Chapter 3: Dream Come True

"For your modesty." Steve couldn't help but smirk slightly as he tossed a spare pair of jeans and a slightly tattered Hawkins High P.E. shirt he kept in his truck into Eddie's chest. "Sorry, best I can do for now."

For his part, Munson was just grateful to finally have something to ward off the increasingly cold night air as he shimmied into the borrowed jeans.

They'd barreled him into the police cruiser, a place he'd already been often enough to last him ten lifetimes, and hustled him off to this cabin so quickly he'd genuinely been wondering if they'd forgotten he was bare-assed.

The Chief hadn't said a single word to him since telling him to lie down on the worn bench seat and peeling out onto the access road near the woods, and was now pacing the far end of the room like he'd explode any moment.

Harrington just kept doing this strange little tic where he'd look like he was about to say something, screw up his face, yank his hair a second and then start the entire process over from the beginning.

Honestly, it would have been hilarious if he hadn't just snapped to consciousness laying in the middle of the woods with zero fucking idea how he'd gotten there.

Not exactly the kind of trip he was used to taking.

"O... okay. Okay." Steve was back to yanking on his hair as he turned to face him, "Do you know where you are?"

Glancing around the interior of a small cabin that looked like it had barely survived a bomb blast, Eddie shrugged, "No?"

Steve stopped his movements for a moment, looking concerned, "You don't even know where you are?"

"Well, yeah man!" Eddie whipped his hands energetically around to indicate the room, "I've never fucking been here before!"

A light went on in Harrington's eyes and he actually chuckled, "Fair enough... stupid question."

Deciding on a different approach, he added, "Alright. Then what's the last thing you can remember?"

Eddie glanced between the two men, "Like, before the guns and the naked abduction?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way." Steve shrugged, looking sheepish. "That wasn't exactly on my to do list when I rolled out of bed this morning."

Hopper cleared his throat from the corner, looking less than amused at the back and forth, "He asked a question."

"Bats." A shiver ran through the younger man's entire body at the flashes tearing through his mind, "Smelly, bitey, and very pissed off... bats."

A look passed between the others, Hopper nodding once before resuming his pacing.

"See... here's the thing about that." Scratching the back of his neck, Steve took a seat on the tattered arm of the couch in front of him, "That's what everyone remembers. That's what happened. But..."

Eddie's freakout containment unit had been redlining since stumbling into the cabin and this beating around the bush shit was not helping his desire to avoid meltdown, "But what?!"

Slowly rising back to his feet, Harrington fiddled with the hem of his shirt for a second before hesitantly pulling it up, revealing two sets of deep, rather jagged scars running up both of his flanks and dotting his abdomen, "But this is what that looks like, Eddie."

He motioned idly towards the other man's unmarked flesh, "And you got it worse than I did. Way worse."

Steve's voice cracked slightly, "Like... didn't make it, worse."

Running a hand over his stomach, Munson's face contorted into a confused frown, "That is a very, very good point. Solid point"

"Yeah." Hopper scoffed, "One we're kind of expecting you to fill in the blanks on."

Visibly wracking his brain for a few seconds, Eddie could only toss up his hands, "Guitar solo, fancy feast, nudist retreat... that's all I've got, man."

Stepping forward with a frown, the Chief didn't exactly look impressed, "Well you'd better dig deep then, because that's not good enough."

"Look, believe me when I say I would LOVE to make the cranky guy with the shotgun happy at literally the first possible opportunity," Eddie tossed his hands up in mock surrender, "But unfortunately the gray matter is just not taking requests at the..."

The man's increasingly speedy rant was cut off by a sharp chirp from Hopper's radio, bringing everyone in the room to a halt.

"Chief, you still have your unit on?"

Holding up a finger before grabbing the thing, Jim thumbed the contact, "Yeah. But I'm kinda in the middle..."

"Listen," Florence cut across the channel, sounding rather frantic, "You're gonna want to get down to the station just as quick as you can."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Hopper sighed, "What happened? I'm technically off duty until morning."

