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sp0o0kylights · 11 days ago

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Part one here:: link

"oh i dunno if Im going to finish this" I say, right before the plot ate me. anyway this was too big to post in full to tumblr. If you want the full, completed fic (with bonus Fun Fic Facts tm) it is finished and up on A03 here:: link

TW vomiting, drug use

Eddie is good.

Eddie is kind.

Eddie does not run over Henderson’s bike, laying haphazardly in Harrington’s pristine driveway, even if it would make him feel better.

He does slam his van into park with enough force to make the brakes squeal, which he decides is an excellent way to announce his appearance to the entire neighborhood.

It’s a move he’s pulled countless times. Charging in and making a scene meant people forgot that he couldn’t actually fight for shit, and equally, took their attention off whatever their original target was.

Which in this case, was Eddie’s too fucking nice freshman.

The rage pulsing through him is white hot and all encompassing, and it’ll get him through a lot--but the switchblade he carries ensures everyone’s safety in these little matters.

It makes him brave.

Braver than he should be really, but Eddie spent the entire drive over here chain smoking out the window while prepping for this little confrontation and the more he’d thought it all over, the madder he got.

That a washed up jock thought he could still take advantage of actual children.

Nevermind Hellfire, or Henderson ditching, or Sinclaire’s ranting.

This was about their relationship with Harrington.

A picture has been building in Eddie’s head. One that’s only gotten clearer after today, and one he will be putting an end to, because he doesn’t believe for a second Harrington has a headache.

Henderson might always be the smartest person in the room, but he’s dumb as hell socially. Too honest, too blunt, and frankly, too goodhearted.

That makes him easy to take advantage of.

Sinclair was worse--the guy was too easy to guilt trip.

It was a noted issue with his ranger, and apparently, himself, and Eddie could easily see how Harrington could have twisted the idea of some ridiculous life-debt to keep Lucas in his clutches.

Even Mayfield, Billy Hargrove’s former stepsister, was wrapped up in Harrington enough to have a go at her own friends over him!

She wasn’t even one of his flock, but Eddie was her neighbor. Saw how her mom was barely home. How she was practically raising herself, head down, doing her best not to ever let people see her cry.

Yeah.

Wouldn’t exactly be difficult for a guy like Steve Harrington to swoop in and take advantage there.

Wheeler clearly wasn’t a fan and Eddie can only come up with reason after reason as to why--King Jackass had the poor kid’s entire friend group under some kind of--of sick spell.

Well.

Eddie was here to break it.

Even if it meant storming into the King’s castle by himself and calling him out on his shit.

Nobody fucked with his people. Especially not douchebag, washed up jocks.

He’s up to Harringotn’s ridiculous double doors in a flash, banging hard on the wood with a closed fist, positively fuming and uncaring of who sees.

Surprise, surprise, it’s Henderson who opens it.

“Eddie?” He says, blinking up at him like he’s not sure of what he’s seeing. “What are you--hey!”

Hey, because Eddie’s pushed past him, storming into the house.

“This has gone on long enough.” He announces, loud as he ever has been. “Where the hell’s Harrington?”

Henderson, frustratingly, does not weep or throw his hands up in celebration of Eddie’s incoming rescue.

Which is fine--Eddie hasn’t broken the spell yet.

Unfortunately he is bitching, in that infamously annoying tone of his.

“Dude, shut up, Steve’s pills really only work for like, an hour--”

“Fantastic, he’ll be clear headed for our little talk.” Eddie tells him, head sweeping left and right as he looks for his target. He’s been in Casa de Harrington a few times before to deal, but it was always at night.

He can now say with perfect honesty that the place looks worse in the bright light of the day.

“Was that Eddie?” Sinclair calls, and Eddie orients towards him instantly, storming down the hall.

It doesn’t take long to find the kid.

Lucas is standing in a kitchen larger than Eddie’s entire trailer, a too-large pink apron drowning his frame.

He turns, revealing the front of the thing has ‘Whisk Taker’ written on it in syrupy white font.

(Baking puns. Disgusting.)

“Are you cooking?” Eddie accuses with a sneer, though his disgust isn’t aimed at the freshmen.

This is exactly what he was afraid of finding.

Lucas just stares at him. “Uh--yeah?”

“What did I say about too many people, Munson?” Mayfrield spits angrily. It takes a second to locate her--the kitchen is enormous and far too white--but eventually Eddie realizes she’s perched up on a counter next to the largest sink he’s ever seen.

For a second, Eddie thinks that’s just where she’s chosen to sit. Then she moves, and he realizes she’s washing and drying a series of water bottles.

He never in his life thought he’d witness Maxine Mayfield willingly do someone else's dishes.

“Someone get me Harrington.” He’s not trying for anything dramatic, but his voice must sound dangerous because all three freshmen stop dead, eyes wide as if he's just spoken in tongues.

He zeroes in on Dustin with a glare. “Now.”

Who huffs, throwing his hands up in the air like Eddie’s the one being unreasonable here.

“Absolutely not--we just got Steve to sit down. He’s been following me around the house insisting I’m causing more problems than I’m fixing!”

“Because you are.” Steve says, voice dripping with calm condescension as he appears like a wraith in the doorway. “And I know you’re all into the whole dungeon game, Munson, but this is a little dramatic, even for you.”

Eddie whirls to face him, already vibrating with fury. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who’s treating them like his personal minions. What’s next, Harrington? Gonna make them re-shingle the roof? Paint your house? Wax your car?”

Steve gives him a flat, almost disbelieving stare. “Do you seriously think I had Henderson miss your game just so I could lounge around while he’s doing chores?”

Eddie doesn’t bite, too busy unloading. “Oh we can both see it’s more than that.”

He doesn’t notice the way Steve’s jaw tenses, or how his hand creeps up to the side of his head, rubbing at his temple.

“Anything else you want done, Harrington? Maybe make ��em mow the lawn?” Eddie sneers. “Or teach ‘em to plump your pillows just the way you like—”

Steve finally snaps, pushing himself upright. “You know what Munson, you're right,” he says, voice tight with barely-contained frustration. “I’m clearly a terrible person they need to be rescued from so--”

He cuts himself off with a hiss, eyes squeezing shut as his hand goes to the side of his head, and spits out his next words like they hurt.

“You can play the good guy and take them all home.”

Dustin, with an exasperated sigh, steps between them. “No,” he tells Steve sternly, as if managing an unruly child, before spinning on his heel to say the exact same thing, in the exact same tone--to Eddie.

(Jackass freshman can’t even appreciate when they’re being actively rescued!)

“Eddie, I promise that this isn’t what it looks like.”

For anyone else it would sound like a plea, but Henderosn somehow makes it condescending.

