Work Text:
On Saturday mornings, Karen Wheeler likes to clean.
She takes pride in keeping a tidy house, like her mother did, and her mother before her- although Karen diverges from her housewife predecessors in the sense that she doesn’t force her children into weekend chores. It’s the 80’s. Her kids deserve to have a little fun, to get up to harmless trouble on their bikes or at the arcade.
Karen pulls on a pair of yellow gloves, snapping the plastic into place at her elbows. She starts scrubbing at the kitchen counter, humming along mindlessly to the Whitney Houston song crooning from the radio in the living room. (Ted hates this station, but Ted is on a work trip, so Karen figures she can listen to whatever the hell she wants.)
She hears Mike’s frenetic footfalls coming down the stairs, clomping and skipping every other step, and she bites back the be careful! that wants to loose from the protective side of her brain because come on, Karen, it’s Saturday. Give that boy a longer leash, like you said you would .
“Mom, I’m going to El’s, see you later bye!” Mike calls as he lopes past the kitchen archway, headed towards the front door.
It’s Saturday, Karen. Let him go.
But she gets this surge, one that starts in the balls of her slippered feet and jolts its way into her heart, and she thinks of all the times in the past two years alone that Michael hasn’t come home; times where she’s run to him in dark parking lots lit up by the red and blue of patrol cars, times like the one where he got on a plane and came back a week late in a stranger’s pizza truck.
She tosses her sponge in the sink, turns and calls out “Hold on, Michael!”
She hears him stop short of the front door, and with a barely concealed groan he tramps into the kitchen. “Mom. I know . I promise to be back by 4.”
His hair is getting so shaggy in the back. I should book an appointment with the barber’s- I doubt he’ll still let me cut it at this age.
“Mom?”
Karen realizes she’s been staring at her middle child for a strange amount of time, and she shakes her head to clear her mind. “Sorry. It’s just…”
And then she sees it, poking out from top of his fraying coat- the black collar of his Hellfire t-shirt. That surge again, pulling and squeezing, almost like choking but not quite. She wonders if it will ever go away or if it’ll just get worse as her kids get older.
“You’re… going to El’s?” She asks, and she can see the moment her son throws up that wall, the subtle flicker in his eyes that indicates the careful distance he’s placing between them.
“Uh… yup.”
Before she can really process the action, Karen is stripping off her gloves and rummaging in the cabinets for a paper lunch bag. She lifts the lid of the counterside cookie jar and stacks a bunch of the chocolate chip batch she’d made that morning into the sack, rolling the top down before handing it to Mike
“Here. For you and your friends. Back by 4, okay, sweetie?”
Mike blinks, momentarily thrown off his defensive rhythm, but he recovers quickly and shoves the bag into the backpack slung over his shoulder. “Cool. Thanks Mom. See ya.”
The front door bangs shut behind him, and Karen pulls on her gloves again, mulling.
Ted would not like the fact that Mike is hanging with the Hellfire crew- even though he’d scoffed at all the “satanic cult” news reports as nothing more than conspiracy propaganda, he’d still given Michael a talking-to after the whole Hawkins PD debacle.
But Ted isn’t here, this weekend, is he.
Armed with a feather duster, Karen moves into the living room and does a sweep over the mantelpiece, the bookshelf, the picture frames on the wall. She pauses at the frame that holds Mike’s 8th-grade picture-day portrait, smiling affectionately at the sullen face of her boy caught on camera. Mike has never been photogenic- even as a baby. Half the photos she has of him, he’s got some type of pout happening, which is entirely irritating when she’s trying to decide on their yearly Christmas card.
She runs the duster over the picture glass, remembering the day Mike came home with deep scratches on his knees and blamed it on gym class, his story switching up when Ted inquired about it the next day. Karen knew her son struggled in school, with bullies, with kids who were unkind, and she had felt so helpless those rough few years. Michael was so funny, and generous, and imaginative, and she couldn’t understand why kids could be so cruel to a boy like hers.
