Chapter Text
Rich people, Eddie knows, have the weirdest, darkest, secrets. It’s why he often finds himself in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, dealing to someone he otherwise couldn’t pick out of a crowd.
As much as he would prefer being at home and playing guitar at this time, he sorely needed the cash. Plus, he’s gotten his third noise complaint this month, and knows that he’ll have to keep it down for the foreseeable future.
He packs up his lunch pail after carefully stowing away the fifties he received, locks it up tight, and starts the long walk back to his van. His client, Dan Something (extra paranoid, definitely in need of the weed he purchased this evening), was babbling on about all the weird shit he’d seen last time he smoked Reefer Rick’s top shelf, which Eddie knows for a fact is not cut with any hallucinogens. It’s just not a good way to get repeat customers.
Visions of flaming birds aside, Eddie isn’t the biggest fan of walking through the wooded area. It’s the safest place to conduct business, but Hawkins has a way of making even the most mundane place feel haunted.
Three years of on and off again bullshit being spewed by the local newspapers will do that.
But! Seeing as most of Hawkins thinks that he’s the scariest thing, the second coming, satan’s personal advocate, there’s no reason to be afraid of the things that go bump in the night.
Usually, he doesn’t jump when twigs snap or when he hears owls screech or even when the wind howls.
Tonight, though, some of those snapping twigs and rustling of the underbrush sounds a bit too intentional. Eddie looks up from the rock he’d been focusing on kicking all the way back to his van and searches for anything strange and/or unusual following him through the dark. Or worse, the stupid Indiana cops who think they can pull a fast one over him.
When nothing comes into view, he tears his gaze away from the tree line and back to his game of Kick the Rock.
He tries to focus on entertaining himself when he hears a soft rumbling, like not-so-distant thunder. Eddie stops in his tracks and studies the dark part of the forest once again.
There have been times when he’s considered carrying some sort of weapon on his person. In his line of work (and his status as the burnout freak), there have been times when his safety was tenuous at best. Ultimately, Eddie decided that he was a lover, not a fighter, and forewent any sort of defense mechanisms.
That’s a decision he’s starting to regret now.
Years of watching horror movies have kept him from calling out hello ? like a total fucking moron, but his feet are planted firmly on the ground, as if he’ll only be unstuck by the perpetrator of the spooky noises. He swallows hard when he sees the eerie flash of an animal's eyes just a few yards away.
Eddie wills himself to move, to get away from whatever the fuck that is, yet he remains in place.
The rumbling continues, and those eyes, reflected in the moonlight, grow closer. A massive paw, dark furred with long claws make its way into a small clearing, far too close for Eddie’s comfort.
It’s sheer panic that causes Eddie to break free from his frozen state, and stumble backwards into a tree. He slides against the rough bark until he’s hidden behind it.
It isn’t a good hiding place. It’s hardly a place to hide at all. Yet all Eddie can do is hope that being out of view is enough to dissuade the beast from seeking him out and biting into his surely delicious flesh. Fuck . He’s too god damn young to die. Eddie hasn’t even gotten the chance to graduate yet.
Well, he hasn’t been able to finish out his third chance, but still.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Eddie focuses on every minute sound coming from the area around him and keeping himself from breathing too loud.
Footsteps, heavy and searching, get closer and closer. The beast sniffs at the air and huffs deeply.
Eddie gulps down a breath, bringing a hand over his mouth to prevent himself from making any further noise. He can feel himself shaking when the snout of the animal becomes visible.
Before he gets the chance to think rationally, Eddie is bolting ahead, running through the dark and half familiar woods. The beast follows, faster than any animal Eddie has ever seen or heard of. It’s upon him in seconds, and, because Eddie is not athletic in the least bit, he makes the job easier for the predator by tripping on a stray root. His arms windmill for a cartoonishly long moment before he falls to the ground, his palms scraping against the cold October ground.
Slowly, he turns over, staring at the approaching beast.
