GiveThisRatCookies

They had finished a movie night at Steve’s with most of the party, but a lot of them dispersed the moment Eddie waved a baggy and wiggled his eyebrows, leaving Dustin, Mike, Jonathan, Eddie, and Steve sprawled out across Steve’s parents living room, smoking and dopily hoping the open French doors would be enough to keep the smell from lingering.

“Like anyone ever, or someone we know?” Mike asked, sputtering miserably when he took a little hit and huffing when Eddie laughed,

“Someone we know, someone who fought Vecna.” Dustin elaborated, 

“Probably Hopper…” Mike grumbled,

“No adults.” Dustin threw out,

“El then.”

“No superpowers!”

“Oh my God stop adding weird rules!” Mike whined, letting Jonathan snag the joint when he reached out silently, “I don’t know, probably Lucas, or Max.”

“Nancy,” Jonathan offered, “she could kick anyone’s ass, even without a gun…”

“Guns, plural,” Eddie piped up, “She is pretty scary.”

Steve was mostly just watching the conversation unfold, but eyes turned toward him and he realised he should probably answer too; he considered Eddie for a moment, but the idea of Eddie getting hurt for him made him pivot to the next scrappy guy he knew.

“Jon, would you fight for me?” Steve asked, he felt too noodly as he sat tucked under Eddie’s arm to lift his head and look, but he heard movement and assumed it was a nod, “thanks man.”

“Eddie?” Dustin prompted, Steve slid his gaze up to Eddie, watching him take a long drag of the joint, wondering when it had been passed up to them,

“Well it’s Steve, no question.” Eddie answered, laughing when this prompted a sudden, fraught discussion, “I’m just saying,” Eddie continued loudly, silencing the others, “I’d feel pretty safe with Stevie, he’s a big guy!”

And he was, bigger than he had been too, ever since he had struggled trying to carry Eddie–limp, bleeding, lifeless Eddie–out of The Upside Down, or The Bridge, or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it, Steve had been working out.

He needed to be stronger to fight, faster to run into the fray, sturdier to take the hits, he needed to be able to protect his friends in ways he had always failed before, to be able to carry them to safety when he failed again. He had been doing everything from ab crunches to Zercher squats, he went running, he had even managed to start using his pool again–which had been fucking terrifying for too many reasons (ShesDeadBarbsDead ItsGotMeOhChristImDrowning IMissMyMom)–but he wasn't sure Eddie even knew that.

Sure, they were… Well, they were… but Eddie slept in whilst Steve ran, and swam, and lugged weights in the basement, Eddie watched cartoons and ate cereal whilst Steve ran, and swam, and spiralled and spiralled, and–

“A big guy who's lost almost every fight he’s ever been in,” Steve blinked, remembering to breathe as he turned his attention to the voice, Wheeler, of course, his biggest hater. “I’d put actual money on Jonathan.” okay maybe his second biggest hater, except Jonathan didn't hate him, but he certainly didn't like him, even though he was here on Steve’s floor, eating Steve’s store-bought cookies, and smoking Steve’s weed–“bum me a twenty, Stevie, Rick finally whitelisted me again, couldn't push you for fifty, could I?”–so maybe Wheeler could remain number one.

“Mmmmno,” Jonathan let out with a yawn, “don't bring me into this.” maybe he hadn’t agreed when Steve asked, oh well,

“Why not? You kicked Harrington's ass!” Mike protested, “Everyone heard about it, even in Middle School.”

“Nah,” Eddie dismissed, flicking the hand that was resting on Steve’s shoulder, Steve turned his head, as soupy as he felt, and opened his mouth to point out that, yeah, actually, Jonathan had destroyed him in that fight, but Eddie started talking again and Steve got lost in the expressive shape of his lips. “No offense Byers–” the none taken was quick despite how faded Jonathan was, “–but you’re a life-or-deather, the straits would need to be dire to get a good swing out of you on my behalf, you need your engine revved, a severe-prodding-prerequisite if you will,”

Steve felt Eddie's hand gesturing by his left ear, watching as Eddie wove a trail of heady smoke through the air with the joint trapped between the scarred fingers of his other hand. “And I’m a riler, a cheeky chappy, a whimsy boy,” he trailed off and leant forward to pass Jonathan the joint, narrowing his eyes in confusion as he sat back, “what was I talking about?”

“Why you’d rather have me with you in a fight than Jonathan…” Steve offered, or he thought he offered, Eddie gave him a weird look that suggested whatever had fallen out of his mouth hadn't quite made it into a complete sentence.

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty,” Eddie teased, he didn't mean it, well he did, he’d called Steve pretty a thousand times, but the knocks to his intelligence were few and far between, hell there were days where Eddie went out of his way to tell Steve how smart he was, to prove it.

