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Eddie never really figured himself for the type to get married. He’s known he bi since the onset of puberty, and sure there’s the significant attraction to women part of it, the portion of the population he’s allowed to marry, but that always seemed to be forgotten in the wave of the other part, the part the Hawkins populace seems to just smell on him. Very few guys risked being around him, platonic or not, afraid of his bisexual cooties, and women tended to think he just wanted them as a cover for his true interests. Like tits aren’t as hot as pecs. He was good for hookups, not long term investments.
He certainly didn’t think he was going to ever get married when spring break of his third senior year rolled around. Having Chrissy Cunningham and Jason carver coming to him to buy off the record sedatives for ‘Chrissy’s’ secret shameful hallucinations, only for Carver to fucking pretzel in his trailer got half the basketball team actively trying to murder him. When you’re in the Upside Down facing almost certain death you don’t think about your future. Maybe, in a bid to soothe that part of your brain that can’t stop screaming, you develop an emergency distraction crush. Not everyone can be as focused as Nancy Wheeler, some people channel their fear into Harrington having Ozzy moves, or Chrissy looking stunning in clinging clothes wet from Lovers Lake. Still, that’s nothing long term, that’s the immediate present dilemma of whom to give the battlevest to, shivering underweight Chrissy, or injured from badassery Steve.
Even as his relationship firmed into something seriously deep, seriously meaningful, learning what it was like to be willing to die for someone, learning what it was like to want to live for someone, marriage still never seemed possible. Official documents and declarations weren’t important in the middle of a slow burn apocalypse. No time to be seen by the court when fighting a three pronged attack against Brenner’s faction, the in the know faction of the KGB, and Henry’s telepathic allies. It’s not like Joyce and Jim rushed to the altar either. And even if they had, how would it have worked, logistically? Eddie marrying Robin, Steve marrying Chrissy, everyone forced into heterosexuality and gender conformity for legality’s sake, and Vickie left out because of the odd number of participants?
And yet, here he is. Not in a church, of course, he’s pretty sure half of Hawkins would still set his supposedly Satanist ass on fire if he dared walk in past the lobby. It’s a rented out hall, safely neutral to occupancy, as long as the money is forked over. The nice thing about a relationship with five incomes; everything is easily paid for.
Apart from the number of brides and grooms, everything is fairly traditional. Steve and Vickie were both the kind of people to grow up daydreaming about weddings, and starting families, and unlike Chrissy, had positive feelings and opinions for how it should go. Eddie’s been pretty hands off in the process. Not lazy, or indifferent, just self aware enough to know they’ll all be happier if it’s predominantly Nancy dictating and arranging the practical side of Vickie and Steve’s dreams.
The traditions started last night in earnest. Despite squatting in an abandoned house for the last six months together, very proudly living in orgasmic sin, last night they got separated so they wouldn’t see each other until the moment of walking into the venue. Bad luck, apparently. Eddie spent the evening smoking a few joints and watching a baseball game -Wayne’s choice- and a bootleg of a live concert -Eddie’s choice- with his uncle, and Marion. If she has any negative opinions about her boyfriend’s nephew/son getting group married, she’s kept them to herself in the months since Robin proposed and they all said yes. Quiet is good enough for him, considering the Cunningham and Buckleys very loud opinions on the matter.
Marion’s out in the main hall, but Wayne’s still right beside him. He looks weird in slacks and a dress shirt. Eddie hasn’t seen him in something so fancy since the last visit to Family Court to cement his custody. Eddie’s sure Wayne is uncomfortable in fabric you need to iron, but he appreciates his effort. Wayne’s wearing it for him, just one proof among thousands he loves him.
“You happy, Ed?” Wayne asks, his version of ‘I’ve got the engine running if you need to flee’. He wouldn’t be the first runaway bride. Changing your mind at the last minute runs in the Munson family.
“So fuckin’ happy I could cry,” is his honest reply. Eddie would die for any of them, but he wants to live. He wants to spend the next sixty years of his life raising kids and going on vacations and finding perfect careers with them. Sometimes running is the worst thing you can do.
