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It’s the first day of winter break, which of course means a party at Steve Harrington’s place; and to Eddie’s surprise, he’s there. Just as a guest, not a supplier. To his even greater surprise, he was dragged along to the party by Jeff, who got his own invitation from the King himself.
Steve Harrington is just welcoming everyone these days, apparently. Everyone except the actual crowd he used to hang out with only a year ago. No, there are still a handful of jocks and cheerleaders present, but the ones who have elected Billy Hargrove to be the new leader of their pack are nowhere to be seen (including Tommy Hagan). Good riddance, in Eddie’s opinion.
The downside of Harrington’s new open invite policy is that the house is absolutely packed, and the queues to both downstairs bathrooms are currently a dozen people long. Most of them girls. And normally, Eddie would find is perfectly understandable that a girl needs to take her time to touch-up her makeup and hair and all that jazz; the problem is, he’s had four beers at this point, and his bladder’s about to explode.
He really doesn’t wanna resort to peeing on a bush. It’s fucking freezing outside.
“Fuck it,” he mutters, rushing to the stairs. Technically, the upstairs is supposed to be off limits. But there are bathrooms there, wonderfully empty bathrooms, ready to be used without having to spend twenty minutes queuing.
Eddie pauses at the bottom of the stairs, furtively looks around, to see if the party host is looking, and makes a run for it, taking two stairs at a time. He tiptoes through a corridor, careful in case of creaking floorboards. Unsure which of the doors in front of him could be the bathroom, he tries one randomly; upon finding a light switch, he quickly realizes this is definitely a bedroom. Eddie’s just about to try another room when he spots a door at the wall to his left, cracked open, revealing tiled floor and the edge of a bathtub.
Oh, it’s an en-suite. Of course. Fancy.
Quietly shutting the door behind him, Eddie rushes to the blissfully empty bathroom, feeling like a parched man who’s just seen an oasis in the middle of the desert. Or the opposite of that, actually; drinking more is definitely the last thing on his mind. He unzips his pants and tries not to moan at the overwhelming joy of finally being able to pee. He makes sure to aim properly; any evidence of him being here would have to be cleaned up.
After flushing, washing his hands and quickly fixing his hair in the mirror (it’s been getting longer, and he’s very happy with his proper metalhead look finally coming together), Eddie walks out of the bathroom and pauses; only now, without the pressing matter of his own bladder, does he properly take in the horrid plaid design of the walls.
Eddie looks around. This seems like Steve’s room; and sue him, he’s curious about the King’s royal chambers. So Eddie snoops around for a bit. Not going through drawers or anything like that, thank you very much, he’s not a creep, just looking at what’s on display. Not much to look at, if he’s honest. Some trophies, a baseball glove and ball, a few photos, school books, a small stereo and the lamest collection of tapes Eddie’s ever witnessed. It looks more like a room out of a catalog (albeit one with terrible taste) than a lived-in place.
Eddie’s just about to leave when something sticking from under the bed catches his attention. It looks like a handle of a baseball bat. What’s it doing under the bed? Shouldn’t it be on display along with the other baseball items?
He’s not sure what possessed him to crouch down and reach for the handle of the bat, but when Eddie pulls it out, he freezes, momentarily unable to process what he’s seeing.
This isn’t just a bat. This looks like something straight out of homebrew D&D. A barbarian weapon. There are multiple sharp nails sticking out of it; but that’s not even what shocks Eddie the most.
It’s the stains, dark crimson, etched deep into the wood, mostly in tiny circles around the spots where the nails were haphazardly hammered in. If they were obvious, deliberately visible, all over the wood, Eddie would perhaps chalk this up to being a part of some Halloween costume. But they are subtle, like someone cleaned the rest of… whatever this was, but couldn’t wipe around the nails thoroughly enough.
Straightening up with the bat still in his hands, Eddie feels a shiver run down his spine. This thing, it feels… Dangerous. Terrifying. Malicious. Why does Harrington have this?!
Eddie’s heart jumps in his chest, thoughts running through his head unprompted.
Last year. Will Byers disappeared, was later found. But a body was found in the quarry. Whose body was it?
Same time, Barbara Holland. No, that was a chemical leak from the lab. Or was it? If there was a chemical leak, why weren’t more people hurt?
Then, just this fall. Bob Newby. Some sort of animal attack. Eddie didn’t pay any mind to that upon seeing the obituary back then, he didn’t exactly know the guy, but now that he thinks about it… Eddie’s wandered the woods around Hawkins thousands of times, never heard any wolves or seen bear droppings.
