The villain raised an eyebrow, but didn't otherwise look up from their desk. "You can walk out of that door any time, darling. I'm not stopping you."
"I'd come back. It wouldn't - I don't want to break our deal."
"You don't want the consequences of breaking our deal. You absolutely want to break it."
"People are dying," the hero snapped. "I can help."
"Mm, of course you can. You're a miracle on legs."
"I'm just suggesting a pause," the hero said. "A temporary change of terms. That's all."
"And I'm just saying no."
The hero stopped on the other side of the table, fingers digging into the fine wood in an effort to control their temper. They took a deep breath. Released. Another.
"I'm still yours," the hero said. "I'd still be yours."
"Always. But N-O spells no."
"I'm begging," the hero said, through gritted teeth.
"Is that what that is?" The villain finally deigned to glance up. Their eyes - a dark and stormy night for all bad things to happen in - did not match their light tone. The amused curve of their slight smile. "Gosh. Your standards are slipping. You're not even kneeling or anything."
"Would you say yes if I knelt?"
The villain's head tipped to one side. "No," they said, after a long moment. "But I'd sincerely appreciate the view. Perhaps it might even distract you from this latest bout of self-loathing."
"Screw you."
"But it's so much more fun when you do it, dear."
"This is serious!"
The villain scoffed and merely pointed a finger at the door, expectant and waiting.
The hero's jaw clenched hard enough to hurt but they didn't move.
"Mm," the villain said. "Are you kneeling or are we done here?"
The villain could have lied, they knew that. They could have pretended there was a chance that they'd say yes. They could have offered false hope, only to rip it away again once they'd had their fun.
In the grand terms of their arrangement, the villain had done absolutely nothing wrong. They were even, in their own particular way, being kind.
There was a bitter taste in the hero's mouth.
"It's bad out there," they said, voice cracking. "People need me. They could - maybe it could be fun. You've never played at saving the world, have you? We could do it together. Go together. It could be an experiment. A game."
"Perhaps," the villain shrugged. "But I don't think that would be very good for your mental health."
"This isn't very good for my mental health!"
The villain simply looked at them.
The hero could leave. They could end the deal at any time.
But, then, the villain would simply leave too. An apocalypse slipping free of its gilded cage. The horrors on the TV would seem mild compared to the fight to come.
"I could be back in an hour," the hero said. "You wouldn't even notice I was gone."
"And I could end the world by lunch time," the villain said. "You'd be dead before you had time to be too distressed. What's your point?"
"You really don't care what's happening out there?"
"No."
"You have to care."
"I don't."
"If you're worried I'd get hurt-"
"-I'm not. I'd slaughter anyone who tried to hurt you before they got the chance."
The hero's mouth dried. Their fingers flexed on the table. They wanted to scream. Fight. Throw things.
The villain leaned back in their chair and sighed, at whatever they read on the hero's face.
"You are saving the world, love," they said. "You're here. With me. Do I need to prove that I still have teeth?"
"No," the hero said. "I - no. Thank you."
The villain nodded, just once. "Good. Come here."
"It's okay. I - I'm okay."
"You're not. Come here."
Feeling foolish, and furious, and raw, the hero rounded the desk. The villain's arm wrapped around them, pulling them close. The grip was painfully tight, mercifully impossible to wriggle free from, and so the hero had to settle against them. They could hide the prickle of tears against the deceptively vulnerable line of the villain's neck.
They stayed like that until the hero could no longer hear the screaming beyond the window.
The nurse pulls the stethoscope away from the bend of Steve's elbow, the sound of the blood pressure cuff being pulled away is harsh in the quiet room, “right, lets give those wounds a check.”
Steve has the routine down now, and he pulls the hospital gown away from the appropriate places, lies back, sits up, pulls the sheet, lifts a leg, the nurse humming appreciatively each time. Just one bandage to remove and replace with clean now.
“Okay, so, eat a good meal this evening, and breakfast tomorrow, and after a bowel movement I think you’ll be fine to go home.”
Next to Steve, Eddie snorts, “bowel movement. Better order prunes for Breakfast Stevie.”
“Thank you,” Steve tells the nurse, and she leaves with a nod.
Eddie has his filthy boots on the bed, but they never leave a mark on the sheets, so Steve ignores them.
“That’s sweet of her,” Steve says absently, no energy to fight it after climbing up into Hop’s truck.
