Chapter Text
August 6th, 1989 – Sunday
There are only five things in this world that Eddie truly cares about. His guitar and his friends, Hellfire and music, but most importantly, his uncle Wayne.
Eddie isn’t the greatest guy around. He’ll be the first to admit that. He’s loud and he fidgets too much and he’s almost always late to everything no matter how hard he tries to arrive on time. He knows he’s not the easiest person to love.
It’s why he’s so thankful to have Wayne in his life. Impossibly grateful that the man didn’t kick Eddie right back to the curb his parents left him on.
Wayne Munson is a saint in Eddie’s eyes – gruff demeanor and vulgar mouth included. He’s given Eddie everything he’s ever needed in this life without hesitation or regret. He’s Eddie’s rock and safe haven.
The two of them have never had much in this life, but they’ve had dreams and Eddie knows that one of Wayne's biggest dreams is to own his own home. Not a trailer or a shack or a shitty motel room on the bad side of town. A real home, with a concrete foundation and a shingled roof.
That’s the only reason Eddie’s trying to find the enthusiasm for the old brownstone-townhouse Wayne’s showing him.
“It’s fancy,” Eddie says.
He scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk as he squints up at the large bay window on the second floor. “Real fancy.”
Expensive, he thinks, but holds his tongue.
Eddie knew his uncle was looking for a nicer place than what either of them have been accustomed to, he just didn’t realize Wayne was shooting so far above their actual station in life.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Wayne tells him, taking the steps up to the little porch. He hunches down and pulls a key out from beneath the welcome mat. “Let’s check her out.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie says, hurrying up the steps after him. “What are you doing?”
“It’s fine, stop all your worrying.” Wayne slides the key into the lock and gives the handle a little jiggle. The door creeks open, hinges near rusted in place. “Go on.”
Eddie hesitates, glancing back at the busy street. “Yeah, I’m not looking for jailtime, old man.”
“No one’s carting you off, kid,” Wayne snorts. He claps Eddie on the shoulder as he passes by, stepping right over the threshold. “The place is mine as of this morning.”
“It’s—What?”
Eddie almost trips over the frame in his rush to follow his uncle. The door swings shut too fast when he goes to close it behind himself, the stained-glass window rattling in its frame. “Hold up, what do you mean it’s yours?”
“Mean it’s mine.”
“Yours how?”
“I bought it.” Wayne shrugs, waving his hands towards the expanse of the place, the twisting staircase and the rooms that branch off from the entry way. “Paid for it down at the title company this morning – signed damn near every paper in the country just to get it too.”
Eddie stares at his uncle in disbelief, taking in every inch of him. There’s a giddiness to his uncle he doesn’t usually see, a brightness to his eyes and a weight off his shoulders — there’s also a shiny new pen tucked into his shirt pocket.
“You’re serious?”
“As can be.”
Eddie lets out an incredulous laugh. “You bought a house? And you didn’t even tell me — and you stole their pen.”
“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” Wayne rolls his eyes, and pats at his shirt. “And I didn’t steal nothing, they told me I could take the pen as thanks for doing business at their office.”
“You said you hadn’t found anything yet,” Eddie tells him. “This looks like you found something.”
“Well, when we last spoke, I hadn’t.”
“Yesterday – we spoke yesterday, Wayne.”
“Yesterday morning, I found this place yesterday afternoon,” Wayne gives a little shrug. “Place just fell into my lap. I’d be a fool not to take it.”
A sputter leaves Eddie, his hands flapping towards the twisting staircase with a hand carved banister and the stained glass windows and the real wooden floors. Even standing in just the entry way, Eddie can tell this place speaks of money.
Real money.
Money that neither of them have ever had.
There’s no way this place can just belong to a Munson now. No way. No how.
“Doesn’t look like it, but it’s got three floors,” Wayne says, catching him staring at the staircase. “ The second is all bedrooms, the third’s more of an attic but the woods all rotted up there, not safe for anything just yet.”
Three floors, Eddie thinks. Three whole floors.
“That’s a lot of room.”
Wayne nods. “Near too much for one person,” he casts a look towards Eddie, “Figured you could take one of the rooms, stop paying for that little apartment across time – if you like.”
Normally, Eddie would be jumping with joy at not only the prospect of living with his uncle again, but also no rent, no shitty college roommates and annoying landlord…
It’s just…
“Wayne, I gotta ask,” he says, spinning in a slow circle, hands held out to encompass the place in its entirety. “How the hell did you afford this?”
Wayne Munson has always been a hard worker and an even better haggler, but even with all the money his uncle has saved over the years and the payout from his accident at the factory…
There’s just no way, none, that he could afford this place on his own.
“Got a good deal on it,” Wayne says, a proud little glimmer in his eyes. “The realtor practically threw the place at me, dirt cheap.”
Wayne holds up the key he took from the welcome mat. “Now it’s ours, kid.”
To the right is a set of swinging doors– Eddie thinks they probably lead to the kitchen. To his left, there’s a cased opening leading to a room that looks just as long as their old trailer. It’s huge and dark, and disturbingly empty.
“You’re gonna need a lot of furniture,” Eddie murmurs.
“We’ll worry about that later, go on, have a look around.” Wayne nudges him, encouraging him to leave his post by the front door.
Eddie doesn’t really want to look, but he wants to crush his uncle's excitement even less. So, he shuffles around, shoving open the kitchen doors, listening to the whine of the hinges and wood as a cool breeze gusts by him.
It has to be the biggest kitchen Eddie’s ever seen outside of a movie. Miles of counter space – even an island. And, there’s more than enough room for a dining table and chairs. Eddie’s never lived anywhere this big before. It’s almost overwhelming.
“It’s cold in here,” Eddie comments idly, squinting at the windows. Sunlight slants in through them, strangely dim and blue, cooler than the light of August should ever be.
“It’s the brick, does a good job keeping the heat out.”
When they finally head up the stairs to the second floor, the stairs all groan beneath them and something about it prickles up Eddie's spine, something bad and grimy, something that makes him walk a little closer to his uncle.
“This one would be mine,” Wayne stops at the first room. It’s almost as big as the den, perfect for his uncle after he’s sacrificed so much of his space to Eddie over the years.
“This is really nice, Wayne,” Eddie says despite the uneasy feeling in his gut. “I’m happy for you.”
Wayne gives him an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, well, come on, this way.”
They bypass the second door, Wayne giving it a little wave in acknowledgement, but they only stop when they reach the third door.
“Figured this one could be yours,” Wayne tells him, “Some space between us, good sturdy walls. You could bring whoever over and I’d be next to none the wiser with these old ears.”
Eddie flushes, several memories of being caught with partners back at the trailer filtering through his head. “Jesus Christ, Wayne.”
“No need to be shy now, son.” Wayne reaches out to ruffle Eddie' s hair. “You’re a grown man, I know you're not a saint.”
“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, flustered as he bats at his uncle's hand. “Let’s not discuss my nighttime habits.”
Wayne lets his hand be pushed away. “We weren’t, I was just saying if you wanted to live here, it would be okay.”
“Thanks.” Eddie’s heart clenches, full of love. He coughs and says, “You're a grown man too, you know, you plan on inviting someone over in the middle of the night, yourself?”
“That’d be none of your business.” He doesn’t deny it though.
“You scoundrel,” Eddie jests, bumping his shoulder against Wayne’s.
“Yeah, yeah, go look,’ Wayne says, shoving him away.
Eddie goes, stepping into the room.
It feels just as gloomy and dark as the rest of the place even with the large window and sunlight filtering in. He walks around the room slowly, stopping at the window to trace a finger against the glass. It’s ice cold, the surprising sting of it making him shiver.
“It’s a little drafty, but we can get some heaters in here for winter,’ Wayne says, mistaking Eddie’s shiver.
Eddie wipes his hand on his jeans, smudging grime over the dark denim and turns to look at Wayne. “Just how good of a deal did you get on this place?”
“Real good, enough to have money left over for some of that furniture you think we need.”
Eddie whistles, the sound echoing off the walls eerily. He’s never looked a gift horse in the mouth but something tells him this was too good of a deal. Way too good to be true.
“What's wrong with the place?”
“Nothing much, just needs a good scrubbing and some work.” Wayne shrugs. “It’s got a little bad history, nothing that can’t be spit-shined away.”
Eddie tenses. “Bad history,” he says with a half laugh, “What, like someone got whacked in here?”
Wayne doesn't laugh.
“Wayne.”
“It’s a good place, Ed.”
“It’s a – that is so not an answer to my question,’ Eddie sputters, voice high. “Did someone actually” —
There’s a loud creak from the hallway, like someone else walking through the house, that makes Eddie’s mouth snap shut. He stares at the open door to his bedroom and finally starts putting all of the pieces together.
“Wayne,” he says, slow and careful. “Did you buy a haunted house?”
There's a scoff and a dismissive wave. “Now, you know I don't believe in all that horse shit.” His uncle claps his hands together, ‘Come on, I’ll show you the laundry room, the place came with its own units.”
Eddie blinks at his uncles disappearing back. “You,” he chokes, “Wayne, hold on, you can't just avoid the question – Wayne, did someone actually die in here?”
The house is definitely haunted.
August 15th, 1989 – Tuesday
It’s too hot outside to be lugging furniture and boxes around, the sun a devil on Eddie's pale skin. The only reprieve from the heat is the house itself, every part of it weirdly cold for the blaze of summer's hottest month. Eddie wants to collapse on the floor and curl into the chill.
“You’re uncle hates us,” Gareth groans, knees shaking as he carries a large box up the last few porch steps.
“Could be worse,” Eddie says, trying to navigate through the open front door with his end of the sofa.
“Yeah,” Jeff wheezes on the other side. “You could be the one helping with the couch, Gar.”
“As if,” Gareth says, ducking under the couch to get through the doorway before Eddie.
Eddie kicks a leg at Gareth blindly, and Jeff curses when the couch starts to slip to the side.
“Focus,” Jeff tells him. “You can kill Gareth after we get this thing inside. Now walk forward.”
Begrudgingly, Eddie listens.
The den still looks weirdly barren— Wayne's chair and the couch doing little to fill it. Even the thousand boxes they had spent the morning lugging in hardly made a dent.
“Nice work boys,” Wayne says. He leans against the archway of the den and grins, sweat beading at his temples. “It’s starting to look nice in here, real homey, don’tcha think?”
Eddie doesn’t see whatever Wayne sees in this place, but he can see how happy it makes his uncle.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, “home sweet home.”
It makes Wayne smile. “It will be,” he says, coughing a little around the words.
Eddie frowns. “You okay?”
Wayne waves off the worry and thumps at his chest. Clearing his throat, he says, “it’s a little dusty in here, think I’ll open up some of the windows, let some fresh air in.”
He knocks twice on the trim of the doorway and tells Gareth and Jeff he's grateful for their help before he wanders off.
“Old man’s got too much energy,” Eddie drops onto the couch, bouncing with the force of it. “How does he have so much energy?”
Eddie doesn’t want to move for at least a week.
“Those 40’s babies,” Jeff says, falling next to Eddie and stretching out his legs. “They’re just made different.”
“And,” Eddie waves a hand at the boxes lining the far wall and trailing out into the hallway— everywhere you look there’s a box. “Where the hell did all this stuff come from? This can’t have all fit in the trailer, there’s no way. Wayne wouldn’t have been able to walk around.”
“Couch does look new,” Gareth says plopping down on the arm of it. “Definitely doesn’t look like you’re smelly ass has ever sat on it before today.”
Eddie flips Gareth off, too tired to stretch the inches it would take to punch him.
“Oh, almost forgot,” Jeff says suddenly, perking up enough to stand and stagger out of the room.
Eddie watches and Gareth shrugs when Eddie shoots him a curious look.
It doesn’t take long before Jeff is back, a potted plant in his hands that he presents to Eddie like a trophy. “My mom would kill me if I didn’t give you this.”
Eddie takes the plant slowly.
“It’s a money tree,” Jeff tells him, dropping back down onto the couch with a grin. “Happy house warming, man.”
It’s a sweet gesture and a cool plant, the leaves are all big and green. Eddie feels bad already knowing he’s going to kill it.
“Thanks, Jeff,” Eddie says, pitching his voice louder and staring over at Gareth. “Seriously man, this is super thoughtful.”
“Oh fuck off, I didn’t know we were supposed to bring gifts.” Gareth flips him off. “No one told me.”
“It’s common courtesy,” Eddie says, pulling the plant close to his chest and stroking at the pot of it lovingly.
“Jeff snorts. “Yeah to those of us who were raised right.”
“One,” Gareth says, holding up a finger as he slides off the arm of the couch. “I’m telling Nonna you said that. Two…”
Gareth marches out of the room towards the entry way. Eddie cranes his head to try and see what he’s doing but all Gareth does is grab his backpack and march back into the den. He’s got a hand in the bag, rummaging around.
“Here,” he says suddenly, pulling out a regular composition notebook. He tosses it at Eddie’s head. “Happy house.”
The notebook connects with Eddie’s forehead, and slides down his face. It smells brand new, the crisp scent of fresh paper. “Thanks,” Eddie tells him dryly.
“It’s a gift from the heart.” Gareth says, a little grin tugging at his mouth. “You can use it as a journal, pen down everything about your crush on”—
Eddie throws the notebook back at Gareth’s head, his cheeks hot. “Fuck off.”
Aim never being that good, Eddie’s throw misses by a mile and Gareth just laughs at him and sits on the other side of the couch next to Jeff.
They all settle into an exhausted silence, nothing but the distant echo of clattering from upstairs to break it up.
“So,” Jeff says slowly. “What’s with the sour face?”
“That’s just how Gareth looks.”
“I’m talking about your sour face man,” Jeff says looking over at him. “You’ve been a little weird about this place.”
“Home sweet home,” Gareth mocks. He sits forward to look around Jeff, his eyes catching Eddie’s. “You looked like you wanted to throw up.”
“I did not.”
“Did too.”
Eddie slumps back against the cushions and stares up at the ceiling. “Think Wayne noticed?”
“Nah, guy looked pleased as punch.”
“Good.”
“So,” Jeff knocks their shoulders together. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Eddie says, not willing to admit what he really thinks. “Guess I’m just not used to all this.”
“It’s a sweet new place, you’ll get used to it in no time,” Jeff gives his knee a friendly little pat.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Later, after Jeff and Gareth have left, and Wayne’s crawled into bed, Eddie takes his plant and notebook up to his room.
He tosses the notebook onto his nightstand. He’s not going to write his feelings in it or anything about his crush— which he doesn’t have on anyone no matter what Gareth thinks. He’ll get some use out of it though. Maybe jot down a campaign idea or some lyrics— metal lyrics.
Nothing mushy.
The money plant he sets on his window sill to get some sunlight. He’s never had a green thumb but he thinks if he just remembers to water it then it’ll be fine.
He gives the pot one last little nudge before deeming it perfect and crawls into bed. Ready to be dead to the world
September 8th, 1989 – Friday
There’s a loud clap just inches from Eddie's face. The sound startling him from his thoughts and harshly bringing him back to reality.
“What the fuck,” Eddie croaks, jerking his head back and scowling.
His bottom lip aches from the pressure of his own teeth in it – the skin raw and bitten. He doesn’t know how long he’d been tearing at it with his own teeth, but a swipe of his tongue has him tasting copper.
“That’s our line,” Gareth huffs, hands still clasped together in front of Eddie’s face. He looks supremely unimpressed. “Have you heard a thing we've been saying?”
