Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  The year is 1985 and Hawkins, Indiana is only just dragging itself into the new year.

  Children are still hyped up from their Christmas presents, though bemoan their return to school -- their parents are all heaving a sigh of relief for much the same reason. The town is still reeling from the revelations brought about regarding their local Department of Energy and its involvement in several deaths, including that of a teenager. Excessive party-goers are still nursing week-long hangovers, holding in their hearts no regrets.

  And Steve Harrington's life has gone from “weird but manageable” with his unplanned quasi-adoption of five middle-schoolers to “absolutely mental” with the arrival of yet another new student at Hawkins High, just a week into the new semester.

  Truly, it’s unfair. 

  A year's worth of nightmares and paranoia and desperately gripping onto the threads of normality and keeping a goddamned nail bat in the trunk of his car all amounted to a devastating breakup, a plate over the head, and a trip down into Hell’s Welcoming Tunnels with a group of children and a concussion.

  And somehow, the children haven’t left yet.

  That may actually be the most surprising thing about this second Upside Down crisis: That the people he’d fought alongside had instantly reached out to him and decided they weren’t letting go yet, if only because they needed his car now that it had gotten too cold out for bikes.

  (That was unfair to them, he knew that. Steve knows the bond he has with Dustin isn’t like any of the friendships he’s had before, knows Max and Lucas genuinely think he’s cool even if they’d never admit it, knows Mike respects him for helping deep, deep down, and knows Will is kind enough to ignore whatever Jonathan has surely been very rightfully venting about Steve for years now. He knows this. He just can’t quite get it.)

  Still, it’s not like he really minded picking Dustin, Max, and Lucas up from school. He’d been doing it since the moment the ringing in his ears cleared up and he could drive safely again, anyway. He was just never going to tell them that.

So, yeah. Weird but manageable.

  He’d wake up, collect his ki-- friends, he’d collect his friends, and suffer through six hours of pretending Nancy and Jonathan hadn’t been openly dating before Steve had even known he and Nancy were over. 

  He’d drop off the children who were now his only friends and suffer through six hours of low-level headaches whenever he tried to focus for too long. 

  He’d promise to pick up the little shits after school and suffer through six hours of Billy Hargrove sneering and shoving and being just as deeply weird and disturbing towards Steve as he normally was, just now with the added protection of a 13-year-old girl.

  Joy.

  But he dealt with it. Really, he was doing okay. 

  Totally.

  Which is why it was really unfair that the universe decided it wasn’t through with the life-altering realizations.

  It started with another new student at Hawkins High, and if Steve hadn’t been the way he is, then he wouldn’t have recognized this event as the portent of chaos it was.

  But to understand who Steve Harrington really is, you gotta do some history.

  Specifically, the history of post-Roman Britton, circa 500 ad.

  It started before Steve can even properly remember.

  According to his childhood nanny, she had chosen a storybook at random one night, trying to read little Stevie to sleep. Instead, his eyes had lit up like she’d never seen before, and he’d been enraptured the entire time, asking questions and gasping and ooh-ing and ah-ing.

  It was a simple little fairy tale about King Arthur and Excalibur and Steve had never been the same since; consumed with everything and anything related to Arthurian legend.

  Younger Steve still gravitated towards bedtime stories and cartoons -- the number of times he’d rewatched The Sword in the Stone alone was frankly mind-boggling -- but as he grew, so did the scope of his obsession.

  9-year-old Steve was already devouring the Vulgate Cycle with a rabid ferocity, re-reading Le Morte d'Arthur until his copy was all but falling apart from his desperate attempt to figure out what any of the words meant. Bless his young heart, but a high reading level he did not have.

  11-year-old Steve was spending hours tucked in the backrooms of the public library, obsessively trying to justify King Arthur as a real historical figure. To this day, he knew more about post-Roman 6th-century history than he did about the fundamentals of mathematics. It proved useful on exactly one (1) test in an English class and then never again. The librarians knew him so well and indulged him enough that they’d call whenever a new legend or historical account came in. (As per usual, Steve’s charm was his greatest ally.)

  13-year-old Steve discovered Monty Python and was never the same.

  15-year-old Steve, having been without a nanny to watch him when his parents were gone for quite a few years now, found himself rising through the ranks of high-school popularity in his Sophomore Year, earning the nickname “King Steve”. And it felt good. He knew nobody knew about his weird little nerd hobby, but it felt like an accomplishment nonetheless, an acknowledgment of his passion, settling deep within his bones and making itself at home.

  It felt like that right up until Jonathan Byers punched him in the face in Junior Year.

  Things got more intense after that, but Steve’s passion never faded.

  (He may or may not have named his nailbat “Caliburn”. Sure, the obvious choice would have been Excalibur but… something about it never felt right, never felt final, never felt finished. Like there was something else waiting for him. So, pre-French version it was.)

  Even now, a year after his worldview was torn open to include alternate dimensions and tooth-faced monsters, he still felt secretly giddy listening to the kids rant about their little nerd game. No, he still doesn’t get the rules or most of their tol-keen references, but they talk about knights with swords fighting dragons with such passion that his own obsession feels lighter.

  But of course, it wasn’t really King Arthur he was most interested in. Steve loved the guy, sure, definitely would’ve done it as a Halloween costume every year if he didn’t think he’d get bullied for it, but the true meat of his interest lies elsewhere.

  Most legends described an advisor, an ally, and a protector. An old, powerful wizard named Merlin who guided King Arthur along his path to success.

  His draw towards the Merlin legends in particular felt different. 

  They didn’t excite him. They didn’t please him. 

  No, they were painful to read, filling him with a longing so familiar he’d have called it homesickness or regret if it’d make any sense. Any reference to the magician felt like an emotional grenade being kicked right in his face and he didn’t know why. 

  (Yes, seeing Will’s goofy little wizard outfit was adorable, but it made him wistful and lonely and amused all at once.)

  Either way, the longing sort of always messed with his hero worship of Arthur, even back in the height of his “King Steve” days. Like, would King Arthur be the most popular guy in high school? Would he be the star of any sports team he joined? Would he get the girl of his dreams? Yes, of course, absolutely. 

   But, that little voice in the back of his head that whispered all that morality shit would warn, would Merlin follow him?

  Would he accept the oblivious King of the school? Would he value sports over heart? Would he approve of the King’s reaction to thinking his girlfriend cheated on him?

  Steve didn’t think so, and the little voice in his head shouting at him reached a crescendo the night he put himself between 3 middle-schoolers and a pack of demodogs, finally screaming: “Yes! This is where you should be! This is who would make him proud!”

  It felt like an epiphany at the time, but living your life to impress a legendary wizard from ye olden days of Camelot is even crazier than a parallel universe existing under Hawkins -- not to mention way more embarrassing -- so he doesn’t mention his new mantra to anyone.

  WWMWATD: What would Merlin want Arthur to do?

  …it’s a work in progress. But an effective one. Now, when the kids abuse his driver’s license, or when Nancy tries to force him to tell her she doesn’t need to feel sorry about actually cheating on him, or when his parents got home to find his face busted up again, or when Billy Hargrove sneers at him in the halls…

  Well, wise-old-magical-advisor-Merlin wouldn’t want King Arthur to lash out, or abuse his privilege, or get into petty fights, would he?

  It’s honestly the best moral compass he’s had in a while.

  He may not have any real friends his age, or a girlfriend to love him, or a solid future beyond high school, but he has his kids, his nail bat, and his fake-wizard-mentor in his head. And it’s almost enough. Really.

  And then there was another new student at Hawkins High.

  And Steve, being the Arthurian-legend-loving, wizard-obsessing, round-table-knight-envying fanatic that he is, instantly recognized the new kid as the portent of chaos he was.

  They meet in Steve’s first-period History class, something he’ll laugh about later.

  His homeroom teacher calls the class’s attention to the unknown standing before them, and Steve can’t help but analyze for possible threats -- which is fair, given Billy Hargrove was the last new kid.

  But the pale, lanky teen standing up at the front of the class doesn’t look like he could hurt a fly, much less beat Steve into unconsciousness. A meaner Steve from years past might’ve taken particular humor to the guy’s frankly ridiculous ears, but his favorite mythical wizard would probably be disappointed in him for that, so he valiantly ignores them.

  He does, however, note the guy’s stupidly good cheekbones. Not for any particular reason.

  Anyway, New Kid stumbles through the doorway, waves with a goofy smile on his face, and the teacher introduces him as “Merlin Ambrose” and--

  And--

  And Steve will admit, his brain breaks a bit at that moment.

  Even more so when New Kid is sent to the empty seat next to Steve, stumbling his way over and smiling at everyone he passes.

  And-- It’s fine, Steve decides. This is fine. It’s not like the New Kid’s gonna--

  “Hi,” the New Kid chirps out once their teacher has started droning on about the American Revolution Unit they’re on -- the 12th one Steve’s had to study, even in non-American history classes, seriously -- “I’m Merlin.”

  Steve’s brain stuttered a bit as his brain processed not only the New Kid’s presence and unfortunate -- for Steve -- name, but his British accent. “Uh, yeah. I heard.”

  New Kid just stared at him expectantly, twisted halfway around in his seat, leaning across the aisle as if that’s not the most conspicuous thing he could do.

  Steve’s brain caught up to social convention, finally. “Oh, right, uh. I’m Steve… Harrington”

  To be fair, this is basically the first time in his life that his reputation hasn’t preceded him. Even when he entered preschool, the teacher was well aware of his parents’ status and absolutely treated him differently enough that other kids noticed. In retrospect: Yikes.

  New Kid nodded, smiling like that was a victory, and kept going. “Nice to meet you! This is my first day here, you know, moved into town last week. Much to do around here?”

   Other than fight hell-monsters from alternate dark-dimensions and start a collection of concussions? (Make sure to rank them!) No, not much.

  Steve nodded anyway, searching his mind for what he used to do before his social circle became entirely composed of middle-schoolers. “Uh, yeah, there are some students who throw pretty good parties, some are even open-invite, so that’s something. Lots of sports teams, if you--” play, Steve was gonna say, but thought better of it as he glanced down at New Kid’s scrawny limbs, “--wanna watch. There’s-- um…”

  New Kid hummed along, inclining his head even further toward Steve. “Ah, I should've guessed you were a jock, then.”

  Steve had never been so offended by a statement that was completely factual and mostly neutral. “Hey! That’s not-- I mean, sure, I guess, but-- Is that really your name?”

  Ah. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that.

  New Kid screwed up his face, leaning back a bit. Not back into his seat, mind you, but back. “What sort of question is that? Of course, it’s my name.”

  Steve could sense some of his classmates watching now, curious about his oddly awkward version of their former king, floundering at a basic introduction. Maybe it proved to them he was nothing more than a pretty face, or a strong body, or a good fuck.

  And there was no reason to keep talking. The teacher was still going, after all; Steve should be taking notes and trying to actually pass. He had nothing to prove.

  But he wasn’t their king anymore, and he’d heard this same lecture once a year since he was 12. He had something to say. He had nothing to lose.

  Even still, he leaned across the aisle, brushing shoulders with the new kid, and in low tones, explained, “Ambrosius is the name of one the old dudes that scholars think the wizard Merlin is based on: Ambrosius Aurelianus, a Romano-British war leader. I just think it’s really weird to name your kid so specifically after one mythical wizard.”

  New Kid seemed even more stunned by that -- which was fair, Steve was pretty off-put, too.

  And then, blunt as a nail bat to a Demogorgon, New Kid said, “My middle name is Wyllt.”

  As in Myrddin Wyllt, the other guy Merlin seems to be based on. Jesus Christ.

  So Steve replies, just as blunt, “Well, that’s just not fair, you can’t have all three!”

  New Kid looks weirdly offended by that. “Can too!”

  “No way, man!” Steve snapped back. “What if you had siblings? What names would they get? All that’s left is, like, Aurelius or something.”

  New Kid rolled his eyes. “How do you know I don’t have siblings?”

  “Oh? What are their names?” Steve asked, crossing his arms.

  “...okay, I don’t have siblings, but my point still stands! You couldn’t have known!”

  “So did! I said so! They’d have no thematically relevant names left!”

  “They could’ve been, I don’t know, Gwaine!”

  Steve paused. “ Like Gawaine and the Green Knight? Gawaine Aurelius Ambrose? Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, New Kid.”

  New Kid looked truly mad at that. Whoops. “My name’s not New Kid, I know you know that ‘cause we’ve been talking about it.”

  “Right, right, Wizard Boy,” Steve corrected, guiltily amused by the fire in the guy’s eyes. 

  “Well, what are your siblings' names, then?” Wizard Boy challenged, whispers growing fast to accommodate his apparent fury. “Do they stand up to the glorious Steve?”

  “They so would if they existed, man,” Steve grinned. Inwardly, he considered name-dropping Dustin, but he figured that was a step too far in their friendship. Maybe one day.

  Wizard Boy froze at that, frowning. “You don’t look like an only child.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Mr. Harrington!” Their teacher’s voice snapped out. “As excited as you must be to have more social opportunities, I’d please ask you to stop pestering Mr. Ambrose on his first day.”

  A testament to Steve’s enduring legacy: Not many of his classmates laughed.

  Still, it was the principle of the thing.

  “What-- I-- he started it!” Steve protested, still shoulder to shoulder with the new kid.

  “I absolutely did not!” Wizard Boy refuted, playfully knocking further into Steve’s space, anger completely replaced by his earlier grin. “And it was less pestering and more debating.”

  Their teacher sighed, a tired and heavy thing that Steve felt deep in his soul. “In that case, please save the debates for our Class Debates later in the term. For now, gentlemen, if you could sit properly?”

  More of the class did laugh this time, as Steve and the new kid glanced at one another and ruefully shuffled back behind their actual desks, finally opening their notebooks.

  Before refocusing on the teacher’s lecture, though, Steve glanced over at the New Kid, thrown off when his eyes instantly met the others. New Kid was smiling, though, with no traces of his earlier anger in his sparking blue gaze and-- well--

   Ah. They really were just goofing off together, weren’t they?

  So many times in the past, Steve had thought he was just joking, only for later revelations to reveal he was actually being a major douchebag the whole while. Since Jonathan Byers had knocked some sense into him -- literally -- and Nancy had expected better of him, he couldn’t get rid of the cloying guilt he felt over it all, nor the dread during all following goofs.

  Every joke, every playful jab, every innocent tease, he was quivering inside, waiting for the moment someone would come back around and reveal he was still an asshole, that he hadn’t changed, couldn’t change. That it was something deep inside him and expressing himself was always going to be met with a negative reaction.

  But the new kid was smiling at him after Steve had gotten them in trouble on the guy’s first day. He’d taken every joke, thrown them right back with ferocity, and he was smiling.

  Steve smiled back.

  So, the new student’s parents were just as nerdy as Steve was about Arthurian legend -- they just had the benefit of having a suitable last name. So what? It was pretty cool.

  In unrelated news, he has a new mantra.

  WWTWOWWATD: What would the weird old wizard want Arthur to do?

  It’s a work in progress. In reverse. But whatever.

  In even less related news, Steve had a new classmate named Merlin, and he was pretty sure the dude wasn’t going to fit in at all. The British accent alone was gonna make the kid stick out. He was so going to get teased about his ears, and if he was this chatty with everyone, he was gonna piss someone off quick.

  King Steve wouldn’t have even spared a glance. Would’ve joked about the ears, not cared if it hurt feelings, and would’ve gotten annoyed by the chatter.

  Steve Harrington, in accordance with WWTWOWWATD, knew he’d be keeping an eye on Merlin Ambrose. The guy was too much trouble to just leave alone.

  Even still, he didn’t foresee the true scope of the chaos that would soon embroil his life.

  But what’s new?

Chapter Text

  Merlin hadn’t been sure what to expect when his magic pulled him along to Hawkins, Indiana, but it certainly wasn’t the oddity that was Steve Harrington.

 There were the shallow reasons, sure. After all, Merlin had gotten along with exactly one group of jocks in his long lifetime, roundabout 1500 years ago. When arriving in a small town in the American Midwest, he wasn’t expecting that streak to change. Technically, it hadn’t, but only by virtue of the fact that one friendly jock does not a group of jocks make.

  And, again, the American Midwest? His magic hadn’t led him outside of Europe in centuries, so he was more than a little miffed by the whole thing. It was rare that anything magically significant occurred outside of Europe, where the Old Religion had baked itself into the soil and the ways of old were still somewhat remembered. 

  The fact remained, though, that he was here and he had met a jock on his first day in American high school. And the jock didn’t make him want to bash his head on the wall. Well, not much.

  The fact remained that his magic pulled him here, and he had long since learned to trust his magical instincts, especially at the beginning of a cycle.

  See, immortality isn’t quite as static as he’d initially feared. 

  It could still be dreadful and dreary and depressing and many other words beginning with “d”, and Merlin had lived through his fair share of longing and tragedy and hopelessness. But there was always a new day waiting for him, always a new road to walk. 

  He aged, just like everyone else around him. In that first life, so long ago now, he’d feared that he’d eventually grow to old age and then just, well, stay old forever, with brittle bones and fragile skin and a wandering mind. Until, one Autumn night, he’d gone to sleep an old man and woken up the next morning young again. His bones moved smoother, his brain worked faster, all his battle scars had melted away to leave his skin (mostly) unblemished, and even his aged cynicism diminished some.

  The disorientation of that first youthsnap had led to some… questionable life choices. He’d felt so young and naive again, yet was chock-full of his great achievements and failures and love. He’d gone and traveled and screamed it from the rooftops, tried to make everyone understand he was still him, tried to prove himself still Merlin. He’d ignored his every instinct to simply calm down; raged against fate for trapping him like this.

  The next youthsnap, some hundred years later, had left him cringing at the memory of those early days. That time, he’d followed his instincts right off the bat and accomplished much more good in the world, and tried to forget.

  Some centuries later, when Camelot had all but faded into myth and legend, he renewed the hobby, albeit in a much more sophisticated manner. He used aliases, for one, though historians would end up interpreting those as historical influences to his own legend which-- was a brain-twister, for sure.

  Along the way, he’d made note of the date of his youthsnap -- his new cycles always began in late October, thus he’s decided he may as well celebrate his birthday around then. And he quite suspected the age he found himself regressed to was seventeen, the age he was when he met Arthur. He’d mostly put that one together by which scars did remain, the ones from childhood accidents and village bullies, none from his trials at Camelot.

  It made sense. He certainly felt seventeen at the beginning of a cycle.

  That first time, the disorientation, his brain failing to combine a lifetime of memories into a youthful body, that never really went away. He just handled it better now. He retained all his knowledge, yet lost some wisdom, and he’d long suspected his mental age truly regressed along with his body. He was lucky, then, that his magic usually waited a few months to guide him, because rest-and-recovery was absolutely needed.

  Nowadays, he was very settled into his routine. He’d wake up young, wait for his magic to guide him, and follow along. Some cycles, he feels nothing: no call to adventure, no greater meaning, no purpose. During these, he stays close to the lake of Avalon, waiting for Arthur and knowing it’s still not the right time.

  Other cycles, he’s called off. He’s fought in wars, mingled with poets, started democracies, (avoided jocks), and spread legends wherever he went. No matter the bitterness that crept up over his long wait, he would never let Arthur be forgotten.

  And yet, many times, his magic has simply guided him to a quiet home where he can enjoy himself for a while, whether to fully settle or to give him an adjustment to a new social climate before he runs off to mingle and rocket himself into mayhem. During these, he usually finds himself integrated in with the youthful generation, his new peers.

  So, a year and a few months into his newest cycle, when he felt that familiar pull, he’d followed right along to Hawkins. Then, oddly enough: radio silence. Still, he had his routine, and he was young enough to catch the tail end of Senior Year, so he enrolled himself in the local high school, rented a house for appearance's sake, and dived right into acclimating to his new peers.

  Then came Steve Harrington.

  Maybe it was just the surprise factor, clocking the man as a jock moments before the guy turned it around and dropped a deep history reference about one of Merlin’s aliases. (Not that he blamed the teen for his incredulity -- “Merlin Wyllt Ambrose” was one of his least creative names, but he was nostalgic, okay?)

  So, yes. He was simply surprised by the turnaround. That’s all.

  And their bizarre little argument was just that -- bizarre. It didn’t mean anything on its own, they’d just had a fun time together for a few minutes.

  Except.

  Well.

  Except, over the course of the week, he discovered he had 4 out of his 6 classes with the teen, sitting close to one another in 3 of them. (The 4th barely even counted as sitting apart because it was PE, so they could just find each other after warm-ups.)

  Merlin was no stranger to coincidence in his long life, but this feels a tad bit more significant.

  That same Monday, they’d found themselves walking to their next class together, already arguing about French conjugation before the teacher had a chance to pass out assignments. They’d whispered furiously back and forth the entire block period, nitpicking the assignment, the textbooks, the school’s buzzing lights overhead; anything, really, just to push back the boredom,

  Merlin didn’t know if Steve would have stuck around during lunch if they hadn’t been together when the bell rang, but they wandered around the school nonetheless, Steve pointing out the various club rooms and activities and school politics. Merlin knew he was asking too many questions, being too sarcastic about the sports teams Steve clearly enjoyed, but Steve never looked actually mad.

  The closest he ever got to it was a simple, “Sure, sure, Wizard Boy. What are you gonna join, Chess Club?”

  Which had, predictably, spun into a long-winded debate about the pros and cons of chess as a game and how realistic it was to actual battle strategy, Steve arguing vehemently against pawn-based ethics, saying the King should obviously lead by example.

  Merlin asked if Steve had ever actually won a game of chess.

  Steve had not.

  Tuesday started slower, Merlin not seeing the other student until their shared PE class. After warmups, they’d joined up to run laps for the first 20 minutes. There was less chatting, then, but Merlin was beginning to sense the curious glances of their classmates. At first, he’d assumed it was a simple matter of being the new kid in school, and replied to every lingering look with a wide smile.

  He was proven wrong the next day.

  Steve had gotten pulled aside by their French teacher on their way out of class, wanting to discuss his grades from last semester. Merlin couldn’t hear much of the conversation, though did catch Steve saying something about a concussion before the door closed.

  As much as Merlin was willing to branch out and make more friends, something was tugging in the back of his mind. There was too much about Steve Harrington he found odd, from their close proximity to the odd glimpses of something deeper, some somber warrior tucked beneath the goofy charm and good looks. So, he resolved to wait for Steve’s talk to finish.

  He only had about 30 seconds of solitude.

  “Hey! New Kid!”

  Merlin turned to see a student he vaguely recognized from PE saunter up to him, leaning up against the wall. His face was scattered with freckles, his smile anticipatory.

  Merlin straightened up, suddenly alert to the fact he hadn’t actually tried to make any more friends. He was about to introduce himself when the other boy kept talking.

  “It’s, uh,” The boy started, snapping his fingers, “Ambrose, right?” 

  Merlin nodded, smiling. “Yeah, that’s me. Er, Merlin Ambrose, that is.”

  Something funny crossed the other’s face, and Merlin was even more aware of the fact that this might not be a friend-making opportunity. His smile dropped.

  “Right, right.” The guy laughed a little, waving the correction off. (Honestly, Merlin would never get used to people using his last name instead of his first -- he wasn’t even born with a family name.) “Anyway, me and the boys couldn’t help but notice you’ve been hanging around Harrington.”

  Hm. This was getting weird.

  “Er, yeah?”

  The other boy leaned in closer. Merlin leaned back. 

  “Listen,” he whispered, his tone a conspiratorial mockery of genuine care, “you’re new, so you don’t really know how this all works yet, but whatever Harrington’s been telling you, he’s not exactly King, anymore.”

  What.

  “Right…” Merlin decided this was some weird personal drama he wasn’t super invested in. “Well, I dunno who you are, but I know that I can make my own decisions, so if you wouldn’t mind…” He smiled again, making a little shooing motion with his hand.

  The teen scoffed at that. “This isn’t a charity, Ambrose. Hanging out with Stevie’s gonna put a target on your back and, frankly,” he leaned in, “you could do better.”

  The door swung open. “And what exactly does that mean, Tommy?”

  There stood Steve, looking as irritated and exhausted by this interaction as Merlin felt, arms crossed firmly over his chest and staring down at the newly-dubbed Tommy through his floppy bangs.

  Tommy rocketed back a bit, though recovered with a sharp laugh just as quickly. “Well, Harrington, I’m just warning your new buddy here that you’re not all you’re chalked up to be. One day, top of the school, the next you throw it all away. It’s pathetic, really--”

  “What target, Tommy?” Steve grit out, moving closer to lean over the irritant. 

  “You’ve made some enemies, Stevie--”

  “Hargrove won’t cross that line again,” Steve declared, cutting through the bullshit. He spoke the words like they were utter truth, like there was no reason to doubt them, and Merlin instantly wanted to believe him.

  “What, after he beat your ass?” Tommy taunted. “You didn’t show him up, Harrington. He put you in your place and got bored. If he thinks you're trying to get back the glory days…”

  “I’m not,” Steve assured, rolling his eyes. Even as warning bells began to ring in Merlin’s head. “And I doubt Hargrove can get bored of anything. That’s why you hang off his coattails, right?”

  Anger flared up in Tommy’s eyes, then, and Merlin rushed to intercept any attack, but Steve was even faster, throwing an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and deftly steering them away from the possible altercation.

  Merlin glanced back once they were halfway down the hall. Tommy wasn’t following them -- just struck still, glaring.

  Cautiously, Merlin sent Steve a significant gaze, asking the question without words.

  Steve chuckled, turning them around a corner. “Yeah, sorry about that. Tommy and I used to be friends. We’re, uh, not, now.”

  “Clearly,” Merlin teased drily. “He looked at you like you ate the last cookie.”

  That, finally, earned him a loud guffawing laugh from Steve, shocked out from the teen’s chest and filling the air around them like honey. “Ha! Well, God, I wish. No, it’s been messy. So yeah, sorry about that. He definitely would’a bothered you anyway, 'cause he’s an asshole, but hanging out with me probably didn’t help.”

  “He said you got beat up?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask.

  Steve nodded lightly, but there was something dark behind the eyes that told Merlin he felt anything but casual about it. “Yeah, Hargrove. You see Tommy sucking up to anyone, stay clear. Dude’s a psychopath.”

  “Why’d you fight him?”

  Steve was quiet for a moment, sighing as they entered the cafeteria. “Doesn’t matter, really.”  He stopped pressing them forward, free hand rubbing at his face. “But it was worth it.”

  Merlin mulled that over.

  On one hand, he wanted to know more. He wanted to press and nudge and wheedle the full story out of Steve, wanted to match his observations of this teen to the story he’d heard, wanted it to make sense.

  On the other hand… Merlin knew a thing or two about secrets, to put it lightly. He was nosy, he knew that, but he also knew when further pressure would only make his peers uncomfortable and actively tank the chances of him ever learning the truth.

  So he nodded, empathy guiding him towards patience rather than persistence, and took stock of the cafeteria. They hadn’t actually been here the last two days. They’d both brought small meals from home and eaten them as they walked around the school, too hyped up arguing to even think about sitting down.

  Merlin almost wondered what made today different, up until he caught the steely gaze Steve was examining their surroundings with.

  People were looking at them, Merlin realized. Whatever high-school drama Steve was caught up in, it’d made him a notable entity. Merlin, by virtue of proximity, followed suit. He’d realized that was why Tommy had approached him, of course, but he hadn't quite realized it would extend to the entire school.

  Belatedly, he realized Steve’s arm thrown over his shoulder, still firm and comforting, wasn’t helping matters. Oh, Merlin longed for the olden days of casual physical affection, but nigh cuddling with another bloke in a midwestern American high school? Probably not the best idea.

  “Uh, Steve,” he whispered, increasingly aware that they were standing still in the doorway, watched by dozens of not-very-subtle teenagers. “Maybe we should--”

  And then Steve turned his head, locking eyes with Merlin and--

  There was that warrior.

  It was so odd, the deja vu that ripped through him at that moment, locking eyes with a man he barely knew, analyzing and being picked apart in turn. Steve just always seemed so goofy, maybe, that this clear calculation felt shocking. Except it wasn’t, because he knew Steve wasn’t just a meathead. Not a normal one, at least.

   What are you planning? He wanted to ask. Where are we going?

  Up close, he could appreciate that he was actually taller than Steve by maybe an inch. Under all that hair, Steve seemed so impressive, but Merlin gazed down ever so slightly to meet his eyes, and it all felt much more significant than it should have been.

   What crazy idea are your two brain cells knocking together right now?  

  “You’re uh,” Merlin cleared his throat. “You still have my shoulder?”

  Steve stayed fixated for a moment -- mere seconds, really -- before snapping back into his normal energy, swiftly retracting his arm. “Oh! Right, uh, sorry about-- That.”

  They stared for another long moment, earlier tension lost in the confusion.

  “Should we, well…” Merlin gestured over to an empty table.

  Steve nodded quickly, hair bouncing. “Right, yeah, good idea.”

  They found a table with only a few other students sitting around, taking up the far edge of it. Steve, midway through lunch, leaned his head back and balanced his granola bar on the tip of his nose and well--

  Merlin knew, somewhere deep down, there was something odd about Steve Harrington. Something significant, whether magically or just in simple fact. Merlin was meant to meet this man, as he’d been meant to meet so many others over the years. All those poets and soldiers and bakers and nobility and servants that had made life-long friends.

  Or, well. Cycle-long friends, rather.

  But watching Steve lose focus as Merlin added his own chocolate bar onto the granola and tilt ominously backward in an attempt to regain his balance was mundane enough that he was well content to ignore all that for now. He’d much rather just laugh as Steve caught himself, foot hooked beneath the bench, still somehow balancing the snacks on his nose and grinning like an idiot.

  (He was so gonna learn the full story behind that fight, though.)

  When the week drew to a close, Merlin was ready to admit destiny was being a little bit pushy.

  Really, cosmic intervention is the only reason a sixth-period teacher would feel compelled to assign them a project -- on a Friday -- due the next Tuesday. Otherwise, it was just plain evil.

  Thankfully, it was an English project as an introduction to Hamlet, so it was all very “find 5 words you don’t know from the first section” and “read this poem with a similar theme to predict what will happen in Hamlet ”, so Merlin wasn’t exactly stressed. Shakespeare was a solid drinking buddy, back in the day; he was solid for this assignment.

  Really, the only reason it was a partner project must have been the sheer number of menial tasks required for it. Delegation truly was key when bullshitting assignments.

  And, of course, he was partnered with Steve.

  This wasn’t exactly a problem, but there was a humor inherent baked into it.

  Fortunately, their teacher had given them a head start on the work in class. This let Merlin immediately see just how much Steve actually struggled in English, not quite comprehending the idea of connecting two works together via tropes and themes. (Steve was a godsend in the “find words you don’t know” section, though. Merlin, thanks to the aforementioned “drinking-buddies” thing, was so well-versed in Shakespearean that he struggled to remember which words were common and which were completely made up.)

  Unfortunately, the allotted time wasn’t nearly long enough to get even half of the project done.

  Again: Destiny or Plain Evil? The 8-ball says “Ask again later.”

  “Okay,” Steve was muttering as they packed up, having worked right up to the bell ringing. “Okay, we can just meet up this weekend. Head to the library or something.”

  Merlin buckled up his worn leather messenger bag, slinging it across his shoulder in a smooth, practiced motion. “Why not today? Knock it out while we’re still focused on it, yeah?”

  Steve tapped his fingers on his desk, rhythmic and controlled. “That… Yeah, no that makes sense, I just… We’ll need to make a quick stop first.”

  Merlin grinned, hopping up to sit on Steve’s desk once all his books were cleaned up. “See? No need to look so grouchy, we’ll get it done.”

  Steve just rolled his eyes, standing up. “God, get off the desk, you look ridiculous.”

  Merlin just kept grinning as he followed Steve out to his car.

  Now, you see, when Steve said “a quick stop”, Merlin assumed he wanted to pick something up from his home, or check in with his parents, or grab a snack from a store. Whichever, it would probably be a decently long drive, relative to the size of the town.

  What Merlin couldn’t have guessed was that they’d pull to a stop a minute later, right in front of the adjacent middle school.

  Merlin cast a suspicious stink-eye at Steve. “You said you were an only child.”

  Steve nodded, rolling down his window and peering out at the kids exiting the school. “I am.”

  “Sooooo…” Merlin drawled, leaning over to nudge Steve’s shoulder. “What’s the heist?”

  Steve jolted, looking so dazed and affronted that it took everything Merlin had not to laugh. “What? What heist?”

  “I mean, what child are we stealing?” Merlin teased, keeping his face as neutral as he could. “Cause, if none of them are yours…”

  His friend just shook his head. “It’s not like that, it’s just these brats I--”

  “Steve!” A voice interrupted their little tiff, and suddenly a head of curly hair was shoved through the driver’s side window. “There you are! You’re late!”

  Steve straightened, a new, confident skin settling across his bones. “Henderson, how many times do I have to tell you, the high school runs 10 minutes longer--”

  “No excuses!” The middle-schooler scorned Steve. “Every minute you’re late is one less minute at the arcade!”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, where’s the rest of you twerps?” Steve shot back.

  “On their way!” Curly snapped. “Still faster than--” And, finally, his eyes locked onto Merlin. “Who the hell is this?”

  Steve smirked. “A friend.”

  “Since when do you have friends?”

  Oh, ouch. Merlin could feel that one, gods.

  “Dustin!” Another voice shouted, heralding the arrival of more children, what even-- “Get in already, we’re losing daylight!”

  “Shut up, Mike!” Curly -- Dustin, apparently -- yelled. “My seat’s taken!”

  A full chorus of  “What?!”s rang out as the backseat doors were yanked open, four children squeezing in. 

  Steve rolled his eyes, acting like children tearing his ego apart and raiding his car was normal. “Alright, Lucas, Dustin, I’m driving you home later so get in the trunk for now.”

  “What? Hell no!” Dustin whined.

  “What about Max?” The only black kid asked, presumably Lucas. “You’re driving her home later, too.”

  “Wanna ask that again?” The only girl asked, vibrant red hair accentuating the challenge in her eyes. 

  Lucas’ eyes widened. “Trunk, got it. C’mon, Dustin.” With that, he scrambled over the backseats, flopping into the trunk.

  Dustin groaned loudly, stomping his way around to follow Lucas. “You owe me, Steve!”

  “Yeah yeah!” Steve waved off the complaints. Once everyone was settled, he pulled the car off, heading for downtown and -- if Merlin was reading things right -- the arcade.

  “So, seriously, who are you?” One of the unnamed boys asked, the one with a sharp glare leveled at Merlin.

  “Steve says they’re friends!” Dustin yelled from the far back.

  “But Steve doesn’t have any friends!” Sharp-eyes complained.

  “Alright, alright, Jesus, chill out before you break my heart,” Steve cut them off. “We have to do a project together, so I’m dropping you nerds off at the arcade and picking you up afterward, as planned. Merlin, these are the geeks that haunt my waking hours. Kids, sound off!”

  The messy, loud introductions marked Sharp-eyes as Mike and the quiet kid with the unfortunate bowl-cut as Will.

  “You’re really Steve’s friend?” Max asked, eyes narrowed.

  “Er, I’d like to think so?” Merlin replied, twisted around in his seat, still uncertain as to the dynamics here.

  She didn’t say anything else, just nodded quietly. Merlin liked to think it was approval.

  “Merlin…” Will spoke up, voice hesitant but eyes sparkling. “Like… like the wizard?”

  And Merlin thought he knew, then, what was going on. Why else would a high schooler be such a pushover to a bunch of unrelated middle schoolers if not for a shared interest?

  “You know, that’s what--”

  “Wizard?” Steve piped up. “Is that like, uh, Star Wars?”

  Aaaand Merlin was back to square one.

  He spun back to face Steve, who had the gall to wink at him.

  “No!” Mike snapped, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, Steve, not everything is Star Wars related!”

  “Merlin is a magic user from legends!” Will explained, growing more animated with every word. “You know, King Arthur and Camelot and the Round Table?”

 Steve pretended to think about it. “Is that, like, that sword in the stone story? Like the movie?”

  “Well, yes, but no--” Mike.

  “Of course, he knows the sword story before Merlin--” Dustin.

  “What the hell are you dorks talking about?” Max.

  “Yes, Will,” Merlin broke in, addressing his fast-favorite, settling in now that things were a bit clearer. “Like the wizard. My mother was a historian.”

  Lying about his parents always felt wrong, like he was somehow disrespecting their legacy. But, at least, he’d gotten used to it over the centuries.

  “Cool,” Will breathed out, and the smile he sent Merlin made the lie worth it.

  Oh, yeah. He was totally starting to see the dynamics, now. Sort of.

  But Steve was smiling softly to himself so the rest didn’t matter much.

  The rest of the ride was punctuated by loud arguments, snappy retorts, and some of the nerdiest lingo Merlin had ever heard. (Which is really saying something.)

  “Alright,” Steve spoke up as he pulled the car into park near the arcade. “I’ll be back at 8, you’d all better be waiting here on the dot, got it?”

  There were loose murmurs as the kids shuffled out of the car. 

  “I said, got it ?”

  A chorus of yes, Steve’s and yeah, yeah’s finally signaled the group’s affirmation.

  “Hey, Steve,” Dustin popped at the window, toothy smile the picture of innocence, save for the expectation in his eyes. On either side of him were Max and Will. “Got any spare change?”

  Steve made a big show of denying and grumbling, but his hands were reaching for his pocket before Dustin had even asked the question. There was a suspicious number of coins in his wallet. 20 whole dollars cash got slipped in.

  “Don’t forget to use that on food, shitheads!” Steve yelled after them, leaning out the window. 

  Max flipped him off.

  Finally, Steve settled back into his seat. “Jesus, ungrateful brats.”

  “You’re such a pushover!” Merlin exclaimed, giddy from the full scope of the realization. 

  “Wrong,” Steve instantly denied. “They’re just menaces.”

  “You sure none of them are yours?” Merlin pressed.

  Steve shot him a glare. “Just put on your seatbelt -- don't think I didn’t notice you skipped it.”

  Merlin complied, letting out a low whistle. “Bossy.”

  Steve rolled his eyes, clearly trying to hide his smile -- and failing spectacularly.

  “Shut up, Merlin.”

  Merlin’s chest went cold.

  It-- this happened, every now and then, when something reminded him of Arthur. His heart would stutter, his mind would go blank, and his fingers would find themselves numb. In these moments, the pain of losing Arthur felt fresh, like it was still happening.

  Like Merlin was trapped on the shores of Avalon, forever saying goodbye to his loved ones.

  Like Merlin never stopped saying goodbye.

  In truth, Merlin never bothered saying goodbye to Arthur. 

  First Freya, then his father, then Lancelot. Years later, Gaius, his mother; Gwen. He’d said goodbye to them all, accepted the pain, and begun to move on. His life was certainly long enough to make good headway on the mourning process.

  Those aches were old; oddly fond.

  Arthur had never stopped fading away in Merlin’s arms. Merlin didn't think it was even possible to let go.

  So he had moments, sometimes, when he remembered that.

  He just hadn’t expected it right now. That’s all. Really.

  He just hadn’t realized how similar his banter with Steve was to his and Arthur’s.

  It didn’t mean anything.

  Steve was beginning to think the kids had been too much for Merlin.

  They’d been working for an hour solid, now, and Merlin had barely spoken the entire time. Which, Steve had quickly discovered, was very odd. The guy never shuts up, honestly.

  (God, he hoped this wasn’t because he told Merlin to shut up. That wasn’t serious, Merlin had never reacted like this to his taunts before.)

  Maybe Merlin was just really, really focused on their project. He was way smarter than Steve, anyway, and there was little Steve could do to stop the teen from carrying the assignment. Sure, he felt bad about it, but rushing through it meant Steve could only handle the grunt work while Merlin handled the more complicated shit.

  Maintaining focus for so long was just about putting Steve to sleep, eyes stinging as they strained to read the words trying to float off the page. Who cared about Hamlet and Horatio? Well, he’d probably care more if he had any clue what they were saying.

  Fucking Shakespeare, man. Steve had learned French to read legends about knights and faeries, and yet the Bard still gave him a headache. It was unfair.

  He was just about to call for a break when Merlin slammed his own book shut.

  His friend glared at him, less playful, less angry, more confused. “Why did you lie earlier?”

  Steve’s mind went blank. “Uh… when?”

  “You pretended you didn’t know who Merlin was,” teen-Merlin accused. “And we both know you know exactly who that is.”

  “I think you’re overexaggerating--” Steve tried to deflect.

  “You asked if wizards are from Star Wars.”

  Damn. Smoking gun.

  “To be fair, they do say the word,” Steve defended anyway. “I would know, Henderson keeps making me watch it with him.”

  “Steve,” and Merlin’s tone was serious, now. Yikes. “Why’d you play dumb?”

  WWTWOWWATD? Probably tell his friend the truth when the hill wasn’t worth dying on.

  Dammit.

  “Alright, listen, it’s…” He started off, looking back down at his work. “Those kids are Great Whites and if I admit to knowing something nerdy, it’s blood in the water.”

  “You play dumb to… let them joke about you?” Merlin tried to clarify.

  “No!” Steve asserted, then instantly reconsidered. “Okay, sometimes, sure. Today, yeah, I wanted Will to warm up. He’s bad with new people and school’s rough for him, so I just wanted him to be able to explain it, you know?”

  Merlin nodded. “It worked. He looked a lot chattier by the time you dropped them all off.”

  Good, Steve hadn’t been imagining it. “Yeah. So, there’s that. But also… nobody really knows?”

  “Knows what? That you read?” Merlin teased, a smile finally forming back on his face.

  “Funny,” Steve snapped back, feeling ten times lighter. “But, sorta, yeah. Nobody really knows Arthurian legends are an interest of mine. Half my image is built on being the perfect heartthrob--”

  Merlin outright laughed at that.

  “Shut up! It is! Or, well,” Steve shrank into himself here, fully aware of how close to his worst instincts his conversation was drawing, “was. Anyway, the kids don’t know that about me, and if they find out…”

  “What?” Merlin challenged, leaning across the table. “They’ll quiz you?”

  “Worse,” Steve grumbled. “They’ll make me play their little nerd game. Damsels and Dungeons or whatever.”

  “...are you pretending to not know the name?”

  “...shut up.”

  Merlin flopped back into his seat, chuckling. “So, Steve Harrington’s afraid of a children’s game?”

  “It’s not just a little game, Merlin!” Steve argued. “They play for, like, 8 hours at a time! There’s math !”

  Merlin stopped laughing. “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  Steve didn't know if it was the math comment that bothered Merlin or the sheer hours sunk into the game, but the urgency of it all seemed to be well-impressed.

  “Still, nobody knows?” Merlin kept on. “I mean, you’ve never talked about it before?”

  Steve shrugged. “Not really. Parents never cared about my interests, my friends back in the day would have torn me apart over it--” By the grimace on Merlin’s face, Steve knew he was remembering the interaction with Tommy, “and I just got used to not saying anything, even when I dropped them.”

  “But you told me.”

  “I assure you, it was an accident.” It sounded rude, but it was the truth. “Just slipped out.”

  Merlin was silent then, seeming to mull it all over. There was something unknowable behind Merlin’s eyes, Steve had come to realize, something older than any teenager should recognize. 

  Steve wanted to pick this man apart; figure out what the hell he was thinking.

   There’s something about you, Merlin.

  Eventually, Merlin hummed lightly. “So, what’s your favorite?”

  Aaand Steve was lost again. “My favorite what?”

  “Legend,” Merlin grinned. “Bet you’ve never had the chance to share, before.”

  Indeed, Steve hadn’t. As such, he'd never really thought about it.

  Sure, there were some he’d read more than others, stories he’d gone to for comfort or contemplation or pure fun.

  But none were his favorite.

  There was a reason he always wanted more. A reason he used to spend hours upon hours in this very library, searching for a hint that any of it had actually happened. There was something just plain off about the legends, something that had never stopped bugging him.

  “I don’t think I have one,” Steve finally spoke, suddenly self-conscious of how personal this felt. “I always wanted accuracy more than favorites, so I’d look for the most correct .”

  Merlin frowned, leaning back in. “And what’s the most correct legend, then, Mr. Expert?”

  “It’s not like that!” Steve laughed. “There is none. It’s just, I dunno. Something about the way the legends always write Merlin and Arthur.”

  Something sparked up in Merlin’s eyes. “How so?”

  Steve took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “I think... I think they’re all wrong. I think Merlin-- uh, wizard-Merlin was Arthur’s advisor, sure, but... they must have been friends, too. I mean, Merlin would need to actually like Arthur to stick around a bunch of meathead knights, shitty love triangles, and deadly quests. More than just believing in the king, they’d need to be friends.” Steve’s eyes were locked onto his Merlin’s now, trying his best to convey this random, useless, core principle of his identity. “So, yeah. I think they probably got on.”

  Things went quiet and Steve couldn’t quite identify the emotion in Merlin’s eyes, but he thought he’d maybe earned some weird sort of respect for it.

  He didn’t really mean friends, was the thing. But there was no better word for what he was trying to express. Not in his vocabulary, anyway. Merlin still seemed to understand, though.

  Steve cleared his throat, desperate to regain some normality. “Well, uh, what’s yours, then?”

  Merlin visibly brightened, childlike excitement dancing across his features. “Well, the one where Arthur’s turned into a donkey, obviously!”

  “What? That’s not a real legend! I’ve never read that one before!”

  “Oh? And you know everything?”

  “Well, no--”

  “Then shut up and let me tell it!” Merlin demanded, grinning from ear to ear.

  Steve didn’t have it in his heart to refuse.

  “Alright, so, this was when Arthur was still a prince, mind you. One dark, stormy night, a goblin was set loose in Camelot--”

  “Who set it loose?”

  “Er, uh. Doesn’t matter! So, a goblin’s loose, playing pranks, and the poor, weary physician’s assistant begins to notice something odd about his mentor…”

  All in all, it was the best study session Steve’s ever had.

  Which isn’t saying all too much, but it’s the thought that counts.

Chapter Text

  After that, school is the weirdest it’s ever been, primarily due to how not weird it all feels.

  It’s truly odd. One week, he’s the “fallen king” of Hawkins High, keeping his head down in the hallways, eating lunch out in his car to avoid his freaking teammates (God, he really should just quit basketball, shouldn’t he? But he was their least psychotic veteran player this year so that’d just be a dick move but still, it’s not like most of the team actually respected him anymore, and-- whatever!) Anyway, the hallway thing, the lunch thing, and add to all that his sudden need to actually focus on classwork if he wanted to graduate in time because concussions made everything that much harder, even when all the pain had faded, and--

  Steve was having a rough go of it, is all.

  So, one week, business as usual. The next? The next week, it was hard to find him alone. 

  New kid rolls into town and is friends with the (in)famous Steve Harrington before First Period is over, and then they’re attached at the hip, acting like they’d been friends for years.

The Hawkins High Rumor Mill was going crazy:

• They were long-lost childhood friends! (“But the new guy’s British?” “Maybe Steve is too, just secretly!!”)

• Steve was paying the new kid to hang out with him. (“I mean, if even Wheeler ditched him after a year together…”)

• They were hooking up. (“Did you see the way they were hanging off each other?” “Hey! Maybe that’s why Wheeler dumped him!”) 

• Merlin was a Russian spy sent to watch Harrington, who was set to inherit an important company. (“No! Totally! My sister’s boyfriend's cousin said his teacher said the new kid had a weird accent!” “Because he’s from England, dumbass!”)

• And Steve’s favorite: They were star-crossed lovers reincarnated. (Jesus, where the hell did these people get these ideas? Steve never knew his peers were this creative!)

  And despite all of that… 

  Steve was finally having fun again.

  Marching back into the cafeteria had been a risky decision. Sitting on the far end of the Freak’s table and praying they wouldn’t be on the receiving end of an overdramatic monologue was probably a dumb move, but it all paid off.

  Tommy hadn’t tried to intimidate Merlin again, nor had any other jocks.

  Steve wasn’t so dumb as to think it would last forever, but he’d stood his ground and let everyone know he wasn’t backing down on this one. 

  His lost popularity? Go for it. His break-up with Nance? Fair game so long as it stayed on his end only. His unloving parents? Tommy Hagan could go screw himself, but sure, whatever.

  Merlin? Not in a thousand years would he relent on this one. Not in a million -- not ever.

  So, yeah. They weren’t being bothered for now, and Steve was actually enjoying school. Not the classes, mind you, but the company.

  It was sort of jarring to realize what he’d been craving so badly for so long was something so simple as friendship.

