Boltedfruit Archive

Steve’s inside with the door shut in Eddie’s face before he can give anything away. Panic. Fear. Shame. A mountain of embarrassment on top of it all.

He can’t be going into heat. It’s not—he doesn’t.

He doesn’t do that.

He never has.

He barely makes it to the living room before he lets his things drop to the floor, followed shortly by himself. He lies on his back, knees bent, hands covering his face.

This isn’t real. It can’t be.

He needs the phonebook.

–

When he’s back home and left a note on the fridge for Robin, he locks himself inside his room. He upends the contents of the little white bag on his bed.

He stares down at the bottle with a single pill in it, and the neighboring pile of scent patches.

Steve had gotten to the pharmacy shortly before they closed, and he suspects they only squeezed him in because he was so harried. He’d waited while the pharmacist was on hold to connect with his old doctor back in Hawkins, but eventually they’d gotten through. Now Steve has the familiar little white pill he used to take once a month.

It still doesn’t explain why it hadn’t happened before now. He’s been away from Hawkins and off the blockers for a while.

He’d need to make a new appointment and get a new prescription so he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself every month. But that was a piece of cake now that he had what he needed.

He pops the cap off and downs the pill without water. He rubs at his chest, still off-kilter. He wonders how long it takes to work once a heat has already started to come on. He’s never had a heat, and he doesn’t plan on it, but what if it doesn’t work? His only area of reference was when he’d first presented and his father made one call, and that was that. One day of feeling too warm and big in his skin and then he had a prescription and things were fine.

Now?

What if Robin comes home and finds him sweaty and horny? Like the omegas he’s read about who didn’t take suppressants. The ones that made every romantic drama a blockbuster, begging for an alpha to take them, to make them whole, et cetera.

No, thank you.

He grabs one of the scent patches and lays in bed, pushing the rest to the floor. He rips it open and slaps it over his bonding gland, giving a deep sigh when it’s on.

He links his fingers together over his stomach and closes his eyes.

He breathes.

When is he supposed to feel better, normal?

He waits for a long few minutes.

Then he’s up and pacing. He finds the forms Eddie left him with and rereads the phone number at the top of the page. Lower on the page he can see the shadow of where Bard Munsington used to be written.

Munsington. God, it’s so dumb. So sweethearted.

He grabs a pen and writes it back in. Leaves the first name blank, because that still isn’t a place he wants to tread.

It hurts too much.

He rubs at his chest again. Blinks as his eyes grow wet. He lifts his head and aims it at the ceiling.

What the hell is wrong with him?

If this is the beginning of a heat, he’s not a fan.

He can’t just leave it blank, though. He was serious when he said he meant to fill out everything. He got into college and he wants to stay in college.

“Goddammit.”

He takes the form, unlocks his door, and heads for the phone in the kitchen. He glares as he dials Eddie’s number, feeling silly. And useless.

It rings and rings, and Steve realizes Eddie probably booked it to his next class right after he dropped Steve off. And that was over an hour ago. He’s probably not even home–

“Munson abode.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Say residence like a normal person.”

“Stevie!” The relief is clear in Eddie’s voice. Like he’s happy he called. “Is everything alright?”

Steve points at nothing, both annoyed and reassured hearing Eddie’s voice. He closes his eyes, pretending he isn’t slowly becoming overheated. “A name. Pick a name.”

“For…”

“For the bag.”

“Now, Steve, that’s no way to refer to our future daughter.”

Tears slip free from his traitorous lids. He sniffs softly. “Pick a fucking name, Munson.”

“Whoa, hey.” He can hear movement from Eddie’s side like could be standing now. “Steve, what’s the matter? What is it? Did something happen?”

Steve breathes away from the receiver. More tears squeeze out, and he lets them.

He could have had a daughter. He could have had a partner. A mate. Someone who wanted a child with him. To raise a daughter, and grow old together, and–

“A name, Eddie,” he says again, holding in a breath so deep his lungs ache. “Please.”

