Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

By now, Eddie knows the sound of that engine anywhere.

It’s not surprising after seeing him on Saturday; he’s been expecting something. Maybe not at work, but at least it’s not in a dark alley with no witnesses. With a deep breath, he resolves to face whatever is about to happen head-on.

“Going for a smoke,” he calls over his shoulder to Rob’s son Gareth, who is sitting back on a chair with his feet up on an overturned pail, flipping through a comic book.

By the time he’s through the bay doors, Billy is climbing out of his car. They wordlessly convene by the wall, lighting up their own cigarettes the way they used to. Eddie leans back on the corrugated tin warmed by the early afternoon sun as Billy stands the way he stands. Like he owns the ground below his feet.

“So,” Billy begins after his first drag, blue eyes intense and fixed on Eddie’s, “you a bible thumper now, or something?”

A surprised scoff erupts from Eddie’s chest. Of all the things he expected Billy to lead with, it wasn’t that. “What gives you that impression?”

Billy narrows his eyes. “You know, you treat me like I'm stupid, Eddie, and it really pisses me off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.” Eddie’s stomach flips, and Billy’s face scrunches up like a foul odor just crept up his nostrils. “You're like half his age.”

While his first instinct is to argue that Billy’s math is all wrong—that it’s none of his damn business anyway—he knows any defensiveness would be taken as some sort of admission.

“You're imagining things,” Eddie says instead, hopeful he doesn’t look as sick as he feels. 

Would Billy really pull something if he suspects them? What would happen if people found out? Endless scenarios explode in front of him: Steve ending it, Wayne hating Eddie for ruining an honest and good man’s life, Hawkins becoming yet another town that despises him.

Billy just laughs. “If you say so. Do whatever the hell you want, princess. I don’t give a shit about you. Not anymore. But you leave my sister out of it.”

“Wait—you’re worried about Max?”

“I don't trust him around her. Priests have a tendency to…” Billy leans in and sniffs through his nose a couple times, “sniff out the young. And if you don't see the problem with whatever the fuck you two are doing, then I don't trust you either.” 

Billy jabs his fingers holding his cigarette against Eddie’s chest to emphasize his point, holding them there, the pressure firm and building and building and building into the heavy silence until he lets up and takes another drag. 

“It’s just D&D, man. It’s a fucking club. Nothing’s going on.”

On his exhale, Billy shakes his head and continues with a sneer. “Stay the fuck away from her. Or else.”

He flicks his lit cigarette at Eddie, saunters back to his car, and starts the engine, staring Eddie down until he’s reversing and whipping around, kicking up dust on his way out of the lot.

Eddie stays frozen for a moment until the frustration boils over. He stomps on Billy’s cigarette over and over and over again, crunching it into the loose rocks and dirt, completely caught up in the threat of their house of cards tumbling down into nothing. Of course, it’s a precarious thing. Of course, Eddie has been careless and stupid and put them both in jeopardy. It’s what he does.

Of course. Of course. Of course.

Growling, he kicks at the spot he’s been stomping on, clenching his fists and tensing his jaw until he can get his breathing back on track. 

Deep breath in. Hold. Slow, steady breath out.

It’s okay.

Steve told Eddie he would never regret him. They’ll have each other no matter what. Billy just said to stay away from Max, so if they don’t ruffle any feathers, it’ll be okay.

While Eddie finishes his cigarette, he continues focusing on his breathing, gets himself as close to baseline as he can, and goes back into the garage.

“Dude. That looked intense,” Gareth says, still kicking back and flipping through his comic.

“Yeah.” Eddie nods, checking over his shoulder to see what sort of vantage point Gareth would have had. Probably just Billy’s exit if anything. He makes his way to the radio, wanting to blast it and disappear into his work for a while. “That’s Billy, alright. Intense.”

A guitar riff and heavy bass fill the air.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Gareth shouts over the music, putting his comic down and nodding along to the music before air drumming. “This song rules.”

Some of the tension eases off Eddie’s shoulders. Not all of it. But some. “You like Metallica?”

“Like? They're only my favorite band! Got to see them play in Chicago!”

“No way.”

“One of the many benefits of not living in the sticks. Me and a few friends know all their songs.”

“Let me guess… you're a drummer?”

“Got a kit in my dad’s basement,” Gareth confirms. “Not as decked out as my other one back home, but it's good. Do you play?”

“Guitar. There’s this acoustic I’ve been paying down at the pawnshop.”

“No shit! We should jam!”

“Oh, cool, guys!” With the music blasting, Eddie didn't notice Rob’s approach. He lowers the volume and turns to find Rob’s beaming face. “Eddie, you coming over to the house?”

“Uh, that’d be great. But it might be a bit before I can buy my guitar.” 

He doesn’t want to mention that payday isn’t for another week, and between saving for the van, for his life, and buying groceries, there's not a hell of a lot left over that he can put towards the guitar. But Tony is doing him a solid letting Eddie come by as much as he is, just so he can play it. 

At the end of the day, however, Rob passes Eddie an envelope.

“What’s this?” Eddie asks, thumbing at the corner of the flap.

“It’s a bonus!” Rob beams and claps Eddie on the shoulder. “Nothing you haven’t earned. Now, do me a favor and get yourself that guitar.”

Dirty water swirls around the white porcelain before disappearing down the drain. Steve is bracketing Eddie, washing his hands clean from the day. 

“Billy showed up at the garage a couple days back.”

Steve’s body stiffens behind him.

“What?”

“He… he doesn’t want me around Max,” Eddie says, turning around.

By the look on his face, Steve is clearly flabbergasted. “Why?”

Eddie should tell him the truth. But now, the whole implication that they're doing something bad or wrong… he doesn't even want that line of thinking to seep into Steve and activate his Catholic guilt. If he even has any of that left anymore. But it’s better not to risk it. Eddie can carry this for the both of them.

“I think because of our, I mean mine and Billy's history. He doesn't trust me to be a safe person around kids.”

“Well, that's ridiculous. You're so good with them, Eddie. I hope you aren't taking it to heart.”

“No. Don’t worry, I’m not. Billy's a psycho. He's just—sour that I dumped him, I think. That's all.”

“Okay. Well, you'll tell me if he keeps giving you trouble?”

“Yeah, I will.”

Later, they are naked in bed, skin warm and sticking together at every point they meet: Eddie’s cheek resting on Steve’s chest, his hand just in front of his face, watching his fingers trail through chest hair, their legs pressed and tangled together. Eddie floats and bobs along in the current of Steve’s soft, steady breath.

“It's too late this year,” Steve begins, his voice low, “but I was thinking I’d like to plant sunflowers next spring.”

The statement has him imagining the year ahead. Autumn and Winter and then Spring with Steve. He shifts, turning onto his stomach completely so they can look each other in the eyes, his chin digging softly into Steve’s pec.

“I’m so—” Eddie breathes, “I feel so safe with you.”

Steve smiles fondly, his own chin tucked into his neck so he can see Eddie, reaching down to caress his cheek. “I feel safe with you, too.”

And that’s… an unexpected thing. But it’s a thing he will cherish and work on earning forever if he has to.

Walking into Hawkins Pawn this time is a triumph.

Tony’s thick eyebrows lift up, and a snide, knowing little smile pulls from one corner of his mouth.

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” he says, crossing his big arms over his barrel of a chest as Eddie struts to the counter.

“Look, Tony, I know you’re gonna miss seeing my ugly mug every week, and I’m sorry about that, I really am—” Eddie digs the envelope with the exact cash he needs to pay off the remaining balance, because Rob must have called Tony to ask what it was the other day, and slaps it down between them for dramatic effect. “But it’s high time I brought my baby home.”

Tony chuckles and shakes his head. “You got it, man.”

Just like DMing again, jamming with someone—someone Eddie knows he’d have been friends with in high school—is like fitting another puzzle piece back where it belongs. The empty spaces aren’t the majority of what’s there anymore. He can nearly see the full image of himself. 

Down in Pat and Rob’s basement, he’s just Eddie, finding his fingers until he doesn’t have to think about them at all as they play through ‘Back in Black’.

It makes his heart race a little, finding his voice, too, but after the first verse, he hesitantly commits to the chorus.

“Fuck yeah, dude!” Gareth crows in encouragement, making Eddie laugh through the words, but he comes out the other side of it singing the next verse with his whole chest.

Lounging on the couches later, they discover their mutual love for D&D, and Eddie decides he’ll write Gareth in as a special character while he’s still in town. 

He scrunches his nose when Eddie tells him where it’s hosted.

“I guess that’s sort of badass,” he concedes, “getting to yell about blasphemous shit like demons and worshipping deities in the basement of a church.”

They laugh and fall into a companionable silence.

