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inklessletter · 1 year

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Faith, should I take a leap?

Eddie was no stranger to fear. He’s never been. He was raised on it, he drank it since he was born. Eddie wasn’t even a teenager when he had to hide under his bed, or in the closet, or in the kitchen cabinet, next to the filthy trash can, so the piece of shit that was his biological father wouldn’t beat the fuck out of him. He was way too young to feel lucky when he came back home way later than he should, in the hope of finding his dad passed out on the couch, drugs filling his system. He can’t really make out any childhood memory that isn’t somehow based on fear. Not at home. Not at school. Certainly not a birthday. Not in the brief time he spent in foster care. Not even when his uncle Wayne showed up to take him home. God, especially when Wayne came into his life. He was terrified when he claimed him. Wayne, all awkward and candid, and full of “it’s okay”s and “you’re safe now”s. Wayne, with his pats in the head, and one-armed hugs. Wayne, with his consistency in worrying about him eating enough greens and doing his homework everyday. Wayne and his weird, rare habit of not yelling at him, or spitting at him, or slapping him when he spilled his juice. Wayne, who definitely didn’t beat him, or held him by the neck against the mattress to haphazardly shave his curls calling him a queer, a faggot, when he saw him and his friend Mark Harvest holding hands at the age of fucking seven.

It took awhile for Eddie to understand that “the lucky days”, as in those in which he wouldn’t get beaten, was his new normality. Wayne has saved him from that kind of brutal, dehumanizing fear that built Eddie, in a way. The kind of terror that he couldn’t hide from, or run away from, not really, not when his age was barely reaching double digits. He was starting to make peace with it, with trusting Wayne, falling asleep in the coziness of finding himself finally at home. Feeling safe, cradled, taken care of. Yet Eddie woke up that one night screaming from a nightmare. Wayne came to his room, to see Eddie making himself as small as he possibly could, in the furthest corner of the room.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, please, don’t hit me. Please, I didn’t mean to—” Eddie sobbed.

The pleas hung in his mouth as an echo of a past life, begging mercy to a hand that belonged to a man who first asked him if it was okay to touch him. A person who asked for permission. Like it mattered.

That night, Wayne taught him that fear might never go away, but he could fight it. He could armor up himself. He could find something that grounded him. He could run away, because when you’re in danger, there’s no shame in running. He could face it if he felt ready for it. He could ignore it. He could do a great number of things with it.

“It gets to us all eventually. Fear, that is. We all fear something. And we all deal with it differently, but you’ll learn to face it and grow stronger. We all do, in the end. And it’s okay. It’s okay that you figure out the best way for you to face your fears, kid. This is a safe place for you to do it.”

So, he came back to the warmth of his bed, and let himself fall asleep with that thought in mind. He had a safe space to experiment how to face his demons. That night he really learnt what feeling lucky was like.

And he did just that. He came back to school and it wasn’t as frightening anymore. He’d come from an abusive home, and a school bully that was his own age was absolutely nothing. He built up. He taught himself how to look bigger, how to be louder, how to exist unapologetically. It took him years to perfect it. He dressed in dark, aggressive colors, sizes bigger, many layers, leather and cut off denim. He listened to loud, angry music, sung by loud, angry people that screamed loud enough to drown his terrors. He read fantasy, and adventures, and found it extremely exciting learning how different heroes and characters in his stories overcame his past, and his demons. Fuck living in crippling fear. Fuck hostile environments. Fuck buzzed hair, and black and blue skin, and being small. Fuck being silent. And most of all, fuck not feeling safe.

So when he was sixteen, he made his personal goal to create a safe spot, fear free. He’s gotten really good at detecting fear in people’s eyes. Like, really quickly. So there he was, founding a D&D club at school, retrieving lost souls with fearful eyes, giving them some space to create their own adventures, their own heroes, in which they projected their own tragedies to overcome, so they, themselves, could destroy them. So they could be bigger, grow stronger from their very own history. He could be that helping hand, he decided. He would guide them, he would listen carefully enough, he would learn about what decisions they usually made and throw monsters in their way that helped them to get out of that comfort zone, and face the danger. All in a safe space. A healthy one. He could do that. He knew how, he’d been there; he got out. He could help others find the way.

