It’s the fourth time this week Eddie’s been late without a phone call.
Sure, his job has him working weird hours - Steve gets it. But he also knows his schedule and he knows the days Eddie works at the bar til close and he knows the days he’s supposed to be home before dark, and he hasn’t had a closing shift once this week.
Yet he came home near ten tonight, and Steve had been worried and nervous and yes, sure, a little - a lot - insecure about it, and maybe he’d lashed out first, or maybe Eddie had, Steve doesn’t know, but he knows they’re standing in the living room shouting at one another and it’s all coming to a head and he can’t stop himself, can’t keep from getting loud and angry and–
"Do you even want to fucking be here?" he yells.
"Not when you're acting like this!" Eddie says, and Steve's throat goes tight like there's a fist wrapped around it.
Not when he's acting like this, he thinks. Not when he's being too needy. Too pushy. Too demanding.
Something in his brain feels like it rewires. Their relationship flips on its head, and suddenly fear is coiling in Steve's stomach, not anger.
He'll lose Eddie if he keeps pushing like this. If he demands too much of his time, pulls him away from what he'd rather be doing, makes himself too much work, he'll lose him. Eddie always said he wasn't going anywhere. That he loves Steve, wants to be with him, will never get tired of him. Steve was a fucking idiot to take that at face value.
He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize, wants to tell Eddie to forget all about what he said, wants to show how sorry he is, but between one moment and the next he's feeling like a guest in his own home, and he's very familiar with how it feels to be unwelcome.
So instead he shakes his head. Eddie wants to be left alone, probably. Doesn't want to see Steve when he's mad at him. Doesn't want to deal with him. He'll make himself scarce.
"I'm staying in the guest room tonight," he says stiffly, and turns away, only faltering a little when Eddie mumbles 'what the fuck ever' behind him. He flinches when Eddie slams the front door and closes the spare room so quietly it barely even clicks.
–
Eddie gets home late.
Like, late-late. Steve hears the front door open as he's staring at the clock on the bedside table, the bright red numbers burning into his vision. Why did they even put a fucking clock in here, he thinks. It's the guest room. Why did he insist on furnishing this room like someone might live in it? Like this was a home people would be in and out of, like their family would come and stay with them long enough to need an alarm clock on the bedside table?
Desperate, a voice in his head hisses at him, desperate and needy and full of wishful thinking that someone would want to stay around sad little Steve Harrington long enough to need anything--
Eddie's coming down the hallway. He's trying to be quiet, but he forgot to take his shoes off at the door and his Reeboks squeak a little against the hardwood. It's a familiar sound. Comforting, usually. It's how he knows his honey's made it home safe when he's out late, that tell-tale squeak and the little stumbles when he's tipsy and making his way through their home after a long gig.
There was no gig tonight, though, and Eddie's footsteps are steady and even despite the soft sound of rubber on wood. He isn't drunk, Steve doesn't think - and is that better or worse? That he left after a fight and didn't even go somewhere to drink it off. Where has he been, if not their usual bar to think about what they'd spat at one another, trying to think of solutions, of apologies?
And is Steve really owed an apology? He was overbearing. He was pushy. He was demanding and authoritative and too fucking much all over again, and Eddie lashed out in response, and does Steve deserve an apology after all that? He's been going around in circles with himself all evening about it, arguing in his own head, saying yes I deserve one because my feelings were hurt and no I don't deserve one because I lashed out first and how does he answer this for himself? He doesn't know.
He knows he'd do just about anything to make the empty feeling in his chest go away, though. Knows that he'd shove his hurt away and eat his words and apologize to Eddie and never, ever push again if it meant he knew where they stood. If it meant Eddie would forgive him and never storm out like that again, if it meant Steve knew he wouldn't be left alone like this to wonder if Eddie was coming back.
And he feels so dramatic - he can hear Robin's voice already, telling him it was just a fight, that there's no reason to get this worked up about it, but Steve can't help it. Slammed doors and loneliness are the soundtrack to his childhood and he can't help the panic he feels when someone he loves leaves.
