Chapter Text
The BMW’s dashboard clock clicked over to 1:42PM and Steve Harrington was fairly sure the rhythmic, hyperactive thumping from his passenger seat was going to leave some kind of permanent damage.
Dustin was vibrating. His hands flew through the air as he talked, eyes zeroed in on the empty bus bay like he could make the Greyhound bus appear through sheer force of his anticipation.
“I’m serious Steve, this never happens.” Dustin said, for the forth or fifth time since he’d announced his sister was coming back to Hawkins, “I got her and dad. That’s how it’s worked. I spend two weeks in the summer, rotating holidays eating dip dish pizza and pretending to like sports for my dad. She doesn’t come here. And now she’s not just visiting-”
“Yes, Henderson, I know.” Steve said.
But that only spurred Dustin further, “She’s bringing her all her sourcebooks. Do you even understand what that means? Mike thinks he’s a genius DM, but Morgan built everything we ever have done. She’s magic. You’re always complaining you’ve got nothing to do while we play, you should sit when she DMs on Friday and you’ll get it.”
Steve had clocked the staying part and let it sit. Dustin hadn’t offered a reason and needling a thirteen year old about why his sister, all the sudden was coming back to Hawkins seemed like a good way to ruin the kid’s mood. He kept his eyes on the empty bay, arms crossed over the wheel and let his own thoughts wonder.
Morgan Henderson is going to walk off that bus…and Steve pushed the thought side.
“Why isn’t your mom doing this, by the way?” Steve had asked, backing out of the Henderson driveway. It seemed like the kind of thing a mother did. Instead he’d gotten a call from Dustin and here he was.
“Some schedule thing,” Dustin had said, already distracted, “She’s been weird all week.”
Weird was doing a lot of work, and Steve let it go because it was easier. He was good at easier lately.
Dustin had run out of new things to say about the campaign and circled back, for the second time, into a monologue about Morgan’s DMing style that Steve suspected was less about the game and more about proving to himself that his sister was coming back and it was real.
“She does voices,” Dustin was saying, “Not like Mike’s, where you know it’s just him talking louder or softer. Actual voioces. There was this one campaign, I was up in Chicago for Easter, where she played every NPA in this tavern scene completely different, and I swear to God Steve one of them sounded like Mrs. Driscoll the librarian-”
Steve made a noise that could pass as interest, but he drifted again. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He did, in a secondhand way he cared about Dustin’s more nerdy subjects that made him excited. It was that some part of him kept snagging on a different question underneath all of Dustin’s chatter. One that Steve didn’t want to look at straight on: what happened to a person, between fifth grade and now that turned a quiet girl who drew little knights into someone who left Hawkins and never came back on her own, not once, not for years, not even for Christmas.
And now all the sudden, she wasn’t just visiting.
He shifted in his seat.The clock on the dash now, 1:43, a whole minute gone.
Fifth grade, jesus…
He hadn’t let himself think about it directly for years now, but it had been sitting at the edge of every conversation about Morgan Henderson since Dustin first said she was coming home, it had been waiting for him.
The classroom smelled like pencil shavings and the orange cleaner the janitor used. Mrs. Klein had the windows covered with paper hearts they had made the week before. Ten year old Steve sat two rows back from the mail cubbies; a strip of them taped along side the wall, one per kid. He was half listening to a lecture from Mrs. Klein that just because it was Friday and their Valentine Party did not mean they weren’t doing long division after lunch. Tommy was narrating under his breath, every single person who walked by their desks.
He remembered the sound before anything else. The soft scuff of shoes, someone trying to move like they didn’t want to be noticed moving at all.
Morgan Henderson had been quiet that year. Heavy in a way that the other kids had decided, collectively it was funny. She’d become quiet from it; saying less translating to being hurt less, in theory.
In practice it hadn’t worked. Not with a nickname like the one that attached itself to her sometime around Halloween and never come off.
Hogie Henderson
Steve couldn’t remember then or now exactly who had started it. It didn’t matter. The name had taken on a life independent of its author the way things always did.
She’d stopped at his heart shaped mailbox. He remembered that part with a clarity that embarrassed him; the hitch in her step like she’d rehearsed the motion. A folded square of paper went into his mailbox. Notebook paper, ragged spiral edge still clinging to one side, and on the front in pen, a knight. Full armor, sword raised, more detail than a normal ten year old put into a doodle; shading on the shield and a plume on the helmet. She’d worked on it.
He understood that, even before everything went wrong that it was actually really good.
Then Tommy had it.
He was fast. Faster than Steve had ever seen him move for anything school related and the paper was in the air before Steve’s brain caught up.
“Look, Steve! Hogie’s got a crush on you!” Tommy’s voice pitched up into something delighted, playing to the room at large, “Better watch out. She might eat you!”
The laugh wasn't even that loud. That was the thing Steve kept returning to. It hadn’t been a some roaring wave of cruelty. It had been small and easy, the kind of laugh a room does without deciding to, and he had been apart of it. Not the loudest part. He’d let out something close to a laugh because it was easier than being the kid who said cut it out. Easier than being associated with her and the drawing.
