Work Text:
In a middle school home game of basketball, Coach Steve is sitting on the sidelines with Eddie beside him. Though he prides himself on always cutting against the grain, Eddie is absolutely the sport-repulsed homosexual stereotype, but Wayne has left a mark nonetheless. He's aware of a couple chants at the very least. Thanks to Ferris Bueller's Day Off popularising one particular chant, Eddie has one solidly in the bag. And he will remain blissfully ignorant of how to use it appropriately.
Steve's team is performing fantastically, but Eddie’s only insight into this comes from the bigger number on the HOME side of the board and the way Steve keeps slapping his thigh excitedly and shaking his shoulders. Dunking hoops is also a good sign, he knows that much.
The game is dragging on a bit, and Eddie's attention span is shot. Perfect timing, as it seems to be the final few minutes. Steve is chewing at his thumbnail, bouncing out of his chair every couple seconds to clap and holler with a determined face. He's stopped engaging Eddie with commentary as he prioritises doing his actual job as coach and reading the court to call out the right play in these vital last moments.
Eddie's bored.
But they're winning for sure. He thinks? He can't tell if Steve's anxiety is due to the possibility of his team winning a game since- well, forever or if Eddie got lost some time ago and they're actually under threat of losing terribly.
The gym is packed. Bleachers stacked high and dense with mostly parents and grandparents cheering politely. It isn't enough. All the sports games Eddie has reluctantly watched on VHS with Wayne or was forced to spectate in high school were so much louder. Almost violent at times. This crowd is far too reserved; the majority, like himself, probably don't have a clue what is happening most of the time.
Not to worry, Stevie. I got this.
So, Eddie rises to meet Steve, who once again has sprung from his chair and is barking stern advice at a kid half his height (Christ, Eddie almost feels bad for the kid). The ball is in the hands of a player wearing the school's token baby blue, and the rest of the blues are darting upstage towards the opponent's hoop, expertly paving the way like Noah parted the Red Sea. They’re watching the final product of all Steve's hard work. He perfected everyone's positioning in the months leading up to this moment.
It’s definitely something to celebrate, regardless of whether Eddie’s timing is premature. So, Eddie cups his hands around his mouth and, with the full force of his chest, begins to chant.
"Heeeey, batter-batter-batter, suh-wing, batter!"
It was a fun chant, that's for sure. Lifting his own spirits exponentially after having not much at all to comment on the entire game.
Just as he puffs out his chest to belt the second line of the chant, Steve's fist swings instead. Right into Eddie's chest. Knocking the words and the wind out of him.
"Ow, dude! Fuck you do-"
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
Eddie flinches as the sheer volume Steve had been directing at the court is piped directly into his ear. Steve clasps the top of his head with both hands, heaving as his attention swivels between his players and Eddie. His players, who had seemingly stumbled and lost the ball. Ah, shucks. Their position still holds strong, though. Can’t be long before they get it back, Eddie muses, ignoring the fact that they have about 80 seconds left on the clock.
"I'm cheering on our Cubs?" Eddie shouted back, rubbing at his chest.
"Eddie! This isn't baseball!"
"Yuh-duh. I'm not that stupid."
"So, you see any batters? That's a baseball taunt. Taunt, Eddie. Not a cheer. You just taunted our own goddamn team- YES, MITCHELL! COME ON! EVERYONE COVER!"
Ooooh, right. Eddie... He didn't know that. Well, he kind of did, given that he learnt it from the scene in the movie where they attend a baseball game. But there's no time to start feeling guilty as Mitchell had already reclaimed the ball, dribbled it to the line marking a D and is halfway up in the air making his shot.
The basket, though shorter than standard to accommodate middle schoolers, swallows the ball.
The gymnasium erupts, and shortly after, that god-awful buzzer sounds, calling the end of the game. Steve is already in the court, shaking his fists and embracing the swarm of children that rush to him like a school of piranhas biting at Steve's legs.
Eddie, helpless to match the energy, hops onto his chair to roar, woop and cheer - appropriately this time. When the piranhas finally spare the man, Steve is barrelling towards him with the brightest smile plastered across his face. He pulls Eddie down to bounce off his shoulders a couple of times before careening into his chest for a hug, pounding Eddie's back way too hard. Despite being with Steve for a while now, Eddie still isn't accustomed to the jock treatment. It's very sweet, though, and Steve looks ecstatic, so he'll let him off for the unexpected beatings he's received in a game he wasn’t even participating in.
On home territory, the speakers deliver the official announcement. The trophy is ceremoniously bestowed upon the Cubs. Steve only has to prevent one potential fist fight between a kid from the away team and one of his own before the dust settles and Eddie and Steve can take their leave.
On the drive back to their place in Forest Hills, Steve laughs to himself in the passenger seat and shakes his head in that way that ages him two decades.
"What's funny? Can't believe you whipped the little shits into shape?"
"No, I can't believe you taunted our own team with a baseball chant. At a middle school basketball game."
"I told you I don't know shit! And anyway, the crowd had, like, no energy. I was just tryna rally everyone's spirits in clutch for the final hoop!
