Chapter Text
Eddie is six the first time he watches his dad steal a car.
He is tired that night, rubbing his fists into his eyes as he sits on the curb. He is six, and sad, and his Mom has been dead for two weeks. He knows it's been that long because his Dad told him this morning, bleary-eyed and empty. He sat on the very edge of Eddie's rumpled bed and said, "It's been two weeks. Stop fucking crying ."
Eddie thinks his dad must be wrong because it feels like it's been a lot longer than that.
Now they've walked to the nearest gas station so Eddie's Dad can buy another six-pack of beer. Sitting on the filthy, terribly lit curb and counting out change. He watches the road, bored, as a new car pulls in. Shiny and new and a pretty sparkling red. His dad's eyes follow it into the lot. Trace the shape of it hungrily as a nicely dressed man gets out of the driver's seat and heads to the bathroom. Not even sparing a glance at Eddie and his Dad in the shadows of the lot on his way in. Eddie sees his Dad's hands twitch. Once, twice. He takes a breath. In through his nose and out through his mouth.
There's no one else in the parking lot.
He turns to Eddie then, a not-quite-there look in his eyes, and Eddie is afraid of something, though he doesn't know what it is. He's usually afraid though, so it's nothing new. He’s always been an easily spooked kid who jumps at sudden noises and has to check under his bed twice before he can fall asleep. Mostly though, he always finds his Mom. Because she'll hold him tight until the crumpled pile of clothing in his room stops looking like a monster and he's not so scared anymore. All at once he wants her there so bad he can barely breathe , and he thinks, distantly, that maybe his Dad feels the same way. That maybe all the empty spaces in his blue eyes are the places where she used to be.
His dad checks the lot real careful. Noting the way the cashier is practically asleep at the register. The way there aren't any other cars on the road. He gathers up his change quickly and grabs Eddie by the wrist. Shushing him urgently and dragging his little feet across the parking lot to the shiny red car.
He tries the doors. They aren't locked.
He glances around again, distant and shifty, and then he picks Eddie up under the armpits and hauls him into the passenger seat. His Dad ducks his head down under the dash of the car and pulls out a screwdriver from his dirty overalls, wedging it in until the plastic and leather plating pops off and he can fiddle with the wires in the terminal. Eddie has been with his Dad to the mechanic shop where he works plenty of times, but he's never seen him do that .
The car starts with a low mechanical rumble, nice and smooth. And Eddie's dad doesn't waste a second slamming the door shut and riding it fast and quiet onto the road. The whole thing takes maybe five or ten minutes, and Eddie is tired and confused in the passenger seat for all of it.
He wants to ask what's going on. Whose car this is and why they took it. But his Dad is muttering a little dazedly under his breath for the short drive to the mechanic shop, and Eddie doesn't think he'll be very happy if he tries to talk.
It starts with that car, in that gas station lot. Driven out and parked haphazardly in the back of the mechanic garage where it stays completely covered with a tarp. His dad and his partner sell it in parts over the next month, and when he finally gets up the courage to ask his dad why they took it, he has a kind of feral light in his eyes. "Eddie," he says, grinning, "We need it a lot more than that son of a bitch ever will."
His Dad takes him out for ice cream to celebrate when the last part gets sold, and Eddie thinks that this time he was right to be afraid.
Eddie Munson isn't really sure what to make of the new freshmen additions to Hellfire.
In most ways they're exactly what he expected they would be when he first saw them slinking their way into the high school cafeteria last August. Excitable and trepidatious in a way that only freshmen can manage. Bright-eyed and fast-talking, and so fucking nerdy it makes Eddie want to laugh and sigh in equal measure.
All this, he sees on that first day in August. Watching them laugh amongst themselves as they surreptitiously make their way to an empty table on the outskirts of the room. They're huddled together like little freshmen sheep. Quietly and passionately arguing as they settle into the table directly across from Eddie.
He weighs his options for about two seconds, debating between moving to a different table himself, an inconvenience, and telling them to scram, something he might feel a little bad about later. He's still making up his mind when the curly-haired one, (is that a fucking Weird Al t-shirt ? Jesus .) loudly tells the gangly kid sitting next to him that he must have rolled a 2 in charisma, and Eddie's intentions switch rapidly from tell the annoying freshmen to go away, to recruit the nerdy freshmen at all costs.
