Chapter Text
It’s autumn in Hawkins.
The world doesn’t end.
The kids are back in school.
And Eddie Munson isn’t dead.
Life has a funny way of springing back into normal, Steve’s found. It’s strange how his life for the last four years has brought countless nightmares, and yet everything is so strangely normal still.
He works at Family Video.
He helps Robin fill up college applications in between her shifts.
He helps her pack her boxes and sends them off to Emerson College, her life sealed in cheap recycled cardboard and tape that doesn’t quite stick.
He drives the kids to and from places with the bare amount of complaining.
He goes on dates that don’t go anywhere on the weekend.
Life’s good, all things considered.
Steve feels slightly adrift as the kids discuss their futures, so bright in comparison to Steve’s lack of direction. He’s still not sure how to feel about it yet. In all honesty, Steve’s just happy to be alive.
Steve gets to be alive.
Alive was enough. Everything else didn’t seem to matter.
Steve doesn’t think he’s got any more life altering events left in him. He’s ready to let this be his life for a good, long while. Work, drive the kids, go on a date, sleep, eat, repeat. Life is fine, life is ordinary.
Steve Harrington is ready to settle into being boring.
That is until Dustin Henderson throws a wrench into his lack of plans.
Dustin comes storming through Family Video on a slow Tuesday afternoon when Steve’s alone on a shift, and things suddenly feel a bit déjà vu as Dustin shoves the tapes in front of Steve off to the side, his face is set in that determined frown.
Steve straightens up from where he’s been slumped over the counter, lazily watching a Back To The Future rerun on the small TV mounted on the wall.
The plot’s a lot less confusing when his brain isn’t being scrambled by Russian truth serum. Steve thinks he might dress as Marty McFly for Halloween this year.
“What’s the emergency, Henderson?” Steve says, clearly annoyed.
Dustin slams his hands onto the countertop, causing Steve to jump. “We’re down a player for Hellfire Club.” Steve closes his eyes, rubbing his temple, groaning.
Really? This is the emergency?
He wishes Robin were here, at least he’d have someone to roll his eyes at. Instead, only Keith’s here. And he’s by the door, having some debate about The Breakfast Club with a middle-aged woman who looks terrified.
Steve wonders what classes she’s at right now, what she’s wearing, if she’s warm enough, if she got her morning coffee with that creamer she likes, if she’s paying attention or picking at her cuticles and chipped nail polish.
When Steve doesn’t immediately respond, Dustin throws his hands up, sighing as he rolls his eyes. “We’re down a player, didn’t you hear me?”
Steve’s brows furrow. “So? Postpone the game or get someone else to fill in. What’s the problem here?” Dustin’s noise of frustration only grows louder.
“We can’t just postpone! Jeff’s going to be in Illinois for college till break, so we’re pretty much permanently a member short just as we’re getting to the hardest part of this campaign. Eddie’s ruthless and we’re going to all die without Jeff there.”
“Why can’t Eddie wait till Jeff’s back? Feels a bit harsh punishing the guy for getting his degree.” Steve scratches his chin, frowning.
Last time Eddie had penalised a player for opting out of a game, it had ended with The Upside Down.
Call Steve a superstitious guy, but he wouldn’t have tried to do that again if he were Eddie.
“Why not get Lucas to fill in? Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
Lucas was still refusing to play with Hellfire and Steve had chalked it up to Eddie’s lack of an apology.
Lucas barely spoke to Eddie, keeping his distance with polite smiles and nods whenever they crossed paths, seemingly refusing almost every invitation to play what Steve assumed was still his favourite game.
The Sinclair Family didn’t raise pushovers.
This weird stalemate was starting to annoy him, and he wasn’t even involved.
But he liked Lucas, and Steve knows he misses playing with his friends when it gets brought up when Steve’s driving him and Max to her physical therapy sessions with Dr Owens.
Lucas shouldn’t have to sacrifice his love of sports for some weird proof of loyalty to his friends. They were all being ridiculous, Steve thought.
