#wayne munson is a good uncle

[willowworkswithwords]

Steve receives love the way he gives it and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

so i was going through my drafts folder because i'm thinking it's time to dip my foot back into the fic writing pool, and I found this collection of snippets and ideas that all stemmed from this post from @rogueddie. I thought about maybe elaborating on some of these, but I also wanted to share because I really enjoyed this idea. I also think I may have posted about this a long while back, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't the whole thing.

-Future -> uses a pen like a sorta-stylus to hit each of his computer keys sometimes. Eddie figures out it’s because the keys don’t have enough physical separation between them (they’re so shallow) and it sometimes messes with his eyes [is this a feasible vision issue he might have??] so Eddie buys him an “old fashioned” keyboard with the big keys, one of the big colorful trendy ones.

-Eddie and Wayne keep the foods he like, foods he’ll always eat no matter what. Eddie notices that he’ll never ask for any special foods when Wayne makes the grocery list (when he moves in with them) so he starts being sneaky and goes on a recon mission a.k.a. asking Robin, Nancy, and the kids what he likes. Since Steve also loves to cook, Eddie looks through his cookbooks and recipe box and finds the ones with notes on them and him and Wayne practice how to make them

“Hey Wayne?”

“Yeah?” Wayne calls from the couch, beer in hand and the game on.

Steve steps out from the kitchen, box of tea in hand.

“Where’d this come from?”

Wayne doesn’t turn around.

“What is it?”

“Uh, the tea?”

“Picked that up for you the other day, since you were saying you like it better than coffee sometimes.”

“Yeah but… you and Eddie don’t like tea?”

He doesn’t know why he says it like a question.

Wayne tilts his head against the back of the couch, craning it to look at Steve in a way that’s so reminiscent of Eddie it makes Steve smile a little.

“You do, though.”

-Right before Steve moves in, when he’s an anxious mess because his parents are coming back but he doesn’t realize he’s anxious for that reason, he starts hiding little bits of his stuff in the trailer, mostly in Eddie’s room and around the kitchen. This puzzles Eddie but Wayne thinks it’s like Steve’s trying to expel his energy in a not-so-productive way, though there are worse ways. So, Wayne starts asking Steve to help more around the house, but especially with repairs bc they found out that Steve knew a lot about repair.

Steve’s been around a lot. Wayne sees his pile of folded bedding tucked behind the couch, and sometimes he sees the Beemer leaving the trailer park as he comes up the road from the plant. During daylight hours, when Steve comes by to help Eddie or brings the kids over or stays for dinner, he shows almost no signs of anything being wrong.

But Wayne is a combat veteran. It’s been a long time for him, but he hasn’t forgotten, and he never will. He knows his nephew went through war, and that Steve was right alongside him. From what Wayne has gathered, Steve had been in that war for a few years, and had been dealing with the ups-and-downs for two years before Eddie ever knew about it.

It hurts Wayne deeply, to see the children (because that’s what they are—as he and all his comrades had been) endure the aftermath. So he sees when Steve flinches, when he clenches his fists, when he holds his breath and makes himself breathe evenly.

Tonight is the least in-control he’s ever seen Steve.

He’s over for dinner again. All three of them are in the living room, a baseball game on, much to Eddie’s long-suffering sighs.

-Steve will make his opinion known about arbitrary stuff like movies and music, but if it’s been a Bad Day or a Bad Time, and he does, and Eddie reacts to it in a way Steve sees as criticism, he will then defer everything to Eddie to a frustrating degree. Eddie finds out that when it comes to their relationship, not any other relationship Steve has, Steve is extremely afraid of screwing it up so he thinks that means he should let Eddie call all the shots.

-Eddie memorizes Steve’s orders at restaurants

-Eddie sews Steve’s clothes without Steve ever realizing

The sun is just peaking through the windows of the trailer on a Thursday morning when Eddie gets to work. Steve, when exhausted, will sleep through just about anything, and the week had been a long one. Eddie had the opposite problem, finding little respite even curled around Steve. So, the early morning found him gathering up Steve’s clothes and taking them out to the front porch of the trailer.

Already out there on the side table was his sewing kit, spools of thread and thimbles neat and ready. Already out there on the couch was Wayne, sipping his morning post-work coffee and looking out over the misty park.

Without a word, Eddie settled onto his end of the couch, knees pulled up, and grabbed one of Steve’s jeans. There was a rip along the inseam, and Eddie took to it with steady persistence. After the jeans were shirts and three sweatshirts. Stitch after stitch after stitch, and soon Steve wasn’t left with a single hole in all his wardrobe.

“He still hasn’t figured it out yet?” Wayne asks, grinning into his coffee.

“Nope. I’ve almost convinced him of the existence of brownies.”

Wayne barks a laugh and Eddie smiles down at the last rip he’s fixing, laughing with his uncle. Steve has been with them for a month and is just now finally easing up, finally letting them both in—for the big and small. Noticing Steve get frustrated with all the holes in his clothes was the least Eddie could do for him, and if it warms him from the inside out when Steve excitedly rustles through his pile of clothes and realizes they’re all perfectly wearable, well. That was just a plus.

-Eddie compliments Steve on his personality and who he is more than what he does, because especially in the first couple years after Vecna, while both of their bodies are still healing, Steve feels a lot of guilt about not being able to do all the things he used to be able to do to the same degree. Even once he’s healed and starts being able to be physical like he used to, Eddie knows Steve equates his value with his service, and tries to help him realize that he is so much more.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #wayne munson is a good uncle #wayne munson cares very much about eddie and about steve #wayne munson is an excellent ally #and excellent uncle #eddie loves steve so much #and he tries so hard to help steve see that #acts of service #speaking in your partner's love language #speaking other people's love languages as the secret sixth love language #willow writes #my fic #willow talks

[chalkysgarbagefire]

He Ain’t Heavy - 1984 - 14

1984 - 14

Rain pattered against the window, softened only by the crooning of Marty Robbins and his gunslinger ballads. Had he known he was gonna have a kid in less than twenty four hours, he would have picked better music. Not that it would have made a lick of difference--he had no idea what the youth of today listened to. Besides, who didn’t like ‘Big Iron’?

Wayne drummed his fingers along the steering wheel, focusing on the maw of darkness stretching before them, instead of the heavy gaze coming from the backseat.

“You like Marty Robbins, boy?” He looked in the rear view mirror just in time to see the kid’s gaze drop.

“Marty Robbins is fine, sir.”

Wayne huffed in amusement---sir. Nobody had called him that since his military days. “Uncle Wayne or Wayne will do just fine.”

“Yes sir--I-I mean Wayne. Uncle.”

He turned the mirror to get a better look at the kid. An angry purple welt nearly engulfed his left eye, leaving a sliver of brown to peek out from the swollen skin. He had such large eyes, dark and deep, and so full of fear---just like his mama’s.

A lump formed in his throat. Shoulda been there sooner.

“You still go by Edward?” The question came out gruff, all rough edges. Maybe with time, he could wear those corners down.

Tension bled into the silence as he watched the kid gnaw on his lower lip. The skin was chapped and red--a repeated habit. Then his hands scrubbed through the stubbly buzz cut, his eyes darting back to Wayne, then back to his chewed nails and ragged cuticles.

He tried again, softer this time. “What do you want to be called?”

As expected, the kid responded with a full body flinch before blurting out, “Eddie.” A moment later, softer and quieter, “Can I go by Eddie?”

Right. Edward was his daddy. “Sure, Eddie.”

Wayne sighed. How is it that of all the relatives, extended families, and aunts once and twice removed, Eddie ended up here? Sure, Maybe Wayne wasn’t the worst option-- he had a steady job, lived a quiet albeit isolated life, and paid his taxes-- but that only confirmed that the standard set for guardianship was abysmally low.

Of course, he had to consider who had set the standard in the first place. He didn’t need to ask his nephew who’d given him the black eye and put the fear of God in him.

At least Wayne had enough sense to snap the branches of their family tree. There would be no more fuckups from the Munson family, no-siree. Just himself, a barren limb all on its own.

Well. Alone with the newly grafted sapling currently withering in the backseat. He turned his focus back to the road, watching daylight slowly creep over the horizon through the gloom.

They still had a long drive ahead of them.

+++++++

It was late morning by the time they arrived at the trailer park. The rain had stopped, leaving the air heavy with the promise of a muggy afternoon.

He pulled up to the trailer, throwing the truck in park. He couldn’t imagine what was running through his nephew’s mind. Eddie had bounced from a house (if you could call it that--his brother’s house was borderline condemned), to a foster home (which Wayne had thankfully not visited) to a trailer. It was a nice tin can, nicer than wherever Eddie had laid his head, but still a tin can nonetheless. It would have to do, at least until the kid was eighteen.

In the meantime though, he had no clue what to do, outside meeting basic needs.

That was the main problem; he had no idea what Eddie was actually thinking. Sure, he could read the kid--it didn’t take a genius to see the boy was terrified out of his mind--but that didn’t tell him what Eddie wanted, what he needed, or who he was. The kid had spoken all of four sentences on the way down, only speaking when spoken to.

The thought made his gut clench.

It wasn’t that he minded the quiet--Wayne wasn’t much of a talker himself. Too many people were doing the talking already, so he was more than happy to do the listening. What bothered him more was the fact that the teenager in the backseat was worse than a stranger--he was a ghost. There was no trace of the little boy who doodled in the margins of his mother’s postcards.

Those wide eyes had remained shuttered the drive over and remained closed to observation.

Wayne cleared his throat, watching as Eddie tightened the grip on his seatbelt. “It ain’t much, but it’s home.” He gestured out the window. “Folks typically keep to themselves here, but they’re nice enough. Might even be a few people your age around.” Hopefully something different would be good--for both of them.

They loitered in the cab a moment, waiting each other out. A beat passed before Wayne broke the stalemate. If he wanted the car unloaded sometime in this century, he’d have to make the first move. “C’mon, let me show you to your room.”

There was a tell-tale click of the seatbelt, followed by an even longer pause. “...My room?

He shrugged his shoulders. “Teenagers need their privacy.”

Wayne was already unpacking the other side of the truck, pulling a battered cardboard box from the seat. The rain may have stopped, but wasn’t about to be lulled into a false sense of security. Better to get things squared away and start on the next task at hand: what the hell was he supposed to do with a teenager?

Eddie oozed out of the backseat, hands clenched around the neck of an acoustic guitar like a lifeline. From the moment Wayne came to pick him up, the guitar had been tucked protectively against him by a makeshift strap. Even now, it bobbed unsteadily against his back when he stooped to grab a box.

They walked towards the trailer, Eddie trailing half a step behind. Balancing the box on his hip, Wayne undid the various locks and nudged the door open. They were immediately dumped into the living room, and greeted by the oppressive silence of a house half-lived in.

Wayne set the box down on the threadbare couch with a grunt, flicking on a nearby light. An orange glow illuminated the space, softening the edges of the room. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was tidy, old habits instilled in him from his military days. Once he’d gotten the news of his brother’s incarceration (from a message left on his answering machine, no less), it’d been a mad dash to find his nephew. Ideally he would have had more time to spruce up the place, but he was more focused on meeting with social workers than playing house.

“Your room is down the hall.” It was impossible to miss, seeing as it was the only room in the entire trailer, minus the bathroom.

As expected, Eddie wordlessly shuffled down the hall, guitar bouncing with each step. Wayne’s heart leapt to his throat every time the pegs scraped against the wall, threatening more permanent damage to both his home and the instrument.

Jesus, he was not prepared for a kid. When did people stop child proofing the house? He shook his head, leaving the boy to his lonesome to unpack his thoughts. Wayne could unpack the physical shit. There were still a few boxes and a garbage sack to unload--nothing his old bones couldn’t handle.

The caseworkers had warned him--‘Eddie will be a troubled young man, he might be a handful. Are you sure you want to take him on?’.

He couldn’t help but snort. Had he been ready to go to Vietnam? Hell no---but he did that shit anyways. Life wasn’t in the habit of handing out choices; you did what could, and took the lumps that came with it. Besides, Eddie’s welfare was his concern, and the kid had been dealt a shit enough hand.

Wayne was strong enough to carry him--he ain’t heavy.

It took no more than thirty minutes to carry in the wreckage of the kid’s life. He shuffled along the well worn path from the living room to the front door, mumbling a familiar song from his youth. There hadn’t been a peep from his nephew, which while not surprising, signaled he could do with a check-in.

The last box landed with a thud against the floor. “You still alive in there, Eddie?”

No response.

Wayne stretched, popping his back, before walking down the hall. Sure enough, the door to the bedroom was closed. He rapped his knuckles against it and tried again. “Eddie?”

The door swung open, bringing him face to face with the wild-eyed teen. Instinctually, he took a step back; never corner a frightened animal.

“Truck’s unloaded—your stuff is in the living room if you want help.”

Eddie took the opening to wriggle out of his room, snapping the door shut behind him. The guitar was still strapped to his back, and let out a painful discordant twang as it knocked against the door that caused them both to wince.

“You might want to find a spot for your girl in your room. Not sure how many more knocks she can handle.” He motioned to said instrument.

Eddie swallowed, nodding his head, but only tightened his grip on the handle more. She’d certainly seen better days: Multiple strings had been broken, curled around the chipped fretboards. Damaged, but not broken. With time, maybe they could fix her.

They stood there a moment, not making eye contact with one another. They may as well be strangers.

Finally, he let out a sigh, trying to breathe life into the awkward stalemate between them. “Listen, kid. You don’t know me and I don’t know you. But I ain’t your daddy.”

A hand flew up to the guitar strap, knuckles white. That got Eddie’s attention.

“People have told you a lot of bullshit, broken a lot of promises, and caused a lot of hurt. I ain’t dumb enough to think I won’t do the same somewhere down the line.”

The boy’s gaze was jittery, looking everywhere but his face.

“...But I’m going to do right by you, the best I know how.” Despite the wide berth he’d given the boy, he still flinched when Wayne motioned closer to the knob.

“There’s a lock on the door—“ he didn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes jumped to his face with terror. A pit formed in his stomach, but he pushed through it. “—-you can lock the door from the inside. If you need to lock it to feel safe, you do that. Just don’t lock me out all the time, okay boy?”

Words had never been his strong suit, better at using his hands to do the talking for him, but he hoped it was enough.

He turned back towards the living room, bypassing the boxes and going straight to the kitchen. Boy could probably do with some food.

To his surprise, Eddie was in the living room, hovering over the boxes. Their eyes met over the cutaway in the kitchen, and for the first time, Eddie held his gaze. There was something different to him, eyes wide and searching, studying him.

He must have been satisfied by what he found, because his face split into a small tentative smile. “Want to help me unpack? It’s your only chance to be super nosy.”

God, he was going to absolutely ruin himself for this kid, wasn’t he?

Wayne returned the smile, “Okay, Eddie. Let’s do that.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson character study #wayne munson #hurt/comfort #found family #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #chalky writes #wayne munson is a good uncle #this story is also up on a03 if that's more your scene #kid eddie munson #child eddie munson #He Aint Heavy #part 1

[absolutechaosebrain]

Even though Wayne is only in two scenes he really shows how much he loves and understands who Eddie is and I love that so I wrote a little thing About how Wayne learned to understand his nephew.

The first thing Wayne Munson learned about his nephew was that Eddie spoke a different language then most kids. When he picked him up from social services in Philadelphia he had picked up a box of old tapes from a second hand store, thinking they would need something to listen to on the 6 hour drive back to Hawkins. The way Eddie’s eyes had lit up at the sight of the tapes had been the only bright spot to that day and Wayne had learned by the time they hit the Indiana border that Eddie spoke in the language of song.

Wayne stared to learn how to speak to Eddie based on the songs he play, starting when they went to register for school, and found out that Eddie would be going into school a grade above where he left in Philly. Eddie was labeled as a gifted student and had already started school early due to his parents needing free daycare causing him to go into kindergarten at 4 and now he would be skipping another grade and going right into 6th grade at 10. Eddie had played ‘Don’t Look Back’ by Boston as soon as they got in the car, and every time he felt nervous about a big change the song would reappear over the years.

Journeys ‘When Your Alone’ made an appearance when Tony got his life sentence, Eddie had swore that he didn’t care, his dad hadn’t been much of a parent anyway but Wayne new when he heard the stereo turn on in Eddie’s room that the kid was taking it harder then he let on.

‘Let There Be Rock’ came at the start of 8th grade with that first talent show. Also showing up that day was ‘More Then a Feeling’ being played loudly and repeatedly every time sweet little Chrissy Cunningham gave Eddie even a glance, even though he would refuse to admit it every time Wayne mention it.