Because now that he looks it's clear to see that these kids are nerds with like, a capital N.
Acne-ridden and awkward, the Weird Al kid has a radio strapped to his backpack. His gangly friend has a homemade pin stuck to the side of his shirt pocket, unremarkable in every way except that it's a pretty good free-handed DnD logo. Eddie is suddenly seeing some very bright excited hellfire members in the immediate future.
They're perfect.
He approaches them with all the suave confidence he's learned how to fake in high school. Banging his hands on the table just to watch them jump before graciously pointing the way to the Hellfire members gathering en masse across the cafeteria. All of them older and definitely cooler. Lounging at their table and wearing their club shirts in solidarity.
The kids look at each other, have a whole entire conversation with just eye movements, facial expressions, and wavy hand motions, before turning to him and shrugging as a unit. Their overly casual stances doing nothing to hide the building excitement in their eyes.
So the short of it is that they come, and all at once it's like Eddie can't shake them. They sit with the boys at lunch, regaling the table with their many, many, DnD adventures. They follow Eddie through the halls and call their parents to clear their schedules for Hellfire every Friday afternoon.
In a way, it's like they've always been meant to be there. They fit in perfectly. Folding themselves into Eddie's outcast group with surprising ease. It makes his heart glow with something a younger, softer Eddie might have called pride if he were ever inclined to examine any of the kinder emotions gathering behind his ribcage.
They are odd though, this little group of 9th graders Eddie has herded into his life. Strange in those infinitesimal ways that tell him they may not even realize their strangeness themselves. Strange in their bizarrely insistent knowledge of specific obscure DnD characters. Strange in their silent conversations. Strange in their stiff tiredness, their nervousness in crowds, and their blind fear of flickering lights.
Strange in the way that nerdy Dustin Henderson knows band-geek Robin Buckley.
Strange in the way that two of the other freshmen boys, -that Troy kid and his buddy are stupid littlebullies , Eddie can tell - stare at skinny little Mike Wheeler with deep hatred and something alarmingly like abject terror.
Strange how Lucas Sinclair tries out for the basketball team but winces, primal and afraid, when anyone mentions Hargrove, the former captain.
Which, actually, fair. Eddie experiences a certain kind of immunity as a dealer, but he has eyes, and Hargrove was bad news.
So they're weird, and Eddie doesn't quite know what to think about them, but he does like them.
He likes Dustin's sass, his completely unfiltered sharpened wit. He likes Mike's prickly little personality and Lucas's obsessive insistence on fairness. There is a depth to these freshmen. An invisible tether of strength in their friendship that Eddie can't quite manage to understand, even as they trail him through the halls at all hours of the day.
If he ever had to guess, and he really tries not to out of respect for their privacy or whatever, he'd say it has to do with little Will Byers. Too skinny by half, lost in the woods, and shipped off to California at the end of last summer. The kids, Mike especially, talk about him all the time. Weave him into every conversation like they can bring him back to Hawkins if they just wish hard enough. Sometimes it's to regale Gareth with some batshit campaign the kid planned, or to tell the stories of his miraculous saves. Sometimes though, it's in softer voices. Sometimes it's Lucas leaning into Mike's space and whispering like Eddie can't hear them.
He's had another nightmare, Mike. Said his porch lights are flickering on and off again. I really think you should call him.
So maybe it's Will Byers and maybe it's not. Eddie tries not to think too hard about it. Tries to keep tough and calm and never acknowledges just exactly how fond he's becoming of the little shrimps as he guides them through the harrowing high school halls.
They have their ups and downs too, these freshmen, just like everyone else.
Sometimes Dustin's snooty know-it-all attitude slips into waspish territory with little preamble.
Sometimes Mike comes in with his shoulders by his ears. Hackles raised and aggression painted messily into the furrow of his brow, ready to snap at any overtures of friendliness.
Sometimes Lucas abandons them entirely to sit with Eddie's new red-headed neighbor at the edge of the lunch room, making stilted conversation until he's eventually sent wandering back with his metaphorical tail between his legs.
There are serious fights, petty disputes, and basically every other kind of prepubescent interaction you can imagine between a group of hormonal teenagers. Sometimes Eddie watches them bitch at each other with these stupid little superior expressions on their stupid little faces and just wants to tear his hair out.
