“So,” Heather leaned over, chin propped in her hands dramatically slumped over the counter. “What’re you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing,” You hummed, fingers flicking through the crinkled bills. “Why? You know something fun going on?”
“It’s your birthday.” Heather gawked playfully. “You’re not doing anything for your birthday?”
You rolled your eyes lightly, pushing the cash drawer closed. “No.” You shook your head, voice tight.
“Eddie isn’t taking you out?” Heather’s brows furrowed. “Or you’re not going home? Going out? Are you getting a cake?”
Your heart sank, a familiar burn rising in your chest. You didn’t speak about your birthday much, not much of an occasion for celebration to you, more of one that was dreadful. Another year closer to death, you’d grumble cynically. Still, when Eddie hadn’t even acknowledged it, when your friends had all blown you off for other plans, a new kind of ache formed in your chest. The sting of being forgotten, of being unimportant and discarded- on your birthday.
It left a bitter taste on your tongue, sardonic and painful when you spoke about your impending birthdate. “No,” You shook your head, chin ducked to your chest. You had never wanted a customer to come in so badly, save you from this painful conversation with your co-worker. “They’re all busy.”
“Oh.” Heather quipped, face falling at your tone.
“I mean, it’s my fault.” You added quickly- defensively. Why you were so defensive over the people who had discarded you so easily, you weren’t sure. “I should have planned something earlier, but… I dunno, I got busy and life got super hectic and it just slipped past me-”
“-No,” Heather shook her head, curls unmoving with the abundance of Aquanet she used, still. “That’s really shitty of them, all of them. It’s your birthday.”
You stayed silent, wiping the counter half heartedly, swallowing back the familiar burn in your throat that choked you. “I mean, if it was my girlfriend or my friend, I would be buggin’ about their birthday.” Heather shrugged.
“Yeah, me too.” You muttered. Bouts of memories pouring back into your mind. How you’d planned a party for Eddie, baked him some stupid cake from scratch that was in the Lord of the Rings. You’d gone to countless second hand stores trying to find the ancient recipe, and it took you a day to perfect. Now, he couldn’t even be bothered to take you out? Get you a cheap store bought cake?
“I’m sorry.” Heather muttered, a solemn, nearly guilty pout on her lips. “Well, you’re off tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I get off at three. What if we go out? We can go to the bar- oh, there’s this new band playing in Franklin. Tommy could drive us.” Heather, ever the bubbly optimist, grinned, eyes shining with pride. It was endearing, made your heart squeeze with an ache you weren’t quite sure how to describe.
“I’ll even get you a cupcake. A good one, from Nadia’s.” Heather added.
“You don’t have to do that.” You shook your head lightly. You and Heather were work friends, hung out on the rare occasion after work to bitch about work, about the other coworkers, the pain-in-the-ass customers of the day over glasses of Pinot. Selfishly, it felt nice to have someone excited for your birthday.
You hated that you wished it was Eddie, your own friends.
“What’s your flavor, hm? Chocolate?” Heather pressed, brushing you off cheerily.
“Don’t get me a cupcake. I’ll throw it up if we’re drinking. All the icing and liquor.” You snarled your nose playfully.
“Fine. I’m buying you a drink then.” Heather nodded. She paused, nails drumming on the counter too. “And, I mean, if you want Eddie to come too, of course he’s invited.” Her eyes cut to yours carefully. “I didn’t know if you wanted him to come.”
“I mean, I don’t know if he’d even be able to.” Your lips pursed, a cutting edge of annoyance in your tone. “He’s so busy.”
Heather cringed, shooting you an apologetic look. “Yeah, that… I’m sorry, that sucks.” She mumbled.
A stiff silence fell between the two of you over the whirr of the air conditioning blowing through the vents. “Since it’s so dead, why don’t you go early?” Heather suggested. “I can cover closing.”
“Heather, Mel will be pissed-”
“-Mel will be pissed if she has to pay both of us for standing around.” Heather gave you a pointed look. “And you came in before me. I got it.”
“Are you sure?” You hesitated. “I don’t care to stay in case there’s a rush-”
“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. I’ll call you when I’m on my way, ‘kay?” Heather chirped.
“See you then.” You waved, cringing at the sing-songy Happy birthday! Heather shouted at you.
You pulled open your cubby, gathering your purse, your umbrella. You wrote your time on the clipboard, the phone taunting you on the hook next to it. Any other day, you’d call Eddie- call home or the shop, wherever he was, just to let him know you’d be home early. He’d always reply with a silly comment that had your cheeks rushing with heat, warmth swelling in your chest.
Tonight, you decided against it. He was too busy, anyway. Too busy at the shop, with his friends, at band practice. You tried not to dwell on it, let your mind spiral and spin down a damning dark hole of what ifs. It consumed you anyways, on your drive home, the radio playing on a static filled station that you didn’t bother to change. Background noise drowned out by your own hammering heart.
Eddie’s van was parked in the gravel of his driveway, leaving just enough space for you to slide in under the covering attached to the trailer. He always let you have that spot, closer to the door, protected from the elements- so considerate.
It was hard to fathom that it was the same boy who had forgotten your birthday, brushed it off like it was just another day.
Your throat tightened around the ever growing lump, hands tight from the white knuckled grip you had on the wheel when you turned the keys out of the ignition. The stairs squeaked under your weight, the screen door hissing with the familiar soft screech when you pulled it open.
“No- Henderson, what the fuck is the matter with you?” Eddie huffed, his voice trailing in from the living room.
You paused, hand catching the door as it fell, quieting it as it latched. The air was thick, warm with a sticky, sweet smell. Music playing in a low hum from Eddie’s beloved boom box he kept in the living room.
“You said to hang it!” Dustin’s shrill tone cut through the air.
“Yeah, hang it high- Jesus Christ, I shoulda just waited until Robin got off.” Eddie was hidden by the wall, but you could practically see him pinching his nose, hand running over his curly bangs. “Can you- Can you go see if we can ice the cake yet?”
“Yeah, what do I do?” Dustin questioned, a silence falling between the two of them. Your lips curled, swallowing a giggle. “What? I’m not a master chef or something. You act like I should know this. There wasn’t a cake making class-”
“-There was, you moron. Home Ec, which clearly, you failed.” Eddie huffed in annoyance. You froze at his heavy footsteps, voice carrying closer and closer.“Whatever, can you- just make it look nice in here? Put the rest of the streamers up and- shit!” Eddie flinched, jumping at the sight of you in the doorway. Wide eyed and still, like you’d been caught.
“Baby,” Eddie’s breath startled. “Hey, uh, what are you- you said you didn’t get- you’re home already?” His voice lifted, carried high in a squeak of surprise.
“Yeah, I got off early. I thought you were working late.” Your brows furrowed at the tear of plastic, leaning to look around the corner. “What are you doing-”
“-Don’t look in there.” Eddie snapped, his hand falling on the doorframe, arm blocking your vision. You jumped, glaring at him with annoyance. “I thought you closed tonight?”
“I thought you closed tonight.” You huffed, arms crossing over your chest. “Clearly that’s not true. What is this? Another campaign night?” You rolled your eyes, body burning with irritation, jaw wound tight with it.
“What? N-No, I-I thought you wouldn’t be home until later, and I’d have more time-” Eddie rambled, side stepping to block your view behind him.
“-Ed, I don’t care if that’s what it is.” Your shoulders deflated, a wave of painful exhaustion, disappointment falling over you. “I just wish you would’ve let me know before you invite all these people over to play your game, so I could-” A shimmering glimmer of multicolored sequins caught your eyes, shining in the yellowed light of the kitchen, iridescent hued droplets cast over the cabinets. There, draped over the chair in bright, glittering letters, a small sash that read Happy Birthday! in obnoxiously big letters.
You paused, eyes scanning towards the cake, cooling on the rack next to the mixing bowl of icing, the icing spatula still in it. Paper mache streamers taped to the ceiling, hung in swooping bouts mixed with the shiny streamers and balloons all the way to the living room. Eddie had brought out the folding table from the crawl space, even put a plastic tablecloth from the store over it to hide the yellowing stains that would never fade.
Dustin’s eyes met yours, wide and darting between you and Eddie, still holding the roll of streamers he’d yet to hang. “Uh, Happy Birthday?” Dustin shrugged.
Eddie huffed, shaking his head at him. “Fuck, I-I’m sorry, it was supposed to be a surprise.” Eddie’s foot bounced with anxious adrenaline. “I thought you didn’t get off until eight, and-and I had it all planned, sweetheart, I really did. Steve’s getting the pizza, and everyone’s coming over at seven thirty-ish, and I- I was even going to have them park at Wayne’s in the back so you wouldn’t see.”
Your chest felt deflated, void of any air, words, anything. Eddie chewed on his lip, hands twitching next to his jeans. “It was going to be this whole thing, fuck!” He huffed. “It was going to be a whole big thing, and…”
Eddie’s heart leapt when your eyes finally met his. His fingers still drummed against the rough material of his jeans, veins filled with icy excitement, fear, anticipation? He wasn’t sure.
“I’m sorry.” Eddie whispered, stepping to hover over you, voice dropping to a soft coo, hands sliding over your cheeks. “I’m- I wanted it to be a surprise.”
You swallowed thickly. Eddie’s touch was soft, but it left you with a tingling burn when his thumb delicately traced your cheek bone. “You- This is for me?” You squeaked.
Eddie’s lips curled in a half smile, brows creasing. “Well, yeah.” He said playfully. “Who else would it be for?”
Your brain was deafeningly silent, stunned at every new detail you’d discover. “You said you were busy.” Was all you could muster out, blinking up at Eddie. “You said you had to work late.”
“I might have fibbed a little.” Eddie tilted his head sillily. “Told a little lie so I could get this set up.” He nodded towards the living room, a balloon floating near the doorway.
“I just really wanted to surprise you.” Eddie’s shoulders fell. “I was trying to outdo you. Tryna out do what you did for mine. I called all your friends- even Alexandra,” You rolled your eyes at the mention, she was Eddie’s least favorite friend of yours.
“And I… I just wanted to surprise you.” Eddie blinked down at you. “Just wanted your day to be special.”
Your day, the phrase wrapped around you, swirled through your veins like a warm hug, squeezing your heart.
“I’m sorry, it… I didn’t think about work.” Eddie shook his head, running a hand over his forehead. “I didn’t even think about it, and I-”
“-Eddie,” Your voice caught in your throat.
Eddie tensed, cringing with expectant dread. He’d ruined it, blew it, the tears were coming and they were deserved. You’d done so well on his, surprised the hell out of him with the cake, decorated for his birthday campaign with lanterns and candles you’d thrifted. Gone all out for him, and he couldn’t even pull off a simple surprise party.
“I’m sorry.” Eddie whispered, head pressing to yours. His eyes cut around the room, making sure a certain Henderson pest was lurking.
“Sorry?” You repeated. “Eddie, I-I am surprised.” You choked out, looking around the room with gleaming eyes.
Eddie paused. “You are?”
You nodded. “Yeah, I thought you’d forgotten.” You admitted. “I thought everyone had forgotten.”
Eddie’s brows pinched in a confused scowl. “You thought I’d forget?” He muttered.
A watery laugh fell from your lips before you could stop it. “Yeah.” You admitted. “You were really convincing.”
Eddie’s chest boasted playfully. “Oscar worthy?”
“You’d sweep the competition.” You jested back, arms sliding over his forearms. His hands found home on the small of your waist, pulling you into him.
“I didn’t forget your birthday.” Eddie said softly. “Just… for the record.”
“I can see that.” You giggled. “Thank you. It’s-It’s really sweet.”
“Yeah? I’m glad you like it.” Eddie’s hands rubbed down your spine. “It would look better but… Robin and Nancy didn’t get off until later, and it’s just me and Henderson.”
“It looks great. Perfect.” Your cheek pressed to the soft cotton of his t-shirt. His nice shirt, Eddie always called it. Broke it out for special occasions.
“Not perfect. Fucked up the main part.” Eddie grumbled. “I can call everyone, let them know that they can park out front since there’s no surprise anymore.”
“No, don’t do that.” You shook your head lightly, chin propping against his chest to look up at him. “I’ll leave and come back, and you can still do it. I can pretend to be surprised.”
Eddie’s lips curled, pulling back to look down at you. “You’re gonna pretend?” He tilted his head.
“My turn to act.” You teased, brow lifting gently. “Give you some competition.” You poked his tummy playfully.
Eddie grinned, pulling you back into him, lips sliding over yours in a soft kiss you savored. Melting into each other, fusing into a gooey puddle- it was corny, a cliche. One you’d roll your eyes at if it was anyone else.
“Happy birthday.” Eddie muttered, lips brushing and tickling your own.
“Thank you.” You whispered back, hands finding the base of his neck, pushing him back into you. Eddie’s hand fell against the wooden door frame, steadying himself in a rapidly heating makeout.
“Uh,” Dustin’s voice interrupted the two of you, just as Eddie’s hands were sliding under your work blouse. “Yeah, I-I finished with the streamers.”
Eddie glared at him, jaw ticking in annoyance when you pulled away. “I’m just going to grab my makeup bag, and I’ll go.” You whispered, cheeks flooding with heat.
Eddie huffed, rolling his eyes at Dustin when you left. “What? What did I do?” Dustin threw his hands out.
“Such a fuckin’ cock block, Henderson.” Eddie muttered, stomping into the kitchen. “Put the plates and shit out, will ya?”
Your performance was Oscar worthy, Eddie decided later, when you stepped through the door of the now darkened trailer, gasping when the lights flickered on and everyone jumped out. You looked positively radiant, glowing with excitement at the small crowd of friends crammed into the doorway. Eddie kissed you, sloppier than he should have, especially in front of everyone, but he didn’t care. Overwhelmed with affection for you.
He couldn’t tell if you were still pretending when he brought out the cake, the room singing in a harmonious tone to you, candles lit and glowing in the dim light. Eddie didn’t miss the way your eyes sparkled, fingers pressed to your lips at the now iced cake. When your fingers curled under his chin, sharing a fork-full of cake with him, kissing him after so quickly it left his head spinning.
His birthday girl, it was your day. Eddie never thought he’d love a random day as much as he did. He had no idea how important that day would become when he’d first met you, how it would engrave itself in his mind forever.
He was glad it did. Looking at you, giggling with your friends on the couch, then again, the next night, singing with Heather at the crowded bar- Eddie’s chest heart swelled. Proud that he’d surprised you, hopeful that he’d get to for the rest of his life.
Next year, he’d do it right. Really pull off the party you deserved. He’d start saving now, planning too. He decided it that night, tucked between the sheets, your head still on his sweat soaked chest. He could still taste you on his tongue, lips numb from the time he’d spent between your legs. Lashes fluttering in sleep, curled into him, Eddie pulled you closer. He’d get it right next year, you deserved it.
I received an ask from @madaboutjoe for option #2 from our Stranger Prompts which is: You mistake him for the man who is supposed to be your blind date, and he goes along with it, with Steve. I put my own spin on it and made it extra weird.
18+ONLY for horror, mention of gore and adult themes, fear of the unknown, hurt/comfort I suppose, she/her pronouns used for reader.
WC: 11.8k
Summary: After being single for a while, a personal ad in the classifieds catches your eye, and the guy who posted it invites you to meet for coffee. There's a tree blocking the road, causing you to detour, and once you get to Hawkins you find it's not at all what you expected. Mention of Robin, and appearances from Hopper, Joyce, and Eddie Munson.
Author's Note: This was inspired by the horror show From (which I highly recommend), but you do not have to be familiar with it to understand/enjoy this. In fact, it might be even better if you don't know anything about it. Also, the Benny's described in this fic is a cross between the original burger joint and the diner in the show.
--------
It was mostly by accident that Steve and Robin took over Benny’s. One day, they were hunkering down there to hide, scared as hell, trying not to make a sound, and the next thing they knew, they were painting the walls and adding items to the menu.
When caught in a hellscape, it was important to have a place to go to bask in the illusion of safety, even if just for a meal.
Things generally slowed down in the afternoon on Wednesdays, as it was post lunch rush and right before the seniors dropped in for that early bird special. Robin was with Vickie tending to the farm animals across town, and the only customers at the time were Claudia Henderson chatting with a friend over coffee and pie. Steve would bus the table once he made a list of supplies he’d need to go searching for the next day. .
At a booth nearest the front door, in his trusty red and black flannel that was missing two buttons and a pair of jeans, Steve wore a white apron around his waist. He took the blue bandana off his head to let his glossy mane flop free, running a hand through it a few times, sweeping it to one side.
2
“Is this it?” You mumbled from behind the steering wheel of your car, peering ahead through the windshield at the first signs of a town after a long stretch of forest. The pavement was cracked and worn, giving you a passing thought about where their tax dollars were going if not to those improvements. The Welcome to Hawkins sign was just as weathered and also pockmarked with bullet holes.
A certain gloom settled around the town, like those places that exist in the lower valley between two mountains, nestled in a sea of fog. The afternoon had been fairly bright and sunny until you approached the Hawkins border and had to take your sunglasses off in order to see.
He said you’d be able to see it from the road, that burger place Steve said he’d meet you at. You took a right down the first street and craned your neck to read a sign scrawled in black marker on a sandwich board out in front of the post office:
62 Days Without Incident
You didn’t have long to ponder it before you were pulling into the parking spot at the far end of Benny’s. One of the windows had a menacing spider web crack in it that appeared to be mended with duct tape, and if not for the station wagon in the lot and the dim lighting inside, you’d think the building was abandoned.
Hawkins felt like someone's memory of a town, and the memory was fading.
“It’s just coffee,” you whispered, pacing on the other side of the building near your car. “It’s just coffee with a complete stranger.”
A complete stranger you contacted through a personal ad in the paper, to be exact.
You considered having a smoke first, but didn’t want the nicotine smell to cling to you. Maybe he was also an occasional smoker, you’d have to wait and see. You stepped into view of the front window, and then jerked yourself back to lean against the slate gray wall, cringing as if you’d just stubbed your toe.
You hadn’t been on a date in over a year, but there was something about the ad in the classifieds that made him sound so…normal. Unlike the others.
SWM 5’10, brown hair, hazel eyes, 30yr old business owner, hopeful romantic seeks SF for friendship and adventure with the potential for something more. I like to cook and want to make you laugh. UB kind, curious, homebody looking for LTR.
You’d left a message for him in the extension given by the paper, and then he’d messaged you back almost immediately, inviting you to an afternoon coffee date at a diner in Hawkins.
You were 98% certain that he did not have the voice of a serial killer, whatever that meant.
Fairly new to Indiana, you’d never ventured to Hawkins before, and there happened to be a downed tree blocking the exit you would usually take to the highway, forcing you to use the backroads instead.
A glance at your watch let you know you were fifteen minutes early, all things considered.
The interior of the diner was cozy dark wood with cream tile at your feet. Burnt orange nestled here and there as accents, including on the vinyl covers for the booth seats. A cigarette smoldered in a brown glass ashtray nearby, and to your right, two women spoke softly across the table to each other, but paused mid-conversation to nod suspiciously in your direction.
Maybe you’d have a chance to find a seat and order something to drink before he—-
3
Steve had to do a double take when he looked up at the sound of the bell ding. There was a stain on his white Hanes tee the shape of Australia and faint purple moons carved under overly caffeinated, bloodshot eyes.
At first, he assumed you were just another patron, but then you met his casual stare with enthusiasm, and offered a nervous yet generous smile, beelining in his direction as if the two of you were familiar.
You were new, and such a thing was a rare and unsettling thing to see in Hawkins.
He’d asked Robin to put fliers up at the post office and the library announcing that they were looking for waitstaff help, but that was only a few hours ago. Surely, someone wasn’t inquiring already.
It was hard for you not to run in the other direction when you saw how handsome he was. What the hell was a guy that good looking doing paying to post a personal ad? Better question—-what was a person like you doing answering one?
He’d been frowning down at the notepad in front of him before he glanced up, warm maple hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. Brown diner mug near his elbow, confusion tightened around his eyes when you jutted an arm out to shake his hand.
You introduced yourself. “And I thought I was the early one,” your cheeks felt hot, clutching your bag to your side.
