wolfish_willow: Steve Harrington looking up at the Creel house in Season 4 (Default)
[personal profile] wolfish_willow
Title: Untitled (for now)
Fandom: Stranger Things
Pairing: Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler
Word Count: ~2.2k
Genre: Romance
Summary: The different ways each of them help support each other.
Notes: Written as a fill for a prompt given to me by sharpest_asp

Jonathan/Steve/Nancy - something showing how each side of this triangle supports one another?



"Is that—"

Nancy stops and Steve glances at her before turning his attention back to the road. His grip on the wheel is almost painful, leaving the backs of his knuckles pale. The drive from his house has been silent up until now; only broken up by the radio playing low. He's been dreading what she might say since getting in the car.

There's a reason he usually goes to her place to pick her up.

He knows the curiosity and concern will eat at her until she gets to talk about it, though, so he forces himself to ask, "Is that what?"

"Is that, with your dad, is that… normal? And your mom never—"

"Yeah," he says, reaching for her in a silent apology for cutting her off. He throws her a quick, unaffected smirk. "Average day in the Harrington household."

Her lips press together and he can't hear it, but he thinks she's probably grinding her teeth together. Steve looks back to the road again, feels it stretch out forever in front of him, dinner and a movie feeling suddenly out of reach despite it only being a couple of minutes away.

There's a quiet intake of breath and Steve braces himself for what she's going to say. When no words follow the sound, he looks at her again. Nancy is watching him already, eyes darting across his face, meeting his briefly before he's back to being a responsible driver.

She laces their fingers together, taking his hand in both of her own and resting them on top of her lap. When she speaks again, it's not about his dad's rant about his failure, his waste of a son or how his mom seemed to pretend not to hear any of her husband's words. There's still a stiffness to Nancy's jawline that speaks to how upset she is on Steve's behalf, but she talks about the movie they're going to see, about how she wishes Jonathan didn't have to work so he could have joined them.

Steve squeezes her hand and agrees with her and lets some of the tension he's been holding go. This isn't the end of it— he knows Nancy well enough now to know she won't be able to let it go that easy— but at least his family doesn't get to ruin date night.





Later, after the date is well and truly done for the night, but before they've gotten into the car for him to take Nancy back home, she holds his hand, leans against his side, looks up at him with wide eyes and he knows even before she says anything that the reprieve is over.

"You've seen my parents, you've seen Jonathan's mom, how she is with them— you know how they treated you tonight was wrong, right?"

Steve swallows. His arm comes up to curl around her automatically and he takes advantage of her grounding presence. She's so much smaller than him, but in moments like this, he feels like the small one. Like he could lean all his weight against her, let her hold him up, and she wouldn't wobble one bit.

"He's always been like that," he tells her softly, like if he doesn't say it loud enough it won't hurt as much. It doesn't work; as much as he likes to pretend like his dad's disapproval doesn't bother him, Steve hates being such a disappointment.

"That doesn't make it right."

Nancy raises her chin, jutting it out in a familiar move. She's angry on his behalf, maybe even ready to give his father a piece of her mind herself. It warms him from the inside to have her care this much. To know it's genuine. He's not sure he would have believed it right after Halloween and the Gate, when she was still so angry with him.

He's so grateful they figured out how to make this work.

"You shouldn't have to put up with it."

Steve goes quiet while he thinks over what she's implying. His hand shifts, clenching and unclenching around her arm with nerves. Uncertainty paints his voice when he speaks and that's almost more embarrassing than the words that come out of his mouth.

"But what if..," he swallows, looks away, then forces himself to look back at her. "Dad won't take it well, he. He's said before that it wouldn't take much to kick me out. Be done with me." A dry, humorless laugh bubbles out of his throat before he can stop it. "He says it a lot."

Nancy shifts, moving around until she's hugging him tight. "If that happens, we'll be there for you. Joyce would take you in in a heartbeat, you know how much she loves you."—Steve nods because even though it's hard to wrap his head around it sometimes, he does know how much Joyce actually cares about him—"And if she doesn't, I have a basement. If Mike could hide someone in my house, I can do it better."

The laugh that comes out this time is genuine.





The stack of papers in Jonathan's hands feel… heavy. He's half afraid he's going to ruin them before he's decided what to do with them. His palms aren't quite damp but they're well on their way to it. Jonathan should put the papers down. Maybe wipe his hands on the thighs of his jeans or hide them in his pockets so he doesn't risk messing up the form.

Instead, he continues to sit unmoving on the edge of his bed.

Three raps precede Steve's voice as he peeks his head inside the gap of Jonathan's bedroom door. He probably should have closed it all the way. Even after nearly a year together— and a few months living together because Steve's dad is actually an asshole— Steve never lets himself in without the okay from someone else when the door is closed. Leaving it open, though, is almost a kind of invitation.

Jonathan wonders if he'd left it open subconsciously or something in a bid for some kind of intervention.

Or just some good old fashioned self-sabotage.

"Hey, your mom's almost finished cooking," Steve says as he pushes the door a little wide. His eyes drop to the papers in Jonathan's hands. The shift in his expression from excitement about dinner to curiosity is plain as day.

Steve cranes his back to look back over his shoulder, down the dimly lit hallway, before letting himself the rest of the way into Jonathan's bedroom. Once the door is shut behind him, he gestures towards Jonathan himself.

"What's that?"

