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Moonlight sunk in through the glass of Steve’s bedroom window, over the floor and atop his comforter. The illumination revealed a small amount of liquor left in a bottle held. A strong mix, previously filled to the brim, and emptied all by himself. Steve was way past the point of being drunk, his limbs heavy and tingly on the mattress. He couldn’t hold a coherent thought, but that was precisely the point. Getting rid of the ability to think, Steve Harrington was traumatized. He internalized everything, keeping his issues to himself. Alone, he swore he’d be alright handling it alone. It wasn’t true, every single word a lie. This poison and mental anguish he provided himself was only one of many problems he dealt with on a daily basis.
Heavy footsteps pounded the stairs, Steve braced himself. His jaw screwed shut, old fear bubbling in his throat. The door burst open, hitting loudly against the wall. That’s when everything went to a blur. Punches were thrown, insults screamed so close his ear drums rang. Everything stung, but the alcohol numbed it. “You're an alcoholic now, huh? What a way to represent our family. First you tell us whatever the hell that shit was last night, now this? What next, are you gonna start chugging pills? Pathetic, can’t believe you’re my son!” The final hit landed directly between Steve’s nose and eye socket. He passed out on impact, ache throbbing sorely through every bone.
-
Morning arrived faster than it should’ve. Steve’s eyes fluttered and he was immediately washed in pain. He winced at how bright it was once his eyes finally opened. Memories scratched at the back of his mind, alerting him of the glass bottle now shattered on the ground. Steve lazily pushed up, being hungover making things even messier. The whole room spun, his steps were cautious as he ventured to the bathroom. His reflection was horrid, the bruise forming on his eye was similar to one he had before.
A memory rose from the depths, one blocked as a trauma response. A sharp hit to the side of his face, spit flying and fluorescent lights. Pangs of the remembrance shook Steve to his core. He’d forgotten, how could he- something so awful. Nausea rose from his gut and into his throat. His feet backed him to the door, which he'd closed upon entry. Steve’s knees buckled and he fell, his breath shallow and quick. “No,” he looked sporadically back and forth, tears stinging at his eyes. Another flash of his Father hitting him from last night knocked him out of it. Steve shot up out of the floor, walking to the sink and placing his palms on the cold stone. He splashed water in his face, mentally preparing himself to see his mother for breakfast.
He left the bathroom and went downstairs, glancing around the corner to find only his Mom. Steve unconsciously covered his arms that held worse bruises than his face. As he approached, his Mom turned around, her face contorted to one of slight sympathy. Steve went to open the fridge, searching for anything to eat. Mrs. Harrington tilted her head and clicked her tongue, “He loves you, he’s just trying to make sure you turn out alright.” Steve slammed the fridge doors, pulling away and glaring at her. “Love?” A fake laugh, a familiar annoyance. “Yes,” she answers in a placid tone. Rage boils in his chest, Steve runs a hand across the back of his neck while letting out a long sigh. Holding back his anger had been getting harder by the day. “Now, come on, let’s eat,” the older woman remained in her unbothered composure. Steve shook his head with a snarl, “You know, actually, I don’t think I’ll bother.” A scoff in the tense atmosphere, his Mom glared, “Excuse me? What was that?” He lifts his eyebrows mockingly, “I said… I. Don’t. Think. I’ll. Bother.” Steve begins to walk off, eyeing the front door and remembering slipping his car keys in his pocket upstairs. Just for emergencies.
Steve’s Mom just watched in utter shock as he walked to the door, “It’s all.. it’s all bullshit!” A flash of Nancy replays through his mind, the familiar cadence hitting too close. “Love-,” this time, a hurt laugh, “as if you two ever loved me.”
“Steven!” His Mom calls from the kitchen, slowly heading his direction. “How dare you say such a thing! We’ve given you a wonderful life, taught you how to be a successful person in today’s world! We do love you!”
“Last time I checked, people who love you don’t do this,” Steve motions to his black eye before turning and bolting out the front door. He shuffles in his pocket with shaking hands, frantic to find his keys. He hops into the driver side of his car, shutting the door with terror as his Mom rushes out the front door.