They sit on a bench in the coat room together, where they’ve been instructed to stay by an intense Erica, Eddie drumming his freshly painted fingers on his knee. They’re the blue, cornflower blue to be exact, to the new of his wedding attire, old of his rings, and borrowed of Gareth’s Twisted Sister badge on his lapel. If he was Robin he’d be compelled to rifle through everyone’s pockets, play some sort of guessing game of assigning pocket items to guests, but Eddie’s a different kind of manic than that.
Finally, finally the sweet notes of metal ring out through the venue. Grant and Gareth are probably still in their seats, it’d be weird for them to be at the set up so early, the audience’s eyes on them as they do nothing. But Jeff is up at the front, momentarily the center of attention as he rips out a heavy version of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March. Of course that’s when the brides and grooms start coming in, and then who’ll care about Jeff’s fantastic fingering?
Eddie knows it’s time to go down the hall to the front door when the ranunculus floats to a halt in front of him. It’s El’s task for today, coordinating everyone coming in without bumping into each other. Wayne curls a guiding arm around Eddie’s shoulder, and they let the crimson flower lead them inside.
The large room looks lovely decorated in reds and creams, split in two with the lectern on the far edge of the dance floor, and the other half the room dedicated to seating. Nancy handed out wedding tasks as firmly as she once handed out attack orders, and the kids got decorating the venue. They’ve been keeping the plan a secret, but Eddie can see all of their hands in it. The red candy bowl centrepieces are Dustin’s idea. He's always the one to stock Hellfire nights. Mrs Henderson must run through coupons like crazy, the way he provides food to friends. The portrait of the five of them hanging nearest the wedding table is Will’s doing, Eddie would recognise that painting technique anywhere. It'll be in galleries one day. Erica’s probably spent hours weaving ribbons through the wrought iron chairs. The floral centrepieces are Terrence’s work. One of the very few things Eddie likes about the Cunningham home is the elaborate garden in the back. In bitchy Mrs Cunningham’s hand it’s just another form of meticulous control, like prompting starvation in her daughter and muscle building in her son, or the daily basement to attic cleaning routine, but Chrissy and Terrence just like flowers.
It’s circular seating, but at the moment everyone has shifted to focus on one direction. It’s the location Wayne weaves him around tables to reach. It’s Murray at a lectern and Jeff still soloing, both men fading to the background in respect to the main event; the wedding group assembling. Wayne brings Eddie to the pulpit, where Steve is interlocked with Dustin, and Robin is holding Nancy’s hand. As with everything, Steve was first in, the scout, the protector, and as with everything, Robin can’t bare to be apart from them for too long. Dustin and Nancy probably had their hands full, keeping the pair separate all of last night and this morning. Even if Eddie and Chrissy hadn’t gotten involved, it always would have been metropolitan non-monogamy in rural Hawkins because Robin never would have dropped Steve, even for the hilarious film buff love of her life that is Vickie.
He’s sure he’ll find out the details of Erica’s organization later, where she stashed everyone, but for now Eddie can only weigh his coat room stay against Chrissy coming in from the side exit. Sure, he could have maybe used a back alley smoke during the agonising countdown to go time, but for the moment it takes the thick metal door to swing shut, Chrissy is bathed in sunlight. Eddie is a natural curtains closed basement dweller, and Robin’s a night owl, but their other lovers are sunshine creatures. Erica made the right choice. Chrissy deserves to have her wait in the bright warm air.
She comes in fourth to Jeff looping the song, her arm linked through the triangle Terrence is creating. It goes without saying that Terrence was the only Cunningham invited. One member is still more family than Steve or Robin have attending. She was the only one with real negative ties to the concept of marriage, growing up realising it would be a way to go from Mom controlling her to husband controlling her. She must feel so relieved stepping up to the altar with an array of fools in front of her instead of one rigid upstanding Catholic man. Eddie wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d said no, she never wanted to get married, but she’s here, and she’s smiling.
