Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Jesus. Give it a rest Gareth.”

Eddie is sprawled out in the threadbare couch that graces the corner of Gareth’s garage, fingers expertly rolling a joint as his friends pack away their instruments around him.

“I’m just saying, man. It’s pretty weird.” Gareth grumbles, twirling a drumstick in one hand.

“How so?” Eddie singsongs at him, voice dripping with wilful misunderstanding.

“It’s Steve Harrington, dude.” Gareth half whines, well past exasperated by now.

They’ve just finished up their usual Monday afternoon band practice, and Gareth is still smarting from the fact that Eddie had apparently invited Harrington to watch. Without asking any of them if it was okay first.

The guy had turned up fifteen minutes after Eddie had, parking his nice shiny BMW right behind Eddie’s beat up van.

He’d sat quietly as they’d practiced—which was a small mercy—Gareth supposes, bobbing his head and smiling indulgently as Eddie had preened and peacocked in the way he did when someone new watched him perform.

Steve had left about half an hour ago, claiming quietly that he had to meet his parents for dinner. Gareth had been on Eddie’s ass about the whole thing ever since.

“I’m aware of his name, yes.” Eddie’s expression is unreadable as he tucks the now rolled joint behind his ear.

“And you invited him to practice?”

“Glad to see your powers of perception remain unaffected, dude.” Eddie huffs, irritated and sarcastic.

Gareth isn’t sure why he’s pushing it, not when Eddie is so clearly growing more pissed off with every word, but he can’t seem to stop.

“I just don’t understand why he’s suddenly always around, man. The guy’s a douchebag.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to meet his, and there’s an ocean of rage in them.

“How many times does he have to hang out with you all before you can see that he’s not an asshole.” the other boy growls.

Gareth shrugs.

“Never gunna happen.” Jeff mutters, moving to join the conversation by standing to Gareth's right.

Eddie blinks, and there’s real hurt in his eyes for a moment before he shakes it away, pulling his mask of cold rage firmly back into place.

“You know nothing about him. Everyone always thinks they do, but they don’t.” He snaps.

Gareth grinds his teeth, pissed. Used to be that Eddie was the ringleader of giving shit to the freshman in Hellfire over their hero worship of the guy, nowadays he’s right there alongside them as they sing Steve Harrington's praises.

It’s fucking annoying as hell.

“What’s to know? That he peaked in high school and never left this piece of shit town? Yeah, he’s got real depth of character.” Gareth says with a scoff.

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Eddie’s eyes flash in bitter disappointment. He’s never looked at Gareth like that before and it makes him flinch more than any of the anger or irritation Eddie had thrown his way in the last fifteen minutes.

“Fuck this.” Eddie snarls, standing up and swinging his guitar over his shoulder.

He’s out the garage door and clambering into his van a second later, not once glancing back to where his three friends stand watching him leave, mouths slightly agape.

Eddie may be loud, brazen, and boisterous but rarely is he ever truly angry.

Don’t want to end up like the old man, he’d told Gareth once with a wry smirk when the younger boy had asked how Eddie remained so unbelievably upbeat despite everything he’d been dealt in life.

Gareth knows he hadn’t meant Wayne.

Clearly, he had pushed Eddie too far this time.

The thing is, though: Steve Harrington’s a sore spot for Gareth, alright? Because back during Spring Break, when Eddie was missing and the people of Hawkins were practically crying out for his blood, blaming him for crimes Gareth knew he could never in a million years have committed; all Gareth had done was take a mild beating and give up Dustin’s address almost straight away. He’d practically placed Jason and his goons right onto Eddie’s path. Gareth had been the one to actually fucking hinder him.

But it was Steve Harrington, of all the fucking people in this shitty back-water town, who had been right there in the thick of it all; helping Eddie beat the murder charges and battle the serial killer who was terrorising Hawkins' teenagers and holding him hostage.

Gareth had damned his friend, and Steve had been the one to save him.

Gareth doesn’t know exactly what really happened back then; both Eddie and the Hellfire kids have been cagey about the whole thing ever since, whispering to each other on a way that makes Gareth feel decidedly other; out of the loop and ostracised. He isn't sure—they haven’t talked about it—but he wonders if Jeff and Kev feel the same.

Eddie had said nothing about Gareth’s betrayal aside from telling him that there was no need to apologise, that Jason was a lecherous little asshole and Gareth did what he had to do to keep himself and the rest of Corroded Coffin safe. Eddie might not blame him, but the guilt still eats Gareth up, sometimes. Still keeps him awake at night with tears of self-loathing streaming down his cheeks.

The point is, all Gareth knows for sure about what happened over spring break is that Eddie had been on death’s door; bleeding out, torso and face all carved up by a mad man and Steve had saved his life.

Which, okay. Of course, of course Gareth is nothing but grateful for that, but his friend had been practically attached at the hip with the guy ever since, spewing out phrases like: If you just got to know him, and he’s actually a pretty cool dude.

And Gareth’s own personal favourite—he was never that bad.

It makes the guilt and the jealousy twist painfully in Gareth’s stomach until he’s pretty sure he’s never hated anyone like he hates Steve Harrington, because how can a high school bully become so extremely opposite to everything that society dictated, he should be?

And okay if he really thinks about it then fine. Yes. Steve had never actually been the ringleader in high school—that title had fallen firmly on the shoulders of the likes of Hargrove and Hagan, but he’d never actively stopped any of it either.

Then—and perhaps even more importantly—there’s the glaring fact that Steve flies in stark contrast to everything Eddie had always insisted he believed in.

Eat the rich. Fuck the man. Steve Harrington is conformity personified; the straight, wealthy, golden boy next door, with the perfect family and the perfect house and fuck it all if Gareth isn’t pissed that Eddie looks like a sell-out.

Gareth scoffs as he watches the taillights of Eddie’s van disappear down the street, and he flings himself down onto the couch with gusto.

Kev and Jeff shuffle over a few seconds later, and they share a joint in miserable solidarity for their delusional friend.

-

It takes the rest of the afternoon (and a decent portion of the evening) for Gareth to cool down enough that he figures he probably owes Eddie an apology. Not for the things he said about Steve, because his friend is clearly at the point of no return when it comes to seeing just how much of an asshole the guy is, but certainly for pushing Eddie far enough that he’d lost his temper.

By the time night falls, Gareth decides he can live with it—mostly. He’ll watch from the side-lines and put up with Harrington until it all comes crashing down. He will happily wait for Steve to get whatever this weird friendship with Eddie is out of his system, and then he and the guys can pick up the broken pieces of Eddie that the asshole leaves behind.

Maybe with a superior I told you so thrown in at some point, but then—and this is the key part, the thing Gareth is holding onto for dear life—everything can go back to normal. The four of them, against the world.

Sighing, he announces his intention to make amends as he stands from his fugue on the couch and walk towards his car. Gareth’s other two band mates pile in alongside him, and they make their way over to Forest Hill’s.

-

When Gareth and the guys finally make it to the trailer park, it’s to find Eddie’s van absent from its usual haphazard position on the patch of grass outside the trailer that the Munson’s call a drive, and Steve’s BMW in its place. Parked right next to Wayne’s truck like it belongs there.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Gareth mutters as he pulls to a stop alongside the shiny rich kid monstrosity.

“No escaping him, it seems.” Jeff agrees.

“Into battle we go, gents.” Kev murmurs.

Gareth’s irritation only grows as he steps up to the trailer door and knocks. Wayne answers, greeting them with a surprised (and maybe even a little reluctant, Gareth notes with dismay) expression.

He ushers them quickly inside.

They find Steve leaning against the kitchenette counter, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. It’s pale blue in colour, with a hand painted crown embellishing one side, and what looks like some sort of mutated bat-like creature on the other.

It’s an endearing quirk of the Munson men, Gareth knows, that they collect mugs. Every Father’s Day, Eddie paints one for Wayne, creating increasingly outlandish and complicated designs each year. The most recent one Eddie had gifted his uncle was an absolute mammoth of an undertaking—tiny drawings of everything Wayne loved, from his fishing pole to his beat up red truck filled the entire surface, lovingly painted in perfect detail and no bigger than a fingernail. It had taken Eddie three weeks to finish.

The mug in Steve’s hand right now? It’s Eddie’s work, Gareth realises with a jolt. Steve has his own fucking mug?

That’s all it takes in the end and Gareth’s newfound—albeit incredibly flimsy—resolve to just put up with Harrington completely crumbles away. That lovingly crafted mug clasped tightly in Harrington's unworthy hands causes Gareth to absolutely see red. Because if Eddie is letting the guy in on family traditions, then surely, he’s in too deep; and when Steve inevitably does decide to fuck Eddie over, then what happens? Eddie may seem like nothing reaches him, might approach life like it’s all one big performance but Gareth knows better. Eddie wears his heart on his sleeve, right out in the open for any fucker to stomp all over.