It continues to sniff, eyes sharp and still searching, searching for something.
Its next meal?
Eddie crawls backwards on his hands, keeping his eye on the beast, mindless with fear. There are a lot of ways he’s imagined his death. ODing on something stupid, getting into a terrible accident, going out in a blaze of glory at the height of his fame. Being eaten by a giant wolf-like beast has never been one of them. It sounds a lot slower and more painful than the ones he’s cooked up.
At the very least, it’s gotta be the most metal.
The beast stalks forward until it’s hovering over Eddie’s quivering form. Eddie, once again, squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to see that massive head unhinge its powerful jaws. He’s forced instead to listen to the snuffling, feel the cold nose press against the thin skin of his neck, and the hot, damp breath puff over his face.
Eddie lets out a whimper as the beast makes a low noise in its throat. A growl? Or is it thinking to itself: bon appetite! What a tasty treat for me. Either way, this is the end. “ Shit. Oh, fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.”
The waiting is the worst part. What kind of animal just stands around? Surely animals don’t play with their food like this?
Peeking open with one eye, he sees that the wolf’s hackles aren’t raised, nor is it baring its teeth. Instead, it’s just watching him with curious eyes.
Eddie stares right back. Maybe he can trick the wolf into thinking he’s a dangerous creature somehow. It worked on half of Hawkins, and all he had to do was listen to some loud music.
The wolf makes the decision for him by plopping down right into his lap.
“ Jesus Christ ,” Eddie squeaks. He stays still, hoping that by doing so the wolf won’t suddenly change its mind and eat Eddie after all. “There, there. Uh, good boy. Girl? I don’t know.”
The wolf lets out a long-suffering sigh, jostling its entire body. Which, now that it’s draped over Eddie’s, he’s noticing just how big it really is. The wolf is stretched out over Eddie’s legs, and then spills out over to the ground next to him, long, powerful legs reaching out. It’s hard to miss the claws digging into the earth, the scratch marks an unneeded but stark reminder of just how dangerous this creature really is, even if it did decide to take a nap.
Eddie is at a loss for what to do. There’s no one around for miles, which is kind of by design. Dealing drugs with in a crowd is stupidity at its height, and Eddie knows a fair bit about being stupid. So, shouting is out of the question. Plus, he’s pretty sure that would upset the half-asleep beast on his lap. Wouldn’t want to do that.
Which also kind of scratches off wriggling out from under it off his list of options as well. What if it used its huge jaws to pin him down? Though, judging by the weight of the beast, it’s unlikely Eddie would get very far, if he’s able to move at all.
And so, the only two options he can think of are not at all accessible. The last thing, really the only thing, is accepting that he’s stuck here until the wolf grows bored with him and either leaves him alone or eats him alive.
Waiting around is not exactly his strong suit, even if he is terrified of how it all might end.
“If I’m stuck here,” he says to the wolf, hearing the tremor in his own voice. Eddie thinks he maybe deserves to sound a little bit cowardly in the moment. “I’m gonna pet you. And you’re just gonna have to deal with that.”
The wolf makes no move to agree or disagree with him.
Tentatively, Eddie lifts a hand off the ground. He looks at the palm of his hand, sees the smudges of dirt and bits of blood mingling together. If the scent of it was appealing, Eddie figures he’d already be fucked. Shaking, he slowly, slowly, places a hand on the wolf’s muscular shoulder.
The fur is soft and warm to the touch. Eddie doesn’t move his hand at first, just keeps it in place, waiting to see if the wolf will do anything. When the wolf does peer up at him, it’s with an inquisitive, wary eye. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” Eddie assures the beast. “I mean look at me. Do I look like I could hurt you?”
Surprisingly, the wolf lets out a huff of air.
“I’ll try not to be offended.” He starts moving his fingers through the wolf’s dense fur. Where the wolf’s breathing was once quick, it is now calming. Taking this as a good sign, Eddie uses his other hand to scratch at the ears. He can’t quite sit up properly with the weight on him and with both hands preoccupied, and has to make the near impossible choice between ear scritches and shoulder pats.