  With Tommy H. and Carol, they’d been friends by some definition, and they’d definitely been close at one point, but since they’d started high school things had just been so… shallow. Any support or displays of genuine affection fell away, leaving only a desperate climb into popularity and a descent in all their moralities. 

  Even with Nancy, Steve was beginning to reflect, they hadn't really been friends. She never liked talking to him about much, and he always just assumed he was too dumb for her interests. She didn’t open up, so he met her at her level, trying to be the perfect boyfriend. Which he had apparently failed at quite spectacularly, but Steve had known from the moment he saw Nancy arrive back in town with Jonathan that it wasn’t worth it to try and argue otherwise. Jonathan was Nancy’s friend, and she deserved someone who was both friend and boyfriend. 

  The thing was, she’d always had other friends when they dated. None like Barb, none who knew the truth, but people who shared her interests. Steve… didn’t. The basketball team had still been decent to him before Billy showed up -- most still were, truthfully, just didn’t want to get in between Billy and his prey, which Steve didn’t really blame them for -- but he hadn't had anyone who would just… sit and listen to him. 

  Merlin changed that.

  Not to accuse Merlin of ever agreeing with him, though, because when Steve says Merlin “sits and listens” to him, he means they wind up bickering over the topic at length. Or, if Steve has more to say than Merlin does -- rare, but it's happened -- Merlin still seems amused by his little rants and comments, playing along and letting Steve talk himself into a corner before ripping it all apart with a solitary quip.

  It was verbal warfare and Steve loved it.

  Part of all this, though, meant Merlin wasn’t likely to follow Steve’s advice, as he found on Thursday’s basketball practice.

  Steve had been having a good day.

  Their English teacher had graded their project first (thank you, alphabetical order, for favoring “Ambrose”) and told them about it the day before.

  It was the first A Steve had gotten since Freshman Year. And he knew it was mostly Merlin’s contribution that earned the grade, but he couldn’t help but feel elevated by it anyway. Because Merlin hadn’t made him feel dumb for how little he knew, or how much he struggled to understand. By the time they’d finished their work up on Sunday, Steve was actually looking forward to reading more of Hamlet, if only to hear Merlin rant about the subtext between Hamlet and Horatio.

  (As a side note, Steve had never heard someone talk about something gay so casually before. Steve had only ever heard of it as a negative and had never really thought too much about it. But, well, if Merlin was so okay with it… why shouldn’t Steve be? Hamlet and Horatio for the win.)

  Anyway. Not, uh… That’s not the point.

  The point is, he was in a good mood during practice the next day. On top of the world, really. With his teammates holding back, Billy only his standard level of deeply terrifying, and the warmth of making a friend settled into Steve’s chest, he didn’t even really mind when Billy body-checked him during a practice bout.

  Steve only barely managed to not faceplant. Plant your feet, indeed.

  Which is why, when Tommy blocked him from passing the ball to a teammate, when he leaned in close and whispered, “Not very smart to bring your little shadow here, Stevie,” the shock of it netted him a stolen basketball and an overall point loss.

  That didn’t matter, though. 

  No, what mattered was that Merlin was up high, sitting cross-legged on top of the folded-up bleachers, watching the practice game with a bored, confused, and concerned expression. (By all means, Steve shouldn’t be able to identify all that from far away after not even two weeks of knowing the guy, but he could, and he wasn’t sorry about it.)

  What mattered was that this was, quite possibly, the worst place for Merlin to be right now.

  Merlin, the idiot, clocked Steve’s returned attention and adopted a huge, cheeky grin, like there was nothing wrong with any of this. He waved at Steve, all choppy and excited.

  Steve would sorta rather be fighting the demodogs again -- not Billy, though, there was a line and Billy was the definition of it. 

  First off, he had to fight back the realization that he was sorta happy about all this. Nancy would come to the big games, sure, but always with the school paper. Even when she was waiting for him to drive her home, she never wanted to come watch the practice. Having a friend show interest was way too pleasing.

  Secondly, he had to fight back the howling, frothing horror welling up within him. He’d been pretty careful recently, letting Billy do his thing and not stepping on any toes. That’s all Billy really cared about, after all, just the sense of dominance and importance. He was still clearly miffed with Steve’s continued existence, but the opportunity hadn’t risen to shove Steve back down -- because he was staying down, at least where it mattered. 

  Sitting at the most reviled table in the cafeteria was one thing. Showing off his new bestie on Billy’s own “turf”, as it had sorta become, was a whole other magnitude of bold. And Steve wasn’t exactly a weak guy, even if he had a horrible track record with fist-fights. Merlin had one, maybe two muscles in his entire body, max. Outside of that, he was skin and bone. He’d snap at a light shove, Steve was sure of it.

  Steve quickly looked away. Pretended he didn’t care.

  Pretended, like he always fucking did. 

  It didn’t matter.

  Billy still noticed.

  There weren’t too many taunts worth noting from this particular session of basketball practice. Steve liked to tune them out, to pretend he’d heard them all before. Like each and every one of them didn’t sound like a plate crashing over his head.

  Billy mentioned a few of the rumors, Steve did note. Mostly the “Steve’s paying Merlin” one, rubbing in how the school really thought he was that fucking lame. He also loved the rumor they were hooking up, throwing around words Steve felt sick to remember had once come out of his own mouth.

  Other than that, it was Billy’s standard, “Wow, you suck at basketball, you over Wheeler yet?” taunts, which Steve was genuinely used to.

  Still, Hargrove using Merlin against Steve was not ideal.

  After practice, Steve raced to change into his clothes and snatched Merlin from his stupid sentry position, ushering the other teen along to Steve’s car before any of the other players could exit the building.

  Merlin screwed up his nose at Steve, seemingly content to ignore the manhandling for now. “You stink.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Steve shot back, irritation spiking. “What part of avoid Hargrove didn’t get through your skull?”

  “Oh?” Merlin asked, tutting. “Was he there?”

  Steve just glared. “I know I told you he was on the team. I said it yesterday. Is that why you’re here? You wanna catch a glance that bad?”

  Merlin rolled his eyes, the fucking audacity. “He’s just a teenager, Steve, I can handle him.”

   Well, I can't, Steve thought, quite honest with himself, but couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead, he scoffed. “No. You can't, Merlin. I’m serious, he’s bad news and he’ll snap you like a twig.”

  “You told Tommy H. he wouldn’t cross that line again,” Merlin pointed out, finally wrestling out of Steve’s grip, though only once they’d reached Steve’s car. 

  Yeah, that had been a dumb bluff. It was Steve’s every last hope and prayer that Billy wouldn’t try to actually murder him again. And things were looking up, after all, Billy hadn’t actually mentioned their fight to anyone, even Steve. The school had just put two and two together based on their mutual bruising; how Steve was worse off.

  Truth was, neither of them had won that fight. And Billy hasn’t come for a rematch yet.

  Still. This was more important than Steve.

  “Hargrove is the line,” Steve grumbled, sliding into the driver’s seat. “And just for-- this, you get to sit in the trunk!”

  Merlin paused, frozen in his motion for the passenger door. “What, now?”

  “Yes, now!” Steve snapped. “It’s Dustin’s turn anyway.”

  “But we haven’t even picked him up yet!” Merlin whined.

  “Consider it the idiot tax!”

  “Steeeeve!!”

  But the day didn’t end there. Nooo, the universe just had to keep on kicking Steve while he was down.

  Let’s set the scene.

  It’s an hour and a half after school’s been let out. Steve counts himself lucky, because the kids have their nerdy little radio club on Thursdays, so he can swing by after practice to get them all. Steve, still a bit red-faced from practice and his irritation, swings up to the middle school with minutes to spare before the little twerps all come running out screaming at him.

  Steve exits his car. He walks around to the back and opens up the trunk. Merlin comes spilling out, already whining about how cramped he is back there, how he’s too tall, blah blah blah.

  So Steve is about to say something cutting, still mostly out of deep concern about what Hargrove might wind up doing. He reels himself in, he workshops a smarmy joke; he pushes the sweaty hair out of his face and rolls his eyes and they land on--

  Nancy Wheeler. In the flesh. Frowning at him.

  His words die in his throat.

  Merlin, for all his terrible decision-making skills, is still decently good at reading the room and catches onto Steve's mood shift instantly, complaints dying out. 

  “Steve?”

  It’s not Merlin speaking.

  Nancy’s approached him, now, Jonathan reluctantly trailing behind her, because of course he’s here too. Steve was expecting another round of avoiding eye contact with him today. Will typically doesn’t hang out with his friends after dark these days, so AV Club counts as his daily quota before going home. 

  It’s just-- The kids usually have the whole story ahead of time, so they’ll fill him in once they pile into the car. He never really has to talk to Jonathan, and he handles the kids most days so Jonathan can go be with Nancy or work or whatever other Jonathan-things Jonathan does.

  He and Jonathan have been pretty content to ignore each other’s existence, is the gist of it.

  Nancy Wheeler has never been content to ignore anything and Steve hates that he still admires that about her while it actively ruins his day.

  “Nance,” he croaks out, suddenly hyper-aware of his still-warm skin and messy hair, wincing at the instinctual nickname. “I mean, uh, Nancy, hey. What are you doing here?”

  She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Picking up Mike and Will?”

  (Jonathan looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.)

  Steve looks away from her because he doesn’t know what else to do. He looks at Merlin, who has a funny glint in his eyes, and Steve wants to tell him to shut up, but he just let the dude out of his empty car’s trunk, so he didn’t want to come off any worse than he already was.

  He looks back at Nancy.

  “Oh, well, yeah, right, obviously,” Steve agrees, hair flopping as he nods. “It’s just, you don’t normally…”

  Nancy just looks confused. “How do you know that?”

  And now Steve’s confused. Or, well, less confused and more aggrieved because Dammit, Mike, really?? 

  “Oh, the kids kinda hired me as their unpaid taxi driver after--” he casts another glance at Merlin, “-- uh, you know, everything.”

  Nancy looks surprised -- again, dammit Mike, how do you not tell your sister who’s driving you all over town -- but before she has the chance to reply, Steve reaches over to Merlin and shoves him forward. “Anyway! Have you guys met Merlin? He just moved here a few weeks ago!”

  He’s not fooling anyone with the deflection, but it’s not like they can just ignore manners.

  Nancy perks up. “Oh! I’ve heard about you! Ambrose, right? I’m Nancy Wheeler.”

  Jonathan nods in acknowledgment.

  Merlin smiles. “Yeah, that’s me. You’re Mike’s sister, then?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re more polite than he is,” Merlin jokes, leaning in like it’s clandestine, and it gets a laugh out of Nancy, so Steve thinks, maybe, he can start to relax.

  “Well, I hope you’re enjoying Hawkins so far!” Nancy smiles like an advertisement, and Steve and Jonathan make rare eye contact to share the sentiment of Who would?

  “It’s been interesting,” Merlin agrees. “Very different to what I’m used to, but change has always been a constant for me.”

  God, why was Steve’s only friend his age so freaking cryptic? What did that even mean?

  “So…” Nancy drawls out, and Steve knows by the look in her eyes that her curiosity is getting the best of her, “how exactly do you know Steve?”

  Those goddamn rumors.

  Merlin, in great contrast to Steve, has either not heard the rumors or could simply not care less. “Oh, we have a lot of classes together,” he says like it means anything to a reporter. “Steve’s been a big help adjusting to American schools, honestly.”

  And Steve looks down to the ground before he can catch the couple’s expressions because he knows “a big help” and “Steve” won’t mesh well with them.

  “Are you trying out for any sports?” Nancy asks, like that’s the only reason Steve and Merlin would be seen together.

  Merlin laughs at that one. “No way! Just watched Steve’s basketball practice and that team looks brutal. I like my teeth where they are, thank you.”

  Steve feels, without seeing, Nancy’s concerned pinch in her brow; that pouty lip. She’s thinking of Hargrove, Steve knows, and she’ll ask if everything’s been alright in 3… 2… 1…

  “I am thinking about Chess Club, though,” Merlin continued, cutting the growing tension, and Steve could kiss him for it. (Not like Hamlet and Horatio, though, just like, platonic dude-kissing between bros. PDKBB. Yeah. That sounds about right.)

  It’s very clearly a purposeful distraction, so Steve latches onto it. “Wha- Chess, really, Merlin? We’ve been over this! It’s nowhere near accurate to real combat!”

  “And we’ve established that you’ve never won a game,” Merlin fires back.

  “Because I’ve never played!”

  “Then you should join too! Maybe you’d learn something down with us pawns, your Highness.”

  Hm. It still felt mocking when Merlin said it, but more, like, playful, and less acidic. Plus, “your highness” was a new one, usually, people just said “King”.

  Wait, when did Merlin even hear “King Steve”? Shit.

  But that didn’t matter, ‘cause Merlin looked just as thrown off as Steve felt by the nickname.

  Before the conversation could be resurrected, though, the doors slammed open. 

  “Steve” Dustin was yelling before he’d even made it down the steps. “You will not believe what Max said today!” The rest of the kids rushed out after him, all in various stages of bickering. Once Dustin had made it in speaking distance, he continued, “She was all, like, Oh, AV Club is for nerds, so we pointed out that makes her a nerd too, 'cause she’s part of the club! And she said she wasn’t -- oh, hi Merlin, you’re in the back today -- She said she wasn’t! But she is ‘cause she’s part of the Party! Tell her!”

  Max looked absolutely done with the world. “How many times I have to tell you, being your friend doesn't make me--”

  “But you have a walkie-talkie!” Will argued. “You were voted in! That makes you part of the Party!”

  “If we’re getting technical,” Mike rolled his eyes. “She wasn’t voted in. Dustin and Lucas broke Party Law and indoctrinated her without a proper vote.”

  Max stormed past them all and hopped in the front passenger seat.

  Dustin rushed after her, screaming that it was his turn.

  Stever turned to Lucas, who also looked exhausted. “But I have a walkie-talkie?”

  Lucas just shrugged. “Yup.”

  Steve mulled that over for a moment before nodding. “Huh.” Lucas ran off to jump in the backseat and Steve turned to Mike and Will. “You two all good?”

  Mike rolled his eyes, again. Jesus, this kid needs more ways to express his irritation. Like, per se, preemptively shoving his friends in the trunk of his car. “Yes, mom, God.”

  Will smiled up at Steve. “Mr. Clarke showed us this cool new trick with radio waves today. He said--”

  “Alright,” Jonathan cut in. “Much as I’m sure Steve would love to hear it,” and it was rude that Jonathan sounded so doubtful because Steve would love to hear it, “we gotta get going, buddy.”

  “Yeah, Mike,” Nancy agreed, a confused twist to her face while she guided Mike by the shoulder. “Time to go home.”

  With some meager goodbyes, Steve was set free. For now.

  He waved goodbye at Mike and Will before turning back to Merlin. “Alright. Trunk with you.”

  “What?” Merlin squealed, looking utterly betrayed. “But there’s an open seat in the back!”

  “This isn’t about open seats--”

  “Steve!” Dustin screamed over. “Max won't get out of the front seat!”

  Somehow, Max got the car started and decided to blast the music. 

  ABBA’s Dancing Queen blared at top volume. The kids screamed even louder to heard over it.

  As Steve approached the driver’s seat, he imagined this was what a soldier in the trenches felt as they walked into No Man’s Land. 

  Now, Merlin will admit that his actions may have been a bit hasty.

  In his defense! He’d been waiting for more information about Billy Hargrove for a whole week. He’d been calm, he’d been patient, and he’d been perfectly friendly, simply letting Steve talk about it on his own. Eventually, on Wednesday, an exact week after Tommy H. had gotten in Merlin’s face about befriending Steve, Steve had finally mentioned that Hargrove had been particularly nasty to play against recently.

  It was an invitation if Merlin had ever heard one. Not from Steve, no. But by some greater force, such as Merlin’s own innate curiosity? Absolutely.

  So he’d snuck in mid-way through, found adequate seating, and settled in.

  For a while, he was decently disappointed. 

  This? This is why he didn’t befriend jocks. Woo, a bunch of guys were passing a ball around! That one stole the ball! They threw it through a hoop! Yipee.

  He had to admit Steve was good, though.

  Not that Merlin knew how basketball worked, but Steve seemed to be in his element here, seamlessly coordinating his team to counter the enemy’s advances. He defended where necessary, struck fast at openings, and never sought personal glory.

  Granted, it was a practice game so there wasn’t much glory to seek, but other guys were definitely just trying to show off, so Merlin thought it was a fair assessment.

  Not for the first time, Merlin wondered if Steve would actually be great at chess once he got over his weird “sacrifice the King first” idea.

  Then Tommy H. -- ugh -- had whispered something to Steve and it all came apart.

  Steve saw him and Merlin tried to just, well, pretend he wasn’t here to spot the guy who beat the hell out of his friend at some undetermined point in the past. It didn’t work.

  What did work, though, was his plan. 

  One player, once Steve noticed Merlin, played much more aggressively against Steve, clearly chatting him up at low volumes as they clashed. He wasn’t taller than Steve, nor was he particularly stronger looking, but something about him rang Merlin’s alarm bells.

  Some wild fury lurked in those veins, Merlin was sure of it.

  So it paid off, even if he managed to royally annoy Steve, and meeting Nancy Wheeler was even more elucidating.

  And, well, Merlin was eager to piece it all together.

  Too eager.

  So he waited all of a day before pushing farther.

  It was lunchtime and Steve had clearly calmed down. He’d been back to normal since they’d picked up the kids yesterday, too busy monitoring their fights to worry about Merlin’s little adventure. So they were sitting at their end of the table and Steve was talking about the call he’d gotten from Dustin this morning begging him to host their DnD game this weekend.

  It was sorta cute, honestly, watching Steve pretend he wasn’t going to agree.

  “--and that shithead says, Oh, but Steve, it’s not like you have any other plans,” Steve parroted, voice rising to a poor impersonation of Dustin’s inflection. “As if! I could totally have plans! Tina’s throwing a party this Saturday! I could totally be going to that!”

  “But you aren’t,” Merlin surmised, sipping his boxed milk 

  “Well, no!” Steve huffed. “But she invited me, so I should be going.”

  “But you aren’t,” Merlin repeated,  “so stop pretending you aren’t going to have five screaming children at your house this Saturday.”

  Steve froze. “Five? Ah, yeah, right. Five. Anyway, I know, I know, but he’s just-- It’s rude, is all.”

  “Could be worse.”

  “How?” Steve asked, sipping his own milk.

  “He could be Mike?”

  Milk shot out of Steve's nose.

  “God! No!” Steve cried, more concerned with the topic than the napkins he rushed to clean up his face with. “Don’t even say that! Henderson’s rude but at least he admits I’m his friend!”

  Merlin, who’d been laughing from the first drop of milk onward, nodded. “Sure.”

  “I'm serious!” Steve growled, wiping at the table. “Henderson’s, like, my best friend these days. Wheeler hisses at me if I smile at him.”

  “Speaking of Wheelers--” Merlin was cut off by a milk-soaked napkin to his face. “Ew! Steve!”

  “No!” Steve pointed a firm finger at Merlin, stern and frowny. “We’re not doing this.”

  “I just wanna ask--”

  “No!”

  “What’s the deal between you and Nancy?” Merlin asked.

  Steve hid his face in his hands and groaned. “Merlin.”

  “I just wanna know… I mean, that was pretty awkward, Steve.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But… I totally saved you from her snooping, yeah?” Merlin plied. “So, I kinda wanna know what I saved you from.”

  “Jesus Christ, fine!” Steve snapped, jolting back upright to glare at Merlin. “I’m just saying it once, though, so listen up:”

  Merlin leaned in across the table.

  “Nancy and I used to date,” Steve said, eyes locked on the milk-napkin. “We dated for almost a year and then we had a fight and she got together with Jonathan. But she’s still-- she’s still Nancy, and she cares about everything, so she was worried about me and about you, because you’re with me and about the kids and-- I just-- she’d never come with Jonathan to get the kids before, so she didn’t know I’d be there, and I didn’t know she’d be there. That’s it.”

  Merlin, slowly, pushed the milk-napkin away and drew Steve’s gaze up to meet his own. “But you’re picking up her brother. Why wouldn’t she know you were still doing it?”

  “Still?” There was nothing but confusion in Steve’s eyes.

  “You know,” Merlin explained his reasoning. “You started it when you were still dating, right?” It was what made the most sense to Merlin. “So, clearly she noticed you hadn’t stopped?”

  “Oh,” the confusion cleared up. “No, uh, I didn’t start hanging out with the kids until we broke up. Like, well, depending on how you count it, the same day. Or a few days later.”

  Brushing that little tidbit aside, Merlin just had to know… “You don’t know when you broke up?”

  Steve just shrugged. “If you count the fight? Sure, Halloween. Or the day after when she was sober enough to talk about it. If you count her getting with Jonathan? Unclear, but it was definitely really soon after that. I tend to count when I admitted we didn’t work together after she showed up with Jonathan, but she clearly doesn’t, so it’s whatever. Now, can we drop it?”

  Okay, so… Steve Harrington was weirdly blase about the possibility he was cheated on. Then he befriended the kid brother of his ex-girlfriend, possibly on the same day.

  What a guy. Still, Merlin was done yet. An idea was forming.

  “Sure, I’ll drop Nancy,” Merlin agreed, leaning back. “I mean, it’s not like that was the same night you fought Hargrove, right?”

  Steve froze.

  Because, see, Merlin had been around a while, and even in his first go of things, he’d learned very quickly to read between the lines.

  He’d already suspected Nancy was involved in the fight with Hargrove or at least saw the aftermath. She was going to ask Steve if Hargrove was bothering him during practice -- that’s the question Merlin interrupted. But that wasn’t enough info. And Steve had said, to Nancy, that the kids befriended him not after they broke up, but after a vague everything. Alone, it wasn’t much, but Steve had just confirmed it all.

  There were still too many facts Merlin didn’t have, but he knew one thing: The kids saw the fight. Not much else explains Mike hopping in his sister’s ex-boyfriend's car if they didn’t hang out when Steve and Nancy were dating, or why Steve was close with the other kids too. 

  And Steve froze because he could tell Merlin already knew.

  Merlin sighed. “I don’t know why you don’t want to talk about it. You already told me you lost so you can’t be embarrassed! And if you think telling me will get me into trouble with Hargrove, then you’re just wrong. Knowledge is power, Steve! Telling me can only--”

  Steve stood up. Merlin hadn’t noticed, but the other boy’s face had grown taut during Merlin’s little speech. His hands were shaking, but Merlin didn’t think he was mad.

  “See you in PE,” Steve said, and then he turned right around and speed-walked straight out of the cafeteria.

  Merlin was stunned, mostly with himself. Whatever happened to knowing when to stop?

  He felt eyes on him, no doubt wondering how he’d just chased Steve Harrington away from his only half-empty lunch. If high school rumor mills were anywhere near as intense as the one back in Camelot, everyone in the school would know about this before the day ended.

  Great.

  Guilt weighing him down, he stood up, collected everything Steve had forgotten -- not just his lunch, but his backpack too -- and went off in search of his friend.

  Ten minutes later, Merlin was feeling more than guilty.

  Steve wasn’t out by his car, he wasn’t hiding in the restrooms, and he wasn’t anywhere on campus from what Merlin could tell. Merlin’s pestering must have really shaken him.

  It was with a heavy heart that Merlin decided the last 10 minutes of his lunch break were best spent waiting for Steve to show up for PE. Maybe then, at least, he could apologize.

  So, when Merlin slipped into the locker rooms and dropped his stuff by his locker, he just sank down onto a bench and waited…

  For all of 10 seconds.

  Then the locker room door slammed open again, this time accompanied by a loud, crooning, “Harringtooon..!”

  Merlin dropped to the ground.

  “Jesus Christ, really?” That was Steve’s voice! Steve was here?

  Wait. Steve had actually gone to the one place he specified he’d be? 

  Merlin really was an idiot. But who said that sort of thing and meant it?

  “Thought you might be here, Harrington,” the other voice rang, drawing closer to where Steve had spoken from. “Your little show during lunch was really something. And here I thought you were playing tough about your new little friend.”

  “Dammit, Hargrove, what do you want?” 

  Oh. This was Billy Hargrove, then.

  Now, it would occur to Merlin later on that he probably should’ve intervened right then, when he discovered what they were dealing with. Unfortunately, years of stealth, secret-keeping, and spying had bred certain instincts into him, and he failed to note the obvious at the time.

  So, instead of interfering, he crept closer, staying silent with a little help from his magic.

  Neither noticed him as he peeked around the corner.

  Steve was slumped on a bench much as Merlin had just been. He wasn’t crying, thank the gods, but he wasn’t looking all that great, either. He looked… tired, maybe, was the best word for it. Merlin recognized the weariness like his own skin.

  Billy Hargrove was indeed the boy from basketball practice. He was dressed casually, now, and Merlin quickly surmised that the guy was trying way too hard to attract girls, but that wasn’t really relevant.

  What was relevant was the way he’d slapped his hand against the lockers and loomed over Steve.

  What was relevant was the way Steve wasn’t even looking up at Hargrove.

  “Just wanna chat, Harrington, chill,” Hargrove assured, but his posture didn’t loosen up, and his tone was anything but friendly. “Got a few questions.”

  “Are you really this mad about me having friends?” Steve provoked.

  Hargrove rolled his eyes. “A bit, to be honest. I was getting kinda used to you being out of the rumor mill. Now, all anyone’s talking about is you and the new kid.”

  “It’s a small town, Hargrove,” Steve replied easily, finally looking up. “Nobody holds this school’s attention forever.”

  “You did,” Hargrove shot back with a sneer, leaning down at Steve. “I roll in, you’re all anybody can talk about. Even after you’d given up the fame, you were still King Steve to them. It didn't take much to steal your throne, but it's getting annoying, hearing about you all day like you’re still top dog.”

  Steve snorted. “Then you shouldn’t have picked Tommy.”

  Hargrove slammed his fist against the lockers.

  Merlin flinched. Steve didn’t.

  “Oh. Tommy’s his own brand of annoying--” privately, Merlin was heartbroken to agree with Billy Hargrove on something, “--but you? Harrington, you’re more than annoying. You’re dangerous.”

  Merlin almost laughed, just barely managing not to give away his position. 

  Steve Harrington? Dangerous? Please.

  As much cunning as Steve had shown, as weary as he was, as much as Merlin saw a warrior hidden behind those eyes, he could hardly see Steve as dangerous.

  Steve was soft. He was warm and goofy and a bit slow sometimes, but he’d read every Arthurian legend he could find and laughed at all the right moments when Merlin told stories. A bunch of middle-schoolers ordered him around like they had every right in the world and Steve let them, though not without making sure they were well-fed and their fights had all been resolved.

  Steve was soft.

  But Steve wasn’t laughing and Hargrove wasn’t joking.

  Steve finally stood up, leveled face-to-face with Hargrove. “Oh? Are we talking about this?”

  “What, Harrington?” Hargrove leaned in. “Scared now that no twerps are here to protect you?”

  Merlin freaking knew it, damn he hated being right sometimes.

  “I’m not the one calling me dangerous,” Steve pointed out, posture unruffled by Hargrove’s taunts. “I’m just tired of your bullshit, Hargrove. So either get to the point or leave -- class is starting soon.”

  Hargrove scoffed but finally got out of Steve's face, leaning back against the lockers and pulling out a cigarette. He lit it, took a drag, then titled his head back at Steve. “I don’t know what weird shit you’re into, Harrington, but I’ve been a real good boy and kept my mouth shut about that night, so the least you could do is stay down.”

  Hm. Maybe Merlin didn’t know everything after all. He also hated when that happened.

  “Or what, Hargrove? You’ll spill?” Steve prodded.

  “Nah, don’t want the Chief on my ass,” Hargrove replied, breezy and uncaring. “Don’t know how you got him in your pocket, Stevie, but all that money must be good for something, right? No,” Hargrove leaned back in towards Steve, “no, I won’t spill. Don’t know enough anyway and I doubt I could tank your reputation any more than you did on your own. But I know better than anyone how quickly you can start a reputation, and new kids are ripe for the picking.”

  With a sudden jolt, Merlin realized Hargrove was cornering Steve because of him.

  A lot of things about Steve’s behavior made a lot more sense if Steve was expecting this. He was still an idiot for thinking ignorance was the same thing as safety, though.

  Merlin had given up on stealth, by then, and was about to charge in and yell at them for arguing on his behalf, like he couldn't make his own decisions, but then… something changed.

  Steve’s eyes hardened and Merlin swore the air felt cooler. His shoulders were set firm, ready to take a blow, and he smirked. It was an odd expression, one he’d never seen on Steve before but that still rang strangely familiar to Merlin.

  “Is that so?” Steve asked, voice low. 

  Hargrove reared up, clearly excited to get a real reaction. “Oh? Think you’re getting a little cocky there, Harrington.”

  Steve kept staring at Hargrove, unbothered. “I think I haven’t been cocky enough, actually. See, Hargrove, here’s the thing: My popularity? My reputation? Who cares.” Steve reached over and plucked the cigarette out of Hargrove’s hand, taking a drag for himself before dropping it and stomping down. “But I can’t do jack shit about the rumor mill, you made sure of that. So I think it’s time you stop projecting your fear of authority and power envy onto me and put on your big-boy boots. You made this mess when you smashed a plate over my head, so you gotta lay in the glass. Best wishes, though, really. Sidenote: How would your daddy feel if I pressed charges over that? After all, I do have the Chief in my pocket, right?”

  Hargrove punched the lockers again.

  The metal dented.

  Steve grinned.

  And now? Now, Merlin kinda got it. He still had no clue what was happening, but he knew he agreed with Billy about one more thing, now: Steve could be dangerous. 

  Here the guy was, fist inches from his face, grinning like a madman, casually threatening police interference, and clearly ready for a fight. All just a few minutes after he’d been slouched down, probably hyperventilating because a friend was a bit too pushy.

  That wasn’t normal.

  But who was Merlin to judge?

  “Listen, Harrington--” and there was the line, Merlin decided, when Hargrove reached out and grabbed Steve by his hair.

  “Hey!” Merlin yelled, voice deep and forceful. “That’s enough!”

  Everything dangerous about Steve shattered in an instant. “Merlin!?”

  Hargrove didn’t move an inch.

  “Normally, I’d introduce myself more politely, but a little birdy told me a teacher’s been warned of a fight,” Merlin bluffed, walking right up and ripping the guy’s hand off of Steve. “So it’s in your best interest that you're not found somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

  Hargrove smiled, backing up. “Got yourself a feisty one here, Harrington.”

  “My name is Merlin and I’m right here,” Merlin corrected. “Now get lost.”

  Hargrove finally met Merlin’s stare, smirking all the while. “Oh, sure. Don’t want anyone thinking Harrington and I were fighting, of course.”

  There was some other meaning in those words, Merlin assumed, but he genuinely didn’t care right now. He just glared until Hargrove left, laughing like a maniac.

  Once they were alone, he looked at Steve.

  Steve was just staring at him. 

  “Well, he’s a piece of work,” Merlin tried to break the ice.

  “What is wrong with you?” Steve asked, blinking like he was trying to wake up.

  “Wrong with me?” Merlin parrotted. “I’m not the one getting into locker room fights!”

  “You shouldn’t have interrupted, Merlin!” Steve shouted, waving his arms wildly. “If you weren’t on his shit-list before, you definitely are now!”

  “Um, I definitely was before, if I heard all that right,” Merlin argued to no effect.

  Steve was almost red in the face now, and Merlin couldn’t help but be comforted at how less intense he was now from when he was geared up against Hargrove. This was a different anger, one that would pass. “You know, for someone who knows so much, you can be such an idiot sometimes!”

  Merlin’s mouth was moving before he could think. “Well, if you weren’t such a prat, I wouldn’t have had to come save you!”

  “ Save me?! You didn’t save me, I know you got the teacher idea from me--”

  “What? How could I have--”

  “You were listening! You heard me say he was afraid of authority!”

  “Hyping yourself up quite a bit for someone who just got saved by a chess nerd.”

  “You’re not even in the club!” But Merlin was laughing now, so Steve just scowled harder. “Shut up! How much did you hear, anyway?”

  “Enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  “Enough to know Hargrove has Steve-Harrington-shaped issues and you’ll need help staying clear of him?” Merlin suggested.

  “I don’t need--”

  The bell rang.

  Startled by how mindlessly they’d been bickering, Merlin tore his eyes away from Steve’s, smiling as Steve shook himself out of the rage and laughed it off. Chuckling along, Merlin headed back to his locker to get changed for gym class.

  It was only later, running laps next to Steve and arguing over the ethics of making students run nonstop for 20 minutes -- Steve was obviously in the “For” column -- that Merlin realized what he’d done.

  It had been… a long time since he’d called anyone a prat. It wasn’t really as sacred as his other nicknames for Arthur, but the idea of assigning it to someone else still felt… wrong, somehow.

  Mostly, what shocked him was how normal it had felt to use it for Steve. 

  Maybe it was a sign that Arthur would approve; understand the need for it here.

  Or maybe Arthur would just be happy it wasn’t him getting insulted for once.

Chapter Text

  Hawkins, Indiana was, historically speaking, a very safe place to raise your children.

  The community was small but distant. Everyone knew everyone, but very few people pretended that was a reason to care. It was a large enough town that class meant something to its residents, it was a small enough town that all the children -- rich or poor -- mingled in the same school, and it was an isolated enough town that, once you left, you likely never looked back.

  It was largely full of single-family homes, middle-class families imitating the traditions of their uppers, upper-class families flaunting their wealth in grand displays of immaculate houses and pristine gardens, and lower-class families thoroughly ignored -- at best.

  There had been incidents over the years, sure. Juicy gossip dripping straight off the lips of disenchanted housewives painted a picture of singular dramas: A loud fight here, a harsh divorce there, a no-good husband or drifting wife. Local police scared children “into shape”, then looked the other way. 

  Hawkins was too small to hold true grudges. Not without true conflict following.

  It was your standard American suburbia, one Merlin had grown increasingly used to seeing on TV over the last few decades. And he was quickly growing to hate it.

  His first weekend in Hawkins had been spent working with Steve on their English project, then preparing himself for the rest of the semester to come.

  His second? 

  He journeyed downtown.

  It was the worst decision he’d made this cycle -- which wasn’t saying much, he wasn’t even two years in, but suffice it to say it still ruined his day.

  Spending so much time with Steve and the kids, he hadn’t realized just how much the rest of the town would grate on him. He chatted with every store owner along Main Street and most seemed like decent folk, but they wouldn’t talk about anything real. He stopped by a diner and asked how things in the town were going, and he’d just gotten a sad, wary look. The waitress then proceeded to chatter on about her niece’s no-good boyfriend for 10 minutes.

  On Sunday, Merlin visited the local church, just to see how many people went. He’d met gods and he wasn’t particularly inclined to worship any of them, not that this church would even know their names, but he reckoned it was a vital part of the community’s atmosphere nonetheless.

  He spotted a few familiar faces from school. Mike showed up, looking altogether done with everything, dragged along by a clearly overtaxed woman carrying a toddler that had to be his mother. Nancy led the way, also looking bored, and tailing the group was a slouchy middle-aged man, also looking bored. For the life of him, Merlin couldn't figure out which one of them had decided to attend, given none of them looked enthusiastic.

  He spotted a few players from Steve’s basketball team, mostly boys he didn’t know the name of. Tommy Hagan showed up, smiling as if he had never thought ill of another person in his life, and Merlin pondered how the boy didn’t burst into flames upon crossing the threshold.

  Once the service started, Merlin kept walking -- oh, he already knew what the service would be like. He’d been to many over the centuries, in basically every place of worship imaginable, praying for Arthur to return to him. He’d seen traditions change, architecture evolve, and the devout masses ostracizing anyone who didn’t fit their mold.

  Merlin, as it happened, had never fit anyone’s mold, and he hadn’t wanted to in a very, very long time.

  It was only passing by The Hawkins Post that something caught his eye.

  The Sunday newspaper was continuing an ongoing report of the investigation into the Department of Energy, spurred on by events that had apparently deeply affected the community.

  Merlin read through the entire article.

  Teenagers were dead.

  Or, well, just one, but that was still really bad, and Barbara Holland wasn’t the only casualty.

  The story was insane, Merlin quite honestly thought. Mostly because in the three weeks he’d been in Hawkins, he hadn’t heard a thing about any of it.

  Who the best player on the basketball team was? Talk of the town. Newest movies to find a home in the local video rental store? Absolutely vital to discuss. Steve Harrington’s new foreign friend? All the rage -- quite literally, in Hargrove’s case.

  A dead teenager, several dead adults, and the attempted cover-up of a missing child?

  Best to keep quiet. Wouldn’t want to upset the neighbors.

  So, yes, Hawkins, Indiana was, historically speaking, a safe place to raise your children: an idyllic little blend of off-brand culture, vapid politics, and ineffectual authority figures. A little slice of American heaven.

  Historically, officially, but not truthfully.

  Because the almost-covered-up disappearance was one Will Byers, the small, timid, and kind boy Merlin had gotten the pleasure of meeting thanks to their shared hobby of relying on Steve Harrington for rides. That kid, the one whose friends all simultaneously normally and entirely too overbearingly doted on him, the one who gave Merlin a soft smile when asked about his day, he’d been the one the US government had tried to bury.

  (Literally. The article mentioned a funeral.)

  So, no, Merlin didn’t really like Hawkins. And no, it wasn’t just his preference for big cities talking. He didn’t like the way people didn’t even pretend to care, he didn’t like the way everyone carefully avoided mentioning anything “uncomfortable” -- which included most civil rights movements, progressive policies, and non-normative lifestyles -- other than to insult them, and he didn’t like the way kids like Billy Hargrove sat that the top of the food chain.

  He didn’t like that Steve used to, as well. He didn’t like that there was a Steve he didn’t know, one he couldn’t admonish or absolve, one he couldn’t protect from true threats like Hargrove. Merlin didn’t like that Steve cared more about his friends than himself, that he treated a juvenile threat to Merlin as something worth going to war over; didn’t like that he didn’t know if Steve’s reaction was justified.

  He didn’t like that his peers, from what he could tell, cared more about status and brags than about people, didn’t like that nobody seemed to find Steve very friend-worthy now that he wasn’t top-dog.

  And he didn’t like that he couldn’t blame Steve for not telling Merlin about what had happened to Will, because Steve was good enough to respect Will’s trauma and need for normality. 

  Most of all, he didn’t like the way the gazes of passersby made his skin itch. He’d always been an outsider, even more so as time dragged on, but now he felt wary in a distinctly Camelot-esque way, like a simple slip of the tongue would get him seriously hurt, or worse if he were anyone less immortal. 

  It was not a feeling he’d missed. 

  But he'd lived for so long now, gotten so used to that fear.

  So he couldn’t help but wonder: What made Hawkins so different?

  On Monday, Merlin realized he’d become a bit too dependent on Steve Harrington.

  This was a problem he experienced a shade of every cycle, truly. It was a lesson he always had to relearn when he started over. He’d find a group, or a job, or a hobby, and let it become his whole world for a bit, before he crashed and burned and learned he had to expand his horizons.

  Usually, it took years for him to realize this.

  Usually, it took more than one person to hook him in the first place.

  Really, he hadn’t been so singularly focused since his last few years with Arthur, and he could only be thankful that he noticed the problem so quickly this time around, because maybe he wouldn’t have to crash. Maybe things wouldn’t have to break like they always did.

  He realized this on Monday because Monday was the first day Steve had missed school since Merlin had sat down for his first class.

  It shouldn’t have been weird. 

  Steve had never given the impression of a student with perfect attendance, after all. He was goofy, too quiet or too loud with no in-between, paying attention in class but never seeming all too focused. He came to school and gave it a solid effort but he only really lit up when he greeted his horde of screaming children. And, occasionally, when he joked with Merlin.

  So, no, Merlin shouldn’t have felt so off when Steve’s seat remained stubbornly empty for the entire period. He shouldn’t have tensed up when passing period started, the bell a clear mockery of his confusion, beckoning him to confront the rest of the day alone.

  Merlin wasn’t good at being alone. It was the most annoying part of immortality, honestly, that he couldn’t even run off and become an old hermit without the isolation driving him to the point of tears within mere weeks.

  It was during his next class that he mulled it all over and came to the aforementioned realization that he’d come to depend too heavily on Steve’s presence, that he could do something about it before things got too bad and he ruined everything -- again.

  With all that in mind, he greeted lunch period with a crystal clear goal -- make a new friend.

  But first…

  “Where’s Steve?” He panted out as soon as he’d caught up with Jonathan Byers, who’d been making a beeline for the school’s Darkroom, camera hanging around his neck and a startled expression splashed across his face.

  “Why would I know?” Jonathan asked, which was almost fair. Merlin figured the new boyfriend of Steve’s ex-girlfriend would make it a point to avoid said new girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend at all costs.

  Except: “Are you picking up the kids today? Steve’s not here,” Merlin explained, anxiety still clouding his mind. Because, surely, if everything was okay, Steve would have prepped the kids, would’ve let them know they couldn’t mooch off him today, would’ve--

  “Oh, yeah, Will mentioned Steve called,” Jonathan answered, and something loosened in Merlin's chest, even in spite of Jonathan’s sour countenance. “I’m dropping them all off at Mike’s after school.”

  “Alright,” Merlin breathed out, mystery not solved but panic abated. “Thanks.”

  Jonathan turned away, then paused, giving Merlin the side-eye. “He didn’t call you?”

  There was something more in his voice, something wary and angry, but Merlin couldn’t care less. “Oh, I don’t have his phone number.”

  Jonathan snorted. “You should get it. So you don’t have to chase me down next time he’s skipping.”

  Then Jonathan turned and walked away, slinking quickly into the Darkroom, flipping the red light on the moment the door closed.

   Right… Merlin thought to himself, striking off to achieve his main mission. Phones… I should probably get one of those.

  What’s one more item for the to-do list, after all?

  Now, banter with Steve aside, Merlin didn’t actually have any desire to join the Chess Club at Hawkins High School. It would be funny, he could admit, to destroy a bunch of teenagers in a game he’d been around longer than, but only for a day; two days max.

  Still, he knew very well that clubs were the best way to branch out, so he spent his lunch wandering around the various active clubs, getting a feel for them all.

  Chess was, indeed, boring. He peeked through the door, saw 4 students playing in complete silence, and decided Chess Club was best left to the imagination.

  Merlin walked into the school paper, took one look at Steve’s ex-girlfriend arguing with another student, and promptly walked away. He didn’t really have much of an opinion on Nancy Wheeler, but he figured joining his only friend’s ex-girlfriend's club would be a violation of the friendship code.

  The Model UN wasn’t meeting Monday, nor was Debate or Creative Writing. The mathletes were, but Merlin would rather hop on the court with Steve than do extra math. He wasn’t bad at it, per se, but he didn’t need extra practice, nor did he care all too much.

  Finally, after deciding to check out Art Club on Thursday, Merlin gave up on the search. He should’ve known a small town wouldn’t have much that would instantly catch his attention. Still, he was disappointed. Some extra structure would really aid him in not becoming obsessive with what little he had.

  So he wandered out to the football field and took a seat at the far end of the bleachers, pulling out the notebook he’d started to manage his finances in this cycle and plotting out how much money he’d need to withdraw from his stash to pay for a phone line. (Living consecutive lives since the 500s had its perks, in the end -- the accumulation of wealth and subsequent inflation of the economy had left modern-day-Merlin quite a bit more financially secure than he had been as a servant, though it’s not exactly like he could explain all that to bankers. So, yes, he had a gold cache tucked away, ready to use.)

  About midway through the revelation that he had no clue how much a modern phone line cost, something caught his attention.

  It was quiet and small, a half-choked little whimper, desperate to stay hidden.

  And it was coming from below him.

  Slowly, Merlin looked down. Someone was crying under the bleachers, curled up and trying not to draw attention to themself.

  Well. Too bad.

  Even more cautiously, Merlin stood up; pretended he hadn’t noticed, and walked down to the ground. Then, with a little magical assistance to hide his presence, he journeyed under the bleachers and came upon the source of the noise.

  She was definitely a student, curled up hugging her legs, face hidden behind her knees. Her short brown hair further obscured her from Merlin’s inquisitive gaze, but he knew that wouldn't last long.

  “Hi,” he spoke softly, but it was still enough to startle the young woman, her alarmed flailing decently endearing. “Are you okay?”

  Her wide blue eyes stared up at him, red-rimmed and doleful. “Shit.”

  Merlin smiled and sat down next to her. “Er, well, I was hoping for something more articulate than that, but that’s still pretty apparent.”

  At that, she jolted out of her stupor, rubbing furiously at her eyes. “Shit, sorry, I’ll leave, just-- God--” She started to unfurl herself.

  Merlin winced and rushed to reassure her, “No, no, I didn’t want you to leave! I just wanted to ask if you were okay.

  She sent him a wary look at that but stopped leaving, so he figured it was a win.

  “Um,” well, he hadn’t exactly planned where to go from here. “Er, I’m Merlin.”

  She nodded, averting her gaze and pulling her knees close again. “Right, the new kid. The whole school’s been talking about you, you know.”

  Merlin grimaced at that. “Well aware. Not a fan of that, honestly.”

  She frowned. “Should’ve thought of that before you latched onto Harrington, of all people.”

  “I didn’t latch on --” A complete lie, Merlin absolutely latched onto Steve. “But believe me, I don’t really care about that. Just weird that I’ve been here two weeks and my reputation already precedes me.”

  The girl rolled her eyes and muttered, “Not your reputation.”

  Merlin agreed, privately. But it was only Steve’s reputation that was a hassle -- not Steve himself. Not where it counted.

  “So…” he drawled, thrumming his fingers on the ground. “What’s wrong?”

  She shrank further in on herself. “It’s stupid.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Merlin protested instinctively.

  “You don’t even know what it is,” she snapped, glaring deep and harsh. 

  Merlin shrugged. “Don’t need to. If it’s hurting you, then it’s not stupid.”

  “Why do you even care?” She asked, shoulders sharp and teeth bared like a scared cat. “You don’t even know me, you hang out with Harrington, just-- Just leave me alone, okay? I’m not in the mood.”

  Merlin considered that and nodded. “You’re right. I don’t know you.”

  “Good,” she snarled. “So just--”

  “So, what’s your name?” Merlin continued, smiling through the venom shot at him.

  The girl froze, face gone suddenly blank. “...what?”

  “You’re right, I don’t know you, so I shouldn’t care,” Merlin repeated. “So I’m asking for your name. Then I can care.”

  She blinked owlishly up at him, muscles untensing in her bafflement. “...Robin. I’m… My name’s Robin.”

  Merlin smiled wider then, and hoped it was as sunny as he meant it to be; as genial and unthreatening as he could present himself. “Robin, then! What’s wrong? Promise I won’t laugh, I can assure you, I’ve done much dumber than whatever it is.”

  She stared at him for another long moment before tentatively smiling. “It’s really nothing.”

  “Of course,” Merlin nodded sagely. “Just like the time I spent an entire night shouting at a dog statue.”

  “What!?” She barked out, her surprised chuckle lighting up her face. “Why?”

  “To make it a real dog, of course,” Merlin explained as if it were obvious.

  “Okay, well, it’s really not--”

  “Or like the time I fell asleep on a moving horse--”

  “Merlin, really--”

  “Or like when I pretended I was 80 and all my friends actually bought it--”

  “Fine!” Robin cut him off, properly laughing now. “Stop, fine. Jeez…”

  Merlin nodded and waited.

  “It’s just, there’s someone I want to be friends with,” Robin explained haltingly and Merlin could tell she was leaving something out but figured this was as good as he was going to get. 

  “And?” He prompted when she trailed off.

  “And she thinks I’m a weirdo,” Robin shrugged, playing off the hurt like she hadn’t just been crying over it. “So we’re not gonna be friends.”

  Merlin leaned forward. “Is that all that happened? She called you weird?”

  Robin scowled at the grass. “...yeah. Mostly. Just that… she didn’t have time for a weirdo like me right now so… so yeah.”

  “I’m sorry.” And Merlin meant it. He’d been on the offender end of so many faux-pas over the years it wasn’t even funny. “I know that sucks. On the bright side, now you can try and find a friend who does have time, and you’ll know what it looks like. Or, well, what it doesn’t look like.”

  Robin was contemplative when she next looked at Merlin, like she was trying to complete a crossword with no hints. “...you are way too nice to be Harrington’s friend.”

  Well, that was just incorrect. Will was way nicer than Merlin, and he liked Steve just fine.

