Work Text:
Tired.
Wayne Munson knows tired. It’s so present in his body it’s practically its own feature at this point. It’s as familiar to him as the burn of cigarette smoke and the crows feet that crinkle near his temples. He knows there must have been a point in his life when he wasn’t tired but it’s been so long he truly can’t recall.
Today it’s so potent it nearly has its own weight, pressing down on his shoulders and weighing down on his feet as he pulls his beat up pickup truck to a shuddering halt outside the trailer. His eyes sting with exhaustion and his back hurts from being hunched over a broken bit of conveyor belt all day. His hands don’t hurt from the hard work anymore but they are nearly stiff with overuse. He takes a moment to stretch them out before breathing in deep and stepping out of the truck.
Dust kicks up around his feet as he trudges up the gravel driveway, pausing when he hears the telltale sign of the school bus making a turn around the bend. He waits as the bus crawls to a stop. There’s a brief moment where nothing happens and then suddenly, bursting out of the doors at a million miles an hour is the reason for all of Wayne’s hard work.
Eddie comes tumbling down the steps, nearly tripping before righting himself. His head whips up, curls bouncing around his temples, and when he sees Wayne waiting for him a megawatt smile plasters over his face. He sprints toward him, uncaring that his little legs aren’t quite made for running at that speed and he crashes into Wayne with all the grace of a car crash.
“Woah there,” Wayne lets out a gruff laugh before patting Eddie on the head. “Slow your roll there, tiger.”
“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie shouts at full volume, his lack of several teeth on display as he grins up at Wayne, clutching onto his pant leg for dear life. “Today I learned what a mollusk is.”
“A mollusk, huh.” Wayne reaches down to pry Eddie off his pants, shifting him into one arm so he can carry him inside. “Tell me what a mollusk is, Edward.”
“It’s a slimy guy,” Eddie says, as serious as possible while hanging upside down. “And he lives in the ocean, Uncle Wayne, and Mrs. Dooley says people eat 'em but not me. I’d never eat a slimy guy.”
Wayne hums so Eddie knows his listening, moving him so Eddie hangs off his neck instead, still chattering as Wayne slides off his work boots.
“A slimy guy that lives in the ocean,” Wayne repeats as Eddie scrambles up his back, holding in a wince as his back protests at the extra movement. “A slimy guy that people eat.”
“But not me,” Eddie clarifies quickly, nodding very seriously.
“But not you,” Wayne smiles back at him before walking over to the couch. “Alright kiddo, hop off. Your old Uncle Wayne needs to sit for just a second.”
“‘Kay,” Eddie scurries down his back and plops on the couch before running to the front door to kick his shoes off.
Wayne closes his eyes, inhaling deeply as he listens to Eddie teeter off towards the kitchen. He can hear the faint sound of rummaging around, slamming cupboards, and Eddie singing softly to himself as he pokes around.
“That’s an awful lot of racket,” Wayne calls out, scrubbing a hand over his face before turning toward the kitchen. “What are you looking for, kiddo?”
“Paper!” Eddie calls back, popping his head around the corner. “Mrs. Dooley says we’re going to make our own sea guys tomorrow. My guy’s gonna be a starfish and I’m going to make him be red.”
Eddie’s chest puffs out proudly and Wayne can’t help but smile fondly.
“Why a starfish?”
“Because they’re like the stars in the sky but in the ocean,” Eddie whispers like it’s some well kept secret, his eyes wide with excitement.
“The stars in the sky ain’t red, kiddo.”
“Well, mine are.”
“Fair enough,” Wayne snorts before nodding down the hall. “Paper’s in the closet in your room, give me just one second and I’ll grab it for you.”
Eddie takes off like a bullet, already tumbling down the hallway and into his room before Wayne can stop him.
Wayne lets out a sigh of defeat, slumping against the couch.
