Prompt: Day 4 - Headbangers Ball | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Steddie | Eddie Munson, Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington, Jeff, Post S4, Eddie lives, Eddie is going through it, minor angst, lots of love
“Sorry, man, not tonight.”
“Why not?”
Jeff asks a fair question, but it’s not one Eddie can answer. Not truthfully.
His mind is a mess today, has been for the last week, maybe the whole month. Anniversaries always fuck with his brain, he feels deeply, Wayne says. His dad used to say he was soft hearted, but sometimes it sounded like an accusation. Weak. That’s what Al had meant, even if he smiled after he said it.
“I’m not feeling great, man. I just want to flake out on the couch.”
“Well, flake out on my couch. I’ll kick Gareth on the floor. C’mon, man, it’s Headbanger’s Ball. This is our night!”
Eddie sighs, catching Wayne’s attention. He’s supposed to be at work but has somehow miraculously been given the night off, just out of the blue. Same thing happened last year, Wayne babysitting him like a toddler even though he’s a grown fucking man. He doesn’t need someone to sit and watch him all night, he needs to be left the fuck alone. Wayne doesn’t get it, and neither does Jeff, apparently.
“Who’s on tonight?” he asks, knowing it won’t make a single bit of difference.
“Uh, LA Guns. And don’t pull that face, they’re not that bad.”
“Yeah, well unless Kelly Nickels is climbing out of the TV and into my lap, I’ll pass.”
“Ew, dude.”
“Eddie c’mon!” he hears Gareth shout in the background. “Stop being a pussy!”
“Firstly, tell Gareth I’m going to kick his ass next time I see him. Secondly…I am grateful for the effort, Jeffrey,” he says, biting back every last snarky comment that tries to claw it’s way out of his mouth. “But honestly, I just need a night to myself, you know?”
He hopes Wayne caught that too.
Eddie can hear the T.V. In the background, and Gareth and Matty arguing about something. For a second he thinks about grabbing his keys and heading on over to Jeff’s; he misses them, doesn’t spend enough time with them as it is, especially as he seems to have something edging toward a love life now. But he’d be moody, at best, and that’s not fair on them, not when they’ve been nothing but patient and supportive over the last couple of years.
Eventually there’s a quiet “Sure, man, I get it,” and Eddie hangs up with a promise to swing by in the middle of the week. Things should be better then, his mind quieter. He doesn’t tell Jeff that, though.
Eddie considers doing exactly what he said he would, flaking out on the couch, but with Wayne there, hawk eyes upon him, he decides the relative peace of his bedroom is his best bet. He says goodnight, even though he knows they’ll both be awake for most of it. This is just one of those nights they have to fight there way through. At least there are fewer of them now.
He stops by the kitchen for a glass of water, and rifles through his little pill box, neatly set out, morning, noon, and night. There’s not as many as there used to be, which is something because he hates the powdery drag across his tongue and the way they stick in his throat no matter how much water he drinks. Tonight he adds a sleeping pill and prays he doesn’t dream.
Eddie pokes his head into the living room.
“I’m heading to bed,” he says.
Wayne gives him a little nod. “Didn’t want to see your show tonight?”
He shrugs in reply. “Just tired. And I didn’t feel like driving all the way over to Jeff’s.”
“Alright. Well, you go on then, get your beauty sleep.”
A little laugh escapes him. “Fuck you.”
He’s about to turn and head down the hallway of their little house, but something stops him, and before he can even think about what he’s doing, he crosses the living room and throws his arms around Wayne. He feels the embarrassing prickle of tears.
“I love you,” he says, but it’s muffled into Wayne’s shirt, and Wayne’s hearing is all fucked up from the plant. But he feels a large hand on the back of his head, holding him closer, hears the soft “Love you too,” and it nearly pushes him over the edge so he breaks the hug quickly, mumbles goodnight and heads back to his room.
He’s got about an hour before the Restoril kicks in so he washes up and gets out of his jeans and climbs into bed with a book, praying for sleep to come fast tonight.
He’s only been in bed for ten minutes before there’s a soft knock on his door and before he can tell Wayne he’s okay, Steve steps into his room, and closes the door behind him.
“I swung by Jeff’s. Not feeling it tonight, huh?”
“Not really.”
Steve kicks his sneakers off, shucks his jeans and climbs under the blankets with Eddie. He takes the book from Eddie’s hands, carefully places the bookmark, and puts it on the nightstand, and then he opens his arms for Eddie to fall into them.
“I’m dreading tomorrow. How stupid is that?”
“I don’t think it’s stupid at all. You died, Eddie. That’s a big fucking deal. I don’t think that’s the kind of thing you get over in a couple of years.”
He feels the kiss to the top of his head, the extra squeeze pulling him tighter.
“I’ll be here with you tomorrow, okay? We’ll just…chill out, watch TV. Whatever you need.”
He marvels at how the world took so much but gave him something wonderful in return.
“Why did you go to Jeff’s? You don’t even like Headbangers Ball.”
“No, but I like this headbanger’s balls, and I was hoping to get a look at them tonight.”
Eddie laughs and slaps him on the chest. It’s been a rough couple of years, it’s going to be a rough couple of days, but at least he has this.
Lucky for me - there was an episode of Headbangers Ball on Saturday 26th March 1988. I love it when the stars align!