  “I don't know what Steve was like before I met him,” Merlin admitted, because it was the truth, and getting too defensive would only lead to Robin shutting down again. “But I’d bet you don’t know what he's like now, so we’re pretty even there.”

  “Who cares what he’s like now,” Robin whispered. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No?”

  “Well, he’s not exactly King anymore,” Robin retorted sardonically. 

  “Ah, right.” Merlin felt his mood drop in an instant. “Hargrove. We’ve met.”

  Robin nodded knowingly. “So who cares what King Steve’s up to? He’s not in charge anymore. And believe me when I say I never thought I’d miss it when Steve the Hair Harrington ruled the school…”

  Merlin tilted his head, chuckling. “Oh, please tell me people actually call him that!?”

  Robin nodded, rolling her eyes.

  This was the best day of Merlin’s cycle.

  But he sobered up real quick because something was off. “But you do miss it now?”

  Robin winced. “Not really miss, just… the lesser of two evils, I guess. And…”

  Merlin narrowed his eyes.

  Robin looked away. “I always wanted Harrington to get what was coming to him. Then-- You’ve heard about their fight, right?” Merlin nodded, well aware at this point. “Well, then Steve showed up beaten and bloodied, and-- I asked for that, yeah? I wanted him dethroned, wanted him shoved down to my level. But I didn’t want that.”

  Merlin felt oddly fond of the absolute gibberish of that argument. “I won’t say their fight was good, but I don’t think you wanted him hurt if you… ya’ know, didn’t want him hurt?”

  Robin curled in on herself. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Simplify it, then,” Merlin prompted, but she stayed silent, resolutely ignoring him.

  After a frankly awkward silence, Robin cleared her throat. “Hey, so, uh, if you’re all buddy-buddy with Harrington, why are you out here with me sulking about high school drama you weren’t even around for?”

  “He’s not here today,” Merlin explained. “So I was wandering around checking out clubs.”

  “Find any you like?”

  “Not even slightly,” he admitted.

  She smiled at him. “You could always try out for band? We always need more people.”

  Merlin shuddered. “Trust me, you don’t want me anywhere near a musical instrument. What do you play?”

  “Trumpet,” she replied, and she smiled wide as she went on to rant about the marching band and their tedious practice schedule and how overlooked it all was. 

  They talked for the rest of lunch, and he mostly just let her ramble because he didn’t have all too much going on in this cycle yet for him to reveal about himself.

  When the bell rang and they had to separate, Merlin extended the offer for her to hang out with him and Steve at lunch whenever she wanted.

  She scoffed, but her eyes were light. “I’m not that desperate.”

  And later, when Merlin was suffering through a physics lecture he could’ve taught better than the teacher, he looked back on the conversation and thought, Huh.

  Because it had all felt so simple, to reach out and make a new friend. He’d thought Hawkins, outside of Steve’s circle, would be pretty barren of interesting people, but Robin proved him wrong.

  There was just something about her that was familiar to him. Like she felt the same thing she did, carried the same burdens.

  Which was stupid, because he was an immortal warlock grieving his friend for centuries and she was a normal American teenager but… Back in his first life, he would’ve loved to meet her. Would’ve felt welcome with her.

  He wondered if she felt the same. If maybe her eventual ease with him hadn’t been because he was some social genius, but because she’d looked at him and thought, Oh, same.

  He hoped so. If she did, he’d probably be seeing her again.

  He didn’t know exactly which quality they shared yet, but like can only avoid like for so long.

  Early Monday morning -- like, so early you could call it Sunday night without anyone really arguing with you -- Steve’s phone rang.

  This time sophomore year, he wouldn’t have even noticed. He used to be such a deep sleeper, staying up late to read old legends and crashing hard, waking up groggy and shuffling his way to school with the speed of a snail. He was well aware his sleep schedule hurt his attendance records, but the teachers needed their star athlete too much to complain.

  Now, he jolts upright at the slightest interruption. He’ll sit ramrod-straight, still and anxious, waiting to hear another disturbance, or he’ll fall to the floor and flail for his nail bat, gripping tight onto it until he’s certain that he’s safe and alone.

  The phone, thankfully, is pretty quickly categorized as “Not Something Coming to Eat You” but still firmly placed into “Possible Emergency”, so Steve calmed down just enough to collect himself and answer the damn thing.

  And it was a good thing he did because Chief Hopper had a favor to ask of him.

  He just couldn’t ask it until Steve showed up at the cabin, which clued Steve in pretty quickly that this was El-related.

  So, Steve waited until the last possible minute he could leave his house to arrive by Hopper’s specified time, just so he could call Will and make sure the kids would get a ride home, radioed Dustin to have him radio the other twerps, then booked it. 

  The entire drive his hair was raised, his shoulders tensed; his mind ready for war. He knew, of course, that if something serious was happening, Steve wouldn’t be the first call, let alone the only call. 

  Still…

  This was El.

  Steve hadn’t spent nearly as much time with Eleven as he had with the other kids. She wasn’t there in the junkyard like Dustin, Max, and Lucas, and she wasn’t there in the tunnels like Mike. Will, at least, Steve could play catch-up with, driving around and cheering up and humoring the group’s DnD sessions -- while staunchly avoiding any participation, of course.

  But… but the few times he’d had the pleasure of meeting her -- in non-dire situations -- he’d always been struck by how small she was, how vulnerable she was to the world around them. Hiding from her own government, deprived of any sort of childhood, barely clinging onto freedom, burdened by abilities she never asked for…

  Steve’s heart ached for her. 

  (Once Dustin had realized how clueless Steve actually was and sat him down to explain everything in detail, of course. Lord knows nobody else had thought to give him a full rundown in the year since the first crisis.)

  So, this was Eleven he was dealing with here, who was too small for her burdens, who made Steve want to wrap her up in a blanket and keep her safe as badly as Will did. Steve was allowed to worry.

  Which was why he wasn’t even mad about the actual reason he was missing school today.

  “A fever.” Steve stared blankly at Hopper, the man in question anxiously smoking on the porch when Steve pulled up, gnawing on the cigarette more than inhaling it. “You called me in the dead of night because El has a cold?”

  The Chief was as tense as Steve had been on the drive over, eyes wild. “I only called you when it hit 103--” Steve winced. “--and I’ve been with her all weekend, I’ve taken days off, but any more is gonna be suspicious, and I’d call Joyce but--”

  “I get it, Chief,” Steve assured him, mentally relieved he hadn’t stormed out of the car nail-bat-a-blazin’. “Guess you have a med schedule?”

  Hopper, to Steve’s mild shock, was pretty organized about it.

  Before leaving for work, the Chief ran him through the med schedule (Child’s Advil every 4 hours), the food he had in the fridge he thought Steve was capable of making (Steve was well-able to do more than stick a TV dinner in the microwave, but he wasn’t gonna argue under the time-crunch), and the controls for the Morse Code… thingie.

  As he watched Hopper slip into El’s room and brush her bangs back, assuring her sleeping form that he’d be back as soon as he could, Steve felt something clench in his chest. 

  He’d felt it before, sometimes, watching his friend’s parents. Tommy’s mom was okay, as was Mrs. Wheeler most days. But they didn’t make him long like Joyce Byers did, loving her son so much she was willing to cross dimensions for him. Steve could never imagine his own mother caring half as much, and he certainly couldn’t imagine his father wasting his breath to whisper comforting words to a sick child. 

  Hopper was a better dad than Steve had imagined, but maybe his standards were just too low.

  When the Chief left, promising he’d try to get back “before tomorrow”, Steve just sighed deeply and plopped down on the couch.

  Thank fuck the Chief’s weird, off-the-grid cabin had a TV.

  He checked on El every 30 minutes, and sometimes she was awake enough that he could take her temperature. It hadn’t risen from 103.4, thankfully, but it wasn’t going down either, and Steve hadn’t felt so nervous about one of the kids’ well-being since the tunnels.

  El woke up fully around noon, which was perfect timing for her next Advil dose and a healthy lunch, so Steve counted that as pure good luck.

  She shuffled out of her room, wrapped up in a blanket cocoon, and squinted up at Steve like he was a particularly interesting wild squirrel.

  “You’re… Steve,” she stated, hesitant enough that Steve fought back a wince. 

  “Uh, yeah,” he replied, setting down the knife he’d been slicing carrots with. “Hop had to get to work, so he asked me to look after you… Do you remember me checking on you earlier?”

  She shook her head and shuffled further into the main room, plopping down at the tiny table. 

  Frankly, Steve didn’t know what else to say, so he stuck to practicality. “Well, soup's almost done--” he dumped the thin carrot strips into the pot, “--so if you hold on a bit, you can eat with your next meds, okay?”

  “Meds?” She asked, head tilted like a puppy.

  “Medicine,” Steve answered easily, well-prepped by his personal gaggle of nerds on El’s limited vocabulary. “To help reduce your fever. Hop explained why you feel so bad, right?”

  El nodded.

  “Cool, well, it’s best to take medicine on a full stomach,” Steve kept chattering, stirring the pot leisurely, “so you’re gonna eat lunch, take those meds, then you’re gonna rest for the rest of the day, okay?”

  “Can Mike come by?” 

  Steve froze, briefly imagining Hopper’s reaction to that question to cheer him up, then shook himself back into focus. “Uh, better not. He could catch whatever bug you have.”

  “What about you?” She looked confused, mostly, but worry tinged her eyes.

  “What about me?”

  “Won’t you… catch it?”

  Steve chuckled. “Maybe, but you deal with colds better when you get older, so I’m better off than he’d be.”

  She gave him a light glare, huffing. “You’re not that old.”

  “Tell that to the rest of the brats,” Steve grinned and earned a small, shy smile. It felt better than any sports trophy he’d brought home to an empty house.

  After eating and properly medicating, they collapsed on the couch together, El adamant that she didn’t want to go back to bed. Steve obliged because he wasn’t about to argue with a feverish child who also could throw him through the wall with her mind.

  Eventually, the standard daytime televisions seemed to frustrate her, because the TV muted without her touching the remote.

  “Talk,” she ordered, and Steve’s mind blanked.

  “What?” 

  “Talk about something,” she insisted. “Don’t care what.”

  Steve considered his options, then flipped through the stations until he found a basketball game.

  “Alright,” he announced. “Here’s an education the Dork Squad is never gonna give you.”

  So, for the next hour, he talked about sports, explaining the rules to her and humoring all her questions.

  “What is a foul ?”: “When you do something you shouldn’t, that’s against the rules.”

  “They have numbers…”: “Oh…yeah, their jerseys are so the commentators and fans can see who’s doing what…”

  “But why do they run around? They seem so tired.”: “Because it’s fun!”

  After a while, the questions petered off, and Steve checked her temperature one last time before letting her pass out.

  102.5

  Progress.

  She slept on-and-off for the next few hours, mostly slumped on the couch.

  By dinner time, her fever had gone down enough that Steve no longer feared the Chief barging back in and shooting him for hurting his daughter, so instead of repeating the chicken-noodle soup, he scrounged through all the cupboards and managed to put together some particularly tasty sandwiches.

  She loved them as much as she’d enjoyed the soup, but still demanded waffles for dessert.

  Steve happily obliged. (His own childhood sweet tooth had been relentlessly ignored and shoved down -- he was so living through El right now.)

  When he eventually convinced El to go to bed, temperature comfortably sitting at a slightly warm 99.7, she tugged on his sleeve.

  “Talk,” she demanded again, and Stev slid down next to her bed to think.

  “Any pointers?”

  She was quiet for a minute. “What’s… your favorite superhero ?”

  The fumbling on the word was charming enough that Steve instantly knew who he was going to talk about. “Well, he might not exactly be a superhero, but he was mine growing up.”

  “Who?”

  Steve bit his lip, suddenly nervous despite his comfort. “Okay, first, promise me you won’t rat me out to the other brats. This stays between us.”

  “Friends don’t lie,” she argued, firm.

  “This isn’t lying,” Steve shot back. “This is your babysitter’s privilege. Something I know I can trust you with.”

  She mulled it over, clearly considering it seriously. Finally, her curiosity seemed to win out and she nodded. “Talk.”

  “Alright, alright.” Steve took a deep breath. “A long time ago, in a time of magic…”

  Eleven was asleep before he’d even gotten to Excalibur.

  And that was all well and good, and Steve didn’t regret any of it. He couldn’t. But, well…

  Dragging himself to school Tuesday morning when he’d only crawled into his own bed at 3 am following an exhaustive debrief with the Chief, then deflecting all the kids’ questions as he picked them up…

  God. He was tired.

  He didn't even have the energy to flinch when Merlin snuck up on him and slammed his locker shut.

  “Where were you yesterday?” The taller boy pouted at him, crystalline eyes boring into Steve’s half-asleep ones.

  “Stomach bug,” Steve lied, as easily as he breathed. “Should be good by now, just couldn’t really leave the house.”

  Merlin seemed to settle, and Steve hadn’t even noticed the anxiety that had been rolling off him until it was gone. 

  “Were… were you worried about me?” Steve asked, frankly baffled.

  But Merlin just rolled his eyes. “What’s your phone number?”

  Okay. Steve was definitely not following this conversation. “What?”

  “We finally got our phone line worked out, so give me your phone number,” Merlin demanded. “That way, next time you’re sick, I don’t think you spontaneously combusted.”

  “Spon-- Combust--What?”

  “Just give me your number!’

  Steve gave Merlin his phone number.

  He still didn’t fully understand what had happened, especially when Merlin started ranting about how all the clubs at Hawkins High were boring and drab, and Steve, how could you ever lump me in with the Chess Team!?!

  But he figured, looking at Merlin’s easy smile, and the way they marched to their usual split-up spot for Tuesday's shoulder-to-shoulder, legs hitting the ground in tandem, that he must have said something right.

Chapter Text

  “How much longer?”

  “Shh -- I’m focusing!”

  “You’ve been focusing for 5 minutes already!”

  “Have not!”

  “Merlin--”

  “Shh!”

  It hadn’t been five minutes and Steve knew it, but he’ll be damned if it didn’t feel like it.

  He’d wanted a calm week after his absence on Monday, and he’d mostly gotten it. Hargrove had backed off a bit after their little clash on Friday, dialing back down to his normal level of harassment, but Steve could tell the bloodlust aimed his way hadn’t disappeared.

  It felt a lot like the first week Hargrove had been at Hawkins High, like something was inevitable to snap between them, and Steve would end up beaten and bloodied again.

   And, he ruminated as he watched Merlin thumb through restricted files in a storage office, this will only accelerate things.

  Let the record state: None of this was Steve’s idea.

  “Know your enemy,” Merlin had said the day before during their last period. “The more I know, the more I can help.”

  Like it was ever that simple. (Like Steve would ever let Merlin know everything happening in this cursed town.)

  “It won’t work,” Steve had argued then.

  “This isn’t going to work,” he was saying now, peeking back out at the hallway. “Hargrove hasn’t been here long enough and he’s on half the school’s good side.”

  Merlin paused. “You couldn’t have said that before?”

  “I did,” Steve shot back, ducking back from the doorway as another student passed. “And I just want to be clear, I don’t like this.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “At all.”

  “Indeed,” Merlin sighed, moving to the next cabinet. “Well, I’m getting more than just Hargrove -- why does everyone have an H name here?”

  Steve glared at the crouched teen.

  “I mean really, Hargrove, Hagan, Harrington, Holl--”

  “Don’t lump me in with them,” Steve snapped, resolutely ignoring the next name on the list.

  “Well, if the H fits…”

  “Oh my God,” Steve groaned, barely restraining himself from banging his head on the wall. “Just hurry up. I’m never listening to you again.”

  “Oh? You listen to me?” Merlin grinned up at him. “That’s new.”

  Merlin was holding several files.

  “No,” Steve barked out, marching across the room. “We’re not stealing files from the school because you want dirt on someone you shouldn’t be messing with. We’ll get caught.”

  Merlin looked flabbergasted. “They’re just files-- Copies! They’re copies!”

  Steve leveled his best “are-you-kidding-me” bitchface at his friend.

  “Really!” Merlin insisted, nodding along to his own argument. “They made, uh, copies of these ones! We won't be found out!”

  Steve sighed deeply as he buried his face in his hands. “Why did I agree to this?” he asked.

  “Why would I agree to this?” He had asked yesterday.

  “Because I’ll do it anyway, so you might as well make sure I don’t get caught?” Merlin had replied with an insidiously sweet smile.

  Now, Merlin only grinned.

  “Fine, let’s just get out of here,” Steve snapped, moving back to peek out the door. “You first in 3… 2… 1, go!”

  Merlin slid out of the office, seamlessly integrating with the rest of the hallway’s occupants.

  Steve waited half a minute, then slipped out too.

  When he made it over to Merlin, the other teen was leaning against a row of lockers, blatantly reading the files.

  Steve snatched them up and quickly shoved them under Merlin’s T-shirt, ignoring the squawking noises his friend made in protest.

  “Why are you like this?” He asked, more posed to the universe than to Merlin, as he threw his arm around Merlin’s shoulders and roughly guided him away from -- arguably -- the crime scene.

  “Didn’t you hear?” Merlin asked. “I’m an idiot.”

  Steve tugged on Merlin’s earlobe. “Clearly.”

  When they reached the cafeteria doors, Steve extracted the arm, not willing to endure another round of intense stares, but froze as soon as he cracked the door open.

  “Wait,” he ordered, and Merlin froze.

  “What?”

  “Munson’s giving a speech,” Steve explained, pointedly turning on his heel and marching back down the hallway.

  “Who’s doing what?” Merlin asked as he chased after Steve.

  “Munson, we’ve been sitting at his table, and he’s been pretty firm about ignoring me, but if he’s in a mood, he won’t,” Steve tried to explain.

  “What, is he a bully?” Merlin asked, clearly trying to recall who sat at the table with them during lunch.

  Steve almost laughed. “Nah, just loud. And he hates jocks. And popular kids.”

  “Ahhhhh,” Merlin drew out, smirking again. “You’ve been taking refuge with the other outcasts?”

  Steve stopped walking. “Other?”

  “Well, if the new top dog wants your head…”

  “I’m not an outcast,” Steve refuted, affronted.

  “You hang out with me,” Merlin pointed out, enjoying himself far too much.

  “So you admit you’re an outcast,” Steve confirmed.

  “And proud of it!”

  Okay, Steve wasn’t gonna win this one any time soon, so he just rolled his eyes and flicked Merlin lightly in the arm. “Careful now, or you’ll start to sound like a functional person.”

  Merlin looked genuinely offended by that. “I will not!”

  “Oh, so normal,” Steve teased. “Proud of himself, well-adapted to society, knows his place in the world--”

  “Stop,” Merlin whined, screwing his eyes shut like lack of sight would deafen Steve’s words.

  Steve just laughed. 

  “C’mon,” he slung an arm back over Merlin’s shoulders. “We’ll eat in my car.”

  “Joy,” his friend muttered.

  Steve tugged on Merlin’s ear again.

  After school, Steve and Merlin were planning to study for a French test they would have on Friday. It was, in all honesty, Steve’s best subject outside of PE so he didn’t need to cram too much, but today was Thursday and he hadn’t brushed up at all, nor had Merlin, so…

  Well, Steve wouldn’t turn down a study partner, especially one that didn’t make him feel dumb.

  So, that was the plan, and that’s why Merlin was once again hogging the passenger seat when Dustin crashed into the backseats, quickly followed by Mike and Will.

  “Drive!” Dustin yelled.

  “Whoa, whoa, wait up.” Steve very pointedly left the car in park. “Where’s Sinclair and Mayfield?”

  “Date night,” Mike snapped, “now go!”

  Steve shared an incredulous look with Merlin before shrugging and pulling out of the middle school parking lot.

  Once they were on the road, Steve directed his attention to the rear-view mirror, back to the children now arguing in hushed whispers in the back seat. Oh boy. “So… what was that?”

  The kids all froze.

  Dustin cleared his throat and put on a forced grin. “So… Steve--”

  “No,” Steve answered immediately, and Merlin was so clearly startled that his laughter came out like a choking pig.

  “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!” Dustin protested.

  “I can tell I wouldn't like it.”

  “Would you just--”

  “Dustin!” Mike snapped out -- Jesus, this kid needed more emotions to express than irritation. “Just let Will do it.”

  Oh no.

  Merlin grinned over at him. The bastard.

  Steve fixed his eyes on the road, hands gripping tight to the steering wheel.

  “Steve…” Will whispered from the back seat. “We were wondering--”

  “Is it dangerous?” Steve asked.

  The kids all shook their heads.

  Merlin was trying -- and failing -- to hide his giddy laughter.

  Steve sighed, well aware there was never even a chance of him saying no. (Letting them think Will was his only weak spot among them kept the rest of the shitheads in check. Honestly. That’s the only reason. Totally. Shut up.) “Where to?”

  It was only pulling up to the Wheeler’s house that Steve got a bad feeling, frowning as the kids stayed put.

  “Well?” He urged, twisting around to look at the kid, Merlin copying his motions in sync. “What’s the hold-up? I don’t have all day.”

  Dustin got that look he got sometimes, those shifty eyes and loose smile. “Well, that’s the favor.”

  Steve raised his brows, sharing a lost look with Merlin.

  Merlin just shrugged.

  “Okay, so, Mike forgot to grab something this morning,” Dustin started off.

  “And it’s really important for planning the next campaign!” Will impressed.

  Dustin nodded vehemently. “So because Mike forgot it like a loser--”   

  “It wasn’t my fault, Nancy distracted me!” Mike snapped.

  “--we need you to go get it,” Dustin finished with a wide smile.

  “No,” Steve was saying before the kid had even said his request. “No way. Your house, Wheeler, you go get it. I’m not gonna make Mrs. Wheeler answer the door to her daughter’s ex-boyfriend.”

  “You don’t have to!” Will argued, and for a moment Steve thought this whole idiotic affair would be over. Then-- “Nobody’s home anyway. That’s why we need you to sneak in!”

  Steve groaned and collapsed properly into his seat. “No. Nope, not gonna happen.”

  “But we need it!” Mike yelled. “If we don’t have our materials, Will can’t plan the next campaign!”

  “Tough,” Steve bit out, reaching to start the car again. “It’s not an emergency, Wheeler.”

  “Steve…” Will begged. “Please?”

  And, shit, man. How was this fair? 

  He was just about to relent when Merlin hummed and grinned. “I can do it.”

  The whole car stared at him.

  “No,” Steve ordered, blunt and honest, because no, Merlin would not be breaking into a second private location today -- Steve’s heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.

  “Well, if you won’t--” Merlin started, and Steve didn’t know whether to smack the guy or kiss him. It was, after all, a very good excuse to pretend he was really gonna drive away.

  “What is it exactly?” Steve asked, defeated. “What am I looking for?”

  A DnD manual, a binder full of the Party’s “character sheets” or whatever, and notes on their previous story thing.

  Steve was mostly shocked he was this weak to the gremlins.

  As he rounded the car, Merlin's hand shot out from his open window, grabbing Steve’s sleeve. “What’s your plan?”

  Steve balked. “My plan?”

  “To get in,” Merlin clarified, crystal gaze amused, yet steady.

  Mike, gloating in the back, piped up with, “Oh, Steve’s good at climbing .”

  Dustin and Will cackled along to the prod. Little bastards.

  “Don’t worry,” Steve addressed Merlin with a cocky smirk, completely ignoring their audience. “I’m like a ninja.”

  Merlin stared at him blankly. “Oh. Right, yeah, golden plan.”

  Steve scowled. “Shut up, Merlin.”

  “No, really, where’s your sword?” Merlin kept going. “Also, not to be too critical, but you’re pretty conspicuous for a deadly assassin--”

  “Oh my God, just stay in the car and shut up!” Steve barked out, spinning on his heel and heading right for Nancy’s window.

  It was scary, sorta, how much of this was muscle memory. He hadn’t been actively sneaking into her room since the early days, but sometimes, for quick messages he didn't want fielded by the house phone, he’d still make the climb.

  So he clambered up with as much grace as the situation allowed, easily pulling himself up and into a crouching position. Then, as he tried to open the window, the problem presented itself.

  It was locked.

  Shit. 

  Nancy had, at least, always left it unlocked when she was home, but she clearly wasn’t, or else Mike would’ve just knocked, and she’d been hyper-vigilant ever since they fought the demogorgon. Of course, it was--

  “Is it locked?”

  Steve whipped around, almost braining Merlin with his fist.

  “Hey! Watch it!” Merlin shouted.

  “I told you to stay in the car,” Steve bit out, because God, sneaking into his ex-girlfriend's room was weird enough -- he didn’t need a witness.

  “We’ve already established I never listen to you,” Merlin said blithely, shouldering Steve away and taking his place in front of the window.

  Which-- “No, we said I never listen to you,” Steve argued.

  “Exactly!” Merlin grinned. “So this is just quid pro quo!”

  Steve rolled his eyes.

  The window opened.

  Steve froze. “How did you--”

  “It was open,” Merlin reported with a smirk.

  “No, it wasn’t, I just tried it,” Steve argued, disbelieving and baffled,

  “Hm, then you must have loosened it,” Merlin shot back before climbing through the entrance. Steve stared after him until raven hair and shining blue eyes poked back through to frown at him. “Well, are you coming?”

  Nancy’s room was about the same as he remembered it, which was both comforting and absolutely horrible. He didn’t want to dissect why.

  Their spoils were in the basement, so Steve led the way, studiously avoiding interacting with the empty house.

  Merlin whistled at the basement. “Wow. Mrs. Wheeler really just lets the kids… use this all day?”

  Steve smiled, a crooked, bitter thing. “Better than them yelling in the living room for 5 hours straight.”

  He spotted the items, passed them off to Merlin, and stormed back upstairs.

  It was only passing through Nancy’s room again that he was thrown off.

  There was a letterman jacket thrown on the floor of her closet, green and white and his.

  He’d almost forgotten he’d loaned it to her. He never wore it anyway -- everyone knew him, he didn’t need a jacket to catch attention. But he liked it when she wore it, all proud and smiley and unashamed to be with him.

  He figured there were quite a few of his jackets tucked away in here, and he really didn’t care about any of them, he could just buy another. But this one had his name on it and--

  “Steve?” Merlin’s soft question drifted over from where his friend stood at the window. “You alright?”

  “Yeah,” his breath came out hoarse, he knew, and wholly unconvincing. But what was the point of convincing Merlin anyway? “It’s just… stuff Nance never gave back, you know?”

  And Merlin, for once, didn’t ask more questions. Didn’t ask why Nancy never returned his things, never settled things. Just locked his eyes onto the offending item and tilted his head. “You could always take it now. It is yours.”

  It was a fair point. Steve could just lie if she ever asked; say Mike gave it back or something.

  Something held him back. It wasn’t quite WWTWOWWATD, but it was powerful nonetheless.

  “No, I’ll get it back when she gives it back,” he announced, stepping firmly over to the window and taking the first step out. “Better that way.”

  Merlin smiled at him weirdly, sometimes. Like he was proud of him, like he was pleased with his own work; like he’d never doubted Steve. He smiled like that now, and Steve wanted to lean into it, wanted to bask in earning that sort of look from someone, wanted to freeze it in time and never let it go.

  Unfortunately, he was teetering over the window frame when he saw it, so freezing the moment wound up looking a lot more like flailing helplessly as he lost all sense of balance.

  Ten seconds, three handholds, and a loud thump later, and Steve was giving a thumbs up to a rattled Merlin staring down at him.

  He didn’t mind the fall. The Wheeler’s had really nice grass.

  Nearly three weeks into their friendship, Steve Harrington was still managing to surprise Merlin.

  It was nice, honestly. Fun, too, to test how far Steve would bend the rules at the behest of someone he cared about. Merlin thought he’d gotten clever by making Steve help him raid some files, little did he know the children were capable of cajoling Steve into breaking and entering.

  It was a fantastic day, truly.

  Less fantastic was studying.

  After dropping the kids off at the Byer’s household, Merlin could clearly see that Steve was rattled. The man hid it well, but Merlin suspected committing a crime was the last of the labor Steve had done on that little heist.

So, instead of heading to the library, Merlin took a risk.

“Could we just head to your place?” He whined on the drive. “I need coffee.”

  He did not need coffee.

  Steve narrowed his eyes askance at him. “We could head to a diner?”

  “Bleh, diner coffee.” Merlin pretended to gag. “I bet you have great coffee, you're pretentious enough for that.”

  Steve gasped. “Pretentious?!”

  Merlin nodded. “Indeed, with all your French poetry and your BMW and--”

  “Okay, you know that’s legends and shit,” Steve sighed, but Merlin noted with interest that they weren’t driving into town anymore. “I just don’t think anyone’s even thought that about me before.”

  “First time for everything,” Merlin declared with a flashy smile.

  Steve did, in fact, have good coffee and studying did, in fact, suck.

  It’s not that Merlin didn’t know the subject matter -- he’d personally witnessed the evolution of modern French -- but the cramming of information and perfection of delivery demanded by the American school system was a fair bit soul-crushing. And boring.

  By the gods, it was so dreadfully, mind-numbingly boring.

  Steve’s parents weren’t home, which Merlin barely even noticed, so used to living alone himself. Steve explained it as a business trip, and they must have only left recently, because Steve pulled out leftover lasagna when dinner came around, and it was pretty fresh. 

  After dinner, they both made a token effort to get back into their studies, but it was pretty pointless: Within five minutes, Merlin was humming and daydreaming about moving in more books from his hidden library, and Steve was tapping his fingers rhythmically, and staring blankly at the page, eyes still, and clearly not absorbing anything. It was a disaster in the making, so Merlin slammed his textbook shut.

  “I can’t believe you talked me into breaking into the Wheeler’s house today!” He announced, throwing himself back in the armchair and kicking his feet up on the coffee table -- and, conveniently, on his textbook. “Not cool, Steve.”

  Steve, as anyone would when faced with a devious Merlin, spluttered and balked. “Excuse me!? I specifically told you to stay in the car! Did I need to put you in the trunk again?”

  Merlin grimaced, not wanting to admit he’d found the whole trunk situation funny. Not at the time, of course, but in retrospect. “That’s not how I remember it.”

  “How do you not remember--”

  “You winked!” Merlin protested.

  “I did not!” Steve shot back.

  Steve did not, in fact, wink.

  Merlin smirked. “Did you forget? A wink is a little thing you do where you only blink one eye--”

  Steve slammed his own textbook shut and seemed to consider its aerodynamic qualities for a brief moment. Then, he whipped around, grabbed a throw pillow from the couch, and sent it flying.

  Merlin, only through years of dodging Arthur’s projectiles and centuries of paranoia, dodged the point-blank attack. “Oi!”

  “I know what a wink is!”

  “Are you sure?”

  Steve almost growled then, which was frankly hilarious, before the fight seemed to drain out of him. Floppy and boneless, he too collapsed into his seat, winding up half-horizontal on the couch.

  “You suck,” he grumbled, but he was smiling a little, so Merlin considered it a win.

  Content with his victory, Merlin stood up and began the long-awaited process of snooping around Steve’s living room. He’d been in it for hours, sure, but he’d pretended to be a polite human being for the duration of his visit thus far, so he was antsy to be the real Merlin.

  One glance at the TV stand, crouching down to see the movies, proved that something was off.

  Nestled in the VHS tapes, there were Sci-Fi movies, Adventure movies, Rom-Com, Horror, the works. Things Merlin could see Steve watching with the kids or with, say, a hypothetical ex-girlfriend.

  Not things Steve would watch on his own. Merlin knew what Steve would watch on his own.

  “Where are they?” he pondered aloud, and jolted in surprise at Steve’s answer:

  “What?”

  Merlin stood up and grinned sheepishly. “Your Camelot movies. I know you have them, don’t lie.”

  Steve rolled his eyes. “Well, jeez, I'm not keeping them downstairs where anyone could see them!”

  “You act like it’s porn,” Merlin accused with a full grin now.

  “It’s worse than porn!” Steve swung upright, glaring with a certain lack of heat and gesturing with a certain lack of confidence.

  Merlin’s smile faded some. “You’re really serious about keeping it a secret, huh?”

  Steve just grumbled something unintelligible, looking away.

  “Why?” Merlin persisted.

  “We’ve been over this,” Steve protested.

  “Yeah, like, a few days after we first met,'' Merlin pointed out, slinking back over to the armchair to force himself into Steve’s line of sight. “Who says what they mean in the first week of knowing someone, right?”

  Steve acknowledged that by tilting his head, his hair bouncing along to his movement. 

  “Steve,” Merlin pressed softly, keeping his voice low. “It’s not just the DnD math, is it?”

  His friend sighed in defeat. Merlin half-liked that about Steve, that he knew a losing battle when he saw one. What Merlin didn’t like was that Steve only ever gave up when he was defending himself. It gnawed on him oddly, like an old wound at the joint flaring up in pain when it snows. 

  “I guess…” Steve began, voice already thin. “Everything about my life has always been image and, yeah, sure, admitting I’m obsessed with the legends would be social suicide but…” He took a deep breath, sitting up straighter. “I like having something to myself. Nobody can judge it, you know? It’s just me, loving something and not worrying about it.”

  And, almost more than the saddening fear of only ever being what others tell him to be that Merlin was positive Steve didn’t even know he was expressing, Merlin felt warmth settle in his chest.

  “You shared it with me.”

  Steve looked startled, before he swallowed thickly and looked down at his hands. “Like I said, it slipped out.”

  “Not then,” Merlin shook his head vigorously, savoring the confusion on Steve’s face. “I asked what your favorite legend was, and you meant everything you said. Does that worry you?”

  One of this world’s greatest pleasures, at least by this cycle’s standards, was watching something click together in Steve Harrington’s brain, or so Merlin was quickly coming to believe. The way his eyes would grow unfocused and his muscles frozen as he thought it through, then the snap of all his features coming to life once more, brimming with awe and resolute energy and more cleverness than anyone -- Merlin included -- would ever give him credit for out loud.

  Watching Steve going through the process now, watching his face melt into a soft joy after it all, was simply addictive.

  And Merlin was prepared for the next steps. The soft admittance that, no, he wasn’t worried about Merlin knowing, obviously, and the not-so-subtle threat to keep it that way, and the deflection of the emotional vulnerability to do something stupid and unerringly teenage-boy-ish.

  But then, Steve threw out the script.

  But then, Steve caught Merlin off guard.

  But then, Steve was the (fake)magician, and Merlin the fine china on top of the tablecloth.

  Because Steve just looked at him, all sorts of fond and confused and settled, and asked, “Have we met?”

  And Merlin almost couldn’t breathe, because once Steve asked the question, it felt like the only question that could ever be asked.

  “What?” He managed to choke out nonetheless, desperate.

  “It’s just, sometimes I look at you,” Steve went on to explain, words like cotton in Merlin’s ears that failed to block out the buzzing, “and I swear we’ve met before. Like-- Like I know you. You’ve never been to America before?”

  Merlin had, of course, but not in Steve’s lifetime.

  Steve’s lifetime, which he was now very seriously pondering over, because-- because--

  Because Steve reminded him of Arthur. He’d thought so before.

  They said similar things and bantered the same way. He didn’t say Merlin’s name quite right, but maybe he was just getting there.

  Steve was a warrior, deep down. A warrior of the heart, but a warrior of cunning, too. Merlin had only seen it in action once, when Steve took on Billy in the locker rooms.

  Steve was soft in all the right ways and hard in all the wrong ones. He was compassionate towards the people he cared about and too caring for his own good, really. But he waltzes around with his safety on a string whenever he thinks it necessary, and he doesn’t even flinch when people take the bait. He’s honest, but can shut down when Merlin pushes for vulnerability and--

  And Merlin had called him a prat. And it didn’t even feel weird.

  That one was almost the most convincing but…

  But Merlin hadn’t felt anything. Not since Arthur died.

  He felt Arthur’s soul fade away into Avalon; felt it find a home there. Hell, he’d been at the lake just months ago, and it felt the same as always.

  And Steve was 18 years old. Surely, if Arthur had been back, or stirring, or something in some form for eighteen years, Merlin would have felt it from the start.

  It all crashed down and he could breathe again, but his gasps weren’t the release he’d been hoping for.

  “No,” he spoke, voice shaky, but, well, he had been asked a question, after all, and Steve was starting to look worried. “No, this is my first time here. There’s… there’s no way we’ve met. Sorry.”

  Steve just waved him off, like Merlin’s heart wasn’t breaking in front of him. “No, yeah, I figured. Just… had to ask.”

  Maybe Steve wasn’t Arthur. Maybe he was. But Merlin couldn’t dare to hope. Not now, not this late into his vigil. 

  But Steve was something. Something important enough for his magic to guide him towards, hidden away in a mid-nowhere town crushed by some unknown danger. Steve was familiar and an oddity and, Merlin was beginning to suspect, vital to know.

  More than that, Steve was a friend. (Because, sometimes, when friend isn’t enough… you use it anyway because it has to be.)

  So he’d watch Steve. He’d keep an eye on things: try to prove and disprove. Try to make sense of it all.

  But, for now, he’d change the subject and let the night fade back into the warm embrace it had just been. Any second now, he’d switch things up, start needling Steve again(so similar to how he’d always needled Arthur) and--

  Ugh.

  Steve noticed his silence again. He frowned, finally noticed Merlin’s well-hidden sorrow, and was clearly thinking of what to say.

  But Merlin knew Steve. If he deflected seamlessly enough, Steve would let it go. For now, at least.

  So he’d better get on with changing that subject.

  Really, he was totally solid on this.

  He had this.

  So in 3…

  2…

  1…

  “So you get cicadas here, right?”

  “...what.”

Chapter Text

  Merlin’s only a little ashamed to say he completely ignored his crisis for a week.

  In his defense, he was nowhere near emotionally ready to deal with it the night of, and it wasn’t like there was an imminent threat. Just a massive, possibly dangerous mystery wrapped up in shades of his longest-standing trauma and masquerading as high school drama.

  See? Totally postponable. 

  So, yes. He put it off that night. 

  And he put it off the next day when he woke up on Steve's couch -- or, rather, woke up half falling off of Steve’s couch, face pressed against the floor and legs pinned beneath Steve’s chest as he clutched them like they were twin teddy bears made of meat and bone. They’d woken up so late he’d had to borrow Steve’s clothes and suffer the jokes from the kids, who Merlin had no qualms shoving in the back. Thankfully, Steve didn’t have to deal with the full brood in the mornings, or else Merlin would’ve probably magicked Mike’s mouth shut.

  And he put it off the next day when the weekend hit, immersing himself in his current book collection and abusing the phone number Steve had shared with him. Steve, to his credit, only failed to pick up when he was out with the kids, so Merlin didn’t even feel lonely in his empty house.

  And he put it off when they rolled into the first full week of February, deciding to get his schoolwork sorted before doing anything strenuous or potentially dangerous. He simply kept his eyes peeled for any possible Arthur-isms in Steve, admittedly catching a few, and kept calm.

  And, before he knew it, it was Friday and he’d pushed it off for a whole week. 

  (He’d never claimed he’d become more productive in the years since Camelot.)

  Of course, there lies a certain breed of dejection in procrastination, especially regarding something you consider important. Merlin, as such, was not in the highest esteem with himself at the moment, moodily pondering where his manservant work ethic had gone.

  (Oh, the way Arthur would laugh if he’d ever heard that line. Then again, those last few days… But Merlin didn’t like thinking about those last few days much at all.)

  Steve had been mildly overbearing about Merlin’s mood all day, always reaching out in case Merlin needed cheering up but taking care to appear as a second thought. If Merlin hadn’t been around so long and hadn’t interacted with so many caring people, he might not have noticed the effort involved.

  (Then again, even a young and naive Merlin had come to see the way Arthur showed care, subtly and through coded gestures, making sure nobody could ever accuse him of being soft. And he knew it was that trait he saw in Steve, but he-- He just-- He couldn’t, with that.)

  By lunchtime, he was wallowing in his own misery still, but had contained it enough that he was mostly certain nobody could ever tell. Steve still looked suspicious but hadn’t made a just-a-joke-haha-but-secretly-I-care-about-you gesture since midway through French, so Merlin decided it was good enough.

  Which means, of course, Steve was back to what he did best: Being Steve.

  “It wasn’t, okay, it wasn’t!” Steve was protesting, caught up in recounting his weekend with the middle-schooler squad and their game night. Or, well, game day. “It was the opposite of cool!”

  “But you said they fought a dragon!” Merlin parried, secretly overjoyed at how riled up Steve was about this. “That’s inherently cool!”

  “They didn’t really fight a dragon, Merlin,” Steve scowled at him. He took an angry bite of his sandwich before waving it around for effect. “They pretended to. They could do better.”

  “Like what?! Find an actual dragon to fight?” Merlin asked.

  Steve’s eyes widened. “God, no! Don’t even suggest that. They’d find a way and then I’d be the one stuck bashing its stupid dragon brains out.” He took another grumbly bite of his sandwich and muttered, “And I’d still end up with a concussion…”

  “Well, that was weirdly…” Merlin pondered his words, now, searching for the most cutting yet light-hearted, tilting his head to the side to add suspense. Personal? Nerdy? Dare he say Cute?

  He didn’t get a chance to deliver.

  “Lame!”

  Someone slammed their lunch tray down on the table and plopped down on Merlin’s left. 

  Merlin first took in Steve’s startled brown eyes, blown wide in surprise and confusion. And then, finally, the voice registered.

  He twisted violently in his seat and grinned at the newcomer. “Robin!”

  Robin Buckley -- whose last name he may or may not have confirmed when he broke into the school’s records --  raised an eyebrow at him. “Merlin. What are you losers talking about?”

  “Nothing!” Steve refuted quickly.

  “Dragons!” Merlin answered louder. 

  Robin cast her eyes between the two of them, looking wholly disinterred, before shrugging. “Cool.”

  “No, not cool,” Steve argued. “That was the point.”

  “Dragons are cool,” Robin replied easily, “dunno what your problem is.”

  “Not in context,” Steve maintained.

  “What’s the context?”

  It was curious seeing Steve clam up, then, because Merlin had never known Steve to be shy about the kids; at least to whine about them. But then, he had never really seen Steve interact with someone who didn’t already know about the kids in a friendly conversation.

  Save for Nancy, and that was more painfully awkward than textbook-friendly.

  Actually, much like Merlin, Steve didn’t really talk to many people.

  Given that, Merlin smirked and leaned back in his seat, content to watch the volley.

  “The context,” Steve started, fringe bobbing along with his falsely-confident nods. “The context is not important, cause it was lame.” One more nod, decisive now, as if that was at all convincing.

  Robin just hummed and jabbed a fork into her salad. “So, why were you talking about something lame, then?”

  “I can do--” Steve cut himself off, clearly realizing the question was a set-up. “Who even are you?”

  Robin’s amusement dropped. “Robin Buckley.”

  Steve stared blankly before turning to look at Merlin, looking completely lost.

  “We met when you were busy being sick last Monday,” Merlin explained cheerily. 

  Steve frowned. “Sick? Yeah, uh, right. Uh, when you said you checked out all the clubs and they sucked?”

  Robin snickered quietly before looking mildly horrified at herself. Steve didn’t seem to notice, attention locked on Merlin.

  “Precisely! She kept me from going insane and I said she could sit with us whenever,” Merlin concluded, examining Steve’s reaction. “That alright?”

  Steve looked horribly confused for a split second before his face washed blank and an enviable social grace settled over him. “Oh, yeah, cool. Alright. He didn’t give you too much trouble, right, Robin?”

  “Excuse me?” Merlin spluttered, caught off-guard by the turnaround despite himself.

  Robin blinked owlishly at the ex-King. “Uh, no, he was… fine?”

  “Good,” Steve relaxed, taking a large bite of his sandwich while the other two were too stunned to speak. “That’s good cause, see, between you and me, Merlin here can be a bit, let’s say, pushy sometimes--”

  “Wha-- Hey!” Merlin squeaked out, reaching across the table to bat at Steve’s hands. 

  “He is kinda pushy,” Robin mused, voice careful.

  “Exactly!” Steve crooned even as his sandwich was knocked out of his hand. Then he looked down at the fallen food on his tray. “I mean, case in point, but--”

  “C’mon, Steve!” Merlin pleaded, pushing down the traitorous laughter bubbling up his throat. “Just-- we need friends, don’t be a prat!” 

  “We have friends!” Steve protested, finally dropping the douchebag act.

  “We have middle schoolers,” Merlin stressed. “Robin’s actually our age and won’t kick the back of your seat while you drive -- probably. Right, Robin?”

  Merlin and Steve swiveled their heads back over to Robin, certain she’d follow along, but she was staring at them in stunned silence. Her eyes, though, held revelation in them, and a slow grin stretched its way across her lips while Merlin and Steve were left to sweat in suspense.

  “Oh, wow,” she finally breathed out, looking for all the world like the cat that caught the canary. “You guys are actually total losers aren’t you?”

  Steve recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “What-- We’re not-- I mean maybe Merlin --”

  “One hundred percent,” Merlin cut off his friend’s ramblings. “For the both of us.”

  Steve kicked his shin under the table. Merlin stuck out his tongue at the jock.

  Robin’s laughter was like clear, smug bells. “This is the greatest day of my life. Steve Harrington’s a total dingus.”

  Steve didn't even look offended anymore, just resigned to his fate. “Alright, great, sure. Now that that’s settled, can I please salvage what’s left of my lunch, or would you like my soda too, Merlin?”

  Merlin swiped his hand out to grab the soda, but Steve swiftly yanked it back with a deadpan disappointment in his stare. 

  But before Merlin could voice a token complaint -- namely that it was just freely offered -- it was swiftly plucked out of Steve’s hand, too. 

  “Now, let’s not get too hasty, there!”

  Merlin and Robin both jumped in surprise which felt more than a little ridiculous given the newcomer was plainly in view to them. Steve, who had actually been snuck up on, just breathed out a deep, long-suffering sigh, and twisted around just enough to look at the stranger.

  “Munson,” Steve rolled his eyes. “And here I was thinking we were in the clear.”

  It clicked in Merlin’s mind as he glanced to the other end of their table and noted one of the usual guys was absent.

  “Munson, we’ve been sitting at his table, and he’s been pretty firm about ignoring me, but if he’s in a mood, he won’t.” Steve had explained last week.

  Munson, who apparently had grown bored of ignoring Steve.

  He looked a few years older than Steve, which was weird considering Steve was a senior, and a decently mature one at that. His hair was long and curly and messy and his outfit was a chaotic, cobbled-together collection of denim, leather, and a shirt that matched the ones his buddies were wearing. (His buddies, who were all watching the current ordeal with a clear morbid curiosity.)

  In fact… Merlin had sorta grown used to all the people watching him and Steve; had started to block them out. Or so he’d thought, ‘cause now he felt the claustrophobic panopticon of small-town drama again, closing in via the hungry eyes of his classmates. So maybe he never actually got used to them, maybe they got used to him.

  They’d even been content to ignore Robin, but not, as it seems, to ignore this odd boy with a wild smile and deceptively kind eyes. 

  “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Harrington,” Muson drawled out, though didn’t make a big deal of it when Steve swiped his drink back. “Peace was never an option.”

  Robin leaned into Merlin and whispered, “Do you have any clue what’s going on?”

  “None,” Merlin answered, “but it seems like it could be fun?”

  The comment drew Munson’s attention, who proceeded to grin ferally at Merlin and straddle the seat on Steve’s left. “Oh, we do have fun here, don’t we, Harrington?” 

  Steve, unwisely, scooted his chair rightward, winding up in front of Robin. This only seemed to delight Munson, ‘cause he scooted his own chair right along with Steve, conveniently positioning himself in front of Merlin.

  “Now, Ambrose, right?” Munson asked, eyes flaring with mischievous glee.

  “Merlin, please,” the warlock corrected.

  Something in Munson brightened, the same sort of joy Steve and the kids derived from his name, but Merlin stored that away for later. “Eddie, then.”

  Merlin nodded and reclaimed his usual resting smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  Eddie narrowed his eyes. “I’d say the same, but I’m not sure yet.”

  Merlin cast a glance at Steve, who was staring up at the ceiling as though pleading with the heavens to strike him down. Somehow, he sensed Merlin’s gaze and tilted his head back down, catching the bewildered expression Merlin was certainly sporting.

  Steve cleared his throat. “Listen, Munson, if you want us to ditch your table, just tell us, alright?”

  “Now, now, did I say that yet?” Eddie rebuffed, his words accompanied by grandiose gestures and exaggerated expressions. With his hand clutched to his chest, he carried on, “No, no, I’m simply examining the new social climate, and I’ve detected an anomaly!”