Heat bleeds up Jonathan's neck and into his ears. Part of him wants to insist that it's nothing. Fold them up and shove them somewhere out of sight or crumple them into a pile of crinkled paper balls. Pretend like he'd never entertained the idea in the first place, because does he really think he stands a chance?

The open curiosity on Steve's face helps him shove that urge down. No matter how embarrassing the whole thing feels, Jonathan knows he doesn't have anything to worry about from Steve. Definitely not about this.

So he shrugs as casually as he can before handing Steve the top page.

Steve's eyebrows scrunch down in concentration while he looks it over. "An application form?"

"For a scholarship," Jonathan says, smoothing his fingers across some of the empty boxes on the papers still in his hand.

"Hey, that's great!" Steve's voice raises in his excitement, and drops when he looks back at Jonathan, who tried not to react but still somehow finds himself sitting with his shoulders up around his ears like that will help him hide. "It's not great?"

"There isn't a point to it, is there? I'm not going to get it, so why even—"

Steve crosses the small amount of space between the door and the bed to sit next to him. He's so close that Jonathan ends up leaning into his side. Sighing, Jonathan slouches even harder against him, grateful when Steve's arm cradles him even closer.

"Come on, man," Steve says softly, a small smile on his face when Jonathan meets his eyes. "You were the one who decided to shoot your shot and go for me and Nancy— and you got us!" Jonathan's neck warms all over again, but he can't deny the happy thrill he gets at the reminder. "That was brave as hell. You can do that again, with this. You deserve to go where you want, and hey, this way you don't have to worry so much about your mom trying to cover the whole cost, right?"

Nodding, Jonathan looks down at the papers again. "That was why I got them in the first place. It's just… if it doesn't work out…"

"Then we'll figure out something else. You've got the rest of the year. But I'll still be proud of you for trying. Nancy would say the same thing if she was here."

Steve offers the top sheet back and Jonathan takes it.

"And," Steve says, "we can always ask her to help fill it out if you want."

"Yeah." Jonathan taps the papers against his thighs until they're in a neat stack. "Yeah, maybe I will."





Nancy storms into the apartment, barely taking the time to kick off her heels as the door slams shut behind her. The sink squeaks and the sound of running water stops while she's struggling out of her coat. She doesn't think anything of it, too worked up over the assholes that she works with to put the pieces together. It's not until Jonathan is there and holding the back of her coat so she can more easily slide her arms out of it that she realizes the sound meant she wasn't alone.

"Bad day?" he asks in a carefully neutral tone. His forehead is creased in concern.

For a second, it makes Nancy angrier. She bites her tongue rather than speak and say something she'll regret in another minute. Jonathan isn't the problem here; all he's doing is helping her. Checking in with her. All the things she'd never seen her father do for her mother growing up. It's not his fault she works with a bunch of assholes.

When she feels less like taking her anger out on her boyfriend, Nancy sighs through her nose. "The worst. It's a worse boys club than Hawkins was and I just—"

Jonathan's hands wrap gently around the tops of her arms. His grip is loose and easy; she could rip herself out of it and go rage some more in their bedroom if she wanted to. Instead, her eyes blur with tears and she leans forward until her forehead is digging into his collarbone. He's warm. Even warmer when his arms wrap around her, holding her close. It means her nose is digging awkwardly into his collarbone, but she doesn't mind if he doesn't.

"What do you need?" he asks against the top of her head. His lips rest there after he's done speaking, a silent ongoing kiss.

She doesn't know what she needs so she shrugs. Lifting her arms to clutch at his shirt helps.

"How about..," Jonathan takes a slow step forward. Nancy lets him lead her, trusting him not to let her knock into any of their furniture, "I run you a nice, warm bath?"

"That does sound nice," says into his chest, some of the spitting rage in her chest beginning to dampen.

"And when Steve's home, we can see if he's up to a change for date night."

Drawing her head up enough to look at Jonathan— mostly his chin, Nancy asks, "Change it to what?"

He leads her into the bathroom and places her in front of the vanity where she takes the opportunity to lean back against it. She watches him turn each knob and test the water with the back of his hand. It takes a minute before he reaches for the stopper to let the tub begin to fill.

When he turns back around, he reaches for her next and she doesn't even care about the water on his hands when he starts to undo the top buttons of her dress.

"It's been a while since we went down to the shooting range," he says, his eyes meeting hers and not letting go. Excitement shoots up her spine, helping to douse even more of that stubbornly-clinging anger. "What do you think? Feel like taking out some of that anger on a target?"

"I think I love you," she says, lifting herself up onto her toes and kissing him even through his laughter.

"I sure as hell hope so."

"I also think," Nancy pulls him closer by the front of his already hopelessly wrinkled shirt, "I'd like some company."

Jonathan grins and pulls off his shirt in one quick move before helping her get the rest of the way out of her dress.

When Nancy squeezes into the tub with Jonathan at her back and his arms wrapped around her, the weight of a terrible day drifts away almost like it was never there.

on 2024-06-24 07:32 pm (UTC)
senmut: modern style black canary on right in front of modern style deathstroke (Default)
Posted by [personal profile] senmut
OMG YAY!

I love all the character beats, the way it flows! Excellent!

Profile

wolfish_willow: Steve Harrington looking up at the Creel house in Season 4 (Default)
wolfish_willow

May 2025

S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
11121314151617
18192021 222324
25262728293031

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jun. 11th, 2025 10:26 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios