#eddie tries to put one on his dick but steve breaks character and is like NO BAD | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dontfeeltoohot · 2 years

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No Good Alone 7.8K Eddie-Centric (Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Big Brother Eddie, Corroded Coffin, Light Steve-Pining, Good Uncle Wayne, TW: Homophobic Scene (Dream)) AO3

“What’s got you in such a dick mood today?”

Eddie freezes and looks up at Max; splayed across a chair with her legs hanging off the side, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been way more uptight than usual, and you kind of went off on Dustin. Not that I mind, but…you’re not usually a dick.”

Bristling, Eddie reminds himself that she’s just a kid- albeit a blunt one, and that she’s doing this most likely because she’s worried. That, or just nosey. Swallowing, the dungeon master shrugs, rubbing at his neck.

“The little shit wouldn't stop talking, even when I asked him three times to shut up. And I just want to finish the campaign, I worked hard on it.”

He doesn’t usually talk to the kids like this, so open and exposed. Eddie tries to keep ‘in character’ as much as he can, being showy and dramatic and blasé, but Max is different. She’s the little sister he never had, and he’s acutely aware that he and Billy share some qualities. It doesn’t hurt that they’re neighbors.

“While normally I’d agree and say Dustin needed to be put in his place…you’re just…edgy tonight.”

It’s true and he knows it, even if he refuses to admit it out loud. He’s been exhausted all day thanks to lack of sleep the night before. Normally, the guitarist can blame the insomnia on nightmares and ptsd from the upside down. Last night there hadn’t been any, because he simply hadn’t fallen asleep at all. He laid there desperate for sleep to come, but had only managed to drift for a few minutes at a time.

Lack of sleep mixed with physical exhaustion means he’s getting snappy and edgy and Max is right, he knows he’s being an ass. But everything is just too much, and yeah, maybe he should have postponed the campaign for another night, but he’s never once postponed a club meeting, and just because he’s tired doesn’t mean he can start.

A moment passes.

“I’m sorry. I slept like shit last night. I’ll try to be nicer.” He tries to aim for a smile but it feels too tight on his face. Max nods, looking somewhat pleased.

The boys all hurry back down from their snack break, chips and sodas in hand. Dustin gives him a look that makes him feel bad for yelling earlier.

“I uh, I got you a snack,” the kid gives him a hopeful look, and god, he guesses he should try and be nice.

“Thanks Henderson. Sorry about earlier, I was a dick.” He takes the chips and soda, sets them on the table but doesn’t touch them.

Dustin laughs and shrugs it off, which Eddie’s grateful for. He doesn’t feel like having a heart to heart right now. Clearing his throat, he melts back into his regular charismatic persona, hoping he can just focus on being Dungeon Master instead of letting his shitty mood bleed into the game. An hour later, nearing seven o’clock, the long haired man finally slams his hand down on the table. The boys won’t stop arguing, Gareth and Jeff look lost and kind of annoyed, and Max is studying the board. Everyone jumps.

“I’m done. Take your childish arguments somewhere else. We’ll finish the campaign when you all can behave like you’re not five,” he shakes his head and bristles when Lucas and Mike turn quickly, whining.

“But Eddie!”

“Come o-“

“Shut up!” He clenches his fist under the table and tries to calm himself down. His skin feels too tight and his jacket isn’t helping, even though he’s cold. Rubbing an eye, he lets out a breath.

“Now listen. You’re lucky I don’t just throw the whole story in the garbage. I’m tired of you bickering. You’re not kindergartners. I’m done for tonight. I’ll see you at school.”

With that, Eddie starts packing up. Every other member is silent, either moping or fuming at the leader's decision. Dustin and Max glance at him but he ignores it, putting the figures back into a small box, flipping the lid harshly. When he’s got everything in his bag, he slings it across his shoulder and heads up the wooden stairs of the Wheelers basement, body aching from the tension and muscle clenching.

“You’re done already?”

Mrs.Wheeler’s in the kitchen, working on something over the stove. Eddie bites his lip. He’s never been good with mother figures, hasn’t ever had one to look up to since his own passed away. Fidgeting, the man nods.

“Yeah, everyone has too much going on right now to properly play. We’ll get it done next week. Thanks again for letting us play here,” he gives her a shy smile, to which she returns it.

“No problem. Mike always looks forward to it.” With that, Eddie says goodbye and bolts out the door, not wanting to have any more human interaction.

Of course, when he gets back to the trailer, he walks straight into Wayne, eyes half lidded as he relies on muscle memory to get him through the door and down the hall. His eyes open completely and he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, giving his uncle a small smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to run into you.”

“S’alright. Didn’t think you’d be home this early, normally I’m gone when you get back from your club,” the older man looks him up and down, making Eddie nervous.