"Do you want to be here?" he'd asked, like a fucking idiot, and Eddie hadn't said yes. Steve swallows around the lump that's taken up permanent residence in his throat. Reaches to swipe a hand over his face, rubbed raw, eyes burning with tears he won't let fall because what right does he have to cry? He brought this on himself. He always brings it on himself.
Eddie's feet are still squeaking their way slowly down the hallway, he's trying not to wake Steve - or is he just trying not to be noticed? Impossible, if Eddie Munson is in a room Steve is going to notice, how can he not? He's been yanked into that gravitational pull and there's no escape for him, not anymore, he's a moon circling around the solar system and Eddie is the sun, burning bright and pulling focus and what is Steve to do in the face of that?
He keeps his eyes fixed on the clock. Watches the display change when a minute's passed. Feels his heartbeat stutter when Eddie's shuffling, squeaking steps pause outside the guest room.
They keep a hall light on at night. It's on a dimmer, turned down way low, but neither of them do well with complete darkness. Too many nightmares, too many shadows haunting and hunting the both of them. Steve can see the muted glow of it from beneath the door.
He can also see when Eddie comes to a stop because his feet block that light. Two shadows in the doorframe, obscuring the soft haze of warm orange that creeps in a half-moon over the carpet, and Steve stops breathing. There's a soft shifting noise, fabric over wood, a gentle thunk when Eddie leans against the guest room door, and Steve almost calls out to him. Almost says I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, please don't leave again, please don't leave me, but the words stick in his throat. Ball's in Eddie's court, as it should be when Steve fucked up so bad, when he tried to ruin it all, when he made Eddie so mad that he left when he promised Steve he would never do that. Eddie's a good man. Keeps his word. Steve's the problem, Steve is always the goddamn problem, always will be, ruins and stains everything he fucking touches–
The shadow disappears. Steve squeezes his eyes shut so tight he sees lights popping behind his lids. Those shuffling squeaking steps continue their way down the hall. Steve feels like he's going to throw up but he didn't have dinner so there's nothing in his belly but bile and nothing comes up even though his throat is tight and his stomach is fucking rolling.
The bedroom door - their bedroom door - creaks on its hinges. Steve keeps meaning to put some WD-40 on it but he kind of likes that it makes a noise, that when he's asleep it's just loud enough to wake him halfway and tell him to anticipate the warm wash of tobacco and sandalwood that will cloud him when Eddie slips beneath the covers. Lets him know he's about to be grabbed and groped a little bit, sweet little kisses pressed to his shoulder and neck and jawline until he's got a face tucked into the curve of his throat, until he's giving a sleepy smile and winding his arms around a trim waist and dragging Eddie in close, sputtering and laughing tiredly as wild hair gets in his face and mouth before he falls asleep again, wrapped tight around the love of his life.
None of that tonight, apparently - and he doesn't blame him. No, he hears the bedroom door creak and it feels like a punishment that he deserves and his eyes burn and burn and burn and his face is wet now, he can't help it, and he wipes at it again angrily, takes the soft blanket to his face and why is it so soft why does Steve try so hard when he knows he won't get anything back why does he try to build a home when he's never had one and never will and is going to lose the one he's clawed onto so desperately and tried so hard to keep–
The door creaks again. Steve takes a stuttering breath. Eddie's steps are soft now as they come down the hallway, bare feet on the floor, almost silent as he creeps his way closer. Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, anything to hold back the sounds he wants to make - he can't let Eddie hear him. He can't let Eddie know he's crying. That's manipulative, isn't it? Crying in front of the person he hurt? He won't do it, won't be that selfish, but that shadow appears at the base of the door again. Steve can't help the shaky inhale he takes, and it sounds so fucking loud in the quiet of the guest room, choked and echoing.
"Baby?" Eddie says, voice low and quiet, rapping so gently against the door with one knuckle. "You in there, Stevie?"
Just the sound of him is enough to send his heart crashing around in his ribcage, fluttering and jumping and making Steve tense. He wants to answer but he can’t get the words to form, his throat feels sealed shut, and he wonders if he should answer even if he were able because what could Eddie possibly have to say right now? It can’t be anything good and Steve doesn’t know if he can take it right now, in this room that makes him feel like a guest in his own home - but isn’t he always a guest? Isn’t that what he’s made to be, a temporary stop in everyone else’s story?
