The trailer door clicks shut behind him, soft enough that the ambient hum of the air conditioner covers it entirely. You stay curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that feels heavier than it should, uncomfortable in the way it rests against you but not so much that you move or pull your eyes away from watching the dust drift leisurely through the shaft of afternoon light that peaks through the slats of the blinds.
Eddie stops when he sees you, when he sees the lazy slide of your eyes acknowledging him before going back to their previous spot locked on the empty space before you.
You can feel the way he takes you in, not with judgement, nor with questions, just a quiet understanding that settles between you like another layer of stifling warmth.
Has his gaze always felt so palpable?
He doesnāt ask whatās going on. He never does. Instead, he lowers himself beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. The touch is warm, steady, grounding. Nothing like the too warm blanket you havenāt had the energy to crawl out from under.
He lifts the edge of the blanket in a silent question. You move slowly, like your limbs are lead, but you move. Sliding in, he wraps the blanket around both of you, tucking it behind your back as if heās sealing the two of you into a small cocoon where only the two of you exist.
His hand finds your forearm, thumb brushing in slow, rhythmic circles. At first your skin prickles, goosebumps rising along your arm at the change in temperature from his rings and the rush of air conditioning as the blankets settle before the welcome warmth of his touch sinks in.
The room hums with a quiet ambiance, the soft buzz of the refrigerator, the steady huff of Eddieās breathing, the faint rustle of fabric when he shifts to pull you closer. He smells like cigarettes and oil from the shop with only a faint hint of the cologne heād sprayed that morning remaining. You press your face into his shirt and inhale, feeling the worn cotton of his work shirt under your cheek as the familiar scent of Eddie surrounds you.
He rests his chin on your head. His face burying into the crown of your head āHey.ā he murmurs, barely above a whisper, the exhale as he speaks tickles against the tender skin of your scalp.
His fingers trace the back of your hand, following each knuckle, each curve, familiar and intimate. Your breath loosens, unwinding slowly in your chest where you hadnāt realized it had been building into a dull ache.
āThought we could just lay here for a while,ā he says, voice low and hushed in that way it gets when heās trying to be gentle. āIs that ok?ā
You donāt give a reply outside of the way you push against him more securely.
The light outside softens to something gentler, the gold of the summer day muting into cool tones of blue and grey as night crawls in at a leisurely pace.
Eddieās thumb keeps its slow, steady rhythm on your skin, constant and grounding as he lets you breathe and come back to yourself.
Eventually, you exhale, a long, quiet release you didnāt realize youād been holding.
You feel him smile against the top of your head, small and genuine.
āThere she is.ā he murmurs. āYou ok?ā
Thereās still no judgement. No expectation for you to answer or move just yet.
Just happiness that you no longer feel tense, no longer hold the weight of everything in your mind throughout your body.
You lean into him, letting the warmth of his body and the softness of the moment hold you.
Summary: You have a stomach ache and your boyfriend makes you feel better.
Word Count: 1.4k
Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson x Reader
Themes/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Established Relationship, Stomach ache and associated symptoms, Probably a Fart/Vomit/Poop mention in association with previous stomach ache, Humor, Reader is too old to be Eddie The Iron Stomach's foodie Ride or Die anymore, I write these fucking tags before I write the fic if you didn't know
Note: Happy Sunday night (when I started writing this fic, and but not when I'm posting it) from my bathroom where I havenāt moved for the past 20 minutes (when I started writing). This is gonna be a quick one as I distract myself from the actual demon Iām exorcising from my body tonight. Whatās a girl to do with no other cure but pepto and fanfiction?
You can find my masterlist here.
Please do not interact unless youāre 18+.
Enjoy!
ā
There's something about getting older where you can no longer digest food the same way you used to.
For the longest time, you believed that you would never reach that point.
What brought about a swift end to your perceived invincibility would be your boyfriend with a bottomless pit of a stomach: Edward J. Munson. He ordered extra, extra pepperoni on his pizza. Extra, extra cheese too. He made sandwiches with all sorts of condiments and spicy peppers and pickled vegetables. One time, he even said he would buy ice cream with extra lactose if he could, for the richness.
And still somehow, aside from the occasional appearance of the most rancid farts known to man, he was fine. You, unfortunately, were the unsuspecting bystander (read: victim, in more ways than one) along for the ride.
You tried to mitigate the effects. First, it was the travel size bottle of tums that you kept in the glovebox of your car. Next it was the bottle of pepto that you kept in the kitchen, in addition to the one in the medicine cabinet, just in case.
Then, one day, came the end. And, oh boy, did you think it was Capital-The, Capital-End.
Heartburn, the likes of which you'd never experienced before, took you by surprise. You were innocently sitting at your desk at work when it started. A hot sensation in your chest that slowly overtook your abdomen. Just a constant, searing feeling that practically took your breath away after enough time passed. You thought it would just go away; you figured a handful of tums and you'd be fine. Until you weren't. Until you were sitting through a meeting wondering if you were actually having a heart attack. Until you excused yourself and belched obnoxiously as soon as you crossed the threshold into the bathroom.
You could taste the taco pasta bake Eddie insisted on making the night before. Layers of cheese, meat, beans, sour cream and extra, extra pickled jalapeƱos on top. It was rich and decadent. Delicious.
And it was going to be the thing that killed you.
Your boss, thankfully, saw how miserable you were and sent you home. But home offered no respite.
You dropped your work bag haphazardly by the door, and you stripped down to your underwear; the tight waistband of your pants was doing you no favors. You had the foresight to grab a glass of ice water and place it within arms reach on the edge of the coffee table, before you fell into the squishy cushions of the couch. As you settled into the most comfortable position you could find, the heartburn subsided and the mother of all stomach aches began.
Time passed with only three certain facts: You were gonna puke. You were gonna poop your pants. And then you were going to die.
"Honey, I'm home!" Eddie's voice cut through your agony, and you slowly cracked your eyes open to stare at the ceiling. "I saw your car outside. And your clothes on the floor? You home early as a surprise? Are you naked in bed?"
No, you obviously forgot one certain fact; you were going to kill him.
But as you opened your mouth to yell, your stomach cramped painfully and you let out the most pitiful groan.
"Babe?" The playfulness in his voice was gone, replaced by concern. "You ok?"
"I'm dying," you muttered weakly.
He scoffed immediately, concern vanishing. You both had an understanding: if you were feeling good enough to be dramatic, you were feeling good enough. Typically, it applied to Eddie more than it did to youāhe was the biggest baby when he was sickābut you had your moments. Regardless, he took pity on you as he dropped to his knees in front of the couch.
āAlright, the doctor is in,ā he joked. āWhatās the preliminary diagnosis? Terminal illness? A parasite? Do we need to amputate?ā
His fingers reached your bare side and he tickled you gently, wincing as your instinctive laughter turned into another groan.
"Ah, I see." He stroked his invisible beard with one hand and flattened the other so he could rub over your sore belly with the utmost care. "Any other pain? Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and dare I ask, diarrhea?"
"I took some pepto earlier," you explained. "Didn't help."
"Well of course it didn't." He now put on an invisible stethoscope. "You didn't have a proper examination."
"It's just a stomach ache," you deadpanned as he started to lean down and inspect you. "You put too much sour cream in the taco bake."
āNonsense, thereās no such thing as too much sour cream!ā He curled his fingers into his palm, and then kneaded your belly in a way not unlike a cat. Of course, a little too much pressure caused a very gentle toot to inadvertently escape you. He wrinkled his nose and you covered your face in embarrassment. āOk, maybe in this case I was a little heavy-handed.ā
He went back to gentle rubbing and then adjusted his invisible stethoscope.
āLetāa give it a listen shall we?ā
He leaned his head down and gently placed his ear against your abdomen, readjusting his head a few times before he hummed.
āAh, well well well.ā He lifted his head for a moment. āSeems I found an extra terrestrial creature.ā You rolled your eyes as he went back down. āChest burster? Giant worm of some sort? Weāll get you the bottom of this. Youāre lucky Iām a xenoglot. Iāll translate.ā
Your stomach, clearly working with Eddie on this comedy act, suddenly made the most embarrassing sound. It was wet and bubbly, and you felt it rumble right below his ear. What did he do in return?
