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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.

Chapter Text

Eddie strides over to the record player and unhooks Cheap Thrills from its infinite loop of whirling and thumping. He flicks through the stack of records and picks up Led Zeppelin II. It only feels appropriate to put on the record that matches his future battle jacket. Ronnie puts the Big Brother and the Holding Company album back in its sleeve for him while he slides the ‘Zeppelin record out, places it gently on the turntable and puts it on, careful to not miss the beginning notes.

When the opening riff of Whole Lotta Love bursts out of Jimmy Page's Les Paul via the rattley old speakers with a gasp, the bass and Robert Plant joining in, he finds himself nodding his head to the beat, and Ronnie does a drum fill into the air when the drums come in. They were going to sit down to read the magazines Ronnie gave him, but they are completely helpless in the face of music. They dance, headbang, and play their air instruments of choice, Eddie bending back as Mr Plant wails about love and the guitar swoops in stereo from the left speaker to the right like a car speeding past them at a hundred miles an hour. His voice had just broken a few months earlier, so he's temporarily too self conscious to sing along, especially with Ronnie there to tease him about it. So he leans into the air guitar, especially during the solo, as she bangs her imaginary drum kit with full gusto, hair flying around, getting in her face. But she doesn't care, because she is free and she doesn't need to see to play drums that are not there. But she does spit out the hair that gets in her mouth. She's so fucking cool, Eddie doesn't know why she's friends with him. Other than proximity at the trailer park, taste in music, and love of dungeons and dragons. OK, maybe he gets it a bit. He counts himself lucky.

But the sick solo ends and the song leads into the third verse, and he knows the special bit is coming straight after the next little break down "way down inside woman you need". Eddie turns the volume down as Robert Plant starts that long ass wail of "LOOOOOVEEEEEE" that turns into a scream. As it does just that, he turns the volume knob slowly back up to maximum 11 volume so as it reaches the full crescendo, the window panes are rattling. If they had neighbors closer by, Mrs Whatever would be shitting her pants from pure shock. Eddie cackles at the thought, as he does every time he does this. Which is every time he puts II on the turntable. Once it's done, he turns it back down to not quite rattling the windows volume, so he can hear Ronnie when she even eventually speaks again. His mother taught him this dumb trick, she always did it too, couldn't help herself, and it made little Eddie giggle himself silly every time. So he has to do it every time. Both in her memory and because at this point Whole Lotta Love just sounds wrong to him if the volume remains the same all throughout the song.

After the song ends, they both plonk onto the couch to flip through the magazines. One of them has a sick centerfold of KISS he knows he's going to rip out to stick on his bedroom wall. They pour over the article asking if heavy metal is going to survive the decade. He sure hopes it will, because how else is he going to become a world famous rock star? Sure, he doesn't even have an electric guitar, but he knows how to play thanks to the old acoustic Wayne gave him on his last birthday.  "No point wasting a perfectly good guitar just gatherin' dust at mine, boy," he said when Eddie tried to argue that it was too much. He said he never played anymore and Eddie might as well have it.

He also got him some new strings to go with the guitar, helped him restring it, and taught him a few simple chords, enough for him to get started and figure out the rest himself. He had picked up the rest fairly quickly with the help of chord books from the library, and he's really good at picking up songs by ear now, even if only he says so himself. But Paranoid just doesn't sound the same when it's only powered by the hole in the body of The Bard. That's what he has named the instrument, after Bard the Bowman who slays the dragon Smaug in The Hobbit. He saw a picture of Woody Guthrie, one of Wayne's favorites, playing a guitar with a sticker that said ‘this machine kills fascists' on its body, and inspired by it, he scrawled ‘this machine slays dragons' across The Bard's body. Wayne had rolled his eyes with a gruff chuckle when he saw it the first time but Eddie thinks it's sick as hell.

He doesn't think he could ever play anything other than heavy metal. Even if the genre doesn't survive the last two years of the decade, he will drag it kicking and preferably screaming out of its grave as soon as he can. Sadly, electric guitars are expensive, and you need an equally expensive amp to power it, and by now Eddie knows he is too poor and so is anyone who would be willing to help. He can't wait to be old enough to get a real job and save up for one. He tried delivering newspapers this past summer, but getting up at the crack of dawn was too much of a struggle on its own, and then someone slashed his tires while he was at the library and he didn't notice until he was speeding down a hill and he couldn't break or control where he was going. So he crashed into the cemetery wall so hard he flew over it into the graveyard. Thankfully he didn't hit a gravestone or anything, and the ground summertime soft and muddy from the rain the night before. He emerged from the ordeal covered in mud with nothing but bruises and a few scrapes from the nearby bush. However the bike was bent into an S shape in the crash and there was no fixing it. He might have cried the whole way to Forest Hill, because it was closer than his home and he knew Wayne would be home to fix him up. The tears were more from frustration than physical pain. He knew it was the end of his fledgling paperboy career.

They keep looking through the magazines - there's another article about the state of Heavy Metal in another issue, with Sabbath and Kiss on the same page, and an interview with Jimmy Page, nice - until the record runs out.

"We should start getting ready," Ronnie nudges him.

"Yeah, I guess we should," he says and gets up to change the record. His birthday may not be much to shout about, even if this one has been pretty good so far, but at least it's still Halloween, and Halloween is always off the hook.

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They have been planning their costumes for months, ever since they found a blue gingham dress at Hawkins Junk. The lady who runs it, Tulip, was Eddie's mama's best friend, and she always undercharges him. They yelled out "Dorothy dress!" in unison when Ronnie pulled it out of the rack of dresses. Ronnie had just found a pair of red basketball shoes earlier that month and they could pass for ruby slippers in a pinch. After all, no one was expecting perfect screen accuracy in Hawkins, Indiana. The dress was just all blue gingham after all, not a pinafore with a white blouse underneath.

Tulip sidled up next to them without them noticing and they both startled when she spoke: "You know, Eddie, your mama had an afghan coat that would be perfect for a cowardly lion."

"Jesus, Miss Tulip, you need a bell on ya," Ronnie swore under her breath. Eddie thought back to the wardrobe back home trying to figure out what Tulip was talking about.

"Do you mean the brown one with the fuzzy neck?" he asked.

Tulip's laugh was a sweet cackle. "Yes, Eddie, the one with the fuzzy neck." She ruffled his hair and continued: "You'll just need to make some ears and borrow some eyeliner to draw on some whiskers and a nose on you, your hair is big enough to pass for a lion's mane."

"Do you have any picnic baskets?" he asked instead of swatting the older woman's hand away. She reminded him of mama. She wore the same dresses with big colorful flowers, shawls and loose cardigans as mama, even though they were no longer in style. She was wearing a dress with huge pockets on the front over a shirt with flowers and a huge pointy collar, pins all over the dress and on the collar tips.

"I'm not sure, but there might be one over in homewares," she replied and watched as Eddie and Ronnie ran to search for it. They knew the layout of the store like the back of their hand. When they were smaller, they hung out there after school and sometimes at the weekends, playing dress up and reading books. Tulip didn't mind. She always said she'd promised mama she'd keep an eye on him, and she was keeping her promise.

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Eddie goes over to the closet and pulls out his mother's coat and the Dorothy dress. They never did find a picnic basket or a small black dog to go with Dorothy, but it's fine. The dress, red shoes and dark pigtails will be enough. Though knowing their luck, there will be the perfect picnic basket and a little black dog plush at The Junk tomorrow or next week.

They do rock paper scissors over who gets to be Dorothy and who's the Cowardly Lion. Ronnie wins with a paper over his rock and gets to be Dorothy. He should know better by now than to suggest rock paper scissors. Ronnie knows he always goes for rock. Next time he should suggest thumb wrestling if he wants to win. But Eddie's fine with being a friend of Dorothy.