LA Guns were presenting, and I don't agree with Eddie, they are awesome! But he's right about Kelly Nickels.
for @corrodedcoffinfest day 3 prompt 'tv trays' (It's late, but I wrote this for my wife @dreamwatch so idgaf)
Prompt #3 - TV Tray | Word Count: 520 | Rating: idk, it's harmless | POV: Wayne
Roast beef, mashed taters, and string beans. And something he guesses they consider gravy, but it looks like if given enough of a zap it could come to life. It smells good, looks… okay, and tastes… well, he’s bracing himself for that one.
It took 20 minutes in their too-small, trailer-home oven and after a 12-hour shift that was a little too long, but he’s just worked a 12-hour shift so eating comes first.
The TV was making sounds in the living room as he rounded up everything he needed. The foil-covered oven meal, his cutlery, and a Blue Ribbon from the fridge. The laughter from the TV sounded tinny and packaged, then rolled into an advert that was 10 decibels louder. Why do they do that? Why, so you could hear them selling whatever it is they’re selling while you’re making your TV meal in the kitchen.
Wayne Munson was tired. Dead tired. But tonight was not a night to go to bed as soon as he got in. He’d showered, forced himself to get dinner together, and had turned the show on that Eddie had told him to watch. Some late night show on a community cable channel he’s surprised they even had. Their cable package was the cheapest they could afford, but it had the AAA baseball - go Indians! – and some random documentary channels he could watch on Sundays, so it was all good. And apparently, this community talk show thing – Come On, Indiana or something – and right now some young fellas were laughing with the handful of other people in the studio about something or other.
He pulled the coffee table closer to his chair and put his TV tray down, clattered the cutlery and swigged his PBR while he settled in. This better be worth it.
The time was ticking down to 1am when finally, the young fools on the idiot box stopped larking around, turning to the camera and made the announcement Wayne had waited up for.
“Ok! Tonight, for the first time anywhere on television, we have a local band - well, kinda local - making their debut performance for us tonight. They’re 4 young guys from Hawkins, they play some nasty metal, and they’re going to be memorable we’re sure… ladies and gentlemen, Corroded Coffin!”
Wayne sat up a little straighter without even thinking about it. The camera cut to Eddie, silhouetted in a corner of the studio, and suddenly that god-awful sound they make ripped through his TV’s tiny speaker.
“…Jesus Christ.”
Then the lights went on, the music exploded as all four landed on a riff in sync, and Waynes heart almost lept from his chest with pride. There was his boy. And the other three idiots.
He couldn’t understand a word Jeff was singing, and the music was damn atrocious, but it was his boy.
He spooned a chunk of limp beef and salty mash into his mouth, a PBR wash-down, and he found his traitorous foot tapping along to the music.
They were absolutely awful, but you gotta admit… they were good at it.
Minor, not plot related spoiler for S5E1 below, with potential new Munson lore.
I don’t have the ability to screen grab so this is a shitty image, but I finally got a clear shot.
Raymond Mark Munson, 1930 - 1974, aged 44 at death.
Cheryl Kay Munson, 1934 - 1976, aged 42 at death (I’m not totally sure about this one because the ‘3’ looks different, but I think it’s 34)
Eddie has canon parents - Alan Munson and Elizabeth Munson née Franklin, who we know died when Eddie was 6, so in 1972. I haven’t seen the play, but I believe Alan is a senior at the same time as Joyce and Jim, so would have been born around 1940-42 (depending on how many times he’s done senior year, cough cough).
Apparently there is an obituary for Ray and Cheryl, that was seen at some of the Stranger Things pop up events. So if anyone has further info please share!
I’m grabbing Raymond as another Munson brother. I was doing some fic planning once and I think I dropped Wayne in at 1932, but that was to do with military service and whether I wanted him to have served in Korea or Vietnam, but he could absolutely be older than 54 when we meet him in S4.
Did Wayne and Alan have an older brother? Is Wayne the oldest of three? I don’t know, but let’s all write some fanfic and find out!
So I went to my first MTG night last night at a nearby LGS - it's very small, only two tables, so everyone there knew each other and bantered back and forth. They were very welcoming of a total newbie, and my pod very kind in advising on what to do, what card abilities meant, etc.
I may have made an enemy by totally annihilating one person, but then everyone else ganged up on me and my comeuppance was met.
So I’ve decided to really try and get into Magic The Gathering. My darling wife has had cards for almost 30 years, from when she played in Uni, and she did try to teach me about 25 years ago so she’d have someone to play with, but my tiny peasant brain couldn’t handle it.
Anyway now we’re here. She’s long moved on from MTG and has no interest in returning (she has other hobbies) so I’m figuring it out myself. It doesn’t help that the game now is different, with Commander etc.
So being an awkward man in his 50s, I’ve been going into local game stores to see how I get into playing it with other people. There’s the Arena online game but if I wanted to just play a game online I would’ve stuck with WoW.
I’ve been into three stores. The first two seemed to have little interest in hand-holding a new player, one even downright dissuading me from coming along to one of their nights as I’d have no beginner-friendly group to join.
Anyway we went to the third one today, and a stark difference it was. Welcoming, chatted me through all the different styles of play, welcomed me to sit right down and play a game there and then (we didn’t have time unfortunately), encouraged me to come to any of their casual sessions until I’m ready for the competitive one. Other people in the store joined in on the conversation too.
Left that store almost skipping.
