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Wayne Munson was a man who enjoyed the simple things in life.
He liked to get home from his night shift at work, shower and then settle on his armchair with a steaming mug of coffee so that he could watch the morning news before going to bed. He enjoyed sitting on the rickety old deckchair outside and reading the daily paper. He appreciated quiet mornings and easy nights.
Most of all he liked the simple easiness that came from having his nephew around. They were like two peas in a pod - there were never any arguments or drama between them.
Which is why Wayne didn't enjoy the sudden, regular appearances of Steve Harrington in their home. From what he knew of the boy - which was mostly an extension of what he knew of his parents - he was not simple. He was sure the Harrington boy was drama incarnate.
He was sure .
This surety was something that was cemented when he was woken up by a light knock on the trailer door, a glance at his alarm clock informed him that it was just after midnight - who in the damn hell was waking him up on his night off? It wouldn't have been Eddie - his nephew had a key and also wouldn't be home yet, he was playing a show at that dingy little bar he loved so much.
The knocking came again, Wayne groaned and shoved his duvet off, blindly feeling for his slippers with his feet.
“Alrigh’, keep your hair on,” he called out, flicking on the lights as he made his way over to the door, grumbling quietly to himself all the way.
He made sure his shotgun was leaning against the wall beside the door, at least if it was someone dangerous at the door then he would be able to threaten them away and go back to his damn bed. Unfortunately, the second he opened the door he was met by a rambling voice.
“Sorry, Eds, I was gonna call but I remembered you saying your Uncle’s a light sleeper and I couldn't remember if he was working tonight and my parents- oh,” Wayne could’ve banged his head against the wall, he would have preferred someone trying to threaten him or Eddie, “you’re not Eddie.”
“Clearly,” Wayne said, raising an eyebrow at Steve fucking Harrington.
“Ah, uh, shit, I’m sorry Mr. Munson, I didn't mean to wake you, I swear, I was looking for Eddie,” Harrington said.
Wayne’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a smudge of red on the boy’s temple, “Eddie’s at his show.”
“Oh,” Harrington said, “uh, I’ll get out of your hair then.”
“Not so fast,” Wayne said, stepping back and holding an arm out to invite Harrington inside, he was curious about that smudge that looked a lot like blood and as much as the kid pissed him off and he didn't trust him, his overwhelming nosiness was winning, “why don't you come in? The forecast says we can expect this snow to get a lot worse as the night goes on, s’not a good idea to be driving in the dark when it’s snowing.”
“Oh, uh, I’ll be alright, Sir,” Harrington said, already backing away from the light that was spilling out onto him… was that a bruise on his cheek?
“Y’know, Eddie’ll be home in the next half-hour or so, pretty sure he’ll be upset about missin’ you,” Wayne said, the words sticking in his throat on their way out.
Really, he didn't want the Harrington’s boy in his trailer, especially not when the only reason he had to tolerate him - Eddie - wasn't there, but his damn gut wouldn't let him ignore the very real possibility that something was wrong here.
“I, uh, he will?”
Was that hope in the kid’s eyes?
“Yeah, so why don't you come in? I was jus’ about to make a cup of cocoa,” that was a lie, he’d been snoring his head off in bed, he’d had no intentions of making damned cocoa.
“Uh, thanks, Sir, but I don't wanna impose,” he said quietly, casting a wistful glance at the window that they both knew belonged to the Munson who actually liked spending time with the boy.
Interestingly, the slight turn of his head was enough to illuminate that smudge on his temple and Wayne wasn't surprised to see that it was definitely blood.
“You don't need to call me ‘Sir’, that was my father,” Wayne said, stepping back and allowing space for the Harrington boy to enter, “come on in now, I’m not heating the whole damn trailer park.”
“Oh, uh, right, sorry,” the kid mumbled, practically leaping through the door in an effort not to cause an inconvenience.
It was strange - the forced politeness - and reminded Wayne of the way Eddie had acted towards him when he first arrived on his doorstep, back when his nephew hadn't trusted him enough to speak his mind or do what he actually wanted to do. That was annoying, mainly because it raised some questions in Wayne’s mind about things that he didn't want to consider.
