Chapter Text
It’s been three weeks since Steve Harrington reached rock bottom. Three weeks since he graduated high school by the skin of his teeth, three weeks since his parents kicked him out of the house, three weeks of sleeping in the car they graciously allowed him to keep.
But it’s okay. It’s okay that his only friend is a kid who just graduated middle school who took off to some genius camp not long ago. It’s okay that the girl he loved didn’t love him back, and he had his second brush with an alternate dimension and second concussion in as many years. It’s okay that he gets migraines sometimes, and that he’s been so hungry recently his stomach has stopped growling.
It’s okay, because he got himself a job the day after he got kicked out (that wasn’t the public pool where Billy fucking Hargrove stole his fucking lifeguard job), and now he’s got his first paycheck and is finally moving out of his car and into the Forest Hills trailer park. He’s got a duffle bag in one hand, keys in the other, and everything is going to be fucking fine.
-
When Eddie Munson came home with his final grades last month, clutching the sheet of paper that condemned him to repeat senior year for not a second but a third time, Wayne gave him one look and left him alone. There was no way to conceal the stink of shame and anger practically steaming off him, but there was nothing to talk about, either. And Eddie appreciated being able to stew in his room, pissed off at himself, at his shitty teachers, at the whole fucking world, without having to explain himself to the one person he really cared about disappointing.
After a day or two of sulking, though, he was too bored to be upset anymore. It sucked, yeah, and come September his life would return to being categorically awful on a daily basis, but for now he had the summer. Freedom from the social hierarchies of high school for the next several months, and he planned to take full advantage of it.
Three weeks into summer break and he's got half a campaign planned already for Hellfire, which he can already tell is going to kick ass. It's a hot day today, too hot to stay in the trailer, so he's out on the porch practicing the lead guitar part for Killing is My Business and wishing he had a cold beer.
He looks up with suspicion when a BMW rolls up, then does a double take because what the fuck is Steve Harrington's bimmer doing in Forest Hills Trailer Park?
Attention fully diverted, Eddie stops playing and watches the car park in front of Jed Thompson's old trailer. His jaw nearly drops to the floor when King Steve himself hops out with a duffle bag and unlocks the trailer.
Eddie's always been too curious for his own damn good, he knows that. He can't help himself. So, even though he knows it's a bad idea, he slips his guitar strap off and wanders over to awkwardly hover around, standing a few careful yards away from Harrington's car.
-
Steve drops the duffle inside, sweeping his gaze around. It's clean, for the most part. Some stains on the carpet but nothing too awful. More than that, though, it's empty. Steve's got this duffle bag, another in the trunk, his studded bat, and the clothes on his back. He always hated haunting his big empty house, but looking around and giving it some thought, he might just be haunting this place, too.
But Steve's never been good at thinking, so he heaves a sigh and turns around, heading back to his car only to stop a few feet away when he notices someone staring at him. His brows furrow. The guy looks familiar, and after sifting through his brain he recalls a name.
"You need something, Munson?" he asks.
Eddie Munson, the Freak, the weirdo alpha who stands on lunch tables but flees from confrontation. Steve thinks he sells weed, or at least he did when Steve was still friends with Tommy. Or was that a different guy? Fuck, he can't remember. His entire sophomore year is one big blur; the meds the doctor put him on really fucked with him.
-
Harrington comes back out without his bag, and Eddie swears the guy looks exhausted for a moment. Then he notices Eddie and his spine straightens up, and he's the same broad-shouldered, athletic, obnoxiously perfect-looking alpha Eddie remembers from high school.
Eddie tilts his head and purses his lips. "Just trying to figure out why King Steve has the keys to my neighbor's old place, that's all. Pretty unusual that we're being blessed by a visit from royalty."
-
Steve rolls his eyes, continuing to his car. He has no doubt that word has already spread around town about his situation. Things like that don't stay secret for long in Hawkins, and it would've only taken one of his former classmates to see him sleeping in his car for anyone with half a braincell to figure out. Munson's just here to knock King Steve down a peg.
"Why do you think, Munson?" he says, popping open the trunk. He grabs his bag and leaves the bat under the blanket he put in there for this exact reason. He'll grab it after dark, when no one's around to see.
-
Eddie raises his eyebrows, stepping back in automatic response to Harrington's prickly demeanor. "You got me, man. I have absolutely no clue."
