I keep having these moments of going “no I can’t include that ship in my rewrite it’s too self indulgent!” Like girl… I fear you’re rewriting this because you didn’t like canon I think you can tease steddie a little
i drew this back in february but i had like no followers so no one saw it and i still like it somewhat soooo…
um i will copy paste what i said under the first post as an explanation for what happened in the drawing lol (it’s a small rewrite of s4)
the reason he is Covered in blood is Bc ok so instead of eddie & dustin being the distraction" in s4 it was steve, dustin, and jonathan .. jon can play the guitar and steve just didn't want to leave the two of them. It gets to the part where the demobats r heading towards them and one makes a grab for dustin, but as it does there's a loud Honk and u look over And Steve is in a car, and the bats go after him. and he drives, but there's too many, and theyre too fast. they get him. as the bats fall to the ground (after el kills them) He stumbles out of the car and dustin comes running up ,, jon further behind him. steve kinda slides onto the ground while leaning against the car, holding his arms around his stomach or smth liek that .. dustin is in shcok, and he keeps repeating "it's okay, you're gonna be okay" thinfs like that to him while having his hands pressed against the wound. Steve smiles at him bc he knows hes not gonna b ok. and he says some sad sht i havent thought of yet but anyways. he dies. dustin starts to shake him and yell at him to wake up . jonathan (who idfk where he was this whole time (maybe pushed thru the gate? dont ask LOL)) tries to reach for dustin bc they need to go , but dustin starts sobbing and grabs onto steves body, leaning over him (And getting his blood all over him.) he is eventually dragged away by jonathan and they get back thru the gate. Yep. okay.
As per usual thank you to @hbyrde36 for betaing and @artbean for giving me the best idea everrrrr I love this chapter so much
Back in Black
Ride the Lightning
A few originals? Maybe the new one Jeff is writing?
Back in Black
Ride the Lightning Run to the Hills
A few originals? Maybe the new one Jeff is writing?
Back in Black Start with the originals
Ride the Lightning Run to the Hills Back in Black
A few originals? Maybe the new one Jeff is writing? Crazy
Eddie growled in disgust, burying one hand in his hair and pulling as he savagely dragged his pen over the complete failure of a set list, hiding his frustrations under a thick layer of dark black ink. When that wasn’t enough to satisfy the angry beast in his chest, he ripped the page out of his notebook entirely, balling it up and throwing it across the clearing, leaving behind a jagged ripped up strip of paper that stuck out, awkward and grating on his nerves.
The second the paper hit the ground Eddie felt the anger begin to leak out of him, leaving behind a hollow place at the bottom of his stomach, and the beginnings of a headache behind his eyes.
Wayne had once told him that his anger was like a summer squall- it started as just a few drops, picked up in intensity until it was everywhere, whirled around like a tornado for a few moments, and then disappeared just as quickly as it had come.
His uncle had said it like a good thing, as if Eddie’s inability to hold onto anger said something about him. What it said, Eddie wasn’t exactly sure, all he knew was right now he kind of wished he could stay angry for just a little while longer.
With a short quiet sigh, Eddie hauled himself up, walking to the other side of the clearing and grabbing the crumpled up paper, tossing it idly to himself as he walked back towards the picnic table, his mind fuzzy and distracted as he thought about everything that had happened today to cause this little meltdown.
It wasn’t like today was the worst day he had ever gone through, but it was still pretty frickin bad. The transmission on his van was starting to go out for like the fiftieth time this month alone, stupid Mrs. Clickity-Clack had accused him of cheating just because he wrote a good essay, and the cafeteria had served up Tuna Surprise for lunch. All things that would sour his mood on their own, but the worst thing had happened just as the final bell rang.
On the extremely short walk from their lockers to the parking lot, some freshman basketball idiots who weren’t aware of the rules decided to try and cause problems for Gareth. As a rule the jocks knew to stay all bark and no bite when it came to Hellfire, or they would have to drive all the way to Plainfield to buy their weed, but apparently Carver and his cronies hadn’t initiated these two dumbasses yet. Eddie had been forced to step in just as the principal walked by and of course Higgins took their side.
Of course.
After a lengthy and frankly ridiculous speech about Eddie needing to apply himself, Higgins had sighed and handed over a detention slip. All of that would have been just another Tuesday, but the underhanded comment he had made as Eddie stormed out of his office was the thing that had really twisted the knife.
It’s pointless to try and get you to be a normal boy, Mr. Munson. No matter what I do, you’ll always be your father’s son.
“My father’s son,” Eddie scoffed, bitterness flooding his mouth and pouring from every pore, “Better Al Munson, than Charlie Higgins. As if I’d want to end up like that pompous, arrogant, small minded prick.”
A vicious delight spread through his body and Eddie chuckled to himself, taking a big step to stand on top of one of the benches, straightening himself up and turning his nose high in the air.
“Edward Munson, you simply must learn to apply yourself,” He said in an over the top British accent, staring down his nose at the invisible Eddie below, “I, Principal Charles Higgins, have told you time and time again that these… asinine hobbies of yours are only going to lead you astray. Be more normal! How else will you learn to be a perfect cog in the machine?”
“But- but- but- Mr. Higgins!” Eddie stammered out, jumping down and falling to one knee, clasping his hands and staring up into the trees, “I just want to play a game with my friends and sing in a band? What’s so wrong with that?”
Nothing. The answer was nothing. There was nothing wrong with who Eddie wanted to be, and that person sure as hell was not his father.
“Fuck that,” Eddie ground out, taking a running leap to the top of the picnic table and staring out in the trees, “You think you’re the first person to try and change me?! HA! Fuck Normal!”
The forest, as always, did not answer him back. Eddie was alone, nothing but the wind through the leaves and an aching longing to be understood gnawing away at his heart.
Alone.
Where the hell was Byers?!
Eddie was used to having to wait, because while he didn’t really care that everyone saw him stroll into the woods behind the football field every day to do deals, his clientele usually wanted a little more subtlety. But the longest it had ever taken someone to walk into the clearing was twenty minutes, and it had been at least a half hour.
He turned to face the direction of the school watching and waiting as if he would magically hear the sound of footsteps crashing through the woods in his direction.
Birds. Wind. Nothing to indicate a loner senior was slinking up to make a deal.
“Maybe he got detention,” He said to himself, the excuses coming out frail and thin as he plopped down in his seat again, fiddling with the handle of his lunch box of goodies, “Or his siblings needed something and he had to take care of that, or he picked up an extra shift or he just forgot.”
Or maybe…
Or maybe Jonathan actually wasn’t coming at all.
Eddie’s expression soured and his mouth thinned to a tight line as the thought began to take root and bloom into poisonous red flowers.
That had to be it. Harrington had been jerking his chain, coming up with some big story to get Eddie sitting out here on his ass for no good reason. His numbskull friends were probably keying his van right now, slashing the tires up, having a real good laugh at the freak.
And he really only had himself to blame. He knew that Harrington was no good, and he had let those kids make him think differently. Well, this is what happened. This is what he got for thinking people could change.
“Stupid jackass with his stupid hair and his stupid kids,” Eddie muttered in disgust, slamming the lid of his lunchbox closed and locking it with an equally harsh movement, “Gonna key his Beemer, slash his stupid perfect tires and wipe that stupid smug look off his stupid-”
“Are you okay?”
Eddie screamed.
