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Steve’s still up when Eddie gets home from work. The Hideout is still a shit bar but it’s a shit bar that’ll pay Eddie and just out of the way enough that not every single patron is a resident of Hawkins, which means the tips aren’t terrible. Sometimes Corroded Coffin still plays, though Jeff is proposing a name change now that it’s just him and Eddie again. A lot of people left Hawkins as soon as they were able to, and Eddie gets it, he does, it’s just he sort of always thought he’d be one of them.
Steve’s sitting at the card table they very rarely eat at, squinting at the book in front of him.
Steve looks up at the sound of Eddie pushing the door closed. “Hey. I put your plate in the fridge.” He sounds tired, looks tired, definitely is tired, with a whole day of running after middle schoolers followed by class over in Bloomington behind him. Steve keeps saying it’s fine, he’s got it, and Eddie doesn’t doubt it, he just also knows how packed Steve’s schedule is these days. (Eddie never thought he’d be putting his campaign planning abilities to use helping Steve draw up a class schedule but here they are. It’s not the strangest thing that’s happened to him, of course not, but he thinks it’s worth noting among the unexpected.)
There’s a lot of that happening these days though, Eddie figures, so many that’s just the new ordinary for him.
“Thanks.” He says, coming closer, the dull tap of the rubber end of his forearm crutch a now familiar accompaniment to his steps across the laminate flooring. He drops a kiss to Steve’s head, steals a glance at the chart on the page, colored drawings of muscle tendons surrounded by black lines and tiny print. Steve’s got a notebook at his elbow, filled with his sloping cursive writing. He thinks it looks like Elvish script but Steve never lets him look at it for long, mumbles about his spelling being shit.
Dinner is a plate of last night’s leftover chicken and rice casserole, which Eddie gratefully pops into the microwave. The novelty of the machine hasn’t worn off just yet—the old trailer he shared with Wayne was way older than the model he and Steve went in on, didn’t come equipped with one of these bad boys—so Eddie watches his plate turn slowly even though Steve keeps telling him that he’ll go blind if he keeps doing that.
The plate’s hot when he reaches for it, so he pulls his shirt sleeve over his fingers, pinches the edge of it with two fingers to carry it back to the table. They stole their chairs from the Harringtons’ old kitchen table, solid wood, simple and sturdy, though they didn’t need the full six seat set or the matching table. It doesn’t make a sound when Eddie sits, though the table does squeak when Eddie sets his plate down, a careful distance from Steve’s notes.
“What’s that?” Eddie asks, blowing on a forkful of steaming rice, chewing his mouthful carefully. His stomach, devoid of everything but bar nuts and chips, rumbles appreciatively. Steve's cooking has come such a long way from blue box mac and cheese.
Steve stops chewing on the pen he’s stuck between his teeth, “Ah, muscles in the anterior compartment of the leg.” Steve says wearily, sets his pen down and rubs his eyes. “We’ve got a quiz Friday.” Steve sighs. Eddie schools his features, keeps it cool and collected. He can see the tension collected on Steve's shoulders.
He knows without looking that Steve's still got his last quiz folded and tucked into the back of his notebook. He tanked it pretty hard.
“If I have to take this class again its gonna set me back a whole semester.” Steve mumbled worried when he finally spilled what was on his mind. Eddie knows he's worried about the money too, splitting his wages between rent and school and saving for the house he spotted just a little ways out of Forest Hills. Close enough Eddie can still drop in on Wayne, just with more space. A little yard out back where Steve wants to put a grill and host post game season cookouts.
Eddie wants it too. Not necessarily because he dreams of BBQs or hosting twelve year olds. He just thinks it sounds nice. Most of Steve’s plans sound nice. And they almost always include him.
He was afraid at first, when Steve pitched the idea of moving in together, even if it was a trailer. He thought it would be like settling. Like after everything he (barely) survived he was finally accepting defeat. No high school diploma, no band, no future. Just a bunch of scars and a fucked leg, a crutch and an unrelenting nervousness that sneaks up at the worst times. And maybe a younger version of Eddie wouldn't understand what Eddie's doing here now, still living in Forest Hills, a bar back at the Hideout, in love with Steve fucking Harrington, but Here-and-Now-Eddie gets it. Wayne would say that's all that matters.