‘Back in Black’ was played loudly first thing in the morning on the first day of a school starting freshman year. ‘Highway to Hell’ was played on repeat when he failed his senior year both times.

‘Open Arms’ was played endlessly for a month when Chrissy had started dating the Carver boy. Fallowed by Pat Benatars ‘Heart breaker’ for a month after.

Hearts ‘Barracuda’ would make an occasional appearance his junior year and the first senior year as he tried to cope with the realization that he could never get the girl he had a crush on since the 8th grade.

Then that first day of spring break of 1986 brought something Wayne had never expected from his metal head nephew. ‘Uptown Girl’ was playing as he walked in the door from work early in the morning. Billy Joel was not an artist Eddie had ever listened to before and had Wayne stumped as to what his nephew might be feeling, and the fact that it was playing every morning for all of spring break had Him concerned. That is until Saturday night before school started back, he was getting ready for work and a familiar Boston tune he hadn’t heard in a while was playing from Eddie’s room. If ‘More Then a Feeling’ hadn’t been enough, opening his front door and finding a smiling Chrissy Cunningham was sure fire proof of what Billy Joel meant.

Wayne got worried When Chrissy left for college and Eddie played ‘Send Her My Love’ ‘Separate Ways’ and ‘Ask the lonely’ daily for four months until an Angry Chrissy showed up on their door step two days before thanksgiving demanding to know why he decided that it would be best to “let her go” via letter snuck into her book bag without even talking to her first. Wayne had decided to go check in on the Mayfields next door for an hour or two and let them work that out. ‘Faithfully’ was playing when he came home the two young adults snuggled up on the couch Reading side by side. Three years later it would be the song that Chrissy walked down the isle to at their wedding.

A year after the wedding Eddie and Chrissy sat him down and told him he was going to be a grandfather, Wayne immediately went to the old stereo and played ‘Father to Son’ by Phil Collins. Wayne spoke a different language these days, and it was one he learned from Eddie. And as pulled his boy into a hug they both knew what this song meant.

Thanks for reading, it goes without say that in my world everyone lives and has happy ever afters and I would like to personally invite the Duffer brothers to physically fight me in a Dennys Parking Lot. These sweet kids deserve happiness!!!

#eddie munson #eddie x chrissy #hellcheer #wayne munson #chrissy cunningham #stranger things #fanfic #Wayne Munson is a good Uncle #Eddie x Wayne family

[corroded-coffin-sweetheart]

I am going to go absolutely feral if I do not find one good Eddie and Uncle Wayne centered fic. HELP PLEASE 😭

#eddie munson #wayne munson #ao3 #fanfic #eddie munson lives #eddie munson headcanons #Wayne munson is a good uncle #eddie munson fluff

[sparkle-fiend]

They deserved a happy ending

#my art #eddie munson #wayne munson #stranger things #stranger things fanart #good uncle wayne #I’ve been feeling bummed lately #so my coping strategy is to draw imaginary hugs lol

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Just got this image in my mind that Eddie introduced Steve to Wayne as the guy who carried him out of hell. Wayne immediately saw him as the guy who could keep his boy safe, so he started inviting Steve over for dinner all the time. He didn't out Eddie, but he kind of started dropping hints about Eddie's availability. He brags about talented his nephew is to Steve, and when Steve reveals he doesn't know how to play the guitar, Wayne pushes Eddie to teach him. It goes on for a long time after that until one night, Eddie walks Steve out the door.

"Uh, is your uncle trying to set me up with you?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Eddie said with a snort.

"Why doesn't he already know that we're dating?" Steve asked.

"I want to see how long I can keep this up for. I want to see if he breaks," Eddie snickers.

"BOY! I heard all that! You're not as quiet as you think you are!" Wayne hollered.

"Well, fuck."

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie ficlet #wayne munson #uncle wayne #good ol' uncle wayne

[strangersteddierthings]

Sequel to Good People - The fic in wherein Wayne doesn't like Steve and overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. Here's the aftermath of that :3

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

-

Wayne had stayed in his bedroom long after he heard the boys leave. Eddie had knocked on his door to let him know he'd be staying at Steve's and to not expect him back until late tomorrow, a courtesy he'd never shown until after he'd been the victim of a manhunt back in spring. Wayne never asked him to do that but he thinks Eddie picked up on how worried Wayne would get if he were gone for any amount of time.

Eddie's always been good at reading people when he bothers to pay attention to them. Maybe that should have been enough reason for him to give pause to his dislike of the Harrington boy, instead of needing to overhear the boy crying about how he thinks there's something rotten deep within him that only Wayne can sense.

He'd been so sure he knew what kind of person Steve Harrington was. Eddie had been hung up on boys just like him pert-near his whole life, Wayne thinks, and it's never ended differently.

It's a Tuesday night and his friends usually gather at the bar on Friday nights, but Wayne needs to get out of the trailer to think. A beer might help. So, he grabs his keys and heads out.

He's been a regular at this bar since before he was even old enough to drink. Used to come with his pa, may he rest in peace, just to get out of the house. He's been a patron longer than any of the staff have worked there, he realizes.

"Hello Linda," Wayne greets as he takes a seat at the bar instead of at his usual table. He'd done a cursory glace when he came in and confirmed none of his drinking buddies were in before choosing the bar.

"This isn't your usual day," Linda says, leaning a hip on the counter, "but it's always a pleasure to see you."

"I got some thinkin' to do," Wayne replies and Linda nods and moves away, returning soon with a bottle of his usual beer. She picks up the bottle open and removes the cap before setting the drink down in front of him.

"Need a sounding board, hun?" She asks.

Wayne does a quick survey of the bar again but it's pretty quiet so he returns his gave to Linda and says, "if you wouldn't mind too much hearin' about how an old man might have messed up."

Linda laughs. "You aren't even half a decade older than me, so you best not be sprouting that 'old man' nonsense around me, 'cause I am not some old lady."

"Terribly sorry, Linda. I'm just really feelin' like an old fool."

A small frown comes to Linda's face then. "Now what could you have possibly done?"

"Well, I guess I'm tryin' to figure out if I did mess up. Eddie's got a friend and I don't trust 'im. Thought I had good reason not to, but, well, I overheard somethin' I wasn't supposed ta and now I'm not sure."

Linda hums, "hmm, that doesn't sound like you, judging someone unrightly. You are usually a good read about people."

"I'll admit, I haven't bothered to spend enough time with the boy to, uhh, judge him."

"Wayne Munson," Linda scolds, "you best not be telling me you judged that boy because of other people."

Judging by Linda's raising brow line, he thinks his guilt must be clear on his face. "You know Eddie, and how people have treated him. And with what he just went through- I just want 'im safe. Sure, his new friend graduated last year, but he was on the basketball team his whole career. And I'm jus' supposed ta believe this one boy didn't side with the group who started the manhunt?"

"Unless you've got evidence otherwise, yes," Linda says, brows furrowed.

Wayne sighs. "I ain't got proof. I got a lot of people sayin' he's good, actually. But it's the Harrington boy. The same boy Eddie would come home and complain 'bout. Harrington, Hagan, Hargrove, though I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. All them boys treatin' Eddie like he wasn't worth nothin' until they wanted somethin' form him."

Linda's mouth is almost a perfectly straight line with how much she's pursed her lips the more he talks, but she doesn't interrupt and no customer calls for her, so he continues.

"And you know what Richard Harrington was like. I know y'all only shared one school year together, but Janice wasn't any better, and she was your year, wasn't she?" Linda gives him one nod in response. "That boy's a product of them. I- You can't fault me for thinkin' differently."

"So, when do you expect Eddie to end up in prison?"

The question throws Wayne and fills him with anger at the same time. "Now, Linda, I ain't likin' what you are implyin'."

"I ain't implyin' nothing," she says, using the same tone with him that he did with her. "I'm applying your logic. Eddie's a product of his parents, ain't he? Al's in prison, and his mama's long gone, bless her soul. And since Eddie ain't sick, last I heard, he must be following after his daddy."

The anger leaves him then, and all he's left with is shame. "Point made. And if I'm bein' fully honest with ya, I don't even need ya to defend that boy. That thing I overheard. That what's eatin' at me. He called me good people."

Linda softens, shoulders dropping, "you are good people, hun."

"That boy told my Eddie that I'm 'good people', and that his parents are bad ones, and I. I don't know what to do about that."

"He thinks his own parents are bad?"

Wayne nods, "is what he said. Thinks I can somehow sense he's also rotten just by association."

"There's nothing to it, then," Linda says, like they've already talked out the tangled mess that is Wayne's thoughts on Steve Harrington and have reached a conclusion. Well, perhaps Linda already has. She's always been bright, and she's usually right. "You, Wayne Robert Munson, need to apologize to that boy. The guilt and shame's gonna put you into your cups otherwise."

Wayne nods slowly, though he isn't even sure if he agrees or is just acknowledging what she said before he takes a long pull from his bottle before lowering both his arms to rest on the counter as he replies, "You're right as usual, Linda my dear. I just gotta let go of the fact he's Richard Harrington's son and try and see just Steve."

"Damn right. Eddie might be Al's by birth, but you raised him and he turned out alright. Maybe Steve got the same treatment. Had his own Wayne around to raise him right."

There might be a bit of truth to that. He's heard enough talk about Steve Harrington over the years to think that. One of his drinking buddies used to be Jim Hopper. He's heard about the amount of parties he'd had to go shut down at the Harrington's house, with no parents to be seen. (Always Jim's biggest gripe back then. "Where's this kids goddamn parents!?) Wayne always assumed their kid just took advantage every time his parents were gone, but maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they were always gone, and Steve had parties to not be alone in his house.

Linda's right. There is nothing to it. He needs to talk to Steve, properly apologize, and go from there.

"It ain't an easy thing, admittin' you might be wrong," Wayne sighs.

Linda reaches across the counter and places a hand on Wayne's arm just below his wrist. Wayne looks up from where he'd ended up staring at his bottle, making eye contact with her. "If your boy is friends with this boy, it's for a reason. Just give him a chance. You are one of the good ones, but even we can have a lapse in judgment now and then. Doesn't make you bad, makes you human."

"Ain't no one perfect but the good Lord," Wayne says and Linda nods in agreement.

"Alright. I'll leave you to your beer and your thoughts for now, but you best keep me updated on your situation. I wanna know how it goes," Linda retracts her hand and heads down the counter to check on the few other people sitting about nursing drinks.

Wayne sits in his thoughts more than he drinks, so by the time he's done with the beer it's warm but that's fine. He will talk to the Harrington kid, but he wants to talk to Eddie first. He owes his nephew that much, and he does recall Eddie saying something to the effect of 'he'll come around' to Steve, and Wayne wants to tell Eddie he'll try.

Also he doesn't want to just corner the boy after he's been somewhat intimidating intentionally. He's going to get Eddie to ask if Steve'll talk to him.

True to his word, Eddie returns home late the next day. The clock says it's almost 6 when Eddie finally comes through the front door. If he's surprised to see Wayne awake, he doesn't show it. He does work the graveyard shift, and he's got a shift at 10 tonight, usually wakes up two hours before his shift. He'd wanted to make sure he caught Eddie, though, so he's been up since three.

"Eddie, you got a minute?" Wayne says.

"Sure. What's up?" Eddie says as he pulls off his jacket, depositing it on the nearest surface before plopping sideways on the couch so he's facing Wayne.

"I gotta come clean. I overheard some of what you and Steve were talkin' about," Wayne says, because he's a man of his word and he's always been good at doing the hard thing if it also turns out to be the right thing. He's got to be honest with Eddie, so he can be honest with himself. "Heard Harr- Steve talkin' 'bout how he thinks I'm a good person, and his parents aren't."

Eddie's quiet for a moment, blinking owlishly back at him while he thinks. "Oh. Umm. Sorry. I just- I think this is the first time I've heard you say Steve's name."

"Not the part I thought you'd focus on," Wayne huffs a laugh, "but I owe your boy an apology and I was hopin' you could help me make it happen."

"My boy- what is happening," Eddie drops his voice to whisper the question to himself.

"What's happening is I'm doin' the thing I always told you ta do. Taking accountability and fixin' my mistake."

"Oh. Oh!" Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne, "you've made an ass out of me. All those times I assured Steve you were just being standoffish and you were- what were you doing?"

"Intentionally keepin' the boy at a distance 'cause I thought he was gonna hurt you. I sure as hell ain't been friendly. I been judging him because I knew his parents, thinkin' about how an apple don't fall far from the tree," Wayne stops, giving pause to see if Eddie will speak but he isn't. He's just staring at Wayne like he's a puzzle. "It was brought to my attention that it's mighty unfair to judge someone 'cause of how their parents act."

Eddie's brow furrows and his lips purse. It makes him think of Linda. She'd made the exact same face. "I- Jesus fuck this is weird, but I. I think I'm mad at you. Disappointed."

Eddie doesn't say it with an angry tone, and his face still looks more puzzled than mad, but the sentence feels like a kick to the chest anyway. Eddie and he have never been mad at each other, not in the eight years Eddie's lived here with him. They've been worried and scared for each other that, or mad at someone or something else that they take out on each other, but never mad at each other.

"You've every right to be."

Eddie stands from the couch, paces down the hallway, and Wayne thinks this might be the end of any conversation tonight, but instead Eddie comes storming back up the hall. "So, what, did you take me in expecting me to be my dad!?"

"No. He mighta contributed to your birth, but we both know that man ain't nurtured you a day in his life."

"Yeah, well, Steve's parents didn't raise him either, so all this has been bullshit! You made Steve think he's, he's broken and a bad person! And," Eddie's eyes are wet and he's angry but also about to cry. Wayne hasn't seen him like this in a long time. Not since the day they learned Al was in prison, fifteen years with a chance for parole if he's on his best behavior. Eddie had been so angry, and sad, and hurt by the news. Eddie's like that now, worked up so much he's repeating himself as he hiccups his words out around the lump in this throat, "And, and you made me help him feel that way! Because I didn't take him serious when he said, said you didn't like him! I thought you were being, being a dad, all fake gruff to intimidate the guy I like but it's- you were- FUCK!"

Wayne lets him yell. He deserves it, and Eddie needs it. Eddie's not saying anything untrue. He takes in what Eddie is yelling at him; Steve's parents didn't raise him, and how Wayne's cold shoulder must have added to whatever else Steve has going on in his life.

"I, I h-held him while he b-bawled into my shirt last night! He, he thinks- and you, you didn't even trust me! T-trust my own j-judgment of, of Steve! I, I need- I can't-" Eddie doesn't finish the sentence. He turns on his heel and storms back down the hall, the slamming of his door finalizing this conversation.

To say that Wayne feels terrible is inadequate. He's hurt his boy, and he's hurt his boy's boy, and he's got no one to blame but himself.

Now he's got two apologies to make.

I tried to tag as many people as I could remember that expressed interest in a follow up fic. I am SO sorry if I missed you. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in the final part. I will only be tagging people who ask to be tagged going forward 'cause it's a lot of people to remember and my memory is garbage.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @itsthestrangestthings @emofratboy @devondespresso @finntheehumaneater @loopholesinmydreams @yourmom-isgay @wrenisflying @emsgoodthinkin @messrs-weasley @madigoround @jackiemonroe5512 @gutterflower77 @zerokrox-blog @eriquin @samyuck @lunarmaruna @mugloversonly @kaij-basil-lionelli88

#steddie #my fic #wayne pov #wayne munson #eddie munson #honestly this didnt go the way i thought it would #so there will be a third and final part. Wayne's gonna make it right because he's a good uncle. A good dad. #SPOILER: steve doesnt even show up in this part so im not tagging him

[steddiewithachance]

"Likewise"

(Steve shows up to Wayne and Eddie's house with all of his belongings on his back and it makes Eddie remember when he was in the same position)

Dedicated to my lovely and wonderful AND awesome friend, Birdie

Read on ao3 here

*

Eddie and Wayne have always been pretty inseparable, since Eddie was 11 and made a trek across Indiana to find him. But after all the Vecna shit happened, after the manhunt and the three week hospital visit, Wayne had been especially clingy. Wayne's version of being clingy is constantly asking Eddie to do mundane things with him, it's intense love and worry and near loss disguised as casual invitations.

Eddie is endeared by it even though he'll play his part: roll his eyes and act annoyed like it's a chore.

This afternoon Wayne had knocked on Eddie's door and asked "Hey Eds wanna come out'n watch the game with me?"

