From the moment young Eddie Munson stepped into his uncle Wayne's trailer, a small cardboard box filled with a few personal belongings clutched in his arms, he knew it was a safe haven. Standing in the small living room space, taking in the sights of the mismatched curtains, the array of mugs that lined the walls, and the tiny dining table for two wedged up against the wall across from the kitchen, accompanied by the all-too-familiar scent of cigarette smoke lingering in the air, he felt a wave of warmth, peace and relief wash over him. Something inside of him seemed to release, like a breath he didn't know he'd been holding for so, so long.

"Here, I'll show you where you can put your things," his uncle said, leading him down the narrow hallway to a bedroom at the other end of the trailer. "Sorry 'bout the mess. Haven't quite finished clearing out yet," he said, gesturing to the couple of cardboard boxes on the ground, one filled with some clothes and the other quite a lot of hats. The room already housed a bed, two beside tables and lamps, and the same warm peaceful feeling Eddie had felt from the moment he arrived, like he was wrapped in a soft blanket, or the arms of someone who loved him. The feeling seemed to linger throughout the whole trailer. It almost made him feel dizzy, like he was floating, or in a dream. He wasn't sure if this was a feeling he'd ever truly felt before, not that he could remember, anyway.

He felt the gentle weight of a hand settle on his shoulder, and it was only then he realised this feeling of warmth and safety and peace had little to do with the trailer itself and everything to do with the man it belonged to.

Kind eyes with small creases lining the corners, hair and short beard beginning to grey, and the lingering twang of a southern accent, Wayne Munson was nothing at all like Eddie's father. For a start, he was quieter, more withdrawn. Though he was friendly, a man who greeted his neighbours politely when he saw them, and who wouldn't hesitate to roll up his sleeves and lend a hand to someone in need because "That's what folks oughta do, Eddie", he tended to keep to himself. If he had nothing to say, he said nothing. Sometimes, the two of them would sit at the pokey little breakfast table in complete silence, soaking in the calm of the morning before the motions of the day truly began. Wayne was practical, honest, and sincere. Though he may have appeared gruff to some, it was merely a rough outer shell of the caring, warm-hearted man Eddie knew him to be. He cared deeply for Eddie, in a way that made the boy's heart swell with overwhelming gratitude, so much he thought it might burst right out of his chest.

Yes, Wayne was nothing at all like Eddie's father, yet that's exactly what he became.

School wasn't exactly smooth sailing for Eddie. He was the kind of kid most others thought of as 'odd'. He grew used to the sounds of giggles and whispers, of people looking at him like he didn't quite belong, of the occasional teasing or 'accidental' knocking of his books or boardgame out of his hands. His interests differed from the majority of his peers, and while he did have a few companions who shared his passions, he knew he was the kind of kid most parents told their children to stay away from (Lisa Hills ever so kindly informed him in sixth grade that her mother had said as much). He was the weird kid, the outcast, son of a good-for-nothing criminal, the kid grown-ups looked at and saw nothing but trouble, his father's reputation a permanent dark smudge over his own.

But while kids snickered at him for having his head buried in fantasy novels like The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, his uncle listened intently as he described the plot in detail. Sometimes, he even asked him questions like, "So what's that Frodo fellow doing now?" when he found Eddie reading before bed. While others turned their nose up at his love for (or, perhaps, obsession with) the game Dungeons & Dragons, Wayne did his best to try and understand his nephew's excited ramblings about it, responding with ohs and I sees and well that sure does sound interestings, all while smiling at the bright, joyful spark that shone in the boy's eyes when he talked about this kind of thing. Eddie's drawings and paintings, inspired by these fantasy worlds and beings his imagination often resided with, hung proudly on the refrigerator.

Within the walls of the Munson trailer, Eddie's passions were not scorned; they were allowed to thrive. Even his deep love for loud, blaring rock and heavy metal music, which left many wincing, covering their ears, cursing under their breath at the very mention of the "devil's music", or shouting at him to "Turn that unholy racket down!", was never silenced. Well, Wayne did sometimes tell him to turn it down or use headphones when he had a headache or was trying to sleep, and Eddie always obliged. But his uncle never chided him for his music taste. In fact, he didn't seem to mind it at all, perhaps even liked it.

It was Wayne who bought him his first guitar, secondhand from a garage sale, along with a couple of old and worn Learn to Play Guitar books.