He rubs his palms on his jeans, averting his eyes as Harrington bends over to reach into the trunk. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were moving in, but that would be insane. So what is it really? You got some kinda post-senior prank planned that involves wrecking a trailer?"
-
"Yeah, man, you got me," Steve says sarcastically, throwing Munson's words back at him. God, what a dick. "Now if you don't mind I have a trailer to wreck."
He doesn't bother looking at Munson as he walks back to the trailer, though he feels the man's eyes on him the whole time. He really should've expected something like this, honestly. The nerds and weirdos like to act like jocks are the only ones with a mean streak, then go and act like this.
He shuts the door a little harder than intended, then sighs as he looks around once more.
-
Eddie watches Harrington walk away, feeling more confused and suspicious than ever, and trying in vain not to stare at his ass before the door slams shut.
He waits another few moments, but it seems like Harrington isn't coming back out anytime soon. Not that Eddie would know what to say to him if he did. Nor does he understand why the fuck he feels the need to talk to him in the first place. He just feels vaguely suspicious, and maybe if he knows more about what's going on he can prevent— something, he doesn't even know what. He just has a bad feeling about all of this.
When he gives up and goes back to his trailer, he's not in the mood to play guitar anymore. Instead, he ducks back inside his stiflingly hot trailer and lights up a joint, laying flat on his bed as he lets the smoke fill his head with an easy buzz. Maybe tomorrow he'll wake up and this will all have been a weird dream, and he'll never have to see Steve Harrington again.
Unfortunately for Eddie, when he wakes up the next morning and looks out his window, the bimmer is still there. Harrington's lights are on inside the trailer, and Eddie wonders if he stayed the night in there. He couldn't have slept on the floor, could he? He definitely didn't see Harrington bring any furniture inside yesterday, just a couple of bags.
Jesus, why is he even bothering to think about this so much anyway? He shakes himself and goes to make coffee, resolving to put Harrington out of his mind.
He manages it reasonably well until about two days later, when he hears a chorus of kids' voices laughing and chattering outside. When he goes to look, Harrington's standing out front with his hands on his hips, a gaggle of preteens surrounding him talking a mile a minute, all at the same time. A pile of discarded bikes have been tossed aside onto the ground beside them. Harrington sighs with clear annoyance, but he's smiling too as he says something Eddie can't hear.
The kids shove their way into the trailer all at once, and Harrington follows them inside and shuts the door, leaving Eddie to blink and rub his eyes. He vaguely wonders if the shit he smoked last night was laced or something. Wouldn't be the first time Rick's given him something a little iffy, but he can't complain about the prices, so.
After ten minutes or so, however, the group of kids rematerialize outside the trailer and Harrington herds them all into his car. They pull out of the trailer park, leaving a strange empty silence behind.
Eddie decides to write this off as a weird once-in-a-lifetime inexplicable event, like a UFO sighting. And that's that, until three days later, when it happens again.
This time the kids spend a longer time out in front of Harrington's trailer. One of them pulls out a basketball and starts tossing it around with Harrington for a while, which makes Eddie roll his eyes. Of course Harrington would surround himself with a flock of little mini-jocks. Except, he realizes belatedly, none of the other kids are joining in. One of them, a red-haired girl, is messing around on a skateboard, circling around the group, but the others are just sitting around talking. After a while, they all pile into the car again and take off, leaving Eddie scratching his head yet again.
What is Harrington playing at? How does he even know these random children? This whole thing is starting to give Eddie a headache, honestly.
The last straw comes the following week when Eddie's heading out to Gareth's for band practice.
He steps outside to see Steve Harrington leaving his own trailer, clearly in a hurry and wearing, of all fucking things, a sailor costume, complete with a tight little pair of blue shorts and a fucking neckerchief.
Eddie stares.
Harrington stumbles as he catches Eddie's eye, rushing to get in his car, and Eddie swears the man's cheeks flush pink before he dives into the driver's seat and peels out.
So that's it. Unless Eddie has completely lost his mind, which is entirely possible, he's fairly certain that something strange is going on with Steve Harrington, and he intends to find out what.
-
It takes Steve all of five minutes to unpack. His clothes are folded and piled neatly in the corner of the single bedroom. His hair products go in the bathroom, and that’s it.