"I understand," Flo paused for a second as if speaking to someone nearby before continuing, "Officer Dalton just brought in Mr. Marks."

Hopper mouthed the name as his face scrunched up, "The shop teacher?"

"The very same," The older woman sounded as confused as he did, "Apparently... well, Dalton said he tried to shoot the Mayor, Jim."

"The hell? Alright, sit tight and I'll be there within thirty. No one talks to him before I get there!" Cutting the unit before Flo could respond, Jim let out a frustrated sigh.

Walter Marks was just about the most unassuming guy you could ever meet. Soft spoken, polite to a fault, the guy didn't even drink.

It made less than no sense that he'd have gone off the reservation like that. But one thing seemed certain, between Munson dropping into their laps and now this?

Something was going on.

Quickly flipping his brain into crisis mode, Hopper snapped his fingers, "You two, with me."

Stomping through the door of his old cabin and making his way over to the cruiser, he didn't even bother making sure they'd fallen into step before rattling off orders, "Obviously this needs to be figured out, and we will, but right now the priority is making sure everyone is safe and accounted for."

"Harrington, take him to your place and get him settled in." Popping the trunk and snagging a duffle he'd picked up for entirely different circumstances, Jim tossed it into Eddie's startled hands, "That's the stuff I picked up from the Army/Navy up the highway."

"Should have everything you need to blend, at least for now." Slamming the trunk, he turned back to Steve, "He's close enough to you in size the stuff I got should fit him, he doesn't leave the apartment without looking like he's on leave from post, get me?"

Seeing as how Munson was considered both a wanted criminal and technically dead, it certainly made sense to Steve why he'd need the gear they'd picked up in case he and Hopper had needed to blend in somewhere they weren't supposed to be, "Yeah, no problem."

"Well...," He amended, "One problem."

Catching sight of Harrington's thumb as it jerked towards his head, Eddie could feel his eyes widen, "Oh, HELL no! Not happening! You wanna take a weed whacker to my manhood while you're at it?!"

"Sorry kid," Jim shrugged, "It's gotta go. On the bright side, between that and the uniform, I seriously doubt anyone in town will recognize you. They're used to guys from the new base coming and going all the time, so you won't attract much attention."

Ignoring the younger man's sputtered protests, he turned back to Steve, "After you drop him off head by Joyce's, tell her to keep the kids over there for tonight and to lock up until I get back. If there's an emergency she can call the station, but remind her they're probably monitoring phones and radios, so ONLY if it's an emergency."

"Got it." Harrington nodded, already walking backwards towards his truck, "After that, meet up with you?"

Stopping in the door to his cruiser, Jim shook his head, "No. Keep an eye on him. Hell, keep BOTH eyes on him."

"Sounds good, Chief."

"And Harrington?" Making sure he had the kid's attention, he pointed at Munson, "If I was you, I'd crank the heat as high as it goes for a while before I'd risk sleeping."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The crickets chirped, her friends snored softly, and Ricky sounded like he was at the end of his rope with poor Lucy for at least the third time that episode as the show continued playing on the television in the corner.

Sitting cross-legged on the edge of the mattress as Mike adjusted in his sleep behind her, the tips of his toes tickling along her hip before he settled back in, El drew a deep breath and waited for the noises around her to blend into one.

Through practice over the last year, she'd reconsidered and fine tuned many aspects of what Dr. Owens had termed 'her process'. After a few successes and more than a few dead ends, she had begun to feel like she'd finally found her groove.

The man hadn't split hairs, they were going to war, and El needed her powers to function regardless of what might be going on in the world around her physical body.

Having been trained and guided in her gifts from as long ago as she was capable of remembering, it had honestly never occurred to the girl that there may be other ways of achieving her goals.

Better ways.

It had been Mike who had pointed out that he thought it was strange how focused and intense her concentration seemed to be, when everything 'necessary' for it - the static, the weightlessness, the nothingness - seemed designed to relax her.

Meditation and controlled breathing had offered up the best results so far, though attempting focus during physical activity still seemed beyond her grasp for the time being. Baby steps.