  Steve looked more and more dead inside with each passing word. Still, he prompted, “And that is…”

  Merlin grinned and interrupted Eddie’s next words. “A deviation from the norm.”

  Steve glared at him for that one, but his lips were twitching upward. “Oh, so pretty much your mission statement, then?”

  “Bingo!”

  “This,” Eddie cut in, eyes affixed to their brief back-and-forth with hawk-like focus. “Normally, I’d accept the whims of the elite as purely unknowable to me, but somehow I think it’s just as safe to ask, just this once.”

  “Then ask,” Steve gritted out, taking an aggressive sip of his drink to emphasize just how little he was bothered. Merlin doubted anyone was fooled.

  “So here’s the thing,” Eddie started off, gleeful from the permission. “Ambrose, sorry, Merlin, I can excuse, ‘cause he was new and didn’t know jack shit, and I didn’t know him. Rumors aside, he could be Christ or the anti-Christ for all I knew. But Buckley?”

  Robin reared back, and Merlin caught her gaze in time to see the shock overtake her. As comfortable with watching and not engaging as she was, Eddie’s abrupt address had taken her entirely off-guard.

 The moment she recovered her wits, her hackles were raised. “What about me?” She snapped back at the senior.

  Eddie continued to look wholly unbothered by the mayhem he raised. “Well, we’re two of a kind, Buckley, and you’ve never been one to consort with the enemy.”

  Merlin snorted into his hand. “If-- heh-- if this is about Steve being a jock --”

  “Merlin--” Steve tried to interject.

  “--then you’ve missed a lot more than I thought,” Merlin kept on. “I mean, seriously? When’s the last time you even saw him sitting with them?”

  “Exactly why I judged it safe to ask,” Eddie replied smoothly, fully planting his palms on the table. “Less chance of getting mobbed later.”

  “Oh, someone’s getting mobbed later,” Steve muttered through a facepalm, but it wasn’t a threat. Billy’s face flashed in Merlin’s mind, and it took all he had to not search for the other boy’s gaze elsewhere in the cafeteria. 

  Eddie ignored Steve’s words, thankfully. “So, how about it, Buckley? What’s it like on the dark side?”

  “Rude, I am not wrinkly,” Steve griped. 

  “Lightning fingers are cool, though,” Merlin supplied with a coy smirk.

  “Not as cool as a freakin’ laser-sword,” Steve shot back.

  “Curious that you immediately understand you’re the Emperor,” Robin spoke up, catching onto Merlin and Steve’s play at diffusing the tension. “Also, it’s a lightsaber. Not laser-sword .”

  “The point still stands!” Steve whined. “And I was only catching Munson’s little jab, I wasn’t actually agreeing! Besides, I’m totally Han Solo!”

  The table group was struck by a shaky silence for a moment before Eddie started laughing.

  “Sure thing, Harrington,” the senior wheezed out. “Whatever you say.”

  The annoyed pinch of Steve’s brows morphed into deep betrayal when Merlin let a chuckle loose. The subsequent glare was met with a simple shrug.

  “Yeah, and I bet you think you’re Luke, huh Munson?” Steve grouched, slinking down. Casting his eyes back towards Merlin, he mouthed, So does Mike.  

  “Oh, Your Majesty, you’re reading me all wrong,” Eddie crooned out, leaning into Steve’s space with loose aplomb. “I’m R2 all the way.”

  Steve looked a bit mad, then. Or maybe just over the conversation. Merlin had seen the expression before, whenever someone mentioned the King Steve nickname to him. His eyes would shutter and his shoulders tensed.

  And normally, Merlin would be right there along with him, laughing off the drama queens who cared about high school politics.

  But now…

  Something about Eddie calling Steve “Your Majesty”...

  Merlin felt something deep inside him click into place, something that insisted it felt right. But that had to just be his own bias. His own stupid, idiotic, self-centered hope.

  “You know, Steve,” Robin was saying now, but Merlin just leaned back to observe. “You’re really more of a Biggs.”

  “Why am I a cartoon rabbit?”

  “Oh my god,” Eddie breathed out, seemingly having the time of his life. It was an entirely fair reaction. “Harrington, you’ve really been holding out on your subjects. I mean, if I knew you were funny …” Eddie pretended to mull it over. “No, still would’ve hated you. Sorry.”

  “Plus the fact that he’s not actually funny,” Robin added. “ We are. He’s just benefitting.”

  “Ah, like a true king,” Eddie grinned. “And even more proof that you’re not half-bad, Buckley, so what are you doing here?”

  Robin cast a wary glance at Merlin, almost beseeching, but he just shrugged, set on non-interference.

  So she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and met Eddie’s intense gaze. “Well, Merlin’s not bad. Guess I just wanted to see what all the hype was.”

  She was curious about Steve. So was Eddie. So was Merlin.

  Damn, this guy really had the whole school obsessed with him, didn’t he? If Merlin didn’t know any better, he’d call it magic. But he didn’t, because, well…

  “What hype?” Steve asked, tilting his focus back and forth between the two of them like a lost puppy, expression entirely genuine.

  Yeah. Steve knew rumors. He knew gossip and hierarchy and social circles. He knew kids relying on him and unknowns like Merlin giving him the benefit of the doubt.

  What he didn’t know were many peers willing to see if he’d changed, giving him a genuine second chance to impress them. Even Nancy, who he’d dated for a year, didn’t seem too prone to see him as anything more than who he used to be. At least, from what little Merlin had observed from them.

  So Steve was frowning at Robin and Eddie, and they were similarly exasperated and wary, but they were there, and that mattered a hell of a lot to Merlin.

  Merlin zoned out a bit for the majority of lunch thereafter, paying less attention to the words than how and why they were said.

  “Well, princess, it just so happens that us mere commoners have more important things to do than watch high school basketball games.” Eddie, teasing Steve like he was born to do it, shoving the man’s old title in his face and waiting for the breaking point, wanting to prove Steve wasn’t actually any different than he’d been before Merlin had met him.

  “If you didn’t, I’d be worried.” Steve, letting the disrespect slide right off him while still very clearly being bothered by them, simply unwilling to let Eddie’s grandiose act bear fruit…

  “Hey, dingus, not everyone spends 3 hours fixing their hair up every morning, get to the point.” Robin, pushing at Steve’s vanity and obliviousness, trying to see how defensive he was, how much he cared, but she was doing it for the opposite reason Eddie was. Somehow, Merlin knew she was waiting for Steve to prove Merlin right.

  “That’s not even related to this--” Steve, entirely missing the point of what Robin was getting at…

  It was all very…

  That is to say, it was sort of…

  Well, it reminded Merlin a lot of…

  He knew where his brain was going with this. Steve responded the way Arthur would.

  Merlin fondly remembered the way Gwaine flaunted his misfit nature to Arthur, especially those early days before he realized Arthur wasn’t like most nobles. And before then, Morgana desperately poked and prodded at Arthur, relentless in her efforts to draw some truth out of him that could let her respect him. Neither really ever let him rest when they were around, and watching Steve deflect Robin and Eddie like this, he was almost sad he never got to see old, sane Morgana team up with Gwaine against Arthur. It would've been glorious.

  The whole thing made Merlin dizzy. It wasn’t a fun thought exercise.

  He only really tuned back in when the air grew tense, and Merlin panicked internally as he realized he had no clue what he missed that had made things awkward.

  Eddie was glaring away from Steve, Steve was looking heavenward in contemplation, and Robin had her face hidden in her hands.

  Damn. This is what he gets for his little crisis break. But before he could think of what to say to make things better…

  “Hey, Munson,” Steve spoke up, and it jolted the other two out of their sulking. “What’s your little club all about again?”

   Oh, Gods, this will be good.

  Merlin observed Eddie across from him, expecting annoyance or, worst case, anger, to appear on his face. Curiously, Eddie just looked cautious.

  It took a moment for Merlin to play the whole lunch period back in his head and understand: This was the first time Steve had explicitly initiated a topic. It was a possible display of interest.

  “Hellfire?” Eddie tested, clearly expecting a reaction from the name, but Steve just nodded and snapped out a finger gun.

  “Yeah, that.”

  Eddie grinned, a fragile, feral little twist of the lips, joy and venom dripping from his tongue with his next words. “We, my liege, are humble servants to creation. Our days are filled with adventure and peril and--”

  “Oh, you guys play DnD?” Merlin asked, easily catching on after hearing Dustin go on one-too-many monologues.

  Eddie looked shocked Merlin guessed what he was getting at, but nothing could compare to the sheer confusion and mystification that danced along his brows and when Steve visibly brightened. “Right! I thought so. I have a request, then!”

  “Right…” Eddie muttered, straightening up to analyze Steve’s every little movement. “Let's hear it then.”

  Steve looked so much happier than he had all day, which was the second clue.

  The first was that he was talking about DnD in public.

  “I know some kids that are gonna be freshmen next year,” Steve began, because who else would he be so enthused about? “And they’re, like, super obsessed with the game. So if anyone in your club is still here next year, please have them look out for the kids?”

  Oh, Merlin wished he had a camera. 

  Eddie was so confused he leaned back in his seat as if trying to escape from the conversation. Robin, meanwhile, was just mouthing the word please over and over again.

  “What?” Eddie breathed out, eyes the size of saucers.

  “It’s just, they’re super nerdy about it; it’s all they talk about whenever I babysit them” Steve went on to explain, which only added to the befuddlement abounding at their lunch table. “They’re already teased at their middle school, so unless they have a safe place to play and express all that, it’ll get even worse. I don’t want them getting desperate enough to try and convince, like, the jocks to play with them. That’d be a disaster.”

  Merlin nodded and spoke up for the first time in quite a few minutes. “I’ve met the brats -- that’s absolutely something they would do.”

  The warlock’s words seem to convince Eddie that it’s not a prank, because he nods along finally. “I’d never leave fellow outcasts to wither away in the cold, Harrington.”

  Steve smiled broadly, pearly teeth shining and eyes aglow. “Thanks, man, I appreciate that. I’ll tell them to come find your club when they get out of middle school, then. Probably a nice Back-to-School gift.”

  Almost in unison, Eddie and Robin shot Merlin with the exact same expression, silently asking, Is this guy for real?

  Merlin couldn’t repress the smile that cropped up, feeling warmer inside than he had all week.

  Yeah. Steve Harrington was real.

  Arthur or not, the center of magical significance or not, Merlin wouldn’t forget that.

  Before he could tease Steve, though -- as is his right to do -- the bell rang, drawing a whole chaotic ordeal to a close.

  Eddie jolted up, apparently shocked he’d talked to King Steve until lunch ended. (The horror!) He made a little bowing gesture, said he needed to catch up with his friends, shot Steve one last skeptical look, and scrambled away.

  Merlin watched, a little amused, a little sad, a little determined. He didn’t know if Eddie could count as a friend, yet, but he had a point to prove. He’d convince Eddie Munson that Steve was a good guy first, then he’d settle in for the long haul.

  Robin Buckley was easier.

  She walked with them until Steve split off for his own class. Merlin didn’t actually need to walk with Robin any farther after that, if anything he needed to double back a bit, but he had one last observation to note down.

  “So?” he asked casually, keeping in step with the band geek.

  “So, what?” She shot back.

  “Am I still too nice to be Harrington’s friend?”

  She laughed at that but kept walking. “Well, apparently he’s lame enough to be yours.”

  “Wh-- Hey!”

  “Still, though…” She muttered, steps faltering a bit.

  “What?”

  Robin bit her lip, eyes brimming with some tenuous anxiety Merlin could maybe, just maybe understand. If only he knew her better.

  She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head and walking at full speed again. “Nothing! He’s just more dingus, less douche than I expected. That’s all. See you later!”

  She was around the corner before he could reply.

  Sighing, Merlin turned back around and made for his own class -- Statistics, gross -- and accepted that things went about as well as he could expect for something so unexpected.

  It didn’t matter.

  He’d work on Eddie, maybe, if the guy showed up again. Pestering him to hang out wouldn’t make things better for Steve.

  He’d stick around for Robin; wait for her to open up about whatever was really bothering her. She was a friend for sure, now. He didn’t want to lose her.

  He’d still have Steve, no matter what. It was funny, really, how certain of that he was.

  But…

  His feet froze in their step, even as the warning bell rung around him

  He wasn’t certain Hawkins would let him keep Steve. Whatever was going on here, Steve had to be involved. Merlin wouldn’t know him, otherwise.

  Enough drama. There was work to do.

  And that was fine and all. Finally getting off his ass and taking things seriously was great! Real productive; super cool! He left school that Friday brimming with energy, a sickly mixture of determination and dread stickying his veins and lodging in his throat, dead-set on getting to work.

  The only problem was…

  Well…

  That meant going back into town.

  Oh, how the social days of his youth had faded. Several hundred years ago, sure, but the point still stands.

  Step One, thankfully, was theft.

  Now, obviously, Merlin could’ve walked into The Hawkin’s Post and simply asked for old copies of their paper. But if he left evidence on any subsequent investigation, then they’d have a pretty good picture of who did it.

  So he snuck around back in the middle of the night, unlocked the door with a flash of his eyes, and carefully snuck through the dark halls to their storage room. Nobody should be there after office hours but he didn’t want to let down his guard for a second.

  He spent maybe an hour paging through old newspapers, using the first he’d picked up as a reference for dates. Thankfully, they were pretty similar: November 1983 and November 1984. Any relevant story was quickly copied into a sketchbook -- magic again making theft a breeze -- and he took care to arrange everything exactly as he found it. He doubted anyone would notice if he hadn’t, but it was worth it anyway.

  In the early hours of the morning, he was able to establish a timeline of events, but it was all pretty weak. Subsequent reports regarding the lab made things clearer, but only slightly. He didn’t really trust the official “chemical spill” story, and the way it was supposed to relate back to Will was… very vague. It was barely even acknowledged, given most of the press coverage went to Barbara Holland’s unfortunate death.

   What if it was just a leak? He asked himself after hiding away the sketchbook. What if Steve’s just… a good babysitter? What if the newspapers are right?

  It was hard not to doubt himself, but he knew stranger things were out there than government cover-ups. After all: He was one of them.

  So he persisted nonetheless. He spent Saturday napping, chatting with Steve on the phone, and memorizing the news reports. It wasn’t really relaxing, but he got to hear Dustin screaming at Steve over the phone to come help the brats with some school project, so he figured he was having the less stressful day, between the two of them.

  Just after dark, he pulled a few addresses from the phone book and set off.

   Merrill's Pumpkin Patch was a bit out of the way. Annoyingly so, for someone who didn’t have a car and couldn’t beg Steve for help with this one. At least, not unless he wanted Steve going all mother-hen on him. 

  So, Merlin relented to the circumstances and bought a bike. 

  Bikes: Horses, but dead! Useful, certainly, and would never inspire an afternoon of stable cleaning, but Merlin was still nostalgic for trustworthy companions that would do the hard work for you.

  Still, it was much easier to ride out to the outskirts of Hawkin’s than it was to walk.

  The farm was empty of any pumpkins, given they were between seasons. Merlin himself had maintained a pumpkin garden for half a cycle, maybe some 400 years ago. It had been very important at the time for him to grow a healthy garden in his cottage by Avalon. It was a quiet cycle with nothing to do and the proximity to Arthur’s resting place left his thoughts dwelling on death.

  Tending plants, creating life, nurturing growth… it had been very therapeutic, back then. Pumpkins hadn’t been his favorite, per se, but he still grew them.

  But even knowing it was still too cold to grow them, he couldn’t help but feel miffed he had to explore an empty plot of land. If he had to deal with the biting chill of early February, then the world could at least grant him something pretty to look at!

  All thoughts of pretty flowers and gorgeous gourds left his mind pretty quickly once he reached the center of the plot, though.

  The land looked a bit disturbed, dirt oddly loose compared to the rest of the farm, but it wasn't anything visual that stopped him in his tracks.

  It was the feeling that overcame him, staring down at the dirt and breath catching, that sense of wrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrong--

  He stumbled back, chest heaving.

  The flashlight he’d brought was no help. illuminating no hidden threats. There was nothing wrong. There was everything wrong. He could feel it.

  Slowly, he approached again, prepared for the visceral repulsion now. 

  It was an echo, that much he knew. Nothing was here anymore. He’d felt it time and time again, that ghost of a trauma, most notably when the Doracha roamed the land of the living. When he’d seen the Veil Between the Worlds, he’d understood immediately how unflinching death was, how inescapable it was -- to everyone but him, apparently.

  It was one of the worst days of his first life. 

  Later on, when Arthur had ventured into the Spirit World to speak to his father, Merlin had lost sight of his king entirely, and the fear of Arthur never returning was just barely worse than the overwhelming dread that the magic surrounding the stones inspired in him.

  This… was nothing like that.

  The Veil, as terrifying as it is, was a natural phenomenon. Dangerous when torn open, dangerous for mourning mortals, but natural elsewise. Life and Death were intrinsic to the balance of the world, and Merlin only sometimes felt like a monster when he remembered that.

  This wasn’t natural. This was wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong--

   It wasn’t a Veil, he was certain of it. Once the Veil disappeared after Lancelot… Well, once the Veil disappeared, Merlin had felt not even an echo of its presence. 

  And it wasn’t a natural gateway, he’d long since learned the feel of those.

  This was…

  It wasn’t natural and it wasn’t magic, which means…

  Gods help him, this was human, wasn’t it?

  How could this be human?!

  Slowly crouching, Merlin tried to divine any more details from the echo, but all he achieved was pulsating nausea and mounting horror.

  He didn’t know what this was and he didn’t know what happened here, but it wasn’t mere chemicals. It was a blatant affront to the rules of nature.

  He fled the pumpkin patch as quickly as possible, and was peddling away on his bike before he had his next coherent thought: I need to know more.

  It was still early enough in the evening that he allowed himself a break, a quick stop into a diner for some coffee, before settling into his next task.

  Around 11 pm, he found himself wandering the woods. 

  It should’ve been nostalgic, as nature usually was. He should’ve been breathing in the fresh spring air, remembering days untouched by exhaust fumes and light pollution. Instead, he was flinching at every little sound like he was expecting a group of bandits to pop out of nowhere and massacre his hunting party -- an entirely different form of nostalgia.

  He considered it a bit of a waste of time, honestly, only catching a few minor echoes he couldn’t quite trace, and none were as major as the disturbance at the farm. The waning moon was bright in the sky, hung above him like a spotlight on a stage, and Merlin was wary of his own performance. He didn’t want to waste the night. He didn’t want to find anything at all.

  Small echoes, he decided, he could forget. They wouldn’t lead to anything.

  Finally, late in the night -- or early in the morning, depending on how you count it -- he made his last stop of the night. Armed with his sketchbook, a black hoodie, and a fuck-you attitude, Merlin found himself breaking into the Hawkins Police Station.

  It was a law enforcement office, so it wasn’t empty like the Post had been the night before. Merlin had to be extra careful of security cameras, guards, and on-duty officers.

  But he’d perfected the art of sneaking past guards as a teenager way back when, and he hadn’t lost his touch. A few camera loops, distracted guards, and temporarily passed out desk workers later, he was into the case storage unit.

  His system was similar to his break-in at the Post. Find the relevant cases, copy them down, and fix everything up. He made much quicker work of it, not having the luxury of being alone, and learned 3 key details.

1. The address and official charges levied against the Department of Energy.

1. The fact that there was still no official explanation for Will Byers being not-dead.

1. The fact that Chief Jim Hopper had been the lead investigator on, well, everything.

  Merlin suddenly remembered Billy accusing Steve of bribing the Chief, or something along those lines, and wondered what grounds he had for that. If the accusation was based on actual proof the Chief and Steve were in league, then Merlin had pretty solid reasoning Steve was involved. Just not in the way Hargrove thought, obviously.

  Nonetheless, he fled the station as soon as he had collected what he needed. It was almost daylight by then, so he resolved to take another rest day before his next move.

  He slept for a few hours, drank a lot more coffee, passed out again, compiled all his thoughts into a new timeline of events, and called Steve up to complain about the homework he wasn’t doing. Best to keep up appearances. (And to reassure himself Steve was still there and safe and not swallowed up by the godsawful wrongwrongwrong--)

  By the time it was nightfall again, he was bent out of shape trying to psych himself up. He knew where he was going. He didn’t want to go.

  But the lab had to have been blamed for a reason. Had to have been shut down for a reason. A cover-up of a cover-up, but there was something to cover up in the first place.

  The Hawkins National Laboratory was probably a nightmare in the daylight, but it was downright horrific at night.

  Merlin didn’t consider himself one to spook easily, not anymore. He had seen too many things to jump at shadows or shiver at bad omens. He was always cautious, always paranoid, but it had been a very, very long time since he’d approached a location with leaving being his only instinct.

  The gates were easy to slip through and the doors were boarded up by an easily broken chain, at least if you were magic incarnate. The lobby was a dead zone, barely cleaned before abandoned, and broken glass crunched under his feet as he crossed the threshold.

  He hated this place already, but no matter how far he ventured into the building, he found nothing of value. Files cabinets were empty, all electronics were scrapped, and doors to rooms that were once surely confidential were carelessly ajar.

  The place felt scarred, same as the farm had, but he couldn’t pinpoint where the feeling originated from. The sensation was worse here than he knew how to process, like someone had taken a celestial spork and scraped the surface of the world until it was ripped raw. It wouldn’t be appeased by balance or forced to his whim and he hated it.

  Something had happened in Hawkins, Indiana that he had no reference for, no guidelines. It could still be happening. Must be happening, because why else would his magic have drawn him here?

  He was sure now that Steve was connected. Sure that he was drawn to Steve for that and not… not any other reason. 

  Merlin had nothing else left to believe, not when every step forced that same wrongwrongwrong down his throat like thorny brambles, choking him from the inside-out.

  There were stairs leading down. The air grew more concentrated with the sickly wrong, the man-mad horror; the cloying tangles of dread.

  Merlin pressed on.

  If you had asked Steve Harrington on Sunday, he would’ve told you Merlin had had the better weekend.

  Sure, he seemed a bit annoyed by his homework over the phone, but Merlin was smarter than Steve was and he got it done pretty quickly once the kids finally stopped pestering him, so it couldn’t have been all bad.

  He would’ve maintained that stance all the way up until he saw Merlin’s face Monday morning.

  Now, Steve was firmly against the characterization others levied at him nowadays that he was a mother-hen, or a worry-wart, or overbearing. He liked to think of himself as grown enough to the point where he could react to a situation with the absolute correct amount of worry. He’d spent too long not reacting enough, it was about time he tried to show how much he cared.

  So, when Dustin needed advice or social help, he kept it loose and casual. No cheek-pinching, no over-effusive compliments, no false confidence. The kid was a dork, but he was also freaking fantastic and a little genius, and he deserved to know that. That wasn’t overstating it!

  When the kids stole a car and dived down into the tunnels from Dr. Suess’ worst nightmares, he bitched and whined the whole way through, bat in hand, and even that probably wasn’t enough for the situation. No amount of worry was enough for that.

  And, when Merlin walked into school looking like he hadn’t slept in days, when the bags under his eyes were dark enough to have bags of their own, when his hair was easily going on three days without brushing… Steve considered “freaked out” an appropriate amount of worry.

  Merlin was too smart, though. He was good at deflecting, hiding his actual issues like a pro, and never breathed a word of complaint about what was eating at him.

  Part of Steve worried that, maybe, they just weren’t close enough. Maybe Merlin just didn’t trust him with the real shit. Maybe Steve should just drop it.

  But Steve had spent too long “dropping it”. He was sick of it.

  Thankfully, worry took many forms.

  The lack of sleep was clearly getting to Merlin, because he seemed barely aware of his surroundings. Jumpy, sure, always checking over his shoulder, but Steve had to snap his fingers in front of his face just to make sure he was still awake during History. (The answer was just barely.)  

  Even when they split up for their next class, Steve watched warily as Merlin stumbled and slammed into a locker while trying to turn a corner.

  It wasn’t hard, come lunchtime, to convince Merlin to go take a nap in Steve’s car. Merlin put up a token protest, but Steve pretended he was more annoyed than worried, and that method worked startlingly well on the weirdo. Merlin was snoring in Steve’s back seat in under a minute.

  It was the bare minimum of care Steve could display. So he folded and kicked it up a notch.

  Robin Buckley was, thankfully, easy to find. For all she blended into a crowd, Steve recognized the chaotic energy she shared with Merlin from across the cafeteria.

  She was sitting alone. Suddenly, he was deeply uncomfortable with how he’d tried to vet her the other day.

  He cleared his throat before taking a seat, hoping not to startle her, but she jumped in her seat and whirled around on him anyway, eyes blown wide.

  “What?” She snapped out, clearly on instinct, because she clammed up the next second.

  Steve grinned sheepishly and sat down next to her. “Hey, fancy meeting you here.”

  “Where’s Merlin?” She asked, which was sorta fair. Still, Steve didn’t mind cutting to the chase.

  “Well,” he drew out, resting an elbow on the table and angling towards her carefully. “Our mutual friend crawled into school like a zombie today, so I sent him to go nap in my car. It’s real bad, eye bags, no thoughts behind the eyes, the whole nine yards of a classical insomniac.”

  Robin didn’t seem to know what to do with that information. “Okay…?”

  “So I need your help,” Steve concluded.

  Her vision scanned the room. She was looking for traps, signs that this was a joke or prank. Nancy had acted just the same way the first time he’d talked to her. Jonathan still did, even when Steve was just picking up the kids. Steve didn’t blame any of them.

  “I know we don't really know each other, so this is weird,” Steve admitted. “But he’s a hypocritical little nerd who pushes everyone else about their issues and refuses to share any of his own, so I think we just need to cheer him up. He really liked having you there on Friday.”

   That, she seemed to trust more. Steve was glad Merlin had that effect on other people too. Made him feel a little less insane for how quickly he’d latched onto the guy.

  “So, what are you saying…?”

  Steve’s smile was genuine as he explained his plan. He didn’t know Robin well enough yet, nor did she know him, and neither had any way of knowing this little truce would lead to much more than mutual worry over a friend. Just as well they didn’t, though: They wouldn’t have believed it.

  Eddie Munson is much harder to convince, but Steve had grabbed Robin first for a reason.

  The super senior was out by the bleachers, walking back from his dealing spot in the woods. 

  Steve was… mixed about inviting Munson. He didn't have any specific issues with the guy, but Munson clearly felt otherwise. Steve didn’t blame him, per se, but it made things much more difficult than they needed to be. He was mostly counting on Merlin's own charisma here, combined with Robin’s reassurance, and the fact that Steve wasn’t as bad as Hargrove in the long run.

  “I’m not selling you drugs,” were Munson’s first words, snapped out like venom.

  “We don’t want any,” Steve assured him.

  “We don’t?” Robin asked, though she was smirking too much to be serious.

  “Buckley, fraternizing with the enemy?” Munson asked, arms doing some elaborate gesture Steve paid no attention to.

  Robin snorted. “Please, this isn’t about Harrington.”

  “It isn’t?” Munson asked, sounding genuinely shocked and, jeez, these people.

  “A little birdie,” Steve glanced at Robin briefly, “well, a different little birdie is sulking.”

  “So it’s party night!” Robin announced.

  “It’s not a party!” Steve argued, already exhausted. 

  “That’d be a first for you, Harrington,” Muson teased. “So, if it’s not a party, and you don’t want the good stuff, what do you want?”

  “Merlin got a kick out of you two last Friday,” Steve explained. “And I’m awesome on my own, but he seems more social than that. I’d just invite the kids, but I don’t think that’d relax him. So, congrats, Munson! You’re officially on the same level as Robin and I -- the Merlin fan club. You in?”

  “In for what ?”

  “Jesus, you idiots, speak English, maybe?” Robin jeered with a roll of her eyes. “We’re hanging out at Steve’s place tonight. You’ll be there.”

  Munson froze. Steve himself couldn't help but chuckle nervously at the sheer bluntness.

  “Basically, yeah. I think Merlin wants to collect as many losers as he can, so welcome to the club,” Steve admitted, thoroughly prideless by this point.

  “You just counted yourself in that,” Munson pointed out.

  “I know,” Steve sighed.

  Munson was even more thrown off by that, but Steve knew what he was doing. With a subtle nod towards Robin, they both turned on the puppy eyes.

  “C’mon, Eddie, live a little,” Robin pleaded. “It’s a risk, but it could be fun.”

  “It’s not a risk, just weird,” Steve defended himself, amplifying the pity factor by tilting his head. He didn’t know if the way his hair flopped down when he did that would work on Munson, but it worked on most people, so it was worth a shot.

  Munson only lasted a half-minute more of awkward silence before letting out a deep breath and looking away. “Fine! God! But when this all goes up in flames, I’m gonna be the one laughing.”

  Steve just grinned and quickly settled the details with the two of them.

  It was a risk, actually, but not for Robin and Eddie. Steve was forcing Merlin to take a risk; forcing himself to take a risk. He wasn’t used to this sort of thing, but Nancy and the kids had done him a world of good.

  Merlin was doing him a world better. Steve had to believe he could do the same.

  As he and Robin turned to leave, content with their use of peer pressure, Munson called out to them, “Hey, you’re still on thin freakin’ ice, Harrington!”

  Steve turned, a little shocked, but not because of any acidity in Eddie’s voice. No, instead Munson looked a bit perplexed, a bit wary, and a bit excited. His eyes were warmer than Steve had ever seen them, at least when directed at him.

  So Steve put on a big, cheesy smile and called back, “Good thing I’m a trained lifeguard, then!”

  Robin just about died trying not to laugh as she stomped away. Steve felt particularly proud of that one.

  Before waking Merlin up, Steve managed to ambush Jonathan in the hallway and beg the kids off on him for the day. It wasn’t too difficult, because the kids were pretty self-reliant and Jonathan would do anything to not talk to Steve, so he agreed to just get it over with. 

  Steve was fine with this.

  He kept it secret for the rest of the day, which wasn’t hard because Merlin was still so out of it. All that really meant, though, was that he had double the pleasure of seeing the look of pure astonishment as Robin slid into the back seat behind Steve.

  “...Robin…” he greeted, voice low and groggy. “Uh, hi?”

  “Hey, Merlin,” she grinned. “And hello, dingus,” she tacked on as she kicked Steve’s seat.

  Steve just levied an exasperated look at the rather confounded Merlin before starting the car up and pulling away from the school.

  Merlin rubbed his eyes. “Uh, not to be rude, but--”

  “I’m here 'cause I’m here,” Robin postured, leaning back in her seat. “Deal with it.”

  Merlin sent a beseeching glance toward Steve before shaking his head and smiling. “Alright, sure thing.”

  Steve caught Robin’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. She winked at him. He refocused on the road.

  Stop One was the nearest convenience store to pick up junk food and drinks. Stop Two was straight home, parking smoothly next to the large, beat-up van awaiting them in his driveway.

  Merlin looked more stressed than Steve had ever seen him for the 3 seconds before Munson made his dramatic exit, at which point he all but collapsed against Steve’s side in relief.

  Seriously, this whole thing was freaky. 

  Steve could easily support Merlin’s weight, though, so he just dragged his friend along to his front door.

  “Eddie, too?” Merlin asked softly, eyes so close to Steve’s face he could feel the grip of their gaze. 

  “What? Sick of me already, Merlin?” Munson snarked from behind as Steve shoved Merlin away to unlock the front door.

  “Just surprised you’re not afraid of catching Jock-Cooties,” Merlin joked as Steve pulled him inside.

  “Jockooties,” Robin nodded along, throwing off her shoes as soon as she stepped through the door.

  “You all suck, why are you here?” Steve groaned, making a beeline for the couch and dumping Merlin down on it, ignoring the squawk of indignity.

  “Personally?” Munson asked as he closed the door behind him and trudged in. “Curiosity. Harrington, did you know you’re the only jock who hasn’t bought drugs off me?”

  Steve snorted, dropping the bag of snacks on the coffee table and his backpack on the floor. “Oh, you poor soul. God fucking help you, really.” It was a genuine well-wish.

  “Ew, does that mean you have to deal with Tommy?” Merlin wondered, face scrunched up in disgust.

  Munson rolled his eyes. “He’s hardly the worst.”

  Steve nodded, tossing a soda to Robin, who immediately fumbled the catch and almost dropped it. “Yeah, he has a don’t-bite-the-hand-that-feeds thing 'cause it’s usually his cousin giving him shit.”

  “Oh, well, at least he has manners,” she scoffed, crashing the can open. 

  Steve winced. Yeah, any defense of Tommy H. probably wouldn’t be well-received. Not that he cared enough to actually defend him, but it was weird to know so much about someone and just never need it again. Asshole or not, Steve could never not know Tommy.

  “Who’s the worst, then?” Merlin asked, which was a really stupid question.

  “Hargrove,” Steve, Munson, and Robin all intoned in unison. The three shared a brief, thrown-off expression before brushing it off.

  “Ah, right,” Merlin acquiesced.

  Steve was ashamed to say it, but things got a bit awkward after that.

  In his defense! Merlin was basically the only person his age that had been over to his house in… over a year. For all they’d made up, Nancy still made a point of avoiding the scene of Barb’s disappearance, something which made cold sweat break out across Steve’s neck to even consider.

  He hadn’t thrown any parties since that day, the first step of letting the school’s favorite icon disappear. The kids were over all the time, now, or at least Dustin was. Max and Lucas were a pair, then Mike and Will. And obviously, El had never been over. But still…

  He didn’t need to impress Nancy once she’d forgiven him. He didn’t need to impress the kids once they’d seen him go toe-to-toe with demodogs. And there was no need to impress Merlin once he’d immediately outed himself as an Arthurian nerd. (Arthurianite? Cameloter? Oh, whatever.)

  The problem was, he doubted he’d ever be able to impress Robin Buckley or Eddie Munson. Surprise? Maybe. He was trying really hard to surprise them. But first impressions and second chances were already long gone for them, most likely.

  Thankfully, Steve wasn’t the be-all-and-end-all of having fun.

  “Alright!” Merlin clapped his hands together, standing up. “This is weird! Steve, tunes?”

  Steve rolled his eyes. “Tunes? Really? Are you 80?”

  Merlin huffed as he crouched down in front of the TV stand. “Only sometimes. Robin!” The girl snapped to attention. “You’re on movie duty! Help me choose.”

  Robin grinned. “A chance to mock Steve Harrington’s movie collection? Count me in.”

  “Great,” Steve grumbled.

  “Steve!” Merlin snapped over his shoulder.

  Steve scowled. “Alright, alright!” He stormed over to his record collection. “Tunes, Jesus, you know, you’re bossier than Henderson, Merlin.”

  He didn’t see it, but Merlin’s laugh was unmistakable. Steve’s scowl lessened.

  The moment he started flipping through the vinyl, Munson materialized to his right. “Buckley’s got the movies, I get the music. Lay it on me, Harrington, what’s the damage?”

  “The-- I-- What?” Steve fumbled out.

  “Your taste, how mainstream is it?” Munson muscled him out of the way, flipping through the cases. “Oh, wow, that’s a lot of ABBA.”

  “Munson--”

  “And Bob Seger…Let’s see, let’s see. Madonna, Duran Duran, Phil Collins, Wham!... Jesus, Harrington, are you allergic to anything not on the Top 40?”

  Steve rolled his eyes and left Munson to it.

  “...Is this fucking Ghostbusters?” Munson muttered, just loud enough to rankle Steve.

  “That’s Henderson’s!” He called back, intent on grabbing more food from the kitchen, but something stopped him.

  Robin was still thumbing through his movies, giggling to herself all the while, but Merlin was gone.

  Steve found him at the sliding door, hand pressed against the glass, staring at the pool. Swallowing his own discomfort, Steve leaned up next to him.

  “Trying to escape already?” He probed when Merlin didn’t turn to acknowledge him.

  Merlin snapped his eyes over to Steve, looking thoroughly freaked out. “Oh. Uh, no, all… Your pool.”

  “My pool?” Steve asked. “It’s a bit cold to go swimming, dude.” As if he was ever letting anyone in his backyard unattended ever again, let alone letting someone swim in the Hell Portal Pool.

  “Right, yes!” Merlin nodded, backing away from the glass. “Good, just… hadn’t noticed it yet.”

  Steve bit his lip to keep from blurting out his concern. “Cool, glad that’s… covered. Anyway, if Munson craps on my music taste one more time, you’re driving him home.”

  “He has his own van, though?” Merlin complained, adorably confused, and-- Steve elected to ignore that last thought in its entirety.

  “Better get training, then,” Steve joked, clapping his friend on the shoulder. 

  The Beatles started playing softly, though Munson could be heard over it, whining about how “boring everything is when you reach the top”.

  Merlin smiled. Steve ruffled his friend’s hair in protest.

  “C’mon. To war.”

  Merlin seemed all too happy to get away from the glass.

  Once things settled, Steve had to admit it was kinda nice to have a group that wasn’t composed of chaotic toddlers ranting about college-level physics. For two people who had clearly never hung out before, Robin and Munson got along surprisingly well. Steve just thought it was an enemy territory thing, but it made Merlin livelier than he’d been all day, so he ignored the rationale.

  Unsurprisingly, the duo’s favorite subject was mocking the high school elites. 

  Steve stayed quiet through most of it, considering it pretty chivalrous that he wasn’t shutting it down. As much as some had disappointed him recently, he knew popularity itself wasn’t the problem. Lots of popular kids were so well-regarded because everyone just liked them. Steve used to think he was part of that crowd. He tried not to think about it now.

  The problem was the kids who were top of the food chain because they beat everyone else down to get there. The Tommys and Carols, as long as it had taken him to realize. And he still couldn’t just let it all go and rant about those two, as much as he sorta wanted to. It still just felt… wrong. There had to have been something genuine at some point. So long as he hoped there used to be, he couldn’t just snap it all off.

  Hargrove, though…

  “God, what a total psycho!” Steve complained, long after they’d watched their movie and devoured their snacks. They were in his kitchen by that point, and he was glad he’d stress-cooked so much that weekend, because Merlin and Robin went absolutely crazy when he pulled out the apple pie. 

  Munson, significantly less effusive than the others but devouring his second slice just as vigorously, chuckled. “Wise words from the former king, who would'a thought?”

  “Former king or no, the dude almost killed me,” Steve emphasized with a grandiose sweep of his fork. “I totally call dibs on bitching about him.”

  Everyone stopped chewing.

  Steve suddenly realized he’d said something wrong.

  “What do you mean, almost killed you ?” Merlin asked, and Steve almost felt the urge to back away from the raw anger in his eyes.

   “Uh, nothing?” Steve tried.

  “Steve…”

  “Merlin.”

  “Was it really that bad?” Robin cut in, voice meeker than it’d been since last Friday. “I mean, it looked bad, but…”

  “Plate!” Merlin announced to the room, drawing everyone’s attention back to him, settling his own plate down on the counter. “You said he smashed a plate over your head?”

  “What? No, I didn’t!”

  “Did too, in the locker room!”

  “Wh-- when you were eavesdropping ?”

  “Exactly,” Merlin crossed his arms, utterly shameless.

  “Holy shit…” Munson breathed out, looking queasy which-- Was not okay! Steve worked hard on that pie, he didn’t want anyone barfing it back up! “Man, what even happened?”

  Steve took a deep breath. “Listen, I don’t wanna talk about it. Just… be careful around him, alright? He’s not… I don’t think he’s totally sane. Nobody goes that far if they’re totally okay in the head. Don’t provoke him.”

  The tension was choking him after that pleasant little statement, so he did what he did best: Ignored it.

  “Alright, now, who wants the last piece?”

  It worked on the kids. Steve was kinda embarrassed that it worked on three high schoolers, too.

  The topic was gracefully dropped for the rest of the night, but Steve could tell he’d shaken them all.

  Everyone knew about the fight. Everyone knew it was bad for Steve and that Hargrove left him alone -- mostly -- after that. Only the kids knew how bad it really was, had patched him up, and dragged his unconscious body into Hargrove’s car.

  Only the kids knew it wasn’t the closest he’d even come to dying that night.

  Eventually, they had to call it quits around 11 pm, but Steve felt good about how the night had turned. Merlin had smiled for about 85% of it, and that was a win in any book.

  Eddie drove off on his own, blasting heavy metal the moment he turned on the engine.

  Steve dropped Robin off first and was decently surprised when she smiled at him as she left.

  Alright, maybe Merlin’s mood wasn’t the only positive thing about tonight. 

  Pulling up to Merlin’s house was always a little awkward, cause Merlin never really seemed to want to leave the car.

  Tapping on the handle, Merlin seemed frozen in his seat.

  “You all good?” Steve asked.

  Merlin tensed further, briefly, before slumping down. “Why’d you do all this, Steve?”

  Steve could feel the embarrassment crawl up his face, so he looked away into the dark night. “Listen, you don’t need to explain it if you don’t want to, but I know something’s bothering you lately. You’re a social creature, I figured a larger group would… I dunno, help you.”

  “Steve…” Merlin breathed out softly, and Steve’s resolution to not look instantly broke.

  Merlin was closer than he’d expected, leaning in to see Steve better in the dim light.

  “You didn’t need to…” the other man tried to explain, bright blue eyes muddled by some foggy mist Steve couldn’t interpret. “I mean…”

  Steve took a deep breath and stopped pretending there was anything he wouldn’t do for Merlin’s sake. Very quickly, WWTWOWWATD was becoming WWMMS: What would make Merlin smile? 

  He didn’t fully know how to feel about it, but he thinks the Weird Old Wizard Merlin might just approve anyway.

  “If you don’t wanna talk, that’s okay, Merlin,” he stated more firmly, matching Merlin’s posture and meeting him halfway. In the dim car light, he could just barely see the cracks in Merlin's chapped lips. “But if there’s anything you need: help or company or just decent food, I’m only a call away. Don’t forget that.”

  Merlin stared at him, dumbstruck, but Steve wasn’t worried. He didn’t really think he could go too far with Merlin, not permanently. It was a weird feeling, but Steve didn’t mind being comfortable for once.

  “I won’t,” Merlin promised. “So long as it goes both ways.”

  Well, Steve could hardly argue that. “Does that mean you’ll stop being so pushy?”

  Merlin gasped, amusement curling up his lips. “I’m not pushy! Now agree, dammit.”

  Steve laughed, loud and hearty. “Right, right, okay. Deal.”

  He stuck out his hand. Merlin took it.

  “Deal,” his friend whispered, and then he was off, sprinting up the walkway to his house.

  “Get some sleep!” Steve yelled as he leaned over to close the car door Merlin had left ajar.

  “Make me!” Merlin taunted, and then the front door slammed shut.

  Steve couldn’t help but grin. It was just so-- so--

  So Merlin.

  He was in high spirits, and he would've been the whole drive home if not for the tiny, lone figure he noticed as he cruised the streets.

  Halfway back to his house, far out of the way of where he picked her up in the mornings, at nearly midnight, he saw--

  He slammed the brakes and rolled down his window.

  “Max?”

Chapter Text

  Halfway back to his house, far out of the way of where he picked her up in the mornings, at nearly midnight, he saw--

  He slammed the brakes and rolled down his window.

  “Max?”

  The young girl stared back at him through wide, shaken eyes. “...Steve. Hey.”

  Steve knew better than to instantly get out of the car. It would only scare her off. Instead, he put the car in park and leaned back in his seat. “Yeah, hey… You good?”

  Max nodded, looking off into the night, and Steve wished he could see whatever emotion was in her eyes, just so his own mind would stop coming up with new worst-case scenarios. “Yeah, obviously.”

  “Just walking, then?”

  “Just walking,” Max confirmed, and Steve saw the way she clenched her fists by her sides.

  Even if it wasn’t an obvious lie based on her clipped tone and wary body language, Steve still would’ve known there was something wrong -- Max was walking, no skateboard in sight.

 Even so, pushing Max into a conversation had never worked for anyone.

  Steve nodded along and unlocked his car. “Your place or mine?”

  Max whipped back around to face him, expression aghast. “What? No, Steve--”

  “Listen, demodogs or no, I’m not gonna let you shitheads wander around in the middle of the night all alone,” Steve explained, schooling his own features into what Dustin so frequently called his mom-face, the little brat. “Bears and drunk drivers still exist. So get in the car and tell me where we’re going.”

  Max was, as a general rule, not very cooperative when cornered. From what Steve understood of her, using all the wisdom his traumatized teenage brain contained, she’d rather cut her losses and get out of dodge than deal with authority figures breathing down her neck. Polite when she needed to be, but overall a little rascal that fit in perfectly with the rest of the kids, no matter how much she tried to hold herself above them.

  It’s all pretty endearing, the way kids pretend they aren't vulnerable. Steve’s job was to allow them to be vulnerable anyway. In this case, giving Max a choice on what to do within a non-negotiable parameter was his best bet at getting through this without pulling teeth.

  Observing her now that she was looking, he could see the exact moment she gave in, shoulders drooping and loose hair falling in front of her eyes and she inclined her head. 

  “Yours…” she whispered, and Steve tensed at how weak her voice sounded.

  “Good, then get in,” he carried on, fingers drumming on the steering wheel to expel his anxiety.

  Once she was in the car, he felt better. For one thing, she didn’t seem to be hurt in any way. No blood, no bruises, no matted hair, or torn clothes. Clearly, this wasn’t another Crisis™. It was, however, important, so Steve made sure she was buckled in and drove straight back to his own house, letting the silence between them remain.

  It was only when he locked the front door behind him and turned to face her shivering form that he cleared his throat. “Hot chocolate?”

  Wordlessly, she nodded, following him along as he made way for the kitchen.

  As he pulled out the milk and some mugs, he heard her speak up.

  “Were… Did you throw a party or something?”

  Steve startled, twisting to see what she meant by that. When his eyes landed on the remains of dinner, left uncleaned in favor of rushing his guests home, he laughed. 

  “Not a party, really,” Steve explained, continuing with making the hot chocolate. “Merlin and some classmates who agreed to help me cheer him up. Was just dropping them all off, actually.”

  She made a noncommittal humming sound, and then they were silent once again until finally Steve finished off the drinks and passed a mug over to her.

  “So, what's going on, Red?” Steve asked after a few sips.

  Max just stared at him in silence before looking away and taking a long drink from her mug. After her little delay was done, she grumbled out, “Nothing.”

  Steve nodded. “Right, of course, nothing at all. Just wandering Hawkins at night, alone, with no weapons or walkie-talkie. C’mon, Max, you’re smarter than that.”

  “I know!” She snapped out, and they were finally getting somewhere. “I didn’t think it through, alright!” Then, quietly, she finally met his eyes and asked, “... do you really think it’s still dangerous? I mean, El fixed everything, right?”

  Ah. Okay, so he may have been projecting. Still…

  Steve shrugged. “You kids are all stronger and smarter than anyone in this town would give you credit for, but that’s not enough for me, Red. I thought things were safe once, and even then I didn’t fully believe it. In the end, we still don’t really know what any of this is. So, yeah, I get worried seeing one of you dorks all alone with no way to call for help. I can’t stop you from being you, but please, take the walkie-talkie with you next time?”

  Max brightened up considerably at that, clearly pleased by the acknowledgment of her independence or his trust in her or whatever. In any case, she was less tense, which made Steve himself calm down in turn. And to think that before Nancy, he only ever used his ability to read people to tear them down… 

  Even his current success left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Steve leaned back in his seat nonetheless, not daring to glance at the clock on the wall. “So, what’s up?”

  Max shuffled a bit more in her seat, but Steve knew to wait this time.

  Finally, she cleared her throat and set down her mug. “It’s… It’s Billy.”

  All the blood in Steve’s body went cold. He was decidedly less relaxed now, muscles all twitching into alertness. “Did he do something to you?”

  Max looked down.

  “Max?!” He repeated with urgency, panic clawing up his throat.

  “Not me,” Max confirmed quietly, and Steve allowed himself to breathe. “But he’s been… worse, again. It reminds me of when we first moved here and… He’s been leaving you alone, right, Steve?”

  Steve blinked, wondering if he’d heard that right. “What, me?”

  Max nodded vigorously, eyes gleaming with wary light. “Last time, well, we didn’t notice back then, but he was focused on you that whole week, right?”

  Steve winced, embarrassed in spite of his resolve to see the conversation through. “How do you know that?”

  “Mike and Will heard it from Nancy and Jonathan a few weeks after it all happened,” Max explained, and Steve’s stomach sank even lower. “They wanted to know if Billy was bothering you because of the fight, and Nancy said the fight actually ended your drama with him. But they didn’t tell us anything else.”