Sure some days fucking suck, days when his body hurts and everything feels like it takes every single ounce of his strength and will to achieve, days when Eddie's patience is limited and his temper short-fused and he can literally feel himself being an asshole to everyone he interacts with but he just can't help it.
He hates those days especially because they eventually pass and he's left holding shame over his behavior, slipping backwards into the worse version of himself, the Eddie that woke up in a hospital handcuffed to a bed with his whole life changed forever.
He doesn't like thinking about it now. Those months after Chrissy died. He'd been so angry, stuck in the hospital and then under house arrest, relearning how to exist. He'd lashed out at everyone. Wayne. Dustin. The guys. Felt sorry for himself and wondered if he wouldn't have been better off dead.
“You're being a selfish prick.” Steve had snapped when he'd finally bullied his way inside Eddie's room. “You wanna wallow? Go right ahead. But stop acting like we messed up by bringing you back.” That was the last he saw of Steve for a long while.
There were reports of strange animals, curfews, aftershocks, gas leaks and military vehicles blocking off roads. People started going missing while other townies fled. Conspiracies cropped up. People got a little bit less sure that super senior and high school drop out Eddie Munson was responsible for all of that.
The whole town getting fenced in changed things.
Eddie started tuning into WSQK 94.5 FM. The music was shit but Robin was spectacular.
Then Vecna took Erica.
“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m just gonna sit this out.” Eddie said the day he rolled up to the station in a car he’d hotwired. There were plenty of abandoned vehicles in Hawkins to choose from by then. The whole gang had already gathered, plus a couple of new faces that Eddie hadn’t been formally introduced to yet. A knock off Scooby Gang trying to find Erica Sinclair before it was too late.
“She’s just a kid.” Eddie remembers saying to Steve, holed up in the backroom of the radio station. There was still too much chatter in the other room, people talking over one another. Eddie wasn’t used to the noise anymore after nearly a year self-isolating on the edge of town. “She’s just a little kid.” He remembered her grin at the Hellfire table, the way she reamed out her brother and Henderson and even Steve in the RV. It didn’t matter that she was a full year and a half older than she’d been the last time Eddie had really seen her, scuffed up and bruised after Jason and his fucking cronies had attacked the Creel house. She’d come by the hospital with Henderson and called him a chew toy. She’d made him laugh, through the drugs and the pain, before the doctors took the former and left an astronomical amount of the latter.
No, there wasn’t a single universe or dimension where Eddie was going to let himself sit at home and feel sorry for himself when Erica Sinclair was out there, at the mercy of a monster (the monster who had pinned Chrissy to the trailer ceiling and broken the bones in Max’s body).
It hadn’t exactly been a warm welcome. Eddie had burned too many bridges to expect that. Dustin was so guarded, while Steve was ready to kick Eddie’s ass if he let the kid down again. Everyone was different, and Eddie felt ashamed to realize there was a part of him that really thought everyone had just frozen in time when he’d pulled himself out of the group. Robin’s humor was a little rowdier, a little sharper, like it had grown teeth in his absence, and she wasn’t afraid to deploy it against Eddie without notice. Nancy was steelier and somehow more brittle, as ready to fight and infinitely more fragile in the quiet moments when they were waiting for the next blow to fall. It was weird seeing her with Jon, the way they both seemed to mute themselves around one another. Still, seeing her cry after Jonathan fell, Eddie will never forget that, one more nightmare memory for him to hold on to for as long as he lives.
Steve was different too, angrier, though maybe that was just with Eddie.
“I told you not to be a hero.” He’d said one day, when everything finally snapped. They’d been stuck in the Upside Down then, trying to find Nancy and Dustin, all of them running on fumes and running out of luck, and Eddie had made one smart ass comment too many. “There was a plan and you decided to say fuck it and got yourself hurt and that’s not anyone’s fault but yours!”
“What was I supposed to do? Stay put like a good little boy and let those things get Dustin? Huh? Was that a better plan!”
