Chapter Text
Eddie
“I didn't get where I am by having reasonable goals.”
― Ann Leckie, Ancillary Justice
Eddie was all about desecrating corpses.
Particularly, the huge ones--and nothing was larger than the burnt out husk of Starcourt.
Yellow caution tape, muddied and ripped from its time in the weather still decorated parts of the doors.
The place used to be crawling with security, but that had eased off now, the job returning to a local outfit rather than the smooth and swift guards who previously haunted the joint in pairs.
It was easy as two days spent camped out in his van, watching the main entrance and a few side doors. In no time at all, Eddie had schedules memorized, points of entry selected and even three possible escape routes should things get dicey.
He didn't expect them to.
Not when he’d already rolled his checks and came up with a number that, were this an actual D&D game, would make him a happy man.
It was always a point of contention between him and his Pa. This perception. The natural ability he had that good ‘ol dad just didn’t seem to possess.
The one that made him patient long enough to get a feel for a gig.
To know instinctively how hard a job might be, and how to go about doing it safely.
(Eddie personally doesn't believe much of it is talent. Thinks it is in fact, forcibly learned, due to the nature of his upbringing.
Grandma and Grandpa Munson, bless their dead, departed souls, had at least given something of a shit. Tried to keep family things family and work things work, even when said work was illegal as it gets.
They understood things like appearance and public reputation.
How that kept the pigs off your back and food on your table.
His Pa had never cared for any of that.)
Eddie didn’t grow up with family meals, or even food in the house let alone on the table. He grew up watchful, forced to learn or take a hit meant for an adult in the process. To weigh the risks against the benefits, and how to charm the pants off an unsuspecting target while doing so.
It was how he’d escaped his own prison sentence when his Pa finally got eyes too big for his abilities.
Eddie had gotten lucky in that situation.
Or rather--he’d gotten Wayne.
Wayne, who gave up his own room, his own bed, for his nephew. Had bought him his sweetheart on his sixteenth birthday and a van on his eighteenth. Both things were used, and a little battered around the edges, and Eddie had almost thrown up the day he accidentally found out Wayne had used his life savings for the damn car, but they were above and beyond anything he had any right to.
Eddie would be damned without him.
But he knows his uncle needs help.
Can't pay for himself and Eddie. Never really could, and so has been giving his nephew literally everything he has in an effort to make up for it until Eddie could help pay his way.
Not that a singular soul would trust a teenage Munson with such a precious thing as a part time job, and so Eddie had turned to the familiar.
The mall fire, and the resulting flood of federal agents had really put a damper on his income the past few months. Drugs were risky, and getting riskier with them sniffing about, and things were getting tight again in a way they hadn’t in a long, long time.
(All it had taken was finding the hidden stack of bills.
Big ol’ words stamped in red topped every one. Bold letters screaming ‘Overdue’ and ‘Payment Missed’ and ‘Late Fees.’
One single letter had panicked Eddie more than any other, the one that clearly said Wayne had been talking to the payday loan place down the street, and he’d be damned if his shortcomings made his Uncle willingly walk into a debt pit so few climbed out of.)
Growing up like he had, Eddie was trusted in certain circles. Had access to places many didn't as his sole inheritance, because he was known.
Someone who didn't rat, who could be trusted with given tasks. Who kept to the criminal code, and was good about not backstabbing you if caught.
He’d hit up a few old connections, dropped some hints. Put out “feelers” as one might say.
Got a nibble and soon enough, Eddie was back in business, getting called up and offered a few small tasks for decent dough.
Sometimes it was fetching information.
Sometimes it was ferrying an item.
Today, it was a retrieval.
There was something someone wanted in the ruins of Starcourt--and they were offering an insane amount of money to get it.
The plans hadn't made sense, not at first. The instructions Eddie had been given sounded outlandish, if not outright total bunk.
Like the existence of a multi level basement under Starcourt? How the hell had no one caught that being built?
Or that the security systems down there could possibly still be turned on? After four months?
Who was even paying for it?
Eddie had heard stupider things though, and the pay for this little jaunt was good. Too good to pass up.
"They want a local in case something happens and the rescue squad comes running in. That way, it's just a little trespassing fun. The town deviant getting his kicks in the big scary mall, and not what they think it is." His connection had told him, meeting with Eddie in a Mcdonalds the town over.
The place had a play palace, big enough to host a number of screaming rugrats. It made for a great cover as they pretended to be just two men in overalls, getting burgers on their lunch.
Not a soul could hear a sound over the kids screaming, and if a blueprint sat between them then, well, if it looks like a maintenance worker, and it talks like a maintenance worker…
People never did look twice.
"And what else exactly would they think this is?" Eddie asked, munching on the food he got for free as part of even entertaining the offer.
"A retrieval, Double D."
Eddie hated that nickname.
"Some rich kid bit it in the fire, and his parents are paying out top dollar to get a few of his things, seein’ as the feds wouldn’t let anybody back in after they condemned the place." The guy, whose name was Mickey, said.
He idly traced a finger along the lines of the blueprint, the path he was wanting Eddie to take.
(The path Eddie would later ignore, on grounds that it was going to get him caught.)
“Specifically a signet ring and car keys.”
“Car keys?” Eddie had asked, mostly in a bid for more information. Mickey was the kind of guy you could breadcrumb into giving more information than he intended to, if one played their cards right.
And Eddie was a damn good poker player.
“Yup. Goes to a BMW--which they want you to drive to a safe place. Parents think he lost it somewhere around,” Mickey’s finger stopped, before tapping the blueprint twice. “Here.”
Something had niggled in the back of Eddie’s head. The first whispers of recognition, of a fact that he knew something about this--something he couldn’t yet recall.
He wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it.
“Who's the kid?” He’d asked.
Mostly because he was curious, partially because it was a way to ease in the real questions he wanted to ask.
Like what a rich kid was doing four levels down in Starcourt the night of the fire.
