Chapter Text
Steve Harrington has always been the most difficult person to buy a gift for.
It’s been this way for years. Two times per year, Dustin spends hours thinking about something to buy for Steve. Two times per year, it takes him around a month to finally find a gift that means something. Two times per year, Dustin hands Steve the present only to find out that someone else—though different each time—had the same exact idea.
And Steve never bothers to try and make a list. He never drops subtle hints. He never ‘accidentally’ whispers gift ideas into Dustin’s ears— he doesn’t even try to make it obvious what gift would make him happy.
“I don’t need a gift to be happy,” Steve had chuckled once when Dustin wouldn’t shut up about making a list. “I’m happy with what I have now.”
I’m happy being with my friends, was what he was implying. And if that wasn’t the most Steve Harrington answer to ever give—
But Dustin was a gift-giver. He loved to invent, to keep his hands moving, to make deeply personal gifts for every person he’s ever loved so they’d always remember the mark they left on his life.
But apparently, his ideas aren’t that personal if Steve receives the same gift from nearly every damn person in the Party.
Dustin sits up in his chair, resting his hands on his legs. His teeth are moving, rattling the pen he’s holding in his mouth— ”You’ll get a mouthful of ink if you keep doing that,” the Steve in his head warns— and his legs are absentmindedly bouncing in thought. There’s clear distress etched in his expression, and he’s about to start sweating from how stressed he is.
To an outsider looking in, Dustin looks like he’s one second away from curing cancer.
And to the ones already inside, Dustin is just trying to figure out a gift to give to his brother.
November 2nd, 1988. 53 days until Christmas, and 53 days left until the dreaded moment when Dustin is reminded that he isn’t Steve-specific creative at all.
(There are also a few anniversaries approaching.
But Dustin doesn’t want to dwell too much on it.)
Dustin’s eyes trail back to the paper sprawled on his bed, littered with random tangents or ideas. Gifts for Steve: ???? Would he like new bumper stickers? <--Not personal enough Star Wars lisence plate? No. I don’t even know if he likes that much customization on a car.
Dustin drags a hand down his face. Fuck, this is hard.
He’s asked Steve a total of 9 times what he would want for Christmas. Nine. And each time, Steve gives that same stupid answer of “I don’t need anything, buddy, I promise” or “I’m already fine with what I have”. And Dustin knows that’s a lie, because Steve is still buying new clothes for himself and he’s still on his catching-up-on-movies marathon. He’s still hoarding Dustin’s fridge with his apocalyptic amount of random drinks and beverages, and he’s still trying new meals for himself on nights when he’s not making dinner for the Party. Steve has things he enjoys, and he clearly wants more, but he just refuses to come up with something new for a gift.
The knock on his door—four times, to be exact—snaps Dustin out of his thoughts. There is only one person who knocks four times, and his name is on the paper being shoved away into the crevices of Dustin’s room.
“Come in!” He shouts, sliding back onto his bed so Steve won’t feel nosey enough to take a look around.
Steve opens the door, and Dustin is immediately pissed off.
He’s in a new shirt. A brand new shirt that he’s never worn before today. Light blue with purple on the hem, something that Dustin immediately takes note of. He likes bright colors.
Dustin hears Steve begin to speak, but he’s so— astonished —by Steve’s new outfit that he immediately talks over him.
Steve just stares at him. “...What?”
“I said, when did you get that?” Dustin snaps, taking note of his tone. His shoulders relax and he slumps forward ever so slightly in a display of casualty.
“Um…this morning?” Steve lets out a quiet huff of laughter, holding onto the door as if he was about to slam it shut and run away. “I was Christmas shopping, but I got bored, so I wanted to come grab you.” There’s a few beats of silence where Dustin aborbs this information, but silence between the two has never stressed out Steve more. “You good, Henderson?”
Dustin watches Steve gently swing the door back and forth, trying to do something to kill the awkwardness he created. There’s something so fragile about this moment— something so sweet — that Dustin’s irritation immediately ebbs away. He lets out a sigh, smiling weakly up at Steve.
