#monster steve

Steve’s No Good, Terrible, Kinda Perfect Life After Graduation - 6th in a series

Moments after Steve managed to keep the kids alive in the tunnels, he was dosed by the Upside Down itself and given dangerous powers he barely had control over. What could have been the worst thing to happen to him turned out to be the best. He gained new friends, a new family, and control over his powers. All before he graduated. Then the summer of 1985 happened. The Russians happened. Steve's been different since those gates opened. He doesn't know why, but he's terrified something dark, a part of the lingering gift of the Upside Down, is growing inside him. He doesn't know what it means, and he's terrified to find out.

In this chapter, Eddie and Steve spend a private night at the trailer.

partone parttwo partthree partfour II partsix TW: Panic attacks, references to past/current child abuse, a little bit of body horror (as always), mentions of disordered eating. ---

Steve whines loud and distressed even with his Mama cooing into his hair, his sides hurt- and he wants Dad too. But Dad isn’t here- and it’s not safe. 

She’s running her fingers through his hair, he knows she’s trying to calm him into shifting down, making himself his shapeless form. He can’t he’s not supposed to be and, and everything hurts- and- 

“Shhh, come on Baby. It’s okay, just relax it’s okay. Mama’s right here.” She clicks, and Steve pressed his face harder against her stomach, tucking his legs up. Mama dragged her fingers through his hair, cooing and talking softly. 

The door cracked open, and another body joined them on the bed. Steve curled towards his Dad like he was the sun. Big hands pressed against his skin- “Hey Bubba, deep breaths.” And Steve listened, sucked in a sharp breath, hard enough to start coughing. If Steve had thought his sides had hurt before they burned now, he whined, the noise scraping across a throat that wasn’t used to making any kind of noise.  Mama crooned, and Dad just, Dad just rubbed circles against his skin, over the edges of his spine. Over the scarring over road burns on his back. Down each visible knot of his bones, the way his skin was pulled taunt over a frame that it wasn’t built for. Steve sobbed, his body wrung out, exhausted despite the hours of actual sleep he had gotten for the first time in probably years.

Everything hurt, and he just wanted it to stop. 

His ears were ringing, and his head hurt, Steve choked on a sob. A hand cupped the back of his head, curling through his hair, Dad- Steve whined, pressing into the touch, craving the soft affection, deprived and desperate. Please, please- he warbled, pressing his face further against his Mama’s stomach. 

They were talking, he could tell, not that he could hear them, or understand them even if he wanted to. Everything was supposed to be safe, and now it wasn’t- and the house was violated- and he just wanted everything to be normal. 

Steve didn’t want to be like this, didn’t want to live like this. Maybe, maybe if he was human it wouldn't hurt so much, the isolation, and lashing out. He let out a soft cry, his lungs rattling at the force of his distress. He felt like someone had shoved him against something too hot, too warm. 

Lips were pressed against his ear, and Steve wished, wished he could understand- before.

Fingers closed around the back of his neck, pressure. It was, scruffed. His mind went empty, his mouth opened soundlessly. His Mama was still running her hands through his hair, lengthening hair, curling down his neck a little more, over his face. His body falling limp under the gentle pressure of his Dad’s big hands on the back of his neck. Ears still ringing, but the comfort was pleasant and- and, and familiar.  Steve was a frantic child, anxious and nervous. He cried easily, which wasn't that un-normal for young shapeshifters, dependent on parents, and gathered pack, Cubs were normally shuffled away for years before anyone outside of a close knit group would ever see them.

It was harder for Steve when he was really small, carried a lot, scruffed when tears and panic couldn’t be quelled with words. If the body and mind were distressed enough, it would calm, a simple level of pressure around the back of his neck.

Steve cooed, the first comfort noise he’d let out in months. It soothed over the rough treatment of his throat, he cooed again, letting out a soft click, relaxing down against the bed. His fingers curling and uncurling.

His body relaxed for the first time in months, slipping shapeless and more monsterish. Steve hummed, shifting his face against the warmth of his parents and blinked sluggishly. 

Mind pleasantly quiet. It was just as easy to fall asleep as it had been last night, fuzzy around the edges, calm. Empty of anxiety. Sure Steve knows logically he was about to have several uncomfortable conversations with his parents, and the anxiety was going to come back. And Everything would be bad, because the Party- Pack, was going to be so fucking upset with him. Steve would be lucky if they even wanted anything to do with him ever again- 

But, his Dad gave his neck another gentle squeeze. 

It was fine right now, it was fine, and it would continue to be fine because his parents were here, and they’d make sure it was fine. ---

It had been three weeks since anyone had seen Steve. 

Robin had been inconsolable. Eddie wasn’t fairing much better. 

The Harrington’s where staying in town indefinitely apparently, their fancy as hell car seen around town. Eddie only really knows all of this because the Kids won’t stop bitching about how they won’t leave so they can go back to the house. No matter how many times someone tells them that they can’t go back. 