"I know it's not much, but it'll get you started," his uncle said, watching as Eddie settled the instrument into his arms, beaming as he traced his fingers over the strings. It may not have been much, but to Eddie, it may as well have been made of gold. He wholeheartedly declared it the best gift ever, thanking his uncle profusely and enveloping him in the biggest hug his wiry arms could manage.

That evening, holed up in his bedroom, he practised late into the night. Wayne didn't complain. Not even once.

Eddie's dedication to his newly beloved instrument never wavered, and neither did Wayne's pride in him.

Seventh grade. Middle school talent show. Eddie stood side-stage with his friends, guitar grasped tightly in his trembling hands as they watched little Chrissy Cunningham slide into the splits, pom-poms held high above her head, a bright smile on her face as the audience clapped and cheered.

The applause quickly shifted to whispers and slightly repulsed expressions as the name Corroded Coffin was announced, but when Eddie wandered out on to the stage and looked out at the sea of faces before him, all he saw was the grin on his uncle's face. A newfound confidence surged through him, like electricity in his veins, an exhilarating energy that powered him as he played. He felt like a rockstar.

When their song came to a finish, the audience applauded politely. Wayne cheered, which earned him a strange glance from the woman sitting beside him. If Eddie had been closer, he would've heard his uncle explain, or rather declare proudly, "That's my boy," as he pointed to Eddie up on the stage.

After the show, Eddie, still buzzing from the performance, raced over to Wayne, who stood waiting for him, still smiling, his arms open wide. Eddie threw his arms around him.

"You did good, Ed. Real good," Wayne said, running a hand over Eddie's closely-cropped hair. "I'm proud of you, son."

Eddie's grin grew wider, his cheeks beginning to ache, as a warmth filled his chest. His whole body felt as though it were vibrating. He didn't care what anyone thought of the performance. He didn't care if they sounded any good. No, young Eddie Munson felt like he was on top of the world, and nobody was going to yank him down. Nobody.

Unfortunately, he couldn't ride that high forever. Though middle school was no walk in the park, high school was its very own challenge. More gruelling. More vicious. A constant battlefield in which freshman Eddie could never seem to quite get the upper hand. He struggled academically, his mind apparently resistant to focussing on something that didn't grasp its interest. His head was usually somewhere else, deep in some fantasy world, lost in thought or memories, at times zoned out completely. Occasionally, it was getting shoved into a locker. Ah, the joys of the high school hierarchy. Eddie became acquainted with it fast, lacking any and all so-called exemplary qualities that seemed to exalt people to the top. He was no scholar, no star athlete, and not the kind of boy the girls fawned over or daydreamed about for their charming good looks. But he didn't really care. Why should he? What was the point in pretending to be something he wasn't, just to climb the imaginary ladder of popularity? How could he ever be happy at the top, if it meant sacrificing who he was and what he enjoyed?

So, in the war game that was Hawkins High, Eddie Munson was thereby assigned the class of 'freak'. A categorical label that doubled as an insult, though it was far from the only one in his fellow students' arsenals. He grew used to hearing it, whispered behind his back, hurled at him as he paced the school's halls, sometimes echoing in his head at night while he tried to sleep.

But there was only so much he could take.

One day, Eddie got a little too brave. Rather than ignoring the burning inside of him until it simmered down, he let it fuel him, let it ignite a spark of confidence within him. A group of sneering jocks cornered him, backing him up against a wall, surrounding him as if he were their cowering prey. This time, when they bit, Eddie bit back.

Truthfully, he hadn't thought much beyond his initial scathing retort. In fact, he hadn't thought much about the whole situation at all. It was more of an impulsive, in-the-moment decision, one which he instantly regretted the second the verbal altercation turned physical. Aggressively, painfully physical.

Suddenly, he was lying on the ground, the world around him spinning with a sickening dizziness. His head ached and his eyes watered, one of them tender and throbbing as bruise began to bloom. Warm blood trickled from his nose and down his chin, the metallic taste of defeat bitter in his mouth. A chorus of laughter echoed from all around him, the sound somehow both deafening and muffled in his ears, as if he were underwater, partially detached from the rest of the world. The sounds gradually grew louder, loud enough that he could make out their taunts.

"Freak!"

"Look at him."

"Come on, Munson. Is that all you've got?"

