Archive of Our Own ^beta

one

Sarah Hayes is nineteen when she finds out she’s pregnant. She had just graduated high school, and she just gotten accepted into Indiana University, and this was supposed to be her year. 

Now— now she’s pregnant. 

Damn, Wade Munson and his damn smooth talking and his damn brown eyes. She should’ve never agreed on that date. 

And listen, she has never been one for deities, never been one for cosmic fate. She believes she makes her own destiny and the whole shebang, but right now, she’s begging for some kind of sign that having this child… would be the right thing for her. 

The glass is empty, but Sarah slurps harder. She wants more shakes, maybe get chocolate instead. She deserves to get another glass of milkshake but she shouldn’t. She needs to start saving up money. 

What does she know about babies? She doesn’t know shit. Wade— god, Wade. He probably knows less. Sarah doesn’t even want to start thinking of how he would react to the news of her getting pregnant. 

A finger snaps in front of her, catching her attention. Denny smiles at her from the counter, “More milkshake? On the house.”

Sarah smiles at the old man, “You don’t have to, Denny. I think I’m going to go home now.”  

“Are you sure? It’s raining pretty hard out there.” Sarah turns to the diner's windows, and yeah, it is raining. Sarah stares at the windows, rain glistening against them, making the streetlights outside shine like diamonds. The sky might be crying with her. 

Denny stares at her as if he can see what’s running through her mind, “I could call Wayne? He could probably pick you up. I know Wade won’t, but Wayne would.”

Sarah looks back at him. Wayne Munson, without a doubt, would pick her up if she called right now. Without even knowing that Sarah’s pregnant with his brother’s baby, Wayne would. Because somehow, in some fucked up way, their parents raised two completely different sons. 

She shakes her head, “I think I’ll walk. The Munson’s house is within walking distance anyway. I need to—“ Think? Write a whole speech for Wade? Rewrite her whole life plan and fit a whole other living life into it? 

Denny bobs his head in understanding, “Do whatever you want. Take an umbrella and be safe, alright, kid?” 

Sarah slips into her coat, zipping it up to her neck, clutching her purse. She walks past the couple behind her, eyes avoiding the couple tucked into a booth.

The man scoffs, “We’re not going to name our kid Edward. What is he? A Victorian vampire?” 

Sarah keeps her head down as she walks past them. The woman replies, clearly frustrated, “Fine. What do you want to name it if it’s a boy? Eugene?” 

Sarah bites down a laugh. Of course, the only other couple in the diner would also talk about having kids, cause the universe is just that funny. She walks past the couple, reaching for a random umbrella from the rack beside the entrance in a hurry to leave.

“Goodnight, Denny. Tell Benny I said hi.” The man smiles at her, saying his own goodbyes as Sarah finally exits Benny’s Burgers. 

There’s a gush of cold wind against her skin as she opens the umbrella. It’s ridiculously bright, a yellow umbrella in contrast to the dark surroundings. Sarah scoffs at the umbrella, her hands tighten against the wooden handle. There’s a carving resting right on her palm, and as she looks down at it, Sarah smiles, her eyes filling with tears. 

There’s a carving on the bottom of it. SH. 

Huh. 

She can’t help but laugh, her cheeks wet with tears, as she starts walking down the path to the Munson’s residence. She didn’t just get one sign, she got more than one. 

Maybe Sarah doesn’t know a lot, but she’s damn sure that she’s going to keep this kid. 

And hey, fuck that man in the booth, because Edward sounds like a cool fucking name for a kid. 

-

The sky is crying with Stella Hall. 

She’s twenty-two, and she’s about to get married to someone she’s only been on three dates with. 

In one more week, she’ll be trapped in a loveless, arranged marriage. All her life, she has tried hard to be good enough for her parents. She graduated top of her class, and has won every award she can in every aspect, academically and even in sport. But not even that is not enough, because— she will never be the son they wanted her to be. 

So she’s here, with Dick Harrington, talking kid names because apparently twenty-three is the prime age to get pregnant, and the Harringtons need an heir. 

Dick is waving a hand in front of her and it's taking everything in her to not cut it. He scoffs, “We’re not going to name our kid Edward. What is he? A Victorian vampire?” 

Stella glares at him. She loved the name Edward. There was something so elegant to it, something that felt right with it. Damn Dick and his ugly taste. 

“Fine. What do you want to name it if it’s a boy? Eugene?” 

Dick crosses his arms, shrugging, “Stephen’s nice.” 

Stephen. Steve. Stella hates the fact that she doesn't completely hate it.

Dick raises an eyebrow at him, smiling cheekily, “See. You like it.” 

“Fine, Stephen, if it’s a boy. We’ll call him Steve.” She says with finality, looking down at her milkshake. 

“That’s fine with me.” Dick shrugs.

“And if it’s a girl?” Stella asks, fear apparent in her tone. The elites of Hawkins are known to frown upon firstborn daughters, Stella knows. 

Dick blinks at her, and his face flashes into a few different emotions before it settles to something soft, “Then we’ll name her Stephanie. Maybe call her Steph for short.” 

Stella clenches her jaw, her eyes twitching. There’s a softness to Dick that she doesn’t like— something she could fall for— and she hates it. 

Dick watches as she glares at him. His shoulders slump in defeat, “Listen, Stella. I am sorry about the whole arranged marriage. Do you think I also want to get married to someone I just met a month ago?” 

She doesn’t answer, so he continues, “No. I also don't want to get married, but that’s the cards we’ve been dealt. Our parents want us to get married, and we don’t have to fall in love, but we can at least be friends— partners.” 

Stella knows he’s right, and there’s nothing more she can do to get out of this. There’s a white dress hanging in her closet at home, a wedding venue with their names on it and an invitation with date, time and venue sent out.

He waits for her to say something. His mouth opens to say something more, but clamps his mouth shut anyway. He sighs like he’s giving up on her before standing up, “I need to go to the bathroom.” 

Stella watches as he leaves. As soon as he’s out of sight, she rushes out of the booth. The rain is still pouring hard, but she has her umbrella. She’ll be okay. She’ll hitchhike for a ride, change her name and find a job. 

She just can’t do this. She has to leave, or she’ll be in this marriage forever. 

Her heart drops when she reaches the umbrella rack, and she doesn’t immediately spot her yellow umbrella. The same one her grandmother gave her for her 18th birthday, engraved with her own initials and everything. Stella doesn’t really care that it's the handle is made with expensive mahogany or that it was made to stand the test of time. She cares because it’s the last gift her grandmother ever gave to her before she passed away. The one person who truly cared for her. 

“Denny?” Stella calls out to the owner, her voice coming out strangled, “Did— Did you see my umbrella? The yellow one?” 

Denny comes out of the counter, their orders in his hands, “I am sorry, Stella. I didn’t. Maybe someone accidentally took it?” 

Stella holds up a hand to her mouth, stopping the sobs from trying to spill out. She pushes the door open, the wind making her dress sweep. There’s nothing but a few street lamps and the sky's darkness from the rain. A few minutes out in the awning, her dress was already soaking with sprinkles of rain. 

The weather is literally stopping her from leaving. The only companion she should’ve had is gone and taken by someone else. 

The door jingles again. 

“Stella? Where are you going?” She turns to the familiar voice, tears streaming down her face, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I can do this.” She admits, “And someone stole my umbrella. My favorite umbrella.” 

Dick chuckles, removing his coat and putting it around her shoulders, “I’ll get you a new one. It’s the yellow one, right? Given by Grandma Hall?” Stella nods, sniffling, but she doesn’t dare say anything.

“I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing. But this is how our families work, we can’t run away from it. We were born into this life, and we can do nothing to change that. However, I do promise we’ll do it together.” Dick says, his eyes shining against the fluorescent lights of Benny’s Burgers. 

For the first time, Stella believes him. Under the pouring rain, without her trusty umbrella, Stella slowly starts believing that maybe— just maybe— she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

“Alright.” Stella nods, “We’ll be okay. We’ll be okay, Richard.” 

Richard takes her hand, and they go back inside. They have burgers and milkshakes.

In a few more days, Stella will change her name to Stella Harrington.

Stephen Harrington will be born on a rainy spring day the following year.

And a few years after that, Stella will realize she was right to call Richard Dick. 

She should’ve run away, straight into the pouring rain, with or without the damn umbrella.

two

It’s raining again. 

Sarah shakes her head, the yellow umbrella tight on her hands as she walks the familiar street to Benny’s Burgers. Denny makes a chicken soup that can heal anything from the flu to a cold. Eddie’s sick with a nasty cold, something he got from making mud angels in the middle of a storm. 

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Sarah snaps out of her thoughts when a small voice greets her. 

She turns around, the pitter-patter of the rain gone against her umbrella, when she stops underneath a bakery awning.

