1986 is Batshit
Eddie Munson x FOC x Steve Harrington
summary: Patching up Steve in the Upside Down, Eddie feels like this whole thing is a hallucination. Maybe he’s the one with rabies.
warnings: fluff, blood, descriptions of steve’s injuries as displayed in 4.07, established Steve x OC, implied polyamory
A/N: A future look into the fourth installment of Inside Out. I was hoarding this for myself as a test scene, but everyone has Eddie feels and a few people have asked. First installment is complete with second installment in progress!
[ Incidentally my OC is also named Christine so...if you’re new here, sorry lol ]
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It was supposed to be his year.
The moment the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Eve, Eddie Munson had known it was his year: 1986. This was the year it worked out. This was the year that everything changed. Instead—well, no—not instead. It wasn’t like he was wrong. Things had definitely changed, and they were definitely changed forever and fucking always; it just wasn’t the change he’d been angling for.
This year—his third senior year—was supposed to be the year that he graduated and left the shithole that was Hawkins, Indiana behind. He’d scrape by in his classes, run the most badass D&D campaign the school had ever or would ever see, play a few shows with his band, and maybe—just maybe—see a little action outside of his right hand. He wasn’t looking to lock himself into a relationship or anything, but it would be nice to get some attention from someone who wasn’t angling for a discount on their drugs.
Maybe that was his downfall. He should’ve known it was too good to be true when Chrissy Fucking Cunningham asked to come by his place after the game. She’d been sweet, she’d been nice, she’d been fucking gold—right up until she’d levitated into the air and had her eyes sucked out.
He’d wished that things were going to change, but if he’d known that “change” meant being suspected of murder, going on the lam, being traumatized by spell-casting monsters from another dimension, and then diving headfirst into that dimension with the weirdest bunch of ragtag teens he could be pressed to imagine…
Yeah, maybe he wouldn’t have wished so hard.
“Shit, fuck, motherfucking shit—”
“Eddie,” Robin hissed, “less cursing, more running!”
She passed him, diving headlong into the dark, spooky trees that made up the dark, spooky forest and leaping over the dark, spooky tendrils of creeping vines on the ground. Eddie gracelessly jumped over another just as it wiggled, making him squeal another curse and pick up the pace. The whole thing was a fucking nightmare.
He brought up the rear of the group, letting everyone else make the important decisions like where to run, when to hide, and what they were gonna do next. He didn’t feel qualified to make any of those calls. Then again, if you’d asked him yesterday, he wouldn’t feel like any of his companions were qualified either.
Robin Buckley: a kindred weirdo, hypothetically. She was at the opposite end of the band kid spectrum, with her trumpet and dorky marching band uniform. She didn’t exactly conform, but even Eddie knew she was an oddball, no matter how smart she was.
Nancy Wheeler: a certified princess at Hawkins High. She wasn’t the same kind of popular as Chrissy Cunningham—Nancy ran the newspaper instead of the cheer squad—but she was still an all-star, extra-curricular, brown-nosing prep, dressed head to toe in pink and frills.
Steve Harrington: somehow even worse. Eddie had always seen him as the epitome of a washed-up jock, an airhead who’d staked through high school on nothing but his good looks and charisma, then gone on to work a boring retail job where he had no prospects and no future.
Christine Walcott: a total nerd, which…wasn’t really an insult, coming from Eddie. Christine was alright. After he’d recruited Henderson for Hellfire, befriending her had come naturally. At the very least, he respected the shit out of her. He knew that she was smart, tough, hard to scare. She’d even put Billy Hargrove in the hospital, if the rumors were true. Of the five of them, Eddie imagined Christine as the best candidate to handle the situation—fighting monsters, solving mysteries, saving the world—but somehow, here he was marching right behind her.
Eddie “The Freak” Munson: outcast, drug dealer, and weirdo extraordinaire. He drove a piece of crap van and was one bad grade away from becoming a high school dropout, his only talents playing the guitar, rolling a solid joint, and running away from his problems. He was getting real good at that.
Even so, he was the last person to reach Skull Rock—or whatever he was supposed to call the version of Skull Rock in this parallel dimension. The others were standing in a circle, already deep in conversation about things he could barely comprehend.
“I don’t like this,” Nancy was saying as she shook her head. “Why wouldn’t they just attack us?”
“Excuse me?” Steve wheezed on Eddie’s right, hands clutching the gaping wound in his side where he’d been bitten. “You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”
“No, she’s right,” Christine said from Steve’s other side. “The first wave attacked us, but the second—they were just sitting there in front of the gate. They easily could have finished us off, but instead it’s like—like they were just trying to stop us from leaving.”