Can Eddie can tell he’s silently crying? Maybe it’s not so silent. Maybe Steve really is going into heat and there’s nothing he can do about it or his desperate loneliness and mortifying emotions.

“Penelope.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Steve waits, but Eddie doesn’t say anything else. He hangs up and writes Penelope, thinks Penny for short.

–

Knocking at his door jolts him awake. He left it cracked before he’d laid down. He can tell it’s Robin.

After the call with Eddie, Steve had filled out the rest of what he could from his side for all the forms, took a shower, jerked off twice (thinking deliberately of no one in particular) just to try and get ahead of his heat—if it even proved to be one—and passed out in fresh clothes right after.

He realizes as Robin steps over the haphazardly dumped heat suppressants on his floor that he feels a little better. The pill and the patch must be working.

He sees a wrinkle form between her eyebrows as she looks at the suppressants, but she doesn’t comment as she picks them up and sets them on his nightstand. She sits at his side, running a gentle hand through his still-damp hair.

“Sorry I’m late. I grabbed dinner with a few friends. I got leftovers if you’re hungry.”

“What’d you get?” he asks, much more awake with the promise of food.

She smiles and moves to tug at his ear. “Follow me and find out.”

–

“Nice polo,” Eddie comments as he takes his seat.

Steve nods his hello, running a hand up to pull at the edge of his collar. He’s still wearing the patch, and it’s only a little visible, thankfully.

But Eddie noticed because of course he did.

“How have you been?” he asks, sly. Steve gives him a look and he shrugs. “I didn’t expect to see you back for a week.”

“I took care of it.”

Eddie’s lips turn down at that, nose wrinkling again. He nods slowly.

Steve opens his binder and pulls out the forms. He hands them over and says, “You need to fill out some stuff, but most of it’s done.”

Eddie nods again, dark eyes scanning. He stops when he finds the name he suggested. “Penelope Munsington! I like it better than Bard.”

“Thank god.”

Eddie’s smiling softly as he fills the rest out.

Steve is just impatient to get today over with. At the front of the class, Ms. Pram stands behind a table full of stacked flour bags and a large bin of colorful fabric. He overhears a few girls near the front gush over how cute and small one dress was. Steve didn’t realize they’d need to clothe the thing.

“Oh.” Eddie’s holding a long list of things Steve hadn’t bothered to read. “I guess she wants us to buy this stuff…”

Confused, Steve takes the paper from him. “What?”

Eddie looks at him skeptically. “I thought you said you read all this already?”

“I only wrote where I saw blank spaces. I skipped all the other stuff.”

“Great,” Eddie deadpans.

“You didn’t exactly bring it up last class either.”

“I had something else on my mind,” he says and Steve swallows, warmth flooding his body. It’s not the almost-heat. It must be the proximity to Eddie, to his scent. Only barely two days apart and already he’s craving it.

And his scent didn’t repulse Eddie.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Stop, he tells himself.

“We have to buy diapers and food.”

“Diapers?” Steve finds the word and wonders what exactly a flour bag excretes. “And flour bags don’t eat!”

“But babies do,” Eddie says. “And for the next three weeks she’s our baby, right?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Yeah.”

“We have to keep track of every time we change and feed her. And we need to have her with us at all times…we can’t leave her at home or with friends or anything.” He runs a hand through his unruly hair, chewing on his lip.

Steve shakes his head. He has a doctor’s appointment this weekend. He has dinner plans with Robin and her new friends. He has other classes.

He’ll just have to leave the thing with Eddie.

“We’ll have to trade off. I have band practice. Me and the guys have shows,” Eddie mutters, bothered the same as Steve. “We have to figure something out.”

Sure. He skims down the list. It’s nothing too crazy at least, if maybe a little silly. “You still play in that band? Grody Coffers?”

