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Wayne manages to put his keys away and get his shoes off before he notices.
“What happened to you?”
Eddie’s seated on the sofa, legs curled up to his chest as he watches TV, and there’s a bruise blooming across his left cheek.
“Holy shit, you aren't gonna believe this,” Eddie bursts out, a wild grin overtaking his face. “So me and Steve were on a date, of course a very safe, heterosexual, and platonic date because it was in public and I do actually listen when you talk.”
“Good boy.” Wayne ruffles Eddie's hair as he passes the couch, heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
“As we're minding our own business in the beautiful yet subpar local diner—rest in peace Benny, Hawkins hasn't been the same without you—this asshole came up and, uh… well, you know the drill. But Steve told him to go fuck himself, not in so many words because he’s a little choir boy, but his meaning was clear. And this man, absolutely hulking, no less, I’m talking biceps like you’ve never seen, he grabs me by my collar and yanks me up out of the booth.”
Eddie acts it out, as though a pair of invisible hands have pulled him off of the sofa and onto his feet. “I say something that I shall not repeat to you because you would be disappointed—”
Wayne scoffs.
“—and as Steve is standing up, this gentleman—” Eddie mimes socking himself in the face, making a “pow!” sound to accompany the action.
God, he worries about Eddie. Wayne never knew you could worry about another person so much before Eddie was born. No kid deserved having Wayne’s brother as a father. And then time went on and Eddie just proved to be more and more unique, and Wayne loves him for it, would never wish him to be any different, but hell if it doesn’t drive him to smoke more than he ought to and peer in on Eddie while he's asleep sometimes. Just to be sure he’s safe.
“So Steve goes absolutely apeshit. I’m serious, he was…” Eddie shakes his head, sighing dreamily, giant smile still fixed to his face. “He tackled the guy, got his arms behind his back, and just SLAMMED his face into the floor!”
“He get in any trouble?”
“Nah, they just ran us out,” Eddie says, and thank the Lord for that. “But Steve did it without even hesitating, like it was nothing, and it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen!”
"Eugh." Wayne makes a face. Eddie keeps on smiling, and shit, it feels good to know just how safe his kid feels at home. “You put some ice on that?”
Wayne settles onto the couch, holding up his glass of cold water in case Eddie wants to hold it to his cheek. Eddie waves him off, though he does sit back down and lean against Wayne’s side.
“Steve did,” he says, dropping the grand storytelling voice. “I think I’m in love with him.”
Eddie doesn’t like showing it when he’s scared. Wayne always knows, though. He knew every time Eddie appeared on his doorstep with no warning, small and trembling with a dirty, oversized backpack packed with snacks and worn stuffed animals. He knew when Eddie was taller, a little bit too skinny and too tough for his age, when his dad finally ended up in prison and the government finally let Wayne's kid be his kid. He knew when Eddie was in middle school, friendless and angry and paranoid, when Wayne stumbled upon a stash of porno mags while he was looking for drugs.
So he knows now.
Wayne rests his arm around Eddie’s shoulders and the kid curls into him. Eddie’s always been good at making himself small. It still surprises him, sometimes, when Eddie unfolds his legs and stands up and suddenly becomes an adult rather than the child he appeared to be just seconds before. He wants to curse the entire world, sometimes, for their ignorance and spite. For not seeing the little boy he knows and loves, for creating some bogeyman out of the sweetest kid in the world. He knows that Eddie isn't perfect, that he's got his vices and he makes bad choices and he antagonizes the wrong people, but it still baffles him, how the whole world could be so blind.
“Sounds like your boy might feel the same.”
Eddie doesn't respond. Wayne doesn't push him to. They watch TV, Eddie steals sips from Wayne's glass, and Wayne wonders if this Harrington kid could possibly be as good as he sounds.
He took down a big hulking asshole like it was no problem, apparently, so he's probably been in his fair share of fights. Wayne knows the kid fought off some kind of bats from hell and helped kill an… evil wizard? Or something. But those aren't nearly the same thing as incapacitating a man.
In all honesty, he isn't as concerned with the bats and evil wizard as he is with the fact that the kid also apparently carried Eddie back to the real world from the hell that's underneath—or above?—Hawkins. Eddie says they have matching scars, because Steve was being eaten by those same goddamn bats before Eddie and some of his other friends showed up to help. Wayne's seen Eddie's scars. Saw them in the hospital when they were fresh, too. It would take one hell of a person to endure that and keep on going, then choose to carry dead weight through what sounds like no man's land.
So Steve's gotta be tough, but is he too tough? Is he the kind of guy who'd slap Eddie around when he gets mad? The kind of guy who picks fights just for the thrill? Eddie's always had something of an appetite for danger. When Eddie was fourteen, Wayne had to put the fear of God into some two-bit dope dealer who kept hanging around and offering Eddie rides and a few other things that made Wayne swear he'd turn his ass over to the cops if he didn't leave his kid alone. Eddie hadn't been happy about it.
“...That boy treating you right?”
Eddie sits up, looking over at Wayne with a frown. “Yeah. Why wouldn't he be?”
He feels cold, now, without Eddie pressed against his side, but he persists. “I'm not tryin' to imply anything. I'm just asking.”
“Kind of sounds like you're implying something.”
Wayne tries to think it through, figure out what to say, but before he can, Eddie huffs and stalks off to his room, shutting the door harder than necessary. A few seconds later, that one Iron Maiden song that Wayne absolutely can't stand starts blaring through the trailer.
Goddamn it.
Thing is, Eddie has a shit track record. Wayne wants to trust that Steve Harrington is decent, but he knows the kind of man his daddy is, and he knows the kinds of boys Eddie's been drawn to in the past, so he has a hard time buying it. Steve probably has some kind of raging addiction that Eddie's neglected to mention, or he has a girlfriend, or he's some meathead that picks fights constantly.
But now Wayne's gone and blown his chance to meet the kid. Eddie's liable to keep him away on purpose now.
He'll just have to pay close attention.
—
“You’re abandoning me?”
Eddie doesn’t sound quite as upset as his words would imply. He’s leaning casually against the wall, phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder as he twists a ring on his left hand. Wayne tries to look interested in the episode of The Golden Girls that’s currently playing at a low volume.
“No,” Eddie sighs dramatically, “Go ahead, leave me to waste away.”
