Chapter Text
It starts about a month after the whole demodog situation, on a cold and early December day. Steve’s doing nothing, except slogging through ‘The Great Gatsby’ because he has nothing better to do since pretty much all of his age-appropriate friends completely ditched him again. When the phone rings.
He practically throws the ratty book, he’s been stuck on the same page for the past ten minutes and the phone is a great excuse to put off this English homework.
“You’ve reached the Harrington residence, Steve speaking.” He says, already cringing in preparation for Dustin’s loud voice to ring through.
“Ah Steve!” An unfamiliar voice greets through the phone, “Hello this is Janet Lindom, Claudia Henderson gave me your number, she said you babysit her son.”
“Uh …yes, I do.” Steve replies unsure of where this is going and why Mrs. Henderson is giving his number out.
“Ah well, I know this is short notice, but I was hoping you wouldn’t mind watching my son tomorrow afternoon for a few hours?”
“Yeah sure.” Steve agrees without thinking.
What the fuck?
“Oh wonderful!” Mrs. Lindom cheers, her voice crackling over the line, “Thank you so much, our usual sitter canceled last minute and Claudia would not stop going on about you,” She laughs, “She says you are just wonderful with her son.”
Embarrassingly that last bit fills his chest with a pleased warmth. He didn’t know Mrs. Henderson thought about him so highly.
“Oh well he’s a great kid.”
Mrs. Lindom laughs in agreement, “Yes, although a little …rambunctious, my Jack is much quieter though so he shouldn’t be a problem at all…”
Steve lets Mrs. Lindom’s voice wash over him as she gushes about her son’s bedtime routine, his allergies and what foods he won’t eat. At some point Steve gets a pen to write down the Lindom address and the time he should be there.
“...Did you get that sweetie?”
Steve absently clicks his pen as he looks over his notes, “Uh, yep no problem, Mrs. Lindom I will see you tomorrow at five-thirty.”
“Thank you again Steve, I’ll see you then, bye.”
“Okay bye.” Steve says, before hanging up.
Now that he isn’t in the middle of a conversation Steve just stares at the phone as the weight of what he just agreed to fully hits him.
“What the fuck.”
***
The problem is that Steve is apparently unable to say no to people nowadays. If he thinks back maybe it’s not such a recent problem, maybe he’s always been this way. It’s probably a part of the reason he stuck with Carol and Tommy so long.
Steve double checks the foundation he put on the yellowing bruises that litter his face in the rearview mirror. It’s not perfect but Steve figures it’s better than a clear reminder of his fight with Billy Hargrove.
“What am I doing,” Steve mumbles to himself, brushing back his hair, “You can do this dude, you kept four dipshit kids alive in a shitshow of an apocalypse you can handle one eight year old for a few hours.”
Steve gets out of the car wiping his hands on his jeans and quickly unlocking the trunk and lightly tapping the handle of his nail bat. A part of him wants to bring it in with him, his anxiety spiking at the thought of not being in reach of it. It’s over, he reminds himself, the gate is closed, you will freak out the Lindoms if you bring a nail studded bat into their home.
He closes the trunk.
The Lindoms live in the nice part of town, the one that’s used in real estate advertisements, in a clear two story family home not far from the Wheeler’s. A house that feels like a home with just enough space that everyone overlaps comfortably.
Steve brushes his hair back again shifting his weight, before knocking firmly on the door. There's a flurry of noise as people bustle around behind the door, Steve rolls on his heels feeling uncomfortably like he did when he first met Mrs. and Mr. Wheeler.
“Steve,” Mrs. Lindom greets as she opens the door, she’s a pale woman with lipstick that’s a shade too red for her and dressed in what he assumes is her best dress, which while well loved is not something his mother would be caught dead in.
“Mrs. Lindom,” Steve says with his most charming smile, “You look beautiful.”
Mrs. Lindom’s cheeks pinken as she waves a bashful hand not fully hiding her pleased smile, “You’re too sweet. Come in.”
The Lindom’s house is comfortably warm with an overflowing shoe rack and pictures hung proudly on the wall, lived in but not messy.
“Thanks for doing this Steve,” Mrs. Lindom says pulling on her coat, “Jack’s just in there,” She points vaguely into the house, “He eats dinner at seven and should be in bed by nine,” She reiterates, “We’ll be back around midnight but help yourself to anything in the kitchen and the numbers are on the fridge."
Steve blinks at the speech, “Yeah, yeah no problem.”
He can totally handle that. Probably.
A man walks into the foyer, with greying hair and a watch that screams, office job, Mr. Lindom, Steve assumes, remembering that Mrs. Lindom had mentioned an anniversary.
“Who’s this,” Mr. Lindom says, to his wife, talking like he isn’t there.
Mrs. Lindom sighs heavily, “The babysitter John honestly.”
“Him? Really?”
His jaw clenches against the dismissive tone.
“Yes, sir Steve Harrington,” Steve introduces, sticking his hand out.
He takes it seemingly unconsciously, giving him a firm handshake, “Daniel Harrington’s boy?”
“Yes sir,” Steve answers, keeping his smile in place.
“Claudia Henderson recommended him to me,” Mrs. Lindom adds, “She says he’s just great with the kids. And since we’ve been planning this dinner for a month…”
“Yeah, yeah, Janet,” Mr. Lindom grumbles, “Be good Jack!” He yells back into the house. Not sparing another look before he guides his wife outside and closes the door with a firm hand.
“Okay then,” Steve mutters to himself, hanging up his coat on the coat hooks and moving into the house.