Fuck, he even found a way to provide (illegal) substances to help some fearful kids to get out of their own minds for awhile. Not that anyone would believe that his first intentions were honest, all loud and obnoxious that he was, all metal music, horns signs and ‘fuck the system, fuck the cops’. Not that anyone would believe that he really didn’t need the money, living in a trailer park in Forest Hills, not when he had a place to sleep and someone was actually filling the fridge. Not that anyone would actually believe him. Not that he cared, at this point. Not that anyone, in fact, asked. Business was good, and parties at Loch Nora were usually where he got most of his income, but there was in the middle of fucking Nowhere, Indiana, a hell lot of kids that bought weed from him because their minds were a scary place to be alone. Like, way too many underage kids asking for a way out to just be nobody’s problem. And there were at least twice as much pair of eyes looking the other fucking way.

So, yeah. Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie knew that people dealt with fear in different ways. Eddie was fully aware that it made people raw, uncomfortable, wanting to run away, or towards it. But most of all, most of fucking all, Eddie fucking knew that you need a danger free environment to learn your ways. He knew what fear could do to people that felt unsafe.

“They’re just scared, man”, Eddie said, low and breathy, shaky hand holding a half smoked cigarette. “I get it.”

Steve Harrington did not. Steve fucking Harrington did not get it. Not like Eddie. There was no fear in those hazel pupils of his. Which made absolutely no sense. Not with all Eddie knew those eyes had witnessed, not with every story that Dustin Henderson filled him in that involved Steve. Not with what he knew Steve had gone through.

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“It doesn’t.”

Steve let out a shaky breath, in the middle of the night, and took the cigarette from Eddie’s fingers to take a long drag. He looked into the void, brows furrowed at the top of the roof next to his bedroom. The sky was clear, the summer was approaching fast. He held the smoke in his lungs.

“I don’t know how you are so chill about it. Half this fucking town hunted you down, Munson.”

Eddie chuckled, tearing his gaze apart from the guy next to him, focusing on the blue eerie haze coming from Harrington's pool.

“The other half didn’t.”

There was silence, but Eddie couldn’t really measure how long neither of them spoke. Might have been two minutes, or thirty. Steve broke it first.

“I didn’t expect that you were the type to see the glass half full.”

“Did you expect things from me, Harrington?” Eddie teased.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, granting him a glance. “Shocks me to the core that you're a helpless optimist, though.”

“Why? Because I dress in black, and talk loud, and hate authorities? Or is it because I ran away when a minor fucking died in my living room? Is that it? Is it because I ran away, Harrington? Because I’m a coward? I’ve got news for you, Steve; that’s not expectation, that’s called prejudice.”

That earned him a look from Steve. And man, what a look. Eddie didn’t raise his voice, but from the way Steve was looking at him, dead in the eye, mouth hanging, he seemed pretty much offended. Eddie couldn’t foresee if he wanted to punch his face.

“That—That’s not it, Munson. Far from it.”

And with that, he looked away. If Eddie didn’t know better, he could say that Steve’s cheeks were growing darker, embarrassed, maybe.

“Then, why—”

“I can’t conceive that you’re so calm about it. How are you not freaking out? It’s just—” Steve cut himself, trying to find the words. His voice did a weird, wobbly thing that Eddie couldn��t identify. Eddie didn’t pressure him, waiting patiently so he could find the words he was desperately looking for to express himself. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and yet half Hawkins still give you those looks, and it’s fucking infuriating. Yeah. And you’re not—you’re not even angry, man. You’re not even mad about it. I’m mad about it. I’m fucking upset about it!”

Steve didn’t look at him while he spoke. He raised his tone a little bit at the end, and Eddie’s gut did something funny. He’s seen people get angry, and mad and upset at him, but he didn’t remember if someone has ever felt that way on his behalf. What a time to live in.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, Eddie. It is not okay. Don’t say it is, don’t fucking dare to say it’s okay, man. Don’t fucking talk like you deserve this shit. Just—please. Please.”

And there it was, the missing fear in his eyes. Don’t fucking talk like you deserve this, he has said. Like you deserve this. Something clicked, and the knot that was forming in Eddie’s throat fell heavily to the pit of his stomach.