Eddie slips his ring off and starts flipping it like a coin in the air while he listens. He grins, small and shy, before speaking.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, uncharacteristically soft. “I’m screwing with you.”
This time, Eddie doesn’t listen for long before he speaks. “No, no, Steve, honey, you know I don’t give a shit about the banana bread. Well, I mean, obviously I’m excited to try it, but I want the full Chef Harrington experience. We’ll do it some other time. Yes, I’m sure. Go fulfill your sworn duty.”
When Eddie hangs up the phone, he seems happy.
“Change of plans,” he says, looking to Wayne. “You free tonight?”
Wayne says, “I am indeed.”
They spend the night watching The Golden Girls and Wayne doesn’t ask why Steve canceled. This proves to be the right choice when, after a few hours of couch potato-ing in front of the television, Eddie drowsily says, “Steve offered to bring us banana bread.”
“Did he?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, yawning. He rubs his eyes. Eddie’s curled up underneath an old quilt, the same one that he used to hide underneath with a flashlight and a book when he was little. He looks happy. Healthy. So much better than he did just a couple of months ago, when he was pale and skinny and trembling underneath a thin white hospital blanket.
“He said he’d show me how to make it,” Eddie says, “He’s real into baking and stuff. Used to do it with his mom. But one of his kids is having a rough time so he’s busy with that, and he offered to still make it for me and drop it off.”
“That’s sweet of him.”
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs with a smile. “Yeah, he’s sweet.”
The first time Eddie mentioned Steve’s kids, Wayne thought he’d found that smoking gun. But then Eddie explained that Steve’s kids are actually a gaggle of nerdy freshmen and one precocious middle schooler who all look up to him while simultaneously treating him like their personal chauffeur, which is… interesting. Apparently Steve saved those kids from monsters, too. Steve seems to do a lot of saving.
Within ten minutes, Eddie's drooling on the couch cushions. If Eddie were twelve again, Wayne would pick him up, all wrapped in his quilt, and carry him to bed. But Eddie’s tall and broad, now, and Wayne’s knee likes to give out sometimes, so he tucks the quilt around Eddie as best he can on the couch and leaves a lamp on when he goes to bed. Eddie’s never liked the dark.
—
A loud crash shocks Wayne awake. He sits up, ready to grab his gun, but then he hears a giggle.
“Shh. Your uncle's sleeping.”
Wayne hears a gasp. “We can't wake him up. He needs his sleep, Stevie, he doesn't… he needs to sleep more.”
“I know, you told me. So be quiet, okay?” Steve's voice sounds patient.
“Suuuper quiet,” Eddie says, still plenty loud enough for Wayne to hear through the thin trailer walls. He and Steve sound like they're passing by his bedroom on their way to Eddie's, knocking shit off the walls with every step.
“Okay, let's get your shoes off—”
There's a thump.
“I didn't mean kick them off, Christ. Let me get the other one.”
Eddie laughs. “Ooh, you gonna undress me?”
“I should leave your dumb ass here to get all this shit off by yourself, but unfortunately—”
“You love me,” Eddie sings, drawing out the "o" in "love."
“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “I do. Sit up for me, let me see your hands.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“You're getting on my nerves, is what you are. Hands.”
“You're so pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you think I'm pretty?”
“Yeah, you're pretty.”
“That didn't sound like you mean it.”
“Eddie, I think you're beautiful. Can you stay here while I get you some water?”
“Yes, sir, Officer Harrington, sir!”
“Shh.”
Eddie's maniacal giggles continue to ring out as Wayne hears Steve walk into the kitchen. After a moment, the tap turns on. Wayne could step out into the hallway now. Take advantage of the opportunity to finally meet Eddie's boy. But it doesn't feel right. It would be awkward as hell for everyone involved, and Wayne honestly doesn’t feel like dealing with a drunk Eddie right now.
Shortly, Steve returns to Eddie's room, floor creaking just a bit as he passes Wayne's door.
Wayne can’t hear every word, but he’s pretty sure that Steve says, “Eds, you can't sleep in that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you spilled beer all over it.”
“Oh. Okay.”
They're quiet for a while. Panic seizes Wayne suddenly, that Eddie is drunk and vulnerable and Wayne is letting some man do whatever he wants with his little boy, and he stands, reaches under his bed to pull out the boot that hides his pistol, but then he hears voices again.
Eddie is whining. “Now I'm cold.”
Steve says something unintelligible.
“I want yours.”
Steve says something again. Wayne’s ears aren’t what they used to be. Eddie is loud though, even when he’s sober.
“I want your shirt.”
This time, he can hear Steve. His tone is firm. “Eddie.”
“Steeeeve!”
“...Fine, but I’m taking one of yours to wear home.”
He’s going home. He’s going to let Eddie take his shirt to sleep in, just because he wants it. Wayne sits back on his bed and listens as Eddie clatters around a bit more before eventually quieting down. Then the floor creaks again, and about a minute after that he hears a car start up outside. All of the evidence is starting to point to this Steve kid being exactly what Eddie makes him out to be.
Somehow Wayne isn’t any less worried. He ought to be used to it by now. That’s what having a kid is, just constant worrying, especially when that kid is Eddie, but he’s never quite adjusted to it.
Wayne’s knee is aching. He could do with a walk to stretch his legs before he goes back to bed. He gets up, eases his bedroom door open, and steps lightly toward Eddie’s room. The door is already cracked. He peeks inside.
Eddie’s out cold, his face smushed into a pillow. He’s wearing a dark green sweater, and Steve has tucked him in, blankets snug around his legs. Wayne sees that his rings, watch, bracelet, and necklace have been deposited neatly in a small dish on his dresser, right next to a half-empty glass of water. Eddie’s scuffed and mud-crusted sneakers have been lined up by the door. None of these things are nearly enough to drive Wayne to tears, but he feels himself getting choked up anyway, because the lamp in Eddie’s room is illuminated, casting the room in a soft yellow glow.
Steve left a light on.
—
In the end, Wayne meets Steve when Eddie isn't even home.
There's a knock at the door, and when Wayne opens it, he knows who the stranger is immediately. The kid is wearing the most heinously preppy little polo shirt you've ever seen, with the absolute best hair in Indiana, possibly the world, and he's quite unreasonably ripped for a retail employee. Wayne also notices the smattering of beauty marks across the kid's face and neck. Eddie hadn't told him about those intentionally, but he had taken a very intimate phone call once when he thought Wayne was at work.