Shit, Eddie had to bodily remove Dustin from the Hopper-Byer’s house for being a dick to Hopper for no reason. Loud and angry, yelling about how they can’t just lose their spot, and why did they even leave, it was theirs. 

Eddie doesn’t think that any of the kids get that Hopper could have been murdered in that house. That they didn’t see just how not human the Harrington’s had appeared. Almost half feral and more than ready to kill for their baby.

He glances at the group of adults sitting around the small table in the kitchen. Their voices were low, but- Eddie makes eye contact with Wayne, who stares back at him for a long moment before jerking his head in the most come here motion Eddie’s seen his uncle make to this date. He’s quiet, moving in the room, at least of all the whole group in the living room goes back up in arms over something that isn’t an easy fix. 

Joyce’s mouth snaps shut the second she catches sight of him, and Eddie rolls his eyes a little, sinking down slightly to rest his arms over the back of his uncle's chair. “Yeah Pops?” Eddie stares at Hopper over the top of Wayne’s head. Wayne grunts, lifting his head slightly, just slightly- to look up at him. “How’s Harrington doin’?” There’s a tone in his voice, rough but also defiant. Hopper growls, the noise quiet, but enough that his displeasure at Wayne’s question is known. Eddie snorts softly. 

His Uncle was older than probably anyone in this town. Wayne wasn’t even a part of “The Pack” not really, and he was only here because Eddie asked him to be. Well, because Hopper wanted another opinion on what to do about the whole “Harrington Family, and House” Situation. And Murray had been very loud in his displeasure at their actions. 

The Human had yelled loud enough that the whole house had been set off. Ranting on about laws, and how they could literally face so many legal issues due to their actions against Steve. The Harrington’s had a lot of power. A lot. 

Hopper had yelled back, it ended with Murray shouting about how they didn’t even know what kind of Creature- Supernatural Steve even was. And depending on that, there would be fucking hell to pay.

They all wanted to go back into the house, the kids were just being shits about it.

Eddie twisted his head to the side, he unfocussed on the boy’s in the living room. For a moment, he was a little overwhelmed by the almost sudden silence, but latched on to what he remembered Steve’s heartbeat sounding like. It was a steady thump against his ears. 

A little fast, but given that the boy was almost always anxious- it was a good sound. Some of the tension in his shoulders he didn’t even realize was there soothed out. Eddie hadn’t given himself the chance, or even the thought of checking in on Steve. Anger burning under his skin, but now- 

He slumped forwards a bit more. “Sounds good. Better,” He ran his tongue over his teeth, pushing flat against the sharpness of his canines. Eddie works his jaw, thinking over, focusing a little more on the faint thump. “It’s better than I remember it being.” 

Which really doesn’t say anything, Eddie focused in when Steve was dying, and clearly he’s been dying this entire time. So yeah, Steve’s heart beat is incredibly strong compared to what it had been three weeks ago. “Why’d ya wanna know Pops?” Wayne for all his years, and for all he puts up with Eddie, always makes that face when Eddie mimics some of Wayne’s accent. 

Or maybe he made that face because he doesn’t want to share with the rest of the table. “I just remember the Elder Harrington Boys bein’ rather cruel pair in School. Worried about the boy s’all.” Eddie blinked at his Uncle but nodded, that made sense. Part of him curled guilt, hot, angry. 

Steve felt so outcasted, so desperate for affection- that he possibly put himself in danger by calling for his parents. Steve’s heart gives a soft thump against his ears, if he focuses enough he feels like he should be able to hear the younger boy’s laugh. Ghost over his ears, make them twitch. 

Eddie’s chest feels empty when he realizes he can’t even really remember what it sounded like. Can’t remember the last time he heard it. 

“Could mean nothing,” He shrugs, making eye contact with Hopper across the table. “I mean, he might be, fine. Or the steady heartbeat is because we aren’t stressing him out so badly he’s self isolating.” Eddie’s not bitter. Not really, he can’t be mad at Hop, this isn’t his fault, and it’s certainly not Eddie’s. Sure it’s a group collaborative effort that they apparently all banded together to accidentally try and kill Steve-

All the blame isn’t going to fall on one person, no matter what Dustin wants to think. Steve was dying. From what they have gathered, Steve’s of course some kind of Supernatural. What kind, they really don’t fucking know. He’s not a Witch, they are all far too human for that.

Something a little less human, from the sounds, to the reactions- the noise Steve made when his mother opened that door. The clicking- Steve had hidden himself away to die, like a cat does when they know it's time. And they were going to let him. Because they were too caught up in thinking Steve was human. Eddie was too angry to even think about the fact that Steve smelled so distinctly like death- and sickness. Too used to the scent clinging to him- to his skin, to his blood, to his heart. 

