Chapter Text
It's Eddie's 13th birthday. His dad left for something three days earlier, swearing he would be back for his birthday… but something must have happened and he's just delayed. It's never his fault when he leaves Eddie alone for weeks on end. But Eddie is a big boy anyway, he can take care of himself and heat a can of spaghetti-os, do his laundry, and lock the door behind him.
But it's his birthday, and he can't help but feel a bit sorry for himself. He knows other people have parties and cakes—he was even invited to a birthday party once upon a time—but he was so viciously mocked for the present he brought (a beaded lizard keyring he made at art class) that he decided to not go again. He's too cool for that shit anyway. Or at least, that's what he tells himself.
Suddenly there's a knock on the door. A spark of hope ignites in his little heart. Maybe dad is back after all and maybe he has a present and a cake for him. He's heard of Christmas miracles, why not birthday miracles too?
He scrambles up off the lumpy couch and runs to the door, almost falling over in his excitement and throws the door open, with a delighted shout of "Dad!" ready to fall off his lips.
But there is no beaming Al Munson carrying gifts behind the door. It's just his uncle Wayne. Eddie can't help but let his shoulders slump in disappointment. Uncle Wayne is nice, but he's also very much not his dad. Wayne has been coming over once a week to check on him—even though he's told him he's fine and can take care of himself just fine on his own—and fills the cupboards with cans of food, things that won't go off before his next visit.
Eddie doesn't want to seem ungrateful, so he fashions something resembling a smile onto his face, but Wayne's had enough time to spot the slump in his demeanor, and his gruff smile turns sad.
"Your old man not in?" he asks.
"He's just gone out, he'll be back later," Eddie lies as he always does when Wayne comes over. The older man can always tell, but never says anything.
"Well, I come bearing gifts and a visitor," Wayne says, stepping aside to reveal the barely hidden behind him form of Ronnie Ecker, Eddie's best friend, the top of her dark hair peeking from behind his shoulders.
She's carrying a plate covered by an old fashioned floral mixing bowl. "Granny made you a cake," Ronnie answers the question on his dry lips.
"Why?" he asks.
"It's your birthday, dumbass," she answers, pushing him aside and coming in, making her way into the kitchen. Eddie follows dumbstruck and watches her place to plate on the small table.
She turns around and gives him a hug, ruffling his hair. It's grown past his ears now. "Happy birthday, Eddie," she says.
Wayne has followed them in, carrying two plastic bags that seem full and heavy.
"I've got work in two hours, we better get crackin'," he says, dumping the bags on the table next to the cake and starts taking cans out and opening the cupboards, putting stuff in.
"I'll make us some soup and grilled cheese," he says, taking out a loaf of Not Wonderbread, some American cheese, and butter. He knows where the skillet and saucepan are, and Eddie knows better than to argue with him. Besides, he's getting hungry, and Wayne's grilled cheese is really good.
They watch Wayne pour three cans of tomato soup into the saucepan and butter the bread before he shoos them out of the small kitchen into the living room out of his way. The small kitchen hasn't got the room for an audience.
There's only space for two sandwiches at a time in the skillet, so Wayne makes Eddie and Ronnie's first and plates their portions of soup in the only two bowls in the house while his sandwich grills itself in the hot pan. At least they have more than three plates to go around. When Eddie tries to rush emptying his bowl so Wayne can use it, his uncle waves him away telling him he's perfectly fine eating from the pan. Says he does it at home all the time.
"Saves on the dishes," he says, as if Eddie doesn't regularly eat his own off brand spagetti-os from the pan on a regular basis for the same exact reason. Even though the clank of metal scraping against metal makes his insides curl in disgust. But he hates doing the dishes more than the sound.
The soup is hot, and Eddie almost burns his tongue on it and the molten cheese in his sandwich. His mother's Janis Joplin record is still playing in the living room, but the house is so small and the walls so thin that it feels like the same room. Also, he likes to play his music loud. It's good the house is isolated and the neighbors aren't close enough to complain.