A soft smile spread across her face as the muscles in it grew slack, her heart rate slowing, shoulders drooping as she felt her consciousness begin to drift away from her form like a wisp in the darkness.

Pausing for a moment, as she nearly always did, she let her mind flow towards the boy sleeping beside her, the gentle curve of her awareness flowing around his mind like a stream around a stone. Letting her thoughts be shaped and guided by the shoreline of his own as the two caressed at the edges.

When he was awake, her boyfriend told her he found the sensation refreshing.

Relaxing.

He'd described the experience as settling into a warm bath, the way it calmed his mind and seemed to flow around every nerve until it became difficult to determine the end of one and the start of the other.

It made her wonder, not for the first time, what the it might have been like if she could maintain the connection while they were being... intimate.

Considering the way their thoughts and emotions seemed to echo and magnify during their waking connection, it would have certainly been interesting to attempt.

For science, of course.

But Mike was in deep REM pattern sleep at the moment, his thoughts random and disjointed - chaotic.

After questioning him about some of the things she'd encountered from his mind while sleeping though, and the resulting embarrassment, she had promised not to look too deeply unless he gave her permission.

Tonight he had not, so she settled for letting her consciousness 'kiss' along the periphery of his own before pulling back and stretching her mental muscles a bit.

These 'passive scans' as Dr. Owens had termed them, were far less taxing than direct attempts at focusing her powers on a single subject.

She simply stepped back, relaxed, and let the winds carry her where they wished.

It reminded her of walking through the mall on a crowded day. Conversations, actions, movement and stillness. All played out around her and allowed her to ignore or focus on whatever struck her fancy in the moment.

Slipping through the room, El allowed herself to enjoy the relative quiet surrounding her, a rare night of mostly peaceful dreams and fuzzy thoughts drifting like soft music through the air.

Lucas was still awake, though barely, carding his fingers through Max's hair while half paying attention to I Love Lucy. His thoughts were heavy and slow, like slogging through deep mud as he attempted to fight off sleep, wondering if Hopper would give the all clear early enough for him to make it to work in the morning.

Max's birthday was coming up, and he was worried that if he lost his new job, he wouldn't be able to afford the present he wanted to get for her.

Fighting off the urge to send a reassuring 'push' in her friend's direction, lest he realize she'd been listening in, El just drifted by and continued her way through the house.

Joyce was still at the kitchen table, a dog-eared copy of a trashy romance novel she wasn't paying any attention to in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other as she stared silently out the livingroom windows.

"Worried about dad..." El mumbled sadly, this time giving in to her impulse and gently gliding along the curve of the woman's mind, wrapping herself around it and trying to soothe the worry as best she could, like running her hands over a sheet to smooth away the wrinkles.

Though jerking slightly at the sudden presence, Joyce quickly relaxed, a warm smile taking up residence as she leaned back into her chair and whispered, "Thanks, sweetie. Don't stay up too late, okay?"

Wishing the woman would take her own advice, El nodded despite knowing it would go unseen and flitted off again into the ether.

Very carefully, just to make sure she didn't see anything she didn't want to... again, El slipped through Jonathan's room.

His sleep was restless, his mind all jagged corners and raw nerves, bumping and clashing like gears grinding in a clock too small for it's purpose. It was little wonder he'd been in such a bad mood lately.

The discordant tones and general chaos of his mind making her feel slightly queasy, El found herself gravitating over towards the still conscious mind of her boyfriend's sister.

Nancy was a worrier - always. If humans had default settings hers would have been stuck nearly permanently there.

Every mind was different, every personality presenting it's own unique and intruiging vista when El brushed up against it, like textures beneath her fingertips.

Dad's was rough and scarred, but warm and comforting - like the rich leather of a cracked and well-fitting coat you could burrow into and sleep peacefully knowing nothing would touch you.

He was her home.

Mike was like fireworks. Bright flashes driving away the darkness, calm stretches punctuated by frantic activity. It was beautiful and energetic to the point of tiring her out at times.

But she loved that about him. He was color and passion and excitement.

He made her feel alive.