“I still don’t see why we can’t approach the Harrington’s.” Joyce’s voice is quiet, she’s human enough to get away with not knowing everything the rest of them do. Eddie’s kind of jealous of the Witches in their group, they aren’t as torn up about the loss of the House as the rest of them are. But he’s grinding his teeth flat every time they try and offer what they think is an easy and viable solution.

Hopper makes a grunt-like noise, “It’s not that easy Joy. The Harrington’s have every right to kill me if I even get close to the house.” Hopper takes a deep breath, “And I’d let him.” It’s there, that point. They know, they’ve failed Steve. And it seems only a handful of people really want to accept that fact. 

It took Hopper a little, he’s still rougher about it, gruff and very Chief-like about it. But Eddie thinks he gets that just Hopper realizing he’s failed Steve. 

However Eddie has to hear “Friends don’t tell Lies” one more fucking time about Steve not telling them he was supernatural. He was going to start biting people. Better yet! Maybe actually sacrifice something to a higher power. Just to the kids to shut the fuck up. Better, better yet! Eddie might just kill Mike, just because. 

They sit in silence for a long moment.

Eddie stares at his hands, curled over the back of his uncle's chair. At the adults trying to pick apart the situation. “What, what if we didn’t bother with the house right now. Sure, it would be nice to go back.” Not really, Eddie can almost still smell the ghost of the depression that coated the surface of everything the second you left the communal living areas. “But, I-” Everyone is just looking at him. “I’d rather be talking to Steve again, than go back to that house. It’s not like we, you, don’t have space.” The Byers-Hopper house was more than big enough, they didn’t need all the extra rooms of the Harrington house, they didn’t need the room, not really. Eddie taps his lips with his shortened fangs.

Murray, who was surprisingly silent, for all that Eddie knows about the human. “No one in this house is getting back into the Harrington’s Home.” His voice was dry, but strangely firm. Lacking its regular holier than thou’ tone, Eddie stared at him for a long moment. “Legally or otherwise. The Harrington brood are mean, and vicious. With or without the high paid lawyers. Digging I can do to figure out what kind of Monster I’m working with here, but there’s not enough dirt I can dig up for that Shitshow. Not if I want to get out of it with my life, and I am rather attached to my life.” 

Hopper snorts, and Joyce laughs. Both noises are a little bitter. But at this point in these people's lives, after what Eddie has seen, they are a little entitled to bitterness. His tongue is heavy, anger is coating his teeth he can’t stand it- and his gums itch. “Russians of various origins, but unknown Supernatural is the line?” Joyce’s tone was teasing, but also sharper. Eddie wouldn’t want to do anything like that either. They’d already tested the limits, especially Steve’s limits.

Murray scoffed, “Yes, because Russians are all distinctly the same, they want to kill me. Supernatural? With unknown origins, I didn’t sign up for that shit. Not outside crossing dimensions.” No one said anything for a moment, and Eddie shifted. Listening to the thump of Steve’s pulse a little more. It was a faint noise from the distance, and sure. Eddie would never be able to actually track it. Not like this. 

But it was nice to actually feel like he could still listen to it. Eddie doesn’t want to say how many nights he spent listening to it before going to bed. He works his jaw again, grinding his teeth together. Wayne shot him a look, and he paused. Right, he ducked his head, bangs falling in his face to hide behind. Eddie picked at the wood on the back of the chair, running his bitten down nails over the chipping gloss on the chair.

Wayne taps his leg, and Eddie draws his attention back up. “Buckley’s too-” His uncle works his jaw, Eddie can tell his teeth never touch. “Hysterical,” Eddie snorts, just slightly, the drawl of his voice, and the way Wayne shapes it around his teeth. “about it’all.” Eyes are on his skin, and it feels like they are trying to worm their ways into his skin. “But Eds, Steve might, might- letya around.” 

He gives a slow nod, Wayne’s not asking in a way back into the house, he’s telling Eddie this in a make sure Steve’s going to be okay when his parents leave, way. Not alone and dying without anyone knowing, way. Eddie wouldn’t even let any of these people in this house use that against him. Not against Steve, not in this way- never in any way actually. Imprinting is special. And Steve probably knows Eddie’s imprinted on him anyway. Supernatural and all, even if he’s never actually acted like he’s imprinted on Steve. 

A mistake, a mistake that Eddie desperately needs to rectify. To fix. Un-fuck up. “Imprinted.” Murray says, and Eddie hisses, low at the tone. The bald man tends to have a rather crashness, when it comes down to it. And while Eddie appreciates it, he doesn’t in this sense. “That could work.” Eddie gnashes his teeth, standing up, Wayne makes an aggressive, displeased noise. Clearly whatever Murray is implying wasn’t what his uncle was going to talk about.

Murray looks unphased, but Hopper’s tensed, and so has Joyce. The fucking Russian guy that hangs around hasn’t said a word, and he doesn’t now. He smells distinctly Wolvish too- but Eddie’s never paid him mind, he is now. Threat- threat. 

