Who Says You Can't Go Home (Steddie)

Aren't Yo Eddie Munson

Eddie Munson stepped out of the limousine and pulled his sunglasses down out of his unruly mass of hair to cover his bloodshot eyes. He squinted up at the house. It was small. Well, maybe not really, but when you were used to Hollywood mansions and luxury hotels all over the world, a simple two story house in Hawkins, Indiana was definitely small. For a moment he wondered if he was making a mistake, coming back here after so long. It had been thirteen years since he'd been in Indiana. Hell, when he was touring the US with Corroded Coffin, he never even allowed his management to book any shows anywhere in Indiana. And when Wayne died five years ago from a massive stroke, Eddie even skipped the funeral. The times he'd seen Wayne over the years, Wayne had to come to him, because this was the last place Eddie ever wanted to be. Yet here he was.

When the record label sat Eddie down last week and told him that he either had to clean up his act or they'd cancel his contract, he just laughed. But when they compared him to Axl Rose, always late to shows, sometimes missing them altogether, postponed recording sessions because he was too wasted to sing or play, and he owed them an album, under contract, or they'd sue him for millions, or what he had left anyway. Eddie knew Axl, had toured with Guns n Roses twice. Hell, that's where he'd picked up the heroin habit. He never liked Axl, he was an egomaniacal asshole, but his drugs were top of the line and flowed like water. So, when they compared him to that guy, it was kind of a slap in the face.

Eddie sent his manager off to find him something in the Hollywood Hills, somewhere quiet where he could get away from the crowd that usually surrounded him, giving him whatever he wanted, no matter how badly he didn't need it. That was when reality set in. He couldn't afford the Hollywood Hills anymore. Was he flat broke? No. But with legal fees, paying off broken contracts and jilted employees, and the insane amounts he was spending on coke and pain killers, and whatever other pills he could get his hands on, Eddie Munson was definitely not the millionaire rock star he once was.

So, when his manager suggested going home, Eddie seriously considered it. And now, here he was. Owner of a lovely little white house with a cute fenced in yard, and the only drugs in sight were the ones in the duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder. When those were gone, he promised himself that was going to be it. No more. He was going to get clean, start writing again. Because sometimes he had the greatest ideas, songs that he knew would be giant hits, but then he'd wait to write them down. Just one more bump, one more pill, one more shot, or one more drink and by the time he'd remember how to use a fucking pencil, the song would be gone.

Eddie looked over at the car that pulled into the driveway, his new car. A Toyota fucking Camry. He'd asked his manager to get it for him, maybe not that god awful baby blue color, but it was a way to get around. His manager offered to have the car waiting at the airport in Indianapolis for him, but Eddie just hired the limo instead. Taking a limo all the way from Indianapolis to Hawkins was a bit pretentious, but old habits were hard to break. And Eddie hadn't driven in almost ten years. He was a little out of practice, and he honestly couldn't remember if he even had a driver's license or not.

"What's in the bag," Wally, his manager asked as he stepped out of the Camry and motioned towards the bag over Eddies shoulder.

"Don't fucking start with me," Eddie grunted. "What the fuck is wrong with you booking me on a god damned seven AM flight?"

"It's almost four in the afternoon," Wally laughed.

"Time zones," Eddie muttered. "It was seven in the god damned morning when I got on the plane."

"Let's go inside before you shrivel up and die out here," he said. "When was the last time you saw sunlight anyway, you fucking vampire?" That made Eddie laugh because he honestly had no idea. "What would you have done with the bag if I'd had you on a commercial flight," Wally asked as he unlocked the front door and motioned Eddie inside.