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It’s Friday evening, and Eddie is walking through the Hawkins High parking lot. It’s been a few hours since the last class finished; the lot is almost deserted. Only a few cars left.
Eddie’s only here because one of the band kids is having a party tomorrow evening, and they’re his biggest customers. Ideally, he wouldn’t have to stay behind just to shift a few baggies – but he’s sworn off trying to sell at the parties themselves. He’d tried, a couple times, and it had always been absolute hell.
Turns out, drunk people trying to buy drugs are fucking dicks. He’d had half the basketball team calling him a fag to his face, then trying to barter prices with him. Last time, Heidi Keane vomited on him – and, well. It put a pretty permanent end to his brief party career.
So, he stays on the school grounds on Friday evenings, freezing his ass off in the woods behind school. It’s a glamorous life, dealing drugs. Really.
Eddie sighs. Running a hand through his hair, he finds a stray leaf buried in the mess of tangles at the back of his skull. He pulls it out with a frown, flyaway hairs coming with it. His fingers are cold, gone numb from weighing and sealing baggies – handing out ounces for twelve dollars a go.
He’s sick of Winter. He’s sick of the way the light diffuses grey through Hawkins. Sick of the way the sharp wind blows sludgy piles of browning and composting leaves to the steps of the trailer each evening. He wants summer back. Wants the longer evenings and cold beers on their patchy grass outside with Wayne.
Right now, though – right now, he mainly wants to be out of Hawkins fucking High. Wants to be home with a cassette tape playing just a bit too loud, wants a freshly rolled joint and a plate of last night’s leftovers. Right now, he doesn’t want to deal with a single fucking person from school. He’s going on total lockdown. Completely antisocial.
If some douchey kid from Loch Nora wants a tab of acid in the next three days, they can buy it off some other asshole.
He’s trying to plan the evening’s soundtrack in his head when he catches sight of Dustin Henderson.
The kid is on his own, sitting on the ground outside the school building. His back leaning against the school’s phone box, like he was hoping someone might ring. He looks completely pathetic, crumpled up and small. He’s basically the only person left in the parking lot; even the teachers have long fucked off home.
Eddie tears his eyes away from the kid and takes a step towards his van, then another. Then, he stops. Cursing to himself, he turns right back around to walk the length of the parking lot, over to where Dustin’s sat.
Eddie can feel his relaxing evening slipping further from his grasp with every passing moment.
Dustin’s head is pressed to his knees. His hands are clutching at his shins, tight enough the skin around his knuckles has turned white. He doesn’t notice Eddie approaching.
“Uh,” Eddie says, when he’s about six feet away from the kid. He jams his hands in his pockets, tries to look normal. “Hey, kid.”
Dustin tenses. He unravels himself painstakingly slowly, letting go of his shins and loosening the tight ball he was previously curled into. When he looks up at Eddie, it’s obvious from his red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks that he’s been crying.
Eddie wants to, like, scoop him up and put him in his pocket.
“Eddie,” Dustin sniffs. He runs a hand over his face, wiping away some stray tears, but otherwise makes no attempt to hide how he’s been feeling. “I – I wasn’t expecting anyone else to still be around. What are you still doing here?”
Eddie snorts, squatting down onto his haunches so he’s eye-to-eye with Dustin. “I could ask you the same question, Henderson.”
Dustin’s fingers are trembling. He shakes his head. “I, uh. I shouldn’t be here, I guess. It’s – it’s been kind of an intense week, and. My ride isn’t here.”
Eddie’s heart sinks. “Your mom?” he asks.
Dustin looks away, then back to Eddie. His head tilts to the side, like he’s searching for the words.
“No,” he says, eventually. “My – um. Babysitter?” It comes out like a question.
“Babysitter,” Eddie says. He squints. Henderson’s old enough, but maybe his mom is, like, super paranoid. There has been a lot of bad shit in Hawkins, recently.
“Yeah,” Dustin says, weakly. He rubs his jaw.
“A babysitter who’s, what, three hours late to pick you up from school? Super reliable. Your mom should, like, find someone else, dude.”
Dustin scowls at him. Eddie’s almost glad – it’s a far more familiar expression on the kid than the haunted one he’d been sporting before.
“No, dude,” he says. “It’s not – it’s not like that. He says he’s my babysitter, but he’s not, like, paid. He’s a family friend.”
Eddie isn’t convinced. “Still, you’d think whoever this guy is, he could make more of an effort to come and pick you up on time. It’s like, super late, man.”
Dustin’s face crumples. “That’s why I’m,” his foot starts tapping, nervous energy clearly spilling out. “I - he’s never been late before. Or, he has – but he always phoned ahead to the school and let them know so I could wait in the library, or something. I’m just – I’m worried, because. Well. I said – I said it’s been an intense week. So, I’m, I’m –”
He trails off, his head drops back down to his knees. Eddie, still on his haunches, feels torn. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. He can’t leave Dustin here, not when he’s this freaked out.