“Harrington—”

“You don’t deserve this. It is not your fault. It is not.”

Steve still didn’t look straight at him, all brows furrowed, distant look and blue underlight. Steve didn’t look at him while his fear was showing through his voice, and probably, through his eyes, too.

“I know that. I know it’s not my fault, and of course I’m angry. I just—I just can’t blame them, y’know? I can’t blame them for being scared. They fucking think I killed her, like I summoned a fucking demon to tear her apart. I’m not exactly thrilled either for being the object of their fear, but—I don’t know, man, it gets to us all. Fear, that is.”

Eddie parroted those very same words that Wayne told him that night all those years ago, probably because they got tattooed to his very soul as soon as he heard them. With this, Steve turned his gaze to Eddie, so straightforward, so piercing, that made Eddie feel a little bit lightheaded.

“Tell me ‘I don’t deserve this.’ I wanna hear it.” Steve lowered his voice, discarding the roach of the cigarette.

“Who the fuck would think they deserve a hell like this?”

“Please—”

“I don’t think I deserve it, okay? I don’t. I’m just saying that I get it. I know what fear does to people. That's all I’m sayin’. Jesus fucking Christ. Why would you think I’d agree to a fucking mob after my ass to burn me on a stake, huh? Who would—”

And he stopped. He stopped dead because now he could see the source of Steve’s fear. He could see now, in the gleam of his eyes what Steve was afraid of.

“Steve, I’m not—I don’t think I deserve it. I really, really don’t, okay? Fuck, I need you to believe me when I say I’m not there. Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

“Not even fucking close, okay, man? Oh, my god.”

Eddie felt a tingle creeping from the tips of his fingers, a thin coat of cold sweat damp his forehead. The air grew thin as he learned to read the fear in Steve’s eyes. As he understood.

“Why did you think I felt this way, Harrington? Why—fuck, Steve, why did you assume that?”

Eddie spoke softly, trying to swallow the thickness in his throat, trying for it to go to the pit of his stomach, as it happened before.

“You weren’t expressing any emotions that I thought you’d show,” Steve said, almost apologetically. “You weren’t getting angry, or scared, or—”

“Loud, or obnoxious, or fighting the system. I see it now.” Eddie smiled, and Steve almost smiled, too. “So you became angry and scared for me?” Eddie’s voice was slim, barely audible. A tightness grew in his chest.

“I just—I didn’t want you to feel like this thing was some sort of karmic response, or any kind of cosmic atonement that you deserved. You—You just don’t. This situation, this is all fucked up. I just wanted you to understand it.”

“I know. I do.”

“Good. Cool.”

The question that Eddie was willing to ask was boiling in his mouth. He had a feeling that he didn’t want to really confirm. He didn’t really want to, because if what he was thinking was true, well, fuck him. That would break his fucking heart. It took him a full minute to speak again.

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why—Why were you afraid that I felt that way?”

Because I know how it feels, and it’s awful.

Because that goes along with deeply hating yourself.

Because I care about you.

None of the options that lied unspoken comforted Eddie. Not a single fucking one of them. Every one of them scared the shit out of Eddie’s guts. But Eddie, you see, Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie knew what fear could do to people. Eddie knew the many very ways someone could react to fear. And by the way Steve was keeping his mouth shut was a clear answer.

“It’s not your fault either. What happened to me, or what happened to you. You understand that, right?”

Steve snorted, still not looking at him. That sound might pass as the breaking of an hysterical laughter, but not a muscle in his face indicated that. Eddie noted that he was holding himself in the middle, and that his fingertips were white. Steve swallowed around nothing. He must have had that knot in his throat, too.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh, come on, Steve. Give me a break. You don’t really think that a bunch of douchebags murderers paid by the fucking government for experimenting on kids that eventually tore an opening in time and space to another dimension was really your fault, do you?”

That earned Eddie something closer to a laugh, but Steve didn’t look apart from the pool.

“Not that, no. But—”

And he fell silent again. Under the blue lights of the pool, so still, not blinking, his face morphing into an unreadable expression, Steve seemed a statue. One of those that appeared in the Art History books, an old Greek god or something. All perfect locks and gorgeous factions and sad eyes fixed into the void. When Eddie realized that he was staring, he tore away his gaze. He wondered if Steve could see that his cheeks were getting darker, too.

