somewhere between the grief and the lake | eddie munson x maggie quinn (oc) | pt. 1
word count - 2k
summary - june 1986. maggie’s life splintered with a single phone call and a hollow phrase: “passed away.” a funeral, a half-brother she never knew existed, and a summer at a camp she didn’t choose later, she’s drowning in silence and citronella. she wanted to disappear, maybe sketch by the lake—but then eddie munson showed up with a grin sharp enough to cut and a cigarette dangling from his lips. suddenly, quiet doesn’t feel so safe anymore.
i got sick and rewatched season 4 of stranger things and then dirty dancing annnnnnd now here we are. don't make fun of me. we'll see how long this lasts <3 ______________________________________________________________
June 1986. Camp Holloway. Upstate Maine.
It was two weeks after her high school graduation when she got the call.
“Margaret Quinn? My name is Janet; I’m one of the nurses at Saint Mary's General Hospital. I’m calling regarding your father, Robert Quinn. I’m so sorry to inform you that he passed away due to a heart attack at 5:53 this morning. We did everything we could.”
There was a whole lot of other conversation after those sentences, but if you asked Maggie what she heard after the phrase “passed away,” she’d tell you the nurse didn’t say anything else. She was awoken by the blaring scream of her home phone when she received the call. So early, Family Ties was still playing on the TV from the night before when she stumbled out to the kitchen.
Her stomach still drops whenever she hears the opening credit song.
The days that followed were a blur of people telling her how brave she was, pity casseroles that grew moldy in the fridge, family members she hadn’t heard from in years telling her how sorry they were, that he was too young, and a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach that still has yet to be soothed. Her uncle tried to talk to her about logistics, her grandma told her everything happened for a reason, and the girl who used to bully her in fifth grade wouldn’t stop telling her she’ll be there if she needs anything. After about the sixth time hearing “he’s in a better place”, Maggie shut down.
She received a call from Claudia Henderson, a 39-year-old woman with a midwestern accent, claiming to be her father’s ex-fling from the 1970s, which resulted in the birth of her newfound half-brother, Dustin. After a lot of confusion, awkward phone calls full of Maggie choking back tears, and a finger prick for a DNA test, it was confirmed that Maggie did, in fact, have a half-brother.
Within a week, Maggie (now going by Maggie Henderson) was packed and on a plane to Hawkins, Indiana, to live with her dead dad’s ex-hookup and her new 15-year-old brother, leaving her house, her last name, and life behind. She swore it’d be easier that way.
New house. New family. New name. New Maggie.
She couldn’t be that girl. She couldn’t be the sob story of the girl who never reached her full potential because her dad died, and she never left the shithole of a town because of it. She couldn’t be in that house anyway. Couldn’t walk past his bedroom, smell the hint of his aftershave in his bathroom, or see the chip in his “seasoned” coffee mug anymore. Hawkins wasn’t home, but then again, Maggie had a feeling she may never feel “at home” again. All that mattered was that no one knew her. Or her dad.
Claudia tried. In her own strange and incredibly Midwestern way, Claudia tried. She left clean and folded towels on Maggie’s bed, bought the flavored water she liked without being asked, and didn’t press when Maggie came home visibly stoned.
Dustin, though, never stopped talking. He followed her around like a duckling with dimples and curly hair. He asked if she liked Star Wars or if she wanted to play Dungeons and Dragons, and Maggie just couldn’t bring herself to tell him to fuck off.
She didn’t hate him. At all. And that was the worst part.
He was awkward, loud, too smart for his own good, and reminded her more and more of her dad every day. Somehow, this hormone-filled teenage boy didn’t treat her like a stranger when this grief-filled girl from Wisconsin came to live with him. He looked at her like he was proud to have a sister.
So, when Claudia announced that they’d be spending a few weeks at Camp Holloway - some old campground in the middle of fucking nowhere, Maine, for “family bonding,” Maggie didn’t complain. She packed a duffle full of hidden joints, bought a new sketch book, and got in the car without a word.