"We had that final hoop in clutch. You lost us the ball. That could have afforded us the win! Also, you're doing it again. ‘In clutch’ is a phrase from baseball."
"What can I say, Wayne's a baseball guy. I got my wires crossed. But we won, so it doesn't matter."
His excuse falling on deaf ears, Eddie spots a 'coaching' finger spring towards him from his peripheral.
"Another thing - the crowd wasn't dead. They're middle schoolers, Eddie. Mum and Dad aren't gonna taunt the opposition 'cause there's a fat chance a kid'll start crying." Then, dropping that schooling tone to something much softer, "Poor Jamieson, especially. I'd have no choice but to bench the sucker, and he's our best Power Forward, ironically."
Eddie takes his focus off the road to look over at Steve. He's blinking tiredly at the empty space in front of him, eyes glazed with a disgusting fondness. Smile lines are permanently fixed to his face after making a full report of the game, gushing the whole drive. He plucked out even the smallest success, praised the slightest piece of strategy he'd noticed that Eddie certainly hadn't. He looks so proud.
Eddie's stare must burn because Steve lifts his head to meet Eddie's admiration with his own.
"What?" Steve asks, grinning at half mast because his cheeks must be hurting by now.
Sparing a glimpse at the road because dying by 'distracting boyfriend' would be cute but no way to celebrate, Eddie replies, "Just that you're a good coach. Should be proud."
"Oh, Monday, I'm buying everyone milkshakes. I'll even allow them to choose the flavour."
All too accustomed to Steve’s incessant humbleness, Eddie sighs, "Baby, I meant you should be proud of yourself."
Steve falters and tears his eyes down to his lap. A faint rosiness creeps into his cheeks as he valiantly fights off a smile that strains to come to the surface. He loses the battle and barrels through the embarrassment with a deep sigh as he reclines onto the headrest.
"Yeah, well... Whatever."
"If you won't pat yourself on the back, I'll make sure to give it a good slap myself." Eddie rolls his head to the side, looking for a reaction. Steve scowls.
"Eyes on the road. This is why I hate you driving."
"Aw, but you're tired. Deserved to be passenger princess after the win, Sweetheart."
"I've had enough back-patting, now," it comes out far more awkward than Steve surely hoped. Eddie grins.
"Oh yeah? Not keen on any other victory rites after your gallant conquest today?"
"It's kind of a turn-off when you start speaking like a guided tour through a Viking museum."
"What's a turn-off is those khaki chinos. I way prefer the shorts."
"In October? It's cold."
"On the contrary! It is so hot."
That earns Eddie a feeble elbow just as the Beamer turns into the trailer park.
The steps to their very own home are painted with a baby blue laquer Steve invested in to prevent future scuffs and peeling. They'd scrubbed off the moss and mud that splashed up the bottom, again, per Steve's want because Eddie saw it the same as sponge-washing the outside of a brick house - "You just don't do it". Wayne choked on his cigarette every time he witnessed Steve putting his nephew to work, knowing hanging flower baskets and driving motion-sensor lights into the dirt was the last thing Eddie cared to do.
Interior decor was a Munson's speciality.
And true to that code, Steve granted Eddie full rein of the guts of their new home. Well, 90% with Steve having veto rights. Wayne gifted them the beginnings of a mug collection, and Eddie swiped some bric-a-brac Wayne actually never realised were missing - he'd never admit to being a hoarder, but that was, admittedly, a clear sign. Steve was knighted with a couple of novelty baseball caps from the old man's collection, which he'd adamantly refused, but to no avail. Eddie kept it classy and 'mature' with plain white walls, a blank canvas for some of his more tasteful metal band posters to be properly framed, graduating from the spank material in a teen boy's bedroom to a conversational piece in the living room. The furniture was all cheap and cheerful hand-me-downs, though the clashing textiles kind of worked with the Munson Code. They invested in a sturdy bed and about seven lamps in total strewn across the floor plan for that cosy low-light atmosphere. Steve got a couple of feature houseplants to help frame the focal points of each room.
Does Eddie kick himself in the teeth sometimes for getting himself chained down to Hawkins longer than necessary? Yes. Is Steve entirely worth it? Absolutely.
They talk about Eddie pursuing his music. Forming a band again now that the Corroded Coffin boys are in or on their way to college. Steve is always encouraging him to take the leap, but for once, it's nice to be in a place because you choose to be there. It's disgustingly comfortable.
After locking the doors to the Beamer, Eddie bounds up behind Steve and, as promised, gives his ass a good slap. The man hops away from the brutality, cursing and laughing as he gives Eddie chase up to the trailer door. He stops on the blue stoop to turn and address the south side of the park. He pumps his fists, doing a hop on the spot as he shouts, "We won!"
Eddie cackles, mimicking his victory pose and parroting, "We won!" arguably louder, reminiscing on times when he was small and Wayne would encourage Eddie to mimic his enthusiasm whenever his team won. Eddie had been a moody little stickler for not giving anyone the satisfaction of anything then. But now? Sure, he'll woop and holler. Eddie actually feels himself get excited about telling Wayne the news over dinner. May as well, when the old man's just a stroll up Forest Hills.