Chapter Text
Steve Harrington knew who Eddie Munson was, of course. Everyone in the Halloween town knew him, or at least of him.
Even back in school there was a promise in him; had he been born anywhere else, maybe he'd end up being too much, loud, weird and unapologetic. But in the town of Halloween, Eddie thrived. His loud voice and theatrics gave children exactly the amount of fright to be fun and thrilling, but not crippling, never crossing the line into terror. He told stories like no one else and his dark eyes shone with glee as children gathered around him, begging him for another tale of spooky monsters and brave boys and girls, "and do the voices too, Mr. Eddie, those are the best!" The children were talking about him nonstop. The small werewolf Dustin basically worshipped him, kept rambling about how cool he was, how theatrical, how the markings on his face made him look like a real skeleton, how he sometimes carried spiders in his hair to be more scary! As if more scary was what this world needed.
Steve Harrington might have been slightly jealous of Eddie Munson.
Everyone knew of Steve too, but knowing him, the actual him, was another story. Not many people were lining up to visit the Harrington manor and as much as he would have liked to feel bitter about it, Steve understood. His parents were the best example of how money twisted people. No wonder they belonged to the town dedicated to the scariest, creepiest holiday of the whole year. His father, tall and bloated, tried to hide his hideousness behind a cracked porcelain mask, fixed back together by golden veins. Fitting. His mother, deadly thin, pale and jittery, was covered in the finest furs, but nothing could hide her disdain for everything and everyone. So Steve understood, really. He might have been lonely and resentful, but he never questioned why no one ever knocked on the door to speak to him, why no one approached him when he trailed behind his mother, carrying her shopping bags and deflecting her sneers with "yes, mother" and "of course, mother".
Steve often wondered how he'd have turned up if he actually was born to his parents, but the universe must have had decided that this was one Harrington too many. No matter how much they'd tried (and if that wasn't an image Steve didn't want anywhere near his mind), they couldn't bring another being into this world, human or otherwise. That would have been the end of it for most normal couples, but the Harringtons spoke the language of old money and that language didn't know the word "no". And unfortunately for Steve, there were a lot of people who spoke it too...and were willing to "donate" to the Harrington DYI project, starring the local mad scientist archetype, Dr. Brenner.
And so Steven Harrington came to this world, kicking and screaming as electricity surged through his body, foreign and disjointed but still his. The prettiest head, the thickest hair ("but also soft, Dr. Brenner, we don't want him to look like a slob!"), amber eyes ("an acceptable compromise, my dear, and they were definitely among the better ones offered"), muscular but lean. The best the town had to offer, stitched together and brought to life with an expectation of obedience and gratefulness. And he'd tried, god, he'd tried so hard. But no matter what he did, it wasn't enough, he could never live up to the expectations. Maybe he cared too much, maybe he thought too much, but in the end his parents only saw the parts of him they chose, but not the whole, not him, because the him that they received was not the him they ordered. Steve tried asking them, begging them to just give a hint at what he should do to make them happy, how he should do better, but they always shrugged and said: "We just thought you'd be different."
Steve ventured outside then, hoping to find what he was missing there. At first, it was terrifying and mortifying too, people nudging each other and staring. Even in a town of freaks and monsters, a living doll stitched together from spare parts of everyone's relatives ("You have such pretty eyes, dear! Just like my husband's, I knew your parents would find good use for them!") was something extra. He only found himself at ease among local children because they accepted him as he was, no questions asked. Well, that was a lie - they asked a lot of questions, but they weren't malicious or taunting. When they found out Steve was basically a human rag doll and that even if someone tore his arm off, he could control it and re-attach it as if nothing had happened, they were in awe. It was so much easier to spend time with them than with anyone else in the town. And even if he wasn't what his parents wanted or needed, at least he made himself useful by babysitting. Even if that sometimes meant tearing his hand off and throwing it at Mike, a little shit too fast for his own good, to prevent him from escaping and getting himself killed.
Overall, his strange life had some joy. It was an acceptable existence. He even made a few friends, a zombie called Robin ("I've always been a weird runner," she mentioned casually as her leg gave out and Steve had to pull her out of a ditch) and Nancy, a vampire who abhorred the whole family tradition with passion ("they make us sleep in coffins, Steve. Do you know how uncomfortable that is? And don't get me started on corsets!"). His days passed in expectation of Halloween, he never participated directly - his existence was a freak show on its own, thank you - but he expertly wrangled kids and helped with whatever was required. Need a hand to hold a banner while you're fixing it to the roof? The hand can be lent, alone or attached to a body, your choice. And when he had nothing to do, found himself suffocated by the stillness of the Harrington house, never home, he climbed out of his window and sat on the shiny roof, looking towards the sky. So yes, not what was expected of him, but acceptable. Steve had learned a long time ago not to want things, to be grateful for what he had and push that feeling of longing deep down so no one would ever find it, not even himself.
