Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Tommy was 10 years old his father finally left for good.

He came home from school on Friday to find Mama on the floor of the living room, tears on her cheeks, empty bottles and broken glass all around her. There was a puddle of vomit on the kitchen floor.

She started screaming when he came in, saying he was gone, gone for good this time, the rat bastard. Left for that hussy, never coming back, leaving her alone with this brat and a pile of debt. What good is he? she cried. What good are you? she sobbed.

Tommy sighed and closed the curtains so the neighbors couldn't see any more than they already had. They'd probably hear it anyway. 

He helped Mama up, picking carefully over the shards on the floor, and got her to her bedroom. Tommy got her a glass of water from the bathroom, watched while she drank it, and helped her into bed. He tugged on her arm until she lay on her side, her body too heavy for him to lift.

She reached out and placed her hand on his cheek. Not sweetly, but heavy. Restraining.

"You look just like him," Mama whispered. Then she passed out, arm drooping over the side of the bed. Tommy turned off the lamp in her room and closed the door.

He went back to the living room and cleaned up the glass, dabbing carefully at the carpet with a slice of bread to get all the tiny pieces. He wiped up the vomit and then took the whole trash bag to the outside bin so it wouldn't stink up the house.

Tommy stuffed some clothes into his backpack, locked the front door behind him, and picked up his bike from the side of the house. It was starting to get dark, the sun already behind the trees and the shadows long. 

He rode the four miles to Steve's house, eyes tight but dry, knuckles white on the handlebars.

Tommy rang the doorbell and Steve was the one to answer. His friend took one look at him—chest heaving, gulping in air, eyes wild—and pulled Tommy inside, ran them up to his room. It was there that Tommy finally broke; he launched himself into Steve's arms and sobbed for far too long. Steve never said a thing, just held Tommy while he got all snotty and gross. When the tears dried into hiccups and hitching breaths he grabbed some tissues from the bathroom and handed them to Tommy. Steve went downstairs while Tommy wiped up his face; he returned with an invitation to spend the weekend and leftovers from dinner.

Tommy spent the weekend. He told Steve everything, bit by bit, and they talked. Tommy's dad was an asshole, yeah, it's for the best he's gone. Mama will get better. She didn't mean it. And anyway, Steve would always be there for him, because they're best friends.

On Monday, Joey Stacker made a crack at lunch about Tommy's dad stepping out on Mama. Tommy hit him in the mouth and then again and then again when Joey fell to the ground. Steve kept the other kids back, and when Mrs. Hinkle and Principal Monroe came to stop the fight and hand out detentions, Steve looked them right in the eyes and lied. Tommy was defending himself, he told them. Stacker started it, he threw the first punch. 

Teachers always believed Steve when he stood tall and proud like that, a righteous hand on Tommy's shoulder. People in town said Steve looked like his father when he did that. Tommy didn't get in trouble. Joey Stacker got suspended for a week. 

Tommy got into a couple more fights before the rumors died down. Steve always kept him out of detention. The other kids learned not to mess with them.

Steve was a good friend. Tommy's best friend. He was there for Tommy when he needed him. So four years later, when Steve was the one at Tommy's door looking like his world had shattered, Tommy didn't hesitate.

It was storming that night, the rain coming down in actual sheets. Steve was soaked and shivering, gasping for air as Tommy pulled him up to his room. He tossed Steve a towel and dug around in his dresser for the clothes from the last time Steve had slept over. Then he sat on the bed and fiddled with his record player while Steve changed.

After a minute Steve plopped down next to him, still sniffling, and drew his knees up to his chest. Tommy looked over and opened his mouth to ask what was up when he smelled it. When he first arrived, Steve was too soaked to smell of anything. But now that he was dry the scent was there, undeniable. It was sweet, soft, something like vanilla or maybe cinnamon. And it was absolutely not an alpha smell.

Steve had presented as a male omega.

Male omegas were rare, so rare that some people didn't even think they were real. Alphas and omegas always had a destined mate, a soulmate, someone they were matched with by God or the universe or whatever. All alphas were male and most omegas were female. But male omegas existed and they were destined for an alpha too. 

Tommy had presented as an alpha two weeks ago. Mama had been thrilled. Tommy was optimistic; it was nice to know there was someone out there that was perfect for him. Mama and Tommy's dad were betas like most people; betas didn't get matches, they just had to muddle through. It didn't always work out. But one day, when the universe or whatever decided that Tommy and his soulmate were ready, they would meet, and she would be everything he ever wanted.

But now Steve was an omega. That meant he would find his soulmate one day too. Except his soulmate had to be an alpha. Which meant Steve was destined to spend his life with a man.

People didn't like male omegas. Nobody wanted to think that it was possible for two men to share the same sort of sacred, divinely-determined love that alphas and female omegas had. People said male omegas were fake, or sluts, or abominations. Tommy's dad had met one once, in Chicago; he said the omega smelled like peaches and was hanging off a big burly alpha's arm like some kind of twisted girlfriend. When male omegas had come up in eighth grade health class, everyone had laughed and sneered and made gagging sounds. Tommy had laughed. Steve had laughed.

Steve wasn't laughing now. He was sitting on Tommy's bed, wet hair hanging in his eyes, curled up into the smallest shape he could make. He looked miserable. He smelled like warm, fresh-baked cookies.

Steve was an omega. He was going to fall in love with a man. 

Which was, like, fucking gross, okay? But Steve wasn't some nasty freak slut. Steve was his best friend. He was there when Tommy needed him; he kept Tommy out of trouble when the anger inside him built up and built up and ended with Tommy's fist in some kid's face. Steve laughed at his jokes and helped him make the swim team and always needed Tommy's help with math homework cause he was fucking useless. And that was more important than Steve's stupid dick-filled destiny.

So Tommy did what Steve had done for him: he opened his arms wide and let Steve collapse against him with a sob. From there the floodwaters opened; how Steve had been in his room for two days, aching and miserable, and when he had emerged his parents had taken one sniff and been instantly furious. His mom was on the phone with the doctor and his dad on the phone with the lawyer, both of them yelling and Steve huddled on the couch, trying to disappear. 

They were going to hide it, Steve sobbed into Tommy's shoulder. Get him on some expensive prescription shit that would hide his scent, never tell a soul. And then when he finished high school they would send him away, ship him off to the highest alpha bidder to become some old pervert's fuckin' sex-toy baby factory. Pretend their beloved son had died young.

And that? That was some illegal shit, like truly medieval bullshit. That kind of thing didn't happen anymore, there were laws or whatever, omegas had protections these days. It was the 80s, for God's sake. Omegas stayed under the protection of their parents until they found their soulmate or until they turned 21 but that was, like, for their safety. It wasn’t so their parents could sell them off like cattle to the highest fucking bidder. But Tommy wouldn't put that kind of thing past Steve's dad; Mr. Harrington probably had the money to do whatever he wanted. Including illegally selling off his own son like a whore.

Tommy felt the anger bubbling up inside him, his new alpha instincts manifesting a growl deep inside his chest. Then Steve flinched, and whimpered, and started to pull away and Tommy remembered. Shit, Steve was an omega, and they were sensitive to angry alphas. So Tommy tamped down on his anger, bit down the growl, and tightened his arms.

"Sorry, man," he told Steve. "We'll figure it out, okay? No one's selling you anywhere. We'll… we'll get through high school and then we'll, like, run away to Indy or Chicago or something, you and me." Tommy jostled Steve's shoulder. "And we'll find our soulmates, me some mega hot chick, you some, I dunno, some big hairy guy?"

Steve snorted. "I don't want a big hairy guy," he mumbled against Tommy's collar bone. His shirt was wet from Steve's tears. 

"Well, I don't know what you're into, you want, like, a Bowie type? Or maybe Harrison Ford? Carol thinks he's hot."

Steve shoved at Tommy's shoulder, but not hard enough to leave the circle of his arms. He laughed a little, though it ended on a sob. Tommy squeezed his arms and waited a minute.

Tommy kept his tone light. "If you'd told me you liked dudes, I wouldn't have bugged you so much about asking out Megan Hatcher." 

Steve pulled away, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He crossed his legs and shrugged, looking down at his lap. "I just figured it out myself. I still like girls," he said quietly.

"So what, like both?" Tommy asked.

Steve shrugged again. "Yeah, both, I guess." He wrinkled his nose. "But not fucking Megan Hatcher, she sounds like a goddamn cartoon character when she laughs."

"And, uh…" Tommy said slowly. "Not me, right?"

Steve whipped his head up, a look of disgust across his features. "Ew, dude, no. Fucking gross." 

"Good," Tommy sighed in relief. Then he reached out and punched Steve in the shoulder. "But also fuck you, I am hot shit."

Steve punched him back. "You're like my brother, I'd rather actually die."

Okay, like, Tommy didn't want to fuck him either but he couldn't let that insult stand, so he made a grab for Steve's head but he dodged and shoved his shoulder into Tommy's sternum, and then they were wrestling like usual. And after Steve eventually pinned him (he grew like three inches last summer, it wasn't fucking fair) they lay side by side on Tommy's bed, breathing hard and staring up at the ceiling.

"You're really gonna help me out?" Steve asked quietly without looking at him.

Tommy kept his gaze on the little crack in the ceiling above his nightstand. "Of course, man. You always help me out, I can return the favor."

"And you think we can really hide it? And run away?"

"Yeah, man," Tommy said, with bravado he didn't really feel. "It's gonna be fine. I have a plan."

Tommy's plan ended up having some holes in it but like, sue him, okay? He was still in high school. Whatever.

The plan started off pretty easy. It wasn't really even a big change, it was just what they were doing already. Make some sports teams, make friends with cool upperclassmen, get invited to the good parties, meet hot chicks. Take sophomore year by storm. Nobody would look twice at Steve if he played sports and dated girls and was popular, cause everybody figured gay guys didn't do that stuff.

(Tommy tried to remember to say "gay guys," even in his head. He had used some other words at first and Steve had gotten pretty fuckin' pissed so it was just "gay guys" and "gay dudes" now. He remembered most of the time.)

Tommy and Steve did extra laps at the pool to improve their times and move up the swim team ranks. He told Steve to try out for basketball cause he always wrecked Tommy when they played one-on-one at the park. Steve made the varsity team even though he was a sophomore, so that was pretty big.

Tommy finally got Carol P. to agree to date him, and that got them invited to a party at Dan Weiman's house, where Tommy got a blow job from Carol in the bathroom and Steve made out with Annie Ferguson, who was a senior.

Steve's prescription scent blocker stuff really worked. He put it on every morning before school and it totally masked his scent; people assumed Steve was a beta and he just went with that. He was even on some kind of omega birth control, which muted his scent enough, even when not on the blockers, that you could only really smell it on him if you were up close. Or if you were his soulmate, of course, but fat chance of that happening any time soon. Tommy was pretty sure there weren't any gay guys in Hawkins, it wasn't that kind of town.

So. Sport teams, check. Hanging with the cool crowd, check. Hot chicks, check. It was going great. Sometimes people tried to challenge their rise in popularity, but Steve fought them off with words and sneers, and Tommy fought them off with his fists if necessary. Nobody knew Steve’s secret, nobody suspected a thing; they could keep this up through senior year and graduate and get the fuck out of this shitty town. Tommy was still working on Part 2 of the plan, leaving Hawkins, but that was a long time away. For now, they were in the clear. 

Except Steve kept getting sick.

At first it was just a cold. No big deal, just a runny nose. But then there was another one and Steve was out of school for two days. And then two weeks later he was sick again, out for almost a week. Tommy brought his homework over to Steve's empty house, cause his shitty parents were never home, and hung out on the couch watching movies while Steve huddled under blankets and went through, like, ten thousand tissues.

After that it seemed like Steve was never really healthy, even when he wasn't actually sick. Bags grew under his eyes, he was always tired, and even his signature hair started to wilt. He got sidelined for a swim meet; Tommy saw Coach talking to Steve after practice, his face earnest and his heavy, meaty hand on Steve's slumped shoulder. 

Steve didn't know what was wrong, and Tommy didn't either. He had meant to dig up his notes from eighth grade health and check over the stuff on omegas, but he couldn't find the notebook and he thought Mama might have thrown it away. He considered going to the library to look it up, but Tommy thought it might make him look like a perv, trying to scope out how to, like, comfort a sick omega. Steve had a doctor but his parents had told him not to bother him with "silly omega problems." Tommy tried asking Abby Huntner if being an omega had ever made her sick, but Abby thought he had been hitting on her so she told Carol and Carol fucking slapped him in the parking lot because she was a goddamn bitch. 

So it was a mystery and Steve kept getting worse, until by December he was like a fucking zombie. Tommy was pretty pissed, because he didn’t know how to fight this. But then one day Tommy found an answer.

A pipe or some shit had burst and flooded the cafeteria, so half of it was roped off and there weren't enough seats. He and Steve's usual table with the basketball team and Carol's friends were all sharing with the guys from the baseball team and some of the yearbook chicks, so they were all squeezed together. It was too hot and gross and the pitcher next to Tommy kept knocking into his elbow and making him drop his fork. 

Tommy looked across the table at Steve and almost dropped his fork again because Steve looked… happy. Happier than he had in months. Shit, he almost looked high; he had this silly little smile on his face and his eyes were closed, face tilted up like he was basking in a fucking sunbeam. 

And that's when Tommy realized he was, like, the worst fucking friend ever. Because Steve was an omega, and they had learned in health class that omegas craved physical contact. They needed it to stay healthy or whatever. And Steve, being a secret male omega with shitty absentee parents, wasn’t getting any love at home and he couldn't exactly reach out and ask his buddies for some cuddles. He'd been getting sick for months because no one but Tommy knew about him and Tommy sure as shit hadn't been offering to hold his hand.

So now here Steve was, getting a goddamn contact high because he was squished in between Davey Bower, who smelled like ball sweat and Cheetos, and Andrew Floyd, who looked like a fucking toe. But Steve was too blissed out on, like, happy omega hormones to care about that, and Tommy was the shittiest best friend in Hawkins.

Goddammit. Tommy was going to have to start giving Steve hugs. He was going to have to give him so many goddamn fucking hugs. 

Tommy took Steve's bus back home after school that day. Steve sat next to him, humming to himself and smiling as he leaned his head against the window. He already looked better, his skin a little less pale and his hair less dull.

When they got to Steve's house, Tommy followed him in. Steve looked at him, suspicious, as he unlocked the front door. 

"What's up, man?" he said as they toed off their shoes by the front door.

"We gotta talk," Tommy told him. He headed for the living room and tossed his backpack into an armchair. Tommy plopped onto the couch and beckoned Steve over to him. 

Steve lifted an eyebrow but joined Tommy on the couch. "You're acting weird," he said.

"Yeah, well, it is fucking weird," Tommy huffed, running his hands through his hair. "I figured out why you're sick."

"Yeah?" Steve asked, surprised. "Cause I'm actually feeling pretty good right now."

"Yeah," Tommy cringed. "Yeah, that's the thing. You, uh, well. You're an omega."

"Yeah…"

"And omegas get sick if they don't get enough, like, physical contact."

"Oh." Steve blinked. Then he frowned. "Do I… do I not?"

Tommy shrugged. "I mean, I guess not? Cause like, you don't have a girlfriend and it's not like guys, like, touch each other a lot. And your parents are never here so who touches you? Like, I mean, for more than a second?"

"I…" Steve trailed off. He bit his lip and looked down. "Nobody, I guess."

Tommy cleared his throat. "Right, yeah, so like, uh. Today you were all squeezed in at the table at lunch and I think it helped. But we have to fix that so you don't keep, like, getting sick. And also so you’re not so happy to be pressed up against Davey Bower cause that dude fuckin’ reeks, man. Um. So." He took a deep breath and held out his arms toward Steve.

Steve looked up at him without moving. "What are you doing?”

"I'm offering you a hug, man."

"Uh, why?"

Tommy tsked, his arms still awkwardly hovering between them. "Cause your omega brain needs, like, fucking snuggles to function. And nobody else is lining up to offer them. So get in here, asshole."

Steve stared at him for a moment before he scooted closer and leaned slowly into Tommy's arms, wrapping his own gingerly around Tommy's back. They hovered there, chests not touching, for a minute.

"Is it working?" Tommy asked, staring over Steve's shoulder into the kitchen.

"Man, I don't fucking know," Steve answered. "This is, like, the worst hug of my life." 

"Dick," Tommy said, pinching Steve in the side. Steve jerked, his shoulder catching Tommy in the chin and making him bite his tongue. "Ow!"

"Fuck, man," Steve said as he pulled back. "This is fucking dumb."

"Okay look," Tommy told him. "We put on a movie, I'll sit back here in the corner, then you, like, squeeze up next to me. Like you're my girlfriend." Tommy grimaced. Yuck.

"Man, how come I have to be the girlfriend?" Steve asked.

"Cause you're the fucking omega, now pick a goddamn movie."