Eddie would wrestle with Steve's intellectual insecurities until Steve reluctantly admitted that maybe he wasn't a complete moron, then he’d start pushing for a more favourable turn of phrase, Eddie hadn’t managed it just yet, but Steve was one bug-eyed puppy dog look away from caving if he was honest.

“My point is," Eddie handily derailed Steve's train of thought, "I am annoying,” Steve let out a soft noise, a vague, incoherent protest, “no, no, I am, I take pride in that, it’s a skill I have honed over many moons,” he reassured,

“But Byers would take one look at me getting my comeuppance, then ask me why I’m like that as he scraped me up off the tarmac ten minutes later.” Steve didn't think that was true, despite Jonathan lazily agreeing as he hunched forward to pilfer a cookie from the plate on the coffee table.

“He’s not an asshole,” Steve huffed, rolling his neck to lean his head on Eddie’s shoulder, “he’s a good brother…” dogshit boyfriend though, which Steve felt particularly qualified to diagnose,

“And I am not a Byers, despite what Joyce seemed to think for a while there,” Eddie cut himself off with a barked laugh, like he’d found the punchline and forgotten to share it, “honorary, legally, or otherwise, so I’d rather have Stevie fighting my corner.”

“We’re talking fisticuffs at dawn, no nail studded baseball bat allowed,” Dustin reiterated the terms of his hypothetical, “like Steve, I love you man, but your track record is terrible.” his voice pitched up as he spoke, trailing into a giggle.

“He lost one fight,” Eddie protested, “and I’d argue it was an unfair one!”

“Unfair in that he wouldn’t let Tommy Hagan fight it for him?” Jonathan asked with a wizened clarity, reaching up over his head and offering the joint back to Eddie,

“Naw, I just think fighting a man stressed to his breaking point is very different to being on even footing,” Eddie went to take a quick drag and frowned, pursing his lips and peering crosseyed down his nose at the pinched out tip. “Cause you were dealing with Vecna’s bullshit then, right?” Steve dug through his pockets as Eddie spoke, withdrawing a lighter and sparking it with clumsy fingers, offering the flame for Eddie to relight the joint, losing track of the cheap plastic seconds after the flame was blown out.

Steve watched the burn crawling down the paper as Eddie filled his lungs with a deep inhale, flicking his gaze to bright, full lips as ringed fingers lowered the joint, resting on a denim clad thigh, he waited patiently for the plume of smoke to escape like dragon’s breath but it didn’t come.

Instead, fingers pressed gently at the corner of his jaw, the arm around him tightening as Eddie guided him close, Steve leant easily into the kiss, lips parted as Eddie exhaled smoke into his mouth, the hint of tongue that chased it was too brief before Eddie drew back.

Steve tilted his head back and sighed, watching smoke dissipate into the air of the living room, content to remain tucked under Eddie’s arm for as long as he could,

“That’s still so weird…” Mike gritted out, Steve reluctantly lifted his head to frown at Mike, he had hauled himself up off the floor and was leaning across the other end of the couch, hand outstretched to Eddie, fingers twitching in silent request, expression crumpled in judgy disgust.

“Dangerous words for a man with a gay best friend,” Eddie twitched the joint out of Mike’s reach, ignoring his pitchy protest, “Does your Byers know you think he’s weird?” Steve was curious about that too, he was so sure Mike had been supportive to Will through everything,

“Will doesn’t kiss Steve Harrington,” Mike pointed out with a frown, teetering slightly as he chased after Eddie’s weaving hand for the joint, “C’mon man,” he whined, “let me have it!”

“What’s wrong with kissing Steve Harrington?” Eddie asked, his scathing tone lost to curiosity as he trailed his fingers down Steve’s shoulder, under the sleeve of his t-shirt, nails hunting down moles with practiced ease.

Steve didn’t much want to hear Mike Wheeler of all people listing what was wrong with him, so he turned his head and nudged some of Eddie’s hair out of the way with his nose, tucking in against a web of scarring along his neck. He let out another sigh as he alternated between tracing his lips over impossibly smooth scarring and soft, textured skin, his gently drifting brain loving the difference, the feel of each texture against the bow of his lip, the way his lip caught easily on the scarring but barely dragged against unmarred skin.

Eddie’s fingers squeezed at his shoulder, whether they were meant to spur Steve on or not was irrelevant, Steve’s tongue pushed past his lips and traced along a thick knot of scarring, following a crease in the skin and tasting the faded bitterness of his own cologne, the light hint of salt, the undertone that was Eddie, human and alive and here.

“I, personally, quite like it,” Eddie chuckled, the vibration of his voice caressing Steve’s lips as he continued to mouth at Eddie’s neck, “He’s very good at kissing.”

