Chapter Text
It was May 18th, 2024 and Steve Munson was returning to boring Hawkins, Indiana, for the first time in a little over a decade. He ran his hand along the lacquered surface of the bar he was sitting at, feeling nostalgic for what it used to be. The old Hell Awaits sign blinked in neon above the liquor bottles in front of him. He looked back at the little stage, and thought of all the memories he'd made there, wondering if the place next door was still open. He was having a good year. In fact, he was coasting off several good years.
If you ignored the fact that he was dead.
“You come here often?” Eddie asked as he slid a beer across the counter toward Steve.
“Shut up,” Steve said with a laugh.
“Oof, tough crowd.”
“Don't bother me, I'm waiting for someone,” Steve said as he took a sip, fighting back a smile.
Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was smiling back. “God, is that what you'd say to people when I was on stage?”
“Sure,” Steve said with a shrug. “It never worked.”
“Obviously! You sound so flirty when you say it!”
“That's only because I'm saying it to you,” Steve said. Eddie huffed, so Steve leaned closer and pressed a kiss into the stubble on his cheek.
“Thank you for the drink,” he said sweetly.
“I used your card,” Eddie mumbled.
“Hey! Eddie Munson!” someone said.
Steve and Eddie turned to see the bartender smiling at them as he poured someone else's beer into a glass. He was a younger guy with big glasses and a classic battle vest.
“That's me,” Eddie said.
“You're on the wall!” the guy said. He pointed over to the spot where the neon sign used to be, near the bathrooms. They'd filled the whole wall up with photos, all framed, some signed. The bartender stuck his free hand up to make a devil horn, just like Eddie's picture.
“Man, Nash is gonna be pissed he missed you!” he said.
“He's still around?” Eddie asked.
“Yesh, dude! He's old, not dead! Let me put your music on!”
“Oh wait, you don't have to-” Eddie stopped talking, because the bartender walked away. He sent Steve a sheepish look. “This is so embarrassing.”
“Why? They like you here,” Steve said.
“They like me because I used to be a regular,” Eddie mumbled.
The music changed to something Steve had heard a million times in several different forms before Eddie finally got around to recording it. He could remember the day they'd done it too. Eddie and the guys had saved up everything they could and rented out a cheap little studio in Chicago for three days. Steve had spent the whole time reading manuals on the equipment to help them figure out how to make everything work right, and running back and forth to the corner store to keep everyone fed.
“He didn't even pick a good one!” Eddie complained.
“All your songs are good,” Steve said placatingly. “They even paid the bills for a little bit.”
“Back when our bills were gas for the van and the cheapest diner breakfast we could find,” Eddie said wistfully. “You never warned me college would be so damn expensive.”
“I definitely did,” Steve said.
“Or adoption.”
“How would I have known that?”
Eddie sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He'd kept it long, even after all this time, but he had it tied back in a messy bun that really showed off the streaks of grey. His nails were still painted black, and his arms were completely filled with tattoos. There was a spot of color over his heart—a fancy red S, barely poking out under the collar of his ratty little T-shirt. Steve couldn't stop smiling at him.
“What?” Eddie asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
Eddie searched his face for a moment, like he thought Steve was messing with him. Then he sighed and returned to his beer. “We don't even have that many listeners on Spotify. They just like that were local and we did that one show in New York.”
“Enjoy your fame, love. This is what you wanted,” Steve said. He casually looked around the bar, jostling his knee up and down. He wondered about the kids, now that Eddie had mentioned it. They were probably fine. It wasn't like anything insane had happened to him during college.
Except dying, of course.
“You think Robin would answer if I-”
“Leave the poor woman alone,” Eddie interrupted.
“But I just want-”
“Hey, look at me,” Eddie said. Steve didn't want to, because he knew he was being, ridiculous. He'd been like this the whole drive down. “Steve, come on.”
Steve finally turned to look at Eddie.
“Do you want to go home?” Eddie asked.
“No,” Steve said.
“Do you want to just google your old name?”
“No way,” Steve said quickly. He couldn't imagine anything worse for his mental health. There was a reason he'd been avoiding it.
“Are you sure? We can also just…ignore all of it. You haven't returned since we left. We can pretend we just came to see the bar for memory's sake.”
“Well,” Steve said, then he stopped quickly.
“Well what?” Eddie asked. Steve didn't answer, and Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute.”
Steve grimaced.
“Oh my God. Fucking Henderson!” Eddie hissed.
“I was going to tell you eventually!”
“Camping trip, my ass! I knew you were too pampered for the outdoors!”
“Hey!”
“That lying little nerd. He's so dying in my next campaign!”
“We just wanted to know if I looked the same!” Steve said.
“What the hell are you so worked up about, then? If you've already been spying on yourself?”
“It's not spying! It's…looking!” Steve said weakly. Eddie sent him a deeply unimpressed look. Steve hesitated. “It's been years, Ed. I haven't seen the aftermath.”
Eddie nodded, taking it in. “I guess I got it. It's a little weird since, you know. You'll be dead.”
“Exactly,” Steve said.
“Oh,” someone said.