It’s weird being my age and feeling left out, but this kind of thing never really changed I guess.
You know, since I’ve been using a cane one of the things I’ve noticed is just how considerate people are about moving out of the way and not bumping into me when I’m obviously struggling to stay upright.
Prompt: Sad Sunday | Songs: The Party's Over & City of New Orleans | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Minor angst, Wayne Munson, Eddie living the dream but not really, CC On Tour
Good morning, America
How are you?
Say don't you know me? I'm your native son
It’s August. It’s hot. Especially in the South, touring through Texas for the last week, essentially hitched to the coattails of Iron Maiden’s touring entourage, their “special guests” on this southern string of dates. Texas was rough, but the crowds were good - they seemed to like the band’s straightforward approach to their show, and really liked that they had Eddie as some sort of low-rent freak-show, his reputation far preceding him.
What didn’t help was now instead of Maiden being the boogie men of Satanism that had dogged them a few years earlier, now it was Eddie “Hellfire” Munson, murderer of children, bringer of armageddon, bringing out the bible thumpers and harbingers of Christ’s retribution to picket outside all of their shows.
Maiden’s management loved it, their larger-than-life Yorkshireman manager storming into their dressing room 2-dates into the Texas leg shouting, “This is fookin’ great lads! The kids are buying tickets faster than we can sell th’ fuckin' seats!” Jeff, Gareth and Matty loved it. Eddie not so much.
Eddie watched the outer suburbs of New Orleans forming along the 10 as the sun was coming up. It should have been a 6 hour drive from Houston but had taken them almost 10 in this shitty van Gareth had hired, not able to get above 40 and guzzling gas. Even heading out straight after their set in Houston they’re only just getting into New Orleans in time for breakfast. Exhausted, dirty with last night’s sweat, and stinking. Jeff’s incessant farting and Matty’s caustic opinion’s about them made the drive tiring and depressing.
But at least they had the day off.
They pulled into a motel on the outskirts of the city – the best they could afford – booked in and dragged their shit into the room: bags of clothes, boxes of cables, cases of guitars, drums and amps. They might be paranoid, but they were also from Indiana - they knew shit that wasn’t nailed down wouldn’t be there tomorrow if left in the van.
They thought touring with Maiden would mean hotels, airports and all the rest. But they were second rung behind Guns n’ Roses and barely had time for setup and tear down alongside a 30 minute set. Why they were even there they couldn’t understand, other than the promoter had a thing for Eddie and talked Maiden’s management into it in exchange for cheaper booking rates. Or something. Eddie didn’t give a fuck - it was a week of shows with some of their heroes and who cares about anything else?
Eddie fell onto the double bed he’d be sharing with Gareth, and stared at the ceiling flexing his hands, stiff from playing and the arthritis that was seeping its way through his body far too soon for someone so young.
Gareth and Jeff were fighting over who would shower first. Matty was noisily peeling his socks off. Jesus Christ.
The rock and roll lifestyle.
Eddie sat up. “I’m going for a walk.”
Matty grunted, the other two were still bickering.
He opened the door to their room, blinded by the light outside, and stepped out, keeping his eyes low to try and stop them being pierced by the sun. It was by now 9am and it was already steaming. He missed Indiana and its cool humidity, not this ball-sticking mess.
He walked to a strip mall near the corner and found a payphone, fishing in his pockets for quarters. He threw in four, dialled and waited. It only rang twice before Wayne answered.
“Hey Unc, it’s me” he said.
“Eddie! Hey!” He could hear Wayne’s excitement. They hadn’t spoken since they’d left Indiana two weeks before to drive down to Texas. “How’s it going? This call’s gotta be costing you a fortune!”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I reckon I got enough for 10 minutes. I don’t know how this long distance call thing works.”
“That’s fine, son. I was hoping you’d call just to let me know you were ok. How’re the events going?” Events!
There was silence for a second, then Wayne: “You ok son? I can hear it in your voice. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, nothing. Just wanted to talk to you.”
They passed the time for a few more minutes before the payphone barked for more coins, and they said their goodbyes. Hanging up felt like defeat.
He threw in a few more coins and dialled another number. This time it rang forever and never stopped until Eddie put the receiver back in its cradle and the coins rattled into the return.
He fished them out and put them in his pocket as he turned on his heel. He suddenly felt old, and far-removed from where he belonged.
As he began walking, he saw a tall, lanky guy staring at him from the door of the laundromat, looking him up and down. Jeans, t-shirt, a truckstop baseball cap and a mean pockmarked glare. Eddie nodded slightly then looked away, and began walking.
“Freak!”
Eddie felt his neck burn and his cheeks flush. He didn’t turn around.
“Fucking long-haired freak!”
It was 1988 for fucks sake, and this shit still happened.
He heard steps behind him, so he quickened his pace. Not enough to seem like he was running, but he was ready. He chanced a glance behind him, but nobody was there. His world seemed to close in on him in waves as his heart beat tore through his chest.
Fucking hell Eddie, he thought. Get yourself together.
He wished Steve had answered. He needed some reassurance, that things were going to be okay. That this darkness would lift. And he missed him.
He got back to the room where his three bandmates were, talking excitedly about last night’s show, on top of the world. Eddie felt lonelier than he had for more than two years.
