Chapter Text
They move into their new place the Friday before Thanksgiving.
The little rancher sits on a quiet residential street off of State Highway 446. It’s bigger than the trailer (which isn’t saying much) and smaller than the house they left behind in Hawkins (which is saying even less), but it’s a short drive from the campus of Indiana University Bloomington, where Robin started school in the fall and where Steve plans to start in the spring. It’s also practically walking distance from a Pep Boys that was willing to take Wayne on as a full-time technician on Joe Woodruff’s recommendation alone.
The most important part, of course, is that it’s theirs .
Between their three jobs and the money Steve managed to withdraw before his father froze his accounts, they’d scraped together just enough for the down payment. It practically wiped them out, but that’s okay. Eddie and Wayne are no strangers to living cheaply, and Steve…well.
Steve seems lighter than Wayne has ever seen him since driving away from his childhood home for the last time, taking nothing more than his clothes, the car (which had been put in his name two years ago), and a few pictures of the kids, Robin, and Nancy. They’re currently pinned to the fridge with magnets advertising local shops and restaurants, most stolen from an orientation week business fair they’d accompanied Robin to after helping her move in.
Wayne’s favorite is a polaroid of just his boys from that weekend, Steve pressing a kiss to a disgruntled Eddie’s cheek. He makes sure that that one always has a place of pride, right out front.
They’d finally had a real conversation about the relationship the night after the whole business with the Harringtons. After Murray had collected his dubiously-legal telephone equipment and Hopper had bundled Joyce into the truck to drive her home, Wayne had found Steve and Eddie hunched together in the latter’s bed talking in hushed voices. They’d gone silent and still upon his entry, and he’d heaved a weary sigh and plopped himself into a beige barrel chair in the corner of the room.
“I risked a felony charge today to defend whatever the two of you have goin' on here. The least you could do is trust me not to be a dick about it.”
The story had come spilling out of them then. Or, at least, a version of the story; Wayne was pretty sure he’d only been given the highlights, but that suited him just fine. There were some things a parent didn’t need to know about his kids. (And if he’d made it a point to rule out houses with bedrooms that shared a wall, well. That was between him and the realtor.)
Wayne knows enough to know he can’t make it safe for them everywhere — even on a college campus, they’ll have to be careful who they tell — but getting them out of Hawkins, away from the trauma and devastation they’d experienced there, feels like a pretty good start. And no matter what else happens out in the world, he can make sure they always have a safe place to come home.
Which is how he finds himself at the Kroger on East College Avenue the night before Thanksgiving, his basket loaded down with the ingredients for pumpkin and sweet potato pies. Joyce had read him the recipes from her family cookbook aloud over the phone while he copied them painstakingly down onto a yellow legal pad. He’s never baked a thing before in his life, but hell. He’s done a lot of things for the first time these last couple of years. What’s one more?
The crusts he’s buying pre-made from the freezer section, however. No reason to be a hero about it.
He’s standing in line behind a harried-looking young mother who appears to be buying her entire Thanksgiving meal, and he’s just considering seeing if there are any other lanes open when he hears someone saying his name.
“Mr. Munson? Is that you?”
He turns around, looking for the source, and his eyes land on a familiar face. Deb Cartwright is a little older, a little thinner, but still every bit the powerful presence she’d been outside the Roane County Courthouse all those years ago. Her hair is still tucked back into that sleek twist, and her crisp blue suit has been traded in for a soft, quilted pink sweatsuit.
“It’s still just Wayne, Ms. Cartwright,” he corrects her gently, breaking into a smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Well then, it’s still just Deb,” she teases back, her smile warm and fond. “And fancy yourself! You know, I couldn’t help but think of you last spring when I saw all that business in Hawkins on the news.”
Not for the first time, Wayne is grateful that Eddie’s name never made it further than local channels. He’d been cleared of all charges by the time the bigger stations had started reporting on the events in Hawkins, and the government types had made it clear that he was not to be mentioned in connection with the murders again.
“Yeah, it was a tough year,” he admits, shifting his laden basket to his other hand and rolling his shoulders self-consciously. “We were lucky to be able to get out.”
Her sympathetic expression brightens. “We— Is Eddie still with you, then? Gosh, he must be all grown up by now.”
