Part Five of my Steve has bad parents au, this is going to be the second to last chapter sadly
CW: physical abuse, use of the f-slur once and use of the word queer as a slur
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
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“Oh don’t let me interrupt you and whatever girlfriend is on the other line.” His father sneered, “must be pretty special to throw around words like that.”
He hated when his father was drunk, all formality was swept from his demeanor, leaving nothing but casual cruelty. All bared teeth and dangerously swaying steps, unstable. Steve didn’t know which of his carefully crafted responses would set him off.
Steve knew what happened next couldn’t be more than four or five seconds but time slowed down around him. He heard Eddie’s worried, very distinctly male, ‘Stevie?’ from the phone distantly, like it was coming from another room—another world. Both his and his father’s eyes dropped to the hanging phone. Steve had half a second to think up frantic excuses before his stool was tipping over, dragging him with it to the ground with a resounding crack. His father reached for the phone only to slam it against the wall with enough force to crack the plastic.
“Who was that?” He practically screamed, “Didn’t sound like no girl to me!”
Maybe you’d know if you didn’t smash the phone, Steve wanted to retort but he was being dragged up and into the cold metal of the fridge by his shirt before he could open his mouth.
“I asked you a question, boy!” A jab to his jaw, it didn’t hold much power but it would leave a bruise.
“No one!” One of the only people who cares about me, one of the only people who can stand to be around me. “He was—he wasn’t—”
His father flicked a hand across his face, knocking his head back into the fridge. The bridge of his nose burned and he knew his fathers seldom worn wedding ring had split the skin.
“You have no business speaking that way to a boy! That is not how a Harrington bahaves!” His father spat.
“I’m sorry—! I didn’t—” Steve never got to finish his sentence, a fist slamming into his face, catching his nose and lip, stopping him before he could get another word out. He choked on the gush of blood that ran down his upper lip and filled his mouth.
His mother chose that moment to rush into the kitchen, right as his head started spinning, “RICHARD!” She gasped, “What—?!”
Steve’s father released his shirt with a shove, throwing him into the cabinet where he stumbled to the floor, rubbing his back against the bruise forming from the handle.
His mother hadn’t stopped yelling at his father, grabbing his arm and pulling him back, “What on earth has gotten into you?”
Don’t act like you don’t know, Steve so desperately wanted to say, don’t act like we didn’t both know this was coming. He could do nothing more than fight the stinging in his eyes, knowing if he cried it would only enrage his father further. He could only tip his head back and try to breathe through his bloody nose and mouth.
“I didn’t raise no faggot!” His father boomed, “What would your mother think?” He jeered.
I know, Steve thought, I know for all she used to love me that this is too much. And he did know, this was the one thing that would sever whatever connection they had left.
“Why would you ever say something like that, Richard?” His mother turned to him, though, with eyes almost pleading as they locked on his, “Steven, honey, whatever this is I’m sure it’s a big misunderstanding.”
Apparently that was what did it for Steve, hearing his mother so quick to dismiss him, so quick to brush past all the abuse, now physical.
He pushed himself up, shaking his head, “You don’t know that.” He mumbled, “You don’t know a damn thing about me!”
Steve hadn’t meant to yell, hadn’t meant to say anything at all really but once the words were out there was nothing he could do to shut up. He’d opened a vein and everything that had kept him going was spilling out with the blood on his face.
“You don’t know who my friends are, you don’t know that I can’t sleep alone anymore or that I can’t stand the empty silence in this goddamn house because you weren’t there! You couldn’t be bothered to—I was dying in an overrun hospital, beside my unconscious best friends and you couldn’t be bothered to show up! You never even called! You’re never here!”
“I will not be talked to like this, not by the likes of you. Get out of my house!”
The likes of you. The freaks and the disgusting disappointments.
Steve knew he was crying before he felt the angry tears burn hot streaks down his cheeks. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter that his father’s fist clenched again, it didn’t matter that his mother was reaching for him because he was already backing out of the kitchen.
“You don’t care!” Steve croaked, wiping his nose and wincing as his hand came back slick with a fresh wave of blood, “Why don’t you care?!” He heard his voice break, felt the pressure building behind his eyes and nose.
“Steven,” his mother reached for him again but he yanked his arm away.