“Yeah, I cut it short. Kids wouldn’t stop arguing and we weren’t getting anywhere,” Eddie rubs his eyes and yawns, surprised to see the clock on the wall shows only ‘7:34’.

There’s some silence as Wayne watches him closely, while Eddie fidgets with his jacket zipper.

“You alright, kid?”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to look at the older man, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just seem…tired, s’all.”

“I’m okay, really Uncle Wayne. I’ll try and get to sleep a little earlier tonight,” he tries to reassure. The last thing he wants is for his uncle to worry about him more than he already does.

With a nod, Wayne pays his shoulder then heads out with his bag, not wanting to be late to work. Eddie blows out a long breath when the door to the trailer clicks shut. All he wants to do now is shower and sleep, the idea of eating dinner making his stomach churn uncomfortably. Trudging to his room, he sets his canvas bag down then tosses his jacket onto his desk, shivering at the sudden lack of warmth.

The shower only serves to make him sleepy, which he hopes will actually help in the long run. The guitarist feels fuzzy as the hot water runs over him, soap rinsing from his curls. By the time he steps out of the shower, towel around his waist, he can barely think straight. The second the cold air hits his skin it makes goosebumps appear, and a chill goes down his spine.

Yanking on underwear, pajama pants and an old sweatshirt, Eddie crawls into bed, hair still damp. He shivers again and pulls the few old blankets he has closer to himself, eyes flitting over the clock. ‘8:02’. His head gives a throb as his eyes shut and he finally, finally falls asleep.

Eddie walks through the forest, the whole area consumed in a blue hue. Steve is behind him, but only barely. He’s close enough he can feel the younger man’s breath against his neck. Looking back at him, Steve gives a smile that makes his heart beat faster. He’s amazed that even though they’re in the god damn upside down, and Steve’s been half eaten by demobats, he still manages to look beautiful.

“Hey uh, thanks for saving my ass back there.”

“You saved your own ass dude,” Eddie shakes his head, pausing so he can really see him. “Look…uh. I don’t know if I’m reading the signals right or whatever, but…are…I mean…”

Steve furrows his brow and looks at him with confusion but also something like trust. So Eddie decides to take the plunge.

“Tell me if this is me reading it wrong,” the guitarist closes the gap between them, pressing his lips against Steve’s.

Steve kisses back and Eddie melts against him before suddenly everything crumbles. The other man pulls back and his face contorts into disgust, eyes narrowing.

“What the fuck Munson?!”

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

“I’m sor-“

“I’m not a fag. It’s disgusting and wrong. Guess you really are a freak,” Steve’s words are like ice, and they pierce Eddie’s heart.

“Should have just left you for Carver.”

Eddie awakes with a gasp. The clock reads ‘12:42’. His heart is racing and he’s shivering, tears wet on his lashes. God damn it. His whole body hurts, like he’s really just been in the upside down, his head is aching. His brain flashes back to the face Steve had thrown his way, how utterly disgusted he’d looked. It makes him nauseous.

It’s not real, he reminds himself. None of that happened. They had talked about how Steve was brave and he was a coward. They’d built camaraderie. There had been no coming out, no spilling that he liked Steve. Trembling, Eddie coughs and tries to calm himself down. The rest of the night he drifts in and out in a fuzzy haze, shivering and desperate for real sleep.

His alarm clock rings out at 6:30 am just like every other weekday, the bell jolting him from his semi-sleep. Eddie groans and reaches over, hits the clock and lays there, slowly realizing he feels like shit. His whole body feels like one giant bruise, a deep ache all encompassing. Even sitting up is a chore, and he shivers as he rubs his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Jesus Christ.

Rubbing his face into his arm, the long haired man gets up and stands frozen for a second, letting dizziness pass before turning to his closet to grab a different sweatshirt- a plain black one. After getting new socks and one of his three pairs of jeans on, Eddie catches a glimpse of himself in his mirror.

His usual pale complexion seems even more so, he thinks, or maybe it’s the lighting in the trailer. Dark circles have taken up residence under his eyes that make him grimace. Old Eddie would crawl back into bed without hesitation, not caring if he missed class. Now though, he’s so close to graduating, and he knows missing will just set him back.

Barely remembering to pull his rings on, the guitarist brushes his hair as best he can without it making it frizzy. Eddie pulls his leather jacket on (and adjusts the sweatshirt hood up over the collar), then heads out, not bothering to lace his sneakers. As he slides into his van, he sees Max walking over just like always, and he waits, body shivering in the cold morning air.

“Took you long enough,” she says with her usual attitude, but Eddie just brushes it off, knowing she’s not actually annoyed.

“Mm, not everyone can just wake up and be as amazing as you, Mayfield,” Eddie directs at her, ignoring as she raises an eyebrow and looks at him.

“Obviously. You look like shit.”

“Do you want a ride or not?”

“Sorry, sorry,” she rolls her eyes and Eddie shakes his head a little.