Dustin outright whines at this, taking off his thinking cap to slide a hand into his hair, pulling the curls. “We’ve tried that, Steve! He said he won’t play unless Robin plays, and Robin’s not even here!”
Dustin’s starting to wave his hands at this point, making his point.
“What am I supposed to do? I’m not sure what you want from me here, Dustin. I’m not a miracle worker.” Steve’s head begins to pound behind his eyes, dull and achy.
If he doesn’t stop Dustin’s tirade soon, he’s going to get a migraine and the last thing he needs is to call in sick when Keith’s already on his case about how many he needs.
“I’m here to sell my case for you to join our table for D&D but you’re clearly not taking this seriously.” Dustin says.
Steve’s mind goes blank.
“You – want me to play your nerd game with you? And this was your pitch? Annoy me into saying yes?” Steve crosses his arms, his frown deepening.
“Yes, Steve, because if I tried any sort of nuance on you, you wouldn’t get it. Emphasising why this is so important is the only way for you to understand. Lucas said he’d settle for you instead of Robin.” Steve feels a pang in his chest, familiar and raw.
You wouldn ’t get it.
Settle.
“Harsh, man.” Steve’s voice is softer, less annoyed – hurt. Steve hides it behind a snarky frown. Dustin rolls his eyes again.
“Look, for whatever reason, Jeff said Eddie could continue the campaign without him and we need Lucas back. And Lucas won’t do it without Robin or you. Unless you want to face the wrath of Lady Applejack, then I suggest you say yes before you find Erica Sinclair at your doorstep with less patience than me.”
Is that even possible?
“Look, Steve, you’ve done this before.” Dustin crosses his arms, squinting at him. Steve counters it by putting his hands on his hips. “And we just need another person at the table to make the full numbers, you can fake it till you make it. If anything, you just need to be there, and I can puppet your character so we don’t die a miserable death!”
This kid’s got no filter. Steve thinks to himself.
While he’s played D&D before, nothing compares to the rumoured seriousness of Eddie’s table.
Just after the events of Starcourt, Steve and Robin had been invited over to the Hendersons to try out the board game for the first time with Dustin and Erica.
The four of them hadn’t been able to do much apart, still scared to let each other out of sight just in case something goes wrong. It’s bordering on unhealthy co-dependency, but Steve’s never felt less lonely in his life before.
With Claudia and Sue’s permission, Steve had taken the two, along with Robin, to a game shop just outside of Hawkins. They’d pooled money together to get Dustin some new dice, and Erica her first figurine painting set.
With the borrowed books from Mike, Steve and Robin had learnt the bare bones of The Party’s favourite game. They hadn’t played a full campaign, just a small one-shot given to them by one of the employees at the shop.
It was a simple one about rescuing runaway horses that Dustin offered to DM.
He’d made a fighter who was the twin of Robin’s bard, both half-elves. While Steve didn’t fully understand everything about the mechanics, he’d loved turning his brain off to pretend to be someone else for a couple of hours.
Just an elven man who wanted to protect his sister and two companions: Erica’s half-elf rogue and Dustin’s dwarf artificer.
Steve had slept better that night than he had in ages, and weekly D&D ‘boot camps’ became their excuse to meet up, reassuring each other that they were all still here – safe and alive.
“Okay so let me get this straight – you want me to play your nerd game because you can’t wait maybe a couple of months for Jeff to get back?”
Dustin nods, giving Steve a toothy grin of approval. “Now you’re getting it. We’re so close to finishing this arc and I can’t wait to find out what’s going on with Strahd because I have some theories – “
Steve waves his hands, stopping Dustin. “If I say yes, will you stop talking about this? Unless you want a rental, Keith’s going to kill me for wasting time with a non-customer. I’m at work, man, I should be working, not talking to you.” Dustin nods furiously. “Fine, I’ll join, but only till Jeff’s back.”