The stains on the nailbat definitely look like blood.
Only a psychopath could live in this fucking plaid room, devoid of any soul, warmth or personality.
Steve Harrington is a serial killer.
Okay, no way, that’s just… insane. Eddie’s definitely spiraling. There has to be another explanation. But what, though? Why would a perfectly normal, sane guy be hiding this thing under his bed? Eddie’s brain can’t come up with a single logical alternative.
And just then, of course, his eternal fucking luck, there are clearly audible footsteps in the corridor. Eddie fumbles with the bat in his hands; it slips his grip and falls to the floor, nearly missing his foot. Nearly. Thank god for the carpet for muffling the noise. Eddie has just enough time to kick the cursed object back under the bed when the door opens, and Steve Harrington himself stands in the doorway.
He pauses, one hand reaching for the light switch out of habit before pulling back, because the lights are already on, obviously. He doesn’t look angry, upon seeing Eddie in his room. Just surprised, eyebrows raised.
But for the first time in his life, seeing the guy, Eddie is terrified.
Steve Harrington has never been scary. He might have been a bit of a jerk, throughout most of high school; but he’s definitely changed after cutting ties with Hagan. He’s quite pleasant these days, actually (if a little broody, but that might have something to do with his recent beating from Hargrove).
But isn’t this how all serial killers are? Or at least a lot of them. Handsome, charming, nonthreatening. Imbuing their victims with a false sense of security. Like those carnivorous plants that attract insects with a sweet scent.
Most importantly, does him finding Harrington attractive make Eddie one of those unhinged serial killer groupies? Like those women who keep writing romantic letters to Ted Bundy?
Steve takes a step into the room, and Eddie flinches, unintentionally. Harrington’s expression slips into a confused frown.
“Munson? What are you doing here?”
Okay, be cool, be cool. Just go with a half-truth.
“Shit, sorry, I know I’m not supposed to, but I really had to pee, man.” Eddie’s proud of himself for his voice remaining almost steady, even as his body is trembling slightly.
If Steve noticed any weirdness in his demeanor, he must have chalked that up to Eddie being nervous about getting caught. Harrington laughs, waving him off.
“It’s fine, I get it, I’m here for the same reason,” he says, already walking towards his bathroom. Doesn’t bother closing the door. Eddie can very clearly hear the sound of his zipper, then a stream hitting the toilet bowl. “The queues are something, huh?”
The whole situation is absurd. Steve Harrington, who has possibly murdered people, is making casual chatting-while-peeing dudebro-style conversation with him.
“Well, you’re the one to blame, you practically invited the whole school,” Eddie shoots back.
He hears laughter in the bathroom.
“You’re not wrong there.”
He should leave. This, right now, is the perfect opportunity to get the hell out of here. But something’s stopping him. Morbid curiosity, if you will.
Eddie wonders what Harrington would say if he brought up the nailbat. Probably kill him with it, a hysterical voice inside his head chimes in. But that wouldn’t make sense. He’s never been caught. And here, with so many witnesses in the house?
But nobody would actually witness it. If anything, the crowd would work in Steve’s favor; nobody would notice just one person suddenly missing, even Jeff would probably assume that Eddie just got bored, couldn’t find him, and headed home. The room could be locked and whatever evidence was there cleaned up later.
The music downstairs is pretty loud. Would anybody hear him screaming?
Would the police suspect Harrington, if his house was the last place Eddie was ever seen alive?
Could Harrington just drag his body to the woods and stage another “animal attack”?
“Hey man, are you okay?”
Eddie jerks his head up to find Steve, just a few steps away now, frowning at him with concern. Eddie’s not sure how long he’s been standing like that, staring blankly into space, thoughts running a mile a minute.
“I’m not judging, just… did you take anything? You look a little pale.” Harrington takes another step closer, and Eddie flinches again. The guy immediately raises his hands up, as if in surrender. “Look. I don’t know what’s up with you, but you’re being weird. More than your usual weird, that is. I’m just worried. I don’t want you to pass out or something, do you wanna sit down?” He gestures vaguely towards the bed.
Like he’s completely unperturbed about someone approaching it, seeing what’s underneath.
For fuck’s sake. Harrington’s not a serial killer. That’s fucking ridiculous. Nobody hides a murder weapon this terribly; at least nobody who manages to get away with the actual murder. There has to be a reasonable explanation here, and Eddie’s dying to know it.
Time to get it over with.