“That, could get you back in the house.” Eddie snarled, and so did Wayne. Tension was heavy, and the living room had gone silent. He could care fucking less, what the hell was wrong with this man. His teeth itched. “Like Hell-” Wayne’s tone was sharp, smoother-

“How fucking dare you.” Eddie would apologize for cutting his Uncle off later- “I know you get off on riling people up, and generally just being a fucking prick. But jacking off to this? Playing with it? I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth.” It’s not a threat, it's a promise. The older man pales, and Eddie grins, he knows he looks half feral, knows he looks like he can follow up on this request. And it’s, it’s so good. 

Maybe, maybe, the feeling of regret will show up later, mixed in with the heavy coat of guilt, and bitterness, and anger, that already coats his bones. But right now, now Eddie’s protecting something sacred. Do not touch. 

“Never, like hell. I would never do that. Using someone else. What is wrong with-” “Munson.” Hopper’s voice is sharp, low. Eddie curled his lips back further. “No ones going to ask anyone to do that.” Eddie watches the wolf cut his eyes over to Murray, who jerks his gaze away, embarrassment written in his features. Good. His teeth itch, and so does his skin- blood pooled on his tongue. Wayne was on his feet now, slower, and he tried not to think too hard about how his uncle positioned himself in front of him. 

Eddie snapped his jaw, teeth clicking together hard enough they rattled in his skull. Pain flaring across the roof of his mouth and over his jaw. Eddie hisses at Hopper, knows that the other probably thought about it, knows that they all probably have.

“You could get us back in the house?” Mike’s voice is high, loud- Eddie’s going to kill him. He snaps his head around to stare at the teenager, Hopper Growls lower- maybe he’s now realizing just what Murray set loose in his house. Wayne answers the noise sharply with his own snarl. Eddie’s old man is sharp, and protective without question.

“You could have done that this entire time, and you haven’t? What the fuck Eddie.” Baby Wheeler’s voice is accusing, angry- and Eddie isn’t dealing with this. 

Dustin is by his side, looking at him with almost the same expression, and all the kids are poised for a fight- And Eddie hates being like this, but he’s also not doing this- not like this. He spins on his heel, and pushes past the kids, shoving Mike a little harder than he needs to, as he moves past.

The doorknob is frigid under his touch, and he slams it behind him. Eddie climbs into his van and waits for Wayne to follow him out. Doesn’t remember the drive back to the Trailer, doesn’t remember any of it.

Eddie’s not sure if he wants to. All of this is just bad. IT's bad, and he's so fucking angry it's not even funny. How- how. Wayne doesn't say anything to him

part one part two part three II part five Tw: mentions of vomit, disordered eating, reference to child abuse (past and current sort of), panic attacks, some body horror, some self harm- not fully intentional.  --- Mama cooed at him too- soft words, gentle and careful. As if he was a time bomb, maybe he was. “I’m sorry you feel yucky, baby. We’ll fix it. We will be home as soon as we can. I’m sorry we’ve been gone, my darling boy didn’t deserve that.” Steve hiccups really soft, his throat catching the noise. She hummed softly, and Steve’s creature calmed a little more.

It craved basic contact, wanted it so desperately- wanted it from pack. Not the pack that had rejected him, it hates those in his house. All of them he loves, so much. Would die for- almost had died for. Don’t, don’t want him. Steve chews on his fingers, listening to his Mama try and soothe his terror over the phone. “You feel like doing something for me?”

“Yea’.” His voice catches in his throat, comes out chokes and rough. Steve whines softly at the sound, chewing harder on his fingers. Bites down to leave imprints, maybe bruises.

Mama’s all soft as she asks him to move the phone to their room- he nods, whining quietly at the idea of hanging up to do it. She soothes that with more practice than Steve ever thought she’d remember to have. “I want you to gather all the pillows in the house they haven’t touched, yours. The extras in our linen closet in the master bathroom- then I want you to get some soft snacks. Granola- the good kind. Even if you have to run to the store, baby. I want you to get some cheese sticks- or anything you feel like you can stomach. Then I want you to lock yourself in the bedroom until we come get you okay baby?”

Steve, swallows. Even listing down the tasks feels too big, too much. He sinks his teeth into his hands again. Blood bubbling on his lips, “Mama-“

“One thing at a time, can you go check if there’s anything in the pantry?” There’s no- not anything he wants, can eat. His hands jerk, the lines long enough for the walk. He stumbles his way into the room.

The pantry does have some of his Mama’s fancy granola, and there’s some flavorless, no added sugar yogurt in the fridge, pushed to the back. He whines at the sight, dropping the phone to peel the aluminum top off as fast as he can.

The clattering of plastic meeting tile startles him, he can still hear her talking on the line. And he almost drops the yogurt to seek out that comfort all over again. “Stephan? Stephan honey?”