Dustin screeches out a ‘yes’ before launching himself at Steve for a hug. “You won’t regret this, I promise you! See you Thursday!”
How bad could playing D&D with Eddie ’s friends be?
Steve’s keying in the last of the inventory into the computer perched on the counter, chewing idly on a twizzler. He’s not even sure he likes them, it doesn’t taste great and Steve’s teeth kind of hurt, but it’s something to do with his hand and keeps him awake while the work slowly eats away at his sanity.
The bell above the store front rings, and Steve almost curses. “It’s, like, 5 minutes to closing, man. Can you just – “ Steve stops short when Scott Clarke gives him an apologetic smile, hands up in surrender. “Mr Clarke?”
God, Steve hadn’t seen Mr Clarke since middle school.
Not that he had much reason to keep in touch with his old science teacher.
Steve wasn’t exactly a star pupil, turning in mediocre science projects, more interested in trying to prank Carol with Tommy than whatever the hell the powerhouse of a cell was.
But Mr Clarke was nice.
He was really nice.
He always asked how Steve was, always interested in the response. For a childhood full of lonely, empty-feeling rooms in his too-large home, Mr Clarke was a happy bright spot and one of the few adults Steve took solace in.
He looked forward to his twice-weekly science class even if he didn’t actually learn anything. Mr Clarke gave him his time and attention where the Harringtons fell short.
His dad too busy with his business, always saying ‘not now, Steven’ and ‘can’t you see I’m in the middle of something, Steven’ till little Steve decided it wasn’t worth his energy to try and fight to be his dad’s son. And as the disappointment in Steve grew, his dad drifted into the role of hands-off parent with natural ease. He’d started taking more and more business trips shortly after he’d graduated from high school with no college prospects, and Steve got the feeling he wasn’t coming back unless he had to.
His mom wasn’t much better, too caught up in her community activities, being a model housewife in Hawkins. Her family and her image were everything – both many admired and envied in equal measure. Steve liked his mom, but he got the feeling she didn’t feel the same. She loved him, of course, but sometimes he thought, in the quiet of his bedroom at night, that his mom didn’t actually like the person that he was.
Eventually, even her presence vanished from the house, following Steve’s dad in an attempt to stop his serial cheating. Steve would call her every so often to check in, and she’d always be in a new place, ranting to Steve about his dad’s antics, barely acknowledging her son on the other side of the phone.
Steve liked to think it didn’t bother him, things like surviving The Upside Down’s monsters taking up the better part of his late teens, giving him no room to consider if the life he had was the one he wanted.
Except now as the dust settled, Steve wasn’t sure he could undo the boxes he’d packed all his feelings into.
“That’s me, I was hoping to catch you here, Mr Harrington.” Mr Clarke’s hands are deep in the pockets of his jacket. Autumn is just about making its way through Indiana, and the heater in Family Video is acting up again.
“Yeah? Did you need to pick up a quick rental? I can recommend a couple of options – “ Steve stands up from his seat, rounding the counter.
On his feet, Steve realises he’s taller than Mr Clarke, almost a head taller, even. He wonders, just for a second, if Mr Clarke gets the same tight feeling in his stomach that he gets when he sees any of the kids reaching his height.
Mr Clarke looks up at him, smiling and shaking his head. “No, no, Steve. I was hoping to speak to you about a job if you’re interested.”
“I have a job.” Steve replies quickly, almost defensively. Get a job, Steven. We don’t support freeloaders in this house. His dad had said to him before he’d applied to Scoops Ahoy, just about the only place that Steve could get a call back from.
Some job that turned out to be.
But Mr Clarke nods, almost understandingly. “And it’s a decent job, but I think we could really use a guy like you on our staff.”
“What, like, teaching? I can’t do that I’m not – “ Steve starts, but Mr Clarke takes a hand out of his jacket, waving it. “Teaching’s not my thing.” Steve answers, almost defeatedly.
Teaching isn ’t for me. There isn ’t anything I ’m good enough at to teach.
