Chapter Text
With the sound of the spray of water from the sink faucet filling up his ears, Eddie can finally stop hearing the words on repeat in his mind as he rinses his mouth out again just to delay returning to his living room.
It's embarrassing enough his response to a song was to express return the lunch his Uncle Wayne just brought over, but having to face Wayne after is going to be its own special hell. A turn of the tap returns the small bathroom to silence once more, and he can't look away from himself.
It's the same face looking back as it has been the last eight years. His eyes are more tired than he'd care to admit, sunken and dark and red (but he's ignoring that part right now). The scars on his cheek and neck aren't as angry, barely itch, they don't even catch his eye much anymore. His hair has finally reached his shoulders again, long enough to hide behind once more after having enough of it bitten off he'd had to crop it.
—
When Wayne had shown up for their weekly Sunday lunch date, it had started fairly normal. Stealing greasy fries from each other while commenting on the radio and debriefing about their week. Not much goes on in their lives here in Chelsea, but it's enough to get them by and make small talk about. New York seemed like the best city to escape to, big enough no one would know or care about some previously convicted but eventually cleared criminal from the small town Midwest who might or might not also be gay.
After they ate, Wayne picked up the Sunday crossword and Eddie began working on lyrics, which turned into him tinkering on character sheets, which lead to him doodling little characters in the margins of his notebook. He was barely paying attention to the radio anymore until-
"And next up we have a new track from a solo artist who is quite up and coming. Hailing from Indiana, this guy blasted onto the Greenwich folk scene a year ago with his debut EP, Hurt Somebody, and has been hard at work promoting his first album set to release early next month. This is Steve Harrington with 'Eddie's Song.'" The gentle voice from the DJ did nothing to soften the blow of that last sentence. Eddie could feel his uncle's eyes on him the moment the first chord struck. He could feel his stomach drop to his ankles when he finally heard Steve's voice for the first time in eight years.
—
"I hope you know I grew my hair out long-" Eddie snorts as the line floats through his mind, reaching up to tug at the end of his curls.
"Now that I need to see." He can see the dimple of his smile before he realizes what he's said. He spins away from the mirror with a deep inhale, very emphatically and without volume control says "fuck!" and knocks his head against the bathroom door so hard it nearly muffles the snort he can hear from the other room.
Eddie lets himself take two steady breaths before opening the door and facing the music.
Except Wayne's turned the radio to some baseball game, which hilariously just rubs salt in the wound in a way the old man couldn't know about, so no music save for the organ playing the walk up tune. He waits, assessing the situation, not even daring to clear his throat. Wayne doesn't even acknowledge his reentry to the room, just keeps working on his crossword in the armchair as if nothing had even transpired.
So, on edge for multiple reasons, Eddie walks back to his sofa and perches down gently. His blood feels electric. He's having to manually breathe. His fingers find the edge of a tear in his jeans and start the old habit of picking at it. He's realizing his emotional response is swinging through every stage he can think of.
"I didn't think it was that bad of a song." Comes Wayne's dry greeting.
Eddie lets out a giggle without any say on the matter, high and desperate, before burying his face into his hands and muffling a yell. All he can hear after is the snap of the paper hitting the coffee table, and chooses to remain in hiding.
"Now, far be it from me to tell you what to do." His voice sounds closer, as if he's leaned over towards him, and isn't that something. "But I think that kid could do with seeing you."
Eddie splays his fingers so he can glare at his uncle like the twenty eight year old adult he is.
"He could be talking about any one named Eddie." Even he doesn't believe that one, because-
"He mentions that curly haired kid of yours, Edward. Don't play dumb with me." Wayne levels him with an unimpressed stare, and Eddie reacts like he was smacked, falling back against the sofa cushions and slumping down till his knees hit the coffee table and he's staring at the ceiling.
"If I could even find him, what would I even say? 'Sorry for disappearing, I misunderstood how much it would affect you because I was scared of being lynched by evangelicals?'"
"Well, it'd be a start."
—
Do you remember drinking in the parking lot
By the trail head?