āGur-gur-gur, blblblbl.ā You couldnāt help but laugh as he mumbled stomach noises and resumed kneading and rubbing. He looked up at you, utterly serious, and shushed you. āIāve made contact. I need concentration if Iām gonna make a proper diagnosis.ā
Despite your condition, and the fact that said condition was his fault, you couldnāt help but look at him and be overwhelmed by all the love you felt. From the way he dropped everything to check on you as soon as he got home, to now when he couldnāt help but make you smile as you felt miserable. This idiotāyour idiotāhad charmed you beyond your wildest imagination, and you didnāt want him to stop.
āAlright Dr. McCoy,ā you joked and rested a hand atop his head, giving him an appreciative little scratch. āOr are you Uhura? Communications officer?ā
āMy legs would look good in that dress.ā Your stomach grumbled again. āIt agrees. Now shut up. I need to do an advanced procedure. Very delicate.ā
You thought his kneading was as far as he was gonna take it. But leave it to Eddie to commit to the bit. He straightened up, shook out his arms, cracked his neck. Then he leaned down and blew the biggest raspberry on your stomach, and in turn you couldnāt help but laugh. You also couldnāt help but pass gas through your poor, unsuspecting ass.
Oh, so you were gonna have the hot poops later. Take back everything you thought about loving him, this was not gonna be fun.
"See, gastrilitis superioris." Eddie nodded sagely, still touting some fake-doctor bullshit. "Also known as a stomach ache. Or, as I like to call it, a case of the Gurgles.ā
Of course he had a cute little name for it.
āWhatās the treatment doc?ā You questioned. āAside from never letting you cook again?ā
āThe treatment is 50ccās of ginger ale,ā he ignored your comment, āand letting me feed you saltines as I continue rubbing your tummy for the rest of the night. How does that sound?ā
It sounded perfect.
āI think youāre missing something,ā you lied. Well, it wasnāt really a lie.
āI am?ā Eddie frowned, and straightened his spine. He looked around the apartment as though he expected to find the answer lying about. He saw the telltale pink bottle on the counter in the kitchen and his brows jumped. "Pepto? Because babe, I will pour that pink crap down your throat all night if you need it."
You rolled your eyes and forced yourself upright, just so you could gently cup his face in your hands.
"I hate to ask, doc, but I think the usual treatment also includes 10ccs of smooches."
It was a lightbulb moment, and you were sure that you saw hears in his eyes. His arms snaked around you.
"You already have a prescription for that, sweetheart. Endless refills," he muttered and leaned forward to press his lips to yours.
And you melted into him.
Until you felt your esophagus quiver with an impending burp. You pulled away to try and spare him, only to belch loudly right in Eddie's face.
"Ok," he winced. "Now that was pretty gross."
---
Tagging my WIP Weekenders for getting me to finish this: @sidereustales @rebelfell and an anon š thank you guys
Oh Jo, he's such a little shit and you write him so wonderfully. I needed this goober tonight, as a long time gurgle sufferer I would love a Dr Iron stomach Munson on call.
listen to me. this is my final message to you. when you are at your lowest a fictional guy will come to you and when that happens you must start putting them in situations. this is the meaning of life.
The Eddie/Chrissy scene in the woods is so perfect, but I swore Iād seen it before.Ā
Then I remembered a professor showing my film class a clip of Marlon Brando in On The Waterfront as an example of perfectĀ acting. Brando plays Terry - a former boxer/dockworker from the wrong side of town. His love interest, Edie, is a sweet church-going girl whoās initially pretty intimidated by him and his rough exterior.
During filming of the scene, the actress accidentally dropped her glove and Brando picked it up in-character. He spends the rest of the scene fiddling with it, just like Eddie spends so much time twiddling his fingers. (Such a perfect crack in the tough guy faƧade to show that inner vulnerability.)
Terry is trying to strike up a conversation with a girl he likes and put her at ease, but heās also nervous (hence the fidgeting). He teases her softly her about how she looked when they were in high school.
She starts to leave, but he calls out to her:Ā āYou donāt remember me, do ya?āĀ
Edie assures him she does, telling him that she remembered him always getting into trouble. He reminisces about their teachers trying toĀ ābeatā an education into him, but he fought them all the way. Edie tells him that he should have been treated with more kindness as the only reason people are mean or difficult is that others donāt care enough about them.Ā
The flirtatious teasing, the good-girl/bad-boy dynamic, the nervous fidgeting, hell even the setting reminds me so much of the scene between Eddie and Chrissy.
