Eddie hadn't expected it to last; truly, he hadn't. The flashes of inspiration came and went, and he knew, eventually, they faded. He had hoped it would last longer and carry him through the two months, but after the first, he started to feel drained. Always a bad sign. Soon enough, a frustrating familiar static filled his brain, and no amount of staring at the papers, or trying to distract himself, or sex was helping.

And the strain of recognition was back. After Gareth's post about his return to the band, people recognized them on the street, some even coming over to ask for photos and autographs. Eddie didn't mind, but it was distracting, and now he felt like he couldn't leave the house without looking his best or feeling perfect.

He tried to hide it as best he could, smiling and laughing and joining in with Charlie and Steve. He thought he was doing a good job of it, too,, until Steve sat up in bed one night and frowned at him. Eddie could already tell what was on his mind, and the knot in his stomach only tightened, making him feel worse.

"What is it?" Steve asked softly, reaching out to brush Eddie's bangs back.

"Nothing."

"You're lying." Eddie scoffed, rolling over so Steve couldn't see his face. After a moment, he heard Steve sigh, and then his chin hooked over his shoulder, voice barely a whisper in his ear. "You can talk to me."

"I don't want to talk, Steve. I want to sleep. It's been a long day."

After a pause, Steve thankfully agreed. "Okay." And he kissed Eddie's head before letting him go.

Now feeling shittier than ever for pushing Steve away, he felt no signs of inspiration over the following days.

The next meeting at the studio went about as well as Eddie had expected. He'd convinced Charlie and Steve to remain behind this time, knowing the band wouldn't be excited about his lack of progress, and sure enough, he was met with silence and cautious expressions when all he had to show them was half a song, not even a chorus.

"Well, um, it's a start," Michael said bracingly, and the others quickly nodded.

"When do you think the rest will be done?" Ronnie asked slowly.

"I don't know," Eddie told them, standing up to turn his back on their surely disappointed faces. Rubbing his face, he sighed deeply. "I don't fucking know, okay? I'm trying. It's harder than you think."

"Maybe you should take a break from writing?" Gareth suggested, hurrying around to grab Eddie and force him to sit again. "We could focus on the socials instead. Have you thought about the tattoo thing? I think it would really work."

"No." Eddie's gut gave another wrenching twist when he remembered the video and how happy they had been that day. When did it change? When did he start feeling like such a burden on the people he loved? "I, um, we made the video, but, yeah, it's not usable."

Gareth's nose wrinkled. "Christ, Eddie, can't keep it in your pants for five minutes?"

"Fuck off, Gareth. Like your wife isn't walking around pregnant and screaming, 'Look, we fucking bang!'" Everyone was looking at him in stunned silence now. Eddie snatched up his notebook and headed for the door. "Sorry, Gareth. I'll get the chorus ready by tomorrow. Need to go home and work on it." He was gone before they could stop him.

He didn't go home, not wanting to face Steve and Charlie just yet. But being outside was no good either, not when he could feel eyes following him down the street. Ducking into the first open door he could find, he wasn't that surprised to find it was a dingy bar. What he was surprised about was the bartender because he recognized him.

"Rick?"

The man looked up and smiled wide. "Eddie! Long time no see, man."

"You're in LA?" Eddie slid into one of the cracked, plastic, high tops and looked around the dim room.

A pool table dominated the room, and he was pretty sure Rick had dragged it there from Hawkins. It felt like a lifetime ago they had been playing pool together, him trying to convince Rick to sell stolen weed. That had ended brilliantly, another one of his father's grand schemes that ended with him on the run and Eddie arrested. He hadn't bothered to keep track of Rick after moving to LA, but he had assumed the man would live out his days by Lover's Lake, selling anything he could grow or get his hands on. Apparently, he was wrong.

"Yeah, figured a change of scenery was in order, and I was made an offer I couldn't refuse." Rick smiled wide from behind his scraggly beard. Eddie still felt, even after all these years, like he was being observed by a prospector, like Rick was sizing him up for a job. "A lot has changed, Junior."