There’s a kid behind her. Small and skinny, with brown hair and brown eyes. He looks younger than Eddie. He’s wearing a sweater, and even from far, Sarah can tell that it’s expensive. 

Sarah looks around, looking for this little boy’s parents, “Yes?” Sarah asks, moving a little to see him closer.  

He moves closer to her, timid and shy. There’s a formality in his stance that’s not normal for a boy this young. He’s too… stiff. 

“I am sorry to disturb you. But can I please walk with you? I didn’t bring an umbrella, and I wanted to buy dinner from Benny’s.” The boy stares at her, brown eyes staring directly at her soul.

“Of course, honey. What’s your name? I am Sarah.” She holds out her hand for him to shake, and he enthusiastically takes it, “I am Steve, Ms. Sarah.” 

Sarah smiles at the young kid. Oh, how she wishes Eddie would be this polite. Not that he’s not; her boy is perfect. She does wish he’d be less rowdy. 

“You can call me Sarah, Steve.” 

Steve shakes his head, “No, ma’am. Mrs. Johnson said I should only call older people by Miss, Mister, or Mrs.” 

“Okay. Miss Sarah is okay,” She pursed her lips into a tight smile to prevent her blatant confusion to show, “Do you want to take my hand, or do you want to just hold on to my purse? So I can keep you close under my umbrella.” 

Steve tilts his head, eyes blinking at her, reminding her of a lost puppy. “I— I can hold your hand?” 

She stares at the kid, forehead scrunching in confusion, “Yes, Steve. If you want to.” 

“But—“ Steve’s lips turned into a frown, “But Mother said I can’t hold hands with her anymore since I turned nine already.” 

What kind of cruel Mother would say that to her child? Sarah would like to hold Eddie's hand way beyond his 20s, if he lets her.

Staring closely at the kid in front of her, she doesn’t want to jump to conclusions. But Sarah is a mother. And there’s a nine-year-old boy in front of her, alone in the middle of pouring rain, his pants wet from mud, a sign that he walked here, and he has no parents or any adult companions in sight. 

That could only mean a few things. 

“Well,” Sarah chokes out when she realizes she's been staring too long, “You can hold mine, so we both won’t get wet.”

Sarah holds out her hand, and Steve stares at it tentatively. His eyes shifting around like this could be a trap. Sarah smiles encouragingly. 

That’s all it takes before Steve takes his hands, clutching softly on it. So soft, Sarah won’t even know he was there if she wasn’t practically panicking. 

“Thank you, Ms. Sarah.” 

They start walking hand in hand under the pouring rain. Sarah wants to shut her mouth, but her motherly instinct urges her to ask more questions. 

“Steve, who’s Mrs. Johnson?” Sarah asks. 

Steve perks up at the question, “Oh! Mrs. Johnson is my etiquette teacher. She teaches me manners. This week, we’re learning dining etiquette!”

She's correct then. Steve comes from a rich family. There's a kind of formality in him, something that could only be instilled from a very young age. Who the hell still takes Etiquette lessons? What are they in the ‘80s?

Sarah nods, listening to Steve rant about the different kinds of spoons and forks to use. There’s a moment she stops listening, her mind wandering to who this kid is and where his damn parents are. 

Steve pulls at her hand to get her attention, “I am sorry, Miss. Am I bothering you? Mother says I shouldn’t talk too much because it’s annoying.” 

Sarah’s heart aches for the young boy. Eyes big and anticipating her anger. She musters up her kindest smile instead, “No, honey. I am just trying to choose and decide which spoon I shall use for my soup when I get home.” 

Steve giggles, a small smile pulling on his face, “That would be the soup spoon, Miss. It’s on the right side, beside the first-course knife.” 

The hell she cares about the damn spoon, but she laughs with him, “Alright, Steve. I will use the soup spoon, but only for you.” 

Steve brightens up, but he turns away and hides it away from her. He points out at the diner looming ahead, “The diner!” 

“That it is. You want to skip faster to Benny’s?” 

Eyes wide with shock, Steve turns back to her, “We can skip?” 

“Yeah. Of course! You know I always skip in the rain. It makes the journey much more enjoyable! But you have to hold on to me so we don’t get wet, alright?” 

Steve nods excitedly, as he finally tightens his hold on her hand. They start skipping down the road, water splashing around as they jump and skedaddle. Her socks are wet and soaking, and she might be the next person to be sick, but she doesn’t mind as long as she gets this kid laughing. 

They’re giggling non-stop when they finally arrive at Benny's. She opens the door for the kid and shuts the umbrella close, still giggling as the door jingles above them. 

“Steve!” Denny greets, clearly relieved to see the boy, “You’re late tonight. I thought you’re not coming anymore.” 

The laughter dies down in a snap, and Steve is stricken, his back straightening and his hands going to his side, “I am sorry, Mr. Hammond.” 

Denny meets Sarah’s horrified eyes. Denny shakes his head calmly, “Oh, dear. I am not angry. I was worried. Don’t worry about that now. I made you your favorite dinner. Mac and cheese with bacon.” 

Steve brightens just a little, his little hands reaching in his pocket to pull out some crumpled dollars, “Thank you, Mr. Hammond.” 

The small child climbs the tall stool as Denny takes the mac and cheese away from the heat lamp. Denny takes his payment, but when Steve’s not looking, he slips it into the donation box. 

“Hey, Sarah.” Denny turns to her, nodding at the kid starting to dig into the meal, “I see you’ve met Steve.” 

Denny tilts his head to the side, motioning for her to follow him on the far end of the counter. Sarah walks with him, stopping only when it's far enough that Steve won’t hear. 

“I met him a few blocks down, under the old Bakery. He said he didn’t bring an umbrella,” Sarah whispers, “Where are his parents?” 

Denny smiles at her with pity, “Sarah, don’t you know who that kid is?” 

Sarah shakes her head. She’s always too busy working to listen to gossip. When she’s not at the hospital working, she’s with Eddie, trying to give him a sense of normalcy even though he’s ten and knows how to hotwire cars because of his shit father, who’s in jail. 

“That’s the Harrington kid,” Denny tells her as she watches Steve eat his dinner with such poise and elegance people would think the diner is the most expensive restaurant in town. 

“His parents come and go, and he comes here a few times a week to eat dinner. He tries to pay every time, and every time I try to shut him down, he gets this fear in his eyes, saying that it’s not right for him to eat without paying. So I just take it and donate it.” Denny shakes his head disapprovingly. 

“Do you think—“ Sarah grabs a strand of her, chewing on it anxiously, “Do you think they’re hurting him?” 

The old man gives her a tight-lipped smile, “I don’t think they are around enough to do that.”

The answer doesn’t help Sarah’s anxious nerves, and Denny sees it clearly, “Don’t worry about him now. Eddie’s sick, right? I got his soup ready on the heater.” 

Sarah follows him again as he walks back to where Steve is eating. 

“I can’t leave. How will Steve get home?” Sarah asks, her voice climbing an octave in concern. 

“That’s okay. I always drop Steve off after I close.” Denny holds the soup to her, “Sarah, he will be okay. Go home. Eddie’s by himself.” 

Sarah looks back at the kid eating, and he thinks back to her sick kid, who's also alone at home. She nods at Denny. 

As Wayne always tells her, she can't really win all her battles. 

“Thank you, Denny. I’ll talk to you later.” Denny waves goodbye as Sarah exits, opening the bright umbrella to walk home to her kid. 

She’s about to leave when the door jingles open again, “Miss Sarah!” 

Sarah looks back. Steve’s standing in the doorway, cheese still smeared on his lips. It’s the first time she's seen him look like an actual kid. 

“Yes, honey?” 

“What can I do to repay you for your kindness?” 

Her heart melts at the question. Sarah kneels before him, motioning him to come closer, the old awning shielding them from the rain. 

“Well, you can do two things for me, okay?” 

Steve nods, determined and earnest to pay back the small kindness Sarah has shown him.

“First, answer a few of my questions, hm? Why are you alone? Where are your parents?” 

“They’re on a business trip,” Steve answers nonchalantly, like it’s normal for him to walk around alone at his young age. 

“And… they just leave you alone?” She asks in horror.

Steve shakes his head, “No, Miss. They leave me with Agatha, my nanny.” 

“And where is she?” 

The kid shrugs, “She’s at home sleeping. She gives me money to eat, and she goes to sleep. The brown water she drinks always makes her sleepy.” 

Sarah closes her eyes, hoping it will subdue the tears threatening to spill out of her eyes.  

“Okay.” She tries to even out her breath. She can’t do anything. She really can’t. This is someone else’s kid, and she’s done everything she could to help him.

“What’s the second one, Miss Sarah?” 

“The second one,” Sarah beckons him closer, holding him by the arms when he’s close enough, “Steve, I want you to repay me by being kind to anyone who needs it, okay? If you see someone who needs your kindness, you help them as I helped you, okay?” 