Oh! Brando won an Oscar for this, so Quinn deserves at least an Emmy.
Evil Woman and the Super Secret Halloween Surprise
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Evil Woman
Summary: Eddie and the gang are going to a haunted house! Evil Woman will be in the van.
Words: 1.2k | Prompt: Haunted House | Other CCOD Stories
"I'll protect you."
"C'mon, you big wimp."
"I heard it's not even that scary."
"Maybe she's right."
Everyone's eyes land on Grant, whose face goes pale at the sudden attention. He shrugs, staring at the floor.
"You kids have fun," you smile from the passenger's seat of Eddie's van, waving sarcastically at the losers in the back.
"C'mon babe," Eddie begs.
"Not a fuckin' chance."
"Fine," he grumbles, opening his door and sliding out. His feet hit a patch of crumbling pavement outside Creel House with a crunch that, under the circumstances, makes your hair stand on end.
Some local idiots have turned Creel House - a quiet mansion on an abandoned street in which an entire family was murdered several decades ago - into a haunted house. For fun. Eddie told you about the murders and the rumors of the place being haunted on your initial tour of Hawkins. Wayne backed him up. Haunted or not, you have no intention of ever stepping foot in that house.
Someone makes a chicken-like sound in the back as the boys file out, but you don't care. You're staying right the fuck here.
And you're locking the damn doors.
They walk up the steps and wait on the cracked sidewalk with the rest of the stupid thrill-seekers. How has the police department not shut this down already? You sit in the van with your arms crossed, wondering how soon you can go home. This place gives you the creeps. If you'd known this was the Super Secret Halloween Surprise that Eddie had been teasing all day, you'd have stayed your ass at home, where it's warm and decidedly not haunted.
You watch your herd of dummies wait in line, until they disappear into the house. You pick at the frayed edge of your jacket. You turn on the overhead light and stuff all the trash littering Eddie's floorboard into one greasy McDonald's bag. You organize his glove box. You watch for the boys to come out and wonder what's taking so damn long.
You shriek when a hand slaps your window.
The idiots appear, cackling at your expense and rocking the van from both sides. They must've taken a detour around the back to sneak up on you. That's alright. They'll get theirs.
Eddie grins at you from outside the driver's window, then reaches for the door handle.
Which does not open for him, because you locked the doors, and his keys are still dangling from the ignition.
The boys encounter the same problem at the back door.
"Alright, we're sorry," Eddie laughs. "Let us in."
You cross your arms and stare straight ahead, ignoring them.
"Pleeeease?" Eddie begs.
You give him a withering glare. He juts out his bottom lip and pouts at you, blinking his big dumb eyes slowly. You despise The Power of The Pout and it's sky-high effectiveness rate.
"Damn you," you groan, reaching across the van to unlock his door. He grins and jumps in.
"Would it make it any better if I told you that scaring you was Gareth's idea?" he asks.
"You listened to him? That makes it worse!"
"Dammit," Eddie grumbles. "How can I make it up to you?"
"I'm sure I'll think of something," you smirk.
He gulps, audibly, like a cartoon.
Fists pound on the back door.
"Let us in, wench!"
"Can we leave them behind?" you ask.
"Fine by me," Eddie laughs.
He turns the key, and a startled yelp comes from the back.
"Dude!" The pounding intensifies. "Let us in!"
"Should we?" you ask.
"Your call," Eddie grins.
"Ugh, fine," you groan, slipping between the seats to unlock the back door and let the dummies in.
They pile in and give you a recap of everything you missed on the drive to get pizza: cobwebs, bloody clowns, vampires, grabby hands from under tables that made Gareth scream like a girl, life-size dolls with dead eyes, zombies galore, and a human bat who actually hung from the ceiling.
You're not sorry you missed it.
When Eddie screeches to a stop in the parking lot of the best pizza place in town, you get an idea. A delightfully wicked idea. You offer to stay behind and guard the van while the gang takes care of business. Eddie goes inside to place the pizza order. Gareth and Grant and Jeff go into the dollar store next door to shop for snacks and dessert. And you slip into the driver's seat and turn the key that Eddie left in it.