“No, Steve, not teaching.” Mr Clarke continues. “Hawkins Middle School needs a custodian – “
A custodian? What the hell is a custodian? “Hang on, woah wait, you mean a janitor?”
A janitor, Steven, really? Cleaning up people ’s messes?
He can hear his dad in his ear, chiding him for not getting a real job.
“Yes, Steve, a janitor of sorts but a custodian does a lot for a school beyond cleaning it – “
“Like?”
Mr Clarke lets out a low whistle. “Well, someone who’s good at organising, wrangling kids, helping set stuff up, clean things up – know anyone like that?” There’s a smile on his face that’s aimed at Steve, a knowing, teasing grin that sort of reminds him of Robin.
He pulls an envelope out and places it on the counter. “Whenever you’re ready, give me a call and come into Hawkins Middle School with the filled in form, and we can get you started the Monday after.”
Steve waves him goodbye, sitting in the empty Family Video store, staring down at the stark white envelope on top of the glass.
He picks it up, eventually stuffing it into his jacket and locking up, the walk to his car just a little bit slower.
Walking down into the Wheeler’s basement felt nothing like the cozy-feeling sessions they’d played in Claudia’s living room.
The room was occupied by a long table covered in notebooks and sheets of paper covered in boxes and grids like a homework sheet. There’s also scattered boxes of dice in front of some of the seats where jackets have been thrown over the back.
Everyone’s seemingly came prepared. Steve wonders if he should have asked Dustin for dice beforehand.
“Are you serious? You got Steve Harrington to fill in?”
Steve turned away from the elaborate set and came face to face with Mike Wheeler.
His eyes were narrowed on him, clearly upset. As soon as he announces Steve’s presence, Gareth, Eddie, and Frank’s eyes all fix on him, a mixture of disgusted, surprised, and intrigued.
Will gives him a shy wave from where he’s sat behind an elaborate screen blocking a stack of paper, sketching something with that new watercolour set Steve managed to grab from donations to Hawkins Community Centre.
Dustin shrugged as he snaked past Steve. “Don’t see what the problem is. Lucas said he’d play if either Robin or Steve were here, and Steve’s available and here so.”
Lucas, who had hitched a ride with Steve and Dustin, comes down the stairs holding the tray of snacks from Mrs Wheeler. He chews on a carrot stick as he hands the rest of the tray off to Mike, grinning. “Steve’s not that bad. Give the guy a break, Mike. I like Steve.”
“Yeah, nerd, what’s wrong with Steve being here?” Erica pipes up from where she’s sitting next to Gareth at the table.
Gareth’s expression of disgust falls immediately, turning to look at her.
She glances at him, brow raised. “Something to say to me, bug eyes?” Gareth’s face glows red as he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair in defeat, arms folded.
It almost looks like he’s sulking.
Eddie clears his throat, breaking the tension.
“Welcome to the table, King Steven Harrington.” He bows, hands sweeping in front of him. His grin is so wide that his teeth show and the scar on his jaw stretches. There’s a glint in his eyes that makes Steve’s stomach turn uncomfortably warm.
Steve gives a small wave, lips pursed, unsure how else to respond to Eddie’s teasing. He wanders over to the only empty chair left, which happens to be next to Erica.
And Eddie.
As soon as he’s sat, Erica leans onto the arm of the chair, glaring at the rest of the room, as if daring someone to say something.
“It’s not every day we’re greeted by royalty.” Eddie grins at him, and Steve’s sure he’s being made fun of now. He rolls his eyes, making a tsk noise with his tongue. “You know what we’re doing here, big boy? Need me to walk you through the basics?”
Gareth and Mike both groan.
Steve can feel embarrassment pooling in his stomach, a fierce determination to prove himself burning in the back of his throat.
“I know enough.” Steve stiffens his shoulders, chin turning up. “Just give me a character sheet, I’ll figure it out.” He puts his hand out toward Eddie, but Eddie just fixes him with an unreadable expression from behind his big, bronze folding screen with tacked on paper notes.
