Chapter Text
It must be around 8 PM.
No light from the windows. Dark corners, warm artificial light, and on the couch…
Eddie Munson.
He sits slightly slouched, looks relaxed, dressed in a band shirt and some black sweats.
It’s too soft for him. Too clean. Something he only wears around the house probably. The fabric looks well-worn, well-loved, and his hair frizzy like he only showered a few hours ago and left it out to dry.
It’s claustrophobic. Steve feels like he’s stuck in a lion’s enclosure, except it’s the Munson trailer and the lion is more like a domesticated cat.
“If I’d known you’d be droppin’ by I’d have prettied myself up.” Eddie laughs, shifts his weight as he gets a little more comfortable. Arms splayed over the back of the couch, he looks like he belongs—of course, he does.
It’s his house and what would Steve know anyway? He’s only known the guy for a week.
A week.
And what kind of week it’d been.
Between fighting, running, murder accusations, and witnessing actual fucking murder, Steve never really got the chance to know him.
Really know him because they never spoke back in school, and frankly, that was Eddie’s fault too because his aura was unsettling. Now, though…
Domesticated.
Yeah, that’s the word that comes to mind.
Steve’s eyes glide to Eddie’s neck, lingers on the skin there.
It’s unblemished. Not even a mole. Definitely no ligature marks.
Steve’s hand instinctively moves to his own neck.
He can’t feel them but he knows they’re there.
The scars.
They’ve faded to a faint pink over the months. Faint enough he can hardly see them himself, but that’s not the case with Eddie because…
It’s not really Eddie.
It’s a weird sensation to be talking to him like this, but he can’t let it show—can’t let him know—It wouldn’t be safe—Dr. Brenner said so. Yet everything inside him screams at the wrongness of it all, unable to marry his vision with his knowledge that Eddie is dead.
“Nice set-up you got there.”
Steve walks over to where he remembers the cassette player used to be. Eddie’s eyes shift towards it and sure, just like he was told it would, the cassette player comes into existence.
It’s trippy.
Steve can hardly wrap his mind around it.
It’s like the world is blurred around the edges, only really sharp where Eddie focuses.
Dr. Brenner had him study for hours. Countless pictures to learn the floorplan of the trailer by heart just so he could move naturally—interact with it like he actually sees what Eddie sees.
Steve runs a tentative finger over the cassette player. He feels the cold plastic underneath his fingers, light reflecting off the smoked translucent cover like a mirror.
Is that real?
It feels real, but part of him wonders if that’s Eddie’s doing. Does he imagine what it would feel like for Steve? Steve tries not to let his confusion show when he turns to Eddie again.
“It’s alright.” Eddie shrugs. “I’d love to get my hands on one of those CD-players they released recently. The good Japanese shit. They’re so expensive.”
“Right.” Steve shallows heavily.
Silence hangs heavy until Eddie clears his throat. “Why were you here again? I mean, you’re welcome man, I just…I think I forgot.”
That makes him feel worse.
“I—” Steve’s mouth feels dry, the trailer feels too hot. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, remind himself of what Dr. Brenner told him.
“I came to return this book,” Steve recites. He holds out an empty hand. Holds his breath as Eddie’s eyes move to it
A book takes shape. Its cover is green and the title illegible.
Steve lets out a soft gasp.
“I loaned you that, didn’t I?” Eddie says, tone confused. “Thanks, man.”
The moment Eddie takes the book from Steve, the letters take shape.
The Fellowship of the Ring. He vaguely recognizes it. Eddie’s eyes follow his, and he smiles.
“My favorite, remember?”
“Right, yeah.”
Steve doesn’t remember.
Wonders why Eddie would think he loaned him that book—whether it means something—It must mean something—but he knows he shouldn’t dwell on it. Whatever Eddie does or tells him, it’s not real and thinking about it only grants him sleepless nights.
It means nothing.
A high-pitched sound rips through the trailer and Steve winces.
It’s his cue.
Eddie doesn’t respond, doesn’t seem to hear it at all, but Steve knows he has little time left.
Five minutes.
“I should go…” he trails.
Eddie frows softly. “So soon?”
“I promised my dad…”
“Gotta please the old man, huh?” Eddie smiles empathetically. “You should drop by again, hang out. I have shit-all planned this spring break.”
Steve forces a smile and nods.
It’s summer.
Eddie doesn’t know that.