You put the monstrosity into gear and ease the Titanic-sized van out of the pizza place's parking lot and across the street, to the old bank. This branch shut down a year ago, and the parking lot is unlit. You kill the engine and the lights, and sit back and wait.
Eddie emerges first. You expected him to go straight for the dollar store to help with the snack shopping, but he heads for the parking spot you'd just vacatedā¦ and stops in the middle of the parking lot. He looks around, eyes sweeping as he turns a circle looking for you. He spots you, and you can see his eyes narrow from across the street.
He points at you, then makes a fist. He looks in the direction of the other three, then darts across the road to you, hopping into the passenger's seat.
"Whatcha doooin'?" he asks.
"Gettin' my kicks," you shrug.
Eddie chuckles.
"Are you mad?"
"About what?"
"That we tried dragging you to a haunted house and then scared the crap out of you?"
"You didn't scare the crap out of me," you smile. "That smell is just Gareth."
Eddie laughs, and you reach over to give him a light punch in the shoulder to let him know that it's okay.
The three dweebs come out with their arms full of snacks.
"Here we go," he says excitedly, leaning forward to watch their confusion.
They talk animatedly on their way across the parking lot, actually getting to the spot they left the van in before realizing it's not there. They stand there and look around, then they start arguing with each other. Voices are rising. Fingers are being pointed.
"At what point do we grow concerned?" you ask.
"When somebody loses a tooth," he grins.
"It'sā¦ it's not hard to see it, right? I mean, you clocked the van in seconds."
"I'm familiar with your feminine wiles," he grins. "I knew you didn't go far. They, on the other hand, probably think we left 'em, and now they're gonna fight over whose fault it was. Flash 'em."
You grasp the hem of your shirt and grin at Eddie. He looks confused for a second, and then rolls his eyes when he gets it.
"Flash 'em with the van's headlights, you degenerate," he laughs.
You hit the lights, and the three morons across the road freeze like deer.
You make them come to you. And then you make Gareth go back across the road and get the pizza, deciding to call it evenā¦ for now.
S'more Hospitality
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Evil Woman
Summary: EW and the boys are hanging out around a campfireā¦ when an unexpected guest drops by and shakes things up.
Contains: A campfire, s'mores, a visitor, and a lot of teasing.
Words: 1k | Prompt: Bonfire | Other CCOD Stories
"And then my grandma chased my uncle around the house, trying to hit him with her ladle, while the rest of us were dying of laughter at the kitchen table!"
Corroded Coffin and Co. cracks up around the campfire at the finale of Grant's Unbelievable Visit to Grandma's Story.
Wait. Back up. Two days ago, you mother hired someone to chop down a dead tree in the yard, before the weight of the winter snow brought it down on top of the house. They'd chopped it into logs and left it. Eddie and Gareth were tasked with chopping it into fireplace-sized piecesā¦ but since it wouldn't be truly cold for a few more weeks, there was no real rush.
So you rolled the massive hunks of wood into a circle and decided to start a fire in the back yard when the sun went down. (With your mom's permission, of course.) You're all wearing sweatshirts and jackets. Grant broke out his fingerless gloves. You roasted hot dogs for dinner, and s'mores for dessert. Jeff briefly panicked when his marshmallow caught fire and wouldn't go out, no matter how much he blew on it, and ended up throwing both the charred 'mallow and the defective stick into the fire, much to the amusement of all.
After everyone had eaten as many s'mores as they could hold, you started telling either scary or amusing stories. Now, you're snuggled into Eddie's side, and somehow, his skinny ass is providing almost as much warmth as the crackling fire in front of you.
"Well, well, well," a deep voice says, making you all jump in surprise. Chief Hopper steps into the light of your fire, a heavy jacket open over his tan uniform. "Imagine my surprise when I get a call about a bunch of devil-worshippers performing a ritual, and I find Eddie Munson at the scene of the crime."
"What crime?" Eddie shrieks, flailing his arms in the direction of the fire. "This is Mom-sanctioned! We're having a weenie roast in the back yard! We made s'mores! Boy Scouts do this shit all the time!"
"You sure that's all you're firing up tonight, Munson?"
"How dare you, Chief?" Eddie asks seriously.
"Nothing nefarious going on here?"
"Just hot dogs and s'mores, Chief," you assure him.