And then he actually met Eddie.
It was one of the nights when stars made their rare appearance and called Steve outside. The breeze was pleasant, not sharp and biting, and he quietly snuck out of the window, pulling himself up onto the rooftop. He got so immersed in looking at the sky that he almost missed the whispered "hey!" from below. Steve leaned over the edge to see who was mad enough to trespass on the Harrington property and there he was, in all his glory. Eddie Munson himself, staring up at Steve with those large dark eyes.
Steve gave a small wave, frowning at the way his wrist slumped to the right. He'd have to tighten the stitches soon. "Evening," he offered lamely, half expecting Eddie to just leave with one of his typical quips.
But he didn't.
The skeleton king - that's what they called him, even if he wasn't an actual skeleton, imagine that! - just tilted his head to the side, watching Steve with an unreadable expression. "Do you have a free spot on that roof, perhaps?" he asked, but before Steve could warn him that his creators did not take kindly to intruders, Eddie had already grasped one of the eaves and, with wild flailing of his long limbs, dragged himself all the way up to the roof.
Steve just stared. The noise didn't seem to wake anyone up and soon he was looking into Eddie's grinning face, framed by that wild hair. "Hi," he offered again, unsure what to say.
Eddie laid down next to him, stretching on the rooftop like a cat. Like he'd always belonged there. "Hi," he repeated, nudging Steve's leg. "I've seen you on the roof quite a lot, you know. You're kind of impossible to miss. I wondered what you liked about this place, but now that I see the view, I kind of get it."
"Right?" Steve had been hellbent on disliking Eddie's presence, hoping to drive him away, but him acknowledging that his safe place was nice felt strangely comforting. "I come to think. Not that I'm great at it or that I ever come up with anything interesting, but...yeah." It had become an instinct at this point - acknowledge his own weaknesses before anyone could point them out. Squish all expectations like the bugs in Henry's lair.
Eddie scoffed and Steve thought he'd succeeded, he set himself in his place yet again, evaded the attention he didn't want nor need, but Eddie wasn't leaving. Wasn't using him like an outlet like most people did, just talking at him, not to him or with him. That was...unexpected.
Instead, the skeleton king turned to Steve and smiled again, almost fondly. "Pretty sure being great at stuff isn't a requirement," he noted, brushing away a strand of hair that fell into his face. "You can just do things because you like them, you know. You should see all the stuff I do when people aren't watching. I tried to sew a pair of gloves once, to finish the look." He wiggled his fingers, pale, no markings on them yet. "I loved every second of it. And the result was..." he beckoned Steve closer, wiggled his finger to get him to come closer. He leaned in and whispered into his ear: "...absolute crap."
Steve snorted and quickly placed a palm over his mouth. He could be heard, he could wake up his parents, have them find him and Eddie-
But Eddie pulled the hand away, snickering himself. "Your laugh is nice. I don't hear it too often...I guess you don't have much to laugh about, huh."
It wasn't really a question. But there was an invitation in it, a prompt that Steve wasn't strong enough to resist. "I...I guess not," he admitted quietly. "My life's not bad, you know. Safe, I'm...I'm cared for," he repeated the words he'd heard all his life, as hollow to his ears as they've always been, "but I don't...I don't think not being unhappy means you're happy."
Eddie patted his shoulder, his touch surprisingly warm through the stitched yellow sweater Steve was wearing. "For someone who claims thinking isn't their strong suit, that was quite astute, you know." His tone was light but there was no teasing, no malice. Steve found it refreshing...and terrifying.
"Really?" he scoffed, looking at the stars. "Because most of the town would tell you I haven't said a single useful thing in my whole life...or whatever this is."
Without missing a beat, Eddie retorted: "Well, fuck them then. The town. Most people don't say groundbreaking things. You just did, so that makes you better." A few seconds of silence later, he blinked and turned to Steve, confused. "Wait, whatever this is? Um. I hate to break it to you, pretty boy, but being sown together isn't the weirdest thing in this town."