A lie blooms on Eddie’s tongue but withers just as fast beneath the knowing looks from both Jeff and Gareth.
Eddie smacks at Gareth's still hovering hands, shoving him back towards his side of the table. “Not all of it. Remind me what we’re talking about?”
“We were talking about our gig next Saturday,” Gareth says, “The children want to crash.”
Eddie snorts, casting a look towards the line of hopeful sophomores. “Not a chance.”
“Oh, come on,” Mike groans, head tipping back.
“You’re not old enough.”
Mike drops his head, fixing Eddie with a bland look. ‘We’re all adults.”
“You’re eighteen.”
“Not all of us,” Lucas cuts in quickly, shooting an endearing smile at Eddie with a hand pressed flat to his own chest, “some of us are nineteen.”
“But all of you,” –Eddie points at them one by one– “are teenagers and therefore not legally allowed on the premises.”
“So?”
“Sorry kiddos, the law is the law.”
“You hate the law,” Mike grumbles. “This is such bullshit, Gareth just turned twenty.”
“Gareth’s in the band and he has facial hair,” Eddie says and reaches over to slap one of Gareth's cheeks. “Call me when you finish puberty.”
Mike flips him off and slouches down in his seat. It makes Eddie feel just a little bad, he really is getting soft in his old age, 22 is ruining his harsh reputation. Or maybe it’s just the youngest members that make him want to be a little kinder.
With a put upon sigh, Eddie offers a hesitant olive branch. “Maybe next time you can come to a show, just not this one, this venue is a little much for baby’s-first-club.”
“Careful,” Jeff says with a little grin, “You give them an inch and the little shits will take a mile from you.”
“Don’t I know it.” He rubs tiredly at his temples.
There’s a headache forming just behind his eyes, exhaustion slowly catching up with him. Schools only been back in session for the fall semester for a couple of weeks but it’s already wearing Eddie thin. Wayne thinks he’s doing too much – filling up his plate too heavy to keep carrying.
And, maybe he’s right.
Eddie’s got a full schedule of classes, work at the library, hellfire and band practice every Saturday night when they don't have a gig.
He could have taken a smaller course load, spread out his classes over another year, but he wants to graduate sooner rather than later. He fucked up and played around in highschool, but he’s been giving college his all. He wants to make Wayne proud, wants to make something of himself and keep his promise to take care of his uncle. It’s just all a little harder than he expected, more exhausting and time consuming.
And the weird house isn’t helping at all.
“Hey,” Jeff's voice has gone quiet, “You doing okay? You’ve been kind of out of it lately.”
“Yeah, man, I’m good.”
Gareth drops back into his seat with a little scoff. “Sure.”
“I’m fine,” Eddie says a little sharper.
The tone gets him another round of looks from Jeff and Gareth, their disbelief palpable. Eddie rolls his eyes, turns away from the pair of them — a mistake, because now Dustin is leaning in towards him, his eyes accusing
“Friends don’t lie,” Dustin tells him with a gravity that makes Eddie’s stomach sink.
He’s heard the kid say it before – has heard them all say it a time or two. All with that same sense of finality and importance.
Gareth lets out an incredulous laugh. “Have you met Eddie? He lies all the time.”
“I do not,” Eddie bites out.
“You’re doing it right now!”
“Fuck you, I am not.”
Eddie kicks at Gareth’s shin beneath the table, missing the first two times but audibly connecting the third. Gareth yelps, and kicks back, flipping Eddie off the entire time. They’re both going to end up with bruised shins but it almost makes Eddie feel a little better. A little more in the moment.
“Children,” Jeff says, dryly.
“The only child here is Eddie,” Gareth says, but holds his hands up in surrender.
Eddie holds his hands up too but kicks Gareth one last time hard enough to make Gareth curse through gritted teeth.
Jeff shakes his head at them both.
From the other end of the table, Will clears his throat awkwardly.
“I think what Dustin was trying to say is that, you can tell us, you know?” Will’s voice is quiet but firm in its sincerity. “If something is bothering you, maybe we can help… that’s what friends do.”
It’s a touching sentiment— especially coming from Eddie’s youngest and quietest sheep. The issue is that Eddie’s little problem isn’t exactly something that can be solved with the power of friendship.
“Yeah, I know, kid and I appreciate it,” Eddie says, pitching his voice softer. He smiles at Will, wishing he was close enough to ruffle the kid's hair. “I just don’t think this is the kind of problem we can brainstorm our way out of.”
Eddie reaches for his binder, shuffling papers into it carefully. It’s getting late and he’s worried about Wayne, he really should be getting out of here and back home.
“Give us a chance,” Mike says.
“Yeah,” Lucas adds, leaning his elbows onto the table to see around Mike. “You might be surprised.”
Eddie pauses, his gaze flitting from face to face. All of them eager and serious in equal measure.
Jeff laughs. “Well, you heard the children.”
“It’s really not anything you can solve,” Eddie tries again, but he’s already giving in beneath their intense gazes.
Will nods at him, a quiet determination. “Try us.”
Slumping back into his makeshift throne, Eddie sighs, his eyes drifting up to the pop-corned ceiling of the school sanctioned clubroom. “What,” he drawls out slowly, finding the words as he goes, “do we think about ghosts?”
There’s a beat of silence as his question washes over the room, surprise taking hold of the group. It’s probably the last thing any of them thought he would ask. A small part of Eddie enjoys the unpredictability. A bigger part of him wants honest answers from them all.
“Like…” Mike waves a hand at the table, “as a campaign idea?”
“As a concept.”
Eddie pushes up from his chair, no longer able to sit still. He gestures vaguely around the room at them all. “What are ghosts? Has anyone actually seen a ghost? Do any of you believe in them?”
There’s a smattering shrugs and shaking heads, just like Eddie knew there would be.
Jeff tilts his head back to look up at him and asks, “is this about your new place?”
Leave it to Jeff to recognize Eddie’s underlying problem and drag it out into the proverbial light. He’s always been able to root out the real issues. Always known when to press and how far and when Eddie’s lying. He’s the worst kind of friend to have in moments like this – a really fucking good one.
It is about the new place.
Wayne had taken to it like a duck to water.
His uncle was so clearly pleased with the place, his boxes unpacked before the first week was over. He’d even purchased dozens of fancy looking cork knobs to put on one of the kitchen walls so he could display all of his mugs. There hadn't been enough room for them all in their old trailer, but the brownstone has room to spare. Room for the collection to grow, room for Wayne to make it the home they've always wanted.
It's a direct contrast to Eddie.
Eddie whose things are still mostly in boxes. Who can't find it in himself to settle into the place the way his uncle has. Who feels uncomfortable and watched even in the privacy of his own generous bedroom. Like a bug beneath a magnifying glass, waiting to be burnt to a crisp.
"It's just a weird place," Eddie settles on saying. He's made a complete circuit around the table, and drops back into his chair, feeling tired.
"Weird how," Lucas asks, glancing from Eddie to Will and back again.
Eddie shrugs. “Just weird.”
“You’re still adjusting to the place,” Jeff offers. “Maybe you just need a little more time to get used to it— it doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom and ghosts. Not yet.”
“I am adjusted,” Eddie says, forlorn. “The place is wrong.”
The youngest sheep of Eddie’s flock keep sharing looks, talking with their eyes in a way that makes Eddie increasingly nervous.
“Okay,” he says, rapping on the table to get their attention. “Something you four wanna share with the class?”
“No,” Mike and Lucas say quickly, heads shaking.
“Maybe,” Will says haltingly. He flinches away from the quick look the others give him, his shoulder curling in on him as he shrugs. “It could be something.”
Mike ducks his head to catch Will’s eye, his nose wrinkled. “Seriously?”
“Maybe,” Will repeats a little more firmly.
“Well,” Lucas says, “If Will’s in, I’m in.”
“No, no one’s in,” Mike says, “It’s totally unrelated.”
“Unless it’s not,” Lucas argues.
Eddie watches the back and forth until his view is blotted out by a dorky hat and a wide smile.
“I’ve got some follow up questions.” Dustin stares at him with excited eyes, a pen tapping impatiently against a fresh sheet of notebook paper.
Eddie sighs, slumping onto the table. He wanted to go home. “Of course you do.”
“First, has anything happened in the house? What’s the history? Do the lights flicker? What about cold spots? Sounds? Spores? Have you heard any scratching in the walls or growling? What about ticking, kind of like a clock or a bomb? Oh and have you seen any floating—“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa Jesus Christ, Henderson take a breath.” Eddie jolts upright, meeting the kids excited face again. He makes a time out sign. “Pause. You said follow up questions, not a whole inquisition.”
Dustin’s mouth wobbles like he’s gearing up for another round of questions.
“No,” Eddie says quickly.
“No?” Dustin frowns. “No to what? To all of it?”
“To some of it,” Eddie concedes. “It’s an old place, so yeah the power flickers sometimes — and it’s drafty, so there’s cold spots all over the place but…”
“But?”
Eddie thinks about the brownstone. He pictures it with perfect clarity. All of its dimly lit halls and worn down wooden floors. The way the blinds are always open, curtains parted to let in the sunlight. How that light never illuminates more than a few inches or warms the house the way it should at the tail end of summer.
“It’s just… I don’t know. The energy of the place? It feels wrong.”
“Wrong,” Dustin repeats, scrawling the word out in his notebook in big bulky letters. He bullet points flickering lights and cold spots beneath it.
Gareth gives a low whistle. “Shit, guess that castle of yours really was too good to be true.”
Eddie kicks him again.
“Fucking— stop doing that,” Gareth seethes at him.
“Stop talking.”
Gareth flips him off, mouth opening to argue but Will cuts him off.
“Is that all,” Will asks, looking directly at Eddie.
“Wayne said some people died in it a few years back, around eighty-three, I guess. It’s been empty since then.”
The youngest members share another look. “Eighty-three,” Mike says, “you’re sure he said it happened in 1983?”
“Hard to forget, man.” Eddie shivers.
Dustin shoves at Mike to get him out of the way so he can look around him at will. “So we all agree?”
Will nods. “We all agree.”
“Not all,” Mike grumbles, but is ignored.
“Lucky for you, we know a guy.” Dustin tugs his backpack up on his lap and rifles through it.
“And a girl,” Lucas says, pausing to wrinkle his nose and correct, “a lady... A woman?”
“People,” Will says, “we know people who might be able to help with your problem.”
Eddie snorts. “Unless you have the Warren’s tucked away in that bag, I don’t think you guys can solve this.”
“Not the Warren’s.” Dustin rolls his eyes. “someone even better.”
“Better?”
Mike groans. “No man, no, that doesn’t apply to this at all— Eddie has ghosts.”
“Allegedly,” Eddie says quickly, not wanting to put anything ominous out into the universe. He’s ignored by all of them anyway.
“It could be related,” Will tells Mike, “Eighty-three… we have to make sure.”
Eddie doesn’t know the significance of eighty-three, but the year makes all the kids look nervous. It’s making Eddie feel nervous too.
“It’s just, Brenner isn’t," - Mike starts only to be elbowed by Lucas and Will simultaneously. He chokes out a sound, hunching over the table while Lucas and Will look on almost apologetically.
“Bada-boom!” Dustin smacks a card down on the table in front of Eddie. It’s badly wrinkled and has something orange along the edges that look like chip dust.
Nose wrinkling, Eddie picks up the card by one fraying corner. “What is this?”
“The answer to your problems.”
Except it's not," Mike says a touch louder. "Dustin."
Flipping Mike off, Dustin tells Eddie, "it's a paranormal research club here on campus."
That wasn't something Eddie was aware they had. He frowns down at the card, it's a little lame. Not a single embossment or embellishment on the plain white card stock.
"Stranger Things, Incorporated," he reads off. Beneath the name is a phone number to call and a series of letters spelling out H.B & C. Eddie drops the card onto the table, turning it around to face Dustin. "What does that mean?"
"Harrington, Buckley, and Cunningham," Will explains. "They're students here on campus, they're the founders of the club, sort of. They’re nice.”
"Harrington," Eddie repeats, nailed digging into the card as his points at the large H. "Not— it's not Steve Harrington, is it?"
A look of delight spills over Dustin's face. "Yeah, you know Steve?"
Who doesn't, Eddie thinks at the same time that Gareth gives a loud laugh and says, "everyone knows who Steve Harrington is."
That's probably not entirely true, but Eddie knows who the guy is, not that Steve knows him.
Eddie's also the reason both Gareth and Jeff know Steve, he's complained about the guy enough over the last three years to have the topic entirely banned for the remainder of his college career. Something the newcomers at his table know nothing about.
And will never know about that now that Eddie is learning the little dweebs are all friends with the guy or something.
The grin on Dustin's face dims a little. He leans out of Eddie’s space to fix Gareth with a sour expression. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just, you know," Eddie waves vaguely, feeling oddly like he's about to be chastised. "It's Steve Harrington, guys popular and—"
"A douche," Gareth offers dryly.
"He's not," Lucas defends immediately.
“Yeah, you don’t even know him,” Dustin's tone leaves no room for argument.
Will nods and Mike says nothing but he doesn't look like he entirely disagrees.
"We're talking about the same Steve Harrington, right?" Jeff asks. "Stupid hair, wears polos, frat king on campus.”
"That's him," Mike nods.
“So we do know him” Gareth says with a wide smile, all teeth and bite.
"Right." Eddie flicks the card so it goes skittering across the table towards Dustin. It pauses the kid before he can leap over it and strangle Gareth. "No."
"No?" Dustin sputters. "You said you have flickering lights and cold spots— they can help, Steve and Robin—"
"Not happening, Henderson." Eddie laughs as he stands, shoving his things into his bag. "No way, never.”
"Why not?"
"Because it's Steve Harrington. Lord of Greek row and the assholes that inhabit it."
"Steve's not even in any fraternities—"
"And how would he help me anyway? Is he going to throw his polo at the ghost? Flip a solo cup across the table to scare it into submission?" Eddie laughs at the idea, the sound harsh. "What is he doing in a paranormal research club anyway?"
"It's got to be for the chicks, right?" Gareth says thoughtfully. "You said Robin— that's a girl, isn't it?"
Eddie snaps his fingers. "And Cunningham, you mean Chrissy Cunningham, the cheerleader?"
That has to be it.
Steve's in it for the girls— Eddie knows Chrissy, kind of. They went to the same middle and high school in the area. She's pretty and athletic, someone who would absolutely be Steve Harrington's type.
"He's not in it for the girls, he's not interested in Robin or Chrissy, believe me I've asked him about a million times" Dustin sounds exasperated now.
"Sure." Eddie doesn't believe that for a second. "Why's he in the club then?"
"Robin's his best friend," Will says, cutting in. "They started the club together."
"Why?"
"Does it matter why? They can help you." Dustin pushes the card back across the table forcefully and smacks it. "Just call them, Eddie.”
Kind of, Eddie thinks but doesn't bother saying. It does matter.
"Hold up," Gareth stands, hands dropping to the table so he can lean on them and stare, incredulous. "You little shits aren't seriously suggesting that Eddie let Harrington into his house."
"Obviously," Dustin snipes, matching Gareth's snotty tone. "How else would they investigate?" "You can't be serious." Gareth looks at Eddie. "You're not agreeing to this, are you?"
"No." He kind of wants to laugh at the idea. "There's no chance in hell I'm calling that number." The last thing he needs on top of whatever weird shit is going on in his house is Steve Harrington judging his uncle's mug collection and the scuffed wooden floors. Eddie would rather the ghosts devour him than reach out to king Steve.