Jack Lindom sits quietly in the living room colouring intently with a box of crayons. Steve is taken back by how small Jack is easily half the size of him and with bones that look like they could snap with one strong breeze.
“Hey Jack, I’m Steve,” He introduces, hovering awkwardly.
“I know,” Jack replies, coloring a blue sky with broad strokes, “You’re the babysitter.”
He’s being called a babysitter more and more these days, he’s still not sure how he feels about it.
“Yep, that's me.”
Jack doesn’t answer, keeping his eyes glued on his paper. Steve shrugs slighting before squishing himself into the space between the coffee table and the couch, next to Jack and grabbing a blank piece of paper and a few of the crayons that Jack isn’t actively using.
“Hey, what do you think I should draw?” Steve asks, squinting at the blank paper.
That actually makes Jack look at him with what must be the biggest brown eyes he’s ever seen. Glancing between him and the paper Jack gives the question some serious thought.
“A dog.” Jack says at last, with a small smile that makes Steve feel like he's not totally screwing this up.
Steve smiles back grabbing a purple crayon, “A dog it is.”
“You can’t use purple,” Jack says, scandalized. “Dogs aren’t purple!”
Steve grins, “Sure you can, it’s a purple dog.”
He scribbles on his paper while he keeps asking questions about what he should draw, he doesn’t really care but each time he does Jack becomes a little less tense, a little more open. Until eventually he has a beautiful mess of a purple dog and an hour and a half has practically flown by and it’s getting time to think about food.
“Hey Jack, what do you want for dinner?” Steve asks, wandering into the kitchen absently opening a cupboard and staring inside.
“Lasagna” Jack pipes up.
Double checking that the Lindom’s have the ingredients, Steve shrugs, a little relieved that he chose something he already knows how to make, “Alright you want to help?”
“Really?” Jack lights up, “Mom doesn’t like me in the kitchen.”
“Well, I’m not your mom kid.”
Jack shoots him a small smile, unhooking two aprons from the knob of the pantry doors. “Mom always wears an apron,” He explains.
Steve glances at the pink apron that Jack handed him, he really doesn’t have any dignity to lose at this point, plus he doesn’t want to stain his clothes. He pulls it on over his head, crossing the strings and tying it into a bow in front of him. Before helping with Jack’s folding it up in the middle to shorten it and tying it tight so it doesn’t come loose and trip him up.
Steve goes about preparing a simpler lasagna, both because it takes less time and because he figured Jack, being a red-blooded eight year old, isn't going to be thrilled about the concept of vegetables.
“Here do you want to break up the mince?” Steve asks, ripping open a packet of mince and dropping it into a lightly oiled pan.
Jack leans forward, on his stepstool wrinkling his nose.
“Like this,” Steve continues, poking at the meat with a wooden spoon breaking it from the square it came in.
“Ewwww,” Jack giggles, leaning in and taking the spoon.
“Yeah just keep stirring until it turns brown, okay?”
Jack nods, stirring a bit sloppily, while Steve starts chopping the minimal vegetables and grating the cheese.
“How do you know how to do this? Doesn't your Mom do it?” Jack asks.
“Yeah, well I’m almost an adult,” Steve replies, adding some jarred red sauce into a pan and adding more spices to liven it up, “And it’s always good to be able to feed yourself, plus it’s fun.”
“Hm I guess.”
“No wait, think about it dude, do you want to eat pizza every single day?” He stirs the vegetables into the sauce.
“Yes! Why are we cooking when you can just order pizza?” Jack says excitedly.
Right, he’s talking to an eight year old. Eight year old Steve ate an unholy amount of pizza, before he actually started craving fruit and vegetables.
“Pizza gets old, man,” He says flatly, not mentioning how it makes you feel gross, weak and sick, “Plus part of being an adult means that sure, you get to eat as much pizza as you want, but you have to pay for it.”
Jack’s excited face falls, “What?”
Steve smirks, “Yeah all your arcade and comic book money?” He waves a hand, “Gone, but hey you got your pizza.”
Steve bites back a laugh at Jack’s dejected face and slumped shoulders, “Being an adult sucks.”
A laugh breaks through at that, “Yeah it does man, you should stay a kid.”
By now the meat in the pan is a healthy brown, sizzling and filling the air with a rich meaty scent.
“Okay that’s looking good kid,” Steve says, pouring the sauce onto the meat, “Stir that for me will you?”
Jack does, stirring carefully but still causing some sauce to over flow onto the stove top below making it hiss and steam.
Steve finds a good glass dish, placing it on the counter, “Okay Jack can you get the cheese and pasta?”
Jack hurries off to do that, balancing on one of the breakfast stools on the other side of the counter and carefully placing the box of pasta and the bowl of grated cheese.
“Okay I’m going to add a layer of mince,” Steve directs, “And then you add the cheese and pasta. Got it?”
Jack nods gravely, “Got it.”
There’s something nice about working together like this, Jack is having fun helping out and it’s more fun for him as well than cooking is usually, getting to make something together for the both of them to enjoy.
Steve smiles fondly at Jack carefully sprinkling cheese over the layer of mince, his tongue sticks out in concentration and Steve feels his chest filling with a familiar warm feeling like he would throw himself in front of a demodog for this kid.
It’s not long after that the lasagna is put into the oven and a timer set.
“Now what?” Jack asks, crossing his arms.
“Now we hang out until it’s ready.” Steve replies, putting the dishes in the sink.
“When will it be ready?” Jack peers through the little window of the oven door.
