sorry. I know all of this hasn’t been easy for you either. I don’t think there’s a good way to say this, but I’m leaving. The way we live here is destroying me, all of the drugs and corruption and abuse that I’ve witnessed and been a part of is just too much for me to deal with. I don’t want to have that blood on my hands, and I can’t stomach being around the people who do anymore.

There’s a lot you don't know about me and my past. I always wish I could’ve explained. I wish that it was something simple enough to explain. Things happened to me in Hawkins that I can never recover from and that only a handful of people in the world will ever understand. I thought when we first met that moving away would help put that all behind me, but it’s only made it all worse. It’s made me worse. I need some time to be with the people who understand what I went through so that I have a chance at living without feeling haunted.

If I could I would take him with me, but as it is I think Greg stands a better chance with you. I know you can do the right thing, deep down I know you don’t want this for him either. I would rather my son grow up poor and well-meaning than rich and fucked up - like we are. Please take him away from New York and your family. Go to Canada, stay with your dad for a while if you have to, just please don’t let them near him again.

I’m staying in Indianapolis with a friend , I’ve left an envelope with his address already  written out in case you need to contact me. If you’d let me, I'd still like to know Greg, I don’t want him to think this was his fault, make sure he knows that.

Sorry, again, but I’m kidding myself pretending you don’t know right? I think even Caroline noticed. It’s taken me a long time to accept who I am, and I think part of that acceptance needs to be being honest with you that the man I’m staying with isn’t just a friend. He goes by Eddie, or he did when I last knew him, I was in love with him a long time ago, and I don’t think I ever quite got over him. 

I want to tell you that I loved you as well but we both probably know that isn’t as true as we’ve been pretending all these years.

This is the coward’s way out, I understand that, but if I stay any longer then I’ll die here.

I’m sorry,

Steve

Steve gently set the letter down on the marble island, pride of place in the room. He pulled his backpack onto his shoulder and wiped the forming tears out of his eyes. For a while he just stared down at the letter. Something in his chest had pulled taut, Steve didn’t want to move in case it snapped. It felt so much more real now compared to the late nights he’d spent agonizing about it on the phone to Eddie and Robin. 

But he found the strength to step away from the counter and snap his tether. Then he found the strength to traverse the dead hallways of the house. They seemed longer than they used to, each step felt like it took half of the energy in his body and each second he walked felt like an hour. Eventually though, he made it to the front door. He breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed the handle.

He didn’t have time to turn it before he saw the light behind him flick on. 

His whole body flinched, he whipped around with wide-eyes, one hand clutching the door knob, the other raised in a fist in front of his face.

“D-dad?” Greg was standing at the bottom of the stairs next to the lightswitch.

Steve lowered his fist, only for a moment glancing at the light to make sure it wasn’t flickering.

“Hey, buddy,” he crouched and opened his arms, inviting the still-confused Greg towards him.

Greg cautiously wandered over into his arms. Steve hugged him, tight, tighter than could possibly be comfortable. He bit his lip to keep his sobs buried in his throat. 

“Are you going somewhere?” Greg pulled out of the hug and poked at the bag on Steve’s back.

“Y-yeah, uh,” Steve fumbled for an adequate space between truth and lie, “I’m going to visit someone,”

“Oh, okay,” Greg accepted without question, “when are you gonna be back?”

Steve reached up to push Greg’s hair back from his eyes, “I don’t know yet,” his hand lingered on Greg’s face. 

For the first time it properly settled into Steve’s bones that he might never see his son again, that this was the price he had to pay for his soul. Though he hoped that wasn’t the case. He hoped that he could see Greg again someday, so he could know for sure that he became a better man than he was. He hoped Marianne listened to him, and that Logan and his kids never got a hand on Greg.

“There’s a letter for your mom in the kitchen,” Steve took Greg’s hand in his own, “make sure she reads it for me, okay, bud?” 

Greg nodded.

“You should go back to sleep, kid,” he patted Greg on the shoulder and stood up.