Eddie hated that nickname. Instantly, he felt the oh-so-familiar swoop of anger and disquiet, a desperation he had always felt not to be known as his father's son. Being a Munson had always been a source of shame for him until Wayne had shown him otherwise until Charlie had given the name something meaningful.

"Don't call me that."

"Alright," Rick chuckled, unperturbed. "So what's your poison?"

"Coke." And then he added hurriedly, "The drink." Because Rick was likely to have baggies under the counter.

A slight disappointment crossed Rick's face, but regardless, he made the drink. Eddie sipped slowly, eyes scanning the almost empty bar. There were a couple of men huddled in the darkest corner by the jukebox, and it oddly reminded him of The Hideout. How different things were now, with their own studio and four albums under their belt - well, two for him.

Eddie just wanted to feel shitty, and it felt like the right place to be to drown his sorrows, sitting alone in a dingy bar with an old acquaintance from one of the worst times in his life.

Ordering a second coke, he pulled out his phone and just stared at the lock screen, a picture of Charlie in Steve's arms, both of them smiling wide with laughter.

He should be at home, with them, not moping in some dive bar on the other side of the city. But then he would have to smile and pretend everything was fine and stare at his notebook in increasing frustration. Yet Steve would be there, his beautiful Steve trying to help, and Eddie could never be mad at him for that, even if he wanted to be left alone.

Still, they would be worried about him, especially if Ronnie or one of the others told Steve what had happened. He needed to go home.

As he pushed away from the bar, Rick hurried out from the back, almost getting tangled in the beaded curtain. Finally free, he leaned on the bar towards Eddie and smiled. "You should stick around, Junior. There's someone who will want to see you."

Eddie raised his eyebrows, but Rick wasn't forthcoming. "Alright…"

He had a bad feeling about it, especially after Rick winked, leaving him to serve the day drinkers. Eddie spent the next hour swishing around his coke, wanting to leave but not wanting to go home and, admittedly, slightly curious.

Curiosity often killed the cat when it came to Eddie, and he had gotten in a lot of trouble as a kid when he'd wandered off when something caught his eye. Even as a teen, he'd gotten in trouble because he couldn't keep his mouth shut or ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time on more than one occasion.

This time was no different, and Eddie knew it because the second a pair of well-worn and familiar boots stepped down into the bar. Eddie almost choked on his drink when he found himself locking eyes with his father, Al Munson, for the first time in over a decade since their last fateful scheme that had landed Eddie in jail, along with the promise he would never let his father back into his life again.

Yet there he was, sliding onto the stool beside Eddie and clapping his back with that old Munson grin in place like no time had passed at all. "Eddie, my boy, look at you. You look almost like I did at your age, so young, so full of potential."

Torn between wanting to leave and the old age desire for acceptance, Eddie said nothing, just stared at his almost finished drink.

"I've seen the things online. You're back with your band now?"

Eddie nodded.

"Always knew you were destined for the stars." Al clapped his back again with a jovial smile, and Eddie couldn't help the smile that pulled at his lips, only to hate himself moments later for wanting the praise. "Can't believe it. My boy, my little Junior… a rockstar!" His laughter was loud and joyful. For a moment, the bar seemed to lighten, but then the darkness settled again. Al seemed to notice because he was suddenly frowning at Eddie. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Ha, that's a cheap answer for cheapskates. I know you better than that, Eddie. You're burning out."

Eddie's shoulders slumped forward, and he was close to leaning on the bar from the weight he felt on his shoulders.

"Boyfriend keeping you down?"

"It's not Steve," Eddie snapped, helpless but to defend Steve because none of this was his fault. He pushed away from the bar, intending to leave, but Al's hand caught his wrist, forcing him to stay. "Let go."