“Well, don't just stand there, come in and sit,” Wayne instructed.
In the light of the kitchen, the bruising to the kid’s face was obvious and the blood was so clearly blood that Wayne felt a little dumb for ever thinking it could've been something else. Harrington was very carefully avoiding his gaze, something that would have irked him, if not for the slight red flush that was spread over his face conveying that he was embarrassed. Why? Was it because he was in a trailer trash kitchen? Or was it because he had clearly had the shit beaten out of him by someone?
“Cocoa?” Wayne offered.
“Oh, uh, sure, I can make it?” Harrington offered.
“No way, your hands are shaking so much you’ll just drop the mugs,” Wayne said, raising an eyebrow at how Harrington looked at his trembling hands with mild, detached interest after hearing that, “why don't you just sit down?”
It was interesting, not that he’d ever admit it, to see how tentatively Harrington sat at the kitchen table. If he was a less observant man he would have said that the boy thought he was too good to be sitting there in the Munson kitchen, afraid that he was going to catch something from the wooden chair, but in reality… it seemed like he was worried he was in the way, almost.
“How sweet do you like it?” Wayne asked as he poured milk into a saucepan and lit the hob.
“Just however you want it is fine with me.”
“Do you always do that?”
He looked like a deer caught in the headlights as he stared at Wayne who was debating whether to put his foot on the gas or the brake, “w-what?”
The gas, he decided, “do you always just go along with what everyone else wants?”
Harrington did the most un-proper thing Wayne would have expected from someone who was from a prissy-ass rich family, he shrugged. He fully just screwed up his nose and raised a single shoulder, almost dismissively.
It was an answer and an avoidance tactic all in one. It was everything he needed to know.
When he eventually finished heating the milk and stirring in the cocoa powder, he poured it into two mugs, handing the hand-painted ‘Corroded Coffin’ mug to Harrington knowing that he would appreciate it and then he placed a small bowl of sugar on the table with a teaspoon.
“Feel free to make it how you like it,” Wayne simply said, taking a single scoop of sugar and stirring it into his cup.
Harrington took a sip… and smiled, “this is really good, thanks, Sir,” he said.
“None of that ‘Sir’ bullshit, remember?”
“Oh, right, sorry, Sir,” he said almost automatically before his eyes widened comically, “wait, no, I meant-”
“It’s alright, Harrington,” Wayne said with a dismissive wave and fuck.
The kid fucking flinched back at that.
Was it the name or the wave? They made eye contact for a long moment, neither of them immediately caving in until eventually Harrington’s shoulders buckled and he seemed to almost collapse in on himself.
“I’m not,” he said quietly, dropping his gaze to stare resolutely into the mug.
“Not what?”
“Not a Harrington,” he said, “well, not properly at least. Apparently, I don't live up to the family name.”
“You know, Har- Steve, I went to school with you Pops,” Wayne said, Steve’s head raised but he didn't move his gaze from the mug, “he was a right piece of work, he would stand there with his little posse and instruct them on who they should be beating up and whose heads should be getting shoved down a toilet.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve mumbled.
“No, Kid, I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad,” Wayne said, “I’m telling you because if you don't live up to what he is then that’s a good thing, you don't want to be like him. Life isn't about being the best at everything or having more money than anyone else, it’s about finding your people and finding your happiness.”
“What if my people and happiness are something that wouldn't be accepted?”
“Your Pops did that to your face, didn't he?” Wayne asked, already knowing the answer in his heart.
Steve’s jaw clenched and Wayne saw his fist tighten around the handle of the mug before remembering whose it was and releasing his hold.
“No, Sir, of course not, my father would never do anything like this.”
It was so clearly a lie.
“Steve, I wasn't born yesterday,” Wayne said, “look, you don't know me and I don't expect you to spill all your secrets to me when I haven't earned that trust, but if my suspicions are right and your Pops did do this, you need to know that’s not allowed.”
“You’re just… going to let me not talk about it?” Steve asked.
“Yeah, it’s your business,” Wayne said, had no one ever just left him well enough alone with his secrets? That was pretty damn sad.