“Yeah, definitely. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s good.” Eddie flips the book over in his hand. He looks pleased and it makes Steve’s heart hurt a little more.
“Alright, see you then.” Steve turns to where he knows the door should be, can’t see it, but just like the cassette player, it comes into existence the moment Eddie looks there.
The handle feels cold under his hand—cold and real—he squeezes it tightly.
Without looking back, he opens the door.
*
“You’re okay Steve. Breathe.” The voice is familiar.
Steve’s breathing is coming in short, heart hammering, and the taste of bile in his mouth—Steve hunches forward in the reclined chair, as far as he can go, and dry-heaves.
His movements are strained by the belts around his wrists and he feels trapped. Leather digging into skin, he’s sick to his stomach and his head is pounding, but there’s a hand on his shoulder. It squeezes reassuringly as the half-helmet is pulled off his head.
“You did great.” It’s the same voice, fatherly and gentle. A hand smooths his sweat-slick hair back, and Steve leans into the touch. Allows it to calm him down while his eyes are shut and his lungs strain for air.
Hurried hands are working the belts around his wrists. When he finally feels the nausea waver, Steve leans back and allows his muscles to release the tension.
With his hands now untied, he rubs his wrists. Feels them ache where they were bound.
Steve opens his eyes.
The light is blinding.
“Is he fit to answer questions?” Another voice asks. Male and stern, it lacks the warmth of the first one.
“Give him another minute, Dr. Brenner.”
Right.
Blinking a few times, the world gains contrast. Dr. Owens sits close to him, checks his pulse with two fingers on his neck, but Steve can only focus on his eyes.
Blue—Blue.
An achor.
His heart is still hammering, but his breathing is slowing down. Sweat is cooling on his skin as some nurses work on uncoupling him from the machine with business-like precision.
Cold now, Steve shudders.
The room is bright and sterile, white metal walls and cast floors. There are no windows, except for the one leading to the observation chamber, and there are a lot of people there.
Steve tears his eyes away. Looks to his left.
There’s a large gray box there. Large enough to fit a body.
Screens on its surface show graphs that move like waves, and small green lights flickering at intervals.
He doesn’t know what it means, but it must be fine because no one pays heed to the box.
“How are you feeling, Steve?” Owens pulls him from his thoughts.
He sits crouched by Steve’s side, eye level, and it’s the voice from before.
Steve looks back, tries to focus on his eyes. There are small rings of brown around his pupil, something not visible from a distance.
“Alright. A little nauseous,” he says finally.
“That’s to be expected. You’re doing very well. No one has ever gotten this far.” Dr. Owens motions for one of the nurses, and she approaches carrying a small plastic cup with bright orange liquid. “Drink this, it will make you feel better.”
Steve nods, takes the cup with two hands. His grip is a little unsteady and his hands shake as he brings it up to his lips. The liquid tastes sweet, artificial like orange candy. It helps though. After a few sips, he feels his nausea go down and his hands shake a little less.
“If you’re feeling alright, Dr. Brenner would like to go over the questions with you. Do you think you can do that?”
“I think so.”
“Brilliant!” Dr. Brenner cuts in.
From his position by the wall, Brenner looks impatient. He pushes himself away, a few big strides and he’s standing next to Owens, staring at the screen by Steve’s chair.
Owens gives Steve’s shoulder an assuring squeeze. “You finish that, alright? Take your time. Once you’re done, I’ll perform a routine check and you’ll be off to Dr. Brenner’s office.”
Dr. Owens is nice. Surprisingly so for a scientist.
Steve wonders if he has children— must have—he seems like a nice dad. Nothing Steve can relate to, but something from TV.
Moving to stand up, Owens’ knees crack and he lets out a tired groan. Brenner is on him immediately, holding a clipboard and tapping impatiently as voices grow hushed.
Steve watches people move around as he sips the drink. He feels better with each passing second, albeit a little shaken.
Involuntarily, his eyes move to the box again.
Eddie’s in there.
He knows that much even though he isn’t allowed to know much at all.
Steve isn’t stupid, he puzzled some of it together.
For one, he knows the military went in, only a few hours after Steve and the others had left through the portal in the partially destroyed Munson trailer. That they retrieved Eddie and put him in that weird box. That somehow, someway, Steve can talk to him now.
Only Steve.
No one else, or they would have gotten one of their own to do it.
Talking to the dead.
Because that is one thing he knows for sure.
March 27th, 1986, Eddie Munson died.
