Archive of Our Own ^beta

August 1987

“I want you to meet my parents.”

They were sharing a blunt outside of Eddie’s trailer on a warm August day. The words came to Steve casually, but Eddie knew his boyfriend well enough to catch the far-away look in his eyes when he says stuff like this, knowing deep-down that he’s being torn apart. The older of the two hummed, leaning back.

“You sure that’s a good idea, baby doll?”

Steve swatted at Eddie’s shoulder at the nickname, face turning a beautiful shade of beetroot red, signature pout back on his face as he huffs. “Don’t call me that.” he shifted to better face Eddie. “And, yes, I’m sure. They’re coming back to town next week. And I-I-”

He paused. Eddie takes his hand, thumb rubbing over his knuckles, chocolate brown eyes digging holes into Steve’s cheek. “And you..?”

Steve snatched his hand away, like he’s been burnt as the contact. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he looks away. “And I don’t want to be alone for our first dinner.”

Eddie hummed in an affirmative. Honestly, he’d rather die than have dinners at the Harrington household. He wasn’t stupid - despite what his senior year teachers would have you believe - and he’s heard how important the Harringtons are, how the entire town was shocked that Steve didn’t get into college. But they all shook their heads, knowing that he’d get an internship at his father’s company, like any rich kid did. He’d get an internship, is what they all said, even if Stéphanos Sr hadn’t been back in Hawkins for nearly two years.

—

It goes without saying that Eddie and Steve are a couple of best-bros for their dinner date with Mr and Mrs Harrington. Steve picked Eddie up from his trailer, and Eddie gave him all the kisses he could possibly get before they had to go 100% platonic. It’s unsafe; kissing while driving, but it’s late and nobody really drives late in Hawkins. It’s a small town - they can all walk perfectly fine.

No matter how many times he’s seen it, Eddie is perpetually in a state of awe at the mansion that Steve just so casually lives in. It’s huge - big house, no parents - the rumours were true. But Eddie has heard its loneliness, and seen its freakish state of cleanliness. He’s seen Steve cry when Eddie split apple juice on the rug a few months ago, and Steve’s stress at leaving any kind of personality on it. And Eddie gets it - he’s been abused before. But, Jesus fucking Christ, Steve lives in a four-story house all on his own.

He gave Steve a last kiss, pressed to his cheek in a it’s gonna be okay kinda way. He’s jumping with nerves, both of them are, but Eddie knows that Steve is all-too-familiar with learning to hide how he’s feeling, especially when under the threat of his shitty parents. Steve’s garden is impeccable, Steve’s been hacking away at it all weekend, so it looks clean and as polished as the house itself, instead of looking either too overgrown, or a clumsy teen with head trauma had weeded it to its roots (which Eddie was there to witness. His boyfriend can’t open his eyes on a bad day. He can garden and garden and garden until he is sunburnt on a good one). 

They step into the mansion. It’s as clean as ever - the rug is laid out perfectly, pictures of little Steve and Maria and Stéphanos Harrington are hung on the hallways, and Eddie fights back the urge to coo at the little boy Steve was, the little boy already so alone. They trekked to the second dining room on the first floor, the one used for dinner guests. It felt like the metalhead would destroy anything if he breathed. The house was always more like a museum than a home, evident by the plush furniture, half of which were centuries old and nobody was allowed to sit on them. A grand piano was in the living room. Eddie wondered if anyone played it - Steve was too blind to read notes now, Mrs Harrington was too drunk all the time to work out what to do, and Mr Harrington surely had no patience for such a  delicate art. It was all just for decoration - like Steve was. A little boy, dressed up, all for show. A paper boy in a paper house.

Sweat trickles down Eddie’s back, and he uncomfortably adjusts the collar of the dress suit that Steve let him borrow. It’s a bit too tight, hugging him in all the wrong places, making him look like a fraud, which he does feel like. He felt like a fish out of water in formal attire. Hell, he didn’t even have jeans on, even the ones that Wayne had mended for him. Steve adjusts his glasses, fixing his hair in a nearby mirror to cover his hearing aid. Eddie winced. If he knew anything about the Harringtons, it’s that they didn’t take kindly to difference, especially not in their own blood.

The dining room is nothing if not grand. It could fit Eddie’s entire trailer length-wise, and about three in its width. A chandelier hung from the centre of the room, an intricate design making the rays dance upon the room. The walls were laid with dark wooden planks, designs carved on them. A mural following a Bible story was painted on the far end of the room, a cross hanging the dying Jesus looming over it, watching the table with hollow eyes. Eddie shuddered.

The table was undoubtedly the centrepiece of the room, china plates and cups painted with a blue and white design sat in front of each of the chairs. It was huge - certainly able to fit at least twelve (which was the number of chairs currently at the sides of the table), plus an extra two at each of the heads. 

At the head closest to the door was Mr Harrington. He had a combover (obviously fake - Steve knew everything about hair, and he knew that his father had balded when he was little) and dressed in a fancy, striped blazer with a white button up. Her mother was to the left of him, a glass of whine held in her hands. Both Eddie and Steve could tell by the faraway look in her glazed eyes, brown like Steve’s, that she’d already had a few drinks to deal with her insufferable husband. Steve cleared his throat, ripping his hand away from Eddie’s, fiddling with them behind his back. 