“So Joyce and Nancy are already at your place,” Hopper tells him, “you’ll have groceries and some meals ready. I think El’s there too, she wanted to make sure your bedroom was clean.”
“Hope you don’t got anything suspicious hidden away,” Eddie shoves a dirt encrusted hand between the seats, into Steve’s peripheral vision, nails caked with filth and blood, the end of one finger is just bone, the flesh eaten away by something. Steve tries not to gag. Eddie makes a vulgar gesture, wanking the empty air, “don’t want her innocent young eyes finding your supply of dirty mags right?”
The cuff of Eddie’s jacket has a string of something flesh like and rotten hanging from it.
Steve spends the rest of the journey looking out of the window.
“Steve, honey, are you okay?”
Steve shuffles through the house, finding only Joyce in the kitchen, “yeah. All good.”
“Right, well, let me show you what I’ve done okay,” and Joyce shows him, the neatly prepared meals still cooling on the side. All very sensible, palatable, starch and protein and vegetable. Everything neatly labelled.
Eddie’s speaking in the background, Steve does his best to ignore it, “bet she’s filth in the sack you know. Nice of her to get you the good stuff though,” and Eddie pulls a milk shake out of the fridge.
Eddie drinks, and Steve watches as it leaks through the holes in Eddie’s guts, soaks his filthy jeans, and drips onto the kitchen floor, Joyce talking all the while.
Steve flinches. He can’t help it. The bang is loud.
“Hey Dingus, you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” but it’s made a lie when he twitches again.
“Steve...maybe you came back to work too soon? Do you want to go home? You look really tired.”
Home is worse. Home is so much worse, because at home he’s alone with Eddie, “nah, I want to try and stay.”
“Okay, well, sit then,” Steve does, flinching again as another launched tape hits the windows, Eddie cackling madly.
Steve stares at the ceiling in the dark. Eddie is hopping around and singing. Loudly. Something Steve doesn’t know.
Steve’s so tired he feels like his eyes are sinking into his head. His body is weighed down by it. He feels a little delirious, like he was when he was on the good meds at the hospital, but the evil twin of that feeling.
He wonders vaguely if you you can die of exhaustion. It really feels like you can. He’s broken, he knows it, can sense it creeping up. He’s so close to just...crumbling in on himself. He does something he hasn’t done for weeks, spurned by a final act of desperation, “Eddie,” Steve’s voice cracks, and he can feel that his eyes are wet, tears tracking their way along his temples, “Eddie please stop. Stop, just for a little while.”
Eddie stops moving, listening to Steve, “are you going to stop ignoring me?”
Steve feels like he’s making a deal with the devil, swallowing thickly. By acknowledging Eddie he’s admitting that Eddie’s there.
This is the end of Steve’s sanity.
“Okay.”
“You screamed like a little girl when you first saw me,” Eddie says absently.
“Yeah,” Steve admits. Admitting it is easy, it’s true. It’s speaking at all that he’s reluctant about.
“Don’t seem bothered now though,” Eddie moves when Steve does. Steve’s done pissing now, stripping to get in the shower. The toilet lid drops with a sharp thud and Eddie sits on it. Eddie hasn’t been out of Steve’s eye line since he came to in the hospital; he’s had no choice but to get over being viewed naked.
Eddie has provided Steve with an unwanted but highly detailed commentary on his own body.
Apparently Eddie finds him attractive. A subject he has gone into in vile detail.
“No,” Steve passed out from exhaustion the moment Eddie allowed him some peace last night, and if this is the game he has to play to get some sleep tonight, then he will.
Steve showers, “so you’re actually not dating that Buckly girl then. I really thought you were. Didn’t clock that she was a raging dyke.”
Steve closes his eyes under the hot water, letting it batter him. It covers the sound of his deep sigh, “I’m fair game. You don’t say anything derogatory about anyone else or the deals off.”
“Okay. Okay that’s fair. I mean...I’m not that kind of guy anyway, I swear I just...you’re the only one who could hear me. And you were ignoring me. I was trying to get a rise out of you...trying to get you to...react I guess. Even for a second.”
Steve sighs, “stop trying to guilt trip me. I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“Yeah but...I don’t want you thinking I’m like, a bad guy-”
“Whatever. That’s exactly what someone in my head would say.”
“What? You don’t think I’m real?”
Steve scoffs, finally pulling the shower curtain back and climbing out to dry himself. Up until now Steve’s had to endure Eddie’s lecherous and very obvious oggling. This time, Eddie looks away. Steve's glad.