No, not happening. Not on Gareth’s watch. This ends fucking now.

The boy that’s currently the object of all Gareth’s current ire throws them a tired smile as they gather around the small kitchen, which looks sincere, but Gareth knows is anything but.

He grunts out a noncommittal noise of acknowledgment in return, crossing his arms over his chest.

Wayne blinks at his frosty demeanour, clearly a little taken aback, but Steve just sighs and takes a fortifying sip of coffee. If Gareth didn’t know better, he might even believe that Steve seems a little sad by the nature of his greeting. But he does know better. This is Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington for fuck’s sake.

“Eddie’s due home any minute, boys. “Wayne says carefully, filling the tense silence. His eyes are darting between Steve and the three friends in trepidation.

Gareth nods but doesn’t take his gaze off his opponent.

Steve just sighs heavily again, and places that goddamn mug on the counter behind him before straightening to face Gareth and the others with a grim but determined expression.

“Let’s get this over with.” He mutters, setting his shoulders and planting his feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gareth can see that Wayne is watching their standoff with a calculating expression.

“We’re airing this out and moving on. And we are going to do it before Eddie gets home.” Harrington states with a finality that sets Gareth’s teeth grinding. As if Steve is the one who’s more concerned about their friend’s feelings than Gareth is at this point.

“Steve.” Wayne sounds concerned, and—fond Gareth realises with a start. So, Harrington has both the Munson’s wrapped around his little finger, then. Fucking fantastic.

“Look. I know I was an asshole in high school, alright?” Steve says, and he sounds winded, “but a whole shit load of stuff has happened since then, and I’m trying to be better. For my friends, for Eddie.”

Jeff scoffs, Gareth rolls his eyes. Kev stays silent, towering menacingly over the group.

Wayne opens his mouth to speak, maybe to intervene if the look on his face is anything to go by, but Gareth never finds out what he was going to say because Steve is talking again.

“Jesus H. Christ,” the guy groans, running a frantic hand through his hair and Gareth doesn’t miss the fact that it’s Eddie’s curse of choice and it just serves to make him even more pissed than he was three seconds ago.

“Would you just listen?” Steve continues, pleading.

Gareth steps forward and Steve leans back slightly, clearly unsettled. A tiny thrill of something like power hums through Gareth’s veins.

“No, you listen, Harrington. I don’t know if this is some weird little game to you, because you’re so bored shitless with your own ‘I peaked in high school and now I’m going nowhere’ life. But leave our friend out of it, okay?”

Steve blinks at his words, like it takes him a moment to process them, before something akin to hurt flashes over his face.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Nothing I do is never enough, is it? For anyone.” He hangs his head back as he speaks and directs the words at the ceiling, almost as if he’s beseeching God. He’s close to yelling now, but there’s something not quite right in his eyes. Something that could be vulnerability if Gareth cared enough to actually decipher it. Which he resolutely does not.

“Steve…” Wayne says cautiously, and he’s moving toward Harrington instinctively, hand raised as if to clasp his shoulder. Steve brushes him off and it gets Gareth’s heckles up—because how dare Steve treat Wayne like that—before he realises that the action isn’t dismissive or aggressive, just sort of painfully defeated. What the hell is even happening?

“No. No Wayne. It’s fine. Fuck—it’s true, even. I’ll never fucking escape the person I used to be. Doesn’t matter how hard I try; someone is always disappointed.” Steve’s voice is still raised but it seems more like an attempt to stop himself from spiralling into hysteria. Gareth pushes on, ignoring the feeling that’s now forming in the back of his mind that maybe it’s not the best idea.

“Oh, spare us the poor little rich kid routine! What’s the matter? Daddy refuse to pay for that nice shiny Beemer outside any longer? You prove to be enough of a loser that he doesn’t want you anymore?” Gareth shouts back, voice positively dripping with censure.

Steve staggers, physically staggers away from Gareth like he had laid hands on him, and he’s suddenly filled with a sickeningly grim sort of pleasure that finally—for once in his life—the roles are reversed. He’s the one holding the power here. The feeling lasts just about as long it takes for Wayne to force himself between them, taking up a protective stance in front of Steve.

Steve himself stays silent, as Wayne rounds on Gareth and his friends with disappointed anger on his expression and shit—are those fucking tears in the younger boy’s eyes?

“Okay. That’s just about enough out of you, Gareth.” Wayne growls at him, still shielding the boy who’s definitely blinking back tears and looking for all the world like he might just break down any moment.

Gareth swallows audibly and opens his mouth to say—something. He’s not quite sure what exactly, though—and in the end it doesn’t matter—because the door to the trailer swings open and an Eddie shaped blur stumbles past them. He heads straight through to the bathroom without any sort of acknowledgment before Gareth’s even finished turning to fully face the commotion.

Steve’s demeanour changes instantaneously. One second, he’s looking cowed and wounded and a little fucking heartbroken as he leans heavily against the kitchen counter; the next he’s rushing after Eddie and calling out his name with an urgency fit for a battlefield, his own grief unceremoniously forgotten.

The bathroom door slams and locks with a resounding click, Steve’s shout going unanswered.

Wayne is hot on Steve’s heels as the younger boy desperately jostles the door, hovering behind him in equal distress.

Gareth stumbles half a step closer and feels Jeff and Kev do the same behind him.

“Eddie...?” Steve rattles the handle for another long moment, before exchanging a worried glance with Wayne.

“Open up, Eds.” Steve implores softly. The nickname takes Gareth by surprise, and he would turn to face the others if he wasn’t so caught up in exactly what the fuck is going on in front of him.

“No, man.” Comes Eddie’s muffled reply.

“What happened? You gotta tell me, sunshine, or I’ll assume the worst.” Steve’s voice is strained, like he’s trying his best to sound calm.

His words are met with silence.

Gareth does chance a quick glance behind him this time.

“Sunshine?” Jeff mouths to both him and Kev, bewildered.

Kev shrugs and Gareth twists back around a second later, just as Steve speaks again.

“Eddie, open the door.” He commands, voice low. The sweetness from his earlier words dripping away.

“Just get out of here, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice sounds wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Gareth feels sick, he registers Jeff shifting uncomfortably next to him and he knows he’s not the only one unsettled by whatever this is.

“Open the fucking door.” Harrington’s voice is definitely no longer calm; it’s low and dangerous now as he enunciates every word with careful precision—it sends a shiver down Gareth’s spine.

The door remains resolutely closed, though, despite Steve’s demand. Eddie groans audibly as if in pain, and the sound is fucking heart-breaking.

Steve glances to Wayne in alarm, who’s still hovering next to him with an equally worried expression.

They seem to exchange a silent conversation for a moment, then Wayne nods and backs up, pulling Gareth and the others with him.

Without further hesitation, Steve rears back and shoulder barges the bathroom door open. The flimsy lock giving way with a sharp crack.

He pauses in the doorway for a moment, looking nothing short of shaken, shock apparent on his features. Clearly whatever he was expecting to find in that bathroom isn’t what he’s now faced with.

Steve shakes off his stupor and rushes into the room a heartbeat later, Wayne following suit as Gareth, Jeff, and Kev peer around the doorframe.

Gareth has to wonder exactly what Steve was expecting when he saw Eddie, because what they’re met with on the other side is nothing short of horrifying and Gareth can't really imagine a much worse scenario.

Eddie is crouching against the bathroom floor, clearly having been on the receiving end of a brutal beating. His left eye is nearly swollen shut and turning a sickening shade of bluish purple, his lip is split and there’s blood dribbling down his chin. Blood all over his shirt, blood all over the Members Only jacket Steve had tossed to him at practice that afternoon. He’s staring up at Steve in silent misery as the other boy stands over him, looking stricken and seething.

“Who?” Harrington spits out the word between clenched teeth with effort.

“Don’t make a thing out of this Harrington,” Eddie’s clearly attempting to sound unbothered, but there’s a waver in his voice that plainly gives away he’s anything but.

Steve is frozen to the spot, and Gareth can only see him in profile, his face partially obscured. He looks murderous, which gets Gareth’s back up immediately because wasn’t Steve just telling him that he’s Eddie’s friend for fucks sake? And what—he’s pissed that the guy is bleeding all over his rich boy jacket?

It takes Gareth a moment to realise that there’s palpable, animalistic fear outlining the rage though, and then he’s just plain confused. What the fuck is going on?

Wayne moves gently past a still statuesque Steve and crouches in front of his nephew, efficiently staunching the blood flowing from Eddie’s nose and lip with a hastily produced handkerchief from his pocket.

“Names.” Steve grits out, voice hard as Wayne pulls antiseptic from the cupboard under the sink.

