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Why on earth it had to be him, Steve just couldn't understand.
Why was it him who had to be responsible for delivering food and drink to Eddie "The Freak" Munson like he was some sort of treasured family pet? He'd never liked the guy through high school. Total weirdo, and had the reputation to match.
Now, in the grand scheme of things, he knew that if he didn't do it, then Dustin probably would, and he didn't want the kid to possibly be caught harbouring a suspected murderer.
Steve did feel for him. Even if Eddie was a freak. The whole 'interdimensional, murderous monsters' thing was difficult to deal with on a good day. He couldn't imagine how it must be to deal with all that for the first time, and be wanted for the murders commited by said monsters.
He knew what those basketball assholes were like. They would beat Eddie to within an inch of his life if they found him. And Steve absolutely couldn't allow that to happen, if only because Dustin worshipped the ground he stood on. Definitely only that.
He approached the abandoned boathouse. They'd developed a special knock, so that Eddie would know it was them. Steve was certain that if anyone else became suspcious that this is where Eddie was hiding, they probably wouldn't bother with knocking, but anything to calm the guy's nerves.
Steve approached the door, a plastic bag full of supplies slung over one shoulder, and knocked. Rap, rap rap rap. Eddie had chosen the knock - apparently it was the riff to some metal song he liked.
Nothing. Not even any shuffling from within.
Steve peered through the cracked glass of the door. He could see nothing. There were signs of life - empty beer cans and crisp packets, a band hoodie discorded on the floor - but no Eddie.
Steve didn't want to risk yelling his name, so he knocked again. "Eddie?" he hissed.
Silence.
He sighed, hoping Eddie hadn't OD'ed or something. Maybe he was just really deeply asleep. God knew the guy needed it. Steve tried the door handle - and it gave way. He mentally reminded himself to reprimand Eddie for leaving the door unlocked.
Steve gently shut the door behind him, kicking aside a few cans and wrappers before checking under the tarp, assuming Eddie to be sleeping - but it was empty. Steve placed his hand inside, and it was stone cold. Eddie hadn't been here for a while.
"Where the hell…?" Steve muttered, glancing around. The place was small, and there were only so many places that a 5"10, admittedly rather intimidating metalhead could hide.
Steve began to pace, growing concerned. Eddie wouldn't leave, would he? He knew better than that. He had his radio if he needed anything - but then where was he…?
Steve paced outside the bathroom, a tiny, dingy little room, and from within he heard something strange, something that gave him paused. A high pitched sound, feeble and quiet, a pathetic, trembling whimper. Every few seconds the sound paused, before resuming once more.
He opened the door, slowly.
To say that the room was small was perhaps an understatement. There was a toilet and a sink, and room for little else. And so there was Eddie Munson, curled in on himself at the corner, shoved up against the wall, and still barely having room to manuever. His brown curls cascaded around his face, blocking his features from view, but Steve could see the way he shook. And that high-pitched sound? That was coming from Eddie.
His body vibrated as he whimpered, before pausing as he took shaky, unsteady breaths. He was obviously crying, but he made so little sound that it seemed uncanny. One of his hands was pressed against the cold, dirty floor, and Steve could see the way it trembled.
Eddie also hadn't noticed him coming in yet. Lost in his own little world. Unsure of how to proceed without frightening him, Steve got on his knees so he was nearer Eddie's level, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Eddie flinched, turning his head slightly to look at Steve. His brown curls fell out of his face to reveal puffy, reddened brown eyes, with tear tracks leading to lips bitten bloody.
(Steve couldn't swallow down the passing thought that he looked incredibly pretty up close.)
"Jesus, man." Steve blinked. Eddie had clearly been in this state for some time. Sad, brown eyes stared at him in confusion.
"H-Harrington m-an, what are you doing here?" he croaked, voice raw and trembly from crying. The soft whimpering had stopped, but Eddie's breathing was still trembling, gasping, like his lungs couldn't get enough air.
"Uh, bringing you food." Eddie knew this. Knew he was coming. He must have been incredibly out of it. Eddie blew out a shuddering breath, followed by a sharp inhale - again and again. He was close to hyperventilating.
Steve was shit at comforting people. Or helping them. A kid crying to him that an interdimensional monster ate his cat? That was fine. Steve could do that. There was a problem, and an obvious solution. But in a situation like this? What was he supposed to do?