From anyone else, the statement might sound backhanded. What is that boy still doing at home? But Deb’s tone is all relief and delight, and Wayne suspects that she’s glad to count them among her success stories.
“Yep, sure is. We just bought a new place out this way. He’s still looking for work, but we’ve only been here a couple of days. I figure he’ll find something before long.”
“How wonderful,” she coos, pressing a hand to her chest. “Is he planning to go to the University?”
Wayne shakes his head. “Not Eddie, no. School never really did agree with him. My other boy is, though. Steve. Wants to be a teacher, I guess.”
“Oh, you have another one!” Deb exclaims. “How old is he?”
“Just a little younger’n Eddie,” Wayne replies. “He’ll be twenty here in a few months. I picked him up a little later in life, you might say.”
She positively beams at him.
“You always did have a big heart, Wayne. I’m not surprised to hear it. He’s a lucky kid.”
Wayne looks down; scuffs awkwardly at the polished linoleum with his boot.
“I reckon I’m the lucky one, ma’am. For both of ‘em. And for you, for helping me and Eddie way back when.”
“Nonsense.” She waves the comment away. “I was just doing my job.”
There’s a young woman with a trendy haircut and a cropped Joni Mitchell sweatshirt peering around the end of an aisle at them, looking somewhat impatient.
“Aunt Deb!” she calls over. “Come on, we’re gonna be up all night if we don’t get started!”
Deb rolls her eyes, but it’s terribly fond. “My niece, Sarah. I promised to teach her how to make my mother’s pumpkin logs this year, and of course she waited until the night before to try it out.”
Wayne smiles, glancing down at his own basket.
“I guess I know a thing or two about that. I’m attempting my first pies.”
She takes in his supplies, tapping a finger against her chin.
“Good call on the frozen crusts,” she intones. “They’re a real pain to make from scratch. Not worth the hassle, no matter what anyone tells you.”
She looks back up at Wayne, and then at the aisle where Sarah has disappeared from view.
“I guess I’d better go. But it was so good to see you, Wayne. Really. And give my best to Eddie, won’t you?”
Wayne nods and promises that he will.
She turns to go, but hesitates. Then she reaches into her purse, pulling out a crisp, white business card and handing it to him.
“If you ever wanted to grab a cup of coffee, give me a ring. I can show you the best spots in town, since you’re new and all. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
Wayne grins, feels his whole face going pink as he accepts the card.
“Thank you, Deb. I think I will.”
He whistles merrily the whole drive home.
Steve and Eddie make the trip out into the cold to pick up Thanksgiving dinner. Wayne had ordered it ahead of time from a place that offered the works, so everything is packaged up neatly in little tin and styrofoam catering dishes when they bring it home around four o’clock. They’re bickering about something as they come in, and Eddie nearly backs directly into Wayne as he’s pulling the freshly-baked pies out of the oven.
“I’m just saying that—oof, sorry Wayne!” he says, sidestepping at the last moment to avoid disaster. “Almost didn’t see you there.”
“Oh my God ,” Steve whispers reverently. “Is that pumpkin pie?”
Wayne tugs off the oven mitts, puffing out his chest a bit.
“Sure is. There’s sweet potato, too. Hand-made by yours truly.”
Eddie’s eyes are wide as saucers, taking in the crispy golden crusts and tantalizing aromas that waft from the dishes.
“I didn’t know you could bake , Wayne. Where the hell has this been all my life?”
Wayne rolls his eyes.
“Neither did I. Never tried it before. But I think they look pretty good for a first try, don’t you?”
“They smell amazing,” Steve groans, leaning in close to get a good whiff.
Wayne smacks him away.
“Git going, both of ya. Those are for after dinner. Ice cream to go with ‘em, too.”
They divvy the food out onto second hand dishes Steve had found at a thrift store in town, and Eddie places a set of plastic silverware and a frosty can of Coors at each chair. It’s remarkably like any of the many Thanksgivings Wayne and Eddie shared over the years in the trailer, and it brings a smile to Wayne’s face to see it. There’d been a little while, earlier this year, when he’d thought he might have seen the last of these low-budget holiday meals.