“This is just sad,” is the first thing Max says once the kids inevitably show up and barge in. Steve is bullied into taking them to the mall even though it’s his day off. Shitheads.
They come over almost every day the next week, though not usually all at once. They bring over a few things each time. Some blankets, cups and plates pilfered from their cupboards, a pillow, some old nerd toys. Will quietly informs him about a table he saw on the side of the road and Steve takes his bimmer to pick it up as soon as he’s able.
He gets his lights turned on, he stocks the pantry with boxed mac’n’cheese and ramen and off-brand cereal. He eats a shit ton of bananas at work because they’re free and it’s the electric bill or fresh food, and like hell he’s gonna let the lights go out while in fucking Hawkins.
He doesn’t think about Munson. Sometimes he’ll feel eyes on him, but he could just be being paranoid. He doesn’t even encounter Munson again until at least a week after that first time, when Steve is running too late to even think about styling his hair and throwing on a decent looking outfit. He has to shove himself into his work uniform and run outside, where none other than Eddie fucking Munson is leaving his own trailer.
Munson looks him up and down in disbelief, eyes lingering on the stupid dumbass shorts they make him wear, and Steve has never in his life been more grateful to his shitty parents, because Munson is an alpha and he would be wearing an entirely different expression if he knew that Steve isn’t.
And he will, soon. Everyone will soon. Steve doesn’t have access to his meds, and he certainly can’t afford the fancy scent blockers anymore.
But that’s a problem for future Steve. Current Steve scurries off to his minimum wage job, more determined than ever to avoid his neighbor.
-
As soon as Harrington's car is out of sight, Eddie sneaks over to his trailer and cranes his neck to peer through the windows. All the lights are left on for some fucking reason—probably because Harrington has never had to worry about an electric bill in his life—and Eddie was right, there's no bed in there. Just a few blankets laid neatly on the floor with a pillow. A single table and some items strewn about, but the place is nearly empty.
But Harrington's definitely been sleeping here, Eddie's sure of it. The only question is why?
Maybe this is some weird rich person thing? Like being a tourist in a third world country to gawk at all those less-fortunate heathens. It kind of makes sense, Eddie thinks bitterly. His lifestyle must seem exotic to someone born with a silver spoon sticking up his ass.
It doesn't explain the sailor outfit, though.
Eddie heads off to Gareth's before he can get caught snooping, but he's distracted and on edge the whole time. By the time he gets home, he's got a plan and it starts tomorrow.
He's noticed Harrington leaving the house around the same time a few days in a row, so the next day he's ready when Harrington climbs in his BMW and leaves.
Eddie scrambles into his van and follows him.
Fifteen minutes later, he's parking a few rows down from Harrington at the new Starcourt Mall, a place which until now he's intentionally avoided like the plague. Harrington makes his way inside and Eddie follows after him, feeling for once like he really is the creep everyone says he is. Maybe this is a bad idea, but his curiosity won't let him leave.
He tails Harrington through the food court, all the way to a shop called Scoops Ahoy, an ice cream chain Eddie's heard of but never eaten at before. He lingers outside, peeking through the entrance and trying to look like he's not stalking the absolute shit out of someone. Harrington disappears into the back and Eddie scrunches up his face. Does he work here?
Every expectation he's ever had about Steve Harrington is blown through the roof when, a few minutes later, Harrington comes out behind the counter in the same sailor outfit Eddie saw yesterday and flips the sign to "open" before turning around and starting to fiddle with something on the counter behind him.
A grin stretches across Eddie's whole face. This is better than Metallica dropping a new album on his birthday. He walks in and leans in over the counter, slapping his hand down on the bell and snickering at the way Harrington flinches before he turns around.
-
Steve wakes up with a headache. If he didn't need the money so bad he'd call in to work and stay huddled under his blanket, shielded from the bright lights he refuses to turn off. But he does, so he doesn't, and it's with a great sigh that he gets up.
He's opening today, and his coworker Robin won't be there for another few hours, arriving a bit before the lunch rush. She hates him for a reason Steve doesn't know, but he thinks he's been wearing her down over the past month. At least, the way she says “dingus” sounds less poisonous now.
He changes into his uniform at the mall, as usual, because it's fucking embarrassing. He doesn't hear the first customer of the day enter, and the loud bell makes his head throb. He turns around, fake smile plastered to his face, and it only falters when he sees who is standing there.