Eddie could count all the times he’d gotten into physical altercations on one hand and it’s insane to think that two of those times involved Steve. It’s good to know that both of them suck at fighting though. They laugh about it now.
The Sinclairs moved out of Hawkins when Lucas graduated, but Erica still writes them, sends Steve and Eddie postcards from Oakland. Steve’s got them all on the fridge, taped to a strip of ribbon so they hang like a ladder, next to the picture of Dustin, Max, and Lucas at their graduation. It’s right next to another picture Steve stuck on when they moved in, older, taken sometime in the months Eddie spent licking his own wounds, of El and Will and Mike, weary eyes visible even through their smiles, a birthday cake in front of El.
(Wherever they are now, Eddie hopes they’re all safe, Joyce and Hopper looking out for them. Thinks maybe he’ll tag along with Steve the next time he visits the empty grave with Jonathan’s name over it.)
Next to him, Steve sighs tiredly, rubs at his face again. “Want me to quiz you?” Eddie offers, swallowing another mouthful. Steve sometimes does better talking things over out loud instead of reading it off a page.
Steve sighs again, even harder, shakes his head, “Thanks but my brain feels like pudding. Maybe tomorrow.” He sounds apologetic, frowns at his notes before he flips his notebook over, blank page facing up. He sticks an old receipt between the pages of his text book and closes it with a weighty thud. Eddie reaches out and grabs his hand, gives it a squeeze. Steve squeezes back, ducks his head so he can drop a kiss to the knobby bone of Eddie's wrist.
“I better turn in. I’m covering Newman’s homeroom tomorrow.” Steve says finally, stands stiffly, stretches his arms out to the side and then overhead with a hearty groan, shows off the dark wiry hair growing at his pits, the moles speckling his biceps, the top edge of a tattoo peaking out of the cut off armhole of Eddie’s old Black Sabbath shirt. An anchor on his ribs to match the one Robin got on her arm. Eddie bought them both cans of spinach after they got them.
“You off tomorrow?” Steve asks through a yawn, though he knows the answer. It’s on the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall.
Eddie nods, chewing another mouthful. He’s looking forward to it. Sleeping in and running errands and getting to eat dinner with Steve instead of reheating it after a shift. He thinks about the ground beef they have in the freezer and the potatoes in the bowl on the counter. He can make a whole pot of hamburger stew to see them through the rest of the week. Maybe they can watch a movie and then ignore the movie in favor of other activities.
Steve piles his books and shit on one corner of the table, leans down to kiss Eddie.
“Bleh.” Steve complains when Eddie purses his mouth into the kiss with a loud ‘mwah’, his mostly masticated dinner shoved into the pocket of his cheek. “Good night weirdo.”
“Sweet dreams, Coach.” Eddie calls after him, half-teasing. Steve gives him one last smile at the threshold of their bedroom before he slips inside and out of view, the door left slightly ajar behind him.
-
Steve wakes briefly when Eddie comes to bed, feels the bed dip and the covers move, hears Eddie’s softly murmured, “Go to sleep, baby.” Feels a kiss on his shoulder. Steve doesn’t like taking orders, but it’s always easier to fall back asleep with Eddie’s warm weight settled on the mattress beside him. He slips back into unconsciousness, wakes again before his alarm with an uneasy knot in his chest, a dream he can’t remember fading behind his eyes so that all that’s left is the watermark of something scary. Eddie’s snoring next to him, doesn’t wake up when Steve throws his arm around him, holds him until his heart settles and he can sleep again.
The last time he wakes up it’s to his alarm going off, the sun barely risen and only just starting to warm the room through the blinds.
Eddie’s on his back now, one arm flung over his head, mouth open as he sleeps on undisturbed. He claims years of bursting his eardrums with metal music have made him immune to Steve’s alarms. Steve thinks it has more to do with the fact that he’s probably only been in bed for three hours tops. Either way he silences the alarm clock as quickly as he can, letting silence reign again. He gets out of bed.