Wayne had not been at work.
“Hello, sir,” Steve says with a winning smile, “I'm Steve Harrington, I'm, uh, a friend of Eddie's.”
“I know who you are.”
Steve’s smile falters. “Oh,” he says. “I, uh… uh, I just… um, it’s Eddie’s birthday pretty soon, you know, and I just wanted to, uh…” Steve clears his throat, pageant smile returning to his face. “I was thinking about having a surprise party for him at my house, but I know some people hate surprises like that, and I know Eddie likes surprises if they’re, like, little presents, but obviously a surprise is different when it’s, like, a bunch of people, and I figured you know him better than anyone, and so I just… I guess I just wanted to ask if you thought that was a good idea?”
Wayne takes a second to process. Eddie does generally like surprises, but he can also be a bit jumpy. He gets why Steve isn’t sure on the plan.
“I’m sorry,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair. He always does that when he’s nervous, it’s so cute, Wayne hears Eddie say. “This was… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just shown up here, I’m, uh… I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Steve,” Wayne says. “Relax. Come on in.”
“Oh, I can’t,” Steve says, somehow sounding both terrified and genuinely regretful at once. His eyes are wide. Honest. “I’m on my break, I have to get back to work in…” He checks his watch. “Uh, now, kind of. I just kinda had the idea and I wanted to know what you thought about it, and I… probably shouldn’t have come.”
It’s hard to see the kid in front of him ripping a monster apart with his bare hands. He seems more likely to apologize for the hassle and offer himself up on a platter.
“Well,” Wayne says carefully, “I won’t keep you from your job, but you know you’re more’n welcome to come by whenever you’d like. And as for that party…”
“Yeah?” Steve asks expectantly.
“Sounds like a nice idea. Maybe just don’t jump out at ‘im.”
Steve laughs, a small, quick huff and a quirk of the lips. “Got it. Uh, thank you, Mr. Munson.”
“Wayne.”
“Wayne,” Steve repeats. “It was really nice meeting you, sir. Thank you again.”
Steve retreats like there's fire nipping at his heels, rushing back to his car and starting it the second he gets inside. If Wayne didn't know any better, he'd think somebody put the kid up to this, that he had knocked on the door on a dare or something, but the question had clearly been genuine. As he watches Steve tear out of Forest Hills, Wayne recalls another thing Eddie once said about Steve.
His dad is such a douchebag, Eddie had raved, like, okay, Steve swears he's not outright abusive, but you should see how he just freezes up around literally any male authority figure, it's fucking sad, Wayne, it breaks my heart because he can kill actual monsters but he's so terrified of his father that he can barely look any guy over the age of forty in the eye, and he has this idea that he's somehow an irredeemable failure at the grand old age of nineteen all because his father said so, and—and he grounded him for getting beaten up! Two years ago, Steve stood between a bunch of little kids and this racist bully intent on killing one of them and got himself beaten to a pulp, and his father wasn't proud, no, he simply admonished him for getting into a fight again, and I realize that I'm jumping around in this story and I'm rambling, but I'm so furious that it's either this or I go do something terribly jock-y and heterosexual like punching a hole in my bedroom wall. And his father's a goddamn Catholic, of course, but that doesn't stop him from sticking his dick in anything that moves! Oh, but noo, little Stevie can't like boys! Whatever will the neighbors think?!
Wayne had listened until Eddie tired himself out, then redirected his energy by suggesting that it would be a nice night to go practice his guitar outside. Playing always calmed him down. Wayne hadn't felt very calm himself, in all honesty.
There's an ache in his chest. It feels a lot like the ache he gets when Eddie's in trouble.
“Aw, hell,” Wayne mutters.
—
On Eddie's birthday, Wayne finds himself taping up black and red streamers in a mansion in Loch Nora.
Steve Harrington is a gracious host. He'd offered Wayne lemonade and coffee as soon as he arrived, and then he'd protested when Wayne started to help set up, as if that wasn't the whole damn reason why he came over early. That sort of hospitality isn't completely foreign in Hawkins, but there's an odd sense of desperation to it. Like Steve regretted accepting Wayne's offer to help when he officially invited him to the party. Maybe the kid doesn't want him in his space. Wayne keeps expecting a butler to come out of a pantry somewhere and kick him out. It doesn’t seem like he should be able to stick tape on these walls and hang 50¢ streamers in this living room. His boots look laughably out of place next to Steve's white sneakers on the shoe rack by the door.
An old Jefferson Airplane record spins in the corner. Is that what Steve likes, or did Steve think Wayne would like it? According to Eddie, Steve’s a bit of a people pleaser.
The front door suddenly bursts open with a cacophony of chatter. A troupe of children storm in, among them Eddie's little friend Dustin, who waves happily at Wayne.
“Hey!” Steve whistles sharply from the kitchen, calling to the kids blindly. “Assholes, shoes off my mom's carpet!”
The group is already kicking off their shoes, though the kids all toss them into a pile rather than placing them on the shoe rack. A small girl with pink beads in her braids, clearly younger than the rest, calls, “Is the pool clean?”
“No,” Steve calls back.
She scoffs. “Is that a real no, or a Steve no?”
Steve emerges from the kitchen with his hands on his hips. He's wearing a floral apron. “It's a 'this is Eddie's birthday and you're here to help me set things up for him' no.”
“So it's clean.”
Steve takes a step forward and points a finger at her. “You take one step out that back door and I'll toss you in the car and drive your ass right back home, Sinclair.”
The little girl doesn't say anything, rolling her eyes and brushing past Steve into the kitchen without a word.
An older girl with two crutches and twin red braids—Max, Wayne recalls, the neighbor who Eddie invites for dinner all the time but who never comes when Wayne is home—swings up to Steve on her crutches, saying, “You know, swimming's really good for my physical therapy.”
Steve rolls his eyes, tucking Max under his arm and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Bring me a doctor's note and she's all yours. Go make sure Erica doesn't touch anything sharp.”
“As if you're any more capable than her,” Max says, rolling her eyes, but she follows Erica into the kitchen anyway.