“Okay, see you later dad,” Greg waved and ran back upstairs.

“Bye,” Steve choked out, running out the door before he could convince himself to go back.

“There were a lot of reasons,” Steve said after a moment.

Greg didn’t even attempt to stop the angry huff he gave in response to that. Tom patted his knee in a quiet kind of support. Probably for the best, Eddie was still staring at Tom like he was a cat stalking its prey, if Tom tried to get a word in Greg worried he may not live.

Steve looked increasingly uncomfortable but continued, “I wasn’t happy, was the main-”

“So?” Greg interrupted, “mom wasn’t happy either, I wasn’t particularly happy, Tom isn’t really happy in his marriage,”

“Greg!” Tom looked at him indignantly and pulled his hand off of his knee.

“Sorry, but like,” Greg moved on with very little remorse, “that’s what being that kind of person is. Like you knew what you signed up for, if you weren’t happy then why even get that far?” he didn’t elaborate what he meant by ‘get that far’ but he could tell by the way Steve flinched that he understood anyway.

“I think you know why,” Steve stared hard at him, like he could see through Greg’s skull, “the money, the power, you’ve seen it all for yourself now. It draws you in until you aren’t thinking about whether you’re happy or not, just about the next thing you could gain, the next favor you could pull. You end up cataloging all of the upper hands you have on people assuming that if you just have enough of all of the things that everyone around you is scrambling for then you’ll finally just be happy. Because you already convinced yourself that the dark hole living in your chest was always there, you were just never close enough to be able to see it,” Steve took a breath, and leaned across the table, reaching his hand out towards Greg, “that world blinds you to what matters, what can really make you happy. It leaves you stumbling around in the dark desperately reaching for anything on the off chance that it will cure you,”

Greg didn’t take Steve’s hand. He didn’t want to let his words touch him, because deep down they were resonating with the part of Greg that died every time he shook a hand worth millions of dollars. That Greg was almost nothing now compared to the rest, and his every instinct was calling Steve a liar, saying he was weak, that he wasn’t happy because he wasn’t strong enough to win happiness.

“It's not like that,” he whined weakly, “I’m not y’know- I’m happy with where I am, like I’m sorry that you couldn’t handle it but-”

“Greg,” Tom interrupted him.

All three of them whipped around to look at Tom. He was looking intently at Steve, almost transfixed.

“Hear him out,” Tom ignored the sudden attention on him and nudged Greg’s shoulder.

Eddie was staring at Tom, his mouth agape and his eyebrows scrunched to the middle of his face. Greg felt equally perplexed, his whole train of thought had crashed and burned in the confusion, it was all he could do to turn back to Steve and let him continue.

“Uh,” Steve cleared his throat, unprepared for this new development, “It’s- it’s like when you cook lobster, you’re supposed to boil them when they’re still alive, but you don’t just throw the lobster in the boiling water cause it would thrash and complain. You have to slowly turn up the heat, so the lobster doesn’t realize you’re boiling it until it’s already dying. That’s what waystar is,” Steve nodded to himself, “it’s a massive lobster pot of misery, and you don’t realize just how much agony you’re in until, well, until you go the way of Logan’s first wife,”

Greg didn’t actually know anything about Logan’s first wife, Connor’s mother, but she wasn’t around, no one ever even mentions her. Whatever happened, it couldn’t have been good.

“Well,” Tom said, leaning back in his seat. Greg honed in on him, Tom was strange and mean but he was all Greg had, and he trusted him to pick out what he needed from the onslaught of information now presented to him, “we aren’t all the kind of people to just leave our families on a whim,”

The tide in Greg turned again, and whatever resonance Steve’s words were having was washed out by old rage from the memory of that night when he was ten. He felt the ground under his feet again as the world as he understood it fell back into place around him.

“I-I’m not necessarily suggesting you do, I'm just trying to explain,” Steve pleaded.

“Yeah, well,” Greg shrugged, “your explanation isn’t good enough,” 

Steve looked devastated, but that was his fault. Still, Greg couldn’t meet his eyes, so he settled for picking at the edge of the placemat again.