The ears win.
“This is so much better than killing me, just so you know,” Eddie points out. “Like, still don’t do that, please. I can give you the best pettings of a lifetime in exchange for uh, my life. Yeah. Sound good?”
No response. Predictable. Surely there’s a cute little deer running around that would make a fine dinner in his stead. “You gonna stay here all night? Or, uh?”
Beneath his hand, the wolf convulses, and rolls off of him. It raises on shaking legs and begins to stumble away with jerky, uncoordinated movements. Eddie watches with wide eyes as the wolf stops just a few feet away. The wolf’s muscles ripple and it lets out a low, pained whine.
This is the part where he should get up. Run away, and never look back. Just like before, however, he’s frozen in place. Couldn’t move, couldn’t look away if he wanted to. Not when the wolf changes before him. Fur becoming skin, four legs becoming two, beast becoming man.
A very naked man.
The unknown man stands with his back to Eddie, leans against a tree with one hand, and his head bent down low. “Oh, fuck,” he says. “ Shit .” Without warning, he doubles over and gets sick, the smell of bile pungent even in the wide-open area. For a moment, all is still. The stranger, heaving against the tree and Eddie watching from a few paces away. Then, the wolfman keels over to the right, thankfully out of reach from the sick, and slumps to the ground in a great heap.
Eddie stares at the unconscious body for a long moment, as if something more spectacular (or horrible) might happen if he looked away for even a second. Then, he’s scrambling upwards, tripping over his own feet as he books it the hell out of there.
Running, running, running, whipping past trees as fast as his uncoordinated feet can take him.
He’s doing a lot of that tonight. Running.
But what the hell else is he supposed to do now that he knows there are werewolves in Hawkins.
Werewolves in Hawkins .
One in this very forest, draped across Eddie’s lap. Nothing so exciting or fantastical has ever happened to him, and it was terrifying.
Electrifying.
Horrific.
And now, he’s running away from it, can’t think of doing anything otherwise.
Except...
There is no root this time, but he is stopped in his tracks all the same.
Eddie doesn’t turn around, knows that if he does, he’ll be fucked forever. Because Eddie is not one to leave a fellow freak behind, to let someone suffer when they’re going through some shit. Because Eddie knows first and foremost what it’s like to be out of place in an unkind world, to let the conformists dictate who is and isn’t normal. And because Eddie has a perpetually bleeding heart that’s destined to get himself killed one of these days.
“Fuck!” He cries out. “God damn it!” Eddie turns on his heel and complains the entire way, not feeling bad in the least bit about throwing a temper tantrum. If anyone has earned stomping their feet like a child, it’s him. “Son of a...” He stops just a few paces away from the unconscious werewolf and has to actively work not to stare at an ass that has Eddie wondering if part of the whole curse thing was having inhumanly perky cheeks. “Bitch.”
Eddie shucks his battle jacket and throws it over the werewolf, feeling a bit like he just put a body to rest. Creepy. At least the very distracting ass is out of view.
He then kneels down, grabs a stick, and kind of pokes at the guy. “Hey. Wake up,” he says. It doesn’t even earn him a groan. “C’mon man, it’s spooky as shit out here. Wake up!” When that still doesn’t work, Eddie tosses the stick aside. He doesn’t want to bruise the werewolf if he can help it. Tentatively, he reaches forward and presses two fingers against the guy’s neck, searching for a pulse.
Thankfully, there is one, though it’s a bit rapid for his taste. “Still don’t feel like wakin’ up?” Eddie pushes aside some of the hair out of the guy’s face, to see if he can get some kind of reaction. Instead, he realizes just how big a pile of shit he’s just stepped in.
The familiar douchey face of Steve Harrington is possibly the worst thing that could have happened to him. Eddie can’t believe he didn’t realize until now— no one else on god’s green earth has hair as thick as Harrington’s.