And Eddie flung open the door with a huge sarcastic grin. "Me? A sports ball match TV game? You know I wouldn't miss it for the world, Uncle Wayne!" Wayne scoffed and Eddie grabbed his acoustic guitar so that he could entertain himself while he kept Wayne company in the living room.

Which is where they are now. Eddie is spread across the couch. He's aimlessly moving his fingers around the fretboard until he finds a chord that sounds nice while a sports announcer drones on in the background. Sometimes Eddie will look up to find Wayne in his old recliner watching him instead of the game. Eddie doesn't say anything, just gives him a reassuring smile.

It's raining kind of hard today, which normally would be stressful. Eddie and Wayne would be running around the house with buckets trying to catch water from all the new places the rain was leaking in. But with their shiny new government gifted place, they could sit back and enjoy the weather.

Eddie violently startles when someone knocks on the door. He sets his guitar to the side and Wayne turns the TV volume down. "Who is it?" Eddie calls out while walking towards the door.

"Steve." He hears in response.

When Eddie opens the door he's confronted with a very distraught-looking boyfriend. He looks like he's been crying, he has two dufflebags and a backpack, and he's soaking wet from the rain. Eddie immediately steps back and lets him in.

"Sweetheart, what's going on?" Eddie asks closing the door behind them even though he has a pretty good idea what the bags mean. Steve sniffles and lets his stuff fall to the floor. He startles when he realizes Wayne is in the room too. He's quiet for a few moments, maybe composing himself, Eddie thinks. Always trying to be brave and strong even when he doesn't have to, this one.

"Can I sleep over tonight?" Steve asks like it's taking a lot of effort to do so, even if he's slept over a dozen times already. "My parents... I need a place to stay and Robin's out of town and I felt kinda weird letting any of the kids see me like this" Steve wipes his nose but his sleeve is just as wet and he looks miserable, so Eddie reaches out and wipes Steve's nose with his own sleeve.

"I'm gross, sorry" Steve apologizes.

"Of course you can stay here, Stevie, is that even a question? Let's get you something dry to wear-" Eddie tells him, when he's suddenly and overwhelmingly hit with the dreamy feeling of deja vu. He looks back at Wayne wondering if he's thinking the same thing. Wayne's meets his gaze and his mouth twitches into a half smile.

Eddie grabs Steve's stuff and pulls him into his bedroom. After he sets everything down, he gently runs his hands up under Steve's shirt, until it's all bunched up right under his chin. Eddie pulls the wet fabric over his shoulders and off his arms. Eddie leans forward and plants kisses on each of Steve's perfectly freckled shoulders.

Once Steve is all changed and sat on the foot of the bed, Eddie stands over him and wraps a blanket over his head and shoulders like a little burrito. He looks adorable like this, all cozy.

"You want to talk about what happened, or not yet?" Eddie whispers, to keep the energy in the room gentle and light. Steve shakes his head without thinking and looks up at him for reassurance. Eddie leans down to plant a soft kiss on his lips. "That's okay, Babylove. You know you gave me crazy deja vu walking through that door with your duffle bags in the rain?" Eddie places his hands on either side of Steve's blanketed head.

"When I came to live with Wayne it was raining too. I always thought rain was a bad omen, you know? But then in english class one year, we talked about how in literature, rain is like symbolic of change and new beginnings. And I thought, 'yeah actually that makes a lot of sense'." Eddie speaks quietly while Steve looks up at him, listening. "Do you want to hear the story of how I met Wayne?"

------------------

1977

When Eddie steps out of the school building he sees that the cloudy sky has gotten darker since recess. That's a bad omen, he thinks to himself, but hears it in his dad's southern drawl.

He makes his way towards the front school gates, twisting his backpack strings together, a nervous habit. A swarm of children, mostly younger than him, begin to unlock their bikes from where they're chained and wheel them towards the street. Eddie pushes his way through the crowd to do the same.

He feels kind of sick grabbing the handlebars of a bike he knows full well shouldn't belong to him. He should have known that when he asked his dad for a bike it would have been stolen from some other poor kid. He feels terrible thinking about the night his dad brought it home and put a sticker over where another kid's name was carved into the paint. He shakes his head and rides over to the tree where he promised to meet his best friend, Daniel.

Daniel's already there waiting for him, talking loudly to some kid from the other sixth-grade class.

"See you Monday!" Daniel yells out as the kid hops on his bike and takes off down the street. Daniel has a smile on his face, always has been better at making friends than Eddie. He's a sweet kid, but kind of naïve.

"Hey," Eddie mutters propping his bike against the tree. Daniel turns towards him and his eyes immediately catch on Eddies forehead.

"I still can't get used to you without hair. It's weird." Daniel says petting Eddie's buzzed head. "I kinda think it looked better before."

"Yeah yeah, I already told you my dad made me." Eddie swats his hand away. "Did you ask your brother? About driving me to Hawkins?"

"Oh yeah... he said it's too far. Sorry." Daniel barely looks regretful. Eddie's heart drops.

"What?! But did you tell him I could give him money and weed?" Eddie's starting to panic. If Daniel's older brother Paul, who just got his license wouldn't drive him to Hawkins, he was gonna have to think of a new plan, and fast.

"Oh no I forgot that part, oops. Well he's picking me up in 10 minutes, just ask him yourself." Daniel complains, and Eddie doesn't blame him for not taking it seriously. Daniel doesn't understand the urgency of the situation, Eddie hasn't really told anyone why he needs to get to Hawkins so badly.

Eventually Paul pulls up in front of them, hitting the curb a little which just screams new driver and Eddie grimaces. Beggars can't be choosers, he supposes. He follows Daniel to the car. The kid gracelessly plops into the passenger seat and Eddie leans down to talk to his brother through the open door.

Paul has long blonde hair that makes Eddie miss his own hair desperately and a scar on his lip that he apparently got while skiing one winter. As always, he looks handsome, Eddie admits to himself and tries not to blush. He shakes the thought.

------------------

"Was he more handsome than me?" Steve interrupts Eddie recounting the story. He's pouting.

"Steve," Eddie exhales exasperatedly, "Not even close. Let me finish the story though."

------------------

"Hi Paul."

"Hey kid."

Eddie's face twists up, doesn't want Paul to think of him like a kid.

"Look Paul, I really need your help. I need to see my uncle and I would really be grateful if you could drive me." And before Paul can object Eddie adds, "I have money and weed that I can give you in exchange."

Paul clearly considers this. "How much?"

"How much weed? Uh I dunno a baggie?" Eddie puts his fingers up to demonstrate how much weed he remembers there being in the bag.

"No no, how much money?" Paul chuckles fondly. Meanwhile Daniel is ping ponging his head back and forth between his brother and Eddie.

"I have like forty bucks. I know it's not a ton, and it's a far drive, but this is really important." Eddie pleads. Paul stares out the windshield for a few moments.

"And you wanted to go tonight?" He asks Eddie who nods fervently. "When would you need a ride back?"

And Eddie looks at Daniel who seems bored by the whole ordeal, who is picking at the netting on his backpack. Eddie knows that if this plan works out, he won't be coming back at all. But Daniel's been good to him and Eddie hates disappointing people, so he does what his father taught him to do: he lies.

"I'm sure my uncle will drive me back, s'all good." And Paul nods his head.

"Okay kid. Let me drop Daniel home and I'll come pick you up from your place." And Eddie's heart skyrockets. Okay shit, he's actually doing this.

"Thank you! Thank's Paul. That's cool of you. Thank you." Eddie smiles big, shows all his teeth even though he's still missing a few. Paul nods and Daniel reaches forward to close the door when Eddie realizes this might be the last time he sees his best friend.

"Wait!" Eddie interrupts and grabs the door.

Paul and Daniel look at him worriedly. "Can- can I have a hug before you go?" Eddie asks Daniel shakily. He feels his throat tighten and his eyes go a little blurry. Fuck! He's always so emotional, despite Al's best efforts to chastise the sensitivity out of him.

"I guess." Daniel says, weirded out by Eddie's sudden change of tone. He unbuckles his seat belt and holds his arms out. Eddie fiercely tugs him in and realizes that Daniel can probably feel him shaking now. "But I'll see you Monday right?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, tries to will his voice to come out strong. He pulls back giving Daniel a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Yeah man, see you. And see you tonight Paul. Thanks again." And instead of looking Daniel in the eyes again he turns away and grabs "his" bike.

*

Eddie's waiting outside with his bags and a map with directions that he carefully planned out a few nights ago. He's praying to any and all gods that his dad doesn't make it home before Paul get's there. Every time he sees a car turn onto the street he panics and prepares to run.

Despite the bad weather, and Eddie's paranoia, Paul pulls up first and Eddie lets out a huge sigh of relief. Eddie smiles at him and puts his bags in the back seat. The teen looks at him with soft eyes, clearly not as gullible as his kid brother. Knows what's really happening.

"Do you have everything?" Paul asks when Eddie sits in the passenger seat and hands over two twenties and a little bag of weed he stole from his dad's dresser. Eddie nods. "Are you absolutely sure?"

Eddie thinks it would be nice to have a brother like Paul. Never got to know him too well, but he seems to care.

"Yeah man, double and triple checked." Eddie looks into the rear view mirror just in time to see his dad's black pickup truck round the corner. He sinks into the seat. "Shit man, go! Drive!"

Paul startles into action and hits the gas. It doesn't seem like Al notices because he pulls into the parking garage speeding recklessly like he always does. When they're a few streets down, Eddie sits up again and opens the map.

"Am I gonna get arrested for kidnapping you?" Paul worries, wide eyed, as he makes his way towards the highway.

"My dad's afraid of cops. I really doubt he'd call em." Eddie responds before briefing Paul on the directions (ironically) to Hawkins' police station, where hopefully someone will know where his uncle Wayne lives.

*

It's a quiet drive. Eddie finds that he's not sure what to talk to a 16 year old about and would rather pay attention to directions. He can tell Paul wants to ask what he's running from, but refrains, which Eddie's thankful for. When they're about ten minutes out from Hawkins, it starts raining.

Eddie feels guilty that Paul will probably have to drive two hours home in the rain. He voices this concern, but Paul, the saint he is, reassures him it's no big deal.

Eventually they pull up to the police station and Eddie hauls his bags out of the back seat before coming back around to the passenger side door. He leaves the map with Paul and the set of hand written directions on how to get home that Eddie made for him.

"Thanks again for everything, Paul. Drive safely."

"Eddie do you want me to wait to make sure you get where you're going?" He asks softly and Eddie doesn't remember a time where anyone spoke to him with such care. He wants to cry for some reason. Wants to take him up on the offer, but doesn't want to inconvenience the teenager more than he already has.

"I'm okay, but thank you." As soon as Eddie slams the car door shut and turns towards the station, he starts to cry. He hears the gravel crunching as Paul pulls out of the parking lot behind him. Maybe this was all a mistake. He takes a deep breath, wipes his eyes and steps through the glass door.

"Hello, can I help you?," the woman behind the front desk asks, pushing her glasses down to get a good look at Eddie who is dripping rainwater onto the linoleum floor.

"Yeah. I'm here hoping someone knows where Wayne Munson lives? He's my uncle."

The woman holds up a finger and makes her way to a desk in the back of the station. She clears her throat and starts talking to a man.

Eddie shifts his weight as he tries to make out their muffled conversation. He looks up when a tall man sticks his head out and examines Eddie from across the room. The cop nods at the receptionist and grabs keys from his desk.

"You're looking for Wayne Munson?" The man, "Hopper" his badge reads, says while walking over.

------------------

"That's when you first met Hopper?" Steve interrupts again with a small smile. Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. He nods.

------------------

"Yes sir." He responds to the officer.

Eddie wonders if Al has started looking for him yet. Wonders if Al walked into his room and saw half his belongings gone. Probably not. And even if he did, he'd have no idea where Eddie went. Too uninvolved in Eddie's life to know the names of any of his friends.

"Alright, he lives in the trailer park. Forest Hills. Let me drive you over." Hopper waves his hand and steps into the rain. He opens the passenger seat of his car and ushers Eddie inside.

The thing about this whole situation is that Eddie knows next to nothing about his uncle. Only hears cutting remarks about him from his father once in a blue moon. But it's the kind of cutting remark that might actually mean Wayne's a good person, if it's coming from Al. Eddie only knows he lives in Hawkins, because Al mentioned it once, in passing. "Lives in a little shit hole town no one's ever heard of while I'm out here making it big in the city," he had bragged. But it's not like Al talks enough about Wayne to immediately suspect that this is where Eddie might have ran off to. He's trying to convince himself he's safe now.

*

Eddie is accompanied to Wayne's door by the officer. Hopper knocks aggressively before Eddie can even get it straight in his head what he's gonna say to Wayne. The rain is coming down hard now. He's hugging his canvas duffle bag to his chest, trying to protect his sketchbooks inside from the downpour.

"Wayne Munson? It's Jim Hopper with Hawkins PD. Open up." Hopper announces, knocking again.

And almost immediately after he knocks, the door opens a crack. Eddie sees a man with greying dark brown hair cut close to his head and a patchy beard. Wayne's eyes drop to Eddie almost instantly.

"Can I help you?" Wayne asks. His accent is stronger than Al's, Eddie notices.

"I have a kid here who claims to be your nephew?" Hopper says gruffly, scratching his mustache. Wayne opens the door wider, looking Eddie up and down with wide eyes.

"I'm uh... Al's kid?" Eddie adds quietly. And Wayne's face goes through a variety of emotions before nodding to the officer.

"Thanks Jim, I'll take it from here." Wayne mutters. Eddie watches as the officer tips his head and offers a "stay dry folks," before getting back into his car.

"Come on in, kid," Wayne says opening his door for Eddie to walk past him. Eddie takes in his surroundings. The place is... sad looking. There's hardly any furniture, just a TV and a recliner in front of a coffee table which is covered in empty beer bottles. In the corner of the room there are a handful of boxes, one of which is filled to the brim with different colored mugs. This confuses Eddie a little, but overall Eddie's not getting a good vibe. Probably still better than living with Al though.

He turns back to see Wayne watching him carefully. Eddie clears his throat.

"I'm really sorry to come unannounced like this. I know we don't really know each other, and you don't owe me anything! But I- I didn't know where else to go and I was wondering if maybe it would be okay if I stayed here for a little? I can sleep on the recliner or the floor I don't need much. I just can't- I can't go home." Eddie is shivering now, he's not sure if it's anxiety from the situation or if he's just cold and wet.

Wayne nods his head and reaches his hand out for one of Eddie's bags. "S'alright kid. Let's get you dry." He took Eddie's bags and set them against the wall. He disappears down the hallway leaving Eddie shaking by the door, before reappearing with a towel. Eddie wraps it around himself while Wayne stands and looks around the place, likely, realizing how uninviting it seems to Eddie.

Wayne walks towards the coffee table and starts grabbing empty beer bottles.

"You don't have to clean for me, I don't mind." Eddie says meekly, but Wayne continues on anyways.

"S'alright kid. Why don't you get changed into something dry. Ya have any dry clothes in those bags of yours?" Motioning towards Eddie's belongings with a hand full of bottles. Eddie kneels and unzips one of the bags feeling around for something dry which most of it is. Eddie pulls out a new pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

"Bathroom?" Eddie asks quietly.

"Down the hall to your left."

*

When Eddie reemerges, the coffee table is clean. And Wayne looks up at him, puts on a smile which seems forced. He must be able to tell by Eddie's face that the smile isn't as reassuring as he was going for. He sighs and scratches the back of his head.

"Should I not have come here?" Eddie asks while stepping out of the hallway and towards the door. He's in desperate need of reassurance, just wants to know if he's safe here or not.

"No! You were right to. I mean Al, is he-" Wayne is searching Eddie's eyes for answers. "Is he hurtin' you?" Wayne crosses his arms but then quickly uncrosses them. Clearly uncomfortable, nervous. And it's making Eddie feel that way too.

"Yeah." Eddie admits into the quiet of the room softened only by the sound of rain pattering against the roof. Wayne exhales and rubs his face.

"Fuckin' bastard." Wayne mutters under his breath. "He's a piece of shit, I'm so sorry kid." Eddie just nods, agreeing. "It's uh... Edward right?" Wayne asks coyly. Eddie wonders when Wayne last talked to Al.

"I go by Eddie," he quickly amends.

"Eddie, alright. It's nice to finally meet you then, Eddie." Wayne roots around in his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes before thinking better of it and tucking it back into his pocket.

"You can smoke around me, I'm used to it." Eddie shrugs and leans against the wall.