“You’ll break the door down if you keep swinging it like that,” he scolds through the cheesy smile that only Steve can bring out. Steve smiles in return, swinging the door even harder.
“Really? Am I the Hulk now?” Steve laughs, and Dustin can’t help but laugh back.
Steve’s door-swinging charade ends, and he’s fully leaning against the doorway, arms planted on his hips. “Sooooo, are you in, or are you out, Henderson? It’s alreadyyyyy….” he looks at his wrist. “2:28. We don’t have all day.”
“Yes we do, you weirdo,” Dustin smirks. He lets Steve’s words marinate in his head, pursing his lips in contemplation and rolling his shoulders. “I’ll go if we can get dinner afterwards.”
Steve tries to hide the way his smile grows. “On me?”
“Always.”
“I guess I will, then,” Steve goes limp against the doorway, ushering Dustin out with his hand. “C’mon, you little shit.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dustin was two seconds away from snapping Steve’s head off.
“Steve,” he whines, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You have to give me some idea of what you want!!”
“I already told you a million times, Dustin!” Steve threw his hands into the air, nearly colliding with the clothing rack he was standing by. “I already have everything I want!”
Dustin lets go of the shirt he’s holding in his hand— a shirt that he was hoping Steve would show interest in because it has bright colors and Steve likes bright colors— and for a second, he feels like he doesn’t know Steve at all, because there’s no way he can’t get an answer out of Steve while they’re in a clothing store.
(Clothing stores were not the only places Dustin couldn’t force an answer out of Steve—
It was just one of the only places where, for once in their lives, everything was normal.)
“Bullshit!” Dustin hisses, trying to keep his voice down. “You literally bought a new shirt this morning!”
“Yeah, because I saw it, and I thought it was cool, so I bought it.” Steve plays with the hem of said shirt, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can’t buy me a shirt because I’ll always buy something the moment I realize I like it. So I’m always first.”
“Okay, so don’t do that for a while,” Dustin protests, running his hands down the hangers for emphasis. “Make a list of shirts you’ve seen before, and someone else can get them for you!”
“Too much work,” Steve chuckles, only infuriating Dustin more. “What if it’s out of stock by the time you get it? Then you have nothing to get me. I’m being efficient by buying shirts myself, Henderson.”
(The thing about Steve is that he had selective efficiency. When somebody needed help, he provided it. He’d get it done in a few hours flat, and immediatley move on to the next task.
But when it came to himself—
Steve was anything but efficient.
There was a near-full bottle of pain medication resting on Steve’s bathroom counter, made specifically for his migraines.
And Steve has had around 3 migraines in the past two weeks. None of them were dulled by a pill.)
“You really piss me off, Steve,” Dustin shakes his head. “Do you really want nothing for Christmas??”
“Yeah,” Steve mumbles, and Dustin regrets his choice of words. “I don’t, Dustin. Really.”
Dustin squints his eyes, taking in Steve’s expression.
One thing Dustin prides himself on is his ability to read any expression on Steve’s face. It was one of the only things Steve couldn’t hide from Dustin. Right now, he was wearing his ‘please-read-the-subtext’ mask. Slightly creased brows, pupils that were constantly moving, constantly scanning Dustin’s face to plan out his next few words— and pursed lips that show a sign of wanting to say more.
Steve wants Dustin to get him a gift. But for some reason, he won’t allow himself to let it happen.
“You’re making excuses,” Dustin slumps himself against Steve. “Just tell me what you want and I can get it for you, dude.”
“Dustin, I swear, if you ask me one more time, I might tell you to wait in the truck,” Steve whispers through an empty threat.
“I just want to give you a gift!” Dustin cries. “Spread the love, y’know?”
“I already have enough love from you, Dustin,” Steve wraps an arm around Dustin as they begin to walk down the clothing aisle. “Besides, we didn’t come here for me. We came here for everyone else.”
Of course. Of fucking course Steve would say something corny shit like I already have enough love from you and then play it off like it wasn’t one of the most beautiful things he could say.