Clearly Dustin doesn’t want to hear anything negative about the guy who’s supposed to pick him up, but it’s so late Eddie really suspects the dude isn’t going to show.
“I could, like, give you a lift home, man?” Eddie offers.
“No,” Dustin says, into his knees. “I told you; he’s never been this late before. I – he’ll be here. If he can. I’m worried maybe something’s happened, and I tried to get him on the Walkie, but he didn’t answer and – I’m just –”
“Freaking out?”
Dustin snorts. “Yeah, I am totally freaking out. It’s, um. This time of year is hard. It’s around the anniversary of when our friend Will first went missing. When everyone thought he was – y’know.”
Oh.
Dustin and the other freshmen have mentioned Will, of course. Talked about Will the Wise and their old campaigns held in the Wheeler’s basement, but Eddie had never really stopped and connected the dots before. Will Byers, of the zombie variety.
Eddie hadn’t paid too much attention, back then. He’d been new to Hawkins, pissed off at the world and half traumatized by his dickhead dad. His only knowledge of the circumstances surrounding Will’s disappearance had been from Wayne’s commentary on the Hawkins Post articles he read religiously.
After Will had returned – or been found, whatever – Eddie hadn’t really thought about him. The kid wasn’t a part of his life. Sure, he and Jonathan occasionally nodded to each other in the hallways of school – but they weren’t friends.
Then, the Byers left Hawkins. They had done what so many people before them wanted to do but failed; they’d gotten out of this piece of shit town. They’d left the wet piles of leaves and the cold, misty rain.
It had never occurred to Eddie before that they might have left people behind in the process.
Except – here’s Dustin Henderson, crying on his own in the parking lot, hours after school ended. Freaked out his babysitter is late in case he’s gone missing, too.
“Shit, Dustin. I’m sorry.” Eddie puts a hand on Dustin’s shoulder, leaning a little pressure into it. Dustin lifts his head again, looking Eddie in the eye once more. Eddie tries to make his face look older, wiser, reassuring. “I know anniversaries of stuff like this can really fuck you up, man.”
“Yeah,” Dustin agrees. He doesn’t look any happier.
“I’m sure your babysitter is fine, man. There’s, like, no way he could be missing or anything. Maybe he had a family emergency. Or he’s out of range for your Walkies? They’re just kid’s toys, right Henderson? How good can they really be?”
“The Walkies cover all of Hawkins,” Dustin says. “I made a transmitter – it. It doesn’t matter, whatever.” His mouth has twisted again, and Eddie can see his hands have re-tightened on his knees.
Fuck. Eddie is not good at comforting anyone. He has no idea what he’s doing, here.
“Right,” he says. “Sorry – I forgot what a genius I’m dealing with. Of course your Walkies cover the whole town, man.”
Dustin smiles a little, at that. Eddie gives his shoulder a push, smiling back at the kid.
“Look, um, I’ve got no plans this evening, so I can wait with you until he gets here, if you want?”
“I’d appreciate that,” Dustin says. He sounds small, unusually genuine for what an asshole he normally is. Curled up on himself and shy with Eddie in a way he’s never been before.
It’s like, for the first time, Eddie is being forced to confront how young Dustin really is.
“Sure, Henderson,” Eddie says, finally standing up from his haunches. He shakes out his knees, then swings himself back down, parking his ass beside Henderson. The concrete curb is cold and uncomfortable, but Dustin’s shoulders seem to lose some tension as soon as Eddie crashes down beside him.
Eddie pulls his pack of Camels out of his jacket pocket. They’re a little battered, but he’s still got two left.
“D’you mind?” he asks Dustin, gesturing to the unlit smoke now hanging out the corner of his mouth. Dustin shakes his head.
Eddie lights up.
There’s silence for a few moments. The two of them, shoulder to shoulder in the parking lot. It’s not quite a joint, a cassette, and dinner – but it’s almost pleasant. If he had to, Eddie could suffer through doing this again, or whatever. Far be it from him to abandon his sheep in their time of need.
“He’s a really good guy,” Dustin says, unprompted. “When you see him, I don’t want you to assume anything. He really has never been late before.”
Eddie’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with Dustin’s unprompted caveat. Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, raises his eyebrow in question.
“Am I that much of an asshole you think I’d rag on some random dude I don’t know like that?”
Dustin’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head quickly. “No!” he says, practically squawking it. “No, you’re not an asshole, Eddie, it’s just –”
Whatever Dustin had been about to say is cut off by the distant rumble of a car engine. Dustin’s eyes snap to the entrance of the parking lot, whole body tensed. He looks like he’s waiting for bad news, like he’s ready to start fucking running, if he has to. All traces of the earlier youth have left him.