"Yeah well you shouldn't be." Wayne grumbles. He rubs his hands together and claps. "Okay so I only got one bed. I'm gonna wash the sheets and then you can take it tonight. I'll sleep on the recliner there until we figure out somethin' better. That sound okay by you?"

"No! I don't want to take your bed-"

"Just temporarily kid, s'alright. But first let's get you some food. You're as thin as store-bought thread." Wayne grabs a pair of keys off the kitchen counter and jingles them playfully.

"I don't have much around here, so lets go to the diner and then get some groceries on the way back, how's that?" He asks. Eddie nods in agreement.

------------------

"He took me to go get blueberry pancakes. It kinda became a tradition. To get blueberry pancakes any time I had a real bad day." Eddie shares while petting Steve's damp hair.

"What made you leave home that Friday? Before the school year was over?" Steve asks, seemingly distracted from his own problems which is what Eddie was aiming for.

"Al's girlfriend found out I was..." Eddie gestures between the two of them, "you know. She was constantly holding it over my head. Said she was gonna tell him. I didn't want to find out what would happen when she did."

"And he never came looking for you?" Steve furrows his brow. Eddie smooths it over with his thumb.

"I dunno. Maybe he talked to Wayne. But eventually we found out he was sent off to prison for grand theft. He's such a disaster, my god." Eddie sighs and tilts Steve's face up towards him. "Do you want to go get blueberry pancakes, Angel? It's been a day, huh?"

"I'm so sorry to say this, Eds, but I hate blueberry pancakes." Steve shrugs the blanket off his shoulders. Eddie gasps in horror.

"You dare speak ill of my comfort food, Steve Harrington?" Eddie dramatically responds, pushing his forehead against Steve's. Steve smiles and pushes him back.

"I like chocolate chip though." Steve tries to amend. And Eddie nods in understanding.

"Okay princess, let's go get you some chocolate chip pancakes. Can I invite Wayne?" Eddie starts tearing off his pajamas and scrambling around the room for outside clothes.

"Yeah, of course Wayne can come." Steve sighs and lays back on the bed looking much more like himself than he did when he got here.

"'Kay one sec," Eddie pulls on his favorite Judas Priest shirt while he stumbles back out into the living room. "Hey old man?"

Wayne looks up from the TV at Eddie. "Everything alright?" He lowers the volume again, even though it wasn't all that loud to begin with. Wayne always does this, it's like he can't think while something is playing in the background. It's impossible to add commentary when they're watching TV together because he'll either not process what Eddie said or not catch what the TV did.

"Yeah. We were thinking of going to the diner for pancakes, it's been a day. You coming?" Eddie combs his fingers through his hair realizing he probably still has bed head. Wayne looks up at him with shiny eyes.

"I'm proud of you, y'know?" Wayne whispers. This catches Eddie off guard.

"What? For what?" Eddie crosses his arm. Doesn't like when Wayne gets sappy.

"Being a decent kid. Taking care of people the way you do." Wayne gets up and reaches for his keys just like he did in '77. "Real glad you found me when ya did, son."

"Likewise, Uncle Wayne"

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #uncle wayne #wayne munson #wayne munson is a good parent #steddie fluff #steddie fic rec #steddie microfic

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Spring challenge.

Sprung

Prompt: Spring | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | Tags: Future Fic, Established Relationship, Struggling to Make Ends Meet, Light Angst, Sacrifice, Love, Making a Life Together

"Steve, please," Eddie says, and Steve stills.

"I thought you were asleep?" Steve whispers in the dark, and Eddie's not sure why Steve's trying to be quiet at this point. They're both awake now. Steve's made sure of that.

"I was," Eddie huffs out, annoyed, because he had been. But Steve's constant flopping around has ruined that. Steve's become the world's shittest sleeper lately, and that's not exactly ideal in a bed partner.

"Sorry," Steve says, stilling, "I'll try to stop moving around."

Eddie just mutters something that he hopes passes as a thanks, and rolls back over. He has to get up at six, and he fucking needs his four hours. That's not too much to ask for, goddamnit. 

Steve's still for a few minutes, but then rolls over in his sleep, again, and the whole bed shifts and shakes. Again. Eddie's had enough, and snags his pillow off the bed, padding down the hallway to crash on the couch. He's exhausted. He can't do this tonight. He can't.

He still wakes up tired, because it was too cold in the living room. Their shitty radiators either don't work, or boil you. No middle ground. Fucking shithole. But it's the best they can do for now, since they're barely keeping their heads above water, as is. Working just to live. It's been hard. Harder than Eddie expected, and he grew up with fucking hard. 

He'd hoped they'd be past that now, hoped he'd finally catch a goddamn break.

Of course not.

It's the Munson curse. 

And now Eddie's in a bad mood, even as Steve's pouring coffee into Wayne's old thermos for him, packing Eddie's metal lunchbox, to keep him going on the jobsite all day. 

"Thanks," Eddie says, taking it, and Steve just nods silently, clearly aware Eddie's in a mood this morning.

Eddie worries they're circling the drain, from circumstances alone. It's not a love problem, it's a life problem, and that makes it worse.

And before long, Eddie realizes he broke the seal, having introduced a new wedge between them. Now that the couch is in play, they aren't even sleeping in the same bed most nights anymore. Steve will go, or he will, and now they're sleeping apart more nights a week than they sleep together. Maybe they're getting more rest, but they're also growing even further apart. 

Today, Eddie's coffee and lunch are on the counter, but Steve's already in the shower, and their ten minutes together in the morning are gone.

Just like that.

Eddie grabs his work boots from the closet, flopping down on Steve's side of the bed to put them on, and he's suddenly assaulted, poked right in the ass by whatever Steve's left laying on the mattress. 

Standing up, he's sliding his hand over the bed in the dark to see what the fuck he sat on. Nothing. He yanks the sheets back, and there's still nothing, so he strips it further.

It's a spring. 

And it's threatening to fully poke through, probably right where Steve's back rests. Goddammit. No wonder Steve can't fucking hold still at night. He's being tortured, Eddie thinks, as he presses his hand against the spring, feeling it bite into his hand. 

A rogue mattress spring.

That's what's divided them, broke them down. 

Eddie sits back down, lets the spring dig into his ass, and holds his head in hands. He's not gonna cry. He doesn't have time. He has to go to work. But goddamn this. 

He's still sitting there when Steve comes in and is rifling through the closet, "You okay?"

"No," Eddie says.

Steve walks over and puts the back of his hand on Eddie's forehead and Eddie laughs, wetly. 

"You don't feel hot," Steve declares. 

"No, I don't," Eddie mutters, because damn, he fucking doesn't feel hot at all. He feels broken down and worn out. 

He reaches up and catches Steve's hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing it. 

"I'm sorry about the mattress. I didn't know," Eddie says, looking up at him.

"It's okay, I'm used to it," Steve says, and he rubs his fingers against the top of Eddie's head.

"You shouldn't have to be," Eddie says, dejected. 

Steve Harrington chose him, loves him, and Eddie can't even give him a bed to sleep on that isn't trying to pierce his spleen every night.

They can't afford a new one, not right now, and Eddie hates that he can't fix this. 

"We'll flip it," Eddie offers.

"Then it'll have the crater on your side again," Steve says with a laugh. And yeah, Eddie'd forgotten they flipped it last year, after his side started breaking down. Sucking him inward, like a gate into the Upside Down.

That doesn't matter.

"Well, that's gotta be better than this," Eddie admits, bouncing a little. Anything would be better than this torture device.

Steve kneels between Eddie's open thighs, "It's okay, Eddie."

It's not. 

"I'm sorry I was being a jerk. I didn't know," Eddie says.

"I know you didn't," Steve answers, "I didn't want you to worry."

Eddie brushes Steve's hair off his forehead, "I'm still sorry. I love you. You know that, right?"

Steve grins, and it's blinding, "Always. Work now, worry about the mattress later."

Eddie nods, smiles, and when Steve moves from between his knees, Eddie leans over and laces up his boots. Ready to start another day.

That evening, when Eddie pulls into the driveway, Wayne's truck is parked behind Steve's car. Eddie hadn't realized Wayne was coming, and grins. This day just got way better.

Eddie plows into the house, and finds Steve in the bedroom, a pair of needle nose pliers dug into a small hole they've cut in the mattress, trying to bend the spring back into its original position. Wayne's standing there, talking Steve through the temporary fix, until they can afford something better.

It's gonna be okay, Eddie realizes. They're just a little bent out of shape right now. A little sprung. 

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

If you want to see more of my entries into this month-long challenge, you can check them out in my Steddie Holiday Drabbles tag, right here!

#steddieholidaydrabbles #spring #steddie #steddie ficlet #wayne munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #future fic #good uncle wayne munson #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles

[jewishrat420]

Eddie realizes he's a boy when he's thirteen.

And it's not magical, nor is it mundane, nor is it anything else that the pamphlet he found in the back of the record shop told him it might be.

It just kind of... happens. A few times.

First, he's in the shower.

He's scrubbing himself down with the loofah Wayne bought him, and it tickles and itches and rubs him in all the wrong ways, but he uses it because Wayne spent money on it.

It feels the worst when he scrubs over his chest, but it also kind of feels good.

Feels like he's washing a part of himself away that's unclean. Scrubbing and scrubbing until the skin is raw and red, hoping and praying that it too will come off with the water, drip down the drain with all the other dirty parts of himself.

It doesn't, and so he forgets.

Until his twelfth birthday.

Because there are pink candles on the cake.

There are pink candles on the cake.

And he doesn't know why, and he won't know why until another year after this, but he cries.

He cries until his throat burns and his skin sings with defiance at the feeling of traitorous tears turning his cheeks flushed and blotchy. He cries because it hurts.

He cries because the candles on the cake are pink, and the last birthday party he went to (back in third grade, before his class realized he was a parentless freak) boasted blue candles. Blue for a boy.

He doesn't know why, but he finds himself nauseous at the sight of his own.

Pink. For a girl.

And he doesn't get it, doesn't put two and two together, but he can't stand the sight of them.

He throws the cake to the ground and storms to his room.

And somehow, even though he should be, Wayne isn't mad at him.

He just lets Eddie be for a few hours, and then he returns with a can of soda (even though Eddie's rarely allowed to have any) and a new copy of Lord of the Rings, and he sits at the edge of the bed and says nothing.

Eddie sniffles. Wipes his nose with his sleeve. Apologizes for ruining the cake.

Wayne brushes him off. "I'll do it right next year."

Eddie doesn't know what he means.

(The following year, when Wayne comes out with blue candles on a blue cake, he understands.)

Either way, the realization is neither magical nor mundane. It's not special and it's not not special. It just is.

It goes like this:

He's reading that same copy of Lord of the Rings, sitting in the same bed, wearing the same clothes, and he thinks that he'd like to be like Frodo.

Or Sam.

Or Aragorn.

And he doesn't quite know why, and it doesn't quite matter. He just sits there, and sips at his soda (that he grabbed from the cabinet himself, because Wayne let him), and thinks that he'd like to cut his hair.

(Later, he'll realize that he prefers it long.)

He starts wearing his t-shirts baggier, and his shorts longer. Throws away all the skirts and dresses that never fit him quite right, then later finds some that do.

It's not mundane, and it's not magical. It just kind of is.

Eddie realizes that he's a boy the same way that he realizes he's been breathing his entire life. Constantly, and without effort.

And so he continues on, being a boy and breathing, in that very same way.

He sips his soda, and reads his books, and feels a little sick when he sees the color pink.

Feels better, though, knowing that he belongs to blue.

-

original thread

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things eddie #eddie munson is trans #trans eddie munson #transmasc eddie munson #transgender eddie munson #eddie and wayne munson #good uncle wayne #ftm eddie munson

[puppy-steve]

ik ik people are allowed to have their own interpretations of characters, but making wayne into a bad person that eddie should be cautious and afraid of just doesnt sit right with me at all. that man and that trailer is his safe space and you're just gonna take it away like that??????

#cj talks #uncle wayne #he's good and kind and caring and making him out to be anything but just feels like a disservice #wayne munson

[willowworkswithwords]

Eddie and Wayne have a heart-to-heart. Part 4 of “Eddie hates his hair but he won’t always”! 

part 1, part 2, and part 3

tw: brief allusion to past child abuse

---

Three days pass. They drive up to Indianapolis for the funeral. It’s just him, Wayne, the priest, and two friends of his mom’s that Eddie had never met. The priest says the usual, looking at Eddie with a soft sort of pity throughout the graveside service. Wayne whispers something to the coffin as he throws a handful of dirt down, but Eddie can’t make himself say anything. They drive back to Hawkins in pouring rain, and Eddie stays in his room until the next day.

Wayne is at work. It’s still raining outside. Eddie feels empty and tired and tries not to just stare at the rain all day, but the day drags. Mostly, Eddie putters around the trailer, looking at the odd assortment of knick-knacks that Wayne has all around. There’s a wall with about thirty different hats, and in one of the cupboards there’s a bunch of mugs and a single glass. The mugs all look like Wayne bought them at a gas station or those funky roadside stores Eddie would sometimes see when they had moved around.

After he digs up stuff for a sandwich, Eddie goes into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror. He’s tired, it’s plain as day all over his face. The little bit of his hair that Annie had been able to detangle is starting to get knotted, and as he runs his fingers through it, they catch. Eddie yanks and cries out when it pulls at his scalp. It’s tender and Eddie—

Eddie wishes Annie were here so bad, it hurts worse than his throbbing head.

That’s where Wayne finds him hours later, shut up in the bathroom crying. He knocks on the door and Eddie jolts against the wall where he had slid down.

“Eddie?”

Eddie can’t stop crying.

“Kid—Ed, I’m gonna come in, ok?”

Eddie can’t stop crying.

Wayne slowly creaks open the door, peering around the corner before he opens it all the way. He sighs, that look from Sherry’s car back again, and squats down with a groan in front of Eddie.

“It sure is a lot, ain’t it?”

Against all of Eddie’s years of learning, against every fiber of himself that’s screaming at him to stop, to get a hold of himself, to stay where he is, Eddie finds himself rocking up onto his knees and right into Wayne’s chest.

Wayne sighs again, but both of his arms wrap around Eddie and Eddie can’t keep it in anymore.

Words and screams and the worst of him come spilling out, saturating Wayne’s flannel with his tears. Wayne takes it all in, squeezing Eddie against his chest and whispering quiet, quiet encouragements to keep crying, if that’s what he needs—and Eddie does, until Wayne’s hand lands in his hair.

“Don’t.”

Eddie catches his breath just long enough to spit the word out, jerking in Wayne’s strong grip, sounding broken.

Wayne’s hand is off him immediately.

Eddie smashes his face back into Wayne’s shoulder, suddenly drained. Wayne’s hand slowly comes back to Eddie’s back, rubbing circles in time with his own breath.

“Head off limit, Ed?”

“Just…” Eddie doesn’t want to say it, but Wayne is asking, really wants to know, and that’s more than Eddie’s ever let himself expect. “Not my hair. ‘s gross—I’m disgusting.”

Wayne goes perfectly, dangerously, still.

“Disgusting?”

His voice is clear and strong, and Eddie tenses without meaning to. The circles start back up.

“Disgusting, Eddie?” Wayne is quiet again, soft now.

“My fu—my stupid hair. It’s all a mess and Annie only fixed it a little before…”

“Ah.”

Eddie’s all run out of tears, and he feels himself sinking further into Wayne. Wayne seems to feel it too, because he shifts suddenly, pulling Eddie into his arms as he levels himself and stands. It says a lot that Eddie just shuffles a little in his hold, doesn’t say he’s too old—he’s just so tired.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Eddie, you listening?”

“Mhm.”

“We’re gonna go get some water, and some dinner?”

He waits until Eddie hums in agreement again before he goes on.

“And then, we’re gonna have a little talk, and then I think it’s best to head to bed,” Wayne says, walking slowly into the kitchen. “I just wanna ask you a couple questions, and nothin’ you say is gonna be wrong, ok?”

Eddie takes a minute to answer this time.

“Okay.”

Dinner isn’t silent. Wayne sets a record on the player that’s just loud enough to let Eddie focus on the music instead of the throbbing in his head and Wayne sets about scrambling some eggs. Eddie isn’t paying attention to how he’d doing the, just looks up after a while from where Wayne had set him down on the couch to a plate of fresh scrambled eggs and a slice of toast with grape jelly. Eddie sniffs but doesn’t start crying this time, and Wayne sits down beside him, his own scrambled eggs with cheese and his toast with peanut butter. They each have a mug of water.

It takes all of side one of the record for them to both get done. Wayne flips it over and grabs their dishes. He settles back down against the cushions, enough space between them for Eddie to turn and face him if he wants to.