“You know what a character sheet is?” It’s not accusatory, and Steve thinks he’s genuinely surprised Eddie. Steve looks away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah, kind of.” All eyes snap to him, and Steve wishes he had just played dumb. “But like, I’ve never done the whole y’know.” He gestures vaguely to the set up in front of him. “All of this stuff.” He doesn’t reveal his small amount of experience, too afraid to be judged.
When he’d played with Dustin and Erica, they’d barely had a set up. It was parts of Claudia’s sewing kit for figurines – Steve always liked using her thimble, a little rusted with a dent on the top, but still good.
It’s stupid.
Steve doesn’t want anyone to form expectations about his ability to play in case he disappoints when he eventually falls behind. Erica and Dustin exchange a look.
He wishes he was back on Claudia’s floor, struggling to eat as stitches pull when his mouth opens a little too wide, nursing fading green and yellow bruises under his clothes and on his face.
“Well, all of this stuff is part of our full-length campaign.” Will rifles through a folder, before giving Steve a sheet that’s blank. “Just fill in what you can and if you need help, let me know, okay?”
He glances across at Erica, who already has a full sheet filled out, in a heated conversation with Eddie about backstory details.
Steve shifts uncomfortably in his sheet, pursing his lips. Will slides a large book that he recognises as The Player’s Handbook in his direction, giving him an encouraging nod. When Steve opens the book, seemingly already familiar with what he’s looking up, Will gives him a small thumbs up and a grin.
Steve smiles back – small, but earnest.
The book is older than Mike’s copy, with tears and dog-eared pages, a couple of coffee ring stains – well-loved and well worn.
He goes to the page marked ‘Class’ first. He knows he’s got to pick a race and a class to build his character, that much he remembers, mostly because it was his favourite part.
He liked building something that was him, but different. Something that belonged to him, that was a part of him, but wasn’t quite the same.
A disguise.
This edition is a lot more complicated than he remembers. Everyone’s talking about subclasses and Steve has no idea what that even means. The words on the page swim, a clawing anxiousness digging into his skin.
He tries to look for familiar-looking words.
“Knight? Like – those guys on horses in armour?” Steve squints down at the paper, trying to read the rest. Mike rolls his eyes.
Maybe Robin’s right about him needing glasses.
A snort comes from Gareth and out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Eddie pelt him with a fistful of dice.
“Do you know what a fighter is, Stevie?” Steve nods.
Stevie.
While the friendship between them is new and fragile, Eddie had moved on from Harrington to Stevie so fast he barely remembered what Harrington sounded like in Eddie’s tone.
Eddie grins. “Good boy.”
A strange warmth in his stomach replaces his embarrassment and Steve keeps his eyes on his blank character sheet.
“As you level up, each character class gets a focus, a speciality if you will, called a subclass. A knight is a subclass of fighter that, as the name implies, behaves just like the guys on horses you’re thinking of.” Eddie’s voice switches to a lower register, one that Steve recognises as Eddie’s ‘storytelling’ voice when he’s excited.
“A knight believes in honour and justice, protecting his allies by any means necessary. Knights are formidable on the battlefield, true fighters, and warriors with a heart of gold. They’re the stuff of legend, many a sonnet written about their adventures, destined to die a heroic death that preserves their memory for generations to come. Sound like something you’d like to try?”
Steve sits back in his chair, glancing through the rest of the page.
The class sounds interesting, and Steve likes the sound of this imaginary guy already.
“The class is easy enough to play. You’re basically a walking, talking fighting machine. Our resident fighter while Jeff’s away bettering himself for his future in the capitalistic workforce.” Eddie slaps the arm of Steve’s chair, metal rings hitting the wooden surface.
It’s just right of Eddie’s chair.
Resident fighter.
“Oh. Okay. Sweet. Easy Peasy. Got it.” Steve did not get it, but he’ll pretend till he does.