He presses the phone between his shoulder And his head and scoops out the yogurt with his fingers, it’s gross, and a little slimy. If he wasn’t quite literally starving to death Steve knows he wouldn’t be doing it this way. “Hungry.”

Steve mumbles the words out around a mouthful of yogurt, and his fingers. Mama coos softly, “I know, but go slow or you’ll throw up baby.” He makes a face, he really doesn’t want to do that again.

“Don’t- I don’t wanna puke again.” She hums and tells him she knows, so he had to pace himself. Eat the yogurt, with a spoon darling, not your fingers that’s icky, she says it like that too- and he feels so small. We are creatures not animals. And then take the granola bag with him to their bedroom. Steve finishes the yogurt, painfully. Lack of food despite his best efforts have made his stomach protest even the smallest amounts of almost completely unprocessed foods.

The yogurt knots in his belly, but he’s not immediately nauseous. So it’s, it’s a win.

The master bedroom is locked, Steve had forgotten he’d locked the door to keep the pups- kids from getting into it. Least his parents get home and their bedding smells like intruders. The house does, but once he gets the key out of the false bottom drawer in the bookshelves bottom storage-

He has to count to 30 as he does it, Steve knows where it’s at. He goes from the phone as it doesn’t reach that far into the office- the phone on there is unhooked. Broken he thinks-

Steve’s back to listen to her softly talk him down from panicking again. Before he even reached 26, hands shaking and sides tugging and pulling. Pain curling over his body.

Unplugging the phone and plugging it back in requires an extra hour of calming down. Sobs that don’t taper off until Dad talks to him again. Shushes him and coos at him, Steve hiccupping into each breath.

By the time he has the bed with more blankets and pillows. Mama talked him through building half a nest, before he was in too much pain to continue the shuffling hunched over movement. It's been hours. Long enough that he’s talked through another trip to the kitchen- alone but fast. Another yogurt cup, as many bottles of water as he can carry.

Stomach painfully full, but not threatening to turn over. The door locked, his Mama talking to him softly, in a bed that smelled like his space. His blankets in the mix after a paranoid and painful trip upstairs-

The door locked.

He’s asleep by the time the sun comes up, the phone a soft dial tone in his ear after a soft- unheard goodbye baby, see you in a few hours- from both his parents.

Steve stays asleep content, and warm and safe. When the Byers brush through the house to start making late breakfast.

He misses his shared opening shift with Robin. ---

Eddie toes his boots off, watching the teens pass by him in a rush to get into the house. Stumbling over each other, shouting about something or another that Eddie’s ears aren’t picking up. The tune into the steady, soft, calm. Sound of Steve’s pulse somewhere in the house.

He tenses, because Steve was supposed to be at work, with Robin. Robin, who wanted to talk to Steve about the whole “Bonded” thing. Not that, well she’d told him that, Eddie thinks it’s incredibly dumb to drop that on someone who doesn’t understand the concept just in the middle of a work shift-

Maybe he bailed on her- but. Even then, that doesn’t, that doesn’t sound like Steve. Even with the way they’ve all started holding him at arm's length. Maybe farther. Eddie’s teeth itch.

Steve’s pulse was steady, no jumps, no panic. None of the regular heavy anxiety that plagued Steve’s heart beat regularly, soft and steady. Sleeping. Peacefully too, no high blood pressure- nothing.

Eddie moved through the house- he wasn’t hungry. Not that eating actual food would do much, not unless it was basically raw- So he passed by the kitchen and almost ran right into the chair posted up in the hall. It scraped against the floor, his knee aching for a moment at the connection. He jerked, grabbing the back of it, holding it tight in his grasp for a moment. Eddie stared down at it, it was a chair from the living room, his eyes went to the table that normally held the phone- Which, was, not there. Huh.

He took a deep breath, and fully inhaled a mouthful of distress and anxiety.

Eddie got a good hold on the scent, mind pulling away from hyper focusing on Steve’s heart beat. Could still hear it thumping softly, his brain always hardwired to find the other. Eddie sorted through the scents in the house- There was a huge scent of panic, loneliness, and depression. That wasn’t hanging over the space last night, but it was there now, thick and clotted the further Eddie moved into the back portion of the house.

Towards the rooms that stayed locked.

Covered in the living spaces by wolf, witch, dragon, gremlin- excited emotions, all the regular flares of happiness, and content.

Eddie stepped back as he passed one of the few locked doors in the house. Senses slammed full force with the smell of rejection and hurt. He bit at his tongue, his hands shaking at his sides. It was thick. Laying on heavy, dragging on his shoulders- it held a sharper note, god if the back of the house- a part they didn’t go in. Eddie desperately didn’t want to know what Steve’s bedroom smelled like.

Because all of this? Fuck it smelled like Steve.

