Chapter Text
“Keith, you cannot be serious, man,” Robin said, sounding frustrated.
Steve’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. He’d never really taken Keith for one of those types. The kind to be caught up in gossip, rumor, to believe whatever bullshit was hitting the tabloids. He said as much.
“You don’t really believe all that shit about him, do you?”
“It’s not about what I believe, dudes,” Keith said with a shrug. “It’s about what the public believes.”
“He knows his shit. He knows way more about movies than Steve does.” Robin said. Steve shot her a dirty look. They were trying to talk Eddie up right now, not put Steve down. Those two things could be mutually exclusive. “He’d be perfect here.”
“That’s great and all, but that’s not what matters.” Keith leaned back in his office chair with a shrug. His desk was littered with the usual trash: Mountain Dew can, old tissues, a stack of tapes to be labeled for the shelves. “What matters is if seeing him behind the counter will scare away the customers or not. And unfortunately…”
Steve crossed his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw. It wasn’t fair. Eddie’s name had been cleared, at least legally. There just wasn’t enough concrete evidence to convict him for Chrissy’s murder, it was all hearsay, and besides he’d had a whole army storming the court steps to testify as character witnesses. He was a good person. He’d never hurt anyone. He deserved to work at a shitty video store if he wanted to.
Admittedly, Eddie did not want to work at Family Video, but he did want to work somewhere. Steve and Robin had helped him apply to half the businesses in town. Most didn’t even call him in for an interview, and the ones that did only did so to check some box on their H.R. form. Or maybe they did it for a chance to gawk at the local freakshow. Their own personal traveling circus. It made Steve sick.
“What if we--” Robin began, but Keith was already shaking his head.
“No can do, amigo.” Keith shrugged. He turned back to the tapes on his desk, and that was as good as a dismissal.
Robin stood from the stool she’d been sitting on and Steve pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against. They both cast Keith one last dirty look before ducking out of the back office and returning to their places behind the counter.
“Can you believe that?” Robin huffed as she began stacking videos with more force than necessary. “Can you fucking believe it? I mean, like this place is any great catch anyway. It’s basically a ghost town. Who knows, maybe Eddie’s reputation would bring some kind of new lure to the store. Keith can’t know he’d be bad for business, not for certain anyway.”
Steve was silent. He stuck a tape into the player and began rewinding. They had about twelve of these to get through before they could start shutting down for the night.
“Eddie’s not-- He’s not what they think he is,” Robin said over the sound of the tape rewinding. Steve snorted. She was preaching to the choir. Steve knew full well what Eddie really was. He was a pain in the ass, for one. Too loud for most indoor spaces, too performative for anywhere people older than thirty spent time. But he wasn’t the monster people whispered he was.
“How’s he supposed to put all that shit behind him if no one will let him?” Robin asked, and her voice had lost some of its fight. Steve looked up from the fuzzy screen where he’d been watching The Aristocats play in reverse. She was looking at him plainly, frustration and a touch of sadness written on her face.
“I don’t know,” Steve said simply.
“I don’t know either.” Robin sighed. She rubbed at the bridge of her nose, then returned to stacking tapes. For a long moment neither spoke, and the only sound in the store was the whirring of the VHS player. Then, in a soft voice, Robin said, “I’m worried, Steve.”
“About Eddie?”
“That he’ll leave.” Robin shrugged one shoulder, her back to Steve. “If he can’t find somewhere to fit in here, then he’s just going to run.”
“He has somewhere to fit in,” Steve said. “The kids love him. And us, too-- I mean, we like him.”
“Bigger picture, Steve.” Robin snapped her fingers at him. “Sure, he fits in with us. But what about long term? Are you going to split your shitty video store salary with him? Buy him a nice trailer of his own and deliver all his groceries?”
Steve figured the answer Robin was looking for wasn’t yes, if it’s what it takes. Steve would do it, if he had to. Family Video didn’t pay well, but it was enough to buy them both cereal and cheap beer. It wouldn’t last forever, though. Eddie was the independent type. He marched to the beat of his own drum. Steve couldn’t spot him twenties for the rest of his life.
The idea of Eddie leaving was a painful one. He’d nestled into their little family nicely. He’d quickly become just as abused by teenagers looking for rides as Steve was, and Dustin had even decorated a walkie talkie for him with skull stickers. Not even Steve had gotten a personalized walkie when he’d been adopted into the group. The kids would be devastated if Eddie left.
“Maybe it’s what's best,” Robin said softly. “For him. If he left, he might have a chance, you know?”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth. It’s not what I want, but maybe he’d be happier somewhere else.”