“Is that really bad?” Eddie asked. “Because like—that sounds really fucking bad.”
“Well, they’re a hive mind,” Robin offered. “You said the Demodogs would listen to the Mind Flayer right? So if the—the Demobats or whatever called off their attack—”
“Then someone told them to,” Nancy finished, nodding along. “Someone like Vecna.”
“Which means he knows we’re here,” Christine added, “and he doesn’t want anyone killing us before he gets to us himself.”
“Great,” scoffed Steve. “That’s real comforting. Thanks.”
Eddie gulped, swallowing a pitiful whimper of cowardice. He should’ve stayed in the fucking boat. At least being arrested had a higher survival rate than rabies from mutated bat attacks.
“Okay, one thing at a time.” Nancy shook her head again and Eddie could practically see her step into manager-mode. “We can only hide here for so long, and we’re going to need supplies: weapons, first aid—”
“Hi, can we skip to the part where we find another way out?” Robin asked.
“We don’t know if there is another way out.”
“But we can find out. We can do the compass thing like Dustin, right, Chrissy?”
“Sure, if we had a compass.”
“I thought you did have a compass.”
“Yeah, Robin, in my bag, which I left on the boat when I dove into the lake!”
“…well, that seems like an oversight.”
“Robin, I swear to God—”
The argument ended abruptly as Steve’s legs buckled. Eddie and Christine both dove to catch him, each grabbing one arm to keep him upright. Steve swayed heavily on his bare feet, barely able to keep his eyes open even as he complained.
“M’fine. Sorry, I—it’s fine—”
“Shut up, Steve,” Christine snapped. “Eddie—”
“Yeah, I got him.”
Together they hauled Steve across the clearing, towing him toward the rocks where he could sit down and catch his breath. He groaned as he leaned against the largest boulder and Christine began to fret over his wounds. Eddie tried to scoot back to give them some privacy, but in the cave-like alcove of Skull Rock, there wasn’t a lot of space. He sat back on his heels as Christine ghosted her hands over Harrington’s chest, slick with sweat, lake water, and blood.
“Huh,” Steve mumbled, his eyes closed, but his lips tugging into a smirk. “Déjà vu, huh?”
Christine glared at him. “No. You weren’t bleeding out last time.” “Yeah, but I was definitely shirtless.”
Eddie wrinkled his nose and scooted a few feet further away. “Gross, dude.”
“Sorry,” Christine apologized on his behalf. “He gets like this when he’s scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Steve argued. “Seriously, Chris, I’m fine. I just needed to—ow! Ow, ow, ow—”
“Sorry!”
He hissed in pain as her fingers brushed his side, where he’d gotten the brunt of the bites. Even at a distance, Eddie could tell that it was far from fine. More than bite marks, Steve had gouges of flesh missing from his abdomen, small chunks ripped away by tiny fangs. The bleeding was slowing down, but Eddie had a feeling that wasn’t as promising as it should have been; he’d already lost a lot of blood.
Christine peeled off her flannel shirt, hurriedly folding it into a long strip. “Eddie, can you lift him up?”
“Huh? Oh—yeah, I—sure.”
He crawled over to Harrington’s side, reached out, then hesitated and pulled his hand back. His eyes darted from spot to spot, trying to figure out the best way to grab him without making things worse, his fingers twitching anxiously through the air.
“Dude, I’m fine,” Steve insisted. His eyes were still clenched closed, but he lifted his right arm and sat up as much as he could. “I don’t need—”
“Steve,” Christine repeated sternly. “Shut up.”
Eddie cocked his head to the side with an uneasy laugh. “You heard her, man.”
He pulled Steve’s arm around his shoulders, then slipped his own arm behind Steve’s back, taking care not to aggravate the harsh scratches where he’d been dragged across the ground. He eased Steve up to his knees, trying to support the bulk of his weight without actually having to touch him. Steve didn’t seem to have that problem. His fingers dug into Eddie’s shoulder, his other hand clutching at Eddie’s to keep him balanced.
Christine knelt in front of them, looking up with hesitant eyes. “You ready?”
“Yeah,” Steve said through clenched teeth. “Yeah, just do it.”
She bit her lip, but obliged. Gently as she could, she pressed the thickest folds of the fabric against Steve’s side, then wrapped her arms around him to tie it. Steve let out a low groan, tipping his head back to hide the way his face screwed up in pain. Eddie squeezed his hand in his best attempt at support.