For one long moment, it’s quiet. Blissfully quiet. Wayne basks in it like a cat in the sun, soaking in the tranquil peace he so rarely gets these days. He bemoans the longer shifts at the plant, mentally calculating how many hours he’ll need to finish this week to scrape enough together for rent. It should be alright but with gas prices rising and the school field trip Eddie has coming up, it’s going to be close.
He’s adding together the gas and electric bills for next month in his head when he realizes something.
It’s quiet.
He picks his head up and glances down the hallway, squinting to see if he can catch any movement from Eddie’s open door. When he sees nothing he forces himself off the couch, cursing under his breath.
The closer he gets the more his heart settles. He can hear Eddie singing to himself and Wayne pushes the door open more to scold him for running off but freezes instead.
It looks like a bomb went off in a craft store. Storage bins had been dragged out of the closet and opened, scattering beads and buttons across the floor like pebbles at a rocky beach. Paper and ribbons join the mess, some stepped on and tossed as far as Eddie’s little arms could chuck them. Then sitting in the middle is Eddie with red paint up to his elbows, slapping hand print after hand print on a canvas Wayne hadn’t looked at since the funeral. The last painting Mary had ever made.
Wayne can see her now. Sitting by the window, wrapped up in blankets and carefully dragging her brush across the canvas, and stopping to smile when she noticed him come in. It had been the field outside her hospital window, ripe with wildflowers and tall cat tails. It was the last piece she finished.
Wayne is snapped out of his state of shock by Eddie slapping his small hand against the canvas, smearing it with red, and giving it a considerate look before pressing another one beside it. Before Wayne realizes what he’s doing he’s on his knees, ripping Eddie’s hands away as his chest heaves. Eddie’s head whips up toward him, his eyes wide with terror and for a brief moment, Wayne can’t find it in himself to comfort him. His eyes are stuck watching the trails of red paint drip down onto the floor.
“Uncle Wayne?” Eddie asks, his voice trembling and smaller than Wayne’s ever heard it.
He looks back to see Eddie’s eyes full of tears and instantly he loosens his grip on Eddie’s arms.
“You’re okay,” Wayne says automatically, fighting to keep his voice level and his face calm. “You’re alright.”
This reassurance hardly seems to help as Eddie’s face scrunches up, fat tears dripping down his face as he hiccups.
“Oh, Ed,” Wayne can feel his own resolve crumbling, pulling Eddie close with a sigh. “I’m upset but you aren’t in trouble. I’m going to tell you why and then we’re going to clean up together, okay? Don’t cry, you’ll be alright.”
Eddie’s hiccups get louder for a second, shivers wracking his body as he tries to keep quiet and Wayne feels sick to his stomach as he remembers why. The report Eddie’s caseworker had given him had talked about Eddie being punished for being loud. Any shouting or crying had been seen as a personal offense to Eddie’s father and he had taken it upon himself to try and threaten Eddie out of the habit. It had taken ages for Wayne to make him feel safe being loud around him.
Wayne shifts until he’s sitting on his calves, bringing Eddie close into a hug. He can feel paint soaking into his shirt but he ignores it for now, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Eddie’s back.
It takes a couple of minutes but eventually his shivering stops and he sits back with a sniffle. Wayne takes a slow deep breath in and watches as Eddie copies him.
“Okay?” He asks after a moment, waiting until Eddie slowly nods.
“Okay,” Eddie croaks out.
“The reason I’m upset is because that painting was made by someone really special to me,” He starts, wiping at Eddie’s tear soaked face with the bottom of his shirt. “Your aunt made that. She put a lot of hard work into it and it makes me sad that you got red paint all over it.”
Eddie looks mournfully over at the painting, his eyes flitting across it before looking back up at Wayne.
“Can she make another one?” He looks back up, anxiously clenching and unclenching his paint covered hands.
“...No, Ed, she can’t,” Wayne’s shoulders drop as he looks over at the painting again.
“Why not?” Eddie frowns.
“Well, um,” Wayne hesitates for a second. “Because she’s gone.”
“She left? Did she get mad and go away?” Eddie’s confused eyes stare up at him unblinking.