“I’m sorry,” Steve almost whispered, “I tried to do the best for you. I wasn’t a good dad,”

“You think mom was any better?” Greg’s quiet miserable words hung in the air, “I didn’t need you to be good, I just needed you to be around, I trusted you,”

Tears welled in Greg’s eyes, and he made no move to wipe them away. He glanced up to see Steve in a similar state. Greg always thought it was stupid when people talked about having that moment when they first realised their parents were fallible, his parents were both such fuck-ups that he always knew they were fallible. But seeing his dad sitting opposite him, crying about what he’d done, Greg realized for the first time that his dad was another person. Something clicked for him, because his pre-teen mind had always thought of his dad as a cruel and malicious thing, something which left because it just didn’t care, because it wasn’t capable of love. Steve was none of those things. He was just a person. Which made it feel worse, because now Greg knew that he could’ve been better.

Greg stood up and left the room in an attempt to storm away. It was short lived as he had no idea where to storm away to. He didn’t want to go back to the car, he didn’t actually want to leave , plus he was parked on the street and that felt a little too public for a breakdown. Instead he headed the other direction down the corridor, passing more photos of Steve and Eddie and their friends. From what he saw in glances it looked like he’d mostly hung around with the same few people his whole life, the ones from Hawkins, greg presumed. 

He was thrown when he came to the end of the hall and saw the photo next to the back door. It was of him, and his parents, one of the few ever taken. Greg was a child, probably around five, and he was sitting on Steve’s lap, both of them asleep while Marianne looked on fondly. Greg had no idea who would’ve taken this photo, or how Steve ended up with it, but it made them look like they were happy.

Greg ignored the photo and went outside, sitting down on the first porch seat he came across. The sound of light rain pattering on the awning calmed him slightly. 

It was a while that he just sat in silence, letting it all wash over him.

But then the door beside him opened, and Eddie stepped out, “oh, hey,” he said around the cigarette in his mouth, “thought you’d be in your car,” he flicked the lighter on with practiced ease.

“No,” Greg said simply, he didn’t really know what else he should say.

Eddie chuckled and sat down in the seat next to him, “you smoke?” he said, offering a cigarette towards him.

“Uh,” Greg felt weirdly like he was being tested, “I mean I smoke like, weed, sometimes but, y’know,”

Eddie nodded with a little laugh as he took another puff, “yeah it’s unfortunately not the kind of afternoon for that,”

Greg squinted over at Eddie, “you, uh, aren’t really what I expected,”

“No?” he grinned, “did you think I’d be some lame ‘burbs asshole?”

“A little,” Greg shrugged, “you aren’t the kind of guy I thought my dad would know,”

Eddie smiled in a way that made Greg feel like he was missing something, “no offense kid but you didn’t know Steve Harrington at his prime, dude was a badass,” he looked almost star-struck.

“Harrington?” he’d never heard his dad’s real name.

“Harrington,” Eddie nodded sagely, “he got too famous and had to change it. I betcha anyone who was anywhere near Hawkins in the early eighties still knows that name, he was bell of the fuckin’ ball,” Eddie laughed again, “they called him the king of Hawkins high you know?”

Even when he was around Steve hadn’t talked much about his life in Hawkins. Greg didn’t want to care now but he was hanging on Eddie’s every word. Though he wasn’t convinced of his explanation of why Steve had to change his name. He also wasn’t convinced that this was just a friendly chat.

“Are you trying to, like, convince me he was in the right?” he asked hesitantly.

Eddie shook his head violently, “christ, no, what he did to you was horrible and selfish,” Eddie spat the words with such venom that Greg was thrown.

“So,” he furrowed his brows in concentration, “I don’t, uh, understand? Why are you, like, with him then?”

“Because,” Eddie turned in his seat, pulling one leg up to rest on the chair, “I understand why he’d do something so horrible, and I believe people can change, Steve especially,”

Greg sighed and sunk down in his seat, “what does that even mean?” he huffed quietly.