“Do you know what happened to Barb?” Steve asked, mimicking the soft tone, still not looking at Eddie. “Have we—Have we told you what really happened?”

So, that was it. Eddie knew what he’d been told, though. She died in 1983, attacked by one of those creatures from the underworld. She was Nancy Wheeler’s best friend. A year or so after that it was told by the news that she was accidentally killed by a chemical leak. And that she died in Steve Harrington’s pool in a clandestine party. He only got to learn the mystical part a few months back, when Dustin told him briefly about it. Eddie nodded, quietly.

“Yeah. Kinda.”

“She was there, you know?” Steve pointed at the pool with his head. “I saw the picture that Jonathan took of her, and she was there alone, sitting in the pool, when she was attacked.”

“Hm.”

“I was in my room having sex with Nancy. Barb—she got hurt, Nancy told her to leave, but Barb stayed there, alone and bleeding. For Nance. And I was fucking Nancy Wheeler.”

Eddie looked over at the blue pool, and let Steve talk. His voice was tight.

“The worst part is that at that time Will was still missing, and I fucking slept after. Nancy went back home on her own. I didn’t even drive her back. Didn’t even fucking offered. That thing could’ve gotten her, too, and I was fucking asleep. How fucked up is that?” Steve stopped to visibly ease the knot in his throat, and by the force of his attempts, it must have been a killer one. Still, Eddie didn’t interrupt him, just let him space to find the words. “I didn’t even have the excuse of not knowing that something fucked up was going on in Hawkins, there was a middle schooler missing, and nobody knew fucking why.”

Steve tightened the grip in his own arms, and took a deep breath. Eddie looked at him for a bare second. His eyes were glassy, and his back was stiffened.

“I have no excuse for that. I have no excuse for what I did after that. I was seventeen, I should’ve known better. I didn’t know what to do with—with that. With what I did, I mean. Nancy saw the bullshit I was, the shitty person I was, trying to ignore what happened. I tried so fucking hard, Eddie. So hard. For her. For Nancy. To—to cover up for what I did to her, to Barb. I couldn’t make it right. I couldn’t—I just—”

Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie could recognize it quickly and easily in other people’s eyes. Eddie could read the dormant terror, the trauma, in Steve’s voice, without even looking at him. Eddie could feel Steve’s knot in the throat, his voice growing thinner and shaky, the hard, white knuckles grip. Eddie was no stranger to Steve’s fear.

“Nance knew what to do with that feeling. She used it to give Barb’s family closure, to drag the government in the mud along with it. She’s so fucking smart. She knew what to do. She did it without me. Years later, and I still don’t know what to do with it. I still—I just don’t know, Eddie.

“Then the fucking Russians infiltrated in Hawkins and got us. They got us, me and Robin. They kept us for a few hours, they drugged us, they tortured us. I kept talking to protect Robin, and Dustin, and Erica. I just kept talking, keeping them busy, y’know? That was all I could do, buy some time. And there was this moment, this one moment, they hit me so hard I swear I couldn’t hear, or see anything for a full minute. And all I could think about was her. Barbara Holland. And I—I thought—I, fuck—I thought—”

“You thought you deserved it.”

Eddie’s voice was low and quiet. Eddie saw Steve’s hand travel to his own face. He heard Steve’s few deep breathings, letting it out slowly, calming himself the best he knew. Eddie lifted a hand, to comfort Steve, but he didn’t reach out. Not now, that Steve was all raw, and emotional, and vulnerable. Not now, that Eddie’s hand was also shaking. He put his hand in a closed fist in his own lap and took a deep breath as well.

When Steve talked again, he did it with a much calmer tone.

“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t feel that way. Not for one moment, not ever, because you did nothing wrong, Eddie. Absolutely nothing.”

“Well, I used to sell drugs to kids, but whatever.”

Eddie was unsure that dropping a joke would help the mood, but Steve laughed. He laughed. For a moment, but he did.

“Well, yeah. There’s that. You’re clearly no saint, no.”