And that's the other thing!
Sometimes the freshmen make these specific kinds of faces, or say something a very certain way, and Eddie is positive he's seen it somewhere else. Dustin, especially, gets this stupid offended bitchy expression on his face that Eddie knows in his bones he's seen before. It makes him want to strangle the kid. Which in itself, is not all that much of an anomaly. Dustin, as much as Eddie likes him, is an annoying, arrogant twerp. It's the sheer vastness of the feeling that blindsides him. His conviction in the annoyance.
It plagues his thoughts for weeks. Only briefly sated when he sees the kid standing next to Buckley from band, both of them making that same expression as they judgingly listen to whatever point Mike is making with his gesturing hands. Even then, Eddie's relief is only briefly lived because something is still wrong. He's sure, so fucking sure, that he's seen those exact mannerisms, the head tilt, those downturned lips, somewhere else, first.
And maybe it's weird that he spends so much time thinking about it, but mostly it's just really annoying.
The day it begins to fall into place starts like any other. Eddie is existing, blissfully unaware, at the head of the lunch table. Spending his precious forty-five-minute reprieve daydreaming about what it will feel like to escape these halls forever. Something about golden sunsets and calls with Wayne from pay phones in Chicago.
Dustin breaks the mood. Stomping his way up to the table with all the grace of a blind baby elephant. Gesturing wildly as he lays into Mike. It's an entire fucking production, Eddie can already tell. The kid's got his shoulders squared back and that stupid expression on his face as he says, just a little primly.
"Well, Steve says we need to run at least a few laps. So I don't care if you already had Saturday morning plans, you need to be there. Party business.
"Yeah," Says Mike, rolling his eyes so far into the stratosphere Eddie is surprised they're still attached to his head, "Because the brain-dead jock isn't biased at all about exercise. The one thing he can actually do."
"Mike!" Lucas hisses indignantly from where he's forcefully setting down his lunch tray. "We all agreed not to make jokes like that about him anymore! Especially where Robin might hear! She'll kick your ass. Besides, Steve is totally right about this. We never know when we're gonna have another Code Red. Personally, I'd rather be prepared. Or have you forgotten how useless we were at the mall?"
Lucas's last remark hits just south of funny and a little too close to serious. Mike for his part, is definitely not amused if his darkening expression is anything to go by.
"Of course you would take Steve's side." He says angry and snippy. "You already spend every spare second shooting baskets with him like a loser.'
" Awe Micheal , are you jealous of my Steve time?"
"No!" Says Mike, convincingly, his face absolutely crimson. "That's stupid."
"Yeah," Chimes in Dustin, his expression bored, "You're really selling how not-jealous you are right now Mike."
Mike splutters like an angry kitten, his face still tomato red.
"Whatever." He absolutely spits. "At least I don't have to hang out with fucking Steve Harrington to feel cool."
The world screeches to a halt. Reality realigns itself. Something explodes behind Eddie's eyes and collapses like a dying star. He's not really sure what it is.
" What ."
All three of the little idiots turn to him in unison, and suddenly everything is falling into place in slow motion. Like a trainwreck that Eddie can't quite wrench his eyes away from.
"Steve Harrington." Says Dustin, like it's totally normal. Like his words aren't psychological warfare .
"We hang out with him an' Robin sometimes. He's like, super badass. Sometimes he drives us around and lets us do movie nights at his house."
"He's Dustin's best friend." Says Mike in a snide tone, setting his tray on the table just a little too hard.
Dustin whips his head around and executes the most condescending stance Eddie's ever seen. One hand on his hip and the other extending his pointer finger threateningly at Mike.
"I know you think that that's an insult, but it's really not. And considering the fact that you all abandoned me in July, and me n' Steve had to be bailed out by Robin and fucking Erica, I don't think you get to make any judgments about who I call my best friend."
"Oh please. You can't keep quoting 'Scoops Troop for life'. You've been obsessed with Steve since last Halloween."
The argument continues, gaining traction as Dustin really starts winding up, but Eddie doesn't hear a single word of it. His mind is still stuck like static over Steve Harrington . His thoughts go round and round like his mind is in a blender, a dawning sort of horror blooming in his chest.
The worst part he thinks despairingly, desperately, is that he finally knows where he's seen that fucking expression before.