“Does it matter?” Mickey said, but dug into his pockets anyway. Retrieved a little 2 by 3 wallet photo, done in the traditional High School Picture Day style.
He’d tossed it on the table, and Eddie didn’t react.
Kept his face perfectly blank, even as his stomach contracted and his breath caught in his chest.
Carefully pulled the picture to him, to make a show of examining it.
“Don’t know him.” He lied after a moment, fighting to get his breathing back under control before Mickey figured out what was up.
“Told you it didn’t matter. What matters is that you get the shit. And hey, while you’re down there…”
Mickey talked a bit more, and idly, Eddie listened. He knew this little B&E was going to have more components than just retrieving a few things. Had long figured out that this entire front of retrieving “some rich kids keys” was just that--a front.
Word on the street was that Starcourt was hiding something--something a lot of very powerful people were getting increasingly interested in. He’d rolled his eyes when he caught wind of the first little rumblings, the rumors and whispers that the thing was shrouded in Government secrets and conspiracies, but hadn’t been able to ignore the shit that had come after.
Likely, the people who had hired him and Mickey understood they had to act now, before someone else did, to see if anything worthwhile was actually down there.
The real question is why the hell they were using Steve Harrington’s death to do it--when Eddie knew for a fact that Steve Harrington was alive.
Or alive as anyone could be, at two am at a Shell gas station.
“Alright.” Eddie said finally, pulling the blueprint towards himself before rolling it up, making sure to casually roll up Harrington’s picture with it. “You got me interested. Half up front and I’m in.”
Mickey grinned at him. “Knew you would be, kid.”
One hand shake and a hefty envelope later, and Eddie found himself on the way to Starcourt on his very first stakeout.
It was that first initial look that confirmed it--Harrington’s prized BMW was in fact, still sitting in the parking lot.
Abandoned by rich assholes who absolutely could have paid to have it towed.
Which led to a domino effect of stakeouts, late nights and confrontations, up to and including his present position, counting down the minutes before he could break into Starcourt.
“Ready?” He murmured, and one could be forgiven for thinking he was talking to himself given how quietly he said it.
They would be wrong.
“Yeah.” The not-so-dead rich kid drawled from the passenger seat.
Eddie tossed a grin at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.
“Come on, Stevie.” He purred. “Let’s go find out who impersonated your parents, and why they want that ring you supposedly own so badly.”
“Honestly dude I just want my car back.”
“That too.”
Steve
“The only smart way out of this was to kill all of them.
I was going to have to take the dumb way out of this.”
― Martha Wells, Rogue Protocol
A large part of the Steve Harrington lore was that he left his throne, his popularity, and his childhood best friends behind--for Nancy Wheeler.
This was a lie.
It wasn’t even one of the rumors he encouraged, and Steve had done some damage control in the aftermath of that whole thing with the tunnels.
Spent time dropping hints to the right crowd.
It took a while, but eventually his insistence that he didn’t want anything to do with being the king began to stick, alongside the idea that he really wasn’t doing it just to “get Nancy back.”
She’d been a catalyst to his wakeup call but he’d been the one to realize he wanted to change.
It took Starcourt for him to realize that wasn’t really the truth either.
Steve did want to be a better person. He was working actively on being a better person!
But…
(But he still heard screams from a bus in the junkyard when he slept. Felt fear lick down his spine as he charged in, knowing he was the only thing standing between three dumb kids and a painful, shitty death.
But he still heard Dustin, full of conviction, tell his friends that Steve was the only person he could find.
But he now had a “bad” shoulder, a “twinge” in his ribs, and a head that was plagued by migraines, all of which made him look in the mirror and ask himself “What if I hadn’t gone with them?”)
…you couldn’t be there for someone, couldn’t protect someone, if you were too busy playing high school bullies with your friends.
If life had taught Steve anything, it was that there were more threats out there than he could’ve imagined, and way too many people he needed to protect from them.
He didn't just want to change.
He had to.
Robin would likely argue these were just the reasons he wanted to be a better person, but Robin now ranked as one of Steve’s top 10 personal failures--even if Starcourt was the reason they’re now best friends.
(He was the Scoops Troop’s oldest member. Had graduated high school for fucks sake, he should have shut Dustin down the moment he realized things were actually serious, not gotten caught up in the adrenaline and shoved the kid into a damn air vent.
He never should’ve let Robin get involved. And Erica—
He can’t even really think about Erica, Not without guilt, no matter how much she herself argues about it.)
At the very least, Steve can admit to himself he protected them in the end.
Took a beating. Faked his death alongside Hopper. Did what had to be done.
Everyone made it out.
Alive.
In one piece.
Hopefully, once Owens finished cleaning house in the government, they could all finally put this nightmare behind them.
Unfortunately life--and Eddie fucking Munson--was not ready to put anything to rest.
The opposite, in fact. He seemed hellbent on disturbing what he could and Steve, wholly haunted by the fact the kids always came to him because they had no one else, couldn’t let him do it alone.
At least, he thought grimly, as he followed Munson’s weaving path to the ruins of Starcout, he was getting his car out of it.
xXx
Uncanny valley doesn’t do Steve’s feelings justice.
Starcourt is laid out in a giant L, and coming at it from the outer edges like he and Munson had means everything looks disturbingly normal.
Off putting, if only because it’s 10 in the morning and not a soul is in the mall, but otherwise?
Like nothing ever went wrong.
It’s as they inch towards the center that things start to go astray.
It’s not noticeable at first. Not unless you’re looking. The litter on the floor, the little piles of weird looking debris.
The stains.
Nothing that outwardly screams “something horrible happened here” and though Munson is creeping along just as quietly as Steve is, it’s obvious he’s not nearly as on edge.
Why would he be? Nothing Steve said had managed to deter him, and given Steve can’t exactly explain what happened or why he’s playing possum, Munson was plenty confident about going forward with his little B&E.
At least, not until they finally turn the corner, and the destruction hits them full force.