(If there was one thing Steve was always better at, it was his ability to love so effortlessly.)
“Oh my god,” Dustin blinks back the sting in his eyes. He thinks he might just reach over and strangle him— either out of his uncontrollable love for Steve or to get him to finally talk. “Okay. If I drop this, will you at least think about something I can get for you?”
Steve shakes his head in thought. “Yeah.”
He’s lying. Dustin knows he’s lying. But Steve will not budge, and they had more shopping to do, and Dustin can wait in the shadows and pounce when Steve is vulnerable.
He will figure out what Steve wants for Christmas.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
There’s a distinct pattern to the way Steve gets pissed off at Dustin.
First, there’s the hesitation. Allowing Dustin to step over him like a doormat because he’s either too afraid to be mean or because he’s given up on trying to fight back.
(Dustin hates that he used to take advantage of this.)
Then, there’s the rebuttal. A backhanded comeback or a snarky comment that shows every sign of regret. Steve doesn’t want to be mean to Dustin. He never gets enjoyment out of it, and Dustin knows this.
(Steve is a difficult person to argue with, Dustin has learned. If there is one trick that man has mastered, it’s the art of pretending he’s too dumb to let anyone’s insults affect him.)
Then, there’s the yelling. The 0 to 100, when Dustin has poked at Steve’s insecurities so much that he can’t help but fight back.
But the thing about this stage—
Steve doesn’t fight back in defense of himself. He fights in defense of another.
He fights back in defense of Dustin.
Dustin is not stupid. And neither is Steve. They both know exactly what to say, exaclty how to push each other’s buttons—they know the other’s deepest insecurities like the back of their fucking hands.
But, despite this, Steve still fights for Dustin. He fights for his undying concern, for the immense love he holds inside, for every insignificant thing Dustin has ever done to make Steve feel worthwhile. Steve yearns to reciprocate.
Steve fights for the beauty of the past in hopes that it will shine into his future.
And Dustin, who has never once felt this valuable in his life, still cannot comprehend what beauty Steve sees in him. Why he continues to fight, to hold Dustin’s hand and squeeze it through the insults and the fights and the bad days and hold him close like he is the most important thing in the world.
Dustin and Steve haven’t had a real argument in over a year. Dustin hasn’t been an asshole in over a year. And yet, sitting at this booth, on this mundane day, watching Steve eat a burger—
Dustin can never get rid of the pit in his chest that this kind of life is too precious for him. Like it’s too good to be true.
Steve cherishes his memories. Dustin drowns in the rues of his.
“Why are you staring at me, dude?”
Dustin feels like he’s been pulled out of a 50-foot well. “Wh—um, what?”
“You’re, uh, you’re kinda staring at me,” Steve laughs awkwardly, placing his burger back on his plate like it was going to bite. “You looked scary as hell— really freaked me out there, man.” Steve looks Dustin up and down, face still holding the same awkward smile he wore while standing in Dustin’s doorway. “Everything okay?”
Dustin blinks, taking a second to let the information flow through his brain. He slumps back in his chair, feeling his body untense. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”
Steve’s smile turns genuine, and Dustin can’t help but smile back when he sees Steve’s shoulders shaking. “Thinking about me and my burger, or what?”
“Definitely,” Dustin chuckles, considering the playful insult resting on his tongue. “You eat like a dog.”
Steve’s face drops, and he begins to laugh through his shock. Stage one—does it even count if they aren’t actually mad?— the hesitation. This time, it was because he was unprepared for an insult.
“Wow,” Steve huffs out, shaking his head. “Was it really that bad?”
Dustin tries to hide his growing smile through his hands. “Yes?”
“Jesus Christ,” Steve sighs through his teeth, picking up his burger again. “Eat your food.”
The two fall back into silence. Dustin watches Steve take another bite of his burger, noticing the way his eyes begin to move around the closer the burger gets to his face, as if— as if he can’t see it.
Dustin knows Steve is showing signs of being farsighted. He’s known since the first time Steve told him he could barely see the words on a chapter book page.
