Chapter Text
1988
The smell of stale coffee and cheap institution carpet was the defining aroma of Steve’s life now, but it was a welcome, honest change from the stale popcorn of Family Video and the bleach of Scoops Ahoy!. He leant against the brick wall of the Indiana University Physics department, soaking up the pale autumn sun, the weight of his college degree still feeling pleasantly heavy on his shoulders.
He had finished his degree - mostly thanks to Robin’s intense study sessions and Eddie’s grounding presence - and immediately landed a job in Hawkins High. It suited him perfectly. He was now Coach Steve Harrington, running Middle School boy’s baseball practice on Sundays, and Mr. Harrington, teaching High School Health and Sex Ed - it wasn’t exactly what he planned when he began his teaching degree, but he was good at it… and it was basically social sciences, at least that’s what Steve told himself. He even picked up some extra cash doing Drivers Ed, proving he was still, objectively, an excellent driver.
He wore his commitment every single day. The simple, brushed silver band Eddie had given him last Christmas was a perfect, cool weight on his left hand.
Most of the high schoolers knew he was engaged, though none dared to ask who to. He’d fostered a genuinely safe space in his Health lessons; he talked about choices and kindness more than anatomy. It wasn't advertised, but he was open about respecting everyone. Consequently, a quiet, brave handful of his students had sought him out after class or during study hall to share their truth. He just listened, offered unconditional support, and stressed safety. It was exhausting, important work.
A familiar voice, ringing with the confidence of someone who understands particle accelerators, brought him back to reality.
“Harrington! Took you long enough, you old man!”
Dustin Henderson barrelled out of the massive oak doors, a worn leather satchel slung across his chest. He was taller now (barely, despite what he says), his voice deeper, his curls slightly contained, but his grin was the same ecstatic, gap-toothed explosion of joy. He looked like exactly what he was: a brilliant young man thriving on a steady diet of physics, late nights, and the boundless pride of the two men standing in for his father.
Steve felt the ridiculous, familiar swell of paternal pride. “Hey! Watch it, kid. I’m only twenty-one! You got all your brain cells packed?”
Dustin wrapped Steve in a crushing, one-armed hug. “All present and accounted for, Coach. Ready to escape this den of pseudo-intellectuals for some honest, home-cooked food.”
“You mean Eddie’s questionable chilli and endless horror films?”
“Precisely.”
They loaded Dustin’s bag into the boot of Steve's sensible, newly purchased Ford Tempo and headed back toward Hawkins.
Steve and Eddie hadn't stayed in the huge, sterile Harrington mansion. They had pooled their savings - Steve's college fund leftovers and Eddie's slow, steady earnings from his now-successful band and his business, ‘The Dungeon’ - and bought a small, three-bedroom house on the quieter, cheaper outskirts of Hawkins. The housing market was mysteriously depressed, allowing them to afford a place with an actual yard.
It was utterly theirs. The living room was a blend of Steve's comfortable, slightly preppy furniture and Eddie's pervasive chaos of guitars, records, and D&D paraphernalia. It was home.
Eddie arrived home later, shouting “My boys are back!” and immediately engulfing Dustin in a chaotic bear hug. The noise level immediately shot up by fifty percent, filled with D&D updates and enthusiastic discussion about a new Slayer album.
'His boys,' a simple phrase that always sent a warm, grounding feeling through Steve's chest.
The next day, the three of them were sitting in a quiet booth at the Hawkins Diner enjoying burgers and chips. Dustin was deep into describing the shortcomings of his college cafeteria food when he paused, his eyes snagging on something on Steve's left hand.
“Hold on a minute,” Dustin said, leaning across the table, his eyes fixed on the band of brushed silver Steve wore daily. “Is that… a ring?”
Steve felt a wave of heat rush up his neck. He'd forgotten that they hadn't seen Dustin since Christmas.
Eddie, sitting next to Steve, reached across and casually covered Steve's hand with his own, pressing his thumb gently over the band. “Caught us, kid. You've got good observational skills.”
Dustin’s eyes went wide, and then his face exploded in joy. “No way! You guys finally - Steve, that’s amazing! You're engaged? Whoa. Why didn't you tell me?”
“We wanted to tell you properly, in person,” Steve explained, trying to sound calm, but his chest was tight with emotion. “It's, uh, it's pretty low-key. Just for us, you know?”