Dustin stands, arms crossing. The look he gives Eddie and Gareth kind of stings.
“Are you really going to let the archaic confines of societal standards dictate who you hire to help you catch your ghosts?” Dustin asks. “Really? This isn't high school anymore, Eddie. We're all adults now."
That tone, Eddie thinks with annoyance.
"They don’t even catch ghosts," Mike mutters, choking off at the end when Will pinches the soft part of his upper under arm. "Shit— what, I'm right."
"So not the point," Lucas tells him.
Eddie picks up the card, crumbles it up in his hand. "Yeah, Henderson, I am going to let— whatever you said, dictate who I let into my house.” He tosses the card back, it hits Dustin's hat and rolls to the floor.
Because like hell is he letting Steve Harrington anywhere near his home. Not now. Not ever.
If he really needs help, he'll find it elsewhere.
“Now, all of you assholes scram before I decide to make you roll with a disadvantage next Friday for the whole game.”
September 11th, 1989 – Monday
Monday and Wednesday are Eddie’s least favorite days of the week. They’re the ones crammed full of all the classes that Eddie hates the most. Accounting, business management and entrepreneurship. It’s not that they’re hard classes, they’re just boring.
Sure, owning and running your own business sounds pretty metal, but knowing how to keep it afloat and succeed? Those are vastly different things. Boring things. Things that make Eddie want to gouge his eyes and ears out.
Worst of all, his entrepreneurship professor has the most monotonous voice Eddie's ever encountered. It makes listening hard, especially for someone like Eddie who already struggles to stick with any program.
It’s only the third week of class, but Eddie’s been late twice already and today marks lucky number three. He manages to bust into the classroom just as attendance is being taken. He gives Professor Harvell his most winning smile as he trudges to the very back of the room and settles into the desk he claimed the first day.
“Present,” he says, despite the fact that his name has probably already been called.
“I suggest investing in a watch, Mr. Munson,” Professor Harvell tells him as he presumably marks Eddie down as present.
“I’ll put it at the top of my shopping list,” Eddie tells the man.
“See that you do.” There's some scattered laughs at that, none of them with Eddie but definitely at him.
Eddie rolls his eyes when the attention shifts away from him again, it never lingers very long. He’s not really worth anyone's time in this room. That much is apparent given their different apparel and approach to the lessons. The class is a sea of polished smiles and perfectly pressed clothes, young men and women whose posture all scream generational wealth. In comparison, Eddie sticks out like a very bruised thumb – all clad in black and frayed at the edges.
“Now then,” Professor Harvell calls out, flicking his attendance folder closed. “I presume all of you did the required reading from last week, so today we will be discussing Strategic management in depth.”
Fun, Eddie thinks and doesn’t bother to follow along at all.
Usually, he would put in some effort, but today’s been a rough one and he just doesn’t have it in him to listen. Instead, he rummages through his bag in search of his campaign notebook. He’d grabbed it this morning on his way out of the house – or he thought he had. What he finds in its place, is that stupid composition notebook Gareth had given him weeks ago as a house warming gift. The one Gareth had told him to use as a journal.
The little shithead.
Tugging it out of his bag, Eddie flips to the first page and scribbles out a warning to anyone stupid enough to try and take a peek. He’s not going to write about his feelings. Not exactly anyway, but there has been something swirling around his brain since he’d woken up this morning. The reason he had woken up hours before his alarm was due to go off. The nightmare he’d had.
Eddie is no stranger to nightmares, but the one he'd had last night had been different.
It had been scary in an almost too realistic way, all red lightening and petal faced monsters. The phantom sensation of writhing vines across his skin, and the cold of winter pressing in on him from every side. It hadn’t been like any other nightmare Eddie’s ever had before.
Turning to a fresh page, Eddie dates the top and starts to write. He’s never been one to write things down like this, but it seems like a good time to start. If anything, the nightmare is great fodder for a future campaign. It's not often that Eddie creates his own monsters for their game but he likes to throw them in every now and then, really keep the guys on their toes and the interest running deep.
He’s halfway through a third page, his handwriting getting more sloppy as he goes, when there’s a clatter to his right and something knocks lightly against his foot. Eddie frowns as he tips his head down, peeking beneath his desk. There’s a chewed up bic pen laying just beside his shoe.
“Sorry,” someone whispers from his right. Eddie turns to see Steve Harrington twisted around in his seat to look at him. There’s an apologetic expression on his face as he gestures towards the pen. “Can you get that for me?”
Eddie blinks. “Uh.”
He knew Steve was in this class, he’d seen him that very first day. It’s just… Steve’s never set towards the back like this before. Just two seats over and one up from Eddie, their desks catty-corner to one another.
“Yeah,” Eddie says after a too long pause.
Briefly, he thinks about just kicking the pen, it would quicken the interaction and he wouldn’t have to hand it to Steve. Then he remembers that this Steve Harrington, is the guy Dustin and his little friends had jumped so quickly to defend Friday night. The last thing he wants is Steve telling the kids about some long-haired asshole in his class kicking his pen halfway across the room. — because that's what would happen. Eddie would try to kick it to the guy and somehow send it skittering to timbuktu.
And the kids would know.
Somehow, someway, they would know it was Eddie and he would never hear the end of it.
Ducking down beneath his desk, Eddie grabs the pen and tries not to think about how his fingers press into the indented plastic. He’s surprised the thing still works with how gnawed on it is. Eddie sits up, blowing the hair out of his face, and stretches the distance to hand the pen back to Steve.
“Thanks, man,” Steve says.
Before Eddie can say anything, Steve is swiveling back around in his seat and hunching over his desk. The back of his neck that Eddie can see between the hair and the high collar of his polo is a burning shade of pink.
Eddie wonders if he’s embarrassed by how chewed up the pen is. It’s not exactly high class to mangle a writing utensil with one’s teeth, is it?
He lets out a quiet laugh, nothing more than an amused breath as he stares at Steve. He lets his gaze linger longer than it should, secure in the knowledge that no one is paying Eddie any attention anyway.
Eddie just can't believe this is the same Steve Harrington that Dustin wants Eddie to reach out to for help. This guy with his starched blue jeans and his pastel polo and the stupidest hair to walk this campus.
There's nothing special about Steve Harrington. Nothing that says he's the kind of guy you should call with your paranormal problems, nothing that makes him stand out other than a pretty face and broad shoulders. He's just so normal looking .The typical all American boy.
Steve almost looks the same as he had back in their first year of college. A little bulkier, the slimness of youth fading with time. He still has the same thick head of hair, the messy swoop of it annoyingly charming. And he has the same sleepy eyes that seem to pass right over Eddie in every class they've ever shared— a lot their freshman year, but less and less as their majors branched away from one another. Eddie doubts the guy knows they've had other classes together. He probably doesn't even know Eddie's name despite the professor calling it out every Monday and Wednesday.
There's a quiet laugh from Steve, his head turning away from Heather as he tries to smother his amusement. It's in that moment, his eyes flicking towards Eddie, that their gazes meet. Once, and then again, like he's surprised Eddie's still looking his way at all.
Startled, Eddie jerks his head, eyes snapping to the front of the room where the professor is making bullet points on the chalk board. He can feel Steve still looking.
Great, he thinks. Now the guy probably thinks Eddie's as obsessed with him as every other asshole in this school.
"Steve," Heather whispers, and Eddie hates that he hears it, that he's purposely listening in. "Do you need a new pencil?"
"Oh, uh, no, no I'm good," Steve whispers back and from Eddie's periphery he sees Steve twist back towards class. “This one works fine.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, tells himself not to look over there again and actively tunes out any of the conversations Steve has with Heather and the people he has surrounding him.
There's more than enough going on in Eddie's life right now and Steve Harrington doesn't deserve any of his time or attention.
September 12th, 1989 — Tuesday
There’s never enough time in the day on Tuesday’s or Thursday’s, and today is no exception. It’s been nothing but go, go, go. Eddie feels like he’s barely had time to breathe since the semester started. So it’s kind of nice to be forced to sit down and eat. Even if he’s sitting and eating with just Gareth.
“Why are we outside,” Gareth groans. His curls are a mess, damp with sweat and tangled from the wind.
“Because no one else wants to be outside,” Eddie reminds him.
Every seat and table inside the mezzanine had been snatched up, no one brave enough to sit outside on a cloudless day except the people that had no other choice. Eddie can feel the heat of the sun burning through his clothes, baking into his shoulders and the back of his neck.
“Lame.” Gareth takes a large bite of his sandwich, a bit of soggy tomato skipping on and slapping at his chin. His mouth is full when he asks, “how’s the house?”
“Still standing.”
“And that’s…”
“Good.”
Eddie drops back into the grass, and closes his eyes against the light. The sun heats up his face too fast but he refuses to budge, he can deal with a little sunburn if it means laying down for a few minutes.
“Is it good,” Gareth asks. “You don’t sound too excited about it.”
“Wayne loves the house,” Eddie tells Gareth, “if something happened to it I think it would actually devastate him. Demolish him, even. All he’s ever wanted was a home for us. A real one.”
All their homes were real homes to Eddie, but he knows what Wayne means when he says that.
“So we can’t burn it down as a backup plan,” Gareth mumbles around another bite.
Eddie wishes. “Not unless we want to take Wayne down with it.”
“That’s a bummer.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, skin feeling hot and tight, “you’re telling me.”
September 14th, 1989 – Thursday
Working in the campus library three nights a week doesn't pay anything close to what Eddie used to make back in high school as a drug dealer. It's honest work, safe and Eddie likes it a lot better than washing dishes in the school cafeteria like he did last year for work-study.
It's just nights like tonight that have him missing the simplicity that came with dealing weed. The shorter hours and better pay were nice too.
Tonight isn't a bad night, it just feels never ending. He knows he's been moving slower than usual, but he's tired— the nightmares from Sunday night have persisted throughout the week. All of them following the same vein of dark and cold and super fucking strange. It's starting to really mess with his sleep schedule, which is messing with everything else.
Like how slow Eddie is pushing this cart full of books he has to re-shelf.
Usually he'd be on his third or fourth cart of the night by now, but he's not even halfway through his second. And the squeak of the cart's wheel is making him contemplate arson in a way he never has before. He thinks it could be the next burning of Alexanderia if he puts in enough effort.
The very idea of effort makes him want to cry, big frustrated tears.
He needs a nap or nine. He needs a new house.
Stopping in the middle of the aisle, Eddie rests his temple against one of the shelves. He lets his eyes close against the threat of his growing headache. It's been a steady pulse for a while now, a rhythmic thump, thump, thump. He knows it'll grow as the night goes on. That it’s absolutely going to ruin the little sleep he might get around the nightmares he already knows he's going to have.
"Fuck,” he groans, thumping his head a couple of times against the wood. It doesn’t help his headache at all, but it gives him a new ache to focus on.
Okay, maybe it is a bad night. He’ll make it. He’s had worse nights than this – a lot worse. This is nothing in comparison.
Giving himself a little shake, something he regrets because it makes his brain throb, he pulls back his shoulders and opens his eyes. It’s just two more hours and then he’s home free.
"Hey— sorry to bother you, but can you help me out," someone asks from behind him, voice horrifyingly familiar. "I can't find this book."
Eddie wonders if it would be too dramatic to throw himself off the school's bell tower. Probably. Wayne would think so anyway.
Slowly, Eddie turns around.
Steve Harrington is standing at the end of the aisle, a little frown on his face as he stares down at a slip of paper in his hand.
“I thought I knew where to look, but…” Steve trails off, looking up and meeting Eddie's eyes. His mouth moves like he’s going to keep speaking before it clicks shut, lips going thin.
They stare at each other, awkwardly silent and bodies tense. Eddie wonders why the universe hates him so much.
“Uh,” Steve says finally. His eyes break away from Eddie's face, darting around before landing on the cart Eddie’s gripping like a life line. “Oh. You – sorry, you look busy, I can get someone else to help me.”
“It’s fine,” Eddie says.
It’s not. The last thing Eddie wants to do is help someone.
Unfortunately it's a part of his job.
Christ, he misses selling weed.
Steve shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other, swaying closer and then back again. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Holding out his hand, Eddie motions for Steve to come down the aisle. “Let’s see what you’re after.”
Steve steps forward, meeting Eddie in the middle of the aisle and dropping the paper in his hand. "The demonologist by Ed and Lorraine Warren."
“No shit,” Eddie says without thinking, brows rising high.
"Yeah, why," Steve asks, arms crossing and uncrossing over his chest.
"Nothing, just… " Eddie looks down at the paper in his hand, reading the title scrawled across the page in an unfamiliar scrawl.
When he looks back up he lets his eyes do a slow drag from Steve’s white shoes up to his polo. “The demonologist doesn't exactly seem like your style of reading."
He holds his tongue against saying reading in general doesn't seem like Steve Harrington's style.
"Isn't there a saying about books and not judging their covers?" Steve's hands go to his hips, adopting a pose Eddie's only ever seen a disappointed parent do. "You work in a library, you should know it better than anyone."
Eddie absolutely does know it better than anyone.
"I live to be contrary," Eddie tells him, before kicking at the lock on the wheel of his cart. When it clicks he nods to the opposite end of the aisle, "come on.”
Eddie guides them out of the fantasy section and back towards the nonfiction area.
It's a toss up between religion and psychology, he hesitates outside of religion, debating, when Steve says, "I checked this section already— the book is about demons and stuff, figured it would be there."
"Guess it's not taken as gospel," Eddie says and heads for the next section.
Steve snorts. "I'd hope not."
"No?" Eddie glances back at him as he walks. "You don't think what the Warren's have to say should be the standard for the paranormal community.”
"No. I'm pretty sure the Warrens are full of shit actually." Steve quickens his pace to keep up with Eddie. "Have you ever read their research?"
"I'm more of a fantasy guy," Eddie says, turning sharply down an aisle. "Hobbits and elves— ghosts aren't really my style anymore.”
"That's kinda surprising," Steve murmurs.
"Wow, he’s a hypocrite, how surprising,” Eddie huffs, twisting around to walk backwards so he can point at Steve. “Didn't you just lecture me about book covers? Pot meets kettle.”
Steve rolls his eyes, hands tucking into the pockets of his jeans. His tone is all sarcasm and bite, “maybe I live to be contrary.”
Eddie has to turn back around before he trips, but also because that was kind of funny and the last thing he wants is Steve Harrington thinking Eddie finds him even a little entertaining.
Humming, Eddie peeks along the shelves as they pass them. Eyes skimming book titles and authors until he finds what he’s looking for. He comes to an abrupt stop, Steve almost running into him. A hand stops Steve’s momentum, big and hot right against the small of Eddie’s back.
“Sorry,” Steve says, yanking his hand away and stumbling back a step.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” Eddie clears his throat, spine rigid beneath the lingering feel of Steve’s hand. “Anyway, uh, there you have it.” He waves a broad hand towards the shelf. “The demonologist.”
Steve squints at the shelf, expression brightening. “Oh," he says, one hand reaching out to trace several other titles. "These might help too."
"Cool." Eddie bounces lightly on the balls of his feet, wondering if that's all Steve needed. He's not looking forward to going back to his cart, but he doesn't really want to stick around here any longer than he needs to.
He's about to ask if Steve needs anything else when he reaches past Eddie to grab a different book. It puts him closer to Eddie than he's ever been before, soaking the air around them with his expensive cologne.
He has scars, Eddie realizes and doesn't know why it's so surprising. Everyone has scars.