But he’s not ready for Eddie to move past him yet. Not tonight. Let it happen in the morning if it has to happen, let him put this off just a little longer. Just please, not tonight. Not yet.
But Eddie’s never been known for his patience, and the click of the latch has Steve slamming his eyes closed. Too late to roll over and hide his face, but he’s got enough time to duck down and tuck most of his features into a pillow. He tries to let his body relax, to let the tense lines of his muscles uncoil and his shoulders drop and his fists unclench, but he can’t tell if he’s managed it and the ache in his palms from his blunt nails tells him maybe he did, but it won’t help much.
Eddie makes his way across the carpet in silent steps, and the mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge of it. Steve’s fingers twitch to reach for him, but he just curls them into the sheets instead and hopes the motion looks absent enough to have happened in his sleep.
He smells sandalwood and tobacco and feels the warmth from Eddie being so near but it feels like there’s a wall between them, one he can’t cross even if he tries, one he’s barred from so much as touching.
He works hard to keep his breathing even but it’s hitching now and then despite his best efforts, shaky and too loud in the silent room, but he keeps up the charade even though the end of it all is perched right in front of him. And it’s Eddie who puts an end to it. It was always Eddie who was going to put an end to it.
“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve squeezes his eyes tighter like that’ll make it untrue, like he can just drift off in a second if he wills it hard enough. Eddie shifts on the mattress, and Steve curls tighter into himself. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” Steve bites his tongue so hard he thinks he might taste blood. It’s that simple for Eddie - but it’s always simple, isn’t it? Cut and dry, plain as day, Steve is the only one who can never see it coming, it’s written on the goddamn walls for everyone else.
He risks peeking through his lashes but Eddie’s got his back to him so it doesn’t even matter, not really. Eddie isn’t looking at him and so Steve allows himself to look, takes in the hunch of Eddie’s shoulders, the curve of his spine beneath his thin pajama shirt - he’d changed, when he’d made his way through their creaky bedroom door, took off his clothes and put his pajamas on and kicked off those tennis shoes, they’re probably in a pile at the foot of the bed for Steve to trip over and he will miss tripping over them, he’ll miss it terribly.
He wonders if he’ll need to move. If he’ll have to find a new place and separate out all of their things into his things, if SteveAndEddie’sStuff will become Steve’s stuff and Eddie’s stuff. Or maybe he’ll just start staying in this guest room, maybe that’s why he furnished this room so completely, because somehow he knew he’d end up alone in it.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and Steve inhales sharply.
“Don’t,” he says, and somehow he keeps his voice steady.
“So you are awake,” Eddie says, and he tries to sound teasing, sound playful, but it drops like a stone in this space between them. No room for levity in the dark cloud Steve’s filled this room with. He wishes he could be easygoing and let go gently, but it’s Eddie - in what world could he take losing him graciously?
“Yeah,” he says, and he stares at Eddie’s back as the other raises his head, but he still doesn’t turn to look at Steve, and he wishes he could at least look him in the face when he rips his heart out of his chest.
Let's say Eddie DOES survive, right? Him and Steve are getting along really well, skirting the line between REALLY GREAT FRIENDS to MMMMMAYBE BOYFRIENDS? Now the year is 1987 and this absolute BANGER by Rick Astley comes out on the radio.
You cannot tell me Steve Harrington isn't ready to belt his whole heart of 'Never Gonna Give You Up' to a completely stunned, slightly embarrassed but still in awe, Eddie Munson.
With Eddie’s acoustic guitar being a clear reference to Woody Guthrie, I reckon Wayne taught him to play using Woody’s songs.
Now picture Steve’s first Thanksgiving with the Munsons: everything is traditional and as expected - canned cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, yams with marshmallows.
Once they dust off the main course, Wayne gets up to make coffee and warm up the pie. While he does that, Eddie goes over to the record player and carefully puts on an album. He and Wayne sit down and lean back in their chairs, watching Steve with smiles on their faces as a simple acoustic melody begins. And then, suddenly.... “this song is called Alice’s Restaurant.....”