Steve ejected the tape with a harsh jab at the button. He slammed the next tape into the machine and began rewinding without saying a word.
“I know it isn’t ideal,” Robin continued, reading his opinion in his body language. “But if it’s what’s best for him… I mean, what else is there for him here?”
“Us,” Steve said angrily. “The place he grew up.”
Robin sighed and didn’t say anything else. She continued reshelving the videos, and Steve continued rewinding them, and everything felt supremely shitty.
Eventually, they locked up the shop and walked to the parking lot together.
“Need a ride?” Steve offered, one hand on his car’s door handle.
“Vickie’s coming to get me,” Robin said. “I told you that already.”
She might well have, but Steve couldn’t remember. He’d been distracted all day. At first he was eager, if not a touch nervous, to speak to Keith when he got in. Eddie had finally -- finally -- agreed to let them campaign for his employment at Family Video. But as the conversation began to go sideways and Keith said no a few too many times, Steve’s eagerness shriveled up and died, becoming cold disappointment instead.
“Right. Yeah. I remember.” Steve folded his arms over the roof of his car, looking at Robin, who hovered near the passenger door but made no move to get in.
“Are you going to Eddie’s?”
“Yeah. I still have to take him his stupid-- whatever it is. Cleaning supplies.”
Robin rolled her eyes, but there was a smile at the corner of her mouth. It died after a moment.
“Are you going to, uh, tell him?”
“About Keith?”
“Yeah.”
Steve chewed the inside of his cheek, then shrugged.
“I guess I’d better. So that he’s not, you know, banking on it. But who knows, maybe his application to Goodie’s Grocery went through.”
Robin snorted. Steve had to agree with the sentiment. The idea was doubtful at best.
“Just be nice, okay?” Robin said. “Be careful of the way you say it.”
“He’s not made of glass, Rob. He’ll be okay.”
Robin made a face, brows knit and lips pressed flat. She shook her head. The parking lot was suddenly illuminated by headlights, and both turned to see Vickie’s tan sedan pull into the lot.
“I mean it, Steve,” Robin said, pointing a finger at him. “Be kind to him. He needs it.”
Robin turned and scurried to Vickie’s car. Vickie waved from the driver’s seat, but Steve could only muster a flutter of his fingers in response. Steve wasn’t sure where this was coming from, Robin telling him to be nice. Steve was always nice, or at least cordial. He treated Eddie better than most the rest of Hawkins did, anyway. He rarely snapped at him, and never told him to fuck off even when he kind of wanted to.
But he supposed Robin was right. Everyone could use a bit of kindness in their lives, especially people as mistreated as Eddie.
Steve sighed and yanked open the door.
“Oh shit, you brought the good stuff,” Eddie said as he opened the door. He reached straight for the bottle of Dawn in Steve’s hand, and completely ignored that he’d also brought a six pack of beer. Eddie turned away from Steve on the doorstep and walked into his living room, leaving the door hanging open. A smile found its way to Steve’s face against his volition.
He walked inside and shut the door behind him.
“Should I be offended that you’re more excited to see the dish soap than you are to see me?”
“You can be offended about anything you want,” Eddie said.
He had already positioned himself on the living room rug and was yanking one dirty white tennis shoe off his foot. Steve set the six pack on the table and pulled two from the plastic rings. He slid one across the table toward Eddie, who ignored it and then popped his own tab.
Steve drank his beer as he watched Eddie stand, retrieve a small bowl of water from the kitchen, sit again, then huff and leap back to his feet to retrieve the washcloth he’d forgotten. Eddie was always like that. Up then down, full of a restless, manic energy. Steve had never met anyone quite like him.
“How did your deal go?” Steve asked. He leaned back on the couch, tossing his feet up on the table.
“Majorly shitty, dude,” Eddie said. There was humor in his voice. He smiled as he said it. “I spent all day running around town trying to make appointments, and only one person showed up.”
Steve winced. It had been like this a lot recently. Since no one in town wanted to hire Eddie, his only source of income was selling drugs. Ever since Chrissy, no one wanted to come to his trailer, though, so Eddie had to go out and meet people all over town. Even still, it usually didn’t go well. Most of his clientele had started looking elsewhere after the trial. Evidently, they could forgive Eddie for selling cocaine to high schoolers but drew the line and unfounded and unsubstantiated murder claims.
Steve watched Eddie dip the edge of his cloth into the bowl of water, then dab it with dish soap. He began to rub at the scuffs on his Reeboks. Steve felt a certain fondness watching Eddie clean his shoes. He was fastidious about things like that, always making sure the frayed edges of his vest weren’t too frayed, carefully sewing patches onto his backpack and clipping stray hairs from his bangs. He was always certain to look artfully disheveled. He put a lot of effort into making it look like he didn’t care.