He looks, for a moment, like a soldier – poised on the front lines, waiting for his orders.
Eddie wants to say something to break the tension. He wants to say something to wipe the haunted look out of Dustin’s eyes. He wants to take the kid off to the side and ask if he’s okay, like, really, genuinely okay. Because Eddie has seen a lot of fucked up shit, but he’s never seen a kid look like that. He opens his mouth, about to speak. And then –
Steve Harrington’s BMW rolls through the gates.
Dustin basically collapses against Eddie. It’s like someone’s cut his strings; every tensed muscle and piece of stress he was holding seems to bleed out of his body instantly.
“Thank God,” Dustin says. He pushes away from Eddie, getting to his feet. His eyes don’t leave the body of the BMW driving towards them.
Eddie, beside him, is reeling. He wonders if this is someone’s idea of a mad joke. Surely Henderson – biggest dork in the Hawkins High freshman year – Dustin Henderson hasn’t been losing his shit over the whereabouts of Steve fucking Harrington?
The BMW parks in front of them, and Steve practically flings himself out of the driver’s seat. He’s wearing a blue shirt, crumpled at the collar, and jeans which are criminally tight. His hair is in its usual perfect coif. If it weren’t for the harried expression on his face, he would be the picture of all-American beauty.
Eddie wants to avert his eyes just so he doesn’t go insane.
“Shit, Henderson,” he says. “I am so late. I’m so fucking sorry – Keith made me stay an extra hour after my shift was supposed to end. I tried to call the school, but Lisa must have left reception early because no one picked up. Then my tire blew on the way here, so I had to replace it and then Robin’s dad saw me on the side of the road, and you know he talks almost as much as Robin does and –”
Steve’s ramble is cut off by Dustin flinging himself, full body, into Steve. Eddie braces himself. Part of him still can’t believe what he’s seeing. He’s waiting for the trick, for Steve to turn dismissive, nasty. Sure, Steve was never that bad in school – after sophomore year, after the whole deal with him and Wheeler and Byers – he kept himself to himself. He bought his drugs from Eddie and never argued on the price, and he pulled a face whenever the other basketball kids said anything too mean.
Still. Eddie’s wary. He doesn’t want Henderson to get punched in the jaw just ‘cause he’s got Harrington on a bad day.
Steve makes an ooph of surprise, but he doesn’t shove Dustin away. Instead, he looks over the kid’s shoulders to where Eddie is standing and smiles at him. It’s a soft smile, the sort of smile you might shoot at a friend. Steve’s eyebrows are raised as if to say: can you get a load of this? Eddie wants to chew off his own arm just to distract himself from how fucking weird this all is.
Steve’s grip on Dustin stays firm, his arms coming up to wrap around the kid’s shoulders. He looks away from Eddie to peer at the top of the kid’s head.
“What the hell, Henderson?” he says. “Thought you were too cool to hug me now? That’s what you said last month, man.”
“Shut up,” Dustin says, mostly into Steve’s chest. “Do you even know what day it is? You asshole.”
Steve stills for a second, then his whole face fucking drops. “Shit,” he says. “Fucking November.” His arms clearly tighten around Dustin, gripping him with enough strength Eddie can see the way his arms flex under his stupid shirt.
“And you were late,” Dustin says. “I was worried.”
His face is still buried in Steve’s chest, and his voice cracks on the last word. Eddie is really beginning to feel as though he shouldn’t be here.
“And I was late,” Steve agrees. “I really am sorry, man.”
“Is your Walkie dead?” Dustin asks. Steve pulls a face, flashing a look at Eddie.
“Uh,” he says. “No. It’s just –”
“You’re supposed to have it on you at all times,” Dustin replies. The force of it is weakened by the way he’s still curled into Steve’s arms like a little kid. Steve frowns.
“Shit, Henderson. I’m sorry, I really fucked this up. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
Dustin sniffs loudly, finally pulling away from Steve, straightening his clothes back out. “You better,” he says. “I want an Erica deal. Free ice-cream for life.”
“Free ice-cream for a week, and you can sit shotgun for the next month,” Steve replies, instantly.
Dustin looks suspicious. “Even if Robin’s in the car?”
Steve nods, and Dustin’s brow unfurrows.
“I accept the terms,” he says, then does a truly complicated looking handshake with Steve. Eddie thinks he might be going insane.
“Wow,” he says. “You guys really spend a lot of time together, huh?”
Both Dustin and Steve turn to look at him. Eddie expects Steve to look embarrassed, but he just shrugs, leaning back against the body of his car and crossing his arms.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sort of the babysitter. Been looking after this little twerp for nearly three years, now.”
Dustin rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t deny it. “I told you he’s a family friend,” he says to Eddie. Eddie shakes his head, re-evaluating everything he previously thought he knew about Hawkins.
Henderson and Harrington, family friends. Right.
“Guess I just had to see it to believe it,” he says.