“‘Bout an half-hour.” he replies, glancing at the egg timer.
Jack sighs with his whole body, “But I’m hungry!”
Steve glances at his watch, seven-thirty four, it is a little past Jack’s dinner time, the cooking took more time than he had anticipated, Steve cuts off a chuck of cheese handing it to the poor kid. “Here that should hold you off for a bit.”
Jack looks at the cheese in his hand and then back at him, “What about some candy?”
Steve’s not falling for that, “It’s cheese or nothing kid, and if you’re good you can have some candy for dessert. Deal?”
Steve sticks his hand, Jack considers it, seemingly weighing the decision very carefully, “Deal.” Taking his hand with one of his tiny ones and shaking it.
“So Jack, what’s your favourite cartoon?”
Jack’s eyes light up as he opens his mouth.
The egg timer dings before they know it, signaling the lasagna being done, disrupting Jack’s rambling explanation of the plot of his favorite show, some show about magic robot lions. It’s not his best lasagna but it’s good and Steve makes sure to complement Jack for it. Jack’s pleased smile fills him with a similar but less intense wave of affection that the members of the Party’s smiles do.
They play Candyland after dinner, the winner, Jack getting the promised being good candy as his prize. It’s nice. Simple. Steve has definitely had worse Friday nights.
Steve stands up stretching his arms and hips, “Okay kid time for bed.”
“Nooo,” Jack whines.
“Yes.”
“No–” Jack’s protest is interrupted by his own yawn.
Steve puts his hands on his hips, “Kid I’ve already let you stay up past your bedtime, but if you’re not in bed by the time your parents get back I’m going to be in trouble.”
There’s a small stare down, as their eyes lock, one that Steve is determined to win.
“Fine.” Jack grumbles.
Jack dresses into his pajamas easily and Steve sits awkwardly on his bed while Jack brushes his teeth. Jack’s room is cozy and filled with toys and star stickers on the ceiling, a typical boys room with bright posters and dark blue downy covers patterned with little rocket ships. A future nerd, Steve thinks fondly, wondering how much of that would survive into middle school.
“Done!” Jack cheers coming back into the room and jumping on the bed.
Steve raises an eyebrow at him, “Are you sure? You know that when you don’t brush your teeth they grow moss.”
Jack’s eyes grow wide, “I did I promise!”
Steve decides to take his word for it, it’s not his problem, “Okay then. Do …you want a story?” He’s pretty sure kids like being read to, “Or are you too old?”
Jack visibly wavers, he must be on the edge of too old, “Uh… is that …okay?”
Steve was hoping he’d say no, he hates reading aloud with a fiery passion, but he also doesn’t want the kid to feel childish, “Sure thing kid, which one?”
The short bookshelf in Jack’s room is filled with dozens of thin colourful books.
“Henry and Risby?”
“Okay,” Steve says, picking the book out of the bookshelf and settling down on the floor leaning against Jack’s bed, “Lay down kid.”
He says giving Jack’s head a gentle shove onto his pillow, tugging his blanket up over his shoulders and opening the book, it’s a thin flimsy thing but luckily it’s written in a large font that make the letters calm down and seem less like an unbreakable block, “One warm Saturday morning in August Henry Hig–Huggins and his m-mother and father were eating breakfast...”
***
There's a strange quiet in being in somebody else's house.
Steve is acutely aware of every sound he makes as he scrubs at the dirty dishes. Each slosh of the water and rattling of the pans seem to echo off the walls, Steve ears remain perked waiting for a storm that doesn’t come. After the dishes are done he wraps the leftover lasagna and puts it in the fridge with a little note so the Lindom’s know where it came from, and makes himself comfortable on the couch turning the TV on and lowering the volume all the way to seven.
The rest of the night goes smoothly, Jack doesn’t wake up, no demon’s crash through the walls and the Lindom’s come home right on time.
“Steve? Sweetheart?” Mrs. Lindom calls quietly followed by the sounds of coats rustling and shoes being kicked off.
Steve gets up, turning the TV off, “Hi welcome back, did you have a nice night?”
Mrs. Lindom pinks slightly and Steve realises with horror that her lipstick is much fainter and that her hair falls looser while Mr. Lindom’s tie is undone and his collar is popped.
“Oh it was great!” Mrs. Lindom smiles, “Thank you again for coming on such short notice.”
Mr. Lindom nods slightly before moving into the house and up the stairs without a second look.
Steve smiles, practiced and charming, back at her, “It was really no problem.”
“And Jack wasn’t any trouble?”
Steve’s face softens against his will, “No, not at all, we had a great time, he’s a good kid.”
Mrs. Lindom’s face takes on an edge of relief, “So he talked to you then?”
He blinks in surprise at that, what a weird question, “Uh yeah? We did some colouring for a bit and then dinner and candyland then bed,” Steve recites, shrugging, “Like I said no problem.”
“Oh well thank you again Steve,” Mrs. Lindom says, popping open her bag and pulling out her wallet, handing him a few notes, “Here I put a little extra for coming so last minute I’m sure you had better things to do on a Friday night.”
He glances at the notes, two tens and five. Twenty five whole dollars just for hanging out with a kid for a few hours? It feels like way too much, but Steve can tell that handing it back would just invite a debate, so he pockets the money with a smile taking the social cue to leave.
“Bye Mrs. Lindom.” He says waving slightly as he walks down the driveway to his car.
She waves back one hand holding onto the door, “Bye Steve, get home safe.”
He waves again like a dumbass, staring at the Lindom’s closed door.