It's nothing against you, Eddie had told Wayne, sitting upside down on the couch with his legs against the wall and hair brushing against the carpet. She doesn't really trust men in general, which, like, completely fair. Especially with her history. That Hargrove asshole, you remember I told you about him, the crazy racist guy? That was her stepbrother. She didn't really like being around me at first either. But I'm, like, not really a man, y'know, not in the classical sense, Eddie had said, and Wayne hadn't really understood what the hell that meant, so Eddie had switched gears and rambled about how he feels gross when people call him sir and mister, and Wayne doesn't quite get it but Eddie said that he still likes when Wayne calls him his boy, so he doesn't suppose he needs to understand much more than that.
“You must be Eddie's uncle,” another of the children says, holding a hand out with a friendly grin. “I'm Lucas, I'm in Hellfire.”
“Wayne,” he replies, shaking the kid's hand.
“I'm, uh, Mike,” a skinny boy says with an awkward wave, to which Wayne nods.
Steve sounds remarkably parental as he says, “You guys help Mr. Munson with the decorations, alright? And be nice.”
“We're nice,” Mike says, in a tone that makes it clear he's lying.
“Super nice,” Dustin says with peculiar emphasis.
Steve mutters, “Jesus Christ,” one hand raising from its resting place on his hip to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Just put up the streamers before you give me gray hairs. Dustin, I've got some balloons and stuff in the hall closet you can grab if you want.”
“Here, Mr. Munson.” Lucas holds a hand out and Wayne passes him the roll of red streamers. “I'll climb up on the side table there and get these real high if you can just hold it steady.”
“Seems like a bad idea,” Wayne says, but he holds the table steady for the kid anyway.
As Lucas steps up onto the table Steve makes a strangled little noise, and Wayne flicks his eyes up to see the boy open his mouth and then close it. He clenches his jaw, looking from Lucas to Wayne, before sighing and turning away to reenter the kitchen.
Wayne hears the boys snickering. He glances at them and they calm down quickly.
“Mike, let's get those balloons,” Dustin says, leading him off down a narrow hallway.
“They wanted to see if Steve would stop me,” Lucas murmurs as he tapes up streamers, softly enough that Wayne has to strain to hear him. “Usually he loses his mind when I climb things.”
“Hm.”
“He's a really good guy, you know,” Lucas says, “Steve. Like, the best.”
“So I've heard.”
Lucas glances back at him, frowning, before he tears off a streamer and begins taping up the other end. “He really is.”
“Not arguing with ya, kid.”
“Right, yeah.”
“Lucas, stay up there,” one of the boys calls from down the hall, “We're gonna blow up some balloons and stick them up, too.”
Wayne helps the boys decorate until the Jefferson Airplane record runs out. He pauses to flip the record and they take over, so he sits down in an armchair, stretches out his bad leg, and watches. They clearly feel more comfortable here than he does. Everybody chats as they set up, kids moving between rooms with an ease like they live here, laughter ringing through the house and drowning out the music.
About fifteen minutes before Eddie is scheduled to arrive, a teenage girl in a large rumpled sweatshirt descends the stairs, yawning and rubbing at her eyes.
“Steve,” she calls, “Where's my shirt?”
“Laundry room,” Steve replies, poking his head out of the kitchen, “I ironed it for you.”
“Wait, really? I've never ironed it before.”
“I could tell.”
The girl rolls her eyes, stripping her sweatshirt off to reveal a tank top underneath. She flings the sweatshirt at Steve's face and giggles when it drapes over his head.
“Go get dressed,” Steve says, untying his floral apron and handing it to her. “Put that in the laundry room for me, would you?”
“'Course. How's it going?”
Steve sighs, sounding frazzled, and he takes the sweatshirt off his head to shake it out. “Fine, I guess. I totally screwed up the brownies, the edges are burnt and the inside pieces are less fudgey and more cakey, and you know he likes the fudgey ones, but I'm about to get started on the pasta and I already made the sauce this morning so I just have to heat it up and boil the noodles and I don't think I can fuck that up, and oh, shit, Rob, I forgot the garlic bread. Rob, I forgot the—”
“Dingus,” the girl says softly, tossing the apron over her own shoulder so that she can grab Steve's, “Breathe. It's just Eddie. He's eaten pizza off the floor.”
“But it's his birthday,” Steve whines, “He deserves better than floor pizza.”
“He'd love floor pizza if you made it.”
“But I don't want to make him floor pizza, I want to make him fudgey brownies and I can't even do that right!”
The girl looks over at Wayne, and something in her face shifts. She takes Steve's hand and Wayne notices a small string bracelet on her wrist. That must be Robin. Eddie talks about her a lot, too. She pulls Steve with her down the hall, presumably toward the laundry room.
Robin is one of Eddie's closest friends now, after all of the supernatural business, but she and Steve are best friends. They both worked at Family Video prior to the serial killer that wasn't a serial killer and both worked at an ice cream shop in the mall prior to the fire that wasn't a fire, and according to Eddie they're currently working together yet again in some kitschy candy store at the outlet mall. The name has something to do with corrals and they have to wear cowboy hats. Eddie thinks Steve looks incredible in a cowboy hat, another tidbit that Wayne could have happily lived his entire life without knowing, like the fact that Steve has moles everywhere and that he owns one specific pair of jeans that Eddie loves because Steve's had them since freshman year of high school and they're too tight but he keeps on wearing them anyway.
In retrospect, Wayne might have made his home a bit too open and accepting of an environment over the years.
As far as Wayne can tell, Robin is much more similar to Eddie than Steve. Robin plays in the high school band and she likes freaky things. She's fully convinced Eddie that Bigfoot is real. A few months back, she and Eddie made matching friendship bracelets like little kids and Eddie wears his all the time, little rainbow stripes on his wrist that clash with the rest of his jewelry and make Wayne feel impossibly fond whenever the fraying string catches his eye. Eddie never really had close friends growing up. They were all kids he played music with, or kids he played D&D with, always some shared interest bringing them together that Eddie struggled to break through. Nobody ever really came home with Eddie or invited Eddie to their place just to spend time together.
Now Eddie has a friendship bracelet. Now Eddie has a boy stressed out about whether or not he'll like the texture of a brownie. Now Eddie has a whole group of kids huffing and puffing to blow up balloons for his birthday party. It's everything he deserves, and it breaks Wayne's fucking heart that it took so much pain to get here.
“Mr. Munson?” Max stands in the doorway to the kitchen, balancing with one crutch. “Could you help us get the cake down? Steve made it, like, twenty pounds.”
“It's insane,” he hears the small girl—Erica—state.
