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Steve had never planned on becoming a firefighter. Like so many other things in his life, he’d just sort of…fallen into it. He’d moved in with Robin a few weeks ago after his life in Chicago had fallen apart. In that time he’d been keeping his head down around Hawkins, subdued, with his old crown heavily askew.
It was strange, being back in his hometown after several years away from it. But it was good to be back with Robin – he’d follow her anywhere, after all, so it made sense that he’d finally followed her into the fire service.
“Wait here, I’m going to go find the Chief.”
Robin had towed him into a large kitchenette area of Hawkins Fire Department, the walls above the appliances decorated with various bits memorabilia – old crew photos, medals, helmets from different eras strung up by their chin straps. The splashback above the oven was made of dark red tiles, much of the room painted a slightly lighter red, and shit Steve knew it was the fire service but didn’t these guys ever get tired of red…
In his straight blue Levis and clean Nikes, Steve felt a little out of place. His father’s words echoed in his head – should’ve dressed up, Steven, honestly, do I have to spell everything out for you? You look like a slob.
But with his best friend locating his new boss, Steve took a deep breath and resigned himself to waiting. He was just pulling out a chair to sink down into when a man walked into the room and stopped dead in his tracks.
“Um…hi,” Steve said awkwardly, hovering halfway between sitting and standing.
The man had dark curly hair tied back in a bun, a black t shirt displaying pale arms decorated with tattoos. Several piercings in his ears caught the morning light, Steve catching sight of the solid bar pushed through the top of one ear. He remembered Robin drunkenly rambling to him one night about wanting that type of piercing, couldn’t for the life of him recall what the name of it was, and suddenly realized he was staring.
His cheeks coloured and he dropped his gaze back to the table.
The other man, however, had no such qualms about staring back at him.
“Harrington?” came his surprised question, eyebrows raised skyward.
“Yeah…” Steve frowned. Now that he thought about it, the guy did look a little familiar. “It’s Steve, though. Just Steve.” Not Harrington. Hunching his shoulders slightly, he shrank in on himself a little, feeling oddly exposed.
“Holy shit.” The man chuckled a little, unfreezing and walking to the fridge. He grabbed a carton of juice, took a long swig straight from it and put it back, all while still studying Steve. “You don’t remember me do you, big boy?”
Big boy?
“Sorry, um…not really, no.”
“S’ok. I wouldn’t remember me either.” He was quiet for a moment, letting Steve flounder for a response, until he dramatically covered his heart with his hands and staggered back several steps.
“Are you alright?” Steve stood, surprised, but the man ignored him, straightening up again and grinning.
“Eddie. Eddie Munson.”
Ah. Steve remembered, now. Flashes of a loud, angry kid, the one that walked on tables and openly mocked the jocks and all forms of sport. The kid Steve had seen shoved into lockers several times, when he’d kept his own head firmly down and walked on by. The one that had sometimes shot glances across the cafeteria towards Steve’s table, his intense gaze burrowing deep into Steve and unsettling something inside him.
He looked…different, now, but Steve supposed it had been a few years since he’d seen him. With his hair up, the extra tattoos, the piercings, his plain t shirt and jeans still dark but free of rips…Steve could have been forgiven if he hadn’t recognized him at all.
“Right, sorry. You just look…”
“…different, I know,” Eddie finished for him. “Didn’t used to have all these sweet old tatties, huh?” He held out his arms displaying the ink there and Steve leant forward a little to look politely, studying the intricate dragon coiled around one bicep.
“Ah, Munson, I see you’ve met our newest recruit.”
Steve sat back quickly as a tall, broad-shouldered man entered the room. This one Steve recognized straight away.
“Chief Hopper,” Steve acknowledged, sticking out his hand while Eddie watched with a slight smirk.
“Hell, you’re far more polite than anyone else in this damn place, Harrington,” Hopper grunted, taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly.
Steve gave him a tight smile. “S’just Steve.” Please, just Steve.
Hopper shrugged. “Alright. Well, guess I’ll show you around, we’ve already got your uniform hanging up for you in the gear room.” He paused, glancing around by Steve’s feet.
“You got a bag or anything with you?”
“Um…no, I didn’t really know what to bring.”
Hopper let out a huff and waved a hand at him. “S’fine, we’ll sort it. Come with me.”
Behind them, Eddie was loudly slurping from the juice carton again, half hidden behind the fridge door.
“Munson!” Hopper barked at him, Steve wincing a little at the gruff tone. “How many times, use a goddamn cup!”
