Chapter Text
It turns out the credits don't start rolling after the big adventure in real life. Shit just keeps on going.
The first couple of weeks in Chicago were kind of a fucking mess. Living on your own as adults came with all sorts of shit to figure out. Tommy walked out of the shower on the morning of their second day only to realize that they hadn’t bought any fucking towels. Munson spent two hours on the phone with the trash collectors trying to get a new bin for their unit cause the last tenants had apparently stolen theirs (fucking why?). Steve got the settings on the washing machine in the basement wrong and turned a bunch of their clothes blue.
Tommy had had to leave all his stuff behind when they fled Hawkins, so after a week Mama came up to bring his things. She actually got a ride with Chief Hopper, who had a bunch of police paperwork crap he needed them all to fill out, and Buckley, who was pretty fucking furious about having been left behind. The six of them crowded into the tiny apartment living room, which had now acquired that shitty sofa from the Goodwill that they had (eventually) managed to cram into Munson’s van.
Buckley immediately swept past everyone, grabbed Steve by the wrist, and dragged him into his bedroom. Mama clucked and made for the kitchen, where she started rummaging and muttering to herself. Hopper turned to Tommy and Munson.
“Well boys,” he said, “I guess I’ll start with you two.” He gestured at the crappy folding table they’d set up behind the couch.
So Munson gave Hopper his statement and then Tommy gave his after that. Hopper took some polaroids of Tommy’s neck and torso, where the bruises from his fight with Creel were starting to yellow. All the while Mama banged around in the kitchen and they all politely ignored the sounds of yelling and then crying that were coming from Steve’s room.
Eventually Steve and Buckley reappeared, wiping their noses and trying to seem casual. Steve looked all sheepish while Mama cooed over him; she had never smelled his real scent before, which she told him was "delightful" and "so homey." Mama had always liked Steve, she said he was so polite (whatever), so Tommy had never really worried about how she would treat him after she learned he was an omega. But he and Steve had agreed not to risk letting her know in case the Harringtons got wind of it; they planned to be safely out of reach in Chicago, but Tommy refused to leave his mother behind at the mercy of Diane Harrington and the nasty old bitches from the country club.
Hopper had Steve and Buckley join them at the table while Mama went and started unpacking Tommy’s things in his room (she insisted, okay, he could have done it himself). Hopper explained everything they had learned so far: Creel had been the last-minute winner of a fierce bidding war over Steve that had included some Soviet bigwigs and a few billionaire alphas along the East Coast. The plan had been to drag Steve in person to Boston for the final round and leave him with the winner. But apparently Creel had come in suddenly with a huge offer and the Harringtons had decided to call off the auction (fucking Christ, auction) and just let him have Steve.
When Hopper asked Steve about Creel, Steve admitted that he remembered seeing him at the house a few times growing up; he was the son of a local businessman who had taken over when his family had all died suddenly. Mr. Harrington had been sort of mentoring him, showing him how to become a big fucking coke-snorting, stock market sleazeball or whatever that asshole did for a living. Creel had been to a couple of family dinners, Steve told them, and had always kind of wigged him out. Especially after Steve presented, even though his status was supposedly hidden; Creel had just, like, fucking stared at him a bunch over the chicken cacciatore.
Tommy had to get up and do a tight lap of the kitchen when he heard that. Munson didn’t look much better. Hopper just nodded, his jaw twitching, and wrote that down in his notes.
After they had spilled everything they could all remember, and Hopper had filled out a bunch of forms with his shitty handwriting, Mama decided it was time to drag them all out for dinner. Munson took them to a diner a couple of blocks away that he had found while exploring the neighborhood. They ate greasy burgers while Mama asked about their plans for big city living and told some (fucking embarrassing) stories about what she had done right after high school.
Hopper gave Steve and Munson an update about all the gremlins, who were apparently pretty upset about them suddenly skipping town. Steve got all sad-puppy-dog-eyes about that and promised to call them all, maybe arrange a visit. Tommy had the sinking feeling that they were going to be hosting pre-teen sleepovers all summer.
Buckley offered up all the gossip from back home. Steve had never wanted to hide his status after he was free of his parents, so with his sudden disappearance and the arrests the news had spread like wildfire. It was a real mixed bag, Buckley said, some people were being dicks about it and some people were being cool. Carol had gone up to Buckley like the cat that had gotten the fucking cream, all set to rip into her about her boyfriend using her to pretend to be straight. She'd deflated pretty fast when Buckley told her she had known all along because she was, you know, actually Steve's friend instead of just a hanger-on. Then Carol got real pissed and said some stuff that Buckley refused to repeat in front of Steve.
Tommy had been thinking about inviting Carol up to Chicago for a weekend, maybe have one last hurrah before she left for Purdue. He decided to hold off on that plan after all.
Carol always was such a bitch.
After dinner Hopper drove back to Hawkins and Tommy walked around with Mama to find a motel. Buckley crashed at the apartment on the shitty couch. They did touristy shit the next day, landmarks and museums and stuff. After Mama had gone back to the motel for the night Buckley and Munson and Steve broke out the eyeliner and the glitter and got all tarted up to go to some gay bar.
Tommy did not join them, thanks, he went out to a normal bar and picked up a very pretty blonde named Ashley who took him home and sucked his dick. He stood by that decision, though he did find out the next day that Buckley had actually managed to kiss a girl for once in her life and he had fucking missed it.
What? It would have been hot!
After a couple more days of checking out Chicago (Buckley toured a couple of the colleges, her excuse to her parents for the visit), Hopper drove back up to exchange more paperwork and drive Mama and Buckley home. While the women were loading into the Chief’s truck and Munson and Steve were saying their goodbyes, Tommy pulled Hopper aside.
“Will you check in on my mom sometimes?” Tommy asked Hopper.
“Sure,” Hopper replied. “But I don’t think you need to worry too much, Creel and the Harringtons are more worried about repairing their public image than revenge.” He snorted. “I think they’ll all be in prison pretty soon anyway.”