“Steven! You get back here right now! Steven, are you listening to me?!” Tires screech against the asphalt, and Steve flies onto the road. He doesn’t bother to look back, despite the learned guilt of trusting people so horrible. Glimpses of stinging memories scream through his hollowed body. The steering wheel grounds him, his hands latched tightly to the leather. Trees blur together on the sides of Steve, his head tilted back on the headrest. The end of his chin slightly lifted, eyes trained on the road. A slow breath escapes him, a shaky one of significance. Steve chokes back a cry, he’d never fought back like this. He’d lied millions of times, come up with stories that represented the opposite of who he really was, just to survive the wrath of his parents.
Steve’s chest ached with every inhale, sure his Father had bruised his rib. The car air had become stale, time slowing as his destination grew closer. He dreaded having to show Joyce what had been done to him. It was embarrassing, embarrassing that he was such a disappointment that his own parents hated him. A backroad closed in and he turned on it, a familiar mailbox sticking out of the ground.
He rode the adrenaline rush, parking in the driveway and running up their steps. Steve nervously messed with his hair, knocking twice on the Byer’s front door. A couple seconds ticked by, and then it swung open. Joyce’s eyes widened at the sight of the boy, “Oh no.” She hurriedly exited and shut the door behind her, opening her arms in offer of a hug. Steve thoughtlessly accepted, relishing in the actual love. Joyce was careful, purposefully not holding on too tight. “Was it-?” She asked with implication. Steve nodded shortly in her shoulder. Her hands gently slid up and down over his back, “I’m fixing breakfast right now, but Johnathan can help you get fixed up. That is if you don’t mind, of course.” Joyce stops in her tracks, pulling back and looking at Steve with a head tilt. “Unless he doesn’t know, honey. I can put it on the warmer,” her voice is honest, unbroken. Steve swallows harshly, his eyes flicker away for a moment before returning. “He actually doesn’t, uh, yeah- he doesn’t know,” he moves his hands around with a slight hesitance, “but I trust him, Ms. Byers. I know we’ve had our differences, but it’s water under the bridge now.” She pressed her lips together, analyzing Steve, “Only if you’re positive, and I’ll be in to help as soon as I’m finished. Shouldn’t be too much longer.” Joyce glances at her watch, squinting her eyes a bit. “I think it might be nice to talk to someone else,” Steve instantly regrets his word choice, “not that you’re bad to talk to, it’s just well- I’m not very open about this part of my life and-.” She cuts him off with a loving shoulder pat, “Honey, I get it. It’s okay, I promise. Jonathan should be in his room if you wanna go grab him.” Joyce opens the front door, vaguely waving her hand in the direction. Steve crosses his arms and follows stiffly behind her. He feels like a nuisance, even though Joyce has given him every reason not to.
Every time he enters the Byers house Steve is hit with the realization of how disgusting his home feels. Here there are pictures of smiles, real, legitimate smiles. Nothing looks staged, put together to please. It’s authentic, warm, and cozy. Steve glances around, noting the atmosphere to memory. Just like last time, refusing to let himself forget it. Steve turns on his heel and hurries down the hall to the oldest Byer’s bedroom before one of the kids spontaneously appears, like they always manage to do, and sees him in such a frail state.
The door was partially cracked, Steve stood in front of it for a moment. Internally debating if he should turn around and bolt, return to his parents. He ridiculed himself, learned behaviors stuck to him everywhere he went. Guilt, so much for so many lies. “Johnathan,” Steve broke himself out of the line of thought by speaking, “are you in there?” He gently pushes on the door, the hinges creaking ever so slightly as it swings a bit. The Byer’s boy sits up from his relaxed position in bed. “Steve, why are you-,” suddenly catching a glimpse of the boy, he stammers, “what- what the hell happened?!” Steve steps inside and shuts the door behind him, “I got beat up, just can’t reach some of my injuries to clean them up and Joyce usually helps-.”