I see you for a moment, then the morning comes
And it's wasted
We listen to, "Only The Good Die Young"
And we laugh about its statement
We walk in the same direction, but we both got lost in your angst, and my impatience.
Did you find what you were looking for?
Some escape from your skin
You know that place you were dreaming of
Where all light comes in
I hope you know I grew my hair out long
And Dustin's just fine
I keep burning my bridges down
Just to keep you alive
—
'Hurt Somebody' is cycling through the tinny speakers of his Walkman as Eddie walks down the Christopher Street pier, cigarette burning his lungs. He barely had time to process that he's 95% sure Robin is singing on the first track (he has refused to check the book in the cd case until he finishes the EP), when again he is confronted with Steve Harrington publicly mourning (what Eddie assumes is) his loss.
The tune is too cheerful for the message, but that sort of fits with the Steve he knew. Never one to give in to his own negativity anymore, at least outwardly. That he's even recorded it down like this is progress he only ever could hope for. It becomes easy to pick out the little pieces of the life he left behind in the words: The first song was about him and Robin, 'kindness of my dads eyes' in the second must be about Jim Hopper. The next song, Eddie can't help but wonder that it's about the kids.
He's wondering how much of Hopper colored the musical influence when Cat Stevens is mentioned a track later, and he has to stop and laugh at that. His outburst startles some pigeons, but he is otherwise alone in the early morning, so no one else is there to witness the stray tear that leaks out before being whipped away by the river wind. Wayne of course was a Stevens fan, so Eddie was too.
At a cookout the Hopper-Byers held once, Eddie, Steve, and Jonathan had been doing some friendly arguing over music. Eddie was on some tirade of how artists are all influenced by one another, don't limit yourself to one genre, and was explaining how Cat Stevens would go on to influence the likes of Dolly Parton and Fleetwood Mac, so just because it's not his usual jam, Steve shouldn't knock it till he's tried it. Here, Hopper leaned over from the grill he was manning and interrupted with "Father and Son- Harrington you should take a listen. Maybe don't if your old man is in town, but Munson's right."
Now, Eddie was hardly ever rendered speechless, but here he was, mouth still open from his sentence being cut off. Hopper caught his eye from behind Steve and winked, which made him choke on nothing. Now that Eddie thinks about it, Father and Son was one of those songs Wayne showed him when trying to get him out of his own head about Al. His heart is pounding so loud he almost doesn't hear Steve, who has turned to look at Eddie with an easy, unaware smile.
"Alright, sure. You can show me next time I'm over." And that was that. Only Eddie and probably Hopper are aware of the momentous upheaval of his world at that moment while everyone else moves on to some other topic. He nods, belatedly, with a grin he can't control, before excusing himself for a smoke that blissfully no one follows him for.
When the cd reaches the end and starts playing once more, Eddie turns and makes his way home, eyes scanning the faces of everyone he passes without his consent.
—
Do you remember looking from the fire tower at the sunset?
Jack White, prophetic on my speakers, "We Were Going To Be Friends"
Yeah, I guess I just got busy, only saw you every other weekend
Lord, I just moved to this city, hoping noise drowns out the regret
—
If Eddie thinks too hard about Steve Harrington publishing music before him, he gets a headache. It's fitting, like he isn't even mad about it. A perfect metaphor for what happens if you hide away from the world for too long.
But it's fine. It's fine! He listened to the EP four more times that Monday before work, and even sat at the radio with a blank cassette hoping for the song to be played again (if it hadn't finally shown back up by the time he had to get ready for work he would have bit the bullet and called the request line), so now he has "Eddie's Song" tucked away in the box of tapes sitting next to his stereo.
Now as he steps up onto the street to head towards the bar he helps manage, The Stranger in his Walkman, he debates turning home and calling in sick. He's not, but he wishes he could. Being in his feels about a Billy Joel song doesn't exactly bode for a good shift.
The G Lounge is a small place, fairly new but still one of the more popular queer lounge bars in the area around Chelsea Market. It was busy enough to stay steady during the week, and Eddie started here about three years ago as a bar back but quickly worked up to a supervisor (a role he never thought he would be offered nor enjoy) in the name of job security. He likes the crew here, the regulars are mostly good folks, and it scratches the extroverted itch while still letting him exist in a bit of a safer space than another type of bar might allow.
