crappy mixtape : the b•sides

You and Dustin had been unconsolable that night. Understandably so. Dustin looked up to Eddie and had big plans to take over Hellfire Club when he finally got him through to graduation. You, however... Eddie's your big brother. Was your big brother. Separated just by two years, and even though you had different dads, Eddie never treated you any differently.

In the short time that you had known Steve, he learned that you never actually met your biological dad, but Uncle Wayne and Eddie took you in all the same. From a young age, Eddie was your protector. Steve knew that just from going to the same school as you two. Even though you weren't in Hellfire, everyone at Hawkins High knew better than to fuck with Eddie Munson's little sister. That was a death wish in its own right.

"Steve? You alright?" Nancy's soft voice pulls Steve from his thoughts. He blinks, looking down at her, and quickly folds the tee-shirt in a messy heap. She glances at it and carefully redoes it.

"How do you think she's doing?"

Nancy knows immediately who he's talking about. Her lips pull in a small frown.

"I can't imagine how she's feeling," she mumbles with a shake of her head. "Dustin and Mike went to talk to their uncle and he was talking about skipping town. He said he doesn't want to stick around knowing the reputation Eddie left behind, even if he knows it wasn't true."

Steve's eyes widen at that, "What, so he's just gonna leave her?"

Nancy shrugs. "They're grieving, Steve. Wayne's been working to support them for the past, what? 20 years? He deserves to mourn the way he needs to."

"Is he taking the trailer?"

"I don't know," she says. "Mike said Dustin tried to talk to her yesterday but she wouldn't answer the door."

"Shit," Steve mutters, lifting a hand to run through his hair. "Do you think... would it be, like, overstepping if I tried checking on her? I'm... I'm really worried about her, Nance."

Nancy thinks for a moment, nibbling on her bottom lip as she distracts herself with a new pile of toddler-sized pants.

"I don't see how it could hurt," she eventually replies. "The worst she'll do is tell you to fuck off or not answer, but... I don't know. I'm worried, too."

For the entire drive over to the Forest Hills Trailer Park, Steve prays to a god he doesn't know if he believes in.

Over the past few years, he's witnessed too much tragedy for a 20 year old. He's seen too much death, cried too much, gotten too many concussions, defended his friends in ways he never thought imaginable — but now, he's depending on whatever big, universal power may or may not exist, because he needs you to still be in Hawkins.

He needs this.

A wave of relief hits him when he haphazardly parks his BMW outside the Munson trailer, but he knows he's not completely in the clear until he sees your face. He slams the driver's door shut and walks up to the door, rapping his fist against the thin metal. He has to convince himself not to press his ear up to the door and listen for footsteps or sounds of life.

But then—

Then, you answer.

You open the door, and Steve blinks, slightly shocked. Mainly because you're here, in front of him, but also...

Also, because you're still wearing the same blood-stained tee-shirt from the day of the final battle. Because the bags beneath your eyes indicate that you probably haven't even slept since then, and your eyes are so puffy and red that Steve knows you've likely spent all your time crying.

And it just kind of... clicks, in that moment, what Steve needs to do.

"Hey," he greets, his tone gentle and quiet, "Pack some stuff up. You're gonna come stay with me for a little bit, okay? I'm gonna take care of you."

Steve watches as the gears slowly start to turn in your mind. He can tell that you're moving at a weaker rate than usual, and he wonders when the last time you've had food or water is. Your lips part, but then you nod.

"Okay," you answer, voice hoarse. "Okay— can you— can you help me?"

Your eyes begin to water, and it takes everything in Steve not to pull you in and give you the biggest hug imaginable.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Steve nods. "I'm gonna help you."

July

"So, what have you guys been doing?"

The tone to Dustin's question is accusatory, as if you've been hunkering down at Steve's house to purposely hide away from the kids. Steve sighs as he leans his hip against the open doorway, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I've just been... I don't know, like, taking care of her," he says. He doesn't know how to explain it to pre-teens without making it sound weird, but he also knows he doesn't give them enough credit. That in his head, they'll maybe always exist as tiny little kids biking around Hawkins in their Ghostbusters costumes, when they've experienced more pain and trauma than most adults go through in a lifetime.

As it stands, only two of the usual gaggle is currently on his doorstep — Will's still recovering from everything with Vecna (and Joyce isn't too keen on letting him run around all willy nilly), and Lucas spends most of his free time at the hospital, waiting for Max to wake up. Mike and Dustin have really been the only two trying to hang around Steve's, bothering him to see if you're up for visitors.

