CW: CPR, wee bit of blood and injury, implied blood sharing, Eddie’s untimely attempts at humor, peril in the Upside Down
WC: 3.4K
Summary: Perhaps the title of the chapter should be Trapped and Scattered, ope
A/N: Only took 4 months to crank out three thousand words. Sorry, fam. We’re tryin’ over here 😬
Typical disclaimer - If you have not read And I Need You to Know, I strongly suggest you start with that story. This particular fic begins right where AINYTK leaves off, and it would be a little confusing to begin with this one. Merely a suggestion, of course. If you're a child of chaos and wanna do this your own way, WELCOME MY FRIEND!!
Waking the Fallen Masterlist
And I Need You to Know Masterlist
thank you to @strangergraphics for the dividers!
You remember the movies. The TV dramas and the cheesy after-school specials. The ones where the gallant, hunky male hero spares the female lead from certain death, dramatically breathing life into her lungs as if it was breathing life into himself. Muttering stupid, corny lines like “Come on,” and “Live, damnit!” as if someone who was actually performing CPR would have that kind of energy to expend.
It always pissed you off, these wildly inaccurate Hollywood depictions of water rescue. Flawless running through tumultuous surf. Exceptionally executed extraction, complete with graceful placement of the unresponsive woman in the dry sand, who always looks gorgeous despite the fact that she’s supposedly drowned.
No quick-check for breathing.
A laughable search for a pulse.
Barely a head-tilt, chin-lift to be seen.
Shallow compressions, hands always in the wrong place.
Oh. That’s the other thing. The compressions.
They’re fucking ridiculous. So goddamned wrong it makes whatever scene you’re suffering through even harder to watch. And, okay – you get it. You can’t really replicate proper compressions on a person that doesn’t actually need it. Because proper compressions done right in a true emergency situation?
They’re brutal.
The tempo is fast. Over and over and over again in a controlled rhythm to that stupid Bee Gees song that you’re too winded to sing under your breath to keep time. And the depth those clasped hands travel? Well, it’s fucking deep. To the point where bone and sinew strain, often past their breaking point. It’s a well-known truth in the lifeguard realm – “You know you're doing it right when you’ve cracked a few ribs!”
Not that it offers any comfort.
In fact, it’s downright painful. A concentrated, crushing weight that wracks the bones of your chest in waves. An excruciating press and release, press and release, press and release that steals the breath from your lungs, has you crying out a wheezing, agonized –
“Stop!”
Your arms flail like a fish out of water, heavy and uncoordinated. The left lashes out independent of your body, whacking a solid wall of muscle as your legs thrash in defense. Sensation is suspended for a blissful moment as Steve Harrington’s face swims into focus above you, moss-green eyes wide with worry. He’s battered, bruised, and bloodstained; but the color returns to his face as he croaks out in disbelief,
“Mayfield?”
His voice is the spark that ignites your awareness. It all bears down on you at once, the languid pull from the void to consciousness snaps in place, and with it, a sharpening of your focus as to what’s around you.
Ominous flashes of lightning, decorating the steel blue sky with thundering crackles of electricity. Sharp, prickling jabs from the arid clumps of dirt beneath your back. The rushing wind, the roar of distant beasts, and Chief Hopper to your left, face ashen, clothing ripped in crimson-drenched tatters.
And Eddie, white as a sheet, lying in a heap of skin and bones behind Steve to your right.
Even for a vampire, he looks like death.
You inhale a sharp breath, the rawness in the influx of chilled air makes your chest ache. It’s both from the strain of quality compressions provided by Hawkins own head guard, and from the dread that seeps out from your bones and congeals in thick ribbons of tar between your ribs.
Eddie looks awful, like the very atmosphere has drained him dry. A mouthful of teeth barely visible behind a thick veil of darkest crimson, marring his lips and chin and left cheek with a contrast that hardly seems possible. None of his otherworldly mass he had when he faced down Vecna remains – he’s a husk, sallow and shrunken and without those odd horns that wrapped near his ears. The hair that flowed with enviable grace past his shoulders is scattered in knotted tatters around his gaunt face.
As striking as it was to see him so changed then, it’s even more jarring now.
There’s a renewed softness about him, though, enough that it makes him seem almost human. He attempts a barely audible “Hi, sweetheart” before choking over something vile and wet. The whites of his eyes flash as they roll, a slave to the coughing fit that wracks his body that doesn't even look like his anymore.
With a grating crunch of thick soles against the dried ground, Hopper clambers to his feet and rushes to Eddie’s side. Even the police chief looks pale in the dim lighting of the Upside Down, though his entire demeanor is still gruff as ever. Hopper mutters a blue streak, shoving at Eddie’s shoulder a little too roughly to keep him lying flat. Shucking his jacket, he wraps it around Eddie’s form, despite the other man’s weak attempts to bat him away.
