i’d rather have you, cursed or not

Eddie's on his way home from a deal, the sky just going yellow-y pink as the sun dips out of view, when he spots Henderson leaving Family Video puffed up with indignation. Right behind him storms Steve Harrington, hands on hips, Family Video vest flapping in the light breeze. He's talking rapidly, pointing an aggressive finger in Dustin's face, and how-fucking-dare that washed up nobody yell at Henderson like that?? He's not letting Harrington get away with bullying another nerd.

Before he can pull into the parking lot, Robin Buckley's head sticks out the video store door. She says something that has Harrington and Henderson flipping her off, but it's enough to get Steve to back off his tormenting.

He's about to pull into the lot, give Harrington a piece of his mind, but Henderson goes to the arcade and Steve stomps back into the video store. The crisis seemingly averted, Eddie heads towards home, thoughts full of what he witnessed.

He's still thinking about it the next day, when Hellfire congregates at the lunch table. Paying no attention to the ongoing conversation, he asks,"Harrington mess with you a lot?"

"Steve?" Dustin wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, I mean, he can be annoying sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Grumbles Mike. Dustin elbows him. The entire exchange is baffling to Eddie.

"You spend a lot of time with him?"

"Sure." Dustin takes a drink from his carton of milk, oblivious to Eddie's growing confusion.

"Uh, Henderson, hello." He knocks on the table. "I saw him yelling at you yesterday, wanna tell me what that was about?"

"He was mad that I asked for a ride to Lucas's." Dustin rolls his eyes.

Eddie is baffled. "And he--Why?"

"He used to be Dustin's babysitter," Lucas answers.

He looks at Jeff, Gareth, and Freak and they stare back, just as confused.

"Your mom paid Steve Harrington. Steve 'The Hair' Harrington. To babysit you?"

"No, he didn't do it for money."

And that just--what's he supposed to do with that?

"You--you all just. Know him?"

Lucas nods. "He helps me with--stuff. Looks after Erica sometimes. He's cool."

Eddie can't help himself, he snorts, mean. His three sheepies, even Mike, finally stop what they're doing to glare at him.

"He's annoying as fuck," Mike says. "But he's a good guy."

Dustin and Lucas nod, Dustin crossing his arms over his chest, defiant.

"Okay, okay." He raises his hands in surrender. "I didn't know of Harrington's numerous good deeds. In the future, I'll make sure to show him all due deference." He says it in his most formal knight voice, which makes the freshman laugh, and the matter is forgotten for the rest of lunch.

---

Steve Harrington speaks to him for the first time two weeks later.

Eddie stops at a gas station for beer on his way home from band practice. It's late, the lot deserted, quiet. Before he goes in, he lights a cigarette, leans against the van's back doors to smoke. He takes his first inhale, closes his eyes, hears another car pull into the lot. It's Harrington's stupid BMW.

And he's walking over to Eddie, hands in the pockets of his perfectly snug jeans, looking like he stepped straight out of an issue of Teen Beat.

"Bum a smoke?" He asks. There's a bashful half smile on his face that Eddie refuses to think is cute.

"What, Steve Harrington can't afford his own cigarettes?" He bites back. The smile flickers, and Eddie winces. He pulls the pack from his jacket pocket, tapping out a cigarette, handing it to Harrington along with his lighter.

Steve takes the smoke between his long fingers, nestling it between his pink lips. Eddie looks away.

"Dustin really likes Hellfire," Steve says. He looks only at the sky.

"Yeah, good." He clears his throat. "I'm glad."

"It's good for all of them. I think."

"They've been great additions to the group." If he ever imagined talking to Harrington, which he didn't, it wasn't anything like this.

"Can't believe you play that geeky game, Munson." He looking at Eddie now, the crooked smile back.

"You're one to talk," he shoots back. "From what I understand, you babysit half the nerds in town."

"Nah, I've handed them off to you now."

Eddie laughs, coughs, pulls his hair forward to hide his face. "Are you saying we share custody?"

"Gave up my parental rights." Harrington's eyes get crinkly when he laughs. It makes Eddie's stomach swoop.

With one last drag, Eddie throws his spent cigarette to the ground, stomping it into the asphalt with his boot.

"Well." He points to the gas station. "I gotta--"

"Sure. See you around, Munson."

It's only hours later that he realizes Harrington stopped only to talk to him.

That night, he has the dream again.

When he wakes, "For Eddie" reverberates through his bones. And for the first time, the voices sound familiar.

---

Eddie sees Harrington often after that. They talk. Dare he say it, but Harrington's...nice. Truly. It's shocking to discover. He tries not to think about it too much; trusting someone like Harrington feels dangerous.

Not to mention, the more he gets to know and like the guy, the harder it is to ignore the alluring pout of his mouth and the way his ass fills out a pair of jeans. That's an even more dangerous avenue to go down than enjoying Harrington's company, though.

He has the dream almost once a week now. Sometimes more. Waking up with the taste of "For Eddie!" on his tongue. He recognizes the voices, knows he does, but remembering is like trying to cup water in his hands.

---

The only thing he's ever early to is Hellfire. He likes to get everything setup at least a half hour before everyone gets there. Usually, he has the drama room all to himself. But today, as he approaches the door, he hears people talking.

"Does he remember anything?"

"I don't think so."

"Fuck, this isn't working."

He knows those voices. He knows them. The same ones he hears in his dream. It's--

"He just needs time."

"Dustin! We don't have time!"

"It's only November, Steve. Chrissy doesn't die until March."

Steve and Dustin.

For Eddie, For Eddie, For Eddie, For Eddie

Images flash through his head. Chrissy Cunningham in her cheerleading uniform in the woods; a broken body on the floor of the trailer; holding a bottle to Steve's throat...

He thinks he's going to be sick. Pain surges through his skull, stomach heaving. He takes a deep breath, fingers clenching into the door frame to stay upright.

"We have to tell him."

"We have no idea what could happen if he doesn't remember on his own."

"So, what? We wait until Chrissy snaps apart on his ceiling? We know how that ends!"

"We don't know how this works. If he doesn't figure it out--"

...A basketball player he can't name floating above Lover's Lake, arms snapped; Steve shirtless on a boat; an eerie, blue-soaked landscape, covered in shriveled trees and withered vines; hot-wiring an RV with Steve and Robin over his shoulder; playing his guitar on the trailer's roof...

His knees give, and he falls into the door with a thud. He can feel his pulse pounding in his brain, a raging fire. For a second, he goes weightless, and then Steve's arms wrap around his waist. "I've got you. Hold on, Eddie. I got you."

"I'm going to be sick," he says. Or tries to. His mouth won't move like it belongs to him.

"Shit, shit, Dustin, what do we do?"

"I don't know!"

"Eddie, man, you gotta stay awake for me, okay? Can you do that?"

And he wants to. God, does he want more than anything to stay awake for Steve Harrington, but he can't work his eyes anymore.

Dustin is saying something over and over and over, but it's only coming to him in waves, in and out like radio fuzz.

"Steve!" Dustin cries, and that comes in loud and clear.

"I'm trying! I'm trying! I don't know what to do!"

"Eddie, please--please!" And he doesn't know which of them says it, because he's slipping away, and there's no voices or pain or anything at all.

---

"For Eddie!" Rings in his head as he sits bolt upright in bed, the dream clinging to him like a hangover.

He's been having it for a few months now, but he never remembers anything except the shouts of, "For Eddie!"

He can't get them out of his head, even though it seems innocuous enough. Even in his sleep, they have weight, heft, and it gnaws at him afterwards like pain from a rotten tooth.

And no matter how hard he tries, he can't remember any more of the dream than those two words.