“Hey.”

Eddie looks up from the inventory sheet he’s bent over (the new shipment of records isn’t going to record itself – Christ, that was awful, Henderson is contagious) to see his coworker Kyle poking his head into the back room.

“Someone left something for you at the counter.”

“Who?” Eddie asks, brows furrowed.

Most everyone in town seems to have let the murder accusations drop (embarrassed enough by their own fanatical reactions that they’d much rather forget the whole thing), but a few people still treat him like a felon walking free; it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Uh, real normie-looking guy. Gives you a ride sometimes.”

Eddie blinks. “Steve?”

“Yeah, sure.” Kyle shrugs. “Says you left it in his car.”

Whatever Eddie is expecting to see when he follows Kyle back out to the front counter of the music shop, a brown bag lunch isn’t it. He most certainly hadn’t left that in Steve’s car this morning.

Steve hadn’t even given him a ride that morning.

But it’s got his name on it, sure enough, in Steve’s weirdly neat handwriting. The asshole even drew a little heart next to it.

Keep reading

Here was the thing. Will had….has a gift.

It was a silent one at first, saved for school things and then onto privately coloring his pictures. Until after he came back from the upside-down. After their whole universe twisted and tore, the bells rolling the deaths of thousands.

First he drew their stories, their characters that they lovingly brought to life in their little dungeons and dragons group: Will being the wise, Mike the Gallant, Dustin the All-Knowing, Lucas the Swift and True.

After the upside-down, his pictures grew darker. These he kept quiet, secret to himself because he didn’t want to be known as zombie-boy, the broken one, the creep. He drew what he saw and sometimes what he drew? It came alive.

First were the vines while under the spell of the mindflayer, his mind confused and riddled like the endless tunnels and cross-crossing vegetation that nearly killed him the first go-around.

After the Mindflayer left, Will was torn. He was forced to leave the home he always knew, battered and broken as he often felt. He left behind the things that made him who he once was: toys were for children and he wasn’t one anymore, that innocence was lost to him.

Will grew quiet, contemplative. His mom and brother knew he was keeping secrets but if they knew this one? Would they love him still?

Dr. Owens often said if he couldn’t express what he was feeling out loud then maybe writing..? No, words did come to him but not in a way he could encompass everything, all of it. Since he couldn’t articulate he resorted to the only other thing he could think of to cast his mind to peace, one to bring him to a meditative state.

Painting.

He spent hours, days, weeks, months planning and outlining everything that had been haunting his dreams since he left Hawkins. The urgency to get out on canvas twisting his guts and stealing his every waking thought. They would chase and snap like the many heads of the hydra he drew.

His inspiration was Tiamat and he hoped that Mike noticed he included his favorite iteration of the dragons in their core book.

He drew Mike the gallant, in silver and gold shining armor. He raised his arms: one to deflect the flames with a mirrored shield, the other with an illuminated blade. The sword had a +5 for striking, he always imagined the blade was blue- like the heart of a flame. Just thinking of it made his heart warm, his hands shake, and he had to step away from the canvas for a week before he could finish it.

He finally did.

He sealed it to protect it, now dotted with new characters of their party. He was so nervous to give it to Mike, they’d barely spoken all summer but he knew El got letters…

He didn’t give the painting to him until after he let his heart a thousand times. Only having a shard of courage to give it to him after they lost her. It cheered Mike in a way, and Will didn’t know what he did with it, everyone so concerned about Hawkins. And it was fine.

It was fine. It was good to know that he got it out, told Mike a bit of how he felt.

It wasn’t enough but he would live.

Dustin though. He lost something-someone, a whole part of him that he’d never, ever get back again.

Eddie.

He listened to every story, asked endless questions, watched Gareth imitate the man they all loved until he broke down sobbing. Will held him through that storm, the two becoming much closer that Will thought he could have. Asking Gareth if it would hurt too much: if he could have a few pictures of Eddie, anything and that he would give them back as soon as he was done?

Done with what Gareth never asked, just handed Will a book full of polaroids, so many Will had to keep himself from laughing. A lot were of them and their band: Eddie in full glam makeup for a costume party, Eddie on stage shining like a rock star, Eddie high as a kite and cuddling a disgruntled Gareth, Eddie being held up by the band and squirming from Freak trying to take off his boots.