Eddie makes fun of him for keeping up with his morning runs, but Steve likes the routine of it. The predawn morning is grey and blue, the ground firm under Steve’s sneakers as he warms up with a steadily paced jog. There’s frost on the ground still. Winter’s been slowly receding this year, March settling in with cold mornings and milder afternoons. Steve can still see his breath in front of him when he exhales hard, upping his speed, turning off the gravel walk way of the trailer park onto a dirt trail that leads out towards the forest. Steve runs along that path, the trailer park on his left and the trees on his right, hits the end of his route and turns around, runs back, makes it back to the trailer in a little under an hour. He’s sweating, blood pumping, skin tingling and hot.
The trailer is quiet when he lets himself in, the lights off, his books still stacked on the table where he left them last night. It smells like cigarettes even though both him and Eddie are supposed to be quitting, again. They mostly smoke outside when they’re off the wagon, but the smell still follows them inside. It drives Robin batty when she visits.
Steve kicks his sneakers off at the door, pulls his sweatshirt off his back. A little further in and he can smell coffee, hear the gurgling percolations of their coffee machine, the pot already half full. Enough for Steve to drink before leaving for work. He smiles when he sees it, warmth gathering in his throat to think of Eddie dragging himself out of bed long enough to turn on the coffee machine Steve prepped the night before. It’s always a nice surprise when that happens.
He’s quick to shower, hums to himself while he towels his hair dry. It’s getting longer. No where nearly as long as Eddie’s, of course not, but there’s enough of it for Steve to pull it back in a teeny tiny pony tail before the hair tie eventually slips off.
Last time Dustin saw him the punk asked if Steve’s going to go for the full season one Uncle Jesse. Steve doesn’t think it’s that bad. It’s not like he’s feathering it. He doesn't have plans for cutting it anytime soon. It drives his dad crazy whenever Steve’s over for dinner, but it’s the least of his deficiencies as far as Dad’s concerned.
Mom still tries to talk Steve into taking a job at her office. “Since you’re so hell bent on not working with your father,” she says, like Steve’s still a teenager playing at rebelling. It doesn’t matter how many times Steve’s told her he likes his job.
She was excited when he first landed the coaching position at the school. Maybe it wasn’t so much about the job as it was the idea of things going back to normal in Hawkins. The excitement’s worn down every passing school year, Mom inquiring about Steve’s plans for the future.
This is the future, Steve wants to say sometimes, when he’s tired and irritated. Or worse, when he’s happy and just has news to share.
Maybe this isn’t the exact reason Steve fought and bled and survived, but he’s fucking earned it. He faced down actual true flesh and blood monsters. He survived when other people didn’t, people who were better than him and probably could have done a hell of a lot more good in the world. People who were smarter and stronger and better—
They’re gone now and Steve’s still here, somehow, he’s still standing so he figures he can do whatever he fucking wants with the life he’s got left ahead of him. He owes them that much. Living a life he actually wants.
And what he wants is to teach gym in the same gymnasium where Steve made his first basket, and coach the Cubs through the season and pick up recreational classes in the summer unless they need another assistant PE teacher at the high school. Eddie calling him Coach in a way that Steve’s pretty sure started as a joke but turned into something different, teasing and borderline sweet, just like big boy and tough guy and Ozzy.
Mom was supportive when Steve told her he was going to be taking JC classes, though the idea lost its shine when Steve explained he was going for his BA in phys ed. “Back in my day gym teachers just had to show up.” Dad joked, in that way of his that’s always made Steve want to say something back, but he doesn’t see his parents that often even though they still live in the same fucking town outside of the two times a month they insist on having him over dinner so he never does.
“That sounds like a lot of work, sweetie,” Mom said last summer, frowning down at her dinner plate. “You’ve never had to balance school and work before.”
Steve hadn’t even hesitated when he said, “Eddie’s gonna help me with my schedule. He’s really good at planning stuff out.” Then sat in the awkward beat that followed, his parents looking at him and then each other. Dad didn’t say anything, like Steve hadn’t spoken at all, and mom’s expression was the epitome of politeness when she told him, “That’s nice.”