Serves him right truly- a flare of anger bright in his belly. Going and telling Eddie to fuck off like that. But it also burned why did he smell- there was so shuffling, and Steve’s pulse jumped just slightly before settling again. The sounds of bedding being moved around.

Eddie spun on his heel and walked back to the front of the house. The scent would cling on to him- and it got several heads to jerk up and stare at him as soon as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen. Witches didn’t have a nose for scents but the rest of them did. Besides maybe Dustin.

“Eddie? You okay?” Max's voice is careful, easy in a way it’s normally not “why do you-“ he shakes his head, picking at his clothes. Rubbing the fabric between his fingers.

“Not mine, uh. Don’t know, Steve maybe? Shouldn’t be this strong for a human.” It’s not, it doesn’t make sense, it shouldn’t smell like this, shouldn’t be this thick. Steve doesn’t even smell like anything half the time, besides like blood, and sick. Erica made a noise at that, huffing slightly. But ultimately, for apparently Eddie’s sanity, she kept whatever comment she wanted to say to herself. The rest of the kids shrugged, Max looked at him for a little longer before nodding slowly to herself.

They lingered around his edges, pressing up against him for the rest of the morning. Brushing against him- at least those that could smell whatever was clinging to him.

The morning was, simple. Regular just as it normally is. Maybe that’s why they didn’t think about the phone having not gone off for Robin’s regular morning call, maybe that was why they completely missed the car pulling into the driveway. It wasn’t until the click of a car door- Eddie tensed head jerking towards the door at the sound. Hopper came out of the kitchen, a rough growl already in the air.

A car door slammed shut, Eddie stood from his spot on the couch. The hair on the back of his neck rising, his teeth itch. The kid’s scramble, hearing it now. “What the fuck-” Mike’s voice is high, and whatever else the kid had to say is cut off by the unlocked front door all but slamming into the wall- a woman who looked frighteningly similar to Steve stands on the doorway.

Her teeth are bared, she’s making a sharp noise. Clicking, inhuman noises, sharp angry noise- Hopper growls, and there’s shuffling in the kitchen as he and Joyce-  the only two adults there that morning, shuffle up and into the main room.

“Stephan?” The woman pays them zero attention, ignoring Hopper’s growl of warning. Just clicks against and moves to the back of the house. Towards Steve- “Stephan baby?” She coos it out softly, Eddie tracks her movement, watching her go. Confusion coating his stomach as panic curls off of his shoulders, not here for his, just invading- She lets out a soft series of clicks, noise people don’t make. Noise that sounds warped against his ears.

There’s a soft jump in Steve’s pulse, Eddie could almost hear the other wake up. There was shuffling, and Hopper growled heavily again. The noise rattling around in his skull, a few of the kids capable of making the noise mimicked it.

Eddie shuffled, pressing himself against the wall- enough to hear Steve and the woman having a soft conversation with a door.

“Get out of my house.” Eddie jerked, finding the new figure standing in the doorway, his eyes widening. Hopper’s growl cuts a little, Harrington’s- Steve’s parents. Holy shit.

Did Steve fucking call his Dad on them?

His Mom was still knocking on the door, she was quiet, voice soft. Eddie’s nerves were fried, his teeth itched. She clicked again, a pattern to the noise almost-

Hopper was still growling. No words had been exchanged, and the kids were scrambling over themselves to move out of the intruders line of sight. Dustin had a handful of Eddie’s jacket, the boy making a nervous chittering noise. Faceless monsters were one thing? Whatever the hell Harrington was, was, was another thing.

He shifted, Mr. Harrington cut an intimidating figure, he was shorter than Hopper and slimmer. But there was something different. “Get out of my house.”

Joyce was posted at Hopper’s elbow, Eddie was beginning to realize that this was about to be a shit show. “Supernatural rights state that we have a claim on the house, it’s our space.”

Harrington tilted his head to the side, and Eddie got his first real good look at the other. And unnatural focus to his eyes, unworldly. Dangerous, wrong, wrong, wrong- Something was- was, just, warped, different. Distinctly monsterish.

And Eddie’s a fucking vampire.

“Supernatural rights, say you are trespassing.” Hopper’s growl cuts. “Supernatural rights say I can kill you.” Down the hall, a lock clicks- and a door opens, and something, something so far from human lets out a high animalistic cry of distress. High, broken, wretched- and Eddie’s whole body tenses even more.

The predator in the doorway watching them. Threatening them, lets out a low noise- it rattles against his ears. Mrs. Harrington lets out a soft series of clicks and then the door shuts. Both answer the cry of distress. One with soothing motives and another with a promise to remove the thing causing distress.

Suddenly Eddie’s out of his depth, monsters, supernatural. Rules, Eddie isn’t-

It hits him. Steve’s not human, he’s not human- 

They’ve fucked up, absolutely- the whole house smells like aggression and desperation. They’ve rejected Steve- holy shit they rejected Steve. No wonder he’s so hostile- they’ve fucking rejected him. Removed him bodily from pack- coven, bound  gatherings in his own god damn house.