Eddie laughing with his head thrown back, eyes scrunched and cackling surrounded by supremely pissed off Hellfire members.

Eddie quiet. Studying. Reading. Smiling.

So many pictures, a whole lifetime of a person Will never got to meet but everyone said they would be fast friends. Robin saying they had a lot in common with an almost knowing look in her sharp eyes.

Will took them all and studied them, spent all of his waking hours in the corner of his room at his desk, the light above him always on as if inspiration was flowing into him.

He started to imagine his last hours i the upside-down, knowing the story by heart due to getting Dustin alone and talkative one night. How he distracted the demobats by playing “Master of Puppets” on his guitar on top of his nightmare trailer. How the air vents weren’t enough to hold all of them, and how he sacrificed his own life to protect Dustin, and the town that made him the villain.

Soon the sketch was done, and it was as if Will was a mere conduit, a puppet himself. He looked at it as though he could hear his focused breath, feel his joy at playing- his ever present fear, could smell the leather and sweat.

For an entire week Will knew nothing but the shade of his hair, the sweep of his lashes, the scars on his fingers from the guitar. This enthralled and terrified him, the level of detail, the layers of paint and blue wash that seemed to tinge everything with sadness.

He drew Eddie like he always saw him in the pictures: unbridled and alive, joy bursting from him like he was a firework. Smiling as he shredded and getting every note perfect, the demobats and red lightning soaring above and surrounding him in the background.

With every brush stroke he felt tingling in his fingertips, warmth going up his arms. He added highlights to Eddie’s curls, the glint in his rings, the shine of the sweat, the bright light shimmering in his doe-like eyes.

His heart hammered painting the shadows in the dip of his neck, the crook of his long fingers, the folds in his clothing and holey jeans.

When he was finished, feeling like the cord had finally been cut, he sucked in air like he was barely breathing. And maybe he was. His stomach hurt-growling with hunger. He knew his lip split at one point due to being dry and bitten in concentration.

Looking at the painting he gasped. He couldn’t-

He couldn’t have drawn that. Eddie looked like the god Apollo, like Icarus, and lucifer all in one. Dark and bright and beautiful. And he never met him.

Tears streamed down his face, the emotions so raw and deep. This was Dustin’s grief, he knew. This was Wayne’s unspoken screaming agony at having this man torn from their lives so suddenly and brutally.

He took the time to shower and eat, change his clothes and getting the items he would need to transport it to his friend. Walking back into the room didn’t change the picture at all, made it even more dimensional but he supposed it was delusion and hopeful feeling.

He heaved a beleaguered sigh as he swiped the first brush of sealant over the dry painting, even though he could see his faults- that many the nose could have been a little more smooth, maybe some extra shine on the rings, it was finished.

He kept the painting right where it was to dry, and went to go out with El and Joyce. It took them all by surprise when it started snowing in the middle of Spring, realizing that it was ash from the fires and rifts that were ripped open by Vecna.

He didn’t put two and two together until they heard the screeching from many large, frightening mouths. He was scared, gripping Mike’s hand as he clutched El’s. He knew. Knew it was Vecna, the Mindflayer, and lastly-

Tiamat. The hydra.

They let the government take care of that, their focus was keeping the town together. Soon all the dead were coming back but..different. They smelled like another word, and though they looked harmless enough it was when they were hungry or weak that their faces blossomed open like the demogorgon se. Soon brother had to kill brother, wife her husband, even the children weren’t safe. And there was no hiding. They could sense the living: hear their heartbeats and frightened breaths.

Will had forgot to give Dustin the portrait until they were huddled in his room late at night, keeping clear of the windows in case they would be seen, trying to scavenge for clean clothing, blankets, food-anything and everything.

He didn’t realize what they were looking at for a brief moment until he heard a choked sob and turned to see his pale, tear-stained face. Will shuffled to the painting despite Dustin’s harsh breathing and pleas to ‘keep down, they’ll see you’. This was a risk Will needed to take if his hunch was correct. He carefully tugged it from his easel, the canvas peeled off the frame soundlessly, as if even the painting knew the need for silence.

“I know,” Will started, his voice raspy from disuse, “I know this isn’t enough. But I wanted you to have something. If that’s-that’s okay.”

