there's no shame (in running) - 1/3
pairing: eddie munson x reader
warnings: descriptive violence, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slow burn
spoilers for season four, incl. vol 2. loosely follows canon.
word count: 6806
description: you'd missed him. eddie munson. best friend for one summer and one summer only. you were fairly certain you'd never talk to him again until he shows up at your place of work and tells you something truly strange.
note: wow an actual post after being absent for a year and a half, what can i say? i actually refuse to acknowledge what very well may be poor writing or set up for season 5. i'm grieving, so i had to write. missed you guys.
Summer, 1978
Hawkins, Indiana. There wasn’t much to it. Not from what you’d seen from the back of your parent’s Oldsmobile. From the beginning of town to your new home was only a few minutes. You’d passed one large building, City Hall. Local grocer, a hardware store, few schools.
“Boring.” You muttered. The window fogged with your breath as you leaned your head against the glass. The car rattled along with the hitched camper your parents stuffed to the gills with all of your belongings.
“You need to be a little more optimistic pumpkin.” Your Dad certainly was an optimist. Cheerful to a fault even. It was his new job that had brought you here in the first place. A promotion he said. Military man. Very serious to others, and in some ways you. The standard in which you were to keep your room. Your personal hygiene. All of it was very important. But he was a softie. Wrapped around your finger, your Mom would bemoan often. “You get to reinvent yourself here,” He took a small turn, “Make new friends, practice some new hobbies, maybe join a club.”
Yeah, maybe.
But you already missed your friends from New York. Allen and Grace. You had cried on your front lawn, in a group hug, promising to call. Promising to write.
Your Parents were “trying it out.” Being back together. A temporary separation from your Mother being aggravated with your Dad switching bases every few months. But now that he’s retired from the military, it’s different. He’s home more. They seem happy.
You hoped it would work this time.
The new house was a lot different than your apartment before. That caused a little excitement.
“Here we are.” Your Mom shifted in her seat, the drive was long, uncomfortable. Your Dad pushed,
“We’ve got to make good time.” But your Mom figured he had just wanted a few days of relaxing before he started work, so you didn’t really stop anywhere. Your legs were stiff. Not even sure if you could move them anymore.
The car rocked up beside the house and shuddered to a stop as the ignition was killed.
It was something called a rancher. Three bedrooms, enough space for you, your parents, and what your Dad was most excited about, a home office. The kitchen had ‘bar seating’ and had a formal dining room, something your Mother had been very adamant about. Not that you thought it mattered. Jogging around your Father opened your door and your Mother’s door at the same time.
“Alright ladies, go get settled,” A kiss to your forehead as you exited the car, “I’ll grab what’s in the trunk.”
Your Mom was a beautiful woman. You’d thought so anyway, even if she didn’t. You’d seen how she looked at herself in the mirror, tugging at the skin around her eyes, turning to the side and sucking in her stomach. She was not as optimistic as your Dad. She watched a lot of news. It seemed to always be on. Whether it was on the radio or on tv.
“No better than the tabloids,” Your Father would rant. The ‘turn that shit off’ was silent...sometimes.
She was worried. A lot. About