Steve got up and walked over to the cabinet next to his big-ass TV, grumbling something about "sexist" and "asshole" which, like, whatever. Girlfriends like to snuggle, omegas like to snuggle. It made sense. Tommy scooched over into the corner of the couch so he got one hand up on the arm rest and put his feet out on the ottoman.

Steve put in Chariots of Fire, because he knew Tommy hated that movie and Steve was a fuckin' bitch. He turned back to the couch with a smirk and sat down awkwardly next to Tommy. 

"How do I…" he asked, gesturing back and forth between himself and Tommy. 

"C'mere," Tommy said, and tugged him until Steve landed against his chest with an oof!, his face smushed against Tommy's collarbone. Then it was a lot of shoving and rearranging.

“Not like that, just—"

"Ow, my neck."

"Just put your arm—"

"Relax, will you, let me—"

When Steve was finally situated (it was never this hard with Carol, Jesus), they started the movie. And yeah, it was pretty weird to be cuddling with Steve. And this movie fucking sucked. But it was warm, and the couch was comfy, and Tommy must've dozed off after a while. 

When he opened his eyes again, the Brits had won the medal and that fucking song was playing. As the written epilogue came on the screen, Steve sighed and shifted a little.

"Hey Tommy?" he said, words muffled against Tommy's shirt.

"Hmm?" Tommy replied, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes.

"Thanks," Steve said.

"Yeah, man. Sure." Tommy patted Steve's back. "Feeling better?"

"I—yeah, I think so."

"Cool. Well, let me up, dude, I gotta piss."

After that day Tommy tried to make it a regular thing, going over to Steve's to cuddle. It was still kind of awkward and they couldn't do it every day, with sports practices and basketball games and swim meets and parties and dates with Carol, but they managed a couple of times a week. Tommy tried to do more at school when he could, sitting with his leg pressed against Steve's under the table at lunch or wrapping an arm around his shoulders for a moment in the halls. 

It helped. Steve started to look more like Steve and less like a zombie. He stopped getting sick and he seemed more like himself. They found some other things that helped, too. The scent blocker gave him a headache after a while, so Steve washed it off when he got home from school if his parents weren't around, which was most of the time cause they were dicks. That meant that cuddle time now included Steve's warm, sugary scent. Tommy didn't really mind, though it did make him pretty fucking hungry; Steve's alpha was gonna gain some serious weight if Steve's scent gave him the same craving for cookies that it gave Tommy.

It also helped if Steve got to scent him. Which, yeah, was even more fuckin’ awkward than the cuddling. Scenting was for, like, close family and people you were banging, it was not a casual thing. Tommy pretty much only scented Mama and Carol, except when he and Carol were broken up and then he’d scent whatever chick he was using to make her jealous. But Steve didn’t have anyone to scent, so he scented Tommy sometimes, when they were alone. And it was weird, but it was like they were brothers or some shit. It helped calm Steve’s wacky omega hormones, which was the goal, so Tommy could tolerate Steve sticking his nose into his neck sometimes.

So, yeah. They made it work. They figured out a system that kept Steve’s status hidden in plain sight, climbing the social ladder of Hawkins fuckin’ High. By the end of sophomore year the other kids were calling him King Steve, which felt pretty good. In private Tommy joked that he should probably be Queen Steve and Steve smacked him, but didn’t, like, smack him smack him, so Tommy figured he was getting a handle on this whole gay joke thing.

Over the summer they worked, Tommy sweating his balls off under cars at Thatcher’s Tire and Steve in the lifeguard chair at Hawkins Community Pool. They each set aside a little money into the Get the Fuck Out of Hawkins fund which Tommy kept in an old pickle jar under his bed. By the end of the summer they had plenty for a couple of Greyhound tickets to Chicago plus a good start on some rent money. With junior year starting, Tommy was actually feeling pretty good about how things were going. They could ride this train all the way through senior year, escape Steve’s parents’ psycho sex-slave plot, and start a new life in the big city with their future soulmates. It was all going according to plan.

Of course, that’s when things got complicated.

Steve told him later that it felt like getting struck by lightning. Privately, Tommy thought he would rather get struck by actual fucking lightning than ever be shackled to Eddie “The Freak” Munson. 

It happened in early November, a week or so after Halloween. Tommy and Steve were leaving the gym after talking to Coach about the lineup for next week’s swim meet. As they walked down the empty hallways toward the parking lot (Steve had gotten a brand new BMW as a birthday present, because money was just as good as love, right Mr. Harrington?) Tommy was trying to convince Steve to shake things up in his dating life.

“I’m just saying, man, you can’t just mack on chicks at parties and never date anybody for real. People are gonna think you have, like, a complex. Just get one girlfriend for a couple of months and then break up with her, that’ll keep people off your back for the rest of the year.”

Steve grimaced and looked around before he replied, voice low. “You know why I can’t date anyone seriously, man. It would make certain issues pretty fuckin’ obvious.”

The thing with omegas was that, like, they got all slicked up when they were horny. Which was great for girl omegas, Tommy had had some real fun with that when he and Carol had broken up over the summer and Abby Huntner had swooped in. It was messy and fucking hot, right, and it smelled amazing, like the omega’s regular scent turned up to a hundred. 

But for Steve, that meant that whenever he got horny, he got slicked up too. Which Tommy didn’t really like to think about, okay, fucking ew, but he understood the problem. Steve couldn’t do much more than go down on a girl or let her give him, like, a sad handjob with his pants still on, cause as soon as things got too hot and heavy he would start to make slick. And drunk girls at parties might not be super observant but if a girl got close enough to go down on Steve she was definitely gonna notice that his ass smelled like a goddamn bakery. 

Tommy, however, was a genius, and he had a solution for this problem. Not the sad handjob problem, no, but the dating thing.

“Nancy Wheeler!” he crowed, triumphant.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Nancy Wheeler, the cute chick who works on the newspaper? The sophomore. She’s, like, a total priss, right? Definitely a virgin.” Tommy clapped his hands together. “So, you woo Nancy Wheeler, get her to date you for a while, and then when she for sure refuses to fuck you, you dump her! And there, you dated a hot chick, everyone knows you’re boyfriend material, and no one knows anything they shouldn’t know.”

Steve groaned. “Come on, man, that’s shitty. I don’t want to dump some girl for not putting out, that’s fucked up.” 

“Why?” Tommy asked. “I fucking would. I got needs, man.”

“Yeah, cause you’re a pig,” Steve said and elbowed him. “Can’t I just, like, make up some college girlfriend?”

“No, man, we save the college girlfriend for senior year, we can use her as an excuse to visit Chicago to look for apartments. But we gotta lay the Steve-dates-girls groundwork now or people will think she’s made up!”

“Yeah, because she is.”

“Fuck, man, I’m trying to help you out here. Nancy Wheeler is, like, perfect for this.”

“Yeah, and you want me to break her heart.”

“Who said anything about anybody’s heart? It’s just high school, man, we’re just having fun. There are soulmates waiting for us, we’re just getting our ya-ya's out.”

Steve sighed. Good, that meant Tommy was wearing him down.

“Look, man, just ask out Wheeler and I’ll… I’ll get back together with Carol and we’ll go on some double dates. We can have fun, even if Wheeler is a total dud.”

“Ugh, please don’t start dating Carol again, she’s such a bitch. She was, like, torturing some random band chick at lunch yesterday, it was so unnecessary.”

“Yeah, I know she’s a bitch, that’s like her whole thing. But you know what? She’s a bitch who puts out, man. I told you, bro, I got needs. Is the random band chick gonna give me a blowjob? No, she’s not. So why would I give a–”

Tommy was interrupted when a fuckin’ whirlwind of hair and leather and denim and goddamn nerd stink rammed into them both, knocking Steve to the ground and sending a bunch of papers flying.

“Shit!” shrieked Eddie “The Freak” Munson, who must have just run out of a side hallway and plowed right into them. He bent to start picking up his papers but Tommy got there first.

He grabbed the freak by the front of his grungy denim vest and slammed him up against the wall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, freak? Think you’re going to get away with that?”

“Oh fuck off, Hagan,” the freak sneered. “It was an accident, asshole, let me go.” 

This little shit needed to learn his place. Munson may have been a senior, but he was still pretty much at the bottom of the social pyramid at Hawkins High. Barely better than some of the freshmen. Tommy wasn’t going to stand for any backtalk from someone that far down, not when he and Steve had worked so hard to get to the top.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, freak,” Tommy told him. “Or I’ll—”

“Tommy,” Steve interrupted. He sounded weird. Tommy looked over. Steve was still sprawled on the ground on his back, propped up on his elbows. He was staring at Munson with this weird look on his face. “Tommy,” he said again.

Munson tried to use Tommy’s distraction to break his hold, but Tommy just slammed him harder against the wall and didn’t let up. “What, Steve?” he asked, distracted.

“It’s him,” Steve said, dazed. 

“What’s him?” Tommy asked. 

Steve scrambled to his feet, uncoordinated and clumsy. He stood behind Tommy’s shoulder, still staring right at Munson. Munson looked right back, wary, and leaned as far away as he could with the wall behind him.

“It’s him, Tommy,” Steve said, right before he leaned in and fucking scented Eddie fucking Munson right in the fucking middle of the fucking hallway.

“What the fuck!” Munson shrieked, trying to claw at Tommy’s hands to get away. Tommy spared one to grab Steve by the shoulder and tear him off of Munson. Steve stumbled back, wide-eyed, panting.

“It’s him,” he said again, like a fucking idiot.

“What the fuck are you doing, Steve?” Tommy whispered urgently. “You can’t just scent some dude here, why would you–” Then he figured it out. And immediately wanted to scream.

“No, Steve, no. You’re kidding,” he pleaded. “Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson? Are you kidding me? Fucking Munson?”

No way Eddie goddamn Munson was Steve’s soulmate. No way Steve’s soulmate, his fucking white whale gay alpha, had been here in Hawkins the entire goddamn time, and the universe had just decided that today was the day they would have their destined goddamn awakening. No. Absolutely not.

Munson appeared to agree with Tommy. His eyes darted, bewildered, between him and Steve. “Uh…” he supplied helpfully.

“Shut up, Munson,” Tommy told him, with another shove for emphasis. 

Steve was still just staring at Munson like he was the most amazing goddamn thing he had ever seen. Tommy kind of wanted to puke, cause while he had always hoped Steve would find his soulmate he had never actually wanted to be there to witness Steve get all sparkly-eyed and giggly or whatever. He looked like an idiot.

They all stood in awkward silence for a minute while Steve stared at Munson and Munson looked wildly around, probably hoping a teacher or somebody would come by and save him from the jocks. He didn’t seem to be having the same revelation that had made Steve go all stupid.

Eventually Steve noticed the same thing. “Why—Tommy, why isn’t he…” he mumbled. “I—Munson? Do you…” Steve trailed off, sighing a little when Munson met his eyes. 

Christ, this was awful. What a goddamn trainwreck. This is why Steve needed Tommy, to save his useless ass over and over. 

“You need to go home and take a shower, Steve,” Tommy told him, trying to convey meaning with his eyes. “Then everything will work out.” Munson couldn’t smell his soulmate through the scent blocker. Duh. Steve squinted at Tommy, but it didn’t seem like the message was getting through his dopey brain.

“Yeah, great idea,” Munson chimed in, a bright, false smile on his face. “Let’s all go home and, uh, shower I guess, and just let bygones be bygones, hm? Harrington?”

When Munson said his name Steve let out a high-pitched whine. Munson flinched and stared at him, horrified. 

Fucking Christ, fucking useless omega, Jesus wept. 

“Okay, that’s it, let’s go,” Tommy told Steve. He tugged Munson off the wall and started dragging him toward the door. 

Munson planted his feet and nearly toppled them both. “What the fuck, man, I’m not going anywhere with you two. What the fuck is going on? Why are you being so goddamn weird?”

Tommy turned back to Munson, got right up in his stupid freak face, and pointed a finger. “You’re coming with us. We’re going to get into Steve’s car and go back to Steve’s house. He’s going to take a shower. And then you’ll get your explanation.”

“Orrrrr,” Munson replied, “I don’t do any of that and you guys leave me the fuck alone. We can all just forget this weirdness ever happened and never speak again. That sounds nice.”

Steve whined again. God damn it, they needed to get out of here before someone saw Steve acting like the pathetic, needy omega he absolutely was.

“You’re coming with us,” Tommy told Munson again, “or I’ll tell Principal Higgins that you pulled the fire alarm during the assembly last month.”

“That wasn’t me!” Munson cried.

“Yeah, but who’s he gonna believe, huh? Who’s going to get suspended?” Tommy asked.

Munson made a face, but when Tommy started dragging him again he followed. Tommy used his other hand to grab Steve roughly by the arm and pull him too, keeping his body firmly between them. He didn’t trust Steve not to start fuckin’ pawing at Munson or some shit before Munson understood what was going on. 

When they got to the BMW, Tommy grabbed the keys out of Steve’s jacket pocket and shoved him in the backseat. Then he looked at Munson and pointed at the passenger door. Munson looked longingly at the woods for a second, like he might bolt, but he climbed in. Tommy sat down himself and started the car.

It was a tense, awkward drive. Steve stared at Munson the entire time and Munson could clearly feel the eyes on him but refused to turn around. He sat stiff in the seat, fingers drumming restlessly on the knee of his ripped black jeans. 

Tommy, for his part, was worrying about how this was going to complicate their plans. Finding Steve’s soulmate now, before they even left Hawkins, had never been on their radar. What if Steve’s parents figured out Steve had found him and shipped him off early? What if Munson didn’t want to leave Hawkins?

Plus, like, it was a risk, sharing Steve’s secret. What if Munson rejected him? Was that even an option? Munson would be thrilled, right? Male omegas being as rare as they were, he probably had no idea he’d meet his soulmate in this shitty town either. Of course, it’s not like they were exactly friends with him. Nobody was, really, he was a goddamn freak. But that didn’t matter for soulmates, did it?

If it did matter, then Tommy would be willing to do what it took to protect Steve. They had proof, after all, that Munson was a— that he was gay, so like, they could come after him with that if he threatened to out Steve’s secret. Steve didn’t like that anymore, he had made Tommy promise to stop using being gay against people, but like, what the hell ever. Tommy would use any weapon at his disposal if he had to.

They finally reached the house and Tommy got out, heading to the front door with the other two trailing behind him. He used Steve’s keys to open the door and ushered them both inside. Munson stopped just inside the door, biting his lip and twisting the ridiculous rings on his fingers. Steve fuckin’ stared at him like a psychopath.

“Steve,” Tommy barked. The other two both jumped. “Shower,” Tommy told him.

Steve nodded rapidly and then darted up the stairs, already ripping his shirt off over his head as he went. Munson stared up at his naked back, mouth a bit open, before he snapped his gaze away and looked furtively over at Tommy.

Yeah. Fucking gay as hell. At least that was confirmed.

“Come on,” Tommy said, and dragged Munson by the sleeve into the living room. “Sit,” he said, pointing at the couch. He himself perched on the arm of an armchair.

Munson pursed his lips but sat gingerly on the edge of the couch. “You always order everybody around in this house, or is today special?”

Tommy snorted but didn’t answer him. He wasn’t about to make small talk with the freak, okay, he was just gonna keep him here until Steve got back and they had their, like, magical goddamn destiny moment. And then he was going to fucking run for the hills, because Tommy assumed immediately after the destiny moment was just, like, a lot of sex. He super did not want to witness any of Steve’s gay sex. Or Munson’s, Christ, what the fuck. Dude looked like a fucking bird had nested in his hair last spring and never left. 

Munson wasn’t bothered by Tommy’s lack of response, he just looked around the room, taking in the huge TV and the pristine furniture and doors leading out to the pool. He whistled, low. “Sure is fancy in here,” he commented.

Tommy didn’t answer him. He let the silence drag out for a minute.

“You come here often?” Munson tried, half a smile crossing his face before it dropped off. 

Tommy smirked but didn’t reply. This was actually kind of funny, watching the freak squirm.

After another minute Munson broke. “Look, man,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Is this about drugs? You guys need something for a party? Cause I have office hours, man, I’m not hard to find. We don’t need to do all this cloak-and-dagger shit, I’m happy to sell if you’ve got the cash.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Just shut up, man, it’s not about drugs. You’ll find out in, like, five minutes. Nobody ever taught you how to wait?”

“I’m not known for my patience, no,” Munson bit back, an acidic smile on his face. “And forgive me if I’m a little antsy when a couple of psycho jocks fucking kidnapped me from school and dragged me back to their mansion to kill me!” he yelled, his voice gone all shrill and grating. 

“Jesus, you better be fucking worth this,” Tommy muttered. He did not want to have to listen to this lunatic’s goddamn rants every day. Maybe he would calm the fuck down once he was getting some, no way Munson wasn’t a bigger virgin than Steve.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Munson screeched. 

“Oh my god, just shut up,” Tommy begged him, throwing his hands in the air. 