“I’m fine,” Eddie deadpans. “I just have one question.” He heads towards the bed, as offered, but instead of sitting on it just reaches underneath, pulls out the nailbat, leaves it on the carpet and stands, pointing at it with his palm. “What the fuck is that, Steve?”
The guy definitely looks caught. But not in a deer-in-the-headlights, you-just-found-my-darkest-secret kind of way. He looks more frustrated than anything; rolls his eyes, runs his palm across his face, then sighs, placing his hands on his hips and looking up at the ceiling.
“Shit. How do I even begin to— actually, you know what, I don’t owe you an explanation, why the hell were you snooping through my stuff?!”
“I wasn’t— I wasn’t trying to!” Eddie attempts to defend himself. “It was literally, like… sticking from under the bed! If you were trying to conceal a murder weapon you were doing a piss poor job of it, forgive my bluntness.”
To his surprise, Harrington starts laughing. So hard he actually bends in half, then stumbles backwards into a chair by his desk, collapsing on it and still giggling, his whole face scrunched up as he looks up at Eddie.
“Oh my god. You thought—” He tries to speak through the laughter, gasping for air. “Is that why— holy shit, when I came in, you looked like you saw a ghost!”
Eddie feels his shoulders relax, a smile tugging on his own lips; he starts giggling too, partly because Harrington’s laughter is fucking infectious, and partly due to the absurdity of his own conclusions finally hitting him with full force. He really needs to cut back on late night true crime shows; Wayne’s been warning him they could make you paranoid.
“Shit, that was one hell of a roller-coaster, I’m glad I peed beforehand.” Eddie chuckles, collapsing down onto the bed; since Steve offered, anyway. “Just to clarify, you’re not a serial killer who’s been murdering people with this thing?”
“What the fuck.” Steve groans, putting an elbow on his desk and leaning his head against his palm. “No. Obviously not.” He’s still smiling, but something flashes in his eyes. “Did you actually think that?”
“I mean…” Eddie points at the nailbat on the floor. “Sure looks like a serial killer weapon.” He looks back up to Steve. “But yeah, you’re right, that was dumb as hell. I was just… I just didn’t know what to think.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” Steve sighs. “I can’t talk about it. And even if I could… you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me,” Eddie challenges. “Because anything is honestly better than the mental gymnastics I just went through, finding this.”
“Eddie…” Steve slowly shakes his head, looking a bit sad. “I really can’t talk about it.”
Eddie watches him, slowly deciphering the words.
“As in… you’re not allowed to talk?”
Steve nods. Okay then.
“So don’t. I’m doing the talking.”
Steve lifts an eyebrow at him. Eddie thinks for a moment, visualizing mental notes of all the things that feel relevant.
“There’s a secret government lab in town,” he slowly says, bending one finger. “Reports of chemical leaks. People disappearing. Weird animal attacks.” That’s four fingers now.
Steve stares back at him, his face blank. Or so he thinks, probably. Wayne’s been teaching Eddie poker. He’s learned some tells. He saw that tiny wince at the mention of the lab.
“A government lab,” Eddie repeats. “And you can’t talk.” He clicks his tongue. “NDA, then. Gotcha.”
The more Eddie watches Steve’s face, the more he thinks the guy would make a terrible serial killer, actually. It’s all out in the open with him. Every frown and every lip twitch are so fucking obvious.
“So this,” he glances at the bat, “this is… for the animals?”
A wince.
“Not really animals”, Eddie guesses.
Steve looks away.
“Animal-like… creatures.”
“Eddie, please…”
“Some sort of fucked-up secret government experiments?” Eddie’s eyes widen, jaw dropping. “Seriously?!”
“I told you I’m not supposed to say anything!” Steve shouts, clearly frustrated; he tightens his lips and runs his fingers through his hair, leaving it all ruffled.
“And you didn’t. Technically, you said nothing, I just pieced some things together. You’re fine, Steve.”
Harrington rubs his face with his hands, letting out a deep sigh.
“Are you fine, though?” Eddie asks, still struggling to digest the new information. “Like… what the fuck, you’ve clearly been dealing with some weird and frankly dangerous shit.”
Steve’s silent for a long moment. Then, he glances at Eddie, looking pained, and gives him a tiny shake with his head.
“Not really fine, no.”
“Shit.” Eddie fiddles with his rings. His gaze is pulled, once again, by the nailbat on the floor. “You’re not hiding this. You’re sleeping with it under your bed… just in case. Right?”
Steve looks at him for a few seconds, as if deciding if that’s a question he’s allowed to answer; and then, nods.