“Uh, hi,” was all he could manage at the time, returning the generous hand squeeze. It took him a few seconds, but then he realized what the only possible explanation could be. “You must be here because of the ad?”
You slid into the booth seat across from him. Maybe he was trying to be funny, like it was some type of dry wit.
“Am I not what you were expecting?”
“No, no, that’s not—” he stammered, jerking his arm to the side so fast that he hit the coffee mug, causing liquid to splash out onto the table. He clawed some napkins out of the dispenser to wipe up the spill, a stray curl of hair bobbing over his forehead as he did so. “I just mean, I wasn’t expecting you this early, that’s all.”
You weren’t what he’d been expecting to walk through his door that afternoon in many ways.
First of all, he was attracted to you, so taking you in as an employee might not be the brightest idea, but also, why had he never seen you around before? Even if he didn’t know everyone in Hawkins personally, they’d all for sure crossed his path at one point.
The town was funny like that.
A hard pit in his stomach told him that you weren’t from town at all, and he really hoped that was not the case, for your sake.
A few beats of silence hung in the air, and the bell dinged again to herald the exit of Claudia and her friend, chattering as they went.
“Is the food good here?” You settled back in your seat, eying the display case near the register while shrugging out of your coat. “The pies look yummy.”
Like a trout thrown to the ground, Steve’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and he pushed the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows, finding his words. “They’re pretty good, yeah, I think. The guy who makes them is a bit of a nut and takes his pastries pretty seriously.”
There were creased paper menus that looked hand-typed tucked in between the ketchup and the tiny, tableside jukebox. You grabbed one and put it in front of you, eyes roaming over the words without really reading a thing.
“I didn’t expect you to be so handsome,” your tongue was often faster than your brain, and you flicked a nervous glance up at him after realizing what you’d said. “Sorry.”
Totally inappropriate for a professional conversation, but why did it make Steve feel all tingly?
“Don’t be sorry,” he muttered. To avoid eye contact, he picked up the nearby pencil and started drawing squiggles on the yellow notepad in front of him.
“Do you have any experience waiting tables?” He cut right to the chase, not that any experience would make a difference. He wasn’t going to be able to pay you, anyway, that wasn’t how it worked around there.
You were not at all thrown off by the question; you figured there’d be a good helping of small talk.
“For a year in high school, yeah,” you were flicking the corner of the menu with your thumb. “It was a 24 hour waffle house. Met a lot of interesting people.”
“I bet.” He tried to sound casual, but the nervous eruption of a laugh bubbled out.
So, there it was: you were definitely not from there.
The idea that you would soon go through the stages of shock and denial and depression that was common for everyone who resided in what they’d once known as Hawkins, made his stomach drop.
He didn’t want to be the one to watch the light drain from your eyes.
4
You straightened up from staring at the menu to search for whoever might be behind the kitchen hatch. “Do we walk up there to give our order? Or will someone come to the table?”
“That’s, um, I can—let me,” Steve stuttered before taking a breath. “Uh, do you know what you want?”
“Just iced tea for now I think,” you were concentrating on the offerings, bottom lip sucked in between your teeth. “I’m not very hungry. Some of those steak fries maybe? Would you eat some with me?”
There were plenty of mysteries about the town that no one had been able to solve yet, including the way vegetable crops and farm animals showed up in various spots out of the blue. People found garbage bags full of packaged, grocery store quality bread in their backyards as if dropped from the sky. A few months ago while scavenging, Jonathan Byers stumbled upon a concrete door in the ground that led to a bunker stocked with endless dry goods. Steve didn’t ask questions much anymore, he was just grateful they had resources.
He figured whatever trapped them all there wanted to toy with them and fattened them up for the kill.
There was something very casual and familiar about your disposition that made him even more curious about what universal tide washed you up onto his shore.
To most people, ending up in their corner of the world felt like a punishment, but one that they’d somewhat adapted to over time. One day, hopefully, you would find your peace with it too. Maybe even share a piece of pie with him and tell him stories about what he’d missed out in the real world.
For now, you’d have iced tea and fries and pretend none of the horrors were real.
Steve got up from the booth, tucking his chin as he spoke. “I’m serious, I’ll make you anything you want. I mean, within reason.”
Your head snapped up. “Wait, you work here?”
He couldn’t help but frown at your genuine display of confusion.
“I kinda run the place, yeah. It’s not much but,” he shrugged. “My best friend and I, we—”
You blinked a few times. “I feel so stupid, I didn’t realize—”
“You’re not stupid,” he interrupted, planting his hands square on his hips. “Gimme…ten minutes, okay? Just need to throw them in the fryer.”
Your head snapped a few quick nods in a row, unable to settle the feelings of embarrassment.
“Oh, wait,” he spun around, snapping his fingers once in the air. “You like lemon in your tea?”
“Sure.” The more you looked around, the more you sensed something was really…off about the place. Not just the diner, but the entire town.
Outside, the grass was either dead or overgrown and there’d been a wrecked car--possibly and old Chrysler LeBaron---sticking out of an empty public pool on the corner when you first drove in. You remembered the way those two women at the other table glared at you, like maybe you were not at all welcome there at all, no matter what the tattered doormat out front said.
Steve returned to set your iced tea in front of you. There were a couple cubes of ice in the glass, a pretty lemon wedge perched on the lip, and a straw sticking out of it with the paper end still on to protect the sanitation of it. The only odd thing was the pint glass that it came in: it said Shiloh Inn Lounge on it.
“Sugar?” At first you thought he was calling you by a pet name and it gave you a heart palpitation, but instead he set a few packets of actual sugar down that were all different brands. “If you like.”
His eyes were kind and weary and you sensed a weight hanging in the air like maybe he wanted to tell you something but didn’t know how.
He hovered there, refusing to sit back down, and you took that as a hint that he just wasn’t feeling a connection. If that was the case, you didn’t want to waste any more of your time.
“If you’re not interested, I understand,” you took the paper off of your red and white striped straw. “That’s what things like this are for, right? To see if you want to get to know someone better.”
He frowned, cocking his head to one side, curling his lip. “Not interested?”
“You know…in me.” You squeezed a bit of the lemon in. A seed shot out and almost got you in the eye.
Steve softened, crossing one arm over his chest to hold onto the other, absently guarding himself. “Okay, but why wouldn’t I be interested in you?”
You snorted a laugh. “You can just say I’m not your type, it’s fine. You don’t have to be weird about it.”
Outside, an avocado green Ford Pinto pulled up to the curb and parked.
5
“Why did you come here?” He asked, massaging the elbow area where he clutched his arm.
You considered the weight of that question and all of the answers you could give. Practically everyone you loved was either dead or no longer a part of your life. You hated your job with the intensity of a thousand suns, but you’d acquired too much debt to up and quit. There was no family money or support to act as a safety net; no savings account to pull from. The last time you were in a committed relationship, you had your heart tramped, and to be honest, your wounds from that were still open and weeping.
All things on the table, you had no business floundering around in the dating world. You were the walking wounded just looking for a distraction from the emptiness.
Why did you come here?
“To meet you, obviously,” you scowled into your drink, trying to mask a hot wave of insecurity. It felt like a hornet was stuck in your throat. “But I can just go back the way I came, it’s no biggie.”
“See, that’s just it,” he wet his lips a few times. “You can’t go back the way you came. No one can.”
His heart stuttered at the idea of having to break the news to you right then, or ever, but it would be dark soon, and he’d need to make sure you were safe. Leaving you out without protection, out there for The Others to find you was not an option.
That made you bark a laugh. “Oh yeah? What is this? Hotel California?”
The accuracy made him feel like someone just dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. “Something like that, yeah.”
The front bell dinged again and in walked a dark haired woman with one of the most likable faces you’d ever seen. The shins of her jeans were dirty like she’d been working in the garden, and there was a tear in the shoulder seam of the hunter green button-down shirt that she’d left untucked. It was about 2 sizes too big for her, sleeves rolled up so that her hands wouldn’t drown in the material.
She looked right at you and a vacant smile quivered at the corners of her mouth, as if she was forcing it in place with all her mite. It felt like she had absolutely nothing to be smiling about, but wanted to put you at ease.
“Hi I’m Joyce,” she held one open palm up in greeting, approaching with the caution of someone trying not to scare off a feral cat.
“Word travels fast,” Steve muttered under his breath, introducing you.
“Hopper saw the car on his way by,” she progressed to wringing her hands in front of her. “And I came over to see if it was true. To see if…see if you needed any help…
…it will be dark in an hour or so.”
They were having a private conversation with their eyes right in front of you and a heady mix of disorientating fear prickled the back of your neck.
“I think I missed something,” you fisted a handful of the material on your jacket, ready to head for the door. “I think this was a bad idea.”
But the two of them were blocking your path at that point, and you sensed they had no intention of moving.
“Hey, listen,” Joyce made a steeple out of her hands as if she were about to pray. “I know this is absolutely not what you want to hear, and believe me, I know it’s bonkers, but we can’t let you get back on that road tonight.”
Your mouth went dry and you turned to Steve thinking he might offer comfort, but his jaw was set, muscles ticking on one side as he ground his back teeth.
“You can’t be serious.” You let out a chuckle that was void of humor.
Joyce vibrated loving mother energy and as much as you wanted to get out of that diner, you also wanted to hear whatever it was she had to say. Maybe even get a hug from her.
“I know this sucks,” she continued. “It sucks and there’s a lot we need to explain to you, but pretty soon…the roads won’t be safe.”
Your breath caught in your chest, tightening there.
“There’s a spare bedroom at my place,” her expression made it seem like she was offering you a trip to Disneyland. “Clean sheets, I’ve got some soup on the stove. I can take you there now and we can have some coffee, you can meet my sons, and I’ll tell you everything, but you can’t drive back into the woods.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll pass,” despite the tough exterior, your voice wavered. “Not to sound ungrateful for the hospitality, but this is crazy.”
You waited for them to burst into laughter and tell you they were kidding. Ha. Ha.
“It is fucking crazy, tell me about it,” Steve mumbled. “We just want to make sure you…” he trailed off, staring up as if trying to remember his lines.
The entire thing was turning out to be some twilight zone shit, and it was no longer amusing. Sure, Steve was hot and you already liked him plenty, but clearly there was lead paint in the water or black mold in the walls because the two people in front of you were off their rockers.
Your steady gaze landed on your blind date. “Is that why you put the ad in the paper? So that you could get me here and abduct me?”
“Paper?” Confused, he frowned at Joyce and then at you. “What paper? What ad?”
Ice and thorns shot through your blood.
“The personal ad, Steve. The one you put in the gazette, the one I answered. You left a message saying to meet you here.”
When they talk about a “pregnant” pause, well that pause gripped the air like it was having quadruplets.
“Personal ad?” Joyce peered at Steve, but he only shrugged and shook his head like he had no idea what was going on. Because he didn’t.
You raised your voice then, practically shouting. “And why do you two keep looking at each other like that? What am I missing? You invited me here for coffee and now you’re telling me I can’t leave? This is bullshit, I’m sorry, I’m going.”
You prepared yourself to fight to get beyond them, but they parted easily and gave no resistance when you bolted from the booth, strapping your bag across your body with a grumbled curse.
“I didn’t put a personal ad in any paper,” Steve said softly, but his words had enough impact to make you freeze in your tracks halfway to the door.
6
Hawkins, as they knew it, didn’t even have a circulating newspaper anymore. Nancy and a few others kept The Post going for as long as possible to keep morale afloat with a sense of normalcy, but after a while started to run out of supplies and purpose for such an endeavor, especially since they had no line to the outside world. She did publish a pamphlet every so often that announced local events, and whenever one of The Others got a hold of a member of the community, she would be the one to break the news to those who weren’t privy to the information.
…62 Days Without Incident….
“Who did I come here to meet then?” You kept your back to them, asking the question more to yourself.
“Sweetheart, I promise I’ll explain everything to you once we—” Joyce hugged herself as she spoke, watching you storm the rest of the way to the door and then jerk it open to the tune of a violent rattling of the bell.
“Please, wait!” Steve jogged to your side.
“I want you to have this,” he tugged down the front of his shirt to pull out a quarter size, oblong chunk of rock attached to some type of cream colored string. He lifted it up over his head, fluffing the back of his hair in the process, and held it out to you.
There was some sort of design on the smoke gray stone, a symbol that itched a part of your brain as being familiar.
He had it dangling in front of your face and your stare narrowed beyond the swinging cord to find the colors in his hazel eyes swirling like some uncharted universe. They made you want to go swimming in the stars.
“If you want to go, I can’t stop you,” he shifted close enough for you to smell the fruity scent of his hair product and coffee on his breath. “But please wear this.”
You winced at the necklace without touching it. “What is that?”
You might as well have been asking him to teach you conversational German in the span of ten minutes, even though he only knew a few letters from their alphabet.
“As long as you have this with you inside wherever you are, They can’t get to you. I’m telling you, I don’t even know how it works. But, if you won’t stay here with me or go with Joyce, I need you to put this on and keep all of the windows up on your car. All of the doors stay locked, got it?”
“Who is They?” You did not receive a verbal answer to your questions, only more clandestine looks.
It hit you like a flying brick just then that they were indeed not being malicious, nor were they trying to drug you to put you in a well and skin you alive. Steve and Joyce truly believed everything they were telling you:
Some unspecified Things come out at nightfall and kill people, but wearing a stone around your neck magically keeps them at bay. Got it.
You didn’t know why they came across as so sheltered and endangered when anyone could hop on the highway and be back in civilization in ten minutes. There were probably wild animals out there in the woods; coyotes and wolves and maybe even bears, and those were the things that showed up to terrorize the locals at nightfall, not some nocturnal horde of zombies.
Your survival instinct won out over curiosity, and you mumbled “bye Steve” over your shoulder, dashing out into the parking lot.
Behind you, Joyce took hold of Steve’s arm to keep him from following in your wake.
“She’ll have to learn this one the hard way, unfortunately,” she whispered to him. “Like most of us did.”
They watched you throw yourself in behind the steering wheel, and then heard your door lock after it slammed shut.
“I’ll fix up the cot in the supply room just in case she—-” he didn’t finish, but Joyce knew what he meant.
You’d be back once you realized there was nowhere else to go, and hopefully your pride wouldn’t keep you out too long after dark. He’d wait up and keep the light on.
Without one of the stones of protection, it wouldn’t matter if you were in a concrete bunker, The Others would still be able to get to you if they wanted to.
Maybe if you got stranded in your car, you’d be smart enough to hide under a blanket and stay quiet until morning.
What if you tried to run from them on foot or, worse yet, tried to physically defend yourself?
As far as Steve knew, those things they called The Others couldn’t be stopped.
7
You literally squealed out of town, tires leaving fishtail skid marks on the pavement.
“What the fuck was that?” You mumbled, breathless, eyeballing the two in your rearview mirror as you got back on the highway and were swallowed up by fog.
The misty forest continued for about a mile, and then it wasn’t long before you were approaching another town. Had you somehow passed through a similar place without realizing on your way in? Seemed impossible, but you rationalized it as first date nerves getting the best of you.
And what a fucking bonkers “first date” that had been. One for the books.
Shame because Steve had one of those faces you’d never get tired of looking at.
All the same, you were grateful to be out of Hawkins, but you needed gas. You’d be able to get home with what you had in the tank, but didn’t want to have to take time to fill up on your way to work in the morning.
On your right, you passed another weathered Welcome to Hawkins sign.
No, that was a mistake. The natural light was fading rapidly but surely you’d misread it without your headlights on.
You slowed to honor the speed limit through to the center of whatever town it was. There was an establishment called Melvald’s, a Radio Shack, and further down was a Family Video, but the streets were deserted. It was barely dusk and not a single soul strolled the sidewalks or drove by in a vehicle.
A church bell rang in the distance, and you spotted a woman hustling three young children up a flight of stairs. The youngest didn’t seem to be taking the steps fast enough, so she picked him up and carried him the rest of the way to a door that slammed shut as once they were all inside.
They were acting as if the moonlight was poison and they couldn’t get any on their skin.
Pink and orange blossomed over the horizon while the sun sank behind the mountains, and the church bell persisted with its haunting tune. A little further and there were cars parked outside of fenced houses, but not a single human or animal to be found. A pair of seats on a swing set swayed back and forth as if occupied by ghosts.
Coming to a halt at a stop sign, there was a very familiar sight:
62 Days Without Incident
The same sandwich board, the same cursive handwriting in black marker in front of the same red brick post office building.
“Nononono..no. This is not right…” you started mumbling to yourself, inching along the pavement.
It wasn't long before you spotted the empty swimming pool with the back end of a wrecked car sticking out of it. If you turned down that first street, you knew you’d find Benny’s Burgers and Steve probably at the front window, waiting with flex cuffs to tie you up in his basement.
You’d missed a turn, that was all. That was the only explanation.
You went extra slow the next time through the forest, making sure to spot whatever exit or turn you’d missed before.
But then the trees opened up to a town and there was the Welcome to Hawkins sign. Melvald’s and Radio Shack. Family Video. 62 Days Without Incident. Wrecked car in an empty pool.
White knuckle grip on the wheel, frustrated tears welled hot at your lash line.
“This can’t be right.”
You tried it again, going no more than 10 mph through the woods, and it didn’t help that the smog was billowing thick as cream.
Why hadn’t you passed any other cars on the road?
On your fourth time back around, after a good cry, you reasoned that maybe you’d taken the wrong way out of town somehow, but you’d have to ask someone in the morning and try again due to the staggering lack of visibility you were currently faced with.
Plus, according to your gas gauge, you’d be coasting on nothing but fumes soon.
Wiping wet cheeks with the back of your hand, you flicked the blinker and coasted in under a metal awning alongside two gas pumps that were connected to a single mechanics garage and a mini mart.
“Please be open,” you said to the glass front door of the service station which, once again, looked like it had been abandoned for the evening, or possibly for the entire year.
When you turned the engine off you realized that the church bell was no longer thumping to the beat of your headache, and the dead calm silence settled around like a veil, much like the ambiance of a horror film.
The type of horror film your character didn’t make it out of.
You shook your head and thought about slapping yourself in the face. This was all just some wild mixup. You’d get gas, get a room at the motel you’d spotted a few blocks back, and find your bearings first thing in the morning.
Deep breaths in and out of your nose a few times while you sat trying to psych yourself up to get out and find someone to pay for the gas, pending the pumps weren’t dry.
Relief blossomed when you spotted a person approaching from the street. With each steady step, they took their time to cross the distance, as if calculating if they should .
“Oh thank god, a person,” you said on an exhale.
8
He was balding, but his dishwater blonde hair was combed over to try and hide it, he wore an oddly formal brown suit jacket and slacks. Polka dot orange and chocolate necktie, his hands relaxed at his sides, he reminded you of a used car salesman thinking he spotted an easy mark.
The smile was wide and plastered to his face, unwavering, as if his teeth were clamped shut and he was gritting through some private pain
“Hey,” you said, stepping out of the car, but keeping the open door in front of you as a barrier. “I was hoping to get some gas. Do you happen to know if anyone works here?”
His pace did not falter, nor did his deranged grin.
You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you clearly at first, so you waited for him to get a few feet closer. Nearly three car lengths away at that point and you made the decision to stay put, ignoring the sharp gut instinct telling you to start the engine and go.
“Sorry, do you work here?” You weren’t sure why that came out of your mouth considering his attire. “I only need a couple gallons. I have cash if—-”
“You shouldn’t be here,” the smiling man said, maintaining a show of teeth.
He also said your name. Somehow, he knew your name.
An alarm went off in your gut. “Do I know you?”
You hadn’t yet had time to process the idea that you’d gone to the wrong place entirely for your date, and Steve wasn’t even the one you were supposed to meet.
The smiling man got closer, only a car length away by then.
With a start, you noticed that a woman in an old fashioned Nurse uniform—like the type one might wear for Halloween—was not far behind the man in the suit, headed toward you at the same pace with her hair done in two platinum blonde braids..
Her smile was not as wide but just as unsettling.
“Hello?” You yelled in the direction of the service station, knowing you should go over and try to knock, but your feet felt like they had concrete shoes on.
“Hello?” A high-pitched voice came from somewhere behind you, and it was clearly mocking, complete with a maniacal giggle at the end.