“I basically used a whole tank of gas, man. And I only made twenty bucks.” Eddie held his shoe up, squinting at it in the light. “What about you? Was it a glorious day rewinding tapes?”
“Rewinding tapes was unfortunately a very large portion of my day.”
Eddie glanced at him, eyes twinkling.
“Becky Bridger?”
“Becky fucking Bridger,” Steve sighed. He rubbed at the corner of his eye, shaking his head. “I keep telling Keith we should just ban her. It says it-- Right there on the cases, it says, ‘Please rewind before returning.’ I think she does it out of spite at this point.”
Eddie snickered and dipped his rag in the water again. Silence fell between them for just a beat too long, and Steve knew he was meant to speak.
“I, uh, talked to Keith, actually.”
“I’d hope so,” Eddie said, moving on to the other shoe. “He’s your boss.”
“About you,” Steve clarified, then cleared his throat. “And your, uh, possible employment?”
Eddie looked at Steve from below his fringe. His brows were raised. When Steve didn’t say anything Eddie waved a hand to say go on.
“He said no.”
“Ah.” Eddie dropped his gaze. He looked at the shoe in his lap, but his hands were still. “Yikes.”
“But, uh, Robin and I think we can convince him,” Steve lied. “We’ll try him again when he’s in a better mood and maybe--”
“He’s said no twice, Steve.” Eddie resumed cleaning his shoes, a newfound ferocity in his movements. “Give the man a break. He knows what the word ‘no’ means. Do you?”
“You don’t even want to work there, man,” Steve said. It was the truth. It was a shit job and everyone knew it.
“No, I don’t,” Eddie agreed. “But my options are pretty fucking slim these days.”
Eddie held up his shoe, deemed it clean enough, and set it beside the other on the floor. Then he let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped backward on the floor, head nearly colliding with the TV stand.
“I think I need a drink,” Eddie told the ceiling.
Steve stood and grabbed the beer he’d set out for Eddie earlier. He leaned over Eddie’s flat form and held it out. Eddie reached up and grabbed the can, but instead of drinking he just brought it down to rest it on his chest. Steve stood above him awkwardly for a moment, then said, “Are you going to stay on the floor?”
“Uh huh.”
“Okay.” Steve sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Your shoes look good.”
“Thanks.”
“Look, Eddie,” Steve rubbed at his brow, “I’m sorry, man. We can try somewhere else. Or maybe, uh, just wait it out a bit more. I mean, Wayne isn’t trying to kick you out anytime soon and you know how rumors are around here--”
“I think I’m going to give up soon.”
“What?” Steve spluttered. “Give up on-- Uh, what does give up mean?”
“You know, give up.” Eddie lifted himself up on his elbows and looked at Steve. He rotated his hand on his wrist as he spoke. “Throw in the towel. Drop out. Admit defeat. Wave a white flag.”
“Okay, but practically-- Like, in actuality, what do you mean?”
Eddie shrugged, then shifted into a sitting position. He cracked the tab on his beer.
“Skip town, I guess. Head to the Twin Cities. Change my name, shave my head, I don’t know.”
Steve felt relief settle on his shoulders.
“Okay, well, now I know you’re joking. You’d never shave your head, man. Your hair is basically 75% of your personality.”
Eddie flipped him off as he slugged back his beer. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand when he finished and said, “I would. If it meant people wouldn’t recognize me anymore.”
Steve’s half smile crumbled. He stared at Eddie blankly.
“I’m fucking broke, dude. I can’t even afford to put gas in my car. No one wants to buy from me anymore because they think I’m selling voodoo powder or the blood of virgins or something. No one wants to hire me because I killed a girl last spring--”
“You didn’t,” Steve interrupted. Eddie drew in a huge breath, huffing it out in a ridiculous sigh. He hung his head, chin to his chest, and looked up at Steve through his lashes.
“What the fuck does it matter, man? If I did it, if I didn’t do it, none of it fucking matters. If everyone wants to believe I did then maybe I should just-- Maybe it’s better if I--”
Steve had seen this before. This spiral. If they all think I’m awful maybe I should just be awful. If they all think I’m worthless, then maybe I really am. Steve was wise enough to stop it before it began.
“Hey, don’t. Stop, okay? Don’t do that to yourself.” Eddie flopped backwards again and rested both hands on his chest. He stared at the ceiling unblinking. Steve rubbed his brow and continued. “If you want to go to the Twin Cities, you should. But only if that’s where you want to be, not because you feel like you have to. If you want to stay here, then let’s figure out a plan.”