Wayne struggles to find the right words. Explaining the concept of death to a five-year-old is not something he had planned for today. But he knows his brother, he knows that he’d rather avoid a problem than work his way through it. He can imagine Eddie having to watch as his father got frustrated and gave up every time something wasn’t an easy fix, leaving his son to clean up his messes on his own. So he knows how important it is to show Eddie he’s willing to work through hard ideas with him instead of leaving him to figure it out by himself.
“She got sick,” Wayne starts. “Real sick. She wasn’t mad and she didn’t want to leave.”
“But she still went away?” Eddie’s confused eyes bore into him and it forces Wayne to take a shuddering breath in.
“Sometimes people leave us but they don’t mean to,” Wayne says slowly, holding Eddie’s small arms cradled in his hands. “Sometimes they don’t have a choice. It’s no one’s fault, it just happens. It’s a part of life.”
Eddie’s little eyebrows screw up as he takes this in, turning to look at the paint before his lower lip starts to wobble.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne,” he hiccups and brings his hand up to wipe his face. “I just wanted to add starfishes.”
Wayne barely manages to catch his hand before he can rub paint into his eye.
“I know, bud,” Wayne picks him up with a sigh and gives him a tired smile. “Why don’t we wash up and then we’ll tidy this room up together? I’ll make hot dogs and mac and cheese, just like you like it.”
Tears instantly forgotten, Eddie’s face shifts into a manic grin.
“With the spirally noodles,” Eddie insists, already squirming in Wayne’s grasp.
“I know, kid, I haven’t forgotten. You won’t let me buy any other kind.” Wayne grunts as he lets Eddie down. “Off to the bathroom with you, and don’t get paint on my walls.”
Wayne helps Eddie up to the sink, setting the step stool up so he can clamber up with ease. They wash their hands together, the watered down red paint flowing down the drain until they’ve both scrubbed their hands clean. Wayne uses a washcloth to wipe at the paint Eddie managed to get on his cheek.
They make dinner with Wayne setting up a pot on the stove while Eddie clings to one of his legs like an overgrown koala. Wayne lets him, dragging a giggling Eddie around the kitchen as he chops up hot dogs and stirs the noodles.
They eat in companionable silence for a while but Wayne can tell Eddie has something on his mind. He chews slowly, his cheeks puffed up from stuffing his face and his eyebrows are pinched with thought. Wayne waits, content to let Eddie ask him whatever he’s thinking about when he’s ready.
“Uncle Wayne?”
Wayne hums in acknowledgment before looking up.
“Why was Aunt Mary’s painting in the closet if it’s so special?”
Wayne pauses mid-bite. He hesitates for a moment before setting his fork down with a soft sigh.
“Sometimes it makes me sad to look at it,” Wayne decides to answer honestly. “I miss her very much and seeing it reminds me of her.”
“Did she die?” Eddie speaks quietly, like he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble for asking.
Silence stretches across the table as Wayne gathers his thoughts.
“Yes,” he answers eventually. “She had a brain tumor. She died about a year before you got here.”
Eddie hums in acknowledgment and it makes Wayne crack a smile. He’s sure Eddie picked that particular vocal tic up from him.
“Do you think she would have liked me?” Eddie purses his lips with consideration as he stabs more noodles in his bowl.
“I think she would have loved you,” Wayne's smile grows. “You would have been the apple of her eye. I’m sure she would have loved painting and reading books with you. Those were two of her favorite things.”
Mary had always wanted kids. It hadn’t been possible when she got sick but Wayne knows if she was still around Eddie and her would have been thick as thieves. They would have made one hell of a happy family if she had gone into remission like they had hoped. But Wayne likes to think Eddie and him managed to make a happy family on their own anyway.
Eddie spears a hot dog piece with his fork and stares at it for a long moment, fidgeting in his seat before looking up at Wayne again.
“Can I have a song before bed?”
Wayne is quietly impressed with how quickly Eddie is able to move on from one subject to another. The resilience of this kid never ceases to amaze him.
“Yes, but you have to help me clean first, remember?”