“So…” Gareth starts, and Eddie raises his brows. “I’m gonna ask you a question, and just so you know, if you freak out or get all disgusted, then you’re personally offending me in solidarity with a good friend of mine back home.”

“Okay…”

“Is that Billy guy an ex or something?”

“Uh…”

“I’m an ally. Been to Chicago Pride a bunch. And one of my best friends and bandmates is a lesbian.”

Eddie takes his new almost-friend in. It would be nice to be open about himself with someone else. Why hide if Gareth already accepts it?

“He’s not exactly an ex. Just someone I messed around with a bit when I first moved here.”

“Well. He might be hot, but holy crap, you can do way better than that guy. I bet it’s slim pickings in a place like this, though.”

Eddie shrugs, a little smile pulling at his cheek. “I manage alright.”

“Good for you, man! But hey, if you ever decide to leave Hawkins, you have to come to Chicago. I just know you and the guys would hit it off. You could even just come for a visit! We’ll take you to a gay bar!”

“Oh, yeah. Well, Chicago was the plan back when I was in high school.”

“Hell yeah, dude. You’ll love it there.”

Eddie nods and smiles, chewing the inside of his cheek.

The D&D session with Gareth is killer. It’s awesome having him around—Eddie’s social circle has only consisted of people years older and younger than him for so long. Having a friend his age is just… nice.

Max shows up at the very end, though, and it makes him uneasy. He really should tell everyone they can’t invite spectators anymore, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The idea of turning anyone who wants to be here away sucks; it’s just not his thing. Thankfully, there’s no Billy waiting for her on their way out, but still, he’s uneasy.

Billy’s threat has made him paranoid, like he’s got eyes on him at all times, watching his every move. Like at any moment, Billy is about to hop out from behind a corner and yell ‘Gotcha!’ before punching Eddie in the nose.

But he manages to talk himself through it, focusing on his breathing whenever the anxiety threatens to take hold. 

“You sure you don’t wanna come along?” Wayne asks as he gathers all of his stuff: a duffle bag, a tent, his fishing gear, a cooler.

“I’d get all bored and squirrely—I’d capsize that boat, and you know it.”

Wayne laughs. “Fair enough.”

It’s about to be Wayne’s first and only fishing trip of the season, the way things played out. The whole thing went unspoken, but Eddie knows he’d have been out there a handful of times by now if he weren’t keeping an eye on Eddie, worrying about him. 

But now he doesn’t have to, not as much, and they both know it. So Wayne’s going fishing with his friends. They’re driving there tonight so they can wake up at an ungodly hour and hit the lake before the sun even rises.

Once he’s gone, Eddie picks up the phone to call Steve. He answers on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Wayne’s gone fishin’,” Eddie drawls, smiling into the receiver. He can hear the smile on Steve’s face when he responds, a little laugh mixed in with his words.

“What are you still doing there, then?”

There is a new face among the congregation. His eyes are focused, his attention so full and engaged that they are almost piercing.

The stranger stands when it is time to stand; he kneels when it is time to kneel; he closes his eyes when it is time to pray. His mouth forms each word with passionate precision.

Of course, whenever there is a new face, it is Steve’s job to welcome them; however, when he is absent from the crowd after the service, he can’t help the way his shoulders relax.

Only, the man returns a few days later when Steve expects to find the church empty. He forgot all about his existence in the space of a few days, but there he is, sitting alone at a pew, entirely unavoidable.

“Hello,” Steve greets softly when he reaches him.

The stranger attempts a smile, but it is weak, like his face can’t accommodate the expression. He simply looks up at Steve with apprehension.

“May I sit with you?”

“Okay,” he says, sliding over to make room. 

Steve centers himself as he settles in. It’s been easy to pretend the past month—or longer, he supposes. He’s been pretending for so much longer. But it has been second nature to pretend with those he’s already proven himself to. A new person, however, feels like a monumental challenge. Perhaps he doesn’t have the energy for it any longer, now that the world has cracked itself open, offering him something so vibrant and new.

He’s been attempting to work it all out in his head—the right way to keep what he wants and shed what no longer fits.

The way through isn’t clear to him yet, so he has chosen, as much as possible, not to linger in it. When he is with Eddie, he doesn’t have to think about it, he simply gets to be. He just wants to be for a little while longer.

Still, he is here, sitting next to a person in need, expected to fulfill a role.

“I’m Father Harrington.”

The stranger gives him an appraising sidelong look. “James.”

“It’s nice to meet you, James.”

James tilts his chin toward the ceiling and breathes in deeply. “Your church is beautiful.”

Steve takes a moment to look at it through fresh eyes. The stained glass, the gold filigree, the ornate wood carvings. It is beautiful—it’s overly decadent for a town like Hawkins, but it’s beautiful. “Thank you.”

“I enjoyed your service on Sunday.”

The bags under James’ eyes frame a deep-set sadness. He’s unshaven, scruffy. From afar on that first day, he seemed so put together. Hair in a perfect coif. His button-down and tie pressed, free of wrinkles. Today, his shirt is crumpled. Perhaps church is his one reason to stitch himself together each week—the one thread of remaining hope in a difficult point in life. Steve understands that all too well.

“I’m glad. Did anything in particular bring you here today?”

James sighs. “It’s been hard attending my church. For some time now. I lost…” A small gasp rips out of his throat like he’s been trying to keep a sob contained for far too long. “Someone very special to me… and her memory is there. In every corner of that place.” He sniffs. “It’s everywhere.”

A fresh grief. Something so close to the surface that it’s eating this poor young man alive.

“Would you like to talk about her?”

James nods. “She was my fiancée. Or—she would have been. But she was taken from me before I could propose.”

He is holding onto a necklace as he says it, silver glints off the ring dangling from it when his hand falls away to return to his lap.

“She was killed.”

“Oh.” Steve’s heart breaks for him. To lose someone so young to violence, to lose a future, a whole life planned. No one should have to face something like that. “I am truly sorry, my son.”

It continues.

It is only on the days when the church is empty that James is there, so they have all the time in the world to talk through his grief and the overwhelming anger over the injustice of it all. They work on James’ trust in God to shepherd him through his darkest days, even though He is the same God who allowed something so tragic to happen, because Steve knows, for James, his faith will be paramount for healing. 

In the moments when it feels the most disingenuous because of what Steve has done, what he has forsaken, he convinces himself that in solidifying another person’s faith, he might be forgiven in some way, shape, or form. Whose forgiveness he is searching for isn’t clear. If not God’s, if He even exists in the way Steve has been told He exists, it’s the town’s. It’s for the community that has entrusted him with something so sacred.

James huffs. “Being here, somewhere she’s never been, it’s almost a relief. Like I can sit with the Lord without the shadow of it—the shadow of her all around me all the time. I can pretend like I’m a different person with a different life,” he trails off, uncertain eyes flicking to Steve. “Does that make me sound horrible?”

“Not at all. It’s only human. You can’t hold it so close to yourself all of the time. You deserve moments of rest away from your grief.”

“Thank you, Father,” James says, relaxing. The bags under his eyes aren’t as dark anymore. He must be sleeping better than he was when they first met. “When I came here, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t think you could help me, but you have.”

It’s dark out when the phone rings. He barely lets it go once because he knows it’s Eddie on the other side of the line. They’ve been apart practically the entire week with Eddie’s work, so he’s been looking forward to this. “Hello?”

“Wayne’s gone fishin’.”

Steve smiles into the receiver at Eddie’s put-on southern accent, the ghost of which arises from time to time in the most endearing way—little affectations absorbed from his family’s ties to the south. His proximity to Wayne pulls it out of him more often than he probably realizes. “What are you still doing there, then?”

“Just checking if the coast is clear. Is now a good time?”

“I have a few things to wrap up at the church, but you can let yourself in at the rectory if you get here before I’m done.”

“Roger that. Arrival imminent.”

-

The door opens and closes, and Steve’s jaw tenses. He was really hoping the evening would pass without any visitors. Now, he just hopes whoever this is won’t keep him long. He turns around to greet them and smiles with relief that it’s Eddie, but schools the expression into something more stern.

“I thought I told you to wait for me in the rectory.”

Eddie shrugs as he closes the distance between them, stopping right in front of him, a small grin on his face. “I’m a sinner, Father. Greedy, if you recall.”

“Greed. That’s one of the big ones.” Steve holds onto Eddie’s chin, caught in his beautiful brown eyes. “Do you have anything else you’d like to confess?”

“Yeah.”

After swiping his thumb across Eddie’s bottom lip, Steve asks, “Like what?” 

“Sinful thoughts… things I shouldn’t be imagining.”

Steve hums. “Is that so? Tell me.”

Swaying into Steve’s space, Eddie lowly says, “Like my lips stretched around your cock.”

Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and pulls him toward the confessional, sitting down on the bench and spreading his legs, popping the button to his trousers, and undoing his zipper.

As soon as Steve pulls his cock out, almost hard now, Eddie drops to his knees. He waits patiently, so good as Steve strokes himself the rest of the way there, thumbing at the pearl collecting at the tip to spread around. Gripping the base once more, he taps the spongy crown against Eddie’s lips, smearing the tacky wetness there before rubbing it all over Eddie’s face to mark him. Eddie’s mouth goes slack, and Steve pushes through the soft, pillowy opening.

“Is this what you wanted?” Steve asks.

Eddie whines, his wet tongue meeting the intrusion before making a bed for Steve’s shaft to slide along.

“Show me what you imagined,” Steve says, allowing his eyes to drift closed and get lost in the wet heat of Eddie’s perfect mouth, nudging his shoe against the thick bulge between Eddie’s thighs. Eddie gets to work humping against Steve’s leg as he sucks him off.

“Jesus,” Steve moans, holding onto the top of Eddie’s head as he bobs up and down. “You’re so—”

“Get your hands off of him.”

Steve’s eyes snap open, and a cold flash of fear sears down his spine when he finds someone standing there, watching them. Backlight. It’s—

“…James? I—”

While Steve rushes to tuck himself away, Eddie falls sideways to huddle in the corner, his back knocking harshly against the wooden wall. A severe, painful-sounding gasp sucks from Eddie’s chest. His hand twitches to touch him, to soothe him. 

James grits his teeth. “I said, get away from him!”

He puts as much distance between himself and Eddie as he can, his shoulder pressing against the opposite side of the booth. The look on James’s face makes him sick. The betrayal of a priest whom he has entrusted with his vulnerability is so viscerally apparent. The stark reality of all of Steve's decisions smacks him hard and leaves his ears ringing. But then—

Everything moves in jolting fragments. James reaches into his jacket pocket and stumbles forward, voice breaking as he screeches through broken syllables, “I said get back!”

James is staring right at Eddie, whose hands are up and trembling like…

Steve snaps his head back to James and the gun in his hand.

Every single molecule in the church freezes, even the air in Steve’s lungs is solid—cold. If he tries to swallow, he might choke.

“It is true,” James sobs in his lamentation. He’s not pointing the gun at either of them now, but as he talks, he gestures with it, wildly. “I didn't want to believe him, but it's true.”

“Him?” Steve asks, shaking his head. “Who's ‘ him’?”

“The guy!” James waves the gun. Steve can’t take his eyes off it. He needs to get all the way in front of Eddie, who is stockstill, staring at James, and pale as snow in the corner of the dark booth. Steve needs to protect him—shield him. “The guy at the bar. It doesn't matter! He said you were a pervert, but Father,” he pleads, “this isn't your fault. You have to know. It's him! He ruins everything he touches. He corrupts us, good, faithful people.”

Before Steve can ask who this other ‘him’ is, Eddie is speaking.

“You’re right!” he says. “It’s not his fault. It’s mine. S-so, please, Jason, please let him go. I’ll come with you, wherever you want to take me.”

Steve blinks at Eddie and then at the disheveled blonde before him.

And then he understands.

“Jason?” Steve clarifies, and Eddie is going to vomit.

The other day, during his last almost-panic attack, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him again. He figured Billy’s intimidation had simply gotten to him, shaken him up enough to revive the ghosts he thought he buried. It was just the back of the man’s head—a blonde with a familiar build, but the last time this happened, it was someone else—a guy with a weak chin and brown eyes. That’s what he told himself when he rushed into Family Video to wait out the panic. It wasn’t Jason. 

Only, it might have been Jason after all.

He didn’t tell Steve because he’s been trying to keep a handle on things—didn’t want to allow himself to backslide when things were going so good. God, he should have told Steve. Fuck. Didn’t he lock the door when he first came in? He swears he locked it.

“I’m sorry I lied to you, Father,” Jason says, “but I had to see for myself if he was doing the same thing to you as he did to her.”

“You’ve been coming here?” Eddie asks, blood rushing between his ears. “For how long?”

“How do you do it?” Jason demands, frenetic and wild-eyed, ignoring Eddie’s question. “How do you make people do these things?”

“I don’t…” Eddie shakes his head. 

“Yes, you do. You made her do it!” Jason screams, red-faced with spit spraying from behind his teeth.

Eddie wants to argue, but he has to fix this. He has to protect Steve. “I didn’t think… I didn’t mean to do it. It just happened.”

“You didn’t mean to make her write that suicide note? Something like that doesn’t just happen!”

Steve’s head snaps toward Eddie.

“Suicide note? What suicide note?” Eddie asks, dizzy. 

“The one you made her put in my locker!”

He’s shaking his head now. “The cops didn’t say anything about a suicide note!”

No one ever mentioned a suicide note. 

“I didn’t give it to them.” Jason scowls, his upper lip twitching. If they had known about it, maybe the town wouldn’t have… or Eddie could have… “I wasn’t going to let you trick them, too!”

Jason is so far gone. If he wasn’t actively threatening their lives, he’d feel sorry for him. Eddie needs to stop him, but Eddie is on the ground, crowded into a corner, half-way shielded beside Steve’s legs with nowhere to go but toward the guy with the gun.

“Don’t worry, Father, as soon as he pays for what he did, you’ll be released from it, you’ll have peace. You’ll have control over yourself again. We both will.”

“You’re right!” Steve blurts suddenly. “You’re right. I-I’ve lost my way. I don’t know how… I’m not myself lately. I'm so ashamed. Th-thank you for saving me.”

Eddie’s guts sink. He wants to believe Steve is pretending, that this is just to get them out of here, the same way Eddie would say or do anything if it meant they could just get out of here.

“Will you pray with me?” Steve asks, and Jason stares at him, wide-eyed and awestruck like he just performed a miracle healing a broken, wayward priest.

“Yes,” Jason nods. “Yes, please, I’d love that, Father. Let’s pray.”

“But I just… I want to—I need to get away from him. Can I come join you? Where it’s safe?”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. He tells himself it’s fake. It’s their only chance. Or maybe it’s Steve’s only chance, and not Eddie’s. But he so desperately wants to have another chance.

“Okay. Just. Slowly,” Jason tells Steve before turning the gun on Eddie. “And you! Don’t you dare move.”

Steve slowly stands, keeping his hands up in surrender, carefully following the path Jason gestures for him to take.

“I’m going to get on my knees,” Steve says in the end, getting closer to the ground. Eddie cranes his neck, shifting to the side, trying to keep an eye on Steve as he lowers into a crouch.

Jason senses Eddie’s movement, and in the split second when he points the gun back at Eddie, shouting ‘Don’t move!’, Steve pounces, swooping below the arm wielding the gun. They tumble together out of Eddie’s sight. He hurries to his feet, but before he can make it out of the booth, a loud bang echoes through the church.

Stumbling out into the open is the dumbest thing he could do, but his ears are ringing and his awareness is somewhere up, up, up and out of his body, somewhere near the apex of the cathedral. It’s from up there that he sees blood pooling on the floor.

“Oh, god,” someone is saying, muffled but close. “Oh, no, oh god.”

Sound is coming in faster now, whooshing between Eddie’s ears, but his vision is slow, slow, slow.

Steve is on the ground. His eyelids are fluttering, his eyes are rolling back, and then he goes limp.

Is that really the color of Steve’s blood?

Is it supposed to be that dark?

He stumbles a few steps closer.

“Don’t!” Jason screams, and Eddie sobers. 

“Just let me check on him! I swear! I just have to make sure he’s okay.”

After a thick moment, Jason concedes. “Fine!”

Adrenaline carries him through each swift movement: grabbing his bandana from his back pocket, rushing to Steve, his knees slamming to the ground as he searches for the bullet’s entry point.

It’s his arm. Thank fuck it’s just his arm. That means he’ll be okay, right? Eddie ties a tourniquet as tightly as he can, just above the wound. 

“I didn’t mean to…” Jason says. “Eddie, I swear I didn’t mean to.”

Eddie ignores him. What order is he supposed to do this in? He doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Talk to me,” he says, tapping Steve’s face. He’s pale and clammy and cold. Eddie’s never seen him pale before. It’s not right. 

“Is he dead?” Jason pleads. 

“Shut up!” Eddie screams, and Jason’s eyes shift, finally snapping out of his panicked craze. Eddie puts his finger to the pulse point in Steve’s neck and finds it there. It’s there.

It’s shock. He just passed out from the shock. He drops his head to Steve’s chest, wanting to bury his face in his neck.

“Eddie,” he whispers, quiet enough that Jason can’t hear him. Eddie could scream with relief. “‘m fine.”