Feeling a surge of adrenaline, he stumbled to his feet, legs trembling. He stared at the mob hovering around him; there seemed to be more of them now, on-lookers waiting to watch Hawkins High's freshman freak get beaten into a bloody pulp. One of the boys raised his fists, ready to go for another round, but Eddie's brain screamed at him, consuming all other thoughts in his mind.

Run!

So he did. He bolted. Shoving his way through the crowd, he tore around the side of the building, no final destination in mind, no sense of where he was going, just one thought in his mind – run! Footsteps scraped on the ground metres behind him, but he didn't dare turn around. He didn't dare slow down, not until his legs buckled beneath him, his heart pounding so hard it hurt, his lungs burning as he struggled to breathe.

He probably should've run to the nurse's office, but instead Eddie found himself in the school theatre. Alone, hidden in a secluded corner behind an array of drama club props and set pieces, it hit him. Everything. All at once. It was as if some invisible hand had grabbed hold of his neck, choking him, leaving his sobs half-caught in his throat as he gasped frantically for air. His heart hammered wildly in his chest. His stomach churned. His whole body trembled. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

He still couldn't breathe.

Just as a hazy darkness began to dance at the corners of his vision, he managed to inhale deeply enough to feel the air fill his lungs, like he'd finally broken the surface after being underwater. Panic still rippled through him as he tread the water, trying to keep himself afloat. Slowly, his awareness of his surroundings started to come back – the theatre lights above his head, the scent of the paint on the newly-painted sets. With it, came the awareness of the pain throbbing in his head, the bridge of his nose, and encircling his left eye. He felt the tears still pouring down his face, soaking his already blood-stained collar.

Eventually, between the sobs that just wouldn't stop, Eddie's heartbeat and breathing began to fall back into a steady rhythm. His brain no longer screamed at him. Instead, it cried for one thing, the only place he truly felt safe:

Home.

His uncle tried to keep his emotions at bay when Eddie arrived home sporting a black eye, split lip, and a nose bruised and crusted with dried blood, but Eddie saw straight through the man's composure.

He sat on the couch, listening as Wayne asked him questions – whether his head hurt, if he felt sick or dizzy, if he knew what day of the week it was; watching as he ran a washcloth under lukewarm water in the kitchen sink, returning with it and a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a kitchen towel in hand. Wayne handed him the bag of peas, which he gratefully pressed to the swelling around his eye, sighing at the relief of the cold bleeding into his skin, numbing the pain. He sat quietly as his uncle kneeled in front of him, inspecting his wounds, before using the wash cloth to clean the blood from his face, his brow creased in a frown.

"You're mad," Eddie said, breaking the silence.

Wayne's hand stopped for a moment, but quickly resumed. "I'm not mad at you, son," he said, wiping the washcloth gently across Eddie's skin. "I'm mad that –" He paused, then sighed, shaking his head. "I just wish folks wouldn't give you a hard time just because you're –"

"A freak?"

"Don't say that," Wayne said, the seriousness of his tone catching Eddie off-guard, a seriousness that he knew meant the words were coming from a place deep within the man's heart. "You're no freak, Eddie. Never have been," he told him, and Eddie couldn't ignore the faint traces of tears in his uncle's eyes. "You've only ever been yourself. It ain't wrong to be different. It ain't wrong to like the things you like. You ain't hurting anybody."

"Hey, you didn't see the other guys. I got a few half decent swings in," Eddie attempted to joke, wincing as the movement of his jaw triggered a shooting pain in his eye and nose. "Before I ran."

Wayne shook his head, a slight smile forming. Pulling the cloth away from Eddie's skin, he looked him straight in the eyes. "I want you to promise me something, Eddie," he said, the emotion and sincerity in his eyes immediately stirring up something in Eddie's chest, a stark contrast to the suffocating panic he felt earlier. It was warm. Comforting. Reassuring.

Wayne rested a hand on his shoulder. "Promise me you'll never change who you are to please 'em," he said, his voice tight and thick with emotion, "that you'll never try to be somethin' you're not just to make 'em happy."

The ache in Eddie's chest grew stronger as his heart swelled – that warmth, his uncle's words, his love pouring into him, becoming part of him, healing the hidden wounds inside of him that he usually just pretended weren't there. He pressed his lips together, biting back a sob as he nodded, tears springing from the corners of his eyes. He quickly brushed them away with the back of his hand. "I promise."

Wayne smiled, his hand shifting to rest against Eddie's cheek. "That's my boy."