Will was focus. A train on a track moving, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but always in the same direction. She could look away for hours, knowing when she glanced back he'd still be there, chugging away. You could set your watch by him.

He made her feel steady.

Steve, however, was exactly the opposite. His mind was often gloriously serene. Empty. When most people said they weren't thinking of anything, they simply weren't focused, but Steve had this wonderful way of letting go entirely.

It was admittedly jarring when he'd suddenly snap back and realize he'd been staring off into space for who knew how long, but then he'd simply laugh at himself for 'spacing out' and move on with his day.

She'd often visit his mind when having trouble sleeping, letting the quiet peace wash over her until she drifted off.

He was a 'happy place'.

Considering that, it was in some ways difficult to imagine how he'd ever ended up in a relationship with Nancy, particularly one that had brought about the level of emotion she often sensed from both of them when thinking about the other.

She'd made the mistake of trying to describe his sister's mind to Mike only once, and he'd laughed so hard she'd never brought it up again.

The only way El had been able to illustrate her point was by indicating a small squirrel in the yard as they'd been cuddled beneath a blanket on the porch.

The way it was somehow simultaneously focused with all it's being on the nut it was chewing in it's tiny hands, while also jerking it's head constantly in every direction as if trying to see everything the world had to offer around it.

She was intense focus and skittish excitement rolled in constant apprehension. If she found Mike's mind a tiring jog, then experiencing Nancy's was a marathon.

El couldn't imagine how the girl managed it day in and day out.

Currently, her thoughts were flitting wildly between the pros and cons of accepting Jonathan's offer of moving in together and worrying about Steve's haggard appearance when he'd dropped by to relay Dad's instructions.

But that had been five seconds ago, and now she was almost entirely consumed by trying to remember if she'd turned off the coffee maker earlier that evening as she caught the faint hints of Joyce's cup wafting through the halls and trying to remember if she'd pulled the chicken from the freezer to thaw overnight.

El gave her mental 'head' a shake and began to disentangle again.

The girl was exhausting.

A small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, El drew further and further back, slipping through the roof and eyeing first the block and then the entire neighborhood.

Small lights of consciousness flickered in a pattern all their own below her, most dimmed blue with sleep but a few bright white specks whispered words that carrier on the air and found her ear.

The Millers were up, arguing about their son who had apparently returned drunk from a party earlier that night. She cringed slightly when she heard the boy's scattered and alcohol clouded thoughts as he emptied his stomach into the toilet.

Carol Perkins across the street couldn't get comfortable, trying not to disturb a sleeping fiancé as her baby kicked and adjusted positions, stomping on the poor girl's bladder.

El allowed herself to spend a minute brushing up against the still forming mind nestled within, marveling at the differences and allowing herself to ponder what it may feel like to do the same with her own child one day.

It was just as she was disengaging and preparing to return to herself so she could at least attempt to sleep before her father returned that she heard it.

Typically the only sounds she encountered when drifting were the thoughts of those around her, which is why the hollow crack echoing through her mind like distant thunder was enough to cause her to jerk back to alertness in the space of a second.

Rising as quickly as she was able to readjust her focus until the entire town lay sprawled out beneath her dangling feet, she scanned the sea of tiny lights for anything out of the ordinary.

It only took a matter of seconds before she spotted the disturbance, a dull redish orange blob marring the almost pristine darkness, piercing it like a jagged wound grown infected and angry.

She watched as it drifted slowly through the streets, tendrils at it's periphery licking out seemingly at random as if fumbling blindly for something it couldn't quite make out.

Slowly, carefully, El began to reach out with her mind - focusing everything on the disturbance now fluctuating and pulsing as it drew to a halt.

But as soon as it had appeared, the form seemed to fold back in on itself and wink out of existence, the same thunderous noise as before reverberating through her mind.

It had felt familiar. The single-minded intent, the barely contained malevolence.

But as her focus drifted back to the streets below, what really concerned the girl was the way a handful of the previously dim blue, sleeping lights twinkling below her... had shifted into the same angry reddish orange hue.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Stepping out of the shower and onto an off-white bath mat that had clearly seen better days, Eddie stood transfixed on the rather sizeable pile of his manhood crammed into the small green trashcan beside the toilet as he dried himself.