Kids these days and their disrespect. Unbelievable.

Chemistry is only easy due to this being the third time he’s taking it. As he listens to Stetler talk, Eddie rests his chin on his propped up hand, wishing he was back at home. He zones out for a while, being brought back to the present when someone; some jock on the basketball team, stares at him. Eddie directs a raised eyebrow to the guy, which earns him a scoff.

“Fucking freak.”

“You should see me in bed,” Eddie shoots back, smirking when the other looks scandalized and disgusted. Just what he wanted.

The day drags on. The guitarist barely does anything in socioeconomics, and by the time lunch rolls around, Eddie kind of wants to throw in the towel and go home. He doesn’t know what his issue is, but for once in his life, the long haired man wants to leave not due to drugs or boredom, but plain exhaustion.

Sitting at the lunch table, Eddie forces himself to stay awake, picking at the food on his lunch tray, not at all hungry. Mike, Dustin and Gareth are talking about something but the long haired man doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher what Dustin is excited about. A tickle in the back of his throat makes him turn and cough into his arm, clearing his throat after, and fuck does that hurt.

Leaning against his propped up arm, he zones out, eyes unfocusing as his body aches. Two more classes and he’s done for the day- then he can go home and faceplant on his bed. The first is English, and the other is Latin 4, which Eddie jokes to Steve and Robin is actually Latin 6. English isn’t necessarily hard; he’s great at writing, but it takes a lot of concentration when he has to analyze texts. He thought by his third time around in the class he would be able to remember the prior two years since the books stay the same, but nope, apparently not.

As the warning bell rings out, Eddie and Gareth make their way to Ms.Kingston’s class, the others dispersing to their next classes. Sliding into the desk he’s been at for three hellish years, the guitarist rubs his face and takes out a beat up spiral bound notebook. His head gives an aching throb behind his eyes, one that makes him feel oddly fuzzy for a moment before the feeling retreats.

“-die, dude, you good?”

“What?” Eddie blinks, turning to look at the tall man, who gives him a vaguely concerned look.

“You’ve been weirdly quiet all day. You good?”

“Mm, yeah, of course I’m good,” Eddie waves off the worry, forcing himself to conjure up energy he doesn’t have. “Don’t worry so much, it’ll give you wrinkles,” he adds for good measure.

“Okay, sick. I was saying my parents will probably order pizza tonight for brand practice.”

Oh shit. There goes his plans to crawl into bed.

“Right, band practice,” Eddie nods and resists the urge to kick out his legs like a toddler and throw a tantrum. He’s just so tired.

“Did…did you forget about practice?” Gareth looks scandalized, eyebrows raising almost to his hairline, mouth open.

“No, don’t be an idiot. I just didn’t have time to grab my guitar this morning. I’ll have to grab it on my way over,” the long haired man rolls his eyes.

The younger guy stares at him a moment, eyes narrowing before he finally nods. “Yeah, okay Eddie.”

The rest of class is spent absentmindedly doodling on the inside cover of his notebook, only half listening to Ms.Kingston talk about allegories. His body feels too heavy and he slouches forward, resting his chin on his hand. Her words blend together in his ears, reminding him of the teacher from Charlie Brown.

Latin class isn’t the worst, all things considered. Mr. Morin is possibly his favorite teacher at Hawkins high- he’s kind to him and doesn’t seem to be annoyed by his mere presence like every other faculty member. He’s been in his class the longest, six full years, and he supposes they’ve gotten to know each other well enough by now.

He must doze off, because suddenly Jeffrey Morin is standing by his desk in the back row, putting a hand on his shoulder. He can smell his cologne and it makes him wrinkle his nose, which feels a little stuffy as he tries not to breathe

“Mr.Munson,” his voice is soft but firm, and Eddie used to swear it’s what he heard in his dreams as a freshman.

“Hm? Oh…uh, sorry,” Eddie blinks rapidly, lifting his head up from where it’s been against his arm. He fully expects him to give him detention or reprimand him in front of the entire class. Instead, the man looks at him carefully. He notices his eyes linger on his face, lips turning downward. Interesting. He rubs a hand over his mouth, worried he’s been drooling.

The teacher doesn’t say anything, which is almost worse than him getting in trouble. Eddie doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth though, instead just giving him what he hopes is a smile, opening his text book. A few of the students are staring at him and when the man starts making his way back to the front, his back turned to the class, Eddie flips the nosey kids off. God he can’t wait to get out of highschool.

By the time the bell rings, the curly haired man is a hairwidths away from canceling practice. He can’t seem to shake the chills he’s started shivering from, and exhaustion is making it hard to muster up any energy. But canceling both d&d and band practice in the same week is unheard of, and Eddie refuses to do it. Telling Gareth, Jeff and Tim that he’ll be at Gareth’s place in half an hour, the man gets in his van and lets his head fall back against the chair.