"She's not, like, hurt, though." Mike points out, and Steve suppresses yet another sigh before nodding his head.

"Yeah, I know that, Wheeler, but her brother just died. It's a lot for her to deal with, okay? You heard Wayne, he wanted to leave Hawkins anyway."

Mike shrugs and adjusts his stance on his bike.

"Eddie was my friend, too. Why can't I hang out?" Dustin asks.

"Listen, Henderson, it's just different," Steve runs his hand through his hair, obviously growing exhausted of the conversation. "I know you were friends with Eddie and you were obsessed with him and whatever, but, like. Imagine Mike lost Nancy or something. It's on that scale, okay? It's fucked up, and she just needs someone. You have your mom and Mike and... Mews, I guess."

Dustin makes a sound through his teeth before kicking the brake off his bike.

"Whatever, dude. See you around."

Rolling his eyes, Steve watches as Dustin rides off the Harrington property. Mike waves goodbye, which Steve returns, and then turns around to close the door behind him, jogging quietly in his socks up to the guest room, where you've been staying for the last three weeks.

He knocks softly, then calls out: "You awake in there?"

(It doesn't matter that it's 1 o'clock in the afternoon. Steve quickly realized that, within a few days of having you stay with him, your sleep schedule was completely fucked up. You revealed to him that you hadn't slept at all since Eddie passed, because when you closed your eyes, all you could see were the demobats attacking him.)

(That first night at Steve's, you both stayed in the living room, because you confessed that you were too scared to sleep alone in the dark. Steve kept the TV on all night.)

When he doesn't hear a response, he opens the door, sighing softly when he sees your exhausted body tucked into the guest room sheets and blankets. He tip-toes to the edge of the mattress, placing a hand to your shoulder, and lightly shakes your shoulder.

"'s 1 pm, sweetheart," Steve murmurs, carefully moving some hair out of your face. "Gotta get up."

You jolt, reaching out to grab Steve's hand, and he jerks in response, nervous that he's scared you. (Nightmares have also been a common theme in the house — for both of you.) When you open your eyes a second later, retinas adjusting to the light and familiar figure in front of you, you let out a shaky breath and ease up on the tight grasp around Steve's wrist.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," you mutter, reaching up to fist at your eyes. "Did I sleep in again?"

"Don't apologize, you're okay," Steve replies easily, "But yeah, it's a bit late."

You groan. "I couldn't sleep again last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I was seeing..."

Your expression glazes over slightly, and Steve shakes his head, squeezing your arm.

"Hey, don't do that," he says. "Remember what we talked about? You can't go back there all the time. You can't blame yourself for what happened."

Your eyes instantly get watery so you sit up, then stare at your lap.

"You hungry at all? I can make you something to eat. Maybe we can go outside today or something."

You shrug your shoulders. Somehow, you're overwhelmed by his questions, even though you used to be so opinionated and sure of yourself. You wonder where that version of yourself went off to. Your stomach clenches at the thought of it dying alongside Eddie.

"Lemme make you something small," Steve murmurs. "Then maybe we can sit in the backyard and eat?"

You peer up at him, swallowing the lump in your throat. You're not sure when that got there, but it seems like it's always there these days.

"Okay," you say. "That sounds alright."

Steve smiles at you, and that feels like a reward in itself.

August

Steve wakes up to a soft knock on his bedroom door, followed by an even quieter call of his name.

He opens his eyes and searches through the darkness for the alarm clock on his nightstand. The red neon numbers blink back at him. 2:06 a.m.

"Steve?"

You call him again, this time, creaking the door open. Steve sits up, the navy blue comforter his mom picked out for him in high school falling to his waist.

"What's up, sweetheart?" he croaks out, throat dry from a few solid hours of sleep. He can't quite make out your form in the inky blue night of his room, but he hears you come closer to his bedside.

"I had a really bad nightmare," you say. Your voice is soft, the admission rolling off your tongue like it's a secret you'd only confess in the thick of night. "I'm sorry for waking you up, but can I just... can I stay in here? For tonight?"

Steve is tired. He's tired from just being woken up, which he'll never be upset with you about, but he's also tired from worrying about you, and Max, and Lucas, and El, and Will, and fuck, now even Dustin's giving him attitude because he won't let him see you.

He's exhausted, and he hasn't told you too much, but sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he, too, sees Eddie's body getting attacked by demobats.

On especially bad days, he also sees Barb's, and he blames himself for that.

But he knows he's not doing you any good by sinking into his own trauma and grief.

He knows you need someone.

Right now, you need him.

So, Steve moves over and pats an empty spot in the middle of the bed.