He sees the one at Steve's temple first, a jagged starburst of pale pink and white. As if he'd been hit really hard in the head before.
It's the one around Steve's neck that draws Eddie's eyes in. A near perfect band just beneath his jugular, ragged and puckered in spots. It looks like someone had taken a strip of barbed-wire and wrapped it around his throat. Like they had pulled with all their strength until it bruised and mottled the perfect skin beneath, leaving a permanent mark.
It's shocking and horrific, and then it's gone. Hidden beneath the collar of a perfectly pressed polo as Steve ducks his head back down and turns to Eddie.
"So," Eddie says, attention snapping back to the shelves, something nervous crawling in his stomach. "Is it just the Warren’s you think are full of shit?"
"No." Steve taps a few spines before pulling the books off the shelves. “I think most of them are con-artists too.”
"So, what, you're just not a believer?"
"In ghosts?" There's an edge of a smile on Steve's mouth. "Not really.”
Eddie huffs, an unkind sound. "That's kind of ironic, don't you think?"
"Is it?" Steve's head cocks to the side, sending several strands of hair into his dark eyes. “Didn’t you just say I don’t look like the type to read these.”
“Yeah.”
“Then, don’t I also look like the type to not believe in ghosts?”
“I thought you didn’t want me judging you based on looks, Harrington.”
“I don’t.”
Eddie huffs. “Okay, then why,” –
"There you are!" A loud voice interrupts just as Vickie appears at the end of the aisle looking frazzled and flushed. "The books are seriously piling up downstairs."
"Shit," Eddie curses, "right, yeah, I'll— I'm coming."
Vickie's shoulders slump with relief before straightening back out when she notices Steve. "Hey," she says with a friendly little smile.
Steve rocks back on his heels, head bobbing. "Hey, Vickie." He shoots her a polite smile back, tucking his books beneath an arm. "Sorry for keeping him, I just needed some help finding these."
"Oh, yeah, sure, no worries— it's why we're here," Vickie quickly reassures.
He smiles at her again, and then slides past Eddie, one shoulder brushing against Eddie's chest as he goes. "Thanks, Munson," he says and walks away without a second glance.
The headache that was threatening Eddie before is rearing its ugly head now, and he groans as Vickie frog marches him toward the service elevator and his own demise.
It's not until Eddie's home and almost asleep in bed that he realizes Steve does know his name
Eddie does not gradually wake up to the cool-blue morning light like he has every day since moving in. Instead, he’s startled awake, the guitar riffs he loves so much echoing loudly throughout the house, seeping up through the floorboards from the stereo down in the den.
“What the fuck,” he croaks sitting up fast enough to make his head spin, pillow held protectively out in front of himself.
The bedroom is dark and cold, too cold for mid-September. He wonders if he would be able to see his own breath if the lights were on, his skin prickling with chills.
It’s still night, there’s no morning light creeping through his curtains. It’s way too late for anyone to be in their home, way too late for anyone to be playing music for anything other than psychological warfare or a prank.
Eddie smacks at empty air, hands clumsily searching for his bedside table as something like fear crawls up his throat. It takes several tries before he finds his lamp and pulls the little string to illuminate the room. The light doesn’t stretch far, but it’s enough for him to see the clock, to see the little hand hovering over the three as the seconds continue to tick on by.
Downstairs, the music plays on.
Shit, he thinks as he fumbles himself out of bed, kicking away sheets and pillows.
A part of him wants it to be Wayne playing a funny little prank on him because he knows what Eddie thinks about this house. The other part of him knows that Wayne would never do that, would never scare Eddie like this. And that’s confirmed for him when he steps out into the dark hallway and sees Wayne’s door opened too, the lamplight spilling onto the worn carpet. His uncle looks sleep rumpled and confused and older than Eddie’s ever seen him.
“Are we throwing a party I don’t know about,” Wayne asks, temple leaning against the door. He looks strangely thin and pale standing there, washed out by the hallway's yellow light.
Eddie gives a croaking laugh as they both peer at the stairs. “Don’t think I’m up for partying on a school night anymore, Wayne.”
“Guess we’re both getting old.” Wayne reaches out and claps him lightly on the shoulder.
“Guess so.”
The music rages downstairs, one of Eddie's favorite songs but he hates hearing it right now. The back of his neck prickles with the whine of the guitar. His voice is quiet when he says, “think we have some unwanted guests downstairs?”
His uncle chuckles, squeezes the back of Eddie's neck lightly. “Nah, don’t hear anything else, the wind’s been making the power surge all night, must've just messed with some wiring on the stereo, turned it on.”
Eddie thought the vague roaring sound was his own blood rushing through his ears, but now that he’s listening past the music, he can tell it is the wind. “Right,” he says, “that must be it.” He doesn’t believe that for a second. It’s three in the morning and he’s seen enough horror movies to know that isn’t a coincidence.
Something turned the stereo on and it wasn't the wind or a power surge.
“Make sure it’s unplugged for the night,” Wayne gives a quiet cough into his elbow. “And get some sleep kid, you’ve got school.”
Eddie glances at the dark stairway. “Yeah, I will.”
Wayne nods and closes his door, Eddie watches until the light goes out from the cracks and grits his teeth as he turns to the staircase.
He’s not proud of turning all the lights on as he goes, but the thought of being downstairs alone and in the dark makes his skin crawl. He’s quick about it, eyes never looking around, only focusing on what’s directly in front of him. He unplugs the stereo cutting off Led Zeppelin mid song.
There’s a ringing in his ears in the sudden silence, a heavy pounding as blood rushes through his body. He swallows, dry mouthed and lets the cord drop to the floor. Taking two steps back, Eddie stares at the stereo until he’d backed himself out of the den and back into the entry way again. He smacks haphazardly at the lightswitch until he finds it without looking and plunges the den into darkness.
Then he’s twisting on heel and running back up the stairs, feet pounding in his quick and obvious retreat. He knows Wayne has to hear his stampede back up to his bedroom, but he doesn’t care.
He doesn’t feel any safer under his blankets, but at least it gives him something to hide beneath. He lays there under the ratty old comforter, eyes squeezed shut and ears pricked for any other sounds.
Eddie doesn't move until the morning light seeps in around him and he hears the distant sound of his uncle puttering around in the hallway. It's a chore to drag himself out of bed, to stumble around the room in search of clothes for the day and head back down the stairs he'd bolted up just four hours ago, in sheer terror.
"You look like hell, kid," Wayne says when they meet in the hall, an eerie sense of deja-vu from last night.
"Didn't sleep much," Eddie murmurs as he trudges down the stairs. He doesn't look towards the den, silent and dark in his peripheral vision as he heads to the kitchen.
"Maybe you should take the day off, you can afford to skip a class every now and then," Wayne says. He glances at Eddie as he fiddles with the coffee maker, concern on his scruffy face. "The first class at least, get a few more hours of sleep."
"It's fine," Eddie yawns. "Only got two classes today, and then hellfire."
"If you say so," Wayne says and leans against the counter. "Should probably have someone come out and check the wiring, make sure nothing's in danger of catching fire."
The coffee maker spurts and gurgles behind Wayne, setting Eddie's teeth on edge. He doesn't understand how his uncle can look so calm when Eddie feels like he's about to fly out of his skin. “Yeah.”
On the far wall, the clock ticks loudly. It makes his eye twitch with every tick-tock-tick. Eddie doesn't know how he's going to survive the day. It isn't his hardest course load for the week, but it's the longest — two 3 hour lectures and then hellfire. He's never dreaded Friday before, but he feels done with the day before he's really even started it.
Eddie chugs his coffee, wincing as it burns its way down his throat, he stops by the sink to rinse the mug. "I'll be home late."
Wayne nods, settling himself into his chair with the crossword, "I'll see you when you get home."
***
The day has gone exactly as Eddie knew it would. Long and exhausting. He's dragging and grouchy by the end of Hellfire and he knows everyone can tell. No one puts up a fight when he calls an end to their session a whole forty minutes earlier than usual, but there's an undercurrent of something around the table. Each and every member casting him curious looks as they pack up their things.
"So," Dustin says into the awkward silence. "Are you going to call them now?"
Body tensing, Eddie turns to look at him. "Call who?"
"Are you still being a child," Dustin asks, shooting a look of disappointment towards Eddie. "You know who I'm talking about."
"No."
"Come on," Dustin groans, dropping his things back to the table. He smacks his hands down atop his stuff and says, "We can all tell something happened."
Eddie’s stomach drops. "Nothing happened."
"Bullshit," Gareth chimes in from across the table. "You've been super twitchy all day."
“I have not.” He points across the table at Gareth, “You haven’t even seen me today.”
“No, but Dustin saw you, so did Will, and they both said you were acting weird.”
“Sorry,” Will mumbles, but doesn’t look all that apologetic.
Eddie scoffs, eyes traveling from one face to the next. “What is this, an intervention?”
“Could be,” Gareth shrugs. “Just tell us what’s going on.”
“Nothing is going on.”
Mike leans forward, catches Eddie's eye. "You flinched when Jeff dropped his bag earlier and no offense, but you look like shit."
"Thanks," Eddie says drily. “You’re such a sweet talker, Wheeler – has anyone ever told you that?”
Mike rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat. “I call it like I see it, Munson.”
"You know what we mean." Dustin drags Eddie's attention back to him as he places another battered Stranger Things, Inc card on the table between them. "You look like you’re not sleeping.”
“I’m sleeping just fine.”
‘Sure,” Dustin says, sarcasm oozes through his tone. “Look, just give them a chance, that’s all I’m asking.”
"You mean give Steve a chance." Eddie sighs, pushing up to his feet, it makes him feel a little less chastised with how much taller he is than Dustin. He leans a hip against the table and crosses his arms. "We've talked about this already, man."
“Yeah but you didn’t listen," Dustin says, eyes following Eddie. "You don't even know Steve."
He can't help but think about the library, how close he had been to Steve for the very first time. The scar at his temple, the one around his neck. And, sure, everyone has scars, little nicks and bumps from life, but those scars… those had seemed so violently made. Those had told a story that Eddie couldn't even begin to guess at.
"I know enough," Eddie says. It doesn’t feel entirely truthful. “I know he doesn’t even believe in ghosts.”
He drops his eyes to the table, his gaze dragging over the rumpled card. “What kind of ghost hunter doesn’t believe in ghosts. – and he thinks the Warren’s are some kind of con-artists or something, said so himself.”
"Realistically, they probably are," Lucas agrees with a little shrug. “I mean, their whole schtik makes them a lot of money.”
“My point,” Eddie says sharply, looking from Lucas to Dustin, “is that if Steve Harrington doesn’t believe, then how the hell is he supposed to help me?”
Dustin seems to flounder for a moment, his eyes darting towards Will and the others. “Every team needs a skeptic."
“I just don’t get it,” Eddie admits, leaning over to tap at the card. “Why is he even a part of this club? He doesn’t believe, so what exactly is he getting out of it – you said he and Robin are friends, so it’s not like he needs the club to hang out with her.”
“It’s… complicated,” Dustin winces around the words. “There’s – Steve doesn’t believe in ghosts, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t believe in other things and really, they can help you, no matter what is in your house.”
“Other things,” Eddie repeats slowly. “Other things like what?”
“Like, demons,” Gareth asks, leaning over the table, eyes wide.
“It’s hard to explain,” Lucas offers when Dustin says nothing.
“Try,” Eddie snaps.
“We can’t.”
“Why not?” He's beginning to lose patience with this conversation and their cagey responses.
Will clears his throat. "Just because something seems like ghosts, doesn't always mean it is ghosts."
“So what,” Eddie says, arms crossing. “You’re team skeptic with Harrington?”
“No.” Will shakes his head, his big brown eyes imploring. “Just that… it could always be something else. Something that isn’t a ghost. And if it’s ghosts or not ghosts, they can help, but you have to give them the chance.”
Eddie is too tired to keep arguing. He sighs heavily, arms dropping. “I’ll take the card,” he says, reaching for it. It’s just as lame and plain looking as the first one. He flicks it. “Someone really needs to make them better cards.”
“We keep telling them to let Will design a better card,” Mike says, shoulder bumping into Will’s.
Will ducks his head, cheeks red. “That would defeat the purpose, it’s not supposed to be eye catching.”
“What’s the point of running a business if you don’t want customers,” Gareth asks. “Bad business model – isn’t Harrington in entrepreneurship with you, has he learned nothing?”
“How should I know,” Eddie grunts.
“So you’re taking the card,” Will checks, looking up at Eddie.
“I’m taking it,” Eddie nods.
Dustin immediately perks up. “And you’ll call them?”
"I'll think about it, I'm not making any of you shits any type of promises.” He narrows his eyes at all of them. “None.”
Lucas shrugs. "Good enough for me." He heads for the door without argument, patting Will and Mike on the back as he goes. “Last one back buys pizza tomorrow night.”
Mike curses, shoving up to his feet, he ends up running into Will who shamelessly trips him as he scrambles for the door.
It's Dustin that waits for Eddie to finish getting his things together. He watches and waits and Eddie knows that he's going to try another argument before they part ways.
“You’re going to owe them pizza,” Eddie tries.
Dustin just shrugs. “I’ll have Steve buy it.”
Eddie sighs. “So, you’re really friends with the guy, huh.”
“Best friends,” Dustin says without a hint of shame.
Eddie stares at the proud expression on his face, the smile that pulls at his mouth. “How long have you known him?”
“Years.” Dustin tights one strap on his backpack as he thinks, humming thoughtfully. “I was twelve when we first met. He was kind of like our babysitter.”
Eddie blinks. “No shit?”
Eddie can’t imagine Steve Harrington watching the little gaggle of sophomores.
“Oh yeah,” Dustin nods. “One minute he was some random guy that Nancy – that’s Mike’s sister – was dating and then he was just Steve. He tried to keep us all out of trouble. We didn’t exactly make it easy for him.” Dustin shrugs, an almost fond look on his face. “He stuck around anyway.
"Was the pay worth it, at least?" Eddie shoulders his own bag, and nods for Dustin to go ahead of him towards the door.
“Oh, no, Steve never got paid. He wasn’t like an official babysitter.” Dustin swings the door open wide for Eddie and smacks at the lights, plunging the club room into darkness. “He was more… a reluctant older brother, I guess. Our parents loved him, or loved foisting us off on him whenever they got the chance, not that he ever really minded.”
Eddie hums thoughtfully as he locks up the room. “So, you know about the…” he waves his key towards his own neck.
Next to him, Dustin goes quiet. “The scars?”
“Yeah,” Eddie looks at him.
Dustin’s eyes drop to the floor, his lips curl in between his teeth as he nods. “Yeah, I know about them.”
“Pretty gnarly for such a put together guy,” Eddie hedges, already knowing he’s making all the wrong steps, but he’s nothing if not stubborn and curious to a fault.
“Not really,” Dustin says, and glances down the hall at the sound of distant laughter – Lucas and Wills.
“No?” Eddie goes for nonchalance as he follows the sounds, patting Dustin on the shoulder as he passes to get him to follow.
“No.” Dustin’s spine straightens beneath Eddie’s hands, his head snapping toward Eddie as he says with a little more force, “Which is my whole point, you don’t know Steve at all.”
They turn the corner of the corridor, just catching the retreating backs of a still snickering Will and a wildly grinning Lucas – most likely at Mike's expense who has his head thrown back like he’s exasperated with the pair of them.
“Maybe,” Eddie says in response to Dustin's statement, “Maybe not.” He drags his hand up to Dustin's hair and ruffles it. “Go on, catch up to the others and go home.”