His birthday always makes him miss his mom. Hence Janis on the record player. He can almost remember how devastated his mom was when she heard Janis had died, even though he was only four, almost five years old. Or maybe he could just remember his mother telling him about how he had found her crying on the couch, pat on the head wiping away some of her tears before launching into trying to sing Little Girl Blue to her, like she sang it to him as a lullaby. Except he only knew maybe half the words and just made the rest up. She did love telling that story, and especially singing his version as she told it. "Ooh wah wah wah wah sit where, ooooh, hunt, Oh, hunt your little tigers. Ma unhappy, oh, wittle girl, wittle girl woo woo, yeah," she would sing his version and smile like a thousand suns and ruffle his hair.
"Eddie's an old soul," she used to say. Eddie doubts anyone would agree now. They'll just call him trouble even though he tries his best, but his best isn't good enough. But his mom is still on his shoulder, like a little angel, telling him to "pay them no mind, baby." and then she hums along to Piece of My Heart as it starts playing. Eddie's pretty sure it was her other favorite.
He sniffs, and says "the soup's hot" to cover up for it. Ronnie keeps the "well duh" in, as if she knows. Maybe she does.
Both Ronnie's parents are gone. Not dead like Ma, but they're gone, and Ronnie lives with her granny in the trailer next to Wayne's. Everyone else at school lives in nice houses with moms and dads that come to parent/teacher meetings and sign permission slips, while Eddie forges his dad's signature because dad's usually away, busy with a job. He always comes back though. Eddie just never knows when. He loves surprises. And dad coming home with a present is his favorite kind of surprise, even though he's too big to get too excited. He's got to cool his chops, man.
He blows on the soup too hard, and even though the bowl is already half empty, some of it splashes out of the bowl onto the table. Wayne lets out an unimpressed grunt, but Eddie can spy a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth as he shakes his head and returns to his soup. He doesn't slurp his soup like dad does though. Eddie wonders if dad and Wayne have always been so different or if they used to be more similar as kids. He takes the last corner of his grilled cheese and uses it to sop up the remains of his soup still clinging to the sides of the bowl. Ronnie and Wayne are still eating theirs, so he sits there and waits for them to finish. Normally he would just get up and go, but there's cake. Cakes are always good, but Granny Ecker's cakes are especially good. And she doesn't make them for just any old occasion. He's only had one for Ronnie's birthday before. He wonders what's so special about this birthday that he's got one too. But he knows better than to look a gifted cake in the mouth. It should only go into his mouth.
Tired of waiting and unable to sit still for a second longer, Eddie gets up and goes to the living room to turn the record over, because he knows very well that this is the last track of side A and it's already in the final breakdown before the needle arm reaches the end and starts thumping at the end. Twirl - thump, twirl - thump, twirl - thump. He's also very familiar with that sound because sometimes (most of the time) a side ends, he's still in the middle of something and he can't just pause painting a figurine or writing a character sheet. Not when he's on a roll. So the sound is familiar and—in a way—soothing.
He stands there and lets the record spin a few thumps just for fun before he flicks the needle up, swipes the arm out of the way and flips the record, and carefully places the needle to the beginning of side B. Turtle Blues starts playing, and he turns the volume down just a smidge before heading back to the kitchen where Ronnie has finished her soup and taken both his and her bowls to the sink and wiped his spills, and Wayne is stopping the dregs of his soup from the saucepan with the last bite of his sandwich. He passes the pan to Ronnie who's still standing and takes the pan to join the bowls in the sink.
"I think it's time for cake," she declares and places the mixing bowl covered plate on the table. She also digs out a handful of partially already burned birthday candles out of her pocket along with a box of matches. She lifts off the bowl revealing a small loaf cake covered in almost opaque white drizzle. Eddie recognises it as a lemon drizzle cake: his favorite. How did Granny Ecker know he loves lemons, which is probably the only reason he doesn't have scurvy? Unless she guessed from Eddie's enthusiasm for her homemade lemonade.