It is nice is the thing, Steve thinks to himself now, giving his reflection one more look before he leaves the bathroom. Eddie’s still sleeping when Steve goes into their bedroom, turned on his side, hugging Steve’s pillow in his arm.
No, there were definitely never plans for this. But now that Steve has it, has Eddie, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to give it up.
Eddie’s not some kind of prize Steve won for surviving but Steve can’t help but feel like all the rest of it is. This life they’re building together every single day that passes. Even if their schedules don’t always line up the way they’d like them to.
They don’t need to spend every single hour together for any of this to be real. Steve gets to come home and laugh a whatever new insanity Eddie’s managed to spell with the letter magnets on the refrigerator door, answer the phone when Eddie calls during his break at the bar. Some Fridays, Steve goes to the Hideout and sits at the bar, nurses a cold beer so they can steal extra time while Eddie works. The music is usually terrible but Eddie lights up whenever he pulls up across the counter from Steve. He flirts unapologetically and slips in and out of a dozen different characters based on his mood. “What brings you out tonight, sailor?” He asks when he’s feeling playful or maybe, “I’m off in an hour if you want to come back to mine.” Grinning like an idiot when Steve plays along.
Steve didn’t know Eddie very well before everything that happened in ‘86 but he can see traces of who he must have been then. The vibrant contagious energy to him that spills into everything he does, fills up the space around him. He saw it when they were trekking through the Upside Down shit storm together then and he refused to believe it was gone even when Eddie cut them all off for most of the year that followed. It hurt to see the fallout of Eddie’s withdrawal. The change that came over Dustin, who’d found him and saved his life, and obviously took it hard the day Eddie told him to not come around Forest Hills anymore. It had been a hurt Dustin took out on everyone else, lashing out at his friends and especially at Steve after his attempts to fix things between him and Eddie failed spectacularly.
(“You’re just making it worse, Steve!” Dustin had snapped. “If Eddie doesn’t want to talk to me why would he want to talk to you?”)
It’s probably selfish of Steve to be glad Eddie showed up at the radio station that day. Maybe Eddie would have been better off sitting those last days out. Maybe they might have still found their way here, to this, without Eddie needing to come back, without Eddie getting hurt again.
“At least it wasn’t bats this time.” Eddie joked weakly while Wayne packed whatever he could into the deep cut on the side of his leg, over the knee, the jagged edge of the platform slicing the skin and muscles almost down to the bone. They’d all just been glad Eddie hadn’t bled out. “Hey, at least all the blood I’ve got left is loaner blood, right?” And Steve who hadn’t cried when all those months ago when they’d found Dustin doing everything he could to save Eddie’s life, who’d kept it together that last hellish year, who wasn’t doing anything more than standing watch while Dustin held Eddie’s hand and his uncle staunched the bleeding had cried like he’d never cried before in his life. It was humiliating and enlightening and Steve can't think back to that day without something kicking in his chest.
Steve drinks his coffee in the kitchen, flips through the notes he took last night while he waits for the toaster to go off. There’s primary-colored sticky notes all over, high-lighters underlining important terms and definitions. He doesn't want to spend any amount of his time with Eddie studying but he knows it would be the smart, Nancy-approved thing to do, especially if he wants to stay on schedule.
“Don’t beat yourself up, man. Remember, C’s get degrees baby.” Eddie reminds him time and time again, because it isn’t that Steve doesn’t know this stuff, it’s just hard to get it out right when he’s on the spot mid-test. So he'll have Eddie quiz him and then they'll do whatever else they want. Because they can.
He spreads peanut butter on his toast and slaps both slices together, double checks his bag to make sure he’s got everything he needs for work and class afterward. He’s covering Cheryl’s first period since her kids have the chicken pox or something. He doesn’t mind, even if he’s not some kind of road scholar or whatever Henderson’s gunning for at college. Even Steve can read a subplan and make photocopies. He’s a pro at getting that ancient relic in the staff lounge unjammed.
He leaves a sticky note on the coffee machine before he goes—the empty pot now washed and set on the drying rack—makes himself write slow clean lines to be sure it’s legible.
Thanks for the coffee 🖤