“We can explain, alright?” Dustin says, raising his hands as though coaxing a skittish animal. “Will you let us explain? Please?”

Eddie glowers.

“You clearly do not, in fact, know what this looks like. Because if you did,”

Eddie can make himself menacing and he does so now, pulling on every single year of drama and theatrics and lying to cops he’s had, pushing his shoulders back and making his body tall.

“You would know that it looks like a guy who peaked in high school is forcing a bunch of fourteen year olds to do his bidding.”

He takes an aggressive step towards Steve, boots thunking hard on the floor. “And that isn’t happening on my watch.”

“Aren’t you like an extra super senior?” Mayfield says, arms crossed over her chest.

“Irrelevant!” Eddie swats the air in her direction, as if to physically bat away her words. “I’m still in high school and I’m not emotionally blackmailing a bunch of kids into waiting on me hand and foot while I fake a headache!”

“Oh ew.” Max’s nose scrunches in disgust, a mixture of disbelief and fury warring on her face. “That is not what’s happening here.”

“Were you even listening earlier?!” Lucas says, like he can’t quite believe Eddie is this dumb.

(His character will be the next to die, so Eddie swears.)

“I did.” Eddie points a finger at him, triumphant. “I heard all about how he’s tricked you into thinking you owe him a life-debt!”

“A what?” Harrington’s squinting, like he’s struggling to follow along what is happening. It’s a halfway decent sick act, Eddie will give it to him, but he knows the facade will drop in a moment.

As soon as the asshole loses his temper and decides to try and throw Eddie out, he’ll switch from the Poor Me act into the usual pompous, rich dick on a rampage persona.

“How he’s saved you all, convinced you and Henderson that you’re in debt to him.”

“Could we just---please stop yelling?” Steve says in the background, heel pressing hard against his eyes.

Then winces like his own voice hurts his head.

“What the hell, Eddie?!” Dustin’s cut across the room, stepping in between the two older teens. “Where did this even come from!?”

“Guys.”

“The mouths of babes, Henderson. Which you would know if you witnessed Sinclair’s rant instead of missing out because King Dickhead demanded your presence at his castle!”

“Guys.” Steve’s voice abruptly takes on a weird tone, and it’s only Mayfield’s eyes popping wide that has Eddie realizing something is wrong--right before Harrington shoots past him, noisily hurling in the sink.

“Gross!” Max shrieks, throwing herself off the counter.

Harrington aims a shaky middle finger in her direction.

“I just washed those bottles Steve, I'm not washing them again!” Mayfield rants, but she’s not fooling anyone. Not with the way she’s already edging back towards him, like she’s afraid he might fall over.

(Worse, like she might try to catch him, as if Harrington’s broad, barbarian-like shoulders wouldn’t flatten her instantly.)

“Al-’right.” Harrington slurs a moment later, still panting over the sink. “Everyone--out. Now.”

“Steve--”

“Nope. Making it worse. Out.”

He manages to stand and turn, leaning hard against the counter and for the first time since this all started, Eddie looks at him.

Properly, and not through the lens of righteous fury.

Harrington’s pale.

The shirt he’s wearing is stained with sweat marks, his sweatpants clearly old and worn for comfort rather than style.

His hair…

Eddie has never seen Harrington without his infamously perfect hairdo, and the messy, slick waves plastered to his forehead is more of a shock then him vomiting in the sink.

He’s got his hands pressed hard against his eyes again, and there’s a slight tremble in his fingers that belay he’s likely in a lot more pain than he’s letting on.

In short, Harrington looks like absolute shit, and Eddie, maybe, possibly, the tiniest bit believes he actually has a migraine.

Well, it was that or he was really committed to the bit…

The tense silence that has befallen them all is ruined when Harrington makes a ‘hurk.’ noise.

“I’m going to throw up again.” He decides after a moment of contemplation, before whipping back around to the sink and doing just that.

“Steve’s right.” Mayfield decides suddenly, over all the nasty noises. “We should leave.”

“I’m almost done cooking!” Sinclair protests, as if Harrington isn’t presently throwing up the contents of his stomach.

“You’re almost done burning things, you mean.” Max mutters, but her words can’t hide the blatant concern written all over his face. “I don’t think he’s going to keep anything down.”

“He needs us to finish what we started.” Dustin argues passionately. “You know how bad he gets, he’s not gonna be able to get up in an hour!”

(A clear exaggeration, because Harrington looks like he’s not gonna make it across the kitchen unassisted.)

“What I need is for everyone to stop talking so fucking loud.” Harrington moans, before appearing to give up on life entirely.

He sort of sags against the counter, resting his head against his arms while bent double, as if that would help things.

It was at this point that Eddie had the most unfortunate realization that he might be the asshole here.

Because Harrington looks rough--and if he actually does in fact, have a migraine, then Eddie has done nothing but make it worse.

(Very likely the freshmen have as well, given Dustin is incapable of talking in anything other than a loud yell, and the smell of Lucas’s burnt food has permeated the air.

Mayfield seemed to have accomplished a small amount of actual work, at least.

…If Harrington managed to miss throwing up on the water bottles.)

“Look,” Harrington interrupts with an audible, thick swallow.“You guys did great, and I appreciate the uh, help. I’m fine, I promise, you can all go home. Munson,”

He doesn’t turn, but his voice does change into something that’s half pleading, half demanding.

“Can we please fight about this tomorrow? Or next week?”

“No fighting!” Dustin shrieks, which has the effect of making Harrington cringe into the counter--and that is what finally kicks Eddie over.

Bows to the instincts that now want to wrap up Harrington in a blanket over the ones that want to strangle him, (though both are very much at odds in his head with each other.)

“We can put a pin in it.” He says, all the venom dropping out of his voice, already knowing what’s going to happen next and hating himself for it.

Even at his absolute worst, Eddie has never been able to resist trying to fix a problem he’s been presented with--or turn down someone who needs help.

Harrington, clearly, needs help.

“You heard him.” He tells his freshman, then immediately holds up a hand when all three try to protest at once.

“Ah-ah, inside voices.” He himself uses a harsh whisper, and then has to fight not to laugh aloud when all three abruptly eye him like he’s lost his head.

He probably has.

(Fucking King Steve.

No one who is that much of a douchebag should ever look that pathetic without deserving it, it’s against the Munson doctrine.)

“Henderson, have you done anything actually useful while you’ve been here? Like, say, getting a warm washcloth?”

“I--oh.” Dustin’s on the defense instantly, but for once actually listens before he finishes his sentence. “Uh. No.”

“Go do that then.” Eddie instructs, making sure to keep his voice quiet and even.