Ronnie sticks the candles haphazardly into the loaf and Eddie counts 12 of them. The whole packet and still one short.
"I guess I'm a ‘big boy' now," he says pointing at the candles. Ronnie shrugs with a laugh. Her 13th birthday isn't until January, so Granny Ecker hasn't bought a second packet yet. Until now, a 12-pack has been all they need for a birthday cake.
"Sure you are," she says and digs out a match from the box. She strikes it on the side and starts lighting up the candles, but she only gets 8 done on one match before it's burning her fingers and she has to wave it out. She strikes another one and lights the rest, blowing the second match out with puckered up lips.
"Try not to spit too much on the cake, Big Boy," she gestures to the cake.
"I know, I know, you don't wanna swap spit with me, we've been through this already, Ronster," Eddie snarks and leans against the table, taking a deep breath. This time, he's gonna get all the candles. That's what big boys do.
Except he doesn't. He misses four, the exact ones Ronnie had to use a second match to line, in she swiftly cuts in and blows them out while Eddie is taking in another breath.
"Hey!" he exhales. "Those are my candles!" But Ronnie just blows a raspberry at him.
"You were taking too long, Big Boy." She emphasizes the ‘Big Boy' with so much sarcasm Eddie almost feels emasculated.
"Ha ha, very funny, Ronald," he says and fake sulks, even crossing his arms and huffing. He's so theatrical about it that everyone knows he's not serious. But he likes to pretend.
"Can I at least cut it myself? Or can I not be trusted with a knife?" he says, cocking his head to the side but releasing his crossed arms.
"Sure you can," Wayne hands him the only kitchen knife in the house. It's probably comically large for the small cake, but it does the job. He cuts off an end slice that's at least a quarter of the whole cake for himself, and two slices for his guests about half the size of his slice. It's his right to have a big slice, it's his birthday after all.
Ronnie picks out the candles before they each pick up their slice and start stuffing their mouths with cake, some more gracefully than others. He's obviously the least graceful with his giant piece, but he somehow manages to stuff the thing whole in his mouth. It's absolutely full to the brim, and it's hard to chew with his mouth this full but he does it, only dropping a few crumbs onto the table in the process.
"You're so gross," Ronnie says, still holding half of her slice in her hand. She's not even talking while chewing. Eddie's actually impressed, but his mouth is still too full to make any coherent noise, and he knows Ronnie will punch him in the arm if he tries with his mouth this full. He doesn't really want another bruise, not on his birthday.
So instead he just keeps chewing until the delicious cake is mushy enough to start swallowing. When he's done, he sticks his tongue out and raises his hands, cheering in victory, while the others still savor their cakes. He can take his time with the rest of the cake later. While he has company, he must show off.
After everyone has swallowed their cake, Wayne lifts the other plastic bag on the table.
"Suppose now it's time for presents then," he says, handing it over to Ronnie first. She pulls out a rectangular package wrapped in newspaper and holds it out to Eddie.
"Happy birthday, Eddie," she says and shoves the package into his hands, almost knocking his breath out when it hits his stomach.
"Ooh," he says instead of "Thank you" but Ronnie gets it. He tears off the newspaper and finds a small stack of magazines inside it. Recent issues of Rolling Stone, Hit Parader and Circus, even a lone issue of Billboard.
"They were gonna throw them out at Melvald's, so Granny brought some home for us. I held onto these for your birthday," she explains. Eddie flips through them quickly, spotting Led Zeppelin, Kiss and Queen. He's especially drawn to the cover that asks "Will Heavy Metal survive the ‘70s?" while promising to feature a John Travolta poster. He doesn't really care about the John Travolta poster, but he really cares about the fate of his favorite genre.
