#delayed flight

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles | Day 06: Delayed Flight | WC: 997 | Rated: G | Warnings: None | Tags: Established relationship; Married Steddie; Steddie as dads; Rockstar Eddie Munson; Hurt-comfort. | Notes: Part 1 (But can be read as a standalone too).

“How much longer ‘til Papa gets home?”

It’s the sixth time Hailey asks that in the span of an hour. Steve can’t even get mad at her because he’s feeling anxious too. Eddie should be home already, but he’s still stuck at the airport in New York.

The past five months have been tough for all of them. With Corroded Coffin back from their hiatus after four years, this is the first time Eddie’s spent more than a few days away from home.

Hailey’s been patient for the most part. At eight, she’s now old enough to understand her Papa’s work, but that doesn’t mean she misses him any less.

“I don’t know, baby,” Steve says, dropping a kiss on her hair as he snuggles her closer against his side on the couch, small arms circling Steve’s middle as Hailey rests her head on his shoulder. “He said his flight was delayed because of the storm. He’s probably not gonna make it here until tomorrow, I think.”

T. No CW.

The relentless hammering of rain on the terminal’s vast windows provided a dreary soundtrack to the collective groan of a hundred delayed passengers. Gate B17 had become a purgatory of slumped shoulders and dying phone batteries.

Steve, leaning against the gate desk in his crisp, pilot’s uniform, offered a sympathetic smile to his small, captive audience. "I promise, the second we get the all-clear from the tower, we're out of here."

Robin, his co-pilot, chimed in from where she was doodling on a napkin. "Yeah, unless the tower gets struck by lightning. Then we're all building a fort out of those awful airport chairs."

Their primary audience consisted of three unaccompanied minors they’d been informally babysitting. Dustin, a strategic mastermind at twelve, was currently trying to negotiate extra snacks from Steve’s wallet. Lucas and Mike were debating the aerodynamic viability of a paper airplane design.

"See, the wings are all wrong," Mike insisted, scowling.

"It's based on a dragon, not a 747, you philistine!" Lucas shot back.

The source of their current debate, a beautifully crafted paper black dragon, had, on its last flight, nose-dived directly into the head of the man trying to sleep in the adjacent row of chairs.

Eddie "The Freak" Munson, though these kids wouldn't know that, jolted awake with a snort. He shoved a curtain of messy, dark hair out of his face, his expression a thundercloud to rival the one outside. He was dressed in head-to-toe black, a worn leather jacket covered in patches for bands like Dio and Metallica, and he looked like he wanted to summon a demon to smite the entire airport.

"My apologies," Steve said, his voice a smooth, professional baritone that nonetheless carried a hint of amusement. He strode over, scooping up the paper dragon. "The aerodynamicists are still working out the kinks."

Eddie just grunted, pulling his hood up and resettling against his backpack.

But Steve, ever the people-person, didn't retreat. Over the next hour, as the kids’ debate shifted from paper airplanes to the merits of gelatinous cubes versus owlbears, Steve kept subtly pulling Eddie into the orbit of their conversation.

"See, Henderson here thinks a fireball spell is the answer to everything," Steve said, leaning against the chair opposite Eddie's. "But our sleepy neighbor looks like a man who appreciates the subtlety of a well-planned ambush. What do you think? Fireball or stealth?"

Eddie cracked one dark eye open, glaring. "I think silence is a critically underrated spell."

Steve just grinned, undeterred. A while later, as Robin explained the basics of cockpit instrumentation to a fascinated Lucas, Steve tried again. "She makes it sound complicated. It's mostly just buttons and levers. And a lot of talking to people in Houston who have even less idea what the weather's doing than we do."

Eddie, who had given up on sleep and was now scrolling grimly through his phone, didn't look up. "Fascinating."

“C’mon, you’ve got an opinion,” Steve pressed, gently kicking the toe of Eddie’s boot. “You’re clearly a creative type. All that black. The rings. You don’t think there’s any artistry in navigating a metal tube through a storm?”

Eddie finally lowered his phone, fixing Steve with a weary but slightly intrigued look. “The artistry, Captain, is in surviving the boredom beforehand. This feels like a failed Charisma check.”

“Or maybe you just haven’t rolled a natural twenty yet,” Steve countered with a wink.

It was only when Steve, after handing out the last of his secret stash of mini-pretzels to the kids, leaned against the chairs and said, "You know, for a guy trying so hard to be left alone, you've got a very compelling face. It makes a man want to keep talking to it," that something seemed to fully click.

Eddie slowly lowered his phone. He looked at Steve—really looked at him. He took in the perfectly styled hair, the confident posture, the charming, slightly bitchy smile that had been directed at him for the past two hours. The thundercloud on his face cleared, replaced by a dawning, wicked comprehension.

A slow, sly smile spread across his own features. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial rumble that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. "Is that so, Captain? Well, they say the cockpit's the most comfortable part of the plane. Maybe once we're finally in the air, you could... show me the controls."

Apparently I didn't have internet on the plane because I didn't download the airline app!..I was bored as hell for 6 hours!