"Hi, what can I—Munson? What are you doing here?"
Munson is wearing a shit eating grin, dark eyes alight with amusement as he leans over the counter, and Steve steels himself for whatever torment awaits.
-
The way Harrington's face falls when he sees Eddie is fucking priceless. Eddie lets his eyes sweep over Harrington from head to—well, to his waist, everything else is hidden behind the counter.
"You know," he says slowly, savoring the words, "when I saw you in this cute little get-up yesterday, I thought maybe a costume party? Either that, or the Navy made some big changes to their dress code regulation for pants length. But this," he laughs, "this is not what I expected. The King, working a retail job like one of us peasants. What the hell happened to you, Harrington?"
-
Steve takes a deep breath through his nose and feels his headache start to sharpen behind his eye, the one that goes blurry sometimes. He hasn't even had a chance to eat his banana yet.
"Did I do something to you?" Steve asks, tone clipped and bitchy in a way it hasn't been in awhile. He shouldn't talk to Munson like this, not at his job. He literally cannot afford to be fired.
It's a genuine question, though. There are large swaths of high school he can't remember, and not all of that is because of concussions. He doesn't think he's ever interacted one on one with Munson before, but he can't be sure.
-
Harrington snaps back at him and Eddie smiles humorlessly. Yep, there's the aggressive dickhead he recognizes from high school.
"You don't remember?" He watches Harrington's face, which looks frustratingly blank. "Junior year—my junior, your sophomore I guess. Gym class, Tommy Hagan flushing my head down the toilet on a regular basis, you standing around smirking and laughing? Not ringing any bells? Or, uh," he snaps his fingers rapidly, "what about Melissa's party last year when Jason Carver tried to strangle me for dealing to his sister? I remember you were there, man, you just fucking walked away. Not that I expected anything different, but I think I'm entitled to a little enjoyment out of seeing his royal highness knocked down to the level of a mortal, for once."
-
Steve's brows furrow. He doesn't remember, is the thing. He knows the meds made him aggressive and angry that year, when they didn't have him walking around in a fugue state. He doesn't remember that party, either, but it sounds like something Carver would do.
"I'm sorry," Steve says.
Munson is a dick, but Steve was—is—a bigger one. And he's been trying to change that, he has. So if he has to swallow his pride and apologize to this asshole alpha, so be it.
-
Eddie blinks. That was decidedly not the response he was expecting.
After an awkward beat of silence, he whips around dramatically, scanning the environment with his hand shielding his eyes from an imaginary sun. "This is a prank, right? King Steve apologizing to little old me?" He drops his hand and slouches against the counter.
He should just get the fuck out of here before Harrington comes to his senses and remembers to beat the crap out of him, but Eddie's never been one to make smart decisions.
"You know what would be even nicer than an apology, actually? Free ice cream. What do you say, big boy?" He waggles his eyebrows.
-
Steve purses his lips. His empty stomach is cramping and his head is pounding, and Munson is smiling crookedly at him, bangs falling in his dark eyes.
It would only be free for Munson, is the thing. It will come out of Steve's paycheck.
"If I say yes will you let me get back to work?" he asks. It comes out more tired than he intends it to.
-
Eddie grins widely. "You got yourself a deal, Harrington. I'll take a scoop of strawberry with chocolate sprinkles."
He's tempted to ask for the USS Butterscotch Sundae, but that seems like too much of a dick move, even though he's sure Harrington can afford it, with how rich his parents are.
-
"One scoop of strawberry, coming right up," Steve says, relieved. He slips back into customer service mode, even managing to give Munson a brittle smile as he hands over the ice cream. He's so ready for this interaction to be over and to never have to speak to Munson again.
-
Eddie watches Harrington scoop the cone, making sure he doesn't spit in it or poison it or anything. His eyes trace over Harrington's face as he hands it over. Fake as his smile clearly is, he's still unfairly gorgeous.
He takes the cone and licks a long strip up the side of the scoop, smacking his lips theatrically. "Mmm, free is my favorite flavor. Thanks, Stevie."
Someone else enters the store then, so Eddie takes his leave with a half-bow and a wave, sauntering away with a smile and feeling lighter than he has since Harrington first showed up at the trailer.
-
Steve absolutely doesn't feel any certain way about Munson licking the ice cream while staring at him, or about him calling him Stevie, of all things.