Eddie pouts, his lower lip jutting out before he nods.
Once they're done with their dishes they pile them into the sink, rinsing the cheese residue off before Wayne decides he’ll clean the rest in the morning. As soon as Wayne sets the pot back down in the sink, Eddie sprints down the hallway to his room. Wayne raises an eyebrow as he dries his hands with a kitchen towel, following after him.
“I beat you,” Eddie pants, out of breath as Wayne steps into the room.
“Oh? Were we racing?” Wayne smiles down at him before getting down on his knees to pop the lid off a storage bin. “You didn’t tell me, that doesn’t seem very fair.”
“If I told you then you would have run faster than me,” Eddie huffs like it’s obvious, scooping up a handful of buttons off the floor. “Then I would have lost.”
“Guerrilla tactics,” Wayne nods sagely, fighting off a grin when Eddie copies him. “Got it. I respect your cutthroat attitude.”
“I didn’t cut anything,” Eddie scowls, dumping the buttons loosely into the bin. “Uncle Wayne, you said I’m not allowed to play with knives.”
“In the jar, please,” Wayne nudges the open mason jar halfway full of buttons toward Eddie with a pointed look. “But no, it’s a saying. It means you’re ruthless.”
“Ruthless,” Eddie repeats as he crouches down to pick up buttons one by one and drop them in the jar. “Ruthless.”
“Yes, ruthless,” Wayne winds up one spool of ribbon watching as Eddie hops around looking for more buttons.
“Uncle Wayne?”
“Yes, kiddo?”
“What does ruthless mean?”
“It means you do stuff without hesitation. Like the Nazgûl hunting Frodo and Sam. They were ruthless in their search.”
Eddie lets out a gasp of horror, dropping the fist full of buttons he had picked up, and they clatter to the ground around him.
“I would never hurt Frodo and Sam!” He yells so loudly that Wayne winces a little. “I don’t want to be ruthless anymore.”
“Alright, settle down,” Wayne chuckles as he crouches down. “That was a bad example. Being ruthless can be good, as long as you do it for the right reasons. Like when Sam fought that big ol’ scary spider to save Mr. Frodo.”
Eddie makes a humph noise and scowls, watching as Wayne screws the lid onto the open bottle of red paint.
They both go quiet as they look at the painting, still wet in some areas from Eddie’s new additions. Eddie fidgets anxiously before looking up at Wayne.
“You know, I think she would have liked your starfishes,” Wayne lets his fingers trace the frame before picking it up. “She would have called them ‘inspired’, I think.”
“Inspired,” Eddie whispers to himself, tucking into Wayne’s side so they can look at the painting together.
“That’s not permission to go painting on everything you see though, you hear me?” Wayne looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “If you want to paint starfish, tell me and I’ll get you a blank canvas. You can paint all the starfish you want on that.”
“Okay, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie automatically responds but Wayne can tell he isn’t really paying attention, his eyes drooping as he fights off a yawn.
“Looks like it’s bedtime for bozos,” Wayne smiles fondly as he sets the painting off to the side. “Why don’t you get your jammies on and I’ll finish up in here. I'll play you something once you’re all tucked in.”
Eddie whines, always one to argue about bedtime even if he’s half asleep standing up. He must be extra exhausted though because Wayne only needs to nudge him toward his dresser before he’s doing as he’s told. He pulls on his favorite pair of pajamas, a matching pair of shirt and pants covered in all sorts of different bugs before toddling down the hallway to brush his teeth.
Wayne finishes cleaning up, listening for the sink turning on and off down the hall as he puts the storage bins back in the closet. There are a few loose buttons still on the floor but with the way his lower back is aching, he decides that’s a problem for later.
Eddie comes running back into the room, clambering up on the bed, and burrowing under the covers as Wayne grabs his old acoustic guitar from the corner.
“Alright, kiddo, what am I playing tonight?”
“The sunshine song!”
“You’re missing an important word in there, Ed.”
“The sunshine song, please!”