“You good, dude?”
“Super,” Steve said breathlessly. “I’m—yup, good.”
He let go of Eddie’s hand to push his hair out of his face. Eddie made sure to keep watching him, monitoring his face for signs of discomfort as Christine rushed to tie off the cuffs of the shirt. She tucked the last few inches of sleeve into the band of Steve’s pants, then gently patted him on the chest.
“Okay, done. You did good. It’s okay.”
The words caused Steve to sag in Eddie’s grip, and he quickly lowered them both back to the ground. Eddie slipped his arms from Steve’s torso and wiped his hands on his ripped jeans, trying to erase the feeling of Steve’s sweat. Then, at a loss, he reached out to ruffle Steve’s hair.
“Chin up, Harrington. You made it.”
Steve tried to smack Eddie’s hand away, but the response was so sluggish that he missed completely.
“Munson, you touch my hair again, I bite your head off next.”
Eddie snorted and moved to sit against the opposite wall. Christine was still lingering in front of Steve, her fingers tracing through the patch of hair on his chest, unable to meet his eye. Eddie knew he should probably get up and move, give them a little bit of privacy, but before he could summon the energy, Christine was whispering.
“Just hang on a little longer, okay?” she told Steve in a soothing voice. “We’ll figure this out and…and we’ll get you back.”
“I know you will.” Steve gave her a soft smile. “Seriously, Chris. I’m not worried. I’m fi—”
“Don’t say you’re fine. Because if—if you say you’re fine and then you’re not fine, I—Steve, I can’t do that.”
“Now you sound like Max.”
“Well…what if she’s right?” Her voice broke as she finally looked up at Steve. “We’ve been fighting this thing for years, and every time it’s close call after close call. We…we’re not gonna keep getting lucky. Eventually…eventually someone’s not coming back.”
“Hey.” Steve cupped her cheek, forcing her to hold his gaze. “You don’t know that. I mean, I’m a pretty lucky guy. I scored you, right?”
“Steve—”
“I mean it. We’ve been through a lot of shit, but…I don’t know. I feel like we’ve got more shit to go through, like—okay, that doesn’t sound good when I say it like that, but I mean—”
Christine leaned forward, catching him in a kiss and silencing the rest of his explanation. Steve sighed in content, his fingers sliding from her chin back into her hair.
Eddie quickly averted his eyes. Quietly as he could, he folded his arms on his knees and buried his face in his elbow. He felt bad for eavesdropping, but in the small space, even their breathing was impossible to ignore. He could hear it when Steve groaned again, when their lips finally broke apart, when they exchanged quiet I love you’s. He heard Christine sniffle, make some excuse about checking in with Nancy, and then shuffle away into the woods.
Still, Eddie sat with his face in his arms, trying not to move or draw attention to himself. He felt like he’d trespassed on something he wasn’t supposed to see, which was dumb because Steve and Christine had both known he was there. It wasn’t like he’d snuck in to spy on them. Of course they were comfortable kissing in public. They’d been a thing for like a year, if he remembered right—longer, if all the shit from the rumor mill was true. Eddie was the one being weird about their PDA.
It was a few minutes before he finally felt comfortable enough to look up again. Christine was long gone, probably outside talking with Nancy and Robin, by the sounds of it. Under the rock, it was just him and Steve—Steve “The Hair” Harrington. He looked a paler, but maybe that was just the contrast to his girlfriend’s red flannel around his stomach. His eyes were closed under the wayward locks of damp hair, and his chest—
Eddie froze. He wasn’t trying to be weird by staring at the dude’s chest, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t moving. There was just enough ambient light that his skin was shiny with sweat, but it was shiny in a way that wasn’t changing, but it should be changing at least a little bit because his chest should be moving when he was breathing, and if his chest wasn’t moving—
“Harrington.” Eddie scooted forward across the dirt, cautiously nudging Steve’s foot with his shoe. “Yo, Harrington. You still with me?”
Steve made a noise of protest. “M’fine.”
Eddie was so relieved, he flopped right down into the dirt.
“Dude,” he sighed, grinning up at the boulder above him. “You just scared the fucking shit out of me. Holy shit.”
Steve had just enough energy to chuckle. Eddie could hear his breath hitch whenever it caused him pain, but Steve just kept laughing.
Eddie lifted his head to give him a curious look. “Uh…should I ask Buckley if hysterics are a symptom of rabies?”
“No, no, I’m—ha—I’m good.”