"Steve-" Eddie mumbles around Wayne’s ministrations. Gareth doesn’t miss how the older man stays silent while he works, clearly tuned into their exchange.

“Names, Eddie. What are their fucking names?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? 'Nothing,' he says. Jesus, Munson you’re fucking kidding me, right?” Steve spits the words out with derision and he’s positively shaking with fury now.

Eddie whines a little as the antiseptic touches the cut on his lip.

Steve’s fingers flex, curling in on one another until he’s forming a fist so tight, Gareth’s surprised none of them snap right off.

“Give me a name, Munson.” Steve snarls, and then Wayne’s glancing up at him, eyes soft and encroaching—apparently trying to reach some part of Steve that’s clearly well and truly beyond reaching at this point.

“Andy Johnson.” Eddie sighs, resigned. Eyes closing in evident exhaustion.

Steve pauses for a moment before nodding once with determination and pushing off from where he’d been using the sink to support his trembling body, diving past Gareth and the others with murder in his eyes.

He slams out of the trailer a second later.

Eddie whines, like he’s lost a limb, like his heart is splitting open. He turns pleading eyes to his uncle, and Gareth doesn’t think he’s ever seen his friend look so terrified.

“Wayne. You can’t let him. His head…” Eddie whimpers, as he tries and fails to haul himself up in a clear effort to follow Steve outside. Wayne gently pushes him back to sit against the shower stall.

“Hush now, boy. I’ll get him.” He says, softly.

Wayne stands, thrusts the medical supplies into Jeff’s hands and grumbles at him to keep cleaning the cuts on Eddie’s face.

“You. Follow me.” He jabs a finger into Gareth’s chest.

Gareth obediently stumbles behind Wayne as the older man pushes through the trailer door.

Steve is methodically rooting through the trunk of his car, mumbling quietly to himself.

A moment later, he pulls back, grimly triumphant and swinging something up to rest on his shoulder. Gareth’s too focused on the near biblical wrath that lines his expression to really comprehend whatever the object is.

“Think you best come inside, son.” Wayne says voice gentle.

“Wayne. They beat him.” Steve counters, rounding on the older man with a desperate, pleading look.

“I know. I know, son, but it’ll do no good going out there now all half-cocked and worked up. What do you plan to do with that,” the older man jerks his chin toward whatever it is that’s clutched in Steve’s hands as he speaks. “Kill him?”

Gareth's eyes flick toward where Wayne is gesturing and nearly falls over in shock.

“Are those nails?” Gareth asks with utter incredulity as he finally comprehends exactly what it is that Steve’s holding. Which is a baseball bat. Vicious-looking and studded with—yeah. Those are definitely nails. Both Wayne and Steve ignore him.

“Jesus, no." Steve says, a little scathing, "Just scare him a little. Make sure he never comes near Eddie or you or any of us ever again.”

“Mhm.” Wayne mutters, unconvinced. Maybe even a little amused, Gareth notes with surprise.

“You need to come back inside, Steve.” Wayne says again, voice low and calm, like he’s approaching some wild, untamed thing.

Looking at Steve—that’s exactly how Gareth would describe him right now. His eyes are furious, and he looks half-feral.

“Wayne-”

“No. He needs to rest, son. Not worry about you getting another goddamn concussion.” Wayne’s voice brooks no argument, yet Steve keeps going despite it.

“Fuck! You get a couple knocks to the head as a kid and suddenly everyone thinks you’re made of glass.” Steve snaps, eyes still glimmering with desperate intent.

“This better not be some stupid attempt to prove that you’re not, kid.”

Steve flattens his gaze toward Wayne, looking for all the world like a chastised child.

“They hurt him.” He says after a moment, and the words are nearly a whimper. They cut right through to Gareth’s heart.

“That they did. But he’ll be hurtin’ a lot more if something happens to you.”

Steve drops the bat from his shoulder in defeat, but his expression is still one of lingering defiance. Gareth watches as he briefly glances toward the driver’s side of his car, clearly calculating if he can make it there before Wayne stops him.

Wayne sees right through it.

He lunges toward Steve faster than Gareth’s ever seen someone his age move before and gently pries the bat from his grip. With his eyes never leaving Steve’s own, the older man slowly passes the weapon back to Gareth, who takes it robotically without hesitation. He feels fucking numb. This... this battle hardened warrior before him is nothing like the haughty, preppy kid Gareth knew back in high school. And he’s leagues away from the exasperated, slightly bitchy Steve who Gareth has been around more recently.

“He needs us both right now. Fat lot of good we’re doing him standing out here in the cold.” Wayne says, tone imploring again.

That does the trick. Steve deflates, eyes darting back to the trailer with a guilty, desperate expression before he lifts his hands and scrubs them over his face.

“I’d do anything for him, Wayne. Anything.”

His voice is a soft, defeated thing. Gareth suddenly has the feeling that he’s watching something intensely private that he doesn’t quite understand.

He isn’t entirely sure why Wayne needed him for this.

Something is dawning on him, though. Tickling the back of his mind in recognition, Gareth is just too stupefied right now to grasp it.

“I know,” Wayne murmurs, voice equally quiet. “Come inside, son.”

Steve finally relents. Gareth sees as the bitter fight in him well and truly depletes and Wayne gestures him ahead. He trails toward the front door like there’s an invisible tether tugging him back inside. Back to Eddie, Gareth thinks.

When Steve disappears, Wayne turns on Gareth with a pointed look for a moment before following suit.

Gareth stands stock still for a little while longer, eyes still fixed on where the others have vanished inside, desperately trying to piece together the whole exchange, and what that final look from Wayne had meant.

When he does finally enter the Munson’s trailer again, it’s to find Steve planted firmly next to Eddie on the couch, Jeff and Kev clearly having manoeuvred their friend out of the draughty bathroom. Harrington is tenderly twisting Eddie’s head with gentle fingers on his chin, inspecting the various cuts on his face, brushing his bangs carefully away from his eyes.

Eddie’s watching the other boy’s every move with busted lips parted, eyes soft and intense and oh so sad.

It’s right then that everything dawns on Gareth.

Pining. Eddie is pining. It’s so fucking palpable now that Gareth is tuned into it.

Eddie fucking loves him. Steve Harrington. Eddie is in love with Steve Harrington. Jesus Christ.

And considering what he’d just witnessed outside, as Steve Harrington lost his mind to protect this boy he’s now holding oh so carefully between fingers that not minutes before had wielded a nail studded baseball bat like a goddam broadsword, Steve loves him back. Just as much.

Eddie’s eyes shift then, first to Gareth’s own and then slipping down to that afore mentioned bat still clasped gingerly in his hands.

“Jesus Christ, Stevie.” He murmurs, voice sad and resigned.

“What?” Steve mutters, eyes still roaming over the injuries on Eddie’s face like he’s cataloguing them to memory. He reluctantly flicks his gaze to where Eddie is looking, and shrugs casually.

“Oh. Yeah.” He says dismissively, eyes back to roaming over Eddie’s beaten face.

“You can’t just threaten people with that thing whenever they piss you off.” Eddie mumbles, resigned.

“Sure I can. And who said anything about threatening?” Steve’s voice is still flippant, but there’s an undercurrent of danger in his tone and despite what Steve had told Wayne outside just now, it’s enough to convince Gareth that he would absolutely have beaten Andy to a pulp if it came to it.

The thought makes Gareth shudder, and he glances to Wayne in surprise. The older man just rolls his eyes; the fucker looks nearly as besotted with Steve as Eddie is.

Eddie groans unhappily, then winces as it aggravates his split lip.

“Stop being such a baby, you’ve definitely had worse.” Steve murmurs, but his voice is fond and warm, and Gareth sees him tenderly trail the tips of his fingers over the scar Eddie received to his cheek over spring break. Steve pulls his hands away from Eddie’s face a moment later and begins rifling through Wayne’s medical kit—that someone had clearly brought through to the rickety coffee table.

Eddie sticks his tongue out at Steve but says nothing, which just makes the other boy chuckle.

“Wayne, you got sutures in here? There’s a pretty deep cut on his eyebrow.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. Figured it might need stitching. What d’you reckon?”

“Can you both stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Eddie grumbles, but he’s leaning his chin on Steve’s shoulder now and looking for all the world like it’s the only place he’s ever wanted to be.

How the fuck had Gareth missed this? He glances to his other two friends, who are also watching the whole exchange playout with twin expressions of confusion.

Wayne and Steve seem to decide that Eddie doesn’t need stitches after all, and Steve’s carefully placing butterfly sutures along his brow gently murmuring encouragement to the other boy with every wince and hiss of pain.