“Don’ need that, Chief,” Eddie protests weakly over a moan, one that he forces through his nose and expels a thick mist of congealed blood. He grimaces, coughing the rest from the recesses of his throat to dribble over his chin.
“Jesus Christ, kid,” Hopper forces through gritted teeth, “stop moving.”
“‘M fine,” Eddie grouses through another cough that rattles deep in his chest. Matted midnight curls shift your way when he hears you whimper, forcing his mouth to curl into his signature grin. “Hey, hey,” he coos as his arm falls limply in the space between you, “you’re okay.”
That grin, if you can even call it that, stretches his lips too wide. It’s forced, the nonchalance he tries to push out doesn’t reflect in his eyes. Once so full of warmth, the beautiful espresso brown withers to match the decay in your surroundings.
Your lower lip trembles as you stretch, fingers grappling over rotted loam in search of his touch that lies just out of reach. Swallowing a dried out whimper, you force yourself to move, fully anticipating the hell you’ve just gone through to catch up and make your body seize and ache.
But there’s none of that. No betrayal of your will, no pain to be found. In fact, you move with impossible grace. Sitting up isn’t nearly the feat you feared it would be; the earth doesn’t swim, your body doesn’t protest, and the horizon stays firmly in place.
An oddity you’ll address. Eventually. But not right now.
Because right now, there are far more pressing issues. Eddie – well, you wish you didn’t see him as clearly as you do. Shifting so you’re hovering above, a sob bubbles over as his clammy hand makes contact with yours. “Eddie. You’re so cold.”
His exhale comes in a sharp burst, crackling over lips slick with blood. “Can think of a few ways y’can get me warm, sweetheart.”
A laugh slips out before you can help it, a product of his charm that pulls at your heartstrings despite the gravity of what’s so obviously wrong all around you. It’s irrational to hope that if he’s well enough to joke, he’s well enough to survive.
But you let yourself believe it anyway.
You force your eyebrow to lift. “Is that right?”
“You know it is.” Eddie’s gaze darts to Steve, who has since sat back on his heels with an eyeroll worthy of Erica Sinclair. Your man winks as he focuses back on you, and your heart thumps as he drops his tone low. “But Stevie’s right there. Best keep his virgin ears pure and not share.”
Steve’s whole body deflates in exasperation. “I don’t have virgin ears, Munson.”
Eddie manages a wink. “Still woulda made you blush, big boy.”
“Christ man,” Steve groans, “she just regained consciousness.”
In spite of yourself, you grin. It pulls tight against muscles wary of the reason, but it’s there all the same. Hopper, it seems, is just as affected, wiping a frustrated hand over twitching lips before he sighs, heavy enough to pull his mouth into a frown.
Yours follows like you’ve been scolded. Like you’re just now remembering the horror of reality, the terrible things you witnessed – what you’re dying to know but terrified to ask.
What happened to Vecna? Is Billy really dead? Is Max okay? Did Robin and Nancy survive? Are Dustin and Lucas and the rest of the kids make it? Did Gareth –
Your gaze ping-pongs between Steve and Hopper and Eddie, desperate enough for answers to wonder aloud, “Where is everyone?”
An inky silence stretches between the men, longer than what’s remotely comfortable. Steve’s the one that finally breaks it, rubbing at the back of his neck as he states flatly, “Hawkins.”
Your heart trips over itself. “Hawkins?”
“Wait,” Eddie interrupts Steve before he can answer, the weak protest has him shifting his position on the ground. ”Wait. Before we get into this, tell us what happened with you.”
Eddie flips an unseen switch. The attention of the other two men bores into your very soul, their stares so strong you’re tempted to retreat.
Your mouth goes dry. “What do you mean?” The stony expressions on Steve and Chief Hopper’s faces offer nothing, and swallowing hard, you offer on a whisper, “You were all there.”
“Baby,” Eddie treads carefully as he says, “I don’t think we were.”
That’s absurd – of course they were there. It was no trick of the lighting, no flaw in recollection. In fact, too many people were there when they weren’t supposed to be.
How can he not remember?
“What do you mean you don’t think you were there?”
Your man grimaces as if he’s in pain. “Just tell us what you saw.”
“I –” the very words snag on your tongue, held captive as the wake of Vecna’s gruesome wrath descends in a terrible wave of memory. They’re in bits and pieces, and it’s a struggle to string them all together in one coherent thought. “I saw us in the Upside Down, and – and Vecna –”
“He’s dead.”
Your head whips to Steve, lids flaring at how flat and matter-of-fact he is. “Vecna’s dead?”
“Yeah,” Steve sighs raggedly as he runs a hand through his hair. He nods to the man on the ground. “Eddie killed him.”
A slow turn of your gaze back to deep, espresso brown. “You killed him?”
