#just a little snippet this time. nothing super pivotal. just some dudes having miscellaneous feelings.

[laundrybiscuits]

(wait for the season to come back to me tag)

It takes them nearly two hours to get to Dustin’s place. Steve’s never really understood how Dustin can stand living so far out from the city, after growing up in a small town like Hawkins, but Dustin seems pretty happy with his yard and his dogs and everything.

The dogs in question start barking up a storm as they walk up to the door, Eddie trailing behind a few steps. He’s not subtle about how nervous he is, hood pulled up and hands tucked into his pockets. Steve’s sort of worried that he’s going to bolt, just disappear into the wilds of Wilmette, and Steve is never going to see him again.

Steve can hear Dustin getting closer to the door, yelling over the ruckus, “Jeez, settle down! It’s Steve, you know Steve!”

The door swings open, and Steve grabs Eddie’s sleeve to haul him inside before Dustin can get a good look, or react, or anything. Just, it’ll be better not to do this on the front lawn.

“Wow, Steve, rude. This is what you were being so mysterious about, a new girlfriend?”

“Not exactly,” says Eddie.

Dustin whirls around to look at him, really look at him beyond the mass of hair and slim build, and falls completely silent. Eddie lifts a hand in a weak little half-wave.

“It’s Eddie,” says Steve, unnecessarily.

“Steve,” says Dustin. “This isn’t funny.”

“See why I couldn’t say anything over the phone?” Steve huffs. “He’s right here and you don’t even believe it. He was—uh, actually, maybe Eddie should tell this part.” Steve hasn’t let go of Eddie’s sleeve, and he tugs at it. Eddie shuffles a little closer.

“Hey, buddy,” says Eddie. “Sorry about…leaving. Jesus, you got tall. Think you might be taller than Steve, now.”

“I’ve been trying not to take it personally,” says Steve.

“Prove it,” Dustin snaps. “If you’re really Eddie, tell me something only he would know.”

Eddie pushes a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I dunno. Um—oh, after our first Hellfire session together, you stayed behind to tell me I was running the game wrong. You had, like, an itemized list. Nearly kicked you out right then and there, but you said you'll get there in this super condescending way and I actually thought that was funny as hell."

Dustin’s eyes get wide. “What the fuck! Eddie? I mean—Eddie?”

“Yeah, man.” Eddie’s smiling; he looks like he might be tearing up.

Steve decides he probably isn’t needed for this part, and slips into the kitchen. The radio on the counter’s already playing, so he turns it up a little. He putters around, looks at the new backsplash and grabs a beer from the fridge. Dustin always has the weirdest freaking beers. The label on this one says it was made in some kind of European monastery. Steve doesn’t hate it, and he can tell it’s different from a standard-issue Heineken, but he doesn’t really get what Dustin likes about it. He thinks he might be too uncultured to appreciate the monks’ hard work, or something.

Steve’s just about finished the beer, all the way down to its funky sediment, and is trying real hard not to want to turn the radio down and eavesdrop, when he hears a crash from the living room.

He rushes in, heart racing, to see Eddie sprawled on the floor and rubbing his head. The ceiling lamp is swinging wildly.

“Guess what!” says Dustin. “Eddie can totally fly up to at least six feet if he starts from higher ground. We’re gonna try this outside next time and really figure out his upper limits.”

“Jesus, Dustin,” Steve groans, slumping in relief. “Give the guy a break. He’s been having tests run on him for the last decade, you don’t think they’ve figured out everything there is to figure out about…” he waves a hand in Eddie’s direction.

“It’s fine.” Eddie climbs to his feet. “I wasn’t the most cooperative subject for those dudes, so I don’t know how good their tests were.”

The word cooperative settles like monastic sediment in Steve’s gut. He’d been assuming that Eddie’d been at least sort of going along with the whole thing willingly, which in retrospect had been such a stupid thing to assume. He wants to set the whole fucking Hawkins Lab on fire. He wants to take a sledgehammer to every goddamn inch of the concrete that kept Eddie trapped and hurting. He—he takes a breath and unclenches his fists.

“Okay,” he says. “No more flying tests indoors, though. And, and definitely nothing else before we get some damn food in us. We having dinner tonight or what?”