It’s just a one time thing, he reassures himself.
“Hey Shelia,” Janet Lindom spoke into the phone, her pink nails curling absently around the curly cord.
“Janet!” Shelia Crick, calls through the line unknowingly mirroring Janet’s position in her own home all the way across Hawkins. “I was so sorry to hear about your anniversary plans. Lord knows how hard it can be to find a reliable sitter, I swear that Rachel girl you know the Harpin’s girl, all she did was fill my boys up with sugar, they were bouncing off the walls when we came home!”
Janet listens to Shelia’s spiel in an act of patience that has been curated by eight years of motherhood. She’s heard of Rachel Harpin before, never anything too bad but never partially glowing either.
“Well Shelia, John and I were actually able to make our date, we found a sitter at the last minute.” Janet shares excitedly.
Sheila gasps over the line, “Not Rachel Harpin?”
“No, Steve Harrington, actually,” Janet reveals, “Claudia Henderson recommended him to me, she said he was so good with her son, and let me tell you Shelia, Jack has not stopped talking about him since.”
That was true, in a very Jack way, when Janet had asked about how their night went, he had actually smiled before saying that Steve was cool which by normal standards was practically jumping up and down for joy.
“Really? Danny Harrington’s boy?”
“I know I was as surprised as you are but Jack had a great night and he made a lasagna and left us the leftovers.”
“He cooks!?” Sheila squawks.
“Like an angel I’m telling you Sheila.” Janet gushes, “Jack was asking for us to go out again.”
“Huh,” Sheila muses, “Steve Harrington I never would’ve guessed.”
Janet would’ve either.
“I can give you his number if you’d like?”
It was not a one time thing.
“I am the pirate king!” Steve yells from the top of the little wooden castle that sits in the playground of Hawkins Elementary. A tinfoil crown sitting on his head and a sword-stick in his hand.
“Not for long!” Harry yells white knuckling his own stick-sword and huddling with his younger brothers.
Steve watches them with a grin, it feels good to be active like this, after he had gotten kicked off the basketball team via forced medical leave because of Billy’s stupid face and he had been getting restless. And while basketball may be banned by his doctor, playing outside with three hyperactive boys is free rein.
It was ten minutes after meeting Harry, Johnny and Ricky Crick for the first time that Steve took them to the playground. They were practically bouncing off the walls and running in circles and he could tell that these were boys that needed to be active to be remotely manageable.
So the park it was.
He’s been trying to ignore the couple of mothers lingering on the side pretending like he can’t see them and that they can’t see him.
“Ah!” Little six year old Ricky screams, climbing the steps of the castle, “I’ve got you now!”
Steve dodges his clumsy swings lightly hitting his stick-sword with his own, laughing, “Do you?”
“Yes!” Ricky insists, unsubtly looking over Steve’s shoulder too where his brothers are trying to sneak up on him.
Harry and Johnny clamber up the opposite side of the castle, grinning ear to ear.
“Good job Ricks,” Harry says, swinging his stick-sword into Steve’s. Ricky beams at the praise from his big brother showing off a gap toothed grin.
“Yeah,” Johnny adds, “We’ve got you trapped. Surrender or else.”
Johnny could be in the drama club with how gravely he delivers that line.
“Yeah! Surrender!” Ricky echoes.
Steve sighs, biting back his grin and dropping his stick-sword in mock surrender before darting to the slide and throwing himself down the shute.
“He’s getting away!”
“Go! Go! Go!”
“After him!”
The boys shriek following him down the slide.
Steve runs laughing gleefully, “You can try!” He jeers playfully.
The boys chase him, being loud and clumsy, unafraid to take up space and be boisterous. Steve isn’t going his full speed and there's three of them so he’s caught soon enough. Harry finishes him off with a triumphant armpit stab that makes Steve the Pirate King die a rather dramatic death.
“Okay, okay you got me I’m dead,” Steve sighs laying on the ground to catch his breath, “Give me a minute, I’ll meet you on the swings.”
Harry leaves immediately Johnny trailing after him high on their victory but Ricky sits next to his head, looking at him with a furrowed brow, “Are you okay?”
Steve pats his shoulder, “Yeah, bud I’m good just tried, why don’t you go to the swings? I’ll be there in a minute."
“Okay.” Ricky replies climbing over Steve’s chest and joining his brothers.
Once he’s gone he closes his eyes and takes a few deeper breathes, Steve’s no slouch in athletics but young boys have energy like nothing else, and he can already feel the telltale burn of a good run in his lungs and legs.
“Steve?”
Steve jerks forward at the sound of his name, his eyes snapping open, “Mrs. Wheeler!”
Steve scrambles to his feet, his face burning.
He hasn’t seen Mrs. Wheeler since he and Nancy broke up. She’s looking at him bemusedly Holly giggling at her side, he’s a little relieved to see her in good spirits he really doesn’t know where he stands with her.
He used to see her all the time, would help her with the dishes and chat after their weekly dinners, in a move that Nancy had thought was a way to impress her. Which wasn’t totally wrong, but not the full reason either. Steve just wanted to be liked by his girlfriend’s family.
A small hurt part of him wonders if she’s met Jonathan yet. If Mrs. Wheeler likes him.
“Hi Steve,” Holly giggles, “I’m four now!”
Steve smiles back at her, crouching slightly, “I heard, you’re practically a grown up now.”
Holly’s chest puffs out in pride.
“Now Holly, Steve got you a very nice present,” Mrs. Wheeler chides, “What do we say?”
“Thank you!”