“Oh,” Steve said.
“Now, why don't you keep drinking that cocoa and I’m gonna grab a damp cloth to wash that blood off your face,” Wayne said.
Naturally, Steve was prepared to fight him on that and he had tried his best to make up excuses and try to make his exit from the trailer, not that Wayne was going to allow that - a quick glance at the clock told him that Eddie would be home any minute and he knew that his nephew would be more likely to put the anxious edge to Steve to rest.
Which is how he found himself gently dabbing at a rather large scrape on Steve’s temple, it looked like he’d either been hit with something or shoved into a wall, he wanted to ask questions, but it was more important to get the wounds cleaned.
“Here,” Wayne said, after he’d finished cleaning and handed over a bag of frozen peas, “hold this on your cheek, it’ll help with the swelling.”
“Thank you, Mr. Munson,” Steve said.
“Shit, Son, it’s just ‘Wayne’, alright?”
Steve nodded, still looking very much like a kicked puppy.
So it was especially fascinating to see how he responded as the front door creaked open and Eddie’s voice rang out.
“Wayne? Are you still up? I thought you were planning on getting an early night,” Eddie shouted, followed by the rustling of him shedding his jacket.
“Turns out I’m not done taking in strays,” Wayne called back.
“Is it another damn cat?” Eddie shouted, “you know I can't do cats, man, my eyes go all red and puffy and I swear one of these days I’m actually going to scratch my way through my eyeball, how will you feel then, huh? Will it be worth it? Will you- wait, Steve?”
Steve smiled softly - the first genuine smile that Wayne had seen the boy muster up - and lifted the hand that wasn't holding the frozen peas up to wave at Eddie.
“What happened?” Eddie asked darting forward to stare at the large black and blue contusion that was covering Steve’s cheek.
“I got into a fight.”
“Uh huh,” Eddie said, “cut the shit, Stevie”
Wayne was surprised that rather than evading, Steve’s shoulders slumped down and sighed a deep, bone-weary sigh that he’d never heard come from a teenager.
“My father saw us at Wendy’s Diner,” Steve said softly.
Apparently, that made sense to Eddie because his nephew’s eyes narrowed and Wayne was suddenly worried that he would actually do something that would warrant him being accused of murder.
“That fucking bastard,” Eddie hissed, “I’m gonna go over there and show him exactly what happens when-”
“Eds, no,” Steve said.
The words were quiet but not unheard, it seemed as though they held more power than Wayne had realised because Eddie instantly paused his tirade and looked at Steve with a knowing expression.
“You’re not gonna let me do anything, are you?”
“I don't want him coming after you,” Steve said, making a quick glance at Wayne with a whole load of meaning hidden behind that gaze.
“Shit, Pretty Boy, he wouldn't gain anything by that other than a few missing teeth,” Eddie said, “Wayne knows I’m gay.”
Wayne did indeed, what he didn't know however was that Steve knew about his nephew’s preferences. How had Steve Harrington become someone Eddie trusted so much? So much that he was willing to share this information that could ruin his life, and why did Harrington Sr. know about it enough that he thought he could use it as blackmail?
Unless…
“Can I tell him, Stevie?”
Steve looked at Eddie with a pale face and fear in his eyes and Wayne knew .
“S’alright, Son,” Wayne said, “I already know but you don't have to tell me anything ‘til you're ready to.”
Steve didn't speak, he merely stared at Wayne with distrusting hesitancy.
“Look, I’ll give you boys a moment, alright?” Wayne said with a gentle smile at his nephew and his nephew’s apparent boyfriend, “I’ll go pilfer Eddie’s drawers for some clean pyjamas for you, Steve, lord knows you don't need the added trauma of having to go through his laundry at this time of night.”
Maybe Wayne left the door open a crack on purpose after he left.
Maybe he peeked through after grabbing a t-shirt and some sweats.
Maybe he saw Steve crying into Eddie’s neck as Eddie gently kissed the top of his head.
Maybe Wayne decided not to disturb them again after that and returned to his bed silently.
Wayne liked a simple life and maybe, just maybe, Steve Harrington wasn't as difficult as he initially thought.