Chapter Text
"No matter what you do—the witch burns you."
- Witch, Alex G.
Steve didn't think he'd ever see Eddie Munson again.
Last he heard, the guy was slacking his third senior year back in '86. Around March that year, he vanished off the face of the Earth. He knew that because his younger friend, Dustin, who practically worshipped Munson like he was some kinda nerd god, came running to Steve in the video store he worked at and babbled about how he wouldn't do that—that it wasn't like him to just disappear without warning.
That month would not be forgotten, not for him. Because, in the seventy-two hours that followed, Steve Harrington would catch a murderer.
Chrissy Cunningham. Fred Benson. Patrick McKinney. Max Maxfield. All victims of Henry Creel, a man who had already gotten away with poisoning his family as a kid and, thirty years later, planned to take things one step further. Only one survived, and not without Steve's help.
Eddie Munson was not among the dead, obliterating Dustin's suspicions of his potential demise. The kid never stopped looking, though. He was determined to find him.
So, it was kinda amusing for Steve to come across him by chance. Strange, of course, but pretty funny, too. Ten years had passed, yet Eddie's appearance was unchanged. He still had that long mess of curls he refused to cut, his worn vest, his chains—there was barely a wrinkle on his face.
They stared at each other in the clearing, Eddie's eyes narrowing. "Jesus, what happened to you, Harrington?" The cigarette between his fingers dropped to the ground, and he stomped his foot on it to kill the flame. "Since when do you wear glasses?"
That's the first thing he asks? Steve didn't even think the guy would recognise him. They barely knew each other as it is, and now Eddie was greeting him like an old friend.
"Got my first pair a good eight years ago." Two years after he vanished.
Eddie returned a slow nod, his wandering gaze judging the clothes on his person. A woollen sweater with sleeves that ran past his knuckles, baggy jeans matched with brown dress shoes—who was this man? His head tilted at an angle. "Isn't there usually a girl on your arm?"
Bewilderment washed over his expression. "Why would there be?"
"Because you don't come to Skull Rock without bringing a girl." He remarked, his back leaning against the stone monument, famous for many a kiss and a quick blowie. A light smirk grew on his face. "The famous King Steve never comes alone."
He scoffed, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. "This hasn't been a makeout spot in years, man." His expression soured, his jaw set. Steve stared downward, scratching the back of his neck. "You'd know that if you actually stuck around town."
The hint of malice in Steve's voice caught his ear. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He didn't want to start a fight. Steve came out here to take a peaceful walk and feel nostalgic about the good parts of his life, not to face off against Eddie Munson. He couldn't help his anger, though. "You know Dustin Henderson?"
His brows drew together, his forehead creasing. "What about that little dweeb?"
"You really hurt him by taking off like that. He thought—" A bitter resentment gnawed at his guts, his stomach tightening. He met Eddie's gaze, his eyes tight. "—Jesus, man, he thought you were dead."
His face went blank. Eddie flicked the lighter in his hand, igniting a brief spark. "Who says I'm not, Harrington?" He paused, his gaze flicking downwards. Eddie kicked at the dirt beneath his feet. "I didn't think Henderson cared for me like that." The muscles in his throat tightened, but he fought against them. There was no way he was crying in front of Steve "The Hair" Harrington. "Didn't think anyone did."
"Well, he did. He cared about you a lot." Steve felt the need to clarify how much shit that kid went through after Eddie disappeared. He'd never seen him that distraught before, especially over someone he'd barely known a year. "He gave up on finding you four years ago. Suzie had to talk him out of it the day before their wedding when he thought he had a lead." The anger he felt for his friend began to subside, taking a moment to recuperate. "Why'd you have to leave like that?"
"It's not like I had a choice." He folded his arms across his chest, raising his shoulders to shrug. "The town didn't want me, plain and simple."
"Then what are you doing back?" If he hated being here so bad, then there was no point in even returning.
"I've got some loose ends to clean up, then you won't ever have to see my stupid face again." Eddie's arms dropped to his sides, tucking his lighter into his pocket. "I know how much you hated it."
A dazed look formed on his face. "What?"
"What, you don't remember now? You called me a freak more than a few times, I'm pretty sure." Back when Steve Harrington used to rule Hawkins High with good hair and a gaggle of athletic friends who weren't afraid to fight for him, or even do it for him so he wouldn't break his hands.
Sure, he recalled a few remarks here and there toward Eddie. He wasn't proud of them. Steve wasn't proud of any of the things he did back then, and he'd do anything to take it back.
"That wasn't…" A sliver of guilt clogged his throat, and Steve hesitated, his chin dipping to his chest. "… I'm not like that anymore."
Eddie sneered, glancing off to the side. "Yeah, sure, you aren't."
"I mean it." His tone grew firmer, more adamant. He looked up, meeting his judging gaze.
"No, I know." With a small nod of his head, he gestured to the item sitting on Steve's nose. "You're wearing glasses now."
His stare became incredulous. "And what, that automatically makes me not a dick?"