He’s never been more glad to be wrong.
“Before we dig in,” he announces, settling himself into his chair, “I think we ought to go around and say what we’re thankful for.”
“Ugh, gross,” Eddie protests, scrunching up his face. “What are we, the Bradys?”
Wayne remembers another family meal he’d made the same joke and huffs a laugh.
“I’m getting up in years, Ed. You’ll have to allow me a little sentimentality in my old age.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but his mouth tips up into a fond smile. “Fine, whatever. I’ll start.”
He glances from Steve to Wayne, expression softening slightly.
“I’m thankful that we’re out of Hawkins, even though I kind of miss Dustin. And I’m thankful that I don’t have to repeat senior year again. And that we didn’t, like, die of bat rabies.”
His eyes find Steve and his smile turns wicked.
“And I’m thankful for my very hot boyfriend. Amen.”
It’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes, but he blushes all the same.
“Classy, Ed. Real classy stuff. You know it’s not a prayer, right?”
“Shut up,” Eddie replies, slouching back into his chair. “Your turn.”
Steve looks around the table, and then around the cozy little dining room.
“I’m thankful that we didn’t die. And that the kids are safe. And that I finally live somewhere that feels like mine .”
He glances at Eddie, and then at Wayne. His face goes sort of soft, and pink blooms across his cheeks.
“And I’m thankful for the two of you. For finally having a family that actually wants to be around.”
Wayne beams at him.
“Damn right, son. And don’t you forget it.”
Eddie clears his throat pointedly. Steve makes an exasperated face.
“And I’m thankful for my boyfriend, who I will not call hot in front of his uncle because I am normal and have manners .”
“ Allegedly ,” Eddie mutters. Steve kicks at his shins under the table, and there’s a brief tussle before Wayne puts an end to it with a stern look. They settle, and he clears his throat before beginning to speak.
“I’ve spent most of my life working. Keeping my head down, getting the bills paid. Got to a point I figured that that was most of what there was to life: just surviving. Just workin’ until you couldn’t work any more, and then fading away.”
“ Yikes ,” Eddie whispers under his breath, stealing a glance at Steve. “Bleak.”
“It was,” Wayne agrees, turning to look directly at him. “Until one day you showed up on my doorstep. And my whole world just…blew wide open. Got bigger. In an instant.”
“Technically I was inside the trailer, not on the doorstep, but—”
“Stop interruptin’ me, Ed.”
“Yup.”
“Getting to see you grow up was the best thing that ever happened to me. Even when it was hard, even when we didn’t get along. You gave me purpose, Eddie. And I’ll be forever grateful to you for that.”
Eddie surreptitiously wipes at his eyes, but doesn’t say anything.
“When I thought I’d lost you, back in the spring…that was the worst thing I’d ever felt. And then gettin’ that phone call, that you were alive…I can’t begin to describe it. The joy, the relief, the gratitude of it. And I’ll never stop bein’ thankful for it. And I have you to thank for that, Steve. For carryin’ him out of there and bringing him back to me.”
Steve’s looking a little misty now, too. But he doesn’t say anything, just nods at Wayne and scrubs a hand over his eyes.
Wayne continues.
“I thought that might be the end of it. But then you kept showin’ up, day after day, sittin’ in that damn hospital room with me and Ed. Helpin’ him with his recovery. Takin’ us into your home. Lookin’ out for him, for both of us, in that way you do. Hell, I don’t even think you notice you’re doin’ it, most of the time. For everyone. All your people.”
He pauses to sniff self-consciously, blinking moisture out of his own eyes. His voice, when he speaks again, is suspiciously thick.
“I’m grateful we get to be your people, Steve. God knows I’ll never stop trying to deserve it.”
There’s a moment of silence while they all dab at their eyes, awkward in the soft, breathless way that happy tears tend to be. Then Wayne gathers himself together, picks up his beer and holds it up in a toast.
“Alright, that's enough of that. I love you boys. More than anything. Happy Thanksgiving.”
Steve and Eddie pick up their cans and gently tap them against his, and then each other’s.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” they reply in watery unison.
And in that little rancher off of Highway 446, that's what Wayne Munson and his little family finally get to be.
Happy
.