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Eddie has got to stop dealing to preps.
Seriously. If he has to go inside the new mall one more time, he’s gonna blow his brains out. It’s bad enough this shithole is running actual, good businesses into the ground—Eddie won’t ever forgive this place for what it did to Rebel Records, hand to god.
But goddamn Brenda Abbott wanted her usual, and Eddie Munson does a lot of dumb shit but one of the smarter things he does is hike prices up on the popular kids, and Uncle Wayne’s birthday is coming up so he could use the extra cash.
So. Starcourt Mall it is.
“Thanks, Freddie,” Brenda says, punctuating it with a particularly irking pop of her bright-pink bubblegum. When she hands him the cash, she takes great care to not actually touch his skin. It almost makes him laugh; he wonders if Brenda Abbott realizes it’s his spit that seals the paper on the rolls he just handed her.
“Eddie,” he corrects habitually, but he’s starting to find he doesn’t actually care. There are worse things than customers not remembering his name—at least he knows Brenda Abbott can’t narc on him.
Already distracted and turning away, Brenda hums, “What?”
He shakes his head and flashes her a smile. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, princess.”
At the very least, Brenda planned their transaction so that the majority of mall-goers would be in the theater while she snuck away. Probably the worst part about coming to this place was the crowd of people that didn’t even try to hide their stares as he walked by.
It’s gotten worse recently. Expected side effects of failing to graduate for the second year in a row, and all that. Or whatever.
It’s fine. He isn’t bitter.
Seriously. He had half the mind to not even bother going back this year, except he’s a stupid son of a bitch and he wants to be better than his dad ever was, so here he goes repeating senior year for the third and final time. Maybe this time something will stick.
Eddie hears the telltale giggles of people high off their asses before he sees them. And that’s just—fuckin’ great. If they’re his customers, and they’re parading around the mall stoned to shit, then it’s his ass on the line. Chief Hopper lets Eddie get away with a lot of dumbfuckery, but if he gets busted for providing the general public with contraband when he’s already on thin ice for becoming a super, super senior? Sayonara, Munson.
There’s an unlit cigarette in his vest pocket, and it’s a small miracle that has Eddie sending out a thanks to God above or past-Eddie who forgot he’d stashed it in there—wherever it came from, Eddie huffs out a sigh of relief and sticks the cig between his teeth.
“Yeah, but why’s it called Back to the Future?”
Fucking Christ, he can’t catch a break today. Eddie knows that voice.
Run, says the self-preserving side of Eddie’s brain, and he’s relieved for a second to find out that part of him still exists. But the thought is, of course, squashed like a bug under the boot of the much louder horny gremlin side of his brain which is shouting, but the uniform!
And, okay. Listen. Eddie’s not, like, proud of it, but he has eyes. And Harrington’s hot, okay? Everyone in this goddamn town and their grandma knows it. The guy’s been a looker since the eighth grade when his braces came off and he discovered the power of conditioner. And Eddie’s only human, right? He’s seen the shorts. He’s dreamed of the shorts. He won’t be ashamed to admit it.
But it’s still Steve fucking Harrington. The guy may have fallen from the throne over the summer and gotten stuck slinging ice cream for a living but they didn’t call him King Steve for nothing.
Eddie digs his lighter out of his front pocket, keeping his eyes down and walking with purpose away from the sounds of voices. If he doesn’t look at Harrington, then he can’t be compelled by the uniform. It’s sound logic.
“Hi!”
Literally and seriously, fuck his life.
Eddie glances up from his lighter slowly, looking around instinctively for whatever poor fuck has caught Harrington’s attention and praying it’s their ass and not his on the line, but there’s no one else around them except for Robin Buckley and she’s commandeered the drinking fountain now that Harrington’s finally stepped away. His hand is posed up in the air, frozen in an awkward wave.
Which—what the fuck. That means Harrington really is talking to him.
“Uh, hi?” Eddie says dumbly. He drops his gaze down again in the hopes that Harrington will take the hint and go back to minding his own damn business.
No dice. Eddie’s pathetic attempt at a saving throw falls short, and Harrington steps even closer to him, asking curiously, “Have you seen that movie?”
Eddie gives up on trying to light his cigarette, instead tucking the stick behind his ear and turning to face Harrington head-on. He leans against the wall and tries to exude his most off-putting energy. Anything to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “There’s a lot of movies out there, big boy, you wanna clarify which one you’re talking about?”