"Yeah, we couldn't catch the cat, and the virgin we were gonna sacrifice had a date at Lookout Point, so I guess she's out," Eddie scoffs. You knock his knee with yours, telling him to pipe down.
Hop crosses his arms and stares at Eddie, who stares back. The rest of you watch them curiously.
"Your hospitality needs work, Munson."
"Oh, respected and revered local Chief of Police, won't you please join us teenage criminals at our humble little campfire?" Eddie asks, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"Love to!" Hop says jovially, grinning evilly and taking a step closer.
Eddie's hackles raise when the Chief encroaches on his territory. He has no intention of getting up and offering him a seat. The rest of the boysā¦ you glance around the fire to see them all wide-eyed and frozen in fear. They've never seen Eddie and Hopper play before.
"Have a seat, Chief," you offer, slipping from your log and onto the ground in the space between Eddie's legs. His hand instinctively comes to your shoulder. Protective. You like that.
"Would you like a s'more?" you ask your guest.
Chief Hopper looks around your little campfire, into every terrified face, then lands on you. "Sure," he answers, giving you half a smile as he drops onto the log you just vacated. The log that's still pulled very close to Eddie's. Eddie is clearly not thrilled about this closeness to the Chief. You turn away so he can't see you trying not to laugh at him, busying yourself with opening the s'more supplies back up.
You grab a marshmallow and stab it with your roasting stick, plunging it into the flames. It's a beautiful shade of brown in no time. You sandwich it between the graham crackers and chocolate with expert precision and hand it to Hopper.
"Much obliged," he nods appreciatively when he accepts it.
You lean against the inside of Eddie's thigh, facing Hopper but trying to find literally anything else to stare at. The ground sure is nice this time of year, isn't it? There's dirt... and tufts of brittle grass... a rock.
"So, gang, what's new at school?" Hopper asks casually, lifting his s'more to his mouth and licking off a bit of melted chocolate. "Who's this year's It Couple? You guys gonna go to the big dance?"
The boys all stare at Hopper like he's grown a second head. You look up at Eddie, and then you have to look away from each other as you bite your lips to keep from laughing.
"Tough crowd," Hopper grins, standing. "This concludes my investigation into tonight's devil-worshipping ceremony. Keep the noise down and the fire low, and make sure it's completely out before you go in. Don't give anybody another reason to call me and complain. Got it?"
"Got it," you and Eddie say together. The rest of the boys remain silent.
"Thanks for the s'more," Hopper says to you, raising his treat in salute as he turns and walks away.
As soon as his truck door slams, the boys suddenly remember how to talk.
"Oh, Chief, you're so handsome," Gareth says in a falsetto.
"Would you like a s'mooore?" Jeff bats his eyelashes.
"Oh, Big Sexy Chief, can I feed it to you?" Grant cackles.
You look up at Eddie indignantly, waiting for him to call off his dumb-ass hounds.
"Surprised you didn't sit on his lap," Eddie scoffs.
Oh, so that's how it's going to be?
"Aw, baby," you coo, looking up at him with pouty eyes. "You know we'd never do that in front of you."
The boys cackle, and Eddie knocks his knee into your back, propelling you forwardā¦ so you let your teeth sink into his denim-covered thigh. Very close to The Goods. He shrieks, and he flails, but you don't let go of your jealous idiot until he apologizes.
Revenge O'Clock
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Evil Woman
Summary: Remember when the jocks pelted The Hellfire Club with pumpkins? It's revenge o'clock, bitches.
Words: 1k | Prompt: Midnight | Other CCOD Stories
It's not at all hard to break into Hawkins High.
Even when the doors are locked, they still open from the inside. All you need is an inside man.
Gareth drew the short straw.
But he was more than willing to sacrifice an evening for the cause.
Two weeks ago, the basketball team barged in on an intense D&D game and pelted The Hellfire Club with pumpkins. Tiny, hard, bruise-making pumpkins. Why pumpkins, you wondered? You never figured out why that was their weapon of choice, but Dustin's mom happily took them off your hands to decorate her house with, so at least something nice came out of that random act of violence.
Tonight, the aforementioned basketball team had lost their game. The visitors had, according to someone complaining in the hallway afterwards, wiped the floor with the Hawkins Tigers. The coach kept the team late as punishment, making them run drills on the court where they'd just gotten their asses handed to them. The tiny red-faced coach had screamed himself hoarseā¦ but not before Jeff, on a bathroom time-out, overheard him scream that his worthless team had to return at 6 am for even more practice.