Though he'd avoided looking into the mirror while going about his task with the skill of a vampire who also suffered from body issues, it was impossible to ignore how strange it felt once he'd broken out Harrington's shampoo.

Thinking of how much of the man's no doubt expensive product he'd wasted when it simply ran down the sides of his stubble-covered skull brought a small smile to his face, but the enjoyment was short-lived once he realized he'd probably better take a look at least once to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

Delaying the inevitable long enough to pull on the t-shirt and ridiculous plaid sleep pants the man had loaned him, Munson bit the bullet and swiped his hand across the fogged surface of the mirror a few times.

"Oh, come on!" Tilting left, then right, then forward did absolutely nothing to make the situation any more acceptable, "I look like a skinhead that sells homeowners insurance to other skin heads!"

Stomping out of the small bathroom, he couldn't help but let his ire settle on the back of his recently returned host's head. His still infuriatingly, spectacularly, ridiculously well-coifed host's head, "I think I liked it better when I was dead."

For his part, Steve just shrugged, holding up the remains of a grease-stained McDonald's bag back over the back of the couch while finishing his burger with his other hand.

Hunger winning out over outrage, Eddie sauntered over and snatched the bag, hopping up onto the bar-style counter separating the kitchen from the living room and digging into it.

Quickly discarding the wrapper from his cheeseburger and taking in half of it in one bite, he let his eyes drift around the place for the first time while chewing.

If he was honest with himself, the small apartment was nothing like he'd been picturing on the drive over. Not even close.

Other than the baseball bat in the display case near the door, he'd have been hard-pressed to point out a single other thing that said "Steve Harrington".

A decent TV on top of an aging wood entertainment center with a VCR and a pile of poorly organized VHS tapes, along with a coffee table that was half covered in folders and paperwork? Not very odd in and of itself.

But the rest of the place was just... wrong.

The couch was the very opposite of 'bachelor cool', a knit tweed pattern with a threadbare but fuzzy blanket tossed over the back, pillows clearly meant for decoration rather than function at both corners.

Wedged under it and running most of the distance to the front of the entertainment center was a brown, tan, and green rug with the kind of Southwestern motif that had been big with Hippies a decade and a half ago, but no self-respecting man in his early 20s should have been caught dead with - especially not a jock like Harrington.

The stereo case under the single window had framed pictures littering it, mostly of Steve and the kids, one of him from a swim meet with a cut out news article under the glass with it, and two he couldn't see because they were laying face down on the wood.

Lining the entire rest of the far wall were movie posters likely swiped from his previous job, but they were artsy shit that he doubted Harrington could have sat through with a gun to his head.

The kitchen was ALL wrong, from the potholders hanging up on one of the cabinet handles to the green hand towel with a bright yellow smiling sun in the middle on a hook beside the dish drainer, to the metal spoon cradle resting in the center of the stove top.

Seriously, what kind of guy didn't just leave the spoon sitting in the pot while it simmered without being completely housetrained?

No band posters, stacks of pizza boxes, dirty laundry, stolen street signs, or half naked chicks on calendars anywhere to be found.

And they were afraid HE had been replaced by some kind of bodysnatcher?

Finishing off his burger and tossing the bag into the trash can at the end of the bar, Eddie tossed his hands up, coming to the obvious conclusion, "So... I take it you and Nancy patched things up then?"

Setting down the papers he'd been thumbing through, Steve scratched the back of his neck, "No. That never really... no."

Hopping down and wandering around so he could see the man's face, Eddie motioned around the room, "Then who's the chick? Because, and don't take this the wrong way, you don't strike me as the sunny towels and throw pillow type."

"Sorry my place failed the Eddie Munson approved decor inspection," Steve chuckled to himself, "The mattresses with mystery stains and decorative guitars were on back order the week I moved in."

Sensing he was treading on a sore subject, though he had no idea why it would be, Eddie just nodded while wandering around the room, "No biggie. Can't really buy that level of sophistication in a store, anyways. You've either got it or you don't."