“O-kay…what’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” Steve grinned, mopping his hair out of his face again. “I just get a kick out of that: scaring the shit out of Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson. Feel like I deserve a badge or something.”
A week ago, a comment like that from a guy like Steve Harrington would have made Eddie’s blood boil. Now, lying with him in another dimension, at Skull Rock of all places, Eddie’s face split into a wide smile.
“I’ll do you one better.” With a sudden burst of energy, he hopped to his feet, shrugged off his denim vest, and folded it neatly in half. Steve raised an eyebrow as Eddie sank into a bow at his feet. “I present you with the very shirt off my back, m’lord. A show of gratitude for your bravery, valor and—you know, all that shit.”
“Wow. I’m honored.”
Even though Steve’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, it didn’t stop him from accepting the vest. He winced as he sat up again, but waved Eddie off when he moved to help. It took him a few extra seconds to slip his arms through the holes, his muscles stiff and store from the fight, but eventually, he was able to sag back against the stone, vest properly in place over his chest.
“So?” he asked, holding his hands out for assessment. “How do I look?”
Eddie considered him. Things had felt a little awkward when Steve started stripping on the boat. It should’ve been better now that he was covered up, but somehow, the vest made him look even more…Eddie wasn’t sure what the right word was. There was also the innate comedy of seeing preppy Steve Harrington sporting a Megadeth patch and heavy metal pins, but again, somehow he pulled it off. With the red flannel and grime and the bruises on his neck, it just made him look…
“Damn good, Harrington. Metalhead suits you.”
Steve snorted as Eddie plopped down next to him in the dirt. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind if we ever get out of this shit hole.”
“Woah, hold on,” said Eddie, looking over in concern. “What happened to ‘I’m fine,’ ‘I’m a lucky guy’?”
“Nah,” Steve sighed. “I mean, we’re lucky, but we’re not that lucky. All the bullshit that’s gone on in this town…it’s put her through the wringer. She lost Barb, then she lost El for a while, now she’s lost El and Hopper. She’s been through enough. I don’t want her to worry about me.”
“…okay, granted, I’ve never done the whole relationship thing, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
Steve didn’t reply; no laugh, no arguing, no snappy reply, not even a sigh. He just stared at the ground in front of him, solemn and despondent.
Eddie watched him, nervously fiddling with the rings on his left hand. He was in no position to give relationship advice. He was probably less qualified to talk about that than he was to discuss the “Upside Down.” But he wasn’t about to leave Harrington hanging either.
“You know, you and Walcott are good together.”
Steve lifted his head and, dare Eddie even think it, his eyes looked hopeful.
“Yeah?”
“Totally,” Eddie assured him. “Don’t get me wrong; when you two went public, I was clutching my pearls with the rest of ‘em. Even without bringing Wheeler into it, you guys were pushing the envelope of Hawkins cliques. I mean, King Steve? Dating nerdy, little Chrissy—what did that dickhead used to call her?”
“Psycho Bitch,” Steve supplied. “Yeah, Tommy was a real asshole.”
“That’s right, Tommy H. What a fucker. Anyway—I remember thinking, ‘How the hell does that work?’ Now, though—now, I get it. The way you guys take care of each other. I guess that’s the upside to fighting bloodthirsty monsters year after year.”
He smiled cheekily, but Steve didn’t say anything. He was looking at the ground again, pensive this time.
“You know something?” he said at last, a small smile playing on his lips. “I don’t think it has anything to do with that.”
Eddie raised a brow. “No?”
“Nope. I mean—the first time, definitely. Will going missing started a whole bunch of shit that everyone got dragged into and—hell, if that hadn’t happened, I might not have cleaned up my act. But everything after that…”
The thought fell away as he ran a thumb along his lower lip. Eddie hoped he was reminiscing and not slipping into some kind of coma; he wasn’t prepared for that.
“Nancy would’ve dumped me either way,” Steve continued. “Even back then I knew she was gunning for Jonathan. That was only a matter of time. And Chris…she still would’ve been there for me. She still would’ve teased me and cheered me up, and I still would’ve gotten twisted over guys like Billy Hargrove flirting with her. Henderson definitely nudged us along when we got stuck on babysitting duty, but…I like to think I would’ve seen it on my own. Eventually. That even without all the monsters and government agents and conspiracy theories, I still could have been the guy she deserves.”
Steve continued to stare at the ground as he thought that over. It was a few seconds before he noticed Eddie staring at him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Eddie answered, grinning in disbelief. “Just—dude, did you walk right out of a John Hughes movie or something?”