And that’s Steve’s introduction to Alice’s Restaurant. The greatest Thanksgiving tradition ever.
a/n: hello! this is my fix it fic. i currently post on ao3 and wattpad but have also decided to move it here. this is a steddie fanfiction. please be aware this fic is intended only for mature readers. there is near death experiences, the mention of wounds, blood and an array of many mature things. minors dni.
****
Steve ran down the steps of the creel house and looked at Nancy then at Robin, "Come on. We need to hurry!" He didn't wait before stepping off in a run.
He gasped, placing a hand to his abdomen while he ran. "Damn bats," he mumbled, trying to hurry. He had to make it back to Dustin and Eddie. He had to know they were okay; he needed make sure the bats didn't get them too.
As they ran he could see all of the vines that were covering the ground slowly retreating. His stomach started to feel nauseous and he knew something was wrong. Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. He chanted to himself.
They ran through the clearing and in the distance he could see two bodies. One was sitting and holding the other. Steve ran harder, "Dustin! Dustin!" He screamed.
As they approached he could see it now. Dustin was holding Eddie's body. Eddie's body and mouth were covered in blood and Dustin was sobbing. "No, no, no, no," Dustin kept crying out.
Steve dropped to the ground and pulled Eddie off of Dustin. Dustin wailed loudly and reached for him, "He wanted to be a fucking hero!" Dustin yelled. "I tried getting him to come back through the trailer and h-he c-cut the rope. I-I tried to stop him, Steve. I tried," he sobbed. "He wouldn't listen. He said he was t-tired of running," Dustin rocked forward and backwards, his words getting lost in his cries.
Nancy's arms wrapped around Dustin and she pulled him back. He collapsed against her chest and was shaking from crying. A lump formed in Steve's throat and he tried hard to push back tears. "Nancy, get him out of here." He instructed her. His voice cracked as he watched Dustin fall apart. His heart splintered and he looked down at the ground.
"NO! I won't leave him!" Dustin shouted, trying to fight his way from Nancy's arms.
"Dustin, come on. We need to go." Nancy cooed softly, Steve could see the tears streaking down her face leaving a trail in the dirt and grime on her face.
"We can't leave him here," Dustin repeated this time his voice was nearly a whisper.
"Robin and I will bring him back. We won't leave him, Dustin. We never would." Steve hugged Eddie's body close to him and put a hand on Dustin's arm, "Let us do this, Henderson."
Nancy and Dustin stood slowly. She kept her arms wrapped around him and pulled him gently away towards the direction of the trailer park.
"Shit, shit," Robin whispered as she dropped to the ground across from Steve. Her fingers ran over his jacket and she let out a choked sob. She pulled his bandana off and dabbed at the blood on the sides of his mouth.
Steve stared at his face now, finally taking in the injuries. There was blood running down the corners of his mouth, his neck and his hands. "Help me get his legs."
Robin didn't move, she just cried and dabbed at the blood. The white skulls on the bandana were turning red. Steve felt his composure falling apart. The past few days he had really gotten the chance to know Eddie. He really liked Eddie, too. He knew Eddie was a damn good person. He wasn't the person the town painted him to be. He was kind and caring. He was witty and funny. And most importantly, he still tried being a hero for a town that didn’t deserve it.
Tears welled in Steve's eyes and he breathed out, "Fuck, man. Fuck."
"Here, g-get his legs," Robin wiped her eyes on the back of her hands leaving smears of blood under her eyes.
Steve adjusted himself and wrapped his hands around Eddie's ankles, wincing at the pain in his stomach. Robin grabbed his wrists and they both stood up. They started to take a few steps forward and Robin gasped. "Steve, Steve. Put him down."
Steve blinked away tears and sucked in a breath. Fuck Venca. Fuck the upside down and fuck this. Fuck carrying his friends lifeless body back to the town that didn't get a fuck about him. "Steve!" Robin yelled, ripping him from his thoughts.
"What?"
"Put him down!" Robin was yelling.
Steve slowly dropped his legs down the ground and looked at Robin, "Robin, we need to get out of here."
Robin dropped back to his side, her hand tight on his wrist. "Steve, he has a pulse."
CHAPTER 2
this fic is currently a WIP and will contain multiple chapters.