Munson rose from the couch, one finger raised and probably about to launch into another goddamn tirade, when there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Steve came tearing into the room. His hair was still wet, practically dripping really, and he had changed into some sweats. He walked right up to Munson and stood just a couple of feet away, his hands hanging down at his sides. Steve looked nervous. Tommy couldn’t smell it from the other side of the room, but presumably Steve’s omega scent was now wafting through the air. It would be strong enough for his soulmate to smell.

Munson stared at Steve, brow furrowed. Tommy watched as he took one breath, then two. Munson dropped the hand he had raised, blinking. Another breath. Then, suddenly, his eyes went wide and he inhaled sharply. A look of wonder came over his features, rendering Munson just as dopey-looking as Steve had been in the school hallway. 

“Oh,” Munson exhaled. “Sweetheart,” he said, reaching out his hand to brush his fingertips against Steve’s cheek. Steve’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, big, even as tears gathered at his eyes. Munson brought his thumb up to wipe at one as it tracked down Steve’s cheek. 

They shifted closer together, and it was kind of like watching a scene in a movie, both of them moving slowly and staring all gooey into each other’s eyes. They kissed, Steve’s hands moving into Munson’s hair while Munson’s fell to his waist. 

It was sweet, or whatever. Tommy wasn’t totally thrilled to be watching a couple of dudes kiss each other but, like, he had been prepared for this. He had seen Steve kiss plenty of people, and Munson had long hair anyway, it was fine. 

He’d get used to it, he supposed.

But right now this kiss was going on for a while and getting, like, kind of sloppy sounding, and Tommy was still in the room, thanks. He cleared his throat loudly. Munson jumped a bit and pulled back, tugging Steve’s hand out of his hair. Steve whined at him and shot a glare over at Tommy.

Tommy raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, man, I just want to make sure we’re all good before I get the fuck out of here.”

Munson just stared uselessly at Steve, like he had the secrets of the fuckin’ universe shoved up his nose or something. Steve smiled at Tommy. He looked so goddamn happy.

“Thanks, Tommy,” he said softly. “I’ll explain it to him. You can go.”

“I’m coming back in the morning, so like, have some fuckin’ pants on when I get here, okay? And Munson?”

Munson looked over at him, still dazed. 

“If you hurt him I will murder you, set fire to your house, and piss on your fucking grave,” Tommy told him seriously.

Munson nodded mutely. He looked pretty bewildered. Good enough.

Tommy all but ran from the room then, closing the front door behind him before he had to hear any, like, noises. There was a payphone half a mile down the street, he’d walk there and call Mama to come pick him up. 

What a fucking day.

He snorted. It was definitely gonna be a fucking day for Steve, judging by the way they were looking at each other. Good for him. Like, yuck. But good for him.

Jesus Christ. Eddie Munson. What were the fucking odds.

Chapter Text

Tommy came back in the morning as promised; not too early so he didn’t interrupt any, like, shenanigans. He’d had enough sexy sleepovers to know the value of the morning-after fuck, if it was a girl he liked. 

Steve answered the door, looking pretty normal except for the big smile on his face and the—Christ alive—like six fucking hickeys on his neck. 

“Is Munson secretly a fuckin’ vampire?” Tommy asked as he walked inside. “Cause, like, he’s not doing a very good job of hiding it if he is.”

Steve laughed and headed to the kitchen, where he was apparently cooking a late breakfast and humming like fucking Snow White as he stirred his scrambled eggs. Munson was nowhere to be seen.

“Lover boy abandon you already?” Tommy asked, half-joking. Steve was acting too happy to have been jilted but, like, why the fuck was his soulmate already gone?

“He had a car thing he had to help his uncle with,” Steve told him with a shrug. “He’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Steve smiled softly as he scraped the eggs onto a plate. 

“You filled him in on everything?” Tommy asked, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Yeah, he knows. He wants to help,” Steve replied, sitting down with his plate. 

Tommy reached over and snagged a piece of egg, popping it in his mouth. “Good. We can figure out how to, like, loop him in. And what changes now, since you went and jumped the gun on the whole find-our-soulmates-in-Chicago plan.”

Steve snorted. “Sorry, man, my bad.” 

“So was it, like, okay?” Tommy asked. “Did he do a good job?” He wasn’t really sure what that entailed and he did not want to know. But like, sex was sex right? There was some version of gay sex that was good, right, or like, nobody would ever do it.

Steve sighed dreamily. “It was amazing. He was amazing.”

Tommy wrinkled his nose a little. “Yeah? That’s good. I kinda thought a couple of virgins like you two would fumble it a bit on the first round.”

“Okay, first, there was more than one round,” Steve said. “Second,” he said loudly over Tommy’s groan of disgust, “second, Eddie’s not a virgin.”

“Dude, no way, I have never met a bigger virgin in my life. No way a girl has ever fucked that guy.”

“Yeah, duh, Tommy,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “He’s never fucked a girl. That doesn’t make him a virgin.”

Oh. Right.

“Well, good for you I guess,” Tommy said. 

“Yeah it was,” Steve said with a grin.

Tommy made a gagging sound. “Gross, man, I don’t want to hear the details. I’m happy for you, asshole, just spare me the play-by-play.”

Steve gave him a baleful glare. “Tommy. I have heard about, like, one hundred percent of your sexual exploits. I know way too much about what Carol looks like when she comes for someone who has never even been close to fucking her.”

“Yeah, but you like girls!” Tommy cried. 

“Come on, man!” Steve whined. “There is literally no one on the planet I can talk to about this except the guy I did it with, and he doesn’t actually need a recap. Please, man. I’m gonna explode and, like, yell about it in the cafeteria if I can’t talk about it just a little.”

Tommy scrunched up his nose. Steve gave him a pleading look. 

Fuck. Fuck.

“Fine, you get—” he glanced at the clock above the stove “—you get exactly five minutes to talk about this. And then I never, ever ever want to hear about your gay-ass sex, or your gay ass-sex, ever again.”

Steve did not hesitate. And he did not hold back.

“—and then he did this thing with his tongue, which like, whoa, I am apparently super into that—”

Blech.

“—so that was fun, but then in the shower we tried it from behind, and that was—”

Ugh.

“—and it was like, so wet man, I never thought about the sounds before, just like filthy, like fucking squelching, and—”

This was the worst day of Tommy’s life. Bar absolutely none.

Looping Munson into Team Steve actually proved harder than they had imagined. It was nice, in theory, to have another ally and some support for Steve’s needy omega tendencies, but it didn’t exactly help that Munson was a goddamn social pariah. He couldn’t just start hanging out with them at the basketball lunch table, and there was no way in hell Tommy was going to let King Steve join the fucking weirdo medieval dork table. 

But they had to figure out a reason for Steve and Munson to be hanging out outside of school, because sooner or later someone was going to ask questions about Steve’s fancy fucking beamer showing up in the trailer park twice a week. Or the beat-up junker of a van that was parked in Steve’s driveway half the time.

Tommy thought they should use the drugs angle, make Munson their official dealer and cover any meetings with that. But Steve apparently objected to making the drugs central, in case it looked bad and jeopardized his position on the sports teams (but, like, you’re dating a fucking drug dealer, Mr. High Horse Harrington) so that was out. 

Munson suggested they just not say anything and deal with the fallout when someone noticed, but Tommy and Steve shot that down immediately. They’d been playing this game for a while now, and if they’d learned one thing, it was that you stay ahead of potential problems instead of letting them grow in the background. Better to come up with an answer to a question no one asked than be left on the back foot when you got caught with your ass hanging out. 

Steve thought maybe they could try to say one of them was tutoring the other. But like, who was gonna believe either of those bozos was capable of tutoring anybody. Munson was always one D- away from flunking out entirely; Steve was a little better but he was just barely scraping by with the 2.5 GPA necessary to stay on the sports teams.

But that’s why Tommy was the brains of the operation, because he was a fucking genius with the perfect solution, again: Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler!

She was smart, like super smart, and squeaky clean. If she started tutoring Steve Harrington (because he could pay her, and she had a crush on him, probably) as well as Eddie Munson (because she had a big heart and he was a charity case in every sense of the word) then it would make sense for them all to meet up after school. And then Munson and Steve could spend time on their own to, like, study for Wheeler’s pop quizzes or whatever. It was perfect. 

Where would those useless gay idiots be without Tommy?

He sweet-talked Wheeler into it, got everything set up, and even ferried Steve and Munson over to the Wheeler house after school. He sent them in with strict instructions to fucking behave like normal dudes who were not screwing each other’s brains out, thank you, and to try to pay attention to their tutor. 

Tommy probably should have known better than to trust them.

When he came back to the Wheeler house at 6pm to pick them up, there was no tutoring going on. Mrs. Wheeler (total babe, wow, he would hit that in a second) answered the door and ushered Tommy inside, yelling over her shoulder. “Steve, honey, your ride is here!” She turned back to Tommy. “He’s in the kitchen, dear, and I think Eddie was in the basement with the boys. I hope you can round them up, I’ve got ironing to do upstairs.” 

What the fuck?

Tommy wandered into the kitchen where he found Steve spoon-feeding a fucking toddler, the both of them giggling as he wiped her chin with a napkin. There was some kind of food spattered on his shirt and in his hair. He looked up when he saw Tommy hovering awkwardly by the door.

“Hey, man!” Steve greeted him happily. “I can go in a minute, I just gotta finish giving Holly her dinner.”

Again: what the fuck?

“Where’s Nancy?” Tommy asked.

“Oh, she got called away a couple of hours ago, something with her friend Barb? She promised us a make-up session. But since you weren’t coming back for a while I offered to help Mrs. Wheeler with Holly here,” he grinned at the little kid and tugged on one blond pigtail, “so we’ve been hanging out. Oh, and Eddie found out Nancy’s little brother and his friends were playing D&D in the basement so he’s down there, like, stirring up shit or something.”

As if on cue, a loud cry echoed up through a door off the kitchen that Tommy assumed went to the basement. He could hear Munson’s unmistakable shrill tones calling out, “That’s how you play, man!”

Christ. What did these idiots do?

“You’d better let him know you’re here,” Steve said as he scraped his spoon through the… mush or whatever the toddler was eating. “These sessions can go on for hours.”

So Tommy stomped down the stairs into the musty basement, where he found Munson and a gaggle of fuckin’ ten-year-olds gathered around a table covered in dice and little action figures and shit. The boys were arguing about something and Munson was standing over them with a smug smile on his face like some kind of, like, evil overlord.

Munson looked up when he saw Tommy on the stairs and his smile changed, becoming something with teeth but no sincerity. He and Munson were still feeling each other out.

“Well met, Sir Hagan!” Munson cried. The kids stopped yelling at each other and turned to look at Tommy. “Boys, I want you to meet Tommy Hagan, Steve’s best friend and our noble charioteer this evening.”

There was an awkward chorus of “hi.” 

Tommy raised a hand in an abortive half-wave. “Hey dudes,” he said. God, he hated kids. “Munson, pack it up, we’re heading out in five.”

The kids all burst out in protest, begging for more time and tugging at Munson’s sleeves. Tommy took a step or two back up the stairs. 

“Now, now, my lords, fear not! I’ll be back again, I promised to keep an eye on the future of the Hellfire Club, didn’t I?” Munson smiled genuinely at the kids and spread his arms wide. 

Jesus, no wonder people thought he was a cult leader. This was, like, textbook corrupting the youth. The kids stared up at Munson like he hung the fucking moon.

“Let’s go, Munson!” Tommy called over his shoulder as he stomped back up the stairs. In the kitchen, Steve was washing dishes in the sink. The little girl was sitting in front of the TV, watching an episode of Sesame Street. 

“I’ll be in the car,” Tommy told Steve as he headed for the door. “Don’t, like, adopt a kid or whatever when you leave.” He could hear Steve laughing behind him as he headed outside.

It took way longer than five minutes for Munson and Steve to emerge. And when they did, it was with a kid in tow, a curly-haired one who had super weird teeth. Steve climbed in the front seat while Munson and the kid tumbled in the back, talking a mile a minute about, like, dragons or something.

“Dude, I said don’t adopt a kid,” Tommy grumbled.

“Relax, we’re just dropping him off, he lives, like, right by my neighborhood,” Steve said.

“Thanks for the ride, Tommy. Can you drop someone else off, Tommy? Thanks for getting us a tutor, Tommy,” Tommy muttered to himself as he backed up the stupidly long driveway.

Steve shoved his shoulder. “Thanks, man. It was fun. I think Eddie and I are gonna take the kids to the movies this weekend.”

“So what, you’re their joint babysitters now?”

Steve shrugged. “I guess, something like that.”

The curly-haired kid, Justin something, chattered with Munson the whole way to his house. When he got out, Steve hopped out and jumped in the back to snuggle up with Munson.

“Don’t you fuckin' start making out back there, I swear to God,” Tommy told them.

Munson made loud smacking noises with his mouth. Steve giggled. Giggled.

Tommy turned up the radio (thank God for Foreigner) and kept his eyes on the road, but he could still hear them softly talking in the backseat.

“Did you have fun?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, those kids are great. And so creative, I need to talk to Will more about his campaign ideas, kid’s brilliant.”

“Cool. We’re taking them to see something this weekend so I’m sure you’ll get the chance.”

“Nice.” There was a pause. “Did you have fun, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I… it was nice. I like hanging out with kids, they’re simple, you know? And I thought…” Another pause.

“Thought what, babe?”

“Well, you know… maybe it’s, like, good practice for us. For our, um, for our future.”

A beat, and then, “Yeah? You, um, you’d want that? With—with me?”

“Of course, with you. And yeah, I, uh. I’ve always wanted kids. Like, a bunch of kids.”

Then there were some kissing sounds, so Tommy turned up the radio even louder.

He hated kids. But maybe one day he was going to have to get over it, if Steve was going to have a whole bunch. And Tommy didn’t want to think about the, like, mechanics there, but he thought it would be good to see Steve with a big happy family. No more empty, soulless houses. No more being alone.

So tutoring and study sessions turned into tutoring and study sessions and joint babysitting and trips to the movie theater and the arcade, plus Munson playing his cult dragon game for like eight fucking hours in Steve’s dining room every Saturday. Steve and Munson were practically joined at the hip outside of school, usually with a couple of their prepubescent tag-alongs in tow. Tommy decided he would still take credit for the whole thing, even though his Wheeler-tutor idea had kind of grown legs of its own at this point. 

Of course, now that meant that Tommy was getting roped into seeing movies with like six fucking children, who yelled and threw popcorn and couldn’t sit still, oh my God. He tried to keep those outings to a minimum and dragged Steve out to child-free parties and R-rated movies for some almost-adult time when he could. Munson couldn’t really come along, because he was walking talking social suicide, but Steve and him figured out how to meet up often enough on their own. Tommy could have Steve to himself sometimes, it wouldn’t kill him.

Junior year continued on. Nancy Wheeler and her lame friend Barb Holland started hanging out more. Wheeler definitely had a thing for Steve, it was pretty obvious. But now that Steve was with Munson he really didn’t want to go along with Tommy’s date-a-frigid-bitch plan, so Wheeler was just going to be disappointed. If he thought she’d go for it Tommy would have been willing to swoop in and comfort her in her disappointment, maybe get her to try something new and exciting in the bedroom to get over Steve. But Wheeler was always giving him the stink eye so no dice there. 

Barb Holland was on a one-woman mission to murder Tommy with her eyeballs or something. And for, like, no fucking reason, Tommy never even talked to her. Christ, she gave him the creeps. Why did Steve start collecting so many weirdos all of a sudden?

Tommy got back together with Carol again in December because he and Steve agreed that, if Steve wasn't going to be part of a power couple, then someone had to step up to the plate. That was fine by Tommy, Carol was familiar territory and she still put out. Steve hated her guts, but he had learned a long time ago that whispering things into Carol's ear could make magic happen on the Hawkins High social scene. Steve fed her the right rumors to keep anyone from questioning his single status.

Did you hear? Carol would giggle to her friends, at lunch or in the parking lot or outside the locker room. Steve hooked up with Carol B. at Tommy's birthday party or Anna said she saw Steve and Melissa on a date at the movies last weekend or Heather tried to give Steve a BJ after homecoming but she was so drunk she threw up on his shoes and he kicked her out. 

Whenever Steve overheard that shit he would smirk and wink at Tommy, the smug bastard. Like Tommy wasn't just as instrumental to their social position as he was.

Sometimes Tommy thought he and Steve were the real power couple of Hawkins High. 

But not in, like, a gay way. 

Shut up.

It took a while, because Steve and Munson were so far up each other’s butts (ew) that they couldn’t pay attention to anything but each other, but eventually Tommy got Steve to sit down and talk about how the addition of the freak changed their plans for the future.

“Don’t call him that,” Steve grumbled from his desk chair, where he was trying to do some kind of math homework.

“Why not?” Tommy asked from his spot on Steve’s bed, leaning against the headboard as he tossed a baseball above his head. “It’s, like, his signature. I think he likes it. I’m being nice to your boyfriend, Steve.”

