Chapter Text
“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day you gave it away…”
Steve stopped wondering how he got into these kinds of situations a long time ago. He knew the how.
The how was because of all the little shits that had been hanging around him since November, because Steve let a bunch of 13 year olds boss him around. The how was because he was a people pleaser at heart, so all the parents just had to love him and use him as a babysitting/chauffeur service. Not that he was getting paid for this, nooo. ‘Cause Sweetheart Steve Harrington just had to refuse their money. Like an idiot.
No, what Steve wanted to know was the why. More specifically; why him?
“...This year, to save me from tears
I'll give it to someone special…”
With a maybe too aggressive motion, Steve turned the radio off.
“Hey,” Max began indignantly. “I was listening to that.”
“They’ve been playing that shit since November. I’m sick of it. Shit’s giving me a headache...” Steve grumbled pointedly, which wasn’t necessarily true. He had a headache since he woke up this morning but the little shits didn’t need to know that. So instead, he sniffed, “Besides, you’ve heard one Wham! song, you’ve heard them all.”
“What’dya got against George Michael?” Lucas accused.
“Nothing.” Steve answered, probably a bit too hastily. Which was true. He had nothing against that guy in particular, but the crap he sang about was much too...lovey-dovey for Steve’s current tastes...
“Mhmm.” Lucas hummed, sounding entirely unconvinced, as if he could somehow hear Steve’s actual thoughts (which was impossible, because as far as Steve knew, there was only one superpowered child taking up residence in Hawkins). Regardless, Lucas was watching Steve with a critical expression through the rearview mirror, which the latter didn’t appreciate one bit. Steve glared back before adjusting said mirror, the scrutinizing teen now out of his line of sight.
“Well, Steve being a buzzkill has presented a useful opportunity for a segway…” Dustin began as he started rifling through his backpack for something.
“It’s my car, dipshit. I get radio contro—JESUS!” Steve exclaimed, cutting himself off as his line of sight was suddenly blocked by whatever Dustin had just ceremoniously shoved in his face. He grabbed it from Dustin, the material crinkling as he quickly pulled it out of his view of the road. “I’m driving, dickhead!”
“Yeah, that was kinda a dumb move, genius.” Max agreed, surprisingly coming to Steve’s defense. “He crashes ‘cause of you, I’ll kill you. No way I’m almost dying with you losers a second time. Once was enough.” she added flatly and okay, maybe she wasn’t so much as siding with Steve as she was lumping him in with the dorks, which inarguably stung.
“He’s fine.” Dustin assured. “You know what’s gonna get you killed? Him being petty enough to adjust his mirrors so he can block out his mouthy backseat rider, giving himself a new blind spot in the process...” he rambled a little too testily as he leant as forward in his seat as his seatbelt allowed and readjusted the rearview mirror back to its previous position.
“Yeah, whatever, Henderson. You throwing garbage in my face sure isn’t doing me any favors either, you know?” Steve bit back, throwing the paper back to Dustin.
“Rude.” Dustin merely said as he used the window to smooth out the crinkled up paper. “And this isn’t garbage, it’s important information.”
Steve glanced over to Dustin and the mysterious piece of paper. “What the hell is it?”
“It’s a hypothetical list of upcoming possibilities.” Dustin answered.
“That’s a vague answer.” commented Max as she leant forward and plucked the paper out of Dustin’s hands to study it herself.
“Namely, possible locations!” Dustin furthered before he cleared his throat and began, “As you can see, most of the other possible locations have been crossed out.” he pointed out in a tone that reminded Steve of the one his dad used when rehearsing for upcoming board meetings.
“Mhmm, mhmm.” Max hummed, sounding as if she were playing along.
“I see.” Lucas commented. “Oh, all except one, it would seem.”
Wait a fucking second.
“Is this a set-up?” Steve voiced aloud.
“By Jove, you’re right, Lucas.” Max droned in a poor English accent, completely ignoring Steve, her voice dripping sarcasm. “All other possible locals have been crossed off, except for this one.” she noted as they pulled to a stop under a red light and she shoved the paper back into Steve’s line of sight, pointing at one line of non-scribbled out writing in particular.
He read the line that contained ‘Steve’s’ before his eyes roved up the list to see ‘Byers’’ and ‘Hopper’s’ crossed out before they finally reached the top of the notebook paper page to see the header that read ‘Possible Party Places’ written atop in Dustin familiar, messy scrawl. Overall, it was a pretty useless list, if you asked Steve, considering there were literally only four things written on it, including the title.