During Mike’s first week of high school, Karen would jolt awake from reoccurring nightmares of finding her son in a ditch, lip split open from some kid’s fist. She’d watched him like a hawk, in that transition period, much to the annoyance of her son, but let up when Mike showed no signs of high school torment.
Instead, that year, she watched him blossom into himself, a more settled version of the boy she’d always known. Sweet, shy girlfriend at his side. A group of ragtag buddies playing games in the basement once again. The happiness in his demeanor every post-Hellfire club meeting. Sometimes, Karen would stand at the top of the basement stairs, ear at the door, listening to the sound of Mike’s laugh and exaggerated storytelling voice when he used to host D&D at the house, before all the silly cult rumors required a change of pace. It was like medicine, easing the squeeze in her heart a little more every time.
Karen wonders if she has Eddie Munson to thank for that.
Later that evening, over a dinner of chicken and potatoes and salad (which requires much cajoling on behalf of Holly’s plate), Karen decides to feel it out. Mike is very sensitive to her prying these days, so she’s holding her breath a bit as she asks, “So, how is Eddie doing these days?”
Mike’s fork stills halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”
“Your friend, Eddie Munson. Your, ah- Dungeon Keeper?”
“Dungeon Master,” Mike says, mood souring as those walls flicker back up. “And I wouldn’t know. I don’t hang out with him any more since Dad basically forbid me from ever seeing him again. Which, by the way, is such bull shit, because he totally didn’t do anything wrong.”
Holly’s eyes widen. “Mike said a swear, Mom!”
Mike sticks out his tongue at his little sister, and Karen sighs, exasperated. “I heard him, Holly. Language, Michael.”
Mike glares down at his plate, stabbing at a chunk of chicken moodily.
Karen rises from the table to refill Holly’s glass of milk, slipping seamlessly into what she hopes is a very casual, non-confrontational tone as she opens the fridge. “I just… I know it’s probably not been easy on your friend. Eddie, I mean.”
She keeps her eyes on the milk carton, pours a steady stream into Holly’s cup, decides to press a little further when Mike says nothing. “I know your father has his opinions on the matter. But he and I both agree that the stories about him being a… well, being what other people around town say he is- aren’t true.”
She slots the carton back into the fridge, returns to her seat, pushes the full glass towards Holly, then looks her boy in the eyes.
“You can talk to me. You know that, right, Mike?”
Mike freezes like a deer in headlights, looking confused and a little unsure of himself. Karen leans into her elbows on the table, not caring if she doesn’t seem casual anymore.
“I think if it was you- if you were the one being blamed for things you didn’t actually do, I’d be really worried about you. Do you know if his parents are worried about him?”
Mike’s eyes turn glassy, and he says, quietly, “He doesn’t have any parents.”
Karen sits back in her chair at this, and watches as Mike slips behind the wall again. Holly, bored of this exclusionary conversation, starts talking about her latest art project, and Karen listens halfheartedly as her mind is pulled towards the boy across town with no parents and a world of hurt around him.
On Sunday mornings, Karen likes to bake.
The house fills with the smell of blueberry scones, warm from the oven, steam kissing the little window above the sink. Nancy and Mike had set off for the Byers’ earlier, sent with a Tupperware full of scones, so the only kid in the house was Holly- entertaining herself with a set of Lincoln Logs in the living room.
Karen starts mixing the batter for brownies, and on a whim, preps a double batch- twin pans sliding into the oven a few minutes later. She dusts her hands free of flour, sets the timer above the stove, and climbs the stairs to her bedroom.
In the drawer of her bedside table, there’s a paperback book from the five-and-dime, and inside that book is a folded sheet of paper. Karen sits with a measured bounce on her side of the mattress, unfolds the paper, and smooths it against her black skirted-knee.
It’s a copy of the wanted poster that the Hawkins police passed around during that disaster of a town hall meeting a few months back. She’s not even sure why she kept it, really- but she did have sense enough to hide it from Ted.