“Sinclair, toss out the eggs, then take the garbage out so it’ll stop stinking up the place. Mayfield, see if these windows open. Harrington…”

He pauses, watching as Harrington tries to gather himself, moving slowly and deliberately like even breathing hurts. His entire appearance is grating Eddie’s nerves—not because he doesn’t care, but because he does, and that’s infuriating.

“Go lay down, man.” He finishes lamely.

He expects the freshmen to listen to him. Knows they will, in his heart of hearts, even if they bitch back, because that’s just how things are when he decides to take charge. So few people truly want to, that others are often relieved when he does.

Steve Harrington is not most people.

If he argues, he could very well tip things out of control again, which means Eddie is likely going to have to force the trio of fourteen year olds out of the house.

Henderson and Sinclair he can manage but Mayfield…

Thankfully, Steve pushes off the counter with a groan, muttering something under his breath, but slowly making his way toward the couch without any other protest.

The freshmen exchange glances, all of them looking just as unsure as Eddie feels. Like they’re waiting for instructions now that their default leader is down for the count.

He clears his throat pointedly.

“Hello? Did I not give you marching orders?” He bats his hands at them. “Go march!”

Mayfield mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “hypocrite” but thankfully, does as asked.

“Are you gonna give us a ride home?” Henderson asks as he finally starts moving around--hopefully to get a damn washcloth.

“You got yourself here, you can get yourself home.” Eddie scoffs back, taking stock of Harrington’s kitchen.

He eyes the line of pain pills laid out on the counter, quickly noting not one of them is anything that would help with a sneeze let alone a migraine.

Typical.

“Why not?” Dustin disappeared down a hallway, but the fact Eddie can still hear him plain as day speaks to his ability to keep quiet. “You have your van, don’t you?”

“Because I’m not leaving when you three are leaving.”

It’s an absentminded comment, given his mind is elsewhere.

Weed may be his bread and butter but he does have a handful of more serious things on offer.

Of those things, one or two have some fun little unexpected side effects, and if Eddie recalls Rick’s yapping right, one of said things was stopping headaches.

Said magic little mushrooms might even be in a pocket or two, here, if he remembers right…

“Wait, you're staying here?” Lucas protests, far too loudly.

"Ssszzhh!" Eddie hisses, drawing out the sound dramatically, mostly for the sake of cutting off whatever protests were coming his way.

“No arguing. Your beloved King clearly needs a nap, and that means you’re all off duty. Unless," he adds with a raised eyebrow, "you intend to watch him sleep?"

Dustin looks torn, but mutters a quiet, "No," his eyes shifting sideways like he's weighing the logic.

"Good. Then if you’re all finished…?”

He waits for the nods he knows are coming.

“Excellent. Now leave." Eddie says, pointing towards the door.

They hesitate for a second, but then finally begin to shuffle out, the door clicking quietly behind them.

And just like that, Eddie’s left standing there, watching Steve breathe shallowly on the couch--with a washrag over his eyes.

(At least Dustin managed that.)

He could leave now.

Should leave, really. Giving out drugs for free is not exactly a good business move and Steve will no doubt sleep the headache off without it. But Eddie’s feet don't seem to agree with him, rooted in place as his gaze lingers on the sharp line of Steve's jaw, the slight twitch of his brow every time a muscle aches.

Feels the pull, deep in his gut, to provide the relief he knows he can give.

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s moving, crossing the room toward him.

“Munson?” Harrington squints up at him as he registers his presence, washcloth nudged upwards by shaky fingers. “Why’r you still ‘ere?”

“Because I’m stupid.” Eddie mutters, right before realizing he actually said that outloud.

“What?”

Thank God for Harrington’s headache.

“You look terrible, man.” Eddie says slightly louder. “That hair of yours is so flat I think your crown’s gonna fall right off.”

He’d meant it as a joke--spoke it like one, but it seems to snap Harrington out of his pity party.

The sigh that blasts out of him is a whole body affair, and gets his feelings across better than his words do. “I get it. You thought this was something else and it wasn’t. Not the first time that’s happened.”

He turns, cheek scraping against the fabric of his shirt, red rimmed eyes squinting against the light to look at Eddie.

“You got your laugh in, so you can go.”

There’s defeat in his voice. Like he’s accepted this might as well have happened.

(Like he’s just as beaten down as anyone Eddie has ever saved.)

“I didn’t stick around to laugh.” Eddie keeps his voice soft, and that somehow, makes the next part easier to say.

“I honestly thought you were messing around with Henderson and Sinclair, and I uh, I’m used to being the only person who gives a shit. When that kind of thing happens.”

Harrington grimaces.

“It’s okay.” he mutters, eyes sliding closed once more. “Most people still think I’m an asshole.”

His tone has gone odd again, wrecked and rasping, migraine clearly trumping whatever strong feelings he had on the matter.

And the stupid thing was, Harrington himself was never really an asshole.

Sure he went along with the assholes, and he definitely egged them on if not outright participated in some of the lower tier shitty activities, but he wasn’t the guy slamming people into lockers.

(Eddie, in fact, has a hazy memory of Steve telling off Hagan for doing said locker slamming.)

It didn’t make him a good guy--he’d had slung too many insults around to get that label--but in the rankings of assholery, his was of the average variety.

Which means that Eddie cannot logic himself out of his own stupid desire to help.

Even if he really, really wants to.

“Yeah well, even assholes need assistance sometimes, and since I kicked your help out, it’s on to make up for it.”

“No offense,” Steve slurs tiredly, “but I don’t think you’re any quieter than Dustin.”

A smile ghosts over Eddie’s face.

“I live in a tiny ass trailer, Harrington. Trust me, I know how to be quiet. I simply choose not to be.” He moves, slow and careful, until he’s seated next to the fallen King on his stupidly huge (and very uncomfortable) couch.

Steve’s eye follows him over, staring up as he white knuckles his sweatpants, washrag sitting crooked on his forehead.

“I’m not sure I’m not gonna throw up again.” He admits after a moment.

“And that right there is one of the things I can help with. Provided,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows, “that you don’t mind taking a more recreational route for your recovery?”

“....are you offering me drugs?”

“I am indeed.” Eddie confirms with a real smile, plucking the offending baggie out of a pocket.

“You ever done shrooms, your majesty?”

Steve huffs a quiet noise that might have been a snort, had he put any effort behind it.

“How is that going to help?”

“Be-cauuuuuse,” Eddie draws the words out, still a showman even if he is doing his level best to talk as quietly as possible, “shrooms are what we call a psychedelic, and those are pretty well known among certain circles as the headache healer.”

Provided one took the medicinal amount and not the down-the-rabbit-hole amount.