Not a manly shocked yell or a little shout. He full on girl-in-a-horror-movie-about-to-get-eaten-by-a-werewolf shrieked. Jonathan let out his own scream, taking a few steps back and putting his hands out in front of him, staring at Eddie with wide eyes.
After a beat of silence Eddie broke out into giggles, leaning against the picnic table as he tried to pull himself back together.
“Guess I scared you?” Jonathan asked, his shoulders relaxing as a tiny smile graced his lips.
“Yeah, sorry,” Eddie said, still laughing. It was just too ridiculous. Him, Eddie Munson, getting scared by Byers of all people.
“And I thought I was the one who was gonna be nervous,” Jonathan replied, jamming his hands into his pockets and hiking his shoulders up. A classic awkward Jonathan Byers move that settled out any last bad feelings Eddie was having.
He didn’t know Jonathan, not beyond sharing a few classes and the occasional stint in detention, but Will and Jane had become some of his favorite people in a short time, and they had given Eddie enough descriptions that he had a pretty good idea of who Jonathan was.
“No need to fret,” Eddie said, making a wide sweeping arc with one arm towards the picnic table, “Step into my office, taste my wares,”
Jonathan crept closer, each step taking much longer than it should have. It was like watching a stray dog walk towards a treat- hungry, but still unsure if the hand was going to feed or hurt.
“Thanks for this,” Jonathan said absentmindedly, looking around the clearing with his shoulders still tight around his ears.
“No need to thank me, this is a business transaction,” Eddie shot back, opening his lunchbox back up and getting into Professional Drug Dealer Mode.
Doing deals was part sales, part psychology. It was easier to get the job done if he made himself what the other person needed him to be. Some people wanted a buddy, someone to joke around with as they purchased their pills, others wanted not a word between them, the shame of needing an illegal substance to get through the day was too much to bear.
Eddie would bet that Jonathan, like most first-timers, would be easiest to work with if Eddie gave him the basic rundown of how this worked.
“Cash only, no receipts. You give me what I need, I give you what you need,” Eddie rattled off as Jonathan sat, pointing first at himself, and then at Byers and then smiling wide, “Everyone walks away happy.”
“It’s thirty, right?” Jonathan asked, pulling out his wallet.
“Fifteen,” Eddie corrected. Byers paused, raising a brow, and Eddie snorted, continuing to snicker as he explained.
“I charge Harrington asshole tax which usually means it’s thirty for a half ounce, and it’s twenty for everyone else,”
Eddie watched with a smirk as Jonathan mouthed the words ‘asshole tax’ to himself while shaking his head. He pulled a twenty out, handing it over and taking the five Eddie gave him in exchange.
“So why are you charging me fifteen?” Jonathan asked, obviously suspicious. It was almost cute, how hesitant he was. Eddie was instantly reminded of how Will had acted the first time they met. Another stray, but this one a puppy. On guard, but somehow willing to hear him out. He must’ve learned that from his brother.
“Cause you get the friends and family discount, Elder Byers. Besides, given how much weed Steve was buying from me I have a feeling you are going to become my number one customer soon,” Eddie said with jazz hands, holding out the baggie with a flourish.
This was where they ended. Jonathan would take his bag and go, Eddie would pack up, and they would part ways. They would not make eye contact in the hallways, and that suited Eddie just fine. It wasn’t like drug dealing was his ultimate career goal or anything. He did it to keep the lights in the trailer on and keep his uncle from working himself to an early grave, and he didn’t need to act like he was some big wheeler dealer that ran Hawkins.
Did he know pretty much everyone’s dirty secrets? Yeah, but that was just because Rick was back in prison and that meant Eddie was the only person in town you could get cocaine from. He didn’t have any power beyond charging some people more than others for their dickish tendencies. He played his part when he had to, and this was a moment where he had to.
Only…Jonathan was not playing his predestined role.
“What is that?” Jonathan asked, tilting his head ever so slightly as he stared at the full baggie with wide eyes.
“MJ?” Eddie said slowly, wondering if it was a hypothetical. Rather than lighting up in recognition, Jonathan’s brow furrowed even further, turning his eyes from the bag to Eddie.
“Mary Jane? Also known as grass, skunk, pot, dope, reefer, herb, and its Christian name of Cannabis Sativa.” Eddie continued, lowering his voice to a whisper and extending the baggie again, hoping that a little dramatic flair might get Byers to stop acting so damn weird.
Jonathan only looked even more hopelessly lost, and now Eddie was starting to get uncomfortable. It made absolutely zero sense for Jonathan to be acting so weird, and Eddie was only just now starting to remember that Jonathan’s mom had been doing some weird will they/won't they with Hopper for the last few years.
Was this some sort of ploy? Was Jonathan wearing a wire or some shit? Powell had tried to come around to put a stop to Eddie’s ‘business’. Eddie had sent him off with a laugh, seeing as half of Powell’s department were some of his top regulars, but the guy seemed desperate to prove that he could be just as good of a chief as Hop was.
Maybe he had somehow gotten Harrington and Byers to work with him to get Eddie arrested?
No. That made no sense. Eddie was being paranoid. Jonathan was just acting completely out of it for some normal reason that he couldn’t fathom.
Yeah. Because that made more sense.
Every instinct in Eddie was telling him to run, take his lunch box and book it and never even think about going near any of the Byers again.
But…
But he knew Will and he knew Jane, and he couldn’t ever see the big brother they described pulling a move like this. Threatening Eddie to stay away from his little siblings, sure, but not a snake move like trying to get him thrown in jail.
“It’s weed, Byers. Supposedly you’ve been smoking a shit ton of it since August.” Eddie said, taking the leap and hoping that he wasn’t about to get the silver bracelets slapped on his wrists.
“Oh! Um, Steve just always gives me cigarettes,” Jonathan mumbled, blushing and looking down at the picnic table.
Not a sting then. Just a delightfully naive Jonathan Byers.
“Did you just call a joint a cigarette?” Eddie asked, biting the inside of his lip as the nerves washed away. The mirth that Eddie couldn’t completely hide in his tone only made Jonathan shrink even more, so Eddie forced himself to sober up.
A guy like Jonathan would not take being laughed at well. Eddie was sure of that much.
“I don’t do pre-rolls, sorry. But for an extra fiver, I’ll give you rolling papers or a shitty bong I have in the back of my car,” Eddie offered, having to keep from laughing as he thought about Jonathan trying to figure out how to use a bong on his own. Given how clueless he seemed to be, there was a very likely chance that Jonathan would end up burning himself more than the weed.
“Maybe we should just forget it then,” Jonathan murmured, already sliding his body back away from Eddie and the weed.
Normally, Eddie wouldn’t care. Baggie back in the lunchbox, whatever, see you next tuesday. He wasn’t a charity, and this wasn’t a favor between friends. He was a businessman first and foremost.
But Steve’s words were echoing in his mind, combining with Jonathan’s kicked puppy dog demeanor to form a deadly weapon against Eddie’s far too vulnerable emotions.
“Curse my bleeding heart.” Eddie groaned, unsure of when he had become such a softie, “Fine, I’ll show you how to roll, but I’m taking that extra five for doing this for you,”
Jonathan sighed in relief, immediately handing back Eddie’s five dollars and giving him a soft grateful smile that almost made the extra work worth the trouble. An unexpected stab shot through Eddie’s chest because of that little smile, and he pushed it down far where it couldn’t bother him, rooting around in his box for the things he needed and making himself look more busy than he was.