“Yeah? Maybe I should make up a nickname for you, huh, see how you like it.”

“Oh, I’ve already got some,” he said with a grin. “Tommy ‘That Good Dick’ Hagan, they call me. Tommy ‘This Thing With His Tongue’ Hagan. Tommy 'Have You Seen How He’s Hung’ Hagan.”

Steve snorted. “More like Tommy ‘Annoying Bitch’ Hagan.”

“Oh yeah? Okay, Steve ‘Farah Fawcett’ Harrington. Or is it Steve ‘My Butt Smells Like Cookies’ Harrington?”

“Shut up, Tommy ‘I Swear It Was Just a Shart’ Hagan.”

“Oh what the fuck, man, you swore to never bring that up!” Tommy threw a pillow at Steve, who twisted around in time to bat it out of the air.

“Then don’t start shit with me, Tommy,” Steve grinned at him, turning back to his homework.

“Fine,” Tommy rolled his eyes and went back to tossing the baseball. “I will play nice with Eddie ‘Definitely Not a Cult Leader’ Munson. We’re going to have to learn to tolerate one another if he’s gonna be my roommate.” Tommy huffed. “But he is not taking over the damn kitchen table all fucking day to play that stupid game every weekend. He can find somewhere else to play, I don’t need to hear about fucking magic spells or whatever when I’m trying to watch TV.”

Steve turned around in his chair again. He looked confused. “What?” he asked.

“You know,” Tommy said, “that dice game, the dungeons thing. It takes for-goddamn-ever to play, I’m sure he can, like, go somewhere else for it. Some other nerd who doesn’t have roommates to worry about.”

“You…” Steve was making a weird face. “You want to live with us? In Chicago?”

“What?” Tommy asked. “Of course, man, that’s the plan. We’ll have to get a bigger place, I guess, but like, with three people we should be able to afford bigger anyway, so…”

“I don’t— Wait, so you still want to go? And live with me and Eddie?” Steve bit his lip and looked at Tommy like he didn’t understand.

What the fuck? Tommy put the baseball down.

“Yeah, man,” he explained slowly. “That’s the plan. We gotta factor Munson in but, like, the fundamentals are still there.”

Steve kind of opened and closed his mouth for a second. Tommy stared at him. Why was this news? Munson appearing in Hawkins instead of Chicago kind of moved up the timetable, sure, but that was always what was going to happen, right? Steve and Tommy would live in Chicago and when they found their soulmates they would just move in together or whatever. It’s not like they’d be able to afford living on their own in the city. 

That hadn’t changed. Had it?

“Um,” Tommy cleared his throat. “Unless, uh, do you… do you not, like, want me there? Cause I thought that’s what we were still doing, but, uh, if you and Munson want to like, be on your own or whatever—”

“No!” Steve interrupted. “No, that’s not—of course I want you there, man.”

Oh. Good. Tommy swallowed.

“It’s just, like,” Steve continued, “I didn’t know if you still wanted to leave. The whole plan was to get me away from my parents and find my soulmate but, I mean, I already found Eddie so I just thought, maybe you… maybe you didn’t want to have to, like, uproot your life and move just to help me out, you know?”

“And what, you thought I’d rather stay in this podunk town and live with my mom until I’m 40?” Tommy asked.

“No,” Steve frowned. “But I mean, you don’t have to keep helping me if you want to, like, do whatever you want. I have Eddie and I’ll be fine, you know, we can manage.”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy told him firmly. “You and Eddie ‘Walking Disaster’ Munson are not going off to Chicago by yourselves. You fuckwits need me to keep you in line.”

Steve squirmed in his seat. “Okay, but like, I don’t want you to feel obligated or whatever. It’s your future, man, you don’t have to waste it on me.”

Waste it? Waste it? Okay, what the fuck.

“Nope, fucking nope,” Tommy said, climbing off the bed to stand over Steve. “Listen up, you dumb fuck, cause I’m not repeating this. You and me? We’re ride-or-die, asswipe. You go to Chicago, I go to Chicago. You room with the freak, I room with the freak. And it’s staying like that until we both have, like, kids or whatever and move into big houses in the suburbs. And then we’re gonna see each other every weekend and our kids will do, like, Little League together and we’ll have fucking beers on the porch. Real American Dream shit. So shut up, dickhead. You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Oh,” Steve said. His mouth was all twisted up and his eyes were wet. “Oh,” he said again, thickly. He made a sort of twitchy movement with his arms and wrinkled his nose.

“Oh my God, fine, yes, come here, you sappy fuck,” Tommy opened up his arms and Steve reached out and pressed his face into Tommy’s neck, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s back and squeezing hard.

“Thanks, Tommy,” Steve said wetly, voice muffled against Tommy’s shirt.

“Yeah, sure man, whatever. You should already know all of this. Don’t get snot on me.”

Steve sniffed really loud. On purpose, the little shit.

“Gross, dude.”

“You’re gross.”

Hanging out with Steve and Munson was a trip. They didn't really act like soulmates, or at least, not the way Tommy thought soulmates would act. There wasn't as much, like, cooing or snuggling or whatever as he'd expected. Like, they were still super gross together, but most of the time it was just like hanging out with a couple of normal dudes, if those dudes liked sitting weirdly close together. 

Some of it was just that Steve and Munson had basically nothing in common. Tommy just couldn't wrap his brain around it. Steve was popular, athletic, good-looking, charming, rich. Munson was, like, a bridge troll that learned to speak English. He was a nerd, a freak, a drug dealer from the goddamn trailer park. They shouldn't work together at all. 

Tommy wasn't about to question the universe on it, right, but it was weird. They made no sense. 

Steve kept inviting Tommy over to hang out with him and Munson. Mostly they watched movies and drank shitty beer; sometimes they watched movies and smoked Munson’s shitty weed (and it was shitty, Tommy had had the good stuff back when Harry Mitchell was still dealing). This time they were eating pizza and watching that Star Wars movie with the teddy bears. 

Or at least, Tommy was watching. Munson was going on and on about some kind of secret gay code he had learned at a bar up in Indianapolis. Steve was getting, like, Gay Stuff 101 classes all the time from Munson these days, now that he had an actual boyfriend. And Tommy was learning some of that shit, like, against his will. 

"Man, shut up Munson, I'm trying to watch this," Tommy grumbled. 

"This is important stuff!" Munson cried. "I can't have Steve embarrassing me at gay bars in Chicago, I have a reputation to maintain."

"Yeah, cause Steve is the embarrassing one," Tommy sniped back. 

"Ah, but this is my world, Hagan, and Steve is but an apprentice!" He grinned goofily at Steve. "It will take much training before he becomes a master." Munson clasped his hands in front of his chest and bowed low. 

Steve ate that nerd shit up because he was, like, such a loser now. He laughed and bowed back. 

"He's right, Tommy," Steve said. "We've got to know this stuff for when we go out in Chicago. You don't want to, like, accidentally tell a dude you want to take him home."

"We?" Tommy asked, incredulous. "What we?"

"You're coming with us!" Steve said with a smirk. “We’re taking Chicago by storm, remember? All three of us.”

"Like hell I am," Tommy replied as he pulled a new slice of pizza from the box and took a bite. "I’ll go out, sure, but you wouldn't catch me dead in a gay bar," he said around his mouthful. 

"I mean, it's still a bar, Tommy," Steve said. "You can just, like, get drunk."

"Yeah, maybe you'll score some free drinks," Munson added with a smirk. "I'm sure there's guys who are into the whole more-freckle-than-skin look," he gestured at Tommy's face. 

"Okay, first of all, the whole more-freckle-than-skin look?" Tommy circled his own face with his finger. "It's totally working for me. But I do not want it working at a gay bar. I'm not taking drinks from some big burly guy in a harness, thanks. Super not into it."

"Okay, but like," Steve said, "the guy in the harness doesn't need to know that. Just accept the drink and send him packing."

"Oh, fuck no!" Tommy cried. "You wanna talk about codes? Here’s a code: the free drink is a signal to fuck. You accept the drink, you accept the fuck. So I'm not taking any drinks from Mr. Harness because I am not planning to blow him in the bathroom or whatever."

"Jesus, dude," Munson said with a judgmental look. "It's not a transaction. A free drink is just, like, an offer. Let's have a drink, see where this goes."

"Yeah," Steve nodded, "no strings attached."

"Wrong.” Tommy crossed his arms into an X and made a loud sound like a game show buzzer. “It is absolutely a transaction. If I buy a girl a drink and she drinks it, there are strings attached, okay? There's strings all over that motherfucker and they're attached straight to my dick. So I won't be taking any drinks from any guys because I don't want to get tangled up in some gay dude's dick-strings. It's gonna be a hard pass for me on the gay bar." Tommy took a big, vicious bite of his pizza slice and turned back to the movie. 

"Jesus H. Christ," Munson muttered to Steve, "why do you hang out with this guy again?"

Steve shrugged. "He's very loyal," he said. 

"Shut up, this is the best part," Tommy told them. The Empire was absolutely wrecking the little teddy bears. What a great movie. 

Junior year went flying by. Through the concerted efforts of Steve, Nancy Wheeler, and a surprisingly clever middle schooler (Austin?) Munson actually managed to graduate high school on time. Tommy pulled some strings at Thatcher’s Tire and got him a job there, alongside Tommy for the summer, which was fucking awful because Munson was so annoying. But Munson needed a real job now if he wanted to get a job in Chicago next year, cause he couldn’t very well put “actual drug dealer” on a goddamn resume, could he? So Tommy got him the gig, and even though he hogged the garage’s boombox and never fucking shut up while he was working, it was surprisingly fine. Munson was pretty good with his hands and he knew more about cars than Tommy had expected. 

Steve was, like, weirdly thrilled about the whole thing. He said they were “bonding.” Tommy refused to talk about it.

Summer ‘84 was long and hot and boring. Steve and Munson carted those damn kids all over town when they weren’t working or like, boning or whatever. Tommy came along sometimes, mostly so he could wreck the little shits at the go-cart track or the arcade. He and Carol broke up so she could suck face with some dude who was back for the summer from Purdue, so Tommy dated a couple of different chicks and banged a couple more. 

Steve and Tommy and Munson all contributed to the Get the Fuck Out of Hawkins fund, which now included two pickle jars and an old margarine tub. With Steve’s car and Munson’s van, though, they didn’t need to worry about Greyhound tickets, so they just had to think about rent and a security deposit. Steve borrowed copies of the Chicago Tribune from the library so they could look at the apartments offered in the classifieds and plan. 

The Harringtons were in town for longer than usual over the summer. They kept throwing all these dinner parties for all the businessmen in town and their wives that Steve’s dad had worked with over the years. Steve ended up stuck at home a lot, sweating in a tie and jacket while he had to listen to a bunch of old dudes reminiscing about their high school glory days. Tommy didn’t think the pool and the sweet car were worth that kind of rich-kid torture.

He, Steve, and Munson took a trip up to Chicago in August to scope out neighborhoods in person. It was a three-hour drive, and they had to sleep in the van to save on hotel costs, but it was fine. Chicago was… big. Tommy had been to Indy before, but not Chicago, and Munson had never been anywhere. The city was loud and busy and crowded; it was hard to imagine living there. They walked around some neighborhoods they thought they could afford, trying to find places that straddled the line between “affordable” and “a place to get fucking murdered.” 

It wasn’t easy to find a good building and Tommy had his doubts about most of what they saw. But Steve looked so excited, smiles bubbling up over and over as he talked about all the stuff to do and see there. Munson chattered on about record stores and live music and “the scene,” whatever that was. And some of the neighborhoods looked livable, not so much scary as just, like, normal poor. Tommy didn’t come from money like Steve did but he and Mama were comfortable, even after his dad had split. It would be an adjustment—moving up here, getting a drafty little apartment with leaky pipes and noisy neighbors, working retail or whatever to scrape by. But Tommy could almost see it, as they walked down the street. The corner store where they’d pick up batteries and sponges and breakfast cereal. The dive bar where they’d spend money on cheap beer. The little shop where one of them might work as a cashier. 

Steve would be safe, and happy, and free. And somewhere in this city, maybe in one of those places, maybe somewhere else, was Tommy’s soulmate. So it was gonna be worth it. There was no question.

Chapter Text

With the start of senior year came two new people into Tommy’s life.

The first was Billy Hargrove, who had just moved to Hawkins from California. Tommy liked him immediately, he was big and brash and really fucking cool. Hargrove drove a Camaro, okay, and he listened to loud music and drove really fast. Plus he was great at keg stands, he kind of put Steve to shame on that. And, like, Tommy wasn’t about to let some uppity new-transfer junior ruin all his hard work of creating King Steve but Hargrove was cool. A little ambition was good, right, it gave Steve some competition to motivate him. He didn’t seem to care as much about being the king of Hawkins High these days, what with his secret boyfriend and his troop of middle school nerds, but Tommy still cared. Tommy still remembered why it was important that Steve stay untouchable on the social scene. 

The other new person was Robin Buckley, a junior band nerd who appeared out of nowhere right at the end of the summer and then was just fucking everywhere. Tommy never got the full story of how they met out of Steve, but it involved getting locked in overnight at an ice cream shop and puking in a bathroom and, apparently, sharing their deepest darkest secrets. Because clumsy, motormouth Buckley was now privy to Steve’s status, plus Munson’s involvement, and Tommy kind of wanted to tear his hair out when he found out. But Steve just smirked through Tommy yelling at him about secrets and plans and all the wasted effort of hiding, because when Tommy finished he pulled his trump card.

You see, Robin Buckley had a super power: she was a fuckin’ lesbian. 

A lesbian, at Hawkins High, that knew about Steve’s omega status and his gay relationship and knew how to keep her mouth shut. More importantly, a lesbian who was more than happy to hide her own situation by pretending to date Steve. It was a genius plan, honestly; it was so genius that Tommy was kind of pissed he hadn’t thought of it himself. 

So Buckley started joining him and Steve and Carol and everybody at lunch, pressed up against Steve at the table and occasionally feeding him bits of her food. Steve would sling his arm around her shoulders and whisper in her ear, then they’d giggle and elbow each other like kids. Honestly, it was a hell of a show; Tommy would have been fooled if he didn’t know that Steve was so hard up for Munson’s dick and Buckley had a completely ridiculous crush on Tammy Thompson.

(And look, that was the other reason Tommy didn’t mind Buckley hanging around. It was hot, okay? She was a hot chick that was into other hot chicks and, like, Tommy was just a man. She definitely featured in his spank bank. But he would never tell Buckley that, right, because he liked his balls attached to his fucking body, thanks.)

Nancy Wheeler definitely fell for the whole girlfriend bit, because she disappeared from their lunch table for a whole week and then after that only came by once in a while to stare sadly at Steve. She sort of faded into the background, honestly, which was fine by Tommy since they really didn't need her for anything anymore. Barb Holland seemed fucking thrilled.

The pretty new girlfriend, even if Buckley was kind of a weirdo, balanced out the minor fall in status that came with Hargrove’s posturing and people seeing Steve hanging around town with Munson and a thousand children. In the grand scheme of things it was okay by Tommy if Steve took a bit of a hit socially so long as people didn’t get suspicious about his status; “started hanging out with nerds” was still miles better than “is fucking a dude” on the popularity crisis scale. But he made sure they still attended all the good parties, Buckley hanging off of Steve's arm and Carol on Tommy's. 

Carol fucking hated Buckley and the feeling was clearly mutual. They did that weird thing girls do where they pretended to be really nice to each other and said mean things with big smiles. It was like watching two hissing cats circling each other (kinda hot, honestly). Tommy had no idea what was wrong with them; he asked Steve once and Steve just looked disappointed in him. 

Maybe Carol was jealous. Did she want to sleep with Steve? She probably did, the slut.

Tommy didn’t mind Buckley at all. She was kind of a klutz, and she never knew when to shut up, but she was into all these bizarre conspiracy theories and once you got her going she would tell some wild fucking stories. Kind of like Munson, actually, but Munson just ranted about society and shit while Buckley told crazy stories about Bigfoot. 

In October the drive-in over in Little Creek hosted a horror double-feature every year during the weeks leading up to Halloween. Steve wanted to take Munson on a date, but he couldn’t just show up and hold hands with his boyfriend, so there was some convoluted plan that ended up with Munson driving separately, Steve and Buckley in the front of the BMW, and Tommy hiding under a blanket in the backseat, trying not to knock his own teeth out with his knees. 

After they parked and got concessions, Steve ran off to find Munson’s van so Tommy moved up front with Buckley. 

“It’s your lucky day, Buckley,” he told her as he grabbed a handful of popcorn. “You’re on a date with me now.”

Buckley made a gagging sound. “Gross, I’d rather eat rat poison.”

Tommy grinned at her. “Oh, come on, look on the bright side! Maybe someone will see us and tell Carol I was cheating on her with you. She’d be so pissed.”

That made Buckley laugh, loud and ugly. “Oh God, you’re right, that’s almost worth it.”