Steve ruffles her hair, “You are very welcome, Holls.”
“But really Steve thank you,” Mrs. Wheeler says, “You didn’t have to do that, especially since you and Nancy…”
Steve waves it off, “It was no problem really,” He rushes out, “I had already bought it so–”
“Still,” Mrs. Wheeler insists, “It was very kind.”
He doesn’t know what to do with Mrs. Wheeler’s earnest expression and instead does a head count of the boys. Harry is twisting his swing chain to make it spin in a circle, Johnny is pumping his legs furiously getting an impressive amount of air while little Ricky is trying to copy but not going nearly as high. One, two and three all accounted for.
Mrs. Wheeler’s eyes follow his, her brows raising a little, in a questioning expression.
Steve runs a hand through his hair, “I’m babysitting for Mrs. Crick.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Wheeler replies, “I didn’t know you did that.”
He shrugs awkwardly, “Yeah, well I kinda fell into it, it’s not bad though, pretty fun actually.”
“I’ve heard they’re a handful.”
Steve clenches his teeth against an unexpected wave of defensiveness, “They just need to be able to run around, they’re great really.”
“Steve, can you push me on the swings?” Holly jumps in tugging at her mother’s skirt, “Pleease?”
Steve can’t help but smile, he’s missed Holly, “Gotta ask your mom kiddo.”
Holly turns her giant pleading eyes to Mrs. Wheeler who looks towards the couple of other mothers hanging around the benches, “Of course sweetie, have fun.”
Holly cheers, grabbing at his hand and pulling him towards the swings, looking at him with a simple joy. It’s intoxicating.
It really explodes from there.
Apparently Karen Wheeler is the beating heart for the mothers of Hawkins gossip pipeline because it’s not two days after he saw her in the park that his phone is ringing off the hook with babysitting jobs.
The thing is he knows he could say no. Try to go back to the days where his schedule wasn’t dictated by a hoard of screaming children. But annoyingly ninety percent of the time he ends up saying yes. It had started slowly –like that story of the boiled frog, until before he knew it Steve had a steady two to five jobs per week and a jar full of loose cash.
It had gotten to the point where Steve caved and bought a mulit-coloured pen and planner from Melvald’s.
Buying it and using it had felt like solidifying his babysitter role to an irreversible amount. Turning himself into someone who King Steve would turn his nose up at. But it was either that or piss a lot of people off by double booking or forgetting what and when he agreed to do. And the thought of that made his insides recoil.
And the planner/journal was getting a lot of use. His brain, which even before Billy Hargrove and the plate hadn’t been the tightest, was now leaking more than ever before and he found himself having to write down every other thought just to keep them in order.
Besides it’s not like Steve really had anything better to do with his evenings. At least when he was babysitting he was doing something.
And sure maybe a part of the reason he kept agreeing is that he likes it.
Sure the kids are huge annoying assholes sometimes but they’re also really smart and funny and can even be sweet.
And he likes them.
All of them. Even when they are loud, sticky and annoying.
It had surprised by how much he liked hanging out with the kids.
He always expected to have kids, it’s something that he’s heard his entire life, ‘when you have kids…’. When he was younger he would just accept it. He was going to end up working for his dad with a wife and a couple of kids in a house not unlike the Wheelers. The older he got the expectation shifted a bit but the more he wanted the kids, the big noisy house, the job being a necessary evil.
He thought he could’ve had that with Nancy. She wants a career he knows, to be more than a mother, but Steve was fine with that, willing even to do the ‘mom’ things so she didn’t have to. It’s all he really wanted anyway.
But she doesn’t want him. If she ever did.
Still his heart aches for Nancy. For the future they could’ve had.
But right now he has the kids, and Steve really thinks he’s earned his babysitter badge by now. All things considered he thinks this definitely isn’t the worst post-breakup hobby he could’ve chosen. It’s definitely better than drinking alone in his empty house.
That got old real quick.
And the sense of satisfaction that he gets when he makes a shy kid smile or a loud kid grin. It makes him feel settled. It soothes something in him, the part of him that was worried about becoming his parents, just having kids to check off a box but not actually caring about them.
No one knows about his new job because unlike Dustin Henderson and his gang of feral friends that have latched onto him like ducklings (duckling’s that Steve loves with all his heart) the parents of the other kids actually call ahead of time. So Steve has been able to keep them far apart from each other.
He’s embarrassed and the more people know, the more people know. He feels like that would be walking about with his ribs cracked open leaving his heart and lungs trembling in the outside air. Any scoff or jab would hurt, it would be something that Steve laughs off but really lodges in his mind haunting him whenever it gets a chance.
At least when you're bullshit, it doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts.
So now he’s just a loser babysitter.
If anything was to perfectly illustrate how far he had fallen it was school.
It’s not like Steve had liked school before, but now it’s a special kind of torture. Seeing Nancy and Jonathan giggling to each other in the cafeteria, their heads knocking together as they look at each other like they are the only ones in the room.
The fact that when Steve returned to school Nancy had urged him to sit with them like nothing had changed. Like Steve wasn’t right, along.
How everyone had stopped talking when he walked into the cafeteria, openly staring at his bruised face. Billy smirking next to a pale but silent Tommy and Carol even Eddie Munson looked shocked and Steve is pretty sure he’s been praying for this since seventh grade. The silence had only lasted a moment before the school had burst into whispers layering into a wall of noise that had made his head pound.
Safe to say Steve doesn’t eat in the cafeteria anymore.