Glass and chunks of plaster cover the ground like confetti. Lights hang sideways or lay smashed on the floor, as do pieces of doors (and railings and half of the entire upper floor.)
The place looks like something out of a disaster film--which Steve supposes, is exactly what it is.
If the disaster was supernatural in nature, and also caused by a giant monster made out of the melted flesh.
(God, his life was weird.)
“What the hell happened here?” Eddie said, eyes wide as he took in the damage.
Steve tried to imagine what it must look like for him. Looked at the ruins and tried to pretend he was someone who wasn’t in the know, who thought this all came from an untimely fire.
Could almost convince himself one could buy it, if it weren’t for the smears of blood that still stained the floor.
He stared at them, trying to match up which puddle was the one Billy died in, in comparison to all the other blood smears that the feds hadn’t bothered to remove.
Recalled the way Max screamed, fighting her way towards her step-brother when he finally fell.
The yell Billy himself had let out, when he’d managed to shake off the Mindflayer just long enough to give El the time she needed.
Steve hadn’t really thought about it until now.
Billy’s death.
Hadn’t really had the chance, given Owens pulled him and a handful of others out of the ambulance and forced them into hiding.
Not to escape the Russians, though that was the cover story. Murray and Hopper had suspected Owens' group was after a group much closer to home and it didn’t take long for them to be proven right.
(“You ever think about how weird that was? That Russians made it to Hawkins and no one ever noticed?” Hopper had asked, a beer in the same hand that had an IV sticking out the back of it. “Given the lab was right across town you think they’d be watching for that kinda thing.”
“Please Jim, for once, use your head. They didn’t get here without assistance and they certainly didn’t do it without help from our own government.” Murray had scoffed in return. “They were invited. Practically given Hawkins on a platter.”
He held two lit cigarettes in his hand, the asshole.
“Why the hell would the US military let inRussians?”
“An excellent question, and I’ll return it with one of my own. Why would Owens still need to hide us if all the Russians are gone?”
“...Fuck.”
“Fuck indeed.”)
Now, Steve found he had all the time in the world to contemplate Billy Hargrove and his mostly unnoticed possession. His supposed sacrifice.
Had it redeemed him, the way movies and TV shows always said that kind of death, did?
Steve imagined the sneered grin on Billy’s face that night at the Byers. Felt phantom knuckles brush across his face, the fury that had ignited within him when Billy hadn’t gone for him, but for Lucas.
Compared it to his own fight with Jonathan in ‘82.
The words he’d allowed Tommy to spray upon the theater sign regarding his own girlfriend. The camera he’d destroyed.
The demogorgon in the Byers house, lights flashing as it tore through the wall.
If things had been different, if Steve hadn’t survived back then--would people wonder the same things about him? Would they ask themselves if his sacrifice was worth it, if it proved he was a good person, under it all?
Would it have meant something?
“Harrington?”
Steve jumped, startling when Munson nudged him.
“You good, man?” He asked, and Steve almost laughed because no, he definitely was not good.
He can’t say that though, and so he does what he always does. Shoves the thoughts down, puts the feelings back inside a box in his mind.
Lies.
“Yeah, fine.” He said, brushing off his staring. “Come on, Scoops is that way.”
He gestures, ignoring the concerned look that’s overtaken Munson’s face.
Panicking, he knows, will not get his keys back, and neither will it help him learn what idiot is poking around this time.
Because Murray doesn’t think the feds are Munson’s employer, and Owens had been inclined to agree when Steve first reported this entire situation back.
It’s definitely not his parents, who were conveniently overseas in London.
That leaves very little options, including a disturbing possibility of a new player to the game, and given all the green goo Steve had seen, the way they all know it does something to help power the gate…
It’d be nice to get ahead of things for once, instead of scrambling to catch up.
(Screw Hopper and Owens and everyone who told Steve to stay out of it.
Munson wouldn’t listen to his warnings.
Wouldn’t back off and definitely wouldn’t leave it alone.
Hopper’s half-delirious (and morphine fueled) rants about this finally being a wakeup call for the metalhead if he didn’t listen to Steve wasn’t going to make up for the blood on his hands if the guy went in there without him and died. )
“Your locker, my liege!” Munson crows as they enter the back part of Scoop’s, throwing out an arm at it like he’s presenting a game show prize. “Shall we see if the treasure we seek is behind door number one?”
Steve rolls his eyes, but remains quiet as he steps up and enters his combination.
It swings open as easily as it ever had and there, dangling from the crooked hook, are the car keys Steve is so desperately after.
Munson throws his hands in the air, like Steve’s just shot the winning basket of a game.
“Score!” He yells, and Steve grins back even as he shushes him.
Reaches out and takes the keys. Feels the tiniest bit of relief.
Munson, of course, has to open his mouth and ruin it.
“Now,” he said in a low, eager voice, clapping his hands together like a man about to feast, “the hunt begins for our second prize.”
A migraine starts to creep in behind Steve’s eyes. He rubbed at them with his free hand.
“I told you I don’t have a class ring.”
“And yet they have me searching for one any~way.”
Like a bloodhound, Munson zeroed in on the employee door at the back of Scoop’s, waltzing through to the back rooms as if he did this sort of thing every day.
Given the half-assed, waved-off explanation of how he got dragged into all this, Steve figured maybe he did.
(He’d decided—sometime between the first and fifth time he tried to get a straight answer out of Eddie—that the guy could never meet Dustin.
Henderson was already a pro at steamrolling over Steve, breadcrumbing just enough information to make sure everyone went along with whatever scheme he was cooking up.
The last thing the kid needed was to encounter someone with Munson’s mastery of the same shit.)
Through the door and to the end of the hall Munson skipped, and Steve kept his eyes on the metalhead’s jacket as he blindly jammed his keys in his pocket.
Some sort of demon looking thing was posed on the back--clearly from a shirt that had been reworked to be a backpatch.
It gave Steve the creeps.