"Where have you put the ears, Eddie?" Ronnie asks as she holds up the dress, inspecting it before she lays it back down on Eddie's bed and starts taking off the brown corduroy pants she's wearing. She steps out of them and hands them over. They are about the same size so they often share clothes, though Ronnie is half a head taller already, so he will have to roll up the legs of the pants. She starts taking her t-shirt off, in order to change into the dress, and Eddie closes his eyes quickly. He doesn't know much, but he knows he's probably not supposed to see Ronnie without her shirt on, not even from the back.

"I'm just gonna go change… in the other room," he mutters and backs away from the room, still with his eyes closed. He bumps into the doorway on his way out and he can hear Ronnie chuckle at him.

Back in the living room, he peels out of his jeans and into the brown corduroy. He doesn't really have to change his shirt since it'll be covered by his mother's coat. But he gets his new-to-him t-shirt from the kitchen and changes into it. The armpits will be fine for the night, and the tear at the neck is almost on the shoulder, so it will be mostly hidden once he has the coat on.

"You decent, Ron?" he yells towards his bedroom, but instead of answering, Ronnie just walks out with the dress on, braiding her hair. She's wearing white knee-high sports socks with the red basketball shoes, but her legs are so long the socks cut off just under her knobbly bruised knees. Her dark hair is half loose since she's only halfway through braiding the first pigtail.

"Not loving actually wearing a dress for once, but that's not what you asked," she says around the hairband between her teeth. The braid is done and she ties the hairband around it, before moving onto the other braid. "You really gonna wear that shirt?" she continues.

"It's brown, and no one's gonna see the tears underneath mom's coat," Eddie shrugs and walks past Ronnie back into his bedroom to find the ears he made from some construction paper at art class after finishing something resembling the actual assignment. They're not exactly realistic lion ears, but he's still proud of them. He even glued them onto a headband Ronnie lent him for the purpose. Though she never wears them so she won't mind if it breaks or gets lost in the ruckus of Halloween 1978. He eventually finds them on his desk underneath his notebook of stories about dragons and fair maidens.

He grabs the ears, his mother's coat off the floor, and a pillowcase off one of his pillows for storing the loot. He used to have an awesome Halloween print pillowcase, courtesy of Hawkins Junk and Miss Tulip of course, but last year some high school kids ambushed him and Ronnie and stole their loot, including their special pillowcase, so this year he's not taking chances with it. Thankfully, they had found the pumpkins, bats, skeletons and ghosts covered sack empty in a bush on their way home, so it wasn't forever lost along with the candy and toothpaste from Dr. Tooth's house. (He's sure that's not the town dentist's actual name, but that's what they all call him.) However, the tube of minty paste had exploded inside it, so they'd had a not so fun night trying to scrape off as much of it as they could before getting Wayne to help him wash the rest of it off. He leaves it safe at home on his other pillow.

When he gets back in the living room, Ronnie is brandishing an eyeliner pen and a tube of lipstick borrowed from her grandmother, and she's already smeared some red on her cheeks so she looks like she's blushing terribly. He's sure there's also some on her grinning lips, since there's a bit on her front tooth.

"Time to give you some whiskers and a nose, big boy!" she shouts giddily. They both love Halloween. It's the best time of the year. They get to dress up and beg for candy and no one complains about it. Well, there's always someone who has a problem with them, even at All Hallow's Eve, but that seems to be a side effect of simply being alive by the looks of it, at least for Eddie. He thinks Ronnie's probably just guilty by association. After all, she's smart and she's going places. It's already painfully obvious to Eddie that despite the similarities (poor, broken homes and unsavory interests) they are not the same. He already knows his only way out is rockstar-dom, while Ronnie is going to go to college on a scholarship and make something of herself. She's not decided what yet, Eddie can tell she has the teachers around her young and gifted finger while they despise him and call him ‘trouble'. Well, except Mr. Clarke, the science teacher, and Miss Farmer, their English and homeroom teacher. But Wayne always says there's an exception to the rule. Eddie doesn't know what the deal with Mr. Clarke is since he's no good at science, but he kind of understands Miss Farmer since he likes to write stories and she thinks they are good, even though they almost never fit the assignment she's given them. He can't help it if he's not interested in writing about what he did during his summer vacation, he'd rather write about dragons and wizards. They're much more fun!

Ronnie grabs his face and comes at it with the eyeliner. Eddie closes his eyes, because having a pen or any other sharpish object that close to his eyes is terrifying. He can feel the tip draw lines and press some dots on his cheeks for whiskers before moving along to color in the tip of his nose. It tickles, but he does his best not to twitch and ruin his best friend's careful work. After all, Ronnie doesn't draw as good as he does. But he cannot do this to himself. He has tried, and drawing on your own face in the mirror is much harder than it feels like it should be. Probably something about everything being backwards in the mirror. Or maybe it's the pen in his eye line. Or both? It's probably both now that he thinks about it.

Ronnie lets go of his face, and he opens his eyes to see her admiring or assessing her work. "I think that'll do," she says after a moment and marches him to the bathroom mirror to see for himself. In addition to the blackened tip of his nose, whiskers and little dots of where whiskers should grow from, she's also drawn two small half circles on his upper lip, so it looks like he has a snout. None of his looks exactly realistic, but it's a nice added touch that wasn't there before.

"Nice work, Miss Gale," he says, turning back to his friend with what some might say an unnecessary flourish. He goes back to fetch the ears and his mother's coat from the living room where he dropped them when Ronnie started drawing his face. He carefully places the headband with the ears on top of his curls and slips his skinny arms into the sleeves of the coat. It no longer swallows him like it used to when he was little. His mother always seemed so big to him, larger than life, but all adults were big when he was 6. Wayne hasn't changed at all over the years, only turned a bit greyer, but he's not much bigger than Eddie now. And mama was always smaller than Wayne. Especially… at the end. Eddie swallows a not so small sob. No thinking about mama now, not when he's a big boy. Though he is tempted to imagine her helping him and Ronnie get ready. He just hopes Ronnie doesn't notice him having feelings. It's so embarrassing. After all, he's not a baby. He can take care of himself.

He coughs pointedly to cover up for himself and spins around for his friend's approval. "Ta-daa!" he exclaims, spreading his hands out and doing jazz hands. Ronnie laughs and slaps his arm. How does she still manage to hit the same spot? She must be magic.

"OK, let's go, loser. We have tricks to treat."

Chapter Text

Eddie shoves his things into his locker. It's been a shit day, but at least he has something to look forward to. Wayne's gonna pick him up from school, and he's gonna teach Eddie to sew things to his new battle vest to be. He's pretty excited about it. But there's still one more hour to go and it's been a terrible few days between now and his birthday. At least today doesn't finish with P.E. like yesterday. Today it's English and Miss Farmer, so it'll be better than the first half of the day.

Ronnie's not talking to him, and that always fucking sucks. Halloween was so awesome, despite being chased by bullies but that's par for the course. They're always chasing him like he's a jackrabbit and they're hound dogs or something.

But then he had to go and ruin everything. It was the bullies' fault though. They're the one who put the idea in his head. Asking if Ronnie was his girlfriend. "You're fooling no one, Munson!" Perkins had added in a vicious cackle, and Eddie still has no idea what the hell he was talking about. Why would Ronnie being his girlfriend fool anyone about something anyway. But he knows better than to pay any mind to Perkins or the other bullies say. They rarely make sense. He's just mean, and it seems to run in the family. He's seen his little sister Carol trying to assert dominance with scathing comments in the hallways even though she's only a 6th grader. 6th graders don't have the social capital yet to be a popular mean girl, but maybe she's laying down the groundwork for the future.