The little alcove in school’s backstair well isn’t bad, really, sure it makes him feel like a total fucking loser, but it’s quiet and Steve can just wait out lunch with his Walkman before going on with his day, unnoticed.
Usually.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t King Steve,” Eddie Munson grins, something sharp, from the bottom of the stairs, startling Steve and just hearing Munson’s voice with its weird almost singing lilt drains any energy he may have had.
“Munson.” He mumbles into his sandwich, not bothering to take off his headphones. Where Bruce Springsteen croons soothingly into his ears.
“What are you doing up here Princess?” Munson jeers, “Waiting for a rescue?"
Steve blinks sluggishly, before it clicks. Steve in this little alcove off the stairs with its barred railing. King–Princess. Like he’s Rapunzel in her tower. Ha ha very clever.
“Why, you offering?” Steve snaps, “Going to be my Prince Charming?”
Munson actually seems a little caught off guard at that, one of his hands pulling at his hair before he puffs himself up. “Of course! Can’t leave a Princess all by her lonesome.”
Steve should probably be more annoyed at being called Princess, especially since he has a sinking feeling that it’s a name that’s going to stick.
Munson clambers up the stairs miming climbing, throwing himself down next to Steve dramatically huffing and puffing.
“What are you doing?” Steve asks, pausing his Walkman and not bothering to remove his headphones.
The words come out serious and they both know what he’s talking about. What are you doing with me?
“I’m curious, you might call it a fatal flaw.” Munson shrugs, “What happened to you?”
There have been a lot of stories being passed around about him and Billy since they both showed up to school bruised. And while Steve might’ve lost that fight, he takes a vicious pleasure in Billy’s blackened eye and crooked nose.
Steve shrugs, fiddling with his Walkman, “I got in a fight.”
Munson widens his eyes, “But why.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard all about it,” Steve takes a sip from his coke.
Munson tilts his side from side to side, scoffing, “Yeah about a hundred versions.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
Steve goes back to his sandwich, pretending like Munson isn’t there. He can feel his eyes trained on him, wide and big and very brown. Staring at him like he started speaking Greek or something.
“What happened to you?” Munson asks, baffled.
Steve shrugs again, his eyes trained on his sandwich, really not in the mood for Munson’s whole schtick.
Munson hums, bearing his teeth in a smile, “Well if you ever want to join the freaks…”
Steve blinks as Munson jumps up in a flurry of movement. Munson stares at him strangely as he silently takes another bite of his sandwich and reaches for his walkman.
“So weird.” He hears Munson mutter, before he walks off and Steve restarts 'Born in the USA.'
***
Eddie Munson’s invitation sits in his mind for a full week before he decides to take it up.
He can feel the eyes on him as he walks over to Munson’s table. Clutching his lunch tray in his hands, (he usually packs himself a lunch but lately he just couldn’t be bothered) and hovering awkwardly by an empty spot on the table.
Munson’s eyes bludge as he sees Steve, trailing off mid-sentence and making his dramatic tone drop. The rest of the table, three boys and a girl, follow Munson’s gaze, their own eyes widening and jaws dropping.
Steve looks at them and gets the feeling that maybe it wasn’t a real offer.
“Uh, Munson said I could… sit?”
One of the boys a freshmen with very fluffy hair, hisses at Munson, “Eddie what the fuck? You invited a jock to our table?”
Munson plasters on a smile, “I didn’t think he would come?” He hisses back like Steve isn’t three feet away and can hear everything they are saying.
This was a bad idea. A stupid idea.
“I can go…” Steve says his face burning, he really has fallen to the bottom of the social food chain being rejected by the freaks.
“No! No!” Munson insists, “This, this is interesting. Please take a seat my liege.”
The other table mates stare at him wearily, Steve sits down, he may as well after all the fuss that got him here.
The conversation doesn’t start up after he starts eating his rubbery chicken nuggets. They still just stare at him waiting for something, Steve can’t be bothered to break the ice, flipping his headphones back on and pressing play on his Bon Jovi tape.
He catches snippets of conversation and Munson’s hand movements, through the breaks of the song. They are clearly talking about him, arguing about his presence, Steve takes another bite of his chicken, turning up the volume on his Walkman. It’s kinda nice being around people, watching them without the ambient noise that comes from five hundred teenagers all talking at once, grating on his eardrums. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed being around them, even when they weren't talking to him. It makes him feel weirdly somber in a satisfying way.
He dunks a nugget in the goopy sauce.
He wonders if he could sit here tomorrow as well.
***
Steve hangs around the school as everyone files out; he leans against his car, his sunglasses perched on his face dulling the weak sunlight to a manageable level.
It’s December, it really shouldn’t be this sunny out especially since it’ll be dark soon.
“Steve!”
Steve turns at the call, a smile tugging on his lips at Dustin’s excitement.
Dustin’s still wearing his signature baseball cap, even now bundled up in his winter jacket and mittens. The rest of the Party trailing behind him.
“Hey dipshits,” Steve smirks.
“Steve! Steve!” Dustin says, moving into his space without hesitation and grabbing his arm, “Can you take us to the arcade?”
Steve raises his brows, “The arcade? It’s December?”
Mike rolls his eyes, “It doesn’t close just ‘cause it’s December.”
“Plus,” Max adds, her eyes lighting up, “I’ll be emptier and I’ll get more time to leave Dustin shivering in the wake of my high scores."
Dustin scoffs, “Okay –that’s just untrue!”
Max smirks, “Really? You haven’t beaten me yet.”
“It’s only a matter of time!” Dustin screeches back.