Once it starts it's like the floodgates of Hell have opened. Not a single conversation goes by without one of the twerps mentioning that wretched name. Even Mike, the self-proclaimed cynic, who doesn't like anyone, who bitches about everything, gets this secretly admiring smile on his face whenever one of the other boys mentions Harrington. Lucas, for his part, is obvious about his admiration. Always going on about how cool it is that Harrington practices basketball with him, and how nice it is of Harrington to drive him to the arcade.
Dustin though, Dustin is the worst.
Dustin Henderson doesn't just admire Harrington, doesn't just think he's cool or nice. Dustin like, loves Harrington. Like, talks about him all the damn time. It's always,
'Steve is such a badass, Eddie. You wouldn't believe.'
'Steve is a really good dude now Eddie.'
'Steve drove me to the music store yesterday so I could get this Dio album for you Eddie."
'Steve said 'A New Hope' is the best Star Wars movie, and honestly I think he's right.'
'Steve's favorite color is yellow, don't tell him I told you.'
'Steve cried during movie night last night, he says it's important to feel your emotions and shit so that they don't bottle up.'
Eddie could fill a fucking ocean with Dustin Henderson's opinions on Steve Harrington.
It's maddening .
Because there's no way, no fucking way, that Harrington has really changed that much from high school. He was a grade-A-capital-D-Douchbag. People don't just get over that. Especially not to play role-model for the lamest group of teenagers Eddie has ever met.
It just doesn't make any sense.
And the worst part, the worst part, is that it leaves Eddie feeling so insanely jealous he's practically choking on it. He hangs out with these kids every day. Sits at their lunch table and leads them to amazing victories in glorious imaginary battles. He's given his heart and soul to Hellfire. His every Friday afternoon. And still, still, he is outdone by a preppy egomaniacal jock whose biggest life accomplishment is the quality eye candy he provided in gym class. Someone who has had everything handed to him on a silver platter and does absolutely nothing with it. Big house, successful parents, the grades it took to graduate. All those gifts waisted to work minimum wage at a mediocre small-town video store.
He thinks just a little about gas station parking lots with shiny red cars. About ice cream dripping down his fingers and his Dad leaning in real close. He remembers him grinning, wide and feral and crazed saying 'We need it a lot more than that son of a bitch ever will.' and thinks savagely that maybe his stupid deadbeat Dad can be right about this one thing.
He brings the 'Steve Harrington' situation up with the kids exactly once.
It, does not go well. Though maybe that's more because the conversation comes before he really has a chance to plan it all out.
It's a Tuesday when it happens. He's sitting anxiously at lunch, eating his hot pockets and silently dreading the math quiz coming next period. Trying really extra hard to keep the slipping shards of his sanity in his grasping fingers, when Dustin says Harrington's name just one too many times and he snaps .
"What the fuck," he says vehemently and suddenly, slapping his palms on the tabletop, "Is up with you and Steve Harrington?"
"What do you mean?" Dustin asks, his head tilted to the side like a little kid.
"You're always fucking talking about him!"
"Yeah," says Dustin, his face carefully blank, but still a little bitchy, "Because he's my friend. Do you know about those? About friends?."
And the thing is, Eddie can tell that he's said something wrong here, somewhere, but he's too busy wrestling down his bitterness to properly understand what it is.
"But Harrington's a judgmental Douchbag!"
"That's funny," replies Dustin snippily, "Cause it looks a lot like only one of you is talking shit, and it's not Steve."
Eddie feels his face go beat red at the call-out.
"This is completely different. I'm protecting your honor! You don't know what he's like, to people like us. You don't understand ."
"No," says Dustin, suddenly absolutely furious, all the freshmen rallied behind him like Harrington's own personal army. "You don't understand. Steve may have been a shitty person in high school, but he'd be the first to admit it. He's changed. And he's been there for me when I had no one else. He'd give his life for me. He already has. And I know a lot of people who can say the same."
Dustin's' glare is absolutely glacial as he jumps up and grabs Mike and Lucas by the collars. Turning them bodily around and shoving them away from the table.
"Come find us when you decide to be less of an asshole." He says over his shoulder. "Or don't come at all."
Well, shit.
"Dude," Jeff manages in a strangled sort of tone, "How did you manage to fuck that up so badly?"