He had been brainwashed by bullies into thinking that just because he and Ronnie are attached at the hip and do everything together they should be 'more than friends', as if being friends like this wasn't already everything. But they got into his head and once they'd lost the fuckers chasing them, trying to snatch their trick or treat loot, he went and fucked everything up by trying to plant one on Ronnie, to make it 'official', and now she's not talking to him. Instead of kissing him back or any of the things that happened in movies and TV, she had yelled at him. "What the hell is wrong with you, Munson?!" she had screamed at him and all he could do in response was run away, leaving Ronnie standing there, holding the pillowcase full of three musketeers and a few apples.

He saw her at school yesterday, but she wouldn't even look at him, let alone talk to him. Not that he tried that hard to talk to her. However there was a familiar pillowcase filled with his share of halloween candy in his locker after English, one of the classes he didn't have with Ronnie, so maybe things weren't entirely hopeless.

He was ashamed of himself. The more he thought of it, and he did nothing but think of it, he had realized he hadn't even wanted to kiss Ronnie. He had just... thought he should? It was so stupid. When did he ever do something he should? Even when Miss Farmer had had them write a letter to the principal about something they wanted to change at school, he had instead written to the king of a faraway kingdom about how their violent troll attack problem could be solved with some ingenuity instead of a troll genocide. Not only had he not written about what he was asked for, he had got the structure of a formal letter all wrong, so Miss Farmer hadn't been able to find a way to reason that assignment out of an F. "Sorry Eddie, I loved your letter, it was very creative, but it was not at all what the assignment was looking for, I have to give you an F for this one," she had whispered apologetically when handing back the assignments that week.

He has missed Ronnie terribly, and the cold shoulder treatment was awful, but he deserves it. He closes the locker door and bangs his head against it. Goddamnit. He's gonna need to do something about this but he actually hates conflict, despite the way he's a bully magnet and won't change a goddamn thing about himself. But this is conflict with people he cares about, so it's different. The stakes are high and he's sorely tempted to avoid it forever and just run away.

He takes out the ratty brown t-shirt he's been keeping in the locker for safety, incase anyone fucked with this bag again, and shoves it in said bag. He looks at his books, trying to remember if he needs any of them, but he eventually gives up and just slams the locker door closed before banging his head against it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It's not like he has other friends. He's been eating lunch alone in the library for two days now.

Wayne is already outside waiting for him in his truck, car radio softly playing the country station he always plays. "My coat of many colors that my momma made for me, made only from rags, but I wore it so proudly," Miss Dolly sang as he opened the passenger seat door. It made him chuckle.

"That's a little too on the nose, Wayne," is his greeting.

"I don't choose what the radio plays, Eddie, I only choose the station," Wayne replies and starts the engine, pulling away from the school as soon as Eddie is settled in.

Eddie hums along to the song as they ride the short way to Forest Hills Trailer Park. Wayne doesn't say anything else as usual since he's the strong, silent type, keeping his eyes on the road while Eddie stares out of the window into the woods. He doesn't know the next song, just some guy singing about his woman cheating or about drinking or something. He's not really paying attention.

"Hot dogs alright with you, Ed?" Wayne asks as he puts the shopping bag on the kitchen counter and starts unpacking it.

"Sounds great, Wayne," he answers. He loves hot dogs. And Wayne always makes them with fried onions. Eddie doesn't know how to fry things, so he usually just has his plain. Apart from ketchup and mustard, provided there's actually some in the house. Wayne knows all this, but it's nice to be asked rather than told.

"You sit down, son. I'll get the grub on," his uncle says, waving him at the stripey old couch. The stripes are different shades of brown and textured like the backside of a knitted sweater, but also not. Eddie plops himself on it, gangly limbs everywhere, before he remembers that the TV isn't on and has to be turned on from the switch on the TV. Shit. Not that there's anything good on. He's already missed the first half of the soap opera or the old fashioned cop show he would have chosen between. One day away from Meg and Vanessa's forever feud won't hurt.

So he just lies there, staring at the nicotine-stained ceiling, which makes him want a cigarette. But if he wants to smoke, he's gonna have to go outside because Wayne doesn't know Eddie smokes. And for some reason, Eddie doesn't want him to know. It's dumb. Wayne's not his dad nor his mom, he gets no say in what Eddie does, and it's not like he can even judge, having smoked since he was 12 years old himself. There's a reason why there's an almost full ashtray on the side table and everything in the trailer that once was white has yellow patina of nicotine on it. But Eddie doesn't want him to know. If he thinks about it too hard, it's because he doesn't want Wayne to be disappointed in him.

He scrambles up and mumbles: "I'm gonna go outside." Wayne waves him off, indicating he'll call him in when the hot dogs are ready. He doesn't land on the old couch Wayne keeps on his porch though, it's too easy to be caught red handed there.

Instead he goes around the corner, leans against the wall and digs out a crumpled pack of Cemels and his lighter from his pack pocket. He takes one out (there's only three more left after this one), puts  on his lips and fumbles lighting it up so badly he drops the lighter. "Fuck," he mumbles bending over to pick it up.

"You know, smoking's real bad for you, Munson," he hears a familiar voice speak from the porch of the trailer next door. He looks up and sees Ronnie. She's sitting on the steps, and pats the step next to her like she's summoning a dog to join her when Eddie acknowledges her with a surprised nod.

'Come 'ere, boy,' Eddie can practically hear her say, and he obeys like a good boy. Well, he doesn't sit down, but he goes over, and shyly digs the toe of his trainers into the soft ground as he stands there, waiting for Ronnie to say something. The ball is in her court, after all he's the one who stupidly overstepped an invisible line that they hadn't discussed but was now painfully obvious.

"Sit down, dumbass," she pats the step more firmly, and Eddie does what he's told but he leaves a bigger gap than usual between them.

"I'm sick and tired of this not talking shit," Ronnie says. She doesn't mince words, and Eddie is actually thankful for it. It's awkward, but if it was up to him, he would probably have hidden away from his best friend forever. Munsons are good for nothing but running, he already knows that much, Wayne being the exception to the rule, because apparently there always is one. Or at least that's what Wayne always says. Eddie wouldn't really know yet. But Wayne's usually right, even if it's sometimes hard to admit it.

Eddie just hums apologetically. He doesn't know what to say. Ronnie's gonna have to continue their journey, otherwise they will be here all night and hot dogs will get cold. She sighs and nudges Eddie.

"Really? Cat got your tongue? Suppose there's a first for everything," she huffs. Eddie just shrugs again like the idiot he is and stares at his feet.

"Fine. Eddie Munson, I like you a whole lot, but not like that," she says, taking the plunge. Nice and succinct. She doesn't like him like that. He had kinda figured as much.

"Actually, it's not just you, Eddie. I don't think I've ever liked anyone like that, and honestly? I don't think I ever will," she continues. Eddie looks up from his feet at her. "Is that ok with you?" she asks, looking nervous.

"Is that ok with me?" Eddie repeats, incredulously. "Jesus, Ronnie, I'm the one who did something wrong here. I'm so sorry I tried to kiss you, and that I ran away like a coward when you didn't like it," he runs his hand through his hair, brushing it back, cigarette still precariously between his fingers. It falls off but Ronnie catches it.

"It's fine, I guess." It's her turn to shrug. Eddie's not sure she means it, or that it should be 'fine', but decides not to argue.

"Does this mean we can still be friends?" he asks sheepishly, and in response Ronnie punches him in the arm, in the usual spot.

"Don't be an idiot."