Mrs Harrington gave a trill of pleasure. “Oh! My little Stéphanos!” It was the first time Eddie had ever heard Steve’s full name - he’d always assumed it was Steven, not the same name as his narc of a father (Or stand-in father. Eddie was 90% certain that Stéphanos Sr was not Steve’s biological dad).

She followed it up by standing, nearly spilling some wine on her crimson, well-fitting dress. She wobbled over, pressing a big kiss to his cheek. “And you must be Eddie?”

Mrs Harrington didn’t have a filter on the rare times she was sober, and even less so when she was drunk. Her voice was heavy with the disdain she held for anyone without the absolute filthy wealth she bathed herself in. She tossed her loose, deep brown hair over her shoulder, taking another lazy sip of her wine glass before stumbling back over to her chair. Steve spoke a brief greeting.

“Geia sou mitéra kai patér,” He said, trying to look confident, but the shake in his voice gave away his nerves. Eddie knew Steve spoke Greek - obviously - but he’d never heard it. And, maybe it was the wrong thing to be thinking right now, but holy shit it was hot.

They sat on the right of Mr Harrington, Steve next to his father. The man hadn’t spoken a word, but Eddie could feel his judging gaze way on him. When he did finally speak, his voice was heavy, Greek accent very noticeable. “Ah, Eddie. You are Al Munson’s son, yes?”

Eddie nodded, extending his hand. It felt too light with the lack of his rings, too plain with the black nail varnish scrubbed off, too covered with the long-sleeved blazer to hide his tattoos, too perfect from using Steve’s moisturising in preparation for the dinner. Mr Harrington shook it, his grip firm. Eddie winced as he imagined that hand slapping his boyfriend’s pale cheek, his wedding ring stunting his face. Eddie could swear that he’s seen the dents and tried to kiss them better.

“Stop it, woman,” his father hissed, heavy hand clasping on the bottle as Miss Harrington tried to drunkenly pour another glass of wine. “You’ll be passed out before dessert.”

Miss Harrington herself does not eat anything of sugar. Despite being mid-50s, she’s obsessed with looking her son’s age - the younger the better. She doesn’t go in the sun, afraid of wrinkles. She doesn’t indulge ever, too afraid of being fat. Steve remembers her rants to him when he was little, warning him of the dangers of sugar. Steve found himself unhappy with the way he’d looked for years after that. Of course, she doesn’t remember it. It was another drunken Tuesday for her, and everything for her 8-year-old son. 

Mr Harrington chuckles, a booming noise through the room. His wide set eyes, green unlike Steve’s chocolate brown, shot an amused glance at Eddie. “This woman, huh? She touches wine, and she’s gone. Steve knows it, don’t you, boy?”

And Steve knew. He definitely knew, he knew his mother’s drunken fits, when she was too intoxicated to even stand up for her son. When she was so pathetic that even her ex-military husband took pity on her, only blessing her with a gentle smack on the shoulder. He murmured a soft hum of agreement Stéphanos Sr let out another loud snort. “The wine, it’s from Greece. You ever been to Greece, Edward?”

His father was probably fucking around. Nobody really knew who lived in the trailer park, apart from notable drug dealer Eddie Munson, son of a small-town murderer, who was wanted for killings himself last year. Dirt poor Eddie Munson, who lived with his uncle, working part time in odd jobs, skater kid’s favourite due to his fixing and DIY skills. Not an acceptable friend for Steve Harrington.

It was an obvious jab at Eddie’s social class - the bottom of the food chain. It was disguised by a joke, but he knew the implications. He was poor, unlike these rich buffoons (and his rich boyfriend, but Eddie actually enjoyed his company). Eddie couldn’t afford to go on holidays even out of state, let alone to Europe. He knows how to handle a jab though - always had. His quick mouth had been a problem for teachers and bullies alike, his tongue spoke before his brain could think, a skill both a blessing and a curse. “I’ve heard about it through my English and History classes, sir.” 

“And how are your studies, Edward? Steve told me you were in his year. Been looking into any colleges?” Stéphanos Harrington asked. Stéphanos Harrington, who had to bribe his way out of Steve repeating any years. Stéphanos Harrington, who was as smart as a sick dog, only with money to cover up his failures. Stéphanos Harrington, who was now poking fun at Eddie's intelligence, as if the long-haired freak was an animal at the zoo.

“Uh, no, sir,” Eddie murmured, eyes downcast in shame. Steve hadn’t gone to college either, grades not good enough. But he’d been hit in the head a few times by then, his vision and hearing both failing on him. Eddie, however? Always distracted, always fidgeting. Always thinking and dreaming of impossible things. But a cheerleader died in his trailer, and his world got turned upside down, and he barely graduated Hawkins High after 3 repeats of senior year in 1986, the state giving him a shiny new trailer and a graduation certificate as a shiny swear of secrecy.