Meanwhile, Jason is pacing and rambling. “I didn’t mean to. Not him. Why did he do that? It was supposed to be you.”

The nights are quiet out here. That’s the thing about a town like this. It took some getting used to because the silence itself was intimidating in its own way. He had become so accustomed to the nightly yelling or crying or taunting—even the semi-regular siren while living on his cellblock.

There are never any sirens in Hawkins, Indiana—except now. Off in the distance, tonight, there are sirens.

Help, Eddie thinks. Help is coming closer. Probably only minutes away now.

Eddie looks up at Jason, who has inched back toward the entrance. He’s hearing the sirens, too.

They stare at each other for a brief moment. Jason has this look on his face—something Eddie recognizes, something so hollow and resigned. His eyes flutter before he breaks away and runs through the door.

Steve’s fingers slide weakly between Eddie’s. “Stay,” he says, his eyes open and mostly alert. Pleading.

But Eddie can’t. 

“I love you,” he tells Steve, dipping down to press a soft kiss on his lips, and then he’s running out the door, too.

Looking around, Eddie considers where he’d go if he were on the run and takes a chance.

“Jason!” he yells as he crashes into the forest. Finding him just past the treeline, standing still with his back turned away from Eddie, raising the gun to his own head. “No, don’t!”

Jason whirls round with that look on his face. The same one he recognized on Chrissy’s. The same one Eddie used to see in the mirror.

“You didn’t kill him! I just—I know what that’s like, torturing yourself over something that isn’t true. I know you didn’t mean to hurt him. But that’s all that it is. You hurt him, but he’s alive.”

“But Chrissy isn’t,” Jason counters, raising the gun once more.

“I know! I know. I fucking hate that she isn’t.”

Quietly now, “I wanted it to be your fault. But it was mine, wasn’t it?” Jason’s voice warbles. “That she’s dead?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t know whose fault it was. Maybe it was the whole world's fault. Or it wasn't anyone's. But it wasn’t yours alone. Just, give me the gun, alright?”

The sirens are right there. But they’re hidden away in the trees. They just need a little bit longer. 

Red and blue strobing lights catch Jason’s face when he shifts his weight to his other foot. Eddie raises his eyebrows and reaches out his hand. Jason lowers his hand, drops his head, and sighs.

“Go away, Eddie,” he says before turning around to walk deeper into the forest. 

Eddie surges forward and tackles him, the impact knocking the gun from Jason’s hand. They both scramble for it, but Eddie gets hold of it first and throws it as hard as he can far into the bushes.

Roaring in desperation, Jason wrestles himself on top of Eddie, punching him over and over again.

“Why would you do that!” Jason wails.

Eddie tries. He really tries to stop him, but a heavy thud lands just right, and the quiet of night rushes all around him.

As the morning grows late, Eddie’s nerves build. Wayne should be home from his trip soon, and then he’ll see, and then they’ll have to talk.

He makes a fresh pot of coffee, moving his stiff limbs with care as he scoops the grounds into the filter and presses the button. He settles at the table and listens to it gurgle until Wayne’s truck pulls up outside. Maybe coffee is a bad idea, but he likes the smell and the warmth it provides, so he pours their mugs with shaking hands anyway. 

“Mornin’,” Wayne greets as he shoulders the screen door open with an armful of gear.

“Hey, how was the trip?” Eddie asks, leaning back against the counter, waiting. He hates that the one weekend Wayne took for himself, something like this had to happen.

“It was—” His smile drops along with the rest of what’s in his hands when he finally sees Eddie. The stunned silence only lasts a brief moment before Wayne erupts in seething anger. “That son of a bitch. Was it him again? Billy?”

“What?” Eddie shakes his head in confusion. Not only at hearing that name dropping from his uncle’s mouth, but at this version of him, so far removed from his stoic nature.

“The boy you been seein’! The bastard who beat you black ‘n blue back in June! He hit you again?”

“How do you know about Billy?”

Wayne steps over the pile around his feet to approach Eddie, with a trembling lip and a pointed, shaking finger. “Eddie, you tell me where he lives. Right now.”

“I don’t…”

“Now, son. Tell me so I can make this right.”

“It wasn’t him! Okay? This isn’t—I haven’t been with—” His voice cracks, and he pauses. So Wayne knows that Eddie is… And he wants to protect him anyway. “I haven’t been with Billy for a while now. This was something else.” Eddie sucks a weak breath in. “Wayne…”

Tears spill from Eddie’s eyes.

“Ah shit.” Wayne hauls him in, wrapping him up in his arms. Eddie buries his tender, bruised face against his duck canvas jacket. He smells warm, like campfire. “What happened?”

Eddie tells him what he can, omitting the part about Jason catching him and Steve in a compromising position. He can only assume Steve will do the same. Or has done the same already. It’s the same thing he told the cops when they asked what led to the attack and subsequent suicide: Jason blamed Eddie for Chrissy’s death, and he snapped, came to take matters into his own hands, but Father Harrington protected him. Eddie tried to stop Jason, tried to help him. He tried so hard, but it didn’t matter in the end. 

Sometimes, things are simply out of a person’s hands.

“And Father Harrington, he’s okay. They had to take him to the city for his surgery, but I convinced a nurse to get an update. He’s in recovery, and he has a friend there with him. He’s okay, Wayne, I swear.”

Wayne’s deep blue eyes search Eddie’s. He scrubs a hand down his face. “Thank Christ you two were together when that boy found you. If you had been alone, Eddie…”

If it meant he could have spared Steve from the pain and trauma, Eddie would have preferred it… Jason confronting him at the trailer instead, but that’s not how it happened. 

“We can’t worry about the what-ifs,” Eddie says, having already wasted too much of his life doing so. “We just have to go from here.”

The town is buzzing as word spreads about ‘the nutjob from that fundamentalist church’. It’s an oversimplification of the real events, like rumors tend to be—the most important details get sidelined for half-truths and exaggerations. But people keep showing up at the trailer, dropping off baked goods and casseroles. It frazzles Wayne as much as it boggles Eddie’s mind. People keep calling him a hero for helping Steve the way he did, for chasing the culprit away. No one seems to be blaming Eddie either.

Strangers smile at him when they see him on the street. He even sees Billy one day, and the guy just freezes, like Eddie's his ghost, and has the decency to look ashamed when he turns around and walks the other way.

All of Eddie’s spare time is spent on that bench across from the church, waiting for any sign of Steve’s return.

He sees when an older man arrives—maybe Steve’s boss. Or, whatever they’re called in the hierarchy of the church. When Eddie asks what’s happening, Wayne tells him the Bishop is here while Steve recovers. They don’t know for how long.

Eddie hates waiting. He just wants to be with Steve. He should be with him, helping him heal, instead of sitting useless on this public bench.

And then one day, a car he’s never seen before is parked in the lot. Twenty minutes go by before a tall, slender woman with a dirty-blonde bob walks from the direction of the rectory to the car, starts it, and drives away.

Eddie knocks on the door when he gets to the rectory, unsure what or who will be on the other side of it, but it’s Steve who answers with his arm in a sling.

“Eddie,” he says, relief pouring out of him, fisting Eddie’s vest, pulling him inside, and locking the door behind them.

With his back against the door, Eddie sinks into their kiss, trying to replace the memory of the last one they shared with this one. He’s held it together, more or less, since he found out Steve was in recovery, but now—

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie says against Steve’s lips, touching his face, his uninjured shoulder, mapping out all he’s been missing over the past week. He feels the need to commit it all to memory. To hold on while he still can.

“There is nothing to apologize for.” Steve’s eyes are glassy with tears as he takes in Eddie’s face. Eddie knows what he looks like right now—a kaleidoscope of yellow and purple and green. “I tried calling, but there was never an answer. Are you okay?”

Eddie nods. “Haven’t been at the trailer much. Wanted to be with you. Was that Robin?”

“Yeah, that’s Robin.” Steve steps back, still holding onto Eddie’s hand, pulling him toward the couch. “We have some time before she comes back.”

As Eddie goes, he notices the boxes. He blinks and swallows. His feet cemented to the floor. “Are you leaving?”

Steve closes his eyes. “Yes.”

Shaking his head, Eddie says, “But I want you to stay.”

“Eddie, I can't, I—” He grabs Eddie’s hand. “I can’t live here and not be their priest. This town is too small. I’m too connected to everything… I could only ever love you in secret.”

“I know,” he breathes. He knew the moment he came to in the ambulance when his left eye was swollen shut, but he wanted to pretend for a little while longer. What happened that night changed everything. There are too many eyes on them in Hawkins, especially now. “I just wish…”

Immediately, Eddie thinks of Chicago. He doesn’t have much to his name. It would be quick to pack. They could start over in a place where no one knows who they used to be. Aside from Robin. Aside from Gareth. But maybe…

It’s his turn to close his eyes, pressing their foreheads together.