Eddie's not really sure, exactly. All he knows is that Dustin and the kids sit at a different table the next day. The same table, he notes with some trepidation, that band Buckley is planted at. This is notable in two facts. First, Buckley is another purveyor of the 'Steve-isms', so she must be involved with Harrington in some way, and second, she's shooting never-before-seen levels of venom at Eddie with her stone-cold glare from across the cafeteria all throughout lunch.
He's still recovering from the damage of Buckley's million-yard stare when she finds him in the hallway the next morning.
Eddie, in a clear example of the unfair rules of the cosmos, is already been having a particularly miserable day.
With a hitherto unseen amount of wounded stubbornness, all of the younger Hellfire members are still not speaking to him. No following him in the halls, no enthusiastic morning greeting. Just cold eyes and even more frigid shoulders. It might be impressive it didn't hurt so much.
This, he assumes grimly, is to blame for Buckley's furious single-minded march and metaphorically ruffled feathers.
He winces internally as she shoulders her way through the last few feet separating them and comes to a screeching halt in front of his locker. He gives her a good look and his mood sours further as he takes her in, shoulders held high and fists clenched like she's ready to go into battle. Eddie feels his hope that this will all blow over strangle itself and die in his chest.
"Well," he says, bowing his head mockingly because he's stupid and de-escalation isn't really a word he understands on more than a very loose conceptual level, "To what do I owe the pleasure band-Buckley?"
She narrows her eyes and sneers an echo of that Steve Harrington meanness.
"You hurt Dustin's feelings."
Eddie can't quite hold back the instinctual wince that comes out of him. Because, well, he thought that might be the case, but he's really been hoping the kids were just blowing off steam. He's seriously considering booking it back down the hallway, but Buckley zeroes in on his weakness quick as a whip, nodding her head to herself like she's confirming some important internal hypothesis. Her icy expression warms itself to just a few more degrees south of freezing.
"Look, I don't think you meant to, Munson. As hard as it is to say, those kids care about you, and I tend to trust their opinions. I just- you need to know that Steve is really important to them, and you don't have to like him, you don't. But you sure as shit shouldn't throw them into the middle of whatever one-sided feud you have going on. They don't deserve that. I need to know that you know that."
Eddie sighs, deflating even as his fingers tighten on the straps of the backpack slung over his shoulder, looking forlornly at Buckley's earnest expression.
"Yeah, I- I know. I'll let it go. Won't bring up Harrington around the kids. I promise. Pinky swear even."
Her posture relaxes another margin; Eddie sucks in a breath, can't hold it in anymore.
"I just, I don't get it, Buckley. I thought you hated him."
Buckley shrugs a shoulder, the perfect picture of nonchalant.
"I did. He was an asshole. He's not anymore."
"Right," Eddie drawls, feeling something like feral frustration vibrate up his spine and echo in his chest cavity, "King Steve, paragon of virtue and friend to the freaks. I can totally see it."
Buckley sighs, folding her arms over her chest in an act of seeming disappointment. Eddie bats away an internal spike of shame like an especially irritating mosquito. Buckley's a menace.
"I get why you don't believe me. I do. I wouldn't have listened to me either, before last summer, and it's certainly not my place to prove it to you. Just, make it right with the kiddos. Leave it alone if you can't change your mind."
It's her tone that's gotten him the most. Her calm and rational defense of Harrington has none of Henderson's frantic energy, but all of that same single-minded conviction.
And, well, this is Buckley.
Buckley, who always salutes Eddie during his infamous tabletop speeches and has suspicious contraband things scribbled on the inward side of her sneakers. The same shade of freak as Eddie.
Band-Buckley, who laughed so hard when Carol tripped over her high-heels and face-planted by the front desk that she snorted milk out of her nose.
Robin Buckley, who is fun and anxiously weird and safe, if the carabiners attached surreptitiously to her belt loops are to be believed. Who Eddie really likes when they talk, mostly because she's a little bit clever and a lot bit vindictive if she thinks someone deserves it.
What happened? He wants to demand, is almost shaking with it. What do you know that I don't?
Just like that she spins on her heel and walks away.
Eddie stands in the hallway for an awfully long time.
He apologizes to Dustin and the others the next day. Curbs in his anger and frustration and tells the kid he didn't mean to offend him, that just because Eddie doesn't like Harrington all that much doesn't mean Dustin and the others can't hang out with him. It grates him to say, goes out painful and warped up the back of his throat, but he does it all the same.