Dustin scowls at him, batting at Eddie's hand. He swivels around to walk backwards a few steps, pointing at Eddie. "Call them.
"Not happening, Henderson, but I love the determination."
"Fine, but don't come crying to us when something tries to eat you in the middle of the night," he says in parting before turning back around and racing after his friends.
"Little shit," Eddie mutters watching him go. Something jittery and sick settles in his stomach at the thought of something slinking out of the dark in his room and crawling up his bed to gobble him up. "Thanks for that, Henderson. Just what I needed to hear.”
Looking down at the card still in his hand, Eddie groans.
"No," he says. "no."
There's options. A whole phone book of options if something else happens. Eddie doesn't need Steve Harrington and his ragtag group of ghost hunters in his home, no matter just how curious Eddie is becoming about the guy.
Crumbling the card up, he thinks about tossing it in the nearest gutter to be washed away by tomorrow's rain. Instead, he tucks the crumbled card into his jacket. He told Dustin he would take it with him, and he was raised to be a man of his word.
Even if he keeps it, it doesn’t mean he’s ever going to use it.
September 16th, 1989 – Saturday
The crowd isn’t exactly going crazy as Eddie and the guys set up on stage for their show. They never do, but it’s enough to know there’s more than three drunks waiting to hear them play and a nice wad of cash and free beer to go along with it.
Eddie’s just testing his mic out when one of the bouncers catches his eyes and gestures him over to the edge of the stage. Eddie shares a concerned look with Jeff before heading over. He drops down onto his ass, legs swinging over the edge and kicking against the side of the stage.
Anxiety bubbles in Eddie’s stomach but he pastes on a wide grin. “We got a problem Brucey-boy?”
“Depends.” Bruce hooks a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. “Those little hoodlums belong to you, Munson?”
“Hoodlums?” Eddie squints through the gloom of the club and just makes out the frizzy mess of Dustin Henderson's curls and Mike Wheeler's pale face.
Jesus Christ.
“How many of them,” Eddie asks Bruce.
“Six.”
“Six?” Eddie doesn’t have six kids, “Christ they brought others?”
“Looks like.”
Eddie shakes his head and catches something in Bruce’s hand. “Are those…”
“Fakes?” Bruce holds them up, fanned out like a deck of cards. “Oh yeah, the worst ones I’ve ever seen too.”
Eddie doesn’t know if he should be a little proud of the gall or disappointed in their execution. “You give them hell?”
“Tried to,” Bruce says, and he grins just a little. “The redhead is a mean little shit.”
“Redhead?” Eddie frowns towards the entrance.
Eddie doesn’t know any redheads but he’s heard Lucas mention one enough, a Max. His girlfriend apparently. Eddie wonders if that’s who’s with them, rounding the number up to five, but that leaves the question of lucky number six. Maybe Wheeler brought his girlfriend? He has one too, Eddie thinks. El?
Or was it Jane?
Ellie Jane, maybe?
Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Eddie has a gaggle of teenagers who thought they could sneak their way into a club.
“Sorry,” Eddie says, “I’ll take care of it.”
Bruce shrugs. “They all try at some point. Look, they can stay for your set, but I catch 'em with even one drink and I’m tossing them to the curb.”
“Yeah?” Eddie reaches out to clap him on one giant shoulder, “that’s pretty cool, I’ll make sure they stay in line. Thanks Bruce.”
“Just don’t let it happen again,” Bruce says warningly. He drops the fakes into Eddie’s hand and heads away. Calling over his shoulder, “At least show your kids how to make good ones.”
“I’ll get right on that,” Eddie calls.
“Hey,” Jeff says, dropping down onto one knee next to him. “Everything cool?”
Eddie holds up the fake ID’s. “Yeah, just got some party crashers.”
“Seriously?” Jeff sounds almost impressed as he takes the offered fakes. He fans them out, holding them close to his face to see in the dim lighting. “Ballsy. These are shit.”
They are without a doubt the worst fakes Eddie’s ever seen. He bets the kids paid way too much for them too. Serves them right.
“Can you and Gareth finish setting up?” Eddie slides off the stage, dropping carefully onto the dance floor. “Gonna take care of this.”
“Yeah, man, be quick, though, we’re on in five.”
***
The teens all smile when they see him approaching. Innocent little grins stretched too wide and nervous across their faces.
“Eddie,” Dustin calls out cheerily, one hand gesturing to him like he’s surprised. “What a coincidence. Right, guys? A coincidence.
There’s several hurried nods.
“Yeah,” Lucas is quick to say, “we had no idea you played here.”
“Alright,” Eddie says, "crossing his arms, “cut the shit.”
They all deflate, looking mildly defeated.
Eddie shakes his head, dropping it back to look up at the ceiling. “How’d you little shits get here?”
“We walked mostly,” Dustin tells him.
“Took the bus the rest of the way,” Mike adds.
Great.
“Okay,” Eddie drops his head to look at all of them.
“You see that table over there,” he points to one of the abandoned tables towards the back. “You sit there, you don’t move and when the show is over you all go home for beddy-bye in your dorms.”
“But what about,” starts Mike.
Eddie cuts him off. “And you don’t even think about drinking.”
“Come on.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“And you’re going to stop us, how, exactly?” The red head asks, she’s got a mean glint in her pale eyes. Defiance to her core. Eddie likes her instantly.
“Max,” Lucas hisses, horrified.
“You’ve met Bruce,” Eddie nods to the right where Bruce is posted. “I see a single drink at your table and Bruce will be showing all of you the door— and, I’ll kill Will's character. Only Will's character, this Friday.”
Will's eyes go wide.
Next to Will, Mike sputters. “What? Why Will’s character? This wasn’t even his idea, if anyone should be killed it’s Dustin’s bard.”
“Hey,” Dustin says affronted.
“Well it was,” Mike says.
“Because,” Eddie cuts in before any arguing can start, he’s on a time crunch here. “I have a feeling Red would order drinks to get you all killed just for the hell of it.”
The girl next to max, nods gravely. “Max would.”
Max grins and knocks her shoulder gently into the other girls. “And I’d enjoy it.”
Eddie has no doubt.
“Wills the sweetest one you shitheads,” Eddie continues, “don’t think she’d enjoy it as much if only Will was getting punished.”
“I would not like that,” the girl says looking from max to Will. “Will’s character should not be killed, he worked very hard on it.”
Slouching back, Max rolls her eyes. “Whatever, fine, no drinks.”
The girls grins and nods at Eddie. “No drinks."
“Good kid,” Eddie tells her and can’t help but smile back when she beams at him. “Alright, go sit, all of you.”
He watches them charge off, sees Lucas try to offer his lap to max when they come up short on chairs. Instead, Max nudges Jane into one of the chairs and sits on her lap, then sticks her tongue out at Lucas.
Before Lucas can argue, Dustin is sitting on his lap with a wide grin and an overly loud, “ don’t mind if I do.”
It makes them all laugh.
Eddie shakes his head and hurries back to the stage.
“Everything cool,” Jeff checks, stepping onto his mark and slinging his base around to grip by the neck.
“Yeah,” Eddie picks up his guitar. “Let’s give those little shits a show.”
***
It’s admittedly nice to be fawned over after a show. The teens are all a buzz when Eddie, Jeff and Gareth make their way over once they exit the stage.
“You guys are awesome,” Dustin gushes once they’re close enough to hear.
“Yeah,” Lucas agrees, “we’re those original songs?”
“Just two,” Jeff says, “Eddie wrote them.”
“Metal,” Mike breathes with a bob of his head.
Next to him, Max snorts whispering, “suck up” under her breath and making Mike’s ears go red.
“Shut up,” Mike hisses.
“Make me loser,” Max spits back leaning towards him far enough that Jane tucks her arms around Max’s middle to keep her from falling.
“He can not,” Jane says from over Max’s shoulder. “I will not let him.”
That makes Max grin. “Hear that, Wheeler?”
“El,” Mike whines.
Eddie lets them all argue, content to wave over a waitress and get a few rounds of free beer in before he’s gotta get home.
Dustin perks up the moment he sees the waitress heading their way.
“Not a chance,” Eddie laughs.
“Why not?” Lucas asks.
“Yeah, Steve’s let us drink before,” Dustin argues.
Eddie gives a derisive snort. “Of course the party king let you toddlers have alcohol. I don’t know why I'm so surprised.”
Max narrows her eyes at that, her chin jutting forward as she turns her vicious stare on Eddie. “You have a problem with Steve?”
“He thinks Steve’s an asshole,” Lucas tells her. “Went on a whole rant about it.”
Max’s brows raise. “And you losers wanted to come watch him play?”
Jane— or, Mike just called her El— frowns at him. “Steve is nice.”
“Pull the other one,” Gareth says with a laugh. He takes three bottles of beer from the waitress and shoots her a flirtatious smile before turning back to the table.
“Pull the other what,” Jane asks, her frown getting deeper. “What am I pulling?”
“It’s an expression,” Mike tells her softly, “it means are you kidding.”
“Oh.” She leans forward, peering around Max to stare at Gareth head on. “I am not kidding.”
“Okay,” Gareth says, scrunching back a little under her intense gaze.
“Steve’s only let us drink once, anyway,” Will says, “and he would kill us if we drank without him knowing.”
That catches Eddie’s attention. “So, what, you guys just do whatever he says.”
“No,” they all say with varying expressions of amusement.
Jane shakes her head. “Steve worries.”
“Like a mother hen,” Max adds as she stands up, tugging Jane up with her and towards the door. “Later losers.”
Lucas shoves at Dustin, scrambling after his girlfriend. “Bye,” he waves at Eddie.
“Ass,” Dustin says, and goes after him, trying to trip him all the way to the door.
Mike follows too, waiting just a second to make sure Will is coming.
“Get back safe,” Eddie tells Will, “don’t let those idiots take any detours.”
Will nods. “I won’t.”
Eddie falls into one of the abandoned seats. “Being a father is tough work,” he says and steals the beer Gareth just cracked open before the guy can even take a sip.
September 19th, 1989 – Tuesday
Wayne's sweeping up some glass when Eddie gets downstairs Tuesday morning. He recognizes it as the mug they got two years ago on a trip to Michigan, the bright green and blue glass scattered across the floor.
"What happened," Eddie asks, as he grabs the dustpan and drops to his haunches to help.
"Guess the hook was loose," Wayne says, nodding towards the wall of mugs. "Came down to it shattered."
Eddie's attention snaps up to his uncle, hands clenched tight around the dustpan. "You didn't drop it?"
Wayne shakes his head, sweeps the class carefully into the pan. "At least it wasn't your Garfield—I'll take some time to tighten the rest of the hooks after breakfast, make sure none of the others fall.”
"Yeah," Eddie says slowly, glancing towards the wall. He can see the hook where the Michigan cup had been hanging, still perfectly screwed into the large cork board Wayne had fixed to the wall just for his mug collection. "Okay."
"Don't think I don't see that look on your face, kid," Wayne tells him, straightening up with a loud crack of his joints. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
"Nothing," Eddie lies, standing up.
He empties the dustpan into the trash, watches all the glass slide into the plastic bag and grits his teeth. Blasting music at three in the morning is one thing, but breaking his uncle's prized mug collection feels like a step too far — and then there's the cough.
It could be nothing, a cold or allergies but for as long as Eddie has known his uncle the man's never truly been sick. He's got a crazy strong immune system, unlike Eddie who falls sick at least four times a year. So to hear that wet, rattling cough grow worse each day…
"Kid?"
"If I wanted to do something," Eddie says, still staring at the broken glass, "something you don't really believe in… Would you?"
"You're gonna have to speak plain English, Ed, I haven't had any coffee yet."
Eddie sucks in a deep breath, lets it out in a rush of words, "I want to hire a paranormal investigator." When Eddie looks over at his uncle, he catches Wayne scrubbing tiredly at his face. "I know you don't believe in ghosts, I know you think it's bullshit, but I do and I’m worried…”
There must be something on Eddie’s face. A sign of his desperation because Wayne pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and sits, one hand still clasped around the broom handle as he stares at Eddie. "You really believe this place is haunted, don’t you?”
Eddie shrugs, feeling a little embarrassed. "I think it's something."
“Well,” Wayne says nice and slow, “this house is as much yours as it is mine, kid – will be all yours once I'm gone so…” he rubs a hand over his scruffy face. “If you think an investigation would make you feel better about living here then, I don't see why not.
“Really?” Relief fills Eddie's chest, gnawing away at some of the anxiety that's been building since the very first day Eddie stepped foot in this place. "Thanks, Wayne."
Wayne waves away the gratitude. "Thank me by getting us some coffee, never got around to it with the mess.” “Coming right up,” Eddie says, depositing the dustpan next to the trash can.
He fills up the coffee pot while Wayne systematically removes every mug from the wall to check the hooks. He keeps his mouth shut when Wayne doesn't find a single loose one, but the way his uncle glances over at him lets him know that Wayne knows exactly what Eddie is thinking
It's fucking ghosts.
Or something.
September 20th, 1989 – Monday
The phone booth is cramped, the glass foggy. Eddie feels like he’s been tucked away in here for hours, spending all the change he has in his pockets. Realistically, he knows it’s only been about 40 minutes but the time has dragged on and he’s at the end of his rope.
He’s also at the end of his list of viable options to help him with his little ghost problem.
“How much,” Eddie asks, head banging against the cold metal of the receiver. He heard the price the first time the Great-Seer-Serena said it, but there was just no way he heard it right.
“Three hundred and fifty dollars –” the woman says again, voice tinny over the phone line,“ with a deposit of fifty dollars in case of cancellation.”
Eddie laughs, harsh and loud and hangs up.
The phone clangs loudly against the receiver so Eddie does it again and again and again, something vicious and desperate and angry all coiled up inside of him. He wants to break the phone, wants to call all of the phony assholes back and tell them they’re horrible people.
“Fucking con-artists,” he says and pushes open the door to the booth, it gets stuck partway and Eddie has to reign himself in before he breaks it.
Christ, maybe Harrington is right. Maybe they are all con artists and fakes.
***
He’s late to class, slips in just as the professor is scribbling something onto the chalk board. Only a few people glance Eddie’s way but none of their eyes linger. He tugs his notebook out of his bag and flips to a clean page. He tries to listen, tries to scribble down some of the notes he knows are going to end up being important for their midterm or final but his mind is elsewhere.
Giving up, Eddie slouches a little further down in his seat and pulls out the list he’d made the other day. He smooths out the crumbled up paper, pencil smudging beneath the swipe of his hand. Most of the options are crossed out, big slashes over their names. Only two have question marks next to them, the cheapest of the options but also the most sketchy sounding. This is it for the area, these are all the people who could help him.
He’s officially run out of options for help.
Almost…
Almost all the people who could help. From the corner of Eddie's eye, he can see Steve whispering with Heather. He’s nodding along to something she’s saying, his pencil tapping against his desk.
Does Stranger Things, Inc also cost? He’d never asked. He thinks maybe Dustin would have mentioned that as part of the sales pitch he’s been giving Eddie.
Maybe he could just… ask Steve. The guy is sitting right there, Eddie could just lean over, get Steve’s attention and ask.
Hey Harrington, how much do you charge?
He snorts out a laugh at the thought. The guy would probably punch him right in the face.
He’s never spoken to Steve in any of the classes they’ve shared over the years — and sure, he’s thought about it once or twice but that was way back at the start. Back before Steve was Steve Harrington the king of campus, and before Eddie was the freak sitting in the back of the class.
