#phase one

I LIED I HAVE TIME TO DRAW (I DIDNT DO ANY OF MY HOMEWORK)

i wonder if noodle ever got nervous singing on s/t and 2d encouraged her by singing along with her and they just decided to keep it OKAY new headcanon 😭😭

His second was thinking the door opening just moments later and the sound of heavy foot falls was his uncle. Eddie’s watch had stopped working months ago when he dove into lovers lake. Otherwise he would have known that there was no way his uncle could be home just yet— not for another twenty minutes at the very least.

Really, Eddie should have known that the party members don’t give up so easily. That the silence was too good to be true. The ragtag group hadn’t saved the world four whole times by giving up.

There’s a lot of things Eddie should have questioned, should have known. The main one being that of course Steve Harrington would find a way inside the trailer.

But Eddie hadn’t thought about any of that.

At least, he hadn’t thought about any of it until he’s confronted with the opening of his bedroom door. The irritated form of Steve Harrington trudging his way into the room like a man on a mission.

“I know you heard me knocking, Munson,” he says. “The whole trailer park could hear me knocking.”

Eddie blinks up at him, joint falling from his fingers to the bedside table as he startles upright. “What the hell?”

“That’s my question.” Steve narrows his eyes at him. “What the hell, man?”

“How did you get in here— did you break in?” Eddie peeks around Steve towards the long dark hallway, half expecting to see the entire cavalry— or super girl at the very least. There’s no one else though, just him and Steve. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here? No one’s heard from you or seen you since you left the hospital.” He waves a hand sharply through the air. “That was a month ago in case you didn’t know. You have the whole party on edge man.”

“I,” Eddie frowns up at him, “I’m allowed some alone time.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, you are, that’s why no one’s bothered you but it’s July now and it’s time to stop hiding and show your face.”

Is it really July?

Eddie glances at the wall, but the calendar there hasn’t been touched since March. It’s hangs like a reminder of the worst week of Eddie’s life and the equally horrible weeks that followed.

It’s not July right?

There’s no way it’s been that long since Eddie’s left the hospital.

“I get that you went through something, man— we all have, and we all know that you might need a moment but this has gone on long enough.”

Eddie doubts that anyone went through anything close to the same shit he did. Blamed for multiple murders, nearly eaten alive, dragged publically through the legal system before the government finally stepped in and declared him innocent. The weeks and weeks of physical therapy, the whispers and the hateful glares. The blame and the guilt that sits like stones on his shoulders.

“And,” Steve continues, “you haven’t even called anyone. Dustin’s tried reaching out at least a million times— said that the others have too. He said you aren’t even talking to Jeff now”—

Eddie wonders if Steve even knows who Jeff is.

“I don’t know who Jeff is but Dustin said he’s like your best friend.”

Ah.

Eddie keeps nodding. His brain stuck on the fact that it's already July. That’s he’s seen no one but his uncles for weeks. He misses the rest of what Steve is saying, something about going outside, getting fresh air, not letting the town get him down, living the life he got to keep.

Steve stops suddenly, hands still hovering in the air. “Are you even— is this going okay?”

“What?” Eddie blinks back to reality.

“I mean— you’re kinda just sitting there, man. I thought there would be at least a little arguing.”

Eddie shakes his head, leaning back to grab the remainder of his joint from his night stand. “It’s a good pep talk. You’re making some very valid points, I’d give you an A for the effort.”

“I know.” Steve’s hands drop to his waist as he adopts that classic Steve Harrington pose. The one that’s somewhere between disappointed parent and exhausted older brother. Both of which he is not to Eddie— thank fuck.

“Look,” Steve starts again, voice lower now. “The kids are worried about you, Dustin especially, so are Robin and Nancy and me, dude.”

“Oh?” Eddie grins but it feels a little off, his brows raising high. “Steve Harrington is worried about little ole me? Someone should call the papers.”

“I already spoke to Nancy.”

Eddie blinks at him and then lets out a short incredulous laugh. It shouldn't be so surprising when Steve is funny or when he gives in and banters back with him but it is.

Stubbing out the rest of the joint, Eddie sits back up, tries to look just a little more presentable. Like he isn’t wallowing or suffering. “I’m fine.”

Dark eyes flick around Eddie’s face and then, embarrassingly, around his room. It’s messier than it’s ever been, the stink of sweat and weed thick. He’s honestly surprised Steve hasn’t fled the place just yet.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “you’re really thriving.”

Heat licks up Eddie’s neck, burning itself into his cheeks. It makes him a little defensive. “I didn’t ask for a house call man, or — or a wellness check or whatever the hell you think you’re doing here right now.”

“You said I had valid points,” Steve reminds him, stepping a little closer, uncaring that he’s walking all over dirty clothes. “So you know that this— hiding away, wasting away, is a load of shit.”

“What else am I supposed to be doing? The town hates me and I can’t leave,” Eddie waves a hand around the room. “I don’t have any money, I don’t have a guitar, I don’t even have a band anymore, there’s nothing left for me.”

“So what,” Steve snaps back, “you think you should have just died down there?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says and they both freeze.

Maybe the thought has been sitting on the back of his tongue for a while, bouncing around the darkest parts of his mind, but he’s never… he’s never admitted it outloud. Not to anyone. Not even to himself. And now…

Now it sits there. The honesty sour and dark and in both of their faces.

“Yeah,” Eddie says after a beat, quieter than before. “What else is there? Everyone still thinks I’m a murderer, it doesn’t matter that I was acquitted. Doesn’t matter that Henry Creel was the actual killer. The whole towns hated me since I first showed up.”