He keys in through the back entrance while slipping off his headphones, waving to the few staff he sees in the back room while tucking the Walkman in his backpack. Already, the musty and smokey air of the bar is calming his senses, and he takes a deep breath before hanging up his bag and pulling out his apron. By now, Dottie, the head bartender tonight, was making her way up, a little too much pep in her step for something to not be up and his humors were a little too out of whack for anything too crazy right now.
Eddie's tying off at the waist by the time she reaches him, already talking a mile a minute. She's short, with cropped curly black hair, more piercings in her ears than most piercing dummies have, rides a motorcycle, and is scarier than most bouncers he knows. He loves her. Reminds him of Robin.
"So Cameron called in sick, which won't be terrible because it's only Monday, we did get the shipment you were so worried about-"
"There was a storm!"
"So we're all good for tomorrow's tequila Tuesday, like every other Tuesday, that band you mentioned called yesterday and confirmed their slot for next Friday, oh, and I heard the weirdest song on the radio earlier-"
Eddie closes his eyes and holds up two hands, one palm face out towards Dottie in the hopes she shuts up (she does), and the other rubbing slow circles across his diaphragm in the hopes his blood pressure doesn't fucking skyrocket. When he opens them again, Dottie is rocking on her heels, mouth snapped shut.
"I'll help behind the bar when the evening rush picks up to cover for Cam, thank you for ensuring our stock is sufficient, and that's great, tell Richie so he knows, I think you'll like the band too. Very Runaways. Talk to me about the song after close, I- I just can't right now." He drops both of his hands, exhaling loudly.
Dottie, bless her, just says 'aye aye' with a mock little salute and turns to head back behind the bar.
The shift itself runs smoothly. It picks up a little when some of the meat plant workers get off second shift and shuffle in, joining the regular crowd of late nighters into a busy enough distraction Eddie can turn off his brain a bit and get lost in the flow of it all. It's part of why he likes this job. Working with his hands, planning shifts, watching it all come together in a beautiful chaos. He chats up the regulars, sneaks his music into the DJ booth because Richie isn't here to say no metal, catches up with the crew about their weekends. It's nice.
By the time he's finishing up counting cash at the end of night and it's just him and Dottie closing up the bar up front, he'd completely forgotten about her mentioning the song. Well, a song, but he has a guess. Dottie knows more about him than anyone in Chelsea, save Wayne. She knows about Indiana, the official version at least, because of his background check, and she knows a little bit more just by notion of being one of his first and fastest real friends here in the city that went beyond coworkers or other game shop regulars. So when she plops down at the chair next to his desk, he isn't expecting the bomb she drops.
"So, I know that New York is a big big place, and America even bigger, but I think I heard a song about you today." Very apropos of nothing, like she was delivering her end of day report and not setting his blood on fire.
Eddie thunks his head down on the desk softly, making sure to miss the stack of bills he was about to seal away into a deposit bag.
"Go on then." He says with a sigh, resigned to his fate.
"So. And you can tell me to fuck off if you really want to- I'm so serious, I don't want to upset you. But. I know you had... a Steve back in Indiana. And well- I'm sort of guessing you know what song I'm talking about?" When he looks up, Dottie is chewing on her nail, which shows she really is nervous talking about this. He leans back fully, hands splayed on the desk and focusing his eyes somewhere just above her left ear.
"Yeah, I've heard the song. And his EP. Picked that up yesterday after my uncle talked me off the ledge." He sniffs, reaching up to scratch at his cheek, hissing when Dottie reaches over to smack it.
"Stop that. I know when it's a nervous habit." She grabs his hand after, placing it on her knee. "Teddie, isn't this... a good thing? He must miss you as much as you miss him."
"Who says I miss him?" It sounds petulant, like a child. Absolutely not dramatic.
"Do not make me take my boot off and smack you, you know that's not an empty threat."
"Fuck, yes, okay, I know. I know! It should be a good thing! I should be running up and down Greenwich Village shouting his name at every dive playing Guthrie or Jim fucking Croce. I'm just. Scared." It was the first time he'd admitted it. Even to himself. Wayne doesn't tend to push these days, but Dottie knows somehow how to get him to open up.