Eddie’s mouth hangs open. He takes the list back with a snap. “It’s Corroded Coffin, thank you very much. And yes, most weekends. Some weeknights. Now that I’m in the city it’s a little easier sneaking the rest of the guys into real bars with actual venues.”

“You’re not even twenty-one yet.”

He shrugs. “I look it though. I don’t play in places that care.”

The statement is kind of sad. Steve had snuck into plenty of bars and had a fake ID back in Hawkins before Tommy blew their cover, and then never after he presented. He’s witnessed the treatment of unsupervised omegas in bars. He’s seen guys like Eddie get beat to a pulp, alpha or not. The places that don’t care are worse.

Someone should care.

“You should.”

Another shrug. “Why do you care, anyway? The shit I heard you get up to back home is miles crazier than anything I’ve ever done.”

To hear an alpha admit they’ve lived a comparatively boring life in contrast to what Steve’s done, and was rumored to do during the reign of King Steve? His past ego would have been flattered. Now, it’s just a reminder of how much of an idiot he used to be.

“I don’t know about all that. Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“You telling me the King was all talk?”

“I didn’t say that.” Steve can’t help but smirk. “Though I never really got into dealing.”

Eddie laughs at that. “Okay, point taken.”

The last few students file in and then Ms. Pram starts class.

–

They’re standing before countless shelves of baby food. Eddie’s holding the sack because Steve is too embarrassed. It’s weird enough having to go out shopping with Eddie Munson, weirder still that nothing they have to buy for the project is actually going to any good use. A lot of it will waste. Like baby food.

“Don’t babies need formula?” Eddie points out. “These are little jars filled with like, carrots and peas. Older babies eat this stuff.”

Steve considers the sack. All five pounds of it. They had to pick out a piece of clothing from the bin before class was over and Eddie took the reins on that too. Picked out a little black scrap of fabric he dubbed metal as hell and wrapped the flour sack in it. It’s a bag of white flour wrapped in what may as well be a ratty black scarf.

He holds it propped up on one hip, rings gleaming on his fingers, his black jacket already dusted a bit with flour.

“And how old would you say the sack is?”

“Don’t call her that!” Eddie angles the sack away from Steve, feigning shock. He turns down to the sack, whispering loudly, “Don’t you listen to him, Penelope, your daddy is just having a tough first day as a new parent.”

It unlocks something gloomy inside him, lights suddenly turned on, cobwebs on full display. He shakes himself, ignoring the strange buzz in his gut. Eddie’s joking. This is homework.

Steve briefly closes his eyes.

Mossy earth, fresh flowers. Eddie walking through the door to place a kiss on Steve’s cheek as their children run to wrap their arms around his waist–

He clears his throat. Hopes Eddie can’t smell the yearning on him. The pathetic longing he can’t keep buried on a good day. The patch should hide that with the rest of his scent.

He sighs and goes off to find the section for formula. Eddie boops their flour sack on its imaginary nose.

He never should have gone to college.

–

“What’s all that stuff?” Robin asks the second they’re through the door. Then she sees Eddie trailing after him, all smiles with his arms full of flour. “Eddie Munson.”

“Robin…Buckley right? Or was it Buckner?”

“You got it right the first time,” she tells him, sounding pleased. “If you’re gonna bake something with that, I think you may have switched groceries with a couple of parents.”

She says it as Steve dumps the bags on their dining table. There’s food, packages of diapers, bottles, toys and even a binky that rolls to the edge of the table. Robin stops it with a finger before pinching it up and holding it out. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the project for Pram.” Steve feels himself go red. Somewhere in his periphery Eddie coughs, sounds a bit like he’s choking.

“What project?” Robin toys with the binky until Eddie walks over and gently takes it. He holds it up to the flour sack and coos of all things. “Should I be worried about his sanity?”

Eddie ignores her. Steve asks, “Pram didn’t assign you guys this baby thing?”

“What baby thing?”

Eddie hands her the flour sack. A puff of white follows and covers Robin’s poor pants. She frowns at it.