“I’m the only one who can see you, of course you’re not real. I’ve just...been hit in the head one too many times. Or...it’s trauma, or something.”
“Can you put a movie on for me? Honestly you’ve got no idea how fucking boring this is.”
“Sure,” and Steve does, and he ends up just sitting and watching it with Eddie. Steve reflexively tuts when Eddie’s boots land on the coffee table, but Eddie just grins at him.
“You’re looking better,” Robin tells him absently.
“Yeah, yeah I feel a lot better,” which is true. Steve’s had two whole nights full of sleep. Eddie is propping up the counter, flicking through leaflets for upcoming releases and two for one rental coupons.
“Come here Dingus, I was worried,” Eddie watches as they hug. They hug for a long time, “you’d tell me, right? If something was going on?”
“Sure, of course,” Steve answers reflexively. Easily.
Eddie looks up long enough to roll his eyes at Steve, “why don’t you tell her?”
Steve doesn’t answer. Eddie glares for a second but then shrugs it off when Dustin and Mike come through the doors, looking for free rentals and staff discounted snacks.
Steve can’t help but stare at Eddie, who in turn is staring, wide eyed and fascinated. He tries to touch Dustin’s shoulder, but as usual, his hand goes straight though. He looks, briefly, heartbroken.
The pain echos in Steve's own chest.
Once Steve had started ignoring Eddie, since, you know, he’s not real, Eddie had gone through a four day period of trying to punch Steve in the face. Half way through day three, Steve even managed to stop flinching.
Eddie’s already in the passenger seat, “why don’t you tell them about me?” he asks again.
Steve finds a tape, digs out some Abba, takes great pleasure in Eddie’s clear disgust. “Because you’re not real. I’m going to get myself locked up somewhere.”
“Steve,” Eddie huffs, “I’m pretty sure I’m real man. I feel real.”
“That's exactly what-”
“Oh fuck off Harrington. Why you then? Why is this happening to you?”
Steve sits in the quiet left behind by Abba. The car making quiet noises as it settles and cools. Steve stares through the glass at his own front door.
“I think I’m being punished.”
Steve moves around the kitchen, making effort to cook himself something that’s actually protein and vegetables and not just canned food and melted cheese in slightly different arrangements.
“That’s sad, you know, that you think you’re being punished. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Steve shrugs, “you’re dead.”
“Not your fault. I made my own choices.”
Steve shrugs again, “it’s not like I’m doing this on purpose.”
Eddie snorts, “you think your subconscious is punishing you with me? That’s...a hundred kinds of shitty. Also, I’m kind of offended.”
And Eddie really does look offended. Steve laughs. Really laughs. And then he’s laughing desperately because the laugh knocked the pieces loose and he feels like he’s cracking open with all of the everything that’s happened. And then he’s crying, leaning against the kitchen counter, sobbing.
Eddie’s hard to see through the snot and tears, but he’s there, hand hovering uselessly in the air, looking so, so, concerned about Steve. Steve wipes the tears away eventually. His chest feels tight, but also lighter, and he spends a minute relearning how to breathe, Eddie talking him gently through it all the while.
Everything looks a little better, after. Even Eddie’s face isn’t as dirty as Steve thinks he’s made it out to be.
Steve’s lying on the couch. Eddie’s lying on the floor.
“Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t really have one.”
“How can you not have a favorite color? Come on Harrington, Everyone has a favorite color.”
“What’s yours?”
“Like...I guess like a teal? Like a really specific green kind of blue?”
Steve hums, turning to look, “I would not have guessed that for you.”
Eddie shrugs, staring at the ceiling, “how about red? You seem like a primary colors kind of guy.”
“Are you like...calling me simple, some how?”
Eddie laughs, a short shocked braying noise, “am I insulting you though the medium of favorite color choice?” Eddie gestures vaguely, rings catching the afternoon sun, Steve noticing the shine on them for the first time.
“Feels like it,” Steve grumbles, but he’s smiling, lying back on the couch.
“I’m bored,” Eddie gets bored when Steve’s doing housework. He’s become a constant distraction away from the things Steve really should be doing, but still. This is how the laundry ends up not being folded, and they end up going for a drive to no where that results in a sunny walk along the bank of lovers lake.
“Nearly fucking shit myself jumping in that lake. Was bad enough watching fucking Patrick die.”