And then there’s Vickie. The only one of them with a full, happy nuclear family. The only one in the whole party, beyond Lucas and Erica. Her father walks her down the length of the dance floor from the same entrance Eddie used, hand perfectly splayed on her lower back. It was nice to get Kurt on their side, once Vickie found out. Mrs Logan -Lana-, and Riley and Sunny too, the Logans believed fast, and in a hands on way, and a Party member is a Party member. But Kurt is a powerhouse of a man, the kind of man who could wrestle a demogorgon. He’s barrel chested, thick armed, intimidating as fuck, and wants nothing more than to hug his children. Vickie telling him she’s bisexual didn’t change that. Vickie telling him about her group love didn’t change that. Vickie dragging him into a multifaceted deadly war didn’t change that. Eddie might respect him as much as he does Wayne.
A proud glow bursts in his chest, seeing all his lovers standing in a beautiful cluster in front of him. They might be scarred, might have nightmares for evermore, but they’re here. They’re alive, and they’re stunning. The wedding attire is eclectic, no one managing to match, but it’s uniformly gorgeous. And traditional virgin white, despite the truly fantastic amount of sex they’ve been having since Spring Break. Sometimes it’s okay to lie, Eddie thinks.
Vickie is the traditional one, in a shiny satin gown. It’s got poofed shoulders and tight shirring on the long sleeves. It could be ripped off the cover of any bridal magazine, but it’s easy for Eddie to let the mainstream of it go when he knows how much fun Vickie and Lana and Nicole had shopping for it.
Chrissy’s dress is far shorter, above the knee. It’s basically a sundress, but lacier. After so many years spent dreading being sewn into too tight special occasion dresses, Eddie knows how relieved she must feel to be married in something loose and flouncy, but still feminine, a quality Mrs Cunningham threatened Chrissy would lose if she ever stopped following her restraining dictations.
Robin’s suit is perfectly tailored. The fittings drove her insane, at least a dozen to Vickie’s three. Mr Carponi was exacting about every quarter inch, and Eddie doesn’t blame Chrissy for bailing from the first meeting and ducking every subsequent one. Why torture yourself with flashback if you can avoid them? But as annoying as the nit picking nips and tucks seemed at the time, Eddie has to give credit where credit is due. It’s a perfect suit. The pants are just slightly thigh hugging, the vest has great sharp angles, and the jacket has three quarter sleeves that show off her heap of thread bracelets. Even if Robin’s hotness isn’t for him, it’s impossible to deny it’s there.
As of last night when the Party forced them to separate, Steve hadn’t decided if they were going to wear their equally tailored white suit, or their finely embroidered tunic and floor length skirt. Eddie would have been happy seeing them at the altar in either. Whatever any of his lovers feel most comfortable in works for him, and that goes double for Steve following the fluidity of their gender. Still, there’s a little added fun in knowing they’re wearing a blue garter under the skirt, just like Vickie. Robin’s blue is the ice toned tie tucked into the vest, Chrissy’s is the ribbon woven through her hair. If they don’t take twenty minutes of the wedding night to bind each other’s wrists Eddie will eat his hat.
Not that he’s wearing a hat. He thought about a top hat for a while, but it seemed a little too Slash, not quite metal enough to make the final cut. Instead his uniquely sourced item is the white and grey plaid he had to call every textile shop in the Midwest to find. The roadtrip to pick it up was hardly a hardship, Eddie revels in driving around with the people he loves. Not to mention it ended with him rocking the altar in an El declared bitchin’ kilt. Skirts are different for him than for Steve. Steve needs them to feel right in their skin, sometimes, soothing the gender they’re currently vibing with with appropriate clothing. Eddie is secure in being male, has never questioned it, but assigning gender to clothing and tasks is just more bullshit conformity. He wears them because fuck you why shouldn’t he?
Jeff’s last chord echoes out, and it’s a cue for all the beloved escorts to head for their seats. The five of them now alone, it’s instinctual to cluster up the way they do for battle. Steve and Chrissy in front, their strength and their speed, Robin on Steve’s six, Vickie in the middle as Eddie scans the perimeter. Except there’s nothing threatening in front of them, only Murray in a semi hideous brown suit.