“It means,” Eddie’s voice had softened, “in high school Steve was the worst guy I knew, he bullied me and my friends, called us shit I can’t ever bear to repeat. But, he learned, he actually got to know the losers and misfits he’d hated so much and realized we weren’t so bad, and he taught me that he wasn’t so bad either,” he flicked the ash from his cigarette, “I didn’t take it well when he told me about you,”

“What?” Greg was thrown by the sudden change in topic.

“He didn’t tell me he had a son until like, a year after he left you,” Eddie clenched his jaw, only relaxing it as he took another puff from his cigarette, “my dad walked out on me as well, so he knew I wouldn’t be happy about that, and I wasn’t. I almost left him forever, then and there, we didn’t speak for like a month I think. It took a long time before I trusted him again, but Steve’s good at that, the whole, fixing what you fucked up thing,” he looked Greg dead in the eye, before sighing and looking away, “look, kid, I’m not asking you to forgive him here and now, god knows if my old man showed up after all this time I’d be taking it a hell of a lot worse than you are. But keep in touch, yeah? Give him a chance to win you back over, he genuinely is sorry,”

Eddie patted him on the shoulder and threw his cigarette out onto the wet lawn before going back inside.

Greg stayed outside for a while longer, weighing it all out in his head. For so many years all he wanted was to have his dad back, and for some many years all he wanted was to make his dad suffer for what he’d done to him. Now that he was really faced with the choice he wasn’t sure what he wanted. But as he sat in his dad’s garden watching the rain, so far away from Waystar and his cousins, he suddenly realized that he could see the water boiling.

Eddie had left the room shortly after Greg, and Steve had thought it best to give them both space. Unfortunately Tom had come to the same conclusion, leaving them alone together in the kitchen. Steve hadn’t come any closer to understanding Tom during their interactions, he was a man of two halves, and those halves very seldom came together to form anything particularly coherent or meaningful. 

“So,” Steve drummed his fingers on the table.

Tom hummed in vague agreement, taking a sip from his tea.

The silence stretched out unbearably long. Steve pulled out his phone to check the time. It had only been one minute.

“You’re married to Shiv?” Steve eventually asked just to break the awkwardness.

“Yes,” Tom nodded and smiled a little. Steve wanted to bring up what Greg had said earlier, about Tom’s marriage being unhappy, but that might be a little personal for someone he only met today.

“You, uh, know Greg through the family then?” he went on, trying to talk around eggshells to keep the conversation going.

Tom hummed in agreement, “he showed up at Logan’s birthday looking for a job, I took him under my wing so to speak,”

Steve wanted to ask more than he was sure Tom knew. Because he didn’t understand why Greg would show up there all of a sudden, why he would trust Tom enough to take a job being offered to him. But he didn’t want to ruin his favor with Greg anymore than it was already ruined, so he tried to keep it pleasant, “and you’re friends now?” he asked through gritted teeth. 

“Something like that,” Tom said flippantly, not really answering the question.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him, “Something like that? What does that mean?”

Tom seemed flustered by the question, gesturing his hands around, “it means, y’know, we’re… we’re co-workers, he’s my assistant, we spend a lot of time together at work, does that make us friends? Not exactly but-”

“Why did you come here with him?” Steve interrupted, lifting himself forward in his chair and quickly throwing out his idea of pleasantries. He’d decided getting to the bottom of this was more important than being nice to Tom Wambsgans.

“Because we’re close,” Tom replied simply.

“How close?” Steve leaned even further forward until he was right on the edge of his seat.

Tom floundered for a moment, “Well, how am I meant to answer that?” he sniped, “there’s no universal friendship meter, we’re not little girls counting fucking friendship bracelets, how am I meant to quantify our closeness? We’re close enough that I’d do this for him, does that answer your interrogation?”

For a moment Steve didn’t say anything, he just looked at Tom. The way he was tapping his nails against the mug and glancing around. He thought back on the little details, him whispering to Greg, his unhappy marriage, and suddenly it all clicked into place. So Steve decided he was going to do Eddie proud and fuck with Tom a little, family bonding and all.