“No, no, no, don't ’Steven’ me. I-do you know how shitty you are? I’ve spent the last 13 years of my life alone, wondering what I did. What I could’ve done to disappoint you when all I do is try. Wondering why you couldn’t find it in you to love your only son!” His vision was blurry with tears, breathing turned to hiccups, “I’ve done everything you wanted. I played sports I didn’t like and dated girls I didn’t know to keep up your fucking image and you still left me every single time you went on another ‘work trip’ so don’t you dare pretend to care about me now, now that I’m a fucking queer and you need to fix me!”
He stomped out of the kitchen, grabbing and yanking on the first sweatshirt he saw hanging off of the banister at the bottom of the stairs, it was Eddie’s. Of course it was, everything in the house had shaped and molded around him because he’d come and taken up space and filled the hollow silence in Steve’s life and now his parents were back and undoing it all.
He didn’t wait for a response before he slammed the door, knowing he wouldn’t get one. He did wait, though, outside with the back of his head pressed to the door, hoping maybe his mother would go after him. Hoping she would pull him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and head, make him tea in the kitchen before sending him to bed and telling him they would talk in the morning. Tell him she was sorry and ask what he wanted to have for dinner when they invited Eddie over to meet him. She didn’t. The world stayed a bittersweet quiet.
Steve checked his pockets, cursing when he turned up with no keys. He wanted—he needed to leave as soon as possible, as fast as possible.
Steve didn’t know where he was going when he ran. He just needed to get away, sprang and bolted, all the pent up anxiety left over from the Upside Down fueling his legs. He didn’t know he was headed towards Eddie’s house until he trudged shoulder first into the Forest Hills sign, head down and arms crossed so tight around his middle he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t cut off his circulation. What if Eddie didn’t want him there? What if he was busy or just done being hidden, maybe he decided Steve wasn’t worth the trouble anymore, what if he was right—
He was knocking on the Munson’s door, the sound echoing through his ears. It was too late to turn back now, fuck he should’ve called again. When would he have the time, between crying to getting kicked out and slamming the door?
Wayne opened the door, tired eyes taking in what Steve could only assume to be his disheveled appearance. His hair was flat and sticking to his forehead. Blood crusted under his nose, dripping down his split lip and staining his favorite sweatshirt. He would have to get it dry cleaned before he gave the wrinkled hoodie back to Eddie. He hadn’t even tied his shoes for Christ’s sake, feet shoved in hastily and tangling with the laces.
Before he can even open his mouth Wayne has a hand on his shoulder, guiding him through the door, “Let’s get you cleaned up, kid.” He sighs.
Kid, it’s just a word but he’s tearing up again, hand pressed to his mouth to muffle the noise. Wayne calls him kid and it isn’t condescending, it isn’t spoken from a place of superiority or annoyance. Wayne calls him son and he doesn’t hear it in his fathers voice, he doesn’t hear the dripping disappointment that clings to all of his fathers words.
He’s being walked to the kitchen and sat on a barstool. His vision’s blurred and his nose is swelling, causing the pressure behind his eyes to increase, but he could still make out the man digging around in a drawer for a wash cloth. He held it under the sink and wrapped a couple ice cubes together.
“Hold this here,” Wayne told him, pressing the makeshift ice pack into his hand and holding it to his face, “Ed’s been worried sick, practically had to tie him to his seat.” With that Wayne walked off, towards the back of the trailer, “Eddie! Get out here, would ya?” He knocked on Eddie’s bedroom door.
“Was that the door?” Eddie asked, looking around Wayne as he swung the door open.
Steve saw the moment Eddie noticed him sitting at the counter, his brows furrowed in confusion before twisting to concern.
“Steve, oh my god, are you okay?” He breathed, scrambling to the kitchen, “What happened, I tried calling again but it wouldn’t connect.”
“Yeah my father kind of smashed the phone.” Steve managed to mumble around his numbing face.
“What the fuck?” Eddie reached for his face, brushing his hair away from the damage with one hand and holding his jaw with the other, carefully avoiding his nose, “He do this too?” Eddie asked, swiping his thumb under Steve’s uninjured eye.
Steve looked away but that was all Eddie needed, “What the fuck?” He exclaimed again, at the same time Wayne scoffed out a “what kind of man—”
“It’s fine—” He started, on impulse maybe, but he didn’t even get the words out before Eddie was shaking his head.
“Don’t do that, don’t say it’s fine. You know it’s not fine. You didn’t deserve this or whatever else you’re telling yourself.”
When Steve stayed quiet Eddie spoke again, “Tell me you don’t think you deserved this?”