Not because it was demonic or whatever, but because it looked a little too familiar, too close to the demogorgons that slashed at Steve in his nightmares.
It wasn’t exactly hard to picture one of those things carrying a whip, either.
(His luck, the whip would have teeth.)
It was still better than looking at anything else around them. Steve fixed his gaze on the backpatch, choosing it over the alternative-- thinking about where they were going and the unease crawling over him like a second skin.
The inner voice that kept insisting he should have brought the damn nailbat…
It took them no time at all to reach their destination.
The base door had a lock on it. A big thing, with chains so thick Steve briefly wondered if the feds were worried about containment.
It wouldn’t be the first time Steve had wondered if they had summoned anything through the gate before things had gone to hell.
Unfortunately, the lock did nothing to detour this little jaunt.
Munson dropped to his knees, hair pin in hand. He fiddled with the lock for a moment and Steve took the time to visualize how different things might have been if the older teen had been there with them.
Not that Steve wanted to involve anyone else (not that he wouldn’t carry the guilt of dragging Erica and Robin both into this mess for the rest of his life.) but this was clearly a cake walk for Munson and frankly, they could have used someone with his skillset.
Something to keep in mind for never, because Steve outright refused to let anyone get involved in this shit again.
A click sounded, and Munson looked up, eyes bright, a wild grin on his face.
“Open sesame.” He purred as he stood, the door swinging out under his hands.
The unease in Steve’s chest bloomed into full blown anxiety.
“We shouldn’t go down there.” He blurted out.
They had already had this conversation, but he felt compelled to revisit it, partly because he still wasn’t entirely sure how Munson had talked him into this in the first place, and partly because the guy reminded him a little too much of Dustin.
Given that Steve was staring down the stairs to a place that had nearly killed him and Dustin both, now seemed like a good time to rehash it.
“We shouldn’t be here at all.” Munson countered, springing back to his feet. “But some of us need this little thing called money.”
“If you’re giving me the car--and the car keys--what's the point of going after a ring that doesn’t exist?” Steve tried, eyes locked on the dark, gaping maw of the stairs before him. “Aren’t they gonna like, not pay you for coming up empty?”
Munson made a dismissive noise, waving his hands in the air like he was dispersing smoke. “Just because it’s not your ring doesn’t mean there’s no ring.”
Which was true, unfortunately.
“Eddie.” Steve said desperately, and knew by the way Munson looked at him that the use of his first name hit as intended. “I mean it, man.”
“And I told you I was given a side mission to my main mission, and a little industry secret for ya here Harrington, the side missions always pay more.”
Steve watched as cheshire-cat like grin lit up Munson’s face, in a way eerie similar to Dustin’s gummy smile.
Felt goosebumps rise on his skin.
“What's under there isn’t--this isn’t--it’s not safe.” He managed, hating how he fumbled the words, like a ball slipping through his hands.
“Life ain’t safe, Harrington.”
“This is different.” He tried to argue, but knew it was a lost cause.
Munson was unbelievably stubborn about this. It almost made Steve feel bad about all the times he’d bulldozed others just like this, waiving off concerns and treating people’s fears they were overreactions.
Steve’s gut clenched with worry, and he shook his head to clear the anxiety.
“I’ll make you a deal, Steve-O.” He said, right before Steve opened his mouth to double down. “You give me two good reasons why we shouldn’t go down there, and if they’re really convincing, I might agree to skip it.”
“I signed NDAs.” Steve sighed, because this was an argument they’d also already had.
Twice in fact--once, when Eddie first found him, alive and very much not dead as reported, and the second time when he approached Steve with his “retrieval project.”
(Both times at the goddamn gas station, which Steve would now be avoiding for life.)
“Over a mallfire?”
“I think,” Steve said dryly, gesturing around to the destruction that surrounded them, present even back here, “that you’ve figured out it wasn’t a mallfire.”
“Well duh. But then, you’re the one who won’t say what really happened.” Munson waggled his eyebrows in a way that was so cartoony Steve was mildly impressed a real person could pull it off.
He sighed a second time.
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
That was the real reason he kept using the NDA line. He hadn’t cared the first time he signed all that crap, and by the third he knew it was just for show.
(Who would Steve even tell, anyway? His parents?
Yeah, that wasn’t happening.)
“You keep saying that and you keep not trying me.” Munson leaned against the open door frame, eyes glittering with mischief. “Come on Harrington. Two reasons.”
People were Steve’s strength, and he put that to work now—running through every angle that might get the older boy to drop this.
Kinda figured Eddie was enough like Dustin that he might operate the same way: say something too vague, and you’d only pique his curiosity. Too honest, and you’ve just handed him an all-access pass to dive headfirst into whatever government related supernatural disaster was happening this time.
“It being extremely dangerous and likely on the verge of collapsing isn’t enough?” Steve said, somewhat desperate.
He hadn’t tried that argument before--mostly because Munson didn’t strike him as someone who gave a damn about personal safety.
(Steve had gone through a lot of other reasons. Had even brought in Robin at one point, she was way better at pointing out the catastrophic potential of this mess.
Each and every one had been batted away with a flick of Munson’s ring-heavy fingers, an infuriating smirk tossed Steve’s way.
It made him want to throw something.)
“Nah, I trust my source, this place will hold.” Eddie leaned in, way into Steve’s space, and though Steve instinctively pulled back, he didn’t stop him. “You’ve been off ever since we came in here, Harrington. I want to know why.”
As if saying it wouldn’t curse the whole expedition and damn Munson to the scrutiny of government agents, right next to the rest of them.
“Nope.” Steve smacked his lips on the P, like this was all a normal conversation between two high school not-friends and not a terribly stupid idea.
“Not even two reasons?”
“There’s not,” Steve closed his eyes, frustrated. “I’ve given you way more than two reasons!”
“Not any good ones.”
“I don’t know what you want from me, because, as I told you, you wouldn’t believe the rest of it--”
“Then down the rabbit hole we go, Alice!” Munson said, pulling back.