“Ah, shut the hell up, Munson.”
“No, I’m serious. That shit was beautiful. You keep talking like that I might have to kiss you myself.”
He leaned teasingly close to Steve’s face, happy to sustain a sharp elbow to the ribs in return. At least Steve was still strong enough to hit him.
“Ow! So, that’s a no?”
Steve smiled and shook his head. “You gotta talk to Chrissy, man. She calls all the shots.”
“Figures Walcott’s in charge.”
“Always.”
Eddie quirked an eyebrow and stole a glance at Steve out of the corner of his eye. The way the conversation was going, Eddie was starting to worry the guy was delirious from blood loss, but Steve was still breathing. He had his head tipped back again, resting against the wall with his eyes closed, smirking to himself. Eddie could only imagine what sort of fever dreams he was having now, but he decided to leave him to it.
“I’m gonna check on the girls,” Eddie announced, getting to his feet again. “Don’t die on me, Harrington.”
“I’ll do my best,” Steve assured him without opening his eyes.
Eddie hovered at the edge of the clearing, still watching him. He’d just had a whole-ass conversation with Steve “The Hair” Harrington—a good one. What a fucking trip.
Shaking his head at himself, he jogged a few steps down the hill toward the girls—only to stop short. Nancy and Robin were both at the tree line, talking in hushed voices and pointing in different directions. Eddie looked left, looked right, but Christine was nowhere to be found. Panic flooded his veins, visions of Chrissy Cunningham’s broken bones flashing before his eyes. Just before he started screaming, Robin caught his eye. She jerked her head back toward Skull Rock, indicating the dark forest behind it. With a half-hearted smile, she turned back to Nancy.
Eddie clutched his chest, where his heart was still pounding away. He kept having to remind himself that his classmates had done this before; if they weren’t freaking out, he probably didn’t need to freak out. Christine was around here somewhere, probably looking for some alone time to catch her breath and get her worries under control. He could respect that—and he should’ve—but it was hard to think when he could still hear his pulse in his ears.
He found her pretty quickly. She’d gone around to the other side of Skull Rock, leaning against the boulder for support. The way her shoulders were shaking, Eddie realized at once that he’d made a mistake. He wanted to backtrack, but Christine had already heard his rustling footsteps. Her head popped up, eyes wide and watery, her cheeks streaked dirt and tears. It almost looked like war paint.
“Sorry,” Eddie said at once. “I was just—you weren’t—I can go—”
“It’s fine.” Christine’s voice was thick as she wiped her eyes. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have wandered off. God, I need to pull it together.”
She was scolding herself, but made no move to leave. Eddie took that as his invitation to stray a little closer.
“Hey, no judgement from me. My weekend was full of crying. Seriously. That boatshed they found me in? That used to be a regular shed.”
It didn’t make a lot of sense, but it succeeded in pulling a laugh out of her. Christine carded her hands through her hair, leaning back against the rocks once more.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized again.
“It’s really—”
“No, it’s not. You haven’t done this before, but we have, which means we should be working on a plan to get out of here and clear your name, instead of hiding in the woods bawling my eyes out—”
“Hey.” Eddie ducked down to catch her gaze. “You’re fine, Chrissy. Your eyes are still firmly seated in your skull, I promise you.”
Christine didn’t appreciate the joke as much as he did. She rolled her eyes in exasperation, but even then, he was pretty sure she was hiding a smirk.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Me? I mean, I can still see you, so I assume my eyes—”
“Not that.”
She fixed him with a knowing look and Eddie deflated. He sucked his teeth bitterly and folded his arms over his chest.
“You know, for a rogue, your persuasion modifier is a real bitch.”
“I’m aware,” Christine replied with a smirk, “and I chose my proficiencies very carefully. It’s not all stealth and perception checks, you know.”
Eddie clapped a hand over his heart and doubled over, playing up his groan of agony. “God, you’re killing me, Princess. I’m begging you, when we get back, just one—”
“I’m not coming to Hellfire. Don’t change the subject.”
He sighed dramatically, letting his head fall back as he spun in circle, trying to dodge the question. He screwed around for a few more seconds, but he knew it was futile. There was something about Christine Walcott that always made him cave.
“I’ve been worse. Seriously,” he added when she cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know how my life got so fucked up that being stranded in a parallel dimension and hunted by the minions of Vecna and Demogorgon, King of Demons, isn’t the worst day of my fucking life, but…I’ve honestly been worse.”