“I have to stay. With Wayne. Even without my probation, I have my apprenticeship. I’m just getting back on my feet, I…”

“I know.”

The fact that Steve is starting from scratch, too, goes unspoken. Who knows where either of them will be by the time they find their footing and can walk confidently on their own? 

They hold onto each other. For how long, Eddie can’t be sure. “Maybe if we met at a different time,” Steve says against Eddie’s tear-stained cheek. “Under different circumstances, it could have been different.”

“I don't know. I think the timing was sort of perfect,” Eddie muses, pressing his fingers into the muscles of Steve's back so he can remember what it's like to hold on to something solid and grounding. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you.”

Pulling back, Steve levels him with a sureness, gently touching his bruised face. “You will, though. Believe me. You have so much life ahead of you. I’m going to be a small blip at the end of it all.”

“That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

There is a look on Steve’s face Eddie recognizes—not because he understands it exactly, but because he’s seen it before. It crosses over Steve’s expression from time to time, in certain moments. It’s like he knows something Eddie doesn’t—something he can’t tell Eddie. Maybe because there aren’t words for it, or for another reason entirely. But either way, it reminds him of the years between them, of all the things Eddie doesn’t know just yet.

“I love you, Eddie. I always will.”

They kiss. It’s just a lingering press of their lips—soft but firm. When they break apart from it, Eddie sniffs, struggling to meet Steve’s eyes. “I just—can I use your bathroom? Before I go?”

Steve gives him a small, heartbroken smile. “Of course.”

Eddie takes in the rectory as he moves through it, knowing this will be the last time he sees it. In the bathroom, he splashes his face with cold water and looks at himself in the mirror. He looks at the parts of himself in various states of healing, some on the surface, some hidden away, knowing he’ll get there, that eventually he’ll be okay.

Before he returns, he peeks into Steve’s bedroom—the place where they deconstructed and rebuilt each other brick by brick. He eyes the drawer to the nightstand and looks over his shoulder before stepping inside.

Resurrection

The blue light of the morning is pooled at the horizon, spreading further up the sky until it casts soft light onto the roofs of the brownstones. As he breathes in, Steve savors the smell of the early morning, the dew mixing with the sweat collecting on his skin.

A chirp draws his eyes up to where he finds a blackbird nestled on a branch. 

Steve is buzzing with the connection of his feet to the earth, the earth holding steady the roots of the tree, the tree offering a home to the blackbirds.

It swoops down, and he follows its path until it lands on a small wrought-iron gate separating the sidewalk from a front yard. The little bird chirps as he passes it by.

He whistles back and pauses, doubling back to have another look at the garden, at the sunflowers growing tall, and he feels warm.

In the shower later, he takes his time. His apartment might be old, but it has good pipes. When he closes his eyes and dips his head into the spray, he sees yellow, and he feels warm.

He wipes the steam from the mirror so he can tame his hair. Robin jokes that, if they subtracted a couple of decades and some change from his age and got rid of the beard, he could replace the lead in Dawson’s Creek.

‘You might have to take out those earrings, too, though. They’re too slutty for an after-school special.’

This morning’s breakfast is a poppy seed bagel from the farmer’s market and cream cheese from the bodega down the street, along with the rest of his blueberries. He makes a mental note to call Robin to get her to swing by to take the last two bagels for her and Barb. They’ll go stale by the time he’s back from his conference after the weekend—better to enjoy them fresh rather than end up forgotten in his freezer.

He hits the road just after ten. He’ll get to Indianapolis in time for a late lunch and a few hours to rest at the hotel before meeting up for drinks with his cohort. 

Their group varies in backgrounds, age, and sexuality, but they are peers in their field. Together, they’ve been attending psychology conferences for a few years now, meeting up all across the country once or twice a year. The last one in San Francisco will be hard to beat, not only for the topics covered by the speakers, but for the extracurriculars as well. Things tend to remain slightly more straight-laced in Middle America. Although, they do have a lead on a bar that sounds welcoming to more mature queer men like himself.

The weekend should be fun, even if it is happening in Indiana. At least the memories there aren’t so bruising anymore.

However, just about an hour into his drive, barely even out of Chicago, because it always takes forever to get out of the city, his car starts smoking. He manages to ease it safely to the shoulder as it sputters and dies.

After a moment with his forehead resting on the steering wheel and a groan, he gathers what he needs and crosses to the other side of the highway so he can try to hitch a ride to the gas station he passed a few miles back.

He walks along the shoulder for nearly twenty minutes before an older man takes pity on him. When he hitched as a teenager, he barely even had to toss his thumb to stop a car. People were all too glad to have him in their vehicle, whether it be for the company he could provide or out of a sense of protection, depending on the driver. 

Of course, he is much older now, maybe a little intimidating at first glance, and hitchhiking isn’t much of a thing these days.

But this man is from that era, and they remark on it briefly before they go their separate ways.

A bulletin board in the foyer of the gas station greets him. He scans the trove of business cards until his eyes catch on yellow. Ed’s Auto Repair.

His heart kicks in his chest even though he knows the chances are slim to none. Ed is more than likely some gruff old man who sits in his office rather than work in the garage, not a man in his thirties with long, dark hair and big brown eyes. But of the three cards he finds for nearby mechanics, why would he choose any of the others? 

It has been a long time since Steve has forced moments such as these to be signs from God; now, he prefers to accept and believe in the synchronicities of life. He's been drawn to yellow a few times today, why not follow it some more?

He unpins the card from the board and takes it to the payphone.

The receptionist helps him arrange a tow truck, which picks him up from the gas station and brings him along to grab the car.

Ed’s Auto Repair is an old brick building with two levels. An old residence up top made into offices, maybe.

Inside, he is greeted by the receptionist he spoke to on the phone; his name tag says Tom. He hands off a clipboard, and Steve takes a seat to fill it out.

His head is down, focused on the paperwork, so he doesn’t notice when another person enters the waiting area until a familiar laugh steals his attention. There is a man—a mechanic—with dark, buzzed hair and strong shoulders, half-turned away and leaning on the desk, speaking with Tom. Another laugh is punctuated by the mechanic’s fist pounding the top of the desk. Steve can’t stop watching him, so when he turns and his big, round eyes scan the row of chairs by the window and stop on Steve, they recognize each other immediately.

He freezes, and Steve’s jaw drops. 

“Eddie,” he says to himself, standing before he knows what he’s doing.

The visible shock makes way for cautious wonder as Eddie closes the distance.

“Hey, Father.”

Steve blinks, convinced he must be imagining things. “Just Steve now, actually.”

“Okay.” Eddie smiles. His eyes, which now have little crows' feet at their corners, are twinkling with amusement. “Well, it's been a long time, Steve.”

“No kidding.”

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks. He is broader than he was in his twenties, his arms crossed and covered in tattoos, his head tilted as his eyes do a quick appraisal of Steve, down and up again. Steve, in his faded light wash jeans and his green threadbare t-shirt under his cardigan. The small gold hoops in his earlobes. His beard, trimmed short and becoming more gray and white around his chin as time passes on. His glasses.

They absorb what they can of the decade of life each of them has missed and lived.

“My car broke down on the highway, and I needed a mechanic,” Steve explains. “Found your business card on a bulletin board, so…”

When he saw the card, he really didn’t expect this. The coincidence truly is incredible. Relieving. He's about to say as much, but Eddie goes cold in a flash.

“Ah. Right,” he responds, annunciating the ‘t’ and huffing a strained laugh as he shakes his head. “Not the AMC still, is it?”

He nods. It is. He takes good care of it, and this is the first time it’s ever given him issues. He could have bought something new by now, but he's never quite developed the desire for frivolous possessions. Experiences and people—that’s what he cares for.

“Well, this might take a bit,” Eddie explains in the voice he must use on customers, because it isn’t one Steve has ever heard before. It’s friendly but straight to the point. “I've got a long line ahead of you. Tom over there can call you a cab, or you can wait if you want. There’s coffee… tea, too, if you're still on that.”

Steve checks the clock on the wall. He should just be getting into Indianapolis by now, not still on the edges of Chicago like he is. He should see about a car rental. He’s got a hotel booked, well past refundable, and he has things to do this weekend. 

But it's been years since he’s lived his life based on ‘shoulds’. And he’s already waited so long, living with the hope he’d find Eddie again. A few more hours are nothing. He can weather his cold dismissal. He’s happily weathered much more challenging things with him in the past.

“Coffee is good,” he decides. He’ll borrow their phone, notify his hotel, and leave a message with one of his friends that he won’t be attending, after all.