“You better be watching closely, Byers, I’m not doing this for you next time,” Eddie warned, wagging a finger at Jonathan as he pulled out the supplies he would need. Luckily for the other boy, Eddie always carried rolling papers on him.
Truthfully, Eddie didn’t mind rolling joints. He didn’t want to become a housewife to the idiots on the basketball team who couldn’t be bothered to do their own dirty work, but that wasn’t what was happening here. Besides, rolling a joint had a meditative joy to it in some ways. Like painting a mini-figure or designing a tattoo, there was a calm delight in the act of creating something small but special.
“Am I allowed to thank you for this?” Jonathan asked with his normal amount of dry wit.
“Well, flattery works on me so yeah, you can thank me,” Eddie replied, looking up briefly from the paper he was lying flat and wagging his eyebrows before getting back to the task at hand, “And you can answer my questions.”
“I thought I was paying you an extra five dollars,” Jonathan countered, sitting back and crossing his arms.
“Five dollars,” Eddie agreed, placing the filter and crumbling the dried flower between his thumb and forefinger oh so carefully, ensuring that the line of marijuana was perfectly equal all across the paper, “And answers. I get paid in knowledge first, dear Elder Byers.”
“What exactly do you want to know?” Jonathan asked, his expression carefully blank.
“When did Harrington introduce you to our dear Aunt Mary?” Eddie asked, holding up the bag just so he didn’t confuse Jonathan again.
“Oh Steve didn’t- I mean I knew he knew you so I asked him to buy for me, but he’s not like my- we’re not-” Jonathan stammered, his ears turning red as he tried to flounder for an explanation.
“Easy Byers. I didn’t think you turned our precious little King queer,” Eddie laughed, carefully tucking one side of the papers underneath the line.
That was the way Rick had taught him many many years ago. Filter, flower, tuck it into bed, and then you roll. Apparently it was just like swaddling a baby.
“You know you can just call me Jonathan, right?” Byers pointed out, still fiddling with his fingers.
“Alright then, Jonathan,” Eddie agreed, slowly saying the other boy’s name, letting the word acquaint itself with his mouth and feeling it out. It felt good, at least it felt more right than his last name. “I guess I’m just a little confused as to why you and Harrington are suddenly best buddies. Last I heard that little girlfriend of yours skipped straight from his arms to yours.”
Wrong thing to mention. It was like Eddie could feel the misstep, almost able to hear the broken twig that had alerted his prey to his presence, and now they were both on alert.
“That was complicated,” Jonathan immediately snapped before blowing all of his breath out in one big gust, placing his palms flat on the picnic table and letting his eyes slip shut, “But Nancy and I broke up anyways so…”
Jonathan and Nancy had broken up a little less than a month ago. They had done their best to have a very low-key break up, not even telling their siblings at the start, all in an effort to make sure that it didn’t become gossip for everyone to chew on.
So naturally the entire school knew by the end of that first week.
“Oh wow I uh I didn’t-” Eddie tried, cutting his little charade off when Jonathan shot him a look and readjusting his approach.
“I knew. Like five different people told me,” Eddie admitted, licking the stripe of the glue and sealing the first joint, setting it aside before he realized Jonathan was still staring at him. “Sorry, by the way. I bet that wasn’t easy?”
“It’s fine. We’re better off as friends,” Jonathan shrugged, acting far too casual for a guy who had just broken up with a girl that he had been dating for over a year. A girl that, by all accounts, he had very much loved.
A girl he still spent all of his time with.
“What happened?”
“We just weren’t right for each other,” Jonathan answered, obviously toeing the party line.
That was the reason Eddie had heard over and over from Will and Mike and Jane- that they just weren’t right for each other. There was a mountain of rumors that had cropped up from the Hawkins High Gossip Mongers, of course. People who thought she had left him to go back to Steve, some who assumed Nancy had cheated again with someone new, one person was convinced it was because the college she wanted to attend didn’t allow boyfriends, even a few wild loonies who thought that they had had ended it because of an unplanned pregnancy.
But, rather than offer up any of those rumors as explanations, Eddie hummed and waited, watching Jonathan and wondering how long it would take him to break.
Not very long it turned out.
“She doesn’t have to worry about anything, you know?” Jonathan said after only half a minute of patient waiting.
Bingo.
Eddie hummed again, readying the next joint as Jonathan slid out of his seat to pace around the clearing and rant.
“Everything always works out exactly like she wants it to. Everything! She doesn’t have to think about the things I think about. She doesn’t have to worry about the bills, or her brother, or anything except for what she wants. And anytime I reminded her that I have to worry about more than myself, she acted like I wanted her to feel sorry for me, when that was never what I wanted. Ever.”
Whatever Eddie had expected, it certainly wasn’t that. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard Jonathan talk so much in one sitting, but he wasn’t going to interrupt the other boy. It was obvious that Jonathan hadn’t really talked to anyone about this yet, and he definitely needed to get it off of his chest.
Eddie was being given something precious here, and even though he didn’t really understand why, he wasn’t going to ruin it.
“And when she finally ended it, it was just this huge…relief. Like I could finally stop pretending to be something I wasn’t.” Jonathan concluded, his shoulders loosening as he tipped his head back towards the treetops for a second before turning towards Eddie, a challenge in his eyes.
“That’s a lot,” Eddie said, immediately wincing at how dumb that statement was, “I mean… maybe you could use some extra space from her?”
“Extra space?” Jonathan asked, walking back towards the table.
“Come sit with us at lunch instead of eating with her in the- um- newspaper dungeon,” Eddie blurted out, the offer escaping his mouth before he had even really thought about it. Once he had said it though, it didn’t sound like a bad idea, “I mean, your brother and his friends already do and-”
“No thanks,” Jonathan said, immediately cutting Eddie off as he sat back down.
He wanted to pretend it didn’t, but it hurt.
Eddie was very very used to rejection, but it always cut him down to the quick anyway. He knew how the world saw him. Trailer park trash, metal head, satanist, drug dealing, Eddie Munson. He wasn’t a person to them, not really. They didn’t care about trying to figure out who he was beyond what they expected.
Eddie had stupidly assumed Jonathan to be different. After that entire speech, he had thought Jonathan could understand.
“I just want to let Will have his own thing, you know?” Jonathan said, cutting Eddie’s thoughts right in half.
Oh.
This was about Will?
“He’s- it’s hard for him. With everything that happened, everyone has this idea of who he is too, and it’s been good for him to have Hellfire,” Jonathan continued, completely unaware of the circles Eddie’s head was spinning in, “You’ve been good for him.”
Eddie had been called a lot of things in his life, but the last person that had told him he was good was his mother. Even Wayne, for all the ways he built Eddie up, had never thought to call him good.
“And his friends are great- they’re amazing, actually- but it’s been really nice for him to have something…” Jonathan’s eyes darted around as he trailed off, looking for the right word. Then he stopped, laughing quietly and shaking his head.
“What?” Eddie asked, unable to keep himself from catching Jonathan’s smile.
“Normal,” Jonathan said, still chuckling, “You guys give him something normal.”
Normal?!
Eddie scoffed in disbelief, following Jonathan as they both laughed about the ridiculousness of Eddie being normal.
“I’m sorry. I really couldn’t think of a better word,” Jonathan tried to say when he finally put himself back together, “I know you have a uh- thing- about that one.”