The boy in front of him pauses, seemingly confused about what had been said. A beat, “Usually?” Steve stood frozen in place, staring awkwardly. His eyes burned, a lump forming in his throat. He silently recalled the reasoning for all this, like it wasn’t constantly in the front of his mind. “Well, you see, it’s not exactly a normal situation,” Steve tries to nonchalantly move to sit on the edge of the bed. Jonathan watches with a worried expression, “Steve, is it-.” Past experience rears its head in the boy’s brain, he unexpectedly leans forward to touch Steve’s shoulder. Steve recoils, pulling away instinctively, his body tensing. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Johnathan recognizes his behavior immediately, speaking softly to convey his sincerity.
Steve nods and relaxes as best he can, watching as the boy moves closer. “Was it your dad?” Johnathan keeps his eyes on the floor, remembering all the times his own Father had hurt him. “How did you-?” Steve’s voice strung high as he turned. Johnathan meets his gaze, “Lonnie isn’t around anymore, him and Mom split a while back. But when I was younger, he used to um- hurt me.” After a second of silence passes, he speaks again, “And I, uh, I didn’t want to say anything, but you’ve been acting odd lately. I thought maybe you got heartbroken or something, but now it makes sense. Did Joyce teach you how to cover it up?” Steve shakes his head once again, “Yeah, she’s really good at that stuff.” Johnthan stifles a bitter laugh, “She used to help cover what Lonnie had done to me before school in the mornings. She wanted to leave him, but he forced her to stay.” He slips back to those times for a moment, his eyes hazing in a mist. “Anyway, I understand how it is. That’s all I’m trying to say. We don’t have to talk about it anymore, but I will help you if you want.”
Steve messes with his hands in his lap, he looks up and towards the bedroom door. “Yeah, that’d be great,” he gestures to his side briefly, “I think he might have broken my rib. It’s been hard to move too much since last night, and everything sends a sharp pain through my side.” Johnathan starts to get up, “We have some painkillers in the bathroom, you can have some of those. I’ll take a look at it.” He walks to the door and peers down the hall, signaling for him to follow. “Will is in his room, Mike came over to discuss D&D stuff. You don’t have to worry about them seeing you, they won’t come out till Joyce calls them,” the elder Byer’s boy leads them to the bathroom, waiting for Steve to enter before closing it behind the two of them.
Steve carefully starts to remove his shirt, his torso pale and thin. Bruises and scars litter the surface, dried blood mixed in with fresh reopened wounds. He grunts unpleasantly, clenching at his side. A large area is swollen right over his rib, the site bruised and sore looking. Johnathan is squatted on the floor, digging through some drawers. He seemingly finds what he’s looking for as he pushes off the ground to a standing position. “Alright, let’s-,” he glances into the mirror and then to Steve’s back, “shit, Steve.” His eyes find their way to the obvious swelling on his chest, “I’m- I know sorry doesn’t mean anything in these circumstances, but I want you to know I hate that this happened to you. I will help you in any way that I can.” Steve smiles with no energy, “I appreciate it.” Johnathan flicks the sink onto the warmest setting and runs a washcloth under it, sudsing it with a bar of soap he grabbed. “This is probably gonna sting,” he warns before beginning the task of cleaning Steve’s wounds. The boy automatically flinches at the stinging, instinctively moving away. “Sorry, sorry,” Steve whispers while forcing his body still. Johnathan continues until all the open wounds are cleaned and the dried blood has vanished. He turns to grab dressing, bandaging him efficiently.
“Do you think it’s fractured?” Steve asks with gritted teeth. Johnathan moves behind the boy, angling himself to be in front of the injury. “That seems to be the case,” his hair falls in front of his eyes and he shakes it away, “I’ll go get Mom, wait here.” Johnathan exits the bathroom, leaving Steve by himself.
The Harrington boy leans against the wall, arching his back slightly to avoid friction with injuries. A sigh leaves his mouth, a shaking one that signifies just how hard it had been to talk about such haunting things. But Johnathan understood, he had been through the same thing. Part of Steve felt relieved at that. He wasn’t glad that his friend had had to endure something so awful, but he felt more understood- not alone. Steve placed his palms on the wall and stood up, staring in the mirror and chasing away all the hideous memories trying to break in. Time was moving way too fast and way too slow.