He did understand. Eddie was exhausted. From the absolutely horrifying death of Chrissy that he had to witness with his own eyes, to now having to hide out, being accused of possibly the worst crime a human could commit - yeah, that was exhausting. Mentally. Emotionally. Eddie's body was giving up. Only so long somebody could bottle up feelings like that. He'd know.
Steve sat down, his knees aching from the position he was in. He patted Eddie's shoulder, awkwardly.
And eventually, Steve gave into the urge that had been nagging him for a while now, and pulled Eddie into his lap. Just for Eddie's comfort in such a vulnerable situation, of course. Eddie made a shocked sound as his head flopped against Steve's clavicle. With the close contact, Steve could tell just how badly he was shaking.
With a trembling, quiet voice, Eddie murmured, "…this is pretty gay, dude."
Steve snorted, because of course that's what Eddie took from this situation. "Got a problem with that, Munson?"
A slight head shake.
Eddie had calmed slightly from the close human contact, but he was still trembling - breaths coming far faster than what was normal, tiny, quiet whimpers escaping him every so often. From how close they were, Steve could see fresh tears slowly trailing down his cheeks before a pink tongue darted out to lap them up.
He decided to fill the silence with words. That would help, right?
"You're a really quiet crier, man. I was there for like, ten minutes looking for you. Thought you escaped."
Of course he had to make it weird, because Eddie sort of froze, fingers tensing. Then, he relaxed again.
"Yeah, well…" His voice was quiet and cracked and wobbly, on the verge of breaking entirely. "After a while you learn to keep it down. Men don't cry, right? Showing weakness and all that shit. A-And sometimes keeping it down was the difference between me getting my shit kicked in, o-or not."
Eddie didn't elaborate. And, surprisingly, Steve was not one of the people who gave Eddie shit in high school - not outside of the odd 'freak' comment. He honestly just found the dude weird and kind of intimidating, so he kept his distance. But he knew what the others did. He'd seen. He'd always noticed when Munson showed to class late with a black eye, or a bruise, and the teacher knew not to question it. He had pretended not to - but he always did.
Steve sorely regretted that now, knowing how much Dustin worshipped this guy. And honestly, maybe he had a point. Eddie looked intimidating and dangerous on the outside, with his leather attire and metalhead vibe, but on the inside was a soft and sensitive soul. Max had recently told a story of how she'd woken one night to yowling - peering out of the window of her trailer, she spotted a cat, dumped out of a car window as said car sped away into the night. The animal was obviously badly hurt, one back leg bent out of shape and crying pitifully.
The door to the Munson trailer had opened, and out stepped Eddie. Max had expected him to end the cat's life, since those were the rumours that went around Eddie's type - but he leaned down, scooped up the bundle of fur in his arms as if it were his own child, and walked back into the trailer. The cat had even swiped at his face - hard, judging by the way Eddie's head snapped back - but he didn't even falter.
That soft, sweet Eddie, the one who rescued hurt little animals, that was the Eddie that Steve saw in his lap. His breathing had calmed more, and the sobs which Steve painfully knew Eddie was keeping quiet out of pure instinctual habit had lessened.
Steve sighed. What a night.
Sometimes he truly wished that he could show the last three or four years to his pre-1983 self. He wondered if the old, douchebag, popular jock Harrington would be more mortified at the whole interdimensional monsters thing, or the fact that he was cuddling another guy, comforting him through what seemed to be the end of a panic attack.
Idly, his hands moved into Eddie's hair. The curly locks were so soft, almost like a girl's hair, and Eddie made a pleased sound as he almost subconsciously began smoothing his hair back.
Steve sat there for a while, thoughts swirling through his head. It was nice. He hadn't really had a chance to sort through his thoughts and emotions for a while.
When he looked back down, Eddie's eyes were shut. His lips were slightly parted, and heavy breaths sounded from within. He looked so much more peaceful like this, as if he were finally freed from everything that had happened the past day or two.
Steve shifted, carefully lifting Eddie, which ended up having to be bridal style to do so without waking him. Thankfully, Eddie was certainly on the lighter side, so it was no mammoth task.
He also seemed to be deeply asleep. He probably needed it.
Steve laid him down on the cheap fold-up bed they'd gotten him, since this place lacked one. Eddie usually preferred to sleep beneath the tarp, though. Said he felt safer that way.
He spared one more look at his sleeping form. Peaceful.