Tommy nodded. “Good, sure. I just meant, you know, for any reason. She, uh—she didn’t take it so well, when my dad left. She was… kind of a mess, for a long time. And I just don’t want—you know, with me leaving—”
Hopper clapped him on the shoulder, “I get it, Hagan. I think she’ll be fine, but I can swing by from time to time.”
“Thanks, Chief,” Tommy told him.
“You’ll keep an eye on Tweedledee and Tweedledum for me?” Hopper asked, watching as Munson tried to use his sad noodle arms to lift a suitcase into the back of the truck. Steve just laughed at him.
“You know it,” Tommy said as he crossed his arms. “These idiots need me.”
"Oh yeah, you're really the glue that holds this group together," Hopper said. And he was being sarcastic but, like, whatever, it was fucking true. “I’m surprised you don’t mind,” Hopper continued. “Moving all this way just to be a third wheel.”
Tommy shrugged. “They’re family,” he said simply.
Hopper gave him a sideways little smile. “I guess they are.”
Living with a couple meant witnessing way too much of their lives. Their weird habits, their in-jokes, their pet names. That one time Tommy walked in on them fucking in the kitchen because they were assholes.
It also meant witnessing all of their stupid fights. And most of them were really stupid, just dumb arguments about whose turn it was to do the dishes and who had used up the milk without adding it to the list and why was there so much goddamn hair in the shower drain. Most of the time Tommy thought it was pretty funny, honestly. Sometimes he would jump in just to stir shit up. Steve’s right, Munson, what were you thinking? or maybe He’s got a point, Steve, you’re being pretty unreasonable. It was all just petty shit anyway, stuff they got over until the next time someone forgot to switch the laundry or left the toothpaste cap off.
Steve and Munson did have one huge fight, though, the real kind. Tommy had to witness that too.
It was about six months after they had moved to Chicago, so pretty close to Christmas. Two days before the fight Steve had swung by the record store Munson worked at to pick him up at the end of his shift. Steve was just hanging around the register chatting when some asshole customer had started laying into him for being a male omega, spewing a lot of the same shit Steve had been hearing on and off since he decided to stop hiding his status.
Steve gave as good as he got, just shouted the guy down and held his own until the store owner kicked the guy out. The owner was cool about Munson and Steve, but the store was practically downtown, way outside the relatively-safe borders of Boystown. No pink triangle in the window. Flying under the radar, Munson had called it when he got the job there. Safer that way, he explained.
It was just an asshole who wanted to yell at somebody about something, Steve told Tommy after they had gotten home. It happens, you know? Fuck that guy. Munson didn’t say a word about it.
But he must have been pretty shaken up about the whole thing, because two days later when Tommy was climbing up the last set of stairs to the apartment he could already hear shouting through their door. He unlocked it and barely had a second to open it before Munson was barreling past him out onto the landing and down the stairs, a backpack slung over one shoulder.
“What the fuck, Munson?” Tommy called after him. He turned back toward the open door.
Steve was just inside, looking furious. He had his hands up, gripping his hair tight, as he paced back and forth in the living room.
“Steve?” Tommy asked.
“He’s leaving,” Steve said tightly. “He’s—he’s leaving, I don’t—he can’t—I think—I think he’s leaving me,” his voice broke on the last word. The pacing stopped.
Tommy clenched his jaw. “The hell he is,” he said.
“Tommy…” Steve said. He pressed his hands over his mouth.
“Stay here,” Tommy told him. “I’ll handle it.”
Tommy turned and headed back down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He caught up with Munson just outside the building. He was standing on the sidewalk, staring at his van parked on the side of the street. Munson was holding his car keys in his hand, but he was just frozen there.
Good. He wasn’t a complete idiot, then.
Tommy walked right up to him and plucked the keys out of his hand. Munson looked up at him as Tommy stuck the keys in his jacket pocket and regarded him evenly. Munson stared for a minute before he sneered and started walking quickly down the street. Tommy followed him, keeping pace by his shoulder.
“The fuck are you doing, Hagan?” Munson asked angrily.
“Just going for a walk,” Tommy replied casually. No need to spook the flighty bastard.
They quick-marched up to the main street and then turned, walking one block, then another, then another at the same pace. By the sixth block Munson had slowed a little. At the eighth block, Munson paused at the corner. He looked a little lost. Tommy looked around and saw that they were across the street from one of their favorite dive bars. Perfect.
Tommy nodded toward the building with his chin. “You want a beer?”
Munson looked at him. “It’s, like, 11 in the morning,” he said.
Tommy shrugged. “My treat,” he replied.
Munson bit his lip. “Yeah, fuck it,” he said.
They crossed the street and headed inside the bar, which was practically empty at this hour. They grabbed a booth and when a waiter wandered by Tommy ordered two bottles of beer. Munson didn’t say a word, he just stared out the tinted window and fiddled with his rings.
They drank their beers in silence. Munson ripped the label off of his and started shredding it into little pieces. It was the longest Tommy had ever seen him go without talking.
After a little while, Tommy stood. “Gotta take a leak,” he told Munson.
He headed toward the bathrooms and quietly asked the waiter over by the kitchen door if he could use the phone. He kept an eye on Munson, who had his back to Tommy, as he dialed the apartment’s number.
“Eddie?” Steve answered. His voice sounded so small.
“It’s me,” Tommy said quickly, “I’ve got him. We’re down at Little Jim’s.”
“Is he—did he say—” Steve fumbled.
“He isn’t saying anything,” Tommy told him. “But I’ve got him, okay? I’ll call you if something changes.”
“Okay,” Steve replied. “Okay.”
Tommy hung up and walked back to the booth. Munson had peeled the label off of Tommy’s beer and shredded that one too. He had a pack of cigarettes in his hand which he was tapping against the table. When Tommy appeared Munson looked up at him and shook the box questioningly. Tommy shrugged, why not. He pulled a couple of bills out of his wallet, left them on the table and walked toward the door, Munson trailing behind him.