The freshmen sit back at the Hellfire table at lunch and Eddie spends the entire period wondering when the hell he started compromising the Munson doctrine for a bunch of acne-ridden teens.
He mostly just wishes he could find it in himself to regret it.
Dustin, in a rare show of social intelligence, stops bringing up Harrington in every single conversation while Eddie is in earshot. Opting instead to whisper his hero worship in Lucas and Mike's ears at every even remotely subtle opportunity.
It's, better than it was before. A little more manageable to keep his temper under wraps when he doesn't actually have to suffer through a new asinine reason to worship Steve Harrington every day.
But still, something about it burns.
Eddie, contrary to every aspect of himself he loudly projects to his peers, is very good at observing. He doesn't have to hear Dustin's endless stream of praise to know that Harrington's continual influence is present. He can read it in every bitchy expression, in every whispered conversation the freshmen stop having when he comes near.
It's intertwined in their strange friendship with Buckley, woven into sturdy backpacks and too-large jackets with well-worn collars. It's pre-packed lunches with mysterious origins and little sticky note reminders of homework assignments that find their way into campaign notes.
And well.
The thing about it is that Eddie never really expectedthis. Never once thought that Harrington would be so present. Can't quite wrap his head around the idea that the washed-up king of high school is actively and aggressively involved in the lives of these tiny nerdy little freshmen. It boggles the mind, like looking through a cheap telescope and seeing everything come out the other side upside down.
He thinks that maybe all these seemingly heartfelt acts of care should make him feel better about the whole thing but they don't. They burn like acid wash in his mouth. Bitter in a really fun new way. It's like this: Eddie, clawing for love and attention. Fighting endless battles for his very few friends. Harrington, swooping in effortlessly as always. An empty shell of a person using his parents’ money to buy the affection of the only kinds of people who have ever thought Eddie was worth anything at all.
It makes him want to claw his eyeballs out.
The situation holds like that until almost the end of November. A precarious balance of carefully cultivated peace made at the steep steep cost of Eddie's already failing sanity. A fragile thing that crumbles like a house of cards the very last Hellfire session before Thanksgiving.
It is, admittedly, very late in the night for a school club meeting. They've been at it for hours, tackling an especially difficult campaign that Eddie wants to finish up before winter break. All the hard work is finally paying off, and they've just broken into the secret wall stashed at the back of the Witch’s lair, when there's an ominous crash from the outside hall.
It's the unmistakable sound of doors being shoved open as pounding feet make their stomping way down the hall. It's sudden and jarring, and an absolutely alarming thing to hear at seven-thirty pm when the school should be empty and silent.
The energy shift is instantaneous. Every head turns warily to the door. Most especially, Eddie notes through his creeping anxiety, the freshmen. Who are sitting at the table with a panicked kind of determination in their eyes, reaching for their backpacks grimly.
All at once the drama room door slams wide open, bouncing off the wall and banging at the impact.
And then there he is, standing in the doorway. His soft blue sweater and solid frame both backlit from the school hallway. The king of Hawkins High himself. His hair is unkept and loose, curling erratically on his forehead. He's got this tense look on his face. His shoulders curled up by his ears and a handheld radio clutched tightly in his left hand as he gives the freshmen side of the table a scorching thousand-yard stare.
The silence, somehow, is much louder than the crashing of the door or the words that look like they're itching to spill out of Harrington's downturned lips.
Except he doesn't say anything.
He just, kind of stares. His mouth working back and forth but no sound escaping. It's strange, to see Harrington so obviously out of sorts. Open-mouthed and furious enough that he can't even find his words. The seconds drag on, stretching out and twisting in the air uncomfortably. Eddie's only just gathered his wits enough to break the silence himself when Harrington abruptly does it for him. Stalking into the room and folding his arms as he zeroes in even more on the freshmen.
"Shitheads, you’re fucking late. What have I said about being late?"
He says it snippily, like he's annoyed to be kept waiting, the perfect picture of arrogance. Eddie watches as guilt settles heavily on the shoulders of half of his members and can't help but feel anger like molten rock in his veins. This is more like the Harrington he always expected. Bored and snippy. King Steve, still thinking he's above everyone else, still without a selfless bone in his body. Stuck bossing around a bunch of kids because he doesn't have enough pull to tell off anyone bigger.