Shuffling the papers on the table in front of him into something resembling a pile, Steve smirked, "Well, you may be here a while, so maybe you can class up the joint for me."

"A pentagram here, a few stash spots in the kitchen, altar to the dark lord in the bathroom?" Spinning around in place a few times with mock seriousness, Eddie nodded to himself while rubbing his chin, "You'll be ready to lead unsuspecting virgins to their sacrificial doom in like, no time."

Steve was just about to respond when the phone on the kitchen wall started ringing, earning a groan as he rose and snagged it from the cradle, "Yeah?"

"I was about to go to bed." Leaning his forehead against the wall and closing his eyes, he continued, "I can be there in fifteen. Yeah, Henderson, tell them I'm on my way - Oh! And call Tommy and tell him he's gotta cover for me tomorrow."

"I dunno!" Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose in agitation, "Tell him I'm trying to stop a cross-dimensional apocalypse, or like... sick or something. Whatever sounds more believable."

"Sure thing." Rolling his eyes, Steve flicked the wall beside the phone, "Yeah, love you too shnookems. See ya in fifteen."

Thumbing through the records along the shelf below the player, Eddie tried to sound nonchalant, "That was Henderson? How is the little shit?"

"Not as little anymore." Snagging his keys and smokes from a dish on the counter, Steve smiled placatingly. "Just as soon as you get the all-clear from Hopper I'll run you over there. Dude is gonna lose his mind, I can't wait to see it."

"We'll take pictures," Eddie grinned, "Maybe I'll jump out of a cake."

"I've gotta get over there and hand hold America's future," Steve motioned around the apartment, "You've got pretty much free reign."

"Room across from the bathroom is mine, you're welcome to it. I have no idea when I'll be rolling in so I'll just crash on the couch."

"That one," He pointed to the closed door at the end of the hall, "Is off limits. There's snacks in the pantry, sandwich crap in the fridge, and you're welcome to any of the booze in there, too."

Reaching into a drawer hidden under the edge of the coffee table, he slipped out a .45 and a magazine, loading the sidearm and tucking it into the back of his pants, "Gotta roll."

"Wait," Eddie shot him a look, "Aren't you like... afraid I'm like, an evil doppelganger or some shit?"

Steve stopped by the door, glancing back over his shoulder, his face screwing up a bit, "Should I be?"

"Well, no... but it's kinda weird that you're not?"

"Eddie," Harrington actually laughed, "I've only really learned two things since this crap started happening."

"First, before it's over, all the stuff that seems really super confusing at first? It gets sorted."

"And second," He fired a thumb at his chest, "I'm like, NEVER the guy that figures it out."

Munson smirked, "That is... surprisingly Zen of you."

"Just how it is." Steve shrugged, pausing to light a cigarette, "If you're some kind of big bad? I'll deal with it. If not? Well, good for you about the whole not dead thing."

The man was out the door before Eddie had a chance to say anything else, still acting like this was just a normal Tuesday for him.

Hell, maybe it WAS.

"Man, I swear... it's always the quiet ones." Remembering what Harrington had said about booze, he practically skipped over to the fridge.

Quickly perusing his options, Munson decided that coming back from the dead was definitely a hard liquor kind of occasion and snagged the half empty bottle of whiskey from the freezer.

Finding a glass in the third cabinet he checked, he helped himself to a generous portion before making his way back to the livingroom and over to the stereo.

Admittedly the selection was far too soft for his tastes, but at least it wasn't the sort of poppy crap he'd likely have assumed would have been there.

Snagging a Clapton LP off the shelf, he quirked a brow at the message scrawled in silver marker across the front while pulling the record from the sleeve.

"Happy birthday, Dingus. You will learn to appreciate actual music if it freaking kills me."

Shaking his head and setting up the stereo, Eddie took two loping strides and jumped onto the couch with a grin, proud that only a few drops of his whiskey sloshed over his knuckles in the process.

Kicking his legs out over the opposite arm of the couch, he tool a long pull from the glass and decided that maybe Harrington was right.

Good for him on the whole not being dead thing.