Eddie’s cheeks immediately lit on fire as he took in the connotation of Jonathan’s words.
“Before when I was…did you…” Eddie asked, unable to say the words and hoping he was wrong. Unfortunately for him, Jonathan was already nodding, having the decency to at least look slightly contrite as he watched Eddie die of embarrassment.
“Yeah. The whole thing.” He admitted. Eddie let out a deranged sound, covering his face with his hands and tipping to the side, curling up on the bench and grumbling to himself in completely unintelligible words.
How fucking humiliating.
Eddie was the guy who gave huge speeches about conformity on the regular, jumping up on tables and making a spectacle of himself, but that was when he knew people were watching. He knew he was putting on a show, and that was fine. Having his own internal crisis shown off when he wasn’t expecting it was completely different, especially when it was to someone who didn’t know him all that well.
“Hey I get it. I mean, Higgins can be a total asshole,” Jonathan offered, trying to pull Eddie out of his shame spiral.
“Preachin’ to the choir,” Eddie muttered, hauling himself back up to a sitting position and avoiding making eye contact.
He would just finish rolling out this second joint and send Jonathan packing, regardless of the fact that he had barely used a quarter of the bag. The last thing he needed was someone mocking him for what he said when he thought he was alone.
“You’re right, though,” Jonathan said out of the blue, startling Eddie into raising his head, “You shouldn’t change. You’re fine the way you are,”
Huh.
“You think so?” Eddie asked softly, shocking himself with how genuine that question came out. He had never really considered himself a self conscious person, there was no way a boy like him would have survived in a place like Hawkins if he was, but the fleshy vulnerable parts of his heart had already been hurt today, and hearing someone else think he was just fine the way he was…
It was doing things Eddie hadn’t expected he would ever need.
“Yeah, I mean you’re not the same as everyone else, but everyone else sucks.” Jonathan shrugged, waving a hand back towards where the school was, “I mean you took Will and the guys in. And El too- oh shit. Jane, I mean. She says you guys are really nice to her and explain stuff, which I really appreciate. She’s…”
Jonathan didn’t say it, but Eddie already knew well enough what he was referring to.
“I know that our little mage is dealing with some hostility from her peers,” Eddie said, placing the second joint next to the first and grabbing another paper.
Eddie had no idea where Jane had come from, but it was obvious from even a minute long conversation that she was different. Sweet, so so sweet, but different in a way that would make high school almost an impossible task to accomplish. The boys flanked her like a protective detail, and her best friend was a firecracker that even Eddie wouldn’t want to cross, but they could only do so much.
“She’s been through worse,” Jonathan said vaguely, his brow furrowing as he thought about it, “I just wish it was easier for her, but she has Max and the rest of them so,”
“And Hellfire,” Eddie added. Jonathan looked up at him with a far too grateful smile.
“And Hellfire,” Jonathan repeated.
“So, I’m not the mean, scary, drug dealing, satanist you thought I’d be?” Eddie asked, wetting his lips before he sealed the third joint closed. The question had been mostly a joke, but Jonathan shook his head anyway.
“Not even a little bit.”
“That’s disappointing. I was kind of looking forward to scaring local creep, Jonathan Byers,” Eddie said, heaving a huge dramatic sigh, putting his elbows on the picnic table and plopping his face into his hands. Jonathan copied the motion, linking his fingers and resting his chin on top of them.
“I’ve gotta tell ya it’s a little hard to be scared of the guy that slipped on spaghetti sauce and wiped out in the middle of his latest speech on conformity and The Man,” Jonathan said, leaning forward and whispering the words in a way that sent an unexpected shiver down Eddie’s spine.
“Oh, fuck you,” Eddie laughed, leaning back and breaking the moment, a blush returning as he threw the baggie back in his lunchbox and shut it, holding out the twenty and the joints out to Jonathan, “Here, take your spoils and leave, weary traveler. My shop is closed.”
“But-”
“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie said, flapping one hand as he pressed the money and drugs into Jonathan’s hand, his heart humming in his chest in an unfamiliar way, “I only gave you three joints anyway, and you’ll be back on Friday anyway, right?”
Jonathan looked between the money and Eddie with suspicion for a moment, before it faded, leaving behind only a slight smile and something in his eyes that Eddie couldn’t quite identify.
“Friday it is,” Jonathan agreed, his voice going soft and warm as he held Eddie’s gaze for a moment longer before turning and getting up, disappearing just as silently as he had come, completely unaware of how he had just rocked Eddie’s world.
Eddie packed up without another word, escaping the clearing the second he could and rushing back to his van. He managed to get all the way through turning it on and driving out of the parking lot of the school before he realized that the five in his lunchbox was his own money, and he had just broken the cardinal rule of drug dealing.
so i’ve been working on this for a while and i’m not really sure what to do with it, so i’m putting it on here. i apologize for the lack of capitalization. hope someone enjoys this !!
-
mike is aware of will crying beside him in the van. he can see the reflection of tears in the window, hear the swallowed sobs, feel the seat quivering. but he’s frozen, without an idea of what to do. he’s almost mad at will, for doing this to him, for making him do something. but not as mad as he is at himself. besides, he could never be mad at will. not really. because it’s will. so mike takes a shaky breath, slowly reaches his hand out, and ever-so-gently places it on will’s shoulder. will immediately tenses and turns his head, eyes wide. please, mike thinks, not even sure what he’s begging for. please don’t make this difficult.
“hey,” mike starts, softer than before. “everything’s okay.” he doesn’t know where to begin, or how. they both know everything isn’t okay, but what else is there to say?
will only stares at him, seemingly unsure of what to do. mike almost regrets his decision. there’s nothing else he can say. not here, not now. he hates this, this feeling. he wishes he could continue ignoring it. he’s practically trembling. “everything’s okay,” he helplessly repeats. “i’m here.” will nods.
mike knows Jonathan has been eyeing them through the rearview mirror. he knows he’s the only noise in the van.
mike pulls his hand from will’s shoulder, but hesitates. all he wants is for will to stop being upset. will. that and to shove all his feelings down, to forget everything he feels. but he can only do one of the two, so he brings his raised hand to will’s and gingerly interlocks the two. will. he rapidly glances between their hands on the car seat and mike’s face, then he swallows. will.
in time, both boys turn back to their respective windows, the rest of the ride passing in silence. neither boy moves his hand.
…
*post-pizza dough freezer scene (mike, will, and max help el without the cursed ily monologue)*
…
things in hawkins are worse than usual. both in terms of the town itself, and it’s inhabitants. mike has been distracting himself with volunteering and such, but his mind wanders…
as the byers’ house was destroyed in what the town believed to be an earthquake, Joyce is staying at hopper’s and her sons at the wheeler’s, Jonathan with nancy and will with mike. so will has been sleeping on mikes floor for a week and some. mike keeps meaning to let will share the bed, but he can’t bring himself to ask. he should be used to sleepovers with will by now, they had countless as kids. he shouldn’t feel like this every night. like he’s holding back. he can hardly stand to be alone with will anymore.
mike has been spending time with el, despite their being broken up. el shocked everyone when she told mike they were better off as friends, and mike stunned everyone when he wholeheartedly agreed. he hasn’t yet explained why he’s so okay with it, how he isn’t more bothered by his first-ever girlfriend breaking up with him. he just keeps himself busy.