“There we go, much better.”
Wayne takes a moment to check that the guitar is still in tune before strumming. Eddie wiggles down further into the bed and watches with starstruck eyes as Wayne starts to sing.
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine away
Eddie watches as his fingers move over the frets, mumbling along as Wayne sings. Even though his fingers are sore from working all day he presses on, making sure not to miss a single note as he dutifully continues to play.
The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you
In my arms
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken
So I hung my head and cried
Wayne swallows thickly as he finishes the verse, pushing through years-old grief so he doesn’t scare Eddie any more than he already has tonight. Eddie must be able to tell somewhat though because he reaches out and clutches one of his small hands into the fabric of Wayne's shirt. Wayne smiles down at him, clears his throat, and carries on.
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine away
He does a few extra fancy chords to hear Eddie giggle before he sets his guitar off next to the side of his bed.
“Why were you crying?” Eddie asks, his voice thick with sleep. “Did singing make you sad?”
“Yes and no,” Wayne answers as he tucks him in. “Sometimes thinking about your Aunt Mary makes my heart hurt, that’s all.”
Eddie’s face screws up into a sleepy look of concern, his grip on Wayne’s shirt tightening.
“It’s a good kind of hurt,” Wayne explains, dropping one of his hands down to squeeze Eddie’s gently. “Or maybe important is a better word. Hurt is just your body’s way of telling you to pay attention. Like when you get a cut and it hurts? That’s your body telling you you need a bandaid. When your heart hurts, that's it saying ‘This feeling is important, pay attention to it.’ That way we can figure out how to make it better.”
“I’ll help make it better Uncle Wayne,” Eddie insists, fighting off a yawn as he sits up. “I’ll share my pirate bandaids with you. They make me feel better when I get hurt.”
“You already help plenty enough, kiddo,” Wayne chuckles and nudges him back down. “Alright, time to sleep, you little rascal. We can talk about this more in the morning if you want.”
Eddie lets out a sleepy noise of agreement before pulling the covers up over his nose. Wayne smiles fondly and leans down to brush his curls off his forehead and kisses the top of his head.
“Love you, kid,” he leans over to turn off the light, watching as the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling glow gently. “Sweet dreams.”
Eddie’s out like a light, already too asleep to respond.
- - - - - -
The drive-up doesn’t get any easier. The truck’s even older now and it struggles with some of the hills but Wayne urges it on. The electrical wiring goes faulty sometimes, flickering unevenly but it always manages to figure itself out and get Wayne where he needs to go.
The cemetery is empty today, like it usually is and there are hateful words spray painted against his son's grave, like there usually are. Wayne sighs deeply, running his hand over the top of the headstone to brush off the burnt, defaced missing posters he had put up around town.
Wayne sets the bucket he often brings up to the side, grabbing a small hand broom to sweep the stone clean. He hears a twig snap and freezes, glancing over his shoulder at the rest of the graveyard. He doesn’t see anything so he cautiously continues.
He dumps a thermos full of hot water into the empty bucket, mixing it with soap before crouching and getting to work. He scrubs dutifully, making sure to be firm but not enough to damage the stone.
Burn in Hell is brandished across the stone, the red spray paint having dripped down to the bottom while it was still wet. Not the most creative defacing Wayne had seen but it stings a little regardless. He takes his time with it, scouring in between the grooves of the carved letters until it’s sparkling clean. No hint of red left behind. The color thins out, turning watery and clear, reminding Wayne of the paint running off of Eddie’s small fingers as they cleaned up years before.
Squad cars often roll by during his visits. Sometimes they leave him be. Sometimes they don’t. But for the most part, they sit back and watch, bearing witness as Wayne carefully scrubs the stone clean from slurs and corrosive paint. There’s none today and Wayne enjoys the tranquility of the wind through the trees as he continues to clean.
Once the washings done Wayne sits back on his calves and lights a candle, cursing old age for fucking with his knees.
Most of the time he doesn’t say anything, just sits in solemn silence with a heart full of mourning. Sometimes he’ll talk. Today he feels like doing the latter.
