Chapter Text
Steve Harrington is an idiot. He knows this, has heard it enough times, from enough people, to know its true. And he’s fine with it; accepts it with good nature, as easily as water slides off a duck. If there are two truths to his name, they are as follows:
1) He is an idiot.
2) Yes, his hair really is that awesome.
Steve Harrington, here to say stupid shit and look pretty dang good doing it. He should get it printed on a business card, Robin tells him, somewhere above his hourly babysitting rates. And he agrees with that, has no problem with that.
It’s just… that – shit, well, it’s just that, sometimes, he gets a little concerned about everything he’s too dumb to understand. He knows that he’s a worrier, and that he tends to test people’s patience. He says a lot of dumb shit because he is a dumb shit, y’know? But that doesn’t mean he can’t have questions, questions that he’d really like answered.
But he won’t ask them. And as much as he’s okay with being ‘The Idiot’, he doesn’t want to seem like even more of one, not when everyone’s already stressed, and freaking out, and screaming.
(So, so much screaming. He doesn’t think it’ll ever go quiet in his head, never again.)
The Upside Down is literally encroaching into Hawkins, no longer just lurking in the darkened corners like the nightmare he pretended it was.
No one has time to talk about the damn bodies, Steve!
That’s the response he imagines most often, so he doesn’t say anything. Not to anyone.
Upfront though? That’s what he wants to ask about. Or talk about, if ask isn’t exactly the right word. He wants to talk about all the damn bodies. And realistically, he probably could. Because people are nice like that, they let him talk, even when he has so much less to say than everyone else.