…
tonight will comes into mikes room late, tiptoeing so as not to wake the seemingly sleeping boy in the bed.
as will shifts in his sleeping bag, attempting to get comfortable, mike’s voice breaks the quiet. “are you up?”
“yeah, i’m up,” will whispers into the darkness.
silence. “mike?”
“yeah,” mike speaks up again, his voice barely there. he wonders if here is the best place to be doing this, but it’s probably the only time he’ll get the guts to. it’s easier to talk to will when i can’t see him. i can’t say anything to that face. he tries not to dwell on it. he can’t go back now. “i’m here. i’m…” a pause. a sigh. “i just- i wanted to say, i’m sorry. for the past week. and past year. past couple of years, really. i’ve been so… distant, and quiet, and you don’t deserve that, and…” his voice grows faint. jesus, i’m the worst.
will is noiseless, but his heavy breaths give him away as awake and attentive.
mike continues, “it’s really all my fault. everything has been…. a lot, lately, and i haven’t handled it the best way. so. i'm sorry.” a deep breath. i’m rambling. “will? say something?” he murmurs.
“uh, i don’t,” will starts. “i don’t know what to say, mike.” he swallows. “thanks, for that. um, it’s okay, you know, i- i forgive you. i can obviously… understand, being overwhelmed, with everything that’s been going on.”
mike turns in his bed, leaning near the edge to see will in the unlit room. mike can roughly make out the outline of the other boy’s face, a hand rested over his forehead. will rubs his eyes, then runs the hand through his hair. he turns his head to find mike watching him from the bed. they lock eyes, straining to see through the dark. “goodnight, mike,” will utters, sounding beyond tired.
“goodnight.” mike turns the other way, unsatisfied with his attempted apology, unable to sleep peacefully.
…
the next days pass quickly and routinely for mike. volunteer, work on hopper’s cabin, avoid spending time with will, lay awake at night, repeat.
after a few days come and go like this, mike enters his room to find el on the bed. “hi el! what’re you…” he starts, but trails off when he sees her admiring the painting on his wall. he hung up the picture will painted as soon as they got home. he likes being able to look at it whenever he needs to. inspecting it now, he realizes it’s slightly crooked. it must’ve slipped.
“i just want to say hello,” el replies, peeling her eyes from the wall to mike, who was rummaging through his desk drawers. “hello,” she smiles at mike.
“hello,” he smiles back, having reemerged with thumbtacks, but his eyes stay focused on the painting. he stands on the bed, adjusting the paper and reinserting thumbtacks.
“hey, i never got to thank you for this painting,” mike had been meaning to bring it up, but the time has never been right. plus el never mentioned it. “it meant a lot to me- i mean, it still means a lot, it actually gave me the strength to help you get free from vecna, with what little help i gave, and it’s just so perfect, even though it was super romantic, and- and i’m rambling, i’m sorry.” el is silent. “what i mean to say is i love it a lot, so, thank you.” mike turns to el, having successfully fixed the painting’s placement. she squints at him.
“i did not make that painting.” el’s confusion is palpable in her tone. her eyes dart from mike to the picture and back.
“oh, well, yeah, i know you didn’t make it,” mike trips over his words. “just, like, commissioned it and stuff.” mike, embarrassed, suddenly feels as if he’s done something wrong.
“what does… ‘commissioned’ mean?” el shows no signs of aid for him.
“you know, to ask to have a painting made or something, like how you asked will for this for me…” mike watches el’s face for sign of recollection. she gives none, so mike trudges on, “it’s okay, will told me, uh, about how you told him what to paint and, and, he gave it to me and told me how you felt and how…” his rant dwindles. is this some joke? how could she not know what she said?
el tilts her head at mike. “i did not do any of that,” she admits. “will never even let me see the paining when he was working on it.” so this painting is the one from el’s letter, the one will made for- mike sits down on the bed beside el, not looking up from his hands. the silence stretches.
“i will go now, mike,” el stands and walks to the door, then looks back. “but i think you should talk to will,” she tells him before closing the door behind her.
mike doesn’t move for a while. he knows he needs to speak with will. he wants to. he just needs a minute to catch his breath. he needs to think about…. everything. he can’t think about anything. if el didn’t think of, ask for, even know the contents of the painting, that means will lied. how much of what he said was a lie? what did he mean? does that mean… no. stop. he couldn’t let himself imagine. dream. hope. don’t.
he’s sure he’s just overthinking the whole situation. this doesn’t mean anything. will just exaggerated, or slipped up, or made up the whole thing to give me the push i needed to save el, my girlfriend, his sister for god’s sake. this was about el, for el, not me. yeah. i’m just overthinking. snap out of it, mike.
as he finally lifts himself off the bed, the door swings back open. “oh, hey,” will greets and walks past a frozen-in-place mike. “i was just grabbing the paintbrushes.” will explains. mike’s heart skips a beat at “paintbrushes”. i should really say something. say something. come on. will turns to mike, having retrieved a couple large paintbrushes left on mike’s floor, and sees what he takes as a look of confusion. “for hop’s cabin…” will raises his eyebrows. “mike, are you okay?”
mike squeezes his eyes shut and open. “yeah, yeah, i’m fine.” i can’t. not now. he clears his throat. “i should help out with the cabin, just, um, give me a few minutes to.. get ready, and i’ll come down and meet you guys there.” he can still see the concern on wills face, but mike shoos him out before he asks any more questions.
that wasn’t what you were supposed to do. mike grabs his already packed bag. why can’t you just talk to him? he tugs his sneakers on and works on the laces. it shouldn’t be this hard. stop making this so hard. he slips out of the door and makes his way to the cabin.
will is busy at work on the wall paint when mike arrives, so he’s easy to evade. mike hates that he’s actively avoiding will, but he can’t bring himself to do anything just yet. his head is a mess. he tries to block it all out with the work. he’s successful until it’s too late to work and his mom makes him turn in for the night, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
mike enters his room to a wordless will curled up in the sleeping bag on the floor. mike can’t take it anymore. “hey,” his voice is low. will turns.
“hey,” comes his reply. a beat. then, “do we only talk in the late hours of the night now?” will’s whispered question takes mike by surprise. it was true, but he had hoped will wouldn’t take notice.
“yeah, i guess so,” mike tries to laugh it off. “sorry about that.” he adds sheepishly. please don’t read too much into it.
“so, uh,” mike continues, “you- well, i was thinking… you really should use the bed.” he tries to ignore will’s widened eyes in the dark.
“mike-“
“will. it’s a big bed, and it’s so unfair and dumb for you to sleep on the floor right next to it. plus, we’ve shared beds tons of times as kids. it’ll be fine.” mikes words are as much for himself as they are for will. it’ll be fine, he repeats. you’ll be fine. just don’t get too close.
will deliberates for a moment, looking between his current sleeping bag and pillow on the floor and mike’s warm, comfortable bed. he slowly sighs, steps out of the sleeping bag, and grabs his pillow. he eyes the bed again. “so..”
mike pulls his comforter back and makes space for will, who meticulously slips into the bed, his back to mike. “this is much better than the floor,” will admits. “thank you.”
mike is hit with a wave of guilt for not doing this much sooner. he never should have let will sleep on the floor. you were being selfish. “yeah, um- of course.” he pushes the thoughts out of his brain. “goodnight.”
“mm,” will mutters in response.
mike is careful to keep his distance from the boy’s body next to him. he doesn’t sleep for a long time, plagued with continual thoughts of beds and paintings and road-trips in vans and girlfriends and california and best friends. when he finally passes out, he hasn’t moved positions.