It’s then that Wayne meets Gareth’s eyes over the heads of his other friends who are sitting awkwardly around the room, eyes flicking between Eddie and Steve and the floor.

Wayne raises his eyebrow at him, as if to ask. Well? You see it now?

Gareth nods, because he does see it. It’s practically smacking him in the face at this point.

“What happened?” Steve murmurs as his fingers pull away from placing the last Band-Aid, and he begins detangling Eddie’s matted hair with gentle hands.

Eddie raises a brow at him in silent question, as if he’s checking that Steve can handle whatever he’s about to say.

Steve just snorts, dismissively.

“I’m not going to freak out.” He promises, “Just tell us what happened—if you can.”

Hesitantly, Eddie launches into the story.

How he had headed to the arcade to cool off after his fight with Gareth and the guys. How he’d stayed late enough that his was the only car left in the parking lot when he finally left. How Andy and some other leftover members of Jason’s ridiculous little vigilante squad had been waiting for him. That two of them had held him down while Andy whaled on him.

Despite his earlier promise, Gareth sees Steve’s fingers start to twitch with fury at every new detail Eddie reveals.

Eddie’s hands find Steve’s as he talks, ringing the younger boy’s wrists with his fingers. The touch calms Steve enough that he starts breathing again, something that Gareth hadn’t even noticed he’d stopped doing.

By the time Eddie finishes his story, Steve’s expression is stony once again.

“I’ll fucking kill him.” He mutters darkly.

“No, you won’t.” Eddie says, a playful half-smirk forming on his battered face. “Can’t have you muscling in on my esteemed title as Hawkins' Resident teenage murderer.” He finishes with a wink.

“Not fucking funny, Munson.” Steve grumbles, but Gareth can see he’s calmed some at Eddie’s gentle banter.

“It was hilarious, and you know it.” Eddie retorts with another painful looking grin. Then he winces, his lip welling up with blood again.

“Jesus, would you stop that, you’re making it worse.” Steve says, reaching up and gently dabbing a wad of cotton against the injury.

Eddie just rolls his eyes, but he does nothing to stop Steve from his ministrations.

-

“What are you even doing here, Stevie?” Eddie asks after a while, and his voice is gentle again. None of his earlier snark lacing his tone.

Steve shrugs, nonchalant, but his hands are trembling with barely contained emotion where they rest against his knees.

“Got kicked out.” He says simply, glancing at Wayne—who’s watching them both from his armchair with intense contemplation.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Eddie murmurs. Despite everything he’s seen this evening, the endearment still catches Gareth off guard, and he wonders once again how long exactly these two have been so blatant with their affection for one another. He’d never witnessed it at DnD or practice, but then he supposes that Eddie is always singularly focused during those activities.

“Dear old Dad decided he’s finally done financing the family disappointment.” Steve’s eyes cut to Gareth as he speaks, but there’s no reproach in them—just a heavy sadness.

Fuck.

Gareth immediately feels about two inches tall. He finds himself wishing Steve would look at him with hatred, because he certainly fucking deserves it after the things he’d said to him this evening.

Eddie doesn’t miss the exchange, his own eyes meeting Gareth’s from across the room with a little crease between his brows.

Gareth feels pinned under his suspicious gaze.

“And you guys?” He asks, distrustful as he addresses the three of them.

“Huh?” Jeff mumbles, glancing up like he’s been caught doing something shitty. Which, Gareth supposes, is exactly the case.

“Why are you here?” Eddie enunciates the words, and he’s the one who sounds protective and enraged now.

Gareth hesitates.

“Pretty sure they came to apologise to you. You know—for earlier?” Steve says, “they’d only just arrived when you got here.” He smiles at Gareth over Eddie’s shoulder, shaking his head a little.

Gareth shoots him a grateful look, feeling like the world’s biggest fucking chump. Eddie glances between them all for a moment, before shaking his head.

“Sure.” He murmurs, and Gareth knows he doesn’t believe them. Knows they haven’t heard the end of this.

It's then that Wayne seems to decide now is the time to come to the rescue,standing from his chair with a chagrined look as he stares them all down.

“I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving. Pizza?” He asks, sounding mildly exasperated over their antics.

There’s a round of murmured agreement and the older man shuffles to the phone to place the order with an eyeroll.

-

An hour later, with pizza demolished and Eddie sufficiently patched up, Gareth moves to help Wayne clear away their dishes.

Kev and Jeff are murmuring to each other in the corner, trying and failing not to throw surreptitious glances in the direction of Eddie and Steve, who have been so wrapped up in each other that Gareth’s pretty sure they’ve forgotten there’s anyone else in the room.

Eddie is leaning heavily against Steve’s side, eyes a little drowsy and Steve is reading quietly to him from a book he’d produced from the coffee table. It’s such a domestic scene, Gareth wonders if maybe he’d read the whole situation wrong, and the two of them are in fact well-cemented in a romantic relationship.

He decides to ask Wayne.

“They always like this?” Gareth mumbles to the older man, as they stack dishes side by side on the kitchen counter.

“Pretty much.” Wayne mumbles back, glancing at his nephew with fond eyes.

“Huh.” Gareth thinks for a moment, watching Steve laugh brightly at something Eddie whispers to him.

“And they—they’re not together?” He asks, hesitant. Gareth knows Eddie is gay, knows that Wayne knows too. Steve is a whole other thing to wrap his head around, though.

Wayne chuckles quietly.

“‘s far as I can tell, no. Didn’t think I’d find anyone as oblivious as Eddie until I met Steve.”

Gareth grins a little, despite himself.

“You see it now, though. Right, kid?” Wayne asks, tone serious once again.

Gareth nods emphatically. He sure as fuck did.

“Steve’s good people, son. I've no idea what's going on there—or if they even know themselves—but he loves my boy, that much I know for a fact. Give him a chance.”

Gareth ponders this, Wayne’s description of Steve is an echo of Eddie’s from that afternoon; and Gareth had scoffed and ridiculed, and then treated Steve with such contempt. But Gareth has context now, this evening having thrown everything he thought he knew about the other boy out the goddamn window.

He’s interrupted before he can respond to Wayne in the affirmative, that he’d decided to give Steve a chance the moment he’d seen him carefully tending to Eddie’s wounds like the world’s most dedicated nurse.

“What are you two whispering about?” Eddie says with a sly look from his place on the couch, eyebrow raised in their direction.

“Just saying that Steve should come to the gig on Saturday.” Gareth says, without missing a beat.

Eddie looks shocked, Steve whips around to face him just as Kev and Jeff do the same.

Gareth shrugs, attempting to play his words off as casually as possible.

“What d’ya reckon? Can you still sing with a busted lip?” He asks Eddie, smiling slightly.

Eddie flashes him a wild grin, wincing a little as he does.

“Just adds to the look.” He states.

“Very metal.” Steve mumbles, watching Eddie like he’s the most beautiful thing the guy’s ever seen.

The blush on Eddie’s cheeks lasts for well over fifteen minutes.

Gareth wants to knock their fucking heads together.

-

When Gareth and the others finally make a move to leave, Eddie slips outside alongside them.

“You hadn’t just got here when I came in, had you?” He asks, raising that trademark single brow at them in exasperation as they gather around Gareth’s car.

“No…” Jeff mumbles, shuffling on his feet a little sheepishly.

“And for some reason, Steve’s decided not to tell me what you said to him, but I know one of you said something.”

“I did.” Gareth murmurs, shrinking away from Eddie’s glare.

Eddie sighs, sad but determined.

“Okay, here’s how it’s going to be. Steve is in my life now, he's—he’s my friend. Just like you all are. And he’s trying real fucking hard, so you guys need to do the same.”

He’s addressing them all, but Eddie’s hard gaze is focused on Gareth. (He decides not to acknowledge that Steve certainly isn't Eddie's friend, just like they are, if his actions this evening are anything to go by, figuring that it probably isn't the most helpful can of worms to open right now.)

“If you can’t figure out a way to accept him, then I don’t know where that leaves us because I have no intention of giving him up, understand?” Eddie continues.

Gareth nods, chastised. He doesn’t miss the fierce defensiveness in Eddie’s tone, though. The roles well and truly reversed now, as Eddie takes up the mantle of protector.

“We’ll do better, man.” Kev says, Gareth and Jeff nodding along quickly.

“Good. Fine. I’ll see you guys on Saturday.” Eddie nods, before turning on his heel and heading back inside without looking back. He lets the door slam shut behind him.

“Think he’ll forgive us?” Jeff asks, staring after their friend in dismay.

“I think, if we stop being assholes and actually give Steve a chance... then yeah.” Gareth says.

Jeff gives a small not and moves to pull open the passenger-side door.

“You reckon Harrington really would have beat Johnson’s head in with that freaky looking bat?” He asks, sounding a little in awe.