A sign with crooked letters and splintered wood that read “Welcome to Camp Holloway” was the first thing she saw, though nothing was welcoming about it. Pine trees loomed over her, hedges and oddly bright flowers flew past as they drove in. It smelled like pine, mildew, and something metallic, like she could smell the rust on the pipes before even setting foot into a building.
The gravel crunched under the rubber sole of her boot as she stepped out of the car. She slammed the door shut, taking an inhale of the "mountain air” everyone keeps telling her she needs. She tucked a joint between her lips and lit it behind Claudia’s back instead.
Maggie didn’t care if she saw, not really. Claudia wouldn’t do much more than shake her head and point a somewhat disappointed sigh in her direction. She let out puffs of smoke as they dragged their luggage to the cabin they were assigned to. It had a red-painted door, a crooked deck that made Maggie nervous, and it was so humid she’s sure a family of mosquitoes had declared dibs on her bunk first.
After they settled, Dustin was already running off to the main lodge, backpack bouncing on his shoulder as he shouted something about a scavenger hunt with a cash prize. Claudia had left the cabin, telling Maggie she was off to find an extra quilt, but Maggie saw her eyeing the camp “sheriff” on the drive in.
The cabin was quiet. Silent. Eerily and not peacefully quiet. The kind of silence where the sound of the home phone and her dad’s favorite song start to crawl up the walls of her mind like ivy. The lid on the shoebox she packed her grief into was rattling, shaking, and vibrating despite the concrete she poured on top of it. She stared at the lake from the shaky dock of their cabin, watching the sun reflect on the water and fish pop up for bubbles of air before eventually deciding to grab her sketchbook.
She found a flat rock under a pine tree taller than the Empire State Building, the joint from earlier now stubbed out next to an ash mark beside her. She was already sticky with sweat, and she reeked of citronella, but the way the lake lapped at the rocks a few feet ahead was oddly calming. The silence near the lake was different from the silence of the cabin. It was peaceful, momentarily quieting the circus that was her mind, and was soon broken by the sound of a snapping branch.
Maggie turned, expecting Dustin or maybe a counselor telling her she wasn’t allowed to be there, but instead, there he was.
Long hair, curls crazier than hers, brown eyes so big he looked like a baby deer, and a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth like he was born with it. He wore too many rings, one a skull and another a snake that wrapped up his index finger. He seemed rough around the edges in a way he didn’t control. His camp shirt was now a tank top, missing the sleeves and resulting in choppy edges of fabric resting on his shoulders.
“Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he said, voice softer than she expected. His tone was almost amused.
“You didn’t,” she lies, flipping her sketchbook shut and hesitating before looking him directly in the eye.
He sat down next to her without asking, long and lanky legs knocking softly into her knee with a barely audible “whoops”.
“I’m Eddie,” he says. “You look like you wanna be here about as much as I do.”
Maggie didn’t say anything, her mind racing with what she should say, if anything. He looked out at the lake like she did, their breathing synchronizing within a few seconds. He didn’t press her to talk, didn’t sit too close, and most importantly, he didn’t look at her like her dad just died.
“Maggie.” She eventually mumbles, eyes still fixed on the faux leather cover of her sketchbook.
Eddie can’t help but crack the smallest of smiles, the corner of his lips upturning. “Cool…cool, cool, cool”
They were silent again, chests rising and falling in synch. The only sound between the two was the gentle scratch of graphite against her paper and the cicadas humming in the trees. After trying to steal a few glances at whatever she was so focused on, Eddie finally broke the silence.
“So…you wanna tell me what you’re running from or are we gonna skip to the emotional repression and awkward sexual tension that comes with summer camp?”
Her pencil stopped moving, and Eddie braced himself for a blow to the nose, already prepping for the feeling of her silver ring splitting his skin. But, to his surprise, she let out a breath that sounded something like a laugh.
Maggie didn’t mean to laugh, not really. But the bluntness of his words, dry humor that was awfully similar to hers, and the fact that he didn’t make small talk all contributed to the breathy and brittle laugh that left her lips. She looked up from the page, and he was already looking at her, a strangely fond expression on his features.
“Definitely the repression and sexual tension,” She nods.