Karen touches the black-and-white image of Eddie, in a line up of Hellfire kids, head cocked to the side, an easy grin on his face mirrored in the boys around him. She thinks back to the one time she’s seen Eddie Munson in person- last year, late one evening, his van blasting odd music that Ted grumbled about as the van approached their driveway. She’d opened the front door for Mike, grateful that he’d found a ride home, and Eddie had given a friendly wave and a toothy smile at her from his front seat window before speeding off a touch too fast for her liking.
She couldn’t reconcile this image of a cheery, long-haired kid with the stories people were telling about him. She just couldn’t.
Karen slipped the paper back into the book, the book back into the drawer. She crossed to her closet, tossed away her brownie-smattered shirt in favor of a clean pink-pinstriped sweater, and fiddled with her hair and makeup in the bathroom until the timer buzzed downstairs.
After pulling the tins from the oven to cool, she poked her head into the living room. “Holly, honey, we’re going to visit a friend. Get your shoes on, and bring a book if you want for the car ride.”
It’s a ten minute drive from their north-Hawkins home to the south-Hawkins trailer park, and Karen keeps up a steady tap tap of her finger against the driver’s wheel.
Ted really wouldn’t like this. But Ted isn’t here this weekend. And speaking from experience, Karen knows Holly will keep secrets if incentivized.
She drives slow through the park, relying on her mental map from the few times she’s picked up or dropped off Max, and finds Eddie’s trailer easily.
After parking the car, heart in her throat, she smiles brightly at Holly in the backseat. “Okay, baby- will you carry this tin of brownies for me?”
Karen places a hand on Holly’s back, knocking at the trailer door with her free hand. She hears a bright hum of discordant, clangy-sounding music muffled by the closed windows. She knocks again, a bit louder this time, and the music snaps off, a set of dull thumps getting closer before the door swings open.
And there he is. Eddie Munson. Hair just like his picture, long and wild and curly. He’s wearing a shirt with an unsettling lion creature, black jeans ripped and fraying at his pale knees, arms littered with leather bracelets and silver banded chains and tattoos.
“Uh… hi? Did you get the wrong trailer? It’s easy to get turned around here, they all look the same.”
Karen feels a rush of affection that he’s giving them an out and then a rush of sadness when she realizes he probably doesn’t get many visitors.
“No, actually, we’re here for you!” She places both hands on Holly’s shoulders to ground herself. “I’m Karen Wheeler- Mike’s mother?”
“Oh.” Eddie’s face falls. “Right. Look, Mrs. Wheeler, I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know, but scout’s honor, the cops already have the whole story from my point of-”
“No, no,” Karen interjects, shaking her head, tittering uncomfortably. “No. This isn’t about- you’re not in trouble. Not with me, at least. We- Holly and I, we brought you brownies?”
This last part sounds more like a question, but Karen takes it in stride before she loses the nerve to pass the tin from Holly’s hands to Eddie’s.
He stares at the tin. Then back at Karen. “I’m sorry. I really don’t understand what’s happening here.”
“We brought you brownies- well, I baked them,” nice and obvious, Karen, stop rambling - “for you, because Mike… he’s had a really hard time in school. And he thinks the world of you, and he’s been doing a lot better. Because of your club. And I guess, as a mom, I just got worried that you weren’t being taken care of, out here-” she gestures to the trailer park, hoping that it isn’t rude- “and with everything going on, I just wanted to stop by. Introduce myself. And give you… brownies.”
The flood of words hangs in the air for a moment, until Eddie recovers and pushes the door open wide with a creak. “Do you wanna come inside?”
Karen wasn’t sure what she expected of the Munson trailer, but the interior proves to be very homey. Mugs of all sorts are on proud display, a whole wall of hanging ballcaps, clean laundry spilling out of a nearby basket.
Eddie sets the tin of brownies on his kitchen counter, giving the lid a tap. “I, uh, really appreciate these, Mrs. Wheeler. I’m sure my uncle will, too. We don’t usually get many treats hand-delivered by fair maidens such as yourselves.”