Unbidden, the conversation from the library creeps back to him the way it’s been doing since Thursday. The way Steve had said his name in parting — the fact that he had even known Eddie’s name at all.
Eddie should stop staring before he gets caught but he can’t help the way his eyes drag over Steve. The way they linger at Steve’s temple, his neck, seeking out the scars he now knows are there, but he can’t see anything from where he’s sitting. Wonders briefly if Heather can from where she sits so close to Steve, if she knows how he got them. If she’s allowed to ask.
Looking back down at his list, Eddie rubs at the margins, trying to flatten the paper. The two people he’s considering still cost— cost way more than Eddie’s really able to afford.
Maybe Dustin is right about Eddie not really knowing Steve. Maybe Eddie should be an adult and give the guy a chance. If not for himself than for Wayne and the home his uncle is trying to create.
He signs heavily and folds the paper in half to tuck into his notebook. He’ll hold onto it just in case.
Eddie glances back towards Steve and startles when he finds Steve’s dark eyes already fixed on him.
Panicking, Eddie waves at him, a jerky move of the hand.
Steve blinks, brows raising in surprise. He waves back, a stilted wiggle of his fingers before turning away.
Over Steve’s shoulder, Eddie sees Heather staring at him, mouth pursed. Eddie thinks about waving at her too just to really drive home the fact that he’s an idiot. Fortunately, she turns her attention back to Steve, leaning in to whisper again.
She’s probably talking about Eddie now, wondering why he waved at Steve at all. Eddie’s wondering the same thing. He groans, dropping his head to the desk and doesn’t raise it again until the class ends.
***
Eddie’s the first one out of the room the moment the clock strikes four - thirty.
He finds his way back to the pay phone and digs out the last two quarters he has and the crumbled mess that’s been sitting in his pocket with them. He stares down at the card, fingers working to smooth it out. The wrinkles don’t really matter, he knows that, knows just wasting time – hesitating.
“Fuck it.” He puts fifty cents into the machine and angrily punches in the phone number.
The line rings and rings and, for one shining moment, Eddie thinks no one is going to answer, but then—
“Stranger Things, Inc. This is Robin.”
Eddie falters. He doesn’t know what he was expecting – maybe a long winded greeting, something mythical and mystical but it sounds like any other business.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
“How much do you charge,” Eddie asks, cutting right through the pleasantries.
There’s a pause, and then Robin says, voice a little less customer service sweet. “We don’t. All of our services are free if we take your case.”
Free, Eddie thinks and knocks his head against the phone receiver. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck, okay.”
He coughs, pulls back his shoulders and tells Robin, “I think I have ghosts— or something in my house. Mostly ghosts.”
Robin hums and Eddie can hear the distant scratch of a pen on paper. “How did you get this number?”
“Henderson – Dustin Henderson, he gave me your card.”
“Dustin did?” Robin sounds surprised.
“Yeah.”
“So,” she says, “Ghosts?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell me more.”
So Eddie does, gives her a brief rundown of the new place, the sounds, the smells, the stereo in the middle of the night, the broken mugs.
And she listens; listens like she believes him, like she thinks they can help.
Relief fills Eddie when she sets a date and time for their preliminary interview— whatever that is. And he goes home feeling lighter than he has in days, even catches some sleep before dinner.
It’s fine, he’s giving Steve and Stranger Things a chance. He's being mature. He can do this.
It’s one chance, for Wayne’s sake.
September 22nd, 1989 – Friday
Eddie is prepared for the smug little look on Dustin's face when he bursts into the clubroom. He’s been braced for it all day. So he’s ready for the onslaught the moment the kid stumbles into the room and slams his things down on the table right next to Eddi, a wide grin on his face.
"You called!"
"I called," Eddie agrees blandly. He shoves Dustin's things over, out of his space and starts setting up his screen. "Who told you?"
"Robin."
"Not your precious Steve?"
"Steve doesn't handle the appointments— that's all Robin." Dustin starts pulling things out of his bag, setting up his figures and organizing his notes. “I love Steve, but his organizational skills are not great.”
"So,” Eddie drawls, “What, he just goes where she tells him to?"
"Pretty much." Dustin’s head snaps up, eyes wide. "Wait, holy shit, this is perfect, why didn’t I think of it before!”
Gareth pauses in the doorway. “Henderson’s got that look on his face again,” he mutters to Jeff.
“That’s never good,” Jeff says, making Lucas and Will laugh as they follow them to the table.
“It is good” Dustin insists, “I’m a genius.”
“Sure,” Gareth snorts. “What’s the great idea?”
"Steve and Robin."
Lucas snorts. "No way. You're still trying to set them up? Haven’t they told you like, a million times they’re just friends.”
“A million and one,” Mike says, rolling his eyes as he drags out his chair between lucas and will and drops into it. “Last time you tried to set them up, Robin threatened to tell your mom about the Russians.”
“Russians,” Jeffs says, brows furrowing.
Gareth shakes his head. “I don’t even want to know.”
Neither does Eddie.
"They're made for each other," Dustin argues. He waves a grand hand towards Eddie, "and if Eddie sees it too and says something then maybe they'll actually listen. Eddie’s cool and their age – maybe that’s all they need.”
"Sure," Lucas says, though he doesn't sound like he believes it at all. "They need someone like Eddie to tell them they're destined for one another.”
Eddie thinks he should probably be offended by that, but he lets it go in favor of staying out of the conversation.
"I don't think you should be meddling in their love lives," Will says from the other side of the table, shoulders hunched up to his ears. "They’re friends, just friends.”
"They could be more though,” Dustin says, not bothering to look over at Will, his eyes fixed firmly on Eddie. “They just need someone else to tell them. You - You can tell them.”
“Wait,” Gareth cuts in with a snort of ugly laughter, “you want Eddie to play cupid for Steve Harrington?”
Jeff looks over at Eddie, brows raised high. “Their hubris knows no bounds, man.”
“That’s because Eddie lets the little shits get away with everything,” Gareth mutters.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, looking over at Dustin. “Tell me something, Henderson, if they’re so perfect for each other, then why aren’t they together already? Harrington isn’t exactly hurting for options if he wants them.
"They're kind of idiots," Mike tells him. “Steve mostly, but Robin loses brain cells when they’re together.”
"Gee, that makes me feel great about hiring them."
“At least they’re free,” Lucas says with a shrug. “I heard others charge like crazy.”
“That’s Harrington and Co’s only selling point,” Eddie admits.
Gareth snaps his head towards him. "You didn't."
"He did," Dustin says smugly.
"Eddie no," Gareth groans. "Steve Harrington? Really? You're letting him in your house?"
"I'm being mature about this," Eddie tells them. He looks over at Dustin and says, "but he's only getting one chance, Henderson, that's it. One.”
"That's all he needs, really, you're gonna love Steve, he's great."
Mike snorts.
"Ignore him, he's just bitter because Steve used to date his sister," Lucas explains.
Gareth gives Eddie such a disappointed look from down the table. Eddie doesn’t know if it’s solely directed at him or the room at large for their feelings about Steve.
Either way, Eddie ignores him. “Enough talking, let's get this show on the road."
September 23rd, 1989 – Saturday
It’s too early for Eddie to already be awake, but he’s been lying in bed for hours, listening to every creak and groan of the home around him.
He’d told himself it was just the usual noise of an old house settling. Tried to convince himself to go back to sleep, but every sound had his eyes snapping open, his body tensing, every part of him primed to be ripped apart by a vengeful spirit. Dustin’s stray comment the other week really fucked with his head.
He nearly comes out of his own skin when he hears the sharp trill of the phone ringing downstairs a quarter to seven.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, head dropping back onto his pillow.
The phone rings and rings and then cuts off. The sudden lack of sound is deafening. Eddie breathes into the dark of his room, body slowly starting to relax into the bedding. He flinches when the phone starts to ring again. The trill of it fraying his ever nerve ending. It sounds so loud in the early morning stillness, loud enough to wake the dead – and his uncle.
Throwing the blanket off, Eddie tiptoes out of his room and down the hall past his uncle's door. When he reaches the stairs the phone cuts off and Eddie sways on the top step, staring down into the dark abyss of the ground floor. He waits several breathless seconds, and then the phone starts ringing again.
There’s only one person who would call this early and continuously without an ounce of shame.
“Henderson.” Eyes rolling, Eddie rushes down the steps, flipping lights on as he goes.
He catches the phone on the last ring. “Dustin—“
“Finally,” Dustin sounds exasperated. “I’ve called you like five times.”
“Yeah, I know,” Eddie grumbles, glancing over at the clock on the wall. He squints and says, “it’s not even seven yet, why the hell are you calling?”
“Your interview is today,” Dustin says, like he thinks Eddie might have forgotten. Like it’s not all Eddie’s thought about since waking up, something nervous and defensive skittering beneath his skin.
“Yeah, at nine, it’s still six, Henderson, everyone is asleep.”
“Okay, but you’re awake now.”
“Jesus.” Eddie rubs at his face tiredly, he can feel the dark circles beneath his eyes, little gouges of proof that he hasn’t slept a solid night since moving in. “Okay, okay, what do you want?”
“I want to make sure you and Steve get along,”
“Yeah?” Eddie scoffs. “And, just how are you going to do that? By chaperoning us?”
He regrets the joke the moment he says it, the excitement from Dustin practically radiates through the phone.
Eddie shakes his head even though Dustin can’t see it, immediately shutting down that line of thought, “no, no, you are not invited, Henderson. Do not even think about showing up here.”
“Come on,” Dustin whines, “it’ll be great, I can be your buffer.”
“Not happening.”
Eddie does think the kid would be a great buffer but he doesn’t want Dustin anywhere near this house. Not until whatever’s in it is long gone. “Me and Harrington are big boys, we can survive the day without you.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Your confidence in us is touching. Truly.”
“Look, I just mean that Steve can be an ass,” Dustin starts and Eddie snorts at the obvious. It doesn’t deter Dustin, just makes him speak louder, voice going pointed, “And, so can you.”
That's true, but Eddie thinks there’s gotta be a difference. He can’t be on the same level as Steve Harrington.
“You’re both my friends,” Dustin continues, “I don’t want you guys to hate each other.”
It’s a tall order, but Eddie hums his agreement. “I am giving him a chance, one, remember.”
Eddie sighs, back thumping against the wall. He slides down it, ass hitting cold wood and legs sprawling out. He stares around the dimly lit den, taking in the mismatched furniture and the still unplugged stereo system. The room is quiet, muted, the noise of the world never quite reaching it. “Why are you friends with the guy anyway?”
“With Steve?” Dustin sounds surprised.
“Yeah— guy’s a total jock, doesn’t exactly seem like your kind of friend.”
“Lucas is a jock.”
“Yeah, but Lucas is also a nerd.”
“So is Steve, in his own way, plus he’s a total badass.”
Eddie laughs, wrapping the phone cord around his wrist until his fingers start to ache, the tips turning bone white. “Sure.”
“I’m serious,” Dustin insists. “He saved my life.”
Eddie blinks at the room, the words washing over him. “He did?”
Dustin's voice is quieter, “back in Hawkins, I told you he tried to keep us out of trouble… “
Eddie remembers.
“It,” Dustin says slowly, tripping over the words. “It didn’t always work but he was there anyway. He was always there even though he didn’t have to be.”
Eddie wants to know what that means. What trouble was Steve keeping Dustin Henderson out of? What trouble left Steve with those scars while the kids remained seemingly unscathed?
“What happened?”
“Can’t say,” Dustin tells him.
“Henderson.”
“Just, remember that, okay? That he’s a good guy even when he’s being a dick, and that he’s really not like all the rumors about him,” Dustin says quickly. “He’s just Steve.”
“Okay,” Eddie says, voice also quiet in the face of Dustin’s desperation. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
“Thanks, Eddie.”
***
As the day drags on, Eddie finds that he’s kind of freaking out over the whole thing.
"You're gonna wear a groove in the floorboards," Wayne says as he passes Eddie on the way to the kitchen. "If you're this nervous, you can call the whole thing off."
"You and the ghost would love that,” Eddie grumbles but moves to sit on the staircase to stare at the front door.
"Yeah, we're in cahoots.”
"You could be," Eddie mumbles, teeth digging into the raw expanse of his fingers. He’s already ripped off what little nail he had, the sting of it grounding him.
When the doorbell chimes just a few minutes after nine, Eddie jolts, stumbling down the two steps he’s been occupying.
"I've got it," he chokes out and doesn’t let himself freak out before pulling open the door.
Steve Harrington is standing on Eddie’s porch, looking windswept and bogged down with several bags. He’s fussing with one of the straps, the bag it’s attached to hanging from the crook of his elbow like it slipped when he rang the bell.
"Hey," Steve says, word strained as he continues to fight with the bag. “We’re the investigation team.” He glances up once with a polite smile and then snaps his head back up. His eyes meet Eddie’s and the smile slips from his face to make way for his surprise, “Eddie.”
"Um," Eddie says awkwardly, fingers tightening around the door handle. "Yeah?"
Steve's lips parts around his inhale, like he's going to say more before his mouth clicks closed and his head turns sharply towards the young woman standing just behind him. "Robin."
An awkward smile spreads over Robin's face, her head bobbing in greeting. "Hey, I'm Robin, we spoke on the phone yesterday."
"Yeah, hi," Eddie says, looking between her and Steve.
He sees when Robin's thin fingers reach out and pinch Steve sharply on the soft part of his upper arm. Sees Steve jerk away from her with a hiss, his eyes flicking back to Eddie.
"Hi, Eddie," a third voice calls out brightly from behind Steve and Robin.
Eddie cranes his head around and sees Chrissy on the bottom step. Her hair pulled up in a ponytail, a faded streak of pink cutting through the soft blonde.
“Cunningham,” he waves, relieved to see a familiar face— one he knows is actually friendly. “Nice hair.”
She bounces on the balls of her feet, a bag thumping against her hip as she grins up at him. “Thanks.”
Beside him, Steve lets out a quiet cough. “You and Chrissy know each other?”
“Oh yeah, me and Chrissy? We go way back,” Eddie says leaning against the door.
“Since middle school,” Chrissy adds as she comes up the stairs. She bumps into Robin, stays there against her as she says, “he had a lot less hair back then.”
“Ouch.” Eddie pretends to take a dagger to the heart. “Way to bring up past traumas, Cunningham."
She laughs. “It was cute.”
Eddie shakes his head. “It was not cute, but thanks anyway,” he says as he steps back and waves the three of them into the house. “The perils of knowing people in your youth.”
“I went to high school with Steve,” Robin says as she looks around the entryway. “I’m pretty sure he was born with hair.”
Glancing towards Steve, Eddie says, “I would believe it.”
“Thanks,” Steve’s voice is dry, as he readjusts the bags hanging from his shoulders.
There’s a thump from overhead, the sound of shuffling feet.
Right, Eddie should probably introduce Wayne to the group before setting them loose on the house. Stepping up to the bottom stair, Eddie calls up, “Wayne they’re here!”
“I’m down here, boy, no need to yell,” his uncle calls back from behind him in the direction of the kitchen.
Eddie startles, stumbling down the two steps he took and twisting around hard to look through the kitchen doorway. “I thought…”
Christ alive, Eddie hates this house.
“That’s a good start,” Chrissy says, eyes fixed on the ceiling, excitement clear on her expressive face.
Steve is looking up at the ceiling too, brows furrowed. “Maybe.”