As he drives back to the trailer part to get his guitar, the dungeon master sniffles and coughs to the side. Fuck he’s tired. He can feel his eyes drooping as he pulls up next to his trailer, heat blasting- not that it’s helping. Rubbing his face as he gets out, the van door shuts behind him and the man heads inside.

Wayne’s asleep on the couch, so Eddie stays as quiet as possible while he goes and grabs his guitar, gently placing it in its case. As he picks up his equipment, the weight almost pulls him down. His arms feel like jello, an intense ache spreading throughout his body like wildfire. Five minutes later he’s back in his van with a Mountain Dew, hoping the caffeine will wake him up.

Walking into Gareth’s garage, he sees everyone else is set up. Tim’s got his bass, tuning it, Jeff’s got his guitar, and Gareth’s working on the hi-hat on his drums. The noise seems to already be making his head hurt worse. The sound of the snare drum hits his ears in the most uncomfortable way, and the kick drum is reverberating around in his head.

His hands shake slightly as he gets out his own guitar, fingers fumbling with the latches on the left and right. The weight of the red Warlock hanging off his shoulder makes Eddie have to readjust it a couple of times, already heavy body aching even more. The man wonders just how weird it would be to sit on the floor during practice. He knows it would cause looks and questions, so he continues to stand.

“We’ll go through the usual?” Eddie looks at the three others, who nod back. He turns to Jeff, brushing hair out of his face. “You wanna take vocals today?”

“Uhh, sure, yeah,” the dark skinned man nods, glancing at the other two band members.

Synching up as they strum random notes, Gareth hitting a few phrases, they start playing once the drummer counts them off. Eddie focuses as hard as he can to hit all the right chords, but his fingers feel clumsy. A few times he can’t quite grip the neck of his guitar correctly. Other times he plays the wrong chords entirely. No one says anything as they change keys for their next song. When he hits the wrong chord for the fourth time in a row, Gareth stops pushing his foot on the kick drum pedal. Jeff drops his hand mid strum, and Tim huffs and mumbles an annoyed ‘dude’, making Eddie’s eyes snap up to the larger man.

“Is there a problem, Timmy?” He feels snarky and prickly. His mouth curves into an almost condescending smile, which makes Tim shake his head and look at the seniors for help. Eddie swivels and looks at them, eyebrows raising as if to warn them. Jeff speaks up, rubbing the back of his neck as if it’s the last thing he’d like to do.

“We’ve noticed you’re a little…off your game today, man.”

“We? So, what, all three of you just…have decided silently that I’m not performing to my best and highest capabilities?” The words drip with sarcasm. When Jeff nods, Eddie finally gets to Gareth.

“Do you agree with them then, Emmerson?”

The wavy haired boy draws in a breath at the use of his last name, then lets it out, lips tight together. He looks like he’s trying to decide if he wants to say anything.

“Gareth! Out with it,” Eddie white knuckles his guitar, skin feeling too tight.

“Yeah, okay? I agree with them. You’ve been weird all day. You were quiet all through lunch, which never happens. Seemed like you forgot about band practice, and even if you didn’t, you left your guitar, which again, has never happened. We’ve been playing together for how long? All we’re saying is we’re worried about you. You kinda look like shit dude. Maybe we should just call it a night, we can always try again tomorrow or something.”

It’s silent. The three band members hold their breaths.

Eddie presses his fingertips to his eyes, covering most of his face, staying silent. His entire body gives an achy throb throughout his muscles, like it’s warning him not to continue. Finally, the curly haired man drags his hands down his face and then shakes his head. He knows they’re just being good friends, he knows they’re looking out for him, but he’s not used to it. It feels foreign and wrong.

“So that would mean two canceled things this week,” Eddie’s eyes flicker between all three of them. Jeff nods hesitantly, Tim bites his lip, and Gareth looks like he wants to sink into the ground.

“Absolutely not.”

All three deflate.

By the end of their practice, Eddie feels like a zombie. He’s been on autopilot, messing up as much as he gets things right. None of them say anything about it, though he’s aware of the others giving one another looks every time his fingers hit the wrong chords. When he messes up for what he’s sure is the fortieth time, and he notices it’s been two hours, the dungeon master calls it.

“Okay, my fingers are numb from how damn cold it is, let’s pack up.”

A cough bubbles up from his chest as he locks his case. Bringing the neck hem of his shirt up to his nose and mouth, he coughs softly a few times, clearing his throat after. He can feel congestion settling into his head, and now that he’s had his Warlock out of his hands, picking the case up makes it feel fifty times heavier.

“Maybe you’re catching that shit that’s going around,” Jeff offers up, as he mirrors the other guitarist, snapping his hard case shut. “I’ve heard it’s been knocking people on their asses this year.”

He snorts, wincing as his throat screams in protest.