He directs this with a jaunty wink at Holly, and crouches on his haunches to her level, hand extended. “And what might your name be?”
Karen feels a flush of pride as her youngest, chronically-shy child extends her own tiny hand with perfect manners. “I’m Holly.”
“Holly!” Eddie exclaims in mock surprise. “Surely not. What a coincidence. As it turns out, there’s someone else named Holly in this very trailer.”
He stands, spins on his heel, and disappears into the far room. There are sounds of rummaging, and Holly looks back at her mother, who gives a smile of encouragement.
“I present… Lady Hollifax of the Great West Emberlies and her mighty steed!” Eddie kneels back down, lifting his hands palms-up to reveal two small plastic figurines, a medieval-looking girl in his right hand and a black horse in his left.
Enraptured, Holly watches as Eddie extends the horse towards her. “Although, I must admit a great fault, Lady Holly… this steed doesn’t have a name. I’d be honored if you could bestow one upon him.”
Holly gingerly takes the figurine, turning it over in her fingers, rubbing a shoe against the back of her leg in a bashful gesture. “Um. Smokey?”
“Smokey!” Eddie nods, his hair a black cloud of movement. “That’s a fine name for a fine horse.”
He passes the other figurine to Holly, and then stands. “Can I offer either of you a drink? We don’t have much in the way of sustenance, my apologies. Haven’t been to the grocery store in awhile.”
Karen reads between the lines. “I’d imagine the grocery store is a little less friendly these days.”
Eddie tilts his head with a wistful and crooked smile. “Right on the money, Mrs. W.”
Holly pipes up, holding the two figures aloft- “Do they have a castle?”
“Oh do they ever, Lady Holly.” Eddie ambles into the living space, pulling out a storage box from underneath the couch. Holly follows, watching with genuine interest as Eddie sets up a miniature kingdom across the expanse of his coffee table.
Karen recognizes some of the pieces from Mike’s stories of their D&D club last year, and when Holly plops herself down on the carpet beside Eddie she holds back a laugh of shock. Holly willingly interacting with a stranger, let alone taking the initiative to sit beside one, is a miracle.
Unphased, Eddie begins explaining the various sections of the board in animated detail, and when Karen murmurs something about making them some tea he gives her a thanks and slips seamlessly back into the story.
The kitchen is a bit of a mess, so while the kettle is heating, Karen puts her hands to good use and gives it a light cleaning- she washes the dishes in the sink, tosses old beer cans in the trash, gives the grimy counters a good wipe. She finds two clean mugs and two packages of mildly questionable tea bags and pours the water in to steep.
Absorbed in his dramatic narration for the past few minutes, Eddie doesn’t notice the state of the kitchen until Karen enters with the two steaming mugs; at which point, his head swivels back and forth between the mug placed into his hands and the clean kitchen.
“Holy shit- ah,” Eddie winces. “I mean- Mrs. Wheeler. You really didn’t have to do that.”
“Bad word,” Holly quips, pointing a tiny sword in Eddie’s direction.
He places his free hand against his chest in solemn apology. “Mea culpa, dear Lady.”
Holly giggles. A real, honest-to-god giggle. Karen is floored.
She clears her throat, sits on the couch with her own mug in hand- “I know I didn’t have to, Eddie. But please, it’s the least I can do. Consider it payment for your entertainment services.”
Eddie pulls himself onto the other couch cushion, maintaining a respectful distance, and when Holly returns to playing by herself Karen takes a sip of her tea before speaking.
“I’ve never seen her open up this quickly, to anyone. You should be very proud of yourself.”
“Well, seems like my grand twenty-step scheme to turn Holly into a ruthless D&D player is off with a bang,” Eddie declares.
Karen smiles around the rim of her mug, and she feels that familiar surge of motherly heart-squeeze as Eddie runs a hand through his hair. He’ll always be someone’s little boy, even if they’re not around to see it, and the thought makes her blink back tears.