Harrington’s eyes are back open, only this time they’re looking at Eddie’s fingers the same way a dog looks at a nail trimmer: concerned and not entirely unsure it wasn’t going to bite him.

“I’m not…” He cuts himself off, frowning.

“You’ve bought plenty of my weed, Harrington. Trust me this isn’t any different.” Eddie tells him.

Isn’t offended in the slightest--this reaction is pretty typical for people who have only smoked the ganja.

Even the ones who asked to try for something with a little more ‘umph.’

“S’not that.”Steve admits quietly. “I uh. Had a bad trip. While back.”

“Ah, gunshy.” Eddie says it without a lick of judgment, because Eddie’s been there.

Or rather in the shower, at two am because he accidentally spilled LSD on his hand and promptly tripped balls for 48 hours after.

“I’ll hang around a bit, if you like.” He offers casually. “Make sure things don’t go sideways.”

He gets another huff-snort as Harrington’s watery eyes return their attention to him.

“And what are you going to do if they do go sideways?”

“Put you back together again.”

Eddie knows his grin is crooked, but can’t help it. He’s thinking about Humpty Dumpty and the King’s Men.

Somehow he doesn’t see Steve Harrington cracking that easily—at least, not without putting up a good fight—but drugs did worse things to better people.

“It really helps?” Steve asks, voice quiet. Doubtful.

Eddie presses his hands to his chest. “Scouts honor.”

“You were not a boy scout.” Steve tells him, but he’s struggling to sit up anyway, looking game.

“Alright, so how do I do this?” He asks, though he’s already halfway down again, propped up on his elbows.

“First, you lay back down, and I’ll brew it into tea,” Eddie explains.

“Tea?”

“Well, you could eat them straight, but I don’t think they’d taste too great. Not that I wouldn’t mind watching you try.”

Steve scowls. “Sadist.”

“Guilty,” Eddie replies, biting back the urge to sing-song it, keeping his voice down and steady. “Just a heads-up: they kick in fast, but I’ll go light on you—nothing like the ‘fun’ dose for the usual crowd.”

Which is how he ends up back in the kitchen, this time making tea and humming to himself, before offering the final brewed concoction to Harrington.

Who downs it like a shot, because he’s a fucking frat-bro at heart.

“I didn’t find a teacup for you to do that.”

Between a full-body shudder and a dramatic grimace, Steve chokes out “Not gonna lie I didn’t think we owned a teacup.”

“What, do you think I just have them in my van?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

Which is kind of hysterical, and something Eddie may be doing--not that he’s telling Harrington that.

“And now we wait!” He announces instead of rambling about teacups, nearly clapping his hands together before he remembers the migraine Steve is soldiering through with surprising grit.

Eddie himself would have turned into a whiny mess, so he can’t help but admire the guy’s restraint.

“Waiting to see if I hurl again, you mean?” Steve mutters, flopping backward onto the couch. “That tasted like battery acid.”

“Think it’s coming back up?”

“No clue.”

They sit in silence for a second, then Eddie pokes, “Maybe it’s best if you crash in your room, man. You look like death warmed over, and this couch sucks.”

An understatement, if there ever was one. The fucking thing didn’t seem to be made for people to actually sit on.

Reluctantly, Steve pulls himself up, heading toward his room. Eddie tags along, snarky grin covering the way he holds his hands out in case the jock ahead of him slips on the stairs and takes them both out.

(Unlike Mayfield, Eddie does not pretend Steve doesn’t outclass him weight wise. The man was built like a brickhouse, and he has to fight to keep his eyes up toward Steve’s hair instead of on his ass.)

Thankfully, he’s saved from all R-rated thoughts by the sheer horror of Harrington’s bedroom.

“Harrington, I’ve found the source of all your migraines.” Eddie tells him, tone as serious as he’s ever been.

“Ha-ha.” Steve deadpans, stepping into his plaid fucking room.

“I’m not kidding, I’m getting a headache and I’ve been here less than five seconds.”

The whole place truly is a nightmare--like someone took one of those plaid hunting jackets and themed an entire room around it.

Fucking rich people.

“Trust me, it’s not the wallpaper.”

“Given how you’re weaving on your feet, I think it’s safe to say I don’t trust you at all.” Eddie tells him, half helping half dragging Steve towards the bed.

It’s a comfy looking thing and Harrington falls into it gratefully, immediately crawling under the covers.

“You know where to find me?” Eddie asks him, refusing to think Harrington snuggling up in his bed is something cute.

“Yeah?”

“Good. Hit me up next time your head gets bad. I’ll make sure to keep some of this,” He shakes the little baggie, “on hand.”

Steve’s pulled the covers all the way up past his chin, but he moves it down a little to properly cock an eye at Eddie.

“Dare I ask what you're gonna charge for that?”

“Let’s call it a fair trade for all those times you’ve driven the freshman home from Hellfire.”

If Steve even recalls this conversation, that is. Eddie hadn’t exactly given him the “fun” kind of dose, but then, he himself has never tested out what dose is needed to cure headaches rather than simply having fun destroying one's own ego.

He supposes that’s something he and Harrington both will have to test, between them--because Eddie meant it when he offered the drugs for free.

No one deserves to suffer from the kind of migraine Harrington clearly had.

“Think you’re good to drop off.” Eddie tells him, after making sure Steve is happily content in his bed.

Checks his watch to make sure enough time has passed to safely call it, before beginning to attempt his way out of Steve’s god-awful bedroom.

Which of course, is when Harrington reaches out, looping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist.

It freezes him in place.

In a moment that is so utterly selfish and stupid that Eddie will loudly insist it was a hallucination should Harrington ever dare ask about it, he turns his palm and moves so that he’s clasping Steve’s fingers with his own.

“Thanks. For all this.” Steve whispers, as they hold hands for a moment.

Eddie squeezes his fingers against the younger man’s before he moves to make his retreat, flashing a peace sign over his shoulder as he goes.

“Anytime, big boy.”

Anytime.

xxx

The thing no one tells you about creating a doctrine, is that at some point or another, someone’s going to hold you to it.

In Eddie’s case it’s four very pissed off teenagers.

He has a gold medal in mental gymnastics and a silver in denial. Left on his own devices he could easily excuse everything that happened yesterday.

Reclassify the fallen King as pathetic, and the kids' weird loyalty to him as a holdover from his babysitting days.

Blame their nosy-ness on them being involved in Harrington’s life, and happily go back to mocking their relationship with renewed vigor because now he’s not going to handwave their behavior as being afraid of Harrington.

Nope, they clearly and willingly, have attached themselves to the King, which means Eddie gets to make fun of them for life.

Pity they don’t leave Eddie to his own devices.