Eddie Munson doesn’t get sick, hasn’t been since he was a child, still living with his parents. But, maybe this is what it feels like, the curly haired boy thinks, as he takes stock of how his body aches and his throat burns. The uncomfortable feeling of heat in his face compared to how chilled his entire body is doesn’t bode well for any argument either. Just wonderful.

“Pretty sure half the basketball team and cheerleaders caught it last week and the game was postponed,” Tim chimes in, wrapping his cords up.

“You all worry too much. I told Gareth this earlier, and I really hate repeating myself, but you’ll get wrinkles if you keep it up. Me and my fabulous self are just fine, but thank you for thinking about me in your spare time, you sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Whatever man, but if you give that crap to me, you’re dead,” Jeff laughs, shaking his head.

Smirking, keeping his facade of the ever-okay, overly dramatic dungeon master and guitarist extraordinaire up, Eddie walks over to the man and coughs dryly into the air. That’ll teach him.

Arriving back at the trailer park, the curly haired man heads into his home, locking the door behind him. With Wayne gone, he drops his bag onto the floor, then sets his amp and guitar in his bedroom, not bothering to unpack it. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Eddie wonders if he really is sick. It’s funny, he supposes (or maybe just embarrassing), that he’d not even given the thought a passing glance before now. His mind flashes back to the couple of times he’d been sick as a child, how his mother had given him soup and medicine, how she’d checked his temperature and rubbed his back while his tiny self curled up against her in the large queen bed. His chest aches with something far more complicated than illness, melancholy washing over him.

Forcing himself up, Eddie heads to the small bathroom and looks in the mirror. A pink hue covers his pale cheeks like a dusting of snow, and his eyes look tired, the circles underneath much more prominent than earlier. Truthfully, he looks like death warmed over, like he should be in bed under a mountain of blankets. Shivering, the twenty year old tries to remember how to check for a fever. They’d been taught in freshman year during health class, but that all seems so long ago. Tentatively, Eddie presses the back of his hand to his forehead, brushing bangs away in the process. He can’t tell if he feels warm, and he knows that they don’t own a thermometer- there’s been no reason to, Wayne doesn’t get sick either, aside from a few mild colds.

Swallowing makes the senior grimace, and he looks away from the mirror. Right, he should shower before he passes out in bed. Slowly, Eddie starts the shower then tugs off his clothes, throwing them into the small hamper they have in the corner. Stepping under the hot spray, the boy makes an almost inhuman noise, his muscles relaxing as they get warmed up. Wishing he could stay in the small shower forever, Eddie works on washing his hair, arms feeling like jello when he raises them to get his scalp. By the time he’s finished washing his hair and body, the water is starting to turn lukewarm, and the shivers start back up when he towels himself off. Damn it.

With damp hair and brushed teeth, Eddie pulls on black sweatpants that hang low on his small hips, and a soft, almost threadbare Black Sabbath shirt. As a second thought, he adds his sweatshirt, sniffling into the cuff while he thinks of what his next step is. The idea pops into his head, and even as he groans, Eddie knows it’s the right choice, so he slips on socks and his white Reeboks, then starts the few hundred foot walk to the Mayfield’s trailer.

Knocking on the door, Eddie stands with his arms wrapped around his middle, the little yellow light attached to the side of the trailer illuminating the space around him. He’s about to walk away, because what a stupid idea, but then the door opens, revealing Max, who’s got a bag of chips in her hand.

“Uhm, hi,” her brow furrows as she sweeps her eyes up and down his figure.

Oh shit, of course he’d had to change into something very distinctly not Eddie Munson before walking over. Blinking, the man rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat.

“Hey, uhm, do you have a thermometer? If not is cool, but I just- we don’t really have one, and I kind of….need…one..,” he finishes lamely, aware of how stupid he sounds.

Max stares at him for a second more before she nods, opening the door wider.

“Get in, it’s cold as hell,” the red head moves further in. “Gimme a second to find it.”

Eddie looks around. It’s the same layout as his own trailer, just flipped. He notices it’s quiet, and the back door in the hallway is open.

“Is your mom here?” He grimaces. “Sorry, no, that was…you don’t have to answer that,” he shifts, knowing that was weird to ask.

“It’s fine, Eddie. And no, she’s not, she’s probably at some bar,” the girl shrugs, and Eddie frowns, chest once again aching.

“Oh.”

Silence falls as Max rummages around in the small bathroom. She steps back out as Eddie admires the art around the walls.

“Here,” she holds the thermometer out, covered by plastic. It looks like it could double as a pen. Curiously, Eddie opens the cap and sees the glass thermometer sitting inside, so he nods and recaps it, giving her a tired smile.

“Thanks. I’ll wash it before bringing it back.” He’d hate to get her sick, though he’s probably spreading germs just by breathing at this point.