“What party?” Steve blanked before a honk from the apparent car waiting impatiently behind them startled him. Once recovered, he waved the other driver off before he rolled the car under the now green light.
“The First Annual Upside Down Defenders Christmas-slash-Holiday Bash!” Dustin ‘clarified’ in a rush of excited, practical gibberish. “Seeing as how we missed out on last year, what with all the government officials hanging around and El being presumably dead and all.”
“Uhh, I didn’t agree to any party...” Steve stated, filtering out all of the unnecessary information Dustin provided him.
“Of course not. This is us asking you.” Max said, gesturing between herself and the other passengers of the car.
“Well, consider yourselves answered; no.” Steve announced bluntly, pausing for all of two seconds, for dramatic effect. “The Harrington Household is vacant this holiday season. Sorry, kiddos.” he apologized in a flat tone as he smoothly turned the car down a corner.
“You’re going away?” Dustin frowned, looking as if he were blindsided by Steve’s reveal.
“No?” Steve answered with a sideways glance, brows furrowed in his own bought of confusion.
“But you just said—”
“My parents are?” Steve said before Dustin and Lucas then erupted into noise, startling Steve into a jerk. Needless to say, Steve was getting pretty damn good at not letting any bouts of jumpiness effect his driving.
“Great!” Lucas cheered. “We won’t even have to worry about getting rid of them, then.”
“Huh?” Steve blanked again.
“They wanna use your house to throw the party, genius.” Max clarified, apparently over Steve’s lack of ability to follow the conversation.
“What? No.” Steve said pointedly. “No. No way. No way am I throwing some kinda nerd party at my place for everybody to crash when my parents are gone.”
“Wasn’t that how you spent like, the majority of your high school career?” Lucas said, sounding confused.
“Look, I know you’ve never been to one before, Sinclair, but those were high school parties. For my cool friends.” Steve stated, a bit meanly.
“Ouch.” Lucas deadpanned.
Dustin pshaw-ed, “Those were your old, lame friends. Now it’s time to throw a party for all your new, much cooler friends.”
Which was admittedly true. It wasn’t like those friendships lasted long or were very rewarding or meaningful in the first place, but the little shits didn’t need to know that either.
“We deserve some fun and good old holiday cheer, Steve. After all the shit we’ve been through.” Dustin continued.
Amen to that, Steve thought tiredly. All kids deserved to party with friends and not have to worry about parents hanging around, judging them for things they couldn’t understand. Especially these kids, whose problems were transdimensional...
“Maybe.” Steve sighed. “But why the hell’s it gotta be my place? And who the hell is coming to this party? Theoretically.”
Dustin beamed, no doubt sensing that he was swiftly winning Steve over. That was him. Good old Steve Harrington, the push-over.
“Well, the Party, of course - which includes El and Max, just so we’re clear - all the Byers, and Hopper. Oh, and Nancy.” Dustin counted off.
Steve shook his head. “Nuh-uh. No way. No way in hell.”
“Why not?! It’s perfect!” Dustin exclaimed, with all his usual self-assured pluck.
Steve scoffed. “Yeah. Maybe for you little shits.”
“You said your parents are out of town. Empty house with no one out of the loop around, check.” Lucas began, counting off on his fingers. “Big house, big enough to fit the whole troop, check.” he continued before he brought his hand down and simply stated, “Also Dustin’s been over before and we’re all a little insulted.”
Dustin indigently began, “You don’t have to say it like that—”
“And you’ve cooked for him already.” Lucas continued, heedless of Dustin’s complaints.
Steve pointedly glared at Dustin. “That was our secret.”
Dustin was making it a point to avoid eye contact as he flimsily started, “Well, we never explicitly agreed—”
“You wanna get explicit? I’ll get explicit you little—”
“I just think that it’s high time that the rest of us were extended an invitation, is all.” Lucas cut in, ignoring the two front-seaters’ bickering. He leant back into the cushions and crossed his arms, an all too pleased look on his face, as if he had just performed some kind of ultimate, unbeatable move. A checkmate.
“Yeah, well me making tacos and shit for Henderson is a lot different than making a whole goddamn Christmas feast for you nerds and the Byers and the goddamn Chief of Police and his magic daughter.”
“Tacos?” Lucas parroted with utter disappointment (and a hint of betrayal) over having missed such an occasion.