His uncle's words were far more powerful than the man probably realised. Those words, that reassurance and encouragement, that unconditional acceptance and safety and love, fuelled the fire that was Eddie's self-confidence, and he became ablaze with it, stronger than ever before. He owned who he was unapologetically. Eddie 'The Freak' Munson, loud and proud. He grew his hair out. He kept playing with his band. And, his proudest accomplishment to date: the Hellfire Club, a Dungeons & Dragons-oriented club, of which Eddie was the proud initiator and head.

Though the name struck fear and caution into the hearts of many, especially those brainwashed by the sensationalised fear-mongering media propaganda claiming concerns of demonic influences and devil worship among teenagers, the club was really a haven, a protection even, for the school's social outcasts. "Lost sheep" Eddie fondly called them, and made it his mission to scout them out, herd them into his flock and shepherd them through the trials and tribulations of high school, of which there were many.

His invigorated confidence and pride upped his 'freak' status ten-fold, but he didn't care. It was nothing he couldn't handle, sneering remarks, insults and curses ricocheting off the back of his leather jacket as he strutted away, flipping the bird at them with his ring-clad hand, his head held high. To them, he was the bottom of the social hierarchy, a demonic, dangerous freak because he liked the play a fantasy game, because he was a metalhead, because he dressed different (and because his father's wrongs still followed him like his own shadow). If he was into band, or science, or parties, or the over-glorified sporting nonsense that was basketball (they realised it was a game, right?), things would be different. Those were acceptable pursuits. Toss balls into laundry baskets, you were hailed a hero. Toss dice on a game board, and suddenly you were the devil himself. Be who they wanted you to be and your high school life would be a breeze. Lock your true self away in a box, put on a mask and parade around like an actor in a play, all day every day, playing the role they wanted you to play. Forced conformity – that's what it was. A constant pressure weighing down on every high school student, every day. Even Eddie felt it, but he never let it break him. He never gave in. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He wouldn't change just to please them.

High school still remained a constant war zone though. Trying to stay out of trouble. Trying not to flunk his classes. Trying to get through his final years with his sanity and self-esteem still intact. When cracks grew in the armour he'd carved for himself, he was quick to repair them, to push forward, to move on.

But contrary to what some of Hawkins believed, he was, in fact, human. Sometimes, it took him time to get back up when he was knocked down. Sometimes, there was this heaviness inside his mind and chest, weighing him down. Sometimes, he felt anxious, on high alert, a sense of possible doom pressing in from every angle, his mind buzzing with worries, problems, potential threats, or at times nothing at all. Sometimes, it was all just too much. Sometimes, beneath all his usual bravado, he felt small, alone, like nobody understood. He cried. He got angry. He shut himself away in his room, blasting music until it drowned out the thoughts in his mind, until the vibrations replaced the ache in his chest.

But Wayne – kind, patient, somehow-never-tired-of-dealing-with-him Wayne – he was always there, to talk with him, to listen to him, to sit with him in complete silence, to reassure him, comfort him, to bring him back to himself. Even when he wasn't there physically, he was still there. When he needed space, Wayne's presence was like a beacon beyond his closed bedroom door, a guiding light he could move towards when he was ready, a reminder that he wasn't alone. Leftovers in the fridge with Eddie's name on it if he'd skipped out on dinner. A note left on the kitchen bench, 'Don't do anything stupid – Wayne', scrawled in his uncle's handwriting. The number for the plant he worked at on another scrap of paper, a permanent fixture by the phone, and although Eddie had never used it, it was still there.

Any solace or joy he couldn't find in Hellfire, Wayne, or music, he found in drugs. What started off as experimentation quickly turned into something more. Sometimes for the fun, for the thrill. Sometimes to escape, to help calm the storm inside his head, the one that threatened to convince him that maybe he really was the abhorrent creature people always said he was, that he really didn't belong, at school, in Hawkins, that he'd never truly be accepted for who he was here, would never be safe here –except within the haven of his uncle's trailer. Plus, selling gave him income, money to buy things for himself and help cover expenses. With the help of Rick Lipton, his supplier, he had a half-decent business going.

