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Steve is trying very hard not to wallow in his utter misery. He pulls himself out of bed, works his shifts at Family Video with a melancholy sort of monotony (tries not to think about the fact that Eddie is loudly conspicuous in his absence) and loses himself in housework.
His parents (via his father’s secretary, because far be it from either of them to actually talk to their own son) had informed him that they weren’t coming back to Hawkins. Ever. That the ‘earthquake’ had upset the market and could Steve please watch the house while they tried to find a buyer.
No mention of Steve joining them in Florida was made; not that he would have considered leaving the patched up but no less real family he had so carefully cultivated for himself over the years, but the rejection still stings in some abject, far off way. An echo of the child Steve had been - left to fend for himself so many years ago - crying out in anguish that he still wasn’t good enough to warrant being in their sphere.
Steve doesn’t think the rejection would have hit him quite so hard if their proclamation hadn’t come the day after Eddie had scrambled away from him in horror.
The memory of the metal head’s panic stricken face as he stumbled out of Steve’s bedroom, maybe out of Steve’s life all together, rips through him and threatens to bring him to his knees all over again.
Steve had fucked up. He had fucked up so badly.
He had hauled ass over to Robin’s as soon as Dustin had called to tell him that Eddie was home, was safe, and fallen apart in her arms.
She listened to him tell her what happened with a confused expression that quickly darkened into a fury he didn’t have the energy to try and understand, as she stroked his hair and whispered that she loved him.
Not for the first time - and he’s sure certainly not for the last - Steve had wondered exactly where he’d be if she had never fallen into this world with him.
It’s selfish he knows, but he thanks whatever fucking God that might exist that she did because he doesn’t think he’d be able to live without Robin Buckley.
He had then resolved to give the guy space. To let him come to Steve when… if he wanted to. So when the phone rings halfway through cleaning the bathroom floor a few days later, Steve drops the mop with a clatter and practically vaults himself over the kitchen counter to answer it. If anyone saw how fast, how eagerly he moved, he’d be mortified. But he’s alone. Of course. He’s always alone.
“Hello?” He says into the receiver, trying not to let the hope rise up pathetically in his voice.
“Steve?” It’s not Eddie. It’s Max.
“Mayfield. What’s up?”
“I just-“ she huffs. “Mom’s gone.”
“What? She’s what?” Steve’s brain scrambles to catch up, desperately attempting to shake off the disappointment that the one person he so hopelessly wanted to hear from was still blatantly avoiding him.
“She’s gone. Off with some guy. I need a lift to the grocery store. I’m out of milk. And cereal.” Max says, clearly attempting to sound unaffected, but Steve can hear the undercurrent of heartbreak in her voice.
“Grocery… wait no. Max, how long will she be gone?” He asks, fingers flexing angrily against the receiver.
“I dunno. A week, a month? She didn’t say. She left a note and fifty bucks for food.”
Steve drags his free hand across his face in dismay. Fuck. Fuck.
“Steve? You there? Groceries, dude - can you give me a lift or not? I would skate but my arm is still in this stupid sling and if I fall-.”
“No! No. Don’t skate anywhere Max are you serious? I’ll be there in fifteen. Just hold on.”
“Thanks.”
He hangs up. Grabs his keys and is out the door in moment, making a quick stop in the garage on the way past, before hightailing it to his car.
Steve pulls into the trailer park nine minutes later, having run through at least two stop signs and pushing the speed limit to breaking point. He tries not to look at, tries not to even perceive the Munson trailer as he drives past.
Eyes on the target Harrington. He doesn’t want you. He made that clear. Max fucking needs you right now.
He’s out of the car, chucking the cardboard boxes he’d grabbed from the garage under one arm and sprinting up the front steps in seconds.
“Max. It’s me.” He calls, knocking insistently.
He pushes down the eerie feeling of deja vu as he does so; shaking off the memory of Halloween last year. Of sitting in the cold, leaning against a door that was firmly keeping him out, talking to a girl that was undone with grief and guilt.
It was the first time he and Eddie had exchanged more than a terse nod and a grunted last name in forced civility.
Steve had felt so lost, so completely alone in his misguided attempt to keep Max close at the time, that he’d clutched at that offered cigarette and begrudging companionship like a lifeline. He’s pretty sure he can pinpoint the exchange as the exact moment his heart decided to ruin itself for anyone else.
Max opens the door, just as he’s blinking away the memory and she’s about to step out onto the porch when Steve simply pushes past her and makes his way inside.
“Right. Let’s hustle, Mayfield. Pack your shit.”
He thrusts a box into her good arm.
“Pack my… what?” She swivels in the doorway to face him, looking alarmed.
“Pack your shit, dude. C’mon.”
“Why am I packing my shit?”
“You think I’m leaving you here alone? No. No way, kid. You’re staying with me until your mom comes back.” Or longer if Steve has anything to say about it. He’s nearly 20, he can adopt a kid right? Unimportant.
One thing at a time, Harrington. Cross that bridge when you come to it.
“You can’t be serious. I’m not moving in with you Steve, are you insane?” Max yells, looking at him like he really has lost the plot.
“Not insane. And I’m deadly fucking serious. Get your shit, Max.” He snaps, fixing her with a determined glare.
“You have parents Steve. I think they’d notice if you just move some random child into their house.”
“Wrong again, Mayfield. My parents aren’t coming back to Hawkins. The property market is shit right now though, so they can’t sell. It’s just me in that house for the foreseeable. Well, me and you now, I suppose.” He tacks on absently, as he makes his way further into the trailer, marching toward her room. He starts grabbing various books from the shelf and tosses them into the box.