“That friend of yours came by the hotel again today. Dustin Henderson, I think he said his name was. I can’t keep the damn kid off my doorstep. He bikes by all the time looking like one of them pups in the ASPCA commercials you used to hate. I guess I can see why you took him under your wing. You always did have a soft spot for the extra sad ones, I think.”
He pauses, listening as a bird chirps nearby before flying off.
“The trailer’s gone, along with most of the stuff in it. I’ve been trying to stay in town but it’s hard with the evacuation orders. I’ve been staying in the hotel off of the main road but whatever blight they’re talking about is spreading. They’re saying now that they’ll have to evacuate the next two towns over. I just don’t know if I can make myself leave though.”
He stops and bows his head. The guitar pick necklace dangles in front of him and he closes his eyes to blink back tears.
“I found you and your Aunt Mary’s painting in the rubble,” His voice comes out rough as he talks. “The frame was cracked so I had to cut the canvas off it. It’s a little worse for wear but I couldn’t leave it. It’s all I’ve got left of her and you. Your hands were so small back then.”
Wayne chuckles and then sniffs before scrubbing at his face.
“I miss you, boy,” his voice cracks and he sucks a wet breath in. “Every day. I just want you to know that whatever happened, I’m proud of you. You’re my kid and I love you. Ain’t nothin’ ever going to change that, alright?”
He claps a hand on the side of the cold headstone and wishes more than anything he felt the warmth of his kid's shoulder instead.
Sat no more than five feet away is the simple white plaque Mary had picked out before she died. The plot next to her was meant for him but in the end, he couldn’t bear the thought of Eddie not having a proper resting place. There was no body to bury but Wayne refused to have his kid's headstone off in some random, cheap section of the graveyard. Wayne thought it over for a while before deciding He ought to be with family and that had been that.
He stands, squeezing the side of the headstone one more time before stepping back. He stops by Mary’s grave to clean the dust off of it and he drags his fingers over her name before making his way back to the truck. He lets the heavy door slam shut beside him as he sets the bucket of cleaning supplies in the passenger seat. He’s quiet for a long moment before sucking a shuddering breath in and leaning over to start the truck.
Before he has the chance to, the truck's lights sputter to life, flickering on and off aggressively. The check engine light blinks repeatedly as the dials flick back and forth. Wayne sits back, stunned as the radio turns on, switching from station to station with static filtering between each channel.
You’re listening to Hawkins Rock, 1.509-
Static.
-Somewhere a river of happiness flows-
More garbled static with shouting in the background.
-I can’t take this indecision-
Static again but quiet.
- oh oh oh, honey-
Finally, it flickers to one station and stays on it.
-are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray, you’ll never know dear how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away-
The car shuts off suddenly, the lights dimming and the dials slowly setting back to where they were. Wayne sits back, wide eyed and stunned. He sits completely still, waiting for any other sign of movement before he slowly lowers his hands back down to the steering wheel.
“...Ed?” He whispers, his voice ragged.
Silence is the only answer he gets back. Wind blows over the truck for a moment before everything returns to stillness. Wayne looks over his shoulder, swallowing thickly as his eyes dart around the graveyard before he lays both his hands cautiously over the steering wheel. Nothing happens and Wayne waits a long moment before slowly turning the keys in the ignition. The engine shudders to life, back to playing the station that had been on when Wayne had parked the truck.
He sits there, unsure of what to do, and glances back at Eddie’s grave. That Henderson kid had told him to call if he had any questions or saw anything strange. He had been weirdly serious throughout the whole conversation and Wayne had agreed just to settle the kid's nerves.
Wayne shifts the truck into drive and makes his way slowly out of the graveyard. The gravel crunches loudly under the tires but it all registers as white noise as Wayne drives. He looks in the rearview mirror and catches the sun glinting off of the marbled stone with his son's name on it. He glances down at the radio and then back up at the headstone as it gets smaller and smaller in the mirror.
Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to call after all.