His grades, however, were a different story. Academically, Eddie was not doing so well, but the reality of just how poor his performance was didn't really hit until, towards the end of his senior year, he and Wayne were called in for a meeting with the principal and school counselor. It was then and there the bomb was dropped – Eddie would not be graduating. If he wished to graduate, he would have to repeat. Just like that, his dreams of finally escaping the prison walls of Hawkins High, of running like hell out there the second he snatched that diploma, were crushed. The thought of having to stay in that cesspool for another whole year filled him with a sickening dread.

He sat dead silent in the passenger seat on the way home, frustration burning inside of him. The words 'failure' and 'will never amount to anything' sprung to mind, and Eddie realised he'd just fulfilled the prophecy so many people had for him. Ironic, really. It would almost be funny, if it wasn't so soul-crushing. However, worse than the disappointment, the frustration, and the self-pity, was the feeling of shame gnawing in his stomach, the feeling that he'd let Wayne down.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, still staring at nothing out the car window.

"Not everyone's a scholar, Ed," Wayne replied, eyes on the road. "Principal said you can try again next year."

Eddie shook his head, clenching his teeth as he ran his hands over his face. "No, no, you don't get it, man!" he growled. "Now, I'm stuck in that hellhole for a whole 'nother year!" He cursed, slamming his fist against the car door, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. "Why do I have to be such a screw up?!"

"You're not a screw up, son," Wayne told him calmly. He sighed. "You've always been a smart boy, Eddie. You still are. You read, you're a talented musician. Then there's those story game things you plan out for your club."

"Campaigns?"

"Yeah, those. You've got a lot of great things goin' on in that head of yours – creativity, imagination, hell, some things I could never understand for the life of me. You certainly ain't stupid. Don't let those teachers make you think any different. Now, that being said school's still important, so you're gonna try again, and you will, because the Eddie Munson I know isn't one to throw the towel in just because he got knocked down once. No, the Eddie Munson I know would get back up, dust himself off and... take that ring to Mordor or whatever."

Eddie laughed, shaking his head.

His uncle smiled back at him. "Did I get that right?"

"Yeah," he said, laughter still ringing in his voice. "Yeah, you did."

Wayne reached over and ruffled his hair, and suddenly the crushing blow of his failure didn't feel so crushing anymore.

Another long year passed. So long, in fact, it turned into two. Well, you know what they say: third time's the charm, Eddie thought, or rather hoped.

He was sitting in the cafeteria one day when he caught sight of two freshman boys, trying in vain to find an either welcoming or unoccupied table, seeming to have little luck on either front. Two little lost sheep – one with curly brown hair and braces, donning a Weird Al t-shirt, a bold choice which gained Eddie's respect immediately; the other taller and leaner, and clearly fashioned by his mother with clothes from The Gap. Both wearing expressions of panic and defeat on their soft, innocent, barely pubescent faces. He watched as the pair awkwardly squeezed their way on to the end of a table, looking uncomfortable and on edge, as if they were just waiting to be told to get lost, and Eddie felt a twinge in his heart, because beyond the very different styling choices, it was like watching his freshman year on replay. Those boys were him.

"Hey, where you going, man?" Gareth called out as Eddie rose from his seat.

"Shepherding," he called back, as he weaved his way through the busy lunchtime crowd to where the two boys sat.

As usual, he didn't need to announce his presence, the two freshman wide-eyed and panicking, while the rest of the table just glared at him. He ignored them.

"Well, well, well, a couple of new faces. Welcome to Hawkins High," he greeted the kids with a smile. He reached over and grabbed a spare chair from the neighbouring table, taking a seat next to them. He noticed the pair glancing at each other, fear written all over their faces. "Relax," he said, "I'm not here to mess with you. If anything, I'm here to save you. But, where are my manners." He extended a hand to them. "Eddie. Eddie Munson, leader of the Hellfire Club. And you are?"

"I'm Dustin," the curly-haired boy declared with a smile that instantly melted Eddie's heart. "Dustin Henderson. And this is –"

"Mike," said the other boy. "Mike Wheeler."

"Wheeler, huh? Any relation to Miss Nancy Wheeler?"

"She's my sister."

"Nice." Eddie nodded, then clapped his hands together. "Anyway, the reason for my visit is to offer you something that'll ensure high school isn't the worst most painful experience of your life. Because, believe me, it can be, and judging by the long faces, you're already starting to feel the effects." He leaned in a little closer to them. "Have you ever heard of a game called Dungeons and Dragons?"

"Heard of it?" Dustin exclaimed, eyes wide and shining and, oh, he adored this kid already. "We love it!"