“Cool. Uhm…are you okay though? We have medicine, if-”

“I’ll be fine, Red. Just feeling a little off, wanna make sure I’m not dying, so I know if I need to write my will or not,” he jokes, though the second it comes out, he kicks himself. He’s talking to the girl who wrote letters to everyone because she thought she was dying. Way to go Munson.

“Well, if you die, I better get your guitar,” she smirks, and oh thank god he hasn’t fucked this relationship up. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the teen being around. Maybe this is how Steve feels with all the kids.

“Hmm. Well, first you gotta learn to play.”

“I’m uh, I’m saving up, for a guitar, I mean. To learn.” Eddie nods, then gives her a tiny smile before his head throbs again.

“Hopefully I’m around for it. I’m gonna head out, but I’ll bring this back tomorrow,” he informs. He gets walked out and then heads back home, ignoring the eye roll Max gives him.

Whatever energy spike he’s just had crashes as he walks back inside. Fumbling to open the cap again, Eddie sets the plastic down and then examines the glass thermometer, seeing the red liquid at the bottom. Feeling inexperienced at all of this, the guitarist slips the cold glass under his tongue, then sits and waits. When he’s sure it’s done; he can recall the random fact of needing to wait four minutes, Eddie takes it out and brings it close so he can read the number.

100.7-ish. Gross.

He wonders if Steve knows what to do for a fever. He probably knows what to do for anything. Eddie thinks about calling him, but decides better of it, not wanting to be a bother.

Heaving himself up, he goes to the sink and runs it under hot water to hopefully kill germs, then dries it and puts it back in the plastic. Carrying it down to his room, Eddie sets it on his bedside table, moving the small ashtray and pack of cigarettes back so it doesn’t fall. Damn, he hasn’t had a cigarette all day, and yet the thought of one is enough to make him cough into his arm.

Shuffling to his desk, the twenty year old grabs a blanket he’s thrown over the chair and wraps it around himself, rubbing the worn material against his chin. He should write a note to Wayne, letting him know he’s not feeling well and that’s why he’s home, but the need to lay the hell down wins out, and Eddie turns his light off and crawls into bed. Three minutes later, he’s asleep.

Sleep is restless. He’d assumed that he would fall asleep and stay asleep way into the morning, but no. No, he wakes up around 11:00 that same night and shifts uncomfortably, freezing and achy. He swears this is worse than demobats ripping at his flesh. Eddie drifts in and out the rest of the night, small whimpers coming out of his mouth occasionally. He thinks about Steve and how pretty he is, thinks about Joyce and how much he wishes she was there, thinks about his own mother and blinks back tears. He’s never been this sick in his life, that’s for sure, not even when he’d been sick with pneumonia when he was five.

X X X

Wayne’s exhausted from a long shift at the plant. After staying an extra hour to help with a crane issue, the forty threeyear old man had gone by the supermarket to grab more milk and bread before heading to Forest Hills Trailer Park. Upon arrival, he spots Eddie’s van and sighs, running a hand over his face. When is this kid going to learn? He’d thought this year was going to be different, Eddie’s been actually trying, especially now that he has a few friends aside from the ones in his band. Parking his own truck, Wayne sits for a moment, trying to decide what he wants to tell the twenty year old. Jesus, twenty and still in high school. He loves his nephew more than anything else in the world, but one day he’s going to need to get his act together.

Hopping out, he expects for the kid to be sitting on the couch like he usually is when he ditches, maybe playing guitar or smoking some weed. Instead, when he walks in, it’s silent, which is odd. If Eddie’s in the trailer, there’s almost always music of some kind coming from his room, even if it’s on low. The man looks around, nothing jumps out at him as being out of the ordinary. Remembering the guitarist is supposed to be at school, Wayne huffs and goes down to the boys room, opening the door, not bothering to be quiet.

“Why aren’t you in school?”

The words are out before he even gets a real look at the scene before him. Eddie’s laying in bed, face smushed into his pillow, blankets wrapped around him. Long, curly hair is everywhere, and when he doesn’t reply or even seem to wake up, Wayne tries again.

“Eddie!”

This wakes the twenty year old up. Eddie makes a small noise but doesn’t fully move, mumbling. “Wha?”

“Why aren’t you in school, son?”

Sitting up, Eddie looks at him, and damn. His nephew is pale, paler than he normally is by at least four shades, but his cheeks are bright red. Dark circles are imprinted under his eyes that are watching him, big and fever-bright. His mind flashes back to two nights prior, and how tired the poor guy had looked, how he’d said they cut the club short. He wonders if Eddie had been this sick yesterday.

“I…uh,” Eddie’s voice is raspy and he coughs into his arm before wiping away messy curls from his face.

Not knowing exactly what to say, Wayne steps forward and presses his palm against Eddie’s forehead, frowning harder. His heart breaks a little when the boy leans into the touch.