  “They probably didn’t know anything else,” Steve allowed, traitorous eyes glancing at the clock. He immediately wished he hadn’t. “They were off investigating the lab most of that time. But, yeah, he and I were already clashing before the fight. He calmed down.”

  “And he’s still calm?”

  This. This is what he loved and hated and coveted and feared. That these middle-schoolers, these children so much more vulnerable but still so much braver than him, that they looked up to him. That they trusted him to keep them safe. That they still tried to fight his battles for him. That they had reason to believe they had to because he was too weak to take down a teenager. Demonic dogs with concentric rows of teeth? Sure. Leading the charge into death tunnels and lighting everything on fire? They outright forced him to. But one teenager bothering him at school? Better call the cavalry.

  He admired their bravery and hated that they’d ever needed it but without that trauma, he’d still be alone and he hated himself for accepting that silver lining.

  But Max was so… honest, right now. She was actually talking to him, a feat not easily accomplished, so he couldn’t just shut her down.

  He cleared his throat. “He’s still Billy, if that’s what you’re asking. But I can handle him, Max. I need to know if you can. Tell me what’s been going on?”

  She stared him down, likely not fully buying it. Which was fair, given it was only earlier that night he’d warned Merlin and Co. that Hargrove wasn’t sane or stable. But clearly, she knew how to prioritize.

  “He’s been fighting his dad a lot more recently.” Max’s voice came out as a whisper. “I… I mean, not… not fighting. It had sort of calmed down cause Billy stopped acting out so much, but now it’s all back again. It’s loud, and I just… I don’t wanna see it. Mom tunes it out too, now. So I don’t see why I should stick around for it.”

  Steve didn’t dare speak, even as the implications of Max's words clicked into place. 

  “It was worse tonight,” Max admits quietly, finality ringing in her tone. “I just wanted out.”

  He lets the atmosphere remain for a few terse moments, allowing them both to regain some sort of composure. This, well, there was no good recourse for this,

  That things were worse today... Steve had to wonder why. Hopefully, it had nothing to do with him.

  Taking deep breaths, he sprung back into action, “When will they notice you’re gone?”

  Max smirks. “Not until morning.”

  Steve resists a groan. By all means, that’s good news for her, but it means he’s responsible. “Then you can crash in the guest room tonight. I’ll wake you up and drive you back before sunrise.”

  She looked surprised, which is a little insulting.

  “What?” He grouches, folding his arms over his chest. “Like I’m gonna toss you back out to the street?”

  “You always could call Mrs. Byers,” Max suggests airily, but Steve can hear the uncertainty underneath the jab.

  “She’s probably asleep already,” Steve points out. “I’m not. Besides, you’re easier to look after than the other losers.”

  Max glows at that, the compliment eclipsing the fact that he’d included her as a “loser”.

  Reluctant to leave the comfort of the chair but resolved to deal with the situation, Steve forces himself to stand up, stretching as he goes to relieve the tension grown from multiple consecutive waves of panic.

  “Finish up your drink, Mayfield,” he instructed, slipping back into his own skin now that the feelings-talk was over. “I’ll prep the guest room.”

  Before he could slip out of the living room, though, Max called, “Hey, uh, Steve?”

  He turned back around, frowning at her small posture, “What’s up?”

  Max’s hands gripped her mug as she looked up at him, eyes calculating. “You had Merlin over, earlier.”

  Uh… “Yeah?” Steve replies, a little baffled at the change in topic.

  “He’s your friend, right?” She continues on.

  Steve stared blankly. “Of course, he’s my friend.”

  Saying it, though, he realized it felt… lacking, maybe. He couldn't quite claim that he’d never had real friends before, so that’s why it felt weird, because he had the kids. Dustin was still his best friend, no questions asked. And maybe Steve could try to say Dustin and Merlin shared that title, but even that didn’t really feel right.

  Maybe friends was just one of those words that never quite matched up to reality. It didn’t really matter -- Steve had no other way to express that reality.

  If she caught onto his little crisis, Max didn’t mention it. She just evaluated him and, after a moment, asked, “And us?”

  “What, you and me? Duh.”

  “I mean all of us, nerd brigade and all,” Max clarified.

  Steve leveled her with what he hoped was a fond-but-exasperated look. “Mayfield, do you really think I’d spend so much time with you all, for free, if I didn’t think so?”

  But she didn’t look comforted. “Why? I mean, after all the trouble and Billy and monsters, you got so hurt --”

  He crossed the room and knelt in front of her. “Hey, Max, listen up,” he ordered and caught her watery eyes. “I’m not that good of a person, okay? You missed the worst of me. It was only all this Upside-Down crap that got my head outta my ass. Even then, it was only you kids that gave me something to actually work with, something to be good at. So don't you dare think you owe me a damn thing, Mayfield. We’re way past that.”

  She stared at him, seemingly shocked into silence. Then, slowly, she giggled, before shaking it off and lunging at him.

  Steve froze as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, unsure how to respond to the hug. It was… It wasn’t like the incessant need he and Merlin apparently shared to stick to each other like glue. It was just simple, honest comfort, and Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d had that with someone other than Merlin -- who, again, didn’t count, because he hardly even noticed it -- or Nancy -- who he’d always initiated it with, anyway.

  He wasn’t completely inept, though, so he hugged her back, figuring comforting pats to her back would be appropriate enough for this puzzle. (She’d probably bite his hand off if he ruffled her hair, after all.)

  “You are a good person, Steve,” she mumbled into his shoulder, and he stopped breathing. “Screw the past, you’re right, I don’t know it. I like this Steve.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. We’re even, then?”

  She didn’t reply. At first, he figured she was just being snotty, but then she went lax in his arms and he hastily laid her back down on the couch.

  “Holy shit…” Steve breathed out as he examined her, voice undoubtedly tinged with awe.

  Eyes closed, breath even, and face slack. Max had actually fallen asleep in seconds.

   Well, he supposed, wincing up at the clock once more. It is pretty late. Still, freakin’ kids.

  She must’ve been exhausted, Christ.

  Cautious of now peaceful Max, he crept upstairs to put the guest bed together, before creeping back down and picking her up carefully. He carried her up with bated breath, half-expecting her to startle awake and yell at him for treating her like a baby or something, but he managed to tuck her under the blankets with no problems.

  Marveling at the strange string of events that had become of his evening, he flipped off all but one light in the room, closed the door, grabbed his bat from under his bed, and slinked back down the stairs.

  Once he’d popped The Sword in the Stone into the tape player and made sure the volume was damn-near inaudible, he settled his nailbat down next to the couch and crashed down for the night.

  If Max trusted him enough to literally fall asleep in his arms, he wasn’t letting his guard down. So long as there was even a slight chance of a repeat of last November, so long as Billy could still feasibly be sent to track her down, he’d stand guard.

  There was no WWTWOWWATD. There was no WWMMS.

  There was just Steve’s instincts, unwilling to put these kids through any more trouble.

  The next morning, he was understandably exhausted.

  Max hadn’t mentioned anything when he woke her up around 6 am. Steve suspected she was content to pretend she’d never been so openly vulnerable, which suited him fine because he didn’t know how to address it either.

  Nevertheless, he made sure she got something to eat before driving her home, dropping her off a block early and waiting in the darkness for 10 minutes just to make extra sure everything would be okay.

  Once he was satisfied she’d snuck back in with no issues, he sped back home and finally crashed onto his own bed, content to get at least a half-hour nap before his alarm went off.

  Needless to say, when he rolled by her house an hour after dropping her off, Merlin chatting away aimlessly in the passenger seat, he had to put up a good front to not draw any suspicion.

  Dustin and Lucas didn’t seem to notice anything either, excitedly discussing some new piece of tech their AV club teacher was getting for them soon. Steve listened half-heartedly, mostly happy to know he wasn’t the only non-parent looking out for these brats.

  The moment he dropped them off, though, Merlin narrowed his eyes.

  “Late night?” The other teen asked lightly, his frown belying his true worry.

  Steve grinned. “If you think 11 is late, I’m afraid you’ll never last through a standard high school party.”

  Merlin scrunched up his nose as Steve pulled into a parking space, no doubt offended by the mere suggestion he would ever consider attending one at all. “Steve…”

  Sighing, Steve turned off the car, content enough to carry on. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  Merlin shifted, shirking his seatbelt and gazing intently at Steve. “Was it bringing up Hargove?”

  Steve froze in his motions to remove his own seatbelt, chuckling as the realization hit him. “Yeah, actually. More or less.” Just not in the way Merlin was thinking. “And I still don’t want to talk about it.”

  Merlin hummed. “Noted. But if you want to get some revenge, I’m all aboard.”

  Revenge was possibly the worst option that could’ve been thought up, right now. 

  Steve blanched. “No, no way. What part of stay clear do you fail to understand?”

  Merlin’s eyes were wide in that fake innocence that made Steve grit his teeth. “Oh, I figured that was just for Robin and Munson. You know me better than that.”

  And Steve did, in fact, know Merlin better than that. A ceasefire may have existed before, tenuous. But he was very quickly learning Merlin was more-or-less a force of nature with very few inhibitions regarding other people’s business.

  And last night, Steve had told Merlin that Hargrove had tried to kill him. Sane people would stay clear. Merlins would start planning.

  Steve glared, pointing a finger for effect. “ No .”

  Merlin looked downright miffed. “But, Steve--”

  “Mer-lin,” he growled out, unthinking of the off-inflection he’d used.

  He didn’t expect it to have any effect -- few things did -- but it froze Merlin stiff.

  Steve frowned, waiting for a sarcastic reply or brutal comeback, but nothing seemed to crop up. “...Merlin. Still alive in there or did you get lost?”

  Merlin’s eyes were blown wide, their crystal blue uncharacteristically distant.

  Steve was just about ready to shake his friend out of his stupor by the shoulders when a loud banging startled them both back into reality.

  Turning around, Steve saw Robin waving cheekily through his driver-side window. Rolling his eyes, willing to move on from… whatever that was, he opened his door.

  “You losers are gonna be late, you know?” Were her first words to them.

  “Hello to you too, jeez,” Steve grumbled, but couldn’t deny his inner delight that she was already talking to them again. Sighing, he grabbed his bag and got out of the car. “Coming, Merlin?”

  Merlin’s door opened right as he closed his own.

  “Yeah, yeah,” the raven-haired teen grumbled, ignoring Steve’s wary gaze. “She is right, though, you’re bad enough in Statistics as is.”

  Steve spluttered, rounding in on Merlin as Robin laughed boisterously beside them. “Wha-- you’re not even in my Statistics class! How would you know!?”

  “You said it yourself, Steve:” Merlin’s eyes sparkled with mischief now, and it calmed something within Steve that he didn’t want to examine. “Math.”

  There were no arguments to be found. And yet, the phrase rang through his skull as they walked, Merlin moving on from the banter to talk about movies with Robin and…

  And…

  “So, yeah. I think they probably got on.”

  The night he’d explained his Arthurian legend thing to Merlin, that’s what Steve had said about King Arthur and Weird Old Wizard Merlin. That too hadn’t been enough.

  But… 

  But--

  “What?”

  “Well, then… I think we’d probably get on.”

  “So?”

  “So that means you can tell me.”

  He stopped walking, brain gone blank. He couldn’t quite process the snippet, the memory, couldn’t recognize it for what it was. It was just voices, one achingly familiar and the other heartbreakingly unrecognizable. 

  He couldn’t-- There wasn’t--

  “Steve?”

  Right, yes. Steve. His name was Steve and he was so sleep-deprived that he’d just… hallucinated a conversation he’d never had. Something that had never happened to him before in spite of his many sleepless nights, but was definitely plausible. He was walking into high school on the 12th of February and Merlin was--

  Merlin was staring at him, just as worried as Steve had been a minute ago…A minute ago? God, it felt like ages.

  Steve stumbled, Merlin only just managing to support him by the arm.

  “How late of a night was it, again?” Merlin fretted, hands pushing back Steve’s bangs to feel for a fever, which was strangely cute of him.

  “6:30-ish…” Steve mumbled, brain still reconnecting. “I… I’m okay. Just a headache.”

  Merlin didn’t look convinced, but that was okay. Steve wasn’t either.

  For the rest of the day, he couldn’t quite get it out of his mind. Even by lunchtime, his main preoccupation remained that odd moment where the world had simply stopped and his brain had played back foreign words.

  Merlin seemed similarly lost in thoughts, but that was par for the course. The only difference this time was that neither of them could reach out first to bring the other back into reality. 

  Not wanting to risk the cafeteria after Max’s small words warning him of Billy’s heightened aggression, when lunchtime rolled around Steve simply pulled Merlin -- and Robin, who’d tracked them down like a bloodhound upon their failure to appear in the cafeteria -- out to his car and had taken a nap in the front seat.

  It wasn’t so much surprising as it was simply heartening that they were both still there when he woke up, content to pass Nerd Gossip back and forth the entire lunch hour.

  His nap only woke him up enough to not completely die in basketball practice.

  Billy Hargrove was, indeed, having a bad day, if the sore ribs Steve sported by the end of practice were anything to go by.

  Basketball was truly becoming less and less appealing with every passing day. Steve just didn’t know how he’d explain quitting to his dad -- but that was a bridge to burn later.

  When he drove home, Dustin, Lucas, and Max were loitering on his porch, which was a plus. (Inside his head, he started counting how many hours Max had spent at his house in the last 24 hours, but he didn’t speak it aloud.)

  The next day passed with much more ease. In the weeks to come, he’d reflect that it was just the calm before the storm, but at the time he was greatly appreciative.

  It was his new normal, really. Pick up the kids and Merlin, talk to Robin throughout the day, accept the occasional surprise of Munson’s company, chauffeur the kids after school, and risk the possibility of Merlin outright passing out on his living room floor because the guy refused to go home at a reasonable hour.

  But that was a Wednesday, which were always grossly normal.

  Thursdays, you had to look out for.

  Especially when the Thursday in question was Valentine’s Day.

  Steve’s day had already started off decently somber, given it was the first Valentine’s Day since he broke up with Nancy. He was surprised to find that his issue was that he particularly wished he still had her for this one, but something else he couldn’t fully fathom. But the idea that he didn’t miss her so much anymore, while comforting on most days, only served to darken his mood now.

  It was ridiculous, he knew that. He was ridiculous. Even so…

  Even so, he was really, really, tired of feeling things, sometimes. 

  Frankly, he wasn’t looking forward to the day for even more reasons, namely that he’d received excess gifts and letters and confessions from the student population since middle school, even when he was dating Nancy. Now that he’d lost his crown, he didn’t know what to expect, and he didn’t know if he’d prefer the expected complete lack of gifts or the old standard excess.

  And not knowing his own thoughts on the matter just made him feel even worse, so he focused entirely on going through the motions to clear his head of it.

  His morning routine was normal that day, nothing out of the ordinary. Hair, coffee, Hair Pt 2, breakfast, double-check his nailbat was safely hidden, pick up kids, pick up Merlin, drop off kids, arrive at school…

  They were rushing through the halls, Steve having forgotten to grab his Physics textbook from his locker the day before and intent to rush through the homework before Friday.

  “How did you even forget?” Merlin asked for the 15th time.

  “Shut up, Merlin,” Steve snapped out, only slightly less amused than usual. “It’s your fault, anyway.”

  A large, exaggerated gasp came from behind him as he rushed forward. “Is not!”

  “Oh, it absolutely is!” Steve shot back. “You were so eager to leave as fast as we could, you distracted me!”

  “You promised me coffee!” Merlin whined, less fitting of the genuinely mature man Steve knew he was and more reminiscent of the Geek Squad begging Steve for extra money before heading into the arcade.

  Huh. Maybe Merlin was starting to fit in after all. Just not with his own age group.

  “Coffee!” Steve shot back as he finally reached his locker. “Not the Holy freakin’ Grail. Just drip coffee from home.”

  Merlin leaned into his space as he struggled with his locker combo as per usual, impish glee resonating off his posture. “Yeah, but you have good coffee, Steve. That’s basically worth this whole town to me.”

  Steve rolled his eyes, muttering a fond “Idiot” before pulling open the door and--

  Every eye in the hallway snapped over to the sound of hundreds of nails and empty syringes spilling out of Steve “the Hair” Harrington's locker.

  “What on Earth…” Merlin mumbled next to him, backing away from the mess as Steve stayed rooted in place. “Hey, come on, get away from the needles.”

  But Steve was instead transfixed on the interior of his locker wherein every plane and angle was covered in vivid red paint, still wet to the touch, dripping down onto the linoleum tiles of the hallway. He stared, transfixed until Merlin physically dragged him away.

  He wasn’t entirely sure of where they were going, only that Merlin seemed like a man on a mission. Steve realized it wasn’t a long trip at all when Merlin started fiddling with a lock of his own -- Merlin’s locker, predictably, wasn’t too far away from Steve’s own.

  The sight within was even more horrifying than Steve’s.

  The red paint was the same, but instead of rusty nails and fucking syringes, there were four dead birds piled up on top of Merlin’s books.

 Steve would’ve thrown up if he hadn’t shoved a dead demodog into a fridge last November. “This is… I mean…”

  “I think so too,” Merlin confirmed lowly, and the pure aggression radiating off him made Steve genuinely scared of his friend’s next move. Still, he may have let him go off and do whatever he wanted had it not been for the next realization.

  Everyone nearby was still staring at them, who were themselves still transfixed by the horrid sight, when Robin Buckley and Eddie Munson stumbled across the scene.

  “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ!” Munson exclaimed, turning away from the sight in the same second Steve and Merlin turned to face him, looking queasier alone than the two of them felt combined. “That’s fucked up, man.”

  “What are you two..” Steve asked, brain not quite up to par yet.

  Robin was glaring at the dead bird. “You guys too, then?”

  “Too?” Steve asked dumbly. “Wait, you guys--”

  Robin smacked Munson lightly. “Told you he didn’t do it.”

  Steve and Merlin whirled twin glares at Munson in tandem at that. 

  “Well, jeez, I had to consider it, okay?!” The senior snapped, still hunched over, staring at the ground. In his haste to avoid their glares, his eyes wandered across the hall and caught sight of Steve’s own mess. “Oh, holy shit.”

  Already too tired to care that he’d been suspected of bird-murder and vandalism by his new sorta-friend -- and honestly, not blaming Munson for it -- Steve zoned out somewhat, considering his options.

  Billy Hargrove was the clear culprit.

  Anyone could’ve done the dead bird thing. Robin, to his left, was explaining that her locker shared the exact same decoration as Merlin’s, with scattered feathers and all. It was just simple name association -- psychopathic, but easy.

  But the nails and syringes were a very specific reference to the night of his fight with Hargrove -- his nailbat and the drugs that Max stuck Billy with. Unless Billy casually shared the story of his defeat at the hands of a middle-schooler, only Steve and the kids had the details, and it wasn’t like any of them did this. 

  But Billy Hargrove had warned Steve against getting comfortable, and even though he’d respected Steve’s threat against targeting Merlin in particular, a widespread attack like this was even bolder.

  He was calling Steve’s bluff on his willingness to go to Hopper about Hargrove’s harassment. Damn it.

  It was only listening to Eddie’s own account that he began to panic.

  “--it was already dripping and open when I got there, man! And all my DnD shit was fucking ruined, it was insane!!

  Steve snapped into awareness.

  If Billy was getting intense again, then Steve wasn’t the only one he’d been targeting that week, and Max had already expressed that things weren’t great at home. More than that, though, the kids had all quietly shared later on that Billy had tried to run them over before shit hit the fan, unprompted.

  Mind made up, Steve slammed Merlin’s locker closed, thundered over to his own and shut it, and made a beeline for Nancy Wheeler’s locker, his similarly aggrieved friends trailing behind him in confusion.

  The walk took a minute, but they finally lost the direct crowd of onlookers, gaining instead the masses confused by Steve Harrington’s confusing display of desperation at 7:47 am.

  “Nancy!” He shouted out the moment he caught sight of her, pushing through the crowd. “Hey, Nancy!”

  Already, his classmates were snickering, clearly getting the wrong impression.

  Nancy, too, seemed wary once he made it into speaking range, Jonathan hovering behind her like a gargoyle. “Steve. What are you doing?”

  Steve examined her open locker, finding nothing amiss, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, okay, good. Listen, I need you to do me a favor--”

  “Steve, really, this is--”

  “Hargrove stuffed a ton of nails and syringes in my locker,” Steve proclaimed, and her wary expression snapped into one of righteous fury mixed with all-knowing fear within the blink of an eye.

  “What?” She breathed out.

  Jonathan shifted. “You mean, like…”

  “Yeah, it’s how I know it’s him,” Steve confirmed, ignoring Merlin mouthing the words “What are you talking about?” next to him.

  “Steve, that’s not good, what the hell ?!” Nancy insisted, which Steve thought was sort of obvious, but her brows were furrowed, which meant her thoughts were running far deeper than her words expressed. “Why the hell did he--”

  Robin laughed loudly. “Cause Hargrove’s been harassing Steve for months?”

  “Hey, Harrington, why exactly are we reporting this to Wheeler?” Munson pestered.

  Steve turned around, somewhat admiring the way Munson and Robin were shoulder-to-shoulder as they bristled in solidarity.

  Merlin, next to Steve, looked like his world had been flipped over-- Nevermind, and metaphor.

  Steve grinned at them all. “Because,” he stated generously, turning back around to face Nancy. “Nobody’s better at getting shitbags in trouble than Nancy Wheeler.”

  The future reporter straightened up a bit at that. “You don’t think he’ll get in trouble for it?”

  “Doubt there’s much evidence we could use without making everything worse, at least right now,” Steve answered. “More importantly, though, you both know who else was there that night. I’ll watch out for Max all I can, but you two need to make sure Hargrove doesn’t target the rest of them, okay? If he’s leaving dead birds in lockers, I really can’t make any accurate guesses on his mental state. Watch out for yourselves too.”

  Steve watched on, satisfied, as that fighting spirit he’d once shared with the two of them ignited properly. It was a small thing, in the end, that they could rally like this, and it wouldn’t change anything on a personal level, but…

  Well, he’d faced down a Demogorgon with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers, once. It counted for something, that he could still find the same shared passion within them.

  He turned away abruptly, not truly willing to see them rally without him, but trusting of their abilities to the end. 

  Jonathan would never let anything happen to Will again. Nancy would never let an unpunished wrong go unnoticed. Steve trusted in this. He simply had no place in it.

  “Merlin,” he spoke softly as they walked back over to their lockers. “Take Robin and report the dead birds to the office. Don’t tell them who you suspect -- it won’t matter. Better that the staff gets in an uproar over two quiet, well-behaved students being threatened and getting worked up over the immorality than trying to force them into anything significant. Munson, you and I are going straight to the janitor and we’ll get the worst of it cleaned up. I assume you’re fine missing our first classes?”

  Munson scoffed. “Was already planning on it. Fucking hate math.”

  Steve nodded sagely. “Good. Merlin and Robin, report and go straight to class. Keep up appearances: You have the better reputations. Play victim, Munson and I will play status quo.”

  “What’s all this going to do, exactly?” Robin asked. “I mean, Hargrove is gonna do something like this again, right? What do we actually do ?”

  Steve stopped again, right in front of the janitor’s closet, and spun to face the trio following him. “It won’t stop him, but it buys us time to plan. Right now, we just need to protect ourselves, alright?”

  Robin and Munson still looked a bit skeptical, but Merlin was observing him with fiery devotion burning in his eyes, shoulders straight and chin tilted up. It was a bit odd, but Steve was glad for the understanding he sensed from his friend.

  “Right away,” Merlin confirmed, tugging Robin along with him. “C’mon, off to the off-ice.”

  “Did you really just make a pun right now?” Robin grouched at him, but Merlin dragged her to their destination fast, and soon they were out of sight.

  Steve locked eyes with Munson. “You are down to bribe the janitor, right?”

  “I got the drugs, you got the cash?” Munson clarified, eyes sparkling.

  “Exactly.”

  “Jesus Christ, sure, let’s do this.”

  Merlin was, quite frankly, not having a great time.

  Steve’s plan with the office staff had worked wonders, and the janitor had quickly arrived to confirm the dead birds. Merlin and Robin were, officially, off the hook for missing their first period while they sorted it all out and were more likely to be believed the next time they reported harassment.

  By lunchtime, the lockers were completely clean. The four of them all hunkered down in Steve’s car, Eddie having sent his club off to hide in the clubroom for the rest of the week until he figured out a proper message. For the most part, they just ate in silence, but Merlin was burning up inside with questions.

  Nails and syringes. He’d never figured that into Steve and Hargrove’s fight before. How could he have? But things were so tense that he didn’t dare ask, especially in front of Robin and Eddie.

  The way Steve had taken charge once he had all the information he needed, storming off with tempestuous anger but delivering his words with gentle clarity. This was the plan they were going to follow because it was the plan they were going to follow. 

  Granted, Steve hadn’t planned on any recourse, but Merlin already had thoughts of his own to mull over, and would gladly provide suggestions later on.

  Still, that self-confidence, that certainty of action, that burning protectiveness towards them all…

  (“Mer-lin,” Steve had growled, index finger pointed, an intensity in his eyes that spoke of years of familiarity.)

  Merlin had frozen, then, his chest gone hollow and mind empty, the pain of Arthur’s death flaring. But it hurt more than ever, because-- because--

  Because the next time he was aware of his surroundings, Steve had none of that familiarity behind his eyes. He was just an eighteen-year-old American high-school student. A spectacular example of humanity, for sure, but he couldn’t be Arthur.

  Except--

  “Mer-lin” of all things to say. Just Merlin’s name, pronounced like it was two halves stitched together halfway through. Like one half of the name was for Arthur, and the other for its actual owner. Like the name alone said everything that anyone needed to know about their bond.

  That’s what Steve had done. That’s what his voice had implied, deep down. Merlin was sure of it then and now.

  So where had it gone!?

  His suspicions were coalescing, and he was terrified to hope for anything at all, but he couldn’t just ignore that Steve had said Merlin’s name the way Arthur always had, with exactly the same meaning behind it that nobody in millennia had captured quite the same.

  And then, mere moments later, Merlin got what he’d been hoping for.

  A surge of magic. Arthur’s soul, for one split-second, blazing bright, before abruptly hiding away again, as if it had never been disturbed.

  And Steve had stumbled into Merlin’s arms, claiming a headache.

  The day after Valentine’s, staring down at Steve’s sleeping form on the armchair in the living room, Merlin considered all his options. 

  They’d both gone to school that day, finishing off the week with determination, but once they’d escaped, Steve’s anxieties seemed to claw their way up again, and the jock had spent a solid 30 minutes staring blankly into the middle distance, shoulders tense, hands clasped together in front of him with his chin resting atop.

  It was such an Arthur-like pose that Merlin’s own anxieties grew.

  He could list all the evidence in his own head, he knew, but it wouldn’t matter. He had enough pros and cons to last a cycle or two, but it wouldn’t push anything forward.

  So, once Steve had mentally exhausted himself overthinking things, Merlin had, quite frankly, done the man a favor and cast a quiet spell for restful sleep.

  It wouldn’t last long, but Steve would feel better once he woke up.

  Oh, if only that were Merlin's only motivation. How almost wholesome that would be.

  Instead, once he’d ensured Steve was well and truly asleep, he crept up the stairs and into Steve’s bedroom, relying on intuition alone.

  Logic could go on forever. The heart could be fooled. Magic was unpredictable.

  But Merlin knew Arthur. 

  And Arthur had always kept weapons by his bedside, ready to grab at a moment’s notice. Merlin had run afoul of them once or twice before Arthur had grown accustomed to Merlin waking him up in the mornings.

  He wasn’t expecting a sword or anything, not that the sort of weapon would make a difference here. Again, no logical deductions were sought. Just gut instinct alone.

  Merlin needed to trust himself on this for it to matter.

  There were no blades under the pillows or laying around the floor and there was no dagger or gun in the nightstand’s drawers.

  Under the bed, at first seemed clear, except that Merlin’s gut willed him on.

  Laying on his stomach, he reached a hand under and up, feeling along the bedframe and--

  He hissed, pulling his hand back and letting out a startled laugh at the blood staining his fingertip.

  Grinning victoriously, he reached under again and carefully extracted the hidden object and, upon examination, found--

  A baseball bat, covered in nails, some of which looked rusty. The wood itself was concerningly discolored and Merlin was suddenly very happy he’d never die from an infection -- he’d come close a few times, but his body was much more likely to purge it by stopping and restarting his heart than to suffer forever. Still, he was very cautious handling the weapon from there on.

  And, well, this was it, wasn’t it? Not only had following his gut about Arhtur’s preferences directly led to discovering Steve’s own secret… nailbat, but it even explained the nails Hargrove had stuffed in Steve’s locker. Hopefully, Hargrove didn’t explain the old bloodstains on the bat, because Merlin was pretty sure hitting a human with this would kill them outright, but he wasn’t exactly about to check.

  He still needed to see it to fully believe it, in the end. He needed that brilliant, golden soul to flare back permanently to accept its new fate. But for now, he let himself hope, even as it confused his dynamic with Steve even more.

  Because Steve Harrington was real. Arthur or not, Steve was Steve. 

  Where did that leave Arthur? Where did that leave Steve?

  Hell, where did that leave Merlin?

  He hid the bat away, content to wait it out. 

  There were more imminent problems to deal with.

Chapter Text

  In retrospect, Merlin was a bit too hasty with his retaliation.

  A bit too naive, a bit too desperate.

  A bit too whatever to make it work. All he’d wanted was to cut the tension off before it hit a boiling point -- before Steve got hurt on Merlin’s watch -- but he’ll admit things got out of hand.

  But regret is for later on, narratively speaking. For now, it’s best to start at the inception of his first plan of attack.

  “...and really, what’s Wheeler been up to, anyway?” Eddie was complaining as their trio waited for Steve, huddled under the bleachers. Merlin had noticed his complaints always went up a few octaves when he was particularly stressed, and this was one such occasion. “Harrington really just passed this all off on someone who’s not even involved!”

  “She clearly is, though,” Merlin pointed out calmly between sips of his juice box. “Steve thinks her little brother was threatened. Or, uh, is threatened.”

  “I dunno,” Robin breathed out. “Warning her is one thing -- checking in on her progress is another. He still hasn’t explained that bit.”

  “She’s got something she wants to discuss,” Merlin explained for the tenth time. “What’s so weird about that?”

  “Maybe that we aren’t allowed to attend this illustrious little conference of theirs!” Eddie suggested with a grand sweep of his arm, narrowly missing the steel beams crowding in on them. “What’s so top secret they need to keep us out?!”

  Merlin, frankly, was also pretty annoyed by his own exclusion from the meet-up, but Steve had leveled him with a glare so severe it nearly singed him, so Merlin let it be. This time.

  Doesn’t mean he’s happy about it, but he did need to make sure Eddie and Robin didn’t storm the keep -- the school’s darkroom -- themselves to crash in on Steve and his precious comrades in arms… 

  Alright, Merlin was a little bitter. Sue him! Steve was probably explicitly talking about all the juicy details Merlin had been craving for so long now and he wasn’t even able to eavesdrop because he had to babysit Eddie and Robin and make sure they didn't eavesdrop.

  Really, if he didn’t already suspect some seriously not-normal things were afoot, he’d be leading the party-crashing. As it was… best to hold back a bit.

  If Steve’s meeting with Nancy was openly discussing their town mysteries, as Merlin deeply suspected was the case, then he was certainly the person craving attendance more than anybody else possibly could. On the flip side, letting Robin and Eddie eavesdrop would not only be a possible risk to his own secrets… he was pretty certain he’d never recover from it with Steve.

  So, boundary set, he accepted his watchdog duty with, well, less grace than Steve would probably prefer, but one could only expect so much from a pissy Merlin.

  Case in point:

  “He’s babying us,” Robin sighed, letting her head thump loudly against the metal bleacher supports as she sagged her body weight into it. 

  And Merlin should’ve said something then. Should’ve provided an alternate explanation before things got out of hand.

  “He’s babying us,” Eddie bit out, kicking at the nearest support beam, drawing a scornful huff from Robin when the noise resounded over to her own pillar.

  And Merlin really should’ve said something then. Fix everything, smooth it over. But…

  “He’s babying us,” Merlin agreed heavily. 

  Because Steve was babying him. Call him a hypocrite for being fine with keeping Robin and Eddie out of the loop while he whined about the same treatment all you want, but keeping Merlin out of serious, potentially life-threatening, likely-supernatural shenanigans was -- historically-speaking -- a colossally bad idea. 

  (Anytime Arthur had tried to deal with magical threats alone, or wander off into the spirit world with no explanation, Merlin ended up dealing with the brunt of the issue anyway. Ugh.)

  “I just--” Robin spoke up again, stuttering off as she clearly tried to collect her thoughts. “I dunno. I guess I just don’t want to see that dingus hurt again.”

  Merlin angled his attention to her. “You said it was bad.”

  “So did he,” she huffed out. “I mean, the plate thing, I didn’t know that, but… I’m not surprised? He looked like… like…”

  “Like he got in a fight with a train, not a high schooler,” Eddie finished as she trailed off, signature dramatic flair fully in effect. “Whole hallway went dead silent, I swear. I’m still shocked he even came to school so soon -- I think he was still bleeding.”

  Steve Harrington, Merlin decided, was a big ol’ dummy. 

  “He said Billy Hargrove almost killed him,” Merlin brought up. “Steve… he wouldn’t exaggerate something like that. It’s too serious.” He took a deep breath, shoving himself off his own support beam. “Listen, I’m… I don’t think he actually has much of a plan to protect himself. Whatever he’s discussing with Nancy is probably about the kids. Her little brother’s one of them, and so’s Jonathan’s. They’ll be focusing on the kids.”

  “What are you getting at?” Robin asked, quiet but engaged. 

  “What I mean is, is… He won’t let us in on it,” Merlin decided. “Whatever his plan ends up being, he’s gonna play the hero and try to keep us out of it.”

  “You’re gonna try to do it first, aren’t you?” Eddie realized, leg bouncing up and down with a somewhat alarming speed.

  “Wait, but, what does that even mean?” Robin asked, eyes wide. “Like, are you gonna… fight Hargrove? I don’t think that’s a good idea, Merls.”

  “No, don’t be silly, I’m not gonna fight him,” Merlin assured, a mad grin stretching across his lips. “ He’s gonna fight me .”

  His bleacher-buddies looked at one another doubtfully.

  “No, no, listen!” Merlin insisted. “I’ll get him to throw a punch at me in front of half the school, including the staff.”

  “Make sure there’s no way he can’t get in trouble,” Robin breathed out, eyes brightening with understanding. “You’ll have to make him really angry.”

  “Angry enough to switch attention from Stevie,” Eddie added on, wringing his hands together frantically. “That’s… that’s a horrible idea, Merlin.”

  “I know,” Merlin responded, and he did sort of know. He knew it wouldn’t win him many favors with Steve in the aftermath, but the more important priority was keeping Steve safe.

  Merlin was immortal. He could take a million hits and get back up on his feet… eventually.

  Steve was a very mortal high-schooler who’d already been severely concussed by their enemy. One more bad hit could bring back all that damage with interest. 

  (And, on the chance and current instinctive belief that Steve could be Arthur, Merlin was not giving that prat any more brain damage than he had already accrued in Camelot -- no matter how capable the clotpole was with the half-melted brain Merlin had always suspected he had.)

  “I know,” he repeated, consideration nestled deep in his tone. “Steve’s gonna de-escalate to keep us safe. I’m going to escalate to keep Steve safe. I’m not going to make you help me, but, well…”

  “Any help is appreciated?” Robin offered.

  “More or less,” Merlin confirmed.

  There was a moment of silence from his friends, one he spent studying their expressions. Robin was conflicted, he could tell, worried about poking the hornet’s nest. Eddie was harder to read, face blank and eyes dark, which is what made it so much more surprising when the punk teen was the first to clap his hands together and call their attention.

  “Screw it, I’m in,” Eddie said with a wobbly smile. “Hargrove may be a beast -- Hell, I’d wager he’s a dragon. But he’s no Dark Lord, and even disgraced Kings need armies to deploy. Merlin Ambrose, our dearest Court Sorcerer, my sword is yours.” He finished his speech off with a little bouncy bow, drawing a surprised chuckle out of Robin.

  Merlin, though, could only stare, a lump welling in his throat. It wasn’t quite right, all play-acting and no real code of honor behind it, but it was the closest he's gotten to the Knights of Camelot since chivalry died and he was allowed to feel things, dammit!

(Court Sorcerer played in his head on repeat. Oh, how he wished.)

  Too caught up in the hype, his friends didn’t notice his melancholic little crisis. 

  Robin smiled and bounced on her feet a bit, nodding along to her own thoughts before taking a breath. “Alright then, let’s do this. Operation Hope Merlin Doesn’t Get Killed is a go!”

  Merlin shook his thoughts away, forcing a relaxed smile onto his lips. “How about Bait the Bully?”

  “Oh, that’s boring!” Eddie whined, pacing around, which was really quite ridiculous over something so small of a detail. “Operation Dragon Hunt?”

  “I like dragons,” Merlin protested.

  “Revenge of the Nerds?” Robin suggested

  “Copyright infringement,” Eddie shot down.

  Merlin, having not been to a movie theater in several years and woefully out of touch with pop culture, allowed the veto despite his ignorance on good faith.

  “How about this,” he cut in. “I actually tell you the plan first, and then we name it.”

  Robin and Eddie shared a bemused glance, turned back to Merlin and, miraculously in unison, replied, “Fair enough.”

  “What plan?”

  The whole trio flinched to varying degrees as Steve popped into their field of view. He looked tired and more than a little downtrodden but wasn’t seething with anger and disappointment, so Merlin figured he hadn’t overheard much.

  Merlin’s smile was fake, but it still came pretty easily while he was looking at Steve. “The plan to get Eddie’s D&D stuff cleaned up.”

  Something sparked in Steve’s eyes, something remarkably close to guilt, but it didn’t linger. Instead, Steve straightened up and shot a teasing grin at the three of them. “And you need a name for that plan?”

  Merlin nodded like it was obvious. “It’s the most important part. But never mind that, how’d it go?”

  Steve played dumb. “Go?”

  “Your talk?” Robin prompted. “With Wheeler?”

  Steve waved a hand dismissively, sliding up to Merlin’s side and leaning shoulder-to-shoulder against the warlock. “Oh, it went. Nance is pretty worried about Mike and Jonathan is even more worried about Will, so it was mostly them nagging me about keeping my drama quiet.”

  It was a load of horseshit. Merlin knew it. Robin and Eddie knew it. Steve probably knew they knew it. Still, he’d given something away even in his lie: The kids.

  He was thinking about the kids, which meant he had only discussed the safety of the middle-school gremlins with Nancy and Jonathan. Which meant, Merlin mentally confirmed as he traded looks with Robin and Eddie, that his plan was definitely a go.

  Operation Worst Game of Telephone went like this:

  First, Merlin took advantage of his last class on Monday not being shared with Steve and skipped it. He met up with Eddie and Robin after lunch and filled them in, eager to start right away. 

  Robin had the comparatively easier task. Band geeks gossipped like wildfire, apparently, and were starving for juicy drama. He brainstormed a few good starting points with her and left her to it, crossing his fingers as she ran back to class, ready to deflect her tardiness as an accident.

  Eddie was in no such rush, which was good because he had the harder job to hash out.

  Eddie Munson was a drug dealer. More than that, he had the best shit in Hawkins, apparently. Merlin was really taking both Robin and Eddie on their words with these things but he trusted them enough for it. So, to really piss off the jocks and direct their ire at the target, Eddie had to cut them off.

  It was fortuitous, apparently, that they were doing this now. There was a party this Friday and the popular crowd would be more than a little peeved at losing their supply right before. Merlin tried to inquire about what sort of party it was but Eddie just shrugged it off as some jock’s parents being on vacation for the weekend.

  But Eddie’s role required more delicacy. Robin’s side was more accessible throughout the process and more easily manipulated over time, but Eddie’s script needed to be clear from minute one.

  “Sorry, bro,” Merlin choked out, barely containing his cringing at the phrase and trying on his best American accent. “Hargrove said you were a no-go.”

  “I can’t sell to you if I wanna keep my balls, Billy-boy’s orders,” Eddie edited, keeping his voice as casual as possible.

  “Oh, that party?” Merlin asked mournfully, the accent still stupid. “Billy told me not to bother so I didn’t stock up.”

  “Oooh, nice,” Eddie complimented before schooling his face. “That’d be: Friday? Yeah, Hargrove told me he’d skin me if I showed my face, so I’m staying outta it. Don’t wanna make it sound like it’s on me, right?”

  “Right-o,” Merlin intoned, R over-pronounced like a wrestling announcer. 

  “ Please stop that.”

  “Sorry. Um… Hargrove is a psycho and I value my life?”

  “Hargrove is a psycho and I value my life.” Eddie grinned, real panic flaring in his eyes. “Perfect!”

  The gist of it was to turn Eddie’s sudden lack of supply onto Hargrove’s shoulders, to make the jocks and elite crew all frustrated that their new King was ruining their high for them. With luck and persistence, they’d turn that frustration onto Hargrove and lash out before the party.

  It was a little weak and very dependent on how, well, dependent the jocks were on Eddie’s supply. 

  That’s where Robin came in. 

  “Alright,” she said as she slid in next to him at the local library after her band practice let out. “I got Stacy said Hargrove kept looking at his own reflection when they were fucking and Joey told me Billy changes in the bathroom stalls after gym class over pretty easily.”

  “What about Billy’s scared of rats ?” Merlin probed in a hushed whisper. He’d waved Steve off to handle the gremlins alone today. At least this way Dustin wouldn’t whine about not getting to ride shotgun for once -- it was Merlin’s turn. “I really like scared of rats .”

  “All in good time,” Robin stressed, voice tinny. “I think Billy hates dogs might’ve gone well, but it’s not as juicy as the other two, so who knows? But I told Grace who told Matt the mirror one, and I told Priscilla who told Gina the bathroom stall one.” 

  Mathew Ethans and Gina Riletti were the bandmates Robin had pegged as the best gossipers of the lot. Telling both of them directly was too risky, though, too likely to be traced back to Robin. That’s where the middlemen came in.

 “Grace was really excited about the mirror one,” Robin insisted. “She’s taken guys down for less.”

  And, well, Merlin was a creature of curiosity. “What about Steve?”

  Robin thought about it for a moment.  “Actually, I think Steve’s the only jock who’s never had a nasty sex rumor thrown around about him. Everyone was pretty adamant he was a good time,” she added with a disgusted crinkle of her nose.

  “Hm.” Merlin wasn’t sure what to do with that information. “Until now, I guess.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, when I first got here, one of the rumors about me was that Steve and I were hooking up,” Merlin explained, weirdly nostalgic about a literal month prior. “I wasn’t even paying attention to the rumor mill, I just couldn’t not hear it all. Sorta why I’m so confident about all this.”

  Robin was oddly quiet next to him.

  “Robin?” He inquired softly. “You good?”

  She shook herself out of whatever trap her mind had fallen into. “Uh, yeah, well. I’ll get to the rat thing tomorrow. But we need a few new big ones.”

  Thus, Sarah said Billy’s breath tasted like peanut butter, mayo, and onions and Joey said Billy took a basketball to the face during last practice were born, ready to be unleashed the next morning.

  Steve picked Merlin up on Tuesday morning, completely unaware of the web the warlock was starting to spin around him. Fortunately for Steve, he wasn’t the target.

  In hushed whispers throughout the school day, Eddie and Robin shared their progress. Eddie had shot down two jocks, which wasn’t enough but it was okay, they had time. Robin had unleashed rats, breath, and faceball with a few key motor-mouths in her AP classes. She gleefully reported that she had spitballed her own original work: Hargrove is colorblind. 

  It was purposefully inoffensive, she explained gleefully. They needed a few neutral rumors so it didn’t feel too suspicious that everyone was shit-talking Hargrove out of nowhere. This way, everyone was just talking about Hargrove, and isn’t that what the guy wants, anyway?

  Merlin high-fived her for that.

  It also led him gracefully into his own role.

  “I’ll be a mo’,” he said, drifting off from Steve’s half-side-hug, half-drag on the way out of the locker rooms after PE.

  “What?” Steve asked, face like the fictional puppy they were trying to convince the school Hargrove loved to kick. (Though, Merlin wouldn’t put it past the guy.) “Where’re you going?”

  “Bathroom,” was Merlin’s reply.

  Steve made a ‘ I asked too many questions’ sorta face, which was painfully familiar to Merlin. “Alright, then. Meet in the car? I brought sandwiches.”

  Merlin blinked in surprise. Steve hadn’t explicitly brought food for both of them before and, as far as Merlin knew, his parents were still out of town. But then, sandwiches were easy enough. “Yea, I’ll be quick.”

  Steve made another face and speed-walked out of the locker room.

  Merlin smirked to himself and wandered deeper into the school until he caught a glimpse of Hargrove leaning against some lockers with a cheerleader under his arm. He decided to keep first contact simple, using a simple spell to hit Hargrove’s shoulder with an errant locker door.

  The jerk sprung into furious action, growling at everyone near him and scanning for the perpetrator. Merlin let Hargrove catch a quick glimpse of him, sticking his tongue out briefly and sprinting away to Steve’s car before hell could rain down upon him.

  Steve leveled him with a side-eye while he passed over a sandwich. “Haven’t seen Robin yet. She not coming?”

  “She does have other friends, ya’ know?” Merlin artfully deflected, unwrapping the tinfoil. “You could ask about Eddie, by the way.”

  Steve rolled his eyes and took a bite of his already half-eaten sandwich. “I know he has friends, Merlin. He only hangs out with us ‘cause we begged him.”

  “That’s not true!” Merlin protested, his indignance postponing his first bite.

  Steve looked a bit thrown at the vehemence in Merlin’s voice. “No, I mean, literally. Robin and I begged him to come to my house that night. Munson isn’t exactly my biggest fan, you know?”

  Merlin felt like sulking, and he would’ve if he was any less hungry. “Well, opinions change.”

  He took his first bite. It was the best sandwich he’d ever had.

  (Later, he would notice the two extra sandwiches in Steve’s “mini-cooler” -- Merlin had been thoroughly scolded for calling it a lunchbox -- and remind himself of Steve’s overwhelming propensity for care. It would be a nice moment, even as he would whine about Steve “hiding the goods”.)

  Robin was quite excited as they left school that day, practically vibrating as she quietly passed along that scared of rats had turned into eats rats. There had also been a few other mutations, namely strokes his reflection in mirrors and doesn’t brush his teeth, but Merlin was more excited about the rat thing.

  Wednesday was, in Merlin’s opinion, the biggest day for their plan, barring its culmination. Mostly because Steve was so mysteriously tired throughout the day that Merlin could get away with his mischief feet away from Steve and still go unnoticed. 

  It was also when the rumors started to really mutate.

  See, it didn’t matter if people believed them or not. In fact, Merlin was banking on not for the most part. Sure, he wasn’t opposed to some of the meaner ones rooting themselves in the collective consciousness of Hawkins High School, but it wasn't necessary. It was like Robin had said: They wanted everyone talking about Hargrove. Because when bored, small-town, mid-nowhere teens start talking en masse, things spiral out of control.

  It wasn’t a test of truth or dignity. It wasn’t a test of honor or power. It wasn’t even a test of good vs evil. 

  No, it was a test of temper.

  So, on Wednesday, Merlin’s mischief took off.

  Another few locker slams, spilling his water bottle on himself, a subtle loss of balance. Then moving up to loud noises unheard by anyone else and hushed whispers invading every quiet moment. Nothing overt. Nothing that could sanely be blamed on Merlin, but events that Merlin was always just out of reach for. It was a skill and set of spells he’d had centuries to develop, after all.

  It was also the day that the jocks started whining about not getting their fix.

  By the end of the day, Merlin was more than a little smug at Hargrove’s roiling anger. He was snapping at the other jocks and brushing past any girl who tried to chat him up. And, most importantly, not once did he glare at Steve. No, his ire was focused on Merlin, as planned.

  Thursday came with an undercurrent of tension in the halls. Steve, more awake than the day prior, was clearly paranoid about it, but Merlin had a plan for that, too.

  Merlin would like to claim responsibility for the spiraling gossip chain that morning, so wildly out of control he was half-afraid it would backfire on him, but he knew Robin had done most of the work.

  By now, faceball had turned into actually a shit player, hates dogs had turned into seen beating a dog, and colorblind had somehow turned into anemic . Merlin will admit he hadn’t seen that one coming, but he wasn’t complaining.