Eddie laughs. "I think you know me well enough by now that that's not gonna happen," he says, shoving Ronnie back. She's taller and sturdier though, so the shove does absolutely nothing. Probably imbalances Eddie more than Ronnie. She just rolls her eyes at him and hands the cigarette back to him. He looks around for the lighter. He just had it, where the fuck did he put it? He pats down his legs and pockets, looking for it, only to find it held up in front of his face by Ronnie. She flicks the flint for him, and he leans in to light the cigarette.

He takes in a long drag and sighs: "It's been hell not talking to you, Veronica, my friend."

"You miss me or something, dumbass?" she chuckles in response and shoves him on the arm, poking at the forever Ronnie bruise.

"Yeah, I did." He thinks about telling her he doesn't like her like that. He was just being stupid, as he always is. But he doesn't know how.

Thankfully he's saved by not the bell, but Wayne calling him indoors. The hot dogs are ready, and he's barely got started on his cigarette. Shit.

"In a bit! I'm just talking to Ronnie," he yells back and takes a deep drag of the cigarette. He's finishing it, goddamnit. He can't afford to just stub a perfectly good one. Who knows when dad will be back and leave a half a pack of his at home when he disappears again.

Ronnie laughs at him. "You have a funny way of talking to me, junior," she teases him. Eddie gives her a pointed look. She knows he's not a big fan of being called that.

He's not even a junior, not really. He's a third, Edward Allan Munson III to be exact, named after his grandfather. His dad is the real junior, but he goes by his middle name to differentiate from his father, the first of the Edward Allan Munsons. Apparently not the nicest man. Eddie doesn't know why his dad would insist on naming him after someone so unpleasant if half the things he had heard of old grandpa Munson were true. "It's a tradition," he had been told, but it sounded like a bullshit excuse. More like recycling harm. He might only be 13, but he knows he's not gonna name any child of his Edward Allan Munson the Fourth. That buck stops with him.

"Fuck off, Ecker," he says with a laugh and a shove as he continues sucking on his cigarette like it's a milkshake he's trying to finish quickly. It might not give him a brain freeze, but it was starting to make him feel a bit dizzy. Shit.

"Do you want the rest?" he offers the rest to Ronnie. She smokes too, sometimes. But Granny Ecker doesn't and she'll smell it on her.

"Just blame the smell on Wayne, or me, if you must," he tries to convince her. It only has two or three drags left but Eddie doesn't want it to go to waste. He would finish it, but he already feels a bit woozy and he has to eat and spend time with Wayne. He can't just lie down and moan in self inflicted misery. Ronnie can somehow tell all this in his face and sighs.

"Fine, I'll finish it for you. Thankfully I've got some gum on me," she takes the cigarette and digs out half a pack of juicy fruit from her pocket. "Here, you have one, for safety," she offers the packet to Eddie.

He doesn't really need it. Wayne chainsmokes himself to the degree that he won't be able to smell it on Eddie, but the gum feels like a peace offering so he takes it, unwraps the foil and puts the strip of fruity gum into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open.

"You're so gross," Ronnie laughs and shoves him before putting the remains of the cigarette on her lips and taking a drag.

"Now fuck off to eat, boy," she emphasises the o in 'boy' so she sounds just like Wayne. Eddie laughs again and gets up. When he's at the door, he turns back to his friend.

"We ok now?" His voice is more sheepish than he intends to, but it is a genuine worry. "You know, I don't like like you either. It's just.. everyone calling you my 'girlfriend' all the time got in my head," he adds on a whim before he can stop and think his words through.

Ronnie just laughs. "Good. And yes, we are good. Best friends forever. Now go before your food gets cold," she shoos him away.

Chapter Text

The hot dogs are delicious. Wayne has fried onions to go with them along with the usual mustard, ketchup and relish from a jar. He's even got a store brand can of cola to go with it for Eddie.

Eddie helps him clear the table afterwards and does the small amount of dishes while Wayne gathers his sewing supplies. When Eddie is done and has dried his hands on the Garfield handtowel Wayne keeps by the sink, he finds the small table laid with the old denim jacket, the patches Wayne had gifted him and a few new ones, as well as a little tomato plushie with needles stuck in, a selection of skinny spools of thread in a whole rainbow of colors, and the daintiest pair of scissors Eddie has ever laid his eyes upon. There's also a battered old tin of Danish butter cookies on the table. Snacks, he assumes. They aren't his favorite cookies but the tin is so dinged up by time Wayne might have just recycled it and filled it with different cookies. Eddie mentally crosses his fingers for chocolate chip. Or homemade snickerdoodles from Granny Ecker's kitchenette.

He's just sitting down at the table when Wayne emerges from his bedroom brandishing the biggest pair of scissors Eddie's ever seen. The opposite of the ones on the table. He notices Eddie glancing at the table. "These are for the sleeves, I only use them for cutting fabric. But those are for thread, and sometimes my toe nails," Wayne winks, moving his chair from the other side of the table next to Eddie's.

"Now let's get started," he says, putting the scissors down, sits down and spreads the jacket across the table so the right sleeve is laying flat in front of them.

"To cut off the sleeves, you want to cut carefully right next to the seam, here," he points at the thick seam attaching the sleeve to the body of the jacket. "But first, we cut here," he points at the under arm seam with the scissors, running their tip from the seam up to the sleeve. He makes a few inches-long cut into the sleeve near the armpit. There is no going back now.

"And now we move to cut the sleeve off as close to the seam as we can," he moves the scissors back so the lower layer of sleeve fabric falls out and he cuts just the top layer until he reaches the arm hole seam. He adjusts the garment and carefully cuts right next to the bulky seam for a few more inches but stops at the shoulder.

"Now you go," he hands Eddie the scissors and jacket and sits back, arms crossed, watching him. Eddie slides his thumb through one fingerhole and the rest through the other one. These scissors are heavy. He opens up the blades and prepares to cut, making sure the chunky edge of the seam is against the left side of the blade. He feels nervous, he doesn't want to fuck it up and cut too far.

"Go on," Wayne nods, urging him to close the blades and make his first cut. He does it slowly and nervously. The scissors are sharp and cut into the thick fabric like a hot knife into butter. He's more confident with the next cut and soon enough he's cut all the way round back to where they started. He admires his work. It's not perfect, there's tiny scraps of the sleeve still hanging off, probably from the places where he had to open the heavy scissors for the next cut.

"Good job, Eddie," Wayne says. "Don't worry about those, we can trim them off later if it bothers you. Now cut the other sleeve." Eddie maneuvers the jackets so now the left sleeve is in front of him and the jacket is facing away from him. He looks at Wayne, who nods, and Eddie takes his cue to cut the next sleeve. Eddie cuts into the underarm seam an inch or two away from the armhole, moves the scissors so only the top layer of the sleeve is between the sharp blades and he cuts his way to the seam. This time he does a tidier job cutting the sleeve off. He's now starting to get used to the heavy scissors with a slightly stiffer hinge than the scissors in the art room at school.

When both sleeves are fully attached, Wayne gets up and folds them up. "I'll hold on to these if you don't mind. They'll be good for fixing up my jeans when they get a tear," he says and takes them into his bedroom. When he comes back, he grabs his chair and sits diagonally from Eddie instead of right next to him. He takes the tomato cushion and says: "This is a pin cushion, ‘s where I keep my needles and pins." He plucks out a needle and points at the skinny spools of thread.

"You pick a color, Ed," he says. There's a whole rainbow of colors available, and after pausing for thought, Eddie still picks the black one. ‘Like his soul' if anyone asks. He hands it over to Wayne, who tips the end of the thread on his tongue and makes it wet, before snipping the end off with the teeny tiny scissors.