“Friends, and family, welcome. We are gathered here to witness a union the government won’t approve of. I think you’ll all heartily agree when I say, we don’t care.”
“Fuck no,” Mike calls out heartily, to a round of hearty cheers.
“Somehow these five managed to do what most people can’t do with a single other. They found adoration, and trust, and safety. They found someone to talk to. And let me tell you, folks, if you don’t know,” Murray chuckles. “They are a talkative quintet. No one here should be surprised they wrote their own vows. So let’s get to it, because they’re five of them, after all.”
They didn’t formally decide who was going to go first, and what order after that. No plan survives first contact, not even a Nancy Wheeler plan. Eddie knows he doesn’t want to start, and he knows Steve is either going to go first or bring up the rear. Beyond that, it’s up to chance.
It’s Chrissy, a summertime delight in her lacy dress and braided updo. Unlike the rest of them, you’d never know by appearance alone that she’s been through hell. But she has, and while Eddie wouldn’t wish her abuse on anyone, in some way it’s almost a good thing. She wouldn’t fit, if there wasn’t a dark crack in her. Eddie loves her too much to lose her to innocence.
“I’ve known the words since I was a child. For better for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health. To love, cherish, and to obey, til death do us part, through God’s holy ordinance. They always scared me. I saw what other people’s definition of sickness and health could be. I saw love mean hurting, I saw cherish mean keep on a shelf, I saw obey mean become so used to punishment you punish yourself when they’re not there to do it. I never wanted marriage, and always knew I wouldn’t have a choice.”
Somewhere in the audience, Terrence is wincing. He’s a minor for three more years before he can escape the Cunningham house. At least now he’s got safe spaces to run away to, even if they come with the terrifying knowledge that monsters exist. He has the benefit of knowing he has choices, and that the Mr and Mrs are wrong about everything.
“But here I am. I’ve had the worst of worse, at their sides. I’ve hated them for convincing me to eat. I’ve obeyed instructions that have saved my life. I’ve lived in a shack on rations by candlelight with them. I’ve spent two decades forced to care about God’s holy ordinance, but now I know.”
Eddie, too, can’t fully hate the worst of their problems. If it wasn’t for everything that's gone wrong, he wouldn’t have this. He knows, despite the scars and limps and nightmares that they all feel the same.
Chrissy starts again fiercely. “Either God’s good with this, honors this love, or he’s not worth it. This is a good marriage. This is going to be my marriage. And I hate to jinx it with until death do us part, but I know there’s nothing short of it that’ll make me walk away, and I know that’s true for you all too. I love you all, no matter what, and I’m so happy to be marrying you.”
Vickie takes Chrissy’s vows coming to an end to retreat to the grouping of instruments where Jeff once stood. His job’s not done yet, Eddie’s going to need all of Corroded Coffin, but for now vickie plays alone. She could come to a halt at any instrument under the sun. The Logans have an honest to god music room, twenty or more instruments shared between the five of them. It’s nothing as toxic as a Partridge Family, a musical family on tour, forced to conform to the right image. They just genuinely adore music in a different but equal way to Eddie, the kind of teens who can pass math class because they can find music in the numbers, the kind of adults who have a concert fund. Those skills came in almost as handy as Mr Logan’s Clydesdalian strength, when matched against Henry’s melophobia.
Vickie could have chosen any instrument, but it’s the harp Gareth was in charge of transporting safely this morning that she settles behind. Like the rest of them she kept the contents of her vows a surprise these last months, since they had enough downtime to make the dream of marriage a reality. She’s wanted musical vows since she was dressing her paper dolls in hand cut paper gowns, Eddie knows. The Logans have sweet childhood stories in a way none of the rest of their biological parents bothered to collect. What’s changed from Vickie’s tastes at eight is her faith in endurance. Metallica’s For Whom The Bell Tolls is a song that resonated mid-apocalypse, the endless weary panic of near certain death resting on all of their shoulders. Having survived there’s a romance in it that something shallow like Three Times A Lady just doesn’t have.