Prompt 19: Needful Things | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: MCD | POV: Gareth | Relationships: Gareth & Eddie, Gareth & Wayne | Wayne Munson, light angst, Post S4, Eddie's necklace is the star of the show, canon MCD
Gareth stands in the middle of Wayne Munson’s shitty motel room, filled to the brim with boxes and black plastic sacks. A whole life shoved into trash bags. Two lives, really.
“I’ve got everything I want,” Wayne said to them. He was leaving town, nothing left for him in Hawkins now except hate and a job he wasn’t welcome at anymore. “I can only take so much. So, you boys help yourself. It’s what he would have wanted.”
He’d left them then, Jeff, Matt and Gareth sitting on a sticky carpet with their best friends possessions, choosing things to remember him by. It felt invasive, even with Wayne’s permission. But they spend an hour gently unboxing Eddie’s things, and passing them round, splitting t-shirts and tapes, laughing at some photographs, crying at others. They put Eddie’s D&D things and an Iron Maiden t-shirt in a bag for Dustin, a couple of tapes and some figures for Mike and Lucas.
There are things missing, though. Eddie’s body had never been found, had fallen into a ravine in the earthquake. All they have is an empty casket under a bloodied headstone. His jewellery was lost in the fiery dirt and Gareth cannot remember a single day when Eddie didn’t wear those huge silver rings or the delicate necklace.
Gareth feels flayed by the time they’re done, but they pack their bags carefully, handling their new possessions like precious relics.
A flash of silver catches Gareth’s eye.
He says he’ll follow, just needs to use the bathroom real quick, but when the door closes he bolts to the side of Wayne’s bed.
The silver ball chain hangs from the bed post, a familiar pick threaded on the end.
It’s impossible.
It’s a copy, has to be.
Gareth carefully unhooks the necklace and is immediately horrified to find tiny flakes of dried blood trapped in the ball links. There’s a small ‘E’ roughly scratched on the back. There’s no doubt it’s real.
Gareth knows it’s wrong the second he thinks of putting in his pocket, but he does it anyway. Wraps his fingers around the chain links and bites his lip trying to stave off tears. He just wants to be close to Eddie. He just needs him. This is the closest he can get.
It’s too much of a risk to wear it during the day, where the other might see it, but when he comes home from school he hurries to his room and slips the necklace over his head. He feels heat radiate from it, the chain always warm against his skin.
At night he dreams.
He’s high above the ground, the sky dark and crackling with red lighting. He’s playing guitar and Dustin is there, and then he sees them, a swarm of bats headed their way, and they run, they leap off the roof and it’s Eddie’s trailer but it’s all wrong, all rotten. The creatures fly at them as they lock themselves in and they’re elated but then the swarm is in the trailer and he gets Dustin out through a hole in Eddie’s ceiling and it doesn’t makes sense, none of it makes any sense.
Then he’s running, grabbing a bike to escape the creatures but they knock him to the ground, and now he’s close he sees the eyeless faces, sees the heads that are just mouths filled with teeth. They pin him to the floor, tails lashing his wrists and ankles and then they bite. Flesh is torn from him and he’s screaming but it’s not him, that’s not his voice and it’s not a dream.
He blinks and Dustin is holding him, tears pouring down his face.
“I love you man.”
“I love you too.”
Gareth wakes with a start and vomits over the side of his bed.
It’s the same the next night, and the next, and he should stop because he’s twisting a knife in a wound that cannot exist.
He comes home from school to find Wayne Munson waiting for him.
“I think you might have something of mine.”
Gareth’s heart thunders in his chest.
“I understand why you took it,” Wayne adds, softly. “But I think you know why I have to take it back.”
The world tips beneath him, because they’re dreams. Nightmares. He lost his best friend and he stole his necklace and his brain his punishing him for it. But Wayne keeps looking at him and there's surety, a calmness, and Gareth knows.
“How?” he ask breathlessly.
“I don’t know,” Wayne admits. “Don’t care to think on it too much, truth be told. Maybe it’s a miracle. Maybe it’s a curse.”
Gareth pulls the necklace from his wallet and hands it back to Wayne. Waynes large calloused fingers wrap around it and hold it close.
“Do you wear it?”
Wayne nods, just once. “Every night.”
Gareth feels the touch of leathery wings and razor teeth and shudders.
“How can you stand it? To see what he went through.”
Wayne shakes his head. “It’s not always like that. Sometimes it’s good. I see him when he was little, running around and laughing. Sitting out on the porch with me in the sun, playing his guitar. Sometimes he’s playing his music or his game with you, and Jeffrey and Matthew.” Wayne smiles to himself. “I see him when he was happiest.”
Eddie’s whole life locked in his necklace, sharing a different memory every night, like a TV set that changes channels on it’s own. Of course it brings comfort to Wayne.
Heat rushes to Gareth’s face.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I took it.”
“It pulls you in.” Wayne clutches the necklace in his hand, thumb caressing the scratched ‘E.’ “Just like he did.”
The wind picks up, fallen golden leaves flutter in the air, and Gareth feels cracked open.
“I should go,” Wayne says, slipping the necklace over his head. “You take care, son.”
Gareth watches as Wayne drives away, taking the last of Eddie with him.
Another one of those ocassions where the idea is too big for the word count, but hopefully it still works.