“Of course.”
Wayne enjoys being of use. Even if he's only useful because the two girls standing next to him are either too short or too incapacitated to lift a large cake from the top shelf of the refrigerator.
“It's bigger than the one he made for my birthday,” Erica grumbles as Wayne sets the two-tiered masterpiece down on the island. It's frosted all in red, with fancy white frosting borders around the edges. There's something written on the top in black, but Wayne doesn't have his glasses on and he figures it's probably just Happy Birthday, Eddie!
Max raises an eyebrow. “Hadn't your parents already gotten you a cake?”
“So?”
“So… you didn't have to share the one Steve made you, because your parents already had the cake for the party. He just made it for you. Lucas didn't even have any.”
Erica rolls her eyes. “Semantics.”
“Mr. Munson, when's your birthday?”
Wayne isn't expecting the subject change. Max looks at him patiently, though, like she knows Wayne often needs a few seconds to catch up before he speaks, her eyes wide and kind.
“Not for another few months.”
“You should tell Steve when it is,” she says with a bright smile, “He makes everybody a birthday cake, even if you aren't having a party. Except for El, he made her birthday Belgian waffles because they're her favorite. They had frosting and everything.”
“Oh, he made some kind of fancy ravioli for Nancy because she's a freak and,” Erica does air quotes, “Sweets aren't her thing.”
Erica has small star-shaped stickers on her cheek. Her face is soft and round. It occurs to Wayne suddenly that she might be one of the kids Steve was defending from Max's dead stepbrother. Or maybe it was the boy in the living room. Maybe both of them. Shit, they're still so young. He's a bit glad that the poor little redhead's brother is dead, and ain't that a kick in the teeth? All these years and Wayne still finds new ways for the world to be fucked up and unfair.
“The point is, Steve is really considerate,” Max says sweetly, “He's been driving me to physical therapy and stuff, too. Won't even let my mom give him gas money.”
“You're terrible at being subtle,” Erica tells Max before turning to Wayne. “They're all trying to sell you on Steve because he's scared you won't like him.”
Max's face drops immediately into a scowl. “Dude!”
“I like him alright,” Wayne says. “He seems like a nice kid.”
He can see Max relax at the statement, her shoulders drooping, the furrow between her brows smoothing out and the corners of her lips turning up just a little bit. Looking at her now, it seems obvious that she had been putting on some kind of act to try and win Wayne over.
Erica seems smug. “See?”
“Thank god,” Max rolls her eyes, “I think if I just had to keep saying nice things about Steve all day I'd be sick.”
Wayne isn't sure if he's ever known somebody so obviously loved by everyone around them as Steve Harrington. Eddie's mother was a bit like that, the kind of woman who drew every eye in the room, but she always had this wall around her, like you could never get close enough to see the real person behind the idea of a person. Sometimes when Wayne is in a philosophical mood, he wonders if she's a bit of why Eddie is so loudly himself that it becomes a performance in its own right. Just another method of keeping people at arms' length so he can't get hurt.
Steve almost seems to be the inverse. Like you could just reach out and grab his heart and squeeze it if you were so inclined. It's laid out in front of him, in the deep red cake on the kitchen island and the tray of brownies cooling next to the oven and the family-size bag of Eddie's favorite salt and vinegar chips that Erica is ripping open.
Max perks up. “Ooh, lemme have some.”
“Get your grubby little hands out of there,” Steve says, suddenly swooping in to pluck the bag from Erica's hands. “Let me get you some bowls.”
Robin follows on his heels. “I'm pretty sure we're all constantly swapping germs anyway considering how much time we all spend together, but it can't hurt to at least try and keep our microbiomes to ourselves.”
“Hm.” Erica frowns. “You have a point. I don't want whatever Steve's got.”
Steve huffs. “Here you go, Gremlin.” He hands Erica a nice china cereal bowl. “Pour your chips in there.”
“Thanks, Steve.”
“Thanks,” Max echoes as Steve passes her her own bowl. “You’re gonna eat this time, right?”
“Hm?”
Steve gestures at the cabinets before moving to the refrigerator and Robin takes his place wordlessly, pulling down bowls, plates, and cups and organizing them into neat rows on the countertop. Steve opens the fridge and pulls out two Tupperware containers, one full of a chunky red sauce and the other a white sauce with what looks like some green veggies chopped up and mixed in.
“You didn’t eat, like, anything last time you had a party here. You just kept doing your little host thing.”
He scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, I ate. Erica, can you get two pots for me out of that cabinet? Max, turn those front burners on medium.”
The girls follow his instructions without complaint. Steve glances at Wayne and frowns.
“Mr. Munson, you can go sit down, we’ve got this.”
Wayne nods. Five people is too many for any kitchen, even bigass rich folks’ kitchens. Back in the living room, the boys are arranging various gift bags and wrapped boxes on Steve’s coffee table. Dustin perks up.
“Mr. Munson, do you have a gift? We’re putting them all right here.”
“Nah, it’s at home.”
Dustin nods and gets back to his argument with the other boys, the three of them bickering about whether it looks dumb to put all of the bags in a line behind the boxes or if they should mix them all up.
Wayne usually asks Eddie what he wants for his birthday. Eddie usually says he’d like a large pizza and a six pack. Wayne usually gets him exactly what he asked for, plus a pack of cupcakes from the grocery store and a little something useful. New strings for his guitar, or a gift card to the bookstore. They usually spend the day together watching TV if Wayne can get off work. This year, Eddie said there was no need for the usual routine because he’d be going to a friend’s house for a movie night, so Wayne was left without any guidance.
Look, he knows his kid. He knows what Eddie likes. But Eddie’s had a hard year, and somehow Wayne got it in his head that if he could just find the perfect gift, Eddie would be okay, he would forget about the poor girl who died in their living room and the stupid cops hellbent on blaming him for her murder and the manhunt that nearly got him killed and the monsters that tore him to pieces and left him small and shaking like Wayne hadn’t seen him in years. It’s a childish thought, but Wayne doesn’t have many indulgences in life. He needs to believe that Eddie can be okay somehow.
The problem with this silly little belief is that there is no birthday present powerful enough to wipe away all of the world’s evil. Wayne did his best, but he doesn’t think Eddie would want to open a stuffed bat toy from his uncle in front of all his friends. So it’s at home, waiting on Eddie’s bed, where he can choose to either throw it in the trash or snuggle with it at night without hurting Wayne’s feelings or being embarrassed at his own party.