"Ok, son, you need to put this thread through the eye of the needle," he says, handing Eddie the needle and the thread. He raises the needle to his eye level. The hole, the eye of the needle is pretty small, he doesn't even  know a measurement small enough to describe it. Like it's maybe an 8th of an inch long but the width? Not a clue. But he thinks he can do it. He takes aim but he misses, poking the end of thread against the eye of the needle instead of through it. He tries again. Same result and he can't help but let out a frustrated huff.

He moves the needle closer to his face and squints ‘til it's in focus and tries again. This time it goes in! He raises his hands up in a jubilant cheer but in his movement to thread slips out again and his cheer morphs from a "fuck yeah!" to a "fuck ye- SHIT!" which makes Wayne chuckle.

"‘s alright Ed. You got the hang of it now, you can do it again," his uncle pats him on the shoulder. Sometimes Eddie wonders if Wayne believes in him too much, but he listens to his words of encouragement and repeats what he just did. Except for the celebratory part, and the thread stays in.

While Eddie holds on to the needle, Wayne snips the thread from the spool with his tiny scissors, and ties the end from the needle to the snipped end and ties them together.

"This way you won't need to keep rethreading it," he smiles. "Now choose one of the small patches to begin with," he gestures to the patches laid on the table.

Eddie moves the pile closer to him. There's the KISS and dragon patches from his birthday but there's some additional ones. He picks up one with what looks like a demon head on a military emblem.

"I went to see Miss Tulip earlier, and she gave me some more patches. She said you'd like that one, apparently it's for some band from England called Motorhead. Sounds like your kind of noise," Wayne says. There's also a strange red arrow with two loops at the end and double ended smaller arrows across it. "She said that one's a Leviathan cross, something to do with that occult stuff she and your ma were into," Wayne points at it.

"Let's start with this one," Eddie waves the motorsomething one.

"Alright, where do you wanna put it then?" Wayne asks moving the another patches back to the middle of the table and lays the jacket, now a vest flat in front of Eddie. Eddie stares carefully at his blank canvas and tries placing the patch in a few different places before settling on above his left, but the vest's right breast pocket.

"There," he says uncertainly.

"You can always change your mind later, you'll just have to unpick the stitches and sew it elsewhere," Wayne says. "We could just iron on most of these patches, but then it's harder to go back and take it off later," he continues as he pins the patch in place with two pins, one with a red bead at the end and another with a yellow one. Eddie just nods.

"You got the needle still?" Wayne asks and Eddie holds it up. "Tie another knot on the end, gotta make sure it's big enough so it won't slip through the fabric," he says and Eddie does as his uncle instructed. The knot is a bit messy, but it's definitely big enough. Wayne looks at it for a moment and seems to think about something.

"Think it's best if I show you rather than tell you," he says, taking the needle from Eddie. He scoots his chair over next to him again, and grabs the vest. "You start from the wrong side, so the knot is hidden. His hand disappears under the breast of the formerly jacket, and he must stick the needle through the fabric, because the sharp end appears through the corner of the patch, at the tip of the wing shaped emblem. Wayne pulls it through and shows the back to Eddie. There's just the messy knot on the wrong side of the fabric. He nods in understanding and Wayne returns to the right side of the vest. He sticks the needle into the jacket material, slides the needle underneath and out through the patch. He pulls on the thread and somehow there's a neat single stitch over the edge of the patch.

"Cool," Eddie whispers, impressed. Wayne chuckles and does the same again, slowly, making sure Eddie has time to understand what he's doing.

"You ready to have a go, Ed?" he offers the needle and vest to Eddie.

Eddie nods nervously, he's not sure he's ready but there's only way to find out. He takes the jacket and the needle and sticks the needle into the denim near Wayne's previous stitch, and tries to aim the needle near the other end of the previous stitch, but overshoots. The needle pokes through the grey ink of the emblem, instead of the black edge.

"Shit." He lets go of the needle and lifts his hands up in surrender, leaving the needle still sticking in and out of the fabric. He's already fucked up.

"'s alright, boy, just pull the needle back and try again," Wayne pats him on the shoulder and adds: "Nobody's perfect on the first go." Eddie lets out a breath he didn't realize he was even holding and grabs the needle, pulling it back completely. He takes a deep breath and tries again. This time, the needle emerges right on the edge between the black and the grey.

"That's fine," Wayne says encouragingly. "Now pull the thread all the way through."

Eddie does just that, and voila! He has also made a stitch. It's not as tidy as Wayne's. It's larger and wonkier than Wayne's but it's a stitch. He does another one, repeating his previous actions and it's better than the first one. And so is the next one. The one after that is a bit wonky again, but it's fine. The black thread blends into the fabric, and according to Wayne, no one's gonna look at his jacket that closely anyway, and Eddie's doing a good job. Wayne has even scooted his chair back to sit properly diagonally from him because he doesn't need to supervise his every stitch.

By the time he gets to the other wing though, he's poked the tip of his left index finger with the needle so many times he's stopped swearing every time but there's a trickle of blood now. He puts it in his mouth to suck out the blood when Wayne hums in thought and reaches for the cookie tin. Eddie's sure his eyes widen in excitement because he really could do with a cookie, whatever kind is in the tin, to make up for his owwie. But to his disappointment, when Wayne lifts the lid, there are no cookies in there. Only more sewing supplies. More thread, a bag of mismatched buttons, a measuring tape and a bunch of things Eddie can't name and has no idea what their purpose is.

Wayne pulls out the tiniest porcelain cup, only big enough to fit maybe a finger tip. It has a little painting of a pansy and the word February. He offers it to Eddie, and he takes it and he holds it up to look at it, turns it around in his hand confusedly.

"‘s a thimble. It's not exactly what it's for, but you should put it on that bleeding finger of yours to protect it from that needle of yours," Wayne explains. Eddie raises his eyebrows. Interesting.

"What is it really for then?" he asks.

"You're supposed to have it on your sewing hand, on the finger you push the needle through with. Makes that easier," Wayne answers with a smile. He likes it when Eddie asks questions. Says it means he's listening and wants to know more. That's not what the teachers say when he asks questions though.

"Cool," Eddie says and puts the thimble on his poor finger.

"I thought there were gonna be cookies," he says as he starts sewing again. The sharp tip of the needle clanks against the china of the thimble. His little finger helmet.

Wayne laughs. "Sorry to disappoint, son. I think I have some in the cupboard though, if you'd like one?" he gets up.

"Yes please," Eddie says before his uncle has finished the question. He's a growing boy, there's not a chance in hell he's gonna say no to a cookie.

"Milk?" Wayne asks, placing two small chocolate chip cookies on the table next to Eddie's sewing. He nods and keeps sewing. He's starting to get the hang of it, and now his finger isn't getting constantly stabbed, it's kind of relaxing. It's giving his overcrowded brain something to do with his hands instead of flailing around.

His glass of milk has Garfield doing something on it. Of course. Wayne knows it's his favorite. He pauses to dip one of the cookies in the milk and bite off the soggy section, before he puts it back down and returns to his work. When he finishes this last  edge, he'll have another bite and eat his cookies. They will be his reward.

After the cookies and milk, he picks up the KISS patch and sews it underneath the pocket. He first places it on the pocket but Wayne tells him it will be much more difficult with the two layers of thick fabric and trying to avoid sewing the pocket shut, and suggests he moves it two inches down, so it's underneath. Once he's finished with it, it's late. The sun has set over the trailer park horizon hours ago and both he and Wayne are failing to suppress their yawns. Wayne insists on giving Eddie his bed and sleeping on the lumpy couch.