Uncomfortable silence blanketed the once comforting room, at least for Steve. The others must have felt it too because Wayne coughed and muttered something about finding the first aid kit before exiting the room.
“Steve—”
“Why else would he do it?” His jaw hit the hands still tilting his face up with every whispered word.
Who says I don’t? What if he’s right and I’m just a screw up? This might’ve been the final straw but Steve would never stop blaming himself for the emotions of his father. He wouldn’t stop blaming himself for the case that Tommy broke in eighth grade and the weeks he was grounded until he could pay for it. It was his fault, really, if he hadn’t been so clingy he wouldn’t have called Eddie. If he hadn’t been so selfish he never would’ve woken him up in the middle of the night and his dad wouldn’t have heard them. It was his fault for not hanging up in time and it was his fault making up some lie. He done it before, so why was this time any different?
Uncomfortable silence blanketed the once comforting room, at least for Steve. The others must have felt it too because Wayne coughed and muttered something about finding the first aid kit before exiting the room.
“Steve—”
“Why else would he do it?” His jaw hit the hands still tilting his face up with every whispered word.
Steve may have been sheltered financially but he knew this kind of thing happened to people all the time. He knew that they didn’t deserve it and the people that did it to them had no excuse other than being horrible people but that wasn’t—this wasn’t like that. He got to live in a big house all alone for free, he got a monthly check every time his parents took a trip, they weren’t—
“Because he’s an asshole. I wish he wasn’t, baby, I wish this hadn’t happened but he’s an asshole. You didn’t deserve this.” Eddie told him again, waiting for him to repeat it.
“I didn’t deserve this.” He mumbled, like it could be true if he just said it.
“Neosporin might be expired but it’s better than nothing.” Wayne called, walking back into the room with an open fist aid kit in his hands as he rifled through it.
Steve was about to reach for the kit, already used to patching himself up after fights, when Eddie grabbed it before him.
“What are you doing?” His voice was still slightly nasally, a side effect of his clogged nose, so it came out whinier than he intended.
Eddie raised an eyebrow at him, waving the maybe expired neosporin and a q-tip as if that explained it.
“You don’t have to do that. I can do it. I’m all gross.”
“You just never let anyone take care of you, do you?” Eddie was going for a joking tone even though they both knew the truth behind the statement, “I don’t care if you’re gross.”
Up until a year ago nobody had wanted to take care of him. Nobody had offered and he was already enough of a bother, he didn’t want to cross the line. He was supposed to be the one that took care of people, that’s what he did.
“This might sting.” Eddie told him, bringing the q-tip to his lip where it had split open, “Sorry, sorry!” He winced when Steve sucked in a sharp breath.
When everything was cleaned up he could mostly see out of his right eye, the swelling on his nose had gone down slightly and his lip stopped dripping blood. He was exhausted, he realized then after the adrenaline wore off. Sleepless nights and constant anxiety around his parents left him struggling to hold his head up. So he didn’t, he let his shoulders drop and his head fall on Eddie’s shoulder. It was a little uncomfortable, leaning his neck down to reach from where he sat on the bar stool, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
“How did this happen, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, hesitant.
“I don’t…I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” The words came out muffled, his face buried in the soft fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt.
Arms circled around his shoulders and a hand slid through his hair. His own arms wound around Eddie’s middle, rising slightly when Eddie sighed.
“I won't push but you should talk to someone. It’s not a good idea to just bottle this kind of thing up.”
“I know. I don’t want to think about it, not deal with it for a while. I’m just really tired.”
“Do you want to lay down?” Eddie asked stepping back to see his face
He just nodded, already sliding off the stool when he caught Eddie’s expression, “What?”
“We may have to reapply the neosporin. It got a little…” He made a smudging gesture against his own face and Steve groaned, already wiping his face with the washcloth.
After fixing his face again he was being guided to the couch, tucked under an arm. Someone threw a blanket across them before settling down on the other side. The tv was playing some rerun of a sitcom Steve thinks Dustin likes. Maybe it was the background noise or the hand running up and down his back comfortingly under his sweatshirt, maybe it was the familiar smell of the trailer—woody, homey—or fact that he was curled up, squished between two people who actually cared about him, but he found himself drifting off. He felt his head drop onto Eddie’s shoulder as the arms around him shifted to hold him closer.