He hadn’t looked at her. He’d looked down at his desk, at the long division worksheet they’d be working on soon, at anything that wasn’t her face. By the time he made himself look up she was already gone and out the door before Mrs. Klein had even fully understood what had happened.
Nobody went after her. He certainly didn’t. He sat there with his ears on fire and his stomach in his shoes. Steve told himself it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t started it and he’d barely even laughed.
“So anyway.” Dustin was saying, and Steve realized he’d missed an entire monologue about the Wheeler’s basement, “the point is you have to come Friday. Non-negotiable.” Dustin raised his eyebrows “Nancy will be there.”
Steve gave him a very pointed glare which only made the kid grin further.
“I wasn’t aware you needed my RSVP for something I’m not playing, Henderson.”
“You don’t have to play. You have to witness.” Dustin said it like it settled the matter.
Steve huffed and let his eyes drift back to the bay, grateful that Dustin hadn’t noticed the time Steve had spent somewhere else entirely. He was good at that too apparently; going somewhere else while looking like was right there the whole time.
I should have said something
He hadn’t. He’d gone on being Steve Harrington, King Steve for a while there, god help him. Morgan Henderson had gone quiet and then gone off to Chicago with her dad that same year, and the nickname had somehow outlived her actual presence. Kids two grade below him had sait sometimes, second hand, with no idea who or what they were talking about.
Steve had come today to be a good friend to Dustin. If he was totally honest, he’d also come to see if a six year old apology would be worth anything.
The bus wheezed into the bay at 1:51, nine minutes late, brakes releasing a long time complaint against the trek. Dustin was already out of the car before it had fully even stopped, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the edge of the curb like a kid at a parade.
Steve killed the ignition and got out slower, leaned his forearms against the roof of the BMW and watched the doors fold open.
A pair of combat boots came down onto the metal steps, scuffed at the toe, laces double knotted. Then the rest of her.
Okay…wow.
She looked like she’d walked directly off some basement club and gotten on the bus by accident. A denim jacket, sleeves cut ragged at the shoulder, armoed in patches he couldn’t read. A faded tee underneath, dark jeans, hair cropped short and chopping in a way that was clearly decided. She moved down the steps like she owned the ground she was about to land on and there was something in the set of her jaw; sharp and unimpressed. It made something in Steve’s chest sit up and take notice before the rest of him caught up enough to ask why.
Who…
“Morgan!”
The name cracked through the air and every ounce of appreciation in Steve’s chest curdled instantly.
Oh my god…
It hit him in pieces. That jaw. He’d been standing there for a full three seconds admiring a total stranger and the total stranger was Morgan Henderson, and somewhat under the mortification a worse thought was already surfacing: she’s the girl I let them laugh at.
The cool exterior on her face cracked instantly at the sound of her name. A wide grin broke across it.
“Dusty!”
She barely had time to drop the duffel before Dustin launched himself at her. She staggered half a step, laughing, one hand coming up to steady them.
Steve pushed off the car, his heart was doing something entirely unhelpful, and walked over.
As the hug broke, Dustin grabbed her arm and hauled her over, beaming like he’d personally arranged the sun in the sky for the occasion.
“Morgan, this is Steve. You know. From school.”
She looked up at him.
Steve braced. Genuinely, he didn’t know what for; recognition, contempt, some flicker of the mail cubby crossing her face.
She didn’t look angry. She didn’t look like a girl sizing up her former tormentor at all. Morgan looked at him the way you’d look at someone you weren’t sure you’d remembered correctly, eyes tracking over his face and landing on his hair.
“Harrington. Wow.” A low laugh, more surprised than anything, “Same haircut as fifth grade. Didn’t think it was possible for hair to stay that consistent.”
“It’s a classic.” He put a hand through it on reflex, “Requires maintenance.”
The smirk on her face eased and Steve felt a fraction of the tension relax. He’d been bracing for murder in her eyes, or a pointed comment. Instead she seemed almost entirely unbothered by him, which felt like relief and also, strangely, like a small blow to his ego.
That’s better than it could have gone.
“Right, maintenance.” She grabbed her duffel and swung it into the backseat. “Let’s get out of the heat before your product melts then.”
Once they were all in the car, Dustin folded into the back seat without complaint, insisting Morgan take the front. Dustin instantly claimed the floor, pressing himself into the front seat as much as he could so he could keep talking to his sister.
“Okay, so tonight, you’re going to have to suffer through mom’s casserole. She’s stressing so you know don’t judge it too harshly.” He held up a hand like he was waiting for an objection. “But Friday. Friday’s the real thing, Morg. Wheeler’s basement, you DMing, extra large pizzas. The whole party will be there plus Max. You remember me telling you about her right? You’ll like her.” He barely paused for a breath, “Oh, and Nancy’s been asking about you. Like three times according to Mike.”
Steve caught it in his periphery before he could stop; a half second twinge crossing Morgan’s face at Nancy’s name. It was there and gone so fast he could have imagined it. Her jaw went tight and she found something more interesting to look at out the window.
“Yeah,” Morgan said, “Nancy. Can’t wait.”