Some lady on screen in black-and-white stumbled and screamed as a monster with more teeth than face chased after her down a hallway.

“Why do you two hate each other so much anyway?” Tommy asked.

Buckley scoffed. The lady in the movie tried to open a door, but it was locked. She pounded on it and screamed some more.

Tommy turned his head to look at Buckley, who was watching the screen and nervously eating gummy worms. “What, is it like a secret girl thing?” he asked, teasing.

Buckley looked over at him, worm half out of her mouth. “Oh, you’re serious,” she said, slurping up the worm. She turned halfway toward him.

“Well, yeah,” Tommy said. “Like, I don’t get it. I mean, I know she’s a bitch, right, but like, did you guys even know each other before this year?”

The monster on screen roared, big globs of spit flying from its mouth. The lady ran down some stairs, long hair flying behind her.

“Did we even know—” Buckley shook her head angrily. “Hagan, Carol was fucking awful to me. And to a lot of my friends. Like, for years. She—she—God, where do I even start?” Buckley spoke with her hands when she got overexcited. “Uh, I guess in seventh grade when she told everyone I peed myself during gym class? Or maybe in freshman year, when she tripped me in the lunchroom and I spilled my pudding on her dress and she called me a fucking psycho and told a teacher I threw it at her? Oh, or how about last year, when she and her friends shrank the band uniforms on purpose and half of us had to perform at a pep rally with our pants all the way up our ass cracks?” 

There was the sound of a man screaming now, yelling something about fire, but Tommy didn’t look away from Buckley. She had her fists clenched around the bag of gummy worms.

“Oh,” Tommy said dumbly. Well, shit.

Buckley sighed. “Look,” she told him, “Steve and I already kind of had it out about this stuff. I know you guys are, like, keeping up appearances or whatever. Hiding him in plain sight. But it’s like… it’s like you guys don’t even notice the stuff that you’re letting happen around you. Or the people you’re letting it happen to. You could—you could change it, you know? If you tried. People would listen to you two.”

Someone in the movie had gotten a hold of a flame-thrower. It roared to life as the man faced down the monster.

Tommy bit his lip. “I, uh—shit. Yeah, Buckley, we don’t—I don’t really notice what Carol does. She’s just, you know, part of the group. I guess she’s pretty mean.”

Buckley pursed her lips. “Carol isn’t the only one who’s made people at Hawkins High feel like shit, you know.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said again. That was him, right? She meant him. “Um—sorry, Buckley. If I ever, like, came after you or whatever.”

There was a big flash from the screen, flames erupting as the monster was engulfed. It bellowed loudly, screaming in agony like a dying whale.

Buckley squinted at him for a minute, like something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “Yeah, we'll work on it,” she finally declared. 

The fuck did that mean?

She turned back to the screen, where the monster corpse was smoldering on the ground and the man and the woman were kissing passionately. “You know they actually set that actor inside the monster suit on fire when they made this? He got, like, super burned all over.”

Tommy slowly turned back to the screen too. She was so fucking weird. “No kidding,” he said, grabbing more popcorn.

“Oh yeah,” Buckley said, getting into it now, “but the studio totally covered it up! Like, he had a contract with them, right, and the whole thing was this super suspicious ‘accident.’ I mean, the costume department and the stunt department and the director were all in on it, no way they didn’t do it on purpose. But the studio claimed…”

Buckley was honestly kind of bitchy. And bitchy did it for Tommy, obviously. But Buckley wasn't like Carol, exactly, she wasn’t mean-bitchy. She was like a big fucking challenge of a person; she never took anyone’s shit and she spoke her mind way too often. And apparently she had, like, opinions on how he and Steve were running Hawkins High, which was so not her business.

But Steve had made room for Buckley in his life, shared his big secret tit-for-tat with hers. She was protecting him, in her own way, with the girlfriend act. She could press up against Steve in public, keep his needy inner omega happy where Tommy and Munson couldn't. She made him laugh, really laugh, and that was like fucking magic these days.

Buckley was part of Team Steve now, for better or for worse. And Tommy was the goddamn team captain. So Tommy would make room too.

New school year, new people, new problems. Same shit, different day. Tommy was handling it. That shit he knew how to deal with. But the big problem with senior year wasn’t at school at all. The problem was at home, because the Harringtons started coming back to Hawkins.

It still wasn’t all the time. Seemed like nothing could stop Mr. and Mrs. Harrington from jetting around the globe while their high schooler lived alone at home. But they were returning more often, and for longer stretches too, sometimes a week or more before they left again. After years of seeing his parents only one weekend a month or less, it was stressing Steve out. 

His 18th birthday came and went right at the beginning of the school year, and no unmarked van full of men in suits arrived to whisk Steve away, so it seemed like his parents were committing to having him finish high school. Maybe the sugar daddy they had found for Steve really cared about education or some shit. Maybe he just wanted to make sure the omega he planned to buy wasn’t going to pump out idiot kids that couldn’t graduate high school. Or maybe the Harringtons wanted to make sure that Steve’s faked obituary turned out really tragic-sounding: basketball and swim team captain dies tragically just after graduation—what a bright future—cut down in his prime.

It made Tommy’s blood boil. He kept having to remind himself that punching Mr. Harrington in the face wouldn’t help anything.

Steve was 18 now and so was Munson, so if they wanted to complete their mating bites and register them at town hall they could. That would keep any prospective buyers off Steve’s back; an unregistered omega was one thing, but a mated one? It would be harder to make him disappear and Munson would have a strong legal case as a registered mate. But Steve was worried his father could pull strings at town hall and prevent their bite from being registered properly; he wanted to wait until they got to Chicago, where it was safer. 

The trouble was, they didn’t know when exactly to spirit Steve away. He wanted to graduate high school, but that meant sticking around right up until his parents’ plan went into action. If he tried to run away early, get his degree by mail or a GED or something, his parents could fuck it up. They could withhold his transcripts or something, refuse to approve anything without seeing Steve in person. If he wanted that diploma he had to get it while still under his parents' thumb.

The dilemma led them all to meeting in Tommy’s family room one night in December: him, Steve, Munson, and Buckley all sitting around nursing cheap beers and wine coolers while Mama was out at her book club. Buckley had brought a whole notebook full of ideas on what to do, about half of which were useless shit like “run away to the circus” and “accuse Mr. Harrington of selling secrets to the Russians.” But so far none of the rest of them had figured anything out either, so they were all just sitting there letting her talk.

“Okay, so,” Buckley soldiered on, checking off another item on her batshit list. “If a secret government lab breach is out, and opening a portal to another dimension is out, then the next one is…” she did a drumroll on the coffee table next to her notebook, like the goddamn band geek she was. “Go to the police! Oh,” she said with a frown. “That one’s actually pretty reasonable. Hey dingus, why haven’t you gone to the police with this?”

“Go to the police with what?” Steve asked from the couch where he was leaning with his back against Munson’s chest. “That my parents threatened to do something illegal four years ago? Which I have no proof of? And they never mentioned it again?”

“Yeah, but like, there’s gotta be some kind of proof by now, right?” Buckley responded. “I mean, they have to be talking to rich, uh, suitors or whatever, right? Or there’ll be a contract of some kind?”

“I mean, it’s all totally illegal, Robin,” Steve said with a shrug. “They’re probably, like, exchanging suitcases full of cash and facing away from each other on park benches or something.”

Tommy snorted. “What, man, you think your dad is out there playing spy? No way. He’s paying someone to do all his dirty work, like the mafia.” Tommy sat up in his chair. “Oh shit, man, do you think they’ll try to sell you to the fuckin’ mafia?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Steve said with a sigh. 

Munson honest-to-God growled at that, deep in his chest. Steve just patted him absently on the knee. “Down, alpha,” he said quietly. Munson stopped growling, but he wrapped an arm around Steve’s chest and rested his chin against his shoulder.

“Okay, terrifying idea,” Buckley said, pointing at Tommy with her pen, “but you raise a good point, Hagan. Paying off someone to do the work means some kind of a paper trail. So maybe if we can find evidence of that we can bring in the police!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Steve said defeatedly. “We have the same problem with the police that we do with town hall. There’s nobody in this town that we can trust not to take Dad’s money to make a problem disappear.”

“I dunno,” Munson said slowly. “You really think Hopper would take a bribe?”

Steve hummed. “I mean, maybe. He does hate my dad, though.”

“Wait, you mean Chief Hopper?” Tommy interjected. “Like, the Chief of Hawkins Police, Hopper?”

“Yeah,” Munson replied, like that wasn’t a big fucking deal.

“How the fuck do you guys know Chief Hopper?” Tommy asked, annoyed.

“His daughter is one of the kids we babysit,” Steve explained.

“One of the gremlins is a girl?” Tommy asked. Since when?

Steve rolled his eyes. “Yeah, El Hopper.” Tommy shook his head. “Short, curly hair? Kind of an intense stare? Obsessed with waffles?”

Tommy shrugged. Didn't ring a bell. “Whatever,” he said. “But you’ve got an in with the Chief of Police? And you never told me?”

“Why do you care?” Steve asked.

“Okay, well first of all, because there’s like six speeding tickets I would like cleared, thanks,” Tommy told him, ticking off on his fingers. “Second of all, because I want to throw a bonfire party by the quarry and I’m gonna need you to keep him off my back. And third of all, because I hate to say it but Buckley’s got a point for once.”

“So sweet, Hagan,” Buckley cooed at him. Tommy flipped her the bird.

“If Chief Hopper knows you then maybe you can convince him about your parents,” Tommy pressed on. “You could get, like, a restraining order or something.”

“And you think they wouldn’t just walk all over that?” Steve asked, getting a little angry. “They have a very expensive lawyer, Tommy. They’ll just get it overturned.”

“Well, then you could ask for police protection or something!” Tommy cried. “Look, man, we have to try something. We’re running out of time here. All the planning for Chicago doesn’t mean a fuckin’ thing if we never get you out of Hawkins.”

Steve opened his mouth to retort, but Munson squeezed his shoulder. “I think they might be right, babe,” he said. “It might be time we brought in an actual adult on this.”

Steve twisted to look at Munson over his shoulder. “And you think Hopper will help us? You think he won’t care about you and me being together?”

Munson shrugged. “I don’t know, babe, but he seems like a decent guy. I think even if he doesn’t, like, approve, he’d still try to help you.”

“Yeah, but what if he tells the other parents? What if we have to stop hanging out with the kids?” Steve asked. He looked pretty sad about that.

“I hope that doesn’t happen,” Munson said gently, “but I think it’s a risk we have to take, sweetheart. We’re leaving town in just a few months anyway.”

Steve frowned. Munson reached up and petted at his hair a bit. 

“I don’t know if we can trust Hopper,” Steve said quietly.

“I don’t know either,” Buckley said, “but Eddie’s right. We need help.”

“It’s a risk, man,” Tommy agreed. “But we might not be able to do this part on our own.”

Steve reached up to rub his hands over his face. He dragged them down his cheeks and sighed. “I’ll think about it.” 

Tommy thought the Chief Hopper angle was a pretty good idea. But he also thought that Steve was a waffling little bitch who would hem and haw over making a decision for, like, for-fucking-ever. So Tommy figured it was up to him to go to Hopper and get the ball rolling after the holidays.

Of course, he couldn’t just, like, stroll into the fucking police station and ask for a chat. And as much as Tommy cared he really didn’t want to get another speeding ticket just for a chance to talk to the Chief. Mama was already pretty suspicious about why the lock on the glovebox was mysteriously broken.

But in the end it turned out that getting some alone time with Hopper wasn’t all that difficult. You just had to get punched in the face really hard.

See, when Billy Hargrove moved to Hawkins he came with a little step-sister, Max, who had joined the troop of gremlins. Tommy liked Max; she skateboarded, she kicked ass at the arcade, and she didn't take anybody’s shit. If she were a boy she would have been pretty cool. 

And Max had a thing going on with the only other gremlin Tommy could tolerate, Sinclair. They were dating, as much as middle schoolers could "date," anyway. Sinclair was as big of a dweeb as the rest of them but he had, like, jock inclinations. If he could just hit his growth spurt Tommy thought he could make the basketball team when he got to high school. Tommy had been planting the seeds of the idea with Steve, they were absolutely gonna corrupt one of Munson’s nerds, it was great.

Tommy was with Steve and all the little shits at the arcade on a Saturday in January because Carol had ditched him to hang out with Heather Holloway and he didn't have anything better to do. Plus he had a score to settle with Wheeler’s shitstain of a little brother about pinball, that scrawny pipsqueak needed to learn to respect the classics. Munson was working, thank Christ, so it was just Tommy and Steve corralling all the little psychos the whole day.

They were trying to get everyone into Steve’s car to leave, finally, but the annoying curly-haired one, Duncan, had run back inside to ask that loser Keith about a new game coming next month. Tommy ran in after him and had to basically drag Duncan out by his stupid trucker hat while he squealed and ranted about his dignity or some shit. By the time they got back outside, something had started out in the parking lot.

Hargrove had shown up in that sweet car of his and he was screaming at Max and Sinclair for some reason. Steve had the other kids in his car and was walking over to Hargrove when Hargrove took a swing at Sinclair. Cause apparently he was actually a fucking psychopath. Max started screaming, Sinclair hit Hargrove in the nuts, and just before Hargrove could get back at him Steve shoved in and pushed him back. 

“Back off, man!” Steve yelled at Hargrove. Tommy shoved Duncan back toward the arcade and started forward, circling slowly toward where Max was helping Sinclair off the ground.

“Stay out of this, King Steve,” Hargrove sneered. “Max knows better than to hang around with that sort and lie to me about it.” He gave Steve an angry poke in the chest. “So I’ll deal with her as I see fit.” He shoved Steve back.

Steve, the useless idiot, refused to back down. “Back off,” he said again. 

“Have it your way, Harrington,” Hargrove said with a vicious smile, and swung on Steve.

Steve managed to dodge it and get in a couple of hits of his own, before Hargrove shook them off and started absolutely wailing on him. Steve was struggling to keep up and he took a couple of bad blows to the face when Hargrove twisted his arm behind his back. Which Steve should have known would happen, the dumbass. Hargrove was an alpha, and a big, pissed-off one at that. Omegas weren’t made to fight alphas, okay, they submitted and showed their bellies or whatever. It went against all of Steve’s pathetic omega instincts to go toe-to-toe with an alpha. 

So it was up to Tommy to save the day, like always. He let out a roar, a damn big one, and ran to join the fight. Steve was an omega under his protection and no matter how much Tommy liked Hargrove he couldn’t let an attack like that stand. Tommy let loose on Hargrove, who really wasn’t as impressive of a fighter as Steve had made him look (Tommy had punched a lot of people, okay, he had experience here). Steve even tried to stay in the fight, which was ridiculous, but together they kept Hargrove from reaching the kids. 

Unfortunately, they were so focused on that that they missed the whoop-whoop of sirens until it was too late to run, a couple of cars belonging to Hawkins’ finest speeding into the parking lot. That wastoid Keith must have called them. When Tommy looked over at the cop cars Hargrove used the distraction to pop him hard once, right in the cheekbone, and Tommy heard something crack. He was about to wheel back around and just, like, lay fucking waste to that arrogant piece of California shit when he felt a big, meaty hand land hard on his shoulder.

“Tommy Hagan, I should have guessed,” said Chief Hopper, in that perpetually-tired way he had. He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his belt. “Fighting again? Haven’t we talked about this?” Tommy just sneered at Hopper, blood in his teeth.

Callahan was already cuffing Hargrove, who was cursing up a storm and splattering blood from his split lip all over the place. The kids tried to go to Steve but one of the other officers was already ushering him into a car, not in handcuffs. 

Hopper led Tommy over to his car and was lowering him in when the little gremlins swarmed them instead. They were all talking over each other, trying to explain to Hopper (who they were just, like, way too familiar with, weren’t these fucking kids scared of anything?) about Sinclair and Max and how Hargrove had started it. 

Hopper just yelled over all of them, told them to call their parents for rides home and that someone else would be getting their witness statements. He slammed the back door of the cruiser and waded through the kids toward the driver’s side, all of them still clamoring at him even as he closed the door.

“Since when do you hang out with this crowd, Hagan?” Hopper grumbled as they pulled out of the arcade parking lot.

“I hang out with way too many fuckin’ dweebs these days,” Tommy told him, head leaning against the cold glass of the window. It felt good on his cheek, which was throbbing like a motherfucker.

“Hey, one of those dweebs is my kid, so watch it,” Hopper said bitchily. 

Tommy didn’t answer him. Whatever. It wasn’t about the kids anyway.

When they got to the station, he was cuffed to a desk at one end of the bullpen while Hargrove was cuffed on the other side of the room. Steve, uncuffed but definitely under suspicion, was seated at the desk across from Tommy. He was probably getting off easy because it looked like his face had gone through a goddamn meat tenderizer.

Tommy took the opportunity while the officers were gathering paperwork or whatever to lean over to Steve. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he hissed.