"Come on in," he says, fluffing a pillow for you on the side next to him. "Hope you don't mind, I'm a cuddler."

You snort at that.

Steve thinks it's the first time he's heard anything close to a laugh in months.

The next day, Robin and Nancy bully their way into Steve's house.

Steve's strong enough to stop a few pre-teen kids from getting in, but he can stave off his ex-girlfriend and his best friend for only so long. They, too, are worried about you, especially since it's officially been a month and a half since they've seen you.

Today seems to be one of your better days. After sleeping in Steve's bed, you woke up before noon (and he wasn't kidding, either — he really is a cuddler, which you'll neither deny nor admit to that helping you sleep better). You ate breakfast and changed out of pajamas, and even spent some time watching TV with Steve before the girls came over.

(Steve avoided putting any local news on, since every report was still very much about the "earthquake" and missing loved ones. Instead, you watched reruns of Press Your Luck, which seemed to be good enough for both of you.)

Nancy and Robin drag you back upstairs to the guest room, with Robin calling out some bullshit excuse about you needing "girl time". Steve doesn't know why that's relevant, but he flops down on the couch anyway, wondering how his home got to have an open door policy.

He attempts to enjoy his time alone, but really, it's pretty boring not having you around. He's gotten used to your presence, even if you're not always talking or doing something together. He puts a baseball game on and cracks open a beer, but even that feels kind of lame.

Around three hours in of your "girl time", Steve decides to (sneakily) check on you. Of course, the guest room door is closed, which makes him roll his eyes, but Robin talks loud enough for him to hear her through the walls. The TV is on — something you haven't done since you started staying here — and he nibbles on his bottom lip as he tries to listen in on what you three could possibly be talking about.

"So, do you have a crush on him?" Robin asks. Steve's eyes widen. She can't be talking to Nancy, who's been dating Jonathan since she broke up with Steve.

"Robs!" he hears Nancy scold her, followed by a loud ouch!

"What? I'm just asking!"

"No, no, it's fine," you reply, followed by some awkward laughter. "Um... I mean, he's so kind and sweet, but I feel like I've been such a burden on him. I have to get back on my feet at some point and I just don't know if now is a good time for me to figure out a romantic relationship."

Steve's chest aches a little at that. He's never thought of you as a burden, and he hates that you could ever feel that way.

"I think that's a really mature way to look at things," Nancy says. "Steve cares a lot. And when he loves, he loves with his whole heart. It can feel a little intimidating sometimes — it was for me, at least. But maybe one day it could work out for you two."

Robin's already babbling about something else, so you don't have a chance to answer. But now, Steve can't help but wonder if there's a future that exists for you, beyond the confides of these shitty, grief-filled circumstances.

Maybe that makes him selfish. Maybe that makes him hopeful.

He hasn't quite decided yet.

Mid-August

August is a hazy month.

The summer sun hangs low, humidity thick in the warm afternoons of Hawkins. Robin thinks she's about to secure jobs for her and Steve over at The Squawk, but there's also talks of the military taking up permanent residence in their little town.

Quite frankly, he also doesn't want to leave you.

As the summer crawls to a slow close, your face fills out a little bit more, your eyes less tired. You're starting to look more like your old, healthy self again, which brings Steve a lot of relief. You both know you'll never return to that version of yourself again — the person you were when Eddie was still alive — and you're struggling with that every day.

Steve can see it in your eyes, especially when you gaze off somewhere distant. You'll be sitting in the backyard together, knees tucked to your chest, and suddenly there won't be anything left to say, and he knows you're thinking about it. The cicadas are screeching, almost as loudly as winged demobats jetting low in the sky, and your fists are balled so tightly, Steve worries you're going to break skin.

"Sweetheart," he says gently, standing from his seat and kneeling down in front of you, "Come on, don't do this. You're not there. Where are you, hm? Talk to me."

You blink slowly, almost as if you're being woken up from a dream. You let Steve take your hands into his; allow him to gently flex your knuckles and fingers so they're no longer clenched.

"I'm in your backyard," you eventually answer. Steve nods encouragingly. "I'm... I'm not back there. I'm with you. I'm safe. I'm here."

"There you go," he soothes, petting over your palms. "That's good. That's really good."

You try to smile gratefully at him, but there's tears lining your eyes.

The rest of the evening is spent in the little bubble of routine you've built for yourselves.

Sometime after dinner, you and Steve will migrate to the couch. He'll put something lighthearted on, usually a sitcom or a game show, and you'll curl up into Steve's side. You never talk about the cuddling, or the fact that you never stopped sharing a bed after that night all those weeks ago. After that, he just kept asking you if you wanted to go to bed, and you never questioned it.