“Gross,” Mike made a gagging noise, “he’s such a loser,” he whined, “Seriously Eddie, he was a jock and a bully, and he dated my sister,” the last one earned a protest from Jonathan, which dragged an ugly snort out of Steve, the noise half lost against Eddie’s skin, “Plus he sucks at fighting, you’re just picking him cause of that.” Mike gestured at the pair of them, scrunching his nose up in his distaste.

“Wheeler, I hate to break it to you buddy, but we’re all losers in this room,” Eddie pointed out, still withholding the joint from Mike’s outstretched hand, “as for the rest of it, High School is over, even for you, and your sister’s fucking scary,” he snickered when Mike lunged for the joint and almost fell onto the couch, “and as a final point, I’m not picking Steve because we’re together, I’m picking Steve cause I know I’m right, in spite of this alleged and thus far unverified landslide of losses you guys keep lauding over Stevie’s head, so far it’s just Jonathan.”

“He also lost against Billy.” Mike grunted, hissing a quiet ‘yes’ when Eddie relented and let him take the dwindling joint,

“Billy fought dirty,” Steve grumbled, pressing closer to Eddie’s neck, trying to ignore the way his ear was threatening to ring at the mere mention of Hargrove, “he smashed a plate on my head.”

“Of course he did, so that’s two unfair fights, which fisticuffs at dawn would not be,” Eddie announced, as if his decision about the fight with Jonathan was an irrefutable fact, Steve wasn’t convinced and he didn’t think anyone else was either. “Neither of which outweigh my decision, any others for me to dismiss?”

“He got beat up by the Russians too.” Mike stated as he threw himself down on the other couch and split the last of the joint with Dustin, his words were untrue though, Steve went to say as much but Dustin beat him to it,

“Technically, the Russians tortured him,” Steve nodded along with that, pausing for a brief moment as he tried to remember if they’d gone over that before, Eddie didn’t react so he must’ve known, “so I don’t think that counts.”

“Honestly this tally isn’t looking good for you guys, I’ve still got a winner over here,” Eddie announced, tilting his head to rub his chin against Steve’s hair affectionately, “I never understood the Russians though…” Eddie mumbled, and Steve kind of knew the answer to that one, so he drew back and looked up at him hazily,

“It’s Cyrrilic,” he explained, “it's a whole different alphabet, Poyezdka v Kitay zvuchit neplokho, yesli stupat' legko.” he dropped his voice as the words fell free unbidden, a stark memory of something ultimately useless, something he layered over trauma to soften the blow, according to Robin.

“What the fuck was that?” Eddie asked, gawking at him,

“The Indiana Flyer, I think…” Steve mumbled, remembering that little ditty and starting to hum as he tucked his face back into Eddie’s neck.

“O-kay, putting a pin in that one, but why were there Russians under Hawkins?”

“Isn't there a war?” Mike asked, “like aren't we kind of in a war with them right now? My dad keeps droning on about it.”

“Sure, but that doesn't explain why there were Russians under Hawkins.” Eddie repeated, “Was it about the Upside Down? How did they know about it? Why a mall?” he asked,

“How should I know?” Mike asked, looking to Dustin, who shrugged before attempting to blow a series of smoke rings, managing one before huffing the rest out in a chuckle and cursing.

“So the Russian torture doesn’t count as a fight, next?”

“Actually, I did fight a Russian,” Steve had finished humming the song from the mechanical horse, finally letting the words of the others permeate through the dull haze, “before the torture.”

“So that’s three losses?” Eddie asked,

“No, he actually won that one, that’s the only win.” Dustin explained, Steve nodded a little, happy to have more than one person in his corner, even if it was just for one fight.

“That is emphatically wrong,” Eddie scoffed, “This is King Steve you’re talking about, he didn’t get that title just by looking pretty,” he jostled Steve’s shoulder in an affectionate attempt to chivvy him up, “you could have,” he noted, turning a sly smile Steve’s way, “if you’d wanted, I think your reign would’ve been more palatable…” he shrugged, tucking his hand in his jacket and fishing out his final rolled joint, considering dangling it from his own lips before reconsidering and pressing it to Steve’s, “Hold this sweetheart,” he murmured, Steve mouthed it lightly and tilted his head back, staring blearily at the ceiling. “Where did you–” he grumbled, futzing around inside Steve’s pockets for the lighter.

“No way did Steve get in fights before the one with Jonathan, he’d have told me!” Dustin protested, “We’ve been ribbing him about his track record for years!”