"Thanks, Ronster," he finally puts the magazines down and hugs his best friend.
"You're welcome, Theodore," she says into his hair and then gags because she gets some in her mouth. "Jesus, Ed, brush your hair!"
Eddie lets go with an evil cackle like he's the Wicked Witch of the West, which seems appropriate, considering what they have planned for later tonight.
"Ok ok you two meddling kids," Wayne says with a gruff laugh and digs through the bag himself. He pulls out a much larger, softer package also wrapped in newspaper and tied up with twine. Wayne had even tied it into a simple bow.
"You didn't have to, Wayne," Eddie said in awe at the size.
"‘s nothing. An' I wanted to," Wayne shrugs as Eddie tears into the newspaper with abandon. Inside is an old denim jacket he recognises as Wayne's. There are several tears on the sleeves, including a really bad one in the armpit. There's also an old brown Led Zeppelin t-shirt that has crusty armpits and a torn neck. He lifts it up a little confused and a few loose bits fall out. He recognises them to be iron on patches. KISS in big red and yellow letters and a fire breathing dragon. Nice.
"Thought you'd like to make one of those cut off vests I've seen your heavy metal heroes wear. I need a new jacket, so I thought you could use my old one. You just need to cut the sleeves off," he lifts the jacket up by the shoulders. "An' Benny donated his old shirt for the back."
Eddie knows Wayne likes to make do and mend, find new use for old things, never throw away anything that's still functional in some way, and he does not mind a second hand present that's a work in progress. He likes to do things with his hands. There's just one big problem with this one.
"Thank you, Wayne," he hugs the older man. "But I don't know how to sew," he continues as he lets go of his uncle and looks at him with his big sad puppy dog eyes. But Wayne smiles again. Eddie isn't sure he's ever seen him smile this consistently. Other than his last birthday and when he taught him to play that acoustic guitar of his.
"That's not a problem, I'll teach ya. I have Thursday off if you wanna come over after school?" he says.
"Sure thing, Wayne!" Eddie says and surprises his uncle with another hug. He wonders if Wayne is smiling harder as he squeezes his waist and tries in vain to lift the old man up. One of these days he will pick his uncle up and spin him around like he used to be picked up when he was much smaller. ‘yay high' as Wayne describes it as.
"I'll come pick you up from school," Wayne continues as Eddie lets go. "Do you want me to hold on to these for you or?" he asks pointing at the jacket and ratty t-shirt.
"You take ‘em," Eddie answers. "I'll just forget or lose them or..." he tapers off. He doesn't want to say ‘the other kids will take them off me' out loud. But Ronnie knows what he means, and Wayne probably has a hunch. He's patched up enough cut lips and other scrapes to have a pretty good idea about how ‘popular' Eddie is among the other kids at Hawkins Middle School. In an ideal world, he would proudly wear the t-shirt to school, displaying his love of rock'n'roll, but he's not young and dumb enough to not know the consequences. Though he can think of something else he could use it for in the meantime.
"Actually, leave the shirt, we could use it tonight."
"Ok kid, I need to head out now," Wayne says, ruffling Eddie's hair as if it isn't messy enough already and packs the jacket and patches back in the bag. "Don't get too silly tonight, it's a school night," he waves a goodbye and heads to the front door and back to his truck.
"We can't make any promises, but we'll try," Eddie shouts back.
"Have a good shift, Wayne," Ronnie adds, smacking Eddie on his arm.
"Owww," Eddie groans and grabs his arm where there seems to be a permanent bruise because Ronnie has amazing accuracy and always hits the same spot. The record comes to an end as they hear Wayne's truck start and drive away. "Do you have to? It's my birthday, Wonwon," he mock whines.
"Don't make me punch you again, drama queen," Ronnie rolls her eyes and puts the mixing bowl back on top of the remains of his birthday cake. "Let's roll," she continues and drags Eddie to the living room where Janis is whirl thumping aimlessly.