He watches Munson go with a frown, his dumb curls bouncing as he walks away, and the next customer clears their throat. Steve only just manages not to sigh, seeing more people coming in. He thinks longingly of his banana and starts counting down the minutes to his break.
It's been over a month without his meds now, and Steve can feel the changes starting. He's cranky and achy, and he can tell his scent is starting to change. The kids don't seem to notice, but some of the alphas who come in for ice cream will frown and scent the air, noses twitching. Steve keeps his customer service smile firmly in place and pretends not to notice.
The first time, when his parents managed to stall his presentation with emergency injections until they got to a hospital, the doctor warned them that it would be worse the more time passed. That was five years and countless experimental drugs ago, so Steve is pretty sure he's fucked.
If he had the money, he'd go to a hospital for this so they could monitor him. It's not like he has to worry about his parents finding out anymore. But he doesn't have the money so it doesn't matter.
It physically pains him, but he puts in for an entire week off of work as he feels it approaching. Most presentations only take a few days, tops, but Steve is a special case.
He buys and installs an extra lock for his door. He reluctantly accepts a second pillow from Will, who seems to understand how much he's struggling the most. He tries to build a nest, but he only has three blankets, two pillows, and clothes that smell like himself. It isn't enough and, ridiculously, he finds himself sniffling and blinking back tears because of it.
God, this is embarrassing. Why couldn't he have been a beta? This fucking sucks.
-
As the days pass, Eddie falls into a tentative acceptance of the weird reality that Steve Harrington is kind of his neighbor now. Stranger things have happened, he's sure. It's definitely weird that the guy gets his kicks slumming it across town from his actual ginormous house, but Eddie's not in a place to really judge, right? He's got his own highly questionable and dubiously legal activities to worry about, so as long as Harrington stays out of his way, Eddie's happy to leave him alone.
He still finds himself keeping an eye on the trailer, checking for Harrington's car on his way to and from band practice during the day, and at night when he sometimes goes to deal in the parking lot of a nearby bar. Harrington leaves at the same time nearly every day for work, presumably. And when he's not working, he's either out somewhere or the gaggle of children are over at his place all day. He seems like a boring, predictable guy, Eddie thinks, which absolutely matches up with who he was in high school.
All of this means that Eddie takes note when Harrington's car stays in its spot, unmoving, for two days straight.
The lights are on in his trailer, but Eddie hasn't seen him coming or going. By the end of the second day, he's got a vague worry itching at the back of his mind. Harrington seemingly lives there alone, right? What if something happened to him?
There's no reason Eddie should give a shit. But for some reason he can't get the worry out of his head, so that evening he finally shoves his boots on with a sigh and stomps over to knock on Harrington's door. He'll just make sure the guy is alive and then leave him alone forever.
He raps several times on the trailer door and calls out, "Yoo-hoo, Harrington, you alive in there?”
-
Steve tells the kids not to come over. They don’t take this well, demanding to know why. He brushes them off, but they refuse to agree until he promises to check in via walkie every morning and every night. He can’t say no to that, not with the clear frisson of anxiety that flickers through the little group.
So he hunkers down. He fills up every cup he owns with water from the sink, because he can’t afford the bottles. He grabs a family sized bag of off-brand cereal and leaves it by his blankets. He tries to make and re-make and re-make again a worthwhile nest, but he’s fighting a losing battle. Eventually he gives up, too sore and lonely to keep trying.
The kids babble at him over the walkie, telling him all about their days, arguing with each other and needling Steve about ditching them. He kind of loves those little assholes.
Most of the time, Steve sleeps. This is rare enough that he embraces it eagerly, trying to ignore his body the rest of the time when he’s awake, because he feels fucking weird in the worst way.
He’s sweaty but feels cold, except for when he’s so hot it feels like he’s dying. His chest is sore and his insides are cramping like a motherfucker, like when he’s hungry but lower than that. His joints ache in a way that radiates through his body.
When he’s woken by a pounding at his door he groans, automatically reaching for the walkie to tell the kids to fuck off. But then he hears Munson’s voice and groans louder.
The pounding doesn’t stop, because of fucking course it doesn’t. Steve pushes himself to his feet, swaying, and tenderly walks to the door. He leans his forehead against it and raises his voice to say, “What do you want, Munson?”