They spend the next 20 minutes pleasantly chatting, with various interjections from Holly and spirited replies from Eddie. She learns that Eddie’s uncle Wayne (of whom Eddie is clearly very fond) lives here too, and that Eddie graduated last school year but wasn’t allowed to walk the stage with his classmates.
When Karen frowns at this, Eddie tries to ease her sympathy- “It’s all good, Mrs. Wheeler. I’m kinda used to being the social pariah at this point. Been training my whole life for it!”
Karen can’t get a read on where Eddie’s façade ends and his hurt begins- he seems to have mastered the art of smoothing things over with trademark flashy humor and wit. She lets it slide, for now, and when they’ve both finished their tea Eddie jumps up to ferry the mugs back to the kitchen before walking her to the door.
“Thanks again, Mrs. Wheeler, for the brownies and your kitchen cleaning skills. You and Lady Holly are welcome back anytime- well, not Wednesdays, my band has a gig then, but uh, literally any other time. I’m not up to much these days.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you were in a band!” Karen squeezes Holly’s hand (the one that isn’t holding tight to her newly-gifted figurines). “We’d love to come see you perform sometime.”
“Jesus,” Eddie chokes out, suddenly nervous, “No, that’s not- that is really nice of you to offer, but our music is best consumed after a round of heavy drinking. And the Hideout is no place for fair young maidens-” he takes a knee on his doorstep- “But if you want, Holly, I could teach you how to strum some chords? I have a pretty sweet guitar that begs an audience.”
Holly nods, pigtails bouncing, and drifts back towards the car. Karen waits as Eddie returns to his normal height, and says, “Listen, Eddie, I know Mike really misses playing D&D on the weekends. Our basement is always open if you’d ever be willing to let us host?”
And at this, Karen watches the practiced guardedness fall from Eddie’s face, a look of equal parts fear and longing.
“Are you… sure? I mean, I don’t want to cause you any trouble. My van is pretty… recognizable.”
“You can park in the garage, if that’s the issue. How’s this Saturday at 6 sound?”
That Saturday, Karen cleans the basement.
It’s been mostly unused with the advent of the new school year, Mike and his friends content to hunker down at other houses (and, Karen suspects, undisclosed locations of secret Hellfire meetings), so the whole room is in need of a good scrubbing.
By the time Mike comes home from the arcade, Karen has tidied the various areas into a decent living space, and has stacked boxes of hot pizza near the side table along with some liters of soda. She turns when she hears the telltale skipping-step footfalls of Mike down the stairs.
He takes in the clean room, the food on the table, and lets his backpack drop to the floor. “Uh. Eddie radioed us and said we had Hellfire here tonight. I thought it was a prank. Are we really…?”
Karen nods. “Yes, you are. Go wash up, the rest of your friends will be here soon and god knows what kind of arcade germs you’ve-”
Mike nearly knocks his mother over with the force of his hug. Karen can’t remember the last time her boy has let her hold him like this; she breathes in the shampoo-smell of his scalp, tries to memorize the way his lanky arms hold fast behind her back.
It’s over all too soon, Mike snapping up his backpack and hightailing it up the stairs with uncontained glee. Karen swipes the tears away from her lashline before her mascara smudges and follows the sound of the doorbell.
An hour later, the raucous noises spilling from the basement entices Karen to stand near the door, just out of sight. She’s doubtful that Mike will ever be talked into a group picture but all the kids looked so darling in their matching shirts, and- as she’d suspected- Ted barely looked up from the television when the group came bustling in.
She hears bright peals of laughter from Mike and Dustin, and the now-familiar booming tenor of Eddie mid-spiel. There’s overlapping chatter between Max and Gareth as they argue over some game minutiae, and then a chorus of curses as Eddie gives an unsatisfactory ruling.
Karen feels it again, that motherly heart squeeze, like a call and response to the noise of joyous kids. She places a hand on her chest, breathes in, and leaves for the kitchen to plate up some cookies.