He handed it to Dustin who took the canvas in shaking fingers, “This…this is Eddie. How-”

“It’s not important now. It’s enough he’s with you. I meant to give it to you a while ago but with everything-” he was stopped by the crush of Dustin’s arms around him, the painting in-between and probably getting cracks in the layers but neither cared. He held Dustin as he poured renewed grief into his neck, his cold tears chilling and winding down under his shirt, and Will didn’t cared about that either. All he cared about was being there for his friend as he mourned a father figure he only got to have for about as long as his dad stayed in his life.

From that day on, Dustin held a bit more courage. He change his look a little: wearing a battle vest in tribute to Eddie. He let himself be as intense as he wanted, inspired by Eddie’s passion and endless love. He threw himself into their battle, defending those who couldn’t or were too scared to fight, his bad ankle being nothing but an inconvenience.

Until one night they were surrounded, inside an igloo jungle gym. How they got into the situation was ridiculous: Dustin heard a crying cat. Pulling an Eddie he went out to find it and lost track of time. Now they were surrounded by demobats gnashing their fangs and screeching with bloodthirsty fangs to get at their tender flesh.

Will had a gun. He was saving it, not having a lot of bullets. They were hours from dawn- Erica was scared and crying. He pulled her into his arms, shoving her face into the crook of his neck and shoulder, his other hand resting on the gun and mentally counting the bullets he had left. Four, he had four. One for each of them and maybe to take one of the bats out once they got through. The metal bars were groaning and popping with the weight.

Erica screamed.

The demobats stopped. They quieted and their little sightless eyes turned to a new prey.

“Jesus fucking Christ are they ever going to learn?” Dustin spat angrily, radioing for help. It wasn’t frequent but people did try to brave the night believing the demobats weren’t real.

Until he heard the music, the deep growling tone of a guitar riff. The demobats screeched, Will’s heart hammered anew, Dustin’s face drained of all color as the demobats seemed to calm, bobbing their heads in sync to the notes spilling from…somewhere.

They lifted off, one by one then two by two at a time. With each layer of their wings lifting they could see through the bars:

A lone figure, walking down the road so casual and slow as if he were strolling through the town on a bright summer day and not moldering in the upside-down. His rings glinted under the waning crescent moon, the ever present lightning highlighting the sparkle in his dark eyes.

The demobats were pulled, flying around their master and completely forgetting their prey sitting huddled together under bent steel. They wheeled around and flew like blissful birds than the terrifying creatures they were just moments before.

The man stopped just at the border of the jungle gym, power rolling off of him like the after math of thunder, smelling like ozone and smoke.

Dustin got to his feet first, Erica still crying out of fear. Will pulled her up, her bravery slowly coming back and wiping angrily at her eyes. Will was shocked. This man looked exactly like-

“Eddie?” Dustin’s voice warbled on a sob, hope and pain warring in the tone.

He smiled back in the same way as Will had seen in all the pictures, now more alive than ever.

Eddie started finding notes in his locker his sophomore year. The first couple of them, he just tossed without reading. He didn’t need to read what those asshole bullies wanted to say about him. But curiosity won out after two weeks of constant notes and he finally opened one. It was the single most impactful thing he’d ever read. 

I think you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. 

He kept that note. And every other note he got from that point on. If anyone were to ask Eddie what he regretted most in his life, it would be those two weeks of notes he tossed without reading. Ten slips of paper with unknown writing that he wishes he could get back. Add them to his ‘mystery boys notes’ box. And he was a mystery, the note writer. Anonymous. Unknown. Impossible to catch. 

Eddie held out for a month. A whole month before he decided to stage a stake out. He watched his locker like a hawk. In between classes, during classes, lunch, after school and even one absolutely horrible day where he came in an hour before school started. But the mystery boy had to be invisible. He never saw anyone approach his locker but his daily note was always there. And Eddie; poor, unfortunate, infatuated Eddie dealt with mystery boys’ notes from ‘82 to ‘85. Four agonizing years of the most heart-warming, loving notes. 

I wish I was as brave as you.

Did you change your shampoo? Your hair looked so soft today.

God, your eyes have to be the biggest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen. So pretty.

I like how long your hair is getting. 

Saw you walking down the hall today and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more. 

They started cute. Compliments here and there, even a doodle every once in a while. Hearts and smiley faces. But as the months and years went by, the mystery boy got deeper. Confessions and secrets. 