Steve looked up to see the bartender holding a picture frame, eyes darting between the two of them with an odd expression on his face.
“I'll just leave this here for you,” he told Eddie, handing him a sharpie.
“We didn't mean that like-” Steve began.
“It's okay, man. I totally understand,” he said with a solemn nod. Steve tried to catch his attention again, but he walked away. Eddie signed the picture with the same signature he used to sign everything else—something fancy, like he was born for fame.
“We can still go though. Remember when Little Harrington was born and you got so nervous you threw up?” Eddie asked, examining the picture.
Steve's Birthing Day, as El liked to call it, had been hellish. Way back in 2002, Dustin had casually sent Steve into an existential crisis by bringing up the unknown possibilities of what could occur when he was finally born. So in 2003, on the day Little Harrington—their nickname to keep things less confusing—was meant to be born, the party got together in his and Eddie's living room and waited to see if he would vanish or something. In retrospect, they'd just adopted the kids and Steve had probably been feeling a little dramatic about it.
“That was a perfectly normal reaction,” Steve said. Eddie pulled out his phone and took a picture of the picture frame.
“I don't think we have this one. You look so cute,” he said.
Steve leaned in so he could see. It was them in their late twenties with the rest of the guys and Robin. Steve had lifted Eddie onto his back and Eddie was doing the little devil horns. They all were. Steve could barely remember the night, but that may have been because of how crazy they'd been back then, more than him being old and forgetful.
“Anyway, I just don't want you to crash out again,” Eddie said.
“Well, that was because I was scared of dying and abandoning the kids,” Steve said. Then he frowned. “And that's not what a crash out is.”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” Eddie said with a shrug. “I just don't want you to get hurt.”
It was exactly the kind of attitude that made Steve fall in love with Eddie in the first place.
“You ready to go, then?” Steve asked.
“If you are,” Eddie said.
Steve caught the bartender’s attention with a wave. He walked over with the bill and a very serious look on his face and tapped on the customer's copy. Steve looked down and saw a phone number. He blinked at it, too confused to speak.
“I just want you to know, it's never too late to get help. Call me any time if you need it,” he said sincerely. Then he turned to Eddie. “Thanks for the signature, man. I'll let Nash know you were here.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Eddie said as the guy walked away.
“What?” Steve asked.
“I'm sitting right here and he hands you his number?” Eddie asked.
“...That's definitely not what just happened,” Steve said.
“What, does he think I'm your friend?”
“No, he thinks I'm going to die,” Steve said incredulously. “And it's because you couldn't keep your voice down!”
“We have matching rings! You kissed me!”
Eddie's outrage had Steve completely baffled.
“I'll see you in the car,” Steve said, t
urning toward the door.
“Wait, let me kiss you back!” Eddie shouted.
“Eddie!”
~.~.~
“Can we turn this down?” Steve asked irritability.
“You're such an old man,” Eddie said without any heat.
“Says the man who only blasts his favorite songs because he can't hear them at a normal volume anymore,” Steve said.
“Sassy. I like it,” Eddie said as he turned the music down.
Hawkins looked exactly like he remembered, which meant that he had a confusing mixture of memories from the 80s and his first go-round in 2023. He could see it clearly—Dustin and the other kids on their bikes, racing through the country roads, but also, himself and his high school friends driving through those same roads, blasting Dua Lipa.
“Oh shit, you were right about the mall,” Eddie said. There was a billboard advertising the monstrosity. Bigger and better than ever. Not that he'd ever step foot in there. Just seeing the sign for it made him sick with dread.
“Let's hope it catches on fire again,” Steve said.
Eddie laughed loudly.
“Driving through here makes me crave a cigarette,” he said.
“Do you want to pick out your grave too while you're at it?” Steve joked, side-eying his husband.
“I know, I know, it's bad for my lungs. I'm just feeling nostalgic. Smoking away my anxiety was how I spent most of my days in this town,” Eddie said.
Steve watched the way he nervously drummed his fingers to the music. Eddie was looking out the window with a surprising amount of focus. He reached out and nudged Eddie's hand with his own. Eddie finally turned away from the window.
“Sorry,” Steve said. “I didn't think about how it would feel for you to return here. I probably should have asked.”
“I'm okay,” he said.
“But you're nervous, right?” Steve asked.
Eddie squeezed Steve's hand. “I guess returning makes me sad. Before I met you, I didn't have confidence that I'd amount to much. Makes me feel bad for little Eddie, who thought he'd be in this bumbfuck town forever.”
“Well, I believed in you from the beginning,” Steve said.
“And I thank you for your unconditional support, Stevie,” Eddie said. Steve smiled at the nickname. He looked out at the town, taking in the old and the new.
“I think I kind of hate this place too,” he said.
“It's creepy, right? I feel like something's going to pop out and eat me,” Eddie said.
“Don't jinx it,” Steve said. “I don't think my back can handle running away from another-”
“Turn right, turn right!” Eddie interrupted, pointing across the car.
“I know where to go,” Steve said, though he did almost miss his turn. He steered the car down a street that was wildly familiar, and yet also not. He shook his head.
“Is it confusing?” Eddie asked. He didn't specify, but Steve could tell he was asking about the time traveling aspect of it all.