“First of all, anyone can wear a friendship bracelet, also I know a closet case when I see one, Tom,” Steve leaned back and crossed his arms, looking on smugly as Tom choked on his tea.

“Excuse me?” Tom said dramatically.

“Yeah look I have one on right now,” Steve pulled his sleeve down and held out his wrist, “my friend Robin-”

“Not the fucking friendship bracelet,” Tom snapped and swatted Steve’s arm down, “about me being…” he gestured around vaguely, “y’know,”

“It’s not a big deal, man,” Steve shrugged, “I know being around the Roys they make it seem like being gay is some big horrible thing but it’s totally fine,”

“I’m not-” Tom spluttered, “why are you saying? What are you trying to fucking get at here?”

“Woah, man,” Steve held his hands up, “there’s no need to get rude, I’m just saying, if that’s who you are, there are plenty of cities in Maine to run away to,” Steve sipped at his tea.

Tom was quiet. For a long while he just stared at Steve with an indiscernible expression. It was a lot to hear, Steve understood that, maybe better than anyone.

He dropped the schtick, and softened his voice slightly to say, “seriously, Tom, whether you’re gay or not,” Tom flinched, but Steve pressed on, “I understand what you’re going through, and it’s never too late to get out and try to make amends,”

Tom turned away from him to look out the window. He took a long swig of his drink. “I could never be like you,”

There was no venom in his words, no love either. Steve wasn’t entirely sure exactly what Tom meant, what part of his own life Tom felt unable to recreate, but, for the first time, he understood him. 

Familiar silence lingered in the room, but they could breathe in it now. They managed to pass a few minutes in relative ease until Eddie came back in.

“Did you see Greg?” Steve asked immediately.

“Yeah, he’s out back,” Eddie nodded back into the hallway, “I think he just needs a minute,” he patted Steve on the shoulder as he came to sit beside him again.

Steve nodded, “but he’s okay, right?”

“He’s fine, love,” Eddie chuckled a little.

“Do you think,” Tom started and then hesitated when Eddie turned to face him, “uh, perhaps I should go speak to him?”

Eddie laughed cruelly, “yeah, I’m sure you’ll do him a hell of a lot of good,”

“Eddie, lay off him,” Steve said sternly, and Eddie looked at him dubiously but bit his tongue on whatever he had been about to say.

Before Steve could start explaining Greg appeared in the doorway, looking awkward, “um,” he cleared his throat like he was about to do a speech. Steve tried to prepare himself for the worst, for being cut out, for having insults hurled at him, for Greg to hate him as much as he should. “Do you have a, uh, guest room? It’s just, it’s a long drive back and if we’re having dinner here then… y’know,”

A smile crept onto Steve’s face, “yeah, we do, I’ll show you where it is,”

It was the middle of the night when the door to the ward finally creaked open. Steve bolted up from where he’d been half asleep in the bedside chair.

“Sorry for waking you,” the nurse whispered, “but, well, here he is,” 

Steve watched in awe as she walked over to him with his son in her arms. He reached out for him when she got close enough, desperate to see the life he’d helped create.

“Make sure you support his head,” she said, still quietly, before handing him the bundle.

Steve cradled the baby in his arms. His baby, his son. Wisps of dark hair sprouted from his tiny head, and Steve felt tears building in his eyes. 

“Mari, hey,” he nudged his wife awake with his shoulder.

She grumbled for a moment before opening her eyes, “oh my god,” she whispered in amazement.

“Yeah,” Steve smiled wider than he ever had before.

He held a whole person in his arms, someone he created. At that moment, Steve was so sure his son would be the best person in the world. He could do anything, and Steve would be there to help him, like he always was for his kids back in Hawkins. They would all sit together in the living room and Steve would recount stories of his old home to his son. Maybe they would buy a minivan, cart Greg and all of his friends around the country. Everything in the world was ahead of him now.

Steve couldn’t ever imagine loving anything more.