Steve just scoffed and rolled his eyes. As if anyone knew what he was going through. Pretty boy was a nice nickname, if that didn't mean only praising his parents' taste and the town's donations. "Yeah? Do you know anyone else who was crafted like another stupid Halloween decoration?" His tone was sharp and way more bitter than he intended, but there was a part of him (I wonder which of the parts was faulty, the brain? Maybe it's still under warranty...) that wanted to yell out, scream that he never asked to be made.
Eddie's curls moved from side to side in a way that was way too enticing to ignore as he shook his head. "Nope. But that isn't the only measure of weirdness here, you know. Our pal Dustin? He's the only werewolf in the history of this town that didn't get his teeth on time, whenever that is. You know the shit they're giving him for it. I saw you punish one of the assholes mocking him for it."
Steve's mouth turned upwards at the memory. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said slowly.
"Well, it must have been someone else's detached hand that tickled that poor bastard until he peed himself," said Eddie and that did it, they were both snickering at the memory. "Honestly though? That's when I figured you're a good guy, Harrington. It sure was a sight. And if you're ever unsure how to feel about being...well, you...let me tell you - no one else could do that and get away with it. And Dustin was beaming about it for weeks. And," he added, nudging Steve again, "there are more of us that don't fit in. El is supposed to be a banshee, but she can't predict shit, not to mention anyone's death. She only sees what happens now, so of course she doesn't live up to the tradition. The Wheeler misfits? Can't wait to hear how the next fancy vampire dinner goes. Mike's the type of shit to slurp blood from a plastic bottle with a straw."
Eddie had a point, of course he did. But Steve found himself hung up on something else. "Us? Do you, the town prodigy or whatever they consider you, count yourself as a misfit?" With the popularity that Eddie had, that sounded unbelievable.
The skeleton king just chuckled, but his smile seemed more strained now. "Uh, yeah. I mean, I'm what they want and it's not like I don't enjoy it. But don't you think it's strange, that I have all this...stuff, these markings? Apparently that isn't enough. Or more like, this is a trial phase for me."
"A...what?" Steve was absentmindedly tugging on the stitches in his neck, listening to Eddie.
Eddie turned towards him, lips twisted into a sneer. "Oh, nothing much. Basically I'll become the real me," he supplied quotation marks with his fingers, "when I die and the meat comes off. They have big plans for me, you know. The current Edward Munson whose presence you are enjoying - that's just a blueprint. A sample. The real skeleton king will come out when I shed the squishy parts. Or so the local preachers believe."
Steve just blinked. "That's...so fucked up. Why...why would you even-"
"Yep." And then Eddie's smile came back, mischievous and radiant. "So hey, if they're right, I hope you'll still be around. You're good at sewing, right? Maybe you'll sew me a...I don't know. A meat suit? Because it's not like I'm attached to my meaty bits, but I want to piss them off just for the sake of it. They want a skeleton? Well, this one ain't it."
"Oh please." Steve was laughing now, not even attempting to stifle his chuckling. "Just one? You need a full wardrobe. If my parents don't dismantle me by then, I'll gladly be of service."
Eddie grasped his hand, strong and unexpected. "Don't even joke about that. If they ever consider it, it won't be me losing the meat from my bones."
If Steve had any blood circulation, he would be blushing now. He didn't dare to move his hand, the touch so rare, so welcome he wanted to lean into it. Not many people touched him. Not with warm, strong fingers. "Uh...then let's hope they don't," he said weakly and turned his gaze upwards, to the stars. The silence between them was comfortable and he found himself loosening up. Maybe it would have been with anyone who showed him affection, a shred of humanity. Or maybe it was just Eddie Munson's charm. "There's another reason I like the roof, you know. The stars. I can see them from here so clearly. They...they're bright. So different to all the weird stuff we have here. I sometimes wish one would fall down, just to have something...something that isn't twisted or scary or tainted by this town. Although it would probably get ruined the moment it touches the ground, so..." he trailed off, glancing nervously at Eddie. "Sorry. Rambling. Robin's infectuous."
But Eddie didn't judge him. He just seemed lost in thought, chewing on his hair and staring at Steve with intensity that should have probably made him uncomfortable. "I get what you mean, Stevie," he muttered, his eyes traveling between the sky and Steve. "Um, listen. I'd love...I'd love to stay, but I just had an idea. You still up for sewing?"
Steve was a bit hurt at the sudden departure, even more confused but mostly intrigued and concerned. "Um. Yes?"