  And it worked its magic, alongside the constant discontent from the other jocks. Hargrove paced through the halls like a caged animal waiting to strike, slammed his locker closed like a boxer’s fist onto his opponent's cheek; breathed like a pressure pot about to blow.

  It was time.

  The final phase was pretty simple, all things considered. Eddie was instructed to keep Steve busy during lunch, which Merlin could sense the outcast was more nervous about than he’d admitted, but Merlin trusted him enough with Steve. Eddie came up with a tepid, “Hey, uh, man, there’s something I wanna talk to you about,” which worked well on secretly-a-softie Steve Harrington. Merlin had told Steve he’d be waiting in the car and waved the pair off.

  Robin was with her band friends in the cafeteria, waiting for the sign, and Merlin had taken the closest available seat to the lunch ladies and started chatting up the teens already there.

  It took maybe five minutes for a steaming Billy Hargrove to saunter in, Tommy Hagan on his right side and some other jock on his left. The three of them sat down with a group of basketball players and cheerleaders, picture-perfect.

  Merlin nodded to Robin.

  “Sorry about this again,” he fake-apologized to the group. They were decently chill but, ultimately, bore the same blood as the rest of Hawkins. Merlin didn’t feel about using them for Steve’s protection. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “Right, about that,” the tallest boy of the group started off. Johnny, maybe, or Noah. “Where is Harrington? He’s basically hogged you since you moved here.”

  “Which is totally not cool, by the way,” the shortest girl said. Megan, maybe, or Sally. “It’s been great talking to you, you should totally sit with us more.”

  Merlin smiled brightly. “Steve’s been great, really. No, he’s only resting now because of what happened last night.”

  “Last night?” Mathew Ethans inquired, doing a very good job at playing it cool, as well as being the main reason Merlin had chosen this table in particular. “What happened last night?”

  Merlin sighed, resting his chin on his palm. “Well, it was weird. Steve was helping me buy a present for my mom, because her birthday is coming up, and we ran into Hargrove.”

  Anyone at the table who hadn’t already been listening was suddenly holding rapt attention.

  “Oh my God!” Megan-maybe-Sally gasped out. “Did they have another fight?”

  Merlin did an internal happy dance. “Not really. Well, not physically, at least. But I was really scared for a minute there, ‘cause once Hargrove saw us, he marched over and started antagonizing us, kept going on about how rich Steve was…” His tablemates all leaned forward minutely. “And the arsehole tried to rob Steve.”

  His “peers” reeled back in shock.

  “Holy cow, really?” Johnny-maybe-Noah asked.

  “Maybe rob is strong,” Merlin admitted, knowing full well he’d already put it out there and it would stick. “It was just this weird sorta insistence that Steve hand over his wallet or else. And he kept looking at me so Steve shoved him away and dragged me out of there. But, well, Steve doesn’t talk about it, but do any of you actually know what they fought about last winter?”

  It was, in Merlin’s opinion, the perfect narrative. He’d ruminated over some other options, of course. There were stories that framed Billy as more psychotic, ones that would nag on the jerk’s obvious bigotry, ones that would frame Merlin as some savant. But they were all a little too obvious or self-centered to really stick.

  This, though, answered a question the entirety of the school had been salivating over for months: Billy Hargrove beat Steve Harrington half to death because he envied the teen’s wealth. The final rumor, one that painted Steve as a pacifist, heroically extracting his friend from danger and Billy as a pathetic, greedy villain. And Merlin, who was painted as an innocent bystander, an almost-victim, was the perfect witness. After all, the entire school was so freakin’ obsessed with Steve Harrington that they’d rumored circles around Merlin just a month prior. They all knew him, knew he was close to Steve, and knew he was entirely removed from the elite social circle. Why would Merlin lie about this?

  Megan-maybe-Sally was whispering in a frantic tone to her friend who Merlin hadn’t even tried to learn the name of right away. Johnny-maybe-Noah was asking rapid-fire questions that Merlin gave deliberately vague answers for. And Mathew Evans? Well, Mr. Gossip had excused himself to the “bathroom” almost immediately. Merlin watched in his peripheral vision as he beelined for Mrs. Gossip -- otherwise known as Gina Riletti. 

  Small towns had some use after all. Well, Merlin had always known that rumors flew fast -- it was the whole reason his mother had forced him to move to the magic-murder capital of Albion, so afraid one person knowing about his magic would turn into everyone knowing. But he’d never had the opportunity to consider it as a benefit before now.

  He redirected his table’s conversation back to safer topics so he could properly zone out again, chatted about his childhood dogs -- outright picturing Arthur’s hellish hunting hounds -- and waited patiently for sparks to fly.

  And fly they did.

  It took about ten minutes for the rumor to make a full circuit, it seemed. Merlin charted its course through the entire lunchroom, noting with amusement how many people played musical chairs as they went to tell someone else. Robin’s own goal was to emphasize its intended message once it reached her table but to mostly fly under the radar.

  In any case, it worked. A less-than-a-week-long plot culminated in the brilliant moment Billy Hargrove rocketed up from his seat, sending the chair screeching backward. His eyes held a visible fury even from across the room and the whole of the cafeteria quit their chatter, anxious fingers tapping and worrying teeth chewing dry lips in a symphony of anticipated disaster. 

  “The fuck…” Hargrove’s voice rang out, even his clipped tone easily amplified across their silent auditorium, “did you just say?”

  Tommy Hagan was, evidently, the bearer of bad news. Merlin noted with deep, twisted humor how confused Hagan looked that Billy had exploded. Clearly didn’t know the jackass very well.

  But Tommy’s squeaky justifications went unheard by the monster in the room as Hargrove’s eyes took in the scared, guilty expressions of at least half the student body. 

   Well, Merlin mused as Hargrove’s burning gaze was locked on him, he wanted us to talk. Dutifully, he stood from his own chair and moved away from his so-called peers so they wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. Careful what you wish for and all that.

  Certainty chased away the suspicion and burning hatred sparked in Hargrove’s eyes and, within blinks, he was charging at Merlin.

  Except, Merlin noticed with a growing unease, Hargrove wasn’t as uncontrolled as he’d expected. He was no raging bull in a china store. No, he was more an apex predator bearing down on injured prey.

  In spite of his own convictions, experience, and willpower, Merlin swallowed a nervous gulp.

  “Alright, Ambrose,” Hargrove spoke with a deceiving softness once he’d crossed the room, hand reaching to grip Merlin’s collar. His eyes still burned with anger but his mouth was quirked up into a manic grin. “Let’s have a chat, yeah? Just you an’ me?”

  His fingers grazed Merlin’s shirt for only a split second before the warlock was yanked back harshly.

  He let out a confused oomph as his back hit a strong chest and he turned his head to see the stony visage of Steve Harrington staring down an enemy.

  “Yeah, I think this dance is mine, Hargrove.”

  Steve Harrington had thought his week was going suspiciously well, thanks for asking.

  From his perspective, Monday had been the most vital. He’d had a brief lunchtime meeting with Nancy and Jonathan, during which he’d spent half the time arguing not to do anything that could make Hargrove lash out at Max and the other half the time assuring them both he wouldn’t let Hargove anywhere near their little brothers. It wasn’t as awkward as it could’ve been but that was primarily thanks to Nancy’s single-minded focus on determining how to silence Billy.

  The Upside-Down was no laughing matter and they didn’t really want Hargrove’s scant recollections drawing the government back to town. Nancy and Jonathan had worked way too hard to excise them, after all. And there was still El’s safety to consider.

  But Nancy had determined there was very little Billy could possibly know about the Gate and even less he could do to Steve specifically when the Chief of Police would obviously corroborate Hargrove’s trespassing and assault that night. Their lack of progress and relative safety did nothing to the fire in her eyes, however, and Steve was a little worried at how far this could go.

  More vital was convincing Merlin to lay off, which was no easy task. His friend had been nagging about this for as long as they’d known each other -- and here Steve went, saying that like they’d known each other longer than a mere month -- so he’d expected a lot more whining from the Brit.

  Except Merlin was oddly subdued and had been since the locker incident. Steve would normally attribute that to fright or anxiety but he knew Merlin too well to believe that. Merlin was a fighter in the weirdest way and, for all his silliness and chronic idiocy, was one of the bravest people Steve had ever met -- and he’d met psychic children, mama bear mothers, and Nancy with a gun. What he means is, well, Merlin would usually be up his ass about something like this.

  But he wasn’t. He was calm as a cucumber, externally. Steve could see some anxiety behind the eyes but it seemed to come out as mostly sticking close to Steve’s side like some lanky-legged bodyguard.

  And Steve would normally worry about that but… he didn’t mind the company. He didn’t mind Merlin sticking close; all the better to keep him away from Hargrove.

  Tuesday was a little off in terms of atmosphere, but it was Hawkins so that meant basically nothing. Steve decided to make up for the whole mess he’d dragged them into by making some sandwiches for lunch. He knew he wasn’t a 5 Star Chef of anything but homemade meals were always better than whatever convenience store crap Merlin always brought for himself.

  Since he was already making four, he decided to make five more for all the kids. It felt unfair if he didn’t. The three on his pick-up route were decently surprised, especially since he decided to do it before picking Merlin up, which they informed him was suspicious, but promised to give the two extras to Mike and Will. 

  And Steve was all keyed up for lunch, ready to start making up for his mess, but Robin and Munson didn’t show up. On the bright side, Merlin was very obviously pleased with his cooking, so that was something.

  He wound up seeing less of Robin and Munson that week overall, which was a disappointment, but he couldn’t really blame them for getting freaked out after Valentine’s Day. If he could run away to a safer friend group, he would, but he was the problem, so that wasn’t exactly possible.

  Steve still wanted to make it up to them, though, so he used his babysitting time after school to ask the kids how to replace Munson’s D&D stuff. It was a mistake.

  They’d erupted into a chaotic frenzy the moment “D&D” left his mouth.

  “You’re cheating on us?” Dustin had screeched, which was ridiculous.

  “Since when do you have friends other than Merlin?” Mike asked, which was just plain mean.

  “Oh God, not you too, Steve, don’t let me be the last sane person,” Max begged, which was fair.

  Will was the one who actually broke through the chaos and asked what happened.

  “It was-- Well, it wasn’t my fault but I still feel, you know, lame about it, so I wanna replace it for him.”

  “Replace what, exactly?” Lucas asked. “Manual, dice, character sheets, figurines…?”

  “Yeah, that’s sorta what I’m asking you nerds.”

  The next storm of chaos was mostly exaggerated nerd-speak for “How dare you not memorize the esoteric laws of a game you’re not interested in?” which wasn’t fair, but Steve felt it anyway.

  After an increasingly mind-numbing lecture-argument, Will had finally just given him a list of all the basics with a warm, small smile and told him where the best store was, locally. He ruffled the kid’s hair, rounded up the little twerps, and drove them all home.

  Only to spend the next few hours in the geekiest storefront downtown, right up until the store closed at midnight, trying to figure out what to actually buy. The cashier was decently helpful, a middle-aged man Steve once would’ve judged for his geekiness at any age older than twelve, but as it was Steve was so grateful for the help that he would’ve given this man his left kidney, no questions asked.

  He spent the next few hours pacing his bedroom, stressed beyond all measure about how to actually give the stuff to Munson. He wasn’t even sure if he was replacing the right stuff! God, replacing Jonthan’s camera had been so much easier, at least then he’d just had Nancy pass it along without any credit. This was gonna be face-to-face and it was gonna suck. Hard.

  On Wednesday, nothing happened. He was pretty certain. In reality, he was so tired a demogorgon could’ve popped into his passenger seat and he would’ve still driven calmly all the way to school, but that’s neither here nor there.

  He never used to stress this much about one social interaction. Character growth really sucked sometimes.

  That evening, he took a long, hot bath, drank way too much tea, and got over it to the best of his ability.

  On Thursday, something was… weird.

  Since Merlin had arrived and heralded a fresh wave of gossip, he’d tried to ignore the high school rumor mill. He didn’t want to hear whatever new nightmare his classmates came up with. And that still held true, but damn was it hard not to be curious. The only saving grace was that attention was fully off him and Merlin for the first time since Valentine’s Day and he’d take what he could get.

  Until lunch.

  Munson started it. He’d found Steve and Merlin after their gym class, almost looked Steve in the eye before looking resolutely over Steve’s shoulders, and said: “Hey, uh, man, there’s something I wanna talk to you about.”

  And, well, how could Steve refuse that?

  Merlin gave a quick promise he’d head out to the car soon and took off, presumably to the bathroom -- which he seemed to be using way more often this week but Steve did not want to poke the bear on that one. 

  Steve offered Munson an awkward smile as they started walking towards the exit. “So, what’s up, Munson?”

  Munson looked about as nervous as Steve felt, which was weirdly relieving.

  “Let’s get outta the building first.” Munson requested. Steve agreed easily, not too hyped to stay confined within the school’s walls, and the two of them walked in silence out to the parking lot.

  “Well?” Steve asked once they’d reached his car, leaning with maximum coolness -- in his opinion -- against the hood.

  “I, uh, I wanted to…” Munson trailed off.

  Steve waited.

  “I wanted to say sorry, man.”

  Steve made a questioning sound in his throat. “Sorry?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “What for?”

  Muson shuffled a bit, kicking at the asphalt. A nervous hand pushed the hair away from his eyes. “When Hargrove fucked with our lockers, I thought… Just for a minute, but…”

  “You thought it was me,” Steve remembered. “Dude, it’s okay.”

  “Not really.”

  “I’ve heard your speeches before, Munson,” Steve hedged. “I know I was like, your mortal enemy for all of high school and I never really gave you a reason to doubt that.”

  “You never gave me a reason to believe it either,” Munson argued, and Steve was stumped.

  “I always thought I had it all figured out,” Munson continued, finally growing properly animated, waving his hands for emphasis and bouncing on his legs. “Munson Doctrine’s pretty clear about guys like you. Rich parents, popular, chicks love him: Gotta be a douche.”

  Steve did a quick round of self-reflection in his head. It was sorta fair, he figured. He did have a pretty extensive past of douchebaggery.

  “But I was… drumroll please,” Munson broke off. Steve startled out of his thoughts and drummed his fingers on the car’s hood. “Thank you. I… was wrong. About you. Harrington.”

  Steve stared, flummoxed. “Wrong about what?”

  “Alright listen, this is decently hard for me, so I’m only gonna say it once, alright?” Steve nodded at Munson’s request. “You’re actually a pretty good dude. I thought you were having me on when you begged me to come to your house. Even with Robin, I was tryna figure out how it was gonna go wrong. But you just wanted to cheer up your friend. And with the lockers. Well, I still had my doubts about you, but I shouldn’t have. You went into war mode, Steve. All focus and plans and actually sorta cool. I can only do that in D&D. You just are that. Honestly, I’m a little jealous, which sucks cause you’re you and everyone is jealous of you, and since when do I follow the crowd? God, this sucks. Point is: I dunno. Point is, sorry, I guess.”

  Steve could barely breathe.

  He hadn’t expected that. Maybe he’d expected an “I was wrong, sorry” and it would’ve been easy to brush off. But he never would’ve expected Eddie “the Freak” Munson to admit he liked “King Steve” in any capacity.

  “I was, though,” Steve choked out, suddenly unable to look at his maybe-friend. “I know I was a dick, when I was still hanging out with Tommy and Carol. I never thought about it but I was.”

  Eddie shrugged in his peripheral vision. “I wouldn’t know. Never actually met you before now. Heard a lot. Never saw anything. Which is impressive, really, cause I’ve dealt at your parties before. You’ve really done some damage to my sales since you stopped throwing them, by the way.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s whatever. Anyway, you’ve never done jackshit to me, Steve. Or any of my friends. Maybe you were a dick, but I think you mostly just didn’t care.”

  “I thought I did, but I didn’t.” Steve agreed. “I was an idiot.”

  “Well, you are a jock,” Eddie prodded.

  “Back to stereotypes now, huh, Eddie?” Steve met the Freak’s -- (said affectionately) -- gaze again. 

  Eddie’s eyes lit up. “Hey, I never said Munson Doctrine was all wrong. Just a bit of it.”

  “Alright, alright,” Steve laughed lightly. “Hey, since you’re here…”

  He swung around from his lazy perch and sauntered to the trunk, opening it and offering Eddie the bag he’d stuffed in there Tuesday night. 

  Eddie took it, peeked inside, and his wide, confused eyes shot up to stare at Steve.

  “What’s--”

  “You said your shit got ruined by Hargrove, right?” Steve said casually, like he hadn’t spent hours stressing about this very moment. In fairness, it didn’t seem so scary anymore. “I may not have done it, but that’s my grudge match. Sorry you got caught up in it. I didn’t know what exactly needed replacing, so the receipts are in there to return whatever you want. I used cash, so just spend it on whatever else I didn’t get.” Okay, maybe he was rambling a bit now. He clamped his mouth shut.

  Eddie was still staring at him, soundless.

  “Eddie?”

  “Jesus Christ, Steve,” Eddie finally whispered. “That’s, I mean, this is--”

  “Just consider it backpay for all those parties I didn’t throw, okay?” Steve suggested. “And then, uh, are we even?”

  Eddie was silent for a moment longer, eyes shifting back and forth between Steve, the bag, and the ground before he finally nodded and set the bag on the ground. “Almost. I figure I owe you a joint, at least.”

  Steve laughed loud and bright. “Deal.”

  Eddie pulled the proffered joint out of his pocket and Steve offered his own lighter -- recently replaced after he’d lost the last one in the creepy Hell tunnels under the pumpkin patch. They settled back against Steve’s car and he took the first joint. 

  It had been a while since he’d smoked anything other than a cigarette -- and he was trying to quit those anyway -- so he wasn’t as graceful as he maybe could’ve been.

  “Careful now, Stevie. A low tolerance won’t go over well in class,” Eddie teased.

  “Oh, fuck off,” Steve coughed, handing the joint back to Eddie. 

  He figured they’d make a pretty funny picture for when Merlin finally came out. Smoking weed, giggling like idiots, a bag full of D&D supplies in a paper bag at their feet. Maybe Merlin would even be all cute and jealous about them starting without him, but Steve didn’t actually know if Merlin smoked… anything. Well, maybe that was for the best, but he’d still offer when his friend got here.

  Actually… 

  Steve screwed up his face. “That’s one hell of a piss.”

  Eddie choked on the joint he was breathing in. “What the fuck?”

  “Merlin.”

  Eddie stilled. “What about Merlin?”

  “Well, you and I just had a whole mushy heart-to-heart. That’s long enough to take a piss.”

  “Okay, stop talking about him pissing, Jesus,” Eddie grumbled.

  Steve looked back at the school. He looked back at Eddie. “Why today?”

  “Jesus Christ, man, be more specific.”

  “I’m not saying it wasn’t real, but why today?”

  Eddie rubbed at the back of his neck.

  “Eddie, where’s Merlin?”

  Eddie winced. “Listen, it’s not-- Don’t worry about it, okay.”

  Steve turned his glare up to a friendly level of don’t fuck with me. “Munson. Why today?”

  Eddie screwed up his face, looked down at the bag on his feet, and swore loudly, “Son of a snitch! Alright, Jesus, now I feel like shit. He’s… we had this plan to get Hargrove off your back and he’s--”

  Steve’s blood ran cold. “Where is he?”

  “Uh, cafeteria. But listen, Steve--”

  Steve shot off in a dead sprint back to the school racing through the hallways in a panic.

  Which brings us back to:

   “Yeah, I think this dance is mine, Hargrove,” Steve declared, his lanky idiot tucked firmly in his arms. It seemed like the entire school was staring at them but nobody was in a rush to leave their seats, even for a closer look. If it wasn’t Steve’s business, the look in Hargrove’s eyes would’ve scared him off too.

  “Oh… I see.” Billy’s grin was outright malignant as he leered into Steve’s personal space. “That makes more sense. See, for a moment I thought your little boy toy had gone haywire but it turns out you’re just aching for attention, still, aren’t you, Harrington?”

  Steve, to his immense credit, didn’t lean away from Billy, staring him down head-on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about--” He really didn’t. “--So I’m gonna have to ask you to back off, Hargrove.”

  “Have to ask me to-- After the shit he’s pulled? Are you shitting me, Harrington? Or is King Steve so fucking desperate he’d play innocent after whining about how rich he is to the whole school?”

  What? Jesus, this was not what he’d been expecting.

  It was easier to diffuse, though.

  “Look around, Billy,” Steve pleaded. “The whole school’s looking. The lunch ladies are about ready to get teachers involved. You really wanna do this here?”

  Hargrove leaned back a bit.

  “Nothing’s happened yet,” Steve said. “But you make a move, no amount of popularity can save you from the public shitstorm. I know my dad would be pissed. How about yours?”

  Hargrove snarled and, for one frozen second, Steve thought a brawl was inevitable. But then the raging teen whipped around and stormed out of the lunchroom.

  Whispers erupted from the moment the doors swung shut behind Hargrove.

  Steve let go of Merlin only to grab onto the idiot’s shoulder. “We need to talk.”

  He dragged Merlin as far as the football field before he let go, ignoring the tentative attempts to talk the entire way.

  “What the fuck was that?” He snapped as he whipped around.

  Merlin had the audacity to look peeved. “That was my plan. Which you just ruined. Did Eddie spill?”

  “I figured it out,” Steve claimed. “What plan? What the fuck were you thinking?”

  Merlin sighed like this whole thing was a minor inconvenience. “If I could get him to attack me in front of the staff, there’s no way for him to avoid trouble.”

  Steve groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Avoid trouble? What about you, huh? I told you he was dangerous. I keep telling you he’s dangerous. And you thought you could fight him?”

  “I can take a punch.” Merlin insisted.

  “Can you take a plate?” Steve questioned. “Or the knife in his pocket?”

  “I can handle myself, Steve!”

  “Well, clearly, you can’t!” Steve shouted. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “What was I thinking?” Merlin sassed. “I was thinking you weren’t going to do anything to protect yourself! I get you care about the kids but you need to stay safe too, Steve!”

  “Alright, this ?” Steve waved about generally. “This isn’t keeping me safe. This was a disaster. If I hadn’t been there to stop him--”

  “Then it would’ve worked!”

  Steve clenched his fists. “Like hell, it would have! Oh, so he gets in trouble? Maybe gets suspended? Best case, expelled for attacking a classmate unprompted? He didn’t beat me up at school, Merlin, he’s just like that. You get him in that much trouble and he never leaves us alone.” 

  Merlin wilted a bit, but he wasn’t done fighting yet. “Well, if you’d bothered to let me help you in the first place, I wouldn’t’ve had to do this!”

  “Help me?”

  “I know you’re hiding things, Steve,” Merlin proclaimed. “Bigger than why you and Billy fought. Bigger than you think I can handle. But I’m your friend. You’re getting harassed and threatened and you’re hanging on by a thread and you’re cutting me out of even the basics!”

  The Upside-Down. Merlin didn’t know it, but he was talking about the Upside-Down. Which was, in many ways, the one thing Steve could never explain. Even if he knew how to.

  “I’ve told you to drop it. You agreed to drop it.” Steve volleyed back. “I keep telling you to leave it alone, to mind your own business, but you never do. And of all the warnings to ignore, you had to go and piss off Hargrove .”

  Merlin scoffed. “Yeah, the psycho who killed eight birds just to fuck with you. That’s not something you should deal with alone.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Exactly! You have me!” Merlin insisted.

  Steve took a deep breath. “Do you know why I never reported Hargrove to the school, Merlin?”

  Merlin looked confused by the about-face. “Uh, 'cause it wouldn’t do anything? Like you said?”

  “No,” Steve said. “I never made it official because of Max.”

  Merlin’s brows scrunch up. “What about her?”

  “She’s his step-sister,” Steve stated firmly. “But that’s not it. I mean, yeah, antagonizing him, that could backfire on her, and that’d be bad. But she says things, every now and then, about his dad. And I know how bad my dad is when I get in trouble for anything, but he’d never lay a hand on me. Merlin, I can’t do that to someone else.”

  His friend only stared, mouth opening and closing a few times as he tried to form words. Nothing ever came.

  Steve knew it was weird. He should hate Billy Hargrove in his entirety -- and saying he did wasn’t inaccurate -- but he couldn’t help his heart. 

  He had a code:

  First: What would Merlin want Arthur to do?

  Next: What would the weird old wizard want Arthur to do?

  Then: What would make Merlin smile? 

  And now, maybe more than ever before, he was learning the meaning of WWSHD: What would Steve Harrington do?

  He had to believe he was strong enough for this. He had to trust in his own beliefs, in his own code. He had to believe it was worth it to keep trying, to keep playing the high road, to be better than he used to be, because if it wasn’t? He might as well give up. 

  But he couldn’t give up. He had people relying on him and he liked that, dammit. The kids. Eddie. Robin. Nancy and Jonathan. And most crucially, Merlin relied on him.

  “I didn’t know.” His friend tried to explain.

  “I know.”

  “If I had known, I wouldn’t have--”

  “You shouldn’t have to know something like that to know what you did was wrong, Merlin,” Steve insisted. “I know you, I know you’re better than this. Why the hell did you…”

  “I wanted you safe,” Merlin choked out, and Steve couldn’t look at him anymore, because there were tears in his friend's eyes and if he looked he’d start crying too.

  “I know you’re kind, Merlin. You just are. And I know you’re brave. This took guts. Before, maybe there was competition but… You might just be the bravest man I’ve ever met. That’s what I like about you. And you’re nosy and annoying and kinda crazy sometimes, but that’s not so bad. But this? I know you’re better than this. You should’ve told me. I could’ve stopped this nonsense before it turned into an even bigger mess.”

  “I… I’m sorry,” Merlin said quietly.

  It was the second apology Steve had received today and he found he didn’t like it nearly as much as the first.

  “You… you know me, huh?” Merlin kept on. “I’m not… puzzling? Unfathomable? Confusing?”

  Steve was too emotionally exhausted to question the oddity of Merlin’s word vomit. “Of course you are. You’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met, too, and I never know what’s going on in that empty head of yours. That doesn’t mean I don’t know you.”

  “Ar… Steve…” Merlin whined.

  But Steve was done.

  “I need… I need to be alone for a bit. Don’t… Don’t follow me.”

  Steve turned his back to his friend and stormed off.

  Merlin didn’t call after him and, when the bell rang to signal the end of lunch, Steve was long gone on some country road, trying to forget those glassy blue eyes.

Chapter Text

  Once upon a time, a young man named Merlin saved the life of a prince. 

  Technically speaking, he did it twice in a row, but nobody was awake for the first time and he couldn’t take credit for the falling chandelier else he face execution; trees falling in a forest and all that.

  But he did it, twice, and he was proud of himself for the first time in a long time. It was the first time he’d felt so completely right after sixteen long years of wrong. And then he spent the next week learning how to be a manservant and getting overwhelmed by polishing and cleaning and clothing and tournaments, and by the end of the third week, he’d saved the prince again and nobody knew it again.

  He’d get used to it, in time. Well, actually, he got used to it surprisingly quickly. It was worth it, he discovered, to face the pain and the isolation and the quiet indignities of his new life, because those shining moments when he’d save Arthur Pendragon from certain doom, or when he got the young man to relax and play around in spite of his stressful life, or when he simply made his best friend smile at him… those were the moments everything fell into place.

  A cryptic old bastard of a dragon had once told him that a half can never truly hate that which makes it whole. Kilgharrah hadn’t mentioned why: Being whole was an experience like no other and only a man who’d completely forsaken his own life would ever throw it away willingly. Merlin knew that truth to be self-evident by the end of his first month in Camelot. After ten years, it was practically instinct and he felt it, deep in his soul, every time Arthur would pull away from him. He could see it in Arthur’s eyes whenever Merlin denied his other half the truth. And he suffered it for a millennium and a half after Arthur’s death, and he’d forgotten, just a little, why it hurt so bad when Arthur was still alive. 

  After all, how could anything hurt more than Arthur’s death?

  But he’d failed to consider that Steve’s brown eyes could deliver the same pain as Arthur’s blue. He’d failed to realize how thin of a line he was walking between winning and losing. He’d failed in... he’d failed. Plain and simple.

  A half can never truly hate that which makes it whole. Merlin would do his best to hold onto that now. For his own sake.

  Steve still drove back to pick up the kids, because of course he did. How could he not?

  He’d spent the last two hours racing down the country roads pinning Hawkins into its own little corner of the world, trying valiantly not to think of the tunnels that had once spread under the earth in their fucked up little demonic subway network. It wasn’t as relaxing as he’d hoped it’d be, obviously.

  But, even in the throes of whatever a shrink would name his slurry of emotions, he’d promised the kids he’d pick them up today, and he wasn’t about to throw their trust away for something so… it wasn’t trivial. The point is, it wasn’t bigger than their trust.

  He didn’t stop by the high school. Merlin could walk today. It was only fair.

  “So, where’s--?”

  “Jesus Christ, Henderson!” Steve flinched backward because he hadn’t even heard the door open but Dustin was already in his passenger seat. “The hell’d you come from?”

 “School.” Dustin wasn’t even trying to be funny, he was just like that. “Anyway, where’s Merlin? I usually have to kick him out of my seat.”

  Steve took a deep, steadying breath. “Don’t ask again and that seat is yours for a week.”

  Dustin squinted at him, now picking up on Steve’s displeasure, but obviously weighed out his options. “...Deal.”

  “Good answer. Where’s everyone else?”

  The back doors opened to a cacophony of nerd arguments. 

  “Never mind,” Steve retracted. “Alright, everyone in and buckle up! Faster than a demodog and you get extra arcade cash!”

  “What?!” Mike snapped out, bafflement reflected in Steve’s rear-view mirror.

  “That’s no fair!” Lucas tacked on. “Demodogs ran at, like, 50 miles an hour! We can’t be faster than that!”

  Will, normally quieter than the rest, rolled his eyes just as vibrantly as his geek squad. “Steve, I think you slowed them down.”

  “Mission failure, got it.” Steve chirped, plastering on a wide smile for Will’s sake. “Close the door, Max.”

  Max huffed as she pulled the door shut. “You’re not the one with geek breathing down her neck.”

  “Sorry!” Lucas squeaked, trying to scoot away, which is very hard to do when you’re one of four kids shoved into three seats. “I can, uh, trunk?”

  “You can trunk ?” Mike repeated with a playful sneer.

  “Actually, Lucas, it’s Mike’s turn to trunk,” Steve declared as he pulled out of the middle school parking lot. He very purposefully avoided looking at the high school. “Hop to it, Wheeler.”

  “What!? That’s bullshit!” Mini-Wheeler shrieked, furious.

  “Language,” Steve sighed. Refusing to wince at the word bullshit. “Listen, it’s either you jump in the back or you all sit like sardines. Make a choice.”

  “Yeah, Mike, make a choice,” Dustin said smugly from his uncrowded front passenger seat.

  “God, you all suck,” Mike whined as he crossed his arms in protest.

  Will, who’d been softly laughing throughout the entire exchange, smiled warmly at Mike. “C’mon, Mike, I’ll go with you.”

   That got Mike all docile and cooperative, which Steve would keep in mind for the next time Mike was pitching a fit. 

  “We’re not going to the arcade,” Dustin spouted off suddenly.

  “What?” Steve asked. “What do you mean? You said arcade.”

  “I lied. We’re going to your house.”

  Steve, had he not been driving, would’ve rubbed at his eyes so vigorously he’d have lost sight for a few seconds. “And you couldn’t just say that, why ?”

  “Element of surprise,” Dustin explained, unhelpfully.

  “The arcade was the backup plan in case you and Merlin were, like, studying or something,” Lucas chimed in, far more helpfully. “That would’ve been pretty boring.”

  Steve cast a curious look at the kid through his mirror. “Do you… I mean, you guys do like Merlin, right?”

  He wasn’t sure what he’d do if they said no. He hadn’t even considered that the kids wouldn’t like Merlin -- their bar was low enough to keep him around, and Merlin was way more suited to the kids’ own interests than he was. 

  “Obviously, we like him,” Max rolled her eyes.

  “Well, we don’t hate him,” Mike dissented.

  “ I like him,” Will protested.

  “He steals my seat,” Dustin added. “Other than that, he’s pretty cool.”

  “He doesn’t know about the Upside Down,” Lucas finally clarified. “It’s, uh… hard to talk like normal around him.”

  “Oh,” Steve breathed out. “No, yeah, I get that. Sorry, then.”

  “It’s cool,” Dustin soothed his worries. “We like him. It’s just like, you know, when Max joined the group. It’s hard to talk to outsiders.”

  This. This is what Steve still struggled to wrap his mind around with the kids. Not just that they liked him enough to come to his house, not just that they trusted him with their lives, no… They considered him one of them. He was an insider and it was them against the world.

  Steve… wanted that with Merlin. He thought he was sorta close to it, honestly. But he couldn’t tell Merlin about the Upside Down crap and Merlin clearly hadn’t trusted him with his plans. Steve… he was on the other side of Merlin’s against this week.

  It was a horrible feeling, like swallowing dry ice. Or like the morning after getting blackout drunk when you wake up in someone else’s garage even though the party was at your house. Or coming back into consciousness after getting your lights knocked out by Billy Hargrove and realizing a pre-teen was driving the car. Or like mixing ranch dressing with hot sauce and putting it on waffles and you think it’s gonna be a culinary masterpiece, only to spend the rest of the day rinsing it off your tongue. Or like-- Listen, Steve had made many bad decisions, okay? That’s not the point. The point is… 

  He refocused on the road in front of him. He couldn’t get distracted with the kids in his car. He wouldn’t risk it.

  “Why not tell him?” Max spoke up above the nerd chatter.

  “Hm?”

  “Merlin.” Max’s eyes found his in the rear-view mirror, steely. “Lucas told me. Why not tell Merlin the truth?”

  The car went quiet for a few seconds and Steve rushed to answer before it could break out into chaos.

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Isn’t it?” She insisted.

  Steve’s eyes slid to Lucas’ reflection next to Max. He couldn’t quite see it in his narrow frame of view, but he knew they were holding hands.

  He swallowed harshly. “No. It’s… not.”

  She didn’t look convinced, but Steve had successfully avoided the rest of the kids talking over each other about how bad of an idea it was to tell Merlin, so he counted it as a win.

  He could tell Dustin wasn’t fully settled with the conversation but Steve had already bribed him with seat privileges, so it’d take more than this to earn the kid’s pestering. Steve wouldn't really mind it, most days -- oh, sure, he’d pretend to be irritated to hell and back, but he never really was -- but he was glad for the leniency today. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his cool and he didn’t want to make any more mistakes with people he cared about.

  But it wasn’t Dustin he should’ve been worried about.

  Once upon a time, Merlin met a young druid named Mordred and he helped this boy escape certain death via Crazy King. He’d been warned about destiny and fate and the future and all that, but his morals wouldn’t allow him to let the boy die, no matter what the Great Dragon predicted.

  To this day, he couldn’t find it within himself to regret it. Oh, he had his moments -- big, loud, despairing moments -- but Mordred was innocent back then; a child facing death for nothing more than how he was born. Merlin knew how that felt; dreaded it every day for most of his first life’s youth. He couldn’t ever regret saving the life of a child, he knew.

  But Mordred came back and came back and then he was there, in Camelot, all the time. And Merlin was so, so tired by that point that he could hardly even sort through his own thoughts. He’d failed to save Morgana from her prophesied destiny, hell, you could argue he caused it. So how could he bear the thought of Arthur sleeping in the same castle as the one prophesied to murder him? He’d failed and lost Morgana and now he stood to fail and lose Arthur, too, and that was the one thing he could never allow.

  So he made mistakes. If there were any chance of saving Arthur’s life, he’d squandered it in his own paranoia. It was a lesson nobody should ever have to learn and it was a lesson he apparently hadn’t yet internalized. Even after over a thousand years, that same fear rushed through him and threatened his every action with the blight of phobia. 

  He’s known for a while now that he’d never properly grieved Arthur’s death. It was a process he couldn’t fathom starting; a project forever left unfinished in his long vigil, and he wasn’t about to start now. But leaving wounds -- even emotional ones -- to fester bred a certain ache in oneself. Merlin’s heart, for all his years of wisdom and experience, well… it oftentimes felt as though it’d stopped beating with Arthur’s. Not dead, not undead, not alive. Just frozen in that single instant when Kilgharrah had assured him his best friend would return, unwilling to consider any alternative.

  But lately, he’d felt a few false starts. They didn’t last forever, and it didn’t feel like moving on, but he was warmer than he’d been in a millennium, and it was hard not to grow drunk off the ardor. So careful he’s tried to be for so long that the muted suggestion of destiny slipped under his radar, and he wound up right back where he’d started.

  But Billy Hargrove wasn’t Mordred. And Steve… well…

  It was hours later as Steve was dropping all the gremlins off at their homes that his earlier oversight came back to bite him.

  Now, generally speaking, there was no official route he took to drop the kids off. Or so he claimed. And it mostly depended on where he was pricking them up from: The Arcade, the School, or if he was driving them home from his own house. Or so he claimed. And the kids all knew it was totally random and he didn’t play favorites. Or so they claimed.

  But from an omniscient, non-partial point of view, it’s easier to average together his usual route and declare that Dustin Henderson was the clear favorite. He dropped Dustin off last 8 times out of 10 and it was very hard to argue that it was due to a practical routing angle. No, truthfully, Dustin just talked the most, and he talked to Steve the most out of the kids, and he was sorta one of Steve’s best and closest friends, so of course he milked the most of his time with Dustin and delayed saying goodbye. Since Merlin had been introduced to his usual driving line-up, things evened out a little, but Merlin came home with Steve just as often as he got dropped off so it didn’t actually affect too much in the long run.

  As for the first, it was usually Will.

  Will wasn't first for the same reasons Dustin was last. Steve didn’t dislike the kid. Moreso, he knew how overbearingly protective the kids' mom and brother were and wanted to avoid conflict or late curfews as much as possible. That and because Mike was Steve’s actual preferred first drop-off and Will got uncomfortably quiet once Mike was gone. Especially since Lucas left at the same time Mike did and a car filled with Steve, Dustin, Max, and Will had a very clear winner for who gets to speak. So long as Max was her usual sulky self, of course.

  So Steve split the difference, tried not the make it too obvious, and dropped Will off first 7 times out of 10. Max was usually the middle child, so to speak, because Steve liked her company but also knew keeping her out too long was a concussion risk. And also because a tired Max at the end of the day was weirdly scary and he didn’t want Chatty Dustin to lose a finger.

  Now, when he dropped the kids off somewhere else, he was usually free to fuck off and do whatever he wanted for a few hours. As it was, he was sorta grateful they’d gone to his house this time. He was in dire need of the distraction.

  So he spent a few hours puttering around, pretending he had better stuff to do, while the kids organized an upcoming DnD game in his living room and Max made fun of the rest of them the entire time. They argued about whose characters had been killed off, tried to make Max agree to play with them, and were generally big ol’ dorks for far too long. Plus, being around Max too long today made him remember what happened at lunch and just how much he didn’t want her to know. 

  Steve did actually have some things to do, such as homework and studying, and the continuous process of convincing himself he could go to college. He didn’t really want to, was the thing. Not just because he was too stupid for it, which he feared was the case, but because he didn’t really know how to leave Hawkins. Not yet.

  He’d been so detached from Hawkins for years, basically his entire life. It was just a small town, nothing special. But then there was Nancy Wheeler, and then reality exploded for a week, and then he’d had a whole year to convince himself it was better to stay behind for her last year in high school. In retrospect, it was kinda obvious she hadn’t been thrilled by the idea when he pitched it. Nancy liked intelligence and Steve just… wasn’t that. But before he’d even had the chance to mourn his one valid reason not to try, Dustin had wrapped him back up into another week of reality breaking apart and stayed in Steve’s life after it.

  Steve knows El closed the gate. He knows that. But he doesn’t know if he can leave the kids behind. Just in case. And he knows even less how to explain that to his parents.

  It’s... it’s easy to give up on yourself when you’re convinced you’ll do more good that way. It’s easy to accept your flaws and not try to improve or challenge yourself when nobody expects anything better from you. It’s easy to stand at the bottom of the hole you dug, gaze up at the light, and decide to rest a while -- nobody’s waiting for you up top. But if anyone ever falls down, you can be their ladder, and that’s a comfort, at least. 

  Steve wondered where Merlin was gonna go after high school. Merlin was smart, he could definitely get into college. Maybe he’d even go back to the UK for it and Steve would never get to see him again and everything would go back to the shitty normal he’d had before the big-eared Brit had washed up in their backwater town that doubled as a gate to Hell. Steve would miss him but he took comfort in the fact that Merlin would be better off. Only Steve needed to stay in the hole. 

  The loud, over-exaggerated sound of someone clearing their throat brought him back from his morose musings.

  Dustin was staring at Steve staring at the wall, an expectant eyebrow raised in judgment.

  Steve bristled. “What?”

  Dustin rolled his eyes. “We gotta go.”

  Okay. That was new. “Normally, I have to kick you out.”

  “Not today,” Dustin refuted with his toothy grin. God, that reminded Steve of Merlin too, this was so unfair. “Mom wants me back early tonight so you gotta get me home.”

  Steve glanced at the clock. It was only 7:16. “When?”

  “Uh… at seven?”

  Steve groaned, mostly over-emphasized but also decently real. “Jesus, Henderson, you tell me now?”

  “We lost track of time, Steve! It’s not our fault, we had very important--”

  Steve tuned the rest of the rant out as he grabbed his car keys and funneled the geek squad (+ Max) into his car. 

  He was planning to just adjust his totally-not-normal route to simply move Dustin to the first drop point but Mike started complaining about wanting to call El before going to bed, and it was early enough that Steve didn’t feel much worry about rushing Will and Max home, so his order got even more adjusted. (And, given his tiff with Hargrove today… he prioritized Max’s drop-off too.)

  Steve always dropped Max off halfway down the block, something they both insisted on, and waited until he saw her porch light go off down the street. 

  And then it was him and Will, who quickly scrambled into the passenger seat before Steve took the car out of park. Steve quirked a half-hidden smirk at the behavior, relieved to see Will acting more like the rest of the nerds.

  The start of the drive was… fine. Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as Will bobbed his head lightly to the music playing at a low volume. Hawkins’ minimal street lights illuminated the pair ever so briefly as time wore on, until each consecutive flash felt like a clock running at 1/15th speed. 

  Steve had never been a fan of ticking clocks. 

  “So… good… planning sesh, then?” Steve asked, just to break the silence. 

  Will jerked up at his voice and nodded slightly. “Uh. Yeah?”

  Steve nodded back. “All… planned?”

  “Uh… it could use a little more work,” Will muttered.

  “Cool, cool.” Steve did not think it was cool, necessarily, but honesty was for the bir-- Hm. Bad phrase today. Turns out, honesty is very much not for the birds. 

  Steve almost missed a turn, the car rocking as he caught it at the last second.

  Will didn’t say anything.

  Steve turned the music up a little louder.

  Another five minutes passed in silence.

  It was only turning onto the road the kids insisted on calling “Mirkwood” -- a name which Steve had started using against his wishes like it was a contagious disease -- that he let himself unwind. He’d drop Will off and then take the comparatively much shorter drive home, wishing all the while that there was a road that cut through the forest more directly instead of the long way around, and he’d take a long, way-too-hot shower and try to forget this day ever happened.

  So, of course, that’s when Will burst into action.

  “Can I show you something?” He asked out of the blue, startling Steve and eliciting a small jerk of the steering wheel. 

  “Uhh… now?” Steve asked, eyes trained on the pitch-black forest road. 

  Will gave a quiet snort at that. “No. At home. Duh.”

  Ah. Steve was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. 

  He’d only been in the Byers household on two notable occasions: The night he fought the Demogorgon and the night he fought Billy Hargrove. (For argument's sake, the Demogorgon was obviously the scarier opponent, but Hargrove was the only one that actually hurt Steve... soooo... He’d rather take on the Demogorgon, honestly.)

  Since then, he’d dropped Will off outside and resolutely not checked the windows to see if Nancy was inside. It wasn’t good for his health.

  “Does it have to be tonight?” He asked tentatively.

  “Yes,” Will spoke and his voice was firm, but when Steve risked a glance, his eyes were wide and pleading, like a baby seal. Or Merlin when he wanted something really bad.

  Steve was weak to both. 

  He sighed heavily and shrugged. “Just a minute. Gotta get home soon.”

  “Uh-huh,” Will hummed doubtfully.

  Steve cast a somewhat offended glance at the kid in his passenger seat. “Excuse me?”

    But Will just smiled, sweet as honey -- and just as sticky. “Jonathan’s not home yet, I promise.”

  Steve was only a little ashamed of the tension that melted off his shoulders at the assurance, clearly beaten out by the shame of being read so easily by a pre-teen.

  “Ah. Cool.”

  He pulled into Will’s driveway. A suspicion began to form in the back of his mind.

  “Did you--” But Will was already rushing out of the car and skipping up to his house.

  Steve followed and made it to the porch just as Joyce Byers opened the door.

  “Will! You’re back earlier than I expected!” She exclaimed with careful jubilance as she pulled her son in for a hug.

  “Moooom…” Will protested, though he didn’t pull away. “Uh, right, Dustin had this… thing.”

  Steve narrowed his eyes and Will purposefully looked away.

  Which is precisely when Joyce noticed him.

  “Oh!” She exclaimed as her eyes fell on him. “Steve! Is everything okay?”

  “Oh, uh, yeah. Will said he wanted to show me something. So…” Steve stuttered out, unsure of what to do with Mrs. Byers’ attention focused on him.

  She cast a curious look down at Will before putting on an only-slightly-forced smile. “Well, can’t leave you waiting on the porch then. In, both of you.”

  Will was all but dragged in, given she was mostly still hugging him. Steve hesitated on the threshold a moment, captured by memories, but the warmth of the interior leaking out to greet him set his resolve against lingering in the cold. 

  He took a step and shut the door behind him.

  The inside was cleaner than he’d ever seen it, though, in fairness, he had two very bad first impressions. No strewn-all-over Christmas lights or bear traps or spooky maps or dead monsters. Just a normal family home, filled with Will’s not-spooky drawings and various school supplies, and what Steve could only assume were the normal things caring parents decorated houses with. 

  If he didn’t have such ridiculously terrible memories here, he’d love it. As it was, he forced himself to push through.

  Will had finally escaped his mother’s hug by now, and he was rummaging around through the drawings on the dining room table, leaving Steve alone with Mrs. Byers.

  To her credit, she kept a kind expression firm on her face, not wavering like Steve had expected. 

  “It’s good to see you, Steve,” she said warmly, which felt a little like the heat radiating off a freshly baked pie. “How have you been?”

  “Oh, uh, good, yeah,” Steve mumbled. “How, uh, you. How have you been? All’s been going…” He cast a glance over at Will. “Everything’s okay?”

  “We’re getting there,” she replied confidently, even through her tired eyes. “Have you eaten yet?”

  Steve blinked hard, caught off guard. “Uh, umm. I made sure the kids all had snacks and stuff. Not the healthiest but it’s earlier than I expected--”

  “So you haven’t eaten,” she confirmed.

  “No?”

  “Good! Dinner was almost ready when you walked in,” she explained, hands fluttering with her words. “I was planning on reheating it later, since both the boys were out, but it’s just as good fresh!”

  “Oh, uh, you really don’t need to--” But she had already shot off towards the kitchen, erratically charming and far too generous, leaving Steve standing alone in the entryway.

  “Right,” he murmured to himself. “Okay.”

  Deciding to brave the dark had its moments for sure, but Steve hadn’t yet allowed it to hold him back. Not for the sake of others, at least.

  He stepped further into the house, making his way over to Will in the dining room. 

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Will asked and turned to face Steve, eyes suspiciously wide and innocent.

  “What did you want to show me?”

  “Hmm….” Will hummed too loudly to be genuine. “I think I forgot. Maybe I’ll remember after dinner.” 

  Steve had been expecting this but it wasn’t any easier to hear.

  “I see why you’re Wheeler’s best friend,” Steve deadpanned.

  Will grinned and seemed genuinely pleased. “Thanks!” He shuffled some of the drawings out of the way, clearing the table. “Mom always makes us wash our hands before eating. I’ll show you the bathroom.”

  Steve had, in fact, used the Byers’ bathroom before, but he wasn’t about to argue with having something to do.