Quick as a flash he was down the stairs and Steve bit back a curse as he rushed to follow.
“Munson--man, come on, wait!” He whisper-yelled.
Eddie, of course, did no such thing.
It took everything he had in him to rush after, but Steve did it anyway.
What else was he good for?
xXx
“Holy shit.” Munson breathed, skidding to a halt just past the doorway, eyes locked on the impossibly long hallway ahead. The asshole had practically flown down the stairs, Steve right on his heels the second he realized he wasn’t going to slow down.
Descending back into hell sucked, but worrying Eddie was about to faceplant and die kept Steve’s anxiety in check.
(He had nothing to focus on, now. Steve chose not to think about that.)
“This place is huge. Way bigger than the blueprints said.” Munson said, turning on his heel, scanning the hallway behind them. From this spot, both ends vanished into shadow.
“Any blueprints they gave you were likely fake.” Steve grumbled at him. He wasn’t out of breath but he was wound tighter Dustin’s grip on a conspiracy theory, and a part of him knew wasting energy chasing after Munson was going to fuck him if they really did have to run.
(He hadn’t yet figured out a safe way to convince Eddie that running, the 'for your life' kind, not the ‘from a cop’ kind, was very much on the table and that frustrated him too.)
“Mass destruction, fake blueprints, all your begging to turn around. I gotta say, I am dying to know the secret you’re keeping here, big boy.” Munson told him with yet another waggle of his eyebrows.
Which yeah, Steve knew.
Just as he knew he likely had done the opposite of convincing Munson to get out, stay away.
That everything he said, every little scrap he admitted, only fed into the desire to find out more.
Steve didn’t know what to do with that, besides force himself to be here.
To keep Munson safe, since no one else would.
(If he came in here and vanished, never to be heard from again while Steve sat on his ass in that cabin…
He’d done a lot of stupid things, some very recently, but losing someone he was trying to protect?
He couldn’t handle that. Not ever, but definitely not after coming so close just a few weeks back.)
Eddie picked a direction and began walking, head roaming right along with his eyes as he took it all in.
Steve could only pass each door and shudder.
“Any of this look familiar?” Munson asked, body loose and arms swinging. This was fun for him, the bastard, and Steve would be madder about that if his own dread didn’t have him in a chokehold.
Wasn’t whispering frantically at him to be quiet, get low, grab Munson and get out.
“Dunno. I wasn’t exactly sober the first time I was down here.” He admitted, feeling the hallway begin to slope down.
What he did remember wasn’t going to help. Not unless Eddie stopped brushing off every warning like Steve was just being dramatic.
Cheekily, the metalhead leaned, shoulders pressing hard against Steve’s. “Why Harrington you dog, who have you been getting weed from?”
Steve shoved Eddie off, face heating. “It wasn’t weed.”
“Now there’s a surprise! You were notorious for only smoking the MJ. Whatever made you change your mind?”
It was spoken earnestly, like Munson was actually interested. He stayed close, just enough to be uncomfortable, head tilting as he peered intensely at Steve.
Oddly, it had the effect of making Steve feel better instead of worse.
(He chose not to think about that, too.)
“I didn’t.” Steve told him warily.
Eddie did a weird little twirl so that he walked backwards, facing Steve. “You didn’t change your mind, but you took something else?”
“Take isn’t exactly the word I’d use.” Steve muttered, and knew by the crinkle on Munson’s forehead that that had been the wrong thing to say.
Time to dodge!
“We’re getting off track. Did your “contacts” bother to give you any clue on where this ring might be?” Steve baited, making the quotation marks in the air. “Or did they just hand you a blueprint, slap you on the back, and say ‘have fun buddy’?”
“Ahhh, yes, the ring.” Eddie hummed, spinning about once more, to face where he was going. Nonsensically he added, “We must be careful here, Samwise, for many powerful people are searching for that ring.”
Another dramatic waggle of his fingers, like a wizard casting a spell. “Amongst other mysterious things.”
Steve rolled his eyes at the theatrics because; “No fucking shit dude.”
“But!” Eddie threw a finger in the air in a bid for patience that Steve absolutely did not have. “Your ring or not, they did give me some ideas on where it might be--and where they want me to go. This way!”
At that, he pointed his finger down the hall, and promptly took off in that direction, far faster than they had been walking.
Down the hall, deeper into the base.
(Fuck.)
“When did I become catnip for weirdos?” Steve muttered, but trotted doggedly after Munson anyway.
Just like he always did; with Dustin, Max, Nancy, everybody. Like following people around was just his destiny.
Even if it felt like he was marching straight to his own grave.
Eddie
“We're talking about a tentacled flying lamp fucker, Dave.
What are you prepared to call unlikely?”
― David Wong, John Dies at the End
Once upon a time, Eddie had an argument with his three best friends.
It consisted of what Mordor would look like if the entire tale took place in the modern era, and Jeff was the loser who insisted that it would be all sterile walls.
No life to it. No dingy dungeon walls or fire or massive, glowing, evil eye.
Just a maze of a building made from concrete, with no windows and no exits.
“You know, like an evil corporation.” Jeff said, leaning in as if he were pitching a horror movie.
Given where Eddie now stood, and the fact that the argument had taken place in the far flung past of last Tuesday, he owed Jeff a dollar.
Mordor was in fact, a maze of nothing but doors and rooms, with zero identifying markers and the weirdest feeling that you weren’t where you thought you were.
It was creepy, in a fun way.
Well.
‘Fun for me,’ Eddie thought, sneaking a glance at his companion.
Definitely not for Harrington, who looked like he was unraveling more and more with every step they took.
He’d been glued to Eddie’s side like a nervous dog since they’d come down here, giving off the impression that all it would take was one loud bang! and he'd be throwing Eddie over his shoulder and gunning for the exit.
(And it was the both of them he’d be hauling out, no question.
Of all the bizarre turns this trip had taken, that is what had baffled Eddie the most. That Steve Harrington, of all people, turned out to be the guy who had to be last out the door.