Prompt 11: Scream | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: mental health issues | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Steddie, Gareth & Eddie, Gareth & Steve | Angst, post S4, Eddie has trauma, Steve and Gareth are begrudging roomies, selective mutism, anxiety, hopeful ending
The gulls are loud today, swooping and circling the water, piercing calls that travel on the wind and make him feel hunted. Steve tells him he’s safe here, it’s bright, quiet apart from the lapping of the water and the shrieking above him. It’s peaceful, good for him, so they keep saying, and private. He’s never alone, though.
Steve sits on the hood of his car, watching but not. Eddie is here to reset, be in the moment, and a lot of other bullshit his therapist, Steve and Wayne keep talking about. At least the therapist is gone now; he stopped seeing her months ago.
When he woke in the hospital, after Vecna and the bats, after gruesome deaths and running for his life, he couldn’t speak. Wouldn’t, said the doctors, there was nothing wrong with him, just a coward with a steadfast refusal to talk to the police. Eddie couldn’t explain to them the way his words sat trapped in his throat, coiled like snakes, wrapping and writhing around each other. His words fought and tripped him, until he was so exhausted by it he stopped. If the words wouldn’t come out when he needed them he’d stop trying at all. He hasn’t spoken since.
That was five years ago.
A lot has happened in that five years.
Eddie left Hawkins as fast as he could. Steve followed.
Two years later Gareth turned up on his front door and shouted at him for five minutes before Eddie wrapped him in a crushing hug. Now it’s the three of them and their cat living in their little apartment in the city.
A cool breeze feathers across the back of his neck, and he buries his toes deeper into the sand. He can feel the prickle of shell and pebbles against his skin; before they leave today he’ll wander the beach to check for sea glass. Steve will help, they usually come back with a few nice pieces. He has a box full of them now, keeps meaning to do something with them, make a necklace or something.
Maybe one day.
Behind him he hears raised voices, so he turns to look. Gareth has returned to the car, a can of something in his hand and evidently nothing for Steve and Eddie. Gareth doesn’t usually come here with them, thinks it stupid, not helping, maybe making things worse. It’s his way, to be loud, stubborn and opiniated, probably more so in the last few years. He’s filling the gaps Eddie left behind.
Gareth DMs for their new group of friends, people who have no expectations of Eddie because they didn’t know him before he was left as hollow as the shells under his feet. There’s no Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson here, just Eddie the weird guy that doesn’t talk. He can live with that. He has to live with that.
The car doors slam shut but the voices are still loud enough for him to hear snatches of his name. Loud enough for him to know he’s being talked about. Gareth and Steve are a weird pair. Steve tolerates Gareth for Eddie’s benefit, and Gareth promises not to be a dick to Steve, and mostly it works and no one questions their odd little trio. They do it for him but so much of him wishes they wouldn’t; he wants Gareth to go and live his life, to have travelled with Jeff and Matty. The things he could be doing if he would just leave, but instead he stayed behind for Eddie. It eats at Eddie, claws at the blocked words in his throat, begging to come out. Notes on paper telling Gareth to leave don’t cut it.
The truth is Eddie thinks he’d crumble to ash if Gareth left them.
Steve is… Steve is everything.
When Eddie wanted nothing more than to blink out of existence Steve had grabbed him by the hand and kept him there beside him. It was nothing at first, innocent touches, fingers brushing fingers until they were brushing cheeks, until lips were touching lips. Steve enveloping him from the world and pulling him closer, until they were all but one. Lying together in a boneless haze, sheets puddled at their feet, thinking I love him, I love him. Even if he couldn’t say it.
The voices are louder, angrier than usual, arguing about Steve bringing him out here all the time to do this. Eddie grew up in a house filled to the rafters with angry words, this isn’t that. This is from love. Gareth wants him to see a doctor and Steve wants to keep him whole. Neither is right, neither is wrong.
But it’s been brewing for weeks, months probably, their weird little home is a passive aggressive battle ground and he’s leaving for work earlier in the morning and working back later. Other people’s anger lodges in his throat choking his own and he doesn’t have the energy for both.
He stands and steps along the wet sand, the chill water lapping over his feet. He watches the way the water ripples and distorts his skin, the lines of light and shadow playing across his feet and legs. He closes his eyes and fills his lungs to the brim with salty sea air.
And he screams.
The gulls scream back, and Eddie takes another deep breath and screams back twice as loud. He feels it all shift inside him, a tower of bricks ready to tumble if you just take the right brick away. He just needs to find the right brick.
He doesn’t hear them calling his name until they’re right there, Steve’s Nike sneakers splashing in the water as he turns Eddie to face him.
“Eddie? What’s…?”
He feels the brick tumble deep inside him.
“Stop.”
It’s whisper quiet, maybe he imagined it, maybe he didn’t say anything at all. But Gareth gasps behind him and Steve’s eyes are wide, lashes already wet and Eddie knows.
Prompt 7: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Gareth | Relationships: Pre-Steddie | Corroded Coffin, Wayne Munson, Light Angst, Eddie lives, best friends doing what best friends do, concerts
It’s not like they can go to school, and after everything that happened, well excuse Gareth for not feeling very fucking charitable to the people of Hawkins right now. So instead of helping out in the relief centre, he, Jeff and Matty come to the hospital every day, running errands for Wayne, and when they’re eventually allowed in to his room, being there for Eddie.
They play him music, read him articles from Hit Parader, and generally act like they’re sitting in Gareth’s garage fucking around on a Saturday night. The only difference is here it’s a ventilator providing the back beat and not his drums.