Eddie swallowed quickly, dragging his wrist across his mouth to collect any drops. “Aye aye, Chief.” He gave a little mock salute, and Hopper rolled his eyes.
“He’s an animal, that one,” he muttered to Steve as he led him out of the kitchen. “Right, so Buckley’s probably explained some of this to you already, but the trucks are through here -” Hopper jabbed his thumb towards a door to the left, “– and down the hall there’s showers, the gear room, BA’s, all that jazz. Upstairs there’s a lounge, sleeping quarters and a small gym. Only rules for that area are never go up there in dirty gear, and keep the damn noise down if someone’s sleeping.”
Steve nodded, following Hopper down the long hallway.
“Through here is -” Hopper was interrupted by a burst of static on the radio at his hip and he grabbed for it, bringing it up to his mouth. “Go ahead, Wheeler.” He turned back to Steve while awaiting his response. “That’s Nancy, one of our dispatchers, she’s on the third floor.”
And oh, Steve remembered Nancy.
“House fire Chief, fifty-six North Avenue, minor, no persons reported inside,” came the familiar female voice, slightly distorted by static on the radio.
“Gotcha. On our way soon,” Hopper replied. To, Steve, he said, “Follow me and gear up, you may as well come along.” He strode quickly in the direction of the locker room, Steve following along behind while Hopper continued to bark down the radio. “Munson, Hargrove, Buckley, you copy that?”
Two acknowledgements came down the radio, both male voices.
“Dmitri, you got the truck going?” Hopper replied.
“Starting her now, Jim.”
“Buckley, you copy?” Hopper shoved open the door to the lockers, sounding frustrated now.
“She copies,” Eddie’s voice came over the radio.
Hopper rolled his eyes, pointing Steve in the direction of his locker. His off-yellow suit was already hanging there, Harington scribbled in messy chalk above it. Steve quirked his lip up slightly at the spelling mistake, briefly considered how angry it would’ve made his dad before he shoved that thought somewhere far away. A pair of black boots was sitting underneath the protective clothing, the new leather shiny and stiff in stark contrast to most of the battered and well-worn pairs around him.
Steve swallowed thickly. He had some settling in to do.
The gear room soon filled up with Robin and Eddie joining them, Eddie cradling his box of cereal and cramming handfuls of Honey Comb pieces into his mouth while he pulled his boots on.
“Munson! No food in here, you know the rules!” Hopper growled at him.
“I didn’t get a chance for breakfast!” Eddie retorted with a slight whine, quickly grabbing a final handful before Hopper tore the box away from him and tossed it to one side.
The door swung open again, a tall blonde man walking through and stalking off to his own corner. He gave Steve a hard look as he passed him, and once again it was like seeing a ghost for Steve.
Billy Hargrove.
He remembered him well from school, when the two of them had rivalled for the captain position for swim team, basketball - just about everything, really. While Steve didn’t have particularly pleasant memories of the guy, Robin had assured him that Billy mostly kept to himself these days.
Steve quickly ripped his shirt off, leaving himself in just a white singlet as he pushed his arms through the sleeves of his clean coveralls. He could feel eyes on his back while he changed, and he spun to see Eddie watching him appreciatively until Hopper slapped him upside the head and hurried him towards the truck.
“The damn house is gonna be rubble by the time we get there, quit mucking around,” Hopper grumbled as he pushed Eddie forwards.
Suddenly, a deafening siren split the air and Steve dropped his helmet to slam both hands over his ears.
“What the hell?” Hopper yelled, running ahead towards the truck. The others followed behind him, entering the truck bay to see their fire engine lit up like a Christmas tree. The lights were flashing on the roof and the siren emanated from the vehicle while a man inside slapped at the buttons on the dash, at the same time trying to wrangle…
Was that a cat?
“Ozzy!” Eddie exclaimed, jumping up to the passenger door and reaching in to take the small black creature from the man in the driver’s seat. His hands now free, the man managed to silence the siren and kill the lights.
“Sorry Chief!” the man yelled, a heavy accent to his words. “That cat was in here again, he walked all over the dash.”
Hopper rounded on Eddie, but the boy was too busy kissing the cat’s head to be very concerned.
“Damn it, Munson, I told you to keep him away from the trucks -”
“I didn’t know he was in there!” Eddie held Ozzy between him and Hopper like a shield. “I was wondering where he went last night, though…” he trailed off, looking thoughtful before Hopper shook his head and swore under his breath.
“Right, everyone in the damn truck, we’ve got a fire to fight - last time I checked that is our job.”