In fact, the little shits hit him up first thing in the morning, early enough that he's’ a little suspicious that the boys slept over at Max’s trailer.

“We’re not done talking about Steve.” Mayfield tells him and given the determined (Henderson) angry (Sinclair) and put out (Wheeler Jr.) faces glaring at him from over her shoulder, Eddie figures his chances for getting out of this conversation are slim to none.

“Good morning to you too.” He snarks, voice gravel-deep with sleep. “What do you little shits want?”

“I literally just said.” Max rolls her eyes so hard he thinks about commenting that they may stick back there, only to decide that makes him sound too much like a teacher for his liking.

(Besides if they get stuck, he’ll have an excuse to whack her on the back of her head without getting murdered for it.

…well.

An attempt at an excuse, anyway.)

“And who says I have anything I want to talk about?” He fires back, leaning a shoulder against the old metal doorframe.

Just because he understood what they wanted didn’t mean he was going to make it easy.

“Would you just let us in?”

“No.”

“Eddie.” Dustin whines, and Eddie redirects his frown his way. “Come on.”

“Well I suppose if you say it that way,” Eddie hums thoughtfully. “No.”

“Steve’s sick, you asswipe.” Max snaps angrily.

“I know,” He volleys back, brightly sarcastic. “I saw him yesterday.”

Because it’s Mayfield, she matches him tit for tat, a mimicry of his sarcastic drawl entering her voice. “Good! You get to see him today too.”

And just like that their little ambush makes sense.

(He’s got to find a new way to get the damn kids to fear him, clearly his usual menacingness just isn’t cutting it anymore.)

“And why would I do that?”

He’s done his good deed. He helped Harrington out, and even offered free drugs to help him get his migraines under control.

Checking up on the guy was overkill.

“We were gonna do it, but someone let it slip that Steve was sick.” A cutting glance is given to Henderson, who makes a face but otherwise holds his ground.

“And his mom called everyone else's parents with instructions that we leave him alone until he feels better.”

“So now if we go over there,” Sinclair finishes for his girlfriend, “we get grounded.”

Which neatly answers every question that just popped into Eddie’s head.

The threat makes sense for the boys--Eddie’s met Claudia Henderson and though she has that bubbly, easy to confuse nature of suburbanites everywhere, there was an undercurrent in her eyes of someone who knew more than she was letting on.

Or perhaps, someone who simply knew what they wanted, and was happy to settle and wait for it.

Likewise the Sinclair and Wheeler parental units seem to want to keep in her--and Steve’s, no doubt, given he carts their kids around--good graces.

Given Mayfield’s mom wasn’t even home last night, her participation in this farce does not make sense and Eddie narrows his eyes at her in warning.

“I fail to see how this is my problem.” He says instead of directly calling her out.

She knows he knows, and he’s smart enough to figure out how to relay that without saying it directly.

(An action taken out of respect for surviving a bad home life, and absolutely not because he’s terrified she’ll crawl through his window to enact revenge in the middle of the night.)

“It’s your problem because you owe him one.” she tells him firmly. “And us.”

Oh no he does not.

“How so?” He challenges with a snorted laugh.

“You did kind of storm into his house and yell a lot.” Sinclair points out. He’s doing better at speaking up, Eddie realizes with a twisted sense of pride and dread.

Not quite so easy to steamroll after his outburst yesterday.

A part of him hopes that sticks around--Sinclair needs a spine, and not just because Mayfield will keep running circles around him until he grows one.

The rest of Eddie is pissed off that he decided to get one now, when it directly impacted Eddie’s Saturday morning sleeping plans.

Leave it to these dickheads to use a good deed against him.

“Look--we can’t make sure he’s okay. You can.” Mayfield steps up to jam a painted fingernail in Eddie’s chest. “He won’t let us do anything that will actually help him. You, he can't stop.”

He does not take a step backward and thus lose all the cool points he has left in the eyes of the younger Hellfire members, but only because he’s already leaned up against the doorframe.

He bares his teeth at her in a silent snarl instead.

“We made it worse.” She admits, voice sharp. “And I don’t know how to make it better, but you seem to be able to, so congrats Munson--you get to go again!”

Which gets Eddie’s back right up.

He pushes off the doorframe, ready to tell Mayfield--and all his little dipshits--right off, except this is when Wheeler Jr., of all people, decides to add in his two cents.

“If you don’t go, no one else will.” He looks off to the side while he says it, arms crossed tight across his chest and spitting the words out like he's admitting to a crime. “Robin’s not coming back until Monday and Nancy's got some stupid thing, so you’re literally the only person who can go.”

Well just stab him in the heart, why don’t you.

“What are the chances of you fucking back off to whatever hole you crawled out of if I refuse?” He asks, already knowing that he’s done for.

Accepted his fate, because he knows what it’s like not to have someone to rely on, when you need them the most.

“Zero.” Sinclair and Henderson chant as one.

“Well then.” He tells them with the biggest, most put upon sigh he can manage. “Guess you got me in a box here.”

Mayfield grins at him.

It reminds him vaguely of a shark.

A bloodthirsty, slightly demonic, mean shark.

“Good. Go get dressed.”

“Oh I’m doing this right now, am I?” He complains, but he’s already moving to go back into his trailer.

“We’re not leaving until you do!” Mayfield yells at him.

Eddie slams the door in her face.

(He’s never adopting freshmen again, as long as he fucking lives.)

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afewproblems · 1 year ago

Text

Season Two Halloween AU Part Five

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

Huge huge HUGE shout-out to Jess @strangersteddierthings for being my sounding board and letting me send such long messages full of spoilers!! I can't thank you enough!

***

“Dustin, what the hell are you doing here?” Steve says as he hurries towards the kid, he looks around as though expecting another person to follow behind him.

“I can’t find Nancy or Jonathan, you’re the only other one who knows about--”

The kid, Dustin, tilts himself to look past Steve at Eddie with suspicious eyes, “you know”.

Steve freezes, his shoulders a rigid line of tension as Dustin steps around him to head for the screen door.

Eddie had to give it to the kid, he certainly had guts just waltzing in here like this.

“You still have your bat?”

Steve looks from Dustin to Eddie and lowers his voice to mutter something that has Dustin shaking his head rapidly.

"The one with nails, Steve".

"Your what?" Eddie blurts out, forcing the other two to turn towards him. Dustin full on glares. His eyes narrow in irritation while Steve's face pales before smoothing out in that same guarded expression from earlier.

Dustin steps closer to Eddie and crosses his arms over his chest, "who are you?"