Because Eddie’s a contrary asshole he wakes up sometime after 3 A.M.. There’s someone in that room from 8 A.M. till 10.P.M. every day. Would it have killed him to wake up during office hours? He’s a dramatic prick, and Gareth cries like a baby about it.
Eddie’s in and out of it for the first few days; he’s confused, repeats himself and falls asleep after a few minutes of waking up. But as the days pass he gets clearer headed, stays awake for longer, and slowly comes back to them. None of that was a given, and they’ve all chosen to gloss over the sombre words from Wayne when the nights were darkest and the odds of Eddie surviving were at their longest.
Metallica plays quietly in the background, Gareth finger drumming on the edge of Eddie’s bed, Jeff humming Battery to himself, Matty dozing in his chair.
“What’s the date?” Eddie croaks.
“Uh…” Gareth checks his watch. “Twenty-ninth.” He can tell Eddie is trying to work it out in his head so he adds “April.”
Eddie frowns.
“I missed it.”
Now it’s Gareth’s turn to be confused.
“Missed what?”
“Ozzy. Metallica.”
Oh shit. He’d forgotten about that. They had tickets to see them on April 8th in Indy. They’d all been looking forward to it for months. And they’d forgotten about it in a heartbeat because they were scared Eddie was going to die.
“Was it good?”
“Was what good?”
Eddie scowls at him. “The concert.”
Oh.
“Dude, we didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
“Are you for real? We weren’t going when we didn’t—“ know if you were going to live, he nearly says, but he stops himself because Wayne doesn’t like to talk about that kind of thing in front of Eddie, doesn’t want to upset him. “We weren’t going without you, dude.”
Eddie looks crestfallen, but Jeff jumps in.
“They’ll be back, Eddie, you’ll see.”
Wayne brings Eddie back home to their new trailer at the end of May. He’s weak, sleeps most of the day but when he’s awake he’s almost the old Eddie. Something relaxes in Gareth’s chest bit by bit every time Eddie laughs or makes a stupid joke, and it’s not normal, not at all, but at the same time it feels so close. The band was splintered and broken and now they have a big bandaid across the middle of them while the wound heals. Gareth knows there will be a scar, but they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.
He’d feel even better if someone told him what the fuck Steve Harrington was doing there all the time.
Steve moves around Wayne and Eddie’s place like he’s always been there, talks to Wayne like they’re old buddies and it’s pissing Gareth off something fierce. But it wouldn’t be a good look to cause a fight over it, so he nods a polite hello when he arrives to find Steve making lunch, or fetching Eddie’s meds, or arguing with Eddie about not smoking. It’d be funny if it weren’t so annoying.
“No.”
“But Wayne—“
Wayne stops what he’s doing and gives Gareth a hard stare.
“No ‘buts’. It’s too soon. He can’t stand that long, you know that.”
“We’ll get seated tickets, he won’t need to stand,” adds Jeff, and Gareth could kiss him because they all know Wayne thinks ‘Jeffrey’ is a good influence on the rest of them. If only he knew.
“He has to get to the seat, Jeffrey. He’s having enough trouble getting to the end of the driveway.”
“Okay, so we’ll take the wheelchair.”
Eddie shuffles into the kitchen, still sleep rumpled. “I am not getting in the wheelchair.” He grabs a carton of orange juice from the fridge. “Why am I getting in the wheelchair?”
“Metallica are supporting Ozzy up in Fort Wayne.”
Eddie spins so fast he wobbles.
“I’ll get in the wheelchair.”
“Ed, I don’t think you’re up to it.“
“Wayne, I am so up to it.”
Wayne doesn’t look convinced.
“We’ll be with him every second.”
Wayne glares at Gareth.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
They argue for another five minutes, but Eddie looks so excited and Gareth watches Wayne’s resolve deteriorate in real time.
“Alright.”
Eddie’s eyebrows disappear under his messy bangs.
“Alright?”
Wayne sighs and nods, and Gareth’s work is done. He gives a low five to Jeff out of sight.
“But only if Steve goes with you.”
Oh, what the fuck?
Getting to their seats is a bitch with a guy who isn’t that great on his feet, but once they’re settled and have stopped arguing about who is sitting next to who, or more accurately why Steve gets to sit next to Eddie, they relax and start to enjoy themself. Eddie is practically bouncing in his seat from excitement and it kind of hits Gareth in the heart how close they were to not having this. To not having Eddie.
The lights go down and music begins to fill the arena, horns and marching drums and a soaring voice, and Gareth feels the prickle on his skin as every single person in the arena sings along, the crescendo building.
He doesn’t really know why he’s crying, it’s fucking stupid, but Eddie catches him before he can wipe his eyes, and pulls him close.
They made it, eventually. Better late than never.
If you're a Metallica fan you'll know, but in case you're not - Metallica have played The Ecstacy of Gold from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly at the beginning of every show since 1983 right before they come on stage. It's a fantastic piece of music in it's own right (the entire score for that film is amazing) but it's electrifying when you're in an arena singing along with thousands of people.