“Not like I didn’t have help,” Eddie’s brows furrow as he studies your features. He must note how baffled you are, his fingers drag over molded muck to lace between yours as he asks softly, “What do you think happened?”
This time, the influx of memories isn’t fragmented. They don’t flicker in faded form, they flood. There’s no strain with remembering, no burden to recall what happened like you’re deciphering it all through fogged glass. No, these memories barrage your mind with crystal clarity, hammering you with a deluge of detail that has you relieving every last terrifying moment.
Of Steve’s agony as he struggled to reach two of the most important women in his life. Of Hopper’s desperation to save the one he was proud to call a daughter. The way Grant threw himself in between a demobat and Erica and Holly, and how Lucas fruitlessly tried to protect your sister from those vile, rat-like beasts.
Then there was Jeff and Dustin. Wayne and Argyle – their demise replayed with such vibrant technicolor that it has you finally questioning its truth.
Especially with how your brother – slain one instant and resurrected the next – stood tall with Gareth before a circling clan of murderous demogorgons.
You’re hit with the heavy blow of how none of it makes sense.
“I saw a lot of things,” you say warily as more awareness seeps in. Swallowing heavily, you force your eyes to Eddie, holding your stare as you admit, “I heard a lot of things, too.”
“Be more selfish, sweetheart – none of us are going to survive if I don’t take care of this right fuckin’ now!”
“You did?” Eddie asks, tone even enough that you’re not sure if he regrets it. What he may have said. There’s just enough doubt that your eyes well with tears, and Eddie’s face falls. “What did you hear?”
“Can I take my leave from your presence that, may I remind you, is far too preoccupied with my best friend to be worth a damn?”
How can you tell him what you heard nearly broke you? Shattered your already fragile heart and stole the life right out of your soul? Your head rattles in an abbreviated shake as your gaze slices to Steve and Hopper. “I don’t want to say.”
“Baby,” he pleads, “what did you hear?”
“It’s about time one of us is honest with the other, don’t you think?”
Inhaling a ragged breath you decide right then that… well, maybe it is.
Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, worrying the chapped skin until it fissures. “You wanted to leave me.”
It’s not even Eddie that protests first.
“No he didn’t,” Steve scoffs so hard it almost sounds like a laugh. “That’s not even close to the truth, Mayfield.”
Eddie pulses his grip, a weak embrace of fingers still caked with blood and dirt. “I didn’t want to leave you,” he states in a rush. “I almost didn’t do what I was supposed to because I was being stupid, blabbering on about needing you to come back to me like you could hear me.”
The contrast between your reality and his is dizzying. The echoes of “Can’t leave you!” and “Baby, move!” ricochet between your ears. Phrases that are much more true to Eddie than anything else you heard. A glimmer of hope suffuses your tone as you ask, “That really happened?”
He dares to shift up on his elbow, wobbling precariously as what little color he regained in his cheeks melts back into moonlight-pale. “Sweetheart, I swear to god that’s what happened. As soon as you came through the gate, we could tell something wasn’t right. You started walking like you were hurt or –”
“Drunk,” Steve blurts, and then winces like he’s hurt your feelings. His shoulder lifts in an apologetic shrug. “Or something.”
You’re not at all offended. This… what they’re telling you, it’s a relief. “Really?”
Eddie’s chin dips in a careful nod. “You couldn’t keep your balance. And then you,” he grunts, coughing to clear the dryness from his throat, “you –”
“Hey,” Steve says gently, the two of you of one mind as you both help him to lie flat again. Once Eddie’s settled, Steve mutters an admonishing “Take it easy, man,” before finishing what Ed started. “You went into a trance. Like Max. It happened so damn fast, and none of us could stop it. He has us by our asses the moment we got here.”
The devil is in what Steve doesn’t say. Vecna knew. He certainly knew of the party’s plans to enter the Upside Down - but even more chilling is how he knew. And what you saw?
“Eddie, my soldier.”
How Vecna called to Eddie tenderly like a lover still sours your stomach as that wretched growl echoes in your head,
“Well done. Time to come home.”
But –
Where you expect that lingering, leaden doubt to weigh down every beat of your heart, it untethers. The long look you share with Eddie frees it, and finally, it feels as if you can breathe. Your basest fears, the worst of what you believed of yourself and Eddie were just mere projections brought about by a demon as he flayed your mind and made you live it out.
As if it had actually happened.
But it’s clear now that it didn’t. None of those horrible things Eddie said were ever uttered. He never told you to leave like you wouldn’t be torn to pieces again. He never demanded that of you, he never pushed you aside like you wouldn’t need him or want him or miss him again. He didn’t rip out your heart as if you hadn’t found your home in anyone else other than him.
Hopper confirms it. Steve does, too. They retell their side with a conviction that could only be forged in truth.
The best part?
Max was never here. The kids were never called in – through the mass confusion upon arriving, they still found a way to defeat Vecna.