You spun around to find that the smog was a curtain, and you were unable to see beyond it. It was gathering around you legs too, as if preparing to drag you into the void.
Disoriented and panting, you watched a car come flying up over the curb, gunning the engine so hard that one of the hubcaps flew off.
The avocado green Ford Pinto caught air for a second before the bumper crashed into the smiling man, bending him in half like a rag doll. It pinned him into the stone of the building with a loud, sickening crunch.
You would’ve screamed but your breath caught on a sharp inhale, making you choke.
Clearly broken by the impact, the smiling man’s expression never faultered, and he was still staring pointedly at you while bits from the wall crumbled around him.
Black blood dripped from his lips and eyes like tar.
“Fuckfuckfuckwhatthefuck,” you babbled while Joyce flapped her arms to try and get your attention from the window of the passenger seat.
“Hurry, get in!” She shouted, her voice cracking at the end.
Steve was driving, and he backed up enough so that the body of the smiling man slumped to the ground.
Throwing the vehicle into park, Steve bolted from his seat with what looked like a baseball bat covered in jumbo nails like a medieval mace.
He swung to strike the woman in the nurse uniform with it, but missed, and she hissed at him. Her mouth grew 5 times its original size, crowded full with rows of sharp teeth. Her eyes stretched into empty, cavernous holes with nothing behind them, her fingers were long claws and her…her….
It was then that you realized you were screaming.
9
“Steve watch out!” Joyce had a hold of your hand, dragging you along with all of her mite.
The thing that was once the woman in the nurse uniform let out a shrill cry just before the nail bat made contact with its skull. Its head whacked into the side of the Pinto and bounced off, causing a spray of black blood.
It barely made a difference.
It lunged jerkily and swiped at him; mouth gaping, eyes two spirling tunnels to hell, but before it could make contact, Joyce pulled a tiny firearm out of her sleeve and took aim, cracking the thing in the cheek with a bullet.
“I hate these things,” she muttered under her breath while the tip smoked, and you weren’t sure if she meant guns or the Other thing that tried to take a bite out of Steve; possibly both.
The nurse stumbled back behind the pumps and fell out of view.
“GET. IN.” Joyce was stronger than she looked as she stuffed you into the back seat of the Pinto. In haste, you scraped your knee on a piece of metal behind the passenger seat, but had no idea until you saw the blood running down your leg some time later.
The smiling man shuffled to his feet like he was being tugged up by strings.
His guts were spilling out of him but yet, he was able to stand. Stand and smile. With inky ooze dripping from everywhere like melting wax.
Joyce was in the process of shutting her door as Steve backed up. You felt the jarring bump when the wheels went over the nurse.
You caught Steve’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay?” He demanded. “Did any of them touch you?”
On the seat next to you was the nail bat; some of the nurses’ blonde hair was sticking to it.
“No, uh, no, I don’t think so. What are they? Did you just kill that woman? Take me back to my car. Tell me what is going on!”
He was lightning fast on the gears once he’d backed up into the street, just in time for you to see the nurse sit upright; black tar leaking from the hole in the back of her head.
“That’s not a woman,” he grunted, flooring the pedal. “It's not even human.”
“What does that mean?” Shaking, you listened to your own horrified voice as if from a distance.
Joyce swiveled in her seat to give you the best comforting twist of her lips that she could muster. “I’ll do my best to explain, back at the diner.”
“Why aren’t they dead?” You whined, staring back at the nurse one last time before the gas station disappeared in the smog.
Through the window you saw that there were more of those Things that resembled people lining the sidewalk, standing shoulder to shoulder. They swarmed in from the shadows one by one to watch the vehicle pass with vested interest.
Their eyes followed you like the pinto was a one-man parade. Or perhaps a meals-on-wheels.
“Where did they all come from?” You asked, almost certain you wouldn’t get an answer.
“Your guess is as good as ours,” Steve sighed.
He was awfully calm considering what you’d just witnessed.
From the rearview mirror dangled a similar stone to the one Steve wore around his neck, suspended by cream string or twine.
There was a crackling noise and then a new voice sounded like it was coming from a radio.
“Joyce, are you there?” A pause and more crackling. “Need you to talk to me Joyce. Harrington? Anyone?”
There was a CB radio attached to the dash. Joyce unhooked the mouthpiece from its metal hinge and put it to her mouth, depressing the side button.
“I’m here, Hop,” Joyce was doing her best not to sound rattled, adjusting her collar. Her glance flicked to the back seat. “We’re safe. We got her.”
The following silence hissed static before Hopper cleared his throat. “Good, that’s good. And Steve?”
“He’s here,” she assured. “Not a scratch.”
Jim was all the way on the other side of town about to take his shoes off and have some of the potato vodka his buddy Scott distilled in his basement when he got word that Joyce and Steve were going after you. He’d begged Joyce to wait for him, but knew she wouldn’t. He’d sped to the scene as fast as he could.
“I’ll be at Benny’s in two,” he said. “Be careful. Over and out.”
10
Gravel crunched under the tires as Steve pulled into the diner. Three of the things with the same posture as the smiling man were slinking out of the woods. Two from the left, and one from around the corner on the right.
They had the same lock-jawed grins, but this time, one was a high school boy in a green letterman’s jacket, one was an elderly woman in a robe with a shower cap on her head, and the third was a boy no older than twelve.
Disarming at first, but then you recognized the dead eyes, assessing you like a shark.
“There’s more,” Joyce gestured behind at the handful that were meandering up from the street. They all had a certain gait to them; like those serial killers in movies to go at a snail pace, but somehow always catch up to the victim.
Steve looked over his shoulder to get a look through the back window, and then his gaze landed on you again.
His scowl was more stern than he meant for it to be. “If you run, I can’t promise I’ll be able to save you again,” he swallowed, softening. “Joyce is going to head into the diner first, you follow her, and I’ll take up the rear, got it?”
You thought you gave a response, but maybe not.
“Nod if you understand,” he rumbled.
“I understand,” you said weakly, noticing that your cheeks were wet.
The things had the gait of zombies, but they were far from brain dead, and their skin suits weren’t composed of rotting flesh. Aliens, maybe? Vampires? How the fuck was this even happening?
“Ready?” Joyce had her fist around the door handle, ready to jump out and push her seat forward for your exit.
The old woman and the little boy with a mop of raven hair were only a few yards away, and you remembered how the nurse’s face had changed into a horrific maw of terror.
“Don’t look at them,” Joyce urged. “You just grab onto the back of my shirt and keep your eyes forward. They’re scary fuckers, but they are also really slow.”
You broke through the wall of fear that had you frozen in place, and tried not to think about how close the old woman was when you bolted from the back seat and tripped.
Of course you would trip.
Your knee caught all of your weight making you gasp in pain, but a surge of adrenaline pushed you through it, snatching Joyce’s hand as you went.
“Good to see you again, Joyce,” the old woman purred. “Who is your friend?”
“Fuck you!” Joyce said from the front door of the diner, yanking a janitor cluster of keys from the crossbody bag she wore.
You kept your gaze glued to the back of her head, but peripheral vision showed that the duo were almost within arms reach. Ice cold breath prickled down your spine.
Steve was behind you then, warm body crushed against yours, shielding you from the Others while Joyce undid the lock. All of you practically landed in a dogpile on the floor inside the diner.
Joyce sank down on the ground right where she was on the tile, panting while the strange Others begin to huddle at the entrance, peering in at you with salacious intent.
“She’s pretty,” the little boy said. “We just want to introduce ourselves.”
“You can’t keep her from us forever,” said the guy in the letterman’s jacket. Now that you had a closer look, you could see that the gums around his pearly white teeth were the color of rot.
Steve rolled his shoulders back, nostrils flaring while he maintained the stand-off with nothing but a single pane of glass between them. .
You took hold of his arm, unnerved by how close he was and how easily the glass could be shattered.
“Steve, get away from—-”
“They can’t do shit,” he snapped, more to them than to you. He pointed to a stone that was ten times the size of the one around his neck and mounted on the wall. “They can’t touch us now.”
How those rough cut rocks with some type of symbol carved into the surface kept anything out was another mystery. Was it like the symbol of the cross for demons and vampires?
Were those things some breed of demon?
Blinded by a sudden white flash, you had to shield your face when a pair of headlights bounced into the lot.
“It’s Hopper,” Joyce sounded relieved, getting to her feet.
The three that had been crowding at the door to leer in at you shuffled off to go and check it out.
The next thing you heard was the discharge of a gun. The jolt of it made you throw your arms around Steve, but then you quickly pushed off, clutching a hand over your heart.
Another gunshot, and then another.
One more for good luck.
A large man in a tan uniform and a substantial mustache squeezed his thick shoulders through the diner door, holstering his gun. He took his hat off once he was inside and swept a large hand through the new haircut Joyce had given him.
Outside, you could see the high school kid face down on the ground, sprawled like a starfish.
“It won’t kill them,” Hopper said, as if he could read your thoughts. “But it does slow them down a bit.”
He fished a toothpick from his front pocket and bit down on it. “We try to keep bullet use to a minimum, but that sure felt good.”
“You didn’t have to come,” Joyce tucked herself under his open arm and hugged him. “I told you Steve and I had it covered.”
“Yeah, well,” he closed his eyes and perched his chin on the top of her head. “It’s not every day we get someone new in town.”
You must’ve looked like you were about to throw up or pass out because Steve started making comforting circles on your back with the flat of his hand.
“You guys are only a few miles off the freeway,” the synapses in your brain were still fighting for a chance to make sense of it all. “How do the authorities not know about this?”
You couldn’t peel your attention away from the sprawled body out on the pavement. In the distance, groups of Others lumbered toward the building.
“I am the authorities,” the man introduced as Jim Hopper said with a glint of humor in his eye.
“She’s with me,” Steve blurted. The comment came so far out of left field that everyone turned to stare at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.
“I mean,” he stammered, nibbling his bottom lip. “She can stay here with me if she wants, on the pullout in the store room. I’ll be fine in one of the booths.”
There were 7-8 of those things waiting outside the door at that point, including the ones that had been shot by Hopper, but those were all rising like marionettes by then. A busty woman with long red hair joined the stalkers, as well as a balding middle-aged man, and what appeared to be an elderly Priest.
Hopper put his hat down on a nearby table and sank into a chair as if it was just another day. “Coffee if you’ve got it.”
“Um, yeah, sure, I’ll make a fresh pot,” Steve moved around the partition toward the kitchen, grazing your hand with the tips of his fingers to urge you to move with him.
He leaned over to whisper. “We need to wait 15-20 minutes before they can go back out. Those things will get bored and wander off somewhere else. Back to hell or wherever they are from.”
“Sit here,” he tapped the end of the counter and a padded stool so that he could talk to you while he made the brew.
11
He put several scoops of grounds into a filter at the top of the machine and made sure it was filled with water. He’d removed his flannel at some point, and you caught yourself watching his back muscles twitch under the thin material of his white tee. The water he used was not from the sink, but in a plastic gallon jug with a duct taped handle.
You were still standing when he turned and wiped his hands down his denim-clad hips.
“That guy at the gas station,” you started. “The one you…the one in the suit, he…”
Tasting bile, you tried to find your words and Steve did not try to rush you.
“That thing…he knew my name. How could he know that?”
On an exhale, Steve leaned forward to rest his forearms on the counter. He wanted nothing more than to be able to put you at ease and say you had nothing to worry about, but alas.
“Yeah so it’s one of those mysteries I’ve been trying to figure out since I got here,” he opened his hand and ran his thumb over the calluses on the opposite palm. “They know things they shouldn’t know and they survive things no living organism should survive. The only way we know how to kill them is—-”
“Since you got here?” You blurted. “Did you just show up like I did? How long have you been here?”
“Well, I guess you could say I showed up like you did, but not really,” he rolled his head, stretching the sides of his neck so that something popped. “One day I was in a place I refer to as Normal Hawkins, and then I was in this very different version of the same town. We all were.”
“Wait, so,” you frowned, simultaneously comforted by the familiar warm scent of brewing coffee. The machine spit and sputtered. “You mean this isn’t Hawkins?”
“No, it is,” he swiped a tongue over his top teeth. “It’s hard to explain. Robin and I have been reading up on, you know, alternate universes and such. Parallel worlds. We think this might be one of those.”
“Robin?” Your eyebrow shot up.
“My best friend. I mentioned her before.”
“Oh yes, right. Where is she tonight?”
“Safe at home, I hope,” he went over to get a couple mismatched mugs from a light blue drying rack. “We used to live together but she moved in with her girlfriend and—” he stealed himself, realizing he was about to ramble on about his personal life.
“We’re out of cream today, but I have a lot of sugar,” he plucked a few packets from his magic apron pocket: one pink, one white, and one brown.
He loved offering you sugar.
He took the other two steaming mugs over to Joyce and Hopper while you stirred in the white crystals with a tiny spoon. It crossed your mind that maybe never left your apartment, and were actually asleep on the couch, dreaming all of this.
Easing down to take a reluctant seat, you perched on the edge of the stool. The deep orange of the upholstery was worn and split down the middle, exposing the white stuffing.
You took a peek over your shoulder to find that half of those Things were gone; only the redhead, the priest, and the high school kid remained. Where the bullet hole tore through his cheek was almost completely healed, but the weeping black blood remained like tear-soaked mascara.
His evil smile widened when he caught your eye, making you swiftly spin away. You scooted down to the opposite end of the counter so that you wouldn’t be within view.
Steve observed your seat change and did what he should’ve done when they first got there, which was to walk over and pull the shades down to cover the glass on the door. He was so used to ignoring them, he’d forgotten what it was like to comprehend their existence for the first time.
“I promise, you’re safe in here with us,” Steve leaned in to whisper. “I don’t know how the stones work, but they do.”
In a few days, it would be exactly two years since he’d been forced to cohabitate with those…ghouls.
A ghoul was the closest he’d come to describing them. But they weren’t a typical braindead zombie on the ravenous hunt for fresh organs like he’d seen in the old George Romero movies; they were unfortunately intelligent and possessed some type of psychic ability or hive mind.
The only thing that could kill them was decapitation, which also synced up with common zombie lore. If bitten or attacked, the person afflicted did not turn into one of them, which was a small mercy. Steve’s good friend Tommy had been one of the first to meet such a fate; they’d buried all of his mauled body parts out near Skull Rock.
Twenty months later, there were several rows of marked graves to accompany him.
“Steve?” He liked the way you said his name.
“Uh huh,” popping a hip out to rest it on the counter, he took a sip of his coffee from a Star Wars Ewok mug, addressing you over the rim.
“So, you never put a personal ad in the newspaper?” One hand was trembling, so you slotted it between your knees.
He inhaled to speak, but you continued. “The voice message I got sounded just like you, and it told me to meet you here.”
Your mug was beige with brown lettering that said: Accountant’s Never Die, They Just Lose Their Balance.
“It wasn’t me,” he said softly. “Believe me, I would never want to drag anyone into this.”
He continued, frowning. “I wonder if it was Other Steve that put the ad in the paper?
“Other Steve?”
He shrugged. “I mean, if this is a case of parallel worlds, there is a chance that there is another version of me back in that other version of Hawkins. The version that didn’t keep us trapped like rats in a cage.”
Even though it sounded ludacris, you considered it, because even that was quite a bit more comforting than the alternative.
He said your name, making you look up.
“So, you were supposed to go on a date with some other Steve guy?” It had been a while since he felt that particular brand of jealousy. “What a small world.”
“You could say that,” you swallowed, feeling judged. “I should’ve known that the only promising personal ad would lead to more horrors.”
He gave a low chuckle, feeling bad for the other parallel version of him who probably waited at Benny’s for a solid hour, thinking he got ditched.
If only Other Him knew you were absolutely worth waiting for.
“Steve?”
“Mhmhm,” he scratched the stubble on his jaw.
“Are we dead?” It bubbled out of your chest as you stared into your coffee. “Did I die out there on the highway or something?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, tucking his chin. “I’ve wondered that too, like, a lot, but I don’t think this is the end. I think we’ll make it out of here one day. I know we will.”
Something vibrated in the shared silence and you found yourself staring at his parted lips.
“I’m not ready to die.”
Your whisper was interrupted by a sudden, obnoxious noise coming from the back room.
It sounded like the rattling of a doorknob, like someone trying to get in.
12
“Stay here,” Steve instinctively grabbed the closest and biggest knife, held it aloft like Michael Myers, and went to investigate.
He put a hand over the stone under his shirt too, reminding himself that this building was protected. Those things could try to open the door, but even then they’d be powerless to step over the threshold, much like a vampire without a proper invitation.
The ghouls that had been huddling like cattle at the front door were all gone as far as you could see, and you wondered if maybe they’d wandered around to try another way in.
“What’s going on?” Jim scooted his chair out and stood to see why Steve was holding the knife like that.
Without answering, Steve made his way around a metal supply rack, eyes narrowing on the brass knob of the back door.
It was wiggling violently, causing Steve’s heart to explode in his throat.
The jostling stopped only long enough for there to be a loud thud and quake of the door frame while whatever was on the other side rammed itself against the wood.
By then, Hopper had unholstered his gun and was on his way over.
You and Joyce had the same idea at the same time and both started looking for a weapon. Joyce found a pair of scissors, but all you could find was a fork.
“Let me in, motherfuckers!” A voice shouted from the other side of the door.
Another thud, more frantic twisting of the knob.
“Wait,” Steve put his hand up to slow Hopper from going ahead of him.
The possible intruder went still.
“Munson?” Steve asked. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me man. You need a secret code or something? I’ve got one of those freaks on my ass, please open the fuck up!”
Hopper’s shoulders sagged and he lowered his weapon. Out of habit, Steve checked above the door to make sure the protection stone was still mounted there before he searched to see where you were. The ghouls were capable of mimicking voices to trick people into dropping defenses for them, but if there was even a tiny chance it really was Eddie, he had to check it out.
He planned to drill a peephole in that door the first chance he got.
Steve twisted open the lock and stepped way back. “It’s open.”
The guy who blew into the kitchen before slamming the door behind him to lean against it shivering was definitely not one of those things from earlier.
Panting, Eddie clicked the lock. “Fuck me Harrington, that thing almost got me. There were two of them, fuck, maybe ten. I stopped counting once I started running.”
“Eddie, what happened?” Joyce pushed by Hopper. “Where are your shoes?”
It was just then that you realized Eddie’s feet were bare. He wore a pair of tattered jeans and a worn shirt with the faded phrase Hellfire Club on the front. His long hair was wet and if he’d already taken a shower, the looks of his feet said he needed another one.
“Leave it to me to lock myself out of the trailer again,” his teeth were chattering, and without asking for one, Joyce handed him a multicolored, crocheted blanket from the broom closet to put around his shoulders. “I was headed over to find Wayne at Claudia’s, but then I got cornered and well, the rest is history.”
“Why didn’t you use the front door?” Steve crossed his arms with the point of the knife sticking up.
“I don’t know, man,” Eddie pulled the blanket tight around himself like a cocoon and shut his eyes tight. “Why doesn’t anyone do anything? Sorry if I scared you or whatever.”
Joyce introduced you as Eddie shuffled out to the dining area, and all he said was, “hey,” in greeting before he slumped into one of the booths, adjusting so that his back was to the wall and his legs straight along the bench seat.
“You got any shoes I can borrow?” The visitor with the long, wet hair asked Steve.
Steve put the knife back in the slot with the others. “Borrow as in I get them back tomorrow or borrow as in they become yours and I’ll never see them again?”
“Just forget it,” Eddie grunted. It wasn’t long before Steve threw a pair of flip flops at him and brought him a cup of coffee.
“Looks like it’s safe for us to split,” Jim announced a few minutes later, putting his hat back on. The parking lot was quiet, and even if there were any creepy ghouls nearby, they’d be able to get behind the wheel of their cars without making contact.
“You need a ride back to your place, Eddie?” Joyce asked while she walked their coffee mugs over to the back sink. “I still have a spare key from that time you let me and Will stay there.”
“Yeah that’s cool,” Eddie said absently. His attention had shifted and you realized he was staring at you.
“So, wait, you’re new here?” Eddie asked.
“Just came into town a few hours ago,” Steve answered somberly.