Steve nods, his face showing his determination to repay her, “Yes, Miss. I promise.” 

“That’s a good boy.” Sarah stands up, softly patting the kid’s head. 

“Goodbye, Steve.” 

“Goodbye, Miss Sarah.” 

Steve watches as Miss Sarah walks away, the yellow umbrella fading away in the rain. 

Sarah goes home and eats the soup with her son. There’s a box of expensive china given by her mother on her wedding day that has been unopened for ten years. Sarah opens it and uses the soup spoon for the first time. 

When Eddie’s in bed, his fever finally dying, Sarah allows herself to break down in the darkness of her bathroom, crying for a child’s loneliness and the world’s cruelty. Just like any mother, she wishes that one day, a person would also show her Eddie the same kindness she showed Steve. 

There’s a tickle in her throat as she sobs, red bloats of blood spilling out when she coughs into her hands. 

It’s the first of many coughs. 

three

Life is cruel. 

Eddie Munson is thirteen, and his whole life is in a bag slung behind his back. It’s been a month since his mother died and three weeks since his father left to buy milk. 

That was a shit excuse. Wade Munson is lactose intolerant, and if he did buy milk, Eddie prays he shat himself in his pants so bad he had to throw away the whole thing away. 

“Eddie.” Eddie looks up from the vanilla shake the local social worker bought for him. He hates it, he’s more of a chocolate shake kind of boy. 

“Your uncle will be here any minute.” Eddie nods at the lady. 

He wishes he knew her name. He’s seen a bunch of ladies since the day his mother died. Samantha, Frankie, Lina, Jasmine, and many more. At this point, Eddie just gave up trying to learn their names. 

“I’ll be back. I just need to get you some new socks.” The lady looks at him with pity one last time before walking down the aisles of Melvald’s to look for socks. 

Eddie hates it. Hates the pitying looks and the pitying smiles telling him they’re sorry his mother died. He doesn’t need any of it. He needs none of it. He needs his mom. 

From where he’s sitting on the very uncomfortable plastic chair, Eddie can hear the lady chit-chatting with the lady behind the counter. He lets his head fall with a plunk on the glass windows, the coldness from the rain helping his headache subside. 

The bell rings as someone enters the store, and he wants to shoot it with a slingshot for ruining his silence.  

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” There’s a loud slam in the umbrella rack, “Piece of shit.” 

Eddie’s about to look up and glare at the person that ruined his silence when the lady comes back, blocking his view, “Here’s the new socks, Eddie. Go change your socks.” 

Eddie takes the socks from her and glares at the basketball design on them. He’s in no place to complain, so he changes his wet socks with it. His old socks are black, like every other article of clothing he’s wearing. He hasn’t worn anything else since the funeral. It doesn’t feel right to wear anything of color when everything around him feels so dull and numb. 

There’s a flash of light illuminating the window. Before a figure appears, too blurry to be seen, but clear enough to be familiar. 

“Your uncle is here.” Lady says, smiling brightly at him, “You’re finally going home, Eddie.” 

It takes everything in Eddie not to yell and tell her that home is wherever his mom is, and right now, that’s six feet under the ground.

The lady urges him out of the store and they're about to exit when he remembers, “Wait! My umbrella!” 

Lady continues to urge him out, “I’ll get it for you. It’s the yellow one, right? Go on to your uncle’s truck. I’ll bring it.” 

Outside, Uncle Wayne is waiting for him with an open umbrella, shielding him from the rain. They make him sit up front as he watches the two adults talk about him in plain sight. The pitter-patter of the rain against the truck is so loud that he can’t even hear what they’re saying. 

When they’re finally done, the lady comes by his side and hands the umbrella to him. 

“Here.” Lady hands him a card, “If you ever need me, don’t hesitate to call, alright? You be good for your uncle.” 

Eddie forces a smile, “Thank you.” 

“Of course, honey. You be safe.” 

The lady moves back under the roof to avoid the pouring rain as Wayne drives away from Melvalds. Eddie looks down at the card. The lady’s name and contact number are in the middle, with an alarming amount of cats drawn on the frame. Yikes. 

There’s only silence all the way home, with nothing but the sound of the windshield trying to wipe the rain away and the quiet hum of the radio. They halt to a stop when they finally arrive at the trailer park. 

“Eddie.” Wayne starts, “We’re here. The trailer I got is used, but it’s good for the two of us. We’ll have to talk about my work schedule.” 

Eddie doesn’t move, his hand tightening around the umbrella. 

“You’ll have to go back to school soon. You can’t miss any more school. From here, you can bike. I’ll have to see if I can find your old one.” 

When Eddie doesn’t respond, Wayne tries to touch his shoulder. Eddie recoils back, glaring at him, “Ed. I am sorry I wasn’t there when your mother died.” 

Eddie scoffs, shaking his head as he turns to the window. 

“I didn’t know. Your father…” He trails, hurt evident in his voice, “My brother… he never told me. I knew Sarah was sick but I thought she was getting better.” 

“I am sorry I missed her funeral.” Wayne finishes, sincere and quiet, “I am sorry, Eddie.” 

Eddie hates it. He doesn’t have to look to know that Wayne’s looking at him with pity. 

“I don’t need your pity,” Eddie says, his voice cracking no matter how he wills it to even out. 

“I don’t pity you,” Wayne answers, making Eddie turn his head at him. 

Wayne’s stare intensifies, “Kid, I don’t pity you. There’s a difference between pity and sympathy, and I think it’s the latter for me. Your mother was one of the best people I’ve ever met and have ever known. It might be a different pain, but I lost her too.” 

Eddie tries to watch Wayne’s face, trying to scan it for any sign of pity or fake niceties. But there’s nothing but his own kind of pain and hurt for losing a friend. 

When Eddie buried his mother, he went home alone. His father was in town, yes, but not even his wife’s funeral could stop him from gambling. Wade shook people’s hands like he cared, but in truth, he just wanted their attention and pity.

As Eddie looks at Wayne— this man who he only knew through short summers or holidays spent together— it’s the first time someone has looked at Eddie with something else other than pity. Eddie knows what real concern and care looks like, he’s seen it too many times on his mom’s face. 

Somehow, Wayne’s concern is clear as day on hi face and it makes him trust this man even more. 

“Okay.” 

Wayne gives him a pursed smile, clearly biting down relief, “Okay. You want to go see the trailer?” 

Eddie nods hesitantly, “Sure.” 

The trailer isn’t home. There are no calla lilies on the kitchen window, no soup spoons for special soup days, and no fluffy blanket on the couch. There’s no trace of Sarah Munson. 

Hence, it is not home.

Eddie doesn’t know it yet, but this will be home someday. 

There will be cups hanging on the wall, two sets of dishwashing gloves, and, no, there won’t be a fluffy blanket, but there will be a small quilt fit for the two of them. 

And one day, the trailer will split in half, a direct opening of hell on earth. Eddie will learn that home— it’s not small little things— it’s wherever Wayne Munson is.

But for now, he unpacks his bag in his new room, and when he grabs his mother’s umbrella, he realizes something is wrong. 

There’s no engraving on this one. 

Like clockwork, tears start streaming down Eddie’s cheek, “Fucking Claudia.” 

The lady grabbed the wrong umbrella. 

-

Life is shit. 

Steve Harrington is twelve and he has the worst cold of his life. When Steve enters the store, a bell rings above him, and he wants to kick it down and rip it with his own teeth. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The door of Melvald’s slams behind him as he shakes the wet umbrella in his hand, “Piece of shit.” 

Who the fuck gives an umbrella as a wedding gift? A shitty umbrella at it? His father doesn’t have taste, and his mother is either a saint or an idiot for getting married to him. He stuffs the umbrella so hard it shakes the whole rack. 

Steve walks down the aisles, staring at the different brand names. What does he need to get rid of a cough? There are flavors for kids and bland colors for adults. Which one is the one that would make him feel better faster?

“Do you need help?” Steve turns to the voice, a woman staring at him with kindness. There’s immediate recognition in her eyes and Steve hates being a Harrington. 

“Hello.” Steve straightens up, immediately trying to be polite because, god forbid, the Harrington kid is impolite once, “Would you be able to tell me which medicine is best for a cold?” 

“Huh.” She smiles at him, moving closer to the shelves, “What are you feeling, buddy?” 

Steve shakes his head vehemently, his nose stuffed, “I am not sick. It’s for a friend.” 

The woman smirks and turns to him, “Well, what are your friend’s symptoms?” 

Steve puts up his hand to count, “Well, he won’t stop sniffling and has difficulty breathing when he’s in bed. He gets bad fevers at night.” 

“Well, I recommend Robitussin for the cough and congestion. To get him to sleep better, get Benadryl. For the long term, get some Elderberry gummies to help prevent it. They’re good. My sons love them.” She starts picking out some stuff from the shelves and handing it to him, “Do you have Vicks at home?”