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I love continuing the age old tradition of naming his dad Richard. Shout out to my Richard’s
Fun fact: I struggled to write this chapter so much, the writers block hit hard man
Tag list of two: @wrenisfangirling @disrespectedgoatman
Little thing I wrote while procrastinating writing part 5 of Hide Your Heart.
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Steve Harrington who knows his kid brother is obsessed with some niche, up and coming metal band. Steve Harrington who groans and grumbles and carries on about having to drive him around to shows and listen to him nerding out but does it anyway. Steve Harrington who doesn’t really pay attention because the lights on the stage are too bright and drown out whoever’s playing. Steve Harrington who is currently wading through a crowd making their way to the door, going against the current and stumbling as he searches for the mop of hair he promised to get home.
“Henderson!” He cups his hands around his mouth, “Where is that kid?”
He finds himself pushed to the outskirts of the mass of bodies, plastered to a wall but he still pitches forward when a particularly rowdy young woman rams into him. He thinks he’s going to go all the way to the floor when a hand snags his elbow, holding him up. He turns to rush out an apology, a few thanks for the save, but stops before he can get the words out because holy shit the guy is gorgeous.
And Steve—well Steve has been doing some thinking about himself. About how most guys don’t have to mentally prepare themselves to go into the locker room after pe class. About how most guys don’t let their friends paint their nails pretty colors. Robin told him that there was this thing called being bisexual and he thought some things were clicking into place. So he’s gotten used to going out and noticing more than just girls, it’s not uncommon, but this guy is hot, like really hot.
He’s dressed in leather pants and a cut off tank top that hangs around his sides. Tattoos, more doodles than actual designs, on full display for the world to see, running up his arms and peeking out from his ribs. His hair is in curly tangles, sweat sticking it to his forehead but he’s grinning. He has a jacket, leather, in his other hand.
He’s also still holding on to Steve’s arm. Warm rings press into the inside of his elbow as he rights himself.
“First time?” The man asks.
“Y-yeah.” Steve gets out, “I’m supposed to be here with my brother, he’s a huge fan of some band playing here. Molded Coffin or something.”
The guy’s face breaks out into a full on smile, humor sparking in his eyes but Steve doesn’t know if what he said was that funny.
“Yeah? Where’s he at?” The guy still hasn’t let go, leading Steve away from the crowd and further into the room where there were less people.
“I’m actually looking for him now. Left him alone for five minutes to get a drink and he disappears.”
“You need help? These things can get a little crazy.” The man offers.
“You do this a lot?” Steve asks, immediately mentally face palming. He practically asked the guy if he came here often, he was going to think he was flirting. Was he?
The man just smiled, “You could say that. Eddie.” He finally released Steve’s arm in favor of holding out his hand. They shook hands and Steve told the man—Eddie—his name.
They talked for a while, Eddie got them drinks and Steve told himself that Dustin was old enough to behave himself for 15 minutes. Eddie kept an arm around his shoulders the whole time, shielding him from the chaos of the dwindling crowd was his excuse. Steve would have told him he didn’t need an excuse if that didn’t seem too forward.
Eddie was just asking for his number when someone behind them called, “Ed! Quite flirting and get your ass over here! You’re helping us tear down this time!”
Eddie sighed, “Duty calls.” He scribbled something on to a napkin, patting it against Steve’s chest and backing away, “I’ll be waiting for yours, sweetheart.”
And Steve was either drunk or insane because he actually laughed at that. Laughed again when he looked at the napkin and saw numbers almost unreadable, a winking face below them.
“Steve! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you—What’s that?” Dustin’s tone went from annoyed to prying as soon as he saw the napkin.
“None of your business.” He stuffed the napkin in his pocket, “Are you ready to go or what, kid, I’ve been waiting forever.” He poked Dustin’s shoulder until he got moving and then he poked it again when Dustin scowled at him.
In the car he was once again subjected to Dustin’s after show rant about how cool it was. The guitarist apparently broke two strings and flipped the crowd off with his bloody fingers—which they went wild for, which Dustin screeched along with them for. They played a new song, but it all sounded the same to Steve. That was as much as he heard, though, his mind kept wandering back to the man after the show. To the number in his pocket. He debated putting it to use, was the next day too soon? How long was too long until Eddie forgot about him? A guy like that probably had a mountain of napkins with numbers thrown at him every day. He decided to get over himself and call late the next day.
“Hi, this is Steve.” He suddenly felt very silly for calling but it was too late now.
