Chapter Text
1980 - 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.”