You’d been sitting with your back to Eddie, but then turned on your stool to make eye contact across the room.
“Shit, that sucks,” Eddie blurted. “I mean, you don’t suck, but just like, I’m not sure what type of bad luck makes people end up here.”
You didn’t know what to say to that, so you simply nodded a few times in agreement; it did, indeed, feel like bad luck, or something worse.
After a beat, Eddie cleared his throat. “You, um, don’t happen to have any smokes on you by chance?”
“Yeah, I do, actually,” you could almost hear a soft whine of relief come out of him. “Well, not on me. There’s an untouched pack in the glovebox of my car but it’s…”
You trailed off realizing that your bag with all of your ID and personal shit were back in the car, too. You’d left in such a hurry, the keys were probably still in the ignition. Fuck, the last thing you needed was for someone to steal your car and your bag. Could those zombie things drive? You’d almost forgotten about that secret pack of Camel Lights that you’d stuffed in there for emergencies, but you never expected it to be for an actual emergency.
“Yeah? Where’s your car?” He sat up, alert.
“Back at the gas station,” Joyce rolled up one of her oversized cuffs. “There was a run in with a few of those Things earlier and we had to leave in a hurry.”
“I should probably go back there and get my things,” you mused.
“Not a good idea, not tonight,” Steve interrupted, swinging his arm out as if to block you from the rest of the group. “In the morning I’ll take you. Those things usually don’t bother with inanimate objects, unless they are attached to a living-breathing human.”
Eddie mumbled. “Better not catch one of them enjoying a fresh cigarette, or I’m gonna be pissed.”
You stood up, addressing Eddie. “If you want to go by there and take the pack, you are welcome to them. I quit a while ago, so—”
“Yeah, so did I,” Eddie blew a raspberry of a laugh. “But not willingly. They don’t exactly grow on trees here.”
Steve crossed his arms over his chest again, rolling his shoulders back. “I don’t think anyone should be making any unnecessary stops tonight.”
“I agree,” Hopper voiced.
“I’d say it’s necessary,” Eddie countered, knowing that Steve was right. The safety of morning light would come soon enough.
Steve shut off the overhead lights and released the blinds that covered the door to peer out. Eddie shuffled over in Steve’s flip flops and the blanket around him like a little kid leaving for a sleepover.
The three made the decision to take Hopper’s Bronco, and Joyce told Steve to take care. She kissed his cheek while Eddie gave him a fist bump that Steve seemed unsure how to respond to at first.
“See ya later, alligator,” Steve told them before turning the lock to seal the building again.
You stood side by side and watched until they were safely on the road. In their wake, something bolted out of the woods and threw its head back to wail like a beast. It had a bald head and pointed ears and crouched to all fours like an animal.
“Why is that one different than the others?” You asked, clutching onto Steve’s arm.
“We think those are the older ones,” he cleared his throat. “But there are only a few of them that I know of.”
“Why do you think they’re older?” Your gaze was locked on the Thing as it lumbered back out of sight.
Steve shifted on his feet before pulling the blinds back down. “It’s just a hunch really, but they seem to be faster and smarter than the others. Those are the ones that can mimic voices.”
You shrugged away and put your face in your hands. “This can’t be real. This has to be a fucking nightmare.”
“It is a nightmare alright,” Steve agreed with you. “But the thing is, we’re not asleep.”
“How do you know that though? This is probably one of those deep REM dreams that we won’t even remember once we wake up.”
“If this is a dream,” he had his hands on his hips and the sides of his mouth wiggled with a repressed grin. “How can I find you when we wake up? Do you have a phone number I can call or?”
You shifted your gaze to the floor so that you wouldn’t get lost in his eyes. “When you wake up, put another personal ad in the paper for me to find.”
“Deal,” he offered a genuine smile that time. The guy had perfect teeth; it almost made you self-conscious.
13
You had the impression that Steve lived somewhere on the premises, but that was not the case. The “spare room” he’d mentioned was a cot in the pantry. Apparently he lived in the family home he’d grown up in, but crashed at the diner more often than not. He changed the sheets and threw a Sesame Street comforter on that had probably once been on a twin bed for a child while you were in the bathroom. He handed you a spare toothbrush and before you went in, you asked if the toilet worked.
“Why wouldn’t it?” Steve was honestly confused.
“Well,” you gestured around vaguely. “If this is some type of post-apocalyptic wasteland where nothing new comes or goes, where is the electricity and water coming from?”
"Another mystery, I'm afraid."
Your throat constricted. “We are dead, we have to be.”
“Because the toilets flush?” He chuckled.
You bristled with annoyance and turned away. Not annoyance with Steve in particular but with your shit show of a life that refused to let you know peace.
“Hey listen, I know—-” Steve reached out for you only to freeze his hand in mid-air.
There was music coming from the dining area.
The sound was shrill static at first but then the chorus bloomed, and it took you a second to recognize that the song was When the Night Comes by Joe Cocker.
“I just wanna be the one you run to
I just wanna be the one you come to
I just wanna be there for someone
When the night comes”
“Steve…what is happening?” With each word you were moving toward the sound, disregarding the protests of your gut.
“Let's put all the cares behind us
And go where they'll never find us”
With the only other light being the moon shining through the slats in the blinds, the neon red and yellow caught your attention.
At a table near the window was a replica of an old jukebox, no taller than a bowling ball. There was a coin slot at the top and white buttons at the bottom to choose from the flipcards with song titles on them. As you approached, you checked out the window above it to see the shadows made by rows of trees and wondered what could possibly be lurking there, observing you.
“It does that sometimes,” Steve was a few steps behind, combing fingers through his hair.
“Two spirits in the night
That can leave before the morning light
When there's nothing left to lose
And nothing left to fear”
You stood at the end of the booth and stared at the machine. “Is it the same song every time?”
“Different ones,” his chest was inches from your back, his warm breath on your neck. “But this one is a favorite.”
“I know there'll be a time for you and I
Just take my hand and run away”
“Do you want to wear this?” He’d picked up the flannel and put it over your shoulders. “I saw you shivering.”
“Think of all the pieces of the shattered dream
We're gonna make it out some day”
Without taking your eyes off of the jukebox, you let him wrap the wool shirt with a quilted lining over you and then, without hesitation, your hand slipped into his and he held it there, interlacing his fingers to step to your side.
A strange weight lifted off of you at the idea of not being able to go home.
“Do you really think we’ll get out of here one day?” You asked in a whisper.
“I just wanna be there beside you
When the night comes”
Steve admired your profile. “I hope so,” his voice was a murmur. “But it doesn’t seem so bad here all of a sudden.”
The jukebox did not run on batteries and it was not plugged into a socket on the wall.
You tipped your chin up slowly to meet his gaze and, just then, out in the street, something inhuman scampered through the parking lot and into the woods.
His thumb gently rubbed along yours and you could smell a touch of cologne on the flannel.
“Steve, I think we should have some pie.”
He was staring at your mouth while he nodded in agreement.
The music cut off before the song was finished, and the jukebox went dark.
-----
My friends, thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed.
Written for @bettyfrommars , @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing ’s excellent Stranger Prompts event.
Series Summary: After the events of the previous months, everyone is shocked by the unexpected return of an old friend. But is it really him?
Chapter summary: It’s all hands on deck to try and help your unexpected visitor. You come up with an effective, if unexpectedly intimate, solution.
WC: ~4.41k
C/W: 🔞 18+, MDNI, NSFW, series CW for eventual Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut. Post-S4, Upside Down exists, dark/supernatural themes, descriptions of minor injuries, allusions to hypothermia.
A/N: This series contains a lot of themes and scenarios that I haven’t written for before, so I’d love to know what you think! Please comment and reblog, it means the world to writers, and reblogs mean work gets seen. This series has a taglist so if you’d like to be on either it, or my general list, just comment, ask or message, I’d love to have you on board 🙏💗 Also, I proofed this as much as I could but my brain isn’t braining very well at the moment so if you spot any errors please let me know 💙
Prev: PROLOGUE Next: PART TWO
Series masterlist
My masterlist
Prologue
PART ONE
There, hunched, shivering, soaked and covered in mud, is your friend. The one who’d died saving the town. The one they’d buried only a few days ago, after he’d been lying on a slab in a lab somewhere for weeks.
Eddie.
The increasingly noisy wind blows leaves and the now-driving rain horizontally across the stoop. Inside the hallway, there’s silence.
You all stand at the door, mouths agape. Initially, none of you move.
You take in your visitor’s appearance. His hair is lank, wet with mud and rain and full of twigs and leaves. He stands, shoulders sagging, in filthy, soaked clothes, the wet material seeming to drag his frame down even further.
You glance down and notice he’s barefoot, his feet the same mid-brown mud colour as most of his clothing, other than where thin rivulets of scarlet run down his skin.
His cheeks are gaunt, his lips grey, not the plush, rosy pink that they always were. He looks thinner than you remember, and his skin was always pale, but it seems even lighter now, almost translucent.
His face is downcast, and he doesn’t make eye contact with any of you.
Dustin shoulders his way between you and Steve and takes his first good look at the strange visitor. At first he’s confused, incredulous, but this rapidly gives way to pure astonishment, as he yells over the sound of the rain, “Eddie? EDDIE!”
He starts to rush forwards, but Steve puts an arm out to stop him, protecting Eddie’s obviously frail and vulnerable state.
There’s murmuring and chattering and quiet squeals as everyone processes the sight before them.
None of you consider what events or twists of fate have brought him here, all of you only caring in this moment that he’s here. He's here! He’s here!
Eddie finally lifts his eyes to you all. They’re sunken, red-rimmed, and have lost their usual sparkle. They don’t seem to focus on anything in particular, and before any of you can work to bring him inside, he mumbles something that sounds a little like your name, sways a little and collapses, his knees connecting with the wood of the front stoop with a hollow thump.
Steve reacts first, stopping Eddie from falling sideways as he rushes forward, yelling, “Get him inside. Now!”
You hurry outside to help Steve whilst Robin opens the door fully and shoos the teens out of the way. Steve instructs you to grab under Eddie’s arm, and you both drag him inside.
You don’t have Steve’s lifeguarding or athletic skills and you’re not used to manhandling people, and you stumble over the threshold and flop backwards into the hallway. You end up sitting on your ass with Eddie half over your lap.
There’s a cacophony of confusion and the kids want to help, but they end up crowding you both. They want to touch Eddie, see if it’s really him, see what’s wrong.
The only ones who hang back are Will and Jane, you assume because although they’ve heard so much about him they don’t really know him. No one notices their somewhat tense demeanour, or the way they subtly keep glancing at one another.
Robin closes the door to keep out the weather, and out of the corner of your eye you see her covering her mouth with both hands.
You run a hand over Eddie’s form, checking for any obvious injuries. You spot his arms and hands are in a similar state to his feet, utterly filthy, with cracked and split nails and torn, bloody skin.
He’s bedraggled and shivering, has curled in on himself and is practically convulsing.
You speak above the clamour.
“Steve, he’s freezing! What do we do??”
Steve panics a little, pacing the hallway with one hand on his hip and raking the other through his hair. He makes a few incomprehensible noises before he remembers something, stopping suddenly and turning to face you. Clicking his fingers and pointing, he reminds you,
“Wait, didn’t you go on some outdoor survival course once, or something? At a summer camp? You told me about it when you got back. Something about how to help people who’ve fallen out of canoes into icy rivers? I remember because you were really sarcastic about it and said, ‘It was sooooo useful. I mean, I go kayaking all the time, right?’”
“Shit, you’re right. Fuck, fuck!”
Slowly, some of the information comes back to you.
“Okay, we have to warm him up, but it has to be gradual, though. There was something about too much heat too fast maybe causing shock?”
You start to panic, screwing up your face and trying to remember all the things they taught you. ”Oh fuck, think, think!”
Robin puts an arm around your shoulders as Steve says your name, softly, reassuring you that you’re doing great and that anything you can remember will be better than the absolutely nothing that any of the rest of them know. Give him a swimmer in difficulty or someone choking on a gumball at the video store and he’s in his element, but any of this outdoorsy stuff is way out of his comfort zone.
Suddenly and from nowhere your brain kicks into high gear. You remember some of the training, and start barking orders.
“Will, get blankets, lots of blankets. I remember something about hot, sweet drinks…” Eyes wide and flicking between the stunned people standing around you, you ask, “Which of you makes the best hot chocolate??”
Mike and Lucas state in unison, “Dustin!”
“Okay. Dustin, Jane, you go make hot chocolate. Make a lot of it, and make it really sweet”, figuring you could all use some, and that there’s likely to be more than one person suffering from shock this evening.
Turning to her, you say, “Robin, help me take his jacket off and hang it in the kitchen by the stove. Mike, help Will with the blankets. Steve, Lucas, help me get him into the living room, in front of the fire. And anybody and everybody, go get more wood!”
Robin crouches next to you, helping you to ease Eddie’s jacket from his trembling shoulders, glancing at you as she does so. You’re guessing your concerned expression is mirroring hers, but you don’t want the kids to see so you keep it between you.
She gets up and moves to the small kitchen, placing his sodden jacket over the back of a dining chair and setting it in front of the old but functional wood-fired oven (one place in the house that’s almost always warm).
Steve and Lucas help you move Eddie into the living room, where the open fire gets stacked high with fresh wood.
Robin brings a bowl of warm water and some washcloths, and you sit eddie between you, both cleaning mud from his face and gently bathing his damaged hands and feet.
Jane sits on the floor behind you. Initially reticent and hanging back, she’s now sitting nearer to Eddie, carefully removing some of the twigs from his hair with characteristic diligence and gentleness.
You make Eddie take sips of Dustin’s (frankly, excellent) hot chocolate, and make sure all the kids have got some before asking Dustin to bring mugs for you, Steve and Robin.
Once he’s a bit cleaner and has had almost a full cup of Dustin’s healing brew, you all gather cushions and lay Eddie down on his side, facing the fire. You try to get as much heat on his front as you can, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. He’s still trembling and his skin is blue and icy to the touch, and he seems to be getting drowsy. You can’t remember much more of your basic emergency training, but it’s enough to worry you. Something about sleeping or going unconscious being a Very Bad Thing…
He’s wrapped in the blankets Will and Mike brought, but you fear the wet clothes he’s still wearing may well be hampering your efforts.
You have another idea, not sure whether it’s the done thing or if you’ll be able to convince any of the others to help you but willing to try anything at this point. You say, to no one in particular, “This isn’t working. Can we get him into the bathtub?”
Your eyes look up and scan the room, flicking mainly between Robin and Steve, and to your immense relief you see everyone nodding, trying to figure out how to make this work.
Dustin’s the first to stand, and you hear his voice crack a little as he tries to say with confidence,
“Tell us what you need us to do.”
You nod at him, once, before beginning,
“Dustin, Will, can you run a bath? Make it warm, but definitely not hot. Mike, Lucas, get towels. Hurry!”
After a few minutes, Dustin and Will return, letting you know they’ve filled the tub with warm, but not hot, water. Steve and Lucas reprise their roles as patient transport, and start to move Eddie towards the small bathroom.
As you follow them and traverse the narrow hallway you glance at the weather hammering outside the window of the back door. Something seems off, and it’s only after a few moments of consideration that you realise the leaves and rain are travelling in the opposite direction to those at the front door. This doesn’t make sense - surely the storm should be pushing them all the same way? It’s almost like you’re currently somehow in the centre of a swirling storm…
You don’t have time to dwell on this as Steve calls to you, asking what they should do now. You hurry to the bathroom and see that Steve has balanced Eddie’s butt on the side of the tub.
You reply,
“We need to get him out of these wet things.”
Grunting as he shifts position, Steve nods once and barks to Lucas, “Hold him up.”
Lucas does his best to stabilise your almost-unconscious friend. Kneeling in front of him, Steve fusses with Eddie’s waistband, grunting, “Sorry, buddy, it’s for the best”, as he unceremoniously yanks off Eddie’s jeans. New-looking, unripped, black 501 jeans.
Relieved to see he’s wearing boxers, they both balance Eddie as they work to remove his shirt. His Hellfire shirt. He only had two. Okay, this is officially getting weird…
As Steve and Lucas work you start to strip off your clothes, ending up in just your underwear and bra. You don’t even care that they’re in the room, reasoning that not only have they all seen you in your bathing suit before, but also that this was definitely not the time for bashfulness or self-consciousness.
Steve asks you what you’re doing, and you explain that you’re getting in the bath with Eddie, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Steve, he’s practically unconscious. You want him to slip under the surface and drown? Come on, let’s get him in here.”
Without waiting for any replies, you step into the water, relieved that the younger boys heeded your instructions and it is indeed warm, but not too hot. You wave your hands in vertical circles, as if it would bring Eddie closer faster.
The old bath is short, but wide, and you’re pretty sure you’ll both fit.
As the boys manhandle him you’re momentarily stunned as you see the outlines of Eddie’s ribs and shoulder blades brought into stark relief by the harsh lights of the room. But you’re jolted back to reality as you hear Steve grunting a little as he starts to manoeuvre Eddie’s legs into the water.
You help Steve and Lucas to get Eddie in, slowly lowering him in case even this is too much of a shock. You slide down behind him and sit with him between your legs, supporting him with his back against your chest. You rub his arms gently, and murmur, “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Please warm up, Eddie. Please.”
Gesturing to your now-muddy garb and Eddie’s discarded garments, you ask, to nobody in particular, “Can someone get these clothes in the washer?”
Lucas bundles them up in his arms and heads towards the door, calling for Robin’s assistance. Steve thanks him as he leaves and closes the door, staying in with you and Eddie.
The water comes up around your mid torso. You use your hand to slosh the warm water around Eddie’s upper chest, but eventually decide that’s not enough.
You use a small jug that you and Robin use for hair washing to run warm water over Eddie’s skin, gently trying to warm him, but also carefully working to remove what mud and detritus that you can. He still feels cold to the touch, but after quite a few nerve wracking minutes he appears to be shivering less.
You and Steve share concerned glances, and Steve comforts you as you comfort Eddie, crouching down and reaching over the side of the tub to stroke your shoulder, reassuring you, telling you that you’re doing good, that this is helping.
Eddie sighs a little as you run water through his hair and down his torso, picking out the leaves left from Jane’s efforts and throwing them onto the floor.
Though it’s still cool, and preternaturally pale, Eddie’s skin seems to have warmed a little.
Hearing chattering and commotions outside, Steve stands, and you can tell he wants to check on what chaos might be transpiring in the rest of the house.
“I’m gonna go check on the others. Will you be okay here for a few minutes?”
“Of course. I’ll call if I need anything.”
“Okay, good. Just make sure you do. I’ll be back soon.”
Steve gives you a small smile as he exits, leaving you two alone in the tub.
After the door closes you allow yourself a moment of pure self-indulgence and close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of Eddie’s body pressed against your own. His back nestles against your chest, his spine between your breasts. His pelvis is slotted between your thighs, and you can feel the jut of his hips and his coolness on the delicate skin there. There’s a subtle pressure on your centre, but you try your best to ignore it.
You tilt your head forward a little, just enough to rest your nose amongst Eddie’s wet tresses, and run your hands gently down the outside of his arms. Not necessarily to clean or warm them this time, but just to feel them. To feel him.
The circumstances are so far from ideal, but part of you can’t help but revel in this proximity, this intimacy. You always wanted to be like this with Eddie, to have this closeness, but you didn’t think he’d ever want the same with you. You indulge yourself further and start to daydream, imagining it’s just you and him, that it’s a lazy weekend, and you’re enjoying a bath together just for the fun of it. Maybe you’re in your own shared apartment, the sun is bright outside and the scent of summer flowers is drifting in through your open window. No worries, no dramas, just you and Eddie, and the only thing on your minds is the promise of a romantic evening together.
A noise outside the room, possibly something clattering in the kitchen, breaks your trance. Taking a deep breath and looking up again, you shake yourself out of your reverie. Wanting to take full advantage of the warm water whilst you still can, you take a chance and lean back against the sloped end of the bathtub, taking Eddie with you, submerging you both a little more. You continue to use one hand to scoop warm water over Eddie’s shoulders and collarbones, occasionally running your fingers over his chest and throat.