“I was thinking that I had a better right hook,” Steve replied, voice low as he dabbed at a bleeding cut with a tissue.

“Man, you know you can’t fight off an alpha!” Tommy continued, angry. “You’re not built for that shit, it’s against your nature or whatever.”

“None of that is true, you know,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Omegas can fight off alphas just fine, we’re still dudes.”

“Yeah?” Tommy asked. “Tell that to your fucking face.”

Steve sighed. “That’s not an omega thing, that’s just, like, a me thing.”

“Well, you’re embarrassing the family,” Tommy told him with disgust. “So when this shit blows over you and me are going to the goddamn boxing gym in Brunton and I am gonna teach you how to fucking fight. God, you’re lucky I was there.”

Steve hummed. “Lucky for me, not so lucky for your buddy Hargrove.”

“Turns out he’s a racist piece of shit who likes to beat up twelve-year-olds, so whatever man,” Tommy replied with a shrug.

“I seem to recall you beating up a lot of twelve-year-olds,” Steve said with a smirk.

“Yeah, man, when we were twelve. Why would I bother now?” Tommy sneered.

Steve smiled at him, as much as he could around the swelling that had begun. “Thanks for having my back, Tommy.”

“I keep telling you, man, you’re helpless without me. That’s why I gotta watch out for your pathetic ass.”

“My pathetic ass thanks you,” Steve said solemnly.

Tommy huffed. “Munson’s gonna be pissed about your face.”

Steve groaned. “Oh God, he’s going to be so upset. Do you think I can hide from him for, like, a week or two while the bruises fade?”

“Yeah, right,” Tommy scoffed. “If you think one of your little shits hasn’t already biked over to the Thatcher’s Tire and told him what happened you’re out of your damn mind.”

“Fuck, you’re right, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Steve sighed. He leaned back in his chair with a wince. “That’s something you two have in common, you know. You and Eddie. So protective.” He rolled his eyes.

“Munson is, like, the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” Tommy told him seriously. “But at least he and I agree that you need a strong alpha in your life to keep you in line. You’re a pretty pathetic omega, you know, you get into a lot of trouble, so we gotta stick around. Munson and I each have a job to do: I fight the fights and he cleans you up after. And between the two of us we keep the Steve Harrington train running, no thanks to your dumb ass.”

“Okay, first of all, Eddie definitely does not agree with you on, like, most of that,” Steve told him, exasperated. “But that’s… Tommy, that’s both really sweet of you to say and also kind of shitty.”

Tommy nodded, sitting back in his chair. “That’s, like, my whole deal.”

It took fucking hours to deal with all the processing and the questioning and shit. It always did, Hawkins PD was full of idiots. Besides the fingerprinting and the interviews and stuff Tommy mostly sat around and thought about what he was gonna tell Mama. He had promised her no more fights until graduation, just so he didn’t jeopardize the whole thing; she was gonna be, like, disappointed. Fuck. At least he didn’t get, like, arrested arrested, unlike Hargrove who was gonna be spending the night in a cell.

When Hopper finally agreed to let him go, under the provision he not leave Hawkins for a couple of weeks, he left the bullpen to find Munson sitting with Steve in the lobby. They were next to each other with their heads bent close, a respectable distance between them on the bench. As Tommy approached, Steve winced as he lifted his arm in a gesture and pulled the shoulder Hargrove had managed to twist during the fight; Munson frowned and his hand kind of twitched, like he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. Steve clocked the movement and gave Munson a sad little smile, the swollen side of his face contorting it badly.

Most of the time it was kind of funny to Tommy, watching Steve and Munson figure out how to act like regular bros together in public instead of super gay boyfriends. They managed okay, mostly. Sometimes Tommy could almost see them counting in their heads how long to hold a hug or a shoulder clap, how long to press together when they sat next to each other before scooting apart. It was like this dumb little dance and Tommy always got a kick out of it cause no one else could tell.

But this? This was just fucking sad.

Tommy cleared his throat and they looked up. 

“Hagan,” Munson said as he stood. “You look like shit. Come on, I can drive you both home.” He offered Steve a hand up off the bench. Steve held it just a second too long before he dropped it.

“Thanks, man,” Tommy replied. 

“Nah, man, thank you,” Munson told him. “For stepping in. For having Steve’s back.”

“Duh,” Tommy said with a shrug. “Always.”

Munson nodded. “I know, but it deserves to be said.” He put a hand on Steve’s good shoulder and they turned toward the door. Steve leaned toward him like a sunflower aching for the sun or some shit.

Tommy bit his lip. “Uh, yeah, you guys head out to the van, I’ll catch up, yeah?” They turned and looked at him. “Uh, the Chief, he forgot to give me back my ID. Gimme one sec.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just turned around and headed back to Hopper’s office. When he stuck his head in, Hopper didn’t even look up.

“Take the hint, Hagan, I’m done with you tonight,” he grumbled as he bent his head over some paperwork. He was a big, gruff guy, the Chief. Not exactly sympathetic, on the outside. But he had let Tommy off for fighting with more warnings than he deserved, especially right after his dad left. Plus Munson thought he was a stand-up guy and Munson was pretty suspicious of people in general.

Tommy cleared his throat as he walked in and shut the office door behind him. “Uh, Chief?” he asked, hesitant.

Hopper looked at him without raising his head, his pencil paused in his hand.

“Uh…” Tommy faltered. “Chief, if you—if you knew somebody was in trouble, like big trouble, not school-trouble or something, but, like, really serious trouble, you’d help them, right? Like, even if you didn’t, um, didn’t like them very much or thought they were, uh, kind of fucked up. You’d help anyway. Cause it’s like your job, or whatever.” Christ, he was babbling. Get it together, asshole.

Hopper put down his pencil and sat up in his chair. “Are you in big trouble, Hagan?” he asked.

“No, uh—no. Not me.” Tommy answered, scratching at his elbow. “But someone I know is, and he—he’s scared to ask for help, because the reason he’s in trouble is, uh, something people don’t like. But he needs help, and that’s your job, right, to help people. Even people you don’t like.”

Hopper squinted at Tommy for a minute. “I’d help anyone who needs it, Hagan,” he said slowly. “As part of my job, and as someone who gives a shit.” He dropped the pencil and pointed Tommy toward the chair in front of his desk. “What’s going on, kid?”

Tommy sat down. And he told Hopper everything.

Steve was pissed when he found out. Like, really fucking pissed. But Tommy had always been an “ask forgiveness, not permission” kind of guy, and he knew Steve would get over it eventually. Munson and Buckley calmed him down, took him out for milkshakes and cuddles and, like, Rocky Horror Picture Show or whatever gay people did to relax. When Steve was finally speaking to him again Tommy apologized (he wasn’t sorry at all) and the four of them agreed to sit down and talk to Hopper.

It turned out that Hopper lived in a weird cabin in the middle of the woods like a fucking serial killer, but Munson and Steve seemed pretty familiar with the place. They all sat down with some sodas, because Hopper was still a damn cop so they couldn’t have beers, and they heard him out.

“You kids want the good news or the bad news first?” Hopper asked.

“Bad news,” Munson said immediately. He and Steve were sitting together on the small couch, but not closer than the narrow seating required. Tommy approved. Hopper knew about them now, but they didn’t know if he was actually, like, cool. 

“I can’t have your parents arrested, or put up a restraining order, without any evidence of what they’re planning,” Hopper said seriously. “And while I’m sure there is evidence, the kind of investigation we’d need to find it would take longer than we have.”

Steve nodded with a sigh, like he was expecting that. Munson wrinkled his nose and Buckley pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them, resting her chin on her knees.

Hopper shook his head. “That doesn’t mean there’s nothing we can do. I think our best bet here is to work on an early-warning system. You should be ready to leave for Chicago at any minute, Harrington, even before graduation, so pack a bag and keep it at Munson’s place. Keep an eye out for any vehicles at your house you don’t recognize, or your parents inviting any guests you don’t know. Try to only be home as much as necessary, and have Hagan or Buckley there when you can.”

“What about Eddie?” Steve asked.

“It’s too risky for them to meet him,” Hopper said, more gently than Tommy might have expected for such a gruff guy. “They might consider any new alphas in your life as a threat to their plan. As far as they’re concerned you’re going to be a meek, obedient omega who’s doing as he’s told. Don’t arouse their suspicions.”

"So we just wait around?" Buckley asked skeptically. 

"You're keeping up appearances while preparing behind the scenes," Hopper corrected her. "I recommend all of you start carrying something around with you for protection. I'm not going to recommend firearms to a bunch of minors, but—"

"I've got a knife," Munson told him.

"Um, I'm not to be trusted with, like, things that can cut people open?" Buckley admitted. "Cause 'people' would be me, I would be cut open. But I can dig out the can of bear spray we have for camping."

Tommy held up his fists. "These babies ain't never let me down," he said.

Munson made a gagging face at him.

They all turned to look at Steve.

"Uhhh…" he said, raising his shoulders up slowly. "I'm sure I can find something to keep in my trunk. We have a lot of sports equipment in the garage."

"It'll have to do," Hopper said. "Don't make a big show of being armed, just keep something handy."

“And what are you going to be doing, Hopper?” Munson said petulantly.

“I’m going to open up a quiet little investigation into the Harringtons’ finances,” Hopper replied. “I can’t do much without more evidence, but I can put up an alert for large transfers of cash to and from their accounts. Hopefully that will give us a heads-up if they, uh,” Hopper looked awkwardly at Steve. “Well, if they suddenly get paid for something off the books,” he finished lamely.

“You mean if they sell me off?” Steve said with a sad little smile.

Munson flinched a little. Buckley reached out and squeezed Steve’s arm. Tommy swallowed down a growl.

“No one is selling you anywhere, Harrington,” Hopper said firmly. “Look, you—” he sighed. “You know a little bit about El’s history. Her birth parents were a fuckin’ nightmare and it was—hard, getting her away from them. It’s still hard, sometimes, dealing with the aftermath of being raised like that. So trust me when I say I’m committed to helping you get away from your shitty family, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

Tommy didn’t know what had happened to Hopper’s daughter, or even that she had been adopted, but he could see the look in Hopper’s eyes. He was really fucking serious about this.

Hopper reached back and pulled out his wallet, removing some business cards and handing one to each of them. “Here’s my home phone number and my direct office number. Any of you can call me anytime if you’re worried about something. Steve, I want you to call me every night, even if nothing’s happened that day. Even if you dropped El off two hours ago, you call me to check in. Understood?”

Steve nodded, staring down at the little card. “Thanks, Hopper,” he said quietly. Munson reached over and placed his hand on Steve’s arm.

Hopper nodded and cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course. I, uh—well, I wish you had felt you could come to me sooner, you know, but I get, uh, I get why you couldn’t. Folks can be pretty awful about male omegas. But I’m glad you’ve got such good friends in your corner.”

Steve looked up and smiled around at all of them. “I really do,” he said. Tommy rolled his eyes. Steve stuck out his tongue at him.

“Right, well,” Hopper stood up, “get the hell out of my house, I’ve got dinner to make and none of you are invited. Harrington, you call me tonight, any time after 8.”

They shuffled out, Munson and Buckley heading straight for the car. Steve paused for a minute on the porch, looking up at the sky through the trees, tinged pink with sunset.

Tommy knocked their shoulders together. “What do you think?”

Steve shrugged a little, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I think it’s something. More than we had before. And…” he trailed off.

“And what?” Tommy asked.

“I dunno, it’s just… nice, I guess,” Steve said. “Having someone else know. Every time there’s a new person I don’t have to hide from it’s—it feels good. To be all of myself in front of one more person in the world.” He laughed a little. “Our little secret has really grown, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tommy replied. “So many more people for you to snuggle with,” he said, knocking Steve’s shoulder again with his own.

“Ugh, what, you mean Hopper?” Steve asked, disgusted.

“Yeah,” Tommy said with a grin, “I bet he gives really good hugs. And he’s like, what did Munson call the big hairy gay guys? A bear? You could get some bear hugs, Steve.”

“Gross, God, why are you so—” Steve shook his head and gave Tommy a light shove down the cabin steps.

“You could, like, snuggle up into his chest hair—”

“Jesus, what is wrong with you?” Steve tried for another shove but Tommy danced out of his reach.

“What do you think he smells like? Probably, like, woodsmoke and manliness. Maybe justice, does justice have a smell?”

“I’m not going to scent Hopper, fucking stop!” Steve swatted Tommy repeatedly in the arm. And even though he was making grossed-out faces, he looked happier than he had in weeks.

Tommy knew telling Hopper was the right idea. This is why he was in charge of Team Steve.

Chapter Text

Steve’s good mood didn’t last long. When he got back from Hopper’s cabin his parents were home; his mother had been upset about the state of his face. Not, Steve told Tommy later, because she was worried about him, but because she wanted him to “always look his best” and not “sabotage his own future” by looking so unattractive. When the bruises faded Steve’s parents dragged him to a professional family photo session where they took stiff, posed photos in front of a painted backdrop. Some of the photos ended up framed on the walls, but Buckley thought that the photos of just Steve were being mailed to prospective buyers, which made Tommy want to set fire to the Harrington mailbox.

At least Hargrove never showed up again. Rumor was he had been shipped off to some military school. Good fucking riddance. Max never said anything, but she did offer Tommy a nonchalant fist bump the next time she saw him. That's why Max was the one he hated the least.

By March, Steve’s parents had settled permanently at home for the first time since Steve presented. Apparently all it took for them to come home and be part of Steve’s life was the chance to make a buck off their only child’s supposed virginity. Well, joke’s on them, Munson beat them to the punch there. Suck it, Richard and Diane.

They were keeping a tight leash on Steve though, always checking where he was going and who he was going to be with. Tommy was on the official approved list (thanks to years of awkward dinners at the Harrington household) but Buckley was provisional at best and Munson was a secret. That meant that Tommy and Steve spent an unusual amount of time hanging out at Tommy’s house after school, when Tommy would sneak Munson into the basement and then stay up in his room with the music turned up really loud. 

Mama came home early on one of those afternoons, so Tommy stomped down the basement stairs extra loudly as he went to warn Steve and Munson. They weren't doing much, thankfully, just lying on the ratty basement couch and talking. Tommy sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table and worked on his history essay.

Munson was lying across Steve's legs with his head resting on Steve's stomach; Steve was idly carding his fingers through Munson’s long hair. With the back of the couch facing the stairs, they would be able to pop up into a less-suspect position before anyone coming down the stairs noticed.

Tommy's useless idiots were learning, finally. 

"What about you, Hagan?" Munson asked, continuing the conversation from before Tommy joined them. His voice was a little muffled against Steve's shirt.

Tommy hummed in question, not looking up from where he was chewing on his pencil and trying to remember if the Battle of Yorktown was the Revolutionary War or the Civil War.

"What do you want to do, when we get to Chicago?" Munson clarified.

Tommy shrugged. "I dunno, man. Something that pays the rent, I guess." He was pretty sure it was the Civil War; he wrote that into his next paragraph.

"You think you'll find another garage to work at?" Steve asked.

"Sure, whatever," Tommy replied absently. 

"What, no fun ideas? No plans for the big city?" Munson asked.

Tommy looked over at him. "No? Never really thought about it, I guess. Mostly just been worrying about getting there."

"Yeah, sure, but like, what do you want to do there? Not just work, like anything! It's a whole new life, don't you have anything you want to just, like, try?" Munson looked up at Steve, who shrugged.

"Sounds like you've got big plans, Munson," Tommy said. Munson was always fishing for an excuse to talk.

"Oh, yeah," he said excitedly as he rolled sideways off of Steve so he could prop himself up on his elbow and gesture with his free hand. "I mean, obviously music, right, I gotta check out the local venues, maybe find some guys to jam with, look into forming a new band. Plus there's so many record stores to check out. And of course there's D&D, there's this huge gaming store on the North Side, I gotta go there, find a table to join. You know they even have tabletop conventions that visit big cities?" 

"What about work?" Steve asked, looking down at him fondly.

Munson craned his neck up to look at Steve and grinned. "Sure, I'll work, babe. But work is just work, I'm talking about living! Come on, sweetheart, what do you want to do? What are you excited to try?"

Steve's smile faltered a little. "I… I don't know."

"Nothing?" Munson asked incredulously. "There's gotta be something you like doing. Not even the sports?"

Steve shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. "Maybe we could go to a Bulls game or something, sure. But I dunno. Basketball is fun but is it, like, my passion?" He puffed up his cheeks and blew out an explosive breath. "Most of the stuff I do, it's just to keep my parents and people at school off my back. I don't… I don't know what I would do, if it were just for me."

Tommy felt, like, the tiniest twinge of guilt at that. Steve had been following his plans this whole time, pursuing the activities that would keep him above suspicion at school. But he had never really thought very hard about what Steve actually liked doing. Steve was good at sports, sports made you popular, it had made a lot of sense. 

Munson stared at Steve, thoughtful and a bit sad. "Okay," he said softly. "That's okay." Then he grinned brightly. "We'll just have to try lots of things! There'll be something you're super passionate about, I know it. Or lots of things you're medium-passionate about. We'll have plenty of time to figure it out."