Eddie’s eyebrows pull up briefly, revealing the deep-set lines in his forehead—something his bangs would have hidden if his hair were still long. “A changed man.”

“I suppose so.”

“There’s the coffee.” Eddie points to the side with a flash of a smile, one that doesn’t meet his eyes or show off his crow’s feet. “Make yourself comfortable, Steve.”

Before Steve can thank him, he’s turning away, stopping by the desk to say something to the receptionist, who smiles and quirks his brows as he looks up past his lashes at Eddie. Possessiveness thrums through Steve’s veins as he heads for the coffee pot, and it builds every time Tom looks over at him apologetically while the first hour passes.

“I’ll just,” he says, tossing his thumb over his back before he disappears through the door. Even Tom’s ability to go back and speak with Eddie freely has Steve clenching his jaw. When he returns, he notifies Steve that there’s a backlog. “I’m sorry. Not sure what Eddie promised, but it probably won’t be done ‘til end-of-day. Let me call you that cab.”

“I really don’t have anywhere to be,” Steve responds, holding up the book he pulled from his bag a half-hour ago. “Got all I need to keep me busy.”

“Alright, man.” Tom shrugs.

Customer after customer comes through to pick up their vehicles, one of which is very clearly a walk-in, and they get out within an hour of their arrival. Every time Tom slips into the back, he returns with more apologies. At a certain point, he opts to ignore Steve’s presence completely.

“So, I'm all done for the day,” Tom says just after five. He has a bag slung over one shoulder, he’s scratching at the back of his neck. “Uh, Eddie said it'll still be a while, but he's working on it now, and you can still wait if you really want.”

“Thanks, Tom. I’m all good right here.”

As soon as the front door clicks shut and locks, Steve gets to his feet, approaching the door Eddie disappeared through hours ago. The one Tom slipped in and out of as the afternoon stretched on. The one muffling the metal blasting in the shop.

Through the door, Steve finds Eddie’s legs sticking out from under his car. Rather than approach, he keeps distance between them, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“So, this is your shop.”

He says it loud enough to be heard over the music, but Eddie doesn’t flinch.

“Eddie?”

Nothing.

Steve walks over to the boombox and turns the volume down. Like clockwork, Eddie pushes out on his board and sits up to ask, “What the hell?” 

Leaning against the counter, Steve crosses his arms. “I asked you a question.”

Eddie narrows his eyes.

“I heard you. Yeah, shop’s mine. I'm the boss, and I like listening to music loud while I work. Please turn it back up.”

They stare one another down; Eddie committing to his best glare. But Steve will not be the first to break. It doesn’t take long for Eddie to get up—to start crossing the floor right for Steve. Despite what Steve may think, what he may expect, there’s no telling what exactly Eddie is thinking. What he’s about to do.

The uncertainty and anticipation have his heart racing. Steve knows what he wants—what he’s never truly stopped wanting or thinking about when it comes to the complex man before him.

He is standing close, leaning in…

And then he reaches behind Steve, turning the volume back up with raised brows and a stern look on his face. On his way back to the car, Steve hits the power button, halting Eddie midway.

“I’d like to talk.”

“I'm sure you would,” Eddie responds, still facing away from Steve. His head tilts, and he turns, eyes narrowed once more, approaching slowly as he speaks. “Actually, you know what? Your car is fucked. You should really get a cab. Turns out I might need to keep it for the whooole weekend.”

This time, when he reaches for the boombox, Eddie lingers long and close enough for Steve to take in the smell of him, recalling the very first time Eddie showed up at the rectory after a full day’s work at the garage.

The sweat, the grease. Eddie.

“There's a phone on the wall over there,” Eddie tells him, eyes flicking to the corner, still in Steve’s space. When they lock eyes again, Steve sees it. He feels it without a doubt. That thing between them, alive and burning bright. “I'll take the cost of the ride off your final bill, alright, Father?”

Then he walks away. 

Steve has attempted to replicate this over the years with other men. But it’s always been planned. It’s always been more responsible than it ever was with Eddie. Safer. Saner.

But no matter how many times he’s tried, it has never, ever been like this.

He turns, grips the cord, and unplugs it from the outlet.

This time, Eddie doesn’t react. Without looking in Steve’s direction, he returns to the car, pulling a tool from his belt and leaning over the engine, and begins to whistle.

Steve thinks about the hanky he has folded in his weekend bag: the grey and black one he wears in either pocket, depending on his mood, depending on where he finds himself on the nights when he’s looking. He thinks about stuffing the dirty rag hanging from Eddie’s back pocket in his mouth.

But while he’s gotten off being rough and harsh with past partners and, in turn, his past partners being rough and harsh with him, he’s only ever wanted to serve Eddie with softness. There’s just something about him that pulls it out of Steve with ease.

As he closes the distance, he makes sure his steps are sure-footed and clear. He wants Eddie to know he’s coming. Likes watching the minute reactions of his approach play out on Eddie’s body: his ribs expanding as his breathing deepens, the little twitch in his muscles as his back arches ever so slightly. When he gets there, he steps one foot between Eddie’s, fisting his coveralls at his hip to keep him in place as he covers Eddie’s mouth with his palm.

Eddie sucks in a breath, the tool in his hand clatters to the ground, loud in the empty shop.

“Still a brat, I see,” Steve murmurs against the shell of Eddie’s ear, earning himself a shuddering whimper.

For a brief moment, Eddie nuzzles into it, hot air puffing from his nose.

And then he sinks his teeth into the meat of Steve’s hand. Hissing, Steve pulls back, releasing his grip on Eddie's hip, giving him the space he needs to turn around.

“You want me to talk? Fine. I'm fucking pissed.”

Blinking at him for a moment, Steve asks, “Because I left?”

Eddie scoffs. “No. Because—when I saw you out there, I thought: he came looking for me. How pathetic is that? Wanted you to be here because you wanted me and nothing else. But you didn’t. You didn't try.”

And that's not—that isn't it at all. Steve has so much to say to Eddie, but where would he even begin? He doesn’t get a chance to start because Eddie tosses him an eyeroll and a curt nod.

“Good talk.” And with that, he storms out of the shop through a door, leaving it ajar. After considering it for a moment, Steve follows. An open door is as good an invitation as any. And closed doors never stopped them before, anyway, either.

Peeking inside, he finds a set of stairs, and at the top is another wide-open door. Eddie is on the opposite side of the room—a kitchen—standing with his back, once again, turned toward Steve. He steps inside, and the old wooden floor below his foot creaks. He walks around the table, giving Eddie enough time to react, to tell him to go away—but he doesn’t. Eddie stays where he is, his head bowed, and as soon as Steve is close enough, he finds that he’s gripping the edges of the sink. His fingers grimy from a full day of work. 

With softness, Steve reclaims his place, the one he reluctantly surrendered a decade ago, by wordlessly threading his arms between Eddie’s. As his hands make their way to the faucet, Eddie exhales a tender huff, dropping his head to the side to press against Steve’s temple. It’s a move so familiar that he is immediately transported back to the rectory, like they haven’t missed a single moment.

But there are callouses years in the making on Eddie’s trembling hands, rough against Steve’s soft skin, and as the dirty water swirls around the drain, the tattoos that have been with Eddie long enough to have already faded and blurred are revealed.

So much time has passed.

As familiar as it is to be here in this moment, so much has changed. The cells in their bodies that once knew each other have already died and been replaced. If it weren’t for the memories, if it weren’t for the knowing, they could be strangers. Eddie’s skin is different. Brand new to Steve but old, too. And Steve needs to touch every part of it, to learn it once more, to build on what he once knew, but build it better. If Eddie wants it, that is. Steve wants it.

“I want you, Eddie,” he finally says, his nose pressed against Eddie’s neck. “I've never stopped wanting you.”

“Steve,” Eddie pleads, pressing back against the steady pressure of Steve flat against his backside, tilting his hips just so. And yeah, Steve is hard. How could he not be when he’s got Eddie like this again? Finally?

He meets Eddie in a grind and whispers, “Can’t you feel how much I want you?”

Eddie nods. “Yes. God. Please.”

And they should talk about it more than this—they will talk. But their bodies are calling out for this, so for now, it’ll have to wait. They’ll have all the time in the world to talk after.

“Are you and Tom fucking?”

“No.”

“Are you with anyone?”

Eddie shakes his head.

If the answer were any different, Steve doesn’t think he’d even care. He laid his claim on Eddie years ago, and in turn, Eddie gave himself to Steve. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed or who either of them has loved since they got to love each other. Eddie is still his, and he always will be. There was never going to be an end to that promise.