A plan was hatched.
Well, the plan had been hatched ages ago, but the stars finally aligned and you decided that tonight was the night.
The Hellfire Club (minus Gareth) left after the weekly session - loudly, in full view of the downbeat fans who'd watched the rival team beat the stripes off the Hawkins Tigers. Everyone piled into Eddie's van, and he drove away, dropping off the kiddos at Mike's.
You debated including the kids when the plan was hatched, late at night in Eddie's bed over a shared joint. You really did. But in the end, it was brought before the council of elders, and everyone agreed that this was a job for the more seasoned criminals of the group. (Mostly because Mike and Dustin's friend was on the basketball team, and you weren't entirely convinced of their loyalty to the party yet.)
After the freshmen were gone, Eddie drove the rest of you to your house. Your mother was already in bed reading, so you popped in to tell her that you were going to wind down in the basement with the boys, which she was fine with. And then you and Eddie donned backpacks full of supplies, and you all walked back to school through the woods, and waited in the shadows until the time was right.
Which turned out to be almost midnight.
The dejected players filed out during the eleven o'clock hour, piling into their shiny vehicles provided by their rich parents. There was a scuffle in the parking lot; you couldn't see who, but apparently someone was to blame for tonight's loss. You hope it was Carver. The coach finally stormed out at 11:53. When all the lights were out and the last car left the parking lot, The Hellfire Club - all dressed in black - emerged from the woods.
Eddie knocks to the tune of "War Pigs" on the metal door behind the gym.
Gareth appears a moment later, looking like a ruffled owl. You wonder if he fell asleep in the closet he'd been hiding in for hours.
"I thought these fuckers were never gonna leave," he growls, holding the door open. "C'mon."
You file in, letting the moonlight shining through the windows guide you through the halls, rather than risk turning on a flashlight. It feels dangerous, being here after hours. All the shadows seem threatening, like something may be lurking in them. You keep your eyes on the floor, watching Eddie's sneakers tread carefully in front of you.
Jeff and Gareth veer off in the hallway that leads to the cafeteria, and the remaining trio proceeds to the gym. You stop beneath one of the hoops, wondering if this is the one the Tigers couldn't get the ball in.
"That's a shit-ton of floor," Grant gripes.
"You wanna go home?" Eddie challenges. "Or do you want to get those assholes back for what they did to us?"
"You still got bruises, Grant?" you ask. "Or did they all fade away already?"
He grumbles something at the floor.
"That's what I thought," Eddie scoffs. "They fucking deserve this, and you know it."
The silence is louder than the bitching.
"It's not so bad in here at night," you say quietly, in an effort to break the tension. "With none of them around."
"Still smells like sweaty balls and old socks, though," Eddie smirks. He looks extra wicked in the moonlight. If Grant wasn't here, you might just maul him, right here on the gym floor.
The door creaks open, and Jeff and Gareth enter the gym carrying a pair of plastic buckets. They look heavy, but the boys are so driven to commit the atrocity you've planned, they don't seem to mind. They place the buckets on the ground and complete the circle of Hellfire. You almost wish you trusted the younger members enough to have invited them along for this night of mischief. This is gonna go down as a Hawkins legend; something you'll tell the grandkids about.
Long, long after the statute of limitations has run out.
"You guys ready to add injury to insult?" you grin.
Answers range from "yeah" to "hell yeah."
"Spread out, wing-length, we'll take it in sections," Eddie orders.
You extract gloves and towels from your backpacks and distribute them. Everyone spreads out and sinks to their knees. You all work swiftly and silently, eager to get this done and get back to your house so your mother can provide an alibi if she needs to.
"No, officer, the kids were here all Friday night, watching television in the basement," she could tell them. "They don't know anything about the mysterious slick floor of the gymnasium. There's definitely no connection to the missing cooking oil from the school kitchen. Oh, I do hope none of the players were hurt when they ran out onto that slippery floor in the early hours of the morning for practice!"
You smirk and dip your towel back in the bucket of grease, watching the floor grow impossibly shiny as you wipe back and forth in long stripes, sliding backward on your knees across the gym.