If they’ve bonded, a pair, a bonded pair in Robin’s case, and then imprinted in Eddie’s- holy shit they’ve basically been torturing Steve for the past several months- Oh fuck.

Eddie lets out a small hiss as Dustin opens his mouth. Not now- the younger boy jolts but snaps his mouth shut.

“Out, between the harsh rejection of my child, and then pushing into their space- without knowing what you do as of right now. Is more than enough to kill you over. But Stephan adores you all- Gods knows why. So just this one, you get a free pass.  Get the hell out of my house.” And it’s- a flip has been switched.

Eddie watches as Hopper steps back, ducks his head, averts his eyes. Eddie does the same, tugs the kids out of the line of sight, grabs the back of Nancy’s shirt, hisses at Mike’s opening mouth. This is not something trivial. This isn’t a bitch their way out of. This is politics, this isn’t a pissing contest, this is Harrington is something with far more power than Hopper has-

If they refuse to leave, Harrington has full rights to kill or attempt to kill Hopper- for allowing his pack in someone else’s space. For allowing them to accept and then shove Steve out of the group almost bodily. They never had permission to be here, not really. Not since Steve’s word to Eddie in the bathroom, and they don’t have permission to be here anymore either.

There’s so many rules, a minefield of them, so Eddie herds the kids out of the front door. Almost shoving Nancy through the door, he is twisting, holding his ground in the doorway, as Harrington stands, protecting the hallway to the back bedroom. Steve’s pulse is loud, frantic, inconsolable. Hopper pushes at him. Him and Joyce holding the door while Eddie scoops up his shoes.

He can’t be here, can’t stand to try and be in this space any longer. Even if he was allowed, not with Steve sobbing, loud against his eardrums between walls.

They’ve royally fucked this all up. --- :) That’s as much as I have written down right now, so, part 5 might be, arriving sometime, later. Fingers crossed I actually post something on Ao3 before I make another ficlit post, probably not.  Anyway!  (Is this possibly going to lead into Non-binary Steve? Maybe, let me have this okay. I will steal all my favorite characters genders at least ONCE.) 

Protective but shitty parents!! They are trying, is it their best? Hell no, but they’ll get there. Remember Gray Area. 

Also, don’t bash characters please. I’m not actively trying to be like EVERYONE SUCKS. because they don’t, they are just, big fuckin dumb. It happens sometimes. Miscommunication my beloved and behated. Also lots of world building, which I should totally expand on, (and explain truly)  and will, depending on how out of control the plot bunny gets. 

Part one Part two II Part Four TW: (kind of) Disordered eating, mentions of vomit, Body Horror (kind of again, I’m not 100% if this is creeping into Body horror yet or not, but it probably will the more parts I add, as it like goes-), Depression and just general. Bad?  --- Something changes after Steve snaps at Eddie in the bathroom.

They start arriving at Steve’s house before he gets home from Work. Robin has a key, and she just leaves the door unlocked, they pile in, and Steve normally looks off centered when he arrives to everyone just there. It makes his skin itch. What makes it worse is that they all but ignore his existence. Mike tells him off for being in the kitchen once, and his stomach rolled, the smell of whatever takeout had been brought over made him want to vomit. After whatever fit that Steve couldn’t even hear over the ringing in his ears, he stopped going into the kitchen to see if there was anything salvageable that he could actually eat. He just made a beeline for his room, locked the door and didn’t come back out. He wants his Mom. That was the thought in May, and the feeling didn’t go away, she’d know what to do. And- and he can’t call her, because then he’d have to go down stairs and be around everyone else- 

Wants his Mama, wants to talk to her, ask her to please, please, please, please come home now. As mean, and angry as his Dad is- he wants him to. He wants the familiarity of his own skin. Even if his parents hate it when he sheds the extra shape- maybe, maybe they’d let him. So he’s not so exhausted, so he can keep what he eats down- maybe his Dad won’t scream at him, if he knows that Steve feels like he’s dying. Ultimately he wants the familiar space to feel like his again, wants to hear his parents move around in the house. Steve wants space when it’s night, when it’s not so wrong to be a shapeless creature. When he can creep into his parents bedroom, Nineteen or not, and they let him tuck himself tiny, small- in between them. When his father curls around him, calm and easy, his bones pressed against his skin, a pile of Harrington’s, all the freckles, and short statures, all bones and no hiding. Steve desperately wants his parents. Wants his Dad to make everyone go away, wants him to make Steve feel better, in a way that he hadn’t craved since early Elementary school. Since Steve could understand that he was a horrible thing that the world hates.  He hides in his bedroom until he can tell everyone's left. Robin had come up earlier and told him bye through his door. He’d quietly told her he’d see her tomorrow at work, before dipping into the bathroom to re-bandage his stomach. Blood soaking the white wraps. Tore another set of stitches early that morning, waking violently from another round of nightmares. Steve creeps downstairs, swallows the pain it causes and drags a chair across the room. Doesn’t dare shed his shape lest someone decide that they want to come back and sleep in his house again. His fingers shook as he plugged in the phone number for the house in New York, if, if they weren’t there he’d try the one in Washington.