You use your other hand to run your fingers through his wet hair, and as you stroke him he turns his head to one side and nuzzles ever so slightly under your chin. His breathing is regulating, and he’s even humming a little. The physical pressure of his body resting between your legs is increased, but you manage to keep your focus on the matter at hand.
After a few more minutes Eddie’s hands seem to warm and regain a little function. He stills the movements of your hand on his chest and clumsily interlaces his fingers with yours, gripping as tightly as he’s able as a couple of fat tears run down his cheeks. He’s still not able to talk, but just by his actions he’s telling you so much.
You hum into the top of his head,
“It’s okay, Eddie. I’m here. You’re with us now. You’re safe.”
You feel him relax a tiny bit more.
You sit in stillness for a few more long minutes, and, using the opportunity to observe him further, you notice more changes.
He was always wiry, but his muscles had a soft bulk beneath his ivory skin. Now, they’re solid and taut, and you can almost see striations running their length. The skin stretched over them is thinner, and the healthy layer of subcutaneous fat is completely gone.
As well as his altered skin tone and skinnier, but somehow also more muscled, physique, you notice the angry silver and red marks in his skin. Sharp, starburst patterns that look like chunks of his flesh have been ripped out of him.
Of course, they were.
You shudder at the memory of the altercation with the demobats, watching Eddie bleed out, dragging him through the gate but none of you able to do anything to save him.
You so want to know what happened to him after you were all whisked away in ambulances and trucks and black SUVs. You’re sure you saw him bundled into a black body bag, lifted into one of the Hawkins National Laboratory vans, but where he went after that you had no idea.
Wanting to be closer to him, and inveterately curious, carefully, so carefully, you run a fingertip over one of the scars on his neck.
He tenses, and flinches slightly.
Okay, we’re not doing that just yet.
You both sit in the stillness for another little while, and the bath water begins to cool. Before you could call him for help, Steve comes back in to check on you both.
When he’s satisfied that neither of you have drowned, you check in and ask how everyone else is doing. Usually, when they stay over, the kids sleep on the floor in the living room in their sleeping bags. Steve lets you know that for tonight, Robin’s decided to sleep on the sofa in there with them. She says it’s for company, or reassurance, or whatever, definitely not because she’s at all freaked out and not wanting to sleep alone. He tells you the kids have enthusiastically agreed, that Robin’s calming them, placating their rampant questions and desires to see Eddie, and is managing to get them to at least lie down, even if they don’t sleep. You and Steve are supremely grateful.
As confident as you both can be that the immediate emergency is tackled, and with the bath water continuing to cool around you, you’re aware that you and Steve need to think about practicalities, and discuss quite what you’re going to do next.
Steve’s the first to broach the subject, drumming his fingers lightly on the side of the bath as he checks Eddie over once more and says,
“So, uh, what’re we gonna do with him now?”
Remembering more of your rudimentary training, you decide to make another unusual request.
“Well, uh… This is probably gonna sound kinda weird, but…”
“What? What is it?”
“Well, I remember something from the training that said body heat is the best thing for warming someone up. Like, consistent, reliable body heat.”
You pause to assess Steve’s response. His brow is slightly furrowed and he’s looking a little pensive, but he nods for you to continue.
“And there was something about how skin to skin contact is even better. So, I mean I totally get it if you don’t wanna do this, but I thought I’d we could maybe get him into a bed and then sleep either side of him. Like maybe even spoon him or something… I dunno, I guess this sounds pretty crazy…”
You shake your head and look down into the tub, noticing that your fingers are still laced with Eddie’s, and he’s gripping your hand like he doesn’t want to let go.
“No, uh…” Steve clears his throat. “Y’know, I can totally see how that would work. Uh, okay, uh yeah, I guess we could do that.”
He gives you a half smile, his other hand running down his cheek, as he processes what he’s just agreed to.
The one-storey cabin has three bedrooms. A single, one with a double bed and one with a king. Steve, the tallest out of the three of you and, apparently, the most likely to starfish, got the king, whilst Robin opted for the coziness of the single (the one with the good view), leaving you with the double. The only sources of heating in the cabin, other than the open fire and the stove, are two clunky old electric heaters, which you try not to use too often, and if you're honest are a little scared of. Steve runs hot so he insisted you and Robin had one each in your rooms.
After a few more moments of deliberation Steve seems to have made a plan in his head. Nodding to himself, he stands, and says,
“Well, my bed’s the biggest, so I guess we’ll go in there. I’ll get the boys to move the electric heater from your room for extra warmth. And don’t even think about telling me no. I’m fine to overheat for one night if it helps Eddie, okay?”
He gives you a kind smile as he goes to leave the room, and you give him a relieved one in return. That was actually far less awkward than you thought it was going to be, and you’re thankful that you and Steve now have a plan.
You dislodge the plug with your foot and start to drain the bath, sluicing as much of the mud and detritus down the plug hole as you can, and Steve returns to help Eddie to stand and get out. You both dry him off, wet boxers notwithstanding, and do what you can to blot some of the dampness from his hair. While Steve holds Eddie up, you give a cursory wipe to your shoulders and feet and wrap a large towel around your middle, figuring the most pressing matter now is getting Eddie into bed.
Eddie shuffles from the bathroom to Steve’s room, supported between the two of you. He’s still not speaking, and can only manage a few moans and whimpers as you manoeuvre him. You see the kids peering intently at you all from the living room, and they seem comforted by the fact that Eddie’s at least upright and making noises.
You sit him on the edge of Steve’s bed, and as Steve bustles around the room getting the heater set up you examine Eddie’s injuries again. The scrapes and cuts on his hands and feet look raw and painful, but not deep, and they’ve stopped bleeding. And you’re relieved to see that he doesn’t seem to have any other injuries. Not fresh ones, at least…
You ask Steve if he can loan Eddie some dry clothes for the morning, and he chooses a few things from the drawers across the room.
You help Eddie to lie down in the middle of the mattress, whilst Steve lifts his legs onto the bed and pulls a sheet over him. Brandishing the clean boxers he’s retrieved, Steve says, in his best Team Captain voice, “Okay, we need to change these. Sorry again, buddy, but it’s for the best.”
Steve manages to change Eddie’s underwear under the covers, explaining it’s for his modesty, as Eddie grumbles but doesn’t resist.
Steve turns around whilst you dry off and change into the fresh underwear Robin delivered for you, and you slide under the covers and sit at the headboard as Steve does the same on the other side.
Eddie’s breathing is more regular, and he’s no longer shivering, so you feel safer now letting him drift into sleep. You move some strands of drying hair from his cheeks, and gently stroke the side of his face. Steve gives you a moment before pulling the comforter up and placing extra blankets on top of you all.
In the quiet, you notice that the wind and rain have died down, leaving only the hum of the heater and the delicate, rhythmic patter of drizzle on the window as the soundtrack to your evening. It’s oddly comforting.
You move down under the covers, and as the two of you organise the blankets and start to settle around Eddie, you say in a low voice,
“Thanks, Steve. You’re a true friend.”
He responds, kindly,
“Hey, I’m not the one who just got into a muddy bath with him and pulled half a tree out of that jungle he calls his hair. I think that title most definitely belongs to you.”
You snort quietly at Steve’s observation as you snuggle into the bed. You both encourage Eddie to turn so his front is against your back, feeling his cool skin down the length of you, as Steve slots himself around his back, pulling up the covers and turning off the bedside lamp as he goes.
In the darkness you reach behind you and pull one of Eddie’s arms across your torso. You clutch his hand to your chest, wrapping both of yours around it, telling yourself it’s to warm him up, but knowing deep down it’s because you desperately want to feel him around you, and imagine he’s holding you.
You feel his breathing regulate, puffing rhythmic exhales against your neck. As exhausted as you are, a million questions still run through your mind. So many unknowns, whats, whys and hows.
What happened? Where’s he been? Why is he dressed in the clothes you guys picked out to bury him in? Does Owens know about this? What the fuck is going on?
All you know for sure is two things:
One, you’d do anything to keep Eddie safe.
And two, tomorrow is going to be a very, very interesting day…
Prev: Prologue Next: Part Two
Series masterlist
Wanna see how this part might’ve played out if The Party had reacted differently? Check out this little extra: Part one, Flip Flopped
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this part.
Comments and reblogs keep writers writing, I’d love to hear from you.
My masterlist
I now have taglists for ‘everything’ and for each of my ongoing series, let me know if you’d like to be included!
Extra tags: I’ve rather presumptuously tagged everyone who enjoyed or reblogged previous parts, just let me know if you’d rather I didn’t! @nicolothy @mmunsonsstuff @songforeddiemunson @kookygranger @lovingonthemoon @elegantkoalapaper @fanfics-i-find-here @the-unforgivenn
Series Summary: It’s the year 1991. Eddie and reader check into a rented house in the Appalachian woods, joined by Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin. Unfortunately for our gang, things in Blackwood Hollow are never as they appear.
Tropes: established relationship, Jonathan x Nancy, no mention of the events from ST, smut, comedy, fluff, scares, bit of whump (but nothing too crazy)
Series Warnings: Swearing, drinking and weed use, sexual and scary situations, minors please DNI.
Chapter One: Steve's Big Mistake
Chapter warnings: naughty language, mentions of drinking, weed use. This is largely setting the scene babes.
Author's Note: Submission for @stcreators Event 5: Dynamics
Submission for @somnambulic-thing, @allthingsjoeq, and @bettyfrommars event: strangerprompts (#14)
{Okay so I took a bit of liberty with the prompt, but that's just how my brain wanted to do it! You know how that goes. ;) }
Word Count: ~2K
You swore under your breath as the taxi pulled away, leaving you staring at the monstrosity you were meant to be staying in for the weekend.
“This is the last time I leave that jackass in charge of anything,” you muttered, prompting a snort from Eddie, who stood beside you.
You liked Steve. Loved him even, in the way that friends that have known each other for years did, who’d seen each other at their worst, thick as thieves, none of that ‘will they or won’t they’ shit, especially after you started seeing Eddie. But in that moment, you could strangle him.
Most of your group of friends had scattered to the four corners of the country, so when you all received your invitations to Joyce Byers’ and Jim Hopper’s wedding in the Smoky Mountains, you decided to rent a whole house instead of getting hotel rooms. Correction: Steve came up with the idea to rent a house, and admittedly it was a good plan. It would likely be cheaper to pool your resources, and you could all hang out in the common areas and catch up.
And then you saw the house.
It was a stereotype in peeling paint and dilapidated wood. The porch was creaky and appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Gnarled old vines and weeds encroached from every direction; you thought maybe it had been landscaped last sometime in the 1960s. A broken old fountain sat on the front lawn, with a scummy green puddle of rainwater gathered at the bottom, and there was a broken gate that hung loose on its hinges near the drive.
Eddie tilted his head in a manner reminiscent of a terrier as he surveyed the old structure. “I think it looks kinda cool, like that house in IT. The house on Neibolt Street, remember?”
You blinked at your paramour. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend the weekend in a house like that. It’s one thing to read about it in a spooky story, it’s another thing to actually sleep there.” He had the good grace to laugh at that sentiment.
“Fair enough,” he conceded.
Of all the houses in Asheville, Tennessee, THIS is the one he chooses? You thought bitterly as you made your way up the walkway toward the porch, stepping carefully on the worn wood and looking for nails that could be lying in wait to impale your foot.
You had no idea if anyone else had already arrived, and whether you were supposed to knock or just walk in. You had decided to try the former, but your knuckles hadn’t had a chance to make contact with the wood before the door was whipped open, revealing a clearly exasperated Robin.
“Omigosh you’re here!” she cried joyfully as she threw her arms around you. You let your weekend bag drop to the porch as you reciprocated the hug.
“Robin! I’m so glad to see you!” you cooed as you gave her a good squeeze then released her. “But what the hell is this house?”
“Right?! I feel like it’s right out of a Scoobie Doo episode or something. Talk about creepy. Eddie! Hi!”
“I’ve seen worse,” a deeper voice intoned from out of eyesight, shortly before Steve stepped into the foyer.
“Steve! It’s lovely to see you, but what the fuck?” you scolded.
Steve’s expression was so sheepish that you couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
“I know, I know,” he moaned, before putting his face in his hands.
“Come here and hug me, loser. I haven’t seen you in almost two years and you’re gonna make me sleep in the house from Amityville Horror?”
“Hey now,” Robin countered, “The Amityville Horror house was waaay nicer than this.”
“True. Eddie said it looked like the house from IT.”
“Oooh yes! That fits,” Robin said.
“What’s that? It?” Steve asked, never one to embrace pop culture.
You hugged Steve despite wanting to hurt him a little bit. “Nevermind. So what were you thinking with this house?”
“Okay so in my defense the pictures were much nicer in the Want Ad, and in black and white. I didn’t realize it was going to be so…”
“Shabby?” you offered while Robin said “terrifying” at the same time.
“Yeah,” Steve said with a shrug.
Eddie chuckled as he hugged his friends by way of greeting. “Alright well, as long as the bed is clean, I don't really care,” he said. “This one is scared of spiders,” he said, gesturing toward you.
“I am not, you are!” you yelled.
“I am NOT afraid of spiders,” Eddie replied defensively. “It’s those fucking centipede things with all the legs. I hate those things.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure there are plenty of things in this house to trigger all our phobias.”
The interior was a little less gloomy than its exterior, but that wasn’t saying much. The common room in which you were standing was decorated in 50 year-old wallpaper that was peeling and yellowing. The floors were hard wood but hadn’t been refinished since the wallpaper was installed, and the dusty old upholstery was flat and worn around the edges.
“Where are we sleeping, anyway?”
“There’s three bedrooms, one with a queen and two with a pair of singles. I figured we could draw straws or someth–”
“Dibs on the queen!” Eddie shouted.
“Eddie, we have to–” you began.
“Nah babe. We’re a couple, and we got here first. You snooze, you lose.”
“I think that’s fair,” Robin said with a shrug.
“Nancy and Jonathan won’t love that,” Steve said. “But you can fight it out amongst yourselves. I’m staying out of it. Looks like you’re bunking with me, Robin.”
“I don’t care, as long as you don’t snore.”
Nancy and Jonathan arrived about an hour later, and while they weren’t thrilled to be relegated to a pair of twin beds, they conceded that Eddie did in fact call dibs.
“I feel like we’re eighteen again,” Nancy laughed as she explored the kitchen for a clean glass for water. “Calling dibs and bunking up together. Feels like old times.”
“It does,” you agreed from where you were leaning against the counter. “I don’t know if I would use any of the dishes in this house though.”
“I might just make a store run, get some solo cups and paper plates,” she said as she put one grimy glass back in the cupboard with a look of distaste. “Any requests?”
“PBR,” Eddie contributed as he sidled up next to you and bent to give you a quick peck on the lips.
“Well of course,” Nancy said with a smile. “Can’t forget the beer.”
Robin poked her head into the room. “Grab a couple of pizzas! I’ll give you cash.”
You all pitched in for the snacks and sent Nancy on her way as the sun began its descent behind the trees. The rest of you gathered in the living room to figure out what to do for the night.
“Care for a toke?” Eddie asked, as he held up a joint he pulled from his jacket and set it alight.
“Yessss,” Jonathan replied with enthusiasm, leaning forward to pinch the little joint between his fingers.
“That didn’t take long,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes.
“Lighten up, Harrington,” Jonathan said in a fragrant plume of exhalation, stifling a cough. “You could probably use this more than the rest of us. You’re too wound up.”
“It’s true Steve, why are you always so stressed out?” you asked, taking a pull from the joint.
“I don’t know, I just feel like I’m the responsible one–” he began, but was cut off by a chorus of jeers and naysaying.
“You think you’re the responsible one, but everyone knows it’s Nancy,” Robin said, laughing.
“Yeah man, like…the King Steve days are over, you can stop trying so hard,” Eddie added with a grin.
“Okay, okay, I get it…” Steve said, accepting his ribbing with a modicum of grace. His voice trailed off, however, as his attention was pulled in another direction. “Hey what’s that?”
“What?” you and Jonathan asked at the same time, following his gaze.
“It’s on top of that bookshelf…” he began, already getting up and walking toward it. He had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach it, and pulled it down, unleashing a cloud of dust and grime.
“What is it?” Eddie asked.
Steve brushed the dust off the cover before looking up at you with wide eyes.
“It’s a ouija board,” he said.
“Oh shit,” Eddie said, laughing. "You can't be serious."
“What! No, no thank you!” Robin yelled.
“I dunno man, you might want to put that back and pretend you never saw it,” Jonathan added with a smirk.
“What, nah, that stuff isn’t real,” you said.
“No, it’s not,” Steve agreed. “It’s just a silly game.”
“If it’s just a silly game,” Eddie taunted, "why don’t we take it for a spin?”
“Oh man, no, don’t give him any ideas,” Robin piped in with her trademarked ‘mile-a-minute’ cadence. “Did you see the movie Witchboard? Well I did, and I didn’t sleep for a week afterward. Too scary for me. And it’s kinda weird that that thing just shows up in the spookiest house I’ve ever seen, and we’re in the middle of nowhere and…”
“What’s Witchboard?” Steve asked.
“Dude, watch a movie…” Eddie moaned while Jonathan doubled-over laughing.
Steve laid the box down on the coffee table. “Well, just because there was a movie about these things doesn’t make them real. The Princess Bride isn’t exactly real either.”
Eddie gasped with mock incredulity. “It’s NOT?”
“Have fun NOT storming the castle I guess,” Jonathan tried to say without laughing, which came out as a choked squeal.
“Inconceivable!” you yelled, making the entire room erupt in hearty laughter and dispelling some of the unease that had grown since the discovery of the ouija board.
“Jesus guys, are you that stoned already?” Steve asked with a smile.
“Eddie only buys the good stuff,” you said.
“Zero to zooted within three hits, or your money back,” Eddie said before taking another pull from the joint.
“Good to know,” Steve said sarcastically. “So are you guys gonna play with this thing or not?”
“Fine fine,” you said. “Eddie, let’s do this.”
He agreed, and you sat on the floor on either side of the coffee table. You opened the box, took out its contents, and each placed the index finger of your right hand gently on the planchette. You sat silent for a moment, not doing or saying anything, unsure of where to begin.
“Uhhhh,” Eddie said before dissolving into giggles.
“Ask it something!” Robin whispered, leaning forward in her excitement.
“Okay, uh…” you began, pausing to think. “Is there anybody here with us right now?”
It seemed like the entire room held its breath with anticipation.
“Is there anyone here in this house?” you repeated.
The silence ticked onward.
“Well this is thrilling,” Jonathan said with a snort.
“Give it a minute,” Steve said.
“Thought you didn’t believe in this stuff, Stevarino,” Eddie teased.
“I don’t, but–”
You thought you felt the planchette move ever so slightly.
“Wait!” you gasped. “Did you feel that?”
“No, wait. Maybe?” Eddie whispered.
You sat motionless for a beat, but nothing happened. You began to think that it was your imagination when…
….suddenly the front door banged open with a loud smash, and every single person in the room screamed like a banshee.
“Jesus, guys!” Nancy said as she struggled to hold several brown paper grocery bags. “A little help here?”
“Oh fuck, sorry babe,” Jonathan said, and the rest of you sheepishly got up to help, leaving the ouija board on the table. You bustled into the kitchen to put things away and pop open cans of beer, laughing about the silly jump scare you’d all just shared.
What none of you saw, however, was the planchette on the ouija board slide over to ‘hello.’
To Be Continued...
Sorry this one is short, but I needed to get it out. More is coming!
As always, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of every fic writer!
He shows up at your house covered in mud in the rain, but the problem is, he died two months ago.
Taking a little break from writing A Slice Of Life to take part in the Stranger Prompts, courtesy of @bettyfrommars , @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing
Eddie Munson Masterlist // Masterlist
Two months, that's how long ago Eddie's funeral had been. There hadn't even a body in that dark wood casket, just a bouquet of white roses and guitar pick on a chain necklace set on top of the casket as it was lowered into the ground.
It had been a quiet gathering of people, his uncle Wayne, who still believed his poor nephew had lost his life to the devastation of the so-called earthquake, and you, and his new-found group of friends who knew the much stranger truth.