Outside, they leaned against the brick wall. Munson handed Tommy a cigarette and they both lit up from the lighter Munson pulled from his pocket.
Tommy waited for a goddamn explanation.
“Steve says he won’t hide anymore,” Munson said after a minute. He took a quick, angry puff of his cigarette and laughed. “No, not ‘won’t.’ He said he can’t. He can’t hide anymore. Because it’s his status, you know, it’s his fucking body telling everyone what he is when he just, like, walks down the street or enters a room. He says he can’t hide it, and he’s not going to try, because the cost isn’t worth it to him.” Munson kicked the wall behind them with his boot. “Well, it’s fucking worth it to me!” he yelled suddenly.
Tommy said nothing, just watched him.
Munson bit the nail on the middle finger of his free hand as he kept talking. “I tried to tell him, you know, people like us, we’re always hiding. It’s not safe. There’s places, right, places where we don’t have to hide,” he gestured to the street and neighborhood around them. “But most of the time we do. And it’s not great, yeah, okay, fucking duh. But being open about shit like that gets people killed, man.” He took another rough drag, shaking his head.
“I tried to explain,” Munson went on. “What it’s like, the history, the way we can never really be free, even here. I’m lucky to have a boss who knows and doesn’t care, right? That’s rare. And you know what he said?” Munson tilted his head.
Tommy just shrugged.
“He said, well, I’m going to be free. Like—” Munson threw up his hands. “Like he can just decide that! Like it’s just a fucking choice, like he’s just going to wake up and decide homophobia, like, doesn’t fucking apply if he wills it not to.” Munson kicked the wall again. “Like he doesn’t give his mate fuckin’ anxiety when he’s walking around all day in public without any scent blockers, just begging to be fuckin’ jumped in the street.”
Tommy whistled, low.
“What, man?” Munson asked resentfully.
“I just never thought,” Tommy paused as he took a pull from his cigarette, “that I’d ever live to see Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson tell somebody else to tone it down for their own good.”
Munson whipped his head over. “That’s not—” he said sharply.
Tommy raised his eyebrows.
“Shit,” Munson muttered, looking down. He took another drag. “The thing is,” he continued quietly, “he’s so—brave, God, he’s so fucking brave. He shows the world who he is, his whole self, just by existing. And he just wants to, like, live without hiding or apologizing or lying, and I fucking love him for that.” Munson leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes and tilting his face upward toward the sky. “I just don’t know if I’m brave enough to stand next to him while he does it.”
Tommy thought about that while he finished his cigarette. Munson stood there with his eyes closed, slowly finishing his own.
“Steve’s gonna do it anyway,” Tommy said eventually. Munson opened his eyes and looked over. “Whatever you do, or don’t do, Steve’s got his mind made up. He’s done pretending he’s not an omega, and I doubt there’s anything you or I can do about it. You know how he fucking gets,” Tommy shook his head. He pointed at Munson with the hand holding his cigarette butt. “But I know he’d rather do it with you next to him. And I know you’d rather be there too. Cause what scares you more, man? Being there to watch it happen and helping pick up the pieces when he needs you? Or not being there and knowing he’s doing it alone?”
“Fuck,” Munson said. He pursed his lips and thumped his head back against the brick wall one, two, three times, before he surged forward. “Come on,” he said.
“Where are we going?” Tommy said as Munson started walking.
“To the—to the fucking harbor, I don’t know, I need to—just, are you coming or what?” Munson asked him over his shoulder.
Tommy came. They walked along the side streets to the harbor where boats were tied to docks out on the lake. Munson leaned against the metal railing and stared out at the water. Tommy found a bench and sat down to keep an eye on him.
It was fucking cold, the biting December wind whipping off the water. Munson stood gripping the railing for a long time. Then he paced back and forth, gesturing, talking to himself out loud, though the wind swallowed up the words. He smoked another cigarette. Tommy didn’t join him this time. He could wait. He could wait all fucking day if he had to.
After close to an hour Munson jerked around suddenly and started walking back into the neighborhood, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. Tommy kept pace again. They stopped at a little bookstore down the street from the apartment; Tommy waited outside while Munson went in and emerged again quickly, holding a little paper packet in his hand.
Tommy walked Munson back to their building and followed him up the stairs to the second floor landing. He grabbed Munson by the sleeve to stop him.
“Here,” Tommy said, pulling his own keys out of his pocket and handing them over. “I’ll hold onto yours until tomorrow.”
Munson raised his eyebrows. “What if I need the van?” he asked.
“You won’t,” Tommy told him firmly.
Munson reached out and took the keys. “Thanks, Hagan,” he said.
“Don’t fuck this up,” Tommy said seriously. “I still have to piss on your grave if you do.”
Munson huffed. “Yeah, man, I know.” He continued up the stairs.
Tommy waited until he heard the door to their apartment open and close before he headed downstairs to find a payphone. There was a girl he knew over in Lincoln Park who would be all too happy to let him spend the night at her place.
In the morning, Tommy got back to the apartment just before Munson had to leave for his shift at the record store. When he walked in, Steve and Munson were just finishing their coffee at the kitchen table, all smiles.
“Hey,” Tommy said casually. He walked over and squeezed Steve’s shoulder. Steve reached up and clasped his hand, squeezing back.
“Hey, man,” Munson greeted him. He stood up and put his mug in the sink, then leaned over to kiss Steve goodbye. “I’ll see you after work, babe,” he said to Steve before he headed out the front door.
There was a little rainbow flag pin attached to the lapel of his denim vest.
Tommy poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down next to Steve at the table. "The things you get that man to do for you," he commented.
"Oh, did I tell him to do that?" Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.
Tommy snorted. "I didn't tell him to do shit, man. I don't know how all your symbols or whatever work. I just followed his dumb ass around the whole damn neighborhood all day."
"He said you stole his keys."