He’s not seen this many words he doesn’t understand since high school.
When he’d played a fighter with the kids, all he had to do was roll to hit stuff hard. As a fighter with extra bits, there’s stuff he’s never seen before that’s suddenly his responsibility to remember to use.
He has no idea how this works but he’s too afraid to say anything, instead he glances up at Dustin, who gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up.
The room falls into a comfortable silence as pencils scratch and dice roll, occasionally punctuated by someone having a hushed conversation with Eddie.
Steve’s got the bones of a character here.
He’s a fighter, no, a knight.
He feels Erica’s small foot kick his shin under the table, making him jump.
“I have an idea, if you’re done overthinking.” She tilts her head up to meet his eye.
Steve grins, giving her cheek a nudge with his knuckle and everyone’s just a little weirded out by Erica Sinclair accepting physical affection – especially Gareth and Mike.
“Since when did you become best friends with Harrington?” Gareth asks accusingly, fiddling with the pointy triangle dice Steve recognises as a d4.
“None of your business, mop head.” Erica bites back, causing Gareth to shrink into his seat, flushing. “I’m just trying to make this party work, you big baby.” She rolls her eyes, scratching something onto her character sheet with her pencil – it’s purple with a fluffy top, a small pony keychain hanging off the side, swinging as Erica writes with it.
Steve opens the ‘race’ page. He should probably just go with human. It’s easy, inoffensive, and boring.
Perfect for him.
Except.
On one of the pages is a word he doesn’t recognise.
Changeling. The page reads.
With ever-changing appearances, changelings reside in many societies undetected. Each changeling can supernaturally adopt any face they like. For some changelings, a new face is only a disguise, a mask they invent to stay hidden behind their carefully built walls. For other changelings, a new face may reveal an aspect of their soul.
Huh.
“I want to be a changeling – is that a thing I can do?” Steve blurts out.
“You can’t be serious. You? Play a changeling?” Mike protests, crossing his arms. “You sure you can handle something that complicated? Just stick to human, benchwarmer - ”
“Mike.” Will warns, brows pinched. “A changeling is – “ He begins, before Mike pipes up again.
“Steve doesn’t even play D&D, he should stick with something easy otherwise he’ll slow the entire campaign down!”
Why do I even bother with these shitheads? Steve’s brows knit, but Eddie pipes up before he can respond.
“I don’t see why not.” Eddie leans forward leering at Steve, crowding his personal space. “You up for the challenge, big boy? No handholding in this campaign for our babysitter.”
Steve flinches back.
The way Eddie seems to worm himself into his personal space constantly has been the biggest adjustment in his new friendship.
It’s like Eddie has to be touching someone or something constantly, like he’ll float away if he doesn’t.
Steve obliges, trying to reciprocate where he can.
Still, it’s a bit awkward with the lack of contact Steve gets himself, and every touch makes it feel like he’s being electrocuted.
You up for the challenge, big boy?
While Steve no longer plays sports post high-school graduation, that competitive streak has yet to leave him. And Eddie’s definitely challenging him, dangling it in front of him.
And who is Steve to deny himself a good time?
He leaves forward, matching Eddie’s movement, till they’re barely a hair apart. “Bring it, Munson.” His eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips, almost out of habit.
He’s done this before – looked at Eddie’s lips when he’s talking, watching his lips curl back, flashing white teeth and a pink tongue, hanging onto the words he says, liking how it sounds in his mouth. He looks back up, locking eyes with him.
For a moment, time stops.
Eddie’s looking at him and Steve’s looking back.
Steve’s vision focuses on him and suddenly it’s like he’s in a tunnel.
They’re close – far too close, and Steve’s pretty sure he can hear his heartbeat in his ears.
The moment is broken when Erica’s voice cuts through. “You losers done trying to make out over there? Because I’m ready to play.” She pulls her character sheet from her battered looking My Little Pony backpack. “Or we could just leave and let you do whatever it is you want to do, losers.”