“Oh my god. Steve— Look. You don’t have to tell me names, just— is there, like anyone you can talk to about this shit? Anyone who helps? Please tell me you’re not alone in this.”
“I’m not. And yeah… a few people know.”
Eddie exhales with relief. But then, another thought strikes him.
“Any of them actual grown adults who know what they’re doing?”
Steve’s eyes dart up to him and quickly back down to his lap. Eddie’s not sure how to interpret this, but since Harrington’s not answering, it’s not great.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie groans.
After a moment of silence, Steve rises from the chair, making his way across the room to sit next to Eddie on the bed. He draws his legs in and hugs his knees, practically curling up in a ball.
Eddie’s mind is reeling. What the fuck is wrong with this country? The government involving a bunch of teenagers in some creepy shit?! Actually, that’s the least surprising part, as far as Eddie’s concerned. Of course they did. Fuck the government, obviously.
“Okay, last question, I swear, but as a citizen of this fine town of literal nightmares, I figure I’m entitled to know. Is it over?”
Steve chews on his lip, shrugs.
“Officially, yeah. Hopefully.”
“The nailbat under your bed says otherwise.”
“It’s… just in case.”
“Huh. Guess I’ll tell uncle Wayne to clean his shotgun. Just in case.”
Steve turns to him. Doesn’t nod, doesn’t say anything, but the worried look in his eyes is all the confirmation Eddie needs.
Eddie looks at him, and his heart aches. Steve looks so young; not that their one-year age difference plays a role here, just too young to be dealing with all this. And how old was he in 1983? Because that’s obviously when all the weird shit started happening. 16?
“I know I promised no more questions,” Eddie says on a whim, “but do you want a hug?”
Steve looks surprised for a second; then, a small smile shows up on his face. He ducks his head and shrugs.
“Uhm. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
Eddie throws an arm across his shoulders. Harrington instantly leans into the touch, gradually relaxes against his side as Eddie rubs a palm over his shoulder.
It feels nice. It’s not even an attraction thing, in the moment, just comfort.
“Eddie, please promise me you won’t be digging more into this. Trust me, it’s better, not knowing. I wish I didn’t.”
“I believe you,” Eddie says, briefly glancing at the nailbat again. He chews on his lip, thinking. “Can you warn me, though, if something… happens again?” Steve frowns and starts shaking his head, but Eddie quickly adds, “I know how NDAs work. You’re not allowed to talk about things that happened. Doesn’t stop you from warning people about something that might happen.”
Harrington seems to think about it for some time, but then, he nods.
“You’re right. Yeah, of course, if I think you might be in danger, I’ll warn you. Obviously.”
After a moment’s pause, Steve looks at him again.
“And... You too. If you see anything, or if something happens that you can’t explain, come to me. Okay?”
***
Over the next year and a half, they don’t talk about it. Eddie finds himself in a casual friendship with Steve, occasionally smoking up together, watching movies. Harrington really is good company these days; and even if Eddie’s crush on him never fully goes away, he’s enjoying the easy camaraderie, the guy’s dry sense of humor, his endearing personality. (Eddie cannot believe he seriously thought for a good half an hour that Steve Harrington might be a killer. They still laugh about it sometimes.)
Nothing strange happens, as far as Eddie’s concerned. In July of 1985, the mall burns down, but nothing seems weird about it; probably sabotage from local shopkeepers who weren’t exactly happy with getting run out of business. Eddie would even cheer if several people didn’t tragically perish in the fire (yes, even Billy Hargrove, Eddie’s not exactly mourning him but nobody deserves to die like that). A few weeks later, Harrington shows up at Eddie's trailer with fading bruises, says he got into another fight with Hargrove right before all that happened. Eddie eyes him suspiciously, but lets it go; he vowed to himself to quit with the paranoia.
And then, on March 21st 1986, Eddie finds himself in the middle of his trailer, frozen on the spot as he witnesses Chrissy Cunningham inexplicably rise up to the ceiling, as if pulled on by an invisible force. As her bones start to snap and her eyes bleed, he screams in terror and runs.
But he’s not running blindly, he knows exactly where to go. He runs directly to Steve Harrington’s house.
He doesn’t even recollect his journey there; in a haze of sheer panic in his head, Steve was like a shining beacon, the one person who must know what to do. The next thing Eddie’s aware of is sobbing hysterically into a soft yellow sweatshirt as two strong arms hold his trembling body close, and a voice that speaks softly in his ear, grounding him.
“It’s gonna be okay, Eddie, I promise. Whatever happened, we’ll deal with it.”