-
It takes a concerning amount of time for Harrington to respond, and when he finally does, he sounds weird. Sick, maybe.
"Hey, man, I just, uh," Eddie pauses, not sure how to explain himself. "Wanted to make sure you didn't die in there or anything." He winces. He absolutely sounds like a paranoid freak. "You okay?"
-
Steve laughs, rough and hoarse from disuse and not enough water.
“I’m just peachy,” he lies. “Sorry to disappoint.”
-
Eddie grimaces because okay, he probably deserves that. He didn't come over here to be a dick, for once, but he's been giving Harrington a hard enough time lately. It shouldn't sting to know that Harrington thinks he genuinely wants him to suffer.
He's not at all convinced by Harrington's reassurances, either. His voice sounds weak and hoarse, and if Eddie wasn't already suspicious that he's sick, he's definitely there now.
"You don't sound so great," he says, not shouting but talking loudly through the closed door. "If you're getting sick, shouldn't you be back at home right now?"
-
Steve huffs, confused.
“What? I am home,” he says.
-
Eddie rolls his eyes. "I mean your parents' house, dumbass. The Harrington house? I mean, I'm no doctor, but you'll probably recover a lot quicker if you're resting up in an actual bed, so. What is it, are you too sick to drive? You need a ride over there?"
What the fuck is he doing. What is he doing. He's so glad Gareth isn't here right now to judge him for offering Steve goddamn Harrington a ride.
-
Steve frowns. His brain isn’t working very well right now. Why would Munson be offering to drive him to his parents house?
“Not allowed there anymore,” Steve says. His throat is hurting, but the glasses of water are so far away from the door. “Don’t you know this?”
Everyone knows this. Steve hasn’t bothered keeping it secret, and he doubts his parents have, either. They’re probably being congratulated by their stupid friends for finally cutting off their disappointment of a son.
-
"You... what?" Eddie's heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. "What, like they kicked you out? When the hell did that happen??"
-
Steve doesn’t know what’s happening here. Is Munson mocking him? He doesn’t sound like it, doesn’t have that certain lilt to his voice that makes humiliation prick at Steve’s insides, but. Steve’s been living here for like two weeks now.
“Graduation?” he answers, and it sounds like a question. Frustrated at himself, he demands, “What do you even care, Munson?”
-
It all sinks in, and—
Shit.
Shit, fucking fuck.
Eddie Munson is the worst, he is an actual dickbag asshole of the highest proportions.
Because Steve Harrington actually, for real, lives in this trailer. Without a bed, or furniture, or his family.
Steve Harrington works at an ice cream joint because he needs to make money, like a regular person.
"I thought," he says weakly. "Like, you were doing some weird teen rebellion thing, or, I don't even fucking know. Seeing how the other half lives, just for fun. It doesn't matter, fuck, I was totally off base and I'm an asshole and, just, I'm sorry, Harrington."
He leans his forehead against the door, taking a few deep breaths. "Can you open the door, please?"
-
Steve chews on his lip, thinking. Why the fuck would Munson think that? That makes no fucking sense. But he apologized, and if Steve expects people to forgive him for being an asshole, he should do the same, right?
With a sigh, he unlocks both locks. He's mid-presentation, but it's not like an actual heat. That particular torture will come later, after his body has shifted. And Munson will find out soon enough anyway.
Still, he's hesitant when he opens the door.
-
Eddie hears the clicking of locks and braces himself for Harrington rightfully chewing him out for being the worst.
But then the door opens, and an unfamiliar, delicious smell rushes in to fill his senses. Omega. And not just omega, but the bright fresh sweetness that belies a presentation. And why the fuck is Steve Harrington presenting at age eighteen?
Back up. How is Harrington an omega??
Eddie blinks, dazed, inhales deeply before he can process how fucking rude he's being. Oh god, that smell.
Eddie's never been the typical, Hollywood-standard alpha. If he could afford fancy blockers, people would probably assume he was a beta most of the time, and he'd be okay with that. Being an alpha has, for the most part, brought him nothing but misplaced aggression from other alphas, and judgement when he doesn't act stoic and assertive the way people expect him to be.
He's overheard his alpha classmates talking about drooling over an omega's scent, or having their protective instincts kick in, and he's just never been able to relate to any of that.
Until now.