“Excuse me?”

“This is Penelope,” Eddie announces. “Our daughter.”

The thing inside him shakes again. Cobwebs are not only dusted, they’re swept away in a tangle of pleasant warmth and heat. The flush feels permanent at this point.

“Pram assigned us a flour baby for the next few weeks. We have to treat it like it’s ours.”

“She,” Eddie insists, “is ours. Our little pumpkin, isn’t that right, Stevie?”

Steve catches Robin’s look and shakes his head. He doesn’t know why Eddie is so into this project, why he cares. And he can’t exactly handle Robin’s pointed little smirk she’s sending his way right now. It’s not amusing, and he’s not in the mood to be teased.

Steve had been the first to suggest they just fib and fill in the checklist involving feeding, bathing, and playtime. They didn’t have to go out and spend money on the stuff since they weren’t actually caring for a real child. And how are you supposed to play with a sack of flour?

But Eddie had tutted, reminded him of his goal of trying to get a good grade, and that was the end of the conversation. Steve would have just been arguing against his own words at that point.

Robin wiggles her nose, the bridge scrunching, and Steve wonders if she can smell how pathetic he is. If it tracked him home, somehow strong enough to make its way beyond the patch. She just holds his eyes until he looks away, down at the bag. At Penelope.

“Sounds fun,” she says, not bothering to hide her sarcasm. “We just have to write a paper on designation biology.”

“So not fair,” he mutters under his breath as he finishes up organizing the things he’d purchased. He hadn’t asked Eddie to pay or even to go in for half. Eddie hadn’t brought it up at checkout either. Something tells him Eddie wouldn’t have appreciated it.

“I think this project is more fun,” Eddie declares.

Steve flinches only a little when Eddie appears at his side, digging around in the careful rows of supplies he’d laid out until he gets his hands on a bottle and a scoop of powdered formula.

He goes about filling and preparing the formula like he’s done it before. “Should I heat it up?”

“Is that a thing babies like?”

Eddie blinks, eyes huge, owlish. “Steve, do you know nothing about children?”

He frowns.

Eddie turns and shakes the bottle with deft twists of his wrist. “I guess Ms. Pram won’t notice if we don’t heat every bottle.” He finds the sack and takes it back from Robin. He holds it in one arm and tips the bottle over, cap still on, and pretends to feed the thing.

Do you know nothing about children?

No. Not really.

He knows how to babysit. Teens. And sometimes Nancy’s little sister Holly. But that was when they were still together, and that meant Nancy was there to handle diaper changes and food. He knows how to handle a bunch of tween boys fighting over girls and high scores and food. He knows mostly because he was one of those tweens not so many years ago.

The question was simple, not meant to be anything other than a question. Not meant to be mean, or cruel, or a judgment on his childrearing skills. But that strange want layering atop itself inside him takes it as such. Makes him go icy all over. Makes him angry, for a reason that’s vague, just out of reach. He can’t reason why his mood has turned so suddenly, but it has.

And he’s pissed.

He taps his fingers on the counter, watching Eddie pretend to bottle feed the sack of flour in his arms. He’s so natural about it, like it comes easy. And he’s an alpha.

Alphas are natural leaders and are most comfortable taking control in difficult situations. They will let their omega know which path forward is best for both parties but otherwise best serve the household being hands off with their children, since the omega is naturally better suited to parenting.

He knows the textbook is mostly bullshit. He does.

But seeing Eddie fawn over a bag of flour like it’s his own child? Being able to so easily imagine Eddie caring for a real baby girl he coos over and boops on the nose?

He looks down at his own hands.

Steve actually wants kids one day. And if he can’t even be good at this, if he can’t take this seriously, then how will he ever be a good parent when it’s for real?

The cold stings, bitter behind his throat, creeping to the edges of his eyes. He’s tearing up, and that’s just fucking awesome.

Without a word, he leaves the kitchen and goes to his room, shutting the door behind him.