Steve shakes his head as she bulldozes on, “Well, here. Put some on your friend's chest before bed, and it’ll help him fall asleep better.”

Steve looks at the boxes in his hands, “Is this everything I— uhm— he needs?” 

If she hears the slip up, she's kind enough to not mention it, “That’s perfect. Follow me. I’ll help you check out.” 

The woman rings him up, packing his medicines in a bag, “Here.” She adds a cup in the bag, “This is on me, okay? It’s a cup noodle. Add some hot water, stir the noodles and seasoning, it'll make your friend feel better. Let him eat before he drinks any of the medications.”

“And this?” She holds up a pair of socks with guitars on them, “Just to make your friend smile, you know? On me too.”

Steve stares at her in disbelief, as she hands him the bag. This random woman has shown him more concern than his own mother. He nods, handing a bill to her. She hands back the change with a smile. 

“Thank you...” Steve wills himself to smile at the woman, his eyes traveling to her name tag, “Joyce. Thank you, Ms. Joyce.” 

Joyce smiles at him. There’s kindness in her face that he's never seen in his mother’s face, “You’re welcome, Steve. I hope your friend feels better soon. Have a safe walk home.” 

Not for the first time, Steve wishes he had a different mother. Someone more caring, more nurturing. Someone who would take care of him when he’s sick, make him chicken soup, or even buy one from Denny’s. 

Steve pushes that thought away, nodding at Joyce as he stares at the umbrella rack. There are two other yellow umbrellas on the rack. 

He’s not sure which one is his mom’s, but there’s one of them that has a carving on the handle. 

“Huh.” Steve smiles as he pulls the one with his initials engraved on it. There’s a moment of clarity as he holds the umbrella, a moment of weird serendipity. 

The new umbrella doesn’t give him problems like the lousy one his father gave his mother. It withstands the wind and storm on his walk home. 

When Steve arrives home, he feels less alone in the big dark house. With his bag of medicine, warm cup of noodles, and his feet clad with guitar-themed socks.

The yellow umbrella drips against the white carpet, brightening the house with one single vivid color. 

four

Steve can’t say this enough. 

He hates parties. 

Maybe it’s because of the parties his parents used to throw when he was younger. Stuffy and so, so, so fake. Or maybe because he hates how parties are just fucking lies. People say it’s to celebrate you, to celebrate Steve, and when it’s time to party, Steve has never felt more alone in a room full of people.

The music is too loud. He can feel the floors shake underneath his feet. In the next room, everyone is screaming as Tommy tries to get everyone to drink straight from the keg. 

Outside, he can hear people laughing and chatting as they play in the pool, rain drizzling against the cold water. 

Steve tries to sneak away, heading up the hallway, when he hears Carol calling, “Steve? Are you here?” 

He panics and tries to open the master bedroom, which is locked. Damn, he forgot he locked it so people won’t make out on his parent's hundred-fifty dollar bed sheets. 

“Steve?” She calls, her voice coming closer. He looks around and sees the linen closet. In a moment of panic, he hides inside it. 

Steve tries to open the lights. The bulb blinks at him, and dies. Uh. He needs to change that. He sighs, sitting in one of the chaste stools his mother hid away because they were “last season” or ugly or something. Steve wasn’t listening when she replaced them.  

He listens closely to the door as Carol tries to find him and sighs in relief when her voice trails further. 

It’s his birthday. 

It’s his 16th birthday, which might be one of the worst days of his life. 

His parents sent him wads of cash and a birthday card like he’s just some random prisoner they want to silence. His mother tried calling and left a message, and his father— well— he stopped trying a long time ago. 

And here’s the thing, Steve’s always been alone. It’s okay. He’s used to it now, he’s great at it now. 

But there’s loneliness in it that he would never admit. 

For his birthday, his one wish is for a moment of companionship. Just— five minutes with someone who won’t see him as Steve Harrington. Just—

The door swings open. The lights outside are too bright for Steve to see who enters, and before Steve’s eyes can adjust, the door is closed again. 

“Jesus Christ.” The person whispers. It’s too dark to see, but Steve can see the person’s silhouette sitting on one of the stools. 

“Hey.” Steve greets, hoping it sounds as casual as possible. 

“JESUS!” The silhouette jumps, “Dude! What the fuck are you doing in here? In the dark?! What are you, a dolgaunt?”

Steve squints at the figure, “What the fuck is a dolgaunt? Is that a kind of donut or some shit?” 

He groans, “No. It’s a shadow monster.” 

Steve shrugs, “Ah. The usual.” 

“What are you doing here? In the dark?” 

“I’d like to ask you the same. I was here first.” 

“King Steve throws good parties, but I hate parties.” 

Steve rolls his eyes at the moniker, “I—“ He coughs, “He doesn’t really like parties anyway.” 

The stranger laughs, “What? You two close? You can’t be Tommy? He’s getting his liver slapped around with the keg.” 

“Yeah, no. I am not close with Steve.” Steve admits. He barely even knows himself, so he's not really lying.

“That’s good. He doesn’t seem bad, but he also doesn’t seem good. Kinda sad he celebrates his birthday this way.” 

Steve blinks in the darkness, “How would you celebrate a birthday?” 

He laughs, “For one, I won’t do it with the rest of Hawkins High.” It stings a little, but it’s true. 

“I’ll probably do something with my uncle, visit my mom’s grave, and have a campaign with the boys. It’s nothing big, but it’s with real people, you know?” 

Steve doesn’t know. He’s never had a birthday that sounded that simple yet so perfect. 

“That sounds amazing.” Steve answers, swallowing the bile lodged in his throat. 

“If Denny was still alive, I might get a burger.”

Steve groans, “God damn, I miss him. Respect to Benny, but Denny—“ He sighs sadly. 

“Yeah.” The man copies his sigh, “I get that. Benny is great, but Denny… you went to him not just because of the food, but because of him.”  

Steve hums in agreement. He remembers the day he heard Denny died, the way he cried himself to sleep. He didn’t even know the old man was sick. Denny’s one of the few adults that genuinely cared and loved him, and he’s just— gone. 

“Hey, question,” Steve changes the subject when he feels the sting of the tears in his eyes, “Why do you hate parties?” 

“It’s too loud.” The man answers. 

“Then why are you here?” 

“It’s good for business, ya know?” 

Steve, again, doesn’t know what that means. But he hums in agreement too. 

Steve sees the man’s back straightening, “You didn’t answer my question, mysterious man in the dark. Why are you here in the dark?” 

“Ah.” Steve breathes out, “I hate parties too.” 

He chuckles, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. There are too many people, and everyone’s too loud.” Steve chews on his lips and confesses, “You ever feel lonely in a big crowd? Cause I always feel that at parties.” 

The man hums, “Ah. Have you ever been to a metal concert?” 

Steve laughs, airy and honest, “You think I’ve been to a metal concert?” 

He laughs, “Listen, it was a shot in the dark.” There’s an elbow that nudges him jokingly, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, shut up. That was bad.” 

“Come on! It was a good pun!” 

“Okay, okay, fine. I will let it pass this one time.” 

“Thank you.” He chuckles before continuing, “So, metal concerts. It’s so loud, dude, so full of people, so crowded. But I never once felt alone. It feels… nice like I can breathe, be loud, and be who I am without restrictions.” 

There’s a tone to his voice as he tells it, some kind of security and joy over the fact that he knows himself, something Steve hopes he will find for himself one day. 

“That— sounds nice.” Steve says, letting his head rest on the stacks of towels on the shelf, “I’ve never even listened to metal.” 

“What?!” The man asks, clearly appalled but with no hints of judgment, “DUDE! Come on! You never heard of Ozzy Osbourne? Iron Maiden? Judas Priest?” 

“Nope!” 

“Listen to Iron Maiden. Just give it a try. Might help with the loneliness in a crowd thing.” 

There’s a sliver of silence before his watch starts beeping like crazy. 

“Oops! Time for me to close shop.” 

Steve chuckles, “What does that even mean?” 

“Means I have to get home now, Mr. Darkling. My shit van is broken, so I’ll have to walk in the rain.” The watch emits a small light, but it's still too small for Steve to see the man’s face. 

“Hey, take an umbrella from the front closet. My gift to you for keeping me company.” 

“You’re talking like you own the house,” He utters, “But sure, I’ll take you up on that.” 

The figure stands up, and Steve hears the door twisting but not opening. 

“Before I leave, I have a question.” 

Steve tilts his head in confusion, and when he remembers the other can’t see him, he says, “Yeah?” 

“Why is dark spelled with a ‘K’ instead of a ‘C’?” 

Steve’s eyes narrowed in confusion, “What? I don’t know, man.” 

“I do.” The man says, and Steve can hear the smile on his face, “Because you can’t ‘C’ in the dark.” 

“DUDE!” Steve cackles as the man laughs with him. 