Steve smiled back at him. For all his faults (and they were many, so fucking many), Munson had a real knack for cheering up Steve. And he needed cheering up a lot these days.

"So, Hagan, it's back to you," Munson said. "What are your Chicago plans? Not work, though, just life."

Tommy thought about it for a minute, tapping his pencil on the table. "Chicks," he said finally.

"Chicks?" Steve asked.

"Christ," Munson moaned, "you could do fucking anything and all you can think about is getting laid."

"I didn't say getting laid, man," Tommy said resentfully. "I said chicks. Gotta go on dates, meet plenty of chicks. You two already found your soulmates, I'm still waiting on mine."

"Oh," Munson said, looking a little sheepish. That's right, dickweed, Tommy Hagan's got dreams.

Steve smiled at Tommy. "That's sweet, Tommy. I'm sure you'll find her soon."

"Damn right I will," Tommy told him. “And she's gonna be a certified smoke show. Total babe."

Munson snorted. "What if she's not, though? You gonna run for the hills?"

"Don't be a dumbass, Munson," Tommy said as he rolled his eyes. "If she's my soulmate she'll be perfect for me, which means I'll think she's totally hot no matter what. After all, you look like a walking trash heap and Steve still thinks you're hot."

Munson turned and grinned up at Steve. "You think I'm hot, baby?"

Steve nodded solemnly. "So hot."

"And do I look like a trash heap?" Munson continued. 

"Only on laundry day," Steve told him with a reassuring pat.

"Maybe there's hope for you yet, Hagan," Munson said, still staring up at Steve.

Tommy snorted and turned back to his essay. Like there was any doubt. 

For spring break Tommy, Steve, and Munson planned a trip up to Chicago to visit apartments and hopefully sign a lease for June. It took some finagling, a lot of logistics, and a couple of lies to arrange it so Steve could join them, but they managed. The Harringtons had no idea, of course, but they were pretty good at ignoring their son when he wasn’t right in front of them. Mama probably suspected something was up, but she didn’t pry; she had always liked Steve.

The trip was a success: they found a place in Lakeview, just on the edge of a neighborhood the locals were calling "Boystown." Munson said it was a growing gay neighborhood, with a bunch of bars and things all in one place. Tommy was surprised to find that people were so… open about that, in Chicago. At least, compared to Hawkins. But it meant that Steve and Munson didn’t have to pretend to be roommates, so they could get a two-bedroom instead of a three-bedroom which was a lot easier to afford. The place was still a piece of shit, though, a third-floor walk up with a leaky bathtub and a busted oven. Plus the walls were paper-thin enough that Tommy planned to ask Mama for a pair of really nice headphones as a graduation present.

But they signed the lease and in June it would be theirs. They finally had a place to actually go in Chicago when they escaped Hawkins. Steve and Munson had a little moment when they left the leasing office; Tommy wandered off and checked out a nearby cafe while they, like, cried or hugged or whatever. Some of the businesses on the main drag through the neighborhood had little pink triangle stickers in the windows. When Tommy came back with a cup of coffee and a danish, Steve was all smiles again; he pulled Tommy into a big hug and tried to squeeze the life out of him, the sap.

Back in Hawkins, it was like nothing had changed; school, sports, parties. Life continued like normal, like they weren’t all just waiting for the other shoe to drop. In late April Tommy asked Carol to go to prom with him; he planned to break up with her for the last time after that, but he figured he could get some real fun out of a prom night fuck. It was a classic. Steve took Buckley to prom, which took some convincing with his parents, but apparently they thought Buckley was some kind of religious goodie-two-shoes who would barely let Steve hold her hand, so they didn’t object. Anything to keep up the appearance of their perfectly normal son and his perfectly normal future.

Prom itself was like a regular school dance on steroids: streamers, balloons, a shitty DJ. Teachers checking that the dancers were leaving room for Jesus between them. Tommy made it a little more tolerable by sneaking a flask in his jacket pocket; he didn’t share with Carol cause he was pretty sure she and Heather had done a bump of coke in the bathroom, but he let Steve and Buckley have some. Steve was crowned Prom King, which Tommy took some personal pride in; it was pretty much the culmination of all of Tommy’s plans since that horrible rainy night when Steve had arrived dripping on his doorstep, desperate for someone to still love him despite being an omega. 

Whatever happened with escaping Hawkins, at least Tommy had kept Steve safe through high school. 

Prom marked the beginning of the end of the school year and things began happening fast. Sports wrapped up and finals started; parties died down as everyone took off time to study and graduate. Tommy started packing up his room, setting aside an emergency “go bag” in case things went south fast, and a much larger “normal bag” if they were able to leave with time to spare. He threw away a lot of old things, papers from previous school years and old mementoes and some clothes that didn’t fit anymore. Mama followed behind him, rescuing things from the trash and moaning about how big her boy was growing. It was fucking embarrassing.

Tommy felt pretty bad that he couldn’t tell Mama about the plan to run to Chicago. He fully planned to tell her once they were safely away, of course—he’d call as soon as he could so she didn’t think he was dead in a ditch somewhere. But after his dad had walked out… it just felt like Mama was going to take it hard. She knew he was moving, but Tommy had talked up working one more summer at the garage to save up, and Mama had said they would drive up to Chicago together and she would, like, make his bed for him in his new apartment. It made her get all teary-eyed just talking about it.

Tommy didn’t regret the plan to leave, not for a minute. But that didn’t always make it easy.

Steve kept checking in with Hopper every night, and warned everyone if his parents mentioned anyone he didn’t recognize, but nothing suspicious happened for a while. Hopper didn’t have anything to report on the Harringtons’ finances, just typical rich-people money stuff.

The Harringtons never actually said anything about what would happen to Steve after graduation, but two days after prom he found three plane tickets to Boston for July 4th weekend in his dad's study. Steve’s ticket was a one-way flight. And that lit a fire under all of their asses.

Steve packed what he could in secret and hid it with Munson or Tommy. The three of them planned to leave at midnight after graduation; Steve would come over to Tommy’s for a “sleepover,” Munson would join them, and they would drive the BMW and Munson’s van away in the middle of the night.

That was the plan, anyway.

Graduation day for the Hawkins High School Class of 1985 was cloudy but humid, the early summer heat oppressive and sticky. Tommy, Steve, Carol, and the other graduates were sitting on folding chairs on the gym floor, lined up in alphabetical order. The bleachers were filled with parents and families and friends. It was sweltering in the gym, which wasn’t air-conditioned, and the fans they had brought in weren’t doing much to help. Tommy could feel the itchy polyester collar of his green graduation robe clinging to the back of his neck.

Hagan and Harrington were next to each other in alphabetical order for graduation, just like they had been since the first day of kindergarten when Mrs. Skyler had sat them all down on brightly-colored circles and taught them how to shake hands and introduce themselves to each other. So Tommy sat next to Steve during the ceremony and nudged him with his knee when he looked like he was going to start panicking too badly. 

Steve’s parents were in the crowd, looking stiff and not at all like they were celebrating. They were seated a little behind his and Tommy’s left shoulders; Steve had not looked their way at all once he noticed they were there. Mama was off to his right and she kept waving and whooping whenever Tommy glanced over at her. Buckley was stuck with the band, which played the school fight song and then looped Pomp and Circumstance over and over until it just sounded like noise. She looked as stupid in the uniform as all the other band geeks did. Between songs she waved enthusiastically at Steve, blowing him ridiculous kisses and mouthing stuff Tommy couldn’t understand; it made Steve laugh, at least.

Munson was in the crowd too, ostensibly to chaperone the horde of children who had turned out to support Steve. The little shits were holding up a massive paper banner painted with drawings of basketballs and waves and tigers and crowns; it said CONGRATULATIONS STEVE! in big green letters. Someone had crammed & TOMMY in black marker underneath Steve’s name. Tommy would have to figure out which of the hellspawn had done that, he was gonna sneak them their first beer.

After they had heard all the speeches (which took forever) and all of the graduates had walked across the stage to collect their diplomas (which took even longer) they were finally released into the hot June air as official high school graduates. The kids all descended on Steve and Tommy, talking over one another and asking questions: Did you see the banner? Will painted the pictures. Your robe makes you look like a wizard! Can I try on your hat? Munson stood behind them and smiled at Steve, trying to look casual about it. They stared at each other a little too long to pull it off, but the kids were a good distraction.

Steve had to head home with his parents for the graduation party they were throwing him—or rather, the party they were throwing themselves to show off to all their neighbors that their kid had accomplished something. As if they gave a shit about him and weren’t about to sell him off to some big city alpha. Steve planned to sneak out after an hour or so and drive to Tommy’s house for their supposed sleepover. His parents probably wouldn’t even notice; Tommy knew what they were like when they’d had a few too many cocktails.

Tommy and Buckley hitched a ride with Munson over to his trailer to help pack up the last few things and grab Steve’s stuff that he had stashed there. Tommy had brought the remains of the Get the Fuck Out of Hawkins Fund, which he had consolidated into one of those big plastic barrels they put giant pretzels in. He’d been to the trailer before and it was kind of gross, honestly: it smelled like cigarettes and mildew, the carpet was old and ugly, and Munson’s room was a nightmare. But his uncle was pretty cool, or at least he wasn’t as fucking annoying as his nephew. A couple of times Tommy had sat with him and watched a football game in silence, which had to have been a fucking novelty for the poor guy.

Munson’s nightmare bedroom was actually pretty stripped down now, all the tapes and guitar shit packed away and most of the posters taken down and rolled up. Tommy and Munson were arguing about where he was going to put them all in the new place (not in the living room, asshole) when the phone rang out in the kitchen. Munson ran to grab it. Tommy and Buckley kept packing until they heard Munson yell “Shit!” from out in the hall.

Tommy tore out of the room to find Munson on the phone, pacing and yelling “Shit! Shit!” over and over. 

“Is that Steve?” Tommy asked him, frantic.

Munson just handed him the phone wordlessly. Tommy held the receiver up to his ear. 

“—my way, okay, stay where you are. It might be nothing.” Hopper was saying on the other end.

“What might be nothing?” Tommy said.

“Hagan?” Hopper asked, sounding a little out of breath, like he was pacing. “Look, I told Munson, I found some suspicious transfers to the Harringtons just a few minutes ago. They’re from a known associate, a local businessman named Henry Creel, but the pattern is unusual, amounts and times that don’t fit the other transactions. I’m thinking they—”

“Is Steve okay?” Tommy interrupted.

“I don’t know,” Hopper said. “No one has been answering the phone at their house, so I’m on my way over to check. I’ll claim it was a noise complaint if Steve is okay and I’ll call back and let you know, all right? You guys stay at—”

Tommy hung up on him. “Let’s go,” he told Munson.

“What? What’s going on?” Buckley asked. “Is it Steve, is he okay?”

“Hopper found suspicious money and he can’t reach Steve. He’s going over there now but we can get there faster.” Munson was frozen against the wall, eyes wide. Tommy clapped twice in his face. “Munson, let’s move! Buckley, grab whatever bags you can carry.” 

Munson finally snapped out of it and ran out the front door, still muttering curse words under his breath and fumbling for his keys. Tommy snatched a duffel that was by the door and ran out the front, Buckley on his heels with some of the other bags. He and Munson climbed in the van, but he stopped Buckley when she tried to follow.

“Stay here, we need you by the phone,” Tommy told her.

“Um, hell no, I’m coming with you, Steve needs all of us,” she replied, angry.

Tommy shook his head. “We might have to run straight to Chicago and we can’t take the time to drop you off. Stay here; we’ll try to call you before midnight from wherever.”

Buckley glared at him but she stepped back, tossing the bags in ahead of her and slamming the door. “You better take good care of him, Hagan,” she said. “I’ve been practicing with the bear spray.”

Tommy just closed his door and slapped the dash. “Let’s go, Munson!” he cried.

For once Tommy was grateful that Munson drove like a fucking maniac; he tore out of the trailer park and barreled down the road to Steve’s house. His insane driving probably shaved a full five minutes off the trip. He and Munson didn’t speak the whole way, Munson white-knuckling the steering wheel and Tommy jigging his knee up and down.

When they pulled up to Steve’s house, it was obvious that something was wrong. There was no graduation party; in fact, the only two cars in the driveway were Steve’s BMW and a big black Lincoln Town Car Tommy didn’t recognize. The door to the house was open and Steve’s parents were standing on the front steps. 

The trunk and front door of Steve’s car were open; Tommy could see his keys on the ground next to the driver’s door. Steve was being pressed up against the side of the Town Car by a man Tommy didn’t recognize. The man had one hand around Steve’s neck, holding him up so Steve was on his toes; the other hand was wrapped like a claw around the side of Steve’s face.

Tommy didn’t even wait for Munson to pull to a stop, he just threw open the passenger door and sprinted out of the van at full speed. He reached into the BMW's open trunk as he passed, grabbed the baseball bat Steve had been keeping in there, and cracked it across the back of the man holding Steve. The man let go and Steve collapsed, gasping; Tommy yanked him behind him and roared loudly as he faced Steve’s attacker.

He was an alpha; tall, slim, younger than Tommy might have expected. His dark blond hair was slicked back but some of it must have fallen over his forehead when Tommy hit him. The man, Creel Hopper had called him, cracked his neck and stared intensely at Tommy.

“This is a surprise,” he said in a soft voice. “I didn’t realize I still had competition for my omega. Did you lose the bidding war?”

Tommy growled at him. “He’s not yours,” he said around the rumble in his chest. He heard footsteps behind him, Munson arriving and speaking to Steve in a low voice. Tommy didn’t turn to look at them, he kept his eyes on the other alpha.

Creel hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, but he is, bought and paid for. And why should you object? You didn’t see fit to claim him yourself, after all.”

“I would have,” Tommy told him, giving the bat a twirl. “To keep him away from someone like you? I’d bite him in a heartbeat.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy could see Steve’s dad starting down the steps, looking angry.

“I'm afraid you've lost your chance. Are you looking to fight me for him, then?” Creel asked, a mocking smile on his lips. “I don’t recommend that, little boy.”

“Hagan, let’s go, the van’s still running,” Munson said quietly behind him.

“You go,” Tommy told him, still not turning around. “Get him out of here.”

“What? Come on, let’s go, man,” Munson said.

“No, I’ll hold them off until Hopper gets here. Now go!”

“Hagan!”

“Go! I’ll take the BMW, I’ll meet you at the diner we stopped at on the way back on spring break, okay? Wait for me there.”

“Tommy…” Steve said, his voice wrecked.

“Get him out of here!” Tommy roared, just as Creel gave up on waiting and lunged. He grabbed for the bat; Tommy dodged him and swung, but only managed to glance off Creel’s forearms. Tommy went to swing again but Creel went low and managed to get a hold of the bat. They wrestled for it for a moment; Creel was a lot stronger than his thin frame made him look. Eventually Creel wrestled away the bat and flung it off into the lawn. That was fine, though—Tommy always preferred fighting with his fists anyway.

He heard the doors to the van slam and its tires squeal as Munson and Steve drove away. Creel looked furious. 

“That was a mistake, boy,” he said quietly. “I’ll just hunt him down.”

“Like hell you will,” Tommy told him, but then Mr. Harrington was there and he grabbed Tommy by the shoulders, slammed him up against the BMW.

“What the hell are you doing, Hagan?” Mr. Harrington screamed. “Do you have any idea how much money you just cost me? What do you—”

Tommy headbutted him with a satisfying crack. Harrington reared back and stumbled away, but then Creel was there, punching Tommy once, twice in the gut. Tommy managed to twist away but took a knee to his side as he turned. 

Creel was on him again in a second, pressing Tommy back against the car like Steve had been and wrapping a hand around his throat. Tommy gasped as Creel pushed him higher and higher, his toes scrabbling on the ground.

“He will never be yours,” Creel said. He stared at Tommy almost curiously, like he was some kind of bug in a jar. “It would be wiser if you stopped interfering.”

Tommy wheezed, his hands groping frantically at the hand gripped around his neck. He could see spots.

“You seem rather desperate,” Creel said contemplatively. “People can be so stupid when they’re desperate.” He leaned in. “What made you think you could keep him?” he whispered. “An omega like that needs someone to take care of him, to protect him. You don’t seem quite up to the task.”

There was a roaring in Tommy’s ears and his vision had started to go black around the edges. He had no air and his feet couldn’t find any purchase. 

But Creel was right. Tommy had a job to do.

With a strength he didn’t know he had, and a growl he had no air to sustain, Tommy grabbed the arm holding him up with both hands and pushed upward with all his might, right at the elbow. Something inside the joint gave with a loud pop ; Creel stepped back with a cry, arm clutched to his chest; Tommy collapsed to his knees, heaving for breath.