“Good boy,” he praises and rewards Eddie’s relieved moan with another grind, pulling Eddie’s clean fingers up to his mouth, parting the seam to lick, guiding two inside and pushing his tongue between them. He wraps his lips around so he can suck.

Eddie cranes his neck to watch, but Steve can tell the angle is no good, so he spins Eddie around, slotting their legs together.

He is about to press his thigh against where he knows he’ll find Eddie hard, but he is stilled by the shape of his eyes, round and wet with emotion, catching the soft yellow glow of the oven light so that they sparkle. Reverently, Steve touches Eddie’s cheek. He has a five o’clock shadow and it's… Steve so badly wants to feel it scraping against his skin, wants to feel it everywhere, wants it to leave him pink and tender. He wishes for the first time in a long time that he didn’t have his beard so he could feel it burning into his flesh when they kiss.

His thumb swipes at Eddie’s bottom lip. So perfect and pink, pillowy and full. Steve wants nothing more than to sink his teeth there, to redden them, to claim them.

The possessive thrum coursing through his veins has never died out. It has lived within him, simmering below the surface as Steve moved through the world on his own without Eddie.

“Please,” Eddie says again before meeting the pad of Steve’s thumb with his tongue, his eyebrows pinched together, pained as he tilts his chin up.

And Steve can’t deny them any longer, he leans in and tastes Eddie for the first time in far too long. They don’t waste a single moment. They can’t. As soon as Steve’s tongue meets Eddie’s, they fall into each other, arms making a vice of their bodies, so close nothing could survive between them. If not for their shared air, they might suffocate in it. 

Eddie’s hands are frantic in Steve’s hair. Steve’s fingers dig desperately into Eddie’s back. 

But their clothes.  

Growling, Steve yanks at Eddie’s coveralls, pulling against where the buttons remain fastened, momentarily forcing Eddie off balance. A laugh puffs against Steve’s lips as they compete to undo the rest, their knuckles knocking against each other until the task is complete. Steve takes over, exposing Eddie’s shoulders, dropping down to the floor to pull his feet free, leaving Eddie in nothing but his socks, a white sleeveless undershirt, and black boxer briefs. 

He runs his hands up Eddie’s calves, eyes following the motion to reacquaint himself with every inch of skin: the new tattoos, a silvery pink scar on his right kneecap, the muscles of his thighs. He squeezes them, running his thumbs along the tender skin of his inner thighs, and then he is face-to-face with Eddie’s cock, hard and tenting obscenely against black cotton. Steve tilts his neck back to peer up the stretch of Eddie’s torso, to watch Eddie watching him as he noses against the hard line of him twitching for more.

And Steve gives it, burying himself further into the musk of Eddie, mouthing at his balls as he palms at his shaft.

A desperate whine prompts Steve to hook his fingers into the waistband of Eddie’s briefs and pull them down, revealing the velvety skin of Eddie’s cock, flushed a deep red, swollen with blood, metal shining from the head.

“Fuck,” Steve grits out, bringing his thumb to the jewelry, finding it warm from Eddie’s body. Eddie hisses at the contact, his head dropping back, but his eyes, hooded and dark, never once leaving Steve’s.

Grinning, Steve folds forward, tonguing and teasing at it until Eddie’s legs begin to shake. Steve halts Eddie’s little aborted thrusts with his hands, keeping him in place so he can play. He wonders what the piercing would feel like, pressing deep inside, insistent against his prostate.

He licks around the tip, wrapping his lips there so he can finally get a true taste of skin and salt and sweat. The need to consume overwhelms him, so he sinks all the way down to bury his nose in Eddie’s pubes.

“Mmph!” Eddie chokes, his heel kicking back against the cupboard as Steve’s throat opens up for him. “You’re so— Steve.”

Steve pushes closer, deeper, always wanting more of Eddie, wanting to stuff himself so thoroughly full they’ll never break apart again. 

It’s not a want. It’s a need.

He pulls off then, head spinning. 

“Need you,” he says then, gripping at Eddie’s calves. He savors the feeling of the hard ground beneath his knees, once more flayed open at the altar of Eddie Munson: the man who broke through his barriers, the man who resurrected him, the man who inspired him to live again.

They end up in Eddie’s bedroom, the details a blur until they are both naked on his bed, tangled in the now crumpled-up and half-kicked-off sheets. Eddie is lying back, pushing a bottle of lube into Steve’s hands and spreading his legs with Steve kneeling between them.

Steve warms the liquid on his fingers as Eddie bites his bottom lip. He takes in every jut and dip of Eddie’s body, the soft roll of his belly where he is bent, propped up on his pillows, watching Steve intently and arching his hips, so ready for Steve’s touch.

His cock is still wet from Steve’s spit. The metal is shining from it, too.

With his fingers coated, Steve rises on his knees, reaching behind himself, fixated on Eddie. Recognition flashes in his eyes as Steve pushes into himself, breath hitching as his body gives way for the intrusion.

As if possessed, Eddie topples toward Steve with the force of a sudden gravitational shift, hands searching and desperate, but before they can find what they’re looking for, Steve plants his free palm on Eddie’s chest and pushes him back against the pillows.

“Want you to watch,” he orders, voice straining as he slides a second finger in, arching just so, his thighs flexing as he bares down, readying himself for Eddie.

When he is ready, he crawls up Eddie’s legs, lifting to reach back once more, slicking Eddie up before slowly sinking down.

As Steve’s body opens up around him, their lips meet fervently. Eddie is babbling, muttering against Steve’s mouth, his hands gripping at Steve’s biceps until he is fully seated. Steve has to pause, overwhelmed by how full he is with Eddie deep inside of him after all these years—for the first time ever—where he has existed like a subterranean river, part of Steve in a way no one could see but everyone had to have known.

And now he is overcome by the totality of the fullness. All the corners of himself that remained empty through the years, despite all he has accomplished, all he has done for himself and for others, as satisfied as he has been, are finally occupied. By Eddie. Emotion fills him to the brim, ready for every ounce to pour out between them.

Eddie brushes his finger against the scar on Steve’s arm, and then he is sitting up to kiss it, whining against Steve’s skin. Steve has to squeeze his stinging eyes shut for a moment, opening them again to find the depth of desire and anger and sadness in Eddie's eyes.

Steve folds, kissing Eddie so deep he hopes to reach inside his soul and pull out every single thing Eddie has seen and experienced and learned since that terrible night. Has to know all of it, every single moment of sorrow and joy. He deserves to have experienced so much joy.

“I still—” Eddie tries to say during a broken breath, and Steve nods against his forehead and responds, “I know.”

They move together then, fully connected wherever possible, and Steve doesn’t want it to end so soon, but after so much time without each other, it’s impossible to suppress any of it, to slow the cascade. 

He is certain they’ll have another chance after this. Maybe then they’ll make it last. For the rest of their lives, this time.

Eddie’s pierced cockhead drags against Steve’s prostate, over and over, the white hot pleasure spreads through him like lightning, and he cries out, his toes curling. His whine echoes back to him from the depths of Eddie’s chest in a low and desperate groan.

“Can’t—” Eddie bites his lip, his cheeks wet with tears. “You feel so—Steve, can I…”

Steve shushes him, holding Eddie’s face and swiping his thumb through the wetness.

“I’ve got you. Let go, sweet thing. I want it. It's mine.”

And then Eddie is slamming up against Steve’s ass and almost shouts when his orgasm overtakes him, twitching and pulsing deep within, which is all it takes for Steve to plummet over the edge with him, too.

In the aftermath, Steve drifts with Eddie’s head on his chest, rubbing his fingers through the blunt fuzz of Eddie’s scalp.

His stomach growls.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie chuckles lowly. “I’m a terrible host. Are you hungry?”

Steve hums. “Starving. But stay a little longer. Don’t want you to move just yet.”

“Okay.”

Eddie presses a kiss against Steve’s pec, and the next thing Steve knows, he is awakening to the smell of cooking. He cracks his eyes open to the faded light of early dusk and an empty space beside him. There is a full glass of water on the nightstand.

He drinks it.

After locating his boxers and shirt, he finally takes in what he can of the interior of Eddie’s room as he dresses. It nearly bowls him over. He is in the bedroom of Eddie’s home above Eddie’s business. In Chicago. In the same city where Steve lives.

Eddie has plants, and he has art on the walls of his home. A home he keeps tidy even when he isn’t expecting visitors.

Through the long hallway, Steve finds the bathroom and slips inside to clean up as much as he can without a shower. His duffle bag is still downstairs. He has clothes for the weekend—so maybe he’ll stay. Maybe they’ll shower together after they eat, and they will fall asleep wrapped up together, too. And tomorrow, they won’t part. Maybe they’ll spend the whole day together, getting reacquainted, making up for the time they missed.