The guests don’t clap when Vickie finishes her solo. Some likely want to, but are realising the awkward etiquette of clapping for Vickie when they didn’t for Chrissy. Eddie can only guess they’ll all applaud at the end, the big finish. It’s fine. It won’t be the only time Corroded Coffin will play to silence. He can’t wait any longer. As Vickie stands up, smooths her skirt, and returns to the cluster, Eddie makes eye contact with Grant and jerks his head. Jeff makes his way to his guitar for the second time, and the rest of the band joins him, Eddie included.
Eddie’s always been the lyricist for Corroded Coffin. It’s a natural progression of his DMing. The best metal songs tell a story. The song he spends the next six minutes unspooling is an epic tale of five kings of their realms sharing a blood sacrifice in the deep forest and saving the world together. It’s heavy enough to stay firmly metal, fully in Corroded Coffin’s repertoire, but sweeping tale of bloody romance, if you listen. Like Murray said, his fiancés know how to listen.
The lack of applause at the culmination doesn’t sink stones in his stomach, because he can see the reverence in his lovers’ eyes. They don’t have to worship metal to hear the everlasting commitment in each verse. Eddie doesn’t need everyone to get it. Is actually fairly against the general populace getting him, for the most part. As long as Chrissy and Vickie see Royal Crusaders as on par with their vows, as long as Robin and Steve consider it equal to whatever speeches they make, Eddie’s content.
Robin speaks next. Makes sense, because Eddie was certain Steve would either be first or last. He’s half expecting an improvised ramble from her, the exact wild going on that uplifted them and distracted them all from the horror for brief precious minutes. Instead it’s short, succinct, and half encoded.
Steve is the first recipient, of course. Eddie could never begrudge her that. Eddie failed his only attempt at French class, but he retained just enough to recognise her Parisian words. Still, he’s grateful for the translation. “Je t'aime comme une coupe glacée aime la crème fouettée. I love you like an ice cream sundae loves whipped cream and sprinkles.”
Robin turns to Vickie next. Unlike Eddie, she actually earned her Spanish credit, and likely doesn’t need the translation. “Te amo como un saxofón ama una caña mojada. I love you like a saxophone loves a wet reed.”
Robin chooses Polish for him. There are a handful of Polish ancestors on Wayne’s family tree, but it’s all been lost, none of it passed on. If a kid of his ever learns a single word, it’ll be all thanks to her. “Kocham cię jak metalowiec kocha mosh pit. I love you like a metalhead loves a moshpit.”
Chrissy gets Finnish, because when Robin despaired of ever surviving long enough to get out of Indiana, Chrissy was the one to encourage her to learn yet another European language as a promise to one day be a tourist. They still can’t quite risk passports, not yet, but there are somedays in Robin’s voice. “Rakastan sinua kuten protesti rakastaa kovaa ääntä. I love you like a protest loves a loud voice.”
And then come languages Eddie knows even less about. Beyond the Russian, he can’t even label them. But he knows the Russian words, and he knows Robin. Even if they don’t literally mean the same thing, he knows what she means. “я тебя люблю. Is breá liom tú. Ti amo. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
The spotlight turns to Steve. All the teens lean in a little harder, all the coworkers sit up a little straighter. Like it or not, a lot of people fixate on him. They’re people’s exception, the outlier in any given belief system that is never removed from the pool because they’re so damn charismatic. Transphobes don’t murder them, headstrong teens allow them to babysit, ambitious academic ex-girlfriends put off homework to call them. Half the guests who would otherwise be uncomfortable with group marriage are here today because Steve was able to warm them up to it.
“I’m not the clever one,” Steve starts, disparagingly. “Not the storyteller. I love the brains of my family and friends, but I don’t share that skill. I’m the action guy. The brilliant, genius people I love suggest things, and I’m the one who gets it done. So while you’ve put all these great words into the atmosphere, here’s me.”