“Yep.” Dustin popped with a little too much satisfaction over having one-up’d his friend seeping into his voice and evident by his jutted jaw. “With freshly chopped steak and everything. Like he cut up a hunk of steak and then chopped it into itty pieces and seared them up.”
Lucas audibly swallowed before he sighed, “Ah, man…”
Ignoring them both, Max leaned forward and stuck her head over the center console between the two front seats and lolled her head in the driver’s direction. “Don’t be a Scrooge, Steve. It’s a major cliche.”
“I know that you’re new here, kid.” Steve started, as if he were about to begin one of his ‘I’m more experienced than you’ speeches. “But my whole life is a cliche.”
“Well, you’re not very good at sticking to the script, if you ask me.” she shrugged.
“I didn’t.” he said without missing a beat as he turned a corner. “And just because I don’t want a home invasion doesn’t mean I’m a Scrooge.”
“But tis the season for home invasions, Steve.” Lucas practically sing-songed. At the rest of the car’s blank looks, he furthered, “‘Cause of Santa Claus? Duh.”
Steve’s brows furrowed in distaste. “That’s a messed up way of looking at it, Sinclair.”
“Yeah, thanks for forever ruining Santa Claus for everybody, Lucas.” Dustin chimed in.
Lucas clicked his tongue. “You’re just mad ‘cause it’s true.”
“And you’re all idiots.” Max rebutted before she turned her attention back to Steve. “You most of all if you think a party’s a drag. Weren’t you some kind of party king?”
“Yeah, y’know, before her brother dethroned you?” Lucas prodded.
“Strike two, Sinclair. One more and I’m literally kicking you to the curb.” Steve threatened with another pointed glare in the rearview mirror.
Lucas scrunched up his face in confused annoyance. “When was I even given a strike one?”
“It’s not like all the cooking duties are gonna be left to you. Everyone’ll pitch in and bring something.” Dustin continued despite Steve’s various attempts to shut this conversation down.
“Like a potluck.” Lucas furthered.
“Yeah!” Dustin exclaimed.
“And,” Max began, holding a hand up to her chest in her version of a sincere gesture, “we’ll personally help you set things up and lend you a hand in the kitchen.”
“That’s awfully generous, Mayfield…” Steve drolled, sending Max a suspicious look in the mirror. “What’s the catch?”
“The catch is that I got nothing better to do.” she answered plainly.
“I just don’t see why it has to be my house.” Steve groused stubbornly. “I’m sure there are plenty of other places to—”
“You don’t get it, Steve!” Dustin continued to protest, loudly. “This is the only way that Hopper’s gonna let it happen! It can’t be at any of our houses ‘cause of our families and the Byers’ house is too small and the cabin is supposed to be a secret. Your house is gonna be empty.” he pointed out and if Steve hadn’t faced down both a Demagorgon and demadogs (he didn’t care that they were basically the same thing), he would’ve flinched at the slap of that harsh truth.
But as it turns out, Steve didn’t have to as Dustin’s expression quickly sobered as he seemed to realize the implications of what he just said, all on his own. “I...I didn’t mean it like that.” he quickly assured.
With a calm that didn’t betray the sting the words brought to his old wounds, Steve shrugged and said, “I know what you meant.”
He couldn’t blame the kid. It was true, after all. Like every year since before he could remember, Steve’s house would be empty and this year he didn’t have Tommy or Carol or Nancy’s celebration to crash.
So what was so wrong with the idea of throwing a post-We Saved the World (twice) bash at his place instead of shooting back spiked eggnog after eggnog and pathetically singing along to Garland and Crosby till December 25th came to an end?
“We’ll help.” Max repeated in an oddly calm and reassuring voice, breaking Steve from his depressing thoughts. “Mom and Neil have a party and who the hell cares what Billy is doing. I have all day to help you.”
“And this’ll get me out of going to my Great Aunt Edna’s with my mom.” Dustin added. “It’s in Wisconsin, Steve. Wisconsin. Don’t make me go back there.”
“What’s wrong with Wisconsin?” Lucas asked, seeming genuinely confused.
Dustin looked back at him and plainly answered, as if it were entirely too obvious, “Great Aunt Edna is there.”
Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in thought, weighing his options (which there weren’t many of).
Eventually, he gave a heavy sigh. “What day would this hypothetical party be?”