“Dustin doesn’t hate you,” Steve says and there’s a bitchiness to his tone. An anger burning just beneath the flat way he’s speaking. “The kids don’t hate you. No one that knows the truth hates you and your uncle has always been in your corner man.”

Eddie sighs. “What does that matter?”

“It matters man,” Steve tells him.

Head shaking, Eddie thinks about lighting up another joint. “Not to me.”

“So, you’re going to give up on them?”

“Why not?”

There’s another dragging silence, the kind that happens during a battle of wills but eddie isn’t battling. He’s throwing in the towel and waiting for Steve to give up too.

“Fine,” Steve says like Eddie knew he always would.

Slumping back down, Eddie nods and waits for Steve to stomp his way out of the trailer but he doesn’t.

No.

That would be too predictable and for some reason Steve Harrington just isn’t that. He moves towards Eddie, kicking things as he goes. Eddie panics, tries to scramble away but Steve is faster and bigger and grabs him around the waist, hauling him up and off the bed. Eddie stumbles on clothes and figures and papers strewn about as Steve yanks him right out of the bedroom.

“You can give up,” Steve says as he manhandles Eddie down the hallway and into the bathroom. The tiles slide beneath Eddie’s socks and then they’re gone as he’s roughly forced into the bathtub and dropped on his ass. “But I’ve never been a loser and I’m not letting you make me one today.”

Cold water bursts out of the shower head, drenching Eddie to the bone, he yelps and fights like an insulted house cat, trying to claw his way out of the bath. Steve holds tight, doesn’t let him escape, even kicks out a leg to slam the bathroom door shut.

It takes several long moments for the water to heat up, by then they’re both soggy, Steve’s hair is drenched, tendrils falling into his face. He doesn’t look happy about any of it.

“You,” he says and pokes Eddie in the forehead, “are going to shower or I will wash you myself and I will not be nice about it.”

Eddies shoulders hunch up to his ears. “Fuck off, Harrington.”

Steve leans back to look at him, waits just a second and then reaches for the shampoo. Eddie has zero time to speak or argue before soap is being squeezed into his hair and large hands are lathering it into his tangled curls.

He curses at Steve, batting at his hands angrily but Steve just smacks them down, grumbling under his breath about being a babysitter and not getting paid for any of it.

Eddie’s in the middle of calling him a whole slew of horrific names, his hair clenched in Steve's fist, entirely too much soap running down Eddie’s face, when the bathroom door opens.

They both freeze.

Wayne stands there in the doorway, hat in his hand, looking tired and bemused as he stares at them. “What’s going on here?”

“Wayne—“ Eddie chokes out, ready to tattle to his uncle and have the man help him throw Steve to the curb when Steve cuts him off, dragging a soapy hand over Eddie’s mouth.

“Operation get Eddie out of the goddamn house,” Steve says, like the line has been drilled into him— and it probably has been by Dustin. “Phase one.”

“Phase one,” Eddie tries to say against Steve’s hand, tasting nothing but soap and skin. What the hell does phase one mean? There can’t be more phases

Wayne’s faded blue eyes look at Eddie, humming as he scratches at his scruffy face. “Right then, try to keep it down, I’m gonna head to bed. And, you boys make sure to clean up all that water, don’t want it rotting under the tiles.”

“Yes sir,” Steve says and gives a quick wave before Wayne shuts the door.

Eddie stares at the bathroom door, eyes burning from soap and water. There’s a feeling of betrayal in the pit of his stomach, even as logic tells him his uncle would never do anything to really hurt him, would never actually give up on him.

“See,” Steve says, voice lower than it had been, hands going just a little more gentle as he works the soap into Eddie’s hair, finger combing out the bigger tangles. “Even your uncle thinks you need a shower.”

Eddie stops fighting, lets Steve finish shampooing him like a well behaved dog and then shooes him away to do the rest alone. Steve leaves, dropping several towels next to the tub to mop up the water they’d gotten everywhere.

“Let the conditioner sit a little while in your hair before you wash it out,” he says and then he’s gone, bathroom door clicking closed behind him.

Eddie stares at the door through the gap in the shower curtain for a long time, skeptical that he’s really been left alone. Part of him thinks Steve’s going to burst back in with a bottle of specialty conditioner and a loufa.

When enough time passes and no Steve reappears, Eddie fiddles with the shower settings, turning the water hotter. He struggles out of the clothes clinging to his skin, grimacing when he finds that he really can’t remember when he put any of the items on. He lets them sit in the back of the tub, it’s probably for the best.

Eddie hates to admit it but he does feel a little better once he’s all done and he’s just sitting on the edge of the tub with a towel around his waist. He feels like he’s shed a thousand pounds, smells a whole hell of a lot better too. He hates when other people are right.

The house is quiet when steps out of the bathroom. No Steve in the living room or the kitchen. Eddie sighs, heads for his bedroom.

All of the windows are open when he gets there, his bedding completely stripped from his mattress and missing. There’s a pile of dirty clothes that had been next to the door that is also missing and— Eddie cocks his head, listening harder— hears the washing machine running just down the hall.

There’s no sign of Steve, but there is a piece of paper left in the middle of his bare mattress. Tidy handwriting Eddie can’t make out until he gets a little closer.

Clean your room. It smells worse than the upside down.

See you tomorrow.

- SH

It feels like a threat.

It is a threat.

Eddie groans and wants nothing more than to throw himself down on the bed, but the fabric of the mattress is scratchy and Eddie’s body feels overly sensitive with how hard he scrubbed it.

There’s some extra bedding in the linen closet down the hallway, Eddie supposes he could make his bed. It might be nice to sleep in some clean sheets tonight.

Might be nice to have a clear walking path too.