“Yeah that must have...must have been bad.”
Eddie skims a rock across the water, “maybe you’re right,” he says, almost absently.
“What about?” Steve finds a rock for himself, but it only skims one time before disappearing below the surface. Eddie grins at him, quick, before he goes back to finding another stone.
“Me being...a curse. I was there for Chrissy. And then Patrick-”
“Hey. Hey, no. No I don’t...I don’t think that, any more. And Patrick and Chrissy, that was awful, but it was Vecna, you just...wrong place wrong time man, don’t beat yourself up.”
Eddie sighs through his nose, “okay.”
They stand, watching the sunshine make the water all sparkly. Far off in the distance, Steve can hear some kids playing. The fun kind of shrieking and hollering.
“Nothing to be scared of now though, right?” Eddie asks.
“Nah, I don’t-”
Steve doesn’t even get to finish what he’s about to say, Eddie hollering and whooping, gravel crunching under his boots as he sprints the few yards to the waters edge. “It’s fucking freezing,” he screeches when he’s in up to his hips, but he doesn’t stop, arms splashing as he still tries to walk even the waters too deep for it.
Steve absently thinks that the water's going to fuck up the leather of his jacket.
Steve doesn’t really know what possesses him, but he chases Eddie in anyway.
Steve’s sneakers squelch horribly as he slumps up the beach, but he still doesn’t regret it. The elated look on Eddie’s face when they'd splashed each other. The joy.
Steve hadn’t played like that since he was a kid.
He can hear Eddie following him, and they flop down on the grass, side by side, an inch between them.
Steve squints at the sun, watching as Eddie holds his hands up to the warmth, bands of light shining though his fingers. They look better. As in, they’re all present and correct.
When they turn to look at each other, Eddie’s face is clean.
They both lean in at the same time, and Eddie’s mouth is warm from the sun and chilled by the water.
Tw: mentions of illness, vil seems to be on edge and frayed, reader is fem, yan themes to come, a overblot vil, mirrors used as portals, monster/non human, horror, vil and reader are married, this is set after nrc so reader didnt go back to their world. (Make sure to read the prologue part 1 continues from that!)
You had closed the door behind you and then quickly rushed down the halls to the library on the 2nd floor. You were sure that there would be records of any illnesses or causes for such a substance to be coughed up. There might be ways to cure that…
When you arrived at the library you saw that the blinds were closed causing the room to be cast in a slight shadow-the sun wasn't shining through and it made you shiver. You quickly went and opened the blinds letting the warm light seep in and onto your skin. With the warmth returned you felt a bit motivated to find the cause.
After some time-a little over an hour and a half you hadn't found anything. No mention of coughing up any black substance being part of an illness. You were placing some books back when you heard the loud echo of the library's door open, the heels clicking on the marble floor made you realize that Vil was the one who had entered.
Quickly you placed the books back and went to crouch behind the shelf, You could hear some sense of urgency and franticness in Vil's mutterings-you tried to listen and make out what he was saying but your hearing failed.
Vil walked into the area where you were and his face was contorted into one of frustration and almost madness…it worried you deeply, what exactly was he hiding from you? The sound of a book being thrown to the floor snapped you out of your thoughts and you peeked between some books.
Vil was in front of a small table with a mirror, the thing he threw was a journal-at least based on the sheets that were open. Vil had his hands in his hair breathing heavily to calm down. Then his whispers got louder until you could fully hear what he was saying.
“I won't let it take her, I will not allow it. I must get rid of him!”
You were now extremely worried over what he was talking about-for some reason his words brought you a sense of dread. You felt it again…sometimes you would feel the air drop ever so slightly and it felt suffocating….You hadn't thought much but you wondered if this was somehow related to vils…problem.
You looked back to Vil and in that split moment-due to your surprise, you let out a gasp. In the mirror behind Vil you saw someone-something that looked like Vil-but it didn't. The figure was covered in black tar and had a golden crown adorned in peacock feathers, near its eye was a violet flame that glowed. Its black sharp hands moved-closer to Vil almost as if trying to claw him. It had taken the form of Vils ugliest side…his overblot.
In that moment you lunged forward with panic and knocked Vil down to the floor. He wore a face of unbelief once he hit the ground-you lay on his chest with heavy breaths as you looked back at the mirror. There was nothing there.