“No doubt about it. You didn’t see him, man,” Gareth says as he sits behind the wheel. “Never seen someone so pissed.”

“Mental.” Kev breathes out from the backseat.

“Positively unhinged.” Gareth agrees.

“Pretty badass, though.” Jeff says, quietly.

“Yeah. Guess Henderson was right.”

“Jesus, keep that to yourself. Last thing that little twerp needs is more self-confidence.” Jeff laughs quietly, as Gareth pulls out of the trailer park.

-

After he’s dropped the others home and trudged up to his room, Gareth sits in his bed, picking apart the things he’d witnessed—the dynamic that exists so plainly between the Munsons and Steve.

Wayne treats him with a similar fondness he's always had for Eddie, fatherly and concerned; but there's more of a gentle approach with Steve than Wayne had ever needed to use with his nephew, Gareth thinks.

It reminds him a little of the way his mother interacts with his Uncle James; who’d fought in the Vietnam War when he was barely out of High School. He’d stayed with them for a while back in the late 70s, when Gareth was still in elementary school. Sometimes, he would fly into a crazed rage or—and perhaps even more unsettling—his eyes would glaze over, and he’d become someone remote and unreachable.

Gareth’s mother had always approached him with a firm but gentle tone; could talk him down from whatever memory held him hostage and bring him back to the present.

It was so similar to the way Wayne had spoken to Steve this evening; which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense because as far as he knows—Harrington isn’t in the military and had never been deployed to a warzone (are there even any active wars happening right now? Maybe he should pay closer attention to the news when his dad has it on.)

Steve had certainly acted like a soldier though; the way his demeanour had fallen so easily into battle ready, like it was beyond second nature to the guy. Like he was working on pure instinct.

Trauma can do funny things to a person, Gareth knows—his uncle James is living proof of that. He wonders if maybe whatever had gone down with that serial killer over spring break had been enough to trigger this response in Harrington.

It’s an unsettling thing to witness in someone so close to his own age and not for the first time, he finds himself desperately wishing he knew just exactly what went down all those months ago. If only so he can understand why someone like Steve Harrington would happily beat a guy to death to protect Eddie Munson.

Maybe it’s just what love does to a person. Gareth wouldn’t know—he’s never felt anything even close to the desperate emotions he had witnessed in the two of them this evening.

He finally falls asleep with the vague thought that if anyone deserves that kind of love, it’s absolutely his best friend.

-

When Saturday rolls around, Eddie’s earlier frostiness seems to have thawed out some. He’s mostly back to his usual boisterous self; merrily lugging equipment onto the stage and joking around with them all like he always has. Gig nights have always been Gareth’s favourite thing about playing being in a band, which seems obvious but it’s not for the reason he figures most people do - like scoring babes and enthralling fans, (which is a good thing actually, because Corroded Coffin is decidedly not popular and any babes they may or may not score, are well and truly imaginary). In fact, their most loyal fans consist of twenty or so bikers who frequent the dive bar, and a few local drunks.

It’s just so goddam fucking awesome to see his friends in their element; for all of them to find equal footing in creating something they love; for them to have an hour or so once a week of feeling completely and totally free. Most importantly though, after everything that Eddie had gone through, Gareth simply relishes in the fact that they're lucky enough to still have their frontman cracking dirty jokes that make Kev blush crimson or swearing like a sailor when he drops an amp on his toes.

That feeling of normal—the one that Gareth has been so sure was well and truly gone after everything back in March—wraps around the four of them again, and he can't remember ever being happier than he is right now, in this moment.

Eddie really does look the part; hair backcombed to almost ridiculous heights, the bandana tied around his forehead doing very little to tame the wild curls. The black eye he sports, and his gnarly scarred cheek simply adds to the whole rock 'n' roll vibe he has going on as he struts around the stage.

In fact, the only thing that’s missing is his battle vest; something that Gareth had noted he no longer wore a while ago, but ultimately decided not to comment on. Figuring maybe it was bagged as evidence back in spring, or that they’d had to cut it off of him at the hospital.

So, it surprises him (although he’s not entirely sure why at this point, considering… well, everything) to see Steve wearing it when he arrives.

The guy turns up halfway through set-up positively surrounded by his friends; people Gareth knows are part of whatever weird post-earthquake slash hunt down serial killers group that Eddie’s now a member of. Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, and Nancy Wheeler he recognises from school, the long haired crazy-patterned shirt wearing guy he doesn’t know at all. Eddie smiles when he sees them though, jumping down from the small stage and sauntering over to their little group.

Gareth has to bite his tongue upon seeing that Steve really has invited Wheeler to join them, because what the fuck? He slams the case of Eddie's warlock closed with a little too much force, if the startled looks Jeff and Kev throw his way are anything to go by, he shakes his head at them dismissively, feeling anger and disappointment toward Harrington rise up in him again.

Everyone and their goddamn mother knows about how the guy had moped around the halls of Hawkins High for months after Nancy had swapped him out for a broodier, more awkward model and now he's just casually bringing her along to see his... whatever Eddie is to him, play? Unbelievable. Gareth begins to wonder if the other night—if Steve's apparent feelings were just a figment of his imagination. He turns to face Eddie approach the group, his own heart in his mouth with trepidation. How would his friend react to this particular romantic rival?

Gareth quickly gets over any irritation on Eddie's behalf for the perceived snub, however, when Eddie himself jogs the last couple of steps toward Nancy and bodily envelopes her in a bear hug that looks on the verge of rib-crushing, swinging her around in a wide circle as she giggles with delight.

Gareth blinks in surprise, then clocks the way Steve's chatting to Byers happily as Eddie sets Nancy back on her feet. He stands corrected, apparently. Whatever weird love triangle that Steve, Nancy, and Byers had going on back in high school seems to be well and truly over.

Well shit, if Steve can be on good terms with his ex and the guy she left him for then maybe he really isn’t all bad after all.

Gareth clambers down from the stage, inclining for Jeff and Kev to follow him and walks toward the group—where Eddie is now twirling Robin around with a wild grin. Steve's watching on with a soft smile, and Gareth nearly breathes out a sigh of relief. So, he hadn't imagined it the other night. The guy looks absolutely smitten; its written plainly on every single part of him. From his expression to the way his shoulders curve toward Eddie like he's subconsciously trying to get closer to the guy.

Steve himself looks... different. Eddie's vest is slung casually over a black t-shirt, and his eyes are a little smoked out with eyeliner, Gareth can't help but note with interest. Eddie seems to notice too, smirking at Steve's attire while hiding his face behind a lock of his hair.

Jesus Christ, the pair of them might as well just shout about their mutual attraction from the fucking rooftops at this stage.

Gareth greets the rest of group with a shy wave, Jeff, and Kev half a step behind him. They're met with a chorus of hello’s and are quickly introduced to crazy shirt guy—his name is Argyle, from California apparently, (which - duh Gareth had gathered that much from his clothes alone), and none of the other members of Corroded Coffin know what the fuck to make of him. Seems like he floats through life permanently stoned, and unreasonably mellow considering he's currently at a heavy metal gig. But when he looks Eddie up and down and loudly proclaims that he looks totally bodacious with an exaggerated wink, Gareth can't help but bark out a startled laugh that causes Eddie to punch him on the arm in retribution, despite the pleased grin on his blushing face.

Steve seems to agree with Argyle's statement, he's hardly taken his eyes off Eddie since he arrived. Eyes flicking from the chains on his belt, to the sheer black shirt stretched over his torso that leaves very little to the imagination. He reckons Harrington is about a minute away from actually drooling when Eddie turns back to the stage to finish setting up as the group of friends snag a few seats near the front of the room.

Gareth rolls his eyes, amused, then catches Robin's gaze—who's grinning at him with understanding.

"Hopeless, aren’t they?" She mumbles, laughter in her eyes.

"You can say that again." He murmurs in agreement.

-

They play their fucking hearts out. Gareth thinks it might just be the best performance of their fucking lives. It feels like the music is a living thing that snakes around them as they play, thrumming heavy and wonderfully unhinged in the air as Eddie struts about the stage, utterly captivating if the undivided attention of a certain ex-jock is any indication. Steve is enraptured, as far as Gareth can tell—lips parted and eyes tracking the guitarist's every movement.

Gareth nearly misses a beat on four separate occasions because he’s so amused by the whole thing.

They finish their set all too soon, jumping down from the stage to quickly pack away their instruments and rushing to join their friends in a round of cheap beer; the Hideout's always been pretty lax on checking I.Ds.

The rest of the night flies by, and Gareth realises halfway through that he’s having fun. Steve, as it turns out, is hilarious. He’s bitchy and sarcastic just as Gareth's always known him to be but he's also quickly coming to understand that it's all surface level and full of playful jest and innuendo. The fucker is downright charming, much to Gareth's chagrin. He bounces off Eddie with gusto, the two of them often light-heartedly going head to head on everything from music taste to their favourite sitcom. Gareth’s never known someone so able to match Eddie’s energy before.