Joyce knocks quickly on the door before entering, Johnathan follows behind her. “No,” she hurries to his side, placing a gentle hand on the battered skin, “how could he.” Joyce was in clear thought for a couple seconds, her eyes following the trails of bruises. “I’ll get some ice,” Johnathan notes aloud. Joyce stands up properly, she turns to the medicine cabinet behind her and rummages through the bottles. She pulls out a labeled prescription bottle and shakes a dose out, “These were for Will after a surgery he had, this should keep all the pain away for a while.”
Acting like a true mother, Joyce leaves to get a glass of water. At the same time, Johnathan returns. “Here you go,” the boy hands Steve a bag of ice that’s wrapped in a white rag. “Thanks,” the Harrington boy breathes out weakly. “It’s nothing really,” Johnathan keeps his eyes trained on the floor. Steve slowly begins to press the ice onto his chest, a sharp pain bolts through him. Capturing his breath and reminding him of the aching. Before the ice pack started to draw away the thought of pain, and his brain focused on the chill sensation. He was concentrating on the task at hand, not realizing Johnathan had been staring. Not in a creepy way, more so ‘I want to say something but I don’t want it to come out wrong’ sort of look. “You can ask, I won’t be offended,” Steve manages to get out in the most convincing tone he can. Johnathan reels in his own thoughts, processing the words spoken to him. “Oh, uhm,” he responds, “you know- I was just gonna say that you can come to me. I know we haven’t gotten along the best over the years, but I- uh yeah- I understand what you’re going through. Just if you need someone who understands, I guess.” A peaceful silence enters the room. Steve smiles gratefully.
Joyce returns and hands him the glass of water, “Alrighty.” She looks between the boys, questioning silently what conversations they’d been having. Quickly the room is enveloped in a familiar feeling, one that Steve could not place. She looks at him sympathetically, “I’d offer to let you stay, but Mike has pretty much taken up residence and we don’t have that much extra space. Do you have anywhere else you could stay, and do I know them?” Steve thinks for a moment, shaking his head slowly. “Robin, Robin Buckley.” Joyce looks to Johnathan, “The one that Nancy knows?” Her son nods, “Yeah, the one that Nancy knows.” He sort of laughs to himself, enjoying the moment. Jonathan excuses himself after that, muttering a quiet goodbye to Steve. Joyce turns back from looking at the door with an accepting nod, “Ok, but you come back here if you need me. I mean it.”
Steve shakes his head firmly, eyes darting sideways to the medicine cabinet. He lifts the cup of water to his lips and then slides the pill in. Swallowing swiftly and lowering his head, eyes trailing the tile lines. “Thank you, Ms. Byers,” a sigh leaves him, taking in how vulnerable he is. He grabs his shirt off the counter and carefully slips it over his head. Steve tries to give the most convincing semblance of ‘I’m ok’ in his expression. Joyce presses her eyebrows downwards while scanning him, “Our home is your home, don’t forget that.”
-
Steve left not too long after that. The car ride felt a bit less painful with bandages and ice. He was thankful to have people like the Byer’s in his life, that family would give him unconditional love and support at the drop of a coin. Deep down, parts of him he wanted to bury, those feelings from home fought against that idea. Those memories give way to guilt and burden. Steve drew his bottom lip into his mouth, his thoughts loud enough to tune out his tires rumbling on the road. He drove, focusing on his breathing, until he arrived at Robin’s house.
Her parents weren’t home, Steve felt a weight lift off his shoulders at the sight of the empty driveway. He hopped out of his car and hastily bounded up the steps. A deep breath, a small adjustment of holding his ice pack, and then Steve knocked. Stillness wisped through the air, a cold wind slipping through his shirt. Goosebumps began to raise up on his arms. The pain meds he took at the Byer’s just recently kicked in, making Steve feel a hundred times better than how he looked.