"I wanted to apologize to you after what happened in Hawkins. I shouldn't have left you alone to deal with the fallout."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"I was never a good father to you. But I can be now. Things are different, and I promise it's different now. I'm out of the game for good, living a standup life now." Al gave him that self-deprecating smile that never failed to work on Eddie, and slowly, he sank back onto his chair. "See? I knew you felt the same. We're blood, after all, family."

Rick came over at that moment and, with a nod from Al, produced two shot glasses. He filled them to the brim before sliding them across and disappearing again. Al picked one up, pushing the other towards Eddie. He stared at the glass, feeling nothing.

"We should make a toast. To family." Al forced the glass into Eddie's hand, clinking them together. "To family," he said again, downing his shot in one. When Eddie didn't follow, he sighed. "Live a little."

"Not like this." The words felt cold against his numb lips, but Eddie shoved the glass away and stood up again. "I'm leaving. Don't follow me."

Al gave him a long, searching look but eventually nodded. He picked up Eddie's discarded drink and knocked it back, toasting the empty glass to him. "You know where to find me, Junior. I'll be waiting."

Eddie didn't respond but fled the dark place to return to the light, to home.

By the time he reached the front door, the shaking had subsided, and Eddie felt in control enough to go inside. It smelled like brownies. Eddie wanted to cry.

Sure enough, he found Charlie and Steve in the kitchen, covered in flour and a tray full of brownies set cooling on the side. They were cleaning up and dancing to some pop song, Taylor Swift, he thought, and their voices and laughter filled Eddie with an almost forgotten warmth. It felt like sitting by a fire after a long walk in the snow, and he gladly moved closer, picking Charlie up and spinning her around as she squealed in surprise and delight.

"Daddy!"

"Hey, babygirl. Having fun?" He brushed her hair back, smudging a line of flour against her cheek as he did so. When she giggled, it was the best sound in the world. How could he have considered throwing this away? He kissed her head and set her down, whispering, "You should get a brownie before I eat them all."

"No, you can't!"

"Watch me."

Scowling, Charlie hurried around to take a plate Steve had already made for her and ran off with her treasure. She was barely out the door before Eddie was in Steve's arms, hugging him tight.

Steve returned the gesture, but when they broke apart, he was frowning. "Where have you been? You smell like…"

All the warmth drained from the embrace, and Eddie pulled away, turning so Steve couldn't see his face. "I haven't been drinking."

"I didn't say-"

"But you were thinking it." Rubbing his aching forehead, Eddie let out a bitter laugh. "Suppose nothing changes, does it? Doesn't matter how long it's been or how hard I try, people will always think the worst of me."

"I'm not, Eddie. I swear I'm not." Steve grabbed his hands, pulling him in close again, and his expression was imploring. "I was worried about you. You've been gone longer than we thought and… well, I know things aren't going as well as you'd hoped."

Eddie's hands spasmed, but Steve held on tight.

"Talk to me," he pleaded quietly. "Please, Eddie, you don't have to do this alone. I'm here for you, remember? Don't push me away."

"I don't want to," Eddie choked out, which was one of the hardest things he had ever admitted to. "I don't want to push you away, Steve. I love you."

"And I love you."

Steve leaned in, and Eddie accepted his kiss, stepping closer so they were pressed together. It chased away the cold again and the lingering headache. Eddie was thinking clearly for the first time that day, and he didn't want to let Steve go. "I'm sorry," he whispered into the kiss. "I'm so sorry, Steve. I don't know what I'm doing anymore, I can't think, I can't write. It's all so fucked up in my head."

When he grabbed at his hair, Steve was quick to capture his hands again, keeping them away. "Don't apologize. Please don't blame yourself. Just... take a break. You need to rest. Can you do that? For me, for Charlie?"

Eddie nodded. He could do that. He could try to do that.

Explaining the rest could wait. Eddie only wanted to exist at this moment with Steve in his warm and comforting embrace. Well, maybe there could be more, and he got more when Charlie joined them on the couch after finishing her brownie, tucking herself into Eddie's arms.

This was all he truly needed, and he wouldn't let anyone, certainly not his father, take it away from him.