Lucas barely contained his victorious noise, Max hitting him in admonishment, and Dustin beamed a strange smile at him. One that looked...proud, for some reason.
“The 23rd.” Dustin answered him, which Steve noted was only like, less than a week away. “Everything’s all planned out, from who’s bringing what to what time everybody’s coming and everything.”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “That so? You tell everybody that this party was happening at my place before you asked me?”
“I said I had an idea for a fixed location.” Dustin countered, at least looking a bit sheepish.
“Hopper may have also mentioned that the only way he’d let it happen would be if it was at your place.” Lucas shrugged in admittance. “‘Cause of how secluded we’d be or something.”
“I think he only agreed because he was pretty freakin’ sure that you’d say no.” Max stated to Steve in a tone that spoke plain truth. “I wish I could see his face when he finds out it’s actually happening.”
“That makes one of us...” Steve murmured as he slouched a bit in his seat. Great. Now the freakin’ Chief of Police was gonna be pissed off ‘cause of him. Maybe not directly pissed off at him, but because of him. Which was just as bad.
“But imagine how psyched El will be!” Dustin added jovially. “Her first actual Christmas with family! It’ll be the greatest Christmas party of all time!” he proclaimed.
And shit, that’s right. It was that El girl’s first Christmas out of hiding, as far as Steve knew. He doesn’t know much about the kid (he’s only kinda-sorta met her in person once, but holy shit was she a little badass, with a popped jacket collar and dark eye grease, looking like a Joan Jett look-alike). He figured that those kooks at the Lab didn’t treat her the best (which was the understatement of the century) so he’s pretty damn sure that any sorta history of holiday celebrations was off the table.
With a suddenly sparked - or rather, afire interest, Steve began to actually contemplate throwing a Christmas party for their weird little troop in earnest.
“What...What’s everyone bringing exactly?” Steve asked somewhat hesitantly, a bit confused as to why it was so hard to voice in the first place.
Dustin beamed at him again, that strange little satisfied - proud smile he sometimes gave him. “Lots of different things!” he answered enthusiastically.
As they finally pulled up to the front of the Arcade, Dustin began rummaging through his backpack again, this time pulling out a freakin’ Manila folder with the word ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ written across it in red Sharpie. Overdramatic little shit.
Steve pulled into a close by vacant spot, the whole lot basically empty because it was so freaking cold out that nobody in their right mind would think about going outside if they absolutely didn’t have to. Nobody except Steve’s dumb kids, he thought as he put the car into park.
“This is everything you need to know.” Dustin said vaguely, giving the folder a light smack with the back of his hand before handing it over to a scrutinous Steve.
As the gremlins filed out of his car, the Winter chill flooding in, Steve repressed a shudder and opened the folder only to have his eyes drawn to an envelope taped to the inside of it.
However, this envelope had something much more specific written across it in red and green Sharpie.
‘Secret Santa for Steve’
“My freakin’ what—” Steve began before he was interrupted by the sound of the passenger door slamming shut, apparently the only way Dustin knew how to end conversations.
“I knew he’d freak.” Steve heard Max add before the back doors promptly shut and Steve was left alone as the three pre-teens hurriedly made their way out of the cold and into the arcade.
With a scowl, Steve turned his attention back to the folder. The other paper inside it was just a list of things people agreed to bring, from food to games to decorations.
The other thing was of course the damn envelope.
A Secret Santa gift exchange? What were they, a damn Girl Scout troop?
Steve threw the folder on the passenger seat, deciding to just ignore the stupid concept entirely and just focus on getting the house ready and breaking out those Lurkins and Rosso cookbooks his mom bought and then never used, already having a good idea of what he should make for the stupid dinner…
But then again, he thought as he looked back to the folder, he didn’t wanna be the only asshole who didn’t get anyone anything. (Imagine one of those kids’ heartbroken faces when they found out nobody got them anything. That they were forgotten).
With an audible groan, Steve leaned over and roughly grabbed the folder, opening it up and tearing the envelope away from the piece of tape that held it to the folder.
“What bullshit…” he muttered to himself as he ripped the envelope open.
When he read the little slip of paper that was written inside - small enough that it must’ve been put into a hat along with a bunch of others - Steve’s face fell and something that had to be dread or despair settled in the pit of his stomach.
Great. How was he supposed to know what the hell freaking Max Mayfield - stepsister of the reason Steve’s face and ribs still held a twinge of pain anytime he pulled the wrong move - wanted for Christmas?