“Yeah,” Steve said quietly.
The Roane Hill Cemetery looked exactly the same as he remembered. It was probably the last kind of place that would ever be renovated, though. Steve pulled the car into a parking spot and sat there for a moment, breathing steadily, trying to gather the courage to open the door.
“We don't have to go. We can always go next year. Or finally google your name,” Eddie said softly.
“No, I want to see,” Steve said.
He got out of the car. It was warmer than it should have been for a September afternoon in Indiana, but maybe that was just his decades of living in the past talking. He looked out across the graveyard and stuffed his hands in his pockets. There was one particular grave that had a lot of stuff decorating it, right in the center. Two people were standing there, several feet apart, radiating misery from afar. It was a woman and a man.
Steve choked back a gasp.
Eddie began walking toward the grave, but Steve grabbed his arm, pulling him back.
“What's wrong?” Eddie asked.
Steve didn't say anything. Eddie wouldn't know, because he'd never seen them before. He watched the woman lift a tissue to her eyes. The man ran his hand over his face. They didn't speak. After a moment, the two turned and walked toward the parking lot. Steve couldn't even hide that he was staring. He was lucky they didn't notice, too caught in their own world to see.
Steve was older than his parents now. It was surreal to be so close, only a few feet away, and for them to not even know that he was there. Part of him expected them to realize, the same part of him that knew he'd recognize his own kids in any condition. But no, they didn't even glance at him, and it hurt more than he wanted it to. They were complete strangers, and he was just a strange old man who couldn't stop intruding on their grief.
His mom's hair was roughly pulled into a messy bun, sunglasses hiding her eyes, and his father's face was pinched with pain. They looked like they hadn't been sleeping. Steve had never seen them so disheveled.
“I’ll see you next year,” his dad said. His voice was rough, like he'd been crying.
“Okay,” his mom replied quietly.
It was the first civil conversation he'd seen between the two in a very, very long time. Steve wanted to reach out. He could feel his eyes starting to burn, hands twitching with the urge to grab them by the shoulders and tell them everything he'd been through. He thought back to that dreadful mall, and how he'd literally dreamed of the moment he could hold them in his arms again, and considered, for just a moment, calling out their names.
Instead, he stood there in silence as they got into their respective cars and drove away, longing for a relationship with them that never existed in the first place.
“Are you alright?” Eddie asked softly.
Steve ignored him. He walked toward the center of the graveyard until he found what he was looking for.
Steven J. Harrington
July, 2003 - May, 2023
His grave had nothing in it. His body had never been found, obviously. And when he contacted the number Owens had given him all those years ago to remind the feds about the cover-up, nobody had any idea what the hell he was talking about. He wasn't sure what had happened. Maybe everything died with Owens, or maybe his situation had been shoved to the back of a file somewhere, lost to bureaucracy.
What his grave did have though, was flowers. A ridiculous amount, surrounded by cards, sticky notes, miniature stuffed animals, and pictures of himself with his old friends. He breathed in shakily, and bent down to get a closer look at one picture in particular. It was a little ironic, a modern Polaroid of himself and a teammate, with a messy note written in the white margins around the photo.
We miss you, Steve.
- DJ
Steve began to cry.
“I told you they loved you,” Eddie said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah,” Steve said.
“Do you want to go find your parents and talk to them?” Eddie asked.
Steve really thought about it for a moment while he gathered himself together. He thought back to his childhood, and how depressed he'd been. He thought about his own kids, and all the struggles they had. How he'd never shied away from stepping in to help when they needed it.
“I don't understand them,” Steve said. “I can't imagine treating Sarah or James the way my parents treated me. But I still love them.”
Eddie crouched down next to Steve and pulled him into a hug. “That's because you're a better parent than they were.”
“I feel kind of childish,” Steve said.
“You're allowed to miss them. We don't grow out of that.”
Steve wiped a tear from his cheek and examined the grave even further. He saw Ava’s name and almost burst out laughing. It was a little embarrassing, now that he looked back on it, how hung up he'd been on her. He looked away, not even interested in opening up that can of worms after so many years. He rubbed the scar on his forearm, thinking about everything he's been through after her.
“I don't want to talk to them,” Steve said. “I mean, aside from the absolute mess it would be to even try. I moved on a long time ago. I just wanted to know the truth. I don't need to know anything else.”
Eddie kissed the side of his hair and used Steve's tombstone to help himself get up, which made Steve laugh. Then he held out his hand to help Steve, because they were approaching the age where their knees complained if they did too much.
“Let's go see Wayne,” Steve said. “I bet he's about to call and ask where we are.”
“Already? What time is it?” Eddie asked with a confused look up at the sky. He pulled his phone out to check the time.
“It doesn't matter. I think I'm good now,” Steve said.
He reached out for Eddie's hand, and threaded their fingers together as they walked back to their car. Their rings brushed against each other, and Steve smiled to himself, reflecting on their years together. He lifted their hands and kissed the back of Eddie's, channeling everything he felt for him, thinking of the next few decades they'd have together, and the way Eddie made him feel.
Warm, soft, and timeless.