“Steve, pretty boy from the show last night Steve?” And just like that he forgot why he hesitated to call.
“That would be me.” He cringed, “No, wait, that sounds so self centered.”
“Not self centered if it’s a compliment.” Eddie argued.
“If you say so.”
They talked, got 10 whole minutes of random conversations Steve never wanted to end before Eddie cursed.
“I’m sorry, I promised my uncle I’d help at the shop.” He muttered, “I’m gonna be late.”
“That’s fine, you should go help him.”
“I’ll call you later?” Eddie asked, and if Steve didn’t know any better he’d say it sounded hopeful.
“I’ll be here later.” He responded.
They called all the time after that, whenever they were both free. They even met up in person, it was just to the park because Eddie found out Steve had never fed ducks before, but it ended with another day scheduled to spend together and then another and then a month had passed and he could say they were officially dating. It was the best time Steve had had in a long time and he really didn’t want it to end. The realization came to him one night, after another day with Eddie, and it wasn’t as shocking as he thought it would be. It was a Friday night, Eddie was busy most Saturdays—something about going to shows with the guys—so a lot of their slow nights were Fridays. They were watching TV on the couch in Eddie’s trailer, which was quickly becoming Steve’s favorite place, when he found himself watching the way Eddie laughed and even jumped at whatever horror movie was on more than he was watching the movie itself.
“I love you.” He whispered.
Eddie’s head whipped around, eyes wide, movie forgotten, “I love you too!” And then Steve couldn’t be blamed for not watching the movie anymore when he was practically tackled to the couch, laughing the whole way down.
It was a month after that night that he was steeling himself outside of his front door.
“It’ll be fine.” He said to himself, “They’re going to love you.” He said to Eddie who was gripping his hand.
“It’ll be fine.” Eddie agreed and he almost sounded convinced.
Today was the one day that everyone could gather at Steve’s. The whole party had shown up, everyone he had folded into his makeshift family was in his living room waiting for him to get back with the new partner he told them he was introducing. Today was the day they decided to tell people about them.
Steve pushed the door open, taking a deep breath before leading Eddie to the living room. All of his friends sat scattered around the room. On the couch and floor and coffee table. He could do this.
“Uh. Hey.” He cleared his throat, “I’m back.” All eyes snapped to him, eager to know who this mystery person was.
Eddie tried for an awkward wave but their hands were still connected so they just shook between them.
The silence was getting unbearable until finally Robin shot up from the floor and tackled him in a hug, subsequently dragging Eddie along into it.
“I’m so happy for you, dingus.” She laughed as she pulled away, “Robin.” She stuck her hand out to Eddie who visibly relaxed, “Best friend, platonic soulmate, hurt him and I swear to god you’ll wake up with no kneecaps.”
“Eddie.” Eddie squeaked, shaking her hand hastily.
“Bobbin.” Steve only called her that when she was being particularly over the top because it annoyed her to no end and she knew this, “Tone it down, would you?”
The rest of the group chorused their hellos and introductions and a weight lifted off of Steve’s shoulders at the sight of all of his friends accepting the news without comment. Until he realized there was only one person who hadn’t spoken a word, standing in the middle of the room with a strange look on his face.
“Dustin?” Steve prompted, voice strained.
“Oh my God.” Dustin mumbles in disbelief.
“Dustin…” Steve shot him a warning glance, “If you’ve got a problem with it—”
But Dustin ignores him, he’s staring at Eddie in shock, “Oh my God!” He practically shouts, coming to life to jump and screech, “That’s—! You’re—! You’re Eddie Munson!”
Eddie grins, seemingly unfazed by this bizarre reaction to meeting your brother’s boyfriend, “I take it you’re a fan?”
“A fan of what?” Steve asks, pulling his hand out of Eddie’s to turn to him face to face.
At the same time, Dustin starts babbling hysterically, “A fan? Only the biggest CC fan in all of Hawkins! I have every song on vinyl, like three posters and—oh my god this is so embarrassing. Eddie Munson is in my house and I’m telling him I have his face on my wall.”
He keeps talking but it’s more to himself than anyone else in the room so Steve raises an eyebrow at Eddie, “What’s he talking about? Why are you on posters and why does he have them?”
Eddie, for the first time since Steve has known him, looks almost sheepish, “Oh…I guess I’m kind of, maybe the frontman of Corroded Coffin.” He might be blushing.
“You’re that nerd Dustin’s always going on about?!” Steve exclaims.