Robin wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders as you shook with quiet sobs, holding your head in your hands, knowing that you would never get the chance to ever see Eddie again. To tell him what he means to you. To tell him how you feel for him way deeper than friends do.
That was two months ago.
The rain patters heavily against the windows as you tie your hair back, getting yourself ready for bed, taking one last longing look at the picture sitting on your dressing table. It was a four picture collage of you and Eddie from a photo booth, pulling increasingly silly faces at the camera to make each other laugh. He had taken you to the fair that had come to town, showing off his skills in trying to win you the giant stuffed teddy, which he had done with an all-too cocky smirk.
Your heart pulls when you look at that picture, the unassuming innocence of two people who didn’t know what was waiting ahead of them.
You kiss the photo in the frame, as you had done every night, before setting it back down on your dressing table and getting into bed.
Just as you were about to reach for the book on the bedside drawer, to read a few chapters before falling into an ultimately restless sleep, you’re roused by a heavy fist knocking at your front door. The sound echoing throughout the house. You untangle yourself from the sheets and reach for your dressing gown before sliding into your slippers and padding your way downstairs.
Who could that be at this hour? And what on earth could they possibly want that it couldn't have waited until morning?
However, it wasn't the splatter of cold rain that had your blood running cold as you opened the door, no.
There, stood in the doorway was Eddie, your Eddie, clothes sodden through and caked in mud. His dark eyes are red-rimmed as though he hadn’t known a decent night's sleep in a long time. The once familiar bounce of his frizzy hair is now plastered to his skin, raindrops clinging to the wet strands.
You could scarcely believe what you were seeing. Was this some kind of sick dream that you were going to wake up from at any moment? A manifestation of your grief?
Then he spoke. As plain as day, letting you know that this wasn’t a dream, no, this was real.
“I didn’t know where else to go.” he mumbles out, sadness and exhaustion clear in his voice.
Then, as if on auto-pilot, you bring your arm around him, ushering him into your house and upstairs to your bedroom, giving him a towel to dry himself off with.
“I-uh, I’ve still got some of your old clothes, you know so you can have something warm to change into.” you say shakily, handing him over an old Black Sabbath t-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms.
He had left a few of his things in your room from the countless times he’d stayed over, staying up with you late into the night just talking. You had fully intended on giving them back to him, but after losing him you just couldn’t bring yourself to part with them. Not when they still smelled so much like him. That familiar warm smoky scent that lingered on the soft cotton of his shirts.
The unspoken question of ‘how are you even here right now?’ hangs in the air as silence falls between you.
“Right, well I’ll give you some space to get changed.” you tell him as you take the damp towel from his hands and take it to the laundry hamper down the hall.
When you return to your room you see him as he’s pulling the t-shirts hem down his body, your eyes catching on the sliver of skin, the angry red scratches and splotchy purple bruises that litter his body.
The silence between you both is awful. You used to be able to talk about everything and anything, no topic was off the table, conversation with Eddie was so easy.
“I guess I owe you an explanation, and by God I wish I could give it to you, I really do, but I just don’t know what happened to me.”
“Eddie..” you start, but what were you going to say to that? Where have you been all this time? I thought you were dead? Everyone’s missed you. I’ve missed you.
“I don’t remember anything, all I could remember is you, and I don’t know, just the thought of you brought me comfort when I felt lost and alone, and I knew that I had to find you. That I had to come back to you.” he said, his shoulders slumping as his head hangs down, hiding his face from you with his dark shaggy hair.
“Eddie, look at me, please.” you say with a steady breath falling from your lips. “Whatever you need, I’m going to be here for you. I’m going to help you, okay? I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you ever again, I swear.”
“I don’t know if you can help me.” he sounds so scared and unsure of himself and it shatters your heart to pieces. “I keep hearing things, and seeing things that I don’t understand and everything just always feels so fucking dark.”
You wrap your arm around his cold, frail and bony frame, pulling him closer to your warmth.
“We’ll figure something out, I promise.” you chance a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “We’ll do this together.”
Written for @bettyfrommars, @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing ’s excellent Stranger Prompts challenge - thank you for this, friends!
Series Summary: After the events of the previous months, everyone is shocked by the unexpected return of an old friend. But how much has he changed?
Chapter summary: Some answers, more questions 😉
WC: ~8.5k
C/W: 18+, MDNI, NSFW, series CW for eventual Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut, post-S4, Upside Down exists, dark/supernatural themes, emotional scenes, eventual friends-to-lovers, descriptions of minor injuries, food/eating, mentions of canon-typical torture/experiments.
A/N: This series contains a lot of themes and scenarios that I haven’t written for before, I’d love to know what you think! Please comment and reblog, it means the world to writers, and reblogs mean work gets seen. Abundant thanks to @the-unforgivenn for beta-ing and playing The Thesaurus Game 😛 This series has a taglist so if you’d like to be on either it or my general one just lemme know in a comment, ask or message, I’d love to have you on board 🙏💙
Prev: Prologue Part One
Series masterlist
My masterlist
You wake earlier than they do, shards of sunlight peeking through Steve’s pathetically thin and badly arranged curtains hitting you straight in the face.
You don’t move initially, enjoying the sound of both boys’ soft, rhythmic breaths, grateful they’ve both had the opportunity to rest and sleep.
You use this moment of stillness to allow the events of the previous night to filter through your consciousness. Eddie’s still here. He’s somewhat warmer than he was, and is still breathing. You’ll take all of those as a win.
His arm is still wrapped around your ribs, his chest against your back. During the night, one of his thighs has made its way between yours, and his hips are now pressed up against the swell of your ass.
You suppose that if you look at it objectively, he’s in a pretty good approximation of the Recovery Position. Good for him. Promoting healing, aiding recovery, and all that.
And you suppose that if you look at it subjectively, having the entire length of Eddie’s body squashed against the entire length of yours, and having his leg pressed against you just there, stirs feelings that are inappropriate for you to be having right now. Such as how much you’re enjoying it. How safe you feel. How much you wish there weren’t even these small, thin pieces of fabric separating you from him…
He snuffles behind you, groaning softly, and his arm contracts, pulling you even closer to him. You’d much prefer it was more than just the involuntary tensing of a waking man that’s causing him to do this, but push that thought to the back of your mind.
You slowly turn your head as far as you can, only able to see a little of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair is fuzzy as hell, but that’s the least of your concerns right now.
In what you hope is a soft and comforting voice, you ask,
“Morning, big guy. How’re you feeling?”
Eddie’s voice is cracked and broken, like he hasn’t used it in a while. It’s gravelly and low as he mumbles,
“Mmf. A little sore, but warm. God, it feels so good to be warm…”
His arm clenches around you again, and he pushes his face into the back of your neck.
Trying to cover an unbidden moan, and inject some levity, you reply,
“Well, thank goodness for that, otherwise all of mine and Steve’s efforts last night would’ve been for nothing.”
Eddie shifts, starting to get a sense of where he is and the situation he’s found himself in. It causes Steve to stir behind him and let out a little groan of his own, and you feel Eddie freeze.
Trying to calm him and keep this obviously bizarre situation simple and light, you mumble,
“Yeah, body heat seemed to be the best way to keep you warm. I don’t suppose waking up naked between me and Harrington was on your bucket list, right?”
Eddie’s cheeks don’t exactly flush (going from pale grey to pale pink far too much of a gradient to be entirely achievable right now), but you do notice a little warmth appear in them.
Eddie jests, at least you think he’s jesting, as his grip around you tightens again, stronger this time as his muscles wake up, and he chuckles lightly as he smooshes his face into your hair,
“Well, it's definitely not the worst place I’ve ever woken up.”
This rouses Steve enough that he’s now fully awake, and he seems to remember where he is too. He moves away from Eddie and sits up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Glancing over, he mumbles,
“Hey, man. So, there’s literally hundreds of things I wanna ask you right now, but I guess I’ll start with, uh, how are you?”
Steve’s face contorts with a mix of incredulity and embarrassment at the utter banality of the question he just asked.
Unfazed, Eddie replies,
“Honestly, dude? I’m not entirely sure…”
He tries to shift his legs to sit up, but realises how enmeshed they are with yours, and inadvertently pushes his thigh up even closer to you.
Steve continues, unable to stop himself.
“What happened? Where have you been? How did you even get here?”
Eddie lets out a long, low exhale.
Finally picking up on how tired Eddie still is, and how tangled your and Eddie’s limbs are, you guess Steve decides he doesn’t want to get into any of that right now and declares,
“Y’know what, I’m gonna go make coffee.”
He grabs some sweats and a crumpled tee, and heads out towards the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone.
Fuck, this is awkward.
After a short pause, you mumble,
“Yeah, I suppose we should get up too. The kids are gonna be beside themselves, I’d prepare yourself for a barrage of questions if I were you.”
Exhaling, you somewhat reluctantly extricate yourself from Eddie’s embrace, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for the pile of clothes you’re grateful you had the foresight to put out last night.
Pulling on jeans, a worn t-shirt and a woollen jumper, you sit back down and turn to Eddie, who’s now leaning up against Steve’s battered headboard, sheets bunched around his waist.
You notice his eyes are still sunken and red-rimmed, but he’s lost some of the sallowness that he had last night, and his features are significantly more relaxed.
As he sits up you have the chance to observe his torso properly. He’s thinner, and much paler, than the boy you remember. The odd appearance of his musculature that you could see last night is still abundantly present.
And there are scars. Lots of scars. They vary in appearance and colour, rough slashes and violent starbursts, in silvery white, muted pinks and shades of angry purples and reds. Some look smooth and well-healed, whilst others are raised and jagged. Some transect the inked designs you came to know so well, and it looks like he might’ve lost a nipple.
Realising you’ve been staring, you tear your eyes away and move them instead to Eddie’s face. He looks terrified, like he’s worried you’re going to find him abhorrent and run away screaming.
He starts to reach for the covers, to cover himself, but you lunge forwards and grab one of his hands in yours. You don’t break his gaze as you tell him,
“It’s okay, Eddie. You don’t have to hide yourself from me.”
His face softens, but his eyebrows remain pinched and his lips are still pressed tightly together.
Finally looking down as you stroke over his hand with both of yours, you notice that the wounds that you bathed and tended to only a few hours ago are practically healed, only a few areas of redness remaining where there were bleeding gashes and scarlet grazes. Some have almost disappeared.
You decide not to focus on this and concentrate instead on the fact that your friend, your best friend, the one you all thought was dead, is back with you here, right now.
Grasping his hand in both of yours, you murmur,
“However it happened, it’s really, really good to have you back, you know.”
He smiles then, and although it reaches his eyes, it does little to lift the grey pallor of his face.
He brings his other hand over, and as he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles he notices the ring on your thumb. He runs a pad over the contours of the skull.
“You- You kept this?”
“Of course! I wear it every day. It helps me remember my best friend.” Your voice gets quiet as you add, unsure whether you’re overstepping.
“It helps keep you close to me.”
You hold each other's gaze for a beat too long, and Eddie’s lips open as if he’s going to say something.
Before he has the chance, a ball of anxiety rises in your throat, and you decide you can’t take the risk of him… what?
Telling you you’re stupid? That it doesn’t mean anything? That he wants his ring back?
You know none of this sounds like anything Eddie would say, but in your fragile, exhausted state you need to protect yourself from the risk of emotional harm, no matter how small.
You remove your hand from his and bend to retrieve the clothes Steve left for him, reasoning with a small smile,
“We don’t want you getting cold again, right?”
Eddie starts to dress, grunting a little as his limbs start working again. He only has time to pull on the worn sweatshirt when the door bursts open and the kids rush in. Dustin first, swiftly followed by Mike and Lucas, whilst Will and Jane hang back in the doorway.
The three teens leap, grinning, onto Steve’s bed, whooping and hollering and rolling around. They’re full of questions and theories and tales of what they’ve been doing whilst he’s been gone, all talking over one another.
Whilst Eddie is smiling and laughing and you can tell he’s buoyed by their love and exuberance, you also know he still needs to recover from last night, let alone whatever else he might have been through these past few weeks. So after a few minutes you shoo them out, instructing them to go help Steve make breakfast.
Dustin’s the last to leave, pausing in the doorway as he turns back, running his hand down his cheek and saying, with an infinitely adoring expression on his face,
“I can’t believe you’re here, man. It’s so good to have you back.”
They share friendly smiles before Dustin turns on his heel and follows the others, his voice decreasing in volume as he heads down the hallway yelling,
“I’m on toast duty today! You guys ate all the good peanut butter last time…”
You both snicker at their antics, Eddie shaking his head a little.
You want to say more, but settle for,
“They missed you. We all did.”
Eddie furrows his eyebrows and rolls his lips inwards into a tight-lipped smile, and you sense that he’s just as emotional as you all are.
He continues dressing, and you’re relieved the kids didn’t see Eddie’s scars, for all their sakes. You’re not sure whether they’re ready to revisit what happened in the Upside Down, and you don't want Eddie’s first day back with you all to involve him having to uncomfortably explain where they all came from.
He dons the rest of the unfamiliar clothing, and eventually stands, facing you. He spreads his arms wide and pulls a goofy face, raising his eyebrows high and flattening his mouth into a thin line, knowing how unlike ‘him’ he must look right now.
You never imagined you’d ever see your favourite black-loving metalhead in an oversized heather grey Hawkins Athletic sweatshirt, worn navy sweatpants and fluffy white sports socks, but needs must, and at least it’s all clean and he’s staying warm.
There’s a crash in the kitchen, startling both of you, but it prompts you to suggest,
“Come on, let’s go see what chaos those guys are causing.”
You direct him to the front of the house, and as Eddie shuffles into the kitchen all eyes turn to him. You see the kids take in his fluffy hair and new garb. He notices and, preemptively gesturing to himself and in a very close approximation of his Dungeon Master voice, says,
“If anyone says anything about this, I swear I will kill you. Got it?”
Mike and Lucas try to act like they weren’t even looking, and Dustin raises his hands in supplication. Jane laughs at the boys’ responses and Will smirks at the shenanigans, and you’re certain he and Eddie are going to get along just fine.
The kids have made everyone a simple breakfast of boiled eggs, toast and fresh oatmeal and they bring it to the large farmhouse-style table as everyone gets situated. Craving his proximity, you take the chair next to Eddie. Steve’s made a large pot of hot coffee, which is swiftly devoured by the four adults and almost instantly requires replenishment.
The kids want to fill Eddie in on, well, everything. Over breakfast there’s much chatter about what’s been happening in town, how the three of you ended up staying here, how kind and supportive Wayne and Owens have been, even a somewhat discombobulating discussion of what Eddie’s funeral was like. Plus there’s tales from the boys about D&D and stuff that’s important to the teens, most of which you zone out of.
Eddie is also properly introduced to the two he doesn’t know. He greets Will with a broad smile and claps both his hands around the boy’s slender one, a symbolic gesture full of characteristic Eddie warmth, welcoming another sheep even though this particular one has known the others for many years.
You don’t think anyone else notices, but you don’t miss the moment of extended eye contact and tiny nods that are exchanged between him and Jane, as they are introduced and shake hands.
Eddie seems to have a good appetite, devouring four warm, runny-yolked eggs, three slices of toast slathered with butter and jelly, and two large bowls of oatmeal with honey and syrup in rapid succession.
There’s some syrup on his chin when he’s finished. You want to clean it off with your thumb and suck it into your mouth, but you resist the urge.
The food cheers him, even seems to put a little colour in Eddie’s cheeks. Well, perhaps not colour exactly, but a move from grey to white is certainly progress. It’s hardly Cordon Bleu cuisine, but Eddie’s hoovered it up like it’s the best meal he’s ever had. You wonder what he’s been surviving on all this time to make such simple stuff seem so luxurious.
Coffee mugs are refreshed, the table is cleared, and there follows a semi-formal exchange of the personal items of Eddie’s that are in the cabin. Lucas returns his pocket knife, which Eddie thanks him for with a bro handshake and a half-hug, and Dustin gets down on one knee and presents him with his wallet chain on outstretched hands, as if he’s presenting a weapon or battle trophy to his commander. Eddie ruffles his hair and brings him in for a crushing bear hug.
Robin and Steve return his crucifix and boar’s head rings, which he dons, and you can’t help noticing that they’re slightly looser than they used to be. You’re grateful nobody questions why you don’t return the skull ring to him, or seems to notice the knowing glance and small smile that he gives you.
Dishes are cleaned and yet more coffee is brewed, and you head to the utility room to see how Eddie’s clothes are doing in the (noisy, and possibly unsafe) drier. As you return there’s a lull in the conversation.
Ever the direct one, Robin can’t stand the not knowing any longer, and as Steve pours the next round of coffees she blurts,
“So, what the fuck happened? We thought you were dead. You were dead. They fucking buried you!”
The kitchen falls silent for a moment, nobody sure how much Eddie wants to divulge or relive.
He wraps his palms around his steaming mug, and takes a long, slow, deep breath in and out before he starts talking.
“I don’t remember much after that night with the, uh, Demobats. I kinda remember being jostled into a van, or a military-type vehicle maybe? And tubes, bright lights, people shouting…
“The next thing I know, I’m in some kind of lab, a poky room with a tiny cot and metal furniture, and people coming in at all hours to prod at me and stick me with needles. They did all sorts of tests and injected me with shit, and they wouldn’t tell me what any of it was.
“I’m not sure whether it’s a good or a bad thing that I can’t remember a lot of detail. It’s mostly just pain, agony, and being either chained or locked up. And screaming, so much screaming... Whether that was me or the others, I don’t know.”
You interject,
“There- There were others?”
He nods slowly.
“Yeah, definitely more than just me. I have no idea how many, who they were, what happened to them...”
His hands start trembling, and he lets go of the mug that’s started to shake in his grip, quickly putting his hands in his lap.
“I think the injections they were giving me were concoctions made from the… things they found… down there.
“Owens visited me a couple of times. He said he didn’t like what was being done to me but he wasn’t able to change anything. The last time I saw him he told me he was being transferred to a different site and didn’t think he’d be able to visit again, but he wanted me to know there was someone on his side.”
There’s a brief pause before he continues,
“The last, uhh, experiment was the worst-”
Eddie screws up his face and clenches his teeth at the memory, and balls up one fist, bringing it up to his pursed lips. He squeezes his eyes closed, and a tear appears at the corner of one eye.
You don’t know whether it’s the right thing to do, but you grab his other hand under the table, hoping it’ll give him comfort but fully expecting him to flinch away.
He doesn’t, and his hand clamps around yours in a fierce grip, almost crushing it.
Voice trembling and breaking, he continues.
“It was- Jesus H Christ- it was like liquid fucking fire. All I remember was feeling like they’d injected me with molten lava, and then there was so much shouting, and hands holding me down, and then everything went black...”
He pauses, and nobody else speaks.
Steve swallows, the tap drips into the sink and Robin’s rings clink softly against her coffee mug as she turns it anxiously.
“And then… And then the next thing I remember is coming to, and feeling cold, so- so fucking cold. And darkness, absolute darkness. And I was so scared, and I just started scraping and scratching at whatever was over me, and just kept scrabbling and digging until… there wasn’t anything over me anymore.”
You’re all stunned.
Someone says a quiet ‘fuck’, and you think you hear a sob, perhaps from Dustin.
Steve remains silent but runs a hand through his hair, palm coming to rest over his mouth, and Robin mutters a soft,
“Shit, Eddie.”
You all realise that Eddie wasn’t lying on a slab at all for these past two months, but was being experimented on, and it takes a long moment to sink in.
Eventually, Eddie says,
“Fuck. They really buried me, huh?”
To illustrate his point and as an attempt to inject some humour into the moment, he loosely combs his fingers through his fluffy locks and asks, “When I got here, did I have stuff in my hair?”
There are a few chuckles, and someone throws a balled up paper napkin at him.
There’s another short pause where nobody says anything, but then it’s like a dam breaks and everyone starts talking at once. Robin and Steve make comparisons with the Russians, the kids offer D&D analogies and half-baked scientific theories, and people ask Will and Jane what they think.
For the rest of the morning much discussion ensues, as well as the consumption of store-brand cookies and even more coffee, and you all try to fill in the blanks. Whilst some of the kids interject with ideas and suggestions, others sit quietly, mostly listening. You wonder quite how much secondhand trauma this is going to cause all of them.