“She’s dating Jonathon now,” Dustin supplied, already far ahead of the conversation, “Byers. You know Jonathon, what am I saying you guys played DND, anyway he and Nance-” He stopped himself like he’d just remembered the car he was sitting in.
“Sorry, Steve.” He added, quieter, “Didn’t mean to you know… bring it up.”
“It’s fine, Henderson.” Steve kept his eyes on the road. It barely stung anymore. That’s what he told himself anyway. “You're allowed to mention my ex-girlfriend’s name. It won’t summon her.”
He pulled out on to the next intersection, easing the BMW toward the main road. Dustin was attempting to find the next topic with minimal success.
“So,” Steve said, glancing over, “Chicago. This is going to be, I don’t quaint by comparison.”
“Quaint’s generous.” Her mouth curved slightly, “Last time I was here it was mostly cornfields.”
“We have a mall now.” Dustin said proudly, delighted to have an opening. “It’s massive, movie theatre, food court, an actual arcade. And Steve works there.”
“I work there.” Steve said and knew with a specific form of dread that there was nothing he could do to stop Dustin.
“He wears a sailor's hat.” Dustin said grinning at the rearview mirror like he could see Steve’s face fall, “Scoops Ahoy.”
Morgan turned, actually looking at him since first getting in the car, something wicked behind her eyes, “A sailor hat.”
“It’s a Henderson uniform and there is a hat.” He kept his eyes on the road, attempting badly at keeping the embarrassment from crawling into his face.
“I need to know if there's a photo of this.”
“There is not.” He said.
“He’s lying.” Dustin supplied.
“Free scoop privileges revoked Dusty.” Steve snapped.
Morgan laughed. It was short and almost like it surprised her, like it had gotten loose. Steve’s chest did the same unhelpful thing it had back at the busy bay.
The radio was on low, some AM station Steve never bothered to change because no one else had been in the car with him in ages. Morgan reached over without asking and turned the dial until she found something with actual guitar, static crackling under the edges of the signal.
“This okay?” She asked.
“Free country.” he said, which got him an eye roll.
“Chicago’s got better station.” she said, settling back against the seat, “There’s this place on the north side, tiny place, bands play til like two in the morning on a bad night. I used to-” She stopped herself, and Steve watched the sentence back up, "Anyway. Hawkins doesn’t have that.”
“Hawkis, doesn’t really do late.” he said, “Everything closes by nine. Very tragic.”
The road toward the Henderson place ran past the edge of town before curving back through the residential streets, and Dustin used that to full advantage. He’d moved on from Scoop’s Ahoy to rapid fire briefing that seemed designed to compress years of Hawkins into a single car ride; who’d moved in on Cornwallis, which teacher had finally retired, the ongoing feud between Mike and a kid named Troy.
“-oh, and Max has a stepbrother, real piece of work-” Dustin dropped his voice like he was imparting classified information. “Drives around like owns everything. Rough deal for Max. She’s the best though. Did I say that? She’ll like you, probably more than she likes me. Just avoid Billy at all costs.”
Steve’s stomach tightened, a low grade tension, he did not want to unpack. He kept his eyes on the road letting Dustin’s warning stand on its own. Morgan just nodded.
“Tell me more about this Max. Since apparently I’m required to like her.”
Dustin, grateful for the avenue, launched back into the very one sided conversation; Max’s skateboard, her aim with a slingshot, an incident with Lucas that he clearly considered the funniest thing that had happened all year. Steve let the sound of it carry them the rest of the way.
He kept looking over, more than he probably should have, at Morgan. Up close, there was something underneath her expressions to Dustin; a wariness that read deeper than a long bus ride from Chicago.
Whatever it was, Dustin didn’t seem to see it, too busy being fourteen and thrilled to finally not be the only Henderson in Hawkins. Steve wasn’t about to be the one to go looking for what it was. Not today.
The BMW rolled into a stop outside the Henderson house a little after 2:25. Dustin was already unbuckled and halfway up the driveway before Steve had fully cut the engine.
“Home sweet home.” Morgan murmured, mostly to herself, looking up at house like she was sizing up a beast instead of a house.
Steve got out and wrestled the duffel from the back seat and used the extra thirty seconds it bought him to try, one more time, to arrange the sentence he’d been carrying around since Dustin had told him about his sister coming home.
I’m sorry I was a piece of shit. Seven words of the actual apology.
Dustin was already circling back, bouncing and the window closed before Steve could open it.
Morgan took the duffel strap from him. “Thanks for the ride, Harrington. Appreciate you looking after Dusty.”
“Yeah. No problem.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling smaller under her unimpressed gaze and offered the only thing he could manage to assemble, “Welcome back Morgan. It’s… it’s good to see you.”
She held his eyes a moment, like she was checking for something, sincerity maybe. Whatever she found, made the unimpressed set of her jaw shift.
“Good to see you too, Steve.”
Dustin was shouting from the porch, something about Cerebro. She went up the driveway without a backward glance. Steve stood by the car a moment longer than he needed to.
Next time. Next time I’ll actually say it.