Robin opened the door, her face lighting up at the sign of her best friend. The joy she had dropped to worry and fear as soon as she noticed the bruise around his eye. “Come in,” she grabbed his free forearm, yanking him into the foyer. Robin closed the door as he stumbled at the pull. “Steve?” Her raspy tone sounded strained as she spoke through her teeth. “Is this why you didn’t come into work yesterday!” The Buckley girl walks herself around in a circle, moving her hands wildly with plausible explanations.
Steve finally brings himself to speak, “Yes, but it’s more complicated than you think.” She looks at him expectantly, wanting an immediate answer. An unfamiliar feeling enters the air between them. Steve speaks again, psyching himself up for what he wants to do, “Can we go somewhere and talk?” Robin turns and looks at the empty house, “Ok- can it not be right here?” His stomach drops, “Maybe your room?” Robin agrees, not questioning. Instead, turning around and heading down the hallway. Steve doesn’t say a word, he just follows- vision spinning ever so slightly from the medication.
Robin’s room is very messy, Steve laughs through his nerves. Her room and accessories just scream her personality so perfectly. The girl in front of him, however, has now moved to sit on the bed. “Come on!” Robin pats the space beside her urgently. Steve takes it, waiting a beat before looking up and into her eyes. “Rob-,” he starts with a hopeful stare. The Buckley girl tilts her head, her hair moving ever so slightly under the ceiling fan. “What’s up?” A quiet, yet genuine curiosity. “You know that conversation we had about me getting in more and more fights recently,” Steve cringes at the memory, at how fake his lies sounded. One after another, he’d repeat them until everyone was convinced they were true. Robin looks up in thought and then returns her gaze back to him, “Yeah, which you totally should. This can’t keep happening.” She vaguely motions towards his face and bandaged arms.
Deathly quiet emerges, overtaking the space between them. Steve wants to say something, spill out everything he’s kept hidden for so long. A lump forms in his throat, and he coughs loudly. “What if they weren’t from fights?” Frailness trails in Steve’s tone. The Buckley girl falters in expressions, “Steve, what- that makes no sense.” She thinks on the surface of his words, nervously looking over the edge to the meaning. Robin’s eyes scan Steve’s body with hesitation, her chest moving up and down the slightest bit faster. “Steve?” His name is spoken in a way that pleads for his continuation.
A realization, he knows- she knows. There’s something that changes, and suddenly Robin is hyper aware of the possible reasoning. Her body freezes, her eyes glued to him. “My Dad,” Steve breaks eye contact and stares down at her plaid comforter, “he, he’s not a good man.” The girl in front of him breathes sharply, clearly trying not to cry. Robin gently moves to hug her best friend, “No, Steve, I’m so so sorry.” She cries with guilt, she gave him so much grief for ‘getting into fights’. Called him childish, told him it was stupid. All along, he had lied. Most likely to protect her, not to have her feel helpless. Steve accepts her hug, stiff at first but softening at the pure carefulness. “I know,” he breathes out carefully, his voice shudders, “it’s okay.”
“Why?” It’s a question Robin doesn’t know if she should ask, but it spills over before she can swallow it. Punches, kicks, and slaps plaster the walls of Steve’s mind as he recalls the awful things his Father has called him. He sits up a bit and hugs her back for a few moments, gently grabbing hold of her shoulders and pushing her back to look into her eyes. “Robin, you may be one of the bravest people I’ve ever known,” Steve’s eye bags are accentuated in the lamp’s light, “things you’ve told me.” He’s unintentionally ominous. Robin's face twitches, she’s puzzled at his wording. “I tried to tell my parents,” his face fell, remembering the way his stomach dropped as his parents yelled, “they didn’t take it well.” Robin breaks out of her calm demeanor, grabbing his arms back, the ice pack somewhere lost in the bed. “What, Steve, what did you say?!” She’s concerned, desperate for an answer. A beat. “I like boys, Robin! I told them I like boys! They were already mad at me, and this just made it worse!” Steve's hands fall off her shoulders, and he slinks into himself. His eyes burn, his breath unsteady.