"Hell yeah I did. I woulda stolen his shoes and his fuckin' wallet too. Woulda dragged his ass back here by his stupid hair if I had to."
Steve leaned over a bit and nudged Tommy with his elbow. "Thanks for stealing my mate's car keys, Tommy."
"Next time I'll let him drive out of town just so I can track him down and punch him," Tommy warned. "This was, like, a freebie."
"I'll let him know," Steve said with a little smile.
Munson never lost his mind again (more than usual) so Tommy never got the opportunity to punch him for it. He regretted that he had missed his chance.
Tommy went on a lot of dates in Chicago.
He was looking for his soulmate, of course. He was also looking to get laid. Those two things were not mutually exclusive, you see, and there were a lot of beautiful fucking women in the city.
It wasn’t all first dates and one night stands, though. Some girls he dated for longer. It was nice to have someone to wake up next to, someone to make plans for next week with. It didn’t have to be serious, but that didn’t mean they all had to be one-offs either.
There ended up being two girls he dated that were serious enough to be called girlfriends.
The first was named Sharon. Tommy met her at the gym; he was using the weight machines and staring at her ass while she did an aerobics class. When the class ended he asked her out, she giggled and said yes, they met on Friday night for Italian food and he fucked her into the mattress, twice.
It was good so he called her on Tuesday. And they kept going out, and they kept fucking, and after a while she went from “Sharon, this girl I’m seeing” to “Sharon, my girlfriend.”
Steve and Munson didn’t really like her, they called her Carol Part 2. Which was dumb, she didn’t look a damn thing like Carol. Sharon was funny like Carol though, maybe a little mean, but not to, like, anybody that they knew. She was fun to hang out with, she made Tommy laugh, and the sex was fucking great.
They argued a lot, though. Usually it was over really dumb, petty shit; Sharon would get into these moods where she just had to piss all over everything, and nothing Tommy said or did was right. They would end up having these screaming matches, especially if Sharon had been drinking, and the whole night would just go up in flames.
It took Tommy a while to notice it, but Sharon was honestly kind of a bitch. And not in the fun, catty way; like in the real, shitty-person way. She wasn’t mean to Steve or Munson, Tommy wouldn’t have tolerated that, but she was just kind of rude to everyone else. Sharon made fun of people’s outfits and sneered at waiters and always had something nasty to say about the people she worked with. It was funny at first but, like, she just complained about everyone all the time and talked shit about everything.
Maybe she was more like Carol than he had realized.
Tommy broke up with her after about three months, and then she had a fucking lot of shit to say about Steve and Munson, which they thankfully weren’t around to hear. He didn’t regret letting her go.
The other girl Tommy dated seriously was Sara, who he met a little over a year after they moved to Chicago. Sara was an omega who was also looking for her soulmate; they knew on the first date that they weren’t meant for each other. But they had a good time, and Tommy thought she was hot and fun and nice, so he called her again.
At first, it was just having some fun while they were both on the hunt. They kept dating around, but the longer they hung out the less time Tommy wanted to spend trying to meet other women. Why bother going out on date after pointless date when he could be with Sara instead? After a while it felt less like killing time and more like something they were doing on purpose. And Sara was great: she got along with Steve and Eddie and Robin, she was hilarious, and she was just, like, stupidly hot. She smelled like coconuts and Tommy loved waking up in the morning with her scent on his pillows.
Things started to get pretty serious. Tommy was thinking of asking Sara to move in.
They had been together for more than eight months by then and Tommy loved her, he really did. He started thinking that maybe the whole soulmate thing wasn't as important as he had thought. He could see a real future with Sara, a life they would build together because they chose each other, not because God or the universe or whatever decided for them.
(And yeah, maybe Tommy was still holding out hope a little bit. It wasn't unheard of for people to have met their soulmate before they had their big destiny moment. After all, Steve first met Eddie way back in 6th grade.)
Then one day Sara ran into her soulmate in the grocery store. And that was the fucking end of that, apparently.
There was no big fight this time. Tommy wanted to fight, to be sure. He wanted to scream at her and he wanted to beg her to stay and he wanted to cry and he wanted to argue. But all of that got bottled up inside and stuck, like the Three goddamn Stooges all trying to go out the same door at the same time. So he didn’t really say anything at all, just watched her pack up the things she had left at his place, listened to her apology, and walked her to the door.
What was there to fight about anyway? Tommy couldn’t fight fate.
After Sara broke the news and then left Tommy knocked on Steve’s bedroom door. Steve took one look before he pulled him in close and curled up with him in the bed that smelled like Steve-and‐Eddie. And that was a good smell, a much better smell than his bed which still smelled like Tommy-and-Sara. There was no Tommy-and-Sara, not anymore. Maybe there never was. There was Sara-and-some-guy-named-Zak and just Tommy, Tommy alone again.
Nearly two years in this city and I still haven't found her, Tommy whispered into Steve's shoulder. He was supposed to find her when they were both ready. Was she not ready? Was he not ready? He felt pretty fucking ready, he had felt ready from the day he presented and he knew that there was someone out there that would be part of him forever. He would never be left behind like Mama was. So what was the universe waiting for?
Why did the idea of "not ready yet" feel so much like "not good enough?"
Steve whined softly and told Tommy all the things he knew but still needed to hear. You’ll find her, it will happen. You’re still young, most people don’t find their soulmate as early as I did. Don’t give up. Don’t give up.
Tommy fell asleep eventually, but Steve must have made a call because not long after Steve had pulled Tommy back together and moved him out to the couch, Eddie appeared with Robin and Chinese takeout in tow. The four of them piled together in the living room to eat and put on some of the sports movies that Tommy liked. They watched The Bad News Bears and Robin told a wild fucking story about the time her parents had taken her to a baseball game as a toddler and she had nearly tumbled over the railing of the upper deck because she thought the mascot was gonna eat her. Steve wouldn’t let anybody talk while they watched Hoosiers cause it was a goddamn masterpiece, Eddie, these are my people.