Found out first hand that Hawkins notorious party boy keg king cared enough to keep trying to convince Eddie to leave with him. To follow him down to a place he clearly was familiar with, and very much did not like.
Eddie hadn’t expected that. Figured there was a solid 80% chance Harrington would throw him the finger and bounce the second he had his keys in hand, without so much as a thank you.
A mean thing to say perhaps, given both the state of Starcourt and the haunted air that was building around Harrington, but then, Eddie hadn’t gotten as far as he had by being nice.
Nice people didn’t have the ability to scare the entire school into leaving the nerds alone, let alone the guts to call out the kind of injustice small towns like Hawkins loved.)
Eddie poked at it all as they walked. Let the puzzle of Starcourt take up the idle parts of his brain, while the hazy directions and sketchy map took up the rest.
It helped him notice things his otherwise overloaded brain might have missed. Like how the place they were wandering into was rapidly looking to be some kind of military base, if the third stack of empty ammunition boxes they’d just waltzed by was any indication.
He knew the feds had been involved, long figured some of those rumors held some truth to ‘em, but seeing it first hand…
No fucking wonder Harrington was in such a snit.
Casual as he ever was, Eddie pointed at a scattered pile of empty bullet shells.
“Any chance you’re gonna finally clue me in or do I gotta start yelling out guesses like we’re on Jeopardy?” He teased, kicking some of the cartridges and sending them skittering down the hall. “Cause all the ideas I’m coming up with are just getting crazier.”
More so than usual, and that was saying something.
“Like maybe the ring we’re after is actually a key to a door,” He dropped his voice conspiratorially, hoping it’d prod something of his companion. “Or some sort of secret weapon.”
More than likely it was proof that some poor moron bit it. Maybe the guy in charge. Lotta criminals liked proof that their hits went through, and this felt more like that sorta gig than anything actually spooky.
“Harrington?” He prodded again, when he realized Steve still hadn’t answered him.
Was in fact standing frozen, back ramrod straight, having finally let Eddie get just a hair ahead of him.
“What?” Steve answered, blatantly distracted.
Eddie glanced at him, then followed his gaze down the hallway.
Other than some disturbingly colored streaks on the floor, and what was clearly a set of elevator doors, nothing really seemed that scary.
Not enough to warrant Steve’s wide eyed stare, anyway.
"I was asking if you thought the ring might be something other than a ring," Eddie said, voice tilting into a sarcastic drawl as he mimicked Steve’s earlier words, "Since it’s, you know, ‘not yours.’"
The frown was immediate--but so was the feeling that Steve was back from wherever he’d gone. “Because it’s not. Did they even give you a description of it, or just tell you to go find a ring?”
It was the first time he’d actually asked anything specific and Eddie launched right into the details he’d been given.
“They said it’s gold and the front of it has that stupid tiger mascot, plus some shit scrawled on the inside. Name of a girl.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“That kinda sounds like…” He said, before lapsing into silence once more, clearly thinking hard, fingers raking through his stupid (perfect) hair.
“Gold ring. Tiger. Girls name.” Eddie chanted, listing off the attributes as though it would help.
Shockingly, it did.
With widening eyes and a snap of his fingers, Steve locked eyes with Eddie.
“They’re looking for proof that Hopper’s dead.” He breathed.
“Yeah?” Eddie said, hoping to keep Harrington talking.
Sure, he had been thinking something similar, but Chief Hopper? Why would the feds give a shit about a small town cop?
Harrington was doubling down though. “Hop wears two rings, his wedding ring on his left hand, and his old high school ring on his right. That one has one of his daughter's name engraved in the band.”
Steve pointed to his own finger, the dork, and Eddie had to fight not to smile at him for it.
“One of?” He asked instead. The chief didn’t have a kid, as far as he knew, let alone two.
Steve’s elaboration however, was on an entirely different topic. “That means Owens is right, there’s doubt that Hopper died!”
Eddie squinted at his companion’s oddly excited sounding voice.
“And we’re happy about that because…?”
“We can give them the ring!” Steve was getting animated now, or as animated as Eddie had ever seen him since this whole thing had begun. “The real one, which Hop has, or a fake one if he won’t give it up. Whoever wants it, they won’t know the difference. Once they get it, they’ll think everyone’s dead!”
Which was a weird thing to want, but then, Steve and Hopper both were supposedly in some sort of witness protection program (and also, deceased.)
Even if Harrington was bad at laying low.
With a grin, the very first Eddie had seen him give, Steve said; “We can turn around right now and get the hell out of here!”
Ahhh.
He should have seen that coming.
“And you just happen to have a second signet ring on you, your majesty?” Eddie challenged, arms crossed.
“No--but like I just said, we can always get Hops, or whoever's and come back and plant it or something!” Steve challenged, not deflating an inch. This as his answer, a hail mary that had come through special, just for him, and he was sticking to it.
Eddie snorted.
It was an ugly sound.
“Word of advice, Sunlight, criminals who return to the scene of the crime get caught.” He deadpanned.
“Fine, so we lie.” Steve argued, matching Eddie’s sarcasm tit for tat and ignoring the nickname entirely. “You get a ring later and tell them you found it today. Plus,” He wheeled, “if we do that, then you won’t be leaving empty handed!”
As if Eddie had ever planned on leaving empty handed.
“Couple problems here. Harrington. First, I’m not sure if the ring they want is Hopper’s ring.” Eddie said, causing the light to dim in Harrington’s bright, puppy dog eyes. “We’re already down here so we might as well just go check. Second, you’re forgetting the side mission.”
“The side mission.” Steve repeated flatly, and oh-ho, there was finally the voice the King was known for! Drenched in sarcasm, the tone somehow hinting that it’s target was a moron while loudly inviting all those listening in to laugh along with him.
It hadn’t made an appearance yet and had been missed, on grounds that King Steve just wasn’t fun to mess with if he didn’t dish it right back.