Steve expects Eddie to deny it.
But he doesn’t.
He just leans back, grinning like a maniac, like he knows something Steve doesn’t. “You’re right, Lady Applejack. My apologies for keeping you waiting. We ready to play some D&D, my loyal table of players?”
Eddie’s standing on the chair now, earning a loud whooping from the room.
Whatever had transpired between Steve and Eddie is soon forgotten as everyone focuses on Eddie.
But Steve’s still thinking it about it. Steve might still be thinking about it when the session is over.
He might still be thinking about it into next week.
He thinks.
All things considered; Steve has fun.
Session Zero, as Eddie refers to it, is easier to get into that he’d first expected. They’re supposed to make their characters and just – talk.
Steve’s character is a disgraced travelling knight who is looking for his missing lover, one he can’t remember the name of, only their face.
He’s been on the road for years, trying to find them before he gets too old to fight. In the meantime, he’s agreed to help the adventuring party through something called The Underdark, which sounds a little bit like The Upside Down.
None of the kids seem to have much reaction to it.
Steve figures it’s Eddie’s way of coping, but he’s not entirely sure how to feel about his character having ties to this place, like he’s some protector to the place that robbed him of 4 years of his teenage life.
According to Eddie’s storytelling, his character has seen several groups through The Underdark, where his beloved was last seen, in hopes of finding them again while helping other people cross it safely.
Eddie encourages people to make up personal ties with the table’s party. With Steve being the outlier in addition to his character’s apparent memory loss, he sits there in silence as everyone else seems to have an easier time.
Erica establishes that she wants her and Steve’s character to be former friends, where Steve protected her as her personal guard when she was still a princess. Her connection to Steve’s character helps them establish their motive, as Will puts it, explaining as he takes detailed notes of everyone’s character information.
It’s a small part of Steve’s character’s missing memory, an anchor that might bring him closer to finding his beloved, as Eddie puts it.
“What is your name, good paladin?” Dustin prompts as Steve’s character accepts their request for help.
“Um. There’s no name on the sheet.” Steve looks to Eddie for guidance. Eddie simply shrugs.
“You can name them whatever you like.”
“I – uh. I’m Ser Stephen.” Steve gestures toward the rest of the players, attempting to put a little bit of bravado into his performance. Gareth rolls his eyes.
“That’s – well, it’s original.” Frank pipes up, only to have the same dice treatment Gareth had. Steve assumes its some sort of hazing ritual, or Eddie’s just that violent with his dice.
Which is weird considering Dustin keeps all his dice in little jars, reverently stacking them on the shelf above his bed. Steve accidentally knocked one off the shelf once and got an entire lecture about the delicacy of plastic and inertia.
“Lady Applejack asks Ser Stephen: Do you, good ser, have a family name?” Steve turns his head to Erica, who is looking at him encouragingly, nudging his arm with her elbow.
“I – uh.” He clears his throat, deepening his voice. “I, Ser Stephen, do not have a family title anymore. I was disgraced when I joined the knighthood, abandoning my father’s business. My uh – my quest to find my beloved is all that is driving me. I gave up my titles and land when they went missing.”
Eddie’s leaning forward from his chair, brows raised into his fringe. His fingers are linked, resting against his mouth, elbows on his thighs, like he’s deep in thought.
He looks surprised and yet impressed.
“That’s – uh – I’m sorry to hear about your beloved. I speak for my companions when I say I offer the aid of our adventuring party once we have crossed The Underdark. You have our word, Ser Stephen.” Mike is the first to respond.
His character is a paladin, Steve remembers.
“From one warrior to another, I thank you, young adventurer, for your kind words. I would like to be reunited with my uh – beloved soon. I find I grow lonely without them.” There’s a little bit of truth to it as Steve finds himself getting invested in ‘Ser Stephen’ and his story.
He can imagine what it must be like to love someone so much you’d cross dangerous places to find them and bring them home.