"Dustin--"

"That was a rule," Dustin cuts across Steve, smacking the back of one hand into the palm of the other, "no one else gets to know, and I can't tell Max, so you can't just tell him--"

Steve jerks his head as if slapped, a flush building on his cheeks and ears, "I haven't--Eddie's not, I don't--"

Dustin waves his hand dismissively and turns towards Eddie once again.

"Look, it's cool that Steve is expanding his social circle but you should leave".

The attitude on this kid.

Eddie holds out a hand at Dustin and laughs but it tumbles out with a tinge of hysteria, "I'm sorry, I'm still stuck on the whole Nail Bat thing?"

Steve groans, his head swings back and forth from Eddie to Dustin as though he's not sure who to answer first.

He sighs and runs one hand over his face, roughly from the slight wince he makes as he brushes the black eye, "look," Steve barks out, "he's a friend".

Something in Eddie's chest warms at the words despite the incredulous scoff that threatens to tumble out. Steve Harrington, friends with Eddie Munson?

Dustin snorts, "you don't have friends? I only ever see you with Nancy and Jonathan".

Steve flinches slightly at the words, but Dustin carries on talking, brushing past Steve to the house.

"We don't have time for this, I've been looking for you guys all day and now it's dark and there are lives at stake--"

"Je-sus, okay, okay," Steve takes three long strides to catch up to Dustin and steps in front of him, he reaches out for the kids shoulder but seems to think better of it and instead runs the hand through his hair.

"You said lives are at stake?"

It's like a switch is flipped in the kid, he whirls around on Steve, a stream of near gibberish falling out of his mouth at a mile a minute, Eddie can hardly follow it.

"And now he's this big," Dustin hisses, throwing his hands nearly two feet apart from one another.

Steve holds up his hands, "okay, Christ, how do you know it's not just a lizard, Dustin?"

"Because its face opened up and ate my cat, Steve".

Steve looks up at Eddie, meeting his gaze with a nervous laugh, "listen, Dustin, uh, he watches too many B-Monster movies, I'm just gonna take him back to his house".

Now Eddie wouldn't say he's necessarily a, 'go-with-the-flow' kind of guy, but he can roll with the punches --any Dungeon Master worth their salt needed to be able to think on their feet when the time came.

Which is probably why he opens his big fucking mouth.

"I mean, life and death situations with cat-eating Kobolds sounds exactly like my kind of night fellas".

Steve frowns and tilts his head, staring at Eddie while Dustin perks up, his eyes widen in surprise.

"Kobolds? You play D&D?" Dustin says skeptically, pushing past Steve to make his way up to Eddie now.

Eddie laughs at the question, "kid, I run the D&D club at Hawkins High".

Suddenly it's like there's a different kid standing in front of him, his face lights up in wonder and he opens his mouth to continue when Steve makes a sputtering noise behind him.

"Henderson," Steve bites out, hands on his hips, "I swear to God, if you interrupted us for some Halloween prank, you're dead".

He stands there for a moment scowling at the pair of them before turning on his heel and walking towards the house.

"It's not a prank," Dustin huffs defensively, his arms cross over his chest and his face scrunches into a frown.

He looks up at Eddie briefly, all good will from the D&D revelation earlier now forgotten as Dustin follows Steve's path towards the door.

Eddie sighs, he could just leave at this point. Either this is the most elaborate way someone has ended a smoke session with him, or the weirdest role playing game Eddie has ever found himself in the middle of.

But something about the fear in Dustin's voice has Eddie lingering beside the abandoned loungers. He bends down to pick up the forgotten joints and puts them back in his lunchbox before putting the lunchbox back in the backpack. No sense in letting some perfectly good jays go to waste.

The screen door slides open again revealing Steve, who blinks in surprise, "you stayed?"

Eddie shrugs, "I said I would, didn't I?"

Steve nods, and ducks his face, but he can't quite hide the smile that blooms, his eyes crinkle at the corners for the briefest moment before it falls.

"Listen, I know that it sounds like a load of shit--"

"Understatement," Eddie cuts in with a shake of his head.

"Yeah, but you need to know, if you come with us, you're in it. I'm not joking, this is your chance to just walk away".

It's almost as if Steve is pleading with him, and it's then that Eddie notices what Steve has gripped between his hands.

A fucking baseball ball bat, studded with nails that have been haphazardly hammered into the end of it.

Eddie looks from the bat, to Steve's face as Dustin steps out of the house now with two walkie talkies in his hand. He reaches for Steve's backpack and unzips it to place them inside before zipping it up again. There's a grim determination on both of their faces that Eddie has never seen on another person in real life and suddenly he's speaking without thinking again.

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

***

Eddie swipes a shaking hand through his sweat matted hair as he watches Steve and the rest of the party move about the Byers living room.

As though mere hours ago they didn’t just fend off a group of flower faced creatures hellbent on entering their fortified school bus to tear them apart.

It was crazy.

It was absolutely batshit that all this time there were creatures from another dimension running around their sleepy little backwoods town.

Eddie shudders at the memory of the sounds they made, the horrible grating wails like metal on metal, echoes in his mind.

And now…a person was dead. Mr. Newby.

Eddie had met him once while buying a used amp at the Radio Shack just a few months ago. He was nice, asked about the band and what instrument Eddie played. He had even offered to help Eddie get the amp out to his van.

And now, he was dead.

Mr. Newby would never take Joyce out for another date, he would never walk into his job and help take inventory, he would never offer a helping hand or piece of advice ever again.

Eddie can't help but think about how close they had all come to ending up like Bob, how one of these things had almost crawled into the bus.

What if they hadn't been called away? Bob had a gun and that hadn't been enough to stop the pack of creatures from…

Eddie looks to Steve.

Steve who hasn't stopped pacing the Byers living room since Hopper herded all of them into the house.

He takes five steps to the window at the front of the room, and five steps back to the door of the kitchen, again and again.

And suddenly, things make so much more sense.

The strange haunted expression on Steve's face Eddie would see between classes whenever he thought no one was looking.

The way the three of them, Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve never let the kids go anywhere without a ride.

The way Steve had looked at his empty pool yesterday.

Things happen in the dark, in the woods.

On the fifth pass, Eddie reaches out to Steve and catches the hand closest to him.

Whatever trance Steve was in dissipates, leaving him to blink once and look down at Eddie's hand before slowly curling his fingers more firmly around Eddie's and squeezing gently.

"How're you holding up?" Steve asks quietly as he drops Eddie's hand to pull a dining chair up to where Eddie is seated on a beaten up recliner.

Eddie scoffs at the question and shrugs, "when I figure that out, you'll be the first to know".

Steve nods, a small half smile climbs up his face.

It drops as he looks across the room at Will.