“See you later, stranger.” The man waves, exiting the linen closet and swiftly shutting the door behind him. 

Steve stays in the closet for a few more minutes, basking in the moment of happiness that was granted to him by some kind stranger. 

There’s a crash outside, followed by cheering. Steve sighs, being pulled back to reality. 

Tomorrow, Steve’s going to clean. He’s going to sweep broken cups and spilled beers. He will vacuum, mop, and return the house to its perfect and pristine condition. 

He will write down all of the missing things. 

Three sets of cups, a pair of soup spoons, a whiskey, a vase and— fuck— his beloved yellow umbrella. 

-

Eddie can’t say this enough. 

He hates parties. 

However, King Steve’s parties are the best place to sell. So many people are drunk, and most of his friends are rich motherfuckers, that would throw money on Eddie’s face for a baggie of weeds. 

His trusty lunch box is terrific but can only hold so much before every rich bastard in town buys his supply. 

Here’s the thing, Eddie— well— he hates selling. There’s a feeling of ickiness to it. He only does it for the extra income; Wayne already does so much for him. He can feel his mother looking disapprovingly at him, frowning and shaking her head.

It feels like the gene is specifically from his father, and it doesn’t feel good. Not when Eddie's biggest fear is that he’ll turn out exactly like his father. No matter how much time has passed or the fact that he hasn’t seen the bastard in almost seven years, Eddie Munson is still a product of Wade Munson. 

So yeah, he hates selling. 

That’s how he finds himself in a random closet in the humongous Harrington Mansion. Like, who the hell has closets for linens? Stuff them in your drawers like ordinary people. He wanted a little quiet time and instead got to talk to this random lonely dude in a closet. Honestly, Eddie’s not quite sure if he hallucinated the whole thing. 

Eddie closes the linen closet behind him, walking back down to the ground floor, where people are still partying even four hours in. 

He passes by the kitchen and walks to the pantry, which is a whole other room, crazy. He ducks down and shoves a few canned soups out of the way, and behind it is where he hid his beloved empty lunch box. 

“Alright, time to go home.” Eddie’s about to leave when he sees a very organized cabinet of utensils with different labels. 

Eddie squints at the labels, “Butter knife, salad fork, dinner fork, dessert fork? Who the fuck needs these many utensils?! Salad knife— Yes!” He cheers quietly when he finds what he's looking for, reaching over the organizer. 

Eddie tucks them inside his lunch box as he exits the pantry and walks straight to the exit. Before leaving, he stops in front of the closet, contemplating whether to steal an umbrella or run through the rain. 

Then again, the man with a hot voice in the closet said he should take one— it’s a gift. 

The closet is a sliding door stuck in its hinges. Eddie sighs, poking his arms in and reaching for the first umbrella his hands could find in the dark closet. 

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Someone shouts. Uh-oh. 

“Nothing!” Eddie takes the umbrella and rushes out in the pouring rain, running full speed as he opens the umbrella. He prays it wasn’t Harrington that caught him cause Eddie’s 100% sure he could run after him with those legs. 

No one follows him out.

In his lunch box, two soup spoons are tinkling against the empty metal box. One for him and one for Uncle Wayne. For special soup days, like his and his mom’s traditions. 

Eddie doesn’t feel the carving in the umbrella handle until halfway through his journey. When his thumb finally grazes against it, his heart stutters, and time itself stops for him.

He turns the umbrella down, the rain bathing him with tiny little drops, dripping onto his hair and clothes. He doesn’t really care that he’s getting wet or that he might get sick. He only cares about the carving at the bottom of the yellow umbrella. 

SH. 

He remembers when his mom picked him up at school, rain sprinkling softly against the yellow umbrella. He thinks back to when his mom caught him playing in the rain, yellow umbrella bright against the dark skies. 

He thinks of his mom, the umbrella handle tucked between Eddie’s shoulders to shield him from the rain, as she gets soaked with rain, trying to tie his shoes. 

He thinks of his mom, dancing with him in the rain, the yellow umbrella forgotten in the ground.

Eddie could almost hear her laugh. 

There’s a half sob, a half laugh that escapes him. 

“What the fuck?!” 

five

There’s a small bar tucked in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between Hawkins and Indianapolis. It’s close enough that they can go home by Gareth’s curfew and far enough that no one would recognize them. It’s secretly a gay bar masquerading as a metal bar. 

On some random nights, Corroded Coffin gets the privilege to play a few songs at the bar. Just a few songs, handpicked by the bar owner. 

Eddie doesn’t care. He loves playing in front of a gay crowd. It’s different from when they play in The Hideout, where their main audience is a few drunks. 

This. This is where they shine brightest, with people dancing and jumping along to their songs. No one cares if a man is holding another man or if another woman is sitting too close to another woman. 

They usually only open for the main band. When they run down the stage, filled with adrenaline, Eddie’s greeted by Jessica, smiling proudly at them. She’s owned Metal Pieces for around thirty years now. 

“That was a good set, boys.” The old woman greets, red flannel tied on her waist to fight the humidity inside the bar. 

“We know! That was awesome!” Jeff shrieks above the bar music, hopping up in excitement. 

“That solo you did was amazing!” Paul chest bumps with Gareth, who screams in joy at the compliment. 

Eddie looks at Jessica with his best puppy eyes, “Maybe we can get one night as the main band instead of the opening?” 

Jessica rolls her eyes fondly at him, “Nuh-uh. You know the agreement, no playing as the main band as long as you don’t graduate.” 

“Well, ‘86 is gonna be the year!” Gareth cheers, shaking Eddie's shoulders, “He’s gonna graduate next year, by hell or high water!” 

“Hell yeah! ‘86 is gonna be my year!” Eddie hoots out in joy as the boys copy his hoot. 

“Well then,” Jessica smirks, pride for her boys shining in her eyes, “Show me your diploma, and you got the evening slot, Munson.” 

The boys cheer around him, and Jessica gives them one last smile as she returns to the bar to help serve the patrons. 

“Hey, come on.” Eddie starts pushing the boys off him, “It’s clean-up time. It’s almost 10:30, and Cinede-reth needs to be home by midnight, or we’ll all be toast.” 

Gareth groans at the name as the others snicker. They start by carrying back the amps, and when they push the backdoor open, a gust of wet wind welcomes them. 

“It’s raining!” Paul screams out above the music. 

“I can see that!” Jeff says back, clearly annoyed, as he hauls his amp.

The equipments are much more important than their clothes or hair. So they all run to Eddie’s van like their lives depended on it, equipments safely tucked under their arms. They all clamber to get in the back of the van as soon as Eddie opens it. 

“Make some space for my sweetheart!” Eddie commands as the boys try to fit everything in the back. 

“Just have her sit on the front seat if you love her that much!” Jeff answers back, making Gareth and Paul laugh amidst the chaos. 

“Don’t threaten me, Jeff! You’ll be sitting on the roof.” Eddie rolls his eyes at him. He turns to Gareth and says, “Hey! Is Eugene here? Can you pass him to me? I have to go back for our cheques!” 

“Your yellow umbrella?!” Gareth shouts back, looking around the van, “He’s not here!” 

Eddie tries to duck to see if the umbrella is under the seats before he remembers, “Oh, Jesus! I let one of the new sheeps borrow it!” Eddie slaps a hand on his forehead. 

“Which one?” Paul asks, finally sitting properly after moving around to get the amps organized. 

“Henderson! He was gonna bike home in the rain. His babysitter was apparently called to work, so I gave it to him.” Eddie replies, rummaging for an old leather jacket to shield him from the rain. 

“That kid freaking worships you, dude! You’re gonna get that umbrella one way or another!” Gareth urges, “But for now, go get our cheques before I get grounded!” 

“Alright, Cinde-reth!” There’s an angry protest as Eddie runs away from the van and into the bar again. 

The place is still full as he enters, the current band singing above the noise of people. The bar, especially, is crowded as hell. Eddie tries to squeeze in, “Jess!”

Jess looks up from the drink she’s making, “Hey, Ed! Thought you were gonna run before I even paid you.” 

Eddie wiggles an eyebrow, “Oh, I will never run away from payment, you know that.”

“Give me a sec, hey? Come around and help the girls serve while I am gone.” 

“Are you gonna pay me extra?” Eddie jokes around, but he’s already walked around the counter and has started asking for orders, “What can I get for you, babe?” 

The customer answers, “Can I get a long island?” 

“Coming right up!” 

Eddie helps make a few drinks, turning and dancing around the usual servers. Maybe a little harmless flirting with some of the customers, who cares?

In his peripheral view, another person comes up on the bar, hand outstretched with a bill. But before Eddie can see her face clearly, she’s already turned her back away from him. From where he’s standing, he can hear her saying, “Uh-oh.” 