“I don’t want to go,” Eddied admitted. “But I think I have to. I just need-- I think I need to go somewhere no one knows my name, you know?”
The idea that formed in Steve’s head then was half baked, mostly shapeless, and completely implausible. He sat upright anyway, felt as though a lightbulb had risen above his head.
“Or you need a new name,” Steve said. Eddie tilted his chin to his chest, frowning at Steve down the length of his sprawled position.
“What?”
“Look, sit up a minute.” Eddie did so, but hesitantly. He held his beer close to his chest as Steve stood up, paced the length of the room. “All you need is a new name. I mean, people think they know you before they meet you, just because they saw your name in the papers, right? Well, what if people didn’t think you were you? ”
Eddie looked bemused. There was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, head tilted to one side.
“Where am I going to get a new name, Harrington?” Eddie chuckled. “You offering to let me take yours?”
“Yes-- No. No, not mine. You don’t want mine. But maybe-- Nancy.”
“ Nancy?” Eddie looked at Steve like he’d grown two heads. “Now you want me to go by your ex girlfriend’s name? Steve, I’m not sure if this is some sort of identity crisis or something, but if you need me to dress up as your ex girlfriend so you can work out your issues, then yeah, I guess I could--”
Steve shot Eddie the dirtiest look he could muster. Apparently that was the intended effect, because Eddie just smirked in a self satisfied manner.
“Shut up. I mean, I need to talk to Nancy. Look, I don’t know what I’m saying, okay? I don’t even-- I don’t know if it’ll even work. But just let me talk to her, and then I’ll call you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, man?”
“I’m going to go.” Steve scooped his jacket off the couch. “Just trust me, okay?”
Eddie blinked up at him from the floor.
“I do trust you,” he said. His voice was earnest.
Steve spared a single moment to appreciate that, to appreciate what it felt like to be trusted by someone like Eddie. Someone clever, someone kind. Then Steve patted him on the head and said, “Good. Great. I’ll call you,” and left the trailer.
“Just one run, Nance,” Steve pleaded the next morning. Nancy scowled at him in the mirror where she applied her mascara. She hadn’t been entirely pleased to see him on her doorstep at seven in the morning, but he needed to catch her before she went to the newsroom. “Come on. What else are you guys filling the pages with anyway?”
“News, Steve,” Nancy said sternly. She capped her mascara and set it on the counter harshly. “That’s what newspapers are usually filled with.”
“Other papers do stuff like this,” Steve said, then paused. “I think. I don’t really-- Uh, I don’t really read the paper that much.”
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I can’t agree to anything without seeing what the guy can do. Come on, you’re smarter than that.”
“But you know him.”
“Yes, I know him.” Nancy turned around and faced Steve directly. “I know him as the foul mouthed burnout who plays stupid games with my little brother. I can’t really give him a job based on those credentials.”
“He’d tone down the swearing,” Steve promised, even though the promise wasn’t really his to give. “Eddie can behave… When he wants to.”
“This is news to me,” Nancy said exasperatedly. “Steve, who’s idea is this? Yours or his?”
“Uh, mine,” Steve admitted. He leaned against the bathroom wall, arms crossed over his chest defensively. “I didn’t really tell him about it.”
“How do you even know he wants to do this? Or can do this?”
“He’s a great writer, Nance. He writes all the campaigns for Hellfire.”
“Some fantasy game is a lot different than journalism. ”
Steve uncrossed his arms and reached for Nancy’s shoulders. He held her still, forced her to meet his eyes.
“Just one run. Please. That’s all I’m asking for.”
Nancy opened her mouth to protest, then sighed. She shook her head and twisted out of his grasp.
“We can’t pay him. Not unless it becomes a recurring segment. We don’t have the funds to pay everyone who wants to contribute some juvenile opinion piece.”
“All he needs is a chance. You know what that’s like, right?” Steve knew he was punching low, knew he was playing dirty. “You know what it’s like to not be given a chance just because of who people think you are.”
Nancy pursed her lips. She shook her head again, but less emphatically. She was wearing down, giving in.
“Bring me a few test articles. Typed. And make sure he uses a good pseudonym. And… And I’ll see what I can do.”
Steve whooped. He pumped a fist into the air. He pulled her into a one armed hug, pressed a kiss to her hair, and sprinted from the Wheeler house to call Eddie.
“For the record, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Eddie said as he followed Steve through the Harrington house and into his father’s back office. “And you know what else? I also don’t like the idea of you whoring me out local newspapers.”
“I’m just whoring out your mind,” Steve argued. “Not, like, your body. And besides, it’s definitely a good idea.”