"Well, Henderson always raved about you. Never believed him, obviously." Eddie flicked his tongue against his teeth and took a step towards Steve. "But then I heard what you did for that Mayfield girl." His ringed fingers scratched his Adam's apple, squinting his eyes. "And now you're teaching, what? Phys-ed?"
That would have been a reasonable guess; he was quite the athletic type back in the day. "English Literature, actually."
Eddie practically threw himself at Steve, his gait bouncy. "See that? That's freaking me out!" His voice jumped higher than his walk. He dragged his fingers through his mane of tangled waves. "Didn't you flunk that shit in high school?"
"Yeah, I did, but, you know—you learn, you grow." Robin's the one who helped him get the job and coached him on the curriculum, too. Soon enough, he became a natural. His expression turned quizzical. "How do you know all that stuff anyway?"
A single brow cocked upward, his mouth forming a manic grin. He returned to Skull Rock and stuck his hand under the arch, retrieving a black backpack. Eddie unzipped the larger pocket, grabbing a scrunched newspaper from within. "Picked up this bad boy on my way into town." He waved in Steve's direction, then unfolded it, reading the headline with a solemn tone. "Ten years since tragedy." Eddie chucked the newspaper to the ground, letting it slide towards Steve. "Doesn't feel like ten years, but, hey, time's subjective."
Steve didn't pick it up. He just stared at the black and white print, along with the photos of the deceased victims and the house synonymous with Henry Creel's crimes. The world remembered the killer more than the kids he killed.
"Sounds like you're a hero, King Steve," Eddie remarked.
"Please, don't call me that." The name did more than touch a nerve—it burned a scar. A scar that kept reminding him of the person he used to be. "Look, I'm sorry if I treated you bad back then, but that douchebag's long gone. I buried that hatchet a long time ago."
Whatever else he had to say, Eddie could say it now. Steve deserved to be hated. He was a hero by accident, and a jerk by nature. Even now, he struggled to keep his opinions to himself, despite his desire to change.
Eddie pursed his lips, nodding. "Well, I guess I forgive you then." He observed the few wrinkles in Steve's face tighten, his brows wriggling together. "I've never really had much of a grudge against you anyway." Eddie swung his backpack over his shoulder, letting it hang from a single strap. "And tell Henderson I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to wreck that kid's life."
His mouth fell open, then snapped shut. Honestly, it wasn't the response he was expecting. Lightly, Steve shook his head, accompanied by a few rapid blinks. His bottom lip quivered. "Um, you can tell him yourself when he next comes to town in a couple months. How long you staying?"
"I'm not sure, right now." His arm swept the forest floor, snatching the newspaper from the ground. "But I guess I'll see you around then."
Steve tilted his head to the side, tucking his hands in his pockets again. "If you want to, I guess."
Eddie approached his left, smirking. "Oh, I want to. Believe me, Steve," His gaze wandered again, "I want to."
They held eye contact for a few seconds more before Eddie departed, passing Steve by and heading the way he came. He disappeared into the shrubbery, leaving a bewildered Steve standing in the centre of the clearing. Questions raced through his mind, along with the fact that Eddie Munson might be attracted to him—and that attraction may be shared.
"So, lemme get this straight." Robin paced across the living room, wringing her fingers together, her gaze staring upwards at their crumbling ceiling. They got this place cheap and had yet to bother with certain renovations. It was home, nonetheless. "Eddie Munson shows up completely out of the blue, talks shit, then says he wants to hang out with you again?"
Steve lounged on the couch, the conversation replaying in his head. "Basically, yeah."
His roommate stopped, turning her body to face him. Her hands joined, and she pointed at him with two fingers. "And how do you feel about that?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm telling you. You're the one who gives good advice." Robin knew the answers to even the most dire situations when they didn't include her. Other people's lives were clay in her hands, waiting to be moulded into something fresh. She'd been moulding Steve for nearly eleven years now.
"I can't tell you how to feel, dingus." She told him. Robin leapt onto the couch, propping her elbow against the backrest. "Steve, are you trying to say you may or may not have the hots for Eddie Munson?"
"Perhaps, I mean…" His gaze lingered on the television, trying to distract himself with flashing images. But the image of Eddie leaning against Skull Rock kept forming in his mind. "… I swear, he looks good for his age."
Robin's lips curved into a slight smirk. "Oh, you really do have a type for curly-haired brunettes."
He tore his eyes off the screen, glaring at her. "Are you still bringing up Nancy? That shit was years ago."
"I'm just saying those are the types you fall for." She wasn't wrong there. Steve only realised he liked guys as well as girls a few years ago when he accompanied Robin to her first gay club. Unsurprisingly, he found himself attracted to a man with a head abundant with curls. "You gonna tell Dustin?"
"A part of me wants to. I genuinely do." The last thing he wanted to do was keep secrets from him. "But it took him so long to get past this shit, and I don't want to bring all those feelings back to the surface."
Almost in agreement, Robin nodded. "You raise a good point. He was pretty devastated."
"And he's finally happy with Suzie, they have a baby on the way…" His chest loosened, his shoulders sagging. "… I don't want to drag him back down, you know." That's the worst thing he could do.