"Being scared means you care, Eddie. That you won't take this opportunity for granted if you take it." Her mouth is in a set line, a pierced eyebrow quirked up in challenge. "I'm not saying you have to. If you really are moved on, that's fine. But I don't think you are. I think you've been letting this eat you alive for eight years and you finally have a chance to make two people a little happier."
Eddie can't help the huff of laughter that escapes him, or the tear right along with it. He's cried too much in the last twenty four hours.
"Well shit, Dolores, who needs a government appointed therapist when I have you?" He dodges her free hand as she goes to playfully smack him again, laughing all the while.
"Use my full name again and you'll be asking for a government appointed surgeon to remove my boot from your ass." She grips his hand harder. "I mean it, dude. Go get him."
Eddie sighs, rubbing his free hand down his face as the exhaustion of the day hits him.
"I wouldn't even begin to know where to look." He has a vague line about Greenwich to go off of, but Dottie was right. New York is big.
"We'll figure something out. That is- if you want." And with the eyes Dottie are shooting him, he knows he's gonna fold.
"Yeah, alright. How much worse could it make things?" He throws both of his hands up in surrender before stuffing the cash on the desk into the deposit bag and dropping it and the tills in the safe. "Now lets get the hell out of dodge, I'm beat."
—
They tell me, "grief is just love letting go"
They say it like milk has been spilled on the floor
They say they don't know who I am anymore
Well, I just have never shown anger before
—
Sometime after Eddie (thought he) went down in a blaze of bat filled glory, he woke up.
He had never been in so much pain before, it was the only thing he was aware of for the maybe thirty seconds he was conscious. There were three other times he knows of that he woke up again, not quite lucid, but he remembers seeing people. The suggestion of people, really. He couldn’t exactly focus his eyes on anything before they slipped closed again.
When he finally woke up for real, he was alone. He’s kind of glad of it, looking back, because he’s pretty sure he immediately started crying. If he was alive, then he didn’t succeed, and who knows what has happened. And Wayne would be here if he was alright, so if he’s not then something must have happened, and if Dustin isn’t here then he must be dead, if Steve isn’t here to kill him for failing Dustin, then there’s no way anyone else made it out and-
“Eddie! Breathe, man! We worked hard to get those lungs going.” He’s being shaken, gently, and it rips him out of his downward spiral. He opens his eyes (when had he closed them?), and is greeted by a bruised and tired looking Steve Harrington. Apparently at some point he began hyperventilating and tried to curl into a ball on the bed- a hospital bed? But his IV kept him from fully turning over, and Steve had his hands on his shoulders to keep him on his back. Eddie stares up at the other boy, feeling raw and shocked.
“There he is! Well- are you here? What’s your name? What street do you live on? Do you remember what happened?” Steve begins this with a crooked smile on his face that is quite endearing in the haze of drugs, but it drops, his final question almost hesitant.
“I don’t have a fucking concussion, dude- wait. Do I?” His voice is rough, and it hurts to talk in a way he never experienced before. In Eddie’s mind, he’s reaching up to push Steve away for some god damn breathing room, but in reality he can barely control his own limbs, and he actually doesn’t mind the proximity. Like the proof that someone else is so alive and so close to him helps him realize he is also alive. “Uh- Edward Munson, Forest Hills, evil clockmaker from the past tried to kill us?”
Steve smiles wide at that and sits down in the chair next to the bed.
“Correct on all accounts- except I think they decided he wasn’t a clockmaker.” Eddie is lucid enough at this point he tries to sit up, but he suddenly becomes aware of his chest, which feels like it was broken. Steve must catch this, because he springs back up and helps him get the bed lifted and his pillows adjusted in a way that doesn’t hurt too much. “Right, should have mentioned- your sternum cracked during CPR, but they said it looks like it should heal fine. Oh! Let me uh- let me get a nurse-” And the sight of Steve turning to leave sends him into another panic, so before he has any control on the matter, he reaches out his free arm to grab Steve’s wrist, who stops immediately to turn back.