"Well then," said Eddie, rubbing his hands together. "I'm here to offer you an official position in The Hellfire Club. I know, I know, the name sounds scary, but we were all once just lost little sheep like you, looking for our place in this school, a place where we could be ourselves, with people like us. We're a Dungeons and Dragons club and party, with the perks of mind-blowing campaigns, created by yours truly, a group of passionate players, and always, always," he gestured to the Hellfire Club's table , "a seat in the cafeteria. So, what do you say, boys?"

Before Mike could even open his mouth, Dustin slammed his hand down on the table, looked Eddie dead in the eyes. "We're in."

And just like that, another two lost sheep were herded into his flock. Well, actually, three – turned out Dustin and Mike had another friend, Lucas, and although Sinclair was a part-time jock, he was a good kid. As with all his loyal, young Hellfire Club companions, Eddie felt protective over the boys, particularly Henderson. He would never admit to having favourites. Never. But it was Dustin, without a shadow of a doubt. There was just something about that kid. Something infectious in that smile of his. Something about his confidence, his passion, the way he was just unapologetically himself, all the time. Eddie never wanted him to lose that spark, to have all that light and joy sucked out of him, to hurt the way Eddie had hurt. He wanted him to feel the same safety his uncle made him feel.

"He's a real sweet kid," he told Wayne when he was home one evening. They both sat together at the small kitchen table, enjoying a microwaved dinner of macaroni and cheese with a side of vegetables. "Just like this ball of energy and joy. He's just so... himself, all the time. It's kinda infectious. And I just... I hope school doesn't beat it out of him, you know? I don't want him to lose all that. He's a good kid."

"Well, if he's got you lookin' out for him, I'm sure he'll be just fine."

"Maybe. I hope so."

"That's all you can do," said Wayne. "Do your best and hope it's enough."

They sat in silence for a moment, Eddie swirling his macaroni around with his fork. "Wayne," he said at last. The older man looked up at him. "I know I don't say it a lot, but I... uh... I really appreciate, you know, everything you've done for me over the years."

Wayne exhaled, the corners of his mouth curling into a slight smile. "You don't have to say it, son. I know."

"No, but I do. I should," Eddie insisted. "I wouldn't... I wouldn't be the person I am now if it weren't for you. You're the one who told me it was okay to, you know, be who I am. You're the one who let me read my books and draw and do my music and play D&D and talk your ear off about all that stuff. And I still remember you cheering me on at that middle school talent show." He smiled fondly at the memory. "You've always been there for me, man. Through everything. Even when I've screwed up. And you've never tried to make me change or wanted me to be something I'm not. You just... accept me, completely, wholeheartedly as I am, and everything that comes with that. You've always made me feel safe and free and loved even though I probably drive you crazy sometimes and I... I don't..." A lump rose in his throat. He swallowed it down. "I don't know where I'd be right now if it weren't for you." He looked back down at his dinner, picking at it again with his fork. "Probably would've ended up like my old man."

Wayne shook his head. "You're nothing like him, Eddie. Never have been. Alright?"

Eddie nodded.

"And all that stuff, it's because I care about you. And I love you. All of you. Your loud music, your Dungeons and Dragons and your Lord of the Rings. The way you talk non-stop when you're excited. The way you try your darnedest to be quiet when I'm asleep but you still make a damn racket." He laughed. "The way you feel things so intensely, no matter whether it's joy or pain. The way you always manage to make me laugh, even when I'm mad. The way you care about people and look out for them. And how you just... keep going, despite everything life has put you through. That's all you, Eddie. Taking you in..." He paused, emotion catching his voice in his throat. "Taking you in was the best damn thing I ever did." He smiled. "Crazy to think how boring my little ol' life would be without you, and I would never even realise just how damn boring it was."

"Does this mean you've forgiven me for that whole thing with the cops a few months ago?" Eddie asked, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Forgiven? Sure. Forgotten?" Wayne raised an eyebrow. "You better think again, boy."

"I know, I know, it was real stupid, and I swear to you it'll never happen again."