Jonathan kneels beside the couch, talking quietly to his brother, who stares blankly at the ceiling while Nancy watches on beside them.

Eddie's eyes follow Nancy's hands, the way she hesitates to touch Jonathan before eventually giving in and draping her hands over his shoulders.

He looks back at Steve who also seems to be watching Nancy. He breathes out a long sigh and shakes his head, before turning back to Eddie.

"If it makes you feel better, you're taking it better than I did the first time".

Eddie raises one skeptical eyebrow and smirks, "I highly doubt that--"

"I ran away," Steve cuts across him with wide eyes, "I almost left Nance and Jon with a monster, one of those things that took Will," he holds Eddie's gaze for another beat before dropping it to the floor.

"So, don't sell yourself short".

Eddie opens his mouth to tell Steve he should take his own advice but Hopper suddenly makes his presence known once more as he closes the door to Joyce's room behind him and walks back into the living room.

"Okay, we may not have backup on route for a few more hours--"

"If they're even coming," Mike scoffs from the corner, "who says they believed you anyway?"

"Listen, until we are told otherwise, we need to sit tight," Hopper barks, sending a glare Mike's way.

Hopper deflates slightly, as though realizing who he's talking to, and takes a deep steddying breath which he releases slowly through his nose, “we can't just charge in without backup--"

"If we sit here on our asses those things will eventually make it to town, you saw the tunnels Hop," Dustin bites out this time, shooting his own fierce glare at the chief as he stands beside Mike.

"They'll tear everything apart," Max says softly from the floor. She's settled against the back wall of the living room against the collage of drawings that Will had completed in his frenzied state, Lucas sits closer and takes her hand in his own.

"Oh no," Steve mutters under his breath, he spares Eddie a glance before standing up from the chair, "no, no, we can't fight these things by ourselves, we're outmatched here Henderson".

"Not if we know how they work," Mike insists. He walks towards where Max and Lucas are sitting, nearly stepping on the pair of them in his haste.

"Jesus Mike," Lucas hisses under his breath while Max settles for stomping her foot against Mike's own. He jumps at the sudden pain and the three of them dissolve into vicious bickering and name calling until Steve and Nancy pull the kids away from each other.

"Okay, just, keep going Mike," Nancy tells him, once everyone has settled down once more. She gestures to the drawings taped up around the room.

"As I was trying to say," Mike sneers at Max who scoffs and crosses her arms, "what if it's all connected, the tunnels, the dogs, Will?"

No one speaks, the words seem to hang in the air as all eyes move to the couch where Will lays wrapped in blankets and staring unseeing at the ceiling.

Mike continues, "this all started after that day in the field--"

"And if he was infected," Dustin interrupts with a gasp as Mike nods rapidly, pointing at him and then the drawings again.

"It's like a virus, connecting him to this, this--"

"Hivemind," Lucas supplies, his voice hollow as he stands up to join the rest of the kids, "like what Mr. Clarke told us".

"Okay, okay, slow down God Dammit," Hopper huffs as he lifts his hand to pinch his fingers into his eyes.

"Hivemind?" Steve says slowly, as though rolling the word around on his tongue, "like bees?"

Dustin blinks once, his face morphing in surprise, "kind of, it's like a superorganism made up of several others all working together, one collective consciousness".

"A Mindflayer," Eddie whispers, just loud enough for the kids to turn their heads towards him.

He's been quiet for so long, sitting on the sidelines of this group that had clearly worked together in a crisis before. It was almost like listening to Jeff, Gareth, and Grant in a Hellfire session, watching them work out a trap in real time before executing their plan.

It would be endearing if there weren't actual monsters running about.

"Holy shit," Mike breathes out while Dustin darts off towards the bookshelf in the corner.

He flips up some of the drawings until he finds what he's looking for and loudly crows, "yes!"

Dustin marches back to the kitchen table and slams the book down on the surface before flipping several pages. He slaps the back of his hand on the page in triumph as he sends Eddie a confident grin.

"This isn't a game kid," Hopper sighs but steps closer to look at the book nonetheless.

"But it's the closest metaphor we have," Dustin argues back.

"Analogy," Lucas says as he steps towards the table, a shit eating grin pulls at his mouth as he catches Dustin's eye.

"Fine, analogy, whatever!" Dustin mutters, a red flush climbs up his neck until it settles on his ears, he slaps his hand on the books again, "can I get on with it or do you have more vocab for me?"

"Dustin," Nancy sighs, reaching out for his shoulder with one hand, she gives it a slight shake, "what would this even tell us?"

"Well," Dustin turns to Nancy now and points at a section below a horrifying drawing of a humanoid man with a squid for a head. Four tentacles point in all directions while its hands wield a terrifying glowing orb.

It's not something that Eddie has thrown at his players in years now that he's managed to figure out how to balance his encounters properly.

Because Mindflayers…were horrific.

"They're basically from another dimension, and they travel to different worlds to conquer other species that they see as inferior to themselves".

"Conquer," Steve breathes out beside Eddie who can't help but shuffle closer to brush his shoulder against Steve's own.

Steve gives Eddie a brief smile before looking back to where Dustin and Hopper are arguing once again.

Eddie lets his gaze drift only to find Nancy staring at him curiously, her sharp blue eyes flit from Steve and back to himself, the weight of her gaze makes Eddie want to pull away from Steve but he holds his ground and stares right back.

Nancy offers him a tentative smile, which does nothing to ease the sudden tension in Eddie's chest, feeling as though he's been caught.

He could easily explain this away, despite the rumors running rampant at school about Eddie, there is no way anyone would believe the same would be true of Steve Harrington.

Eddie ignores the unhappy weight that settles in his stomach at the thought, he let himself get way too close, way too quickly.

Besides, there wasn’t a chance in hell that Steve was, that he could be…

Eddie shakes himself and moves away, lamenting the loss of Steve’s warm shoulder as he lets Hopper's voice pull him back to the matter at hand.

"Okay then," Hopper nods, looking around the room.

"How do we kill it?"

***

They have a plan.

Or at least, half of them do.

Going based off a thirteen year olds hypothesis that their friend is basically a spy for a creature from another dimension -which in hindsight is definitely not the craziest thing they’ve experienced today.

Is it something that Eddie would have never come up with in his wildest dreams? Undoubtedly.

But that was before a girl with literal mind-powers showed up and tossed a dead demodog through the Byers window.

Jesus Christ.

So, with El and Hopper on their way to the lab, the rest of the party busies themselves by packing the Byers Station Wagon for the drive to Hopper's cabin.

They have to flush this thing possessing Will out of him before it's too late and the cabin is far enough out of town that whatever happens hopefully won’t affect anyone else.

Eddie tries not to think too deeply about what that might mean.