She runs away clumsily. Eddie stares at the figure. The woman is tall-ish with short dirty blonde hair. There’s something familiar about her that makes him want to follow her. 

“Excuse me!” A finger snaps in front of his face, surprising him, “Can I get a beer?” 

“Oh! Sorry!” Eddie springs back to action, helping make some of the orders and helping a few more customers. 

Jessica comes back a few minutes later, “Here,” She hands him a few envelopes, “Go now. It’s almost eleven, and I don’t want Gareth to be grounded!” 

When he gets back to the van, the boys— specifically Gareth— are all anxious to get on the road because of the pouring rain. 

Eddie honks his wheel, “Alright, my liege. Fasten your seatbelts! Onward to dark and shady Hawkins!” 

“It’s my turn to pick the music!” Gareth cheers as the others groan. 

Eddie starts driving opposite the bar, turning to the highway to Hawkins. From Eddie's left side view mirror, he can see the lights the bar still emits. Hidden away by gold and orange trees, the rain against the mirror makes it shine brighter. 

The right side view mirror is too blurry with beads of rain. However, if you look closely, you will see a boy and a girl walking in the opposite direction of them, a yellow umbrella protecting them from the rain.

Gareth pushes his tape into the radio system. 

He hits play.

“It doesn’t hurt me—“

-

“—Do you wanna feel how it feels?” 

There’s a song blaring at the bar. Steve’s heard Max listening to it a few times already. He awkwardly swings along the song as people sing and dance. 

Frankly, he can’t help but feel out of place— well, he is out of place. Robin turned eighteen a few days ago, and not only did Steve get a few additional scars and a handful more of lifetime trauma, but he also found his person. 

His person, Robin Buckley, only wished for one thing for her birthday. 

She wants to visit a gay bar. 

Robin said it was one of those pipe dreams and that unless they drove down somewhere further, they won’t really find anything. Because where the hell would you find a gay bar in Hawkins, Indiana? 

His mother has called him a lot of the things in his life, and one of the things that really left a mark on him is that one day when his mother called him stubborn and hardheaded. Steve wanted cinnamon sugar on his oatmeal, just like Agatha makes it for him. But his mother forced him to eat the apples and berries instead, leading him to throw up. 

And then, his mother, whom he hadn't seen for five months then, tells him, “See. This is what happens when you're stubborn. You’re just like your cheating, lying father. I made a duplicate of the shittiest person I know.” 

Not really important, but it does prove the whole ‘the ax forgets; the tree remembers’ ordeal. 

So, Steve sets out to find a safe place for people like his— best friend? closest friend? soulmate? Not even the word soulmate is enough to describe Robin sometimes. 

Steve had to go to numerous bookstores, libraries, and cafes outside of Hawkins. He scurried to research and ask people, trying his best to show that he was an ally and not undercover police or something. He only found this by pure luck. 

Yes, it was hard to find. But that was all nothing when Steve finally told Robin where they were going that night. 

A body slams back at him, blonde hair flailing everywhere, “Dingus.” 

Steve straightens up immediately. There’s a look of fear in Robin’s eyes. It unsettles him to his core. It's one of the many things Steve doesn't ever want to see in his life again. Add it into the long list of traumas. 

Robin’s eyes roam around the bar, “We have to go!”

Steve furrows his eyebrows at her, confused at the sudden change of mood, “We just got here, Robs!”

Robin shakes her head vehemently, “I just saw someone from Hawkins High! We have to go, please!” 

“Doesn’t that mean they’re safe then? We’re in a gay bar!” Steve moves closer to her, hands wrapping around her shoulders to shield her from the people partying. 

“It doesn’t matter!” She cries, and Steve can almost see tears forming in her eyes, “I am not— I don't want—”

Robin pauses. Steve is proud to have known her so well in such a short amount of time. Her nose crinkles, her eyebrows furrowed together. It's the face she makes when there are too many words to choose from. 

There’s no need for it because Steve already understands. 

She’s not ready. 

“Okay.” Steve gives her his best babysitter smile, “It’s okay. We can go.”

Robin doesn’t look particularly happy with the decision too, but they push away from the crowd and into the front exit. It’s still raining pretty hard as they rush to Steve’s beamer. 

“God, I hate rain in October. Like it’s cold and windy, and why am I still somehow sticky with sweat? Why isn’t fall just crunchy leaves and orange views?” Robin rants beside him, wiping away her smudged eyeliner. 

Steve turns the keys, and the beamer gives him a small groan before dying again. He squints at it, moving forward to turn the key again. This time the engine doesn’t even try. 

“Uh.” Steve trails. 

“Uh, what?” Robin startles, looking at him with wide eyes, “What’s wrong, dingus?” 

Steve winces awkwardly at her, “So… the car won’t start… and I think I know why.” 

Robin looks panicked, “Why?” 

“Cause I was scheduled for a battery change, but then I was called into work.” 

Robin gasps, “Are we stuck here?! In the middle of the rain?!” 

Steve immediately shakes his head, hoping that it will alleviate the fear in her voice, “No! No! I planned this!” 

“You— planned this?” 

“Well, not this!” Steve exasperatedly says. 

Robin crosses her arms at him, “Then what?” 

“I know we were going to drink, and I might get tired of driving home, so I booked a motel down a few blocks from here. We can stay there for tonight, wait for the rain to stop.” 

Robin visibly melts in relief, lips pulling into a small smile, “You did?” 

Steve nods, “Yeah. I packed some of the clothes that you left at home. I also brought some new boxers for you to use.” 

“Thank you, dingus.” Robin pats his cheek, her warmth grounding him. 

“The only problem now is how we’re going to get there. It’s raining too hard, and I don’t have any umbrellas in the car.” 

Robin points a thumb at the backseat, “You have that yellow umbrella in the back. I saw it when I dropped the bag of snacks.” 

Steve stares at her in confusion, “What umbrella?” 

“That umbrella.” Robin points at the back as Steve finally turns in his seat to look at what she’s pointing at.

There it is. On the floor of his car. A yellow umbrella. 

He doesn’t remember putting it here. It certainly wasn’t his, not when his own yellow umbrella vanished about three years ago. 

Steve reaches for it, flipping it so he can see the handle instead of the bottom. 

“Holy shit.” He stares at the umbrella’s carving on the handle, “Holy shit.” 

“What?” Robin asks, staring at him stare at the umbrella. 

“Did you put this here?”

Robin shakes her head, “No. The color is too bright for me.” 

“Holy shit.” 

Steve holds the umbrella in front of him like it’s a sword that has fought hundreds of wars. His hand grazes on the carving on the handle, now old with age, less prominent but still there. 

He knows he lost it. He is sure of it because he turned his whole house and car upside down looking for it, hoping it’s just misplaced somewhere. But he never saw a sign of it in the last three years. 

Until now. 

“I lost this umbrella three years ago. I swear.” His voice comes out hushed in disbelief, like it's a secret just for the two of them.

Every emotion he feels must be painted on his face because Robin answers, with no malice or teasing, “Huh. That’s kinda cool.” 

“That’s it? Aren’t you a little creeped out?” 

Robin snorts, “Steve, just three months ago, we got chased by a shadow monster with six legs that was made up of human goo. A magical appearing and disappearing umbrella is nothing. If anything, it just makes you Mary Poppins.” 

“Oh, you are not going to start calling me that!” Steve threatens. 

Before he can say more, Robin's already out of the car, laughing as she opens the umbrella. They bicker more as they start walking to the motel a few blocks down. Clothes and valuables slung around each other's shoulders as they squeeze under the umbrella. 

“Hey. I am sorry I ruined tonight.” Robin starts with a frown. 

Steve nudges her shoulders lightly, “Nothing to be sorry for. We can just go back some other night.” 

Robin lets out a sad sigh, and it makes Steve’s heart break a little, “I don’t think we can. They were working in the bar. I can’t risk it.” 

He immediately wants to try to fix the situation. If he could fix it, he would do it by making the world a better place. A world where Robin is free to be herself and a world without monsters underneath them. 

“Then we’ll go to the further ones. I picked this one because it was the nearest one.” 

Robin perks up slightly, “You would do that?” 

Steve relaxes as Robin finally smiles a little, “Sure. Maybe we can go on your winter break? Or what about spring break?” 

“Winter break, maybe. I don’t think we can leave on spring break.” 

“Why not?” 

Robin’s face scrunches, an expression between confused and nervous, “I don’t know. I just— feel like it.” 

“Alright, psychic.” Steve teases before remembering, “Hey, who did you even see in the bar?” 

Her smile turns into a tiny smirk, “I can’t tell you that.” 

“Alright, alright,” Steve says, not wanting to push more. He’s already had the “do not out people” conversation with her and it lasted for hours. 

Ahead of them, Steve can see the bright lights of the motel. A huge sign blinks at them, the bulbs clearly needing replacing. 