He faces front, just like Wayne.

Now that he’s had all of dinner to calm down, embarrassment and dread start to seep back in, but Eddie pushes them back back back. He wants to stop feeling like he has to run, to fight, to think and feel everything all at once just in case. So he pushes it back for now and glances at Wayne before looking back down at his hands.

“What are your questions?”

“Who’s Annie?”

“My friend from school. We ate lunch together.”

“And she helped you with your hair?”

Eddie takes a deep breath.  

“Yeah. She knows how to do hair and uh, we didn’t have money or, or really know what to do with it. So, she helped me.”

“That was real nice of her.”

Eddie sighs shakily but smiles, small but true.

“Yeah, it was. She gets it.”

Wayne hums. He understands what Eddie means, and ain’t that something. Eddie doesn’t have to say what it is, just has to say it, and Wayne believes him.

It gives him just enough courage.

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

The record plays on. The crunch of gravel and baying of dogs peters in the through the window from all across the trailer park night.

“Well,” Wayne says. “The best way to do something you don’t know is with someone else. Makes you both feel better for not knowing.”

Eddie sniffs and leans against Wayne.

“There’s a woman cross the park, Jenny. She does a lot of the kids hair ‘round here. What d’ya think?”

Eddie sniffs again.

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll call her in the morning before I head off to work. I’ll be home round five again. If you get bored, just go outside. Plenty of kids and dogs you can be with.”

Eddie isn’t sure how he feels about that, but he nods anyways.

“Did your daddy ever hit you?”

Eddie nods. Wayne blows a long breath out, brings a hand up to rub at his eyes.

“Your momma?”

“She never hit me.” Eddie surprises himself with how vehemently he says it.

“I didn’t mean that,” Wayne squeezes Eddie’s hand once. “I was askin’ if you daddy ever hit her.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Ok. What’s your favorite thing to eat for breakfast?”

Eddie looks at him in confusion, the shift in tone making him blink.

“Um, I’ll eat anything?”

“Wasn’t what I asked, kiddo.”

And it goes on like that, back and forth until Eddie’s head starts to bob against the back of the couch and Wayne stops.The silence is the good kind again, and Eddie drifts to sleep. He wakes up the next morning with his bedside lamp on, and he rolls out of bed with a quiet anticipation growing.

Five o’clock just can’t come fast enough.

---

@manda-panda-monium

#please reblog if you're enjoying this series! #I'd love to hear feedback too!! #eddie munson #wayne munson #wayne munson is a good uncle #wayne munson just wants to help his kid #eddie is slowly letting himself believe wayne is kind #emotional hurt/comfort #stranger things #my fic #willow writes #willow talks #an abundance of italics

[chalkysgarbagefire]

He Ain’t Heavy - 1981//15

They settled into a new normal.

Eddie went to school (with much protesting), and Wayne worked the third shift at the plant. It was a hard adjustment at first, but the pay bump certainly made things easier. Besides, he was never one for sleeping anyways. The change made it so he could be there to wake his nephew up, drag his ass to school, attend different CPS appointments, and if he was lucky, catch a few winks before picking Eddie up.

All in all, it made one thing certain: he’d be able to be there when Eddie needed him and keep food on the table.

At least he could say Eddie was coming into his own, like a stubborn root poking through a crack in the concrete. Not blossoming, but fighting tooth and nail to be there all the same. The kid seemed to split his time either holed up in his room, or holed up at the houses of some other misfits from school. It was good to see him around kids his own age, and they didn’t seem like bad apples either. Different, maybe, but not bad (Wayne remembered how he was at that age).

Despite their misaligned schedules, Eddie never seemed to stray far from the trailer on Wayne’s nights off. They found themselves on the porch on one of those rare evenings, soaking in the sounds of the trailer park in the chilly spring air. It was hardly ever quiet with life happening all around them. There was a soft melody drifting in from someone’s radio, dogs barking from somewhere off in the distance, a mother’s harried call for dinner, a child’s laugh.

Eddie hummed idly to himself, feet propped up on a spare lawn chair as he plucked the strings of his old guitar. It was an aimless sort of play, simply giving his restless fingers something to do versus plucking out a particular tune. They’d finally put in enough elbow grease to fix the black acoustic. She would never be without her bumps and bruises, but she was cherished all the same.

Wayne didn’t pay him much mind--his thoughts were elsewhere. It wasn’t often, but there were times when the past would reach up, sink its claws in, and unearth old memories. When those black moods would roll in, he felt every bit the sentimental old man he’d become.

Sometimes it was as simple as finding his old dog tags, plastic casings yellowed with age, that was enough to darken his thoughts. They reminded him of his father, how he died for his country not in a day, but little by little over the years. Other memories haunted him, too. Flashes of forgotten young men in the jungle, fighting a war that wasn’t theirs, uniforms forgotten in the dark as they cried for their mothers. Most days they were just a memento of years gone by, forgotten until the next spring cleaning.

Anniversaries and milestones didn’t bother him so much--he expected the despair to creep in on those sanctioned days. It was those little niggling thoughts that kept him up that were harder to contend with. Usually he’d shake it off best he could, but nights like tonight?

A glass of whiskey, a smoke, and time with his thoughts were the only reprieve.

“I won’t be much company tonight, I’m afraid.” Wayne puffed on his cigarette, eyes trained on the horizon. Dusk was falling, as were the temperatures.

“Not sure what you’re on about, I’m just here to play guitar, man.” Eddie wiggled his fingers as if to emphasize his point. The grin on his face though, gave away the fact he knew exactly what he was doing.

Wayne snorted, shaking his head. “If you want to keep an old man company, that’s your business.”

“Pshh. You’re not old, Wayne. You’re just entering your silver fox era. I’ve seen Ms. McCluskey eyeballing you--better be careful, old girl might hunt you down with her walker.”

He let out a startled laugh, which of course, earned him a toothy smile in response. Kid always had some smart-assed comment ready to go. Eddie was definitely a teenager, and his brain-to-mouth filter hadn’t developed yet. In truth, he wasn’t sure it was ever going to develop, and he would be stuck with a mouthy teenager who was too smart for his own good.

There were worse things in life.

Only problem about being clever is that it also attracted trouble, and Wayne knew a thing or two about trouble. Didn’t help that Eddie shared a name with it, either.

He managed to split his memories of his brother into two neat categories: before Eddie and after Eddie. Unfortunately, what he felt about said memories weren’t as cut and dry. There was just as much love wrapped up in his pain and the two were indistinguishable at this point.

That was just how things were for Munsons, though. Shit was never easy.

His thoughts drifted back to a one bedroom house in Kentucky that was often frigid in the winters, boiling in the summers, and claustrophobic year round: his childhood home. The bedroom was reserved for his parents, but also doubled as a nursery (and on one occasion a mausoleum for a baby girl. He’d never know who Wanita could have been). The pull out couch was reserved for him and Edward--his brother swore up and down that the springs in the mattress had caused his chronic back-problems. Somehow Wayne turned out fine.

“Whatcha readin’ there?” Wayne asked around a mouthful of pins. He knew keeping the sewing needles in his mouth was a bad habit, but swallowing them seemed a kinder alternative than accidentally dropping one. Edward slept on the pullout too; he’d rather not chance the boy getting stuck with one.

 The little boy across from him gave a dramatic sigh. “See Spot Run. At least, I’m trying. It’s boring as fuck.”

The pins were removed from his mouth solely so he could scold his brother. “Edward Munson, do not say ‘fuck’.” He stuck them in the pants he was mending--he could tell the kid was in the mood to talk.   

“You and dad say it all the time!” He hissed back, narrowing his eyes.

“That’s different--and keep it down, mom is trying to sleep.” The needle punched through the denim with familiar ease. He’d worn these pants when he was Edward’s age, and they were beginning to show their years. Hopefully the patch would help keep them long enough until he could grow into Wayne’s clothes. The patch he was sewing would at least add a little extra material--the denim was practically soft with how thin it had become.

“How?!” He sat up quickly, full on pouting with his arms crossed.

 “I’m older than you, that’s why.” Wayne tried to bite back a smile--it was hard to take the little boy seriously sometimes. Still, he shushed him again, “Seriously though, keep it down. Mom needs her rest--she had a bad spell.”

 The answer, as Wayne predicted, was unsatisfactory. “Not by that much…You’re…” He trailed up, bringing his fingers up to count. “You’re…thirteen, I’m six so that means…”

 This time, he didn’t try to hold his grin. Didn’t help him either though--kid had to learn.

 “Seven! Seven years older.” He returned Wayne’s toothy grin with his own gap toothed smile. His cheer didn’t last though. It never did. “Why is mom always sleeping?”  

“She’s really sick.” He tried to smile, but he knew it was hollow. Mom was sick--that’s the only explanation he ever got. Never why, or with what, just ‘mommy needs her rest’. Whatever it was, it made her sad--so sad she cried at night, and hardly left her room.

 “Is she gonna die?” Edward’s voice was small.

Wayne reached across, and pulled his brother into a tight hug. “Mom isn’t going to die. Don’t say shit like that.” He maneuvered the six year old into his lap, “Besides, who’d make you breakfast in the morning?”

 Edward pulled back, brow pinched in confusion. “But you do that.”

 He swallowed nervously. Their mom was never awake by the time they needed to walk to school, but he wanted to…wanted to do something to make it seem like she was more involved in their lives. He’d gotten her tired smiles growing up, and her bell-like laugh. His brother had gotten none of that, and he knew how important family was, and…

 “No. Mom does that. I just help her out sometimes.” It was a weak response, and they both knew it.

 That only seemed to confuse the younger boy more, and he opened his mouth to argue.

  “Hey, why don’t you read me your stupid book, huh? Mending your pants is a snooze-fest. At least this way we can be bored together.”

 A distraction always worked. Soon, Edward was all smiles again, and tucked his head into his brother's shoulder with the dog-eared book propped up on his knees. He cleared his throat, whispering the title with awe, like he was about to start an epic story. “See Spot Run.”

They ended up waking their mother up with their laughter, but it was worth it.

Those memories were bittersweet now, tinged with regret and the thoughts of what could have been. He didn’t know when it started, the rift between him and Edward. Perhaps it was always there, just two boys destined to mirror one another in a pantomime of polarity. Hindsight always bore the gift of clarity.

The years went by and Wayne slipped away, little by little. It started with the odd jobs that became real jobs that kept him out too late, but the family wallet a little thicker. Then as he grew older, his seat in the classroom remained vacant, and somewhere in the shuffle his brother had gotten lost.

By the time Wayne was seventeen, the hubris of youth had taken root. The money he was making was good enough to buy his own set of wheels, and if he played his cards right, his ticket to freedom. He thought he was grown, and determined to put that little one bedroom house in his rearview mirror. No more playing parent, no more responsibility--just his own money and his own life.

Looking back, he understood that impulse to run, but he’d never regretted anything more in his life. Had he just been present and maybe a little less focused on girls and partying, he would have been a better role model.

A better brother.

They pulled up to the house, windows dark and shuttered. 

“You know, nobody’s home.” The words were pressed into his date’s cheek, the smell of her flowery perfume clouding his thoughts. Couldn’t remember her name for the life of him, but he didn’t need to. She wanted him, and he wanted her--what more did he need to know?

She giggled, pushing him away. “I can’t imagine what we’d get up to.” There was a smile hidden behind her hand, batting her long eyelashes at him.

“I’m sure we can figure something out.” He grinned back at her--he’d been told his smile was charming. He was already turning off the ignition, and reaching across the console for another kiss.

The lights in the house flipped on.  

“I thought you said nobody would be home.” The honeyed tone was gone, replaced with wide eyes and trepidation.

  “There shouldn’t be.” His dad worked the night shift, and fuck knows where his mom was these days. Which only could only mean…

 He dropped his head against the steering wheel. “Shit. My kid brother.”

 Mirabelle--that was her name--had started to button up her blouse self-consciously. “O-Oh. Well. Maybe…Maybe we should call it a night then?”

 Wayne Munson was not about to be cock-blocked by a shitty ten year old. He covered her hand with his own, before reaching up and pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “We can do that, if you want.” He wet his lips, eyes flicking down to meet hers. Do you want that?”

 She swallowed, and locked eyes with him, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “No.”

That was all the confirmation he needed. He leaned over and placed a kiss on her cheek, pulling back with a smile. She returned it, and he ran a thumb along her lower lip. “Then keep that smile for me, sweetheart. I’ll be just a minute.”

He was a man on a mission now, leaving the car behind.

 Edward was opening the screen door, rubbing his eyes and squinting at the headlights. “Wayne? You were supposed to be home to cook me dinner…”

 Wayne knelt down in front of him, “I know--Listen, I have a pretty lady who wants to take a tour of the house. Think you can make yourself scarce for a bit?”

 Edward’s eyes darkened, “No! You’re never here anymore, and I’m not going to sit outside while you like, kiss or whatever!” His voice carried in the night air, and Wayne quickly threw a hand over his mouth to shush him.

 “This is so uncool, what the fuck, Edward?” He hissed back, narrowing his eyes.

 The kid threw his glare right back at him, and licked his palm.

Wayne’s hand flew back like he’d been burned. “Fine, I’ll make you some fucking dinner, Jesus Christ.” He stomped away from him, shoving his fists into the pockets of his leather jacket.

 He threw the car door open, and slammed it shut just as hard. “Change of plans. Brat still needs to be babysat, apparently.” He tried popping his neck from side to side, avoiding the small shadow sitting expectantly on the front porch steps.  

“Oh.” She gave a small frown, “Well that’s…sweet of you.” A new smile took residence on her face, but it wasn’t a flirtatious one: it was pitying. Yep, he was definitely not getting laid tonight, or ever, not by Mirabelle at least.  

“Yeah, that’s me, big ol’ sweetheart.” It came out flat, and he turned the key in the ignition, engine roaring to life. “Let’s get you home.”

Turns out his brother had learned a lot more from Wayne than he thought. Kids were spongey--they soaked up everything whether you wanted them to or not. It became less about the lessons on how to tie his shoes and make his own meals, and more about the unspoken rules of how to be a man and an adult. Between their father and Wayne’s absenteeism, Edward cobbled together how to sneak into bars, pick up chicks, and how to finish his own fights. By the time Edward’s own teenage years rolled around, he was on a first name basis with every authority figure in a five mile radius.

It’s funny how the more things changed, the more they remained the same: Wayne was still taking care of a kid that wasn’t his with one bedroom between the two (no little house in Kentucky this time, though).

Somehow he’d even managed to sleep on a pull out couch again.

This time though, things would be different. He wouldn’t let Eddie become another Munson fuckup.

Wayne cleared his throat, trying to grab his nephew’s attention. “Since you’ve got so much time on your hands, why don’t you play us some Johnny Cash, hm?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Always the Man in Black.” Despite his grousing, it came with a playful smile. Before long the discordantly cheerful twang of ‘Folsom Prison Blues’ became the backdrop of Wayne’s musings.

He couldn’t help but shake his head and smile into his whiskey, though it was a sad and bitter one. Eddie had no idea how appropriate his song choice had been.

This time, he knew exactly what was to blame for his maudlin thoughts: a phone call.

 ‘Would you like to collect this call?’ The tinny voice crackled in his ears--he didn’t need to be told who was on the line; he already knew.

  Against his better judgment, he accepted the call.

 “Hey.”

 “How’d you get this number?”

 There was a resigned laugh on the other end. “Haven’t changed a bit…Kinda hopin’ you had.” A pause, “Social worker. You’re a hard man to find, Wayne.”

 Wayne hummed in understanding--it hard to get a guardianship without the parents involved somehow. “I like my solitude.” It was also intentional, but he didn’t feel the need to point that out.

 It had been years since he’d heard his brother’s voice, but he recognized it all the same. There were cracks in it, like asphalt on a hot summer day, tinged with the boyishness of a forgotten childhood. Bikes and skinned knees. It was like coming home to a vacant house.

 It hurt.  

“What do you want, Edward?” It came out softer than he’d wanted, but Wayne always had a soft spot for his little brother.  

“A lot of things.” A swallow, “Drugs. Money. Freedom. Forgiveness.” There was a longer pause, “My brother.”

 He noted the order of things and the glaring hole in the list. “But not your kid, huh?”  

“Junior’s better off without me.”

 He wasn’t about to fight him on that, not when it was true.  

“I was hopin’ he’d go to you, even if you did do a shit job with me. But you ain’t gotta raise him, just keep him clothed and fed.”

Wayne bit his tongue--he didn’t have to raise his kid-brother either, but he did. He still fucking did, because that’s just what you do.