“The one that pays more than the actual mission?” Eddie quoted himself pointedly. “Because unless your parents pulled a fast one on you, then the car and the keys were always just a cover for what they actually want. I did mention this.”
Rather, he’d hinted at it, sort of. It wasn't his fault if Harrington wasn’t paying attention.
“Your employers.” Steve said darkly.
“The people paying the contact that’s paying me.” Eddie said with heavy emphasis on ‘paying.’
“See, we have this thing called misdirection. It’s when the cops are so busy looking at what my right hand is doing,”
He waved it.
“That they miss what I’m doing with my left.”
He waived his left and made a coin appear between two fingers, the only sleight of hand he could ever get right.
“It’s the entire reason I don’t care that you’re getting your car back.” He continued, when Harrington failed to look even mildly impressed.
Was clearly more focused on the fact that the ring wasn’t the only thing Eddie was after—and not at all thrilled to realize they’d be down here for a while, if the cocked hip was any indication.
“Because you were never really down here for it.” Harrington challenged.
No, Eddie was down here because of the stack of bills that was growing far too quickly for his liking, and the haggard way it made his Uncle look, but he didn’t expect King Steve of all people to understand that.
“Cover’s a cover.” Eddie said with a shrug and a sharp, crooked grin, leaving the rest unsaid.
It nearly flickered when Harrington closed his eyes and looked devastated instead of furious, but Eddie held strong.
He had to do this. Didn't have a choice, and, unlike some people, couldn't fake his death to get around it.
“What are you actually looking for, Munson?”
Oh, now that was dangerous territory. Down here before or not, cover or not, Steve wasn’t a criminal.
Not like Eddie was.
“Now that, I’m not sure I should tell you.”
Harrington’s eyes opened. “If you don’t, I’m leaving.”
Eddie stared at Steve.
Steve stared right back.
A twangy little western tune kicked on in Eddie’s brain and suddenly he was picturing the two of them facing off in some dusty street at high noon.
Everything he’d been stewing on flipped and folded into his daydream as part of a showdown.
Eddie thought of guard dog Harrington. Of all his loyalty and grit.
Imaginary Eddie hovered a hand over the holster at his hip, fingers twitching.
Real Eddie thought of how Steve was hell-bent on dragging both of them out of there.
In his head, Steve flinched, and Eddie fired.
KO--victory to him!
“No you're not.” Eddie said in real life, calling his companions bluff. “But you could be...If you give me two reasons.”
The dramatic, full body groan that Harrington gave was worth all the pestering.
“Munson--!”
The smirk grew. “That’s not two reasons. Better walk and talk, Steve!”
With that Eddie whirled about once more, charging down the hall and making a sharp right before Steve could protest.
Giggled to himself a little when he heard Harrington curse up a storm, followed by the telltale sign of pounding footsteps chasing after him.
Even threw a teasing grin over his shoulder when Steve turned the corner.
For the first time in his life, Eddie ran for the thrill of being pursued.
Harrington didn’t disappoint.
xXx
The next twenty minutes held a whole lot of walking and very little talking.
What conversation they did manage went something like:
An angry: “You’re insane.”
An equally amused: “I know.”
A pause, wherein Steve fussed with his hair.
(He’d had a hand in it for practically the last ten minutes and Eddie would have razzed him about it if Harrington didn’t look like he was moments from grinding his own teeth into dust.)
A snapped; “Could you at least tell me what you’re looking for? I might actually be able to fucking help.”
Another pause, in which Eddie debated if sharing would lead to actual help or another meltdown.
The meltdown, he decided, was far more likely.
“Nah." He volleyed. "Where’s the fun in that?”
“The part where we get out alive and unharmed.” Steve volleyed right back.
Which was such a major concern in the empty and thus fair entirely abandoned mall basement.
Eddie hadn’t been lying when he said his contacts could be trusted. They’d have let him know if the building was in danger of collapse, and he seriously doubted the actual danger--in the form of rent-a-cops--ever came this far down.
“I’m telling you, we need to leave. Now, Munson.” Steve stressed, in a tone that said he expected to be listened to.
Pity he was all but shouting at a brick wall.
“You haven’t told me shit, Sunshine, that’s half the problem!”
And really, given all of Steve’s fussing, Eddie honestly expected something wild down here.
Radioactive rats or a scene worthy of a horror movie.
Sadly, everything was disappointingly tame.
Boring, even!
Yeah the deeper they went, the creepier it looked. Broken lights dangling like spider legs, glass crunching underfoot, walls partially caved in like the building had lost a brawl.
A few rooms were even flooded, thanks to burst pipes trying to rebrand them as swimming pools. But that was it.
No horrors. No jump scares. No crazy secrets waiting to be revealed.
Just a lot of sad, soggy drywall.
He didn’t bother explaining any of this.
Instead, Eddie said; “You know, they got it wrong calling you King Steve.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Should’ve gone with Drama Queen.”
He didn’t glance back to see Harrington’s reaction. Didn’t need to.
The long, suffering groan was answer enough.
xXx
It was during their second round of banter, this one much longer, and involving a rather stubborn former King insisting Eddie at least give him hints about what they were looking for while Eddie tried to haggle for an exchange of information, that Steve disappeared again.
Not physically--he’d once again inched so close that Eddie could basically feel him breathing--but mentally.
The lights had flickered mid argument and the guy was just.
Gone.
This time, when Eddie called his name, he didn’t come back.
Harrington looked up when it happened and then just… stopped. Frozen like the lights had caught him mid-movement, his head still tilted back at an angle that had to hurt.
“You’re freaking me out, man.” Eddie told him, right before he clocked that Steve’s breathing had gone weird.
Too fast, like a snare drum in overdrive.
For a second he hesitated, torn between staying in character and reaching out, but concern won out in the end.
Concern always won out with him, in the end. He considered it a major character flaw.
“Harrington, c’mon.” Eddie tried again, voice pleading. “Snap out of it.”