He’s seen it with his own two eyes. Felt his heart rip in two as he pulled an inconsolable Dustin off of Eddie’s battered body and Steve had felt it—couldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t try to feel it—the absence of heat and heartbeat.
There was nothing they could do.
Nothing but get the hell out of there, except—
The government built a machine.
Steve can't begin to understand how it works. The first time he touched a computer was at Family Video and even that he can barely operate, but the government has smart people. They put him in there—call it a simulation—and now Eddie is nothing but a corpse inside a gray box with blinking lights.
And though he doesn’t know why they need Eddie, he knows that, up until now, no one was able to synchronize with Eddie—
No, not Eddie.
Not according to Brenner.
He calls it an echo.
An imprint of who he was, whatever was left of him after death.
A copy, but one that felt incredibly real.
*
Everything’s fine.
Owens okayed him, no problem, and besides the slight jitter to his limbs, Steve’s feeling good as new.
He’s in Dr. Brenner’s office. Taps his legs nervously, fingers tracing the veins on his hand.
The chair he sits in looks softer than it is—some mid-century design his mom would like. Dr. Brenner’s office stands out among the rest of the rooms inside the building. The hallways and the labs had been sterile and bright. Brenner’s office, on the other hand, looks much warmer, more lived in. It has a hardwood desk and neatly organized bookshelves that add some much-needed color to science-bright labs.
There are frames on the walls. Official-looking documents that say ‘Martin Brenner’ in fancy cursive fonts. Steve tries to read the rest of it, but the letters are too small from this distance. Maybe if he were to stand up—
The door clicks and Steve lets himself fall back into his seat. Dr. Brenner walks in, upright and tight like every move is deliberate and considered.
“Mr. Harrington.”
Brenner doesn’t look at him, not until he’s seated on the other side of the desk. He reaches inside a drawer and pulls out a recorder—makes a show of clicking the red button, before folding his hands in front of him.
“Project Eidolon. Subject 03. Engager, Steve Harrington. The date is June 27th, 1986, and the time…” Brenner pauses for a moment and looks at his watch. “15:56.”
Steve looks down at his hands, fidgets as Brenner speaks.
“Tell me about your first engagement. What happened when you first entered stasis?”
Stasis—fancy science terminology. Steve has been thoroughly briefed and he thinks he remembers most of what they told him. Stasis was like sleep—going under.
“I–” Steve pauses. It’s hard to put the experience into words. “I came into existence, I guess…inside the trailer like you said I would.”
A curt nod, Brenner urges Steve to go on.
“At first, I didn’t see him, and then suddenly he was there. I was there. He didn’t seem…confused by me suddenly appearing.”
Brenner quietly taps the wood next to the recorder as if urging it to write that down. ”Good compatibility.”
Steve takes a moment, lets the words sink in.
Good compatibility, he’s undeserving of it. Can think of at least ten other people who’d deserve it more. People like Wayne Munson, or Dustin.
“We talked,“ Steve continues. Mouth dry, he licks his lips, hopes that somehow that will make the words come easier, “It seemed normal, like the way we talked before—I did the book thing like you asked. It worked. He showed me a book, The Fellowship of the Ring.”
Brenner nods again, pays no mind to the way Steve falters. “Good. Anything else?”
Good.
That hits him hard. And he knows Brenner is not someone to seek approval of but he craves it nonetheless. Failure has made him weak for it.
“Nothing I recall,” Steve says, then rights himself a little more in his chair. “I had a question though…”
Across from him, Dr. Brenner quirks an eyebrow. His finger taps the desk a little faster and Steve wonders if Brenner is annoyed by his questions—probably is because Steve strays. Off of Brenner’s perfectly curated path, trampling newly sown grass that screams don’t step on me, he’s ignoring all the signs.
Brenner doesn’t say it, instead, he makes a permissive gesture.
Steve bites his lip, considers. “Will he remember—next time…?”
Lips tight, Brenner looks at Steve with a frown—a look he recognizes from his father wherever he asks something stupid. \
Steve wants to shrink in on himself, make himself small.
“Theoretically, no.” Brenner starts, “If anything gives you that impression, know that these echoes are surprisingly adaptable. You’ve seen it, Mr. Harrington…the book—”
Yeah, Steve did that. Whatever he believes, it influences and in turn Eddie’s—
No, not Eddie, the Echo’s, yes—the Echo’s perception changed and the world adapted.