Steve drops to their knees, and dips a hand into a pocket hidden by their whitework tunic. Eddie knew it was there, even went so far as to suggest Steve tuck a travel tube of lubricant in it, in case they wanted to sneak into a private room during the reception. He wasn’t overly serious about the suggestion, though he certainly wouldn’t have said no. Eddie knows they’re not about to pull out some KY, not in this amount of company, but he isn’t expecting the ring left in Steve’s palm. He thought Murray had the priceless velvet bag of them, or maybe Dustin would rush the altar as the bearer, or El float them in. Whatever Nancy declared best, most efficient.
This makes sense, though, because Steve is right. They are the one to execute plans, to keep four flighty minds on some kind of regular track. If anyone’s vows would boil down to let’s get this done, Steve’s earned it being his.
“Marry us? Stand by our side?” Steve begs of Robin, extending their hand out to their eternal best friend.
“I do,” Robin says, eyes filling with tears. She thrusts her hand towards them, coming a few inches short of smacking them. Steve takes the lack of coordination the way they always do, with total acceptance. Steve holds her hand still, and slides the golden band past her cream nail polish up her ring finger.
“Marry us? Stand by our side?” Steve asks Vickie, dipping back into their pocket for the second ring.
“I do,” Vickie answers, as tearful as Robin, gaze darting to her supportive family in the crowd.
“I do,” Chrissy promises, profoundly overwhelmed to know it’s not a death sentence.
“I do,” Eddie pledges. The gold stands out among all the iron cluttered on his other fingers, and he knows it’ll never stop catching his eye.
Murray knows it’s his time to speak. “By the power taken by me from the buffoons too moronic to see the perfection in this, I pronounce you husbands and wives. You may now kiss your people.”
Their relationship isn’t a perfect spoked wheel, everyone connected to everyone. Robin obviously has no romantic or sexual interest in him or Steve, him because of his masculinity, Steve because they’re practically siblings. Vickie’s not generally attracted to Chrissy, though they’ve had their moments. Instead of mixing romantic and platonic kisses, they make a circle of it, Vickie kissing Robin, who then gets a second kiss from her other sexual lover, Chrissy. Chrissy allots her second to Eddie, lipstick slick and waxy compared to Steve’s much stickier gloss. Chrissy’s is cheerleader-proof, like the rest of her trusted makeup, it’ll stay on the whole night. Steve will spend the night replaying theirs every time they visit Henderson’s candy bowl, or sip champagne, or kiss their spouses. Steve’s last kiss, the final seal of the deal, is with Vickie. It feels right. They’re the ones who’ve always wanted a wedding, and the conclusion of their kiss is what spurs the audience to hoot and holler.
Across the room, Dustin is responsible for getting the music started. If anyone gets the AV club going again at Hawkins High it’ll be Dustin. If he wasn’t going to be a scientist and make a million dollars, Eddie would want him as a stage tech for Corroded Coffin’s one day national tour. He took one look at the rental hall’s sound system and rejected it summarily, that spoiler Eddie got weeks ago.
Close up, it’s Jonathan who’s taking the reins. Grant and Jeff and Gareth are still awkwardly at their posts, like they don’t know when to return to their table. Murray’s hovering too, surely gathering ammunition for a future psychoanalysis. But it’s Jonathan who’s weaving between the prettily dressed tables, Nancy at his shoulder. There are a lot of formal photos to be taken in the next hour, before the open bar finally opens. Eddie knows Erica and Karl have cameras too, the youngest Party member and Steve’s favourite coworker both having the eye for candid photos for the length of the evening, but the time to pose is now, in front of Jonathan’s focused lens.
Huddling up to all get in frame, Eddie can’t help the wide grin. This is the first night of the rest of their lives. It’s a sentiment Eddie’s thought up before, alongside ‘x is going to be my year’ and ‘most metal ever’. It’s not his fault his life is full of badass events, or that his past is consistently so ugly that survival demands this year be better, or that he’s had more than his fair share of forked path choices. The catchphrases always fit. but Eddie feels it, now. This truly is the first night of the rest of their lives. They’re married now. Tied together forever. The lack of signed legal license doesn’t matter. Friends don’t lie, and they’ve told their friends they’re married. Eddie Munson is goddamn married. Whoever would have guessed it?