Ozzy Osbourne, supported by Metallica, played the Market Square Arena on 8th April 1986. which Eddie would absolutely have had tickets for. Metallica headlined a gig at the Chicago Aragon Ballroom on May 25th which Eddie would have not been fit enough for and Uncle Wayne would absolutely have vetoed that. The concert they go to is Ozzy/Metallica at the Allen County War Memorial Coliseum in Fort Wayne on 16th July 1986. Steve got to see Ozzy! 🤘🏻
Prompt 10: Have a Drink on Me | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Matt (Unnamed Freak) | Relationships: Matt/Original Female Character | Fluff, minor fatphobia, mentions of weight and diets, Matt is in love, totally gone on this girl, it's over for him.
This is a sequel to a fic I wrote for last year's CC Fest which you can find here if you're interested, but it isn't necessary. That one is the start and end of the story, this is the middle. ☺️
She’s beautiful. He saw it from across the room, but standing in front of her it hits even harder.
“Would you like to go for a drink? On me, of course!”
Lily smiles up at him but her eyes glance in the direction of her friend currently burying her nose in Eddie’s neck. He looks desperately uncomfortable and under any normal circumstances Matt would rescue him, but Matt’s pretty sure he’s met his future wife so Eddie’s going to have to tough it out.
“Sandy might wonder where I am. But…” she looks up at him, bright eyes peering through long lashes thick with mascara. “Okay.”
They wander out of the green room back to the front of house. The headliners are on now, so the bar has thinned out.
“What can I get you?”
Lily nibbles on her lower lip, deep in concentration as she scans the bottles behind the bar. The light is better out here and her shoulder length hair is pink and it delights him.
“Could I get a white wine spritzer please?”
Matt laughs. “That’s not very rock n’ roll,” he says and instantly regrets it as her face falls. “No, no I was kidding, it’s totally rock n’ roll! I bet Ozzy drinks it, like all the fucking time.”
Lily visibly relaxes and there’s that shy little smile again. “I’m on a diet, so…”
Matt frowns.
“Why? You’re perfect.”
The way she looks at him makes his heart ache, like no one has ever said it to her before, that she had no idea of what she looks like. She’s curvy and hot as fuck and he wants to get his hands on her hips and kiss her hard.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say that.”
His heart cracks open. “No, I don’t. But it’s true.”
“You’re very sweet.”
Thank god Gareth didn’t hear that, Matt’d never hear the end of it.
Now they’re out here he can see her properly; the black leather jacket a little tight across her shoulders, her Slayer t-shirt - and oh she’s a Slayer fan, thank you Jesus - is a men’s one, long enough to cover her belly, thick thighs in tight black jeans. He can see the heavy concealer over a zit on her chin and the way her mascara is a little smudged under her eyes from sweat.
She’s gorgeous. And he’s going to marry her someday.
Honestly he’s not great at talking to girls, there’s usually no need, they grab him by the hand when they strike out with the rest of the band and drag him to an empty bathroom stall for a quick fuck and then leave him there. Which is…well, he thought he was okay with it, the attention, someone making him feel wanted for a short moment but the way Lily looks at him is totally different. It’s warm and open, and she listens to him like she really cares about what he’s saying.
He’s only just met her and he’s already doomed.
“You’re from L.A., right?”
Matt takes a sip of his lukewarm beer then shakes his head. “No, well yeah, I mean we live there but we’re from Indiana. A little town called Bumfuck. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it?’
Lily giggles into her glass. “I think I’m vaguely familiar with it.”
They talk about home, their families, music. She’s a college student, forensic something or other but he misses it because he’s so wrapped up in how she smells like vanilla and peaches and how she twirls her hair with long fingers, nails painted black.
“You know, you shouldn’t cover your pimples up with so much make-up.”
Lily stands stock still, eyes wide and embarrassed.
“No! Oh god, I don’t mean— no, I don’t care that you have zits—“
Lily drops her glass on the table and starts to leave, red faced and on the verge of tears.
He blocks her path. “No, no listen, that came out wrong, I’m so sorry. I just meant— you’re so pretty and you shouldn’t feel you have to hide anything, that’s all.” He growls, so angry with himself for ruining this. “I am monumentally bad at this and I’m fucking it up.”
Matt takes a deep breath, actually thinks about what he’s going to say this time.
“I want to see you again. Please? I am a total screw up, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’ve never had a girlfriend because I’m a total fucking disaster. And I would totally understand if you don’t want to see me again, but…” Matt sighs, tips his head back looking for inspiration from the flyer covered ceiling.
“I would understand if you don’t want to, for lots of reasons, not just because I’m an idiot. You’re out of my league, like big time. But… You have beautiful eyes, and you’re funny and I really love that you like Slayer. I want to get to know you better. And if I ruined this I will punish myself every day until the end of time, but you need to know that I’m very attracted to you. And… yeah. That’s it.”
Lily pouts, arms crossed against her chest. “You are terrible at this. But…I’ve been staring at you all night hoping that you would talk to me knowing you wouldn’t because you were out of my league. And then you said ‘Hi’ and no one does that to me. They see Sandy, but they don’t see me. I get the odd skeevy asshole that lowers himself to kissing a fat girl, but that’s it.”
Matt feels a flash of anger toward whoever made her feel that way. She deserves better.
“We’re leaving tomorrow, around noon. Let me buy you breakfast, and I’ll try and be normal. Please?”
There’s cheering from inside the club, the band finishing up their set. They don’t have long. Please say yes, please say yes…
Lily uncrosses her arms with a smile.
“Set your alarm. I get up early.”
