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Sometimes the names we have don't carry the best memories, they don't bring out the best in us. Steve and Eddie know this all too well, both weighted down by the legacies of their fathers, and it takes them a while to come to terms with the way they feel about their surnames. They both work around them, evade the connection as well as possible, and are determined to build their identities around these rotten spots, not allowing them to spoil more in their lives. The child of a criminal and a child of a cold, widely-hated businessman. What a pair they make.
At one point, they consider changing their surnames. Or moving. Maybe both, anything to escape the unfeeling, ever critical stare of Thomas Harrington and the tainted memory of John Munson. They give it a lot of thought, drink some more than they should, but it's a heavy topic and it requires a heavy dose of liquor. At the end of their discussion, they wobble back from the Hideout, leaning on each other and only stopping here and there to consider the option of throwing up. "You knoo-ow, Steve," hiccups Eddie and the sway of his hips almost has him do a pirouette, "I think I got it. The...grand plan. The mmmmaster plan. Evil. Sssso evil." He looks at Steve from under his heavy-lidded eyes. "Am evil, no?"
"You, Eds," slurs Steve and hugs the street light, "can be anything. Aaanything. So yesh. You can be evil, babe. Go do it. Spread chaos. Fight...someone. Heroes. But not El. El is cool." He looks up at the light bulb and mutters "so pretty" before realizing he's nearly blinding himself.
"I love you. I do. You...support. Me and my viles," Eddie swings around the lamp and crashes into Steve, giggling. "You will be my villain wife. The...blood bank to my Dracula or something. The electricity to my monster." He sways against Steve for a moment, then pointing vaguely behind his shoulder. "You think we can make it to the other lamp? Wanna swwwwing. Around it." He smacks his lips and repeats the word. "Swing. Swwwing. Sounds all whooshy. Like it."
Steve nods solemnly and grabs Eddie's waist. "Let's whoosh. Can you..oh shit, the other leg, didn't we come from there? Who the fuck cares...um. Can you tell me? The masterrrplan?" The last word is a bit slurred, but the next lamp is far away and it takes more than he has to just walk in a slightly squiggly line. Or just walk.
Eddie nods too, although a bit too enthusiastically, and that does it for their fragile balance. It's only thanks to Steve's reflexes that they don't smash into the ground but dive into the nearest grass patch, although the style of the dive leaves something to be desired. "Whoops. Soft," Eddie giggles and squeezes Steve's chest. "My plan, love, is to stay in this shithole. It's devious, I tell you."
Steve blinks and shakes his head, perhaps harder than necessary. "Can you...el...laborate when the moon settles down? It's ssspinny. Spinning...Sleeping beauty? Is the moon spinning the string thingy and falling asleep?"
They lie next to each other on the grass and stare at the moon. "Maybe?" mutters Eddie, his hand tracing circles in the air. "Spinning wheel? Spinning...Wheeler," he giggles and snorts several times, making more and more undignified sounds as he tries to stop himself. "Spinning Wheeler. In the sky. That would be bad."
Steve howls in laughter too and starts hiccuping. "Y-yeah. I mean. Not s-sure which is worse, Nancy seeing ev-verything from there or Mike..." He rubs his head in the grass, his hair slowly becoming more and more like a dryad. "Sorry, you were...yeah. Your master plan?"
"Oh yeah," and Eddie is giggling again, the usual undertones of bitterness smoothed over by their proximity, the smell of freshly cut grass and held hands. The night is quiet, they are alive, they are okay and if they're at a point of their lives when their surnames can actually become a concern instead of, oh wait, the world ending, Eddie will take it. He turns to Steve and nuzzles his forehead into that silly polo shirt. "What do you say to this...we stay. We keep these shitty names. And we make them...ours," he finishes, as if that was the most astute sentence in the history of mankind.
"...Eds, I think I already have mine?" Steve rubs his grass-covered head, leaving green streaks over his eyebrows. "I think..it's on my ID or..."
"Shhhhhh," Eddie presses his finger to Steve's lips and giggles again when Steve starts nibbling on his fingertip. "Not what I mean. Let's stay here and f-fuck them over. Like they fucked us over, but better. Because..." he taps his finger on Steve's lips and teeth, "...we will destroy them. What they mean in this stupid town."
There's a small light in Steve's eyes, or maybe it's just the reflection of the moon. One more kiss to Eddie's index finger and then Steve leans back, making himself comfortable on the grass. "I like it. Erase them."
"That's my big boy with his big words," grins Eddie and ruffles his hair. "Yeah. Let's...let's build something. I'll...open a garage or something. A record store. I don't care. But when that...piece of shit...gets released from prison, he will come back and find out...he doesn't exist here anymore. That Munson means...it means something else." His dark eyes travel to Steve's face, careful. "Is...is that stupid?"
"No," Steve whispers and he suddenly seems sober, gently grasping Eddie's shoulders. "Let's do it. You'll be a...small business owner or something. A honest guy. Your dad will get a heart attack," he snorts. "And I...I want to do something...with my hands. I'm good with my hands, I could do some maintenance stuff or...you know. Just help around the neighborhood. Harrington, the reliable manual worker," he muses, watching the moon again. "My dad will be so...so pissed. I wanna do it. I won't hide as a failure. I will be a proud failure!"
"Right!" Eddie nods and almost falls on Steve's face. "Let's fail the fuckers!"
They burst into laughter again and kiss, once, twice, still not enough. Eventually, Robin finds them collapsed on the lawn, giggling like maniacs. She hides her concern behind a scowl, informs them that this is absolutely NOT why she got a driver's licence, but they seem in such a good mood that she doesn't have it in her heart to yell at them more. She just makes sure they both get into bed safely, but if she's just a little smug when she hears retching sounds in the morning and if Eddie exits their bedroom, a lovely shade of green on his face (both the alcohol and the grass), well, who can blame her.
It's a long road, but they stick to their plan. Eddie starts working in a local garage, partially thanks to Hopper's persuasiveness, and soon his natural talent and hard work earn him a reputation. When people actually come in and ask for him specifically, Eddie's eyes become glassy and he might have to bite his lip to stifle a squeal of joy. Steve talks to Hopper and Wayne, the closest father figures he has, and in the end decides to apply for a job at the Hawkins PD. He is calm, reliable and well-liked, enough to resolve neighborly squabbles without much damage. And if he has the pleasure to meet his father at the station once, complaining about an overgrown bush next to the Harrington residence, he just smiles politely at that face which haunted him for decades, and tells him "I am truly sorry, sir, but they are well within their rights. There is nothing I can do and I would advise you against pursing any sort of...forceful persuasion. Because I will know if that happens and I will be obliged to act in accordance with law. Have a pleasant day." The look on his face makes it all so worth it.
Yes, there are still people who remember the murder charges and the old criminal, the cold-hearted tactics of Harrington senior and the King Steve persona, but there are also those who pat Eddie on the back when he makes sure their old car is able to make a journey across the state lines, there are old ladies who invite Steve over for coffee to share their troubles with neighbors and that's just enough. They finally feel like themselves, their surnames no longer a brand, but something that is purely theirs. Steve always comes home a bit later than Eddie, takes off his shoes and hat and kisses Eddie's shoulder as he heats up their dinner, the smell of oil still on him. "Good evening, Mr. Munson," he whispers into his ear. Eddie just grins, turns around and gives Steve a peck on the lips. "Welcome home, Mr. Harrington."