Eddie gears up again, ready to tell Harrington exactly where he can take his stupid fucking attitude when a head of curly hair launches itself full speed at Harrington's chest in a mixed-up jumble of limbs. Catching like a koala and clinging on for dear life.
"Shit, Steve," says Dustin, his head buried in Harrington's chest. "I totally forgot how late it was. I'm really sorry."
The impact of the collision seems to have shaken something loose in Harrington's frame. All the anger bleeds out and his arms come up around Dustin's shoulders even as his posture drops like a puppet with cut strings. He rests his chin gingerly on Dustin's curls. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply before fixing his gaze on Lucas and Mike standing by the table.
"I radioed." He says simply. His voice shaking with something Eddie's beginning to regretfully acknowledge sounds an awful lot like crippling concern.
"I radioed over and over and none of you answered, and I just thought... I don't know."
The freshmen, if possible, look even guiltier. Exchanging meaningful glances as Dustin squeezes his hug even tighter. It's Mike though, who answers.
"Sorry, Steve. We turned them off for Hellfire because Erica kept yelling at Max over all the channels."
Harrington breathes deeply and squeezes Dustin back.
"It's fine," he says, a little faintly, a little flatly, fixing his gaze somewhere on the wall behind them. "I didn't mean to barge in like this. I know you guys can all handle yourselves fine. It's just," he waves his hand in a really vague gesture, "November. You know how it is. It always puts me on edge."
Eddie's not sure what to do with that completely vague and useless explanation, Isn't, in all honesty, ready to deal with Harrington being in his one safe space at school so unexpectedly. Much less while he has some unexplained nervous episode over the nerdy freshmen not answering their radio. But it seems the kids know exactly what he's talking about because suddenly they've all stood around Harrington to hug him while offering their apologies.
Eddie looks at his suddenly half-empty table and tries to summon the simmering anger he's been brewing since he was sixteen years old. Readying himself to feel that white-hot fury he always gets in his chest -the one that he just had, at the mention of Harrington.
He can't seem to find it.
'Cause there's Harrington, tired and strung out and exhausted, slumped shoulders surrounded in a tight group hug from the biggest nerds Eddie's ever met in his life. Practically crushing Dustin to his chest, a poorly hidden fondness evident in his expression.
The worst part is that there's no denying that it's relief and concern that twists Harrington's features when Eddie looks at it logically. When he really pays attention. For all his posturing annoyance, there is a rigidity in his frame and a crease in his forehead that is only just starting to ease. The hand he's got placed on Mike's bony shoulder is shaking ever so slightly. A tremble Eddie can tell all the kids notice, even if they don't comment on it out loud. Only exchanging significant glances from where they're all gathered around Harrington like acne-prone ducklings.
It's uncomfortable to watch the obvious camaraderie. It's clear evidence of everything the kids and Buckley have been saying for months, undeniable proof of a million little puzzle pieces Eddie's been pretending not to see. It's irrefutable tally marks in favor of Steve fucking Harrington, the asshole who made Eddie's life hell for nearly all of his adolescence.
Steve Harrington, who started high school empty-headed and came out mean.
Steve Harrington who doesn't start shit but always finishes it, because he can destroy you with words alone.
Steve Harrington, who can look at you, that bitchy expression on his stupid perfect face, and tell you all the worst things you think about yourself in the dead of night. Just, speak them into existence for everyone to hear, and then walk away. Like he hasn't just pulled out your insides and strewn them all over the school hallway for everyone to see.
Steve Harrington, who's on edge in November. Who's shaking in fear because his kids didn't radio him back. Who reportedly makes these same kids lunch almost every day and chauffeurs them around wherever they want because he's a total pushover. Who apparently hosts sleepovers and bakes homemade cookies that rival Lucas's mom.
It's baffling, and strange, and suddenly real because it's right there.
So Eddie takes his anger, all that lingering suspicion and bitterness, and tucks it carefully away. Tables it for another day when he has more information. When he can get a clearer picture.
The kids, still gathered around Harrington, turn as one to Eddie, faces apologetic enough that he can already tell that the campaign is over.
That's okay though, Eddie has a new puzzle to solve.