But he didn’t have to rise to the bait, no matter how true it may have been.

“Eddie.” He cleared his throat, “He goes by Eddie. Not Edward. Not junior.”

“That so? Guess he didn’t want to be like his old man.”

 God, he hoped not. He was doing everything in his power to keep Eddie from that.

“Doesn’t matter, not why I called. Just…wanted to say thanks. For keepin’ my boy. You keep him in line, and don’t let him give you no lip.”

He thought back to their first days together--him and Eddie. Carefully orbiting one another, watching one another like fighters in the ring. Who’d take the first punch?

 In the end, neither of them had: it was a stupid coffee cup. Eddie had it in his hands, touches always feather light, like he was afraid he’d break it. Ironically, it was that carefulness that led to a broken mug on their floor. It was an accident--had slipped out of Eddie’s soapy grip. Just a shitty gas station mug. Nothing memorable.

 Nothing like the horror on his nephew’s face.

 “Wayne, it was an accident, you gotta believe me--you gotta---” His hands were fisted in his shirt, frozen, right before they flew to retrieve the broken ceramic pieces. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry--” Red dotted the shards as he tried to pick them up.

 Instincts and adrenaline took over, and he was across the room in seconds, grasping Eddie’s hands within his own. “You’re okay, Eddie.”

 The touch seemed to ground him, but his hands still shook. “I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne.”  

“I care a lot more about you gettin’ hurt than a mug I didn’t even like.” He lifted the boy to his feet, gesturing to the bathroom. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

 It was for that reason alone, Wayne felt himself grit out, “Don’t call back” before slamming the phone down on the receiver.

  He never did tell Eddie about the call. He wanted his nephew to feel safe where he was without the specter of his father lingering over them both.

A familiar tune tugged him back into consciousness and out of the recesses of his memory. He lifted his head up, “Since when did you learn to play the Hollies?”

Eddie’s playing halted as he shrugged his shoulders. “Just kinda picked it up. No biggie.” He flexed his fingers a moment--they were red from the cold. He insisted on wearing a pair of old gloves that he’d clipped the tips off of--said it was the closest thing to a compromise on keeping his hands warm, but still being able to pluck at the strings.

Wayne shook his head with a smile, running his thumbs along the mug in his hands. It was a replacement for the one he’d broken though much improved: the glaringly cheerful text of ‘WELCOME TO HAWKINS’ had been crossed out with a sloppy scrawl ‘WELCOME TO BUMFUCK NOWHERE’. He’d never felt particularly welcome in Hawkins to begin with.

“What about Dolly Parton? You pick any of her stuff up?”

Eddie huffed out a laugh, “I know not to take her man, if that’s what you mean.” Sure enough, ‘He Ain't Heavy’ melted into the heartbroken classic of ‘Jolene’.

Wayne couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at that--kid was clever.

Eddie’s finger slipped, causing a screech of discordant strings.

Wayne whipped his head over at him, raising his eyebrows in an unspoken ‘you good?’. His nephew was talented,  well on his way to being skilled, but it wasn’t normal for him to flub like that.

Eddie shrugged, ‘what can you do?’. He was back to playing, but his hands trembled and his smile was plastic. Then the music abruptly stopped. “Not that I’d…y’know, steal her man. I’m not...‘that way’. Obviously.”

That gave Wayne pause. “Didn’t think you were.” He cocked an eyebrow, watching his nephew fidget in his seat. Odd that he felt the need to clarify in the first place--was this another thing his brother hammered into him?

“Do…you remember when I first came here?” The music had stopped completely, Eddie resting his hands over the acoustic. Nervous fingers tapped a quiet rhythm along her black frame. “How I had that buzzcut?” As if on cue, he moved a hand to his hair. A year had prompted a lot of growth--the dark curls hovered just above his shoulders.

“Made your ears look like Dumbo, yep.” Wayne nodded along, setting the empty mug down on the porch (and a safe distance away from the two of them--he didn’t want a third replacement).

Eddie gave a bark of startled laughter, “I know, right? It was so bad.” The easy smile faded as quickly as it came. “It wasn’t my choice. My old man…”

Just the mere mention of him caused his shoulders to slump and his to dim. Eddie never called him ‘dad’--he hadn’t earned that title, in Wayne’s eyes.

“He cut it saying it would make me look less like a fag.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair again self-consciously.

An uncharacteristic lull fell between the two of them. There’s something big here, and he has a creeping suspicion he’s missed something important. The longer he takes to reply though, the more heavily Eddie’s gaze weighs on him.

He’d figure out where this piece of the puzzle went later. “My brother is a goddamn idiot. Keep the hair, kid.” To emphasize his point, he reached over and ruffled the boy’s hair.

Eddie squawked at that, playfully shoving him away, but there was still a small unhappy twist to his expression.

It was quiet, a reflexive comment and less like actual conversation, but Wayne heard it all the same: “A goddamn perceptive idiot.” Did he hear that right? He knitted his brows together, “Come again, kid?”

“Just saying he didn’t like me looking like David Bowie or some shit. Don’t worry about it.” He gave a shrug, but his eyes were too sharp, too wary to sell the air of nonchalance he was going for.

“That a rock star you like or somethin’?”

A quiet laugh. “Something like that.” Another pause, “That’s…not going to be a problem, is it? Liking David Bowie or Robert Halford?”

“Considering I have no idea who those folks are? Not one bit. Just don’t hog the bathroom and we’re good.”

“I’ll leave you enough time to do your hair in the morning, scouts honor.” He batted his eyes for effect, which caused Eddie to laugh at his own antics. “Can’t have you looking all scruffy for McCluskey, after all.”

Whatever door of opportunity had opened had promptly hit his ass on his way out, because Eddie had already moved on. “I don’t know how you two can be related. You’re nothing like him.”

Now if that wasn’t the biggest kick in the teeth? “I wouldn’t say that. We both got our daddy’s temper. Mine just got tempered, and his didn’t.”

Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t comfortable. It was contemplative and heavy with bad memories.

“Sometimes I think I hate him.” Eddie took a shuddering breath, mouth set in firm line.

Wayne said nothing--couldn’t bring himself to. In his heart of hearts, he knew he did too.

“Is it weird if I love him too?” He had Eddie’s full attention now, dark eyes weighing heavily on him.

In truth, Wayne didn’t have the answers. He was doing good to put one foot in front of the other, every day. He didn’t know how to even begin untangling the massive ball of hurt knotted in his chest, much less help someone else with theirs.

Yet here they were. Two people haunted by the same person, this shared trauma that bonded them together. He wanted more for Eddie than whatever this was.

It was as good a time as any to start the healing process. So Wayne took a deep breath, buying himself a few crucial seconds before he spoke, “Sometimes love is so wrapped up with the hurt we can’t tell the difference.”

He pointed the stub of his cigarette at Eddie, “Let me be clear about this though: my brother is an asshole.”

The declaration made Eddie’s eyes as round as saucers, but Wayne kept going. He had more to say, and he was going to make it count.

They hadn’t talked about it, what Eddie’s life was like before. Hadn’t been a real reason to, in Wayne’s mind. He was able to pick up enough--something would happen, and he would adjust accordingly. The social workers had told him not to pry and not to push, but maybe it would do the boy some good to talk. If not to him, at least to someone.

Maybe they could start here.

Eddie had a white knuckle grip on the neck of his guitar, stone still for the first time in his life.

“You got the Munson gene, but you ain’t your daddy. You ain't me either, thank God. You go be yourself, Eddie.”

“...I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me in one sitting, Wayne.” His lips were bitten into the ghost of a smile, his voice tinged with humor and emotion.

Of course that’s what he’d take away from it. Wayne snorted, shaking his head with terrible fondness. “It’s the first time I’ve been able to get a word in.”

“Hey, someone has to carry the conversation.”

He chuckled to himself, “More like a monologue.”

Eddie almost threw himself out of the chair, clutching at his heart dramatically. “You wound me, good sir!” He hopped up to his feet with a newfound energy. “Want me to take your cup to the kitchen?”

He didn’t wait for Wayne’s response before dipping down and snatching it. He quickly wrinkled his face, “...Were you drinking whiskey out of a coffee cup?”

Wayne shrugged. “A cup’s a cup.”

“And I’m the freak.” Eddie snorted, shaking his head fondly. “Want me to grab anything else?”

“I’m good. When you come back, let me hear what you’ve been workin’ on.” Call him sentimental, but he wanted to keep the moment as long as he could. Kids grow up so fast.

His jaw dropped, “You want to hear a Scorpion’s song? You hear that shit all the time though.”

“S’not so bad at this volume.”

“If you can’t feel it in your teeth, you aren’t doing the music justice.” Eddie shuffled in the doorway a moment, “Besides, it’d sound better on an electric. Not that there’s anything wrong with my girl, here.” He motioned to the guitar now strapped along his back.

“That so?” Wayne cocked an eyebrow up at him. It certainly hadn’t stopped him from playing all hours of the night before. “Sounds just fine to me.”

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Prepare for the most tame concert ever.” There was pure glee in his voice as he skittered away back into the trailer with newfound enthusiasm.

The future was a fragile, tentative thing, but he wanted one for Eddie. That’s all he ever wanted for his family, and if it took a few extra shifts, and some sleepless nights to ensure that? He’d do it again and again.

The rickety lawn chair scraped across the porch as Eddie scooted in closer. “You ready for this?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, kid.”

#Wayne Munson #eddie munson #kid eddie munson #found family #chalky writes #hurt/comfort #stranger things fanfic #stranger things season 4 #wayne munson is a good uncle #trauma is inherited #we get to see wayne and his brother as kids #it means the world to me to illustrate parental figures who may not be on the up and up but try their best to understand their kids #and where they're coming from with the tools and knowledge that they have #also eddie's soft 'coming out' is mirrored to my own #just enough information to say 'hey i came out #i did it' #without having to fully say the words #He Aint Heavy #part 2

[humanityinahandbag]

Steddie: Wayne the Matchmaker (Part 1?)

Wayne wasn't born yesterday.

He knows full well that his nephew, his boy, is far gone for the Harrington kid. Knows it in the way he sighs, the way he drapes himself over the couch. Knows it in the way lyrics pour out of Eddie's room while he tries to write songs (just last Tuesday he heard Eddie muttering goddammit what rhymes with chest hair from behind his bedroom door).

So it isn't much of a surprise to see Eddie swooning quietly by the front door as he shoves his feet into ratty sneakers, a red car waiting in the driveway. Government hush money had been enough for Wayne to take less shifts, to put some away for Eddie's future, and to buy a modest one floor ranch house on a tree lined street closer to his boy's new friends.

Including the one currently walking carefully around the newly planted posies towards the front door.

"You seein' that Harrington boy again?" he asks.

Eddie's face went pink, and he ducked down pretending to look through his backpack for something. "Yeah," he says behind a curtain of hair. "We're going to the movies."

"S'nice. What are you seein'?"

"Uh, the new David Bowie thing. Labyrinth."

Wayne ignores how Eddie phrases it, like he hadn't been bouncing off the walls to see that little David Bowie Thing when the posters first showed up outside Melvalds. "Doesn't much seem his taste. He choose it?"

"Yeah, he-" Eddie stops and looks up. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do that," Eddie says, fixing his Uncle with a frosty stare. "I know what you're doing, and we're just- we're friends. He's- he likes his ex. You should see them, honestly. They're like, perfect together. Dream couple." As if Wayne didn't hear the sorrow behind his tone.

"Mmmhm," says Wayne. "You sure?"

Eddie didn't get a chance to rebuttal when the door was knocked. Wayne opens it before he could.

"Hi, sir." Always polite this one. Steve's wearing a polo shirt and light wash jeans. It all looks newly pressed. And if he breathes in- yup. That's definitely cologne. "Uh, I'm here for Eddie?"

"Yeah, he's here. You wanna come in-"

"He doesn't." Eddie pops out from behind the door, glaring over his shoulder at Wayne. "C'mon, Stevie! We'll miss the previews!"

"Bye, Mr. Munson!" Steve calls over his shoulder. He grabs Eddie by the back of the collar, tugging him backwards, laughing and racing him to the car.

And well. This just wouldn't do.

-

Wayne never pretended to know a whole lot about love. He'd had his flings back in the day, but life had given him more curveballs than he'd been able to catch at once.

Not that he was complaining. Eddie was one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

But dammit if he didn't want the kid falling down the same hole he had.

Eddie deserves love. And Wayne figures that a few gentle nudges wouldn't hurt.

-

It starts with simple suggestion.

The next time Steve is at the front door, Wayne makes sure to distract Eddie with a well timed, "fix your hair," that had him scrambling for the bathroom, leaving Wayne alone with the Harrington boy.

"Steve," he says.

"Mr. Munson! Nice to see you. Um, we're just going to the arcade-"

"He likes sticky hands."

Steve blinks. "Sorry?"

"If you're gonna win him anything, get him one'a those sticky hands. It'll be hell on me, but he loves'm."

Steve nods, like it was precious information, perking up when Eddie breaks out of the bathroom.

When they get back, Eddie is considerably pinker, slapping everything around the house with a stupid pink sticky hand on a string.

"Steve won it for me," he says, as if daring Wayne to take it away.

Wayne only cracks another beer.

-

(He tells himself over and over that this is for the pursuit of love, even when he wants to shove Eddie out a window the fourth time a very sticky hand thwacks him on the back of his bald head.)

-

"He likes sunflowers," Wayne says the next time he sees Steve, which just so happens to be a week before graduation. Steve had arrived with a cake. A cake he baked. From scratch. Eddie had run to get his camera to take a picture and that was when Wayne got his chance.

Steve looks up at Wayne owlishly. "Sorry?"

"Sunflowers," Wayne repeats. "If you get him flowers for graduation, that's what he likes."

Steve nods seriously, brow drawn in thought. "Cool," he says finally. "Sunflowers."

Eddie gets sunflowers for graduation. He presses one of the petals between the pages of The Hobbit.

"Still think he's just a friend?" Wayne asks from the doorway.

Eddie traces the petal and closes the book. "It's enough," he says.

Wayne gives his nephew a long look. "You're allowed to like him."

"I know."

"No. You're allowed to like him," Wayne says again. "Like him like you like him."

Eddie stares at the petal. "I know," he says. And then; "I love him."

"I know," says Wayne and bundles Eddie into a hug.

-

Wayne gets to a point where he could gnaw through the walls of their new home, which he won't do, because Claudia Henderson chose the wallpaper and chewing on furniture is mostly frowned upon. But by god does he want to.

Wherever Eddie is, Steve follows. He appears at their front door to take Eddie on hikes. When he heard Eddie never learned to swim, he takes him to the quarry and Eddie comes back damp and flushed and Wayne guesses it has something to do with the shirtless boy in the driveway.

And yet through it all, Eddie doesn't see.

He doesn't see the long looks or the careful touches. Doesn't grasp the meaning behind Steve appearing one night with a bag of groceries and a smile and an announcement of I'm cooking you dinner! before making the best damn lasagne Wayne's ever had.

Instead, Eddie fawns and sighs and does everything he can to make Steve happy. Dotes and compliments and builds him up until Steve is red and spluttering and beaming.

Eddie is a good boy. Wayne raised a good boy, who loves fiercely and wholly, but somehow didn't think he was worth the same trouble.

And. Well. That just wouldn't do.

-

Wayne wants time to come up with some kind of a plan, but fate was a sporadic fucking asshole and chose for him. Which is how Wayne finds himself answering the phone on a Thursday to hear Steve's voice on the other line.

"Mr. Munson?"

"Steve. Eddie ain't home. He's at band practice."

"Oh," Steve says. "Right, uh. Can you tell him that I called?"

Wayne thinks a moment. "I can," he says, slowly. "But first, I'd like to talk to you."

A long pause. He can practically hear Steve sweating on the other line. "Me?"

"You," says Wayne. "S'only that you've been here an awful lot lately. Eddie's taken a real shine to you. You know that?"

"He's one of my closest friends, Mr. Munson."

"Mmmhm. An' I'm glad for him. But I don't mean like that."

He hears Steve suck in a breath on the other end. "Oh."

"Not that it's any of my business, an' maybe these old eyes are seein' things, but I catch you lookin' from time to time. Then again, I'm just an' old man-"

"You're not that old," Steve says. "And. Your eyes work great. Probably better than mine."

Good first step. Buttering up the parents.

"So. Just so we're on the same page, Mr. Munson. Eddie told me that you know about him. That he likes. Um. Yunno."

"Men."