"It better not," Wayne warned, pointing his fork in his nephew's direction. "Because it's wrong what they say about you, you know." He looked Eddie in the eyes seriously again. "You ain't a bad kid. Dangerous or evil or good-for-nothing and destined to go nowhere. None of that," he said with the same heartfelt firmness he'd spoken with when Eddie came home with a black eye and bloodied nose all those years ago. "This town's gossip is a wretched thing. A disease. It infects this place, without a damn care who it knocks down. That's the real evil here in Hawkins. And I'll be damned if I ever hear a word of it without telling whoever said it to go straight to hell. I ain't gonna stand for it. You're my boy, and I'm proud of you. I'm proud of who you are." He reached across the table, placing a hand on Eddie's arm. "You could have the whole world against you, son, but you'll still have me in your corner, you understand?"

And there it was again. That feeling. Warm. Comforting. Reassuring. Safe. Loved.

Eddie nodded. "Yeah," he said, with a watery smile as tears stung his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

"You alright?" Wayne asked him.

"Yeah, yeah, no, I'm fine," he said, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, but it was useless. They just kept coming. "It's just..." He pointed to his eyes. "Happy tears, you know." He let out a small laugh. "Making me emotional, old man."

With a soft expression on his face, Wayne stood from his seat and moved around the edge of the table, as Eddie did the same. "Come 'ere," he said, arms outstretched towards his nephew.

Eddie threw his arms around his uncle tightly, and felt the pressure of Wayne's arms around him, holding him close. There, in the security and warmth of his uncle's embrace, he cried, sobbing into the man's shoulder, tears streaming down his face as an intense wave of overwhelming emotion washed over him, through him, from him, a mixture of pain, heartache, gratitude, joy, and love all flooding forth as his heart was torn wide open. Vulnerable. Cathartic. Clinging to the one thing, the one person, he could truly depend on to steady him. He felt his uncle's hand against the back of his head as the man inhaled a shuddering breath, and it was then he realised that Wayne was crying too, near-silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Eddie hugged him a little tighter.

"I love you, man," he managed to choke out between sobs, still clinging to his uncle like a small boy, not wanting to let go.

"I love you too, Ed," Wayne said softly, his voice and breaths quivering. "Always will."

Later that evening, Eddie went to his room. His head still felt heavy from crying, but his heart was full. So very full. He collapsed onto his bed, then glanced around at the cluttered space. A lot had changed since he first set foot in the room, the once bare walls and spaces now filled pieces of him – metal band posters, a few old drawings, music equipment, his guitars (including his very first), a Corroded Coffin banner he made himself, battered fantasy novels, his D&D set, tattered notebooks filled with campaign ideas. It was a space that, over the years, he'd been free to make his own. But there was one thing that hadn't changed, something that had been there since the very beginning. The room still held the same warm, peaceful feeling that it had the night he first arrived. He closed his eyes, soaking in the feeling, letting bleed into him, as he slowly drifted off to sleep, barely aware of quiet footsteps entering the room, of a blanket being pulled up over him, and the someone flicking off the lights.

Then, Spring 1986, it all happened. He met a girl, a cheerleader of all people, and for a moment, just a moment, at a secluded picnic table in the forest behind the school, she saw him, really saw him. Not the school's resident freak and drug dealer – him – and she didn't run the other way. No, she smiled, the sweetest smile, one that could light up a room. She laughed. She remembered him from middle school. And he saw there was so much more to her than Hawkins High's golden girl. He saw her.

But she was afraid. Not of him, of something else.

Something that came for her.

Lifted her in the air and just...

Right in front of him.

He couldn't help her. He couldn't save her. He just screamed, and ran, her contorted, crumpled form seared into his brain.

He became a wanted man, a walking target once again. Just like school, only worse. So, so much worse. Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. Dangerous. Satanic cultist. Murderer.

As he lay hiding in Rick's boathouse, heart pounding, limbs trembling, struggling to breathe, tears streaming down his face, he was suddenly a young boy again and, oh, what he would give to be with Wayne, to see the look in his eyes, feel his hand on his shoulder, hear his comforting words. The only man in the world who truly knew him, knew his heart and his mind, knew all his quirks, interests, and talents. The man who loved him, every bit of him, with his whole heart, no matter what anyone else said or believed.

Chest heaving with painful gasps, Eddie curled up, knees to his chest, and sobbed silently, not daring to make a sound.