As a group you eventually surmise that some shadowy branch of the military was battering Eddie and the others with all sorts of tests, and injecting them with unknown substances, goals unknown and refusing to tell anyone what they were.
Owens clearly never agreed with their approach, and it sounds like he tried to distance himself as much as possible.
The military finally took their experiments too far. Thinking they’d killed him, they eventually released Eddie’s body to his only family, Wayne, and allowed him to be buried.
Unbeknownst to them, their final experiment was the most successful, it just took longer to manifest than the others. Weeks, in fact. Just long enough for the scientists (if you could even call them that) to lose any expectation of a recovery, and for Owens and Wayne to organise a funeral.
Eddie had awoken, dazed, trapped and freezing and with no idea where he was, and had somehow managed to smash the lid of his coffin and scramble his way to the surface. On a rainy night, miles from anywhere.
Finally, Mike is the first to ask the question you think most of you have been contemplating.
“Dude, how did you even find us?”
At particularly painful points in his oration, Eddie has looked to you, seemingly finding comfort in your face, and his gaze doesn’t leave yours as he replies,
“Honestly? I don’t really know. I just had this… feeling… that I needed to come in this direction. And the closer I got, the more certain I was that this is where I’d find you.” Hurriedly, he looks around the rest of the group and adds, “Find you all.”
He carefully lays the hand not holding yours flat onto the table, and, eyes fixed on the faded floral tablecloth, he chokes back a sob as he asks a question that he’s clearly been holding back.
“Why didn’t anyone- Why didn’t you come find me?”
Robin grabs his hand across the table, wrapping it in both of hers, holding it tightly. There’s a beat of silence before she speaks.
“W-we didn’t know! They didn’t tell us anything about any lab. We thought you were dead. Eddie, that first night? They told us you’d died!”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and you see tears start to slowly run down her cheeks.
Eddie chokes, and his eyes lift to the ceiling.
Dustin’s the first to move as he scrapes his chair back and sprints around to Eddie, enveloping his shoulders and neck in a clumsy but aggressively enthusiastic hug as he mumbles into his friend’s shoulder,
“But you’re not dead. You’re not. You’re here, with us, now. You’re back, Eddie, you’re back...”
Lucas stands too, ruffling Eddie’s hair and half-hugging the top of his head with one arm, leaning his cheek against Eddie’s curls, and you lean into Eddie, placing your forehead against the side of his bicep.
Steve turns from where he’s been brewing even more coffee, and moves to place his hand on a patch of shoulder not covered by Dustin or Lucas, patting softly. As he turns back to the stove he comments,
“Yeah, man. D’you really think we wouldn’t’ve come got you? Fuck those guys and all their crappy experiments. No one does that to a member of The Party.”
You simultaneously feel Eddie’s grip on your hand tighten, and the rest of his body relax. Many of you are crying, the sleeves of Eddie’s sweater darkening in patches from the wet plops of Dustin’s tears.
Will and Jane are affected too, and you see their faces soften as they clasp each other's hands under the table.
Eddie’s breath deepens as he absorbs the love and affection of his friends. You guess he’s not used to this much positive attention, and has clearly received even less over the last few weeks.
You all sit in silence for a few long moments, allowing all this new information to sink in and emotions to settle.
Eventually the noise of the stove and the clattering of coffee supplies, together with a strong gust of wind and the increased pattering of leaves against the window, brings you all back to the room.
Eddie seems to have processed everything faster than the rest of you, his emotions shifting, and as Steve pours more coffee he becomes agitated, slamming his fists on the table, startling all of you with the ferocity of his movements.
You guess he’s angry not only at the testing he underwent, but that they lied to all of you, and let him feel hopeless, like nobody cared.
The kids move back as he stands and starts pacing, running his hands through his already-frizzy hair and shaking his head.
“FUCK! Those bastards! Not only did they use me as some kind of twisted lab rat, but they didn’t even tell you guys I was alive? And they let me think that none of you cared enough to come find me, visit me, get me out? GODDAMMIT!”
He slams a palm into the doorframe, and you all jump a little.
Turning back to the room, Eddie notices the effect he’s having on everyone, and, rubbing the back of his neck, says,
“I think I’m gonna go take a walk…”
He moves towards the back door, the expanse of the disused field behind the cabin seemingly the ideal place for him to get his head together.
But, spying the large axe leaning against the frame, he has a better idea.
“Hey, uh, do you guys have, like, logs ‘n’ shit that need chopping? I really need to, um, work through some stuff. Besides, it’s probably the least I can do, given how much heat and hot water I’ve already cost you all.”
He gives a sheepish snort and brings his hand to his face again.
It’s you who speaks first.
“Are you sure, Eddie? I mean, it’s been a stressful few days. Are you okay to be doing something so… physical?”
“Yeah, yeah… I’m feeling a little… pent up. Could do with working some of it off, y’know?”
You nod, figuring all of you are going to need different ways to process this whole bizarre and unsettling situation.
Dustin and Mike find some old tan workboots in a closet, presumably left by the previous owner. They don’t fit perfectly, and it looks like something may have nested in one of them at some point, but they’ll do for now. Eddie pulls them on over his loaned sweats and socks, leaving them unlaced.
Robin offers him his leather jacket. She’s obviously had a go at cleaning off as much of the mud as she can, but you can all tell it’s never going to be quite the same. At least it’s dry now, and Eddie takes it gratefully.
He grabs the old axe and the small hatchet that you use to chop kindling, unlocks the back door and steps outside, closing it behind him.
Dustin wants to go out to him, but Robin grabs him and holds him in a tight hug, explaining that he needs some time to process stuff.
The others give him space, some staying at the kitchen table to process their thoughts, others retreating to the living room and diverting their thoughts with the crackling cartoons that break through the terrible TV signal.
You choose to keep an eye on Eddie, staying back a little from the back door so as not to alarm him, but keeping him within your eye line.
You see Eddie pace a little, muttering to himself, then he shakes his head as if to clear it.
He turns to the log pile and hefts the axe a couple of times, getting the feel of it. He lifts a couple of modestly sized logs onto the stump, wielding the axe above his head and splitting them easily. Almost… effortlessly.
He chops a few more, flinging them into a pile with ease, then moves to lift a few larger ones, breezing through them with the same ‘hot knife through butter’ nonchalance.
It’s the most physical activity you’ve ever seen him do, aside from lifting the odd amp or two, which always left him puffed out. But he’s sailing through the woodpile with barely any exertion.
You can see he’s still processing the contents of your morning, as his features screw up occasionally and grumbled words and what are probably profanities spill from his lips.
As he hefts the axe through the tough logs you can see his eyes are getting redder, and his skin appears paler. You can’t see his body, but the tendons on his hands and neck are popping starkly underneath his translucent skin. And, the wind has picked up considerably since he’s been outside, whipping loose leaves and twigs around the cabin just like it did last night.
Eventually, he starts on the biggest, gnarliest logs. The ones you guys would only attempt when you really, really needed the firewood.
You hear grunts, muffled by the back door, as he works the tougher wood.
The axe gets stuck partway through a particularly thick log, and with an animalistic grunt Eddie yanks the blade from it. Easily lifting the log in his arms, he notches his long fingers into the groove and, in a move that startles you, he rips it into two pieces with his bare hands.
By the back door you suppress a gasp, your hand flying across your mouth and your eyes going wide. You’re not sure whether you should go to him, try to comfort him, or leave him to work through this in whatever way he needs to.
You don’t get the chance to decide, as he finally gets to a particularly old and knotty log that none of you have been able to get anywhere close to splitting. As Eddie slams the axe down into it with a ferocity you didn’t think was possible, he gets it far further than any of you have so far, but again, the blade gets stuck.
The wind picks up even more, as Eddie picks up the axe, log attached, and heaves it around his head, sending it spinning across the back field as he lets out a loud, feral and painful-sounding yell.
Breathing deep for a couple of moments, he runs a hand down his face and begins to trudge across the bumpy earth to retrieve it, coping easily with the rough and uneven ground of the ploughed field and his ill-fitting boots. You can see he’s still yelling expletives and occasionally waving his arms and shouting up into the sky.
The distance that he’s managed to throw the axe is substantial enough that he shrinks in your field of vision by the time he reaches it. You can no longer make out his expression, but as he comes to a halt you do see him bend over and place his hands on his knees, watching his back heave as he takes a few more deep, steadying breaths.
He lifts the axe and heaves both it and the attached heavy log easily over his shoulder with one hand. You consider that you’ve never seen him lift anything with such ease, save maybe his leather jacket, flung over his back, dangling it from one finger on a hot day.
As he turns and starts making his way back to the house, you notice that the wind has started to die down and is whipping less of Eddie’s hair around his face, and leaves and twigs begin to fall to the ground.
You hadn’t realised Jane had come to join you at the back door. Despite not directly knowing Eddie before, she says, in her characteristically deadpan voice, “He is… different now. Isn’t he?”
You purse your lips and nod, quick and small, and find it remarkable that this seemingly awkward young woman, who’s endured so much at the hands of so many, has developed such insight and tenderness.
After removing the axe from the gnarly chunk of wood and placing it by the back door, Eddie spends a few minutes arranging the logs he’s split into neat piles beneath the small shelter. The skin around his eyes is less red now, and his general demeanour seems more relaxed, controlled. Perhaps this has helped after all.
He takes a couple of breaths and composes himself before he heads back towards the door, holding the axe in one hand and a stack of logs atop his other arm.
Bashful, and conscious that you’d rather he didn’t know that you’ve been watching him the entire time, you take a few steps backwards and make like you’re just now coming to the door, opening it for him with a broad smile and directing him to the place in the living room where you store the wood for the fire, thanking him for his efforts.
As he places the last of the wood and starts to take off his jacket, you notice that his hands are again torn and bloody, splinters sticking out every which way and an angry-looking blister on one palm.
You assume that he’s reopened his wounds from last night, but the positions and patterns don’t match up. Everything from last night has almost completely healed, and these are all new.
Regardless of the peculiarities, they need attention, so you instruct him,
“Come with me, let’s get you cleaned up.”
You send him to your bedroom as you grab some washcloths, a bowl of warm water and the first aid kit from the bathroom.
You sit him up against your headboard, setting up your supplies on the comforter. Figuring it’s the most practical position for you to be in, you straddle his knees and begin dabbing at his cut and splintered hands with antiseptic. Realising there’s too much debris in the way, and wincing at the sheer size and quantity of them, you grab some tweezers, removing the splinters of various sizes that have embedded into his fingers and palms.
As you swap back to using the wet cloths and begin cleaning the blood from his skin, you’re perhaps less surprised than you should be to find that the new injuries have already stopped bleeding, and some of the smaller ones even appear to be closing up, apparently heading the same way as the cuts on his face and feet from whatever happened last night.
You work quietly for a few moments before your curiosity gets the better of you.
“Eddie?”
“Hmm?”
“What was that? Outside, just now? You seem…”
“Different? Yeah, I know… Don’t ask me how it happened, but I feel different too. Stronger, faster…”
He glances at you through his bangs.
“Less in control…”
His brow is furrowed as he holds your gaze, and you guess he’s waiting for you to back off. You don’t.
“I guess they… changed me.”
You move to touch his chin gently with one hand, wanting to reassure him. You realise that by telling him this you’re going to reveal that you were watching him, but you forge ahead anyway.
“Listen, I’m not gonna pretend that whatever it is that I just saw wasn’t a little… unnerving. But I’ve never felt unsafe around you. Quite the opposite, in fact. And that hasn’t changed. I don’t think it ever will.”
He refuses to meet your gaze, and twists his battered hands together in his lap, seemingly fighting with himself.
“I should go. Leave you guys. You’re not safe with me here.”
A vice grip seizes your chest. All logic leaves you, and the only thing you can think about is never letting him go again.
“Eddie, no!”
“I don’t really know what their plan was, but I’m guessing they were trying to make me into a super soldier, or something. They’re not gonna stop. As soon as they find out what happened at the cemetery, they’re gonna try to find me. And if I could find you, they can find me.”
A ball of anxiety forms in you. You can’t let him go. You just can’t.
“I thought you were dead, we all did. I’ve only just found you again, after I thought I’d lost you forever. Please don’t say you’re going to leave?”
Your voice cracks and you swallow back a sob. You lurch forward and grip both of his hands with all the strength you have left, not caring that you’re getting his blood on you, and might even be hurting him.
If Eddie feels any pain, he doesn't flinch. But the sight of you falling to pieces in front of him, because of him, is apparently something he can’t bear.
“Okay, I won’t. I’ll stay tonight, at least. Then we’ll try to figure something out. Maybe contact Owens, see if he knows anything. Alright?”
He raises his head and looks into your eyes now, as you snuffle a little and manage a small smile. He’s yours for tonight, at least.
No, not exactly yours, you have to remind yourself. He’s safe, with all of you, for tonight, at least.
Something else decides to jostle for prominence in your mind, and you ask him, quietly,
“How did you find us? Really. How did you know where to go?”
Eddie takes a deep breath before shifting slightly, and he returns the grip on your hands.
You think you hear a little trepidation in his voice as he speaks.
“I don’t know if this is going to sound crazy, but… what doesn’t these days, right? It’s like- Even before… everything, it’s like every time I left you I left a part of my soul with you. And… it would stay with you all the time we were apart. And then whenever I was with you I’d find it again. That’s how I found you. It was like I was searching for a piece of myself, and somehow I just knew where to find it.”
He goes quiet, dropping his chin to his chest again.
His words play on a loop in your head. Even before… I left a part of my soul with you… and whenever I was with you I’d find it...
You shift forwards even more, closing the gap between you, and the movement makes you become acutely aware of your proximity. You become conscious of the feel of his firm thighs between yours, how good it feels. How, for the second time in less than twenty four hours, you wish there weren’t these thin pieces of fabric between you.
Something sparks in your chest: Could he feel the same way as you?
Your voice trembles as you practically beg him,
“I don't want you ever to leave, Eddie. I don’t want us to ever be apart, and always be there for each other. I don’t want you to ever be missing a part of your soul again. I want to be with you, always.”
Eddie huffs out a sob of his own, lifting your hands to his and nuzzling his face into your knuckles. He takes one and slowly turns his head until his round nose connects with your curled fingers. And then, ever so slowly, he connects his lips with the soft, sensitive skin on your palm.
Tentatively, he moves a little and purses them against the inside of your wrist, lightly pressing them there, inhaling deeply and his breath shuddering slightly as he inhales your scent.
You notice both of your breathing has quickened. You can feel Eddie’s as it passes over your skin, and you feel your heartbeat in your throat.
Eddie looks over at you. His body may have changed in myriad ways, but his eyes remain the same. They’re still the huge, beautiful, warm pools of cacao that have drawn you in since the moment you met. It’s the tether that makes you realise that no matter how else he might’ve changed, deep down he’s still Eddie. Your Eddie.
You move your other hand, gently taking his wrist, and move his free hand up to your face. You close your eyes as you softly kiss his palm, and then move his hand to cup your cheek.
Gently, almost imperceptibly, Eddie moves his thumb and touches it to the very corner of your mouth. You feel a heat in your belly and you turn your head towards it, skimming it over your lips.
Your eyes flick between his chocolate orbs as Eddie bends his thumb ever so slightly. The pad of it pulls at the plush of your lower lip a tiny amount, but it’s enough to create a gap.
Without thinking you start to open your jaw, and he begins to move forwards. As he pushes into your waiting mouth all you can think about is tasting him, and your tongue starts to move. Just as the tip of it is about to make contact with Eddie’s thumb, there’s a jarring yell.
“Hey, everybody! Grub’s up!”
You pull apart with a start, both inhaling sharply.
It’s Robin, calling from the kitchen. Of course you’re grateful that the mums never allow the kids to arrive empty handed, but a large part of you wishes that you and Eddie could’ve had just a little more time to explore… whatever this is.
You let out nervous chuckles as you smile softly at one another, and hold each other’s gaze for probably little longer than is strictly necessary before you gather up the medical supplies and you both stand.
You can’t help but take Eddie’s hand in yours as you pull him towards the kitchen, encouraging him to follow lest he misses out on the delicacy that is Dustin’s mom’s substantial contribution.
“C’mon, Claudia’s lasagnas are totally legendary. It may sound simple, but combined with Mrs Sinclair’s recipe for garlic bread, I promise you, you’re about to have a near-spiritual culinary experience.”
Still feeling the heat of what just occurred in your room you busy yourself with packing away the first aid kit, and then elect to sit across the table from Eddie. You convince yourself that you’re not avoiding him, simply allowing the kids the chance to get close to him for a little while.
As if reading your mind, Dustin immediately plants himself in the chair next to Eddie, swiftly followed by Mike on his other side. Lucas sits next to Dustin, and Will slides in next to Mike. They chatter excitedly about campaigns and creatures and characters, and to see Eddie flanked by his adoring sheep brings a different kind of warmth to your chest.
The conversation remains light over dinner. Jokes are cracked, teasing occurs, and you’re pleased everyone’s getting a break from the tension and horrors.
The culinary delights are as good as you’d promised, and Eddie hums and moans at the delicious bounty before him. He remains pale, but he’s definitely regained some strength, vigour.
He glances over at you after taking an especially large mouthful of the meaty dish, and after you stop giggling at his uncouth antics he grins at you, tomato sauce staining his lips and the sides of his mouth, confirming,
“You’re right, this is goddamn heavenly!”
At another point he takes a particularly large bite of some soaked bread, and herb-flecked garlic butter oozes all over his thumb. Your eyes are drawn to it as he brings it to his mouth and presses it between his plump lips, and your eyes connect across the table as he sucks it off, twisting the digit and temporarily giving himself the most salacious pout. He spots you looking, and leaves his thumb in his mouth for what you consider is altogether too long before pulling it out with a pop. You gulp audibly and shift in your seat, grateful for the general clamour disguising your arousal.
You haven’t discussed as a group whether or where Eddie’s going to stay, though it seems to be unspoken between all of you that of course he’s going to remain here until you can all figure out what to do next. You decide not to raise the earlier conversation you had about him possibly leaving.
Dustin’s the first to broach the subject, asking,
“So, where’re you sleeping tonight, Eddie? You wanna come bunk with us in the warmest room in the house?”
He wiggles his eyebrows, attempting to extol the virtues of the open fire. His excitement is palpable, and you envy the optimism of youth that can make even the least appealing flat surfaces sound like an enticing bedspace.
You interject on Eddie’s behalf, suggesting,
“Hey guys, I know it would be the coolest sleepover ever, but I think Eddie might’ve earned the luxury of an actual bedroom after what he’s been through recently, don’t you think?”
Dustin looks crestfallen, but recovers quickly, agreeing with an only slightly pouty,
“I suppoooooose…”
Without looking at the others, you turn to Eddie and proffer,
“You’ll stay in my room, right?”
Eddie nods, his curls bouncing, as he agrees, perhaps a little too quickly,
“Of course, yep, that sounds… entirely fine.”
You miss how Robin and Steve glance at each other, Steve raising an eyebrow as Robin smirks at him.
There’s a quick clean up as dishes are done and pans are left to soak. Craving normalcy, you pile into the small living room and manage to make it through about two thirds of another of Keith’s loaned films before blinks get longer, eyes start to close and heads start to loll.
Robin chivvies the teens to get their sleeping bags set up, and there’s the typical grousing and bickering as everyone tries to use the bathroom at the same time. You think at one point three of the boys are trying to use the sink simultaneously, jostling each other and spitting far too enthusiastically in an effort to spray their compatriots. It’s a small nugget of frivolity that makes you consider the possibility that you might just all be okay.
Steve moves the small electric heater from his room back to yours, and you retrieve Eddie’s clothes from the drier. He slips into his Hellfire shirt and clean boxers as you change into your Garfield nightshirt, and then starts to grab blankets from beside you.
Confused, you question,
“What’re you doing?”
“Oh, uh… I just thought I’d sleep on the floor, y’know, give you the bed.”
You’re aghast.