That's the second time I've written fluff this week. What's wrong with me?
For detail lovers, the perfume Lily is wearing is Exclamation! I used to love that damn perfume. 😆
Prompt 8: ER | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: none | POV: Steve | Relationships: Steddie, Gareth & Eddie | Light angst, injuries, getting older, Eddie whump, Eddie is an accident prone idiot, Steve still loves him, attempted humour and a small amount of fluff
“Firstly, he’s okay. Mostly.”
Steve’s heart kicks up a notch, though to be fair this isn’t the first time he’s received a call like this from Gareth. But it’s the ‘mostly’ that’s catching his attention.
He holds the phone between his chin and shoulder as he looks for his keys. “What does ‘mostly’ mean?”
“Like… he’s kind of banged up, but he’s awake?”
Well, that’s something. He can work with awake. It’s unconscious that he has a severe aversion to. Steve’s seen Eddie unconscious more than once and he doesn’t want anymore repeats. Eddie makes a big deal out of it when Steve so much as hits his head on a kitchen cabinet, but Eddie’s not far behind him in the head trauma Olympics. Falling off a stage the first time they played anywhere bigger than the Hideout; a motorcycle accident back in 1996 (which was actually terrifying); a bar fight where he’d jumped in to stop Steve getting hit and ended up getting his bell wrung hard enough that he still can’t remember it happening. Eddie’s taken as many blows to the head as Steve has, so ‘awake’ means Steve can take a deep breath and doesn’t have to floor it to the hospital.
“Steve!”
Gareth calls him from across the waiting room and motions him to follow him.
“What happened?”
Gareth winces. “He was playing with the kids. Stacked it on Elliot’s skateboard.
“Jesus Christ.”
Steve’s going to kill him, so it’s just as well Eddie’s in the ER. The idiot has no place being on a skateboard at his age, at any age in all honesty, because he has the balance and finesse of a three legged cow.
“You said he was mostly okay?”
“Looks like his arm is busted and he’s got some stellar road rash. But he went down hard, has a huge bump on the back of his head. They’re talking about an MRI, just to be on the safe side.”
Fuck, that’s all they need. His priority is Eddie, always, but then it’s going to be medical bills and between them they seem to be racking them up like it’s a shared hobby. Most couples just go bowling, they’re collecting frequent flyer miles from the emergency room.
Gareth steers him toward a door and Steve feels his gut flip. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Gareth, though that fucker will lie for Eddie on command, but he just hates this. Hates seeing his husband hurt, hates seeing him in pain. And Gareth not lying to him is not the same as Gareth not softening the blow to keep him calm. He takes a breath and enters the room.
Eddie’s lying propped up on a bed in the middle of the room. And yeah, Gareth was definitely softening the blow: Eddie’s holding a swollen wrist close to his chest, the road rash spreads from his right temple to his cheek, his hands and knees, his jeans are ripped open and not in the artfully created way they usually are after Eddie has attacked a new pair with scissors and sand paper.
He looks awful. And Steve’s kind of mad about it.
“Skateboarding? Really?”
It comes out harsher than he had intended. Eddie cracks open an eye before wincing. Steve wants to wrap him up in cotton wool and never let him leave the house ever again.
“I was being a good uncle.”
Steve pulls up a plastic seat beside him.
“Eddie, you’re fifty-eight.”
“So? Tony Hawk is fifty-seven.”
“Hate to break it to you, but you are no Tony Hawk.”
“Don’t be mean to me on my deathbed.”
It’s meant as a joke, Eddie’s a clumsy shit and this won’t be the last time they show up here, but it’s just a little bit too close to the bone for Steve. There was a time when he did see Eddie at deaths door, back in 1986, and the bike accident was another gut punch. But also, they’re getting on in years now and things like this remind Steve of that fact, painfully so. They’re happy, they have a good life and good jobs and Steve doesn’t want to think of the future, of what happens as they age, of ill health.
Of saying goodbye.
He gives himself a little mental slap but Eddie is staring at him, pained doe eyes wide and regretful. He reaches over with his good hand, covered in grit and blood, but Steve takes hold of the offered fingers and slowly kisses each one.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and he means it, Steve can tell. “I was just having fun with Elliot. He’s so cute, I couldn’t deny him.”
“Don’t blame my kid for your idiocy,” Gareth says from the corner of the room. Eddie makes an aborted attempt at flipping him off with grazed fingers.
Steve gently squeezes Eddie’s thigh to get his attention “I know. But you’re kind of precious to me, you know? So I’d prefer it if you could stay in one piece. Please?”
“Can I have a kiss?”
Steve smiles. God he adores this idiot.
“Only if you promise this is your last visit to the ER?”
“Promise.”
Steve leans in and kisses him gently, doing his best to avoid the scrapes on his cheeks.
They break apart and Eddie sighs. “This is going to cost a fortune, huh?”
“Nah, we’ve got a loyalty card for this place, fifth visit is free. Remind me to get it stamped on the way out.”
A nurse comes in and introduces herself, looking at Eddie’s notes.
“So, can you tell me what happened?”
“I was on my Harley being chased by the cops. Took a corner too fast, hit some gravel and went flying.”
She looks up in time to see Steve rolling his eyes so hard it hurts, then cocks an eyebrow.
“Want to tell me what really happened?”
“Was on my nephews skateboard going downhill and I fell off.”
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