“Low-key or not, that is huge!” Dustin cried, looking between the two of them with unbridled happiness. He stood up abruptly, leaning over the table to pull Steve into a tight, fierce hug.
“I am so happy for you guys,” Dustin murmured into Steve's shoulder, pulling back just enough to add, with a mischievous grin, “My dads are getting married.”
The joke, innocent and delivered with such pure, easy acceptance, was the final straw. Steve’s vision blurred immediately. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a choked, wet laugh that quickly devolved into a sob of pure joy and relief. The fact that the most important kid in his life accepted their relationship and his lifelong commitment so easily shattered him.
“Oh, Jesus, Steve, don't cry in the diner,” Eddie muttered, but he was grinning, his eyes bright, and he reached out to clap Dustin on the back. “He's just overwhelmed, kid.”
Steve pulled back, furiously wiping the happy tears away with the back of his hand, laughing breathlessly. “We can’t technically, actually, get married but yes. Thank you, Dustin.”
Later that afternoon, after Dustin had finished unpacking his bags, he was wandering down the hallway of the small house, exploring. He went past the bedroom Steve and Eddie shared, past the door to his own room, and stopped at the third, closed door.
“No, that’s just…” Steve started, noticing Dustin too late, his voice freezing solid in his throat.
Dustin, ever the curious scientist, didn’t wait. He reached out and gently turned the knob, pushing the door inward.
The room that was revealed was small, warm, and bathed in the dim light filtering from the hallway. It wasn't a utility room. The walls were painted a soft, gender-neutral cream. A small, sturdy wooden crib stood against the far wall, neatly made up. There was a chest of drawers and a mobile with little wooden animals dangling from it. It was completely, unmistakably, a nursery.
Dustin stood there, motionless, processing the quiet reality of the dream hanging in the air.
Steve’s heart hammered against his ribs, shame and panic seizing him. He felt completely exposed.
Behind him, Eddie moved, silent and swift. He reached around Steve, his hand firm on the doorframe, and pulled the door shut with a soft click, plunging the small room back into darkness.
The quiet tension was suffocating. Steve couldn't move. He felt the hot, stinging tears return. He’d wanted to talk to Dustin first, to prepare him for the unlikely, complicated truth.
Dustin didn't say a word. He simply turned away from the closed door and walked back down the hallway, stopping right in front of Steve. He lifted his arms and pulled Steve into a silent, fierce, and entirely understanding hug.
He knew what the room meant: the deep, aching desire for a child. And he knew, intrinsically, the massive, painful obstacles standing between the two men he called his dads and that dream.
They stood there for a long moment, the unspoken truth hanging between them, a fragile, hopeful promise.
When they finally broke apart, Dustin's eyes were serious, focusing only on Steve. “Steve,” he said quietly, his voice lacking any trace of the earlier college student confidence. “What can I do to help?”
Steve swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. He looked over at Eddie, who gave him a small, reassuring nod.
“The process,” Steve rasped, clearing his throat. “We started the process. I’m adopting as a single parent. It’s the only way they’d even consider us. It’s hard, Dustin. They don’t… they don’t like single men.”
“We haven’t told anyone because it could fall through at any moment.” Eddie stepped forward, resting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Single men are at the bottom of the list; likely to get an older kid, or one with a disability that’s harder to place.”
“Which is fine, which is great, we don’t care,” Steve interjected quickly. “We just want a kid who needs us.”
Steve took a breath.
“We've only had a couple of home visits so far,” he continued, his voice tight. “Eddie has to be out of the house. I told them your room, and Eddie’s stuff, is for my younger brother who might come and stay sometimes.”
He looked directly at Dustin, his eyes wide and pleading. “We were going to ask you tonight, and we know we’re asking a huge favour, kid, but the social worker needs to meet the 'younger brother' eventually, to know what kind of support network I have here. To make sure the kid’s going to be safe, you know?”
Dustin looked from Steve’s hopeful, tear-streaked face to Eddie’s anxious, serious one. He didn't hesitate.
“You guys are my family,” Dustin said simply, the dignity in his young adult voice immense. “You’ve been my dads since I was like twelve. Of course, I’ll help. Whatever you need.”
Steve's lips trembled again, and he threw himself at Dustin for another tight hug.
“I can certainly tell a social worker I’m your imaginary younger brother who plays heavy metal and D&D.” He squeezed Steve’s arm again. “Just tell me when they’re coming. I’m in. You deserve this.”