Chapter Text
At exactly 7:13 a.m., Steve Harrington woke up to someone standing on his chest.
"Dad."
Steve groaned without opening his eyes.
"Hm?"
"Dad."
There was a tiny poke against his cheek.
"...Dad."
"I heard you the first two times, buddy."
Five-year-old Noah grinned.
"You were sleeping."
"It is seven in the morning."
"No."
Steve cracked one eye open and squinted at the digital clock.
7:13.
"It is literally seven-thirteen."
Noah shrugged.
"The sun's awake."
"The sun doesn't have to make pancakes."
"It doesn't?"
"Nope."
Steve sighed dramatically.
"Lucky sun."
A giggle came from the bedroom doorway.
Then another.
Then three more.
Steve looked over.
Every single one of his children had gathered outside the room.
Emma, twelve, tried—and failed—to look responsible.
Lily and Ava, ten-year-old twins, were whispering and trying not to laugh.
Ben, eight, already wore his favorite baseball cap backwards.
Three-year-old Rosie sat in the hallway hugging a stuffed Demodog that Dustin had won for her at the county fair.
Steve blinked.
"...Why are all six of you staring at me?"
Emma smiled innocently.
"We're hungry."
Steve looked toward his wife for help.
She was still asleep.
Or at least pretending to be.
Traitor.
He sighed with the exaggerated exhaustion only a father of six could manage.
"Okay."
Six cheers echoed through the hallway.
"BUT!"
The cheering stopped immediately.
"If anyone jumps off the couch today..."
Six pairs of eyes widened.
"...you're helping clean the grill."
Ben raised a hand.
"What if we accidentally jump?"
"There is no accidentally jumping off the couch."
Rosie lifted her stuffed toy.
"What if Mister Demo jumps?"
Steve considered it.
"...I'll allow it."
Rosie beamed.
---
The kitchen looked as though a tornado had learned how to cook.
Pancake batter somehow covered the counter, one chair, and Steve's left elbow.
Ben was attempting to flip pancakes despite being told repeatedly not to.
One landed on the dog.
The golden retriever didn't seem to mind.
Emma chased Rosie away from the syrup bottle before she could drink directly from it.
Again.
Steve stood at the stove wearing an apron that read:
**KING OF THE NUGGETS**
Robin had given it to him for Father's Day.
He'd pretended to hate it.
He wore it every weekend.
The doorbell rang.
Steve checked the clock.
Eight-thirty.
"They're early."
Before he could reach the front door, it burst open.
"Steve!"
Robin Buckley strode inside carrying three bags of hamburger buns.
"I brought enough bread to feed an army."
She stopped.
Looked around the kitchen.
Then at Steve.
Then back at the children.
"...Actually, I underestimated."
"Dad burned another pancake," Lily announced.
"I did not burn—"
Smoke drifted upward from the frying pan.
Robin pointed.
"It appears the evidence disagrees."
Steve rescued what remained of the pancake.
"It's rustic."
"It's charcoal."
"It's artisan charcoal."
Robin laughed.
"I've missed this."
Rosie ran straight into Robin's arms.
"Aunt Robin!"
Robin scooped her up effortlessly.
"There's my favorite tiny human."
Ben folded his arms.
"I thought I was your favorite."
"You were."
"What changed?"
"You got taller."
Ben accepted this with a solemn nod.
"That's fair."
---
A truck pulled into the driveway.
Emma looked out the window.
"Uncle Dustin's here!"
Before Steve could warn anyone, all six children sprinted toward the front door.
Dustin had barely stepped out of his truck before he was tackled by a whirlwind of excited nieces and nephews.
"Oof!"
He laughed as Noah wrapped himself around one leg.
"Guys! Let me put the cookies down first!"
Rosie gasped.
"You brought cookies?"
"I always bring cookies."
Steve leaned against the porch, grinning.
"You know they're only excited because you bribe them."
Dustin finally escaped the tiny ambush and adjusted his glasses.
"I learned from the best babysitter Hawkins ever had."
Steve laughed.
"Still calling me that?"
"Forever."
Dustin looked around at the six children climbing all over Steve without a second thought.
He smiled to himself.
Years ago, Steve had dreamed aloud about having six little nuggets.
Everyone had laughed.
Standing there now—with flour on his shirt, pancake batter in his hair, one child hanging off each arm, another sitting on his shoulders, and the biggest smile Dustin had ever seen on his face—
Dustin realized something.
Steve hadn't just gotten the life he'd dreamed about.
He'd become the father every one of those kids would spend the rest of their lives trying to live up to.
And Dustin couldn't think of anyone who deserved it more.
As if on cue, Noah tugged on Steve's sleeve.
"Dad?"
"Yeah, buddy?"
"I accidentally jumped off the couch."
Steve sighed.
"How?"
"I was pretending to be Superman."
Robin burst out laughing.
Steve pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It is nine in the morning."
The barbecue hadn't even started yet.
It was going to be a very long day.