“—don’t let these simulations play tricks on you. It isn’t real. He isn’t real.” Dr. Brenner finishes. Voice is cold and factual, he isn't saying this for Steve’s sake. Not really. More likely, he’s afraid Steve’s emotions will influence the project.
One month of Brenner has taught him not to expect kindness where business will suffice.
Steve nods. He feels a tightness in his throat but doesn’t understand why.
“Project Eidolon. Subject 03. Concluding engagement.” Brenner leans closer to the microphone, his voice calm but firm. “End of recording. This session is now terminated.”
The recorder clicks and the bands inside stop turning.
“If that’s all, you’re dismissed.” Brenner leans over to put the recorder away. He doesn’t look at Steve.
“Day after tomorrow. 9 AM,” Brenner tells him, eyes now glued to one of the documents on his desk.
Steve nods. “I’ll be there.”
*
Steve can’t sleep.
Whenever he closes his eyes he sees Eddie.
Hair soft and frizzy, dressed in comfortable clothes—eyes cold and empty as he drags Dustin away from his corpse. The two seem incompatible yet bleed seamlessly into one another by the pull of fitful dreams.
It messes with his head.
He tosses around for a while until the red number on his alarm clock tells him it’s past 3 AM and he gives up altogether.
From his nightstand, he reaches just behind the drawer. Hidden cigarettes where his parents won’t find them.
He hasn’t touched them in a long time—technically isn’t allowed to ever since Project Eidolon—hasn’t been allowed anything good really, not even a drink, since his training began a month ago.
God, he just needs something.
Steve descends the stairs careless for noise.
His parents haven’t been home since the rift. They moved more permanently to their holiday home near Lake Michigan. With his dad working in Chicago most of the time anyway, it works out for them.
It’s fine.
He doesn’t mind, prefers the quiet freedom it offers.
Outside, the blue light of the pool draws an eerie scene, and Steve pulls one of the lawn chairs back to settle himself into.
The sky is partially cloudy, only a sliver of moon peeking from behind. Near the edge of the garden, Steve hears the song of crickets and further away, in the woods behind the fence, the sound of night creatures that used to scare him as a kid. The lighter is shitty and it takes a couple of tries. Inhaling deeply, a strange feeling settles in his gut. Smoke burns his lungs and he needs it. Needs to feel something to ground himself into this world. Shoot roots, burrow deep.
The exhale is shuddery, throat tight. Somewhere in a lab hidden in the woods, Eddie’s body lies in a box and Steve feels a familiar tightness in his throat.
He blinks a few times, his vision grows blurry.
Wasn’t he over this?
He thought he was ready. Had enough time to mourn him—a guy he didn’t even know, and yet…
Steve can’t stop thinking about him.
Hasn’t been able to go a single day without thinking about Eddie Munson the exact three months since he died.
The milklight of moon paints the exhaled smoke white and tangible and Steve raises his hand to touch it. Thinks that if he wills it, maybe he can hold it.
His hand passes through and he drops it back to his side.
He feels defeated.
Empty.
He needs something.
Something real.
Something Eddie.
He smokes the rest of his cigarette and remains on the lawn chair until the sun peeks from behind the line of trees.
*
He doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Steve is pacing.
Up the stairs and down again. All the laundry is done, no more grocery shopping, he’s just waiting.
The day feels endless, so after some deliberation, he hits the bookstore downtown. Feels really fucking stupid as he gets himself a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, and spends the rest of the day switching between reading and catching up on sleep.
Robin visits around 6 PM and they have dinner together. Amicable but worried, conversation flows to where it often does these days. Like a marble drawn by gravity, it settles at the lowest point.
Steve’s lowest point.
His answers are always the same.
Yeah, I look like shit. No, I can’t tell you more. I signed an NDA, and you don’t want to mess with this shady secret government bullshit; don’t want to find out what will happen if we break it.
Robin senses something significant must have happened nonetheless.
He can’t hide anything from her, and she’s clever, working her questions around forbidden things, knowing just enough to make sure he’s alright.
He’s not.
He’s not alright at all.
Robin leaves after they’ve done the dishes with a promise that she’ll be back tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
That will be after his second Engagement.
Steve is grateful, doesn’t know what he did to deserve her friendship, but he takes it all, every last drop. And Robin lets him—senses that he needs it, bless her soul.
He waits for darkness and finds his solace in smoke.
When he closes his eyes, he sees tiny green blinking stars.