He knows about the fighting, and the bruises, and the torturing— and somehow, Steve is still here. Somehow, Steve did not let the endless beatings bring him down. Somehow, Steve still gives back despite being hurt and rejected so many times. Somehow— somehow— Steve is still the most loving person Dustin has ever met.
And right now, there is a burger in front of Dustin. A burger that Steve bought with his own money— a burger that Steve went out of his way to specify that ”the kid wants extra sauce, not extra pickles” for— because Steve remembers every little thing about Dustin, and he is so full of love and compassion that it’s engraved into the surfaces of wherever he touches.
And right now, Dustin wants nothing more than to leap over the booth and fall into the arms that are always waiting for him.
Maybe he could give Steve an irritatingly long hug for Christmas.
“You know,” Dustin mumbles, cheesy smile still planted on his face as he blinks back the sting in his eyes. “there was another reason I was staring.”
“Hm?” Steve looks up at him, speaking through the food shoved into his mouth. “What was it?”
Dustin tries to act smug, but cannot find it in him to be anything but sappy. “I was thinking about when you’ll make your list.”
There’s a split moment of silence that feels almost comedic.
“Holy shit, Henderson,” Steve breathes, letting exasperation take over his expression.
“I got you there, didn’t I?!” Dustin bursts into laughter, clapping his hands together in exasperation. “Now you have to think about it again!!”
“I don’t want anything!” Steve laughs, lifting his forearms from the table for emphasis. “I already told you!!”
Dustin shakes his head, throwing a fry at Steve’s face. “You have to want something!!”
Steve takes a while to consider Dustin’s words, shaking his head in thought. “Okay,” Steve shrugs with that stupidly corny smile. “Then give me something you want and I’ll give you something I want.”
Dustin gapes. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, man,” Steve chuckles, and Dustin almost knows Steve is up to something. But he’s so close to finally getting some sort of answer out of Steve, and if he has to go through the stupid play-fighting to get there—
Well, he can survive the Party laughing at him for how him and Steve have mastered the art of sibling rivalry.
But then Dustin realizes that Steve is sitting in silence with that stupid smile on his face, and his lips aren’t in the position to make a snarky comeback—
And he thinks Dustin is the same as him.
“...You think— you think I have no clue what I want for Christmas, Steve?” Dustin speaks through his shock, voice rising in crescendo. “Is that who you take me for? A loser??”
“What?! I’m not a loser, dickhead!” Steve hisses, copying Dustin’s defense mechanism of fry-throwing. “God damn, man. Tell me what you want.”
Dustin reaches over and grabs a few more fries off Steve’s plate just to piss him off. And, once again, his mind is back to romanticizing these mundane moments— these moments that would mean absolutely nothing to the average person but mean everything to Dustin because it’s Steve.
Dustin takes a bite out of the fries in his hands and speaks through the food in his mouth. “Mm, okay. I go’ one.”
Steve is back to eating the burger. “Enlighten me.”
“What I really want for Christmas,” Dustin pauses to swallow— “Is for you to finally get glasses and a hearing aid.”
And he knows he’s won the battle, because Steve gives him a look of absolute disgust and immediately stands up. “We’re shutting down this conversation.”
Dustin cackles, grabbing Steve’s arm as he pretends to step out of the booth. “No! I told you what I want, now it’s your turn!!”
“I’m tired of this!” Steve announces as if everyone else in the restaurant needed to know. “You’re killing me, Henderson! Killing me!”
And then Dustin tries to pull on Steve’s arm, but Steve pulls back, and Dustin’s hip is slammed into the table— and at this point, everyone is staring, but Dustin can’t bring himself to care because he’s with Steve.
And Steve—
Steve is a giver. He loves to give, to provide, to fulfill— he loves to be needed by people, because he’s been taught that that’s the only way people will love him. That’s the only way people will value him.
But Dustin, who has never once considered that he only loves Steve because he provides— wants to change this. He has to change this.
He needs to be loved, Dustin writes as soon as he gets home and shoves the paper of ideas back onto his desk.
He needs something that will love him as much as he loves me.