He manages to find another portable heater in the Byers basement and hauls it into his arms before turning around to walk back up the stairs.

When Eddie reaches the landing his heart stops for just a moment when he realizes he can't see the kids. He takes another step into the kitchen and breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees the four of them huddled around the kitchen table with the still open Monster Manual.

Eddie pauses for just a moment when he spots a Hawkins County map beside the book.

It's covered in red marker.

An intricate design of lines ending with two circles…both around areas outside of the city center.

Eddie shakes his head and keeps moving, much to the visible relief of the kids as he makes his way to the back door.

One problem at a time.

He knows that Steve is around here somewhere, he was helping Jonathan carry Will to the car while Joyce and Nancy gathered as much rope from the shed as they could carry.

God, it's so dark now.

Eddie understands what Steve meant before, the way the trees rustle in the wind and the moonlight catches on animal eyes that shine in the dark. It's enough to put him on edge as he makes his way around the Byers property.

Every snap of a branch was a demodog prowling in the brush, every distant howl was a monster coming to drag him into the Underdark.

He shivers and keeps moving, fighting the urge to look over his shoulder every few steps.

Eddie finally makes his way to the shed, peering inside only to startle as Nancy's voice floats through the cool November air.

"Thank you, for staying with the kids," she says quietly.

Eddie freezes where he stands with the heater in hand. He knows he shouldn't be here for whatever this is, listening in on yet another private conversation between Nancy and Steve but his feet remain planted in the earth.

"Yeah well, I might be a shitty boyfriend, but it turns out I'm a pretty damn good babysitter," Steve hums so casually that Eddie wonders if it's really him speaking. They’re on the other side of the Byers shed, Eddie can almost make out their shapes between the uneven slates of the wood.

"Steve--"

"It's okay, really," Steve takes a deep breath, "you should go with Jonathan".

"Steve," Nancy's voice is wet this time as she speaks but Steve hushes her with a sigh.

"It's okay Nance,” he pauses for a beat, “all I want is for you to be happy, and I don’t think you’ve been happy for a long time”.

“What about you,” Nancy whispers, so softly that Eddie almost misses it this time.

Eddie hears the sounds of footsteps and the rustle of fabric, a muffled sniffle and several whispered words that he can't make out from this distance.

The whispering goes on for another minute or two before they fall silent, only the sound of cicadas and frogs echo in the midnight air around them.

Eddie takes this as his cue to begin to loudly walk over, purposefully grinding his steps into the gravel and walking more heavily than he normally would.

He comes around the corner of the shed to find Steve holding Nancy, his head on top of her own as she presses her face into his chest.

Eddie clears his throat and watches as Nancy steps away from Steve. He lets her go, both of their movements lighter than they have been in days.

"If you guys checked the shed, Joyce said it's now or never".

Nancy nods and walks over to take the heater from Eddie, giving him a warm smile as her gentle hands brush his own, and huh --he kinda gets it now. How Steve could have fallen head over heels for this secret badass girl, Nancy Wheeler.

"Thank you," Nancy smiles and Eddie sputters, running his now free hands through his hair.

"For what, I didn't--"

She raises a single eyebrow, and looks from Steve, before bringing her gaze back to Eddie.

"For being there, for all of them".

With that, Nancy walks back towards the house leaving Eddie to feel as though he missed a lot more of that conversation than he should have.

***

They finish refortifying the Byers house, boarding up the broken window that El had tossed the dead demodog through. Eddie adds one last nail and hammers it in before stepping back to admire their handiwork.

Steve lowers his hand from where he held the board in place and shoots Eddie a grin before he collects the box of nails from the floor and turns to put it on the coffee table.

"Steve?" Eddie says quietly. He doesn’t need to really, the kids aren't paying attention to the pair of them, but this is just for Steve. Eddie doesn't need four pairs of eyes staring at him as he tries to say this.

"I just, I'm sorry about Nancy".

Steve tilts his head in confusion, but Eddie keeps going.

"If we do make it out of this, I don't want you to think you were a 'shitty' anything".

Eddie winces as Steve's eyes narrow slightly.

"I'm guessing you were standing by the shed a lot longer than we thought," Steve says slowly as he looks back at the kids and takes another step even closer.

Eddie winces at being caught and nods, “I was looking for you originally to see if you guys needed any more help, and then I heard voices and just,” he shrugs, “I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay or not, after that”.

“And for what is worth, you definitely have changed,” Eddie offers with a sly grin, “I don’t think anyone would have expected Steve-the Hair-Harrington to use Faberge, let alone let us plebs in on his secret”.

Steve’s mouth opens and closes before breaking into a wide grin, a startled laugh falling from his mouth, growing in volume until Eddie can’t help but join him.

Steve raises his hands to run over his face and into his hair as he looks at Eddie, the grin on his face softens slightly the longer he looks.

Suddenly, his eyes harden and the look of determination from yesterday takes over. Steve squares his shoulders and breathes out a strangely broken sigh before he reaches out for Eddie's hands. He takes the hammer from him and sets it down on the coffee table beside them.

"My Nonna told me once," Steve whispers, using his hand to point into the middle distance, "Steven, people will come in and out of your life all the time, and the ones that are meant to be there will stay, and if they go, then it wasn't meant to be".

Steve breathes out a sudden nervous laugh, "she was so straightforward and I loved that about her".

Eddie doesn’t dare to breathe as Steve shakes his head.

"And you, you stayed," Steve continues softly, "and I just…"

Eddie's own breathing picks up as Steve leans closer, enough that Eddie can count the freckles on the bridge of his nose.

"Fuck what Dustin said, I think I need more people in my life like that".

Eddie's eyes widen slightly as the words begin to register. No, no way, this can’t be happening.

He lets out a strangled laugh and leans away from Steve’s space, “more friends in your life right?”

It all happens so quickly after that.

Steve freezes where he stands. His face moves through several expressions, some so brief that Eddie can’t quite tell what is going on before it smoothes out once again into something blank; Steve lifts his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before dropping it to his side and nodding.

“Yes, right, friends, duh,” Steve laughs but it's not at all like the bright wild one he let out just a few seconds ago.

This one was dull, hollow.

Eddie opens his mouth to say something, anything to wipe away the horrible emptiness in Steve's eyes but Dustin suddenly pushes past Eddie to grab the sleeve of Steve’s jacket.

"Steve!" Dustin says frantically, "Steve, we have a problem!"

The sound of a car door slamming outside catches their attention and a sinking feeling begins to form in the pit of Eddie's stomach. There's no way Hopper and El would be back from the lab yet, and Jonathan said they would radio if there were any changes.

So who the hell was outside?

Part Six

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