"I know you don't, and that's very admirable of you." Her body shifted, her arm dropping onto her lap. "But what happens when Dustin inevitably visits and walks past Eddie on the street? I mean, he's coming down for the reunion, right?"
All Steve could do was shrug. "Yeah, but I don't know how long Eddie's staying for, so…"
"Well, knowing you, Steve, you can't keep a secret for long." She patted his shoulder before grabbing the remote from the coffee table and unmuting the sound.
Sunday nights were movie nights, something they started when they worked together at Family Video. It was a night to pretend they weren't full-grown adults with professional jobs. Well, semi-professional in Robin's case; she was a local radio jockey who lived to entertain.
Robin had the VHS primed and ready when the local news reported something that caught both off guard. "… Police have discovered and identified the body of a teenager who drowned in Sattler Quarry earlier today as Lila Thompson, a local high school student…"
Steve straightened up, leaning forward with a widened gaze. "Holy shit."
"Did you know them?" A stupid question to ask, really, but she wanted to make sure.
"Yeah, I did." He stared at the girl's yearbook picture, her gleeful grin haunting him. "They were in my class." It had been so long since Hawkins suffered a tragedy. Ten years, to be exact.
"You have a new student, by the way." The principal revealed to Steve as the pair strolled through the halls of Hawkins High.
His brows furrowed. "What?"
"I know, it's a strange coincidence, but I thought it best to let you know." That Lila had already been replaced barely a day after her demise. It didn't make the situation any better. "Her name's Christina."
This young woman was going to have a cloud hanging over her head. A shadow had already been cast the day before, and now it was only going to expand.
What else could Steve do but form a tight smile and accept that his class wasn't going to be easy for anyone. "Thanks for letting me know, sir."
They reached the door to his classroom, the principal nodding at Steve before departing, leaving him to handle things on his own. He took a breath, his shoulders shuddering. Confidence is what he's known for. He's brave, charming, and not afraid to take egos down a peg or two. Some of these students were a reflection of the guy he used to be, so he wasn't afraid to talk back to them.
His fingers clasped the door handle and twisted it. The door opened, and he stepped inside his classroom—a room he never thought he'd call his own. He used to have classes in here himself when Mrs. Click manned the ship. And if he weren't, at the time, a complete, self-centred idiot, he would have noticed Robin sooner. Then, he could look back at his high school days with fondness.
He couldn't bear to look at Lila's desk. Knowing someone else had already filled it seemed to worsen the circumstances. Steve didn't let his discontent be acknowledged. His father taught him long ago that any display of emotion, other than sheer joy, was a sign of weakness. Steve wasn't weak. He could be strong, and he needed to be strong for the sake of his students. They looked up to him, after all.
"All right, settle down, guys." It didn't take long for most of the class to take their seats, clearly uneasy. Steve was used to them being a rowdy bunch, but now they were easily silenced. "Now, I know we're pretty shaken up from the unfortunate incident concerning Lila, yesterday. I want you all to know that if you have any issues regarding this, you can talk to me in private or the guidance counsellor. Sound good?"
A few mumbles and grumbles here and there made him feel understood. He knew Lila had friends in this class. Compared to his grief, he could only imagine how they must have felt. She was a mix of Carol and Nancy—popular with a kind heart. A cruel twist of fate was undeserved for someone such as her.
All Steve could do now was press on. Their mourning couldn't get in the way of his students' education. He shuffled the papers on his desk, reading over his meticulous lesson plan, one Robin helped design. "Onto other news, I hear we have a new student with us. Christina—"
"Cunningham." A sweet-sounding voice finished. He looked up, spotting a girl sitting on Lila's— Lila's old desk. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, tied with a green scrunchie, and she wore an old Hawkins High cheerleading uniform. She turned her head, glancing over her shoulder. "Christina Cunningham." Steve's jaw fell slack, his eyes bulging, yet all she did was return a beaming smile. "But my friends call me Chrissy."
Nausea washed over him, his face turning ashen. Confusion twisted into a strange sort of fear, unsure if what he was seeing was real or an apparition conjured by his mind. It had to be the latter. Surely, that must be the case.
"Chrissy…?" It's as if someone ripped her straight from a photograph. She wore that uniform every day from the minute she won a spot on the cheer team. Robin said she wore it the day she died.
She died in that cheerleading uniform with that green scrunchie in her hair and her eyes gouged out. Chrissy wasn't supposed to be here.
Ignorant of his shock, she said. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Harrington. Really stoked to be in your class."
Everyone could see her. It wasn't just him—everyone could see her. All eyes were staring at a living Chrissy Cunningham, but they didn't share in their teacher's discomfort. People oogled her body, Steve could tell from the smirks. Others shared welcoming smiles and fake ones too, clearly jealous of her beauty.
Everyone could see Chrissy, but no one could see what was wrong.
Steve cleared his tight throat, the muscles contracting briefly. "Um, do you mind taking a seat, Miss Cunningham?" Maybe if he pretended not to care, she would go away.
"Of course. I wouldn't want to make a bad impression." Her torso contorted, sliding off the desk and sitting down. "I'm dying to learn." She remarked, her tone mocking. Did she know? Did she know she was dead? The teasing expression on her face seemed to answer that question.