Eddie smiled. Yeah, that was a good call. They fell into a comfortable silence that didn’t last.

“You know, in all these past years I didn’t even step in my backyard if it wasn’t strictly necessary. After Barb died, I turned off the pool lights with no intention whatsoever of turning them on ever. My folks didn’t question it, they weren’t around that much, anyway. I don’t think they didn’t even notice.” Eddie looked at the very much alight pool. “After we got to learn that the Upside Down, where her body is, is stuck on 6th November 1983, I turned them on again. In that Hawkins, Barb was still alive that day. So I—I like to think that she’s still somehow alive, I don’t know, trapped in time, maybe? In a—a time loop? Like, stuck two days before where she was still hating my ass for going after her best friend. And I know that she’s gone, alright? For good, but—I—I turned the lights on. Just in case, you know?”

“In case they flicker?”

“Yeah. In case they flicker, and it’s her.”

The air in Eddie’s lungs got stuck under the heaviness of Steve’s words.

“You’re asking yourself to be haunted by Barb’s ghost, Steve?”

“I wouldn’t blame her.”

Fuck him. Fuck him for being so fucking damn familiar to fear. For reading too well in between lines. Fuck him for knowing beforehand that his heart was gonna be shattered. Fuck. Him.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie spoke, fondness impregnating his tone. He took air, to tell him how nothing that happened was Steve’s fault; how he wished he could just talk him out of the guilt, shame, and regret he spent years perfecting; how he wished he could forgive himself because, yeah, he took some bad decisions, but he was just seventeen. But then Steve reacted at his own name, and redirected his gaze to Eddie’s eyes, and then again, Eddie saw a twinkle of fear, and a whole lot of rifts in his insides. The golden boy in front of him was absolutely cracked, and probably this was nothing he could share, not even with the Party, or Nancy. Probably with Robin, but, by how he was still slightly shaking, what he had just told Eddie, was probably the first time he said it out loud. So, under the expecting gaze of Steve Harrington, Eddie said, “thank you for telling me. It must have been scary. It was brave of you for putting it into words.”

Steve’s hazel eyes, under the blue light of the haunted pool, searched something in Eddie’s face. Eddie wanted to look away, he really wanted to, but he let him search whatever he was hoping to find. He let Steve study him, wondering if Steve would notice that he was definitely blushing.

“I think you’re brave, too.”

Steve’s statement was accompanied by a soft smile. Eddie gulped, and took a sharp breath. He smiled widely to shake away the sudden awkwardness.

“Look at us, the bravest men in Hawkins, Indiana. Not afraid of the apocalypse, not afraid of small-minded folks, not afraid of ghosts. What are you afraid of, Steve Harrington?”

The easy tone, suddenly loud and unnecessarily dramatic put an honest smile in Steve’s full—and fucking pretty—mouth. Eddie didn’t look long to Steve’s smile, but long enough to see it flake for a moment. A moment, when Eddie realized that Steve was, too, staring at his lips.

And see, Eddie was no stranger to fear. Eddie knew fear, and knew how to read it in other people’s eyes. And there was a trace of deep, everlasting, inherent fear behind Steve’s hazel pupils. Almost a trace of panic when he fixed his gaze again in Eddie’s dark eyes, after realizing that maybe, just maybe, he’d been staring at Eddie’s lips a couple seconds too long. Steve’s eyes, who dared to wordlessly answer Eddie’s question of what he was afraid of. Steve’s smile, that flaked until it was barely a smile anymore, gracing his face with the ghost of an unspoken truth.

Yeah, Eddie knew Steve’s fear. It was the very same fear he felt after he laid on his mattress, seven years old, battered and bruised, his hair half buzzed, heavily breathing, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold another boy’s hand ever again. Feeling wrong, a big error of nature. Feeling terrified of ever meeting Mark Harvest’s eyes whenever they crossed paths. Yeah, that fucking, disgusting fear.

He had so damn much to thank Wayne. That awkward conversation when Eddie was fifteen, the one that lasted no more than a minute, but it was all Eddie needed to know, that not in Wayne’s household was ever gonna take place any kind of hate for whomever he chose to love. It was that conversation that fueled him to, finally, at age sixteen, kiss a boy in that sweet summer camp in Indianapolis. It gave him strength to actually find a safe place, and meet people like him, and inform himself about safety and what was going on in the world for people like him, and going with Wayne to a clinic to get tested, and learn about his own preferences. He had indeed so fucking much to be thankful for.