There’s a split second where Robin just goes still, staring at her friend in disbelief. Her hand moves to his knee absentmindedly, “Steve.” A heaviness lifts off of the boy’s shoulders, and in preparation for tears he lifts his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” his voice is small, lips moving ever so slightly with his words. Robin sighs, heavy tears run down her cheeks. “Oh, Steve Harrington,” she gives a warm smile, one filled with knowing, “you are brave.”
He chuckles softly at the words, his chest aching at the pressure. A single tear falls from his glass covered eyes, “Yeah?” Robin nods and grins with a laugh of her own, “Yeah.” A joyful peace rinses over the room, and Steve relishes in the feeling. “How did you know? That you- y’know?” Robin starts carefully, not wanting to push boundaries. Steve shakes his head at her internal debate, knowing how she works. “I started getting close to him. The more we hung out- I sort of noticed the way I felt about him wasn’t exactly.. normal?” he nods his head in a direction oddly, seeing if the Buckley girl will catch his drift. The clue flies over her head, “Who?” She continues cautiously, “someone I know?” Steve just rolls his eyes, “You know him better than most.” He leaves that statement for Robin to take as she will. The girl seems to be repeating his words over in her head, analyzing what they mean. “So.. it would have to be- uh, hm, uh,” Robin fidgets with her hands in her lap, her eyes widening with awe at her conclusion, “no way- is it really!” She seems way too excited about the answer she arrived upon, like a puzzle piece had been connected. Steve lifts his eyebrows in a fake oblivious manner, “Is it?”
Robin gets off the bed and starts to do a little to move everywhere, “This is fantastic!” She looks everywhere and then back to Steve, “I mean not how they reacted because that’s ridiculous. I’ve always hated your parents. I mean does- does Eddie know?” Steve moves oddly, a bolt of pain shoots up through his chest, he groans and quickly jerks his body to sit up straight. “Woah,” Robin lunges her body closer to him, grabbing his shoulder and slapping his face gently, “what’s happening!?” His eye’s flutter for a second, blackness hazing in and out. “Sorry,” the same frailness from earlier returns, the consequences of his Father’s actions crashing to the front of his mind. Steve cringes and looks to the side, aimlessly reaching for the ice pack. Robin helps him find it, and he instantly places it on his ribcage. “Do you have any pain pills?” Steve gasps out through clenched teeth, the sunlight suddenly too bright. His head aches with a familiar sting, and he’s back there. Falling on the floor, laughing with Robin despite his nauseating injuries. Unaware of himself, he is mumbling a string of pleas. Robin shakes him, begging him to come back, “Steve, Steve! I need you to listen, ok? Please listen to me, I am right here. I’m not going to leave you, you are safe.” He’s unresponsive to her, his eyes closed tightly as the memories replay vividly in the darkness. “Steve!” She cries to him, moving forward to hug him wholly. “I’m right here, we’re safe. You’re safe, please come back to me.”
-
Steve’s eyes felt glued shut, he had no idea where he was. And for all he cared it could stay that way. He was warm and comfortable and no one was hurting him. As time passed he slowly started to remember things, and that made him sick to his stomach. But as he heard two sets of footsteps coming near where he was, his body froze- preparing for some sort of impact that would never come. “He’s in there, I didn’t want to disturb him-,” Robin’s worried voice carried through the thin wooden door. Steve relaxed a bit, still holding his chest awkwardly due to the pain in his side. Another voice responds to Robin, one Steve certainly did not expect. “Yeah, should we go in yet-?” Eddie Munson’s all too familiar tone echoes on repeat in Steve’s ears. “I’m awake,” he manages to spit out, hopefully loud enough for them to hear.