Max rolls her eyes, “Yeah more like never.”
Max is only wearing a thin sweater the kind that you could wear open in summer, zipped shut and lumpy under what looks like as many layers as she could manage. Which maybe was okay for California but Hawkins is much colder, Steve shucks his dark winter coat off tossing it at Max.
“Hey, hey, hey,” He calls over the bickering, “Max put that on, this isn’t California. Secondly, are your guy's parents cool with you going to the arcade? Especially after dark?”
Max shrugs on the jacket, she must be cold because she doesn’t even try to argue, the jacket dwarfs her, the cuffs fully engulfing her finger tips. None of them look at Will when he says that but they all know that Joyce is the only one of their parents that would call Hopper over being a few hours late. Not that it’s unjustified.
“Yeah I called Mom,” Will says, looking at Steve with big eyes, “Jonathan has his photography club so she said it was okay if you drove us there and back.”
Steve tries not to show how much Joyce’s trust affects him. That she sees someone that can protect them.
“Yeah my Mom said that too,” Lucas adds, smiling.
“I told Nancy,” Mike grunts.
“My Mom too,” Dustin adds with a wide smile.
Max doesn’t say anything, just nodding along with the rest.
“You little shits, planned this didn’t you?” Steve deadpans. “So I couldn’t say no.”
Mike crosses his arms, “You never say no, you’re a pushover.”
Lucas smacks him in the arm, “Dude, don’t insult our ride.”
“Yes, thank you Lucas, you're my new favourite.”
Lucas beams, while Dustin squawks, “Hey I discovered him!”
“Discovered… Henderson I’m not a science project, I had a life before you, yaknow,” Steve protests.
“No you didn’t,” Mike says just to be surly.
Will smirks slightly, “You really didn’t.” He adds quietly because he is much better at hiding his shithead side than the others.
“Ugh,” Steve groans, pulling out his keys, “Just-Just get in.”
Dustin just grins at him, “Shotgun!”
“Shut up!” He groans at the uproar that causes, pretending like he doesn’t feel lighter, “Just get in already. Stop arguing I don’t care who sits where as long as all of you have a seat belt on.”
Steve might be a bit of a pushover and because he won’t let them go home in the dark he ends up sitting at a table in the arcade by the ticket and snack counter, waiting for them to be done so he can take them home.
He doesn’t even try to start writing his history paper instead flicking through his notebook, with his headphones on to drown out the sound of children yelling. He’s sitting for Mrs. Holowitz tomorrow, six to midnight a girl and boy four and six years old, he’s got the start of a shopping list written down and his history paper is due a lot sooner than he thought it was.
“Steve! Steve!”
Steve sighs, pulling off his headphones, watching all the kids crowd around him like overexcited puppies. “What is it? I already gave you little shits quarters.”
Max steps forward glaring at Mike, “We made a bet that you could beat Mike’s score on Donkey Kong.”
Steve raises his brows, “Why would you do that?”
“Because Mike sucks,” Max says bluntly.
Mike squawks in offence while Lucas snorts and Will bites back a smile.
“Well if you hadn’t distracted me–”
“It’s okay Steve,” Dustin cuts in, patting his shoulder, “Just do your best, I believe in you.”
He clearly doesn’t. Steve looks at him unimpressed.
He doesn’t particularly want to play Donkey Kong but can see in their faces that giving in is the quickest way to get this over with so he sighs and stands up, “Fine.”
“Yes!” Max cheers, “Steve you have to beat Mike’s ass.”
Mike scoffs, his whole body moving with the force of his eye roll, “He’s not going to.”
“Okay he probably won’t–,” Dustin says.
“Dude.”
“–But,” He continues unfazed, “We need to test out our hypothesis, so Steve?”
“Dude really?” Steve says, looking between them and the Donkey Kong machine.
“Come on Steve,” Dustin whines. “I’ll lend you a quarter and everything.”
“Okay first off those are my quarters you little shit,” Steve says pointing his finger in Dustin’s face. “Second, what's in it for me?”
“Confirming a hypothesis!” Dustin exclaims.
Steve makes a buzzer noise with his mouth making Will and Lucas smile, and Dustin’s face screw up in dramatic offense, “Don’t give a crap, anyone else?”
“Bragging rights?” Max pipes in grinning.
Steve tilts his hand back and forth in a so-so motion, “Closer! One last chance?”
“Uh we’ll pull our tickets and get you something from the prize counter?” Lucas suggests.
“And ding-ding-ding we have a winner,” Steve agrees, smiling as Lucas does a little celebratory fist pump before schooling his face and pointing at all of them in turn, “But it better be good, none of that cheap plastic crap.”
The little shits don’t even pretend to be intimidated.
“Deal,” Mike boasts, "Because there is no way you’re going to beat my score.”
Max scoffs again, Steve is unsure whether she really thinks Steve can beat Mike’s score or this was an argument that got out of hand and now neither Mike or Max can back down form. Actually, knowing both of them, it's definitely the latter.
He meets Will’s eye who is watching everything go down like he’s trying to predict the best odds, Steve winks at him.
Will goes pink, his eyes widening but doesn’t say anything about it.
Unlike what the Party clearly thinks, Steve has been in an arcade before. In fact he used to come here all the time when he was bored at home, which was pretty much everyday.
Donkey Kong is the same as it had been then, Steve presses a quarter in the slot tapping into the kinda focus he uses for Basketball and starts playing.
Steve focuses on the screen letting his eyes unfocus relying on his peripheral vision and using muscle memory to easily clear the first few hurdles.