“Uhm.” Eddie stares, finally catching up to what his body is doing. Steve just smiles and sits.
“I can stay. But we should probably call them in a few minutes to check you up and all, and so someone can call Wayne- he’s at the trailer with Dustin collecting whatever it is they can salvage. I said I’d stay to watch over, but your timing is impeccable. Had popped over to check on Max and you decided to wake up.” Steve’s voice is calm, measured, soothing almost. That could just be the drugs though.
“Right. Uhm. Thank you.” That Steve told him without telling him that Wayne and Dustin were fine meant a whole lot. One little piece of vulnerability he was able to keep hidden still. “How uh- you said Max? Was here too? How is she?”
“Insufferable, dude. I’m pretty sure they’re gonna discharge her early just for staff safety. She’s gotten pretty good at wheelchair jousting, so far she only aims for Mike or me, but she’s not exactly the best driver, which I could have told you years ago.” Here, Steve looks off into the middle distance like remembering some tragedy akin to Nam, before he shakes his head and turns back. “Plan went. A little awry, but Max is okay. Broken arm, broken leg, and some vision loss in one eye, but they’re confident she’ll get full mobility back as long as she does PT, and the skateboard is a good motivator for her. Supergirl showed up in whatever brain zone they were in and kicked Vecna’s mental ass enough for us to blow him to smithereens, chop off his head, and burn him for good measure.”
Eddie knows there has to be more to it, like what went wrong, but Steve gave him the big updates, and for that he’s grateful. He nods to show he heard, but whatever energy he had is starting to flag again.
“Hey uh- maybe need to hit the call button. I’m not sure how long I have before nap time again.” And Steve reaches over to press the little pad above his bed without complaint. “Before they get here though, how long? Since uh-”
“Three days. Feels like three weeks, though. Most everyone right now is at Hop’s old cabin fixing it up- Johnathan Byers rolled in yesterday with Will, Mike, El, that’s supergirl, and some guy named Argyle, apparently they were caught up in this mess too, just in a different way. So they all need somewhere to go since I think most of the hotels around here are full of displaced people, since some of the gates started spreading before we took him out, looks like a weird earthquake. Oh- Wayne is at mine, my parents are out of the state and told me they were gonna wait till things cleared up before coming back, which fine by me-”
Eddie tugs Steve’s wrist- he didn’t realize he was still holding it, to get him to shut up.
“Slow down, did you and Buckley mind meld down there or something?” He can hear the grin in his voice more than he can feel it, the gauze on his cheek throwing his sensations out of whack.
“Nah, though it’s funny, right before everything went to shit, we were talking about how we wish we could. Maybe we missed an opportunity down there.” A faux wistful look blooms across his face, and Eddie snorts, before immediately regretting it as his chest heaves.
“Shit, was I pushing you after the wrong girl?” Though he was so sure Robin played for the other team.
“Ew, no, ew. Robin?” The way Steve laughs out his response sounds melodic almost, which Eddie takes as his drugs really kicking in. “Not you too, man, c’mon. We’re just friends, or as Rob says, platonic soulmates. Capital P.” He pops the P, his crooked smile still in place all the while. “Though Nancy wasn’t the one you thought she was either. That’s fine though, I think we all were just suffering from dealing with a possible impending doom.”
Eddie huffs as much a laugh as his broken sternum will allow, and is about to comment on that when a nurse comes through the door swinging her scope from off her neck and onto her ears.
“Oh, good, I was worried it was another false alarm-” And here she turns to give Steve (???) an admonishing look before she starts checking the machines around him that he only really now just noticed. “It’s nice to see you fully up, Mr. Munson, how are we feeling today?”
As Eddie starts to answer her questions, he sees Steve get up from the chair and make his way outside. He holds up his hand as if he had a walkie-talkie to his ear and mouthed ‘Dustin’ before slipping outside.
—
Still haven't found what I'm looking for
Some escape from my sin
You know that place you been dreaming of
Where all light comes in
And I'll keep growing my hair out long
Just to cover my eyes
And I'll keep playing this goddamn song
If it keeps you alive
Oh, I just want to keep you alive