“Writing an anonymous advice column?” Eddie asked incredulously. “For a shithole paper no one’s ever heard of? Yeah, great idea. One of your best, to tell you the truth.”
Steve pointed at his father’s word processor, as though commanding Eddie to sit. Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and stood firmly in the middle of the room.
“I already said no, Harrington.”
Steve sighed and rubbed at his temples. He’d been running all over the place trying to get Eddie any kind of opportunity he could, and this was the thanks he received. He shouldn’t have been surprised.
“It’ll be completely anonymous,” Steve repeated. They’d already been over this. “It’s just a-- Just a test, okay? What’s the harm in it? If it sucks, then we forget about this. If it works, then maybe you get a few legitimate paychecks and save up enough to drive out to Minneapolis or wherever you want to go. It’s not-- You’re not signing your name in blood anywhere, man. It’s just an experiment.”
Eddie tapped his foot, chewed his lip, then breathed out through his nose harshly. He pushed past Steve and sat at the desk chair, but he was turned sideways, still facing Steve.
“If you’re going to experiment with me, I’d rather it be a different type of test,” Eddie said. “One involving less clothes and more--”
Steve felt heat rise in his cheeks. Eddie liked to say stuff like this just to get a rise out of Steve. Steve wasn’t sure exactly where it came from. Maybe Eddie thought the occasional flirtatious remark would make Steve uncomfortable, would cause him to call Eddie one of the names he so often liked to draw from people’s lips. It didn’t work. Steve could handle a lot more than an innuendo here and there.
“Okay, no, none of that.” Steve grabbed both Eddie’s shoulders in his hands and bodily turned him toward the typewriter. “Hands on keys, now.”
“What am I even supposed to write?”
“Well, it’s an advice column, right? So I’ll ask for advice, and you write down your answer.”
“Then fucking ask something,” Eddie deadpanned.
Now it was Steve’s turn to think, and he was stumped. Steve tapped his chin, hummed in thought, then said.
“Dear Eddie,” Steve started. “I’m a divorced father of three--”
Eddie spluttered, turning toward Steve with an absurd look.
“You’re a what?”
“Let me finish, Jesus. And type what I’m saying.”
Eddie snickered as he turned back to the processor and began dictating.
“I’m a divorced father of three, and my sons like to have sleepovers on weeknights. No matter what I do, I can’t get them to go to bed before midnight. I’ve tried being the cool dad, tried being the stern dad, but nothing works. No matter what I do they still run around like gremlins, keeping me up half the night. What can I do to get them to sleep at a reasonable hour on school nights? Signed, Tired Dad on Maple Street.”
Eddie was laughing as he finished typing Steve’s question. Then he paused a long moment, staring at the page, and suddenly began typing furiously. Steve couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face as he watched Eddie’s fingers on the keys, chipped black polish glinting in the lamp light, a mischievous look on his face.
After a few minutes, Eddie hit the print button with a satisfied smirk and watched the daisy wheel reconstruct his sentences. Over the tap, tap, tap of the printer, Eddie turned to Steve and said, “So who’s your favorite son? Dustin?”
“Shut up.”
“Or maybe it’s Mike. Ever since he got you that round brush for your birthday I’ve noticed a bit of favoritism--”
“Shut up ,” Steve repeated, slapping Eddie’s shoulder. The printer halted, and Steve snatched the paper from the tray. Eddie leaned against his arm as Steve’s eyes flicked across the page, rereading his own advice.
‘Dear Tired Dad,
To start, have you ever considered how insane it is to let your boys have a sleepover on a school night in the first place? Maybe set a few ground rules before you go asking for advice on how to overcome issues you perpetuated yourself. The way I see it, you have two options: One, no more sleepovers if you know it’s going to be an issue; Two, get a good pair of earplugs and find a way to sleep through the noise. Oh, and don’t worry about the gremlins. They don’t need sleep. Just don’t feed them after midnight.’
“Oh this is brilliant,” Steve said, laughing. “This is good.”
“Yeah?” Eddie sounded excited. He snatched the paper back and read it again. “Do you think it’s too sarcastic?”
“No, no, not at all. It will make people laugh.” Warmth spread through Steve’s chest. He hadn’t been sure before, but now he was certain this would work. Eddie had a quick wit, and an infectiously comedic personality. People would know that about him if they were ever able to look past the allegations and the occasional eyeliner. “Let’s do another one.”
Eddie turned back to the word processor, and Steve hopped onto the desk beside it. They stayed like that until far too late into the night, Steve feeding Eddie prompts, Eddie’s fingers flying across the keyboard, and the entire house echoing with the sound of their laughter.