“That one,” Harrington says, exasperated, and he shushes Buckley when she looks up from trying to become one with the drinking fountain to call him a dingus. “You know, the one with the car, and that guy with the crazy hair, and the kid who was—well, that’s what Robin and I are arguing about. Robin! Was he trying to fuck his mom?”
“What the fuck is happening right now?” Eddie whispers, at the same time that Buckley complains, “ Steve, you’re gonna spoil it for him!”
Affronted, Harrington insists, “All I did was ask if he’d seen it!”
And this is just—it’s weird enough already, okay, and Eddie’s not sure how much more he can actually handle, so he says, “Don’t worry about it, Buckley, it doesn’t sound like the type of movie I’d watch anyway,” and he tries to slink past them when he actually really takes a look at Harrington for the first time.
His stomach sinks into the soles of his shoes.
“Jesus H. Christ, Harrington, did someone mug you?” Eddie demands, stopping right in his tracks. There’s fresh blood slowly dripping down the side of Harrington’s head. “What the fuck happened to you?”
Harrington has the gall to look surprised of all things, and Eddie could wring his pretty little neck if it weren’t so obvious that somebody else already tried to cash in the guy’s number tonight. “It looks worse than it is,” Harrington mumbles, and yeah, no, Eddie doesn’t believe that for a second.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks, both hands on Harrington’s elbows, and Harrington thinks long and hard about the question.
“Two,” he says confidently.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie repeats.
He glances at Buckley like she might be any help, but she’s starting to look a little green around the gills in a way that doesn’t bode well for any of them. Sure enough, she croaks out, “Steve, I don’t feel so good,” and Steve’s head lolls to the side to look at her. Eddie’s on his own solving this one.
Shit. He’s starting to get a migraine. He rubs at his temples and asks them both point-blank, “Look, guys, be real with me. Are you high on shit from my stash? Because I really can’t afford any more trouble right now.”
“Nooo,” Harrington drawls out, eyes wide. Jesus, both of them are gonna puke all over him soon and he’s way too fucking sober to deal with that. “Someone else, man, swear.”
A godawful thought crosses Eddie’s mind at that point. As calmly as he can, he asks, “Was it the same someone who gave you that shiner?”
Harrington and Buckley share a look. “Yeah,” Harrington admits, almost giggling about it, at the same time that Buckley groans out, “Steeeeve!”
And, like. Okay. Eddie can’t even kill a spider, but for a second he feels a rage that boils all the way down into his bones at the thought of someone in his town selling shit and/or beating on his customers. For what’s probably the hundredth time in the last five minutes, Eddie says flatly, “What the fuck.”
“Ohh, man,” Harrington says suddenly, eyes going wide. His hands drop to Eddie’s shoulders. He’s got a tight grip. Nice. Firm—sweet Jesus’s tits , Munson, keep it together— “You should get outta here, dude. S’not safe.”
A heavy pit settles in Eddie’s stomach. “What—?”
“Steve,” Buckley interrupts again, except this time there’s not exasperation laced through it and one look at her tells Eddie she’s legitimately about to hurl.
Harrington says, “What, Robin?” followed almost immediately by, “Shit,” and he’s gagging before he even grabs her hand and starts yanking her towards the bathroom. Eddie stands there, half frozen and one hundred percent confused to hell and back, until Harrington startles him into action by shouting out, “Get outta here, Eddie!” before the bathroom door thuds shut behind him and he starts, presumably, yakking his brains out.
What the fuck.
No, seriously. “What the fuck,” Eddie repeats, whispers, really, because he doesn’t honestly understand what danger could be lurking in the mean, green hallways of Starcourt Mall but the conviction in Steve Harrington’s voice kind of has him on edge, so. When he sees two guys that are most likely security guards but look like they could be a part of some shady underdealing, Eddie tucks tail and heeds Harrington’s word to hightail it out the doors as quickly as possible.
He feels like shit afterwards, sitting in his van in the parking lot and unable to start it because, well, duh. Harrington’s probably concussed as shit and puking can’t be good for him, but what did Eddie do? He just fucking fled the scene. Way to go, Munson.
He shouldn’t go back in there. Right? That’d be stupid as fuck, and Eddie’s a lot of things but stupid as fuck ain’t one of them. If he were smart, he’d turn his key in the ignition and run like hell out of here and he’d, maybe, come back tomorrow just to make sure Buckley and Harrington made it into their shift okay.
Okay, so, maybe he’s not stupid, but he never said anything about not being pathetic, alright?