Steve squeezed his boyfriend’s hand from under the table, meant to be a comforting gesture. But it was hard to feel comforted when green eyes bore tunnels into your skull, and the hand that was clasped in yours was shaking, and not just from his messed up brain. “Eddie has a band,” Steve squeaked, voice barely above a whisper. 

 Stéphanos Sr roared. His voice became louder than a lions, and he half stood despite his huge gut. His face turned an angry shade of red, and he gripped Steve’s chin in his hand, twisted his neck to look at his father. “Speak up, you’re a man, Stéphanos! I did not raise a bloody woman who stares at her lap, twisting her dainty little fingers.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve squeaked, then he cleared his throat. He looked his father dead in the eyes, tone hardening and he blinked away the tears threatening to spill. His mouth was already half open, gaping like a fish. He tried to swallow, throat suddenly dry, as if fear was the sun that could evaporate all the water from his body, and yet still turn his blood cold. “Syngnómi.”

And, like paper crumpled from the rain, Mr Harrington sat down. Steve’s jaw slacked, then clenched, as if testing out its new freedom, feeling where it would bruise tomorrow. He got a napkin and not-so-discreetly wiped his eyes in a hurry. “Now, carry on. But speak to me like a man.”

Steve looked his father in the eyes again, trembling. His voice was trying to be steady and firm, trying to mask as confident, trying to mask as something he wasn't. “Eddie’s in a band. They’re good.”

Mr Harrington nodded, but cleared his throat. He dismissed Eddie, eyes only scanning over Steve’s shaky body. “Now, Stéphanos, we’re going to talk business. I have a new office in Chicago.”

Steve’s heart stopped. His blood, if it wasn’t cold already, was ice. His breath caught in the tangly maze of his throat, which he felt was tied shut. He knew what was coming - the town rumours were true. Stéphanos Harrington Sr, no matter how horrid, would not let his son be a loser working minimum wage, even if it killed him. He would not let his son, who wore glasses now and didn’t have a girlfriend, be led to such a poor life. He would not let his son, who was hanging out with Eddie the Freak Munson, be such a failure to the Harrington name. He would make sure he had an heir - he was no King Henry VIII, but he would do anything to keep the Harrington name in the business. And he was not giving his company to his wine-drunk whore of a wife.

“You are twenty,” Mr Harrington said. “You are twenty, and you are educated by high school. You are old enough to know how to run a business now, yes?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I want you to have an internship in Chicago. Work your way up, yes? Don’t want to be playing favourites with my boy. But we all know who my future CEO will be. My son.”

Steve felt dizzy. Not in the seizure way, or even the migraine way. He was dizzy in the way that screamed being sick. He couldn’t focus. Everything was a blur. He didn’t want to leave. He couldn’t. He had the kids in Hawkins, his Platonic Soulmate, his boyfriend . But what was worse? Disappointing his father, yet staying with his friends, or leaving them all, yet starting all over again in a big city. Nausea churned in his stomach. “Chicago. Uh- That’s in Illinois, patér.”

Mr Harrington scoffed. “I know it is in Illinois, my son. I want you to move. Hawkins? What success is here? Me and your mother only moved here to get away from work, like a holiday house. You have no future here, my boy. But in Chicago?” He laughed. “You will climb your way to the top. School didn’t challenge you in the right way, but, at work, you will thrive . You’re a Harrington. Harringtons thrive. ”

He nausea pressed to his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He stared at the ground, breathing fast and panicked. Eddie’s gentle hand pressed into his back. His heart was begging for more room, beating pathetically against his chest. His lungs screamed. “I-I- I can’t .”

“Excuse me.” His father said, voice quiet. This was when he was truly terrifying. Not screaming, not yelling, but being so quiet. Like he was so disappointed he couldn’t be mad. But he was livid. “I must’ve misheard.”

“I said I’m not going,” Steve whispered. His insides were flipping. His vision was quickly blurring. Stéphanos Harrington’s eyes burned through to his soul. Eddie had to quickly steady him, preparing for his boyfriend to either seize, faint or both.

The next however-long lasted a lifetime. Eddie didn’t understand any of the words that Mr Harrington yelled in Greek, only that he was angry, and angry at Steve. Mrs Harrington,ever the help, downed another bottle of wine and patted her husband’s back soothingly, like  a mother to a raging child.. He understood the wildly pointing, the declaration of ‘ get out my fucking house ’. He understood that Steve was slumped in his arms, tired and sick and now Eddie had had a taste of what Steve went through for two fucking decades? He was ready to take his boyfriend home.

And it’s in Steve’s car, at midnight of an August night, that Eddie decides that he’s marrying Steve, legally or not, and changing his surname to Munson. And, it’s on that night that Steve starts living with the Munsons officially.

“We’ll figure out what to do, baby doll” Eddie assured the shaking and sobbing Steve in his arms, bundled in the blankets of Eddie’s room. “I promise. I promise. Wayne’s gonna let you live here ‘kay? And you’ll never see those shitholes again-”

And Steve falls asleep, pathetically entangled with Eddie’s limbs. And that’s when Steve became a Munson.