Chapter Text
“FUCK!”
Eddie shook the black Yamaha that sat in his lap. He had half a mind to throw the fuckin’ thing against the wall, but it was the only thing Wayne had left of his mom’s, so he just shook it like some irritatingly useless rag doll.
As if sensing the danger his sister’s guitar was in, Wayne materialized in the door of Eddie’s room— well, his room while he visited, anyways. Wayne hadn’t touched anything he’d left, but still, his real room was hundreds of miles away. He longed to be there now, if only to escape Wayne’s wry gaze.
“There a reason you’re chokin’ your Mother’s guitar, or have ya finally cracked, kid?” Wayne gruffed with a chuckle. “The Devil ain’t in me, Old Man,” Eddie groused, cringing internally as his damn "trailer twang" graced them with its rare presence. “It’s in goddamn acoustic guitars.”
He didn’t get it. He mastered solos from Metallica to Avenged Sevenfold in his quest to be the Best Bard in All of Metal (trademark pending). Hell, it even served him and his friends damn well during all the Vecna bullshit in 2020. But trying to play this non-electric bullshit was fuckin’ with his fingers, his head, and yeah, okay, his heart.
And maybe that last one had more to do with who he was learning this for, but he’d rather have died in the Upside Down than tell Wayne about all that.
Wayne might’ve already had an inkling though, or was taking pity on his generally sorry state, ‘cause something set in his eyes when Eddie looked up at him. “Scooch,” he said, nodding his head to indicate just where his nephew should scooch over to. Eddie rolled his eyes, but he complied— after all, he was nothing if not a sucker for his uncle.
Then the Yamaha was floating out of his hands and into Wayne’s lap. But that wasn’t the strangest thing. No, stranger still was when Wayne’s fingers deftly dropped on the frets while the others worked out a bittersweet melody on the strings.
And of course, smartass he is, Eddie was just about to sass some quip of his astonishment, but then Wayne did something else Eddie never knew he could do: with his rough voice, gentle as he could, he sang.
Watch out now, take care
Beware of thoughts that linger
Winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
In the dead of night
Beware of sadness
It can hit you
It can hurt you
Make you sore and what is more
That is not what we are here for
Wayne let the melody ride, and with the last note, the tears that had formed in Eddie’s eyes had spilled over. He quickly raised his hand to wipe them as Wayne turned to face him.
He stopped when Wayne took his chin in his hand, wiping a tear away with his thumb.
“You’ve got the heart of your mother,” Wayne whispered, the break in his voice wrecking Eddie’s heart. “You just gotta be okay with feelin’ everything that comes with that.” He took the guitar and placed it back in Eddie’s lap. “You do that, then you’ll be able to play this.”
Then he kissed Eddie on the top of the head, and was gone as quick as he came—
Like he didn’t just fundamentally devastate Eddie’s whole being or anything.
Eddie stared at the doorway for a second, as if Wayne would waltz back in—
But it was just him, his mom’s guitar, and the tabs still glowing on the screen of his phone.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Okay, Mom,” he chuckled nervously. “Let’s learn some Linda Ronstadt.”