A knock sounds at the door and the boys all rush to it, throwing elbows as they all reach for the doorknob simultaneously. Somebody manages to get the door open, and then there’s another round of introductions.
Wayne knows Hopper and Joyce. They’ve got three teenagers with them, Will and El and Jonathan, and El is the one with the superpowers, he’s heard, but she looks mighty small to Wayne. Like she ought to be off playing with an Easy-Bake oven or tucking tiny wildflowers into her short-cropped curls. She gives him a shy smile before dropping a poorly-wrapped box onto the coffee table and scampering off to the kitchen. Joyce greets him warmly, squeezing his shoulder on her way into the kitchen.
Hopper slumps onto the couch next to Wayne with a nod. Wayne nods back. He’s always liked Hopper.
They sit in companionable silence while the kids and Joyce flutter around anxiously. There isn’t much left to do, but the others seem incapable of just sitting down and relaxing. No wonder Eddie fits in with this crowd so well. Wayne could add to the noise, could tell Hopper he’s glad he’s not dead. It seems like something of a useless statement, but it’s probably the polite thing to do. If Wayne supposedly died and came back, though, he thinks he might just want everyone to pretend like he was never gone in the first place. No need to make a fuss.
Erica marches into the room with a walkie-talkie held high and announces, “Eddie's in the neighborhood!”
“Oh fuck,” one of the boys says from behind him, and Wayne hears the distinct thump of someone being smacked lightly upside the head.
“Remember, no jumping out at him! We're just going to say surprise.”
Hopper speaks up. “What she said.”
He looks at Joyce with a small smile. She returns it brilliantly. They're pretty cute. Wayne is glad that Joyce didn't end up wasting away with Lonnie Byers forever. What a shame that would have been. What a waste of that wonderful smile.
Wayne gets into these contemplative moods sometimes. Wayne likes to think he's being a bit philosophical, reflecting on everything. Eddie just calls it being a sentimental old man. Right now, he's reflecting on the scrappy little girl who somehow hasn't changed a lick in twenty years even though she's completely different. He thinks she's maybe more herself. She takes up more space. Laughs louder and smiles brighter. Joyce must have had more transformative experiences than just a bad relationship, a divorce, and new love, but nevertheless, Wayne can't help thinking that love is a powerful thing. Giving it to the wrong person can make you small.
Eddie isn't the small type. He's always been larger than life, even when he was little. Every time Wayne visited, he would be treated to some sort of performance, a new dance Eddie invented that just involved spinning in circles until he got too dizzy to keep going or an original story with twenty different characters all played by Eddie doing different silly voices. Then one of the other adults in the room would snap at him, tell him to stop wasting his Uncle Wayne's time, and Wayne would watch Eddie collapse in on himself, watch his tiny fingers tap at his thighs and his big bright eyes grow dim, and then Wayne would hold a hand out and Eddie would climb up into his lap and curl into the tiniest little roly poly of a boy and stay that way until he dozed off.
Sometimes he misses when he could shield Eddie from the world with just his arms. When he was small and Wayne could take him off his so-called parents' hands for the week, carry him to the car and carry him inside and carry him to the bathtub and keep a hand over his forehead to make sure the soap wouldn't get in his eyes. He misses when Eddie would fall asleep in his lap and Wayne could just hold him for hours, knowing he was safe, knowing he was fed and warm and happy and loved. Things weren't simple back then. Wayne often found himself struggling to walk the line between reassuring Eddie that of course his Daddy and Mama loved him while also trying to make him understand that his parents kinda sucked and not to put too much stock into anything they told him. Still, there was something certain about life back when Eddie was small. Wayne could take him out for ice cream and it was like all the bad in the world disappeared for an hour.
He thinks maybe all of these people in Steve Harrington's big fancy house are grown-up Eddie's Dairy Queen.
All of the little ones crowd around a window, peeking out while they whisper as if Eddie's gonna hear them all the way on the street.
“He's gonna flip his shit,” one of the boys says excitedly. “Ooh, there's the car!”
“I think he probably suspects something, honestly,” Max says, “Like, why else would he not have special birthday plans with his boyfriend?”
“Oh, they made plans,” Dustin replies with sly emphasis on the word plans, “At least, I think so. I think they made, like, sex plans for tonight, Eddie got all weird when I asked if he was doing something with Steve besides movie night.”
“Ew!”
“God, why would you even ask that?”
“Dude, my sister's twelve!”
“I know what sex is.”
“Sex is normal and healthy between adults in a committed relationship,” the little superpowered girl says, El, Wayne reminds himself. She sounds very much like she's quoting something from a book. Wayne glances over at Hopper.
Hopper looks both proud and exasperated, one hand rubbing at his forehead. It's an interesting mix of expressions, but he wears it well. Joyce seems amused.
“Yeah, El,” Max says, “But it's generally kinda rude and gross to speculate about other people having sex. Especially when one of those people is Steve.”
“Oh,” El says, like this is intriguing information she's never heard before. “Dustin, don't be rude. It's Eddie's birthday.”
“Shh, he's getting out!”
El lets out an excited squeal as the kids all duck in a flurry of limbs, scrambling away from the living room window. Max is somehow the most graceful of the bunch, even on her crutches.
“Should I pose by the presents?” Lucas asks. Before anyone can answer, he says, “I'm gonna pose by the presents,” adopting a charmingly awkward stance with his hands on his hips.
“Don't pose, you weirdo,” Erica says.
“You're the weir—” The front door creaks and Lucas cuts himself off with a small gasp.
There's a split second between when Eddie sees everybody and the kids all shout, “Surprise!”
In that time, Wayne doesn't see any shock in Eddie's eyes. Only affection, only happiness, only of course. The shock comes about ten seconds later, while the kids are asking Eddie if he suspected anything and telling him how long they spent on the decorations and promising that he's gonna love their presents, when Eddie's eyes trail over the kids and the decorations and come to rest on Wayne. That's when his eyes widen, when something shifts in his smile, and he holds eye contact as Dustin hugs him.
Thank you, his face seems to say, and Wayne shrugs.
A petite girl with a perm bigger than her face trails in after Eddie, pulling the front door shut and putting a set of keys into her pocket.
Dustin breaks from the hug to offer the girl a high-five. “Nice job with Operation One Forty-Four!”