He’d been there, several times over.
Steve decides he likes playing Ser Stephen.
The rest of the game goes on as Steve predicted – with a lot of noise and chaos.
Eddie’s a great storyteller with more funny voices than Steve can keep track of.
The set pieces on the map are also all Eddie’s. He recognises from their time in the hospital. Steve had brought kits over for him that Dustin chose during one of their regular trips to that game store, and he’d watch Eddie paint them carefully, letting Eddie’s voice fill the silence.
The dice Steve borrows from Erica are a lemon-yellow colour with flecks of gold in them. He can’t help but turn them over and over in his hand, letting them catch the light. As he rolls them, they make a satisfying clink.
He feels like he’s in a sports game, trying to plan his next move as the table discusses strategy. It’s the most adrenaline he’s experiencedin awhile that hasn’t felt like life or death – although you couldn’t have guessed that from how loud Dustin is when he makes any of his rolls.
They roll for their stats, which Steve finds challenging when he has to add all these extra numbers because of his race and class. He relies heavily on Will to walk him through the math. Once everything is done, Eddie collects the sheets back, calling it a night as everyone slowly leaves The Wheelers.
When Steve’s dropped off the kids, he finally makes it back home to his place – the windows still dark, as they always are. He should be used to it by now, but after a night of noise and laughter, it feels a little empty.
He goes into the pocket of his jacket for his keys only to find Mr Clarke’s form, folded up and crumpled. He looks at the empty lines he’s supposed to fill, too dark to read the exact words on the page.
Should I ask mom about this?
His mom was – well, she was perfect. Everything a homemaker should be – she volunteered for every community-based thing she could between baking pies for the church bake sale, making flower arrangements for the local knitting circle, and donating fat cheques of his dad’s money to Mayor Kline’s campaign fundraisers.
That all changed when his dad was caught with his secretary back in ’83.
His mom started tagging along to his business trips, hoping to stop his dad’s infidelity with putting on the perfect wife ploy, as she described it to him. She wouldn’t go every time. If she thought he was placated, she’d stay home with Steve, emotionally distant but there.
There to eat dinner with him, watch a bad movie while she complained about Janet’s dry cherry pie recipe and Anette’s bad nails. There to distantly ask about Steve’s day but never ask follow up questions to anything he said, quick to dive back into the petty gossip windmill of Hawkins domestic wives.
Steve’s dad said it was a one-time thing, that he’d never cheat again.
That was until she found those love letters.
Steve’s mom became a permanent fixture when his dad travelled now, never taking her eye off him.
There used to be a time he’d call her without fail every Thursday, one of his guaranteed days off when he was at Family Video.
On good nights, she’d recall to Steve on the phone how much work she was putting into this marriage, how much she was doing to save what they had, and how dutiful she was being to her man – Steve’s father, how she was raising Steve to be better, do better, her handsome, loyal son.
On bad nights, she’d tell him how ungrateful Harrington men were, how all Harrington men were cheaters, how she should have married some man called Ben instead.
He’d meant to call her last week when he’d sent Robin off, but he’d been too upset to get on the phone. He didn’t even tell her he wasn’t going to call.
Not that she’d notice.
She barely did these days.
As her marriage continued to degrade, so did her bandwidth for anything Steve related.
I ’m sorry, sweetie, I need to be with your father tonight. You know how he is when we ’re at these parties.
Sorry, Steve, can we do a raincheck for next week? Your father has to be in Boston next week for a conference and you know what he ’s like.
Steve, baby, can we give this Thursday a miss again? I need to be with your father for – you know how he is. Always putting his business where he shouldn ’t. I know you know, sweetie. Mommy will call soon.
I love you. Call you when your father behaves himself.
Steve looks down at the paper as he stands in his hallway.
He picks up the phone as he always does on a Thursday.
The phone rings once, twice, thrice. Then the line picks up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mr Clarke? It’s me, Steve? What are the hours like?”