It rang, and then rang again. He didn’t care that it was almost 12 at night, he wanted his Mama. Steve swallowed around nothing, curling his legs up to his chest and biting his lip as his sides and back protested the stretch. It goes to voicemail, and he hangs up, and calls the New York number one more time. Just, Just in case. On the 5th ring- “Harrington Residence, New York, New York. This is Josefina Harrington, in what right mind are you calling at 11:30 at night-”

Steve lets out a small sob, doesn’t jam his fist into his mouth fast enough to muffle the sound, he curls over himself holding the phone tight in his grip. His Mom goes quiet, it’s just Steve’s harsh breathing- and he realizes he hasn’t spoken to them since March- and he desperately wants- “Stephan?” There's a small pause, “Stephan baby what's wrong.”

Oh, oh, it’s far enough into the night that they are bound, pack, skin eaters- He sobs a little more openly now, “Oh baby talk to me.” He shakes his head, makes his vision spin and he just cries. 

There’s shuffling over the line, and a quiet hushed conversation that Steve knows is probably with his Father, and he tucks in on himself a little more. He takes a few shaky breaths, “Mama?”

“I’m right here baby,” Her tone is soft, and Steve can almost see her, she only uses that voice when his father is curled around her, when she can smile with all her sharp teeth. Cup his cheek and not be terrified of their existence.

He swallows, opens his mouth and closes his mouth a few times. “When, when are you coming back?” The words feel sloppy coming out of his mouth, detached, and needy. Steve curls a little more in on himself. Holds the phone a little tighter, waits for her to relay what he said to his Dad. 

“We weren’t planning on coming back until later this summer, do you need us to come back now?” He hiccups, humming down the line, “What’s the matter honey, we’ll come home, but you have to tell us what’s wrong.” Steve shakes his head.

“Hurts, hurts, hurts and won’t get better-” There’s shifting on the phone again, talking that's muffled as his ears rattle around in his skull. “I- Mama it hurts and I-” “Stephan,” Dad, Dad. Steve shifts, sitting up some, rests his head on his knees. Tears drip over his cheeks, down his chin, over his lips. “What hurts?” There’s an urgency in his voice that Steve’s not used to, a softness. Maybe this is just a dream, maybe- maybe-

Steve breaths in a heavy gulp of air. “The- the Earthquake, and then, I, I mentioned I got attacked by dogs right? Real dogs, not-” He swallows, “They- they won’t get better. And they hurt, and I can’t eat. And there’s people in our house- my friends, and I’m not supposed to be- I’m supposed to be human. It’s just, just a house, but it’s my- yours- and they are here all the time, and I can’t- Dad please.” 

His father takes a sharp enough intake of breath that Steve can hear it, and he hiccups a little harder. “Okay, Stephan, we have two weeks here, I have to finish up some business, but as soon as it’s finished we’ll head to Hawkins.” And it’s, it’s warm hands, big, tucked against a chest- and he’s tiny. Steve hums, bobs his head. All he can think is- come home, come home. Pack-

“You think you can survive another two weeks?” No, no, No Steve can’t, he can’t- “Your Mother, or I will call every other day. It’ll go by without you even having to think about it. Do you understand me?” Steve hiccups again, his lungs felt too small, not- not enough.

He shakes his head viciously, his vision spins- “no, no, no- please- Dad-“ There’s a soft sigh, on the other end very gentle, and Steve sobs listlessly. 

“Okay Bubba. Okay, breathe bubba.” Dad’s voice is, is soft. Its never soft- it’s never, never gentle anymore. Not for Steve, so it’s bad, it’s all bad. He’s sick, he doesn’t want to be sick. It has to be bad bad for him to be this sick- Steve hiccups, the motion rattling through his body- presses against all of his bones. His sides hurt- “you have to breathe Stephan.” 

He craves the gentleness of his father’s voice. Steve sucks in a rough breath, his chest heaving. His back pulling- stomach rolling at the movement.

“I’ll call and get us plane tickets first thing in the morning- we’ll come home.” Steve keens, the sound loud and volatile in the empty house. He sobs louder- a reminder it’s just a cold conversation over the phone. There’s no bound, no pack. Just him and a house that didn’t smell like his parents. His father made a coo’ing noise that Steve hadn’t heard since he was small, real little. “Giving you back to your Mama while I go pack.” He says it so- so, Steve sniffs. Tucks his chin to his chest and swallows, tears sliding heavily down his cheeks. ---