The girl rolls her eyes, but gives Dustin a high-five.
Max raises an eyebrow. “One forty-four?”
Eddie beams and claps his hands triumphantly. “Like the guests at Bilbo's farewell party!”
“Exactly!”
“Why not Operation Eleventy-First?”
“Uh, because one forty-four sounds cooler?”
Wayne spends most of the party sitting with Hopper, an island in chaos. Sometimes they chat. Sometimes they just watch the kids. After about an hour, El sits down with them, snuggling Hopper, and in a quiet voice, she says, “You are Uncle Wayne.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Eddie says you raised him. Did he have a mean papa, too?”
Oh, Wayne feels ill.
“You do not have to tell me,” she whispers, “I just… None of my friends are like me.”
She bites her lip, looking bashful, but she doesn't turn her eyes to the floor the way most kids would. El keeps looking at him, waiting patiently for his answer. Wayne turns to Hopper, who looks a bit like someone just stabbed him in the heart.
“El,” Hopper starts, but Wayne cuts him off.
“He was a bit mean. Not that he tried to be. He thought he was doing right. He just wasn't meant to be anybody's daddy.”
She nods slowly, looking suddenly wise beyond her years. “...Then I am glad you are his daddy now. Like me and Hop.”
“I…” Wayne is surprised to find himself tearing up. “...Thank you.”
El smiles. Hopper does, too.
Max appears from seemingly nowhere, holding a hand out to El and wiggling her fingers. “Come on, Steve said dinner's ready.” Wayne still can't figure out how she manages to be so smooth on crutches.
“Ah, shit, we gotta move now?” Hopper grumbles.
“Dining room,” Max says ruefully.
Hopper groans. “Go on then, give the old men a minute.”
Wayne can't help but snort. “You ain't that old yet.”
El takes Max's hand and one of her crutches, sliding under Max's arm so she can help her to the dining room.
“Thank you,” Hopper says once the girls are out of earshot. “It, uh… it means a lot to her. That she isn't the only one.”
“I imagine whatever she went through was beyond anything we could think up.”
“Eh,” Hopper shrugs. “Maybe so. Doesn't mean it's all different.”
Dinner is a chaotic affair. No less than three drinks are spilled on the tablecloth, and after a flurry of cleanup Robin puts Steve into a headlock so he'll actually sit down to eat some of his own food. Wayne knocks elbows with Eddie the whole time, as the table isn't quite big enough for the fifteen chairs squished around it. His ears ring for a few seconds after the world's most cacophonous rendition of the happy birthday song ever, and there are way too many candles on the cake so when Eddie tries to blow them out it's more like he's just blowing fire across the table, but eventually they get the candles put out and the little perm girl—Nancy, Wayne learns—cuts precisely equal slices for everybody except for Mike, who gets an offensively small piece that everybody laughs at and that confirms Wayne's suspicion that they might be siblings. Their matching narrow frames and sharp, delicate faces were a pretty decent giveaway, but the cake cinches it. They're family.
All through dinner, through dessert, even while everybody bumps into each other collecting plates and silverware and glasses, Eddie never stops smiling.
“Come on, you gotta open my present, it's totally sick,” Mike says, tugging Eddie away from the stack of dishes by the sink.
“Lead the way, my loyal paladin,” Eddie replies grandly. As he walks away, he glances back at where Steve is sorting out the dishes, and he says, “Don't you dare stay in here for all the fun stuff, come on.”
“I'm coming!”
“You heard him,” Wayne says, and Steve seems surprised that he spoke up. “Go on.”
“Uh…”
Joyce appears by Wayne's elbow. “Go on, have fun. We'll clean up. You already did the hard part.”
Steve looks like he might protest, but then Hopper is standing at Wayne's other shoulder, and Steve must feel sufficiently ganged-up on, because he says, “Alright, thanks, you guys,” and follows Eddie into the living room.
“I never signed up to wash dishes,” Wayne says, rolling up his sleeves.
Hopper sighs, doing the same. “Shoulda read the fine print.”
“Oh, hush,” Joyce rolls her eyes, “Three of us oughta be able to knock it out pretty quick.”
Wayne's never really had this. Two dish-washing partners to share in comfortable silence, a gaggle of kids laughing and shrieking in the next room, a full stomach and a sense of security in his chest. It occurs to him that if he's never had it, neither has Eddie.
But he does now. Somehow, hell itself has managed to give Eddie something that Wayne never could.
They finish up the washing in time to watch Eddie pull what looks like a homemade card from El out from a large envelope. She bounces on her toes as he opens it, and a wave of glitter falls to the ground.
“Mike and Will helped me make it,” she says proudly. “I hope you like it.”
“I love it,” Eddie says, sounding genuinely choked up as he stares at the open card in something like wonder. “This is fuckin' awesome.”
Eddie's head raises and he makes eye contact with Wayne, immediately grinning and beckoning him over. “Wayne, look at this shit.”
Wayne shuffles through the crowd of children to peer over Eddie's shoulder.
“It's a collage,” El says, which helps Wayne make sense of the mess of images on the page. El has covered black construction paper in magazine cutouts of guitars and bats and—Wayne squints—small photos of Eddie and his friends, with red glitter stuck haphazardly onto every blank space.
“That is a mighty fine collage, Miss El.”
Eddie nods. “Totally bitchin'. Thanks, Egg.”
She smiles, her nose scrunching cutely, and if Wayne hadn't understood Hopper's decision to adopt a little experiment from the woods before, he certainly would now. She was right. When he looks at her, he sees Eddie, growing his hair out for the first time since his dad wasn't around to force him into a kitchen chair with an electric shaver. The curls that neither Eddie nor Wayne knew how to style. The light, the joy, the sheer enthusiasm for life and the uncertainty of how to live it after years of being told exactly what to do and how to be.
Eddie nudges him with an elbow. Cute as hell, Wayne knows he's saying. He nudges back. Sure is.
Apparently, El's collage was the last of the gifts, because the kids disperse to go pick at the remaining cake and brownies like vultures.
“I did get you something,” Wayne says, “Back at the house.”
“You didn't have to.”
“'Course I did. Egg?”
Eddie laughs. “Short for Eggos. They're her favorite.”
“Hm.”
Some of Eddie's gifts are snatched off the coffee table by passing bodies, those little dice and figurines that Wayne could never tell much of a difference between. He hopes the kids aren't stealing them and just intend to admire them for a bit.