Shit. Rich people’s dark secrets indeed. “Aw, fuck, c’mon Harrington. You don’t get to live some charmed life and then dump all this crap on me. Wake up.” Eddie slaps at his face a little. “I’m really not kidding; I’m not taking the heat for your weird were-secret!”
Steve flinches a little in his sleep, his nose scrunching up, but that’s the only response Eddie gets.
“Shit.” Eddie plops back down onto his ass. Now what the hell is he supposed to do? They can’t just stay out here: it’s freezing, and there might be more supernatural shit that Eddie hasn’t heard of lurking around, ready to eat them.
Eddie doesn’t even get the chance to say ‘ at least this night couldn’t get any worse’ when he hears the telltale cock of a gun coming from behind him. Slowly, he lifts his hands into the air. He has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to the Hawkins Police. It’s not like he’s on great terms with them anyway. A naked rich boy in the woods with the local drug dealer is not going to look good, no matter how he spins it. “This really, really isn’t what it looks like.” He shoots for.
“Shut up!” The voice behind him definitely doesn’t belong to one of the cops. It’s high pitched and panicked. “What did you see? You… you better tell me! I have a gun. And it’s loaded.”
Slowly, Eddie peeks over his shoulder to see Robin Buckley from band aiming at him with shaking hands. “Wh-what the hell,” his voice comes out weak. There have been far too many surprises tonight. He rises to his feet and turns, each movement a careful, calculated thing. Who would have thought that a crazed trumpeter would be the scariest shit he bumped into tonight? “I didn’t see shit.” Easy, practiced answer. He’s said it enough in his lifetime and is likely to say it more. If he survives, that is.
“Bull shit . How’d he get that, then?” She uses the gun to point to the jacket, the only thing keeping Steve from flashing everyone. “You saw something. I know it. Spill. Or…” Robin jerks the gun in his direction. “Or else!”
“Whoa, okay, hey!” His hands stay put in the air. “I’m telling you I didn’t—” He sighs deeply. It’s not like he wants to sell out Harrington, but he also very much does not want to die. “He, uh. You know. Was,” Fuck, it is so much harder to articulate lycanthropy than he thought. Possibly because he didn’t even know it was a real thing until a few minutes ago, and possibly because he’s not at his sharpest with a god damn gun in his face. “He was different. He changed, in front of me, but—”
Distant, indelicate footsteps come storming towards them. “ Wait! Stop! ” For the third time that evening, Eddie is nearly knocked on his ass with new information. Dustin fucking Henderson comes running towards Robin. He’s got a blanket thrown over his shoulder, and a flashlight in his free hand, the shine from the bulb bouncing against the trees. “Stop! Robin, stop .” He comes to an abrupt halt in between Eddie and Robin before placing his hands on his knees, panting. “When did you get so fucking fast? Jesus Christ. Put the gun down before you kill someone. Doesn’t your aim suck?”
“Don’t tell him that!” Robin replies frantically. “He saw! He saw what happened to Steve.”
“And he’s not going to say anything! He’s… he’s cool!” Dustin looks up at him with big, imploring eyes. A look that has yet to work on him in Hellfire, but is kind of doing the trick now.
Eddie nods. “Yeah. Yup. I’m cool. Totally and completely cool.” Except for the fact that if he gets out of here alive, he’s going to have some words with Dustin. He’s had to listen to the not-so-subtle freshman go on and on about how cool Steve Harrington actually is. That Steve is actually some kind of badass. Eddie has heard so much bullshit in his day, has heard the popular kids who know how to throw a ball get away with murder, but it was always a surprise coming out of the Weird Al kid. So much so that Eddie was determined to get Dustin to see past the whole jock thing. He belonged with his own people who would appreciate him.
