Chapter Text
Eddie Munson fights his way into the world on a cold December evening in 1965.
His parents, George and Catherine, got together young, even for Indiana in the sixties. They had been High School sweethearts. His mother got pregnant just a few years after graduating, before the pair even had the chance to be married.
But, George and Catherine - and by extension, their families - were good Jesus loving folk. So, naturally, they got hitched before the news could spread. Gossip flies fast in a small town. The ceremony is small, just both families. There is no reception.
Seven months later Catherine is in the hospital trying to give birth to a baby that's not facing the right direction. George, ever the loving husband, is right by her side, whispering frantic prayers to God to save both his wife and his unborn child.
Catherine refuses to do any emergency procedures that would lessen the pain on both her and her baby, with pressure from outside voices, of course.
The doctors say it's a miracle when, after hours of painful labor, their son is born. "A gift from the Lord" as they put it.
They name him Edward, finding that it suits him well. Fortune. Wealth. Prosperity. Guardian. Protector.
Edward Munson is taken home from the hospital on December 14th, the morning after he was born. The Munson’s house is a small single story, with two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a larger main room which encompassed both the kitchen and living room. Eddie's future room is painted a soft green and has dark brown carpet. For now, he lay in his bassinet at the foot of his parent's bed, close enough that if he woke in the night his parents would hear him.
He's a skinny baby, having come twenty days early, but he feeds well and is back to a proper weight in only two weeks time. A patch of fine dark rown hairs sit atop his pasty head, clearly from his mother.
Eddie Munson, in his earliest moments, is a fighter. He, the little miracle that he was, is nothing but loved.
This is the story of how everything changes.
⚘᠂ ⚘᠂ ⚘
Steve Harrington was born in April of 1966.
It was a pleasant day with clear skies, which was good because his father, Paul, had flown in for the occasion. Lily, Steve's mother, chose to give birth on the twenty-ninth. It would be easier for both of them this way. She could take off work, and Paul could be there for a week or two before he had to go to New York City on business in early May.
The pair had already hired a nanny for when they'd both be working, and were excited to have another Harrington in their family after two years of marriage. It would be nice to have something to unite them that was more than a ring on their fingers.
The procedure went as planned and Lily gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who they named Steven. It was Lily's grandfather's name, and Paul didn't have any preference towards what they called the little guy. So, Steven it was.
Everything was perfect.
On the second floor of the Harrington home lies Steve's room. The walls are covered in a checked paper, the floors are a fine hardwood, there is a dresser with a lamp sitting on it, a desk placed in the corner - above it a picture of a car, and a proper bed for when he would be old enough to use it.
The first week of Steve's life is filled with sleepy afternoons in front of the television, late night changes, early morning story times, and trips to the park where he would sleep in a swaddle.
Steve Harrington was brought into a big beautiful home with two hard working and dedicated parents. They want nothing but the best for him.
This is the story of how everything stays the same.