  Two sets of thoroughly washed hands later -- something Will definitely needed because Steve had seen all manner of grease and crumb brush over those nerd books over the last few months -- they meandered back out to the main area and caught Mrs. Byers placing three plates on the table. Steve was thankful for the timing. 

  “All clean?” She asked, absentmindedly adjusting a napkin as she looked their way.

  Steve and Will nodded in unison.

  “Then come sit!”

  The boys complied. 

  Dinner was pretty simple: A bag of store-bought Caesar salad, a macaroni casserole, and a bowl of tomato soup. Steve definitely saw what she meant by “planning on reheating it” because it wasn’t exactly gourmet or spoilable.

  It was also the best meal he’d had in a long time.

  Steve had taught himself to cook a long time ago, once his parents had stopped hiring a nanny for him. He couldn’t remember exactly what age he was but he knew it was probably too soon to be made to cook for himself. There were maybe three times a year when his mom would cook for him: Thanksgiving, his dad’s birthday, and Easter. They almost never spent Christmas in Hawkins, which Steve was used to, but it meant people didn’t cook for him very often.

  He enjoyed eating out as much as anyone but nothing compared to a homemade meal. He’d gotten decently proud of himself by now, certain nobody would ever complain if he fed them. He’d even mastered the specific weird tastes of a group of middle-schoolers, who would simultaneously eat everything and nothing. 

  But this? Maybe it wasn’t gourmet or super high quality, but it was the food a mother made for her children and had chosen to share with him. It was the only thing he’d liked about his and Nancy’s weekly dinners with the Holland’s, even if eating food made by Barb’s parents, whose daughter went officially missing on his watch -- who died on his watch -- made him physically ill.

  His enthusiasm showed.

  “Guess you were hungry,” Mrs. Byers remarked once he’d wolfed down half his casserole. 

  Steve paused, sheepish. “Uh, must’ve been. Sorry.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. My boys certainly don’t show that much appreciation,” she soothed. Steve felt a little like crying, which would be a whole new sort of traumatic incident in the Byers household, so he got himself under control quickly.

  At his strained silence, though, she took mercy on him. “Will, how was school today?”

  Will talked about school for maybe 30 seconds and talked about the DnD planning session they’d had at Steve’s house for the rest of dinner. It sounded like he was in charge of the story this time and had kept so tight-lipped about it that his friends were going mad with trying to prepare. Which… checked out for the shouts Steve had heard from his living room. 

  …Poor Max.

  Steve admittedly tuned half of it out, mostly because a preteen ranting about a game made for great background noise. Steve was never gonna understand it on the level Will was describing it on but the joy in his voice was nice to listen to nonetheless.

  There was one thing that was always gonna catch his attention, though.

  “--and Merlin wasn’t there today so we were able to use real-world examples for how it all works, you know?”

  Steve almost choked on his salad.

  Mrs. Byers scrunched up her eyebrows. “Merlin?” she asked slowly, testing the word out.

  Will nodded like it was obvious. “Steve’s new friend. He’s been around all the time recently. And he’s cool! But he’s normal, so we can’t exactly start ranting about the Upside-Down in front of him, you know?”

  It was Lucas’ same reasoning from earlier, and Steve knew Will agreed, but he couldn’t help but suspect that wasn’t the reason Will brought it up now.

  (As a side note, that may have been the first time anyone has referred to Merlin as normal and the guy wasn’t even here for it. Shame.)

Mrs. Byers nodded politely, like she didn’t know where this was going either.

  Then the penny dropped. Will turned his cartoon-kitten eyes on Steve and asked, “Why wasn’t Merlin there today, anyway? You never said.”

  If he weren’t sitting at a table with the boy’s more-than-generous mother, Steve would’ve point-blank called the kid a brat.

  As it was, he hunched up his shoulders defensively and tried to keep calm. “I mean, we don’t hang out every day.”

  The look Will gave him rivaled the Wheeler Bitch Face™. Mike’s best friend indeed. No words were even needed.

  “So, who’s this Merlin boy, then? And why haven’t I heard of him yet, Will?” Mrs. Byers asked, lightly stabbing at her macaroni.

  Will shrugged. “Felt like Steve’s business.” and with that, he’d thrown Steve to the wolves. (No offense to Mrs. Byers, of course.)

  Mrs. Byers looked at Steve for the rest of it.

  God, what was this, an interview?

  “He’s a transfer student from England,” Steve started. “We, uh, hit it off, I guess.”

  “Does he play sports with you?”

  Steve’s hand whipped up to his mouth as he covered his sharp bark of laughter. “Uh, no. I think he’d snap in half. Great in class, though. Especially history. He likes to argue with the teacher about what actually happened.”

  Mrs. Byers seemed amused, at least. “He sounds like a fun person.”

  Steve nodded jerkily.

  “Did you two fight?” Will broke in. “Cause you’ve been sulky all day.”

  Steve took a deep, steadying breath as Mrs. Byers scolded Will for impoliteness. 

  “It’s fine, Mrs. Byers,” he tried to diffuse, not wanting to cause drama. For once. “Uh, yeah, sorta, but I don’t wanna talk about it, Will.”

  But Will didn’t seem particularly displeased at being told off and denied. He nodded blankly, slurped up the rest of his soup, and stood up from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

  Turning to look at Mrs. Byers’ concerned face, the whole con snapped into place.

  He was so revoking Dustin’s passenger seat privilege. Mom wants me back early, Steve’s ass. Henderson pawned him off and Will knew exactly who the most emotionally intelligent person in their insider group was. Dammit.

  She chuckled lightly as Will scampered off to his bedroom, waiting until his door closed to speak up. “Sorry about him. He must’ve been worried about you, though.”

  “You put it together too?” Steve asked.

  “The moment I saw you on the porch,” she boasted, eyes twinkling. 

  Steve nodded, glum and resigned. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Do you need to?” She asked plainly.

  Merlin’s glossy eyes flashed through his mind. He’d been trying to forget them for hours now and he was starting to think he never would. A Merlin near tears was equal parts excruciating in his misery and ethereal in his fey-like beauty. 

  Yeah. Steve needed to talk about it.

  “He did something really stupid today,” he admitted. “He did it for me. He thought I needed help. But it was dangerous and stupid and… and it was worse than he thought it was. And once I put it together, I knew he’d been planning it all week and he didn’t ever think to tell me. And I get it, I see his side. But he doesn’t know the things I know and I can’t tell him and I’m so angry I don’t know what to do with it.”

  Mrs. Byers was silent a moment after his outburst, processing it. Steve made a point of finishing up his casserole serving while she mulled it over, not wanting to waste it.

  “You can’t tell me what he did?” She asked at last.

  “No,” Steve pronounced firmly, setting down his fork and dropping his hand loosely on the table. “That’s… it’s between me and him for now. And the entire cafeteria, I guess, but… no. I’m not gonna gossip about it.” 

  Mrs. Byers reached across the table and patted the back of his hand. “First off, Steve:”

  He snapped to attention. 

  “Call me Joyce,” she requested. “You’re old enough for it. Just don’t tell the kids I gave you permission.”

  A surprised chuckle bubbled from his throat. “Alright. Joyce.”

  Joyce smiled sadly at him, settling back into her chair. “Next: Anger is never your base feeling, you know? So when you say you’re angry, I think you really mean something else.”

  Steve sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  “So?”

  “ So I’m hurt that he went behind my back and I’m worried about how reckless he is,” Steve answered. “He didn’t even think about trusting me about me. It’s… God, I don’t know.”

  “It sounds like he cares about you a lot if he was willing to do something risky,” Joyce offered. “And if you don’t tell him why something bothers you, how can he know?”

  “But I can’t tell him because it’s… we all signed papers, Joyce,” Steve explained, and he felt like he was whining too much but here someone warm and welcoming and in-the-know was, asking. 

  His words sharpened her expression instantly. “Is everything alright, Steve?”

  “Yeah, yeah, nothing reality-breaking, don’t worry. Haven’t seen a monster in months,” Steve rushed to cover up. “But… Merlin is… nosy .”

  “Nosy,” she repeated.

  “Nosy,” he confirmed. “He wants to know everything and it’s like he can’t stop ‘till he does. Which is great for studying together but not for hiding government secrets.”

  Joyce wrung her hands together even as her face relaxed from its momentary panic. “I had the same issue with Bob.”

  Bob Newby, who Steve had never actually met, but who he’d heard all about in the aftermath of the lab. Died a hero’s death on the first day he’d been in-the-know.

  He’d been Joyce’s boyfriend and Steve was decently concerned about where this was going -- he’d never meant to make her relive bad memories.

  “He was so normal, you know?” She smiled in the way one only can when they’ve lost something precious. “And he wanted to know everything about our family because he wanted to be a part of it. And I couldn’t tell him,” she rushed slightly, “couldn’t explain what made us so different. But he still tried so hard.” Her words came out pinched at the end, wracked with grief. “But that just meant he cared. And when push came to shove, he showed it.”

  “I don’t want Merlin to show it,” Steve whispered once her speech slowed to a stop. “He doesn’t need to. I know.”

  Joyce shook her head. “That’s not how it works, Steve. You have to let people care. And I would do anything to go back and save him. Anything except change him.”

  Steve blinked back his quickly rising tears. “Why are you doing this? I mean, just a year ago, I was the worst, especially to Jonathan, and you barely know me, and you don’t know Merlin--”

  “I’m a mom, Steve,” she cut him off, “and I’ve seen my boy go through hell. But Will’s not the only one who’s been hurt by all this. I have, and Hopper has, and Lord knows El has… we all have. And you’re part of that. You helped Jonathan with the Demogorgon and you kept the kids safe from the dogs. And now they’ve got you running around after them all day -- as far as I’m concerned, I owe you this much.”

  “You don’t.” 

  “You gotta let people care, Steve,” she repeated. “Merlin, and the kids, and me, too. You don’t hide as well as you think and that’s okay.”

  Steve spent a few moments just breathing in her meaning before nodding. “I’m still mad at him.”

  Joyce cracked a wry grin. “Sounds like he deserves it.”

  Steve titled his head. “You were just saying I have to let him care.”

  “Yeah, for your sake,” she clarified. “But if someone screws up, that’s something they need to learn from. Hold him to it. But don’t hide away from it. You both deserve better than that.”

  Steve nodded, not really getting it but willing to play along. “Sure.”

  Will’s door opened. “Are you guys done?” he called down the hall.

  Joyce shared an amused smirk at his lack of subtlety. “Just about!” she called back.

  Rapid footsteps heralded Will’s return, carrying in his hands a piece of printer paper.

  “I didn’t actually have it done yet, so I had to rush it, sorry.” And he did seem bashful, at least. He set the paper down next to Steve’s plates. “I know you’re probably never going to play with us but I had fun designing it anyway.”

  Steve’s breath caught in his throat. 

  The paper was home to an illustration of two men side by side, one adorned in chainmail and plate armor, carrying a golden sword, the other drowning in red and blue robes with a long wooden staff. The swordsman had an odd mix of blonde and brown hair, like Will couldn’t decide what it should be, with a small crown circling his head in place of a helmet. The other man had a shock of black hair and glowing golden eyes. Will was no master of the arts (yet) but the drawing was expressive enough. Steve knew who these people were.

  “You’d be a Fighter, obviously. I mean, I haven’t seen you in action, but Dustin is pretty insistent about it,” Will was explaining. “And Merlin is a little obvious in inspiration, but Druid felt like a good starter role for him. New players usually find it easier to start with a premade character but I think personalization is still really important. ”

  Or not.

  “That’s… that’s me and Merlin?” Steve asked for clarification. 

  Will nodded emphatically. “You’re the one with the sword. Fighters are skilled with every weapon, but swords are the coolest. Merlin is, well--”

  “The weird old wizard Merlin,” Steve finished. “It… suits him.”

  Will looked so happy at the praise that Steve instantly forgave him for dragging him into a mom-therapy session against his will.

  “It’s yours.” Will tapped the drawing for emphasis. “I can tell you more about the characters in specific later, but Mike just radioed that Jonathan is leaving the Wheeler's now.”

  Steve rose out of his seat a little bit too eagerly. “Gotcha.”

  Joyce, who’d watched this little exchange in fond silence, stood up and started collecting the plates. If he weren’t in a sudden rush to leave, Steve would’ve felt worse about her cleaning up after him.

  “It was good to see you, Steve,” she said as she grabbed his dishes. “Don’t be a stranger, alright?”

  And with that, she disappeared into the kitchen. Steve was moving to the door immediately after, drawing carefully clutched in his hand.

  As Will, in what was clearly a learned gesture of manners, opened the door for Steve, the teen glanced down at the drawing once more.

  “Will?”

  “Yeah?”

  “... What’s my character's name?” He asked, and it felt silly but he needed to know.

  Will’s smile bloomed even more. “I was sorta just settling on the Prince for now. As a placeholder. Since, you know, Merlin…”

  “Yeah,” Steve huffed out. “Mer-lin. Makes sense. He’s supposed to be older, so of course the King would be a prince.”

  Will’s smile dropped into a confused frown. “Has Merlin been telling you about the legends?”

  Steve quickly caught his slip-up, nodding at the easy explanation. “Oh, yeah, he can’t get enough of them. Anyway, uh, bye, Will. Tell your mom thanks for me, okay?”

  He was in his car before he even heard the front door close.

Chapter Text

  Once, Merlin had a friend. 

  His name was Will and he was the first person to discover Merlin’s magic other than his own mother -- who didn’t count. He was a prickly arsehole with a chip on his shoulder and a penchant for chaos and he was the only person in their entire village who didn’t think Merlin was weird. Or, well, he knew Merlin was weird, but he liked it, which was even better. Merlin had known Will since before he could remember and only left his friend behind when forced to -- once by his mother and once by Will’s death.

  Once, Merlin had a friend.

  Her name was Gwen and she was the kindest soul he’d ever met. She was the first person in Camelot who liked him not out of any obligation to his care or thanks to an overwhelming amount of time spent together, but just because she liked him. Years later, and we're talking centuries here, Merlin had a lightbulb moment -- though that phrase didn’t exist yet -- and he realized she’d totally had a crush on him when they met. It didn’t matter much, though it was a strange thing to notice centuries after her natural death. Still, Gwen was so full of love that it hardly mattered if she loved someone platonically or romantically, for she would always put forward her good heart for them.

  Once, Merlin had a friend.

  His name was Lancelot and he was the noblest man to ever live. Merlin’s lived a great deal longer than most folk, so he’s pretty serious when he says that. Lancelot was too virtuous for his own good and it made him more than lovable but less loved than was deserved. For years, he was a shining light in the darkness of Merlin’s world, a representation of how he hoped Arthur would react when he discovered Merlin’s magic. And then he was gone, a candle flame snuffed out, and that hope slowly dwindled to dread. Lancelot’s last venture wasn’t even his own will, a complete desecration of the man’s morality and virtue, and nobody ever discovered the truth. The true Lancelot now lied only in Merlin’s head, but that had been the case long before everyone who remembered him died.

  Once, Merlin had a friend. 

  His name was Gwaine and he was the strongest man Merlin had ever known. Not just in form, which technically wasn’t true anyhow, but in character. A born noble who denied his birth so as to not receive special treatment, who scraped by against the torn edges of his lonely life and found friendship and brotherhood in spite of it all. Gwaine, who always had a good joke or warm smile to offer, who never let Merlin cry alone when he could offer a shoulder. Gwaine, who gave and gave and gave until he was taken away the moment Merlin couldn’t be there to return the favor. Merlin only found out about Gwaine’s death weeks after Arthur’s, when he finally had the courage to face Camelot again, and he deeply regretted waiting so long.

  Once, Merlin had a friend.

  Her name was Morgana and she was once the bravest, most compassionate, soulful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. She was scared and angry and lonely but she tried her best every single day to maintain her hopes and virtues. Losing her to Morgause had always felt like a missing organ -- not his heart, but perhaps a lung. Her turn to madness was akin to asphyxiation over the course of years and only her death relieved the ache. Of course, killing her created an entirely new pain, but he never regretted it. It was her or Arthur and he would always choose Arthur. Even so, centuries down the line, Merlin would still lay awake at night and wonder what he could’ve done to preserve the version of her that was his friend. Eventually, he forced himself to stop wondering.

  Once, Merlin had Arthur.

  They called themselves friends, sometimes, but in truth? “Friends” wasn’t accurate. They simply hadn’t had a better word at the time. Merlin still wasn’t sure there was a better word.

  Arthur wasn’t like any of his other friends. Arthur wasn’t usually nice to Merlin. It took over a year for Merlin to realize and accept that Arthur actually liked him, and even then, he wasn’t sure. Nor did he know how to deal with it. Merlin knew he liked Arthur of course, at first reluctantly, then distantly, and then all at once Arthur was his everything. And it wasn’t easy. It chafed against his heart to hold someone so dear yet not be held in the same regard. 

  Even when Arthur became more open and their “friendship” was easier to accept, when he’d ruffle Merlin’s hair or use their banter to make sure Merlin was okay or not accept Merlin’s absence on a hunting trip even though Merlin very obviously sabotaged every hunt he was brought on… even then, it was never as true as Merlin wished it to be. Arthur never saw Merlin’s whole heart, never understood how very precious he was to Merlin, how much Merlin had ruined himself just to keep Arthur safe and sane and happy. He never knew Merlin.

  Not until the end.

  Morning greeted Steve suddenly and carelessly, the rising sun burning through his eyelids with vitriol. At first, he figured that was all, that he was just too uncomfortable to stay asleep any longer when he’d forgotten to draw his shades last night.

  He realized that was the wrong impression when he heard clanging from somewhere downstairs.

  Steve jolted out of bed, admittedly tripping over his cast-aside blankets as he scrambled for his nailbat. Once he’d grabbed it, he froze, certain his fumble would alert the intruder of his not-asleepness, but the periodic clangs didn’t stop. Slowly, he rose from his tangled pile of blankets and crept towards his door.

  Inching it open slowly, he checked that the hallway was clear before keeping his breath quiet as he took each stair carefully. Never before had he been so grateful the steps were carpeted.

  On the ground floor, it was easier to isolate the noises as coming from the kitchen, so he crept steadily onward, brandishing his bat as he approached the turn.

  For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if he should just call the cops. More specifically Hopper, of course, but the point was the same. 

  A final clang emboldened his resolve and Steve once again forced himself to brave the dark. 

  He rounded the corner, nailbat held high.

  Shocked by Steve’s sudden entrance, Merlin dropped the spatula.

  “Merlin!” Steve exclaimed, dropping the bat down quickly. “What the hell?!”

  “Uh, good morning?” Merlin offered before he bent down to pick up the fallen utensil.

  Steve kicked the nailbat under a hallway table and hoped Merlin would mistake the small glimpse he’d caught of it for a normal bat. Feeling settled enough in that matter, at least, he crossed his arms over his chest and stomped closer to his intruder.

  “You’re in my house.”

  Merlin bobbed his head, not quite a nod -- more ambiguous. “I am, yeah.”

  “You’re--” Focus, Harrington. “How did you even get in?!” Steve stressed, wholly too furious for the first thing in the morning.

  “Spare key?” Merlin replied, and Steve didn’t miss how hopefully inquisitive his tone was.

  “I don’t have a spare key,” Steve argued.

  “Hmmm…” Merlin sounded out, rummaging back around with the ingredients strewn about the counter, elbow banging into a few bowls on the way -- at least that explained the noise. “Strange…”

  Steve leaned in closer to make clear just how unamused he was. “Very.”

  Merlin’s hands stuttered. “Ah-- Are you sure?”

  Steve stared at the Brit for a long moment, utterly bewildered by his insistence on imaginary keys, before dropping his arms and trudging over to the coffee machine. “Oh, whatever. The kids have done far worse to me.” Waking up in a moving car came to mind. Once he’d poured himself a cup and added a bit too much sugar, he turned his attention back to Merlin. “What are you even doing here?”

  “I’m making breakfast!” Merlin declared with his triangle grin, face unfairly free from Steve’s own torment. 

  “I can see that,” Steve shot back. “I’m asking why.”

  Merlin winced and pointedly looked back at whatever he was cooking. “Let’s… table that for now, yeah? Eat first.” It was a fair enough request -- Steve needed his caffeine before any serious talks anyway. Just when Steve had shrugged and set his mug down on the countertop, Merlin whipped back around from his stoveside vigil. “Though, you might want to put a shirt on.”

  Steve felt the blood rush to his ears as he processed that, given he slept shirtless and had woken up in too much of a panic to think properly, he’d rushed downstairs to fight a potential burglar half-naked.

  Storming out of the room without a word, he swiped a hoodie he’d thrown onto the couch several days ago, shrugged it on, and marched back. Sitting down at the counter, he stared into his coffee and refused to acknowledge it.

  Muffled snickers floated over from the stove.

  “Shut up, Merlin.”

  Another half-choked snort. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry.

  It took another few (loud) minutes before Merlin placed a dish in front of him. By that point, he’d nursed his coffee halfway down and was starting to feel a little more awake.

  Steve stared at the plate with a touch of confusion.

  “It took that much noise to make an omelet?” He asked, somewhat aghast.

  “Two omelets, actually,” Merlin volleyed, sitting down with his own plate on Steve’s left. 

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Just eat the damn egg sleeve, Steve.”

  Steve ate the omelet. Two meals in a row cooked by someone else -- maybe the universe was apologizing to him. 

  Merlin hadn’t taken a bite yet.

  Steve scowled. “What?”

  “You like it?” Merlin asked, which was uncharacteristically insecure if you asked Steve. 

  Steve rolled his eyes. “Yes. Now eat too, we have to talk.”

  Merlin grimaced and started stabbing at the omelet.

  Now, two young men eating in dead silence whilst in the middle of a fight might seem to be the most awkward, unpleasant experience ever from an outsider's point of view, but Steve hadn’t really processed that far yet, too concerned with his fashion mishap and the food in front of him.

  So they ate in a relatively comfortable silence and when they were both done, Steve swiped Merlin’s plate and brought it to the sink.

  “You don’t have to--” Merlin tried to protest, but Steve was several steps ahead.

  “Oh, you’re washing the stupid amount of pans and bowls you used later,” Steve deflected as he rinsed off the excess. “Nobody should use four bowls for two omelets, Merlin!”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

  Steve shoved the plates into the dishwasher, content to save the rest for Merlin later, and whirled back around. 

  “Living room. Now.”

  Merlin was less than enthused by Steve’s order but complied as he complained. Once they were sat down on opposite ends of the living room, facing each other’s equally unhappy expressions, Steve cleared his throat. “Well?”

  “Right,” Merlin nodded along. “So, I stopped by because--”

  “You mean broke in?”

  “Tomayto, tomahto,” Merlin brushed Steve's jab off. “I didn’t like how we left things yesterday.”

   No shit, Steve thought. It was a good thought, he decided. “No shit,” he said out loud, smug about his own wit and not quite willing to let his attitude wane just yet.

  But his acerbic words didn’t phase Merlin in the slightest. The dark-haired teen just shot Steve an unimpressed, disappointed expression and carried on with, “I… was being… I was an idiot?”

  “So you admit it?” Steve asked, growing more amused by this turn of events.

  “It’s been known to happen.” Merlin drew out his words slowly, like the pain of saying them needed to be made clear. “You were right about Hargrove being dangerous. But Steve, I swear that if I knew his family situation--”

  “I know,” Steve interrupted, reality crashing back in and draining his enjoyment of Merlin’s contrition. “I know, Merlin, you don’t have to explain that to me… I didn’t tell you.”

  “You didn’t,” Merlin breathed out, relief coloring his tone.

  “It’s still not your business,” Steve pointed out, but his voice carried no bite, despite his best efforts.

  “Of course,” Merlin agreed with a nod, not even pretending to take it seriously.

  Here’s the thing: Steve was never gonna stay mad at Merlin. Joyce was right when she said anger was secondary; the mere thought of holding it over Merlin to the point of breaking was worse than what Merlin had done in the first place. Steve couldn’t bring himself to admit that out loud just yet, especially since he’d lose all leverage if he did, but it was still true.

  Merlin had locked him out and turned off the porch light and ran off to get himself and others hurt and the only thing that hurt was being locked out. 

  It was almost serendipitous that Merlin clearly had no concept of locks this morning. Steve thought it was sorta funny, at least, that Merlin would lock him out of his plans only to burst past his own barriers. But that’s what Merlin had always done, wasn’t it? And those walls he kept banging on only existed because Steve set them in place with concrete first.

  You have to let people care.

  Steve leaned back into his armchair, relaxing. “So, you break in, admit you were stupid, deny responsibility, and use my kitchen without permission, and what? I’m supposed to accept that?”

  His test did not go unrewarded.

  Steve met Merlin’s eyes and they were cast in a determined steel, glinting razor-sharp and abyssal blue. “Yes,” he said, voice firm and unrelenting.

  Steve nodded airily. “Alright then.”

  The hard look disappeared, replaced by warm surprise. “Wait, really?”

  “Yes, because unlike you, Mer-lin, I know how to let things go.” He really didn’t but that’s beside the point. “Besides, if I don’t forgive you, I can’t get your help tonight.”

  Merlin’s brows furrowed down, drawn in and cautious. “Why? What’s tonight?”

  It was a plan that had been brewing since the moment his head hit the pillow last night. He wasn’t really sure if it would work, but--

  “You’re right about one thing,” Steve admitted.

  “That hurt to say?” Merlin teased.

  “A bit,” Steve returned. “But you poked the bear yesterday. If there was any hope before… there’s none, now. Hargrove is pissed.”

  “He’s been pissed,” Merlin defended.

  “In private, not in front of the whole school,” Steve explained. “I’d give you points for effectiveness but I hate the effect,”

  Merlin leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and fingers interlocked. “So, you’re actually going to do something about Hargrove?”

  “Well, if I don’t, I apparently have to stop you from doing something even dumber, so yes.” Steve stood from his chair and crossed over the coffee table, sitting down on it with his knees inches from Merlin’s. “But it can’t be a killing blow like you were planning.”

  Merlin rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t gonna kill him!”

  Steve paused, thrown off. “Uh, yeah, I know. I meant we can’t actually get him in trouble. We have to go the Nancy route.”

  Merlin looked even less pleased by that. “What’s the Nancy route?”

  The Nancy Route, as Steve explained to Merlin in broad strokes, was coercion via blackmail. He could tell Merlin was even more intrigued by this perspective on Nancy Wheeler, certainly connecting it to the corkboard of string in his head, but Steve was choosing to trust this much to his idiot now.

  Unlike Nancy, they couldn’t actually expose Hargrove.

  “Is this what Nancy’s been working on since the locker thing?” Merlin asked off-hand.

  “Yeah, but Hargrove hasn’t been here long enough to rack up dirt. Nothing I was comfortable using, anyway.”

  “Ah.”

  Since they didn’t have anything to use, it was clear they had to create some.

  “No.” Merlin shot the idea down, wild-eyed. “We’re not doing that.”

  “Yes, Merlin, we are,” Steve insisted. “He already thinks we were in on the rumors together, it’s the only thing that will work right now.”

  “I’m not letting you.”

  “My house, my rules.”

  “Don’t be a prat!”

  “Don’t break into my house, then!”

  Steve didn’t allow for any other suggestion to air, dead-set on his plan. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to, but--

  “We need mutually assured destruction,” Steve maintained. “He thinks he can push me around and he called my bluff about going to Hopper. I need to raise the stakes.”

  Merlin huffed to himself, pouting as he had for the last five minutes. “I hate this.”

  “Good, then I like it.”

  Their only real act of preparation was calling Eddie -- “Wait, Merlin, since when do you have Eddie’s number?” “You don’t?” -- and asking him to request Jonathan’s presence that night. 

  There was a great, irritated groan from the other end of the line. “ Not all freaks know each other, you snobs. ”

  Steve rolled his eyes, ignoring Merlin’s offense at being called a snob. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause I’m supposed to believe Jonathan Byers has never smoked weed before?”

  Eddie was silent for a moment. “ I’ll see what I can do. ”

  “Thank you, Eddie,” Merlin rushed.

  “ Your thanks is very much accepted. I was having a nice skip day, you know. I’m assuming you two won’t be rolling in at this late of an hour? ”

  It was at this point, and at no juncture previous, that Steve bothered to check the time. 11:43. Jesus.

  “There’s such a thing as fashionably late,” Steve mused. “And then there’s whatever this is. I assure you: It’s Merlin’s fault.”

  “Oi!”

  “You broke in! You could’ve at least woken me up.”

  The following round of bickering went on long enough that they didn’t even notice Eddie had hung up on them.

  So, here’s the plan, plain and simple: There was a big party at some junior’s house tonight, Jason or something. His parents were out of town and he was looking to impress the basketball team. Steve, who hadn’t been to a party since the Bullshit Incident of Halloween ‘84, hadn’t given much thought about it ‘till now. Merlin, whose face gained a guilty sheen at the news, certainly had.

  Hargrove would be there. He wouldn’t miss it. Especially after the shitshow in the cafeteria, he’d need to reassert himself as The Guy. Keg King. Whatever. Steve had been there, he knew how addicting it was. Hargrove would be there.

  “We draw him out, start a fight, Jonathan snaps up the evidence, and we use that as our dirt,” Steve said as he finalized his thoughts.

  “What if Jonathan doesn’t show up?”

  Steve thought of Jonathan’s relentless need to take pictures of everything, even things he really shouldn’t. He thought of Jonathan’s love for Will. He thought of the good faith having Eddie ask would imply. “He will. Hopefully, he doesn’t bring Nancy.”

  “But what if it goes wrong?”

  “It can’t,” Steve assured. “The plan is for me to take a hit or two. We’ll have Jonathan photograph the bruises, too. Make some copies, show them off to Hargrove, and claim we’ll take them to Hopper if he doesn’t chill the fuck out and stop starting shit.”

  “But what if it really goes wrong?” Merlin pushed. “He’s already hurt you, Steve. Clearly, he can do it again.”

  It was a fair point. Steve wasn’t a physical or mental match for Hargrove -- not strong enough or unhinged enough to do serious damage -- and the thought of it happening again had haunted him for months. 

  But he wasn’t so scared, now. Merlin had that funny sorta effect.

  “That’s what you’re there for,” Steve said instead of admitting his true feelings on the matter. “If he goes too far, run in and scream that someone called the cops on the party. No matter where we are, everyone will scatter and Hargrove will bail.”

  Merlin sighed, accepting the plan with a great deal of reluctance pulling at his expression. “I still don’t like this.”

   Me neither, Steve thought. It was a good thought; an honest one. He didn’t say it.

    Once upon a time, there was a great King. His name was Arthur and he was Merlin’s whole world for nearly a decade. And it was good and it was terrible and it was fate. And after many long, harrowing, patient years, Merlin finally got the chance to be Arthur’s whole world.

  It was the worst two days of his many, many lives, and he wouldn’t trade even a second of them away. Not unless the trade would return Arthur to him, of course.

  Those swanning hours were horrid, of course, they were. Especially at the start, when Arthur had not yet forgiven him. But the King had not had any other choice than to let Merlin drag him to the lake of Avalon, and to listen to his servant prattle on and on about everything. For those two days, they were all the other had in the whole world, for good and ill, and it was intoxicating. 

  Neither of them were in the right headspace, quite clearly. Merlin’s world was dying in front of him and Arthur had only just learnt the true scope of his own. It was messy and painful and so utterly human of them. So utterly them. And truth had never come easy to either of them over the course of their relationship but they were in one fell swoop stripped of any semblance of dishonesty, and neither knew how to cope. But honesty was all they had left so they used it, drank it in like a man dying of heat, and spat it out like a viper’s venom, to hurt and heal and hold on to. 

  But they dragged on and on and on and finally, at long last, after what felt like a lifetime shortened into the span of hours… things were okay. Arthur knew Merlin and still liked him and they were alone and there was hope and everything was gonna be--

  Night fell on February’s cold skies quick and swift and as he drove through Hawkins’ dark streets, a solemn anticipation buzzed in Steve’s veins as he reflected on the plan.

  He knew it was dumb. He knew it was dangerous. He was certain to get hurt and he was not looking forward to it.

  But this wasn’t about him; he was happy in his hole. This was about Billy Hargrove and Merlin Ambrose.

  Billy was a threat. Not just to Steve but anyone Steve dared to befriend and, more to the point, to Max Mayfield. Steve didn’t want Billy gone in any permanent sense. He didn’t want the guy dead. He wanted Billy neutralized. Impotent. He wanted this shitshow to be over so he could go back to pretending he was okay.

  Merlin was a deadline. If Steve didn’t handle this and couldn’t tell Merlin anything, then Merlin would blunder in and mess it all up trying to help. And he knew it was from a place of care, certainly more than most people had ever done for Steve, but the idiot had to be protected from himself, here. But you have to let people care about you. Steve had to let Merlin in on it or else they’d just be swapping roles.

  Steve was so looking forward to not thinking super deeply about his every interaction and motive again. This sucked. But he knew it was right and, what’s more, he knew he’d get bragging rights over it with Merlin.

  As he turned onto the street the party was happening on, Steve quirked a wry grin to himself.

  “Hope you liked this ride,” he prodded, “‘cause you’re not riding passenger again for a week.”

  Merlin, who had been nervously humming and tapping his fingers the entire ride, stopped cold and shot Steve a wounded ferret expression. “What now?”

  “Made a deal with Henderson,” Steve explained as he pulled off the road, settling into a spot just a bit away from the party. Already, cars lined the street. “Consider it karma.”

  Merlin made a great show of passive-aggressive body language but didn’t actually say anything and, well, that just wouldn’t do.

  “C’mon,” Steve prodded. “Speak now or forever hold your peace?”

  “I hate this,” Merlin asserted, eyes still stormy.

  “If it goes well, there’ll be nothing left to hate,” Steve reasoned. “Just… be there, okay?”

  Merlin whipped himself into a fury in an instant. “Of course I will!”

  “Well, given you thought you could take Hargrove solo, sounds like I’m in good hands,” Steve said with a soft smile. Merlin’s eyes lost their edge.

  “I’ll be there,” his friend repeated, still too solemn.

  “Not too close,” Steve confirmed.

  “Not too close.”

  “And you’ll--”

  “I got it, Steve,” Merlin interrupted. 

  Steve studied the young man’s face, searching for any sign of hesitancy. But somehow, in spite of his complete lack of endorsement for this plan, Merlin looked as resolute as Steve felt. Which is to say: Mostly down but definitely freaking out.

  It was good enough for Steve.

  “Let’s do this, then.”

  Slipping back into his party-hound persona was frighteningly easy. Steve liked feeling good; sue him. And so long as he cracked jokes, smiled wide, and pretended to drink, even his overly invested and outright judgemental classmates accepted his presence with open arms.

  Maybe a little too open. It could just be the pre-fight nerves, but Steve had never felt so put off by the affections of his female peers. It wasn’t the time for it, he reasoned. (In retrospect, he’ll find it funny he didn’t even try and claim it was because he wasn’t over Nancy.)

  He’d dressed well for the occasion, keeping his style to simple dark colors, easily maneuverable fabric, and his best boots. The leather jacket felt like armor to him, ready to deflect scrapes -- and it made him look really cool.

  Still, he stayed on the sidelines, keeping Hargrove in his periphery but never close enough to grab his attention. A room away, across the patio, from the top of the stairs down. 

  Steve wouldn’t even be able to tell you what song was playing. His mind was set to his tasks solely.

  It was maybe ten minutes before Merlin brushed by him, nodding slightly and offering a strained smile. Jonathan was here.

  Steve took a deep breath and wandered as naturally as he could into Hargrove’s line of sight.

  The air went cold, staticky; thick. People quickly noticed Hargrove notice Steve. 

  Steve made “accidental” eye contact.

  Hargrove stared. Steve couldn’t quite place the expression, but he wagered the guy’s internal monologue roundly consisted of “This bitch”. It wasn’t a comforting thought.

  To make things easier, Steve shuffled over towards the garage door, already a little isolated from the rest of the party, and pretended to check his hair in the hallway mirror.

  He had been doing it for just long enough to actually get bothered by the state of his hair and wish he had the means to fix it when the door next to him was yanked open, a hand grabbed the scruff of his neck like he was a damn cat, and he was dragged through the garage and out into the side yard.

  “Jesus Christ, man!” Steve yelled, as though he hadn’t been expecting it. Hargrove released his grip roughly, shoving Steve away with enough force that he almost lost his balance.

  Footwork. Plant your feet.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up tonight, Harrington,” Hargrove growled out, and it was just as stupidly terrifying and uncomfortable as Steve remembered it. 

  “I was invited, asshole,” Steve snapped, which was true anyway. “If I wanna show up and forget this shit for a few hours, I can!”

  “Not here, Stevie,” Hargrove rumbled out, quickly pushing into Steve’s personal space. Like usual. “I sent you packing, remember? King’s been overthrown.”

  “I abdicated, jerkwad.” Steve rolled his eyes and refused to step back. “You just can’t take it, can you? If I tried, even for a minute, all your little fans would come swanning back to me. That’s why you want me beaten down so bad.”

  Steve… didn’t fully believe that, but it wasn’t about what he thought was true anymore. It was about what would get under Hargrove’s skin.

  “You think I give a shit about these stupid little hicks?” Hargrove pressed forward.

  “Yeah, I think you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have singled out their favorite.” Steve tilted his chin up, defiant.

  “You’re so full of yourself, Steve,” Hargrove purred out the words, which was deeply disturbing. “The lonely little king, desperate for attention.”

  Steve put on a tired, overwhelmed face. “Man, I just want to be left alone. You’re the one who thinks I shouldn’t even have friends.”

  “Speaking of, where is your little f--”

  “Not here,” Steve cut off, very much not wanting to hear what was about to come out of Hargrove’s mouth.

  But his denial seemed to just spur Hargrove on. He watched as the teen’s lips stretched into a hungry grin, utterly unhinged. Unfortunately, this was exactly what Steve wanted.

  “Oh, is this about your little boyfriend, then?” Hargrove taunted. “Wanna make sure I leave him alone? After the shit he pulled?”

  “Listen, Merlin’s an idiot,” Steve started, deciding to run with it. “He doesn’t get the way this works, yet.”

  “Don’t think you do either.”

  Behind Hargrove, visible through the glass window of the garage, was a camera lens.

  “Oh, I get it. I understand perfectly.” Steve pushed forward into Hargrove’s space now, readying his ultimate weapon. “You’re a big bad bully who gets all the bitches. That’s what you want everyone to see, right? You’re cool, confident, and attractive. When you’re top dog, nobody can touch you. All that power, all that freedom, right in your hands. But you don’t want it for the sake of it, no, you want it cause you’ve never had it before. Back home, everyone knew you since you were a kid. They knew how big of a jerk you were. Maybe you had some friends, but it wasn’t enough to hold back the dark.”

  “Stop talking.” Hargrove loomed ever closer.

  “No, no, what you’re really running from is your dad,” Steve declared, watching the anger build in the beast’s eyes. “Doesn’t love you, does he? Not enough to stop hurting you. And back home you couldn’t do anything, but here? In a mid-nowhere town full of stupid little hicks … you have all the power in the world.” Steve tilted his head. “Until you go home, that is.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Harrington.”

  “It’s an addiction, isn’t it?” Steve kept on, voice growing fervent. “You go out, get a fix of the fame and you pretend that’s enough to get you through whatever happens behind closed doors. Cause if it’s not? What the fuck are you even doing, man? Face it: You’re just as small as you ever were.”

  Steve ducked the first swipe, darting backward to avoid the first proper punch.

  “I said shut up!” Hargrove roared, charging at Steve full-on.

  But Steve had danced this tango before. Dodging the bull was easier the second time.

  He was careful not to get any good hits in -- this was still a fight he planned to lose. But he couldn’t throw it so early for the sake of his own pride, and he couldn’t take any serious damage.

  Steve let a hit graze his face first, hoping it would bruise noticeably but not too horribly. He grappled with Hargrove for a moment afterward, desperate not to lose so quickly.

  He caught a glimpse of Merlin’s face peeking past the cracked open door.

  Steve threw Hargrove off.

  He got the hang of it pretty quickly then. Hargrove was a monster and he was wholly unpredictable as to his next attack, but once he started a movement, it was obviously telegraphed.

  The biggest difference between this fight and their first was that this time, Hargrove wasn’t having fun. 

  Steve was. 

  Maybe it was just how prepared he’d been, mentally. But this really wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. It was like mastering a sports move and boasting to everyone about it. Like real, unfettered, fun--

  “You've had your fun, my friend.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “Er, I’m--”

  Steve froze long enough that a hit clocked him right across the cheek.

  He stumbled backward, confused and not having fun anymore. That… that had happened before, like over a week ago. So… weird. But with that frequency, he should be good now. He’d deal with it later.

  “Ahhh, there we are!” Hargrove crowed. “Still can’t take the pain, can you Harrington?”

  Steve scoffed. “Well, if you’re gonna be an ass about--”

  “Look, I've told you you're an ass. I just didn't realize you were a royal one.”

  “Shit!” he cried out as a fist lodged itself into his ribs. This may be getting a little bit worse than he imagined. What the fuck.

  “There we go, that’s more like it!” 

  Steve barely dodged Hargrove’s next strike, backing up against a tree as he sorted through his thoughts.

  “Awww, tired already?” Hargrove taunted as he shook out his fist. “Or do you still have some shit to say about my dad?”

  Steve grinned around the blood in his teeth. “You know, if it wasn’t true, it wouldn’t bother you so much.”

  He dodged just as Hargrove’s fist struck where his face used to be, now making hard contact with the tree trunk.

  “Fuck! Oh, you are so dead, Harrington!”

  Steve readied a comeback, only for--

  “No. I'm happy to be your servant. Till the day I die.”

  A fist slammed into his gut.

  Fuck. This was… bad.

  He got out of the way again, now solely focused on managing the damage.

  “I see what you’re trying to do, Stevie,” Hargrove claimed as he circled Steve like a vulture. “You want your little throne back, don’t you?”

  “Can’t you see what he’s trying to do? He’s trying to get rid of me and if you weren’t such a clotpole, you’d see that!”

  “A what?”

  “Stop,” Steve gasped out.

  “What was that?”

  “Not you, dipshit. You’re… you’re wrong,” Steve tried to recover his leverage.

  “Is that why you’re so determined to find --------? To see what she knows about your mother?”

  “Is that so wrong?”

  “No.”

  A hit to the head.

  “Describe dollop, head.”

  “In two words?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Prince ------.”

  God, they weren’t even making sense anymore!

  Footwork. Footwork. “Footwork,” Steve mumbled out loud.

   That got a laugh from Hargrove. “You remembered? Oh, Harrington, I’m touched!”

  A fist slammed into his chest.

  “Describe dollop, head.”

  “In two words?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Prince ------.”

  … Again?

  The voices were becoming more familiar, at least.

  Something was wrong, though. Steve was… Steve was…

  Oh. Steve was on the ground. Looks like he missed it. What a shame.

  Billy was just circling for now, not wailing like before. Steve had to give him credit for his growing self-control.

  “Get up.”

  Or not. Fuck this guy.

  “Get up, Harrington.”

  Where was Merlin, anyway? Floor-time was probably cop-time, yeah?

  “Get up, Stevie. Or are you taking the coward’s way out?”

  “You know, ------. All those jokes about you being a coward… I never really meant any of them. I always thought you were the bravest man I ever met.”

  But that… Steve said that. Or close to it. Just yesterday. He… he said it to…

  “Er, I’m Merlin.”

  “So I don’t know you.”

  “Merlin is a wonder but the wonder is he's such an idiot .”

  “Had no idea you were so keen to die for me.” 

  “Trust me, I can hardly believe it myself.”

  “...I'm glad you're here, Merlin.”

  “You’re hopeless at a lot of things, Merlin... most things, in fact, but very occasionally, quite by accident, you say something useful.”

  “Merlin! This is one of the two…possibly three moments in my life where I’ve actually been glad to see you.”

  Were… were all of the flashes about Merlin?

  Steve, mostly just to see what would happen, and maybe to send some pointed eye contact asking what was taking so long, struggled to his feet.

  “There we go!” Hargrove cried with false joy. Jesus, Steve had almost forgotten he was there. “Back on your feet. Time to put your fancy footwork to the test.”

  Dodging was… very not easy. Steve didn’t like it. This sucked. Why was he doing this?

  “I think you’re mad. I think you’re all mad. People should marry for love, not convenience.”

  Yeah, that wasn’t really relevant. Thanks anyway.

  “You’re not just anyone. You are special.”

  …dare he count that as getting warmer?

  Steve had taken a few more hits by now and wasn’t exactly sure where this was going. Was he having a mental break? Was his brain leaking out of his ears? Was he already in a coma? Was he dead and fighting Hargrove was his hell?

  The side door swung open wider, a harrowed Merlin appearing behind it.

  “Where-- Where have you been?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  Oh ho ho. No way. Good try, Fake Memories, but Steve very much thought it mattered.

  Splitting his attention between Merlin and the hulking threat in front of him proved to be too much work, though, and, worried Hargrove would spot the now-obvious Merlin, Steve cleared his throat.

  “C’mon, man,” he tried to reason. “Aren’t you tired of this shit by now? You were having fun inside.”

 You’ve had your fun, my-- Oh shut up!

  Hargrove grinned, and Steve was pleased to see he’d, at some point, managed to bust up his opponent’s lip. “Tired of kicking your ass?”

  “Right,” Steve acquiesced and sent an urgent nod over to Merlin. Cops, you idiot. “That what your dad says to you?”

  The fury that erupted from Hargrove was a boiling point and Steve had never been so fucking over getting slammed in the face. Just let this stupid fucking idea end.

  And then Steve was on the ground again, which sucked, and Hargrove was beating his face in again, which sucked worse.

  He was just about to give up and let unconsciousness take him, content that Merlin would certainly scatter the party now, when a bright flash of light scalded his sensitive pupils and Hargrove went flying off of him.

  When Steve flopped his head over to figure out what the fuck just happened, all he saw was Merlin, hand outstretched, eyes glowing a brilliant gold before fading to their normal blue.

  Steve stared, still half certain he was dreaming.

  “Steve!” Merlin called out as he ran over, collapsing next to Steve’s prone body and immediately cradling his head off from the concrete. “God, I’m sorry. I’m so-- Are you-- Ghahh, just say something!”

  Steve couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. 

  Gold. Will had drawn Merlin’s eyes as gold. But not Steve’s Merlin.

  Merlin was weird. He knew a lot about history and more about language. He was named after a legendary wizard three times over and liked to tell stories about Camelot that even Steve had never heard, claiming they were 100% genuine.

  He… he was so sad, sometimes, and Steve never knew why.

  Maybe it was the concussion talking. Or the weird half-memories he kept getting. Or the fact that nothing seemed to be off the table these days when it came to the rules of reality. 

  But if… just if, if Merlin had just done what Steve thought he did, and acted the way Steve knew he did, maybe, just maybe…

  It was definitely the concussion. Merlin was too young. The actual Merlin would be--

  But… what had he said to Will last night?

  “Merlin. Makes sense. He’s supposed to be older, so of course the King would be a prince.”

  Steve was getting ahead of himself. Merlin was barely even visible, how could he be a legendary warlo--

  “Describe dollop, head.”

  “In two words?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Prince Arthur.”

“It’s too late.”

  And it was the worst pain Merlin could fathom, beyond his ability to put into words.

“I’m not going to lose you.”

  And he would have taken a hundred poisons, would have preferred a thousand serket stings, would have died a million deaths. Just to avoid this-- this--

“Just, just hold me. Please.”

  This gnawing void welling up in his chest. The warmth of the world vanishing in an instant. The magnitude of this loss, the intensity with which he wished their roles were reversed.

“You could have done it without me.”

  And it wasn’t about failure. About the things they’d accomplished or that which they never would. About the kingdom or their friends or even their destiny. 

  No, in that moment, it was as if the entirety of the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, collapsed and tired and frail. The finality of a love never properly expressed, not until it was too far late for catharsis. 

  Because sometimes Arthur was his everything in a way he couldn’t describe, caught in a tug-of-war against Merlin’s mere interaction with the rest of the world. It was clearest in those moments where it was threatened, the decision to forsake the world to save Arthur never truly being a choice. When Merlin cast the rest aside, it was clear Arthur meant everything to him.

  But the world wasn’t there, now. There was nothing to cast aside, no duties to ignore, no destiny to care for. No contrast to examine. It was just Merlin, scared to tears, and Arthur, his friend. When they were all there was, sometimes “friend” was enough for them.

  But it wasn’t enough to save them.

“Thank you.”

  So Merlin held onto his friend.

  Because there was nothing else left to do.