When you're just about to fall asleep, Steve gently guides you upstairs and forces you into the shower, even if you fight him on it. He tells you that it'll make you feel better and help you sleep, which he's somehow always right about.

You're not sure when Steve Harrington got so good at being a careful, compassionate human being, but you do notice that you sometimes share the same far away look — the one you get when you're thinking of Eddie, or how cold the Upside Down was, or the sound of Dustin sobbing.

You haven't asked Steve what else he's witnessed in that fucked up place, but you can't imagine it's anything good. You've heard Max is still in a coma, and one of the only times Steve willingly leaves the house is when Lucas calls and asks for a ride to the hospital. You've also learned that the reason Will went missing a few years ago is because he was trapped there, and Barbara Holland's mysterious disappearance was just as fatal and gruesome as Eddie's.

There are days where you're so angry with the world, and you wish you never let Eddie get involved with any of this bullshit. You want to punch walls and scream and cry and curse out anyone who so much as looks at you, because your brother got taken away from you before he even got a chance at living the life he deserved.

But Steve's usually never too far away, and his mere presence is typically enough to be a voice of reason in your brain. And so, you allow yourself to think about the events leading up to Eddie's death, and how he would've met up with Chrissy Cunningham regardless of what you said, because you would've never thought any differently.

You could've tried to drag him out of the Upside Down yourself, using all of your body's strength, but he never would have let you do it.

He would have sacrificed himself for Dustin a million times over.

And while the anger feels useless, it has to pass through anyway. At the end of it, the only thing left for you to feel is gratitude for Steve Harrington.

Because he was the one who pulled you out of the Upside Down, and he's the one who's been taking care of you for the past three months.

You can only imagine how funny Eddie would find that.

September

The days slowly start to cool down in September.

With each passing day, the heat begins to dissipate, and it feels as though summer's on its final leg. Now that the sun isn't so insistent on beating down high and angry in the afternoon, you and Steve spend more time laying in the backyard during the day.

Laying back in the grass, your hands barely touching but just a fingertip apart, is when you tell him what you've been thinking for the past few weeks:

"I think I wanna have some kind of memorial for Eddie."

Steve, somewhat groggy after eating lunch, turns his neck to look at you. You mirror him. You're surprised that he doesn't look confused or shocked.

"Yeah?" Steve asks.

"I think it would be nice for all of us to say some words and talk about him a little. I've been thinking about it a lot lately."

You watch as Steve licks his lips, then nods his head.

"I agree," he says softly. "Where would you wanna have it?"

"I hadn't really thought that far, to be honest." you admit bashfully.

"How about here?" he suggests. "Just a little something in the backyard. Somewhere everyone's comfortable."

"You wouldn't mind?"

He smiles crookedly, and you hardly notice when his pinkie brushes yours.

"Of course not."

A few days later, Steve asks when you want to hold Eddie's memorial, and you land on a date the following week. With the military officially quarantining Hawkins, everyone's schedules are mostly free, so it's just a matter of calling everybody up and inviting them over, which Steve is happy to handle. Your only ask is that anyone who attends comes with at least one thing, whether it be a memory, story, or little anecdote, to say about your brother. No one needs to wear black or show up in tears or with a giant casserole — just with the understanding that they're there to honor Eddie.

When the day arrives, you wake up feeling oddly calm. Steve is glued to your side all day, constantly checking in on you and making sure you're okay. He doesn't need to remind you that this is the first time you'll be with the group since the day Eddie passed, because you're already well aware of the circumstances.

When the anxiety does creep in, you allow yourself to tuck into Steve's side. Wordlessly, he understands; a silent conversation between two people who have been through too much too young. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. As usual, you don't acknowledge the affection between you two.

People start to show up around 2 p.m. First Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin, then Mike and Will on their bikes. Lucas comes by shortly after, straight from the hospital, you assume, and you understand El is still on strict watch under Hopper's watchful eye. Dustin, you realize, is most noticeably missing, and when you look to ask Steve about it, he's already shaking his head.

"He's not gonna make it today," he mumbles lowly, catching your ear so only you can hear him, "I'm sorry. I tried to convince him."

You nod curtly and try not to let it burn you from the inside out.

Despite everyone still looking battered down from the past few months, they're all happy to be back at Steve's house and in your presence. Everybody gives you a big hug, commending you on the idea and how glad they are to see you.

It's the most similar thing to joy you've felt in a long time.