The other four of Steve's friend make for a strange group - Nancy and Robin spend most of the night with their heads bent together in rapid-fire conversation, while Jon and Argyle chat happily with Gareth, Jeff, and Kev. Nancy's legs are kicked up in Robin's lap and Jon is absently playing with the ring on her right hand while Argyle leans his head dopily on the guy's shoulder. Their dynamic is all a bit strange, but definitely easy and comfortable and Gareth supposes the rest isn’t really his business.

He almost hates to admit it; hates to give Steve any sort of credit for his choice of friends—despite Gareth's determination to give the guy a chance—but they’re all pretty cool.

The only slight dampener on their high spirits, is Eddie's clear determination not to leave Steve alone with his bandmates for any extended period of time. Which, okay—fair, considering how it went the last time, but how the fuck is Gareth meant to actually apologise to the guy if Eddie won't let them speak for longer than thirty seconds?

It's much later in the evening—after many more rounds of cheap booze—that Gareth finally grasps his opportunity as Steve gets up and starts heading for the bathroom. He quickly moves to follow, throwing Eddie what he hopes is a placating smile, considering the alarm with which the other boy had snapped out of his conversation with Byers to look at the two of them leave the table.

Steve’s thankfully already at the sink when Gareth enters, realising belatedly how weird it would be to catch the guy mid-piss. He’s trying to counteract any weirdness Steve might feel toward him here, not make it ten times worse.

The other boy still stops short when he catches Gareth’s reflection in the mirror, though. His expression slipping into a mask of tentative politeness.

Right. Damage control.

“Listen, man. About the other night.” Gareth ventures, stepping toward him.

Steve waves a hand dismissively in in his direction.

“Water under the bridge, dude.” He says simply, grabbing for a paper towel.

“I appreciate that, but I said some things I’m not exactly proud of.” He mutters back.

Steve turns to face him, and he looks thoughtful for a moment.

“You thought you were protecting a friend, man. More importantly, you thought you were protecting Eddie, and I could never be pissed at anyone for that.” He states matter of fact. There’s a dopey smile on his face when he says it, and the sweetness of the expression makes Gareth drop what’s left of his guard completely.

“You really are gone on him, aren’t you, Harrington?” He says smirking.

Steve freezes.

Shit. Wrong thing to say. So the wrong thing to fucking say.

“I don’t know what you’re—it’s not like that.” Steve sputters, frantic eyes darting to the floor.

Gareth can’t bear to hear him fumble with excuses, or worse—hear him try and downplay what he clearly feels for Gareth's best friend.

“Shit, Steve. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that—it’s not my business." Gareth interrupts, desperate to wipe the fear clean of Steve’s face, "listen, and I speak for the guys here too—whatever is going on with the two of you is cool, alright? As long as you don’t hurt him, we're golden.”

Steve relaxes some, a small smile returning tentatively to his face.

“I won’t hurt him.” He states, quietly and it’s a promise—an oath. Gareth can see it clear as day.

He feels the strange urge to clasp Steve on the shoulder, and because this evening couldn’t possibly get any weirder, he figures why not.

Steve seems surprised by the gesture but happily acce[ts it with a smile none the less. (Years later, the pair of them will profess this moment as the exact point in time they became real, honest to God friends, but for now it’s just enough to know that they’re finally on the same page.)

They head back to the others side by side, Gareth even shoulder bumps Steve when he moves to sit next to Eddie, raising a brow in secret playful banter. Which should feel weirder to do than it is, because... it's Steve fucking Harrington, dude.

“Shut up, man.” Steve groans, laughter teasing the edges of his voice.

Eddie turns to look at them both, alarmed.

“You two seem cosy.” He says, his signature single eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“Oh, we’re thick as thieves. Gareth and I go way back.” Steve jokes, and Gareth chuckles as he takes the open seat next to Jeff, who’s watching the whole exchange with a bemused grin.

“You okay?” Eddie asks Steve quietly, glancing suspiciously in Gareth’s direction, which hurts a little maybe, but Gareth is more than ready to spend the rest of his life proving to Eddie that he won't shit of Steve ever again.

So, Gareth just rolls his eyes playfully at his friend and turns to join Kev’s conversation with Argyle.

“Yeah, I think—I think we are.” He hears Steve say, just has he tunes them both out, allowing them a moment of privacy.

The rest of the evening continues much in the same way as before, except now the tension that resided in Eddie’s shoulders whenever Gareth attempted to strike up a conversation with Steve is well and truly gone. Their merry group continue to party for another few hours, exchanging banter like old friends.

Robin regales them all with embarrassing stories about Steve when they worked together at Star Court, the boy in question turning bright red as Eddie snorts beer clean out of his nose when she tells them about the time his shorts split halfway through a shift, and he’d had to borrow Robin’s much shorter spare pair.

“Bet the girls didn’t know what to do with themselves, Stevie.” Eddie cackles, choking a little and Steve thumps him heavily on the back, throwing Buckley a glare that makes Gareth think he’s trying to melt her head with laser vision.

It’s euphoric, really—the whole evening, and Gareth’s riding high, all the way up until they leave.

As they stumble out of the Hideout and pour into the secluded alleyway that runs up the side of the building, Gareth registers Steve freeze suddenly on his right. He hears someone stumble a little behind him.

He peers into the gloom and immediately clocks the cause of his companions’ alarm. Andy Johnson is leaning against the adjacent wall, leering at them all with a gaggle of four thugs surrounding him. Gareth watches with disgust as Andy’s eyes flick over Eddie, looking him up and down slowly, smiling wide at his black eye.

“Munson." The guy greets with a smug smirk, "looking a little worse for wear there, freak. Fancy round two?”

"Don't fucking speak to him." Steve snarls, voice dripping with threat.

“That you, Harrington?” Andy drawls, eyes darting to look at Steve, “Jesus—How the mighty fall. Right guys?”

There’s a round of snickers from his surrounding lackeys.

“Fuck off Johnson.” Steve says, with venom. Jonathan moves then, stepping purposefully to Steve’s left, as Steve himself manoeuvres to stand protectively in front of Eddie. Byers is flanking him Gareth realises, the guy moving into position without needing to be prompted or receiving any sort of acknowledgment from Steve, as if the two of them have pre agreed battle stances when it comes to possible fights.

Jesus, this group of people is fucking bizarre.

“When did you start hanging out with the town faggots, Steve. What would Harrington Sr. have to say?”

Steve takes a lurching step toward Andy as that hated word slips from his lips, and there’s a glint in his eyes now that’s downright frightening.

Andy seems to agree, his smug expression faltering a little under Steve’s glare.

“Watch your fucking mouth.” He snarls as Jonathan crosses his arms over his chest, expression just as murderous.

“What, you and Byers against the five of us?” Andy retorts, still attempting to maintain his well-worn mask of school yard bully.

“There’s eight of us, dipshit.” Steve sneers. Gareth’s not so riddled with anxiety over this whole fucked up situation to note that Steve’s math is off by one. There’s nine of them, Gareth’s sure of it. He looks around to corroborate this and finds that Steve is in fact right on the money; Argyle is nowhere to be seen. Gareth hadn’t even registered him slip away. Dude could be quiet as a mouse when he wanted to be.

Steve seems to know something though, if the smug expression that’s spreading over his face is anything to go by.

Andy clearly hasn’t noticed that Steve seems anything but perturbed about whether or not this is a fair fight, he simply scoffs derisively at them all.

“Oh, four freaks, a dyke and Nancy Wheeler? Scary.”

Nancy looks just about as lethal as Steve and Jonathan, and Gareth’s not sure how Andy hasn’t clocked it—but he's certain she’s a damn sight more dangerous than the jock is giving her credit for.

It’s all redundant anyway, in the end, though. Because the moment the word dyke slips out of the guy’s mouth, Steve’s in his face before Gareth even registers him move.

He looks sort of like an avenging angel, Gareth thinks, with his forearm pressed right up against Andy’s windpipe and dangerous malice glittering in his eyes.

The arrogant look of self-satisfaction on Andy’s face is well and truly gone now.

“Here’s how this is gunna go down, asshole.” Harrington spits, his voice dripping with fury, “you’re going to leave Eddie alone. You even breathe in his direction again and I’ll break your fucking arm.”

“Yeah right,” Andy mutters, but his voice trembles and Gareth’s actually a little impressed that he’s still attempting any sort of bravado at this stage. His goons are stood frozen behind him, and Jonathan is eyeing them all with a wicked grin. None of them make a move to help their so called leader.