Robin opens the door and rushes in, and Eddie stands frozen in the doorway for a second before following. “Steve,” he looks over at the boy and can tell how bad this situation is. Robin gives Steve a look that says ‘don’t worry I didn’t say anything’ which instantly dashes out some of Steve’s interior struggles. “Eddie,” he winces, sitting himself up in bed. Robin sits on the bed beside him, and pats his back. “Do you need another ice pack?” She asks, looking at the one that has fallen into the mess of covers. Steve nods, keeping his eyes trained on Eddie who has leaned closer while examining his injuries. Robin up and leaves the room, taking the old ice pack. Eddie’s voice is concerned and worried, “Steve, why didn’t you tell me? You know I went through this too.” Suddenly, Steve recognizes the sting behind his eyes, and he knows what Eddie says is true. “I’m sorry,” he mouths, his body going slack and his eyes dropping to his lap.
Eddie doesn’t say a word, but instead steps forward and kneels while embracing him. Steve rests the top of his head against the front of Eddie’s shoulder. “Don’t be sorry,” he says while rubbing his back. Steve starts to cry, but hiccups occasionally at the pain in his lung- sucking in sharp breaths. “Can I please take you to the hospital,” Eddie offers in a cautious, caring tone. “Just ice and rest, it’ll fix itself,” Steve groans out weakly. Eddie connects the dots himself, “This has happened before, this bad?” Steve once again nods, leaning into Eddie.
Robin enters the room again, and closes the door with a light click. “Here,” she walks to Steve and places the ice pack into his open palm. Steve brings it up to his side, placing it against the bandaging with a light hiss. Eddie leans back, still gripping Steve’s shoulders. “Do you want to come stay with me? Uncle Wayne would be fine with it.” Those words tumble out of Eddie’s mouth and tuck themselves into Steve’s ears which his brain relishes in. “Are you sure?” Steve glances at Robin who nods with a knowing smile. Eddie takes his hands and nods. “Yeah, we’ll take care of you- no more of this.”
-
Within the hour Steve is sitting in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van with Robin’s arms around him. “Call when you can,” she gives him a playful kiss on the side of his head and jumps back onto the grass. “Take great care of him Munson,” she winks at him but her serious demeanor can be felt anyway. “Always,” the curly haired boy nods and starts the car. Robin shuts the passenger side door and goes on to her porch, waving as they pull out of the driveway and onto the main road.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie asks as they sit in a bittersweet silence. Steve leans strangely onto the console between them, keeping his side scrunched up. “They expect me to be somebody I’m not,” Steve manages in a whispery voice. Eddie nods, “I can understand that.” He clenches the steering wheel tightly, trying to contain his anger towards Steve’s Parents despite it being warranted. “Yeah, I know,” Steve laughs, but it’s hardly there, “I trust you, Munson.” And before he knows it, Steve drifts into sleep.
When they arrive at the Wayne household Eddie puts his van in park and then hops out and goes to the passenger side. He opens the door and steps up to unbuckle Steve, “Ok, here, just lean on me if you need to.” Steve nods and does just that. In a slow motion he sits up, but when he goes to get out of the car his entire body weight goes slack and he ends up all over Eddie. It’s not awkward though, Eddie just helps him to a more suitable position, leaning him against his side and wrapping his arm around his torso. They stumble to the door, and Eddie knocks.
Wayne opens it in a timely fashion, his eyes widening at the sight. “Is this what you called about?” He asks and holds the door open. Eddie responds, “Yeah, hope it’s alright.” Something like dark remembrance flashes behind those eyes and he nods, “Of course, son. Let me know if I can do anything.” Eddie thanks him and continues helping Steve all the way to his room. “And here we are, down on my bed we go,” he speaks lightly and playfully, unconsciously trying to cheer Steve up. He just groans airily as he shifts on the mattress trying to get the pain to subside. “Do you have any alcohol-,” Steve starts, “like.. to drink?” Eddie goes to answer but stops himself and closes his mouth. He steps to the side and closes his door, “No, unfortunately Wayne took it all out. Scared I’d throw a party or something- give Dustin some- I don’t know.” His rambling flys over Steve’s head, “Ok.” Eddie pouts to himself and walks to the edge of the bed, where he stands awkwardly for a moment before sitting. “Can I try something?” Eddie asks with a certain apprehension that Steve can’t quite place. “Yeah, what?” He shuts his eyes tightly before opening them again and glancing over at him. Eddie moves his hand to Steve’s arm, but stops when he notices the other wince back. “Wayne used to do this thing where he’d trace my arm and draw imaginary things on it to distract me from what was going on,” Eddie doesn’t move forward but keeps explaining.