He looks at himself in the mirror. He’s taken good care of himself over the years, even when it was hard. It was a promise he made to himself when he said goodbye to his old life: to love himself enough to discover who he is, to love whatever he discovers, to live his life without barriers. And now, coming full circle, reuniting with the man who started it all, he knows he accomplished what he hoped for back then.

When he finally enters the kitchen, Eddie looks over his shoulder, offering a warm smile. His crow’s feet are back in all their glory.

“Smells good,” Steve says, and turns to inspect the pictures posted up on the fridge by an eclectic mix of magnets: some from different states, most delightfully strange. He immediately spots a photo of Wayne and Eddie on a fishing trip. Eddie’s hair was still long, and the pair have their arms slung over the other’s shoulders, their smiles huge.

Eddie notices and snorts, shaking his head at himself as he returns to the stove. “Became a vegetarian after that weekend.”

His exasperated tone has Steve laughing. “How is Wayne?”

“He’s kicking. Had a heart attack a few years back, but he’s doing just fine now. Finally retired, the stubborn mule. He’s been living on an acreage with his special lady friend for some time now. He’s a birder, if you can believe it.”

“Good for him,” Steve says, smiling to himself as he moves on to a group picture in what looks like a garage. Eddie is sitting on the edge of a couch with a guitar in his lap, surrounded by men and a woman his age, big smiles all around. There is a little kid with wild, curly hair standing behind him, her chin hooked over his shoulder, sticking her tongue out.

There’s another of the same group on a simple stage playing to a small but enthusiastic crowd.

Eddie is behind him now, his hand tentatively meeting Steve’s hip, stepping in closer.

“That's at this neighborhood pub we play at once a month,” he explains, his mouth close to Steve’s ear. “You could come to the next one, maybe?”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, yeah,” Eddie nods, his chin pressing deeper against Steve as he does. “I will warn you, though, we mostly play metal covers from the eighties. Some Nirvana and Pearl Jam, too. Typical dad band shit.”

Steve’s eyes shoot to the kid with the curly mop of hair. “Dad?”

“Oh! No—not me. My friends. I’m just the goofy uncle.” He squeezes Steve tighter before loosening his hold. “Um,” he begins, stepping them closer to tap the picture, “that’s Ronnie and Claire’s kid, Sarah. But I helped them, actually. Conceive, I mean.”

Affection floods Steve. He squints at the picture, searching for more of Eddie in her face. Her eyes for starters…

“Wow. That’s—”

“I know, I know,” Eddie interrupts, his tone turning playful, his arms dropping away from Steve. He can sense the monologue building so he turns around to get the full experience, leaning his hip against the counter. 

“I told them!” Eddie flings his hands up in the air as he walks to a cupboard to pull out a spice shaker. “The Munsons have bad blood! I insisted the curse should end with me, but they wouldn’t heed my warning. For reasons far beyond my understanding, lesbians love me.”

Eddie shakes his head disapprovingly but winks, and Steve is so incredibly fond. He saw this in Eddie back then—this bright and loving, silly and driven person. It was inside of him the whole time, ready to erupt and blossom beyond his grief.

“They absolutely set themselves up,” Steve agrees, tutting. “Big mistake on their part.”

“Oh? And why’s that, pray tell?” Eddie asks, setting the shaker down, eyes alight, his dimples pulling from his cheeks.

“Those big brown eyes,” Steve elaborates, closing the gap between them, reaching up to touch Eddie’s cheek. “She must get away with so. So. Much.”

His eyes crinkle. “That she does, Steve. That she does.”

They smile at each other for a spell. It feels so damn good, Eddie smiling at him like this, calling him by his name.

“Well, I hope you like tempeh,” Eddie says when the moment passes, rubbing a hand against the back of his head. Steve isn’t sure he’s ever had it before, but he shrugs and nods his head encouragingly because it smells amazing, whatever it is. “Should be ready in a few. You can snoop,” he motions to the living room, “if you like.”

“Okay,” Steve says, intrigued by the turning of tables. It was always Eddie snooping back in the day.

“And, here!” Eddie slinks past him to open the fridge. “Are you thirsty? I don’t drink, but I have non-alcoholic beer, which I sort of don’t want to offer you because it’s awful, so other than that, I have cranberry juice, soda, water, tea.”

He peeks his head over the door expectantly.

“Maybe something when we eat.”

“You got it,” he says, pointing a finger at Steve, closing the fridge, and returning to the stove.

Steve moves to the living room, carefully kneeling to scan Eddie’s collection of CDs. There are far more bands than Steve could even fathom existing, and he barely recognizes any of them. But Fleetwood Mac is there along with The Velvet Underground. It's definitely more of a Fleetwood Mac sort of night, so he pulls it out and puts it on. 

“Oh, good choice!” Eddie calls from the kitchen when the music starts.

He moves on to the shelves to casually read the spines of Eddie’s books. Almost all of them seem to be fantasy and sci-fi, judging by the titles. The walls are full of framed prints and posters, just like an art gallery. Eddie is in every single inch of his home. All of it is so perfectly him. 

Then, Steve’s heart stutters to a stop. In the midst of all of the pictures on Eddie’s walls, he finds the drawing of himself that he lost track of when he moved from Hawkins. It’s matted and framed.

Distantly, he registers Eddie walking to the table and the sound of plates being set down. He doesn’t move, not even when Eddie is beside him again.

“I—” Eddie begins.

“I figured this ended up with you.”

“Yeah, ah, sorry about that. You know me…”

“Idle hands,” Steve jokes, facing him, reaching for his hand. “I'm glad you took it.”

Eddie’s head snaps toward him. “Yeah?”

“I still have the poem.”

“Steve.”

He turns to Eddie in full. “I’ve been wanting to find you for so long. I called the number at the trailer years ago. But a woman picked up. She didn’t seem too pleased about people always calling for the Munsons.”

“Yeah. Wayne moved in with his lady-friend in ‘91. That number stopped being ours years ago.”

“You’re not in the Chicago phonebook, either.”

Eddie huffs and smiles weakly. A look of regret flashes across his eyes before they drop away from Steve. “Oh, so you really did look.”

“Of course, I looked.”

“Well… Shit,” Eddie begins, cutting himself off and pulling Steve to the couch to sit with him. “So, I saw your name in the Yellow Pages a bit ago. You’re a therapist, right?”

Steve nods, something twisting in his solar plexus. Eddie knew Steve was here.

“I couldn’t—I’m sorry. I thought—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I thought. I’ve been in relationships. Nothing that’s lasted, mind you, but I’ve loved, and I’ve had my heart broken. And I figured, it’s you! You’re so incredible, you would have found someone, and it would have stuck for you the way it never stuck for me.” Steve squeezes their hands tighter. “Thought maybe it was crazy of me to expect anything different. Like I would have been the small blip at the end of it all, not you. And I mean, you’re a therapist now! Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of myself, and I fucking love my life. But I’m just some blue-collar dude living above his garage.”

“I love your home, Eddie. And you were far from a blip. I’m in awe of you. I always have been.”

“Yeah? I mean, you, too. God. You were everything to me.”

“I’m sorry for the way I left. That it happened so fast.”

“I was never mad. It was—I think we needed it. And you’re here now.”

“Yeah, I am.”

They sit in the moment together. Completely absorbed in each other’s presence.

“I sort of can’t believe it. You’re here. And you’re not a fucking priest anymore.”

Steve bursts out laughing. “Nope,” he says when he recovers. “Just Steve.”

Eddie nods his head, grinning, his cheek resting against the back cushion of the couch. Steve mirrors him, but then his stomach growls, breaking the soft, pleasant silence between them.

“Jeeesus, come on. Before the food gets too cold,” Eddie announces, rocking off the couch and offering Steve a hand to pull him up.

They settle at the table, and Steve digs in, moaning around his first bite. 

“This is really good,” he says, covering his mouth because he hasn’t finished chewing, but he couldn’t help but give Eddie the praise. He blushes in response, smiling at his plate as he skewers a few vegetables onto his fork. They are close enough now and in enough light for Steve to spot the single gray hair near the peak of Eddie’s hairline.

“We have so much to catch up on,” Steve says after another bite, the hunger not nearly as pressing as his curiosity. “I want to know everything about your life, everything that's happened.”

Eddie sets his fork down and rests his chin on the heel of his palm, watching Steve intently. “How long you got?”

“All weekend, if you want. Considering my mechanic says my car is fucked,” Steve teases.

“Hmm,” Eddie narrows his smiling eyes and tilts his head side to side like he’s weighing his options. “Well, I guess since you came all this way and there’s no chance you’re getting out of here for another day or two…”

Under the table, he runs his foot up and down Steve’s calf.

“...I’d absolutely love to tell you a story.”