“Yeah,” Dustin replies. “Guess so.” He looks awkward, then, glancing between Steve and Eddie for a few moments, before speaking again. “I – thanks for waiting with me, by the way. It was good – to have company.”
“Sure,” Eddie says. He wonders if it’s still obvious how deeply weird he’s finding this whole situation. “Anytime. Hellfire’s gotta stick together, right?”
“Right,” Dustin says. He’s walked ‘round the BMW now so he’s stood at the passenger door, hand on the door handle. “I appreciate it.”
He climbs into the car. He looks, for all intents and purposes, like he belongs there. He opens the glovebox easily, rooting through the cassettes stored there until he finds one he likes. He’s just about to stick it into the media player, when Steve leans down.
“No Sparks,” Steve says, pointing his finger through the open driver’s window. “I know I fucked up, but you gotta give me a break from the brothers, alright, Henderson? Music wasn’t in the terms.”
Dustin gives him the finger, scowling. Still, he goes back to poking through the tapes easily enough. Steve laughs, turning back to Eddie.
“Dude’s been playing nothing but Angst in my Pants for weeks,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I just don’t think I could handle him singing along to Sextown U.S.A again.” Steve winces, “I love that kid, but he cannot carry a tune.”
“Sure,” Eddie says. He wonders if he’s been dropped into a parallel universe.
Steve rocks forwards on his feet, bouncing slightly, before dropping back. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I, uh. I wanted to say thanks from me too, Munson. I don’t know if Dustin said anything, but –”
“It’s the anniversary of when the Byers kid went missing,” Eddie cuts in. “Yeah. He said.”
Steve nods, he pulls his hands out of his pockets and twists them together, before crossing his arms. He looks nervous, like he can’t quite settle in place. “Yeah,” he says. “I know Dustin was freaking out.”
“I wasn’t,” Dustin calls, from inside the car. He’s picked a tape, Baba O’Riley playing out of the car speakers. It isn’t the sort of music Eddie would have expected Harrington to keep in his glovebox, but maybe Eddie shouldn’t expect to know anything about Steve Harrington ever again.
“I know Dustin was freaking out,” Steve says, again, but louder this time. “Because he hasn’t hugged me in, like, months, dude.”
“Ugh,” Dustin says. Now Steve is here, in front of him, he seems to be over his earlier stress. He turns the volume on the speakers up a notch and turns to look out the window facing away from Steve and Eddie, clearly trying to hide his embarrassment.
Steve has his back to Dustin, but he rolls his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing anyway.
“Anyway,” Steve says, voice dropping back down to a more normal volume. “Thank you, for sitting with him. He likes you, y’know? Your nerd group has been, like, his saving grace since he started Hawkins High. So, I owe you one.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, blinking. “Any time. I – uh – I’m always happy to drive the kid home, too. Y’know, if you get caught up in work again.”
Steve blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Yeah – maybe?” He tugs a hand through his hair again.
Eddie holds his hands up, placating. “I’m not trying to, like, encroach on your territory as the kid’s number one babysitter –”
Steve snorts at this, like Eddie’s said something particularly funny.
Eddie frowns. “I just wanted to put the offer out there, if it helps you out.”
“No, I’m sorry. I do appreciate it, man. It’s just - I already spend half my time carting Robin back and forth from here, so one more ungrateful brat isn’t the end of the world.”
Eddie doesn’t know who Robin is, and Steve doesn’t offer any further explanation.
“Well, I’m here,” he says. “If you ever need me, or. Whatever.” Eddie can’t believe he’s saying this shit to Steve Harrington. He wants to die. He closes his eyes and counts to three, praying Steve doesn’t laugh in his face.
When he opens his eyes again, Steve is chewing the inside of his lip, focused on the ground beside Eddie’s feet rather than Eddie’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Steve says. He looks back up at Eddie and then, all in a rush, he says. “I’m sorry – I do appreciate the offer. I just, I like knowing myself that the kid’s got home safe, y’know?”
“Right,” Eddie says. “Sure.”
“I should, uh,” he gestures to the car. “I should get Henderson home, but seriously. Thanks, dude. I mean it – I owe you one. Any time, okay? Next time you see me, you just gotta say it, okay?”
“Right,” Eddie says again. “You owe me one.”
Steve nods, smiling brightly. His teeth are perfect; Eddie wants to lick them.
Effortlessly, like he doesn’t even know how life ruining he can be, Steve climbs into the car. He reaches over, turning up the volume on the tape even louder. He nods along to the beat of the music, grinning wider when Henderson drums on the dashboard. They both glance back to Eddie, raising their hands in a simultaneous wave.
Then, the car peels away.
“Right, okay,” Eddie says. He definitely needs that joint now.
Fuck, that was definitely the weirdest series of events to happen to anyone in Hawkins. Maybe ever.