Even without his soulmate, Tommy wasn’t really alone. He knew that. But sometimes he needed the reminder.
Tommy didn’t give up. But it took him a while to get back to putting himself out there. And this time, he resolved, there would be no more girlfriends-for-now. He’d meet women, he’d go on dates. He’d definitely still have sex, he wasn’t a goddamn monk. But he wasn’t going to start another relationship just for the hell of it, just to kill time.
He didn’t want to waste any more time. Tommy was ready. And he was going to fucking prove it.
There was a lot of stuff about living with a mostly-gay couple, and living in a mostly-gay neighborhood, that Tommy didn’t really get. He learned a lot, that first year there, but even when he knew he didn’t always understand.
He tried not to be a dick about it most of the time, really. Well, okay, not at first—at first he had had some very loud and very sarcastic arguments with Eddie that Steve had to break up. It got pretty heated back then. But Tommy learned eventually; mostly he learned to keep his fucking mouth shut and not ask when he didn’t understand. Or wait to ask Robin, who usually knew more than Steve and was a hell of a lot more patient than Eddie.
(Look, Tommy had never been great about getting people to like him and there was this whole new, like, etiquette to learn in Boystown. All these new words and innuendos and like, questions you were supposed to ask and questions you were never supposed to ask. It was a lot. He was a dick to people a lot in that first year. Mostly by accident.)
He couldn’t really help but learn some other, more difficult things too, living where he did. The first time they all wandered down to Little Jim’s for happy hour and found it closed for a funeral reception, Tommy didn’t get it. But it happened again, and again, and Steve would go all grim and Eddie’s eyes got wild and Robin got this pinched look on her face. After living in Boystown for a while they started to attend a few funerals themselves, people they had met that were disappearing from the neighborhood.
It was scary. It was fucking sad. It was a tragedy, but it wasn’t Tommy’s tragedy, so he didn’t know what to fucking do about it. Sometimes Steve and Eddie wanted to yell about it out in the living room, and sometimes they wanted to whisper about it in their bedroom, and Tommy didn’t get it but he saw how it hurt them. How it scared them.
Tommy had always hated things he couldn’t fight with his fists. And he didn’t know how to fight this, or fix anything, because he couldn’t punch a fucking virus.
No, this was the kind of fight Steve was better at. The kind with words. The kind with convincing people to do what you wanted them to do.
But Steve? Steve was just sitting on his fucking ass.
He had just kind of… drifted, ever since they moved to Chicago. He was happier, sure, so much happier than in Hawkins. He didn’t hide his scent, he held his head high as he walked down the street, he smiled and laughed and danced in the clubs and lived honestly in a way he couldn’t in high school.
But Steve had never found those hobbies he and Eddie had talked about back in Tommy’s basement before they all left Hawkins. He tried things, lots of things, but they never seemed to hold his interest for long. The rest of them kept pretty busy, by comparison. Eddie loved his job at the record store and he went to lots of live music shows in the city; he had jammed with a few bands and was working on forming his own. He had found some local nerds and formed a D&D group too (which did not play in their apartment, Tommy had won that fight). Tommy didn’t really care much about his job at the garage, but he was taking some community college classes and working on finding his soulmate, and he had joined a basketball league at the gym. Robin had a hundred things going on between school and her clubs and her college friends.
Steve was just… around. He worked at a couple of different retail jobs, and one disastrous stint as a waiter. He went out on the weekends, he took care of the grocery shopping, he did a lot of chores around the apartment. If Tommy had to make a list, he would say Steve’s top three hobbies were watching TV, sleeping, and sex with Eddie. And yeah, Eddie probably thought that last one was a legitimate hobby, but, like, come on.
Steve didn’t have anything going on and it was honestly kind of pathetic. Tommy thought he could help with that, maybe kill two birds with one stone. He hadn’t put all that work into creating King Steve just to have him peak in fucking high school.
So the next time Tommy was at the gym he took a look at the bulletin board up in the lobby covered with little flyers. Most of them were for music lessons or furniture to buy, things like that. But a couple were for volunteer work, local stuff. Gay stuff. So Tommy grabbed some of those and took them home. He left them out on the kitchen table.
(Volunteering was good, right? People liked doing that. Well, okay, not Tommy, but like, lots of bleeding hearts did it. Mama used to work at their church's soup kitchen on Thanksgiving; she dragged Tommy along one year but he pissed her off so bad she made him wait in the car and never made him come back. Which was a total win in Tommy's book, he got to stay home and watch the Macy's parade instead.)
It was a while before Tommy heard anything about the pamphlets. He actually thought it was just another dead end, like a lot of the hobbies Steve had tried. But one night he came home and was surprised to find Eddie watching The Price is Right by himself.
“Where’s Steve?” Tommy asked as he hung up his coat.
Eddie looked at him over his shoulder. “He’s doing a volunteer thing."
"What?"
Eddie shrugged. "Some kind of coffeehouse for gay kids and runaways, cause they’re too young to go to the bars. Keeps them off the streets and out of trouble, I guess.”
“You mean Steve is volunteering to spend time with a bunch of snot-nosed brats?” Tommy said as he plopped down on the couch. “Yeah, that tracks.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow at him. “You don’t sound surprised," he said accusingly.
Tommy shrugged. “He needed a kick in the ass. Bumming around here all the damn time like a fuckin’ loser.”
“And you picked this?” Eddie asked.
“He picked it,” Tommy told him. “I just found some ideas.”
“I didn’t take you for an activist, Tommy,” Eddie said, laughing.
“Do you see me volunteering?” Tommy asked, gesturing at himself and the couch. “No, I’m sitting on my ass with you watching Bob Barker. Your mate’s the one out doing stuff, not us.”
“Does that make us the losers now?”
“Hate to break it to you, Eddie, but you’ve always been a loser.”