“Get it together,” Eddie mutters to himself, and he turns the van on right as the mall doors open and movie-goers start dumping out. “See, there? Everyone’s fine. They’re all leaving. Hit the road, Jack.”
He’s half-looking for the bright polyester of the Scoops uniform as he peels out of the parking lot, but truth be told it’s more distracted than not by his desire to be gone before anyone recognizes his van and puts two and two together. But Eddie doesn’t see them at all by the time he reaches the road, and it leaves a sinking pit in his stomach that he’d prefer not to familiarize himself with. He’s just. Got a bad feeling, is all.
“It’s fine,” he insists, and he’s really losing it now if he’s talking to himself in his van, but whatever. In for a penny, and all that. “You’ve got another deal to go to at Skull Rock, just go there. The mall’s on your way back to Forest Hills, so you can just… drive by later, and. Fuck, make sure it doesn’t explode, or whatever.”
At that, Eddie finally laughs. It’s such an absurd thought that it almost snaps him right out of his worry immediately. The mall exploding. As if that’s the kind of shit that happens in Hawkins, Indiana.
He turns up his radio and sings the entire way to his next destination.
The mall fucking explodes.
The mall fucking explodes.
It would feel almost like cosmic justice if Eddie’s stomach wasn’t rolling somewhere near the soles of his feet because he’s worried over goddamn Steve Harrington.
He abandons his van where she’s still parked at the edge of the lot, opting instead to leg it for the mall at the same time that the first wave of fire trucks and cop cars come rolling through. Eddie’s lucky to escape their notice, he knows that—knows it’s fucking stupid to run towards the burning building instead of away, but what-goddamn-ever. He’s doing that thing he does now, apparently. Runs towards trouble.
There’s already a smattering of people who have stumbled out of the mall, and Eddie’s horrified to note that a good chunk of them are literal children. But truth be told his eyes are peeled more for that godawful polyester blue of the Scoops Ahoy uniform, and Eddie finds himself frantically looking past the backs of ambulances and hoping to see Harrington or Buckley.
Jesus, he thinks half hysterically, he’s gonna have to ask Wayne if he needs an exorcism when he gets home.
Relief is almost punched out of him when he finally finds Robin, huddled with a small redheaded kid and donned in a shock blanket that Eddie hadn’t realized actually existed until right now. He’s running over to her before he’s even really conscious of it.
“Robin!” he calls.
She looks up in surprise, squinting at him like she’s trying to make heads or tails of why he’s here, which. Fair. He’s not even offended by the shock in her tone when she says back, “Eddie? Why are you here?”
“Are you okay?” he asks, ignoring her question completely. He grabs her by the shoulders, looking her over for any obvious signs of injury. It dawns on him guiltily that he hadn’t done this when he’d noticed what had happened to Harrington, earlier. “Jesus, what happened?”
“The mall,” Robin starts, before her eyes get wide and she hiccups around a sob and, Jesus H. Christ, starts crying as she chokes out, “Eddie, people d-died. I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”
He’s yanking her into a hug before he can even think to stop himself. And yeah, it’s true he and Buckley were never bumping elbows at the lunch table, but he thinks they were friendly enough. Band kids stick together, and all that.
And it’s not like he’s actually heartless. He can’t see a kid a few grades younger than him who is obviously in need of a friend and just do nothing.
“Are you hurt?” he asks again. Over the top of Robin’s hair as she shakes her head no against his chest, he makes eye contact with the redhead, who is staring at them both with emotionless eyes. “You too, Red. You okay?”
The kid startles like she’s surprised by the question. And she looks familiar, a faint niggling at the back of his brain that tells him he’s seen her before. Hargrove’s sister, he thinks. Poor kid. She’s tougher than Eddie himself is, though, and a hell of a lot braver, because she looks him straight in the eyes and says, “No.”
“Oh,” Eddie says stupidly.
Red tells him, “My brother’s gone.”
Jesus, Eddie thinks again. He opens his arms and gestures for her to join the hug, too. “Get in here, then.”
It’s then that his gaze finally lands on Steve Harrington, and the amount of weight off his chest should feel embarrassing but more than anything Eddie’s relieved that he can breathe again. Steve still looks terrible, he’ll be recovering from that pummeling for weeks, Eddie’s sure, but he’s alive. Sitting with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers in the back of their ambulance, which. Eddie thinks the paramedics should check on his concussion a little better if Steve’s willingly sitting with his ex and the guy she cheated on him with if rumors are to be believed. But Eddie’s starting to gather that’s just the type of person Steve Harrington is.