Robin knocks her shoulder into Steve’s, pulling his attention away from the upper floors. She nods towards Wayne, and says, “Thank you for inviting us, I’m Robin, this is Steve.”
“Hi Mr. Munson,” Chrissy waves.
“Ms. Cunningham,” Wayne nods back at her. “Nice to see you again.” he nods towards Robin and Steve too. “And it’s nice to meet you both as well. You three run that club Eddie’s been telling me about, the ghost one?”
“It’s a paranormal and metaphysical research club,” Robin says, head bobbing.
“Sounds fancy.”
“It’s really not,” Steve says and holds out his hand, “It’s just a long winded name to say we sit in the dark with cameras.”
Wayne snorts. “A boy that doesn’t beat around the bush, I like that.” He shakes Steve's hand, nice and firm.
“Well, whatever you do, It’s good to have you here, Eddie’s been all over the place waiting for you to arrive.”
Eddie lets out an awkward laugh. “He lies.”
Wayne rolls his eyes and says, “you kids set up wherever and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Actually,” Chrissy cuts in, stepping closer. “I would love to have your input too, Mr. Munson. Thoughts on the history of your home and the unknown. We’d love all perspectives.”
“Don’t believe in any of that,” Wayne says, but sighs, shoulders slumping in the face of Chrissy Cunningham. “Suppose I could talk a bit, if it helps you out and,” he nods towards Eddie, “If it convinces Ed that there's nothing here.”
“That would be great!” Chrissy bounces towards where Steve laid out their bags, “let us get set up— where would you be most comfortable doing an interview, Mr. Munson?”
“Kitchen works, tables a little wobbly, but it’s sturdy enough.” He waves a hand to guide them in.
Robin claps her hands together. “Great, let's get started.”
Set up takes longer than Eddie thought it would. It’s mostly Steve hauling around the equipment at Chrissy’s behest while Robin flips through a thick binder until she comes across a page of questions and a few copies of old newspaper articles.
Then it’s go time, Robin and Chrissy sitting across the table from Wayne with him and Steve watching quietly from the sidelines.
“Tell us about your purchase,” Robin says.
And Wayne does, giving them all the same lines he’d given Eddie. Cheap house, on the market for years, a steal for the size of it and the location.
“I’d be stupid to have passed it up,” Wayne says.
Robin nods. “It all sounds too good to be true.”
“Because it was,” Eddie interjects, “the place is fucking haunted and a whole family was murdered upstairs.”
“That was Eddie Munson speaking,” Robin leans close to the voice recorder, “Wayne Munson's nephew.”
Eddie grimaces. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Chrissy tells him, “we want this to all be as authentic as possible.”
Robin nods. “She’s right, we want all the perspectives.”
“Right, yeah, you just want me to wait until it’s my turn,” Eddie scrubs a hand over his face, “I get it.”
“It would make it easier for our records,” Robin hedges, her eyes flicking past Eddie to Steve. “We’ll probably be at this for a while, lots of history, why don’t you…”
“Now?”
“Yeah, Steve.”
“Fine,” Steve says. He nudges Eddie lightly, “show me around, where all the weirdest stuff happens.”
Eddie glances up at the ceiling, thinking.
“The den,” he says after a minute.
Eddie doesn’t hang out there if he can help it. Only sitting in the spot closest to the door so he can use the phone, back to the wall so nothing has the chance to sneak up on him when his guard is down.
“Come on,” Eddie doesn’t wait for Steve to follow before he leaves the kitchen, heading back through the entryway hall to the other side of the house where the den sits. He hesitates outside the room, only reaching in to flick on the light.
“This is a nice place,” Steve says, breezing past him.
“It needs work,” Eddie tells him and watches as Steve makes a slow circuit around the den.
“Better than mine and Robin's place.” Steve pauses, eyes narrowed before continuing on around the room.
“You and Robin live together?” Dustin hadn’t mentioned that part when he’d laid out his little scheme to get Steve and Robin together. For all Eddie knows, they already are together and just don’t want any of the little twirps noses in their business.
Steve nods. “Yeah but, uh, not like that— we’re just roommates.”
“Dustin doesn’t seem to think so.”
“Dustin doesn’t know how to mind his own business,” Steve sighs.
Pausing again, Steve presses a hand to one of the panels on the wall. He pushes at it, leaning in close, eyes narrowed, but shoving away and moving on.
“You looking for something,” Eddie asks after he’s watched Steve bounce on the balls of his feet in several different spots on the floor and knock at the walls.
“Things that might cause weird sounds,” Steve doesn’t bother looking over at him as he explains, one hand seesawing as he speaks. “Wobbly floorboards or rotten wood, that kinda stuff— your floors are in pretty good condition for such an old place.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “good craftsmanship, I guess?”
“No,” Eddie drags the word out, “why are you looking for wobbly wood and shit.”
Steve glances up, hesitates before saying. “We have to rule out all possibilities, man.”
“All possibilities…” Eddie’s spine goes straight, something defensive rising in his gut. “So what, you think a loose floorboard is what’s wrong with this place? Seriously?”
Steve hesitates, bottom lip catching between his teeth as he seems to weigh his words. “I don’t know, could be a loose board, could be bad pipes or termites or any other logical explanation.”
Through gritted teeth, Eddie says, “It’s not.”
“To you,” Steve nods, knocking at the wall twice more before seemingly declaring the room fit. “Let’s move on.”
“Hold up.” Eddie blocks his path, one hand raised. “Do you think I’m lying about this place? That this is just something I'm doing for the hell of it?”
“I think…” Steve says slowly, eyes fixed over Eddie's shoulder, “that you think this place is haunted.”
“And you don’t,” Eddie waves a hand around the den.
Steve sighs, turning to face him. “You want me to be honest?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think it’s ghosts—“
“You’ve been here less than an hour, and you’ve done nothing but walk around this room.”
“Yeah,” Steve nods, “but I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Eddie knew that already, Steve has already told him this days ago but it’s just as jarring. He points at Steve. “You’re a ghost hunter— how can you not believe in ghosts?”
He props his hands on his hips. “I’ll be honest, I’ve seen some weird shit but I’ve never seen any proof of ghosts existing— I have seen gas leaks and faulty wiring and a nest of raccoons living in the walls though.”
“It’s not raccoons.”
“Maybe, maybe not. The whole point is that it could be, and there’s a lot of walls left to check.” He moves past Eddie, stepping back into the hall and heading for the next section of the house without waiting.
So much for playing nice.
Eddie glances around the den, goosebumps prickling along his arms when he realizes he’s all alone, that he can’t hear Steve’s footsteps anymore or any voices from the kitchen. Like a veil was laid over the room, muting the rest of the world from it. He swallows hard, steps back slowly until he’s in the hallway too.
“Raccoons can’t do that,” he murmurs before stomping after Steve.
***
He finds Steve on the second floor, ducked down and checking the sturdiness of the banister.
“ Didn’t realize you were such a handyman,” Eddie says, and sees when Steve flinches in surprise.
“I’m not really,” Steve says, glancing over at him. He moves on to the next bar in the line, presses at it as he speaks, “but Robin breaks a lot of things – she’s kind of clumsy and we don’t make a lot of money so… We fix what we can.”
Shuffling down the hallway, Steve works silently under Eddie’s watchful gaze. Steve knocks and pulls at the unpolished wood and Eddie inches along behind him whenever he moves. The silence between them is thick, tense. A total one eighty from the light laughter he can hear coming from the kitchen every so often, Robin and Wayne loudly joking.
After several more seconds, Steve sighs and looks up at him. Those dark eyes drag from Eddie’s unhappy face to his crossed arms. Steve looks away, settling back on his haunches, one hand wrapped tight around a banister bar. “Look, I know you’re mad.”
“I’m fine.”
“Uhuh,” Steve says, disbelief clear in his tone. He stands up abruptly, one hand running through his hair. “I don’t want to fight with you man, I promised Dustin that we would be nice to each other.”
“We’re not fighting.”
“Feels like it,” Steve mumbles. He knocks on the banister and turns to face the line of rooms. “Can I?”
“This one is Wayne’s, it’s off limits,” Eddie says, pointing to the first one. “Middle is a guest room, then mine.”
“And the door at the end of the hall?”
“Goes to the attic,” Eddie says, “it’s off limits too, Wayne says it’s not safe.”
Steve hums but heads for the guest room first. It gets the same treatment as the den, lots of knocking and bouncing and little frowns. Eddie watches from the doorway
“Your room next,” Steve says when he’s done.
There’s some hesitance on Eddie’s part, no one’s been in his room yet. No one but him and Wayne, and he doesn't know how he feels about Steve being the first outside invited in.
With more confidence than he feels, Eddie gestures towards it grandly, “after you.”
It’s clear that Steve is surprised when he enters Eddie’s bedroom. His brows raise and he lets out a little whistle.
“You have so much stuff,” Steve tells him, pausing to look at posters and figurines. He pokes one of them, a little smile on his face. “Dustin said you're really good at the dungeon game. Talks about it all the time.”
He glances over at Eddie, “you should have seen him after the first session last year, he wouldn’t shut up for weeks about the initiation one shot you did.”
Eddie hasn’t known that. “You knew I was in the same club?”
“Yeah,” Steve shrugs looking away, he moves past the shelf of DND things and towards Eddie’s desk, “you’re like the president or whatever, aren’t you?”
“Something like that.”
“And you always wear that vest,” he taps at his own peck, “the one with the hellfire patch. It’d be kind of hard to miss.”
It’s been too hot to wear the vest yet, the tail end of summer still too scorching for multiple layers. Eddie hasn’t worn the vest for a while. So Steve has to be talking about before this semester— sometime during their last semester before summer.
“Right,” Eddie says, slowly.
Steve moves carefully throughout the room, ignoring the clothes scattered across the floor and the papers all over his desk. He doesn’t disturb anything, doesn’t comment on the cleanliness. He’s focused in a way that Eddie isn’t used to seeing from him.
“You take this seriously.”
“It’s my job to take it seriously,” Steve reminds him.
“Even if you don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Especially because I don’t believe in ghosts.” The way Steve says it sounds weird, like there’s something that could be worse lurking about, that he needs to rule it all out just to be sure.
“Dustin asked me to play nice,” Eddie admits. “With you.”
He catches Steve’s wince. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, kid worships you,” Eddie tells him, “he hasn’t shut up about you for weeks— not since he found out about this place.”
“You didn’t know I was friends with him?” Steve frowns.
“I mean, he’s mentioned Steve before, I just didn’t know it was you— kind of blew my mind if I’m being totally honest. No way did I ever think the Steve that Dustin always talks about is Steve Harrington, king of campus.”
There’s that flinch again. “God, I hate that nickname— don’t know how it followed me here.”
“Oh? Were you king of high school too.”
“No.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “It was— some asshole called me that and it just…” he waves his hand, a vague dismissal. “Never mind.”
“Sure.”
“The floor and walls are fine,” Steve says, suddenly heading for the door, “the girls are probably done with your uncle's interview, we should get back downstairs for yours.”
Eddie watches him disappear out of the room, and wonders why he feels like an ass.
***
Eddie feels a little like an insect with Robin and Chrissy staring at him, big blue eyes watching him unblinkingly. Steve is leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed. He’s staring too but Eddie’s doing his best to ignore that.
“Tell us everything, no detail is too great or small.” Robin says, and points towards the voice recorder. “ Speak as clear as you can, this will be used for review.”
“Okay.” Eddie doesn’t even know where to start. He flounders, eyes floating up to the ceiling. There’s a water stain, brown and gross but he traces along the uneven edges anyway. “I guess the place just felt weird from the beginning, cold and quiet, and like you’re being watched.”
He can sense Chrissy and Robin leaning in closer from across the table, Chrissy as a camera set up in front of her, recording Eddie’s facial expression, probably to gauge sincerity.
“Does it feel dangerous,” Robin asks, there’s a pen in her hand, a notebook of questions in front of her.
Eddie nods.
Robin taps the recorder.
“Y-yes,” Eddie stutters out quickly, “yeah it feels dangerous, heavy, like it wants something.”
Robin marks something in the notebook, quick hand that Eddie doesn’t understand.
“Explain what you mean by cold and quiet.”
“It’s… “ Eddie thinks of the den, thinks of every night when he’s shivering in his bed despite it being summer. “Its like there’s a veil over the house— certain rooms especially…”
“Like the den,” Steve asks.
Eddie glances over at him and then away just as fast. “Yeah, it’s quiet in the den, you can really hear anything from the rest of the house when you’re in there.”
“What about the phone,” Steve asks.
Robin looks at Steve, confused. “What about it?”
“It’s in the den,” Steve explains, attention still on Eddie, “you can hear it when it rings, right?”
“Yeah. Heard it plenty this morning,” Eddie says, “Dustin kept calling.”
“Of course he did,” Robin snorts. She straightens up when Chrissy elbows her, a sharply whispered “focus•
“So,” Robin says, adopting that professional voice again, “the den is quiet and cold… what else has happened?”
Eddie explains in halting detail about his uncle's mugs shattered across the floor, about the sound of footsteps in the hallway in the middle of the night, the weird flashes in the corner of his eye. It’s not a lot but it’s hard to really explain the sick feeling Eddie gets whenever he has to come home to this place. The way he feels nervous to leave his uncle here all alone when he has to work.
“Thanks Eddie,” she says and turns off the recorder. Aha shuffles some papers, scribbles a few more things. “It’s not a lot,” she admits, “but we’ll submit it to our director and see if it gets approved.”
Eddie frowns. “Approved for what?”
“Investigation,” Chrissy tells him, standing up and stretching. She hooks a thumbs towards Robin and Steve, “they have to get approval before we do anything else•
Eddie’s stomach drops.
“What?” He pushes up, chair screeching. “What do you mean you have to get approval?”
“We get a lot of calls,” Steve’s voice is quiet, “we can’t take every case— we do the interview,” he waves at Robin and Chrissy, “and then submit it to Brenner to see if it’s worth investigation.”
“Brenner,” Eddie says, "and whoa, wait, what do you mean if it’s worth investigating.”
“I mean exactly what I said.”
“You still think it’s raccoons or something,” Eddie says in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Eddie,” Robin's voice is calm. “This is how we do things— we don’t have any other choice, we’ll get it over to Brenner first thing tomorrow morning, it’ll take a few days did him to review it and then—“
“And then what? What if it doesn’t get approval?”
Robin gives him a helpless look.
“Forget it,” Eddie says, frustrated, “I don’t need your help.”
“Eddie,” Chrissy says apologetically
Between Steve saying it could all be raccoons or rattling pipes and this, Eddie can feel himself getting angry. He doesn’t like the feeling.
"Whatever." He says and pulls the door open. "Thanks for nothing."
They hesitate on his front step. “We’ll know by the end of the week if it’s approved,” Robin says.
“I don’t need your help,” Eddie says, “I’ll figure it out myself.
He can feel Steve’s eyes on him until he slams the door.
“Everything okay?” Wayne asks
“It’s peachy,” Eddie huffs and stomps up the stairs. His room feels tainted, his brain supplying images of Steve fiddling with his things. He drops into bed, smothering himself with the pillow and groans.
He knew he shouldn’t have called them, he shouldn’t have given them a chance. What a waste of time.
September 25th, 1989 – Monday
Eddie is late to class; it's a running theme by now but this is the first time it's on purpose. He doesn't want to give Steve the chance to speak to him— he doubts Steve will but Eddie doesn't like the odds being even a little out of his favor.