The volunteer thing really lit a fire under Steve’s ass. Honestly, Tommy had kind of created a monster. He had really just been hoping to get Steve out of the house for a couple of hours a week, maybe help him feel like he was a part of something or whatever. Mama always said it was a nice feeling, helping people like that.
Tommy didn't really see the appeal—he could never pretend to give a shit about strangers—but apparently Steve did. At first it was just the gay youth stuff, which took up a lot of Steve's time, but there were all kinds of things after he really got into it: letter-writing campaigns, fundraisers, marches. Stacks of flyers and posters started to pile up by the front door. More than once Tommy came home to find a bunch of people he didn't know having a very loud meeting in his living room.
Steve talked all of them into helping him out in one way or another. None of them could ever say no to him and he knew it, the bastard. A couple of times Robin spent an evening helping Steve make big signs that they took to protests downtown the next day. Eddie was always tagging along to events and marches, though that might have been because he said Steve looked hot with a megaphone. He also started a D&D campaign for the kids at the coffeehouse on Tuesdays. Even Tommy got roped into stuffing flyers into envelopes at the kitchen table a few times.
That didn’t, like, count as volunteering though. If he could do it while he drank beer and watched Magnum, P.I. it didn’t count, okay?
One winter night Steve came home from some meeting or whatever so excited that he slammed open the front door and scared the absolute shit out of Eddie, who had been napping on the couch.
“They said yes!” Steve yelled.
Tommy poked his head out of the kitchen where he was making Hot Pockets. “Who said yes?” he asked.
Steve was shucking off his coat and hat and dumping his folders and crap on the table, talking a mile a minute in his excitement. “The board said yes to the male omega resource program! We’ll be able to put together all sorts of information, coordinate with local centers, really create a network, you know? All across the Midwest, it’s going to be the first of its kind in the region.” Steve began toeing off his boots. “We’ll have to work on getting the hotline up and running first and getting the number out there, right, so people can actually use it. I’m hoping we can add it to some of those pamphlets in doctor’s offices and stuff, maybe like with guidance counselors at schools? There’s a lot but, like, fuck, it’s really happening!” Steve looked up expectantly with a big smile.
The microwave dinged. Tommy blinked. He met Eddie’s eyes over the back of the couch; he had the wide-eyed, bewildered look of someone who had just woken up and had no idea what was happening.
“Fuck yeah?” Eddie tried, his voice rough with sleep.
“Fuck yeah,” Tommy echoed, nodding.
“Fuck yeah!” Steve crowed, raising his fists above his head. “I want champagne, do we still have that bottle leftover from New Year’s?”
“Yeah, man, I’ll grab it,” Tommy said, ducking back into the kitchen. He pulled the bottle of champagne from the fridge and popped the microwave open so his Hot Pockets could cool. Those things were like fucking lava if you didn't let them cool down.
“Babe, champagne gives you headaches,” Eddie said back in the living room.
“Yeah, but we’re celebrating! It took me weeks to put that proposal together, I’ve earned a goddamn champagne headache.” Steve whined.
Tommy snorted as he popped the champagne cork and pulled down three mismatched glasses.
“We’ll start with champagne and move on to the good stuff!” Tommy called while he poured so Eddie and Steve could hear him in the other room. “We still have most of that handle of tequila.” He walked back to the living room with the three full glasses. Steve grinned at him as he took his.
Eddie shook himself like a dog as he stood from the couch. “You guys know it’s Tuesday, right?” he said as he slapped at his own cheeks to wake himself up.
“Shut up, Eddie,” Tommy told him as he handed Eddie his glass. “You sold drugs in high school, man, don’t judge us.”
“Not on Tuesdays,” Eddie mumbled down to his glass.
Tommy opened his mouth to answer that obvious fucking lie but Steve cut him off.
“Okay, okay, shut up, I want to make a toast,” he said, raising his glass. Eddie and Tommy raised their glasses too. Steve turned a little serious. “Look, I thought about this a lot while I was preparing to present to the board. I’m excited to put together this program, you know, because there are other kids out there like me who need help, who need answers. Kids who aren’t safe at home. And I…” He bit his lip and looked down for a second. “Well, I just want those kids to have something like what I had with you two. And Robin and even Hopper. People who can help. You know, the board said this would be the first program of its kind in the Midwest, but uh,” Steve chuckled, “they’re wrong. Cause the first one was the Hawkins, Indiana Male Omega Resource Program, also known as…” he looked at Tommy expectantly.
“Team Steve!” Tommy supplied hoarsely.
Steve grinned, his eyes a little watery. “Yeah. So!” He cleared his throat and thrust his glass a little higher. “To Team Steve and to many more programs just like it.”
“To Team Steve!” Eddie cried. They all clinked their glasses together and drank.
Tommy sniffed. “You motherfucker,” he said to Steve. “Gonna make me cry, asshole.”
“Suck a dick, Hagan,” Steve replied, smiling and wiping his eyes.
Eddie laughed. “Come on, if we’re getting Tuesday-night-drunk then we’re doing it right. I’ll get the shot glasses.” He headed into the kitchen. “Ooh, Hot Pockets!”
“Don’t you touch my fucking Hot Pockets, Eddie!” Tommy called.
They ended up going through the whole bottle of champagne, the rest of the handle of cheap tequila, and an entire box of Hot Pockets; on Wednesday morning they all had screaming headaches. Tommy didn’t really mind though, it was worth it. After all that time bumming around with nothing going on it was good to see Steve really fucking caring about something. And it was nice to know that other kids like Steve who weren't lucky enough to have a Tommy around would have someone to help them.
The tragedy didn't end. Steve was just one guy, after all, and it was slow work, convincing the world to be fucking better. There were still too many funerals. Still too many nights where Steve and Eddie were up into the small hours of the morning, holding each other on the couch.
But Steve was a fighter, even if he didn't do so great with his fists, and he was putting up a goddamn fight.
Tommy was finally struck by lightning more than two years after they moved to Chicago. He would never live down the fact that it happened inside a gay bar.