“Jesus Christ, kid. That’s a hell of a fever.” The older man tries to think if they even have a damn thermometer, when the boy in the bed hums.

“100.7 las’night, borrowed th’Mayfield’s thermom’ter.”

Watching his nephew wave a hand towards the table by his bed, Wayne notices the thermometer sheath. Pulling the glass instrument out, he looks at the man in the bed.

“Alright kid, put this under your tongue.”

Eddie does as he’s instructed with no argument, which makes him feel uneasy. Though the guitarist has never been sick while in his custody, he’s always assumed the slightly dramatic boy would be more defiant, or at least be a little more whiny. The kid in front of him is too quiet. Four minutes pass with Eddie lying there as the mercury rises. When Wayne takes it, he can’t help but whistle at the number.

“101.5. Christ, Eddie, how long you been feelin’ sick for?”

The boy blinks, looking vaguely lost as his question. Wayne pushes hair out of his face and sets the thermometer down.

“Day or so? I don’remember..felt like shit yesterday.”

“Others at the plant said the flu was nasty this year. Carol Hagan’s daughter got hospitalized. Guessin’ you caught it too.”

“What’s uh…what’s all goin’ on?”

Wayne’s not used to all this anymore- taking care of people. Of course he took care of Jannet when she was ill, but of course then she went into hospice, and he just sat back and watched as she withered away. Eddie’s been the picture of health since he’s had him, all twelve years and not even so much as a sniffle.

“Tired.”

Wayne grabs the chair that’s sitting a few feet away, pulling it to sit next to his nephew.

“I gathered that much Ed. What else? Your throat? Your stomach? Work with me here kid.”

“Throat, head, whole body hurts.” A shiver makes Wayne absentmindedly pull the blankets closer to him, not even thinking about it. Maybe caretaking is like riding a bike.

“Alright. I’m going to go to the pharmacy in town if you’ll be alright for a bit. And get somethin’ easy for you t’eat. Anything sound good?”

It’s quiet long enough he’s not sure Eddie’s even heard him, but then-

“Cherry koolaid?”

Wayne snorts, then ruffles Eddie’s hair. “Okay kid, cherry koolaid it is.”

The pharmacy is fuller than usual thanks to flu season in Hawkins. Looking around, the older man realizes just how much has changed since needing to buy medicine for anyone. Moving from aisle to aisle, he finally finds the cold and flu section. Wayne grabs Tylenol, then looks to see what else he might need, trying to think of what his nephew had said. He ends up with some throat lozenges and tissues in his basket as well. As he passes the children’s aisle, something catches his eye.

A little plush stuffed bat, black and orange, sits on the shelf. It’s more hokey than anything, far from realistic, but it makes Wayne think of Eddie. Eddie, who’s back home sick as a dog, who hasn’t been sick since he was eight, who never got a real childhood. It always makes the older man’s blood boil to think about his brother and the shit he did to his kid and wife. At least he’s locked up now, and his nephew will never have to worry about that piece of shit again.

At the memories of getting that damned phone call telling him Craig had murdered Sandra, Wayne drops the bat into the basket. He almost forgets the little packet of cherry koolaid but the stand catches his eye by the checkout counter and he grabs two, suddenly wishing he could give the boy back home more.

“How old’s your kid?”

Wayne turns to see a woman smiling at him, probably around his age, holding a basket full of halloween decorations. He gives a somewhat awkward smile.

“Uh, he’s eight,” he decides to go with the age Eddie was when he came to him, in case this woman were to somehow recognize him or put two and two together Eddie Munson is his kid (kind of).

“I bet he’ll love the bat. I got one last week for my six year old and she loves it.”

The plant worker walks up to the counter when he’s called, letting the cashier ring everything up. The total is more than he expects, but he realizes he’s not sure how much the bat actually costs. He hands over the money, taking his change and bags.

“I hope your son feels better!” The woman from the line calls out as she walks up to the counter. Wayne smiles and heads home.

Walking inside, Wayne’s greeted with the sound of Eddie retching in the bathroom, mumbling cuss words in between breaths. Setting the bags down quickly, the grey haired man walks over looking around for one of the others hair ties that’s usually sitting somewhere on the counter. Spying it, he gathers the guitarists curls and ties them back.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” the man murmurs, rubbing Eddie’s back gently. Eddie spits into the toilet and groans.

“S-Sorry.”

“Hush, you don’t have control over this shit. You done?”

When Eddie nods, Wayne helps him up and stands near him as he brushes his teeth. By the time he’s back in bed, the twenty year old looks somehow worse, and somehow so much younger.

“When’s the last time y’drank anythin’?”

“Last night,” Eddie croaks out, coughing.

Shaking his head, Wayne goes and pours some water for the younger man, grabbing the pills and bat as well. He hopes that him throwing up is a one time thing, because while he doesn’t mind dealing with all the vomit; god knows he got over that issue quickly with Janett, he does mind the fact it’ll get Eddie dehydrated faster, which would mean a possible hospital trip.