…
most mornings mike slips out of his room before will wakes up. will has always been a heavy sleeper, making this an easy task.
as mike awakes this particular morning, he’s greeted with will’s sleeping face approximately 3 inches from his own and his arm thrown over mike’s body.
mike scrambles to separate himself from will without waking him. mike pushes his body against the corner of the bed, opposite of will, oblivious to mikes panicked state.
something keeps mike from leaving bed this morning. for one, leaving would mean climbing over will’s body, something mike is not up for attempting. secondly, they really do need to talk. he can’t keep putting it off forever.
afraid of what might happen if he slept again, mike doesn’t let his eyes shut. left without many other options, he lays on his pillow, gazing at will.
he doesn’t often allow himself simply look at will. it hurts too much. but will just looks so soft in the mornings. now, he lets his eyes trace along will’s long eyelashes, the curve of his nose, the dip between his nose and lips, the fullness of his parted li- no. stop. mike presses his eyes shut. he is in your bed right now. this isn’t fair to him. stop it mike.
he turns to face the wall, silently cursing himself for letting his guard down. he said he wouldn’t let himself do this again. he can’t. he couldn’t do that to will. all mike could do was wait for him to wake up.
after what feels like hours to mike, which he spent noiselessly tossing and turning, he caught will’s eyes fluttering open. mike makes sure he’s a reasonable distance from him, then waves a hand by will’s face. “took you long enough,” mike says playfully.
“mm,” will slurs, “morning.” he rubs his eyes, then looks back at mike as if he hadn’t really noticed he was there. “you’re still here.”
so he noticed that, too. mike gives half a smile.
“um, why?” will questions. “sorry, that sounded mean,” he backtracks. “i’m just not used to it.”
“yeah, well, um,” mike is at a loss. he spent so much time not thinking about this moment, he forgot to plan out this moment entirely. “so, yeah, so…” pull yourself together. “we kinda need to talk.” this gets will’s attention. both boys sit up on the edge of the bed.
“i’ve been putting it off because, well, i don’t really know what to say, or how, or-“ mike decides he most certainly has a rambling problem. “anyway. i was talking to el, and, okay, she sent me this letter before spring break, telling me all about this painting you were working on, that you wouldn’t even let her see, and so, yesterday, she’s looking at my painting, right, the one you painted, that she asked for, and i’ve been meaning to thank her, so i do, and she doesn’t know what i’m talking about, and…” mike’s speech grows stifled. “did… you lie to me? in the van, when you said el commissioned the painting, and- all those things she felt… about me, was that all… a lie?” mike finally spits out the question.
will is quiet. painfully quiet. he hasn’t met mikes eyes since the beginning of his speech. will delicately turns from mike, sitting up on the edge of the bed, staring down at his hands.
mike’s sort of out of steam, out of things to say or do. his throat feels like it’s closed up. it’s all he can do to sit up next to will and wait.
after what feels like an eternity of uncomfortable silence, will lets out a noise like a swallowed whimper. it twists mike’s heart. he just has to turn to will, look him in the eyes, take will’s hands in his own. will’s eyes continue focusing on them.
“i’m so sorry, mike,” he croaks out. “i- i didn’t know what to do. i just, i made that stupid painting, and- and… i don’t know, you needed it, and you needed it from el, so i gave that to you, and… the rest just happened! i wasn’t thinking properly. i was so worried about el, and you two needed each other, and…” will gasps for air. “i’m sorry.”
his eyes finally travel up to mike’s, who is intently staring him down, face painted with distress.
“why- why are you sorry?” mike rasps, fighting the dryness taking over his mouth. “will, don’t be sorry. please. i did need that. your painting, your words. i needed that.” mike steels himself for his next concession. it’s now or never. “i needed that… from you.” his voice is hardly a whisper. “i think, somewhere in the back of my mind, in my chest, even, i maybe wanted it to come from you. and maybe i was a little disappointed, when it didn’t.” he drops will’s hands in shame.
“well,” will lets out softly, between heavy breaths. “what- what if it did? come from me, i mean.”
mike’s breath catches, the weight of wills words hitting him slowly. does that mean will- before he can do anything, though he doesn’t have the slightest idea what he’d do, will is pulling him from the bed by the arm. “there’s something i want to show you.”
mike blindly follows will outside, only stopping to slip on their shoes. he’s not one to say no to will. the pajama clad boys ride their bikes down to hoppers cabin, where will pulls mike inside. he’s lead to the very back, to a boarded up room he assumed nobody used. he watched as will pushed back the boards with some difficulty, creating an opening just big enough for the boys to slip through, one after the other.
the space was cramped and dark. will messed with a floor lamp along the wall, causing the light to flicker on and fill the room. mike peered around it, until the wall caught his eye. it held a large pinned up piece of linen. just under it, a mess of paint tubes and brushes. mike swivels his head to will, who looks back at him with a small but genuine smile.
“come here,” will breaks the silence held since the house, stepping towards the cloth. mike follows. his eyes examine the painting before him. it’s so lovely.
“you… made this?” mike asks in awe. he can make out will nodding, though he’s unable to peel his eyes from the painting. the half-painted scene is of will and himself as kids, on a swing set, the sunset blazing behind them. the day we met…
“oh will…” he finally manages to pull his eyes from the painting to wills own. “it’s beautiful. i love it.”
this gets a bashful smile out of will. “i’ve been working on it since we got back, ever since i could get my hands on some paints again. i wasn’t going to show it to you, or anyone, but…” his voice trails off. “it, um, it isn’t finished yet, by the way.” mike nods along.
“um, in the van,” will tone drops. “i didn’t plan to lie to you. i- i just didn’t want to make things complicated, put more weight on you. but i so badly wanted to be honest. i wanted to tell you… tell you i…” will’s voice now completely disappears.
mike reaches his hand towards wills, interlocking the two. it brings him right back to the van. “i… wanted to be honest too,” mike confides. “i just didn’t know how, with argyle and jonathan right there, and everything you said about el”
“what- what would you have said?” will whispers the question.
“i would’ve told you…” mike’s voice grows quieter, but his face grows closer to will’s. “that what ‘el’ said about me feels familiar. it’s the way i feel, too. just not for her.” their faces inch closer, closer, closer. “i feel that way… for you,” the confession spills out of him. “i missed you, will. i’m lost without you, and i’m so, so scared of losing you, and i’ll always need you too, because-“
mike takes a sharp breath, his and will’s mouths mere inches apart. it’s barely audible when mike murmurs, “because i’m in love with you.” there it is.
will’s eyes widen and his expression softens all at once. mike can feel will’s breath on his lips. it’s dizzying.
“mike- i…” his gaze drops towards mike’s lips. mike takes it as a sign to do the thing he can’t seem to get off his mind.
he bridges the small gap between their lips.
will stands very still. so still, mike worries that he’s got it all wrong, that he’s made a horrible mistake, and he almost pulls away.
but then will’s eyes close and his hands travel to mike’s hair, his fingers running through and gripping it, and mike feels as if he’s melting into will, into his longing. it’s better than he could’ve ever imagined- and he’s imagined it quite a bit.
his hands rise to will’s back, his shoulders, his jaw. all the places mike has dreamed of touching, stroking, grasping, he does. he never wants his lips to leave will’s.
when they finally do, it’s only to gasp for air.
mike’s eyes flutter open to find a wide-eyed, red-faced will staring at him. the boys share a smile, private and gentle.