He gave her a wry smile and clapped his hands together. The fact was that he did know how his life had gotten fucked up, and it had all started with that visit from Chrissy Cunningham. He wasn’t sure life could get much worse than watching someone die like that and then being accused of murder.
Eddie didn’t say that out loud, but Christine mirrored his smile in understanding.
“Still. I’m sorry for botching your spring break.”
“Right,” Eddie snorted, “well you got arrested, dragged to another dimension, and then bandaged your boyfriend’s precious abs, so…I guess your week isn’t stellar either.”
“That is true.”
Both of them laughed—quiet and miserable, but glad for the company. It was unlike anything Eddie had experienced before. He had acquaintances, friends, and he loved his bandmates like brothers, but something about this felt different. It was almost uncomfortable how easily Christine seemed to understand him. At the same time, for someone who’d been ostracized and called a freak their entire life, it was also a sweet relief.
“Alright,” he said with another performative sigh. “You leave me with no choice.”
He scanned the forest around them, making sure there was no one nearby. Then he turned back to Christine, screwed up his face, and held his arms out at his sides.
“…you good?” she asked with a smirk in her voice.
“Come on, bring it in,” Eddie urged her, “but make it quick. I got a reputation to protect.”
Her scandalized laugh made it hard for him to keep a straight face. He jiggled his arms, the chains on his cuffs jingling insistently, and was finally rewarded with the sound of footsteps. He tensed as Christine got closer, battling his instinct to cut and run in the face of uncertainty.
“You’re fucking weird, Munson,” she sighed before pulling him into a hug.
It was another comment that should have stung, but he was oh so glad it didn’t. The way Christine said it, practically giggling, made Eddie’s chest fill with warmth. Or maybe that was the way she’d snuck her arms under the back of his leather jacket, her forehead pressed into his shoulder. He patted her hair, awkward even though he’d been the one to initiate the hug; he really needed to figure out what his deal was with PDA.
Eddie was so caught up in his thoughts, it took him a while to notice that Christine was shaking. He looked down in horror, terrified that she’d started crying again, but this time her cheeks were dry. He pried her away from his chest, scanning her head to toe for some sign of distress, when it finally hit him.
“Shit, Chrissy, you’re freezing.”
Christine waved off his concern, even as she wrapped her bare arms around her torso. Forfeiting her flannel for Steve left her just in a white camisole and, now that Eddie had the brain to look, her arms were covered in goosebumps.
“It’s fine, Eddie. Really—no, don’t—”
He was already shrugging off his leather jacket, taking advantage of his height and long arms when she tried to push it away. He hung it over her head and dodged her defense, forcing the jacket around her shoulders like a grand cape.
“I’ve got long sleeves anyway,” he assured her.
“Eddie—”
“Walcott, I’m counting on you to clear my name. You can’t do that if you die from hypothermia.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m a DM, baby. It’s in my nature.” He winked at her, grinning with pride when she averted her eyes. “Come on, Princess. Let’s check on your boyfriend.”
Eddie slung his arm around her shoulders, guiding her through the woods and back toward the main clearing. Both he and Christine ignored the curious looks from Nancy and Robin, turning instead toward the tiny alcove where they’d left Steve. This time, Eddie hung back, watching at a safe distance as Christine ducked out from under his arm and knelt down next to her boyfriend.
Steve was dozing, but still very much alive. He blinked blearily up at Christine, a tired smile on his face when she poked the denim vest on his chest. Eddie couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he caught Christine’s smile as she shrugged the leather jacket off, only to slide her arms properly through the sleeves. She shuffled to lean her back on the stone next to Steve, tucking her legs up and grabbing Steve’s hand so she could entwine their fingers. After a few more soft words, she nuzzled her head into Steve’s shoulder and both of them closed their eyes.
It was probably a good idea to take advantage of the brief lull in the action so they could recharge. Eddie thought of doing the same, or else joining in the planning that Nancy and Robin were doing, the way he’d intended to earlier. Instead, he stayed rooted to the spot, running his lips over his knuckles as he looked at the couple before him: Steve “The Hair” Harrington and Christine “Psycho Bitch” Walcott, curled up together in clothes they’d borrowed from Eddie “The Freak” Munson. Maybe Harrington wasn’t the one who was delirious. This whole thing felt like a damn fever dream.
Eddie let out a long, controlled breath, trying to deny the smile twitching at his lips. Things had definitely changed, and they were definitely changed forever and fucking always. 1986 was kinda batshit.