“I uh, I got y’somethin’,” Wayne informs the boy. Big, brown eyes open to look at him, and Jesus sometimes he forgets how much Eddie looks like his mother. His eyes and cheeks are all Sandra, but he’s got his brother’s nose.

“If ya don’t like it, that’s not a problem, but it…it reminded me of you an’that bat tattoo of yours,” Wayne explains, feeling his face heat up. He’s sure now the kid won’t like it, it’s a damn toy, but he’s come this far, he can’t back out now. Seeing Eddie’s confused but curious look, eyes still bright with fever, he takes out the small plush bat, holding it out for his nephew.

“You got me a stuffed an’mal?” Eddie takes the little toy, running his thin fingers over the fur.

“Like I said, it ya don’t like it…I know it’s a toy an’you’re twenty-”

“N-No…no. Please, I like’em,” Eddie’s grip on the bat goes tight, as if Wayne might rip the damn thing out of his hands. “Thanks Uncle Wayne.”

“‘Course kid. Here, lemme,” the forty three year old opens the Tylenol bottle and shakes out two, then unwraps a lozenge for Eddie, holding them both out. He downs the pills then pops the lozenge in his mouth, coughing a little at the initial coolness of it.

“I’m gonna go make that koolaid, you stay put alright?”

When Eddie nods, Wayne gets up from the chair and stretches a little, starting to amble out of the room. He freezes when Eddie starts talking again, eyes closed and the little bat held tight in his arms.

“Thanks for bein’ such a good dad.”

If Wayne chokes up a little, he doesn’t tell anyone.

XXX

“Open up Mayfield, I know you’re in here, I just dropped you off ten minutes ago! I’m freezing my balls off!”

Groaning, Max rolls her eyes and huffs, setting down her math notebook on the back bench near the window. As she stands, the voice calls out again.

“If you’re wearing those damn headphones again, I swear I’m going to-”

“What? What’re you going t-”

The words die on her lips. Eddie Munson is standing on her steps in his usual hellfire shirt and dark jeans, leather jacket keeping him warm. His left hand holds the thermometer she’d let him borrow a week ago, and the right hand holds a guitar case.

“Can I come in?”

Nodding, Max lets the senior in, watching him carefully. He turns and sits on the couch she has, patting the spot next to him.

“Go ahead, make yourself at home,” she snarks at him, but there’s no heat or annoyance behind it, and she sits, her curiosity getting the best of her.

“Uh, so first off, here’s your thermometer back. Thanks for letting me borrow it. Wayne like…super disinfected it, so no gross Eddie germs on it anymore, promise.”

Max snorts, taking the capped thermometer and placing it on the table next to them, stretching.

“And what’s that? I still don’t have the guitar yet, so it’s not like I can take less-”

“This is yours now, at least until you get your own,” Eddie cuts in, looking a little nervous and shy. “And no, it’s not my baby. This is my first guitar. It’s not uhh, it’s not great compared to some of them, but it’s enough for you to learn on. I restrung it last night, so it should be good to go.”

“...you’re serious? You’re letting me use it?”

“I mean, you haven’t even seen it yet. You might hate it, your tiny little hands might not be able to hold it,” Eddie shrugs, but he’s smiling, and she can feel her own smile appear.

Popping open the case, Max’s eyes widen. A Yamaha SG-175 sits inside, bright cherry red. It’s a little banged up and scratched, and the frets all have different colored tape on them, but it’s still beautiful, and for now, it’s hers. Carefully, she picks it up and runs her fingers over the metal strings.

“I got this baby for my eleventh birthday. It was a little big and bulky for me, but I made it work. Wayne saved up for like two years, he’s told me, because he knew I wanted to learn. Oh! I got a smaller amp for you too. It’s one I found yesterday, got it for cheap, but I tried it out and it works plenty for a beginner. And you can use my amp when we practice,” he explains, rambling a little.

She’s never had this before, someone give her something that means so much to them. Max looks at Eddie for a moment, the older boy messing with his hair, his knee bouncing anxiously.

“Thank you.” It comes out rushed and she takes a breath. “Thank you for….for everything. Not just this, but, but helping us with the upside down, and for giving me rides everyday, for being way cooler than Steve, and-”

Eddie leans forward and gives her a hug, the guitar awkwardly pressing into both of them. It’s quick but he squeezes her tightly and then pulls back, grinning.

“Ya know, Mayfield, I’m glad we met,” he smirks, then snaps his fingers. “Lemme go get that amp for you, kay? We can start practicing tomorrow, if you want.”

Max nods and starts strumming curiously when the older boy leaves to grab the other things. Dustin is going to be so jealous.

#my fic #st #em #sh

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eddiewmunson · 2 years

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