“mike…” will lets out, a sparkle in his eye. “i love you too.” mike has never felt such relief. he can’t believe this was happening to someone like him.
“i have, for so long, i just-“ will continues, “i never though i would get to have you.”
he gives a small gasp as mike pulls him into a hug. it’s not long before will wraps his own arms around mike.
“me too, will. me too,” mike gently whispers into wills ear. “i’m sorry it took me so long.” i’m so sorry, he wants to say, but he feels will shake his head.
“it doesn’t matter now, mike. i’m here.” though it didn’t seem possible, the hug tightens. “mike. i’m yours,” will breaths out.
What I was hoping to happen here was after Will went on his whole “El needs you” speech, Mike to look at the painting, look back at him, and then in his soft voice that he only uses with Will say, “You’re not talking about El, are you?” And then Mike puts his hand on top of Will’s hand (which is on Will’s knee) and Will is so shocked that he can’t say anything, he just shakes his head “No” in defeat, and they just stare at each other in understanding, with [tender, emotional music playing] .
There. That’s how it should’ve gone. I’m taking the Suffer Sister’s place.
Welcome to my very long Eddie x fem!reader S4 rewrite! I've had a ton of fun writing this, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do.
Many, many thanks to @skyfall8600 whose excellent Sucked In series not only inspired this one, but brought me out of a years-long writing slump! The first few parts of this series are heavily inspired by her work, while diverging more significantly later on. Regardless, I wholeheartedly recommend her work, and thank her for allowing me to use a few of her excellent ideas!
Thanks also to @eddie-sweetheart and @currentlycryingaboutlancelot for their help and support--it's truly appreciated.
series warnings: swearing, misogyny, canon-typical violence, fluff, insecurity; sfw but gets a little ~steamy~ in a couple places
part one warnings: swearing
note: reader is fem and uses she/her pronouns. She's also a singer because this is self-indulgent lol. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. Enjoy, and tell me what you think!
At this point, it was pretty safe to say that you were obsessed with Stranger Things.
Sure, you had watched it in 2016 along with everyone else and enjoyed it, keeping up with the release of each season and occasionally theorizing about the show’s future. But all in all, it was a relatively minor part of your life. Hell, it was a relatively minor part of the media you consumed.
Until summer 2022, that is.
The moment you laid eyes on the dark brown curls of Eddie Munson, you knew you were a goddamn goner.
You’d had crushes on fictional characters before, of course—Narnia’s Peter Pevensie had been a particular childhood favorite—but never before had one affected you so deeply. You found yourself daydreaming about life in Hawkins as an escape from your everyday worries, occasionally wishing you could take a swing at a demodog rather than deal with your landlord. You knew these were selfish thoughts; fighting for your life was no laughing matter. But sometimes, when you imagined the deep brown eyes and flyaway curls of a certain metalhead…well. You could only be so strong.
It was after one of those particularly trying days that you walked in the door of your home, dropped your bag on the floor, and trudged to your couch before flopping facedown into the cushions. A low groan escaped your lips, muffled by the worn fabric. God, what a day. Frustration after frustration and problem after problem had left you utterly and completely drained. You wanted only to disappear from your life for a while, to daydream yourself into the arms of Eddie Munson and never wake up.
Nearly whimpering at the motion of your sore muscles, you heaved yourself onto your side and felt for the remote. There was only one show you could count on to distract you after a day like this. Pulling up Netflix, you decided on the end of season three; there was something about the epic Battle of Starcourt that felt just right for your mood. Sighing, you pressed play, not even bothering to watch the screen. You’d seen it so many times at this point, you weren’t even watching it for the story. You just wanted to hear the characters’ voices, to feel the comfort of friendship they provided, imagined as it was. As you drifted off, you smiled as you heard the familiar chatter of Hawkins voices around you, the perfect symphony for sleep.
* * *
The night air was unnaturally cold as you slept, causing you to shiver and pull the blanket above you as you stayed cocooned on the couch. Your whole body started to sweat, the air dry and cold as it sliced into your lungs.
You shifted slightly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. The couch was old, sure, but now it felt as hard as stone. You frowned and opened your eyes. A confusion of images flashed before you, taking several moments for you to process—rocks. Trees. Cloudy sky.
“What on earth?” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your eyes sleepily. You tried to see between the trees, the soft glow of the sunrise giving more color to your surroundings. Looking around, you began to realize that these were not, in fact, the woods outside your house; there was too little scrub brush here, the trees spaced too widely apart. The air, too, was too cold for August, even in the early morning, and the trees seemed to be bare.
Your breaths became faster and shallower as you started to really panic. You’d never even seen this place before; how on earth had you gotten here? Had you been abducted and drugged? You noticed a nearby path and set off down it, in case there were any potential kidnappers hanging around. You started to hear the sounds of traffic as you continued, growing louder with each step you took. Finally, you emerged onto a city street, but definitely not one you recognized. The cars were all older models—not necessarily unusual, but it was a bit odd not to see one newer sedan or pickup.
You frowned as you noticed a group of rowdy teenagers walking toward you. You knew the eighties were coming back, but wasn’t this taking a bit far? The boys sported full-on mullets and bootcut jeans, the girls with bright eyeshadow and hair that looked burnt to the third degree. Is this some prank I’m not in on? You wondered, staring as they passed. They stared back, raising their eyebrows in cruel appraisal.
“Where’d you get those, the fucking trash?” one girl asked, eyeing your distressed jeans.
“Yeah, screw you too,” you muttered, too freaked out to pay much attention to the insult. You continued walking, hearing the group’s laughter echo behind you. It’s like they’ve never seen distressed jeans before, you thought, shaking your head.
Suddenly, your blood ran cold. The cars. The clothes. The comment…
Your eyes widened, everything you’d noticed in the corner of your eye suddenly taking on a whole new significance. Your chest got tight with anxiety, but you tried to calm it. That’s not possible, Y/N. It’s just an older block and those kids were playing a joke on you. Probably hate anyone wearing anything more than a week out of date—as if the eighties weren’t forty years ago. You shook your head vigorously, trying to put the suspicions out of your mind.
Walking another block and a half, you finally spotted what you’d been subconsciously looking for: a newspaper stand.
“Do you...do you have today’s paper?” you asked the attendant, your throat suddenly dry.
“Here you are, sweetheart,” the old man said, slapping the thick newspaper down on the counter. “February 21st, 1986. One dollar, please.”
You started at the paper, your eyes refusing to process the words on the page. You could see the shapes of the letters, could distinguish between the black ink and white paper, but you couldn’t resolve the images into meaningful shapes—at least, not ones that made any sense.
The paper read, FEBRUARY 21, 1986 – HAWKINS POST.
Hawkins Post. 1986. Hawkins. Your face grew as pale as the newsprint, the attendant frowning at your expression.
“You that interested in the factory strike, hon?” He asked, nodding to the headline.
“Uh…my father works there,” you say quickly, your mind racing. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go—thanks for showing me!”
You walked briskly away from the stand, head reeling as the attendant shook his head, muttering something about non-paying customers.
This can’t be real. I’m in Hawkins, Indiana—a town which does not exist—and it’s 1986, over a decade before I was even born. You had to be dreaming, you decided. That was the only explanation that made sense. But even as you thought it, you knew in your gut it wasn’t true. You were too aware of your body, the cold chill of winter air on your face, your heart hammering in your chest. No, this was reality, as impossible as it seemed.