"You're my guest, Ed, you are not sleeping on this couch," he says crossing his arms and Eddie knows there is no further argument to be had.

art by artbean

Chapter Text

Eddie wakes up in a strange but familiar bed the next morning. The comforter is tangled around his body, and his borrowed plaid-like flannel pajamas are too big but thankfully have a drawstring waist. He rubs his eyes blearily and recognises it to be Wayne's bedroom. The morning sun is peeking through the blinds,  making everything a bit stripy as he looks around.

When he wanders into the kitchen, Wayne is making what looks like pancakes. It smells real nice too. He thinks there's bacon in another pan, it sure smells like it.

"Sleep alright, Ed?" he asks without turning to look away from his pan.

"Like a log," he answers as he pulls up a chair and sits at the table. There's a different Garfield glass filled with orange juice waiting for him there. Garfield is wearing bunny slippers and asking what they want for breakfast. Eddie chuckles at it. It must be a new find from Miss Tulip's because he's not seen it before.

"How was the couch though?" he asks, remembering his manners. Wayne just shrugs and flips the pancake.

They eat breakfast in silence. Pancakes, bacon and syrup. The orange juice has pulp in it. It's the best breakfast Eddie's had in a long time. If he were home, he'd be eating the last slice of leftover cake, which wouldn't be a bad breakfast either, but Wayne makes really nice pancakes and he gets syrup all over his chin, and his uncle has to stop him from wiping it on his sleeve.

"That's my 'jamas, boy, try not to get syrup on the sleeve," he says softly—doesn't yell like he knows dad would—and offers up the Garfield towel from earlier instead. Eddie wipes his chin a corner of it and continues eating, getting more syrup on his chin.

Afterwards, he helps Wayne clear up again and changes back into his clothes. Well, Wayne lends him a clean t-shirt, says to just pick one out from his dresser. The first one Eddie pulls out is gray marl, says 'I'm fortyish.. but I'll deny it' and has Garfield holding a sign that says 20 with an arrow pointing at his head. When he holds it up, it looks like it will be only a little bit baggy on him and he's not wrong. It's worn soft and very comfortable. Seeing Eddie in the shirt makes his uncle chuckle and shake his head, so he considers it an excellent choice.

"I have a shift tonight Ed, but do you wanna get your backpatch started before I drop you off at home?" Wayne asks him, holding up the cookie tin of sewing supplies.

"Yes, please," Eddie says probably too enthusiastically for a 13 year old boy talking about sewing, but no one here is gonna judge him for being a bit weird. He gets his battered backpack off the floor and digs out the tattered Led Zeppelin shirt, placing it on the table. It's wrinkled to hell from being in the bottom of the bag under everything else in there. Eddie's math book that's barely touched, the book they're reading in English, a library copy of The Two Towers — the book he's actually reading — as well as loose pens and other stationery since he doesn't have a pencil case anymore. He tries to spread it out nice and flat on the table like Wayne did with the jacket last night but it's hopeless.

"Don't worry kid," Wayne pats him on the shoulder again. "I'll get the iron set up," he adds, disappearing down the hallway. He reappears with an ironing board with a bright flowery cover under his arm and an electric iron in his other hand, which he hands to Eddie when he's near enough. "Take that for me, will ya?" he says. While Eddie watches, with iron in hand, he unfolds the ironing board and sets it up in front of his bedroom door.

He takes the wrinkly t-shirt and slides it onto the board. "Plug the iron in, will ya?" he asks Eddie who does as requested. They both stand there waiting for the iron warm up.

"It'll be easier to cut straight when the t-shirt isn't so wrinkly," Wayne explains. "Actually, even better if we also draw a cut line on it for ya. Do you have a long ruler in your bag?" he continues. Eddie shakes his head, he's only got a little wooden one he's scribbled BLACK SABBATH in a decorative gothic script with a ball pen, and it's too short for the shirt.

"That's fine, Ed. We can use the edge of a hardcover book instead," Wayne says and goes into his bedroom. A minute later he comes back with a book about fishing and hands it over to Eddie. It has a photo of a man holding a huge fish on the cover. "We'll make do with that," his uncle says, gesturing him to put the book down on the table for now. He picks up the iron as the indicator light clicks off, telling them the iron is hot and ready to go now, and starts ironing the shirt. The wrinkles smooth out like magic. Eddie's never used an iron, they don't have one at home. He wonders how necessary one of them is for making a badass battle jacket.

Once the front of the t-shirt is all smooth, Wayne asks him to unplug the iron and hand him the former cookie tin. He rummages through the tin of supplies and pulls out a piece of white chalk. He hands the tin back to Eddie and gestures to him to give him the fish book he just put away for him.

He places the book on top of the print, moves it left and right vaguely, as if he's measuring it, before using the edge of the book as a guide as he draws a line with the piece of chalk. It's not a perfect line, because the material stretches and bunches under the drag of the tip, but he goes back filling in the gaps with light strokes once he moves the book to check his work. He stops and looks at Eddie. 

"Do you wanna draw the other line?" he asks, offering him the chalk. 

"Ok," Eddie replies and takes it. He moves the book so the long edge is maybe inches above where the Zeppelin II cover art print starts and looks at his uncle inquiringly. 'Here?' he asks with his expression. Wayne moves it so the short edge is aligned with one of the lines he drew earlier and nods. Eddie brings the chalk to the fabric and starts drawing. 

"Don't press so hard," Wayne says as he sees the fabric stretch too much. Eddie tries again, only gently pressing the chalk tip against the fabric, barely touching, and it's better. It still skips and bunches a little bit, but it's fine when he lifts the book and checks. He fills in the gaps like his uncle did before. 

"Well done, Eddie," Wayne claps him this time on the other shoulder. "And we don't need one at the bottom, since the hem is already a straight line. Unless you want to?" 

Eddie looks at the shirt, with 3 sides of a square drawn around the print. He thinks it's fine, so he shakes his head. Wayne hands him the scissors and tells him to cut. "Just follow the lines," he adds. 

Even though the fabric is thinner than the jacket, it doesn't cut as easily. It's not as stiff so some of it bunches between the blades, much like while he was drawing so the edges are a bit messy. 

"It's fine, Ed. Don'tcha worry. We're gonna fold the edges underneath anyway," his uncle says when he notices Eddie hesitating on his next cut. So he keeps cutting, gets to the corner, some of the fabric folds a little between the blades as he cuts, and leaves an annoying v shaped snip in the otherwise almost straight line, but it's fine. Wayne said they're gonna fold it over, hide the fuck ups. But he learns to cut more carefully, make sure the fabric isn't folding over and the last edge is almost perfect. 

"Good job," Wayne tells him and grabs the rest of the t-shirt and takes it into his bedroom. For his scrap pile, to join the jacket's sleeves. He says it'll also come in handy patching things up. "Plug in the iron again, will ya?" he hollers from the bedroom. 

When he returns, he marks where the print's edges are with a few pins from the tomato plushie and flips the fabric so it's facing down. Then he folds one of the long edges over, but keeps the fold an inch away from the marker pin, and irons it down. He nods at Eddie, wordlessly telling him to fold the opposite edge and Eddie does just that. He doesn't think he hasn't done as he's told this much in his whole damn life, which makes him chuckle. The fold isn't perfect, but it's fine, and once he irons it, it stays down and in place. Wayne turns the fabric around so the top is facing Eddie and he folds that too, now with more confidence. Once he's done with the top fold, Wayne lifts the patch up from the corners.

"Let's check this against the vest now. Lay it on here, will ya?" he tells Eddie. He lays the patch on the back of the jacket, top edge against the seam that goes across the upper back, armhole to armhole, shoulder to shoulder. Wayne calls it the yoke. They both look at it. It looks good. The bottom edge goes maybe an inch over the seam of the waistband of the vest, and Wayne marks where that seam is on the patch. He folds the bottom edge for Eddie and tidies up the corners for him before ironing it all again and pinning the edges to place from the side of the fabric while Eddie holds on to the vest. Says it's easier if he does it for him, and Eddie doesn't argue. He's not really following what Wayne is doing. 