Kinda Modern Day Steddie AU because young Eddie would put his whole dirty self into it, but could work Modern Day Everyone Lives & is Old AU.
Steve loves Harry Styles, it's his music taste through and through and he's decided to be completely unapologetic about it, so everyone knows about it.
Eddie loves Steve Harrington, he wants to perform something for him, he wants to be on stage in front of tens to hundreds of people and no one but Steve knows it's actually just for him. But Eddie can't perform a Harry song. He just can't. He's softened but he's not suddenly soft, plus the rest of the band told him to fuck off.
Then he finds Medicine, and it's a little bit filthy, and he can make it filthier. Medicine works.
So, in a cramped bar in Indiana, to 57 people, but only for Steve Harrington, Eddie performs Medicine, it's metal and filthy as he sings every last dirty word (especially the ones not usually sung).
Steve doesn't mind Harry Styles, but he fucking loves Eddie Munson.
in the back of your girlfriend's car- Part 6/6
Pairing: Steddie (Stranger Things)
The first thing Eddie noticed when he came round were flashing lights. An ambulance. No, street lamps. He was in a car and it was moving. His head was resting on someone's shoulder, a warm arm around him. He concentrated on focusing his eyes. Woah, serious deja vu.
There was nobody in the passenger seat, which was different from last time. His eyes flitted over to the driver's side. Wayne. Oh shit. Okay, so the arm around him, the person stroking his hair with all the care and love in the world.
"Steve!" He mumbled, leaning back into Steve's shoulder and pulling his arm closer. Fuck it, if this was deja vu, he was going with it, "My hero."
Wayne grunted from the front seat, focused on the road ahead. Eddie felt a stinging pain just to the left of his temple, he reached up and touched it gently, oh, blood, great. He dropped his hand again, focusing instead on the gentle hum of the car, of the calm he felt being held. It was comfortable in Steve's arms, it felt like home, like Eddie belonged there.
"I guess I owe you another apology," he was definitely a lot clearer headed this time, the grogginess he was feeling likely down to the amount of alcohol in his system, not the cut on his head.
Steve squeezed his side gently, "We can talk about that tomorrow, for now, you're safe and that's all that matters."
"Wayne?" Eddie asked towards the front seat.
"Same here, kiddo, consequences tomorrow. Tonight we look after you."
"Eddie," Steve propped Eddie upright and leaned forward, looking him dead in the eyes, as he had done all those months before. Eddie recognised it this time, watched Steve's finger as he moved it from side to side checking for a concussion. They were still close and his eyes flicked down to Steve's lips for a moment. Eddie whispered, "The first time you did this, I thought you were going to kiss me."
Steve leaned back, apparently satisfied that Eddie was not suffering from a concussion this time. "I know," he whispered back, "You weren't subtle back then either." Eddie sighed, feeling nothing but tiredness in that moment, he laid his head back on Steve's shoulder and cuddled into the other man's side. Steve squeezed him tightly, like he was never going to let him go again.
They arrived back at the trailer park, both Wayne and Steve taking an arm to help Eddie out of the car. Eddie stumbled along with them, exhaustion making every bone in his body hurt. His head was starting to pound now. They got him into his bedroom and Wayne left to get the first aid kit. He returned, gently sitting on the edge of the bed as he dabbed away the blood and placed a steri-strip over the wound on his head and another over his nose. When Wayne was done, he helped Eddie out of his jeans and changed his t-shirt to a sleep shirt, pulling the covers over him, like he was a little kid again. Steve sat on the chair in the corner, he legs up on the desk. Wayne squeezed Steve's shoulder as he left the room.
As Eddie felt himself dozing off, he muttered, "You don't need to babysit me Harrington. I'm a big boy now."
Steve scoffed, "Just get some sleep, we'll talk in the morning."
Eddie turned over and fell straight asleep.
After the Upside Down, Steve chose Nancy, chose normalcy and a return to the easy life. Meanwhile Eddie is trying anything just to feel alive.
Then Steve suggests something that may change everything.
(a fic about trauma, loving multiple people in multiple ways at once, chasing highs, lord of the rings, rocky horror, new york and making out in cars)
OR
Eddie Munson keeps on finding himself in the backseat of Nancy Wheeler's car.