"Yeah," says Steve, relieved. "Yeah, men, right. And so I was thinking the other day that I'm a man!"

"So you are," says Wayne.

"And it came to my attention a few months ago that people can like both. Which is- which is crazy. But I guess it's not so crazy. I used to work in an ice cream store and people would order the weirdest combos. Like... strawberry and pistachio? And I'd say, you can't like both! But then Robin told me I could."

"Steve."

"Right. So anyway. I've been spending all this time with Eddie. But I wasn't really sure. I mean, he can like men. But that doesn't mean he'd like my type of man. That I am. Man-wise."

Wayne hums. "And if I told you he did like your type of man? Man wise?"

"I'd probably ask if he liked Italian or Chinese, sir."

Outside Wayne can hear Eddie's van rolling back down the street. "He likes lo mein. No onions."

"Okay," breathes Steve.

"And even if he looks like an angry alley cat, the boy likes romance. You hear me, son? Candles, flowers, showin' up at windows."

"I can do that," says Steve. "I'm great at romance."

Eddie's car rolls into the driveway and Wayne looks out the window, waving to Eddie as he cuts the engine and the music and steps out. His boy stops to carefully step over the flowers first, waving back.

His good boy, who pours love out until he's empty and never complains. He deserves to have it poured back.

"You're welcome anytime, Steve," says Wayne earnestly. "Anyone who makes my boy as happy as he is- you're welcome anytime."

Eddie walks in as Wayne hangs up. "Who was that?"

Wayne tugs him into a hug. "No one," he says. And then, "go shower. You smell like Gareth's garage."

"Like a goddamn rockstar, you mean?" Eddie ducks away from a swat and laughs, running down the hall.

Like a kid in love, Wayne thinks, and turns on the game.

-

With ao3 being down (pour one out, I'm donating my life savings once they're back up) I got feral enough to write a one shot on here. I can't update my other Wayne Matchmaker fic. So. Yunno. This will have to do for now.

Does this need a part 2? You tell me.

LONGER, EDITED VERSION NOW ON AO3!

(IF I POST A PART 2 IT WILL BE THERE :D)

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie oneshot #boys in love #eddie munson #steve henderson #uncle wayne #wayne munson #good uncle wayne #eddie munson the gremlin #pour one out for ao3 #we miss you #we'll never take you for granted again #my god i'm feral #sticky hands

[hitlikehammers]

POV: when your boyfriend accidentally overhears you spilling all your (very misplaced) insecurities about him leaving you for the white-picket-fence love he ‘deserves’

aka: CONCLUSION ☄️ hold me oh so close (you’re the sanctuary) 2/2 (and still 100% for @pearynice on her birthday🎉)

✨previously: “I just gotta believe that loving, even for just a short time’s worth it, when it feels like this,” and Eddie does believe that. Deep down, even if it’s alongside doubting and hurting. Eddie believes it, else he’d have run ages ago. Loving Steve Harrington is worth it. “Ed,” Wayne starts his tone a little off, a little…probably tied up in the something Eddie doesn’t have a clue as to what he nudging at, still, but whatever it’s— Eddie thinks he about shoots his head up through the ceiling of the trailer—which would be a goddamn shame because again: new trailer, still a draft, doesn’t need a hole—when he hears the clatter of something heavy not more than ten paces behind him. Which places it still in the kitchen, where he is but only just. Eddie whirls, heart pounding, ready for the worst— And his eyes lock with Steve’s. Steve, who it appears has placed one of his mother’s fancy-ass pie plates covered in aluminum foil near the phone in the corner by the door. Which he’d have opened, y’know, with his key. Because they lock the doors now, still, just in case. But Steve has his own key, and— Oh. Oh, that might have been what Wayne was nudging toward.

“You,” Eddie barely breathes out, and if his heart was pounding for fear a second ago it’s…it’s doing a thing he’s pretty sure isn’t normal, maybe is wholly unprecedented in all of human history of some shit, and he, he—

“Unintentional,” Steve grins a little sheepish at the plate he’d set on the counter, clocking that’s how he’d given himself away, why Eddie was panting a little for the adrenaline rush and the also not just or even primarily about the adrenaline rush; “but like—“

But like then Wayne’s scraping his chair against the linoleum instead of his spoon against his mug, standing up and dropping both into the sink before he clasps Eddie’s shoulder, squeezes, then crosses over toward Steve, does the same and asks low don’t eat it all without me, yeah? and Steve laughs, matches the fondness Wayne aims at him as he lobs back like we’d start without you and Wayne hums his approval before grabbing his truck keys, muttering something about needing cigs—which Eddie’s knows damn well he doesn’t—and then he glances at Eddie with that look, and, and…

Oh, Jesus.

The door’s barely closed behind Wayne before Eddie turns in his chair, knows his knees aren’t gonna hold him just now if he stands, there’s this under-the-skin kinda trembling he can feel that might be his heartbeat or might be his bones quaking apart because, like, Wayne had been looking at him the whole time like that and—

“How long have you been standing there?” Eddie barely squeaks out, it’d be a weirdly humiliating sound either way but it’s not because Eddie can barely process anything over the raucous thunder of his own goddamn pulse because how long has Steve been standing there and, and—

How much did Steve hear?

“Long enough,” Steve finally answers after spending a little time playing with his lips between his teeth in a way that normally drives Eddie a little crazy, but right now he’s a little too nauseated for it to hit.

“Longer than I’d have liked, because the things I heard,” Steve’s voice cracks as he shakes his head, and he looks so crushed, so pained and Eddie feels both sensations wash over him and settle in deep and at ten times the intensity, the weight because Eddie’s caused it. Eddie’s own words fucking made this and he—

“But it was at least as long as I needed, so that I could hear ‘em,” and Steve’s crossing to him, now, crouching a little so grip Eddie at the forearms; “because I needed to hear them.”

Eddie turns, hides his face which makes him feel sick because this is Steve, there are no moments he doesn’t want to see him, to drink him in, to refresh the permanent etching of the whole of him on the insides of Eddie’s eyelids, the ephemeral tangle of Eddie soul so he’ll remember for always what this felt like, what love can be.

For when it’s gone.

“Eddie,” Steve reaches, gathers Eddie’s hands so strong, but sure and so gentle, like he wants to…preserve. So as to keep.

Eddie barely keeps down the seizing tremble to sob, but the cost of doing so cuddles in his stomach to the point where it settles even worse.

“Babe, I needed to hear it,” Steve’s hands tighten on him, thumb stroking back and forth against the pulse in Eddie's wrist; “but now I need you to hear this, okay? Really hear it, please,” he brings Eddie’s hands closer so one of his own can hold both of Eddie’s so he has one free to grasp Eddie’s chin and lift it up, catch his eyes:

“Can you do that for me?”

And that’s the silver bullet: there’s nothing Eddie wouldn’t do for this man.

So he nods. And if a tear he didn’t notice falls when he blinks, Steve’s hand darts immediately to wipe it clear.

“You still think I want a Nancy,” Steve breathes, a lament and a realization rolled into one, that clenches tight in Eddie’s chest.

“You still think it, don’t you, still have this idea of what that was and what that meant, when the real-life Nancy wasn’t even this idea you have of a Nancy and, and then fuck, then the reality of it, like when me and her were anything?” Steve huffs something…bitter out, not toward Eddie and that’s the thing, isn’t it: Steve and Eddie aren’t perfect, and they fight loud and hard sometimes but they’re never bitter, they don’t swipe dirty.

They love—

“God, we were stupid,” Steve shakes his head and oh, well, yeah, maybe Eddie was stupid to fall so far and so deep fucking knowing the lines and limits and flipping them all off nonetheless but—

Then he looks, and Steve’s regretful. Nostalgic in that way where you think of a thing from the past for the lessons you learned for it, the ones you’re grateful for.

And oh.

Oh, Steve didn’t mean them, he meant himself, and…and her.

“You still think that,” Steve bends his chin to press lips where his thumbs have been, and to hold, and to speak against the delicate skin: “after everything.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s not disappointment. Eddie feels both, though: from himself, toward himself.

“Steve,” Eddie doesn’t mean it to come out like a moan. He swears. He swears he doesn’t mean it.

And yet.

“Come here,” Steve’s springing to his height and drawing Eddie first against his middle, tight to the low-center of his chest where the pulse of him echoes like a bell to toll and the he sinks into the comfort in that sound runs through him like cool rain for just an instant before hands are lifting, guiding him to stand and he stumbles a little but he goes nowhere, because Steve won’t let him, won’t ever let him.

All that perfectly placed trust in this man, never proven wrong.

“Will you come here?” Steve murmurs, watches Eddie’s feet and glances up through his lashes to his eyes, down and back, down and back as he leads them to the couch; knows this space like his own, like his home and that shivers through Eddie’s body—it feels right. Like it could’ve been forever, in another world.

But in this world? Steve asks if Eddie will come with him.

“Always.”

Forever the answer. And so he does.

Steve pulls him close, so close, almost in his lap as he curls against Eddie and gathers his hands again, squeezes to conduct his attention—like it could ever stray.

“I need you to listen to me,” Steve breathes so close to Eddie’s ear, hit on his neck; “I need you to listen, and believe me when I say it.”

All Eddie has in him just that moment is to nod, but fuck, does he nod, nods until Steve kisses the side of his head and tucks him under his chin, where Eddie can feel his blood move along by accident.

But it doesn’t feel like an accident.

“I used to think I fucked up with Nancy,” Steve’s saying, and Eddie can hear it as a whisper as well as he can feel it rumble under Steve’s throat; “and I did, but it was like,” he swallows hard, and Eddie feels that too; “it felt like I was the only guilty one, like I had take to all the blame, that it meant,” and Steve’s breath catches, he tenses, his heart trips a little, speeds a little and Eddie can’t not kills at the swell of his Adams’s apple, then the bump of his pulse, to nuzzle the tip of his nose in between, and Steve’s hand threads in Eddie hair: holds him near.

So fucking near.

“That it meant I was the problem, that I was built wrong,” and Eddie sucks in a breath that hurts but not nearly as much as those words, the implication that Steve ever; “that I was like my parents,” and no, fucking no: Steve is ten times most people in the whole world but in comparison to his fucking parents? Jesus fuck, numbers don’t go high enough to compare how much he outstrips them—

“That my love was only ever gonna be bullshit.”

And Eddie can’t help it. He whimpers when he wants to be still, be quiet and let Steve say what he needs to, let him ease Eddie down gently and make the end of this feel softer than it should, than it will with time but with a kindness no one in the world would ever show Eddie Munson—he wants to respect Steve’s space to say his piece but bullshit—Eddie’s come to trust and care for Nancy Wheeler, wonder of wonders, but fuck if he isn’t tempted to slash her tires and shred her drafts right before her deadlines for at least…ever. For fucking ever, because that’s not even in the same reality of enough of a punishment for saying, for doing what she did to this man’s precious fucking heart and if anyone here is bullshit, she’s—

He doesn’t realize how heavy his breathing has gotten, or how tunneled his vision, until Steve reaches a palm out and cradles his neck: an anchor. He’s quiet, and breathes like a light in the dark to follow home until Eddie can see straighter.

He is such…such goodness that it’s hard to do anything but reorientate the whole of him just…just to Steve.

“And I wondered, for a little while, if I put Nancy on this pedestal?” Steve speaks so soft, pressed now against Eddie’s brow, forehead to forehead. “Like she was something better, above me, and could…balance me out. Make the wrongness better. Worthwhile.”

Impossible. Impossible because she couldn’t, she’s not sufficient. Impossible because there’s no wrongness in Steve Harrington. Impossible because Steve’s more often than not the most, if not the only, worthwhile anything Eddie sometimes knows at all.

“But the reality,” and Steve’s tone, it’s…it’s different now. More…sure, maybe; “the real truth,” and yes, yeah, more sure, it’s a certain thing: “is we were stupid kids who saw horrible things, and we were hurting,” and Steve’s head turns just enough to brush lips against Eddie’s temple before bowing back against Eddie’s forehead, both of them breathing the other’s breath now.

Unbearably intimate. It always is but…but like this—

“Sometimes you lash out when you’re hurting,” Steve says simply, leans trusting into Eddie as he does, so forgiving of things that scarred him so deep; “sometimes hurting back, whatever way you can, is the only thing you’ve got.”

Eddie almost can’t comprehend it; is almost infuriated by its dismissal. But there’s…finality that feels like comfort.

Eddie doesn’t understand why, though, or, or how.

“And she was never, above me,” there’s this almost-smile in Steve’s voice then; “her love wasn’t better than my love,” and that’s the true thing, the most true thing maybe, the thing Eddie knew all along without a single shred of doubt:

“And my love didn’t need to be evened out. It was fine. I was fine.”

Then the pièce de résistance:

“My love’s enough just as it is.”

And Eddie wants simultaneous contractions, so deep and so much he can feel them tearing apart something vital in his chest: because he wants to rail, wants to push back on it because that’s not true, that’s too small: Steve’s love is perfection. Steve’s love is the only evidence Eddie’s ever seen that there might be a benevolent god in the universe somewhere, to allow for the tingly giddy joy that floods him under the warm beat of Steve’s love and if Eddie gets that from this love, limited-time-only though it’s offer might be, then Jesus H. Christ, Steve’s love? Enough?

That’s a fucking insult of the kinds Eddie’ll go account a hill tall enough to die on in defense of that love’s—this man’s—impossible, ineffable worth.

“Especially now,” Steve’s easing Eddie’s grip on him finger by finger—he must have grasped hard, squeezed so so tight when Steve shortchanged anything about himself as only just enough but it s a soft loosening, and he’s not letting go in the slightest, and his lips are set soft with a curve at the corners like maybe he knows that underneath Eddie’s indignation, he’s fucking proud of Steve for getting this far, for making progress that big: the know it clear enough to say it like the foundation fact it is when it took so long to unwrite the lies of a lifetime: yes.

Fuck yes, Eddie is proud of the man he loves who is more than fucking enough, who deserves the whole world.

And Eddie’s not the whole fucking world; Steve deserve so much mo—

“Because now,” Steve’s speaking again, and Eddie promised to listen, to believe like either was ever in question, like the cells in Eddie’s body don’t reorient themselves specifically to be near Steve, to cluster closer to Steve to soak in all of Steve—

“Now, this time, it’s this, this totally sincere thing, it’s this wholly honest, this absolutely genuine, like, timed in the rhythm of your heartbeat kinda thing I’ve never felt before and,” Steve rambles a little but it’s so earnest, so heartfelt where Eddie, or Robin—often their ramblings are just tangled-up tangents but this, from Steve: this is intention atop intention, a mountain of certainties vying for dominance to get the first foot out his mouth and into the world to make itself known.

“My love was always enough, but,” Eddie doesn’t like the ‘but’ on instinct, must scrunch his face or fail to catch a little whine for it because Steve’s hand in his own—still there, still there—but Steve’s still-there hand knows immediately to strokes Eddie’s knuckles, to soothe and to ground because Steve does love him in his way for as long as he’s willing, as long as he wants and it’s perfection, so far exceeding enough.

“But this is different from that other love,” Steve’s speaking it low, like the sound waves at that pitch will sync with something elemental inside Eddie’s DNA, inside the cadence of his blood—like he’d want that for some reason, like he does want that, here and now:

“Because it’s so much bigger, and stronger, and real in this whole new way,” and Steve’s lifting Eddie’s hand to his lips, doesn’t have to look to know the way anymore, presses them dead center to the middle and oh, oh it’s everything, Eddie melts a little and his heart’s still pounding almost painfully but it’s singing a little, forever weak and willfully so for Steve, Steve’s touch, Steve’s love—whatever kind, for however long, this real and tangible thing Eddie can see and feel that’s more than he never dared to conceive of, to think he could hold and—

“I love you, Eds.”

And Eddie’s brain does him the courtesy of stopping before his heart does. Y’know: undercuts the capacity to panic where your blood stops pumping and it’s all just white noise inside the whole of you. Because your brain’s already offline anyway.

Helpful little trick of timing, really.

“I thought maybe it was too soon, and I was waiting to say it until you were ready, maybe,” Steve’s looking at him with this potent swirling mixture of apprehension and hope but all of it bundled up in that patent resolve of his, the thing that slays the monsters and corrals the children and reached that first time cup Eddie’s jaw and draw him all the way in; “maybe in case it ended up that you never were ready, but fuck,” and Steve’s breath huffs out of him like something pushes it, like something’s swelling up inside and squeezing on his organs, making the basic necessities of living a struggle and Eddie feels included to reach, to help and soothe but Steve might still look a little hesitant, but, but—

More than anything, the hope’s shining bright enough in the cracks to start winning out.