“What do you think, Jon?” Steve asks, eyes never leaving Andy’s pale face.

“I’d believe him if I were you, man.” Byers says to the cornered meathead, cheerfully.

It’s then that Argyle strolls back to the group, swinging Steve’s baseball bat merrily in his left hand.

“Found your weapon of choice, my dude.” He drawls to Steve, voice calm and cheery, as if he’s not handing someone a deadly weapon in the middle of a fight.

Gareth’s mouth drops open a little in awe.

Steve grins, and it’s vicious and deadly and practically saturated with hostile resolve.

He drops his arm from Andy’s throat and reaches behind for the bat without taking his eyes off the group of jocks. Argyle hands it off like he’s simply passing Steve something as unremarkable as the fucking Sunday paper.

“Thanks, dude.” Steve says brightly, bringing the bat up playfully and resting it casually on his shoulder.

Andy’s eyes go wide, his lips start trembling with real terror now.

“You can’t do this man.”

“Can’t I?” Steve asks with a feral grin. He looks practically unhinged. Gareth can hear Eddie breathing heavy and wild beside him, as he watches transfixed by the scene in front of him.

He brings down the bat in one long arc, stopping it just short of Andy’s face and holding it there, the end grazing the tip of Andy’s nose. The wider group of thugs scatter, but Andy stays frozen to the spot, eyes crossed as he desperately tries to keep his gaze tracked on the bat.

Steve grasps his shirt collar with his free hand, dragging Andy bodily away from the wall.

“You come near my family again, and I’ll fucking kill you, understand?” Steve murmurs, voice the low and dangerous thing it had been when he’d first seen Eddie, beaten to hell, and cowering on the bathroom floor of his uncle’s trailer.

Andy nods frantically, eyes practically bugging out of his head with fear. Steve let’s him go with a forceful shove and the guy scrambles away on his hands and knees before hauling himself up and sprinting full tilt after his friends.

Gareth watches them run, then spins to face the group with a loud whoop.

“That was unbelievable, Harrington.” He says, still in awe. Maybe the kids and Eddie really are into something with all their hero worship of the guy.

Steve barely registers his words though, breezing past him and heading straight into Eddie’s space.

“You alright?” He breathes, hands hovering over the metalhead’s shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay, Harrington. I’m fine.” Eddie’s voice is soft and placating, just like Wayne’s had been as he’d tried to coax Steve back inside a few nights ago.

Gareth knows he’s trying to talk Steve down from the anxiety and adrenaline that’s causing his hands to tremble with restraint right now. Like he’s holding himself back from tracking Andy down again and finishing him off.

Gareth and the others move quickly away, heading toward the parking lot in an effort to give the two of them some space. They spill out of the alleyway one by one.

“What the fuck, man. Harrington really is a badass.” Jeff murmurs, looking just as awe-stricken as Gareth feels.

“Yeah, that was some pretty metal shit, Byers.” Kev agrees with a surprised chuckle. “You and Harrington rehearse that whole 'brothers in arms' thing beforehand?”

Jonathan’s lips quirk up into a small smile, as he glances at Nancy surreptitiously. She smirks back. Not for the first time this evening, Gareth has the thought that this is the weirdest bunch of people he's ever met.

“Something like that.” Jonathan mumbles, looking a little uncomfortable now that that danger has passed.

Jon’s not one to enjoy being centre of attention, Gareth’s known that since middle school. Which makes his whole, warrior-mode thing a few minutes ago even more odd.

They stand silently for a few more seconds, before Argyle pipes up with a 'should we get going, my dudes?' asked so casually, Gareth would believe he'd just rolled out of bed if he hadn't actually witnessed the fucker hand someone a deadly weapon like it was just something totally normal to do.

Jeff snaps out of his stupor and claps his hands together, loudly.

“Good idea. You guys ready to go?” Jeff asks of Gareth and Kev, as he starts heading toward Gareth’s car.

“I’m supposed to be driving Eddie home.” Gareth replies robotically, glancing behind him to where the other two boys have yet to make an appearance.

“Go and get them would you, I’m freezing my ass off here.” Jeff complains, nudging Gareth with his shoulder. He nods in reply, and half jogs back to the alleyway and rounding the corner, before being met with a sight that has him stopping short.

There, half hidden in shadows, Eddie has Steve shoved up against the back wall of the Hideout, his fingers fisted possessively in the collar of the other guy's shirt and they’re-

They’re making out hard, Gareth realises. Steve’s hands cradling Eddi's face gently; in complete contrast to the fierceness of the metalhead's returning embrace.

With a small punched out sound of surprised amusement, Gareth quickly backs up and out of the alleyway.

He walks back to the others in a daze, and he knows there’s a stupefied expression on his face. He catches Jonathan’s eye; who’s smirking at him knowingly.

“Well? Where are they?” Jeff asks, impatient as he blows on his hands in an effort to keep warm.

Gareth slowly turns to look at his friend, opens his mouth to explain and finds that he’s completely fucking speechless.

Byers comes to his rescue, sniggering at Gareth’s shock-slackened expression.

“Something tells me Steve’s gonna give Eddie a ride.” Jonathan says, eyes glimmering with barely restrained delight.

Gareth chokes out a startled laugh—Argyle practically fucking falls on the floor as he loudly guffaws.

Robin spins to face Nancy with a giddy kind of glee on her face, and Wheeler grins back, just as amused.

Kev and Jeff look completely fucking lost, which only serves to make Gareth laugh harder.

“Oh, the little shit, he was supposed to drive me home!” Robin says through her giggles.

“Come on Buckley, I’ll take you.” Jonathan states happily, slinging a friendly arm over her shoulder for a moment and directing her toward where his car is parked, both of them still sniggering breathlessly.

“Catch you guys later.” Robin says with a little wave, beaming over her shoulder at them as she ducks away from Jonathan’s grasp and tugs on Nancy’s hand.

Gareth watches as the four of them head towards Jon’s beat up Galaxy; Wheeler tucked under her boyfriend’s arm now with her hand clasped firmly in Robin’s. Argyle playfully grabs for Jonathan’s, who laughs loudly and swings their joined arms between them.

“What’s going on there?” Jeff murmurs, coming up behind Gareth to watch the four of them as they leave.

“No idea.” He returns, smiling fondly before turning back to his car.

“Wanna explain what all that was about, then?” Kev asks Gareth, as he clambers into the back seat.

“Nope.” He says with a grin and jams his keys into the ignition.

“Oh, come on, dude!”

“Let’s just say, I don’t think we need to worry about Harrington’s friendship with Eddie anymore.” He states with a wink as he pulls out of the parking lot a moment after Byers, making sure to place as much emphasis on the word as he does.

Jeff’s eyes snap to the side of his face from the passenger seat.

“Oh, I knew it!” He crows loudly.

“You did not.” Gareth replies, laughing.

“Knew what? What the fuck is going on?” Kev whines from the back seat.

Jeff ignores him.

“Oh, I’m so never letting Eddie live this down. I mean—Seriously? The guy is such a normie.”

“Who’s a normie?”

“I really don’t think he is you know, considering what we just witnessed. I thought he was going to rip that fucker in half.” Gareth admits, grinning. “And I dunno, man—he’s pretty hot. Like, objectively.”

“Who’s hot?”

Jeff and Gareth continue to ignore the litany of questions from the back seat.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, not you too!” Jeff groans, but his voice is light and there’s laughter in his words.

“Do you think this mean we’ll have to start going to basketball games?” Gareth asks, grinning.

“Please. Eddie may have been taken in by the dark side, but he’s still got standards, Gareth!”

“Didn’t look that way with his tongue shoved down Steve’s throat back there.” He knows that a week ago, those words would have come out embittered and annoyed—now, he’s just relishing in the fact they’re playfully ragging on their friend. Like they used to. Like things are normal again.

“Harrington? You’re talking about Eddie kissing Harrington?” Kev asks, incredulous.

Gareth exchanges a look with Jeff before they both burst into raucous laughter that doesn’t stop until they all get home.

-

They do end up going to a basketball game, three months later—just to support Sinclair obviously. All it had taken was a flash of puppy dog eyes from Steve and Eddie had relented, much to the extreme (but playful) censure of his band mates.

And if Gareth whoops louder than all of them when Sinclair sinks the winning shot—Steve grinning beside him and scooping him up in a one armed hug of celebration— that’s between Gareth and his new friends.

Anyone who has anything to say about it? Well, they can just go fuck themselves.

Chapter Text

“You alright?” There’s a feral glint in Steve’s eyes as he brushes past an awestruck Gareth and moves into Eddie’s space, his gaze flicking over his face quickly, like he’s checking Eddie’s still in one piece. Despite the fact that Andy hadn't even come within ten paces of him this time around.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay, Harrington. I’m fine.” Eddie nearly trips over his words in his rush to soothe the anxiety that’s still palpable in the younger man’s wavering voice. Eddie makes sure to keep his tone as calm as possible, despite the frantic beating of his own heart.