But you see, Eddie knew fear, and he could read in the negative spaces of Steve’s family story, the constant absence of parents since he was thirteen, the loveless marriage and picture perfect nuclear family, money based, status based, that Steve Harrington had nothing close to a healthy, safe space to learn whatever he wanted to do with it. But Eddie, bless his soul, he knew fear. And Eddie had a soft spot for helping others to get rid of it. He could guide him out of that pit. Fuck, he could—

Eddie was no longer smiling. Neither was Steve. Eddie raised a tentative hand, slow and soft, toward Steve’s face. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, wordlessly asking for permission to touch, like it mattered, and Steve leaned into his touch, holding his breath, closing his eyes. And then Eddie learned about that other negative space of Steve Harrington, another thing never told, never spoken how damn touch starved that young man was, in that big, empty, lonely house for that long. By how he leaned into the warmth of Eddie’s touch, how he melted into it, how he closed his sparkling eyes with fear and curiosity. God, Eddie could help him, give him a way out, a chance to explore until he was no longer afraid. Eddie could help him feel safe to be him.

Eddie was no stranger to fear. He knew fear, fear was familiar, it has always been to Eddie. In the middle of the night, under a blue, pale, eerie pool light, and a clear sky full of stars, with their heart in their sleeves, his soul lost in Steve Harrington’s breathy, quiet moans in between kisses, his mind and his body fully given in to Steve’s hands in his hair, or his waist—or wherever it felt right for both at the moment—; even at that very moment, Eddie felt a new fear that didn’t surprised him. Not a bit. Because it was a logical fear, the one that got him reading his fate in Steve’s soft, wet lips, that he, sooner or later, was going to be broken hearted. It was reckless, borderline dangerous to get experimental and unattached with someone Eddie’s been having a crush on since high school.

But Eddie was no stranger to fear. He knew fear. He knew his odds in this weird, new situation. His mind a mile a minute, he knew that they should be having rather soon a conversation about what was really going on there. Eddie absolutely knew that maybe he shouldn’t be kissing Steve that night, not after all the vulnerability, and the secrets spilled out. Not after talking about bad decisions, and regrets, and dead girls’ ghosts a few feet away from them. Not until Eddie made sure that Steve felt confident, and safe with him. Not after Eddie made clear that he would never hurt him, that while Steve was good at protecting people, Eddie was really good at protecting hearts. Not until Steve knew that they could take care of each other.

He knew that he would have to work rather sooner than later about what was going to happen to him whenever Steve decided to leave him when he’d had enough. But it was worth it if it helped Steve through this. Steve, who was growing confident with every kiss until leaving Eddie breathless; who needed, desperately, to feel safe, and cradled, and taken care of. Steve, who cut himself raw to explain Eddie why he didn’t want him to feel like he deserved everything bad. Steve, who totally missed the pool lights flickering for a second.

So, yeah, Eddie was no stranger to fear. And the panic rising in his soul at the melting touch of Steve’s taste in his lips was absolutely no surprise. Because, you see, that was the first time in Eddie’s life that he thought that he could live in this fear, as long as it was in Steve Harrington’s arms.

And that—that was really scary.

---

Hey, y'all. I am absolutely in love with these two. This is the first fic that I've ever fully written (or posted), so I'm kinda nervous, not gonna lie. Thank you very much for taking your time and reading this.

Tbh, I've been using Tumblr for awhile now as an espectator, so, yeah, if I do anything wrong, I'm sorry. I promise I'm doing my best. I'm still learning (do we ever stop learning?).

Also, English is not my native language, so, if you detect any mistakes, I'm sorry about that, too.

The link to ao3 of this fic is in the title.

Again, thanks a lot, and I hope you're having a wonderful day. See you around!

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #fanfic #ao3fic #ao3 #first fanfic #please be kind #kinda scared ngl #stranger things #fanfiction #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #survivor guilt #late night confessions #vulnerability

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