"Now let's pin it on the jacket," he says, humming with satisfaction. Eddie can tell Wayne is pleased with their work. He hands Eddie the tomato and tells him to start pinning. He probably uses more pins than he really needs to but he wants it to be good. He can be thorough when he wants. 

"That should do it," Wayne smiles at him. 

Eddie takes the vest carefully, still admiring his handiwork. The patch goes over the edges of the middle lower back panel and it's still not fully centered but he's not bothered. It's still gonna be the coolest battle vest in Hawkins Middle School, if not the whole town. He sits down at the table and gets his sewing supplies ready. He threads the needle, this time with some orange thread, and slides the pansy thimble on his finger again. He doesn't need Wayne to tell him how to get started, he remembers from the night before. He starts at the bottom right corner with the intention of going up the right side, but he realizes within a couple of stitches that sewing in that direction is actually more awkward, so he changes direction and starts at the bottom instead. His stitches are small and tidy, and the thread only gets him as far as the other end of the bottom edge. 

He goes to thread his needle again but the orange thread has disappeared from the table. Wayne is sitting across from him, smiling again, holding a little drawstring pouch in the palm of his hand.

"I made you a little sewing kit so you can continue sewing at home," he says, pouring the contents of the pouch on the table to show Eddie what he means. There's a small selection of different color threads, white, black, orange and blue, as well as the teeny tiny scissors, a packet of sewing needles still stuck in the paper case and a few safety pins. "You can also take the pin cushion and thimble with you," he points at the tomato. Eddie figures that must be the pin cushion, the name makes sense now he thinks of it. 

"I can make a new pin cushion no problem. All I need is some elastic band and fabric scraps, and I have plenty of both," Wayne stops him before he can even argue. 

"Was getting bored of the tomato anyway," he adds with a shrug. Eddie knows that's a lie. Wayne loves tomatoes. He even has a few tomato plants outside in the summertime. Garfield and tomatoes are his thing. But sure, Wayne. Whatever you say, old man.

Eddie smiles and thanks his uncle. "Thanks, Wayne. Can I keep sewing 'til you have to drop me off though?" he asks, fluttering his eyelashes and giving unnecessary puppy dog eyes to his uncle.

Wayne laughs. "Sure you can. I'll just put the rest of your supplies and your patches back in the pouch for you," he says, gathering up everything but the pin cushion, orange thread, scissors and the needle still in Eddie's hand. He puts the radio on and reads yesterday's paper while Eddie keeps sewing. He gets all the way to the top left corner before he has to gather his things. He ends up throwing the vest on, over his jacket, with the needle stuck on among the pins, because he doesn't want to crumple it up in his backpack and ruin all his hard work. 

They go to Melvald's on the way because Wayne insists on getting Eddie some groceries, and he's too distracted by looking cool as hell to argue. He keeps staring at his reflection in the cabinet doors as they walk through the frozen aisle to get to the canned goods and Wayne has to drag him out because he's so distracted by his own reflection. The grocery bags mostly have off brand spaghetti-os, canned ravioli and soup, things Eddie knows how to cook. There's still half a loaf of bread left at the house, so Wayne just gets peanut butter and jelly since they don't go off in a matter of days. He also gets him a six pack of store brand cola. "A later birthday treat," he calls it and adds: "Don't drink it all at once."

When they get back to the house, there's no one at the house. Dad still hasn't come back. Eddie sighs as he unlocks the front door. Wayne helps him unpack the groceries and ruffles his hair as he goes. Eddie listens to his truck pull away as he drops his backpack on the couch and flips through the records. He pulls out another one of his mother's old favorites, Aftermath by The Rolling Stones, and takes his vest off as Paint it Black starts playing. He digs out his sewing pouch from his backpack and sits down, threads the needle with orange and continues sewing the back patch. He sits there, humming along, sewing, and only gets up to flip the record around once the last notes of Think fade out. He just keeps sewing until he reaches the bottom right corner again, ties a final knot and cuts off the excess thread with the teeny tiny scissors. 

He holds up the vest in front of him to admire his work, but his arms are too short to hold it far away enough. So he leans off the couch and lays it on the floor in front of it. The stitch size is inconsistent and the orange stands out a bit against the pale brown of the t-shirt and blue of the denim but he's fine with that. It looks very cool either way. He's going to look very bad ass on Monday at school. 

Even if no one but Ronnie will appreciate it. 

🎃 🍂 🧡 🍂 🧡 🍂 🎃

Later, when Eddie is heating up a can of spaghetti-os on the hob and buttering up two slices of not-Wonderbread, he hears a car pull up outside the house. Did Wayne forget something? Surely not, he should be half way through his shift. Then again, maybe it was his dinner break? Eddie turns around ready to go open the door, but instead of a knock, the handle turns and a familiar voice calls out through the crack. 

"Eddie? Son, you here?" It's the voice of Al Munson.

After being god knows where for the last week and a half, his dad is home! Sure, he missed Eddie's 13th birthday and Halloween, but Eddie is now old enough to recognise that late is better than never.

He drops the spoon he was stirring his dinner in the pan with a splash and a clatter and runs to the door, throwing his arms around his father. "Dad! You're home!" he shouts into his father's chest. 

Al chuckles and ruffles his hair. "Hiya kid. Did you miss me or something?" he asks with a laugh in his voice. 

Eddie pulls away to look at his dad. "Yes I did! Where have you been?" 

"Had some business in Bloomington, sorry it took longer than I expected," he answers. "Did I miss anything good?"

Eddie can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Did… dad forget about his birthday? And Halloween? It shouldn't be hard to remember when everywhere has pumpkins and skeletons decorating houses and businesses. But he swallows the disappointment when he smells burning. Oh no! His spaghetti-os! He lets go fully of his father and runs back into the kitchen where the tomato sauce of his meager dinner is bubbling aggressively. Some of it has burned and stuck to the bottom of the pan. Damnit. He should know better by now than to leave the pan unwatched. He's frowning and trying to stir the pot when his father follows him to the kitchen.

"Spaghetti-os? Really, son? Don't you have any real food in the house?" he asks, as if he hadn't been away for a week and a half and only left enough cash for a week's worth of groceries.

"Let me get us some real food," Al says. "I'll take you to Benny's, we should celebrate."

Hope bubbles inside Eddie's chest. Maybe he didn't forget after all?

Then Al notices the vest he's wearing.

"That's a nice jacket, Ed. Where'd you get this?" he asks, picking at a loose thread on Eddie's shoulder.

"Wayne gave it to me for my birthday," he explains excitedly. "He gave me his old jacket and helped me cut off the sleeves and taught me how to sew on the patches. Cool isn't it?" He does a little spin to show his work off.

His father stares at him blankly for a minute before schooling his face into a wide smile and looking Eddie up and down like a fashion critic. "Nice work, son," he says and gestures Eddie to do another spin so he can see it all better.

"Is that Wayne's shirt too?" he asks, pointing at the Garfield 'I'm forty-ish' t-shirt.

"Yeah, I stayed over last night. He made me pancakes, and brought Ronnie and cake from granny ecker over on the day. We were Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion. I wore Mama's coat with the fuzzy neck and Ronnie drew whiskers on my face," Eddie is babbling like a small child, excited to tell his dad everything he missed. He doesn't mention trying to kiss Ronnie though.

He leans over Eddie's shoulder to turn the hob off. "C'mon kid, we're going to Benny's," he says.

"Wayne said the back is from an old t-shirt of Benny's, do you think he'll be excited to see what I did with it?" Eddie asks as he follows his dad to the van outside.