“Potato…? Since when…why were you in the library?”Vil asked still in surprise
“I was…i was worried about you! I saw it! There in that mirror! And you have been coughing this thick black substance! I'm your wife so why are you hiding it? If you're ill you should tell me!” You went on a small rant-fast paced as your eyes teared up slightly be it from frustration or panic.
Vil stayed silent processing all your words before sitting up right and holding your cheek-he kissed your cheek chastly and wiped your tears.
“I'm sorry I've brought you distress Reader, Lets…convers somewhere more private and ill explain yes?” He responded while casting his eyes over the reflective surface.
His hand gently held yours as he stood up in a swift move. He held your waist while rubbing circles on your knuckles. You stared at his hand as you tried to calm yourself, were you going mad? Surely your sanity wasn't waning…
When you arrived in a small room-your flower room Vil looked around once and then sat down at the small tea table. You looked at him expectantly, Vil held your hands with a small tremble which he never did before this.
“I believe….that some entity is haunting me-us…and I've heard it's whispers and wishes, it wants to take you away for itself.” Vil looked from your eyes to your hands with worry and uncertainty.
You didn't know what made you more scared-his words or his worry.
“Vil, I believe you okay? But that…is that why you have been coughing up that tar?” You weren't sure if this was connected but surely something bad had to be tied to this.
But the questions remain. How did Vil end up being haunted by that thing? What was it? For what reason did it want you? Could it hurt you physically? One look at Vil's face and you knew he didn't know either.
“I believe so…i tried to get in contact with Malleus-i thought it was a curse but he didn't sense a drop of magic that would correlate to a curse-even Lilia didn't know.” That was concerning-Lilia had lived through many things and seen a lot of things yet he didn't understand this?
This was more than a simple curse and its weight caused both of you dread, you didn't know what it was. Determined to find a solution you and Vil decided to make a note, A book filled with things he knew and things you saw or noted.
In the first pages you both wrote nonsensical things. You wrote a recipe and he wrote acting lines, this was to hide the contents from it. The real notes started on page 5
“Vil, do you know when it started?” You asked with pen in hand.
“Yes, I believe things started to..torment me March 5th. I was being driven home after a group meeting with some modeling director.”
Nodding you jotted that down and then asked “Is there a reason why you think it was this day?”
“I believe it was this day because one of my co-stars saw an antique shop and begged us to stop by for just a moment. I remember seeing some eye-catching things so I decided to accompany them along with our manager. In the shop there were sections-the one that drew me in particular was the jewelry section, there were lockets and other accessories.”
“Did you buy any or bring them home?” you inquired
“Yes but it's not the jewelry that I believe is the problem.” Vil let out a hasty breath and looked to his lap.
“While i was looking through the things i got a call from you-it was a video call”he said
“Oh! It was the shop..” You suddenly felt guilty, yet you didn't understand why.
After a nod he talked a bit more seriously “I answered while looking through the things and you were talking to me about your client-I had placed the phone on a shelf pointing at me but from the corner of my eye i saw through a mirror that someone was looking in the direction of the phone-at you. That unsettled me and I turned to tell the person it was rude but there wasn't anyone there. I looked back to the phone and the mirror and I saw a shadow-like hand trace your face.”
Hearing this you felt the air in the room drop and a shiver run through your body-you were unaware of such an event happening-you don't remember seeing anything unusual that time. Yet you believed every word-like it was something your gut knew.
You let out a small shaky breath and then motioned for Vil to continue.
“That had caused me more panic-after all we had our fair share of problems at NRC. What concerned me most was that it seemed to want you-it made me feel like I was in its way.” Vil's hand went to brush his hand to your cheek softly.
“And how could I let that thing have you my sweet potato?” you leaned in and put your own hand over his before placing a chaste kiss on his palm.
“I know you wouldn't Vil, and I would not choose that thing over you. I hope you know that..”
“I do, and I'm so lucky to have you dearest.”
As the two of you conversed more in the safety of the room, across the manor in Vil's own study the entity was growing more and more annoyed, it didn't know where you two had run off to and blot seemed to seep more from its being. His elegantly yet terrifying voice whispered to itself before banging on the mirror. Its noises are silent and confined to the mirror.
It knew that Vil was keeping you from him-it knew that it was convincing you with his gentle hands and kind voice. It was going to rip him to shreds for keeping one such as yourself to himself. Even in this form could he not convince you to gaze upon him with the warmth you gave the real Vil? It wanted you-your gaze and everything that made up your self.