He vaguely registers the others moving away, further down the alley and into the parking lot beyond, but he’s so focused on Steve right now, he doesn't give it much more than a passing thought.

Steve’s still trembling with barely contained rage as his fingers move to ghost over Eddie’s cheeks, fluttering lightly against the bruised skin there.

The proximity is delicious, and Eddie is trying real fucking hard not to close his eyes and swoon on the spot. It’s like back in the Upside Down, when he’d watched in awe as Steve had ripped that fucking demobat clean in half, with nothing but his bare hands and brute strength, blood dripping from his mouth like some battle crazed berserker. Except there’s history between them now, a closeness that hadn’t existed in April.

Eddie hadn’t been immune to the effect of a half-feral, enraged Steve Harrington then, and he sure as fuck isn’t now. His blood is positively vibrating with the need to crowd the other boy against the wall behind them and clamber inside his fucking soul.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Eddie breathes, “or do actually. Fuck. I can’t decide if I’m pissed off or turned on.”

If Eddie had half a mind on self-preservation now, he’d freeze at the words. As it stands, though, all he can comprehend is the boy in front of him. The boy who had cheerily threatened homicide to keep him safe.

Steve is breathing hard, eyes flicking between Eddie’s face and his lips. God fucking dammit, Eddie nearly groans out loud.

“I think it’s definitely possible to be both.” Steve murmurs, and his eyes are transfixed now, blown wide with want and Eddie hopes, oh fucking God does he ever hope.

“Tell me to stop, Steve.” He says, slowly backing the other boy up against the wall, leaning his forehead against Steve's and squeezing his eyes shut, breathing hard. “Please tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to.”

And well fuck it all if that hope doesn't burst open Eddie's chest and leave him ruined.

“Fuck, yeah? Fuck.”

“Munson, if you don’t kiss me in the next five- “

Eddie kisses him. Hard and desperate, pours every pent up emotion from the last hour, the last week, fuck—the last six months—into the space between their lips. It’s far from the soft romantic thing Eddie had always daydreamed his first kiss with Steve might be, but then again—this is the truth of them. Intense and eager and impassioned and desperate. Always so fucking desperate.

Eddie’s hands are fisted in the collar of his—of Eddie’s, Jesus fuck—vest as he backs the other boy flush against the wall. Steve’s own hands move to gently cup Eddie’s cheeks and the move could actually very well kill him with how tender it is.

“I think I love you.” Steve murmurs, a little dazed when they pull apart. Then he freezes, eyes flying to meet Eddie's own and they're wide with alarm.

Eddie's breath punches out of him, and he nearly doubles over with the force it as Steve's confession tears through his mind.

“Well shit Harrington, way to give a guy a fucking coronary.”

Steve smiles, but it’s tinged around the edges with uncertainty and there's hesitation now in the set of his shoulders. As if Eddie could ever possibly feel anything other than absolute, irrevocable adoration in return for this boy. Ridiculous. This man is ridiculous.

"Stevie, Stevie. I love you. Of course, I love you. How could I not, sweetheart?" Eddie hums as he rushes to soothe him, fingers trailing over the golden skin of his cheek.

Steve’s eyes soften once again—and Jesus fucking Christ he’s so beautiful—Eddie could look at him forever and never once get bored.

“Let me take you home, Munson.” He says with a wicked grin, and yep. Eddie’s knees are really actually about to give out. This boy. This Goddamn boy.

"Wayne's on night shift; won't be home until the morning." Eddie breathes, as if Steve doesn't know that. As if Steve hasn't been staying at the trailer—sleeping in Eddie's bed and just out of reach, like Eddie's own personal brand of temptation and torture—since his parents had kicked him out.

Steve laughs, loud and bright and Eddie sort of wants to record the sound and somehow convince the guys to work it into their next original song.

Their friends are gone by the time they finally exit the alleyway, and Steve never once lets go of Eddie's hand as he pulls him towards his car. It’s risky—hell, it’s all kinds of fucking risky—but there's a buoyant sense of joy wrapping them up and Eddie allows himself this one moment of reckless bravery as he pushes Steve up against the side of the beamer and locks their lips together in another searing kiss.

Steve hums softly into Eddie's mouth, and scrap that—this is the sound he wants to record and keep forever.

They pull apart again, reluctantly tripping to their respective sides of Steve's car, and the other boy is tearing out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell before Eddie has even finished fully closing the passenger side door.

"Impatient are we, Harrington?" He quips with a suggestive smirk.

Steve almost growls, and maybe there's something a little wrong with Eddie, because he's three tracks into planning a mixtape of his favourite Steve sounds at this point.

Eddie chuckles again as Steve accelerates, and he doesn't stop until the other boy is impatiently slamming on the breaks outside his—their—trailer, bodily hauling Eddie out of the car and crowding him through the front door. Steve wastes no time in dragging Eddie by one fisted hand at his collar into a kiss that’s ten times more filthy, more desperate than either of the two they'd shared before as he backs Eddie up against the door.

"You drive me fucking insane, Eds." He whispers against the skin of Eddie's throat, then much quieter: "I wanted to kill him. I would have killed him."

It says something about Eddie's mental state that all the statement does is send warmth pooling in his gut.

"I can't take you hurting, baby." Steve continues and Eddie is struck dumb by the pet name for a moment as his hands raise to card through Steve's hair.

"Stevie, sweetheart. I'm okay."

Steve huffs, dropping his forehead to Eddie's shoulder but his hands are still frantically clinging to Eddie's shirt and he's trembling with restraint.

Eddie lets his fingers drop to cup Steve's jaw, hooking his thumbs there and gently forcing the other boy's face up to meet his gaze.

"Look, I'm fine, see? He didn't get close. You didn't let him."

"The things he said, though Eddie." Steve all but whines the words.

"Fuck the things he said, you think I’m not used to insults by now darlin'?"

"You shouldn't have to be." Steve says with steel in his tone. Eddie shrugs.

"He wasn't exactly far off the mark, sweetheart. The things I want to do to you are well beyond the realms of straight,"

"That's not funny." Steve mutters in irritation, but his eye darken with anticipation—Eddie can see it happen in real time; excitement unfurls down his spine at the sight.

"As much as I'd love to discuss the ethics of dumbass meatheads with satanic panic at any other time, right now I'd quite like to continue all this delicious gay experimentation with you, Steve."

The joke lands exactly as Eddie intends it, the near homicidal rage that's been clinging to Steve's aura since they left the hideout melts away, replaced by exasperated chagrin.

"I'm not experimenting." He says with an eye roll.

"Sure, about that Stevie? I'll happily show you the ropes." Eddie knows his voice is positively dripping with playful innuendo.

"Fuck you, dude." Steve says lightly, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do, Harrington." Eddie murmurs, pushing back against the hard line of Steve's body, where he still has Eddie caged against the trailer door.

Steve groans, and surges forward again, capturing Eddie's mouth up against his own once more and there's extraordinarily little time (or inclination) for flirtatious banter after that.

It’s a little while later as they lie, sleepy and sated in the middle of the bed, that Steve whispers against the older boy’s chest: “I meant what I said, you know. This isn’t, like, some sort of repressed sexual experimentation. You’re it for me, Eds.”

Eddie drops a kiss against his brow, his fingers curling through the dampened hair against the nape of Steve’s neck.

“I know, sweetheart. You’re it for me too.”

Steve trails a hand lazily along the scars of Eddie’s torso, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“Besides,” Steve adds with a tired chuckle, “I’m pretty sure Gareth would beat me up if you weren’t.”

“Gareth watched you threaten a guy with a nail-studded baseball bat tonight, Stevie. I doubt he’d try it even if you broke my heart.”

“If I break your heart, I’d let him.”

“Better make sure there’s no breaking of hearts, then. Hm? On either side. I’ve seen Robin and Nancy in action, and I happen to like not being riddled with bullet holes—thank you very much.”

“Deal.” Steve mumbles with a final small laugh, before his breathing evens out. Eddie smiles, warm and relaxed and so fucking full of love as he keeps gently running his hands through his boy’s hair until he drifts off to sleep himself.

Wayne finds them that way a few hours later, as he gets home from his shift. Spotting the two boys through the ajar bedroom door; curled lovingly around each other, as if protecting the other even in sleep.

He chuckles quietly to himself as he closes the door to their room and with a final fond shake of his head, slips silently to bed. Maybe now those two damn kids have managed to sort out whatever the hell it was they were dancing around for so long; Wayne can finally stop worrying and get some damn sleep.