He gave himself one second before he lurched to his feet and charged at Creel, body slamming him against the hood of the black car. Creel cried out, his injured arm caught between his body and the car. Tommy growled, audibly now, and grabbed Creel by the hair. He slammed the other alpha’s head into the car hood, twice, then again, then again, until he felt Creel go slack under him. Tommy dropped him and stepped back; Creel slumped to the ground, moaning quietly.

“You’re going to pay for this, Hagan,” Mr. Harrington said from behind him.

Tommy turned around. Harrington had a big goose egg growing on his forehead where Tommy had headbutted him. He looked furious; it was probably the most emotion Tommy had ever seen out of the man in the thirteen years he had known him.

“I’m not paying for shit,” Tommy scoffed.

“You think you can get away with this?” Harrington continued. “You think you can just kidnap an omega from his family and walk away? We have rights, he’s ours, ours to do with as we see fit.”

“Steve’s not yours. He’s already with his family,” Tommy said with a sneer. “And you’re not part of it.”

You know how they say, be careful what you wish for or it might come true?

Yeah, that’s bullshit. Punching Richard Harrington in the face was every bit as satisfying as Tommy had dreamed it would be. The man crumpled like a wet paper bag.

Tommy stepped back and crouched to pick up the keys to the BMW. As he walked around to close the trunk he glanced up at the front door—Mrs. Harrington had disappeared. She had probably run inside to call the cops.

Speaking of, with the kind of useless timing that Tommy had come to expect from the Hawkins PD, Hopper came speeding down the street to stop in front of the house. He leapt out of the car, moving surprisingly fast for such a big guy. 

Hopper gaped at the two men laying on the ground between the cars. “Jesus Christ, Hagan,” he said. “What the hell did you do?”

“Your fucking job,” Tommy told him. He jerked his chin at Creel. “That’s the pervert that wanted Steve.”

“Where is he?” Hopper asked.

“Safe. On his way out of town,” Tommy told him with a shrug. Damn, his neck really hurt. “Like I’m about to be.”

Hopper shook his head. “Hagan, you look like you should see a doctor. And I need to call this in, get statements, I—”

“I’ll do whatever you want over the phone,” Tommy interrupted him. “But right now I’m going to see Steve. We’ll call you tonight.”

Hopper scrunched up his nose and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re leaving me with a real mess here, kid.” 

“Not my fucking problem,” Tommy told him. “Call Buckley, she’s still at the trailer. And swing by and let my mom know I left town and I’ll call her, okay?”

“Kid—”

Creel made a groaning noise and started to stir. Hopper looked down at him warily.

“Cuff that one first,” Tommy advised as he backed toward the BMW’s driver door. “He’s got a fuckin’ attitude.”

He didn’t wait to see what Hopper would do. He just left.

An hour later Tommy pulled into the parking lot of Cindy’s Diner in Fort Wayne. He probably shouldn’t have been driving, honestly—he felt pretty woozy—but nothing was going to stop him from getting to that greasy fucking spoon.

Steve and Munson were sitting on the curb next to the van. They leapt to their feet when they saw the BMW pull in.

Tommy jumped out of the car and ran straight to Steve. He pulled him into his arms and stuck his nose right in Steve’s stupid neck.

“It’s okay, Tommy, I’m okay, it’s okay,” Steve was saying as he hugged him back.

“He had you,” Tommy said around the growl he was unable to swallow down. “He fucking had you.”

“No, no, I’m okay, I’m safe,” Steve said, rubbing his hands up and down Tommy’s shoulder blades. “You had my back, Tommy, you always have my back.”

Tommy growled again. Maybe it was more like a sob. Steve pulled him in tight and kept talking. Tommy couldn’t smell him properly with the scent blocker still on, but it helped to be there anyway.

Munson hovered awkwardly next to them until Tommy pulled him in roughly. And he scented Munson too, okay, just a little. Just to be sure.

They stood like that, in a weird three-person hug in a diner parking lot at 2pm, for a pretty long time. 

Eventually Tommy let go; he pulled up the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his nose and cleared his throat. It ached like hell.

"What happened?" Steve asked. 

Tommy smiled, tired. "I finally got to punch your dad in the face."

"Oh man," Munson whined. "I would have paid to see that."

"And Creel?" Steve asked seriously.

Tommy growled. He heard Munson echo him. "Kicked the shit out of him," he told them. "Hopper showed up, I guess he arrested him." 

Steve sagged a little at that and leaned against Munson. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"You okay?" Munson asked Tommy quietly.

"I'll live," Tommy told him. "But I'm not sure if I can drive the rest of the way, that was probably a pretty bad idea."

"I'll drive the BMW," Steve said. "You and Eddie should take the van."

Both Tommy and Munson growled again at that plan. "Relax, alphas," Steve huffed, rolling his eyes. "I'll be okay."

"I'll ride in the beamer with you," Tommy told him.

"No," Steve replied firmly and put his hands on his hips. "Hopefully Hopper took care of things, but my parents might have reported the car as stolen, or me as kidnapped. I don't want anyone else in the car with me if I get pulled over. I can talk my way out of trouble but I won't risk either of you getting arrested. Besides, Tommy, you should probably lie down in the back of the van."

"I can lie down in the beamer," Tommy grumbled.

"Oh, please," Steve said, exasperated. "You barely fit back there. Remember when Robin and I snuck you into the drive-in and we had to hide you in the back under a blanket?"

Tommy did remember. And yeah, it had fucking sucked. But…

"I don't think either of us wants you to be alone right now," Tommy admitted with a glance at Munson. He nodded in agreement.

"I'll stay right behind you, okay? Right in the rear view mirror," Steve reassured them. "And we'll stop a bunch. Every fifty miles, if you want."

They talked around it for a little while longer, but in the end Munson was driving away from the diner, Tommy lying down on the nasty-ass blanket in the back of the van, a smug Steve bringing up the rear in the BMW.

They drove in silence for about two minutes. 

"Does he always get what he wants?" Munson burst out suddenly.

"Who, Steve?" Tommy asked. "Yeah, man, you haven’t noticed? Every fucking time. It's infuriating."

Munson laughed. "Maybe at school they should have called him 'The Prince' instead of 'King Steve,' with Machiavellian talent like that."

Tommy just let the silence swallow that one. Or at least he tried.

But Munson couldn't let it go. "Machiavelli was this Italian guy, see—"

"Oh my God, don't tell me!" Tommy cut him off. "That wasn't, like, a 'please tell me more' silence, man. Read the room, Christ."

Munson huffed. He gave Tommy a few more minutes of quiet before he started up again. 

"Thank you again," he said quietly. "For taking care of things. For fighting for Steve, when I couldn't. You're—he needs you and you always deliver. So—thanks, man."

Tommy craned his neck up to look at him but he could really only see the back of Munson’s head and his stiff shoulders. Moving like that fucking hurt though, so he turned back to staring at the van's ceiling.

"Yeah, man, I told you. Always," Tommy told Munson, puzzled. "But what do you mean, 'when you couldn't?'"

Munson blew out a breath. "I froze up, man, when Hopper called. And then I couldn't, like, fight at Steve's house, I just—I'm fucking useless in a fight so I just let you handle it, all alone, and I—I ran away." Munson sucked on his teeth, loudly. "I think sometimes you're a better alpha for him than I am."

Tommy groaned. "Okay, first of all, fucking gag me, man. Gross. And second, why do I have to keep explaining this shit? You, me, Buckley, Hopper I guess, we're a team, okay? We're Team Steve. And we all have a job to do, right? Buckley’s the smart one and the, like, the comic relief or whatever. I guess she was the fake girlfriend and now she's gonna be that trainwreck of a friend who always makes you feel better about your own life. And I'm the heavy-hitter, right? I do the fighting, that's me, I'm the fists."

"And me?" Munson said bitterly.

"Uh, you're the fucking love of his life, dude," Tommy told him sarcastically. "And you keep him safe. That's what you did today, exactly what you were supposed to do. You got Steve out of a bad situation and you kept him from falling to pieces. You're gonna help him when he has nightmares tonight and then tomorrow you're finally gonna fucking bite him and save him forever from nasty perverts." Tommy huffed angrily. "So don't whine to me about fighting, asshole, you already got your goddamn job. We don't need two people to throw punches, okay?"

Munson hummed thoughtfully. "We do need to make sure the party is balanced." 

Whatever the fuck that meant.

Munson gave Tommy another five minutes of peace before he was at it again. Because apparently this wasn't a car ride, it was a goddamn therapy session.

"You said you'd bite him," Munson said quietly.

"What?" Tommy asked.

"Steve. You said—you told that fucking monster Creel that if you had to bite Steve, you would. To protect him."

"Oh." Tommy thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess I did. That was—it was, like, one of the options, back when it was just me and Steve dealing with this. I mean, it wasn't, like, Plan B or Plan C, it was more like Plan J or something, but it was on the table. Emergencies only, of course." Tommy shrugged against the floor of the van. "Then you came along and biting became 100% your problem, dude."

"And Steve agreed to that?" Munson asked.

"Oh, no, no way, I never told him. He had no idea."

"What?" Munson cried.

"No—Christ—I mean, like," Tommy sighed. "I would have asked before I did it, duh, I just didn't tell him it was an option I was considering. He would have gotten mad if I told him."

"Well, yeah man," Munson said. "You would have—if you had bitten Steve you wouldn't have been able to bite your soulmate. Even if you found her, you couldn't…"

"Yeah, I get it," Tommy said. "And, you know, that would've sucked. But I could've lived with it, if it kept that fuckin' psycho Creel away."

"Jesus H. Christ," Munson muttered, shaking his head. "You know, every time I think I've got you figured out, Hagan, there's something else."

"I've got depths, man," Tommy told him sagely.

Munson shut up again and it was quiet except for the sounds of the road and the van's ancient sputtering engine. Tommy tried to relax and not think about what Steve and Munson might have done on the grody blanket he was lying on. But it wasn't, like, a quiet companionable silence. Of course not. It was the tense, ugly silence of someone who was thinking bitter thoughts so loudly that Tommy could almost hear them. 

After another minute he sighed loudly. "You're still thinking about running from the fight, aren't you?" he asked accusingly.

"Shut up," Munson replied, all tense.

Tommy groaned. "Please put on some music so I don't have to just, like, lie here and listen to you hate yourself."

Munson laughed once, a sharp ha!, like it had been forced out of him. "And what music, pray tell, is best to accompany the sounds of my self-loathing?" he asked in one of his stupid accents.

Tommy had heard most of Munson’s horrible screeching music over the summer at Thatcher’s Tire. "Put on the scuba diving album, that one's not as shitty as the rest of them."

"The scuba—" Munson whipped around to stare down at Tommy. "Are you referring to Holy Diver by Dio?" he asked incredulously. 

"Yeah, man. The diving one." Tommy reached up and thumped the back of Munson’s seat. "Eyes on the road!"

Munson turned back around and reached into the glovebox for the tape. "The diving one. The diving one!" he muttered angrily as he jammed the tape into the stereo. 

"I mean, it's right in the name," Tommy pointed out. 

"That is a metaphor, you philistine!" Munson shrieked. He jabbed viciously at the play button.

Philistine, Tommy mouthed silently. Who even talked like that in real life?

"This whole album is a goddamn masterpiece, Hagan. We are in the presence of rock gods!" Munson announced over the sound of guitars.

"Sure," said Tommy easily. "Like Foreigner."

"Foreign—no! God, you're such a meat-head. Do you hear that rhythm? This is…"

Aaaaand he was off. Good. A nice long rant always cheered Munson up. Tommy reached back, pillowed his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. Munson ran his mouth most of the rest of the way to Chicago.

They pulled up to their building about ten minutes before the leasing office closed, but Steve worked his usual magic and managed to convince the guy to turn over their keys and do the final paperwork tomorrow. So they let themselves into their apartment, which was empty except for them and the handful of bags they had snagged from the trailer. Tommy didn’t have anything except the clothes on his back, all of his stuff still sitting in his room back at home.

The phone had been hooked up the day before, thankfully, so they all took turns calling people back in Hawkins, explaining or lying or whatever about where they were and why. It would all come spilling out eventually, but until Steve and Eddie had bitten each other and gotten registered they were all keeping things under wraps.

Hopper confirmed that he had arrested Creel and Mr. Harrington, thank God, and that they were both spending at least one night in jail. He was confident that the financial evidence he had collected and some letters found inside the house would lead to a firm conviction. Steve didn’t share Hopper’s optimism, but Munson squeezed his hand and looked hopeful enough for both of them.

When Tommy called Mama she was pretty fucking pissed that he had disappeared to Chicago before he could even come home for dinner. He couldn’t explain to her yet why, but they talked about having her come up with his things in a few days. Tommy figured Hopper was going to need to take his statement or something, maybe they could carpool. He kept the call pretty short, his throat really starting to ache now, and promised to call again tomorrow.

None of them felt like sleeping alone that night, so they hauled everything up out of the van, including the blankets from the back, and piled it all together in the living room. Tommy ordered pizza to the apartment, which felt weirdly like something special, and they sat on the floor, eating pizza off of ripped-up pieces of the box top and wiping their hands on their shirts. They didn’t really sleep much that night, too keyed up and in pain and worried that someone might come busting through the door and ruin everything. 

Eventually morning came and Tommy excused himself to walk to the cafe down the street and linger over a cup of coffee. He stopped in the little corner store and bought some grocery essentials to tide them over, a toothbrush and deodorant for himself, plus some paper plates and a roll of toilet paper. By the time he made it back to the apartment, Steve and Munson were sitting up on the kitchen counters, beaming, with fresh bites on both their necks. Tommy politely did not mention how strongly the apartment smelled like cookies because he was a class goddamn act. But he did open a window.

They got directions from a guy in the leasing office to the closest Cook County clerk’s office, but it wouldn’t open until 10, so instead they got directions to a nearby Goodwill. They bought a couple of mattresses that didn’t look too disgusting, a folding table and chairs, and a bunch of dishes and pots and shit for the kitchen. Tommy found some clothes to tide him over until he went back to Hawkins and then the three of them spent way too long arguing about whether or not a couch would fit in the van until it was almost 9:30 and they left without one after all.

They ended up driving to the clerk’s office rather than trying to learn to navigate the train system on the fly. Fuck getting lost on their first day in the city. Once they found the building it took a while to figure out how to register; Steve ended up waiting in two different lines before they were directed to the right office. The lady there got all sour-faced once she realized who, exactly, was registering, but she still did her fucking job. Maybe it was because Tommy stood right over her desk and glared at her while she did the paperwork.

Munson and Steve were practically bouncing on their toes while they waited. They had to show ID, and sign a bunch of things, and get their bites photographed. They kept smiling and giggling at each other over every step; Munson really hammed it up, signing everything with a flourish and bowing as he handed over his drivers license. None of it seemed super romantic to Tommy, honestly. But then, this was about as close to a wedding as these two were ever going to get. Male-male alpha-omega pairs with registered bites had the same legal protections that male-female pairs had, which wasn’t quite the same as an actual marriage, but it was close. Steve had said he and Munson were lucky to have that much.

In the end Tommy had to sign something too, as a witness; he signed it like a normal fucking human being—not a goddamn cartoon character—but he smiled at Steve anyway. Then the clerk lady took it and stamped a bunch of things, printed off two copies for the office and two more for the couple, and it was done. 

Steve was legally registered as a mated omega. He was no longer under his parents’ supposed protection.

There were some tears. Tommy could admit that, okay? It was a big fucking deal.

They walked from the clerk building down to the big park along the lake and wandered around the gardens. They ate lunch from a hot dog cart, which sounded all savvy-city-dweller-cool but was actually pretty messy and not all that tasty. Tommy fed about half of his hot dog to some pigeons. Munson wanted to go to visit some big fucking science museum but Tommy absolutely put his foot down about being a goddamn nerd all afternoon, so they went to the aquarium instead. 

When they got out it was getting close to dinner time, so they trekked all the way back to the car (fuck, this park was big) and drove back to their new neighborhood. They found a restaurant on their street with a little pink triangle in the front window, so they sat down and Steve and Munson held hands right on top of the table. The waiter asked about their bites, eventually, and then they had the whole staff congratulating them. The owner even came by and took their picture to hang on a wall of photos of patrons. The restaurant didn’t sell alcohol but somebody ran down the street to a liquor store and brought back a bottle of champagne. 

Munson looked like he might cry when a bunch of strangers toasted his almost-marriage to his soulmate. Steve smiled so hard his face must have hurt. When Tommy got up to use the bathroom he asked the owner for a copy of that picture; it would look nice in the new apartment.

That night Tommy slept on the floor of his new bedroom on the slightly-stained mattress they had picked up from Goodwill. His feet ached from all the walking. His throat was still killing him and he had bruises everywhere. He lay awake listening to the unfamiliar sounds of his new home: the traffic outside on the street, the creaking of the pipes, a door slamming somewhere downstairs. He could hear Steve and Munson talking quietly in the next room.

We made it, Tommy thought.

We’re here, he thought.

She’s here too, he thought. Somewhere.

Day One of the rest of his life was over. And in the morning he would start on the next one.

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.