  “Steve!” The blurred image of a raven-haired angel hovered above him, darkness consuming the periphery. “Steve!”

  Steve was his name. He knew that. And he knew that voice screaming at him. And he knew that arm coiling around his torso; that hand cradling his head.

  “Steve! Ple… have to… up!”

  The dark wasn’t so scary. Not when being held felt so safe.

  “Ste…”

  Steve closed his eyes. 

Chapter Text

  Once upon a time, and also now, and also never, a young man squinted open his eyes against an unfamiliar sun. Despite its foreignness, it bothered him only in the manner a sun glaring through your window first thing in the morning would: simply an annoyance, not an uncanny sign of danger to come. As it was, the young man was warm, and decently groggy, and simply comfortable in an environment he had known for what felt like all his life. And at the same time, he had no idea where he was -- not in the slightest.

  He was not alone, and he knew this implicitly, and he knew not why. There was simply a certainty in his bones that he was not meant to wake up on his lonesome. Thus, quite obviously, someone was here.

  Someone was here and they were humming.

  The young man pulled himself onto his elbows. “Merlin?”

  He knew the visage before him was that of his friend even as he knew very little else. 

  The humming stopped. His friend sitting at the foot of his bed did not turn to look at him.

  “Sure,” Merlin replied.

  The young man in bed felt the scowl that pulled at his brows before he meant to do it. “Not like you to be so enigmatic… oh, who am I kidding, that’s exactly like you. Why’d you leave me?”

  “Where?” His friend asked.

  “What?”

  “Leave you where?”

  The young man in bed felt his scowl become a fearful frown as he pondered the question. “I… I don’t know,” he replied truthfully. “I just feel as though you left me.”

  “You’ll find it’s the other way around,” his friend answered, even less clearly than before.

  The young man in bed decided that was quite enough, really, and pulled away at the blankets. Instantly, he was struck by the chill in the air, so sharply in contrast to his warm bed, and completely at odds with what he was expecting.

  Then again, as he took further note of the room past his friend, he discovered very little of it was as expected.

  Stone walls surrounded his vision and floors greeted his bare feet boldly, blood-red curtains drawn over the open space to create sections of it alongside the stone columns. The walls were adorned with furs and shields and banners, none of which the young man recognized, and they inspired him with a feeling of pride he couldn’t trace down. A few wall racks hosted steel weapons: swords and maces and daggers, and yet another sword was placed by his bedside.

  His bed, decorated in the same rich red that the rest of the room so loved, was not familiar to him. Yet it was. The rest of the room was the manner: Right and wrong, familiar and foreign, and at once he belonged and did not and could not tell you why in either case. It felt… comfortable to exist here, even as something else chafed.

  “Something’s wrong,” he declared to his friend.

  “Yes.”

  “I… I’m not supposed to be here,” he said and was fairly less confident about this statement than his previous.

  “Are you sure?”

  The young man who was no longer in bed swallowed thickly. “No.”

  His friend then fell silent and still had not turned to look at him, and thus the young man who was no longer in bed took a cautious step on the cold stone flooring, and then another and another, and soon enough he was standing in front of his seated friend.

  Merlin was Merlin, was his first thought. Clearly, Merlin was Merlin. Big ears, pitch-black hair, pronounced cheekbones, and a small, wry, melancholic smirk ghosting over his lips.

  And then the young man who stood before his friend met Merlin’s eyes and knew, unequivocally, that something was wrong, for the man’s eyes were not Merlin’s.

  They were blue and the young man who stood before someone who was not his friend felt an odd, deep longing inside himself, though he could not even begin to imagine why, but the point was this: They were not Merlin’s blue eyes. He knew Merlin’s eyes. And so…

  “You’re not Merlin,” the young man accused.

  “No, I am not,” not-Merlin agreed. “Nor are you you in the way you’re meant to be.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” The young man rebuked, face scrunching in sharp distaste. “I’m--”

  His words trailed off, and it was only at this juncture that he realized he did not know his name.

  “What’s happening?” He asked, demeanor entirely shifted to one of panic.

  “It’s alright,” not-Merlin assured, hands outstretched in stereotypically soothing gestures. “You’re not in any danger.”

  “Who are you?” The young man who did not know himself asked.

  Not-Merlin’s gentle expression grew. “I’m sorry I’m not him, though it makes sense I took his form… I always was the only thing keeping you together.”

  The young man shook the cryptic words away. “And… and who am I?”

  Not-Merlin stood then, and he was eye-to-eye with the young man when he softly whispered, “Not quite King yet, I don’t think. For now… you’re the Prince.”

  And the Prince reeled backward, for the title fit perfectly, and not at all, and he loved it, and he loathed it, and there was nothing else. He ran it through his mind and over his tongue in slow murmurs and decided that, should nothing better come along, the Prince would do.

  Not-Merlin patted the Prince on the shoulder gently, and it was familiar, before wandering over to the cupboard. “I’m thinking red, today!” he called with a smile in his tone. “What do you think?”

  The Prince considered his circumstances and decided that no, he was feeling quite blue, actually. But that wasn’t the point. He nodded, and though not-Merlin had his head turned, he hummed in affirmation and selected a red tunic anyway. Maybe it was odd or maybe not-Merlin just didn’t care for his input on the matter, which was more Merlin-y than he expected for an impostor.

  “I still don’t know who you are,” he reaffirmed as not-Merlin returned with the tunic and forced him to put it on.

  “No, you wouldn’t,” not-Merlin agreed. “But ask yourself this: Am I going to hurt you?”

  Merlin would never, was the Prince’s first thought. But this isn’t Merlin, was his next. But…

  Not-Merlin fastened a leather belt around the Prince’s waist and evened out his tunic, and when he stepped back and put his hands on his hips, there was a proud, triangular smile clear across his face. 

  “No,” the Prince found himself saying. “Nobody who meant me harm could understand Merlin’s kindness well enough to imitate it.”

  Not-Merlin blinked owlishly for a moment before his girlish giggle puffed out for a moment. “Good. Then let’s move on.”

  The Prince guffawed at the sudden instruction. “Move on? To where? I don’t even know if this is real!”

  “Oh, it is,” not-Merlin claimed. Then he paused, tilted his head, and amended, “Well, it’s as real as it’s not. And as not as it is.”

  “Please shut up,” the Prince begged.

  “Hey! You’re the reason I’m like this!” Not-Merlin shot back. “If you really wanted me to be quiet, I would be. But I’m not. Now… if you want your answers, you have to work for them.”

  The Prince rolled his eyes. “So what, I have to get a job at the Arcade?  Muck out the horses?  Beg my--”

  The Prince froze as the words failed to roll off his tongue. 

  Beg who for what?

  Not-Merlin nodded along. “You’re getting there. I know it, so you know it. You just don’t know you know it so I have to tell you.”

  The Prince gave up on trying to understand. “Just tell me what to do.”

  Not-Merlin jerked his head towards the main doors to the room. “Out that way. I’ll be with you, like I always was.”

  The Prince searched the face of the man who wasn’t his friend for a moment longer. “Why Merlin? You said he… kept me together?”

  “I believed in you then and I will now,” not-Merlin spoke with nothing but certainty, and the Prince was envious of it. “You believe that, deep down.”

  The Prince did. No and did not ’s or any did not know why’s tacked on. Pure and plain and peaceful, he believed not-Merlin’s words.

  “Alright, then,” he agreed and made his way to the exit.

  Outside his doors were halls and halls and more halls made of stone and stone and more stone. It was daunting and he did not know where he should be going, but there was a clanging sound somewhere in the distance and he figured he should investigate.

  On the way, he passed by people dressed in simple clothing made of brown and beige fabrics -- servants, his mind supplied him-- and it was then that he noticed not-Merlin’s apparel as well. He’d glossed over it before in the same way he’d taken a moment to realize he had no name, but not-Merlin was dressed similarly to many of the servants they’d passed. Brown, beaten up jacket, overtop a deep blue shirt, neck wrapped in a red scarf so very like the color that covered the Prince’s chambers. His pants, or, well, trousers? The Prince felt stuck in his thoughts as he observed, and thus decided to skip them altogether.  Not-Merlin’s boots were significantly smaller and of poorer quality than the Prince’s own and--

  The Prince stopped walking.

  Not-Merlin sighed heavily and stopped with him. “What is it?”

  “You only changed my shirt, but I’m wearing boots,” the Prince explained, feeling a bit wild. “And my--” skip the pant trouser things “--I’m fully dressed for the day.”

  “Of course you are!” Not-Merlin looked offended. “I can’t let you roam around half-naked just because you can’t dress yourself!”

  The Prince shook his head. “But I didn’t put on the boots.”

  Not-Merlin huffed loudly and walked onward. “Don’t be a prat, sire.”

  The Prince considered the words, decided the spontaneous appearance of clothing was the least of his worries, and followed after not-Merlin.

  The sounds of clanging and clashing got louder.

  They stopped in front of two great wooden doors facing opposite a large banner depicting a golden dragon, and his heart near-stopped at the sight. He could not say why.

  The two guards at either side of the door did not even blink as the Prince and not-Merlin shared a glance and pushed the doors open together.

  The room itself was quickly labeled as “the council chambers” in the Prince’s head, and he decided to roll with it. Clearly, his instincts were more creative than he was. A long table led up to a head chair, and by that chair was an older man with dark gray hair and a scar across his forehead. He too failed to acknowledge them.

  The Prince paused at the foot of the table. “Hello?”

  The man still did not move, frozen in time and place and mind as he was.

  The Prince turned to not-Merlin. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing,” not-Merlin answered. “He’s just not like me, is all. You have to face him.”

  The Prince was once again confused. “I don’t even know him!”

  “Yes, you do,” not-Merlin insisted. “This moment’s already passed. Find it.”

  The Prince took a deep, steadying breath and decided he had nothing to lose.

  He strode along the table, and as he walked, his hands balled into fists and he found anger welling in his chest. It was at once his and someone else’s.

  “You had Gaius drug me!” He found himself accusing, though he had no clue who Gaius was. He stopped behind the man, who had turned away as the scene came to life. “I was meant to fight him!” Fight who? Gaius? That didn’t feel right.

“No, you weren’t.” The unknown man said calmly, still not properly addressing the Prince.

  “But the Knight's Code is very--” But the Prince did not even have time to become excited at the idea of knights before the man turned abruptly and declared:

“Be damned!”

  Silence filled the hall for a long second and the Prince felt confused tension flood his blood.

  “I believed you would die,” the man declared, which, whoa. “And that was a risk I could not take. You are too precious to me.” Which, double-whoa. The tension began to fade as a burning hope filled his chest. “You mean more to me than anything I know, more than this entire kingdom, and certainly more than my own life.”

  The Prince was shell-shocked, unable to process what he was hearing. Nobody had ever told him such a thing, he was certain of that, and yet this had already happened. Some part of him, the part that thought Arcade before stables was aghast, burned by the simple warmth. 

  “I... always thought that…” He found himself stuttering, but he did not know where the sentiment led. That he wasn’t worth it? That this was entirely unearned? That he wished he knew this man who loved him so much?

  “What?” The man asked, gentle but firm.

  “That… I was a big disappointment to you,” the words tumbled out of his mouth and they ached where they had touched him, and he cowered at how true they were. He knew not who he was or even his own name but he knew this was foundational to him.

  But the man before him just looked disheartened, not vindicated. “Well, that is my fault, and not yours. You are my only son. And I wouldn’t wish for another.”

  Son. Son. This was his father?

  It felt right. Disappointing his dad, that was pretty on-brand for him. But this man’s face was not the only one that flashed through his head at the thought.

  Son. Father. And… this man loved him? That’s what all that flowery talk was, yeah? The Prince, he was loved by his father?”

  He wanted to say something, anything, to ask why, to beg the man to say it again, to feel that moment again, but the man grew blurry before him and between blinks, he was gone.

  “No!” The Prince shouted, lunging forward into the place the man -- his father -- once was, but there was no trace of him there.

  He whirled around to face not-Merlin. “Bring him back!”

  “He wasn’t really there,” not-Merlin said in way of a refusal. “You know that.”

  “I do! But…” The Prince stomped over to not-Merlin, lost. “He once was! So I can-- I can live it again, right? Just like just now?”

  Not-Merlin shook his head, face drawn in. “You remember him now, don’t you?”

  Somewhat, maybe. A proud, stern ruler, constantly expected the best of him; no exceptions. But this graying man in the council chambers shared space with another, some mid-50s executive with too much time on his hands who expected nothing of the Prince.

  “How does it end?” He asked instead of attempting to explain.

  “You know, already.”

  “Then show me,” the Prince pleaded.

  Not-Merlin did not lose the strained look in his eyes. “If that’s what it takes. If you desire to face yourself, call out to him.”

  “What?”

  “Just…” not-Merlin wheedled lowly, “listen to me.”

  The doors slammed shut with a loud clang. 

  The Prince took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If the scene was starting, then--

  “I know it’s you, Father,” he spoke, voice steadier than he felt. He turned around and the table was gone along with its chairs.

  At the end of the room was a single black throne and sat upon it was a ghastly visage of the man he’d seen only moments before, leeched of color and glaring coldly at the Prince.

  The Prince plowed on, letting the memory flow. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I did not spend my entire life building this kingdom to see my own son destroy it.”

  The Prince wanted to reel back, wanted to ask what on Earth was even happening, wanted to run away from this twisted ghoul. Instead, he continued on almost without hesitation, “You tried to kill Guinevere.”

  Guinevere, now that was a nice name. He couldn’t quite picture her face but he knew she was kind.

  “For your own good,” the ghost of his father defended himself. For a ghost is clearly what he was, and the Prince was struck with the realization that the man was already dead, though in his heart… he knew it had been a long while. “How can a serving girl understand what it means to be Queen?”

  Queen? But the Prince wasn’t even King, yet, not-Merlin said so. 

  “Guinevere is wise and strong,” he argued, and it felt right, “and I trust her more than anyone.” Now that felt wrong to say. The Prince wanted so badly to turn and look at not-Merlin and beg for confirmation of his thoughts, but his head was locked in the memory.

“And that’s your weakness,” the man who was once his father drawled. “You put too much trust in other people. You, and you alone must rule Camelot.”

  Camelot. Camelot. Holy shit, Camelot.

  He remembers the citadel now, remembers playing hide and seek with someone as a child in the main square. He remembers the lower town and its people, people he was sworn to love and protect, who offered him the same regard. And he remembers the view from the ramparts during sun and rain and siege and peace, and he remembers Merlin, real Merlin by his side then.

  He wanted to scream it all out, but this script had no regard for his revelations. “I would rather not rule at all than rule alone.” Which, fair. The Prince agreed wholeheartedly, even though it was not his main concern right now.

  The ghost did not bend to his words, though. His cold demeanor grew sharper as he leaned forward on his throne. “Your whole life I tried to prepare you for the day you would become King.” The Prince shivered at the last word. “Did you learn nothing?”

  “I watched you rule. I learned that if you trust no one, you’ll always live in fear.” You have to let people care. “Your hatred came from fear,” and as he spoke, the ghost stood from his throne, “not strength.”

  “How dare you.” It was a growl more than it was speech; a hiss and a sneer and a cut.

  But the Prince’s voice didn’t miss a beat, as much as he wished to slow down and process it all. “I loved and respected you, but I have to rule the kingdom in my own way. I have to do what I believe to be right.”

  “I will not allow you to destroy all that I have built!” Dark enough now was the voice of the ghost that it did not register as entirely human, and the Prince felt scared, he did, but--

  “Then you’ll have to kill me.” That was his definitive statement of it all. And the Prince was dumbfounded to feel it the way it was once felt, to understand so deeply what was being expressed. And that scared him more than anything the ghost of the man who was once his father could do. “I’m not you, Father. I can’t rule the way you did.”

  “Camelot must come before all else,” the dead King asserted, his determination ripe. The Prince felt his eyes water and was glad that, for once, he was on the same page as this voice he bore. “Even you.”

   Wait.

  Sharp pain erupted against the side of his head and he was unconscious before he hit the ground.

  “C’mon, you big prat. Rise and shine.”

  The Prince shot upright in his familiar-unfamiliar bed in his weapon-filled room and his eyes sought out not-Merlin immediately.

  The man, maybe thing, who was not his friend was humming at the foot of his bed once more. 

  “What,” the Prince emphasized, damn-near bursting with confounded petulance, “was that ?”

  “That was your father,” not-Merlin answered.

  “I meant,” the Prince stressed, “what knocked me out?”

  “Oh,” not-Merlin said softly, and he twisted around to face the Prince, dirty boots dangling just off the edge of the bed. “That was a shield.”

  The Prince was incensed. “And you didn’t think to warn me?”

  “It already happened, sire, and I wasn’t there back then,” not-Merlin explained himself. “And it was… convenient.”

  “Convenient.” The Prince deadpanned.

  “Yes. It was enough, wasn’t it?”

  Maybe it was the knock on the head or just removing himself from that room, but yes, it was enough. He now knew this father of his and what he once was, and what he became. He could even remember that the man’s name was Uther. He was raised by that man once, molded into a man who couldn’t stand his own virtues until one day, the Prince changed. He didn’t know why yet but he was certain it was worth it, even if it ended… the way it did.

  “You’re right,” he agreed after taking the time to remember the first sword he’d been given, and his first day of Knight’s training under his father’s supervision, and the first time he felt as though he was truly loved -- that day that he’d apparently been drugged. “He was my father. Emphasis on the past tense. Whatever we had… it’s gone now, isn’t it?”

  Not-Merlin nodded slowly before adding, “Plus, he’s dead.”

  The Prince cracked a brittle smile. “Yeah. That, too.”

  Not-Merlin slid off the bed and stretched like a cat. “C’mon, then, let’s get you dressed.”

  It was chainmail this time, which was ridiculously heavy and he had no idea why he was putting it on.

  “Are we going to fight someone?” He asked as a pauldron was tied into place on his shoulder. 

  “Not yet…” Not-Merlin muttered.

  “Comforting.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The doors to his chambers swung open.

  The Prince grabbed a stray sword on the table and held it in front of him and not-Merlin.

  “What are you doing?” Not-Merlin stage-whispered to him.

  The Prince nodded towards the doorway. “Someone’s here.”

  Not-Merlin quirked a lip and it was horribly familiar. “They can’t hurt you. Not here.”

  “The shield hurt!”

  “Alright,” not-Merlin conceded. Then, after a blissfully silent moment, he added: “They can’t hurt you for long.”

  The Prince set the sword back down so as to better argue with not-Merlin, when--

  “Say what you like about the food, but you can’t beat our feasts for entertainment.”

  He whirled back around to the doors.

  While he’d been distracted, a woman draped in rich purple and sheer blue had sauntered in through his open doors. Her hair was long and dark and wavy and he knew she was beautiful in a de facto sort of way. Her pale green eyes were sharp as a dagger and her fair skin appeared almost translucent in the evening light the room dipped into at her arrival.

  In fact, the whole of the room had shifted, much as it had between the scenes with his father. The fire next to him roared to life without being stoked or even supplied with wood, the candles littered across the walls and tables flickered bright, and even the air had gained an evening chill.

  “Where did you come from?” He asked, decently startled and fervently not wanting to examine how quickly reality had shifted around him.

  “You have to play along,” not-Merlin advised him from just behind his right shoulder.

  The Prince couldn’t quite tear his focus away from the woman, now frozen in her wait for his response. “I know that.”

  “Then face her.”

  The Prince sighed and relaxed himself. It wasn’t so hard to find the words he must speak, now.

  “Morgana, I’m sorry,” he heard himself say, and his body turned away from her without his consent, and he realized not-Merlin was nowhere to be found behind him. Morgana. Morgana, that’s familiar. “I should have made sure you were alright.”

  “Disappointed actually,” her voice carried from the threshold. “I was looking forward to clumping a couple around the head with a ladle.” Footsteps tapped against the stone floor and he knew she approached. 

  His body allowed him a half-turn, and his eyes locked onto her quickly. “I’m sure the guards could have handled Bayard and his men.”

  The words the Prince hadn’t chosen didn’t seem to please her, if her challenging: “Yeah, but why let the boys have all the fun?” was anything to go by.

  Some protective instinct he did not control flared up within him, and the Prince was glad for any clues as to who this woman was to him. “Morgana, you shouldn’t get involved. It’s dangerous.”

  “Spare me the lecture, I’ve already had it from Uther.” Ah, of course. Uther. They were still in the castle, after all.

  He walked away from her again, which was irritating but understandable as the dejection and sense of failure and dread overtook him. Loss, yet unfelt but inevitable -- that was the emotion inspired within him. “If it’s any consolation, you weren’t the only one.”

  When was this, he wondered. Certainly, before the King had died, but before the first memory? He tried to search his memories of this past father of his, and something scratched on the edge of his awareness, but was set against conscious recollection.

  “Not that I listen to him.” Morgana’s beseeching tone brought him away from his musings. “Sometimes you’ve got to do what you think is right, and damn the consequences.”

  It hurt, was the thing.

  Doing what was right hurt and it was terrifying. You’d put yourself out there, whether through words or action, and even the slightest rebuttal of your intent was a rejection of your soul. And furthermore, failure became much worse when you actually believed in what you were doing.

  Doing the right thing could get you killed and rarely was it ever easy.

  A heat built in his chest and he knew, given the choice, even in spite of all the danger… this memory of him… he would do it. Every time. 

  The Prince turned slowly and felt his old cautious hope build. “You think I should go?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think.” Not true, he thought viciously. Never true, Morgana.

  The need for validation became insurmountable in the face of her put-on neutrality, and he crossed their short distance to better face her. “If I don't make it back, who will be the next king of Camelot? There’s more than just my life at stake.” His words felt even less like his own than they normally did during these scenes -- they were never his to begin with.

  A victorious spark slid into Morgana’s eyes. “And what kind of king would Camelot want?” Her eyes fell to the sword left on the table, and she drew it out of the sheath he swore he hadn’t returned it to moments before. “One that would risk his life to save that of a lowly servant?” Her sharp eyes met his, another challenge striking deep into him. “Or one who does what his father tells him to?”

  She held the sword up for him and he knew there was no choice but to take it.

  The instant he had grasped it, though, she faded from sight.

  It didn’t startle him so much now. 

  “Who was she?” the Prince asked aloud and turned to find not-Merlin where he’d last seen him. “She… Was she my sister?”

  It felt right, even though the thought hadn’t crossed his mind until the moment he spoke it.

  “She should’ve been,” not-Merlin answered, face oddly blank of any emotion. “C’mon, she’s getting away.”

  The doors swung open and afternoon light flooded the castle halls.

  The Prince didn’t waste any time.

  He began to trace the same path he first had walked to the council chambers, but the halls were different now, and he found himself wandering in circles at first. Not-Merlin followed, not offering any advice or wisdom, which was more of a surprise than he thought it should’ve been.

  At last, when he’d stopped once again to take stock of his surroundings, he caught a glimpse of her purple dress in the corner of his eye as she turned the corner.

  “Wait!” He called out, though he felt it was futile, and he ran after her.

  Every few hallways, he’d see a glimpse, and each time her dress would change, but he knew it was her by her long, dark hair and by the way she never seemed to appear in the center of his vision. Always out of sight; out of mind. Never in focus.

  Time seemed to get a little quirky as he chased her, shadows shifting with the arc of the sun and torches flaring as night descended, only to burn out when soft morning light filtered through the glass windows. It didn’t feel like days were passing -- it didn’t feel like any time was passing at all.

  At last, he spotted her in a black dress, hair wild. He couldn’t make out much more as, in a flash, she shut a strange door behind her.

  The Prince approached the door warily. It didn’t resemble any other door in the castle with the warm wood and tall profiles. No, this door was small and dark and made of iron, as though it belonged to some stereotypical dungeon set in some nerdy game.

  “Open it,” not-Merlin urged.

  “What will I find?”

  Not-Merlin hesitated. “...she’s gotten away from you, I’m afraid.”

  “Right,” the Prince accepted. The door creaked open the moment his fingers brushed the handle.

  Past the threshold was a long cave tunnel, rough and winding and dark. The moment he was through the entryway, his heavy chainmail melted off into a simpler, lighter leather chest piece, the rest of his clothing just as unfamiliar. 

  The door slammed shut behind him and he could not see, and the dark invaded his senses eagerly.

  “You see a torch anywhere?” He asked, and when he did not receive any sort of response, he felt his hands along the cave walls, and found that the door had disappeared -- and so had the thing that was not his friend.

  “Merlin!” The Prince called, though he knew that this was not the thing’s name. 

  He ventured forward blindly, feeling his way through the twists and turns, and eventually, there was dim light flooding through the tunnel and he could see his feet again, and he followed it.

  “Merlin?” He called again as the path grew lighter, now as clear as a torch-lit cave could be. There were sounds in the distance now, of clanging metal and shouting men, but he tried not to worry himself with it. He sought only the thing that was not his friend. “Merlin?”

  The path opened up before him.

  It was still a cave, that was certain, but he had finally found the torches on the walls that had guided his path, and they illuminated a small widening of the tunnel. So determined he was to carry forth that he hadn’t noticed the wild black hair in the corner of his vision.

  “How good of you to save me the trouble of finding you.”

  Morgana’s voice, alien now that he had taken his focus off of her, startled him back into his initial fear of her, and he reached to his side for some weapon to guard himself, but there was none.

  He could see her now, in the side of his vision, and he was afraid to fully face her and see what she had become.

  “Oh, dear how remiss of you,” she remarked cooly. “Your bravery is matched only by your stupidity.” Rude. He felt his body turn then, and he hated what he saw. “What on earth did you think you would achieve by coming here?”

  Her dark hair was wild indeed, carefully braided waves long forgone and desperately unkept. Her complexion was the same, barely appearing solid in the dim light, but everything else in her demeanor had changed. Draped in black and warmed by dark furs, she regarded him with what appeared as utter indifference.

  He could feel her anger, though. Some spark of memory returned to him and he knew indifference was no true emotion of Morgana’s.

  “I had to free my men,” he answered, and he marveled at how calm his voice was when he wished to run so badly. He did not know who his men were but they must have been very special for him to face the darkness so boldly on their behalf.

  The tension drew thick and it was only then that he realized someone was standing behind Morgana. He wished desperately to know who he shared space with, but it was impossible to center his vision on the man, even when he should have been clearly visible.

  He didn’t remember the man yet, he supposed.

  A twitch on Morgana’s face refocused his thoughts onto her, and in a quick flash of sneering anger, she spoke a word he could not understand.

  And then there was a dagger in his face and before he could flinch back more than a few inches, it was shearing into his shoulder.

  He grunted as he hit the hard ground.

  “This time it seems there really is no way out,” she taunted, and soft footsteps approached his form as he struggled with the pain. Above him, he could swear the dagger was resonating, waiting to strike once more.

  In spite of his pain, his mouth opened to speak, and the words that came out were rough and uneven. “I’m sorry for what our father did to you.” 

  “Uther was never my father.” She spat back at him.

  Uther. Uther! So… they really were--

  “But we are brother and sister,” he asserted, even as he tried to gain purchase on the rocky cavern wall before him. 

  “Funny how you choose to remember that with my dagger at your back.” So there was still a dagger. Joy.

  Finally, he managed to lift himself to his feet. As he turned to face her once more, his voice only sounded tired. Which, in fairness, he was. “What happened to you, Morgana?” The dagger hovered at his jugular. “As a child, you were so kind, so compassionate…”

“I grew up.” Was her cold, detached reply, and it really wasn’t helpful because the Prince as he was now didn’t know what had happened to the woman who, just minutes or hours or days before depending on how much time truly had passed while he chased her… how she, so brave and true-to-heart could become this to him.

  Her eyes flashed gold. He hardly registered the pain in his abdomen as the image froze in his brain. Golden eyes… he… there was someone who--

  He hit the floor and the pain became readily apparent.

  “You are right to cower before my hand,” she taunted with a deep confidence he wasn’t sure he’d even felt himself. “I am more powerful than you can imagine.”

“And yet with all that, you choose to do nothing but hate,” his voice levied back, and he wanted to close his eyes as a delirious smile spread over her face.

“Uther taught me well.”

  Her smile twisted back into her steely grimace.

  “Goodbye, Ar--”

  The world pitched into the void and the Prince saw nothing else of the woman who should’ve been his sister.

  “You have to wake up. Really, I mean it, or else I’ll have to call--”

  The Prince shot awake, upright in an instant, and not-Merlin clamped a hand over his shoulder to stop him from flinging himself over the edge in his panic.

  “She was saying something,” he gasped out and not-Merlin pushed him back into his pillows.

  “You’re not ready for it,” not-Merlin said lowly, cradling the Prince’s head as he lowered it.

  “But it wasn’t over!” The Prince protested as he gave up his struggle against the thing that was not his friend.

  “You learned everything you needed to know,” not-Merlin argued. “Didn’t you?”

  The answer was yes. Of course yes. It had returned to him in the dark, as it had before.

  Morgana. God, Morgana.

  “She should’ve been my sister,” the Prince repeated not-Merlin’s words from earlier. “She was so kind and generous and so full of heart and pride. How did… What did I do wrong?”

  “You can’t blame yourself.” But not-Merlin’s words rang hollow.

  “You’re the one that said-- She got away from me.” The Prince insisted. “Is that it? Did I ignore her? Did I abandon her? What did I--”

  “People change, sire,” not-Merlin interrupted him. “More than that, other people are other people. You can’t claim responsibility for her own actions.”

  “But I’m--” his voice caught in his throat. I’m something. Probably. He just didn’t know what.

  Not-Merlin took his usual seat at the foot of the Prince’s bed, boots off and legs crossed over themselves. “Tell me, then. What could you have done?”

  The Prince had never been able to tell Morgana what to do. He’d tried as kids all the time, over the pettiest, most childish things, and he tried as they grew into adults, over matters he viewed as far more serious.

  In all his years in this castle, he’d never been able to discover what made her tick -- how to force her to his will. She was untameable, and maybe the problem wasn’t her. 

  It was that everyone tried to tame her anyway.

  Years spent expecting the King’s Ward to act as a princess without the rights and privileges. With her magic, she must’ve felt like a prisoner in her own home--

  Oh. “Magic. She had magic.”

  “Yes,” not-Merlin agreed.

  “Magic is real,” the Prince confirmed.

  “Yes,” not-Merlin agreed once more, sounding more amused this time.

  “Uther hated it,” the Prince continued. “She… if there hadn’t been the Purge-- Oh God, the Purge -- later. If not for that, would the same thing have become of her?”

  “I don’t know,” not-Merlin answered.

  “But you know everything!” The Prince accused.

  “No,” not-Merlin shook his head, scooting closer. “I only know what you don’t know you know.”

  “That doesn’t help,” the Prince griped.

  “I know,” not-Merlin smirked cheekily. Then his smile dropped and he was serious again. “What could you have done, if nothing would have changed?”

  “Nothing,” the Prince replied, but it wasn’t some grand revelation. “But that’s not how it went. Actions have consequences and you can hurt people, even if you don’t mean to.”

  “But she never gave you space to make amends.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Not if it was my fault.”

  “Would you have, if given the chance?” Not-Merlin prodded.

  “Of course!” The Prince snapped. “I… I never wanted her to be so alone. If that’s growing up…”

  “But that’s what everyone already tried,” the thing that was not his friend reminded him. “They tried to keep her docile and innocent like a child; never allowed to make her own decisions.”

  His own words from earlier flashed through his mind: “Morgana, you shouldn’t get involved. It’s dangerous.”

  He sighed. “We never let her choose, did we?”

  Not-Merlin smiled, and it was an awful little thing, and it didn’t look like Merlin’s at all,  even through his friend’s lips. “No. We didn’t… You have to let people make their own choices.”

  “Even if they’re bad ones?” The Prince argued. “What if their decision is to-- to abandon their family and usurp a kingdom? To kill innocents?”

  “Then it is their decision,” not-Merlin declared. “Not yours. You’re only responsible for what you do.”

  “But I’m the--” Ugh. “Something!”

  “Yes, you are,” not-Merlin agreed, which was nice of him. “And you carry a duty to protect, serve, and care for your people. But those are still your own actions. You did not decide if Morgana turned on us any more than you decided on the dinner of a peasant in some outlying village. Magnitude and lethality aside, it’s someone else’s choice.”

  “And I know this?” The Prince inquired, and it wasn’t a deflection.

  “You do. You just struggle to accept it.”

  “And that’s why you let Morgana stab me?” The Prince laid out the blame.

  Not-Merlin appeared genuinely nonplussed. “You’re not stabbed anymore!”

  “Twice!” The Prince ground out. “And where were you, anyway?! You left the moment the door closed!”

  “I didn’t leave,” not-Merlin said, and it didn’t feel like a lie. “I was there.”

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “Well, it was quite dark.”

  The Prince hated how much the thing that was not his friend sounded like Merlin, truly.

  He was glad for it in spite of himself. 

  Now that he’d settled his mind over the matter, he found there was no great rush in his heart to jump from bed again. His recollections were both warm and cold, kind and cruel, and thought that, perhaps, a moment’s respite wasn’t such a bad thing. The bed, however real it was or was not, was still a bed, and thus quite comfortable. Not to mention it protected him from the chilled stones since not-Merlin hadn’t bothered to light the fireplace yet. Again? Whatever.

  Speaking of the… man… not-Merlin certainly appeared in no rush either. Given his incessant nagging thus far, it was actually a fair bit suspicious.

  It compromised his own desires, but he had to know: “Don’t we have more?”

  Not-Merlin, still seated comfortably on the foot of the bed, shrugged his shoulders.

  “You really can’t rush these things -- she’s coming as fast as she can,” not-Merlin replied.

  “As fast as she-- What, is she across the castle?” The Prince badgered.

  “No, no, she’s just outside the doors,” not-Merlin answered, flooring the Prince. “You’re not ready, yet.”

  That… was true.

  “Who is she?” The Prince asked, as he really should have done first.

  “Give me a moment,” not-Merlin said, not answering him.

  “Mer--” the prince tried to say, but calling him Merlin didn’t feel right when he could see the man’s eyes. “You.”

  “Me?” Not-Merlin parroted, appearing entirely innocent but for the smirk on his lips.

  “Give you a moment to what?” The Prince pressed.

  “You’re not the only one who had to get ready. After last time…” not-Merlin waved his hands in some meaningless so-so gesture. “I need to make sure you don’t pull out again.”

  “I thought you pulled me out?”

  “Did I say that?” Not-Merlin inquired, still faux-innocent and increasingly smug.

  And… no. The Prince had just assumed.

  “When will I be ready?” He deflected, unwilling to admit his own confusion.

  “Since you’re asking so much…” Not-Merlin hedged before awkwardly extracting himself from his perch and going to stand by the foot of the bed instead. “It must be now.”

  On cue, the doors to his chambers opened, and the Prince found himself appreciating the woman who had just walked in.

  She wore the clothes of a servant, curly hair tied tightly behind her head; her face bare of any makeup. Once she drew closer to his bed, he could see more details, such as the dotted freckles on her dark, warm skin and the worry written plainly across her face, controlled though her expression may be.

  She paused by his bedside, just past not-Merlin, and waited.

  “Hello?” The prince tried to greet her.

  Not-Merlin rolled his eyes, a touch over-dramatically. “You know it doesn’t--”

  “Work like that, yes,” the Prince sighed out. “Feels wrong not to try, though.”

  His not-friend’s gaze turned from deadpan to sympathetic. “She’s just a memory, now. So remember.”

  The Prince closed his eyes to try and sink into the moment as he had before with Uther and Morganna -- only to find upon centering himself that his eyes would not open. 

  And then, plunged into darkness and adrift from context, he finally heard the woman move.

  It was mere shuffling at first, with no true context as to what she was doing or why. The prince waited a moment, and then tried to open his mouth and speak, if only to ask not-Merlin to confirm everything was actually going the way it should be--

  Which is when something cold and wet pressed against his forehead.

  Had he the ability to flinch backward, he would have flung himself off the bed in shock.

  “You’re not going to die, ------,” her voice rang gently, and she said his name, then, he knew she did, but he could not understand it in any meaningful sense. It wasn’t blurred or slurred or unheard, but it slid beneath his waking thoughts anyway, deep into his mind where it was already known, but never released to his thoughts.

  “I’m telling you…” she continued, cooling ministrations continuing, and it was only now that the Prince realized he felt flush with unnatural heat, so very at odds with the chilled air he knew filled the room. “Because I know that one day you will be King. A greater king than your father could ever be.”

  It was a lot to process. King. Of course, he’d be King one day. That’s what Princes did, they grew up. But if growing up was--

  Choices. Choices… No, he’d settled that already. Right now, he needed to listen.

  “That’s what keeps me going,” the woman admitted softly, and something in him shuddered.

  If it was pleasant or unpleasant, he could not tell. Maybe it was nice to have someone believe in him, especially after the last two memories. And yet a part of him dreaded how this would end. This woman, who he could already tell had such a good heart, would she leave him too, as his father and sister had done?

  Furthermore… however it ended… It was a lot of pressure. Just like with Uther, just like with Morgana, the Prince did not want to disappoint this woman.

  “You are going to live to be the man I’ve seen inside you, ------.” His name again, he knew it, but it hardly mattered at this point. “I can see a Camelot that is fair and just. I can see a king that the people will love and be proud to call their sovereign. For the love of Camelot, you have to live.”

  Warm, steady fingers slid between his own and he was struck, quite horribly, by how foreign it felt to be so cared for. She lifted his hand from its paralyzed rest and held it tenderly between her own and he wondered if this truly was what it meant to be loved.

  To be loved by his people, to love Camelot in turn, and to accept these fleeting comforts… It was hard to accept. 

  The Prince had already worn himself down so much in his remembered misery of his father and sister that he couldn’t quite fathom he was worth this woman’s care. But he-- she was--

  You have to let people care.

  The Prince opened his eyes.

  The woman was gone, his hand already limp against the bedding, and not-Merlin sitting at the foot of his bed.

  The Prince swallowed hard and pulled himself into a sitting position.

  “Why didn’t I speak?” He asked, for any other question felt too soon.

  “You were asleep,” not-Merlin replied airily, not meeting his gaze.

  “Then how exactly would I remember it?” The Prince argued.

  “You weren’t that asleep.”

  “Oh, thank you, that clears everything up.”

  Not-Merlin grinned as he jumped to his feet, and it was Merlin’s smile this time, and the Prince felt even less enthused at it. “Great! Then we can get going. You’ve stayed in bed long enough -- rise and shine, prat!”

  The Prince, who had already been throwing his blankets off in an attempt to shake the tender little feeling in his chest, froze midway through his exit, foot halfway to the floor. “What did you say?”

  “Hm?” Not-Merlin hum-called back from where he’d gone to gather the Prince’s chainmail.

  “Rise and-- that.”

  “Oh… I don’t think that was me,” not-Merlin muttered, and the Prince hardly dared to breathe so that he could hear his not-friend. “Or, rather, it was, but not the me I am. More like the me I’m not.”

  The Prince gave up and pulled himself to his feet. As he wandered over to the thing that was not his friend, he crossed his arms and accused, “You’re useless.”

  Not-Merlin only shrugged. “If you say so. Now,” he spun around, tunic held aloft, “let’s get ready!”

  “Before that…” the Prince interrupted, causing the too-excited grin to drop from not-Merlin’s face. “Before with Morgana, and now with this woman…” he scrutinized not-Merlin’s face, “...Does everyone agree Uther sucks?” 

  “Basically,” not-Merlin agrees readily, not even hesitating.

  “So being a better King…” the Prince trails off.

  “It’s a low bar, yeah.” But not-Merlin still looked terribly proud.

  Getting dressed seemed a quicker and quicker affair each time, especially since the bleeding of unreality filled in the gaps. The chainmail, being the same he’d dressed in the last time he’d woken, felt properly familiar now, with no strange caveats littered in.

  He was a Prince and he had men -- whoever they were. Of course, he would wear armor.

  Once he’d been properly adorned and perplexingly spruced up by some other force he cared not to question, not-Merlin led him out through the doors.

  There was no hallway on the other side.

  Startled beyond measure, the Prince spun back around to retrace his steps, only to find himself face-to-face with his initial observation: Wilderness.

  Sheer, rocky cliffs rose around them, trapping them into the small lake valley that the Prince and not-Merlin found themselves in, and on the rocky shoreline before them was the woman who’d held his hand, and he could tell something was wrong immediately.

  With this, he does not refer to her clothing, which was much more elegant than it had been in the first scene, tailored specifically for her form. 

  Nor does he refer to her hair, which had been let down from its tight working bun and clearly tended to as was befitting for a lady of the court. 

  Nor even was he referring to the fact that she was passed out cold on the ground, a mirror of his own state minutes before, deeply asleep and unaware of his presence. 

  No, it was something deeper -- more instinctual. Maybe he only felt it because it was known to him in the memory, but it was clear nonetheless.

  This… This was not the woman he had just spoken to. Or, well, not-spoken to. But, unlike the case of not-Merlin, she was supposed to be.

  “Are we here to fix her?” He asked not-Merlin, gingerly kneeling by her side.

  “You can tell something’s wrong?” Not-Merlin asked, surprise coloring his tone.

  “Of course! Can’t you?” He snapped.

  It was a stupid question, for not-Merlin surely already knew what was wrong. The Prince counted himself lucky when the thing that was not his friend didn’t bother replying.

  Not-Merlin’s silence wasn’t exactly a sign of mercy, though, and the Prince was getting ever better at sensing the scene around him fall into place.

  He was not alone with this woman anymore. Wherever not-Merlin had fled to, he’d left behind two shapeless shadows that flickered in the Prince’s periphery, but his body was already slipping into the motions of the memory, and it seemed that, once upon a time, he only had eyes for the woman in front of him.

  The moment he gave himself fully into the memory, the woman awoke with a gasp, looking just as disoriented as he felt.

“Where am I?” She asked as her eyes flitted across the landscape, and she was in a state of panic that gripped the Prince’s heart. “What have you done to me?”

  Oh, he’d like to know as well, Mystery Woman.

  “You've been asleep for a long time,” he said, voice far too calm, as though he was trying not to scare off a frightened deer.

  She rose to her feet and tried to rush past him.

  The prince lunged after her. “Guinevere!”

  Guinevere! This was-- Her name was Guinevere! Well… her name suited her well.

  “Get away from me!” She shouted, but he had already gripped her arms firmly, and he held her in place easily.

  “My Guinevere,” he repeated fondly, and if he hadn’t known this was a memory, he would have believed it to be his own present will that spoke the words.

  She was not nearly so fond.

  "Your Guinevere?” She snarled, though it was a very well-spoken snarl. Her struggles lessened but never fully stopped. “You stupid, foolish man. I was never yours and never will be.”

  Was this as he had feared? The doubt was indeed creeping into him. Was this, as the last two people he’d remembered had been, the moment he realized it was a lost cause?

  One of the figures behind him, someone he could not name, spoke quickly, breaking apart his distracted doubts: “You must reach her, ------.” His name, again, but he was getting used to the feeling of nothing it brought up within him. “Reach out or all is lost.”

  “Who's this old crone?” Guinevere snapped out, and her struggles regained their zeal. The Prince would actually also like to know that -- her voice was oddly familiar -- but it clearly wasn’t the point of the memory.

  “You loved me once.” The Prince felt himself say more than heard it, arms cutting off Guinevere’s struggles once more, and the strength with which it was said floored him. He could barely allow himself to believe this woman ever cared for him at all, bare minimum, but… once, he’d known with certainty that she’d loved him.

  The Prince could not tell if it was his own thoughts or those of this memory that felt like crying.

  “You are easily fooled, ------.”

  “And still do,” he continued his last statement, hardly even registering that she’d said his name. Whatever it was.

  “It was a trick.” She insisted. “Nothing more.” She claimed. “A subterfuge to pass Camelot to its rightful Queen.” 

  But he wasn’t--he didn’t--

  “I don't believe that.” He asserted, fully in line with himself.

  Hands gripped tight to her arms, he began walking backward, and the Prince admittedly lost sense of himself again.

  “Believe what you like,” she spat out. “The fact remains.”

  He kept backing up.

  “No,” and his drag backward froze the moment the old crone behind him spoke up, “it must be of her own will!”

  Free will. 

  She had no free will right now.

  It was… something was coming back to him. What was wrong with her… How to fix it… They were…

  The Prince glanced backward, and for a moment internally rejoiced at the chance to see who he was taking advice from, but she remained a dark blob just out of focus, and he turned back to Guinevere soon enough.

  His arms reformed their hold, and he pulled her close.

“Look at me,” he said, and he met her dark brown eyes with ardor. “Tell me you don't love me.”

  Something scratched at the edge of his mind, and he found it was simple to let it through.

  “Well, then tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “You love me.”

  Guinevere renewed her struggles. “Let me go!”

  The old crone called his name -- and God fucking Help Him but the Prince did not know what she said in the slightest, only that she was urging him onward.

  That scratch… It ended in silence and it was devastating.

  Guinevere’s silence was to an entirely different effect.

  “Do you remember when I asked you to marry me?” Whoa, wait, who said anything about marriage!? “Do you remember what you said? You said, “With all my heart.” That's what you said, Guinevere. That was no subterfuge. No trickery.”

  Her struggles finally drew to a stop, not from his increased grip or physical prowess, but due to the spark of warmth he could see flickering to life in her eyes.

  Neither spoke for a long moment, and he embraced the silence. 

  “With all my heart,” he repeated and he felt his hands leave her, and he stepped backward.

  “With all my heart,” the Prince repeated once more as he passed the crone, and in his other eye, he caught sight of what may have been a knight -- or else someone who was simply very shiny in the glinting sunlight. 

  It was the moment that he felt his foot step into the lake and cold seeped through his boot, that purpose came flooding into him, and on the shoreline, she gasped in his place -- for this current script of his actions had no clue as to the magnitude of what he’d just realized.

  His eyes were locked onto her, even several meters away now, and he saw her lips form the same words he’d chanted like a prayer: “With all my heart…”

  He extended to her his hand.

  She stumbled forward, finally coming towards him of her own will.

  “Come.”

  As she stepped into the lake with him, she placed her hand in his own, and he knew with the clarity of hindsight that everything would be okay, and that it already had been okay, and that it could never be okay, because…

  This woman was…

  “I’m sorry. I-- You have to know that. I thought you were-- I’d say I thought you were a better fighter, but that’s unfair. I’ll explain it all, I promise, but you have to wake up, first.”

  Darkness faded before it properly greeted him this time, and for the first time since he’d woken up in this bed, he didn’t feel like a failure.

  “You look happy,” not-Merlin commented from his usual perch.

  “She loved me,” the Prince answered the implied question.

  “Yes. And you her.”

  That was clearer than anything else he had remembered thus far: Guinevere.

  He remembered now, his surprise when she’d put him in his place; called him out for his ignorant behavior. He remembered her kindness and good heart and beauty and strength of will. He remembered how much she’d loved Morgana, how she’d been just as betrayed by the woman’s turn against them. He remembers longing for her, and courting her, and changing the laws of the kingdom for her, and he remembers--

  “I married her.” It was a fair bit more disorienting than any other memory he’d regained.

  Not-Merlin raised a brow. “What, and that’s a bad thing? You were happy about loving her.”

  “No, I’m not unhappy, it’s just--” He felt too young to consider marriage, and yet in some odd, slippery way, he felt too old for it. Like it was long behind him. 

  Which, of course, it was.

  “It’s just that she’s gone now,” he continued, thoughts clear. “I did love her, and that’s-- that’s wonderful. I’ve never felt so certain of anything but… in that memory, he didn’t doubt it for a second.”

  “You mean you didn’t,” not-Merlin pointed out.

  “Ceramics,” the Prince waved off the thing that was not his friend.

  “Semantics?” Not-Merlin asked.

  “Sure.” It wasn’t important right now. “Just… that sort of whole-hearted love… I wasn’t expecting to ever feel that.”

  “Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” not-Merlin whispered, but it mostly slipped past the Prince’s attention.

  “I’m glad I did, even if it’s gone now,” the Prince concluded.

  But it seems not-Merlin took issue with that. “It’s not.”

  The Prince frowned. “Uh, I’m pretty sure it is… You said it was just a memory.”

  “No,” not-Merlin corrected. “She was a memory. The love isn’t. Love… it doesn’t just go away. It stays behind long after we’re gone, even when we’re forgotten. The love you feel for her is the same love any man feels for his wife, or a child their parent, or a friend a friend. It never leaves -- it just changes.”

  The Prince considered the words and felt that they were true. “Then I was not lucky. I am.”