“Hey, you want to skip?” Steve tightens his hand against the umbrella. His right shoulder is basically sopping wet by now, but Robin’s dry, and that’s all that matters. 

“Skip?” Robin asks in confusion.

“Yeah. When I was a kid, I always used to skip in the rain. This lady walked me to Benny’s restaurant, and when we were close enough to see it, she asked me if I wanted to skip.” Steve smiles up at the yellow umbrella, “I was never allowed to skip in the rain. Something about expensive dress pants. When the lady and I did it, it was— amazing. So now, I try to do it every chance I get.” 

When Steve turns back to Robin, she's got a twinkle of determination in her eyes. 

She smiles at him, her eyes crinkling with excitement, “That sounds fun. Let’s do it.” 

Robin holds out her hand to him, and without hesitations, Steve takes it with a smile. They start skipping down the road. Maybe this is what they meant when they said to heal your childhood. The splashing of their feet against the wet asphalt, and the sound of delighted giggles would make seven-year-old Steve Harrington happy. 

In the motel, they would change clothes and hang them on the heater to dry. They’ll order shitty motel food and fall asleep to the sound of Murder, She Wrote. They will fall asleep beside each other, just like every night since the 4th of July. 

The yellow umbrella is still dripping wet, but it's sitting on the foot of the bed. Only because Robin said something about Mary Poppins never leaving her umbrella. 

On the heater, there’s a wet coat, adorned with pins and patches dripping with water. Beside it is an old pair of guitar-themed socks. 

It’s Steve’s favorite pair of socks.

+ one

You know how people say spring brings new beginnings or some shit like that?

Eddie hates it.

For one, Eddie hates change. He hates it more now that change means trying to adapt to this new world. There are monsters, there are underground dimensions, and there are kids with superpowers. He barely even survived using himself as bat bait, but now he has to adjust to this world where he’s just always in pain. 

It's been raining non-stop in Hawkins. The running theory is that nature is trying to heal from all the Upside Down gunk and trying to regrow the flowers and trees back. The rain doesn’t help his bones; something aching deep within it. Steve says it’s normal, that sometimes he knows when it’s going to rain because of an ache in his knees. 

After the final showdown with the evil wizard that wanted to melt their insides, everyone has been quietly recuperating. The rain doesn’t help their moods either. It leaves all of them in a somber mood. 

The least it does for him is the vinyl shop he is working at is quiet. No one wants to brave the rain just to glare at him at work. No one comes and asks him if he has read the bible. It gives him the quiet he needs to restock the shelves. 

It’s the only job that took him after the Spring Break murder fiasco, and it’s only because Robin and Steve (more Robin) begged Keith to give him the job. 

Eddie peaks out the windows and to the strip mall’s parking lot. There are lots of cars in front of the arcade, but the beamer isn’t there. Great. 

“Hello, Family Video! What can I do for you?”

Eddie presses the phone harder to his ear, “Buckley?” 

Robin coughs, “Munson?” There’s a clatter in the background. 

“Yeah. Hey.” 

“Hey yourself. Are you finally calling to explain why you're avoiding Steve?” 

Eddie bangs his head on the wall, making the guy who’s changing shifts with him look at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Stop. You know why I am doing it.” Eddie says, and he knows she does. She knows the feeling of falling for someone you shouldn’t have fallen for. 

Damn, Steve Harrington and his soft brown eyes and caring nature. 

“I know. But he doesn’t.” Robin whispers, “And he’s kicking himself about it thinking he’s done something to offend you.” 

Eddie clenches his eyes shut, grinding his jaw with frustration, “That’s not why I called.” 

Robin groans, clearly giving up, “Then what?” 

“I wanted to know if you had any spare umbrellas. I forgot mine, and I have to walk home.” 

“Van still broken?” 

Eddie hums, “Yeah. I think I’ll have to bring it somewhere out of Hawkins. The guy at the auto shop looked like he wanted to kill me when I brought it to him.”

“Ask Hopper to come with you. It’ll be finished by tomorrow.” Robin answers, “But I don’t have an umbrella. Steve’s picking me up later.” 

Of course. Eddie sighs, “Alright. Thank you, Buckley. I’ll talk to you later.” 

Eddie says goodbye to his coworker before exiting the store through the back exit. He’ll either wait for the rain to subside or just run through the rain.

If only he had his yellow umbrella, but it has been two months since Eddie woke up after almost dying and had Dustin sobbing on his knees, apologizing for losing his umbrella. By then, who the fuck cares about an umbrella? All that matters is they’re all alive and well. 

From where he is standing, he can hear the rain traveling through the water pipes and the sound of water hitting the ground. It’s peaceful if he wasn’t in Hawkins. There has always been something peaceful about the rain. 

However, now he’s scared that something might come out of the forest. No matter how much Supergirl has reassured them, there’s still the unspoken fear that everything can come back. 

Another back door swings open, and Steve Harrington comes out. 

Damn it. 

“Hey.” Steve greets, walking closer to him. 

Eddie nods back, keeping his face straight. He only looks away when he’s gotten a good look at him. Steve looks well, and he kind of loathes him for it. 

For the first two months, Eddie stayed over at Steve’s, and here’s the thing, Eddie has done a lot of stupid things in his life. It could be the one where he agreed to sell to Chrissy or the one where he didn’t run when he was supposed to run. However, there is nothing dumber than falling in love with the straightest boy in town.  

Eddie knows that ignoring Steve is unfair, and he doesn’t know why Eddie is doing it. But he needs to distance himself from Steve for a while, wait for the feelings to vanish before it all overflows from him and bursts. It hurts to be away from Steve’s light and heart, but it’s better than losing him just because Eddie's pining over him.

“Van still broken?” Steve asks, and there's a croak of hurt in his voice stabs Eddie right through his chest. 

Eddie clears his throat, finally turning to meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Here, I bought you an umbrella.” Steve stretches out his hand, offering the umbrella to him. 

Damn, Robin Buckley. “Robin told you?”

Steve tilts his head, and Eddie hates how much it reminds him of a lost puppy. 

“Told me what? I came straight here. She was talking to a customer when I came in.” 

Eddie stares at him and the umbrella in his hands, “Are you here to pick her up?” 

Steve blinks, his eyes shaking like he’s been caught stealing from the cookie jar. 

“I— I just came by to bring you an umbrella.” 

His heart does a somersault, and no matter how much Eddie wants to smother it down, he can’t.

Eddie squints at him, hoping he’s not blushing. “You came by to bring me an umbrella? That’s it?” 

Steve gulps, “Yes.” 

“Even if I was ignoring you, you still came by to give me an umbrella? On your off day?” 

Steve’s stare intensifies, his jaw clenching in frustration. “Yes, Eddie.” He replies, in resignation, “Because even if you’re ignoring me, I still worry and care.” 

Fucking hell. What was Jesus thinking when he created Steve Harrington? Kind, caring, hot as hell, has the ability to change, and literally would throw his life away for you. 

Eddie wants to slam him against the wall, kiss him senselessly and beg him to love him all at the same time. There’s emotion overflowing off of him, and he knows he's an inch close to just telling Steve that he’s so insanely in love with him. 

“Give me the umbrella.” Eddie snatches the umbrella away from him, staring at Steve’s brown eyes. Soft and hopeful. It’s enough for Eddie just to let everything spill out of him. 

Eddie would rather go back to the Upside Down than do anything about his feelings. So Eddie does what he does best. He runs. 

Running straight to the forest behind the strip mall, Eddie flees. He follows the pathway that already exists. Knowing Steve, he won’t follow under the pouring rain without the umbrella. 

Eddie runs and runs. 

It’s so dramatic of him, running under the storm, his tears and rain mixing. He has a fucking umbrella in his hand, and he won’t even open it. He knows he’s being ridiculous. He’ll have to face Steve in a few days and tell him the truth. But he’s just not ready to do it today.

When he’s further in the forest, far enough that he knows no one will see him anymore, he lets himself sink into the ground, the umbrella falling from his grasp. 

The rain is pouring so hard against the leaves that he doesn’t even hear the footsteps coming behind him. 

“Eddie?” A voice calls out, making his head snap upwards. 

There’s no rain hitting him, an umbrella shielding him from the rain. 

And— Steve’s there. Sopping wet, standing next to him, holding the umbrella open over Eddie's head. 

“You followed me?” Eddie glares at him. 

Steve’s nose flairs and glares right back at him, “Yes, you dumb ass. There's literally a storm. I can’t just leave you in the middle of the forest.” 

Eddie stands up, shaky on his knees. Steve wraps a hand around his waist, tightening his hold on him like he knows Eddie will run away any moment now. 

Steve’s lips quiver, hurt and pain clear as day on his face and Eddie wants to be gullible and hopes it’s because of the cold rain. 

“Stop running away from me and just tell me what I did wrong.” Steve pleads with him, “I can fix it, Eds. I just— I can’t stand it anymore.” 