Not like that, fuck off.
The gay bar, a spot in their neighborhood called Sidetrack which on the outside was just a white tile wall facing the street, was one of the places Tommy had been endlessly badgered into visiting by Steve and Eddie after they first moved. He was adamant back then that he wouldn’t be caught dead in a gay bar; he let them go without him while he enjoyed the chance to have the apartment to himself for a night. It was hard to bring over a date when your roommates were having loud, enthusiastic sex in the next room all the goddamn fucking time.
But the longer Tommy spent in Chicago, the more he worried about Steve and Eddie coming home late at night, stumbling down North Halsted Street drunk and maybe a little high and definitely too caught up in each other to notice their surroundings. Steve had gotten better at defending himself after Tommy had finally taken him to a boxing gym, but that wasn’t saying much. Eddie was made of fucking noodles and would probably collapse into a puddle if someone jumped him. So Tommy did what he always did and started walking Steve and Eddie to the gay bar.
He was pretty uncomfortable his first night there, honestly, but he got himself a stool at the bar and focused on just enjoying a couple of beers and the music. It was a music video bar, which was pretty cool, even if some of the videos were really fucking weird. The bartender, a big black guy named Marcel with no hair and biceps the size of Tommy’s head, made conversation between pouring drinks. Tommy was surprised to find he was a huge Bears fan—Tommy was very loyal to the Colts himself—so they talked about football most of the night. When Steve and Eddie came crawling back, sweaty and giggling, Tommy rounded them up and took them home.
After that, Sidetrack became a pretty regular outing. When Robin moved up to Chicago the next fall to attend Loyola she started joining them. That gave Tommy something new to do at the bar besides debating Marcel about the Bears’s chances this year (absolute shit) and giving him advice on his love life (stop fucking your ex, Marcel).
Tommy Hagan became Robin Buckley’s greatest wingman.
Robin was fucking hopeless on her own, too nervous to hit on anyone even while surrounded by women who were specifically looking to diddle someone just like her. If a girl talked to her she froze up like a deer in headlights, or sputtered something absolutely batshit crazy and then ran away to the bathroom. It pained Tommy to see someone with game so weak, it was honestly just sad. Robin was way too hot to be striking out as badly as she did. So he took it upon himself to up her chances.
He knew better than to hit on the women at Sidetrack, okay, he wasn’t an idiot. A lot of them had knives. But sometimes, if Tommy spotted one that was Robin’s type, he’d make friendly, I-am-not-hitting-on-you conversation and loop Robin in. Get the ball rolling. Then fucking shove Robin and her pretty new friend at the dance floor, where at least she was capable of putting on the moves without having to talk.
It worked really well. Tommy was a goddamn master at this, honestly. He could talk a chick into bed without even having to be in the bed himself.
Robin owed him so many fucking drinks.
So on this particular night, two years and some change after he moved to Chicago, Tommy was hanging at the bar at Sidetrack with Robin, drinking a couple of beers and scoping out the room for potential lady-dates. Steve and Eddie were in the crowd somewhere, dancing; Tommy could always find them if he followed the scent of snickerdoodles.
Robin spotted a couple of friends from school so she went over to talk to them. Tommy was about to turn back to the bar and ask if Marcel had managed to find a date with anyone that wasn’t his ex this week when someone spoke up behind him.
“Your friend is cute,” a woman’s voice said.
Tommy turned on his stool to see a girl standing next to him. She was gorgeous; a little taller than he preferred himself but all the more leggy because of it, a brunette wearing her hair pulled up high in a scrunchie. Bubblegum pink lip gloss and fluorescent green heels and a bright purple dress with one sleeve. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head in Robin’s direction.
Tommy smirked. “She sure is, total hottie. And single too,” he told her.
The girl grinned. “Good to know,” she said. “You playing wingman tonight?”
Okay, right to the point, nice. That made his job easy. Tommy spread out his arms. “You know it. You interested?”
“I might be,” she said as she glanced over at Robin again. She moved a little closer and he caught her scent. Oh. An omega. That was a surprise, they were pretty rare at Sidetrack. Alphas were too, it was mostly betas here, like Robin.
Tommy scrunched up his nose. “Well, I gotta warn you, she doesn’t usually date omegas,” he said apologetically. It wasn’t exactly fair, but a lot of betas were reluctant to date omegas and alphas. Not much point starting a relationship you knew was going to end. Tommy understood that all too well.
The girl gave him a sad, commiserating little smile. “I figured,” she shrugged. “But we could still have a good time.”
Tommy snorted. “Ain’t nothing wrong with a good time,” he told her. “You want me to call her over?” He looked over at Robin, who was talking with a guy who looked about their age.
“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt if she’s finding a date for you too,” the girl told him.
A date? Tommy chuckled. “Ah, no, I’m straight. Just here with friends,” he said with a smile.
“Huh,” the girl said, looking a little impressed. “That’s cool.”
Yeah, he was cool as hell. So cool he hung out at a gay bar getting his lesbian friend laid while he was so painfully single himself. Super cool.
Whatever.
“So, should I get Robin?” Tommy asked again.
“No, I actually have to run,” the girl said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward the door. “But I could give you my number, to give to her?”
Tommy raised his eyebrows. “You don’t even want to talk to her first?”
The girl winked at him. “I think I’ve seen what I need to see. For a good time, anyway.”
Tommy laughed. “Bold,” he said. It was a good thing she’d decided to talk to him instead of Robin first. This girl would have fucking terrified her.
She shrugged while she started digging in a little bag she wore slung across her body. It was bright pink and shaped like a cat’s head. “My softball coach used to say ‘you never hit the ball if you don’t swing the bat.’” She pulled out a pen.
Tommy grinned. One of the sporty ones. Robin didn’t actually like that kind much, she preferred her girls artsy. So it was another strike against this chick, but if they dated then Tommy could make fun of Robin for sleeping with a jock. He would be sure to talk this one up when Robin got back.