"I bet he would," Al answers absentmindedly as he opens the driver's door for himself. Eddie climbs up to the passenger seat, but first he has to sweep a bunch of random wrappers and trash off the seat into the footwell. There's an open carton of cigarettes on the dashboard, with maybe two packets missing. "You can have a pack," his dad tells him, so Eddie reaches out and takes one. Morlboro. The usually red and white package is more of an orange and off white.

"No Camels, I mean, Cemels this time?" he asks, tearing the packaging open.

"Sorry kid, no. You're gonna have to be a Morlboro man until the foreseeable future," his dad answers with a grin, snatching the cigarette Eddie had just tapped out of the pack.

"I guess Hawkins is Morlboro Country then," he jokes, hoping to incite a laugh from his old man. The mission is successful and Al Munson guffaws in the driver's seat as he pulls away from their little house. He even slaps his knee and ruffles Eddie's hair.

"That's my boy with the funny bone," he says, still chuckling.

Steppenwolf plays loudly on the radio as they drive to Benny's, too loud to talk, but it's fine. It's the right volume to sing, or more like scream along. Eddie and Al Munson were born to be wild, and that's just how it is. Eddie slaps the beat against the dashboard, like half-assed air drums. He's much better at air guitar, but he feels the need to touch things, make sure he hadn't fallen asleep on the couch and this was all just a dream. No, his dad really is home. Everything is always more fun when dad's around.

They pull to Benny's parking lot with a screech, gravel spilling. After he turns the engine off, Al stares into the distance  pensively and seems to make his mind up about something before turning to Eddie conspiratorially. 

"I've got something for you in the back," he whispers, leaning his arm against the back of the seat. He leans over it to pull something out from the back, but once he gets hold of whatever it is, he stops, turns to Eddie and tells him "Close your eyes" with a grin like he's holding the best surprise ever in his hand.

Eddie closes his eyes and covers them with his hands, just to make sure. Something heavy and weirdly shaped is carefully placed in his lap.

"You can open them now, kid," his dad says, pleased with himself. And he has a good reason to be. When Eddie opens his eyes, there is an actual electric guitar laying in his lap. It's a bit dinged up, the strap is frayed up and it's completely missing the high E string and the B string has snapped. But it's still a real live electric guitar!

"Holy shit, dad!" Eddie exclaims. "Where did you get this?"

His dad usually has an answer for everything, but this time.. He's scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Never mind that, son," he says. Eddie knows what that means. 'It fell off the back of a truck.' Allegedly.

Eddie's fine with that. Beggars can't be choosers, and an electric guitar is a step closer to his dreams. It needs some work. The sunburst finish is scuffed and the scratch plate needs a good clean, but along with replacing the strings those are all things he can fix himself, especially if Wayne will give him a hand. And he doesn't mind imperfections anyway. He's full of them, why not have them on his instrument too? 

He gives the guitar an experimental strum, a nice simple E, then an E minor. The guitar is woefully out of tune and the missing strings are evident, but… it works. Well. It's impossible to know for sure without plugging it into an amp, and he doesn't have one of those. But still. This is very exciting. One step closer to rock stardom and being the Jimmy Page of his generation. Maybe even Jimi Hendrix. Any of the Jimmies will do. Even Morrison at a push, even though he didn't really play guitar.

He can't help but start twisting the tuners in search of the right tune for the strings that are there. His father laughs nervously and says: "That can wait til later, son. We better put that away and go eat."

He reaches for the guitar and Eddie reluctantly hands it over. Al puts the guitar back in the back, less carefully than Eddie would like, and adjusts a blanket behind his seat, like he's covering something up, but not the guitar. Maybe he's trying to hide his stash of counterfeit cigarettes from prying eyes, Eddie doesn't know and decides not to think about it too hard.

Once he's done with the blanket, Al slaps his knee and says: "Let's go."

They both climb out of the van and head into Benny's. They always sit at the counter now that Eddie is tall enough to climb onto the bar stools without needing any help. The diner is not that busy, considering it's a Saturday night. Apparently some people, grown ups, don't celebrate Halloween until the weekend, since few of their fellow customers are in costume and grabbing a bite to eat before heading out to party. Eddie ends up sitting next to a guy in a devil costume—red cape, horns, forked tail and all—pitch fork leaning against the counter next to him. He moves it to his other side to give Eddie space.

"Thank you, Satan," he smiles. His father laughs and the man dressed as the devil looks concerned.

"Careful son, you're gonna get a reputation," his father claps him on the back once the pretend Lucifer turns away, back to pick at his chili cheese fries. 

Eddie plays around with the garland of paper pumpkins hanging from the counter's edge while they wait for Benny to come take their usual order. Blue Oyster Cult is playing on the radio, "Oh no, there goes Tokyo, go go Godzilla, yeah". Benny always has the same rock radio station on, says if he has to listen to something all day, it might as well rock. 

The large man Eddie knows as Benny emerges from the kitchen in an apron covered in spiderwebs over a faded skeleton t-shirt with the usual notepad in hand. "Munson and the kid! What can I get ya?" he shouts, apparently happy to see them. "The usual?" he adds.

Dad is nodding when Eddie speaks up and asks: "Can I have a cheeseburger today?" 

Al looks at him questioningly. "Wayne made hot dogs yesterday," Eddie explains and his dad shrugs. 

"So, two cheeseburgers then?" Benny asks, with his pen ready. 

"And some chili cheese fries," Al adds. His business out of town must have gone well then. They don't usually get any sides.

"Benny. Does anything look familiar to you?" Eddie asks and spins around in his chair to show the big man the back of his vest. 

"Ah! So that's what happened to my old Zeppelin t-shirt," he laughs. "Looking good, big guy. Wayne help you make that then?"

"He showed me how, but I sewed it all by myself!" Eddie explains proudly and spins back around. "See?" he points at the motorwhatever patch on his chest. "Still have a few more things to sew on, but it's cool, right?"

"Very. You'll be the coolest kid at Hawkins Middle School come Monday," Benny nods sagely, as if he knows exactly what Eddie was thinking earlier. "I'll go get your burgers going," he adds and disappears back into the kitchen humming along to the Rush song that started playing while they were talking. 

Al puts his hand on Eddie's shoulder and pulls him to lean in closer. "Don't tell him about the guitar, son," he whispers. "Don't tell Wayne either, at least for now. 'S our secret. Got it, kid?"

Eddie can read between the lines. He nods, he knows how this goes. His precious is most definitely stolen. He's fine with that. A lot of things in his house are. Things fall off the back of the truck a lot of time when Al Munson is around, and sometimes Eddie gets to reap the benefits and this is one of the times. His last birthday, Al taught him how to hotwire a car, saying it was a valuable life skill, better than any material goods. So it was an improvement. He was going to need an amp to play properly, but he'd worry about that another time. Who knows, maybe one will fall off the back of the truck around christmas. You never know. 

It doesn't take long for Benny to come back with their food. Two cheese burgers, with pickles and fried onions, balances on one hand and the chili cheese fries on the other. No doubt that choice of side was inspired by the devil beside him, except when Eddie glances over he's gone, only an empty plate left behind. 

Benny puts the burgers down in front of them and the chili fries between them. Al gives Eddie his pickle as always and bites into his burger. Benny's also brought him a beer, as always, but he hands Eddie a  chocolate milkshake instead of a coke. "'s your birthday treat," he winks before walking away to take an order from the customer who just walked in, judging by the ring of the bell.

This might just be the best birthday Eddie Munson has ever had. He mentally crosses his fingers as he bites into his burger again and ketchup drips down his chin. Feels like maybe, finally, everything's coming up Eddie Munson.