He leaves Robin and the kid—Max—when the police come over to get their statement, Officer Powell looking especially grim about it. Harrington’s still in the same place, and he looks startled to see Eddie hurrying over in his direction but he doesn’t look unwelcoming. He drops a hand and squeezes Byers’ shoulder before standing to meet Eddie halfway, which. What the fuck. Whatever, Eddie’s just gonna stop being surprised by Steve Harrington.
“Eddie, hey,” Harrington says, voice rough from the excitement of the night. “You weren’t inside, were you?”
“No, no,” Eddie answers. “You were, though. Right? Man, what the hell happened?”
Harrington laughs, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he mutters. “Man, I’d kill for a cigarette right now. You got any?”
He digs through his pocket and brandishes it for Steve. It’s half-challenge and half-curiosity that has Eddie stating, “Just the one. It’s got my spit all over it, though, I was ready to light it right up until you and your merry band of thieves distracted me.”
“Wouldn’t I be her band of thieves?” Steve asks, distracted as he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s fingertips. “Because… that’s Robin Hood, right? And she’s. I mean. Her name’s Robin.”
Steve’s blushing a bright red. Huh. Eddie’s not gonna get all twitterpated over it, though, his heart is decidedly not skipping a beat. “Oh my god,” Eddie says delightedly. “You read?”
“I’ve seen the movie,” Steve snaps, but he’s grinning so Eddie doesn’t feel bad about teasing him at all. “You really don’t mind if I bum this? If it’s your last one…”
“Do you care?” asks Eddie with a pointed glance. “You’ll be putting your mouth where my mouth was. Might give people the wrong idea.”
“I don’t care, man,” mutters Steve, and his lips wrap around the cigarette in the exact spot Eddie’s were just hours earlier. Eddie doesn’t stare. He doesn’t. He does, however, lean into Harrington’s space to flick his lighter and light the cig for him. Because he may be pathetic, but he's a pathetic opportunist. “Thanks.”
It’s an unfortunate reality of Eddie’s life that his mouth runs faster than his mouth sometimes, and to his horror he’s teasing Steve before it even registers what he’s saying. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were flirting with me.”
Fucking fucking fuck. He shared one laugh with the guy and forgets that assholes like King Steve throw punches at his head when he makes jokes like that. Fucking idiot, Eddie’s heart would be in his throat if it wasn’t trying to beat out of his chest—
But Steve just laughs. He just. Laughs. And then his eyes go kind of big and wide, like the realization that he could flirt with another boy only just dawned on him, and damn when Eddie tried to say Steve wouldn’t surprise him anymore, damn everything before and after that because Steve says, “What if I was?” and blows Eddie’s head right off his shoulder.
He gapes at Steve with an open mouth while Steve smokes his cigarette. And there’s a part of him that’s searching Steve’s stance for humor, or for the part of the joke where the punches land instead of the punch line, but Steve just seems—sincere. He’s serious. And Eddie’s—
Stupid, Eddie thinks faintly.
“Then I’d have your head checked for permanent brain damage,” he croaks out. “The King flirting with a jester like me? Medical emergency, for sure.”
“C’mon, man,” Steve huffs, before offering the lit cigarette to Eddie to share. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. “I noticed you at school, you know. All the time. You aren’t the jester, Eddie, you’re, like. The knight. Or whatever.”
Eddie’s face is on fire. Holy fuck. “Are you sure you’re not having a seizure?”
Steve rolls his eyes. He takes the cigarette back, letting their fingers brush together in a way that’s far too intentional and holy shit, okay, yep, this is happening. The game is afoot, Munson, play along. “Listen, it’s still not safe here, so, uh. If you weren’t involved, man, I’d run like hell out of here. But. If you, uh. Wanted to give me a call later. I’d like that.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asks. He’s breathless. Disbelieving. Worst of all, he’s downright hopeful.
“Yeah, Eddie,” Steve laughs, and he reaches into Eddie’s pocket to dig out a pen, Jesus H. Christ, before uncapping it to write his digits on Eddie’s wrist. So this is real then. That’s. Cool.
Steve turns to rejoin Wheeler and Byers, or maybe go check on Robin again, and he drops the butt of the cigarette onto the pavement and snubs it out with his sneaker. Half-wishing he’d stay, or that Eddie could, like, follow or something, Eddie calls out, “So I’ll be seeing you around, Harrington?”
And Steve’s smile—despite the building on fire still near them, despite the bruised eye swollen shut, despite the missing tooth and the bloodied lips—is brighter than the damn sun.