The room is quiet, everyone diligently taking notes as Eddie slides into his seat. He's quiet too, careful as he pulls out a notebook and begins to frantically write everything he sees on the chalk board.
It's when he's caught up that he registers the crawling feeling on his skin, the weight of someone staring.
Eddie ducks his head and peeks up through his bangs. Steve is staring at him, trying to catch his attention from the looks of it.
Eddie rolls his eyes and doesn't look back.
Raccoons and bad pipes, he thinks with a bubbling annoyance. He still has the page of options from before, thinking maybe he can give one of them a call— haggle the price down a little. Anything is better than some asshole that doesn't even believe him.
When class ends Eddie is already packed and rushing for the door. He hears the stilted call of his name from Steve but ignores it, instead pushing his way through the crowded hallway and out into the bland September day.
September 28th, 1989 – Thursday
"You had a call this morning," Wayne says around his mug of coffee when Eddie joins him in the kitchen. "That fast talking girl, Robin."
Eddie pours himself a mug of coffee. "Okay."
"She said something was approved, and wants you to give her a call."
Eddie hums noncommittally.
He can feel Wayne staring at the back of his head. "You okay?"
"I'm great," Eddie lies.
"If you say so," Wayne's chair screeches as he pushes back from the table. He pauses next to Eddie, claps him on the shoulder and drops a note next to Eddie's coffee. "I'll see you later."
"Yeah," Eddie says, attention drifting to the note, Robin's name and number and an underlined ‘call me’ is scribbled in his uncle's hand. "See you later."
***
Eddie's on his last cart of books to re-shelve, the library oddly empty looking for a Thursday night. He's looking forward to going home, eating whatever dinner Wayne's made and tucked away into the oven for him and then crawling right into bed.
It's the only thing occupying his thoughts which is why it startles him when he turns out of an aisle and runs right into someone. The cart thuds against the guys shin, books toppling off the edges into the floor.
Eddie curses, horrified apologies spewing from him as he ducks down to grab the books. The guy ducks down too, helping before the spines can be ruined.
"You don't have to help," Eddie starts looking up at the guy only to freeze when he realizes it's Steve Harrington.
"It's fine," Steve says, though the tight set of his eyebrows suggests that the impact of the cart did in fact hurt. He clears his throat when Eddie just continues to stare, "can we talk?"
"About?"
"Robin said you're dodging her calls."
"She's called once."
"Twice," Steve corrects, "and Dustin said you ran away yesterday when you saw him in the quad.
"I didn't run," Eddie argues, he stands up, slams the books back onto the cart. "I was late for class."
"He knows your whole schedule, man." Steve stands too, sets the books he has on the cart much more gently. "He knows everyone's schedule, there's no escaping him."
Eddie sighs. "Okay, so?"
"So, we were approved for the investigation," Steve tells him, one hand going up to card through his hair. "We don't usually get approved so quickly, but uh, this seems important."
"Does it," Eddie asks, "you're that eager to investigate some broken pipes."
Steve winces. "I didn't mean it like — look, we've done this a few times and most of the investigations proved that it was something easily explained."
"It's not pipes or raccoons or termites."
"Maybe not," Steve agrees, "but we won't know until we look."
"No thanks," Eddie tells him, fingers curling over the handle of the cart. He pulls it back, angles it around Steve and shoves. "I'll figure it out myself."
"Eddie—"
"I'm working."
September 29th, 1989 – Friday
Hellfire ends with a fight, and not the fun kind. It started okay, a little frigid, and as the night went on it devolved into passive aggressive snipes from Dustin and retaliation on Eddie’s part as the dungeon master.
In the end, it's exactly what Eddie was hoping to avoid.
“One chance,” Eddie reminds him, “one, Henderson. That was the deal.”
Dustin’s face scrunches up. “You’re being childish, Eddie.”
Eddie sputters wordlessly for a second, indignation filling him like a helium balloon. “Me? I’m the childish one? Really? You’re the one giving me shit even though I held up my end of the bargain. I gave Steve a chance and he spit it back in my face.”
“You already knew he didn’t believe in ghosts,” Dustin starts but cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “And that’s not why I’m mad at you, I’m mad because you kept running from me all week.”
“Because I knew you were going to lecture me about giving them another chance.” Eddie leans back in his seat, “low and behold, here we are.”
“I told you it was just an interview,” Dustin says.
Maybe he had, but Dustin hadn’t explained what that meant. He hadn't breathed a word about needing approval to investigate at all. When Eddie tells him that, Dustin just rolls his eyes.
“What does that matter? You were approved, I knew you would be,” he tells Eddie. “Now if you could just get over yourself and accept the help”—
“I don’t need their help, I’m fine, I can figure it out alone, after all it’s probably just some squeaky pipes or a raccoon.”
“You really are an asshole,” Dustin mutters. He angrily stuffs things into his bag and heads for the door. It slams on his exit, leaving Eddie in a ringing and awkward silence with everyone else.
“Well,” Gareth says, “that was entertaining.”
Jeff sighs and yanks Gareth out of his chair to drag him towards the door. “I can not deal with you causing shit too,” he says.
Gareth argues against it but Jeff’s got almost a foot on him and just drags him along.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie says, when it’s just him and the remaining three sophomores. He points at the door, “he can’t seriously be that mad. I did the interview.”
It's Mike that looks over at him and says, "you were approved for an investigation, they don't do that lightly."
"So?" Eddie’s aware that he sounds like a petulant little kid. He doesn’t care. He’s tired and frustrated and Dustin’s voice hits a certain pitch that gives him the mother of all headaches.
"So,” Mike drawls the word out, his dark eyes bored, “you turned it down.”
With that said, Mike stands and leaves too. Eddie stares at the closed door, feeling like he's made several missteps. He looks over at Lucas and Will, both of them awkwardly shuffling their things around as they get ready to leave.
“Was Mike on Steve’s side? I thought he didn’t like the guy.”
“I think he’s on Dustin’s side,” Will offers, “but yeah.”
"Why?"
"Because he got your investigation approved."
"Mike did?"
"Steve did," Lucas corrects, "and he never does that. He’s going to owe El so many waffles when this is over.” El, Jane…
“Mike's girlfriend?”
“Ex,” Lucas says with a little grin. “She dumped him on Sunday. Again.”
That would explain Mike's sour mood. “What does she have to do with this?”
Lucas falters, his attention shifting to the ceiling. “Nothing.”
“Uhuh,” Eddie crosses his arms. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Believe what you want,” Will says, one hand wrapping around the dangling strap of Lucas’ bag to tug him towards the door. “Just remember that we’re your friends even if Steve isn’t, and we want what’s best for you.”
Eddie hates when they get all sincere and concerned. Hates it.
“Yeah, and what’s best for me is Steve Harrington?”
Will pauses at the door, one hand braced to push it open. “It could be.” Then he and Lucas are gone too, leaving Eddie to stew in his own feelings all alone.
He flops back into his chair and stares at the mess left behind from the guys. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.
He’s not being stubborn or childish. He’s not. They’re wrong.
***
With all the arguing, and Eddie’s own sulking, he doesn’t get home until late. All the lights are off except for the flickering porch lamp. Eddie stares at it from his van, dread creeping up to over power his indignation.
Maybe he can sling some weed on the side— it’s not like he doesn’t still have all his old connections, the ones not in jail anyway. He could make some pretty penny’s, scrounge up enough to call a different investigator. It’ll hurt his bank but if it gets rid of the problem then it’s worth it, isn't it? Like an investment in his and Wayne's future. Safety. That’s priceless.
The van sputters and dies when Eddie kills the engine. The cut of his headlights makes the porch light seem weirdly bright as he bounds up the steps and fumbles with the door.
It’s quiet and dark, his uncle is probably already asleep. He’d wanted a chance to speak with him, lay out everything and see if Eddie really is the problem here.
He locks the door behind him and nudges off his shoes next to Wayne’s boots. He drops his bag and winces when it thuds loudly against the wood. It won’t wake his uncle, but it feels wrong to break the oppressive silence of the house. Like Eddie’s bringing too much attention to himself.
“Christ,” he whispers, “get it together.”
The kitchen light doesn’t come on when Eddie flicks the switch. The swinging door propped open against one of his heels to keep from being plunged into total darkness. He flicks the light switch again and again, hoping for a better outcome.
Nothing happens.
There’s another light on the other side of the kitchen, just over the sink. The switch next to the garbage disposal. He glances back into the entry way, illuminated by the porch light through the stained window.
“Okay, just… be quick,” he tells himself and steps into the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him as he stumbles across the room towards the sink.
He falls against the counter, hands smacking blindly at the wall as his eyes try to adjust. He finds one switch, flicks it only to startle at the grinding crunch of the disposal. He turns off and searches for the other, finds it a second later and flicks it on and..
Nothing.
No light.
Eddie just wants to eat whatever leftovers Wayne has for him and go to bed. It’s been a shit day. How is it still getting worse?
“Great,” he says in the darkness. “Really great.”
Maybe it’s the breaker? Wherever that is. He remembers Wayne pointing it out during that first tour. He’s pretty sure it’s in the coat closet under the stairs.
Swallowing, he turns around to face the expanse of the kitchen. He can’t see anything, the vaguest shape of darker things in the already dark room.
Chairs and tables, he reminds himself. That’s all. Just chairs and tables.
He heads for where he thinks the swinging door is, feet trying to be quick and cautious. He gets what he hopes is halfway there when there’s a sound behind him. The garbage disposal. Sudden and loud.
His heart kicks up into his throat, he spins on his beak to face the sound. It’s like growling, like a monster in the darkness.
No, Eddie thinks. No.
He probably just didn’t turn the switch all the way off. He was too hasty in his panic to find the light. He must have got it stuck in that weird middle ground; it happens— he’s done it before. Everyone has.
It stops, the sound cutting off abruptly.
Eddie stops too, stops thinking, stops breathing. His heart rate has kicked up, he hears it like he hears his uncle's clock on the wall, ticking so loud in his ears that he thinks it’s going to vibrate right out of him.
Something touches his shoulder, and Eddie jolts, a scream tangled in his throat as he whirls around to see Wayne standing behind him, backlit by the swinging door propped against one shoulder.
“Christ, son, didn’t mean to scare you,” he reaches out and flicks on the light, bathing the kitchen in a yellow glow. “Called your name a few times, guess you didn’t hear me.”
Eddie blinks in the sudden brightness, eyes watering from the sting of it. “No, I…I didn’t.”
“It’s that music. You listen to it way too loud. You’re gonna be deaf before you're my age, kid.” Wayne shakes his head as he makes his way towards the oven. He pulls it open and shows Eddie the plate inside. “It’s still warm, if you’re hungry.”
Eddie stares at it. He’d been starving on the drive home but now the thought of eating makes him sick. He shakes his head, “I’m good.”
“You sure?” Wayne straightens up, giving him a once over. “You feeling okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m always pale.”
“Paler,” Wayne corrects, “you’re not getting sick, are you?”
“No, no I’m just — I’m tired,” Eddie lies, “the game ran later than I meant for it to.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Wayne looks like he doesn’t believe Eddie, but he doesn’t fight him on it. “I’ll put it in the fridge for you tomorrow.”
Eddie shakes his head and takes the plate. “It’s fine I’ll take care of it, you go back to bed, if anyone should be worried about being sick it’s you.”
“Told you it’s just allergies,” Wayne huffs. “I’m healthy as a horse.”
Eddie smiles, but he can feel the way it wavers on his mouth. “You better be, Old Man,” he nods towards the door. “Night.”
“Night,” Wayne says, giving him one last searching look. “Don’t stay up too late, you look like you need some rest.”
“I won’t.”
Eddie puts away the dinner, listening carefully to the creak of the stairs as his uncle goes back to his room. Eddie waits until he’s sure he’s in the clear and then heads to the den. The light turns on easily when he tries it, and it stays on, doesn’t even flicker as Eddie picks up the phone with a trembling hand and dials.
The phone rings and rings as Eddie slides down the wall to sit on his ass. He chews nervously on his thumb, tearing at his mangled nail and breaking the skin enough to taste copper.
There’s a click and then the voice recorder talks at him, telling him to leave a message.
“Hey, uh, it’s Eddie— Eddie Munson,” his voice is hoarse. “I know I said I didn’t want your help but…”
He swallows, eyes closing only to open right back up because he’s scared something might creep up on him. “I need help.”
“Eddie?” Steve’s voice filters over the line, breathless. “Hey, are you there?”
“Steve?”
“Hey, yeah, I was— I was just about to leave, I heard you…” he gives a little cough and says, “you’re calling.”
“I’m calling.” He breathes in deeply. “Is it too late to accept the investigation?”
“No,” Steve says quickly. “No, it’s not too late.”
Eddie lets out a heavy breath, relieved.
There’s a long pause and then Steve asks, “Did something happen?”
Looking through the arched entryway of the den, Eddie stares at the swinging door to the kitchen. It’s unassuming, thick and dark wood. Eddie’s skin prickles with goosebumps. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”
He catches Steve’s hesitance, the stuttering breath as he seems to stumble over what to say.
“Never mind,” Eddie tells him. “It’s fine.”
He doesn’t want to argue with Steve again. It doesn’t really matter in the end whether Steve believes him or not, he just needs the investigation to happen. To find answers to this growing problem — Steve can think it’s raccoons or leaky pipes or bad wiring. Eddie knows it’s not. And the cameras, the investigation, will prove him right.
“I would,” Steve says, at last.
Eddie lets out a shaky laugh. “You mean, you believe that I believe something happened.”
“Yeah,” Steve admits. “Is that okay?”
“As long as there’s a little belief in something.” Eddie leans his head back against the wall, dragging his eyes away from the kitchen door.
“I believe in aliens,” Steve says, sudden and unprompted.
Eddie blinks. “You… seriously?”
“Oh yeah, there’s definitely aliens.” There’s a squeak from Steve’s side of the phone, like a chair being pulled closer, and then someone sitting in it. “Big ones. With lots of legs, like a spider and gross gooey blood.”
“What,” Eddie says around a startled laugh.
“I hate spiders,” Steve says.
Eddie can picture his wrinkled-up nose. The one he gives in class sometimes when someone says something he didn’t like.
“I have a tattoo of one,” Eddie tells him for some reason.
“That doesn’t really surprise me,” Steve says. “I’ve seen the ones on your arm… the bats.”
“Got something against bats too?”
“Oh yeah, they’re public enemy number one.”
Eddie can’t help but laugh again. His shaking has stopped and— somewhere along the way—the croak of his voice has smoothed out. He doesn’t feel like he’s about to rattle apart at the seams anymore.
“You free tomorrow,” Steve asks, quietly.
“What?”
“The investigation,” Steve says. “We can do it tomorrow— I’ll let Robin know tonight.”
“I can’t, I have practice,” Eddie says. He could get out of it, but the guys would give him shit for spending the day with Steve Harrington instead of fine tuning their skills for the next gig.
“What about Monday?” Steve offers. “Our class ends at 4 and Robin’s lets out at 4:30. We can do a short one— six to midnight, so we won’t disturb your uncle too much.”
Six to midnight, Eddie thinks, gnawing at his lip. It’s better than nothing and he really doesn’t want to bother Wayne too much with all of this.
“Yeah, yeah that works. I’ll let Wayne know you’re coming.”
“Alright,” Steve hesitates, “I'll see you Monday, Eddie.”
“Yeah, yeah I’ll see you.”
He holds onto the phone long after Steve’s hung up. Clutching it to his chest and listening to the dial tone just for something to hear.