He felt a momentary sense of relief when Henderson arrived (after he pushed Steve Harrington up against a wall and held the remnants of a broken bottle to his throat – well, what did he expect, poking a traumatised guy hiding from the cops under a pile of tarps in a drug dealer's boathouse?). Seeing the look on that kid's face, that sweet damn kid, Eddie realised he wasn't truly alone, that Dustin knew him too, really knew him, and saw him for who he really was. Dustin knew him well enough to know he didn't do this, that he would never do something like this, even though the truth sounded insane enough to land him in Pennhurst Asylum for life, and there was absolutely no way the rest of Hawkins was ever going to believe he didn't do it because he's Eddie the no-good son of a criminal satanic cultist now murderer, but not to Dustin. No, Dustin knew him, and Dustin and his friends believed him, and it was enough to make him want to start crying all over again.

Everything passed by in a blur after that and before he knew it he was getting geared up with a bunch of people, most of which he barely knew a week ago but now was willing to fight and bleed alongside, to take down this Vecna creep (because, you know, there was this WHOLE OTHER DIMENSION with ACTUAL REAL MONSTERS and HE WENT THERE and he still couldn't believe any of this was real).

There was a part of him that was childishly excited for this battle, an adventure not unlike those in his books or D&D campaigns. But the other, much larger part of him, was terrified, terrified that this was a very bad idea, that they truly had no idea what kind of hell they were getting themselves into.

That they may not actually make it out alive.

He tried to push the thought from his mind, focussing on hammering nails into a garbage can lid, Dustin by his side, doing the same.

"How's she feeling?" Dustin asked, as Eddie paused and stood, inspecting his makeshift shield.

He thrust the shield into the air, imagining himself defending off a swarm of vicious, other-worldly bats. "Light. But durable. Deadly. But reliable." He raised a foot on to the milk crate on the ground. "Hear me now," he declared, putting on a gravelly, dramatic, accented voice. "There will be no more retreating!" He lowered his foot, returning to his normal voice and stance, his heroic persona dissipating as the anxiety he'd been trying so desperately to keep at bay came creeping back. "From Eddie the Banished."

"Hey, you're really ready for bat-tle," Dustin joked, rising to his feet, shield in hand. Eddie stared at him blankly as the boy chortled at his own remark. "You get it? Bat-tle. B-A-T."

It was a brilliant joke, really. Eddie would've laughed, for sure, if the thought of those bats didn't conjure about a nauseating feeling in his stomach. And if he wasn't lost looking with complete admiration at the kid in front of him. So bright and cheerful, even in the face of complete peril, like a sun chasing away the fearful darkness beginning to cloud Eddie's mind. His smile. His laugh. His sense of humour. This kid, who was a complete nerd, who embraced his nerdiness with wholehearted pride. This kid, who was wildly intelligent and creative, with passion for both science and fantasy. This kid, was always loyal and fiercely protective of his friends, including Eddie himself. This kid, the once lost little curled haired sheep he'd herded into his flock, taken under his wing, and grown truly fond of. He wanted to protect this kid and his spark with every fibre of his being.

He wondered if this was what it felt like to have a little brother.

They'd quested and battled side by side in D&D. Now, they were about to face a monstrous foe right here in the real world (or, rather, the Upside Down real world – he was still getting his head around this whole other dimension thing). And there was no one Eddie would rather have by his side in this, no one he'd rather charge into battle with, no one he'd rather perform a once in a lifetime most metal concert ever in another dimension to lure a swarm of gruesome mutant bats away from an evil lair with.

"No?" Dustin groaned, disappointed at his joke seemingly falling flat. "I thought I had a good one."

With a grin on his face, Eddie dropped his shield and launched himself at Dustin, gripping him around the middle.

"What are you doing?!" Dustin exclaimed, and the pair began to wrestle playfully, grabbing, pulling, and pushing each other like young children. "No wedgies! No wedgies!" Dustin shouted as Eddie made a grab for the back of the boy's pants. Eddie laughed, letting go as he pulled Dustin upright.

A sentiment surged inside of him, something instilled in him firmly and gently by his uncle over many years. A safety. A reassurance. A warmth.

He held the kid steady in his grasp, hands resting behind his neck, looking him in the eyes. "Never change, Dustin Henderson," he told him with a smile, his gaze soft yet serious, emotion rising in his voice, tightening his throat, the words coming directly from his heart. A request. A hope. A plead. "Promise me?"

Dustin's grin faded, his expression morphing into one of earnest sincerity. "Wasn't planning on it," he said softly, his gaze fixed solely on Eddie.

Eddie nodded, something settling inside of him, a reassurance that this kid's going to be okay.

"Good."