If Eddie had known that Steve was a werewolf, he could have maybe, sort of, kind of, possibly seen where Dustin was coming from. Before his life was threatened twice in one night. Now Steve is even lower on his shit list. That is something he’s going to have to speak up about at a later, more convenient date. He slowly brings his hand close to his mouth, zips it closed, and throws away the invisible key. “I’m good with secrets. The best.”
“Great! See, Robin! Eddie isn’t going to tell anyone. He’s on our side. Didn’t I tell you it’d be a good idea to have someone else on the team?”
“Dustin,” Eddie says, keeping his eye on the gun. He’s not going to be on the same fucking team as someone who seems determined to take him out like old Yeller. “First things first? Please?” A drop of sweat falls from his brow down the side of his face. He’d wipe it away, but he’s not going to make any sudden movements. Not with Robin looking as fucking crazed as she does now.
“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course. Robin?” Dustin’s tone is gentle, placating, and not nearly nervous enough for someone standing in front of a loaded weapon. “Eddie already said he won’t tell anyone. Put the gun down. We gotta get Steve back home, right? Out of sight? And uh, clothed?”
Robin’s eyes flick from Eddie to Steve, who is still lying in the dirt. “You really won’t tell?”
Taking advantage of the uncertain tone, Eddie gives a dramatic shrug. “I mean, who would even believe me?” And downplaying his own image for a second time that night just feels… spectacular. Does absolute wonders for his ego.
Robin lowers the gun, and takes her damn time doing it, too.
Eddie lets out a sigh. He almost falls to his knees with relief. Dipping into his stash is usually against his own rules. Eventually, he’s gotta make it out of Hawkins, and he’s not going to do it by smoking his own merchandise. However, tonight, he may make a small allowance. “Great. Glad that’s settled.” There’s the instinct to run, almost impossible to ignore, but with the gun glinting in the moonlight, Eddie is able to squash it down. For now. “Am I free to go?”
“Uh,” Dustin holds up a finger. “Would love to, Eddie, definitely. But I think there’s a few things we gotta discuss. No big deal, just gotta, you know, make sure everything is uh , copacetic.” He walks over to Steve’s unconscious form and tosses the blanket over him. “You know how it is.”
“Sure.” Eddie looks up at the sky. “Why wouldn’t I.”
“We gotta get Steve outta here.” Robin cuts in, mostly to Dustin. “Before someone else sees him?”
“Agreed. So, how about you grab his bottom half, and I’ll carry the top half?”
“You don’t think he’ll wake up?” Robin stands by Steve’s feet, and looks from one side to another, as if trying to gauge what would be the best place to grab. “I mean, he usually doesn’t so quickly, but maybe this time? Cause he’s outside or something?”
“Based on our research thus far,” Dustin squats down and rolls Steve over, making a pretty pathetic looking Harrington burrito. “No. Not for a while. Besides, do you wanna explain everything to him out here?”
Robin scowls.
The two of them try to lift Steve, the poor guy’s ass dragging along the ground. Eddie crosses his arms. He doesn’t know Steve’s exact address, but he knows that this shit isn’t sustainable. Harrington is gonna be dragged the entire way back to their base of operations.
Dustin and Robin both seem to come to the same conclusion, gently lowering Steve back to the ground like the useless lump he is.
“New plan,” Dustin says, clapping his hands together. Then, he turns to Eddie, using that hopeful expression on him for the second time that night.
Eddie frowns, then glances at Robin, who is also giving him that same expectant look .
“What?” He asks, taking a step back. Then, realizing where they’re going with this, “Oh, hell no. No. ”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’re used to carrying your really cool band equipment—”
“Nice try with the flattery, Henderson,” And it really was. “But you’re out of your fucking mind.”
“Look,” Robin waves the gun about in the air carelessly. Who even gave that to her? “I don’t like it either. But the sooner we’re out of view the better. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I would not!” Eddie throws his hands up. “In fact, I’d say the better thing is not being involved at all!” Sadly, tweedledee and tweedlemurderous have a point: the longer they’re out here, the more likely it is they’ll be discovered. And, as funny as it is to imagine Robin pointing that gun at someone else with her supposedly terrible aim, Eddie isn’t willing to put his life on the line to see it. He grumbles as he approaches Steve, and grumbles louder when Robin begins to fuss.