How funny is that, really? Eddie avoids and runs away from him in hopes that it will help lessen the intensity of his feelings. Right now, standing in front of Steve, Eddie realizes that it’s not just going to wash away. 

Eddie laughs, his eyes wet as he bursts around his seams. 

“Why are you like this? Why?”  

Steve looks at him in bewilderment, “Why am I what? You’re the one who ran into the forest?! You're the one that's ignoring me!”

“You!” Eddie jabs a finger on his chest, “You frustrate me! Why do you care so much about me? Why did you follow me here? Why did you bring me the umbrella? Do you just do this for everyone?” 

“Do you want me to leave you alone? Is that it?” Steve shouts back, stepping closer to him. 

Eddie opens his mouth to say yes, but nothing comes out. He can’t even say it, can't even imagine Steve leaving him alone. 

“Don’t you get it, Steve?” Eddie shakes his head, a sob caught in his throat. The truth spills out of him so easily, he doesn’t know why he thought this would ever be hard. 

“I am in love with you! And you’re too nice and too gentle that it hurts! I know you’ll never feel the same way about me because that’s not what you want. You want six kids and the whole shebang!” 

Steve looks at him incredulously, “And who told you that? Did I tell you that?” 

Eddie gapes at him like he grew three more heads as Steve chuckles. 

“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson.” 

The umbrella falls to the ground as Steve pulls him closer by the waist, his other hand wrapping around Eddie’s neck to pull him closer. Maybe the rain stopped, or maybe time itself did. Eddie stopped feeling the rain on his cheeks and stopped hearing the rustling of the leaves. Instead, he can only focus on the warmth and softness of Steve’s lips on his. 

He doesn’t immediately respond, prompting Steve to pull away. “I am sorry I didn’t mean to overstep—“ 

Eddie doesn’t even let him finish before he pulls on Steve’s shirt again and crashes his lips into his. Steve melts into the kiss as Eddie tightens his hand on his shirt, never wanting to let him go. It’s astonishing to run away from something you deeply want, only to find it walking directly to you. 

Kisses like this only happen in movies. The woman and man kissing under the pouring rain, fate bringing them together. Eddie could swear he was dreaming, but Steve’s heart was beating erratically under his palm, anchoring him to the moment. 

Eddie pulls away, letting his forehead rest on Steve’s forehead. Their eyes meet, and Eddie could swear his heart skipped a beat. There’s a sparkle in it, a glint of happiness that immediately calms every anxious nerve in Eddie’s body. 

“I am falling in love with you. I think I’ve been falling ever since the very first night.” Steve says gently, his fingers wiping raindrops off Eddie’s face. 

Eddie could cry from the tenderness in his touch. There's something in the way he touches Eddie, something he thought was for everyone. With the way Steve is looking and holding him right now, he has realized that it has always been just for him. 

“Was it the bottle against your neck?” Eddie smirks. 

“Alright. None of that. You ignored me 'cause you liked me too much.” Steve teased, poking him slightly in the stomach.

They only pull away when Eddie starts shivering, “Oh god, Eds.” Steve reaches over for the umbrella, “You’re going to be sick!” 

“Well, you’re wet too! You’re going to be sick too!” Eddie replies stubbornly.

“I am not the one who just got out of the hospital like two months ago. Come on, man.” 

“Don’t call me man when you just freaking kissed me.” 

Steve laughs, pushing the umbrella closer to him, “Alright, baby. Does that sound better for you?” 

Well… fuck. He stepped right on that one. Eddie hopes he isn’t flushing, but the warmth in his cheeks are saying the opposite. 

“Hey, can you hold this for a moment?” Steve hands him the umbrella as he removes his jacket, “Here, wear this. You’re shivering.” 

Eddie stares at the jacket in front of him, and for the first time in his life, he finally understands those girls that giggle and blush when their boyfriends give them their letterman. Eddie bites his lips down to tamper his smile as Steve drapes the jacket on his shoulders, his hand tightening against the handle of the umbrella. His fingers graze against carvings, which immediately makes him look down.

“This umbrella is mine!” Eddie declares, making Steve’s nose crinkle in confusion. 

“What? This is mine. It’s my Mary Poppins umbrella.” 

Eddie gapes at him, “What?” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair, “Robin calls it my Mary Poppins umbrella. My father gave my mother an exact replica of this as a wedding gift. I think I took the wrong from the umbrella rack at Melvald’s. It went missing for a few years and then magically reappeared.”

Eddie stares at him, hand flying to his mouth when he realizes that Claudia— who Eddie now calls Mrs. H, who brings him casseroles every other week, who waves at him with a bright smile when he drops Dustin off on nights Steve has to work— picked the wrong umbrella that day, but instead of some stranger getting the chance to take it home, Steve’s the one who picked it. 

“This is my mother’s umbrella! I left it in Melvald’s the day they transferred me to Wayne. I lost it again for a few years, and then I got it back—” Eddie gasps, “In your house! I got it back from your house.” 

Steve pauses, staring at him before a slow smile spreads on his face, “Oh.” 

“What?” Eddie inquires, wanting to know the revelation he just had.

“You’re the dude in the closet.”

Eddie scoffs, “I just kissed you! That’s literally me coming out of the closet.”

Steve laughs, “Not like that, Eds! I mean on my 16th birthday, I hid in the closet and talked to someone in the closet. I always wondered who that was.” 

“Oh.” Eddie breathes out. He’s always kind of wondered who it was who directed him to go get an umbrella that lead him back to his mother’s umbrella. 

“Funny how sometimes you just find things.” Steve teases, but there’s a breathlessness to his voice. Some kind of clarity is coming on to him. 

“Dustin borrowed it last year and lost it!” Eddie lifts the umbrella and points at the carving, “See! SH!” 

Steve grabs it from him, “Yes. SH for Steve Harrington.” 

“Nuh-uh! SH!” Eddie pats his jeans for his wallet before pulling it out, “Sarah Hayes! My mom’s maiden name! My mom has had it for as long as I’ve been alive.”

Eddie opens his wallet, pointing at a picture of him, his mom, and the yellow umbrella. Wade took it for them in one of those moments in between the crime and stealing and gambling where he was a good father. 

Steve looks at the picture with awe, sighing quietly, “Oh. That’s— that’s your mom?” 

Eddie nods, looking down at the picture. His mother is smiling at him as Eddie laughs, the umbrella protecting them from the sun. Eddie remembers the day clearly, the doctor told them it would be best for his mom to get sunlight. It's one of her last days on earth and the smile on her face is worth everything he owns. It’s one of his favorite pictures of them. 

“I met her.” 

Eddie’s eyes bulge as he looks up at him, “What? When?” 

“When I was really young.” Steve chuckles, “I used to have dinner at Benny’s when Denny was still alive. I remember it was raining hard and I didn’t bring an umbrella, so I asked her if I could walk with her. She said she was getting her son soup because he was sick. She’s the reason why I skip in the rain.” 

Eddie laughs wetly, remembering all the times they skipped together in pouring rain, “Yes. That sounds like her. I— I can’t believe you met her.” 

Eddie never really believed in the whole cosmic fate kind of thing. He believes that he makes and controls his own destiny. However, right at this moment, there’s something stronger than the two of them pulling them together. 

A thing bigger than the two of them. Maybe it’s his mom. 

There’s a quiver in Eddie’s lips as he smiles, and he thinks it’s justified with this realization. Steve’s smiling at him with pure adoration. His face is saying a thousand words unsaid, clearly having the same realization Eddie was having. It's like everything now makes sense to him, like Eddie was the missing piece he's been looking for. 

“Let’s go.” Steve holds out his hand for him to hold. Eddie looks at it for a second before taking it and intertwining their hands together. 

As they walk back, Steve nudges him, “You still like soup when you’re sick?”

Eddie hums, “Yeah.” 

“Great. Before Denny died, he gave me his soup recipe.” 

Eddie gasps, “What?!” 

“Yep.” Steve laughs bashfully. 

Eddie’s mouth works on its own, saying the truth before he can even filter it out, “Jesus. I’m gonna marry you, Steve Harrington.” 

Steve blushes bright pink, and Eddie Munson is in love. 

“Alright. Take me on a date first.” 

“You got it, sweetheart. Hey, you guys have soup spoons?” 

“I have plenty at home.” 

“Perfect.” 

They’ll go home, and Steve will make him soup because, yes, Eddie will get sick from running in the rain. They’ll go on a first date a few days after that, which will turn into more dates and a lifetime together. They’ll move in together in an apartment with a handful of stolen soup spoons. They’ll have a few kids, not six, but two little girls. They’ll live a long happy life, that's for sure.

The umbrella will break in a few more years, finally resting easy now that it has finally brought them together. 

But that’s for later. 

For now, they skip together under the pouring rain. Not one care in the world. Protected by the yellow umbrella that brought them together.