Eddie Munson Oneshots

I'm Wide Awake

You set the buttermilk on the counter next to him as he reads the cookbook and holds out his hand toward you. "I need salt," he says. You give it to him and watch him measure out the ingredients.

"Wait, how much does it say?" you ask him, peering over him at the book, your chin resting on his shoulder.

He points to the amount as he turns his head, his face dangerously close to yours now as he speaks almost nonchalantly. "Uh, it says a fourth of a tablespoon, so..."

"Are you sure?" you ask as your brows knit together. "That sounds like a bit much."

"Yeah," he says. "But that's what it says, see?" He brings the book to your face, you read it off, and agree with him. He pours the ingredient and moves on.

A little while later and your clumsiness decides to rear its ugly head. As you walk over to Eddie with the vanilla as he holds a whisk in his hand — neither of you could figure out how to use the stand mixer, so you had to substitute — you unscrew the lid.

"How much of this stuff do we use?" you ask, bringing the opening to your nose to take a whiff. You had not expected to trip on a rag that had fallen on the floor. The vanilla flew out of your hands and landed right in the bowl, spilling its contents inside carelessly as you clasp a hand over your mouth.

"Shit, shit, shit! Bug!" Eddie chants in a screaming voice as he moves to take the vanilla out of the bowl far too late. You stand up a little straighter, leaning forward and taking a peek inside of the bowl where the dark liquid stains the batter. You look over at Eddie, whose eyes find yours after examining the batter.

"It should be fine...right?" you ask, chewing on your bottom lip.

He looks back into the bowl and just nods slowly, "Yeah, totally. It's a vanilla cake. It's fine." You nod and turn to the bowl again, humming gently. Eddie gets to mixing and you both watch as the batter darkens considerably, holding back snickers and smiles as you stare at it.

"Did you set the oven?" Eddie questions.

"I knew I was forgetting something!" you exclaim, rushing to the oven to turn it on. Eddie laughs and shakes his head as he continues to stir the batter like a maniac. "Don't overmix it!" you tell him quickly.

He stops and looks at you, "What's overmixing? How long do I mix it?"

"Well, you... I don't actually know. Just don't do it," you shrug, glancing over the batter again. "Just grease the pans and pour it in."

Just as you say that, knocking comes from your front door and you smile as you rush to it. You swing it open with a loud thud against your door. Eddie waves from his spot in the kitchen as Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Max, Steve, Nancy, and Robin stand in the doorway. Dustin is holding three pizza boxes, Max has soda, and Robin is "hiding" a case of beers.

You turn over your shoulder, "Do we have enough cake for nine?"

"I think we should just get a backup cake at this point, Bug," Eddie tells you, staring at the batter like he's concerned for its well-being.

Steve holds up a tray of store bought cake, "Already got it covered."

You smile at him, "See, this is why I like you Harrington."

"Cake? Cake is why you like me?" he questions as he walks into the house after the others.

You have to change the music as the others settle in. Eddie's metal isn't as suited for everyone else's taste — much to his dismay. Every time Dustin tries to reach for a beer, you have to smack his hand away and shove a can of Coke in his hand. "No," you tell him, like you're scolding a misbehaving puppy.