“Clearly he just doesn’t want to laude his pugilistic prowess over you,” Eddie tutted, and Steve let out a soft yelp as a hand was thrust between his thighs, turning a confused look down at Eddie’s hand as he rummaged between the reluctant spread of his legs. “Aha! Found it!” Eddie declared, withdrawing with the plastic lighter in hand, “Sorry.” he added quietly, pressing a kiss to Steve’s forehead in an attempt to smooth the scowl out.

“Fuckin’ ask next time.” Steve huffed, pursing his lips as Eddie ignited the lighter, taking a drag to help light the fresh joint, blowing a stream of smoke into the air when Eddie took the joint from him.

“Anyway,” Eddie dismissed, “I know of at least four other fights he’s been in, and he won all of those, so your data is flawed, your pool is too small, and Steve Harrington is a good bet in a punch out.”

“Says who?” Mike asked,

“Says me,” Eddie stated blandly, rolling his eyes when Steve looked at him, Steve was confused, muddling through concussion damage and trauma as he tried to remember who he’d fought with in high school, “this kid!”

“How do you know it’s not just rumours? You said our examples weren’t fair fights, what about yours? What are the fights you know of?” Dustin pressed, and maybe Steve had gotten too high, or his tolerance was out of whack because he’d barely eaten, but it was finally starting to dawn on him what Eddie was talking about, and he felt sick.

He felt too slow in the thick haze of his mental state, a warning of “Eddie,” rolling off his tongue distantly, except it didn’t sound like him either, “Don’t.” that definitely didn’t sound like him, and it was coming from the floor to Eddie’s right, Jonathan?

“The ones with me mostly,” Eddie was grinning, Steve could hear it in his voice before the rush of his heartbeat started trying to cave his head in from the inside, “I pride myself on being scrappy, I’ve won a few minor scuffles, but jeeesus did he kick the everliving shit outta me.” he was laughing, he was laughing and Steve couldn’t breathe.

“I need some air…” he wasn’t even sure it came out right, his leg barely cooperating as he tugged his foot out from beneath his thigh, lurching up onto the unsettling static of pins and needles, staggering over Jonathan and towards the open door, barely hearing the words aimed his way.

His head was spinning as he tripped over the step and stumbled onto the patio, seeking out the furthest lounger–too close to the pool–and dropping onto the edge of it heavily, folding over and hanging his head between his spread knees, hands pushing through his hair.

The scent of chlorine cut through the haze of weed and sticky summer air, burning his lungs as he sucked down deep, gasping breaths that didn’t quite fill his lungs, that never felt like enough. Every exhale was pitchy and shook violently out of him, his chest heaving as saliva flooded his mouth in warning of something that, thankfully, never came, though he did let the spit fall in a brief, weak stream past his lips.

His heart was a rapid booming in his ears, disrupted by an uneven clicking that took him a little too long to realise was a cane hitting the concrete patio, he didn’t look up, watching the dark patch on the light stone spread as the clicking drew closer and white sneakers eked into his peripheral vision.

“Stevie?” Eddie’s voice was soft, cutting through the thunder in Steve’s head, like a soothing caress after a harsh slap, “Shit… man… hey.” Eddie tried again, hesitating before stepping closer, shuffling awkwardly before easing down onto the lounger beside him.

“Go away,” Steve mumbled, swallowing as he managed to scrub a fist across his mouth, keeping his head low and shoving his hand back into his hair miserably, “Please…”

“Steve…” Eddie’s tone shifted, a seriousness edged with the airiness of being high, “I… c’mon, look at me.” Steve heard and felt movement but stayed still, Eddie’s knees knocked against his thigh as he turned his body to face Steve’s.

“Just… shit… we’ve not…” Steve tried, choking out a weird noise, “We’ve never even… I’ve never even… for all that… for everything…” He chanced a glance at Eddie then, regretting it the moment he met those pretty wide eyes, even if they were glassy from the weed. He felt seen by Eddie, he always did, but right now it was the last thing he wanted, he tried to drop his gaze but Eddie moved, cupping his cheeks and coaxing him into sitting upright.

He followed the gentle guidance easily, guilt wracking him as he leant into the tender caress of Eddie’s fingers where they tucked under the hinge of his jaw, stroking back and forth across the hint of stubble after a long day.

“Hey…” Eddie’s voice held a smile and Steve blinked, not realising his eyes had slipped closed, “You know I forgive you, right?” he asked softly, Steve shook his head, no, “I do, I did, shit, maybe in that forest, maybe during recovery, maybe before then, when you graduated and I figured I’d never see you again so the slate was clean,” he mused, rambling a little as he adjusted the grip of one hand and feathered his fingers across Steve’s moles, chasing the touch with his thumb over the lashes of one eye. “I mean that…”

“I’m sorry…” Steve murmured, he’d need to say it again, sober, kiss it into Eddie’s skin, bruise it into the column of his throat if Eddie would let him, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry…”