Everyone else got out alive.
“It uh, got stressful there for a bit,” Steve mutters to the ground as his fingers drag through dirty blonde strands. “Billy wouldn’t leave you. Eddie wouldn’t leave you.”
Affection, warm and bright, courses through your veins as you give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Not even to summon your dragon?”
Steve snickers a soft what while Eddie’s whole demeanor shifts. A smugness colors his cheeks and into his neck as if the very idea breathes life into his form. “A dragon, you say?”
The way he says it sounds almost sensual. Casting a nervous glance at Hopper, you school your tone neutral and answer, “Yeah, Ed. A dragon. With – um, with the sword?” Even as you say it, you can piece together how ridiculous it sounds. How this had to be Vecna’s doing. Just as he did when Eddie died - only much, much different.
None of it was real.
“Well, the sword’s right,” Steve nods over your shoulder to a slender slice of steel. The body is splattered black, the hilt winks a hello as dulled lightning flashes across the clouded sky. An impressive weapon to be left forgotten some twenty feet away, but no one seems to mind. Steve’s gaze drifts from the sword to the horizon, unfocusing as he mutters, “But, uh… no. No dragons here. That we know of.”
Eddie clicks his tongue. “That sucks.”
“Does it?” Hopper grunts, his tone so flat your lips roll inward to stifle a snort.
“Aw, come on now, Hop,” Eddie chides, “can’t let me have this one?”
The police chief rolls his eyes. “Think we’ve had enough.”
“So,” you interject, more to distract Eddie from further aggravating the Chief, “Vecna’s really dead?”
“Yeah,” he affirms with a sigh, his chest deflating with the effort. Eddie’s eyes slip closed as he swallows, a slow gathering of energy before he waves his free hand to the younger man. “King Steve here managed to get to him and wounded him pretty badly with the sword.”
“Really?”
A corner of Steve’s mouth lifts as he nudges your shoulder. “Don’t sound so surprised. Plus, Eddie took care of the rest.”
The rest.
“How did you…” you trail off, the need to finish the thought dies on your tongue. Eddie’s lips mash together, his expression haunted as the rest of the group go quiet, right along with you, for several long moments. The refusal to offer anything is telling. “Do I even wanna know?”
The three men share another look before Hopper replies with a grimace, “Probably not.”
A singular nod before you summon the strength to ask what you’ve been dying to understand. “So… why are we still here?”
“Um, well,” Steve starts shakily, “after Eddie killed Vecna, the gates closed. Collapsed, more like it. Like dominoes.” You blanche, and Steve’s head dips, as if he’s processing right along with you. “Yeah. We told everyone to go, that – um, that we had you. But you looked…” Steve sniffs. “You weren’t breathing.”
“Naturally, I reacted appropriately. Logically and completely sane.” Eddie flashes you a soft smile, untangling his fingers as his shaky hand traces along your cheek. “I know what you’re thinking, sweetheart. It’s not true. It’s not your fault. It was chaos, it was coming down all around us and I thought you were dead. I did the only thing I could think of.”
You don’t miss how his arm twitches, a telling little thing that displays twin puncture wounds along the thumb side of his wrist.
Realization blurs your vision, welling along your lashes – the reason why you feel unexpectedly well following a near-death experience. You suck in a heavy breath. “You gave me too much.”
“Moi?” Eddie splays his bony hand over his heart. “Go overboard to save the love of my life? Doesn’t sound like me at all.” His smile wobbles as your expression crumples. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, “I was worried we lost you. It was my fault we stopped.”
“No,” Hopper growls like a warning. “Munson, no. Not your fault. I was the one that told El to get out and hold it from the other side.” The expression he wears broadcasts the failure he feels, and it breaks your heart. “She couldn’t.”
“We think everyone else made it through okay, though,” Eddie tries to placate the horror that drenches your features. “We were too far behind.”
Bile rises in your throat. You’re hardly able to choke it back as you ask, “Are we stuck here? H-how are we gonna get out?”
Their silence is heavy, a deafening vibration of nothing as Hopper clears his throat and affirms,
“We don’t know.”
@rip-quizilla @munsonscharm @eldermayfield @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @veemoon
@losingmygrasponreality @pagesfalling @kthomps914 @chloe-6123 @unverifiedmeatsuit
@angel-ann-pops @clarafornerlyknownasclaire-blog @duncanhillscoffeecups @darkyuffie-blog @debkk16
@mmmunson @munsons-queen @wendyxox @boxofsmittens @take-everything-you-can
@sexmetaleddie @ginger-haired-queen @b-irock @rebelfell @kellsck
@obsessed-midwest-princess @torimcc @littlebibibliophile @callsignwidow @katethetank
@arabellagreenleaf @amanda-a89 @f1owersforeddie @mopeymopeymouse @american-idiot-jpg
@mugloversonly