I think if I had a different dad, we would’ve been best friends.

Can you fall in love with someone you’ve never talked to?

I dream about us. 

I’m a boy. I’m sorry.

I want to hold your hand. Those rings are something else. 

I saw you trying to catch me. Adorable.

I wish I could take you on a date. Not give a shit what my dad would say or what people would think. 

I wish I could be brave enough to talk to you. 

You’re still the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.

I’m graduating this year. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you. I think I’m going to try to figure out a way to keep dropping these off next year. I don’t want you to forget about me.

The notes didn’t continue when the school year started. Eddie was embarrassed to admit he cried that first night. He wasn’t sure how the mystery boy was going to be able to get the notes to him but he fully believed it was going to happen. He went five weeks with no daily note in his locker. And then, it showed up on a Monday. He almost missed it, the tiny slip of paper. 

Sorry this took so long. Had to figure out how I was going to sneak these in here. I don’t think I’ll be able to call you pretty every day of the week this time around but I’m going to try my best! 

And mystery boy was right. The notes were always there on Monday. Just Monday. But Eddie didn’t complain. One note a week after five weeks of nothing almost had his heart bursting from his chest. It also narrowed down his search. Sort of. Mystery boy was either coming in on those Mondays to drop off the note, sneaking in on the weekends when the school was empty OR after school on Fridays. And look, he’s failed to graduate high school two times in a row now but he wasn’t stupid. Did it take him three months after the notes to start again for him to realize who it was? Yes but to be fair, for two of those months it was Eddie wallowing in denial. 

Five weeks into school was when he restarted Hellfire. Three weeks before that was when he brought in those new little freshman sheepies. The same freshman sheepies that got picked up by Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who graduated last year. Steve Harrington who he catches staring at him from his beemer in the parking lot every Friday night before he takes the kiddies home. Steve who he categorizes as someone who is so far out of his league that it just couldn’t be him. But it’s been three months and there isn’t any other former Hawkins high student running around in or near the school. And now that Eddie’s almost certain Steve has been mystery boy these past few years, he can’t wait. He’s been in love with a figure made out of slips of paper for four years and his nonexistent patience has truly run thin.  

He calls for a break 15 minutes before they normally end their sessions. Tells the boys he needs to run to the bathroom and almost sprints out the door. His locker sits in the hallway just around the corner of the drama room. The door closing shut echos through the empty hallways, alongside the squeaks coming from his shoes as he hustles towards his locker. He freezes as soon as he turns the corner. 

Steve probably only had 30 seconds after hearing the door open and shut to process what he was going to do. He could’ve run or hid, maybe pretend like he just needed the bathroom while he waited. But Eddie watched him pause as they made eye contact instead. Watched as Steve looked him up and down. Watched him relax and lean back against the lockers behind him with a lazy smirk. His arm slowly moved up and Eddie could see a slip of paper held between his fingers. Steve didn’t break eye contact with him at all as he proceeded to shove the paper between the vents of his locker. They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Staring. Broken when Steve pushed himself off the wall and walked towards him. He didn’t stop. Side stepped around Eddie before they could collide. A faint brush of his fingers along the back of his hand as he walked past him. And Eddie just watched him pass. Just like he watched him slip that note in his locker, he watched Steve walk back down the hall and out the front doors.

He waited only five seconds after the doors closed behind Steve before he jogged over to his locker. Grabbed the note and shoved it into his pocket before running back over to the drama room. Told the guys that they stopped at a decent spot and would meet again next Friday. Walked with them to the parking lot to head home. To catch a glimpse of Steve. And there he was, sitting in his beemer, staring again. This time though, Eddie smiled at him. He smiled at him and pulled the note out of his pocket. Opened it right there in the parking lot while he stared back at Steve. It only took him a few seconds to glance down to read. And as soon as he did, he threw his head back and laughed. Cackled really. He looked back at the beemer and saw Steve with the widest grin. Watched him lift his fingers off the steering wheel and wiggle them at him before he started pulling out of the lot. He looked back down at the note in his hand and chuckled again. Who knew Steve Harrington knew DnD well enough to draw a perfect rendition of an eight sided dice?

Wanna go on a d8? - Steve Harrington xxx-xxx-xxxx