His hand landed cautiously on the younger man’s shoulder, grip light at first and quickly growing tight.
“Steve.”
Blank, glossy eyes looked right through him as Harrington finally lowered his gaze, the vacant stare not processing a thing.
His mouth opened, then closed again, like the words had gotten stuck in his throat. The shoulder beneath Eddie’s hand trembled, clacking his rings together.
Yeah, he did not like this, at all.
Steve was fully shaking now. Not like he was cold, but like something inside him had come loose and was rattling apart, piece by piece. As if the lights had gone out and dragged Steve with them, off to a place where Eddie couldn’t follow.
It was almost identical to the time Gareth had a panic attack, and Eddie, teetering on the edge of panic himself, scrambled to recall what the nurse that happened to be nearby had told them they should do if it ever happened again.
(they’d been in the same stupid mall and a fucking dog of all things had apparently gotten off it’s leash. Lunged at Gary as they’d passed by, teeth this close to snapping closed on pale skin.
The nurse had been a rare lucky break--some chick who claimed she was on vacation, visiting family.
Kept asking Gareth if he was cold, before finally calming him down and giving them all some solid advice.)
Unfortunately, fear had a way of turning Eddie’s already goldfish-like memory into mush, and he flailed for the steps as Steve shook apart in front of him.
Touch was one, wasn’t it?
And if touching his shoulder didn’t do the trick, maybe something more direct would.
Vaguely hoping this didn’t get him punched, Eddie kept one hand on Steve’s shoulder and reached out with the other.
Steve
“Could you lose your mind to an unanswerable question, or just your soul?”
― Jeff VanderMeer, Absolution
Robin screaming. Dustin yelling.
Steve talking in terrified circles (‘I work at Scoop’s Ahoy, I don’t know, I don’t, I work at--), trying to keep their attention without giving away anything they wanted (did he even have anything they wanted?!)
Pain was coming, and he wasn’t going to last long enough to keep them off Robin. He’d already given up Dustin’s address. Kept losing control of his tongue entirely, the drugs spinning the room in a kaleidoscope of terror and hurt and that Russian dickhead's face, and Steve had nothing left to give but blood, nothing at all--
Fingers traced his jaw and Steve blinked back to life, sucking in a startled breath.
“Easy.” Eddie said, before cupping Steve’s chin with his hand. “You back with me there?”
“Yeah.” Steve said, and did his level best to pretend Eddie’s hand wasn’t grounding him like it was.
He blinked a few times, staring up into the buzzing, corporate-white lights that lined the ceiling of the base. “I’m--yeah.”
Eddie withdrew his hand, only to tap Steve’s nose.
“Hey, big boy.” He said, when Steve gave him a confused and somewhat offended glance. “Look at me.”
“Why?” Steve drawled, the words bringing out a tiniest bit of his old self. The bitchy one, who rolled his eyes and told idiotic, suicidal children no, instead of the weird, disconnected version that kept trying to overtake his body.
“Because I’m handsome and people should acknowledge that.” Eddie teased immediately.
The light flickered overhead, a low hum filling the air.
Steve’s eyes went right back to it.
(I work at Scoops--)
“Steve, I mean it. Stop looking at the lights.”
“Right.” Steve said, and it spoke to how out of it he was that he didn’t even think to argue about it.
Just quietly agreed, and adjusted his gaze back to Eddie.
Who stepped back, eyes scanning their surroundings again, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he chewed at it in thought.
Steve felt the loss immediately, the spotlight on the shadowed parts of his mind leaving and taking all sense of safety with it.
He couldn’t bear to be alone in the dark
“Could you--” Too late, Steve realized what he was about to ask and cut himself off before anything traitorous could slip out.
(‘Like it had for the Russians, like it had when he’d--no, no, stay with Munson.’)
The harsh buzz of the lights grew louder, fighting against Steve's surge of embarrassment for control of his brain and he scrambled for something--anything--else to say, both as a distraction and to recover without raising anymore suspicion than he already had.
“Uh…Could you…”
“What?” Eddie asked, still focused on something in the far distance, before seeming to clock Steve was uncomfortable.
Glanced his direction, then at how close the two of them stood, before abruptly looking away.
“Sorry.” Eddie said, then stepped out of Steve's space entirely.
“No--” He whined like a dog, before catching himself. Prayed the metalhead hadn’t heard him, and looked up to the ceiling to gather himself.
Immediately recalled how bad an idea that was and brought his gaze right back down.
This was stupid.
What was he even asking for anyway? For Eddie Munson to hug him?!
Hold his hand and pat his head, tell him that everything was fine?
Make him forget where he was and what happened down here. What could happen again, if they weren’t careful…
“Steve?” Eddie asked, tone weird and fuck, Steve couldn’t afford to fall apart right now.
Particularly not with Munson.
(Not with anyone.)
Steve scoffed, angry at himself and and using that like it might keep him steady
“Nevermind.” He said, and made to stride forward.
What was it Munson kept calling him? Big boy?
Well, he fucking was one.
He could handle this. Could handle worse, so there was no reason he should be freaking out and trying to cling to the older teen like some--some chick on a date, who couldn't handle a scary movie--
Something caught his wrist.
Steve jerked to a stop, looking down at his own hand dumbly, before up and into Eddie’s gaze.
Who was analyzing him, head cocked.
Slow, so slow it was clearly deliberate, Eddie shifted his hold down until his hand and Steve’s were pressed palm to palm.
Gently he tangled their fingers together, then squeezed.
“Better?” He asked quietly, and Steve wanted to tell him no. Wanted to jerk his hand back and ask him what the fuck he was doing (wanted to ask him how he knew what Steve needed) and found he couldn’t say anything at all.
He swallowed hard instead, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, before giving a quick, jerky nod.
(Focused Munson’s hand instead, how the rings bit into his fingers. Kept his thoughts centered on them and not on everything else.)
“Okay.” Eddie said, and that was that.
Off they went, holding hands.
It helped.