When you all gather in the backyard, you swallow the lump already forming in your throat. You clear your throat and try to speak loudly, the same way Eddie always did.

"Thank you guys for coming today. I really appreciate you taking the time to come and honor Eddie," you start, awkwardly wringing your hands in front of your body. "I thought it would be nice if we could all just say something about him. It doesn't have to be a big thing, I know not everyone was super close with him, but just a nice way to send him off."

Your voice cracks, and from beside you, Robin grabs your hand, giving it a small squeeze.

"I'll go first," she volunteers with a smile. "I'll be honest, I didn't know jackshit about Eddie 'The Freak' Munson until he got involved with all this Upside Down mumbo jumbo, but it did the same thing to him that it did to me. It just... pulled me in, without even asking for permission. And I'm really glad I got to know Eddie before he died, because it gave me a chance to know the real him. He wasn't that crazy, heavy metal Satan worshipper everyone said he was. He was a genuinely kindhearted, incredible, sweet dude. He was a great friend, and a great brother, and we miss him so much."

The tears are already streaming down your cheeks by the end of Robin's short speech, and you send her a grateful, watery smile, which she returns with just as much sadness in her eyes.

"Eddie was actually supposed to graduate with me," Nancy says next, which makes every laugh a little. "And before he started Hellfire Club, I think he was trying to find his footing a little bit, so he tried being a writer for the Hawkins High newspaper, but he only wanted to write album reviews for heavy metal albums. I was only a freshman then so I didn't have any say, and the senior editors kept striking them down, but every week he would come in with fully written reviews on bands no one had ever heard of. It was just so... Eddie of him, and I hope I take that energy with me everywhere, for the rest of my life."

Jonathan tells a story about Eddie complimenting his photography before they knew each other, and Mike and Will both follow up with lengthy Hellfire Club anecdotes that make little sense to you, but still make you smile. Lucas, in light of his obvious exhaustion, talks about how he was terrified of Eddie because he wanted him to pick between basketball and Hellfire, but it made him realize that Eddie was just an incredibly passionate person, and he'll always admire that about him.

"Eddie Munson couldn't have been more different than from what I expected him to be," Steve admits, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. "He was... ridiculous and dramatic, but also selfless and funny. He saved my best friend's life and he also brought me to one of the most important people in my life. So, I'll always thank him for that, and I'll never be able to repay him enough."

You stare at Steve, taken back by his description of you (did he really just refer to you as 'one of the most important people in his life'?), but he gently elbows you, reminding you that it's your turn to go. Blinking, you pull a folded piece of paper from the pocket of your jeans, then lift your hand to haphazardly wipe away your tears.

You take a deep breath, then prepare yourself to read.

But before you do, Steve reaches out to hold your free hand.

You accept it graciously.

Now, you feel ready.

"Eddie was more than my big brother. He was my best friend, my other half, and, when I was younger, it felt like he was my North Star. He guided me through a lot of shitty situations but never really let me know just how bad they were. He cared for me in ways a kid should never have to, but there were nights I ate dinner or mornings I got to school just because he was making sure I did.

Somewhere along the way, it started feeling like I was the older sibling. I graduated high school before him, and I was trying to help him get his shit together so he could get the fuck out of here. He didn't dream of staying in Hawkins. He wanted to tour the world with his band and help people with his music and do cool shit. But I guess... I guess what Eddie never realized is that he was already kinda doing that. It wasn't on the scale he dreamt of, but he was helping people, and he was doing cool stuff and already on his way to greatness, and he died being the passionate, incredible person he always was.

I will miss my brother for as long as I live. I think my heart will always feel a little broken. But he taught me to love unconditionally and passionately, and to put everything I have into anything that feels worth it. So... thank you for that, Eddie. We miss you, and we love you so much."

When you look up from your wrinkled piece of looseleaf, eyes blurry with tears, everyone around you is crying. You swallow harshly and look to Steve, who's already bringing you in for hug.

You wrap your arms around his middle and cry into his chest, allowing yourself the love and care you desperately need in this moment. You don't know how long you stand there, crying and holding each other, but eventually your grasp loosens, and he lets you go, but not before pressing a kiss to your hair and murmuring an I love you.

When you look up at him, chin against his chest, you nod and mouth the words back to him.

Around you, a breeze gently whistles through the backyard. The shrubs and trees rustle as you sniffle, breaking away from Steve's adoring grip on your form. The group has busied themselves with hugging one another and offering their own "I love you"'s, but somewhere off in the distance, you swear you hear it—

Your brother's cackled laughter, followed by a signature sarcastic groan.