“Don't be silly, Eddie. There’s plenty of room. Sleep up here, please? I mean, it’s not like we never have before. All those nights in the trailer when I got too baked to make it home, or you got too baked to drive me, or both…”
You both chuckle at the fond memory. You wonder whether you’ll ever let on that sometimes you were faking it, or deliberately took too many drags from the last blunt, just so you could spend the night with him, in his bed.
He throws the blankets back over and, smiling, climbs in beside you.
Turning off your bedside light, the room becomes bathed in the low, pale blue glow of the moonlight.
You both lie on your backs, staring at the ceiling. Somehow it’s easier to talk like this.
Thumbing the skull ring on your hand, you want to talk about the… other thing that happened, but have no idea how to bring it up.
As you’re ruminating, Eddie beats you to it.
“I hope it wasn’t weird? Earlier, I mean. It was…”
Your thighs clench a minuscule amount as you recall the feel of him between them, and the lightest brush of your lips on various parts of each other, and you finish his sentence for him.
“Nice. It was nice.”
Shit. It was so much more than nice, you think to yourself.
“I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or anything. I guess I’m just a little touch-starved, y’know…?”
“I don’t. Honestly, I’m just glad to be close to you again. And if I made you feel uncomfortable then I’m really sorry…”
You can tell by the minor shifts in the covers and from his general demeanour that Eddie’s fidgeting with his hands.
“You didn’t, I promise.”
There’s another pause, and Eddie huffs out another small breath before he continues,
“Listen, I know the past twenty-four hours has basically been weirdness personified, and I don’t want to make it even weirder, but…can I… maybe… hold you?”
“I think weird is probably the understatement of the century, but it’s okay. And… I think I’d like that.”
You shift closer to one another under the covers, and you turn onto your side as Eddie moves himself to spoon behind you in an echo of your position last night.
He tentatively drapes his arm over you. He feels warmer than when you last did this, and more relaxed, and you press slightly backwards towards him as much as you dare, letting out a heavy, relaxed sigh.
You take Eddie’s hand in yours, threading your fingers with his, running yours over and between his digits and turning his forelimb this way and that. He hums into your hair and lets you move his arm however you like.
But you stop when you glance down in the dim light and spot a small tattoo on the inside of his wrist that you’ve not seen before. It’s definitely new. You know this because you’ve spent hours tracing over every inch of his inked skin, fantasising about following the images with more than just your eyes, imagining using your fingers, your hands, your lips, your tongue…
But this one’s not like any of his others. This one is small and simple, and looks like the outlines of two soft-cornered rectangles with a blocky W between them. It takes you a moment to process what you’re looking at, realising it looks a lot like one you’ve seen before. She’s had it covered with a delicate floral design (having connections in government really can get you anything, including underage ink), but you remember what it looked like.
Jane’s was a rectangle stacked on top of two horizontal lines, but when you looked at it from a different angle it became numbers: 011.
Looking at Eddie’s, you move the position of his arm. It turns the image a little, suddenly giving it more meaning, as you see it depicts a different number: 030.
Quietly, you croak,
“Eddie, what’s thi-?”
You don’t have a chance to process what any of it could mean as Eddie suddenly tenses, his head lifted from the pillows and his face flicking towards the window and back to you.
His brow furrows as he murmurs,
“Do you hear that?”
You strain your ears and hear nothing at first. But then, gradually, and from far away, you hear the disturbingly familiar sounds of flapping, shuffling and screeching.
Goosebumps appear on your arms and the back of your neck as you abruptly recall the only things you know of that make sounds like these:
Creatures from the Upside Down…
Prev: Prologue Part One
Series masterlist
My masterlist
Thanks so much for reading!
I really hope you enjoyed this part. The next one will probably be the last, and the taglist is open (as is my general one), just say the word, friend 🙂
Comments and reblogs mean the world to me - please let me know what you think!
A/N 2: Did anyone spot the LOTR, Captain America and/or Make Up references? 🧝♂️🪓👍 (Also, completely by accident, AQPDO too 😜, and ETA: this and THIS 🫠)
strangerprompts: turn back time |eddie munson x reader|
prompt: #8 you step into a hole-in-the-wall bar for a drink and suddenly find yourself in a different decade.
from strangerprompts writing challenge made by @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing <3 this was so fun!!! please check it out and consider writing for yourself!
warnings: language. time travel. but nothing crazy.
“It should be illegal.” You huff, nails digging into the leather of your steering wheel. The GPS shouted at you another robotic turn, drumming out the sound of your roommate on the other line.
“I mean, seriously? Making me travel alone to- to the middle of nowhere. Ro, I’m not even kidding, it looks like the town Deliverance was filmed in. It’s the middle of nowhere.” You scoff, looking at the rundown building passing by you, all crumbling with desperate need of a renovation.
“No, it can’t be Deliverance. They didn’t have hotels there.” Roslyn snicker floated through your car’s speakers. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”
“It is.” You grumbled. “And then they want us to meet at this bar for mingling. I don’t even know if I’m going to the right place!” You threw your hands up, smacking them on the steering wheel dramatically, turning it as the GPS announced you’d arrived.
The Hideout- or at least, that’s what you could make out from the peeling sign above the building. “Jesus Christ, I’m getting murdered.” You muttered, sending Ro howling in laughter. “I’m not even joking. I’m about to be a topic on a fucking podcast.”
“Stop.” Roslyn wheezed through laughter. “You’re not gonna get murdered.”
“I don’t- This place doesn’t even look open.” You exhaled sharply, flicking through your phone, ensuring this was the right place. “Ro, you have to swear to me if I get murdered, you’ll make sure the true crime freaks won’t make Etsy merch about me.”
“Calm down,” Ro laughed. “You’re not gonna get murdered. It’s just not the hipster ass bars you’re used to.”
“No,” You muttered, locking your door quickly, clutching your purse to your side. “I really might. Stay on the phone with me.”
“What?” Roslyn’s voice broke through the static. “I can’t- You’re cutting ou-”
“Fuck.” You hissed, looking down at your phone as you climbed the stairs. Call Failed flashing back at you, no bars to be found.
Turn around, get back in your car, and say fuck it. You do not need this job this bad.
Yes, you actually do.
A painful reminder of your maxed credit card, student loans, and rent flashed before your eyes, silencing your bitter thoughts. Sliding your phone into your purse, you clung to the strap tightly.
“Just stay fifteen minutes, then say you feel sick.” You muttered to yourself, reaching for the rusted handle.
The entryway was dark, eerily quiet to be a bar. You almost thought it wasn’t one, if it wasn’t for the bright neon sign shining at the end. Welcome! Glowing in blinding red letters, underneath it in blue, the piercing glow that read: Stay A While.
“So weird.” You muttered, your arms wrapping around yourself.
The air turned colder with every step you took, following the bright signs- the only source of light, down the dark hallway. Your heart hammered in your ears, clutching your purse close to you. Just as you were about to panic, chest swelling with fear, veins icy as the air- you heard it.
A muffled roar of an electric guitar, a tiny sliver of golden light peering beneath the heavy door. You pushed the door open, met with a sudden wave of warmth, the dim lights of the bar blinding you still.
“Watch it, sweetheart.” A man with a tray of beers muttered, swiveling past you.
“Sorry,” You squeaked, looking around the crowded dive bar. You scanned the packed tables for anyone from the conference, shimmying in between tables, peering over teased hair for anyone.
“Fuck me,” You huffed, settling at a sticky bar booth, still littered with half drank beers and peanuts- the only one available. “No way I’m the first one.”
You plopped your purse on to the seat of the booth, an iron grip still on the strap. You could feel the cutting glances still cast on you from the others, they’d had followed you from the moment you walked in. Judgemental, all accompanied with a lifted brow.
Should look in the mirror, You thought bitterly, rummaging through your purse. They’re the ones wearing that outdated, ugly shit.
“Where the fuck- I know I put it in here.” You muttered, taking out the wrappers, your wallet, desperately trying to find your phone.
“‘Scuse me,” You jumped, eyes wide when you looked up, clutching your purse to your chest.
Dark eyes met yours, a dimpled smile joining them. “Sorry,” The man lifted his hand carefully, the other balancing a black bucket stacked with glasses. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to see if it was ok if I clear this outta the way for you?”
“Y-Yeah, sorry.” You muttered bashfully. “Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”
A ringed hand passed in front of you, the light catching in the skull before it grabbed a glass. You moved back to your purse, furiously checking each pocket, chest growing tighter and tighter with fear.
“You alright?” The busboy asked, swiping another glass, stacking it into the bucket with a soft rattling clank.
“Yeah- I mean, not really.” You turned, head craning towards the door. “I think I lost my phone in that hallway.”
“Hallway?” He laughed, his name tag flashing towards you- Eddie, decorated with sharpie drawn bats and devil horns. “Phone’s on the wall over there.” Eddie nodded towards the bar, an old dial up phone mounted there, a sign that the charge is a quarter above it.
Your brows creased. You didn’t even know those things worked, you always assumed they were decoration for the… edgy aesthetic of the place.
“No, I mean my cell phone.” You shook your head lightly. “I think I dropped it in that hallway back there.” You pointed towards the swinging door.
Eddie frowned at you, stilling as his eyes scanned your features. “Are you- Are you feeling ok?” He asked.
“What?” You snapped defensively.
“Did someone slip something in your drink or something?” Eddie asked carefully. “Gotta be careful with those old guys. They look harmless but they’re gnarly-”
“-What? No.” You shook your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I-I haven’t even had a drink. I just got here. I’m supposed to meet some people from a conference, but I can’t find my phone-”
“-Your phone?” Eddie’s nose crinkled in confusion.
“Yes. My phone.” You barked in irritation. “My cell phone?”
Eddie blinked at you. “What is that European?” He shrugged.
“What? Are you fucking with me-”
“-No,” Eddie held his hands up. “No, I just- I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He laughed nervously. “And I mean you’re dressed… different. Not that it’s bad!” He added frantically.
“I just assumed you were European or something. Not from here anyways.” Eddie muttered, leaning against the table.
You blinked. It felt like you were in a dream, like everything you were saying was mute, confusing, in Wonderland and entirely discombobulated.
“You… You don’t have cell phones here?” You asked slowly.
Eddie shook his head, curls bouncing. “Nope. Not here, sweetheart. Hasn’t made its way to Hawkins, Indiana yet, but sounds pretty-”
“-What?” You hissed, chest booming with a fear filled ache, sure your heart had stopped entirely. “What did you just say?”
Eddie’s face fell, his flirtatious grin disappearing. “Hawkins? Indiana?” He said slowly, eyes narrowing when your face paled. “Hey, are you ok? Did you take something?”
“N-No, I-I don’t- I d-didn’t-”
“-Look,” Eddie slid into the booth beside you. “You’re not gonna scare me off if you did somethin’, alright? I’m not nearly as conservative as these other bogus losers.”
You couldn’t speak, mouth dry, heart caught in your throat, hammering away so fiercely your ears were ringing. “What’d you take? Blow? K? Pills or somethin’?” His arm brushed yours, head ducking towards you. “It’s fine, whatever it is, I’m- I’m really good with dealing with this sorta thing, if you can believe it.”
“I-I didn’t take anything.” You droned, nearly automated. “I just- I-I was walking down the hallway, and-”
“-Hey, I’m just trying to help you.” Eddie said softly, his tone pulling your attention back to meet his gaze. “Did you hit your head?”
“N-No, I- The hallway-”
“-That,” Eddie pointed towards the swinging door. “Is a bathroom.” You watched as the door swung open, as if on cue, a girl with blue painted lids and crimped hair piled high stepping out.
“The closest thing to a hallway here is to the dumpster out back.” Eddie grinned at you softly. It was sweet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to smile back, body trembling with fear.
Eddie felt it, frowning at you softly. “Do you need me to call an ambulance? Call someone for you?”
“No,” You swallowed hard. “I-I need to leave. I have-I gotta get out of here.” Panic rose through your chest, trying to push him out of the booth, climb over him, anything.
“Hey, easy,” Eddie slid out of your way. “Hang on-” You ignored him, pushing past him towards the door.
Outside, the sun was still just beginning to set, that was the only thing that was the same.
Your car was gone, in its place a line of cars- old cars, but still shiny? Still new, not rusted with wear or dulled colors from age. The buildings were no longer crumbling, signs still new and displayed proudly.
“No, no, no, no.” Your chest heaved, fingers threading through your hair. “What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck is going on?”
“Hey!” Eddie grabbed your shoulder, pulling your attention towards him. “Hey, I-I don’t think you should be driving-”
“-My car.” You gasped. “Where the fuck is my car? I-It was right here,” You turned, throwing your hands out. “Right here!”
Eddie looked around, a blush rising to his cheeks at the judgy looks the passersby were giving. “Maybe you should come back inside-”
“-No.” You barked, shaking your head furiously. “No. I-I’m not-” Through the window, a glimmer of a photo caught your eye.
Your walk back inside felt nearly trance like, everything underwater, Eddie’s voice droning out with the others. A painting of two cartoonized children waving fistfuls of flowers gleefully- though that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the printed lettering underneath it that made your blood run cold.
“Hey, why don’t you take a seat, an-and I’ll call someone-”
“-Is this,” You swallowed, pointing at the wall. “This isn’t right, r-right? Thi-This isn’t- There’s no way.”
Eddie frowned, looking at the wall. “I mean, yeah, it needs to be changed now. I guess it’s technically May now, Mick just hasn’t gotten around to flipping it-”
“-No, this-this says…” Your finger traced the numbers, glaring at you in bright red. “1986?” You squeaked.
Eddie blinked at you. “Yeah,” He nodded slowly.
Your vision filled with dark splotches, fading in and out of focus on the calendar in front of you. Your knees buckled, purse slipping between your fingers before you fell limply, Eddie’s frantic voice ringing in your ears the last thing you heard before your consciousness slipped.
Written for @bettyfrommars, @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing’s Stranger Prompts, Prompt 1. He shows up at your house covered in mud in the rain, but the problem is, he died two months ago.
Series Summary: After the events of the previous months, everyone is shocked by the unexpected return of an old friend. But is it really him?
Chapter Summary: On a stormy night, an unexpected visitor arrives.
WC: 1.14k
Series C/W: 🔞 18+, MDNI, NSFW. I mean it, if you’re under 18, git! Post-S4, Upside Down exists, dark/supernatural themes. Eventual Eddie Munson x fem!reader smut. Swearing. Not much to caution about in this part, unless you don’t like rain, or bad decor.
A/N: This series contains a lot of things I haven’t written for before, so I’d love to know what you think! Please comment and reblog, it means the world to writers, and reblogs mean work gets seen. This series has a taglist so if you’d like to be on either it, or my general list, lemme know in a comment, ask or message 🙏💗
Next: Part One Part Two
Series masterlist
My masterlist
You’re holed up in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Hawkins. It’s not exactly remote, but the nearest building is little more than a speck on the horizon so you feel pretty isolated. Owens organised it, explaining it would be a good idea for the older members of the party to lay low for a little while. Nancy had put forward an excellent argument for remaining with her family, but you, Robin and Steve had reluctantly packed up some of your belongings and relocated here. For how long, you don’t know.
It’s no palace. The wood-built building is certainly past its best, the yellowing 50s kitchen barely functional and the faded decor not to anyone's taste. But it’s (mostly) warm, (usually) dry, and most importantly, it feels safe. Which is something you all need after the events of the past few months.
You’re all acutely aware of the obvious gap in your merry band. Owens had insisted that the three of you didn’t attend the funeral, but he’d involved you as much as he could, ferrying messages between you and the kids and Wayne, discussing what he would’ve wanted to wear (you all agreed on his spare Hellfire shirt and leather jacket, knowing he’d never want to be separated from either, plus a brand new, government-funded pair of black 501s), and sneaking mementoes to you with Wayne’s approval.
Mike and Will have taken charge of his D&D paraphernalia, Dustin got his wallet chain (and wears it with literally everything, even his Weird Al shirts and colourful shorts), and Lucas opted for a small pocket knife. You, Steve and Robin each have one of his rings. Steve and Robin keep theirs in their rooms, but you wear the silver skull every day. It’s too big for your fingers, and is even a little loose on your thumb, but that’s where you keep it, spinning it to ease your anxiety, and smoothing the pads of your fingers over its bumpy surface to remind you of the friend you’ve lost. Rueing the fact that you always wanted him to be more than that, but never had the chance to find out whether he felt the same.
The kids visit periodically, even staying over sometimes, nobody expecting anyone to be watching the comings and goings of a bunch of nerdy teens. Nancy drops them off, sometimes staying, sometimes not. On this occasion she’d dropped and run, explaining that she was going to visit Max in the hospital tomorrow, spending some quality girly time with her. Lucas, who usually spent every spare moment by her bedside, was going to spend the weekend here, after Max, still seriously ill but now well enough to communicate, insisted that he needed to spend at least a bit of time with his old friends.
Tonight, you’d had a movie marathon, Keith developing an uncharacteristically generous side since everything kicked off and periodically dropping off and collecting piles of VHS tapes. Not quite generous enough to bring you any brand new releases, but even things you’ve seen before are better than the ‘sweet FA’ you’d have available given the nonexistent TV reception around here.
Popcorn litters the floor and the saggy furniture, as do gangly boys and a long-haired girl. Jane has commandeered the sole armchair, sitting in it cross-legged, and you, Steve and Robin are squashed onto the sofa with an equally squashed Dustin, the latter insisting that there was definitely room for one more.
Mike and Will are on the floor between the sofa and the old, battered coffee table. Mike’s hunched over a bowl of chips that he’s shovelling in, and Will is leaning against your legs, you stroking his hair in a way you know he finds comforting. Lucas is lounging on the floor at the side of the table, his long body stretched out and his head supported on threadbare throw pillows.
The gentle patter of drizzly rain against the windows and roof, and the crackle of the open fire, one of your only sources of heating, gives the evening a cosy feel, though you hope the rain doesn’t get any heavier as you don’t entirely trust the roof over the rear extension to cope with much more meteorological abuse.
You’ve just finished Raiders Of the Lost Ark and Steve has got up to swap it out for The Stuff, when there’s a strong gust of wind and the rainfall picks up significantly. Great, you think, the weather gods definitely weren’t listening to your silent pleas.
None of you notice Jane stiffening in her seat and shifting uncomfortably.
Under the lashing of the wind and rain there’s a sudden noise at the front door. Not urgent, not loud, just two soft thuds. If the kids had been roughhousing or the film had been on you may even have missed them.
You all look at each other, instantly and equally on edge, and all hoping that somebody, anybody, will provide a simple explanation for this.
Steve’s the first to speak. Jaw slack and brow furrowed, he asks the room, “Uhh, did anyone order takeout?”
There’s a cacophony of ‘no’s’ and shaken heads, before another soft thud is heard, just one this time.
Steve steels himself, not for the first time realising that it’s his responsibility to investigate the possibly terrifying, and potentially life-threatening, situation. He stands from his position by the video player and moves towards the door, fingertips skimming the top of the bat that’s always to the side of it, before closing his hand softly around the handle.
He pulls back the sliding bolts before twisting the lock and pulling the door open just a crack, leaving the chain on. The noise of the weather increases in volume, but other than that there’s no indication of what’s on the other side.
Steve has his back to you so you don’t see his eyes go wide, but you do hear a soft, “Wh- What the fuck?”
Robin being Robin, and perpetually thinking about her stomach, she says,
“What is it, doofus? Pleeease tell me it’s Jonathon and Argyle dropping by from Cali with some delicious Surfer Boy pizza??”
“Uh, no, it’s, uh- You know what? Maybe you should just come and see for yourself. Wait, scratch that, just the adults.”
Knowing this will unwittingly pique the interest of the kids more than if he’d just allowed everyone to come look, you and Robin glance at each other before quickly rising and moving to the door.
Steve closes it and takes off the chain, opening it wide as the three of you arrive, the kids following close behind and trying to look between you.
There, hunched, shivering, soaking wet and covered in mud, is your friend. The one who’d died saving the town. The one they’d buried only a few days ago, after he’d been lying on a slab in a lab somewhere for weeks.
Eddie.
Next: Part One Part Two
Series masterlist
My masterlist
Thanks so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this. Lemme know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts.
Extra tags: @jamdoughnutmagician @joejoequinnquinn