“Fuck,” Steve exhales with maybe the last of what’s left of his oxygen before he lifts his gaze and goddamn if those eyes are big enough, golden enough and swimming full enough to drown Eddie by default in something so much bigger than what he understand even the concept of love to be but it doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make sense, Eddie isn’t the dream, he’s not what’s Steve waiting on, but Steve’s hands aren’t just on his anymore, Steve’s hands are tangling with his hands and drawing Eddie’s up under his chin and Eddie can feel him breathing, thinks maybe he can feel his pulse against the skin but it’s hard to tell when Eddie’s own is such a riotous thing, and—

“If I was ever waiting for love, the real thing, the thing right here,” and he squeezes Eddie’s hands tighter, almost nonsensical; “right here,” and he kisses the pads of Eddie’s fingers and holds there close, long and warm like there’s something magnetic there, something worth staying to savor before he leans, holds eddies hands in the bare space between them as his gaze meets Eddie’s and locks there: Eddie couldn’t look away if he tries and then Steve breathes—

“It’s you.”

And Eddie must have heard wrong, same as his lungs, which tighten up to stalling, to causing real goddamn pain behind his bounding heart now because that’s not right, that’s not right—

“Up and down, through and through, forever and,” and Steve’s breath catches, and his eyes fly to Eddie’s, wide not like he surprises himself but like he’s unsure of something, when Eddie’s unsure he’s not fucking dreaming, or maybe goddamn dead and this is his afterlife, his undeserved reward; “umm,” and Steve licks his lips, but never wavers from looking at Eddie like hes the center of the universe, and more than that: some universe Steve wants:

“Always,” he breathes; “forever and always.”

Then he cups both of Eddie’s cheeks and and frames his face, cradles him like he’s dear beyond reason, like every word he said is law and love and light:

“It’s you.”

Eddie cannot fucking breathe.

“So, yeah,” Steve huffs, breathless himself; “that’s, umm,” and he pulls back a little, enough to run a shaky hand through his hair for nerves, and Eddie’s wants to stop him, wants to catch him and bring that hand to his lips but he’s frozen, he’s shaken, he’s stunned because he’s been so sure, he’d been so sure there was an expiration date but Steve had never spoken of one before, then here he’s said always and forever, over and again and both words, every time, were truths where Eddie’s knows Steve’s tells for anything less—these were truths but Eddie’d been sure—

“Guess that’s me pulling my heart out, too,” and Steve gestures between them, chest to chest and Eddie shudders, feels the motion move in his blood somehow: facts. Truths. This man, right here, being brave—having heard Eddie’s words he thought were confessions aimed elsewhere and not shying from them, put handing them back, offering his heart now and how, fucking, fucking how—

“And you can do whatever with it,” Steve sounds sure of that too, almost resigned but mostly resolute; “but Eddie?”

And then he smiles. Soft. Warm. With so much love.

“That’s been true from the start.”

That—

You can do whatever with it.

Like…as if Eddie’s had that heart from—

“Because it took like a second to know it was yours,” Steve spells it out plain, like he knows Eddie will struggle to take it it; he grabs Eddie’s hand and flattens it to his chest, lets him feel the frantic flutter as he exhales fierce:

“That I was yours.”

And between the words, and the certitude; the passion and the pulsing heart under his palm—all of Eddie’s conviction that that this was slowly creeping toward and end, it just…it’s like he held it in that hand.

And the steadfast pump of Steve’s heart breaks it to dust, banished far to nothing.

Eddie’s breath comes back in an incredulous laugh that’s no without tears.

“Mine?” he breathes, hand still on Steve’s heart, eyes trained on Steve’s own, unblinking. Still so close to disbelief.

“Yours,” Steve nods, covers his hand again and presses in. “All of it. Long as you want it.”

“Always,” Eddie answers almost before the last word fades; “always,” and it’s in claiming forever on offer beyond all imagining that it starts to register, to bleed into him full as he chokes out: “I never could have,” then he shakes his head, stacks another hand to Steve’s chest, needs the grounding. The assurance.

And then—

“Mine?”

Steve’s voice is small, but he’s leaning to Eddie’s pulse at his jaw, just the brush of his lips and Eddie shivers, but he turns a hand to drag Steve’s own to his heart, too, because good fucking god—

“Oh fuck,” Eddie breathes, arranges Steve’s fingers to every points around the beating so it’s complete, and fucking proprietary:

“Only yours,” he vows, wholly and complete; “past the day I goddamn die, Stevie,” and he means it, he means it: “only ever been yours.”

And it’s true, and not only because Eddie didn’t really understand love before loving Steve taught him. It’s that, but then: somehow beyond the size of words—it’s also more.

And when Steve leans to kiss him full on the lips, nothing they haven’t spent these last months doing every goddamn day, more chaste even than they’ve been for ages: it doesn’t shift the plates of the planet, or the motions of the tides.

It shifts the way the solar system rotates, the way the universe expands.

Steve tastes like what it means to be alive.

And they stay that way, they lower onto the cushions of the sofa and hold so fucking close, kiss so fucking sure like promises and their celebrations, their renewals and their rebirthings all in one. They kiss until air becomes meaningless, until their lungs burn as much as their eyes, until kisses tears away is commonplace and then spent entire, the moment held close and ushered through as a softness, a commitment to come another unwavering, and then they’re getting the, their breathing is calm and their bodies are pressed like they were made to mould into one perfect shape. They smile stupid at one another, the relief eclipsed in pure fucking joy, now, as Steve nips around Eddie’s face, down how next, to his collarbones: playful. As Eddie twists the soft strands of Steve’s hair and caresses beneath where they fall when he lets go, they start again.

“What kinda pie did you bring?” Eddie asks idly after minutes, probably not hours—they’re still alone and yeah, Wayne knew what he was doing when he left but it’s his day off. And he does love Steve’s baking.

Gets to love Steve’s baking now forever, and Eddie’s not settled enough to resist burying the full width of his grin in Steve’s shoulder for it: another forever-privilege he’s still acclimating to the marvel of.

“Apple,” Steve answers, stretching his neck back so Eddie can fit more fully, more close. “Wayne just said pie, but, I know the deer got your tree,” which they definitely did, the cute little woodland-terrorists, Eddie bought them a salt lick and everything to try and sway their violence. No dice.

“We should look at what it takes for a fence, man,” Steve muses before he reaches, grabs Eddie’s hand to pull it to his lips for a kiss so he can keep Eddie’s face burrowed safe in his neck but still love on him this way all the same as he adds with a knowing grin in his tone, tangible where Eddie’s hand lingers on his lips:

“Plus I know apple’s your favorite.”

And Eddie, he can’t help it, it’s all so fucking much so he, he kinda has to—

He giggles. He giggles, and he tucks himself a little lower, straight to Steve’s chest so tight and he wraps his arms around this man he gets to love, and love with everything, with no end in the cards at all, not ever: he laughs as Steve wraps his arms around him in kind without hesitation, fits around him with no intention of sifting anytime soon, because, because…

An apple pie life. A picket fence love.

Eddie’s heart cartwheels in his chest and he pulls Steve closer, wills him to feel it too, to know what it holds.

All that it holds.

Steve’s arms find some magic way to hold him tighter in kind, like he wants his chest pressed into Eddie’s to share permanent real estate, to meld into one single beating-breathing symphony and…yeah.

Yeah: Steve fucking knows how far this goes, can’t see the end either.

And he somehow wants that, relishes it, smiles so fucking blinding when the lift their heads again and kisses even fucking deeper right up until they hear the gravel rumble and the engine cut and it’s time to slice the goddamn pie, and brew another pot of coffee to go with it, and, and…

And talk about how hard it might be—or how amazing, maybe, even—to put up a fucking fence around an apple tree for the long haul.

also on ao3 🖤

✨permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #fluff #established relationship #but the kind where eddie still thinks steve's still waiting on something better #except steve definitely overheard eddie talking that nonsense and is here to fix it now #good uncle wayne #established steddie #heavy leaning into the COMFORT part of the hurt/comfort tag here #they're gonna build a fucking fence okay? #apple pies forever #stranger things #gift fic #pearynice

[afewproblems]

'Harring' flashes on the caller ID again, illuminated in bright green on the handheld phone in their kitchen.

It's the third time they've called today and Steve is anxious.

He hasn't heard from his parents in the last six years since he cut off all contact with them, so to see their name come up so many times all in the span of an afternoon is...well it's worrisome to say the least.

"Are you going to pick up," Eddie says as he comes up behind Steve, he drapes himself over his lovers back and nuzzles into his ear.

Steve smiles tightly and breathes out, "I don't know".

He turns in Eddie's arms to face him and brings his own arms around Eddie's lower back, holding him loosely.

"It's weird, right?" Steve says softly, "what do they want?" He slides his nose up and down Eddie's own before tipping his face up to his the tip of it.

Eddie hums, "well you won't know unless you answer love," he answers Steve's kiss with one of his own, soft against his lips, "if they call again, maybe pick up?"

Steve nods and flinches as the ringer starts up again behind them.

He breathes in deeply through his nose and out slowly through his mouth, Eddie brings up a hand to cup Steve's jaw and slides his thumb over his cheekbone.

"You got this," Eddie whispers, "if they say something shitty, just hang up, fuck em".

Steve nods and whirls around to snatch the phone off the console, he bites his lip for just a moment before saying a quiet, "Hello?"

"Steven?" A soft voice cracks wetly over the speaker and a sudden chill spreads over Steve's back.

"Mom?"

"Steven, honey," Diane Harrington says softly in a tone he's never heard before, "I need you to come home".

Steve turns around, Eddie is leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, Steve feels his face contort with confusion which Eddie answers with a tilt of his head, "what? Mom, no--"

"Steven honey, this is important--"

"No offense," Steve intejects harshly, he's gripping the phone so hard the plastic creaks under his fingers. Eddie's concerned gaze has him releasing the phone from his death grip in a matter of seconds, but it's hard. He's right back there, nineteen years old again, in a screaming match with his dad in the living room, a red handprint blooms over his jaw as he tells Robert Harrington to, 'go fuck himself,' one last time.

"But, you don't get to do this, it's been years mom so forgive me if--"

"Steven, I'm, I'm sick".

Steve stops, his mouth opens and closes as his mother chokes on a broken sob, it comes through tinny and harsh over the speaker.

She tells him of the diagnosis, some form of leukemia, how it's spread much more rapidly than the doctors anticipated, how she refused treatment.

"I'm not going to spend the rest of my time in a hospital with no hair in one of those godawful hospital beds if I can help it Steven".

They talk for awhile, or really Mrs. Harrington talks for another half hour while Steve stands there silently with the phone in his hands. He nods every now and again but the movements are stiff, Eddie paces around the living room, stopping in front of Steve's eyeline every now and again.

"Okay," Steve finally says, his voice cracks just slightly enough to make Eddie cross the living room towards him.

"Mom...I don't know what you expect me to do?"

"Baby?" Eddie whispers, he stands just off to the side trying to catch Steve's eye.

"No, no--no! Mom, I thought I stopped being a Harrington a long time ago, right?" Steve snarls into the receiver, "you had so many opportunities to tell Dad he was wrong but you just sat there, what else am I supposed to think except that you agree with him?"

"Baby, just hang up--"

"Mom, Ma' you have to stop, I'm not coming back, I'm so-".

His mouth snaps shut and a deep flush begins to rise up his neck and over his cheeks, his eyes glassy.

"I'm sorry you're sick, but I'm not coming back, Goodluck".

Steve removes the phone from his ear, little snippets of words and crying trickle through over the speaker as Steve places the handset back on the dock.

"Baby," Eddie tries again, he reaches out tentatively, slowly letting his hands smooth over Steve's arms at the shoulder.

Steve shakes his head, his jaw clenched as his face crumples, he lets Eddie pull him into his chest and tucks his head into the juncture of Eddie's neck and shoulder.

Steve feels Eddie bring them slowly to the floor as he tries to slow down his breathing.

"I'm so sorry baby," Eddie whispers, pillowing his check onto Steve's head, he nuzzles the fluffy hair just once and squeezes Steve tighter.

"I don't, I just, where was this when she was healthy, it's..." Steve takes a deep breath, "why now, and she's not even sorry --neither of them are," he whispers into Eddies collarbone.

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, he stays quiet, listening to Steve's breathing stop and start.

"I don't want her to be sick, but I just," he sniffles, "it's not fair, I'm so angry with her, with them both --its like they get a pass for being so shitty for so long--"

"No, no they don't, not if you don't want to," Eddie says, the words are soft but the tone firm, "you don't have to give them anything you don't want to".

"But--"

"Steve," Eddie pulls back just enough for Steve to raise his head, he lifts his hand to cup Steve's cheek, "it doesn't make you a bad person to not want to see her, to see them".

Steve starts to shake his head but Eddie's hand remains steady on his cheek.

"Do you want to see her?" He asks after a beat.

"I, I don't know," Steve pulls his lower lip into his mouth and chews the corner of it until he tastes copper, "I don't..."

Eddie tilts his head and sweeps his thumb across Steve's cheek in encouragement.

"I don't want my mom to die, I want her to want to fucking fight for herself, for me --she's just giving up again, she's just deciding to quit without even trying to be my mom," he chokes out, his voice breaks as tears finally spill down his cheeks.

"I'm not, I'm not explaining it right," Steve bites out, raising his hands to grind harshly into his eyes, "I don't want to forgive her, but I, I think I would if she would just try, I don't know what to do," he trails off as his voice wobbles and wanes, he breathes out harshly and lowers his face back into Eddies neck.

"Okay," Eddie whispers into Steve's hair as he brings Steve closer, bundling him up in his arms, "you don't have to know what to do or how to feel, especially not right now".

Eddie squeezes Steve once more before shifting to his knees to stand. He hoists Steve to his feet and leads him to the kitchen before depositing him in a kitchen table chair.

Eddie busies himself at the stove, moving the half full kettle from the far burner to the largest left coils, he flicks the element on and lowers the whistle back to alert him when the water boils.

"Did I ever tell you how I handled my mom's funeral?" Eddie asks, banishing the quiet from the room and almost startling Steve.

"I yelled at the casket," Eddie says with an air of non-chalance that does not match the words. He grabs two mugs from the cupboard before grabbing a box of tea from the pantry. He leaves the prepped cups on the counter before turning back around to face Steve.

"It was open, shouldn'ta' been," he continues with a shake of his head, "rural town, mortician wasn't used to working on overdoses so, they couldn't quite cover up the purple".

Steve reaches for Eddie's hands as he comes back to the table, in three slow strides. He smiles but a long sigh escapes Eddie as he sits in the chair next to Steve.

"I was thirteen, and I was so, so mad at her for leaving me," Eddie murmurs, "I couldn't help it, Uncle Wayne had to take me home before it was even over".

Eddie raises his head to meet Steve's eyes, "I felt like shit after though, probably cried all night once we got home".

"Im going to tell you what Wayne told me," Eddie says softly, he scoots to the edge of his seat, until his knees are brushing Steve's own.

"When you lose someone that made your life hard, you grieve more than just that person, you also grieve all that lost potential, everything you didn't have with that person," Eddie squeezes Steves hands once more before gently letting them go. He stands up as the kettle begins to squeal from the stove.

"Everything they never gave you and the possibility that they could change, it's like--like that physics guy," Eddie laughs, waving his hands at Steve's confused expression, "you know the one with the cat?"

Steve shakes his head, a small watery smile begins to bloom over his face as Eddie continues to make their tea and explain.

"You'll never know if they could have been better to you because they died, so they both are and aren't a good parent simultaneously," Eddie says, linking his fingers together, "shit, I bet Dustin could explain this better".

He walks their filled mugs over to the table and takes his seat again

"I dunno about that Eds," Steve mumbles as he wipes his eyes, "when did you get so wise?"

"'All Wayne sweetheart," Eddie hums with a soft grin that pulls at the corners of his eyes, he reaches out to wipe a stray tear from Steve's cheek, "don't tell him though, he doesn't need the ego boost".

Steve barks out a laugh, before Eddie pulls him into another tight hug, "so, you don't have to know how you feel right now, okay?"

"Okay".

Steve isn't sure how long they stay like that, but by the time Eddie let's go, their tea has gone cold.

#thank you fic #some angst #but also comfort #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve x eddie #steve harrington has bad parents #cw cancer #cw overdose #we love a protective and wise uncle wayne in this house #eddie also gives good advice but thinks hes bad at it #steve whump #thank you for the 500 follows everyone #angst as a thank you fic? its more likely thank you think