People stared as you walked past, though you were too wrapped up in panic to take much notice. You stood out amongst the eighties-clad citizens: torn jeans, mushroom t-shirt, leather jacket. How the fuck had this happened?
Your thoughts spiraled as you walked, dazed and unsure of what to do. Where could you go? It’s not like you knew anyone here—not really knew, and besides, you didn’t know where anything was, much less how to get there.
Your thoughts were forcibly interrupted when someone crashed into you.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a gentle male voice said, offering you a hand as you picked yourself up.
“It was my fault, I wan’t—” You stopped abruptly when you saw who had run into you. “Mr. Clark?” you asked, incredulous.
“That’s me,” he said, an uncertain smile on his face. “Do I know you?”
You just gaped at him, unable to believe what you were seeing. It’s real. I’m really here, you thought, flabbergasted.
“I, um,” you stammered, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. “I’m—Dustin’s cousin!” you nearly shouted as it came to you. “He’s talked a lot about you.”
Mr. Clark’s smile became genuine as you spoke.
“Ah, young Henderson,” he said, raising his eyes to heaven. “A smart young man, that one. But a little too eager for adventure, if you ask me.” You laughed.
“I couldn’t agree more,” you said. “Any idea where I could find him right now? It’s, um, a surprise visit,” you added as Mr. Clark’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“I would hope he’s at the high school,” he said, frowning, “Seeing as it’s ten o’clock on a Friday morning. I’m just out on a coffee run myself,” he said, gesturing to the drink carrier in his hand. Shit. Of course he’s at school, you thought, cursing yourself silently. “I believe Mr. Harrington picks him up, though, if you’d like to be there when Dustin gets out. He works over at Family Video,” Mr. Clark said, indicating the direction he had come from.
Steve and Robin! Perfect!
“Would you mind giving me directions to Family Video?” you asked in the “teacher’s pet” voice that had gotten you through high school and college. “I’d like to see my cousin as soon as possible,” you added, flashing Mr. Clark a brilliant smile.
“Not at all!” he said, the epitome of good manners. “It’s down three blocks, then take a left on Hoover Circle—you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you so much,” you said sincerely, gratitude filling you down to the tips of your toes. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
Mr. Clark looked at you, a little curious as to the extremity of your reaction to some simple directions.
“No problem,” he said finally, too polite to mention it. “Tell Dustin I say hello!”
“Will do!” you called back, already walking toward Family Video with all the speed you could muster.
Takes place right before everyone splits up for the finale showdown
Chrissy POV
----
Nervously she folds her fingers into the too long soft blue sleeves. "I'm going to go with Max."
She knows they've all heard her clearly, still, Steve clarifies, "Chrissy, are you sure?"
"I know you don't know what to do with me, and I appreciate you all trying to keep me safe, but if Max is right wouldn't the two of us be better? I can help draw Vecna in too."
"Yeah but–" Eddie says, face pinched in worry. Everyone looks doubtful, Nancy's eyes tighten as she purses her lips and Robin stares at her shoes.
Clenching her fists and cringing when her voice wavers, she protests, "it's not right for me to hide wherever you want to put me while a freshman goes and risks her life alone. And a middle schooler."
Erica scoffs while Lucas looks doubtful and Max bristles, "I've faced things from the upside down before, I'll be fine–"
"It's just that Max is…" Nancy says and she doesn't need to finish her sentence. Max is tougher. Max has fought creatures before. Max isn't as afraid, Max is braver, stronger, a fighter–
Chrissy knows what she looks like in her borrowed blue sweater and white pants, cheer shoes tied with perfect bows and her hair carefully pulled up. She knows what they see when they look at her. Something small, something fragile. She isn't brave, or a fighter, she's a doll to be carefully protected in her glass case. Chrissy Cunningham will be placed back on her shelf when the danger is past with not a single crack in her perfect porcelain.
"Eddie." She whispers, looking to him for something, some sort of backup. And when he meets her eyes she's relieved to find support there; the two run-aways, the cowards understanding implicitly that this time they don't want to run from what scares them. If he's going to face his demons, so will she.
"You sure about this, Cunningham?" He checks with her once to be safe, when she nods resolutely he ruffles the back of his hair and shrugs to the others. "She's sure, she can make her own choices. Who're we to stop her?"
"It'll be harder for Sinclair to watch over both of you but if he thinks he can do it, I say screw it, this whole thing is already a long shot to begin with." Steve puts his hands up as if surrendering to her and Chrissy almost smiles.
"I can do it." Lucas says, "but I think this whole thing is stupid and dangerous."
When Max looks like she's gearing up to argue again he quickly adds, "not that I think you can't, just…"
"It either works and we kill the most evil this town has yet to see– which is impressive, or, we all, you know. Die." Robin says almost cheerfully. Next to her Nancy adds in her intense and serious way,
"But at least we'll have tried."
-
When everyone is almost ready to split up and the nerves are starting to weigh so heavily it's near crushing Chrissy catches the sleeve of Eddie's jacket.
"Thank you." She whispers, still holding on. "Uhm."
At a loss for words she glances around them quickly to make sure no one is watching before darting up onto her toes and kissing him on the cheek. "Please be careful. You– you don't have to prove anything, okay?"
It's such a dumb thing to blush about but she knows her face is bright red as he touches his cheek with awe. "Yeah. Chrissy, uh, you too."
Even though she can tell he's just as filled with dread as she is, he's still Eddie and he groans, rolling his eyes and bouncing the heel of his palm off his forehead, "Wow, not much of a bard, huh? They should write that down to keep when they write our epic tale of adventure, 'uh, you too.' Yikes."
His smile is wide when she giggles, and she'll always give him credit for his seemingly effortless transitions from endearingly awkward to incredibly smooth, "lets try that again, yeah?"
His warm, wide eyes are inches from hers as he leans down close, hands on her shoulders,
"You keep those squirts safe, I'll go play one of the most metal sets in the history of music to save these stupid heros, then we get out of this hellhole and do whatever the hell we want together. How's that sound?"
"Sounds like a date." Eddie's shocked face is going to be imprinted on her eyelids, right next to the shy smile he gives her as he licks his lips nervously and reaches to pull free her scrunchy. "It's like a good luck charm, I know it's dumb but I always feel like I can be better when I wear it."
"For luck." He says when she doesn't protest or ask for him to return it, putting it on his wrist and tucking it under his sleeve.
"I, I'll need you to give that back you know." Chrissy says, chest tight with worry. "Make sure you bring it back to me."
Make sure you come back to me. She thinks, surprising herself.
She's about to let him go, she can see Dustin getting antsy behind him, before she takes his hand and gently slides free one of his rings. The vampire one, miniature fangs bared. It sort of fits on her index finger and she holds it in place with a tightly clenched fist.
"And I'll give this back when you do."
----
Will this be a whole fic? IDK but I have a lot of other things to finish first.
I know hellcheer fans love the idea of Chrissy saving Eddie from the bats but personally I immediately thought of how different it would be if she was there to confront Jason. It A) solves a huge part of my problem with S4V2 of having Lucas and Erica's biggest threats be regular (white) humans instead of fictional monsters and how much I hated those scenes for them, and B) Gives Chrissy the chance to stand up to Jason and have a great character moment