“I’m not-” She cuts off with a frustrated huff. “This is technically kidnap of a minor, you know.”
He swings around to face her, dropping the box on the bed before staring her down, hands on hips.
“What, you gunna stick that lawyer on me, kid? Try it.” He challenges, raising a finger to point at her. He won’t fucking back down in this. Not this.
She blinks at him for a moment, before throwing up her good arm in exasperation.
“Fine! Whatever. I’ll pack my shit.”
He grins like a maniac.
“Atta girl.”
It takes them less than an hour to pack what she needs. Everything Max cares about, reduced down to a couple of duffel bags and the three cardboard boxes Steve brought over.
He’s chucking them in the trunk of his car, giving Max a moment to alone in the trailer, when he hears someone approaching from the trailer opposite.
He tenses up for a brief second, before he realises that it’s not Eddie’s footsteps he can hear. (Jesus he can recognise the guy by sound alone? Fuck his life.)
“Harrington.” Comes Wayne Munson’s gruff voice from behind him.
Steve braces himself and turns slowly to face him, plastering on the politest smile he can muster.
“Mr. Munson. How are you?” How’s your nephew? Is he okay? Is he eating properly? Does he still hate me?
“No complaints, boy. Y’self?” The question is loaded somehow, seems to signify something so much more than a simple pleasantry.
“I’m fine.” Steve says, that perfect fake smile still stretching out his cheeks. He does his best to keep his tone even.
“Hm.” Is all Wayne says as he reaches down and grabs the last box of Max’s things, hoisting it into the trunk of Steve’s car.
Wayne is silent for a moment, staring at Steve like he’s trying to work him out. He’s so different to his nephew; where Eddie is all brash obnoxious charm, Wayne is stoic and calm, but there’s a keen sharpness that lingers in his eyes, like he understands Steve a whole lot more than any other adult in his life had ever managed to.
Steve drops him another awkward nod, moving to turn back to the trailer when the older man speaks again.
“Steve.” He says, voice full of understanding, and maybe a little of something that seems like desperation but Steve can’t quite pin it down.
Steve turns back to face him, trying to hide his grimace.
“He’ll come around. Sometimes he gets… overwhelmed.” Wayne mutters, rubbing the back of his neck; nervous for the first time during this entire bizarre interaction.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” Steve says, voice effortfully indifferent.
“I think we’re well past that now, son. Wayne’ll do.” The reprimand is light, familiar and friendly in a way that sets Steve’s teeth on edge. He’s more unnerved by this man than he ever has been by his own bully of a father.
“Wayne.” Steve tests the word out with a sharp nod.
The man in question hums appreciatively.
“Tell him - never mind. I just hope he’s alright.” Steve murmurs.
Wayne nods and steps back, glancing over Steve’s shoulder to where Max is hovering in the trailer doorway, watching their exchange with a contemplative frown, then back to the boxes in Steve’s trunk.
A small, understanding smile transforms the older man’s usually gruff face.
“You’re good people, boy.” He says softly, “Never thought I’d say that to a Harrington, but here we are.”
Steve smiles back stiffly. Wants to tell Wayne that he’s definitely not good. That he’s broken and dark in some pretty fundamental places. In some deep intrinsic way that he doesn’t think will ever be quite right again.
Tell Eddie to keep away. Oh God, tell him to run back to me.
He keeps his mouth shut beyond a muttered thanks.
Wayne strolls off after that. Steve watches as he disappears inside the trailer, and has to physically hold himself back from sprinting after him, slipping through that closing door. Just to get a glimpse of the boy that’s taken up all the left over space in his broken, useless heart.
Instead, he turns to face Max, still watching him with a troubled expression and inclines his head to the Beamer as he opens the driver side door.
“Come on Mayfield. Let’s go home.”
Max is quiet for most of the drive back to Loch Nora.
“Are you and Eddie okay?” She asks suddenly as he pulls into his driveway, her brow furrowed.
“Nope.” Steve huffs out with a humourless chuckle.
“Is that the reason he’s not talking to any of us?”
“Yep.”
“Wanna, like, talk about it?” She huffs.
“Nope.”
“Because I’m pretty sure you guys were about two minutes away from making out the last time we all hung out, so-“
“Seriously making me rethink this whole thing, Mayfield.” Steve grits out, waving his hand to encompass the space between them.
“I didn’t want this whole thing in the first place! I just wanted groceries. You practically kidnapped me, remember?”
Steve snorts.
“Yeah yeah, keep it up Max. Your I’m too cool for emotions act doesn’t fool me. You love me.”
“You’re an idiot.” She scoffs, but there’s no bite to the words. Just the warm exasperation of a sister. At least, it’s what Steve imagines sisters to act like; he hasn’t really got anything to base it off of. The closest he has is Robin, but she’s more like his mirror image, half of his soul, rather than a sibling.
“Yeah. I am.” He huffs out with a laugh.
He throws his car into park and turns off the idling engine. They sit in contented silence for a little while longer, both staring through the windshield at the sprawling Harrington house. Windows dark and empty in the rapidly approaching dusk. Steve thinks it’s the most uninviting the place has ever looked; wishes he had somewhere cozy and safe and warm to bring Max home to instead. Not a mausoleum of lonely memories and broken promises.
“I do love you, though.” She says quietly, after a moment.
Steve smiles softly and reaches for the car door handle.
“Yeah, I know.”