Eddie grinned. “Figured.”
Maggie looked back at the lake, letting his words hang in the air like they mattered. Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. “So…you’re into this whole camp experience?” she asks, already regretting the effort to make conversation. She always hated small talk.
Eddie let out a dry laugh that was like hers, the only difference being the amount of life behind his. “M’here 'cause my uncle said the alternative was juvie or military school”
Maggie snorted, and Eddie lit up like she’d just offered him a fifty-dollar bill.
“What about you?” he asked, and Maggie didn’t know where to start.
She took a beat and let her silence do the heavy lifting. “Needed a rest”
Eddie hummed in response, nodding as his gaze trailed back to the shimmering water. Neither believed her response, but neither said anything about it. And the fact that Eddie didn’t press made her feel an odd sense of safety. Almost like he didn’t care that she didn’t want to tell him, like he didn’t expect her to, and that was a change. They sat there for a while, not talking. Not needing to. The heat stretched over them, sticky and foggy, while the lake rippled lazily. Maggie kept her eyes on the lake or her sketchbook, anywhere but him. Part of her was waiting for him to leave, the other curious if he’d say anything else.
“You don’t talk much, huh?” Eddie asks.
Maggie blinked, somewhat caught off guard by how blunt he was. He didn’t tiptoe, didn’t use a careful tone, didn’t treat her like she was a piece of fine china. He just observed. She didn’t answer right away, keeping her eyes on a specific lily pad in the distance.
“I do. Just not when I don’t want to.” She shrugs, now picking at the splintering skin of her cuticles.
Eddie let out a chuckle, nodding. “Fair enough.”
Another stretch of silence. Eddie picked up a twig, starting to pick at the bark with his thumbnail like he needed something to do with his hands. Maggie could already tell he wasn’t good at sitting still for very long.
“So, what do you do when you’re not busy bein’ scary and mysterious?” Eddie asked more questions, and for some reason, her stomach twisted. He didn’t look at her; he looked at his hands, and Maggie found herself already memorizing his side profile. Sharp jawline, bulbous nose, and cheekbones so high that they made her somewhat jealous.
He turned to see her analyzing him when she started speaking. “Sketch. Smoke. Repeat”
“Sounds like my kinda girl”
That earned a grin. And a sudden cold sweat on her palms, but he didn’t need to know that.
Another beat passed.
“You like music?” he asked casually, like he didn’t care about her answer. But the long hair, what seems to be two-day-old eyeliner, and the Metallica patch on his left back pocket gave him away.
She hesitated. “Sure, who doesn’t?”
“Some people live in silence.”
Artsy. Maggie couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not.
“I like silence.”
Sometimes.
“I know,” Eddie nodded in response. Maggie wasn’t sure why he said it; it wasn’t rude or teasing. He said it like it was a fact, like he’d known her for years and this was something he’d heard a couple thousand times coming from her.
They’re silent again.
“I do a music thing,” He blurts, like he’s unsure he should’ve said it at all. “After curfew. My friends call it a jam night. I think the name’s awful but it’s fun. Good music, shitty lighting, very against all the rules”
“Who said I wanna break any rules?” Her brow quirked.
Eddie didn’t say anything; they just stared at one another. Soon enough, Maggie couldn’t help it; there was a smile on her lips. A real, genuine smile. Eddie grinned, letting out a soft laugh. This one was nervous, like he was letting go of a breath he’d been holding.
“B13,” He nodded again. “Midnight. Knock twice and say something that doesn’t make me regret telling you about this,” Eddie started to stand, wiping the front and back of his jeans to get rid of any dust.
Maggie tapped her pencil against the page, letting out another brittle laugh. “Like what?”
“I dunno. Something cool, or have some strong opinions about Fleetwood Mac, either usually work”
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hot people read part two
i know eddie munson in the big 2025 is kinda crazy, but let a girl love her fictional dead boyfriends. i'm hoping to keep this going because i love this idea a lot but we'll see LMFAO
THANK YOU FOR READING ILY. gimmie a like of a comment or a reblog for a kissy :3