“What the?”
“Oh my god!”
“No. Way.”
He hears the kids say behind him crowding closer to see the screen better. Steve ignores them, zeroing on the beeping and bopping off the game. Jerking at the joystick, and making the numbers at the top of the screen flash as another barrel is thrown at him.
The murmuring of the people behind him gets louder as he gets further into it. Steve doesn’t pay them any mind tunnel vision locked on the screen in front of him.
The beeping gets faster and faster and faster until he makes a fatal mistake and it’s game over.
“Oh my god!” Dustin screams, grabbing his free arms and shaking him.
His score flashes on the screen and Steve shakes out his cramped hand, grinning. “How was that?” He jokes, writing STEVIE into the machine. The machine has six letter slots and he thinks he’s grown out of his old KNGSTV title and STEVEH seems too identifying, Stevie feels more like an alter ego. His score now sits happily under MADMAX’s at second place.
“How… you’re a jock!” Mike stammers.
Max looks at him with a small grin while Lucas and Will trade pleasantly surprised looks.
Steve smirks, “Well Wheeler us jocks have great hand eye coordination, great for video games.”
Lucas looks at him with wide eyes, “That was so cool.”
Max cackles while Dustin is babbling excitedly bouncing in place.
“You lost Mike,” Will adds with a little smirk, “Fairs fair.”
Mike grumbles, looking like a wet cat and Steve grins and ruffles his hair laughing as he slaps at his hands.
“You owe me a prize,” Steve sings laughing as that starts up another argument.
***
The next day Steve’s coming back home from Mrs. Holowitz’s house turning onto his road when he sees a car in his driveway.
Steve almost starts panicking before he recognizes it, it’s Hopper’s car, the police one he drives everywhere with the faded ‘Hawkins Police’ written on the sides.
Hopper himself is leaning against his car smoking.
Steve only remembers it in flashes but he knows that Hopper had taken him to the emergency room after the tunnels, had waited while he had to lay in the noisy machine, held his hand as they set his nose and hugged him when he broke down and cried after it all.
It was humiliating, acting so much like a child, so Steve pretends like it never happened and thankfully Hopper’s never brought it up.
Steve parks next to him in the driveway climbing out the car,
“Hey Harrington, your folks still not here?”
Steve looks at the house, all the lights are off and the otherwise empty driveway, there's no signs of life.
“Uh no soon though another week or two,” Steve replies automatically, it’s not true but it’s the perfect vague answer that gets people to back off.
Hopper just hums with what Steve thinks is supposed to be a smile, taking another puff of his cigarette.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Nowhere that you need to know,” Steve retorts.
Hopper looks him up and down like he’s looking for any evidence of parties or whatever else on his clothes.
Steve hovers in the driveway fiddling with his car keys and then because Hopper is in the know he goes to the trunk pulling out his nailbat holding it tip, with a quick check that no one's looking to bring inside, maybe he should make another one to put under his bed, it’s kind of a miracle he hasn’t gotten caught doing this before, and they can’t be that hard to make.
Hopper raises a brow at the sight of the bat, “You still got that?”
Steve grabs the handle tightly, “Yeah well…”
I might need it, goes unsaid.
Steve swallows under Hopper’s stare, he feels like he is looking right through him. He breaks the eye contact, unlocking his door and walking in flicking on the lights, Hopper following behind him unbothered, closing the door after him.
“Y’know… El misses you.”
Steve doesn’t remember a lot of his forced post-concussion stay at the Hopper’s cabin. Mostly just a dizzying pain and confusion. But does he remember lying bundled up on the old worn-in couch, El, the Supergirl but really just a girl. Sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, close enough that he could feel her warmth. As she watched a sitcom on low volume.
He had eaten soup because it had hurt to chew and El and Hopper had sat with him with their own bowls and if not for the pain, it would’ve been nice.
“Really?”
Hopper nods, “Yeah kid, and you know I was wondering if you would want to come by and keep her company a few times a week? Make sure she doesn't run off to Chicago? I would pay you.”
“Uh really? Me?” Steve asks.
“Yeah you,” Hopper says, pulling in another breath of smoke, “You’re in the know and she likes you, she needs some company while she’s not allowed in public yet and I don’t trust Mike Wheeler and his little friends to keep their mouths shut.”
It’s a little harsh but not entirely undeserved considering Lucas did in fact tell Max everything after knowing her for a few days and Dustin kept a demodog as a pet. His chest warms at El liking him though, he was sure he didn’t make a good first impression, what with the blood and stupider than usual questions.
“Uh yeah okay,” Steve agrees, “I can watch El just uh can you give me a couple days advance notice, before?”
“I should be able to make that work.” Hopper nods.
“And no–no pay.” Steve says, firmly, it’s one thing to take money for babysitting the younger kids, and that’s more because it would be weirder not to, but El is a member of the Party, it just feels wrong.
Hopper nods and Steve thinks he must be imagining the approval in his eyes. “Tomorrow after school work for you?”
Steve grabs his backpack, pulling out his planner and flipping to the bookmarked page, pulling the pen out the spine, tapping it against his lip as he ignores Hopper’s incredulous look. He absently checks off Mrs. Holowitz’s gig and sees that he is in fact free for tomorrow, and since the boys have A.V. club after school he won’t have to make something up about why he can’t drive them. “Yeah, tomorrow works.”
Hopper grips him firmly on the shoulder, smirking slightly, the action sending a bolt of warmth to curl up in his chest. “Good man.”