"You got any paper?" the girl asked.
“Uh… I’ll find a napkin,” he told her, glancing around the bar top.
"Can I just—?" she gestured at his arm with the pen.
"Sure," Tommy shrugged. He stuck out his arm, wrist facing up. She placed her fingers over his wrist to steady it while she wrote.
Except she never wrote anything down. She just… paused.
Tommy was frozen too, because the moment she touched him the strangest sensation had come over him. It shot up his spine and tingled through his fingertips and made his eyelids flutter. He inhaled deeply and was overwhelmed by the scent that wafted over him. Strawberries and cream, sweet and a little tart. Her scent.
He looked up. Tommy had found her. In a goddamn gay bar in Chicago, two plus years after escaping his shitty Indiana hometown. After a couple of steady girlfriends and dozens of dates and way too many one night stands, he had found her.
His soulmate.
“Oh,” she inhaled shakily. “I—it’s you.”
Tommy nodded, staring right into her eyes. They were green, with little flecks of gold in them. The most perfect woman he would ever meet. Her scent filled his nose; he never wanted to smell anything else ever again. She dropped the pen. He wrapped her hand up in his.
She laughed a little, looking down at their intertwined fingers. “I came here tonight looking for a girl,” she said. “I didn’t expect to find you.”
God, she was charming. Tommy smiled helplessly for a minute before he could answer. “So, uh, both then? For you?”
“Yeah,” she said breathlessly. “I'm not picky. But, uh, I guess I won’t be picking up any girls from now on.”
Before Tommy’s idiot brain could stop him, he grinned and said, “Oh, I don’t know about that. How do you feel about threesomes?”
And then he immediately wanted to die, because he had just found his soulmate after searching for her for his entire fucking life and within 30 seconds he had suggested they have sex with other people. What the fuck was wrong with him?
But she laughed. She laughed and she said, “Wow, you really are perfect. I’m always game, if you think you can handle it.” She raised an eyebrow. “But let’s get to know each other first, sugar.”
What. The fuck.
Apparently the universe understood Tommy in ways he did not know he needed to be understood.
He stared at her in wonder and nodded. He probably looked like an idiot and he did not give a single shit.
She leaned in, “So, should we get out of here? Looks like I still get to have my good time.” She looked him up and down in a way that was, Tommy just in that moment learned, a huge turn on for him.
“Yeah,” he said. He was itching to be alone with her. Shit, he had to find Steve. “Come on,” he said, “I just have to tell someone I’m leaving.”
Tommy stood and tugged her along behind him, making his way around the crowded dance floor until he spotted Steve and Eddie in the corner. Thankfully they were just dancing, not getting hot and heavy like some of the couples hiding in the shadows.
“Steve!” Tommy shouted over the music. Steve looked over, pausing mid-dance move. He looked at Tommy, holding hands with the girl behind him, and furrowed his brow.
“This is the love of my life!” Tommy shouted, then stopped. “Oh, shit,” he muttered. He turned back to the girl. “What’s your name?” he yelled into her ear.
“Amy!” she shouted back, leaning close so she could speak into his ear too, her earrings jingling. Her scent was even stronger this close.
Amy, wow. Perfect. “I’m Tommy!” he told her. She nodded, wide-eyed and smiling.
Tommy turned back to Steve; Eddie had come over to join him and was staring. “This is Amy, my soulmate!” Tommy told them.
Steve’s eyebrows shot up. Eddie’s mouth dropped open.
Tommy pulled Amy forward a bit, putting his arm around her shoulder so he could yell in her ear without turning around. “This is my brother, Steve!” he told her as he pointed. “And my brother-in-law, Eddie!”
“Hi!” Amy shouted with a grin.
Eddie waved awkwardly and pulled some of his hair over his face, the dork. Steve grinned like a maniac. He reached out and pulled Amy into a one-armed hug, Tommy’s arm still holding her in place against him.
“Nice to meet you!” Steve shouted. “We’ll walk you out!”
They all headed toward the entrance of the bar. Eddie pulled Amy over to say hello properly, and Steve slid in next to Tommy, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
“Happy for you,” Steve said with a grin. The music wasn’t so loud away from the dance floor, so they could talk almost normally.
“Thanks, man,” Tommy replied. He stared at Amy as she walked in front of him. Legs for days and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. She laughed at something Eddie said and it was adorable, all giggly with a little snort right at the end. Tommy was the luckiest man in Chicago.
“I want to hear all about it tomorrow,” Steve said in his ear.
“Even the gross parts?” Tommy asked.
Steve sighed. “Yeah, man, even the gross parts.” He chuckled. “You all ready to be tied down? You’ve been dating half the North Side, it’ll be a change.”
Tommy shrugged. “I dunno, man,” he said and waggled his eyebrows. “She’s into chicks, too. I asked her if we can have a threesome sometime.”
“Christ, you never let up, do you? Fucking pig,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “She didn’t slap you?”
“Nah, man. She’s perfect for me, remember? I think she's, like, super into that,” Tommy said. They had reached the exit of the bar. Eddie and Amy were waiting by the door. She gave him another one of those full-body once-over looks, then tilted her head and said let’s go with her eyebrows. He felt a shiver go up his spine.
Steve pulled Tommy into a hug. “We’ll take a cab home. Late. Like, really late. And I’ll let Robin know where her wingman went. We’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Love you, man.”
“Love you too, Tommy,” Steve told him. “Have fun.”
“I always do,” Tommy said with a grin. He paused. “You’ll be safe? You and Eddie and Robin?” he asked.
“Of course,” Steve said, shooing him away. “We’ll be fine for one night. Go!”
So Tommy went. And his night with Amy was fucking perfect. Just like he always knew it would be.
Then in the morning he and his soulmate had breakfast with Steve and Eddie, and Robin who had crashed on the couch, in their shitty apartment with the hall light that flickered and the downstairs neighbors who always slammed the door.
And that was perfect too.