Steve doesn’t answer but instead moves his arm within a few inches of Eddie’s hands. Eddie takes it with care and runs his finger along it. Steve closes his eyes and tries to breathe evenly. It doesn’t take but only a couple of minutes for Steve to fall into a relaxed sleep. Eddie withdraws his hands and moves to the floor and sits against the wall. He watches Steve, his heart aches at the similarity between them. This was him mere years ago, when he escaped his parents. He bites his lip and rests his forehead against his knees, and without meaning to, begins to silently cry.
It’s the middle of the night when Eddie comes around, he realizes he must’ve fallen asleep. Steve is sitting up on the bed, almost mimicking the way he’s sitting. They meet eyes and the room fills with a saddened silence. Steve moves towards the side of the bed, only a slight groan of discomfort in his efforts. Then he gets to the edge and stands up before making his way to Eddie. He slowly lowers himself onto the floor right in front of the other boy and then carefully places his arms on either shoulder. Eddie understands, and he’s grateful that Steve can find comfort with him of all people. So, he hugs back with all the gratitude he holds. “Thank you,” Eddie mutters beside Steve’s ear. They stay like that for a good while, not letting time bother whatever connection they have. Steve pulls back and shakes his head, “This isn’t how I imagined this.” Eddie's mouth closes in a straight line, because he knows. And he feels the same, but Steve is so emotionally vulnerable right now and he is not going to take advantage of that. “Me either,” Eddie says with a mild hesitance. Steve catches on, and he smiles a bit, “So you-?” Without hesitation this time, he answers, “Yes, of course.” Steve’s eyes go wide. “We can’t right now,” Eddie says in a caring tone, hoping Steve will understand what he’s getting at. “Okay,” Steve’s reply is breathy and sad, “eventually?” Eddie nods, “If you still want to.” Their words seal this intangible contract, and Eddie stands to his feet. “Do you want to go eat?” Steve shakes his head, his stomach growling on command. Eddie leans down and helps him up, sliding his left arm over the top of his shoulders.
-
A month of healing emotionally and physically, and nothing’s perfect- not even close- but it’s better and that’s all Steve could ask for. He has taken up residence at Eddie’s place, he refuses to let Eddie sleep on the floor so they share his bed while Uncle Wayne takes the couch as usual. His parents never sent out a Missing Person’s Report or anything, and he should’ve been saddened by that but he was relieved more than anything. He called Robin, Joyce, and occasionally Jonathan. Things were looking up for the first time in a long time.
“Hey, Eddie,” Steve calls from the kitchen, while getting a drink, “can you come in here?” Steve bluntly ignores the alcohol in the fridge, something he wouldn’t have even considered a couple weeks ago. He hears a click of a door and then footsteps as the curly brunette emerges from the hall. “What’s up?” A smile fills those lips he’s so fond of. “You know that thing we talked about, on your floor that night?” Steve closes the fridge and places his drink on the counter. Eddie’s expression flips to intense interest, “Yeah, what’s up.” Steve steps forward and places his arm upon those shoulders just like he had, “I think it’s time.” And without any sort of hesitation, Steve leans forward and presses his lips against Eddie’s. The other smiles against his lips and places a rough palm to his cheek while kissing back. When they pull back Steve rests his forehead against Eddie’s, “I’m assuming you’re ok with it.” Eddie half smirks half smiles, “Of course, for you, anything.”
“Does it ever completely heal,” Steve asks in an odd tone, his eyes dropping from Eddie’s and finding the floor. Eddie doesn’t know how to answer, “Somehow, in some ways.” Steve shakes his head, it’s a slow and deep understanding. He leans into Eddie’s body like he has for so many weeks and drops his nose on the top of his shoulder. “It’ll be easier with you,” he smiles with his heart, a feeling almost foreign from so long ago.