“Ooh, Steve!” Eddie exclaims, grabbing Steve's arm as he passes by and forcing him to join the two of them. Now they make a nice awkward triangle. “How long have you been stepping out on me with my uncle?”
“Oh, for months now,” Steve says coolly, “I'm angling to be your step-uncle by Christmas.”
He immediately winces at his own comment, glancing at Wayne for a brief moment before looking up at the ceiling in embarrassment. “Sorry.”
“Ain't been all that long,” Wayne says, “Might have to wait 'til New Years.”
Eddie roars with laughter, hiding his face in Steve's shoulder. Steve's cheeks are red. He looks away from the ceiling, though, and Wayne gets a distinct impression that Steve is examining him.
Steve hasn't hung around Eddie too much throughout the party. Wayne hadn't thought much of it. He's been busy hosting, refilling chip bowls and cleaning spills and circulating the room to see if everybody's having fun. Maybe all of that perpetual motion was on purpose.
“Really, I can't believe I missed you two meeting. He didn't tell you any stories, did he?”
“Stories?”
“I could if you're interested,” Wayne says, as if he doesn't know exactly which story he's about to tell.
Eddie points at him, as if he didn't know his question would lead to this exact outcome. “I will gut you in your sleep.”
Steve slowly rests his arm around Eddie's shoulders, as if he expects to be stopped any moment. “Jesus Christ, Eds.”
Wayne grins. “Eddie here was real into Mary Poppins when he was little. Made me rent the damn tape every single time he stayed over, and the second it finished, he'd rewind it and start it all over again. Now, eventually I got to where I just couldn't sit and listen to those same damn songs over and over, so I'd let him put it on while I went and read in the other room.”
“Wayne,” Eddie whines.
“After an hour or so of letting him watch by himself, it was about dinnertime, so I headed on in to the living room to figure out what he wanted.”
Eddie begs, “Please?”
Steve is leaning in a little bit, listening intently.
“I came in right during that nice little duet between the nanny and the chimney sweep.”
“Don't pretend you don't know their names. Steve doesn't think you're cool.”
“Yeah, I do!”
“Alright, I came in right during that nice little duet between Mary Poppins and her gentleman friend Bert.”
“Thank you. Fuckin' nanny and the chimney sweep.”
“Shh,” Steve says, “Stop interrupting.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, leaning heavily into Steve's side and tucking his head into the crook of Steve's neck. “Asshole.”
“So, I come in, and what do I find but Eddie here practically stuck to the front of the TV. I thought he was just standin' real close, but when I got right up on him I realized he was licking the damn screen!”
Steve laughs incredulously, slapping a hand over his mouth. Eddie throws his head back and groans.
“It's not my fault! Bert is very lickable!”
“Hm, if I remember right you said you wanted to see if the colors tasted how they looked.”
Eddie narrows his eyes. “I think you're going senile.”
“Eddie,” Steve says, still giggling, “Oh my god, Eddie.”
“I'm breaking up with you,” Eddie says, suddenly wiggling away from Steve, but Steve leverages the arm around his shoulders to pull him right back to his side and press a kiss to his cheek.
“Too late. I threw you an awesome birthday party, you're stuck with me for at least another month.”
“Hm, good point. Maybe I'll dump you on your birthday. How's that sound?”
“Nice and pathetic,” Steve says approvingly. “Gives me a great sob story to get back out there.”
“Right? I'll be doing you a favor, really.”
Watching the boys gaze at each other, something catches in his chest. Wayne speaks before he can think about it for another moment.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I forgot to take my medicine, could you go grab it from the truck for me?”
“Wayne,” Eddie warns, already pulling away from Steve to grab his shoes from the pile by the door, “Man, you can't forget that shit.”
“I know. Just didn't stick to routine today.”
Eddie sighs before kissing Steve's cheek. “I'll be right back.”
“Totally. Uh, let me know if there's anything I can do.”
“You can get this old man one of those little weekly pill boxes.”
Wayne clicks his tongue. “Alright, get your ass outside.”
Eddie lets out another overdramatic sigh as he slips outside. Everybody else is bustling around in the kitchen and the dining room, but Wayne and Steve are the only ones left in the living room.
“Steve,” Wayne says, unsure of what he's about to say but quite certain that he has to say it.
“Yeah? You need some water or something? I, uh, I don't know what kind of medicine you—”
“Ah, I was bullshittin' him. Wanted to tell you something.”
Steve blinks. “Oh.”
It's a testament to how comfortable these people make him, Wayne thinks, that Steve doesn't seem afraid anymore. Or maybe he's just already won the kid over, just like that.
“...Eddie never had a boyfriend before.”
Steve's face softens. He almost looks sad. “I know.”
“He ain't never had too many people on his side, neither. And you all…” Wayne trails off, glancing down at the mess of torn wrapping paper and empty bags on the coffee table. “...Well,” he says, trying to speak past the lump rising in his throat, “I suppose I'm trying to say thank you. He's happy. I do my best to do right by him, but there's some things I can't give him, and it looks like he found 'em right here.”
He's not sure what he expects Steve to say. He doesn't really expect anything.
“He loves you so much,” Steve says with a small frown, and Wayne feels unusually weak and see-through for the second time today. “Seriously, I've never met someone who loved their parents, or, uh… family, as much as Eddie does.”
Wayne tries to laugh it off. “I don't need you to make me feel better, alright? I'm real damn happy that Eddie's got you, that's what I'm tryin' to say. You're a good kid.”
The door flies open before Steve can respond, Eddie handing Wayne his pills with an obnoxious rattle before resuming his place under Steve's arm.
“Close the door, you animal,” Steve complains, but Hopper slinks out of the dining room and calls, “Leave it. I'm gonna grab a smoke. Wayne?”
“See you boys.” He gives them each a firm pat on the shoulder before he follows Hopper out onto the front porch.
He steals one of Hopper's cigarettes and they have a glorious time. Wayne stays on the porch for the rest of the party, listening to the crickets and swapping war stories. Music starts up, but it's drowned out by the chatter of teenagers, so loud that Wayne couldn't identify the song if he tried. Eddie stays inside. Wayne can't see him, can't hear him, doesn't quite know what he's doing in there or what all of his friends are doing to him.
For the first time in years, Wayne isn't worried at all.