“Just-- be careful. He’s taken like, a thousand bumps on the head. He really can’t have another one,” she says. “I’m pretty sure it’d be catastrophic.”
Eddie, bent over Steve looks up, somehow shocked that she has the gaul to criticize him. “Buckley, if you’re so worried, you can carry him.” Since they both know she can’t, he scoops Steve up, throwing him over his shoulder, and stumbles backwards a few steps.
“Whoa, whoa! Are you sure you can do this?” Dustin pipes up.
Through gritted teeth, Eddie says, “How about the next time you let Michael J. Fox run wild, you bring a wagon to carry his sorry ass back?” When neither of them have a smart remark (thank god), he looks to Dustin and says, “Go grab my lunch box. Over there somewhere. And Robin, for the love of all that is unholy, start walking towards wherever it is we need to be going, because, for the record, Harrington here is much heavier than an amp.”
---
By the time the four of them make it back to the Harrington abode, Eddie’s legs are about to give out. He figures he doesn’t have to work out or exercise for at least a month, after this. Not that he ever does, but at least this time he has an excuse. “Okay,” he says with a grunt as he deposits Steve onto an entirely too expensive looking couch. “Mission accomplished.”
Somehow, Steve is still out cold. The blanket that’s being used for his modesty (with his poor battle jacket still tucked somewhere beneath Steve) is thankfully still doing its job.
Eddie takes a step back to take a better look at his surroundings.
The house is huge. Eddie imagines this is where rock stars might live— if they had poor taste in furniture. Just really boring, straight out of a magazine kinda style. He imagines the Harrington parents would hate to have him in here, and so takes pleasure sitting in one of their chairs, dirtying it up a little with his muddied-up jeans.
Then, because he honestly has no idea what to do next, he watches Henderson. Dustin Henderson, who only just joined Hellfire a few months prior. He can’t believe the little shit managed to keep a secret like werewolves under wraps, especially with the way he runs his mouth.
Eddie places his elbow against the arm of the chair, then leans his face against his palm. It still stings, reminding him that he didn’t get out of tonight completely unscathed. Probably should clean up the cuts, even if they aren’t too bad. But, in the grand scheme of things, he figures that a little scrape can wait.
Unlike the three pouches of Capri Sun that Dustin rushes over to Steve’s side.
Both he and Robin ran off to different parts of Steve’s house, acting like the weirdest fucking thing Eddie has ever seen is just routine for them. Maybe it is.
“Hey, get me one of those,” Eddie says pointing at the juice pouch, realizing just now how thirsty he is.
“These are for Steve ,” Dustin replies, jabbing one of those tiny straws into the near impenetrable slot. He takes a sip before continuing. “He always gets like, super parched after a transformation.”
“Right, well, I’m sure that Steve has had a really rough night, but I think I’ve definitely earned one, doncha think, Henderson?”
Robin comes into the room with what looks like Steve’s pajamas. “Actually, I could really use one, too.”
“Guys. The fridge is right there. Both of you are more than capable of getting your own drinks.”
Eddie leans forward in his chair. “Since I was so politely invited into your secret little club, I think that makes me the guest. You don’t want to be rude, now, do you?” Also, he’s still a little shaky on his legs. Carrying Steve wasn’t exactly easy.
“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m the youngest one here and you guys are so god damn useless.” Dustin says, stomping all the way to the kitchen. It’s a small win, but Eddie’ll take it. God knows he needs one. “You’re only getting one, though! I’m telling you, Steve gets really cranky when he’s thirsty!”
“Or hungry.” Robin points out.
“Or tired.”
Eddie lifts a brow. Why the hell do they even bother following Steve around if he’s this high maintenance? Surely someone this cantankerous is a drag to be around, even if they are a werewolf.
Christ. He’s just thinking that word now, like it’s normal. Werewolf.
Dustin comes back from the kitchen and tosses a juice pouch in Eddie’s direction. He’s only just able to catch it, avoiding having it splat against his chest. Robin has no such luck with her own, dropping it to the floor. She flips Dustin off, who returns the gesture.
Each of them seem to have their eyes on Steve while drinking from their Capri Suns. “So like,” Eddie says after a beat. “Werewolves exist, huh?”
Both Robin and Dustin sigh, but only Dustin speaks. “Yeah. Kind of a new revelation, but—”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Steve to wake up before we start talking about all of this?”
“Robin, I told you. Eddie is cool. I’ve been telling you guys, but you never listen to me.”
“Aw, thanks, big guy.” Eddie places a hand over his heart. Although he doesn’t need Steve Harrington (or Robin Buckley, for that matter) to think that he’s cool, he appreciates the fact that Dustin has been trying so hard. “But whatever. If Robin wants to sit around in an awkward silence until Harrington wakes up, sure. Be my guest.”
Eddie says it with ease, but the truth is he wants nothing more than to find out more about how all this happened. If there are more werewolves, if Hawkins really is cursed the way the residents here whisper about. Or if it’s just Steve.
Either way, it’s none of his business. If he’s ultimately left out of it after tonight, that’s more than fine with him, even if his questions go unanswered. Something about ignorance being bliss, or whatever.
It doesn’t take too much longer before Steve begins to stir. When he begins to shift on the couch, Eddie freezes in the chair. Maybe he shouldn’t have sat somewhere he could be seen so easily. Will Steve even remember what happened?
Guess Eddie is about to find out.
Steve’s brow furrows, his dark eyes slowly peel open, and he rises from his place on the couch, strands of his infamous hair sticking upwards. The blanket that’s been keeping him from being arrested for indecent exposure starts slipping off his shoulder. And, to complete the look, there’s a smudge of dirt across Steve’s cheek. It looks like the worst hangover Eddie has ever seen. And that’s saying something.
“Mmph,” Steve croaks. He rubs at his bleary eyes before stretching, groaning as his bones crack. “Fuck. What happened.”
“Hey, Steve. Buddy,” Dustin says a little too softly. The tone that Eddie is learning that means that Dustin actually has some bad news, or that he’s up to some shit. He’s still fine tuning his Henderson Bullshit Detector. “Here’s your juice; drink up. There ya go. See? Everything is already basically perfectly fine. Another smooth-ish transition from wolf to human. That’s good, right?”
Steve’s Henderson Bullshit Detector, however, seems to be the newest model, as he gives the kid a frighteningly dark stink eye. It’s undercut by the Capri Sun in his hand, but Dustin probably wouldn’t have shrunk under his gaze either way. “What happened? The chain...” Steve’s free hand flies to his neck. “Shit.”
Then, Robin steps in. “Right! Yeah. So, you may have kinda noticed that you escaped a little.”
“A little.”
“A little! You didn’t get too far!”
“Exactly!” Dustin interjects with a snap of his fingers. He puts on a big stupid smile. “Nothing to worry about. You got out, but no one got hurt—including you! So, really, I'd call this a really successful evening, all things considered. And! And, this was the shortest amount of time you’ve been out, which I should be writing down, actually--”
In any other circumstance, it’d be pretty amusing to watch the back and forth. From Robin and Dustin’s frantic energy to keep Steve from having a conniption, to Steve’s less than impressed reaction to their efforts. But then, Steve sniffs at the air. He’s frowning again, less confused and more cautious this time. That dark, disgruntled gaze is turned towards Eddie.
For one moment, Eddie can’t help but wonder how a wolf could possibly look more friendly than a human being.
Then, turning back to Dustin and Robin, Steve asks, “What the hell is he doing here?”