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Eddie lays awake in bed, watching the weak winter morning sun cast its light across the unfamiliar room with tired eyes. He blinks back hot tears as he feels the chill around his ears, remembering the way Alan Munson pulled at his hair, the sound of the electric razor buzzing against his skin.
Now he was here in his Uncle's trailer, a man he barely knowes aside from the few times Al complained about him over the phone.
“... Says I should stop stealing cars and get a proper job. Wayne doesn't fucking get it, man.”
“Why does he wanna look after that little queer?”
“... Just because he's got no kids, he wants to steal mine.”
A soft little knock startles him, the shuffle of feet near his door. “Eddie, you awake?” Wayne calls out quietly, a nervous waver in his voice.
“Yea-yes, sir,” Eddie answers, sitting up but not making a move towards the door.
“I'm not- you don't have to call me that, Eddie. You can just call me Wayne,” Eddie hears him sigh, “I'm thinking of making pancakes or waffles, not sure which one you prefer. If you like something more savory for breakfast, I bought eggs and bacon as well.” Wayne rambles, and there is something sad and warm in Eddie’s chest, an old ache that he had now long been accustomed to that Wayne had stumbled upon and brought into sharp focus.
“I-I’m happy with whatever si- Uncle Wayne,” Eddie answers finally, getting up from bed and pulling on a pair of old sweats and a baby blue threadbare sweater. It’s large on his thin frame, a hand-me-down from Wayne, warm and comfortable.
He hears his Uncle move away from the door and Eddie gathers his courage to step out of the room. A kaleidoscope of twinkling fairy lights meet him, the trailer lit in a beautiful array of colour and tinsel.
Oh yeah, it’s Christmas.
Wayne is standing in the kitchen, pouring a ladle of pancake mix on the hot griddle. Eddie rubs his eyes, forcing the tears away before standing near Wayne and watching him cook.
“You know how to make pancakes?” his uncle asks, expertly flipping a pancake. Eddie shakes his head, the only time he ever got breakfast was if Al left him money for groceries, which was not often.
Wayne pours another ladle in response, before handing the spatula to Eddie, “all you have to do is wait for the bubbles to show up. Once they pop, they’re ready to be flipped. See?” He says, pointing to the little bubbles in the pancake.
Guided by Wayne, Eddie flips the pancake his uncle beaming down at him when it lands perfectly on it’s uncooked side, “I think we have Julia Childs in the trailer!” Wayne laughs and Eddie cannot help but join him, rolling his eyes good naturedly at his uncle. They continue like that, Wayne ladling the perfect amount of batter on to the griddle and Eddie flipping them with varying degrees of success.
It’s the first time, since Eddie moved to the trailer a week ago, that living here feels normal. To realise that maybe Wayne is nothing like Al at all. They eat the pancakes in companionable silence, Eddie drowning his in maple syrup while Wayne sprinkles icing sugar and lemon.
“I have a present for you, go sit on the couch,” Wayne says, pushing his plate away and getting up before Eddie can think to protest. Eddie does as he’s told, feeling awkward and unsure again as he listens to Wayne move stuff around.
“Alright, close your eyes!” Wayne calls and Eddie closes them, he fidgets with his hands, rubs his thumb over his fingers in a soothing back-and-forth. He hears Wayne place something on the coffee table and opens his eyes when Wayne gives him the ok.
Oh.
Eddie stares at the old, black acoustic guitar in front of him, lovingly stored in its case. There are scratch marks here and there, the leather strap flaking in places, but it gleams under the lights as if it knows that it is a well-used and treasured thing.
“I’m sorry it’s not a new guitar, but I don’t really use this old girl anymore, so I thought maybe I’ll hand her down to you,” Wayne offers sheepishly, wringing his hands nervously, thumb over his fingers.
“How- How did you know I wanted one?”
“I remember hearing you ask Al for one,” Wayne says this like it’s natural that he would remember something so small about Eddie, and Eddie breathes through that sad and warm ache in his chest.
“That was two years ago, Uncle Wayne,” he manages to choke out, he can feel his throat starting to thicken, tears beginning to well up and he watches his uncle trying to fight off his own emotions.
“Well, you’re a good kid. You deserve something that’s just for you.”
His uncle's arms are strong and comforting when Eddie leaps towards him in a tight hug. Eddie does not remember the last time Al hugged him, but if he closes his eyes he can almost pretend that Wayne had always been his Dad.