Standing in front of Steve Harrington, who is apparently a fucking omega, Eddie's instincts rear up stronger than he's ever felt before, and he grits his teeth against the urge to shove Steve back in the trailer where he'll be safe, to cover him with his body and make sure nobody can hurt him.
"You're presenting," he says. It's not a question. "I thought... jesus, what is happening right now, Harrington?"
-
The drugs mostly dulled Steve’s sense of smell, so he could never really relate whenever his classmates were talking about scents, though he certainly lied through his teeth like he could. His sense of smell has been getting better recently, though, as his presentation crept up on him, but nothing has ever smelled as good as Eddie Munson does.
He blinks through his surprise, kind of expecting his body to suddenly want to jump the alpha in front of him. But it doesn’t happen. Munson smells good, like—like— Steve doesn’t know. Like smoke from a firepit, warm and comforting. It makes him want to curl up and sleep, not spread his legs and beg for a knot.
Not that he could take one. Not yet, anyway.
“You just said,” Steve points out, watching as Munson takes deep breaths through his nose. Steve barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Alphas. “I’m presenting. Do you want something? Or are you satisfied I’m not dead yet?”
-
"But you're eighteen," Eddie says, like it's not fucking obvious. "I've never heard of someone presenting this late, I didn't know that was even possible. And, wait, you were already an alpha, dude, what the hell?"
His head is spinning from Steve's intoxicating scent and the facts aren't adding up in his head.
-
Steve doesn’t want to do this. He’s really fucking tired and he’s hurting and he just wants to go back to his pathetic nest and wait this out. But Munson doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere without answers, so Steve explains.
“Y’know those emergency presentation stoppers?” he asks, reaching up to rub at his eyes. “For when kids start to present in public? I was supposed to be an alpha, so when I started presenting as omega my parents used those and got me to a doctor to help. But I don’t have the medications anymore, so.”
He waves his hand vaguely. The effort makes him sway and he braces himself on the doorframe.
“You can go and tell everyone now,” he says. “I’m going back to sleep.”
-
Eddie's stomach twists with nausea as he realizes what Harrington's saying. He's been on presentation blockers for fucking years, how is that possible! What the hell kind of doctor would even allow that to happen?
And what does Steve mean, he was supposed to be an alpha?
This is bad. There's no way it's safe for Steve to be going through this shit in his empty trailer all by himself. Eddie's neck bristles with goosebumps at the very thought of it.
God, fuck Harrington's parents. He should be in the hospital right now, getting the best medical treatment— no, actually, this should have never even happened in the first place! Fuck. Jesus.
"I'm not telling anyone," he says, because it's one of the few things he's absolutely certain of right now. "And I know you want me to fuck off, but you really shouldn't be alone for this, Harrington."
He rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to clear his head, to pull himself together.
"Can you just, give me like ten minutes to grab some shit? I swear I'll be right back, okay?"
He holds his hands out placatingly, internally praying that Steve doesn't lock the door in his face.
-
Steve rears back, lip curling to show his fangs.
“Christ, Munson, I don’t even got a hole for you to fuck yet,” he snaps. His hand twitches, wishing his bat was within reach. Munson wouldn’t stand a chance against him on a normal day, but Steve feels so fucking weak and lethargic right now a harsh wind could knock him over.
He'd slam the door, but he's kind of using the frame to keep himself upright at the moment.
-
Eddie flinches, horrified that Harrington thinks he meant–that. "Whoa, no, fuck no, not like that!" He waves his hands, trying to breathe past the knot of panic in his chest.
"Steve, I just want to make sure you don't keel over dead, okay?" He watches Harrington's face carefully, seeing the distrust and exhaustion evident in the set of his mouth. "Hey, I know we're nothing to each other, but this is seriously dangerous. I can't just let you dehydrate to death in here, man. I've got water, blankets, painkillers. Food, which you really look like you could use. I swear, that's all I meant."
-
Steve searches Munson’s face for any sign of malice or deceit, but finds none. In the end, it’s the promise of food that wins him over. Fuck, he’s so hungry.
“Fine,” he says. “Just—fine.”
He pushes himself away from the doorframe and stumbles to his room. Munson will either go get his shit or not, will either close the door or leave it wide open. Steve is so far beyond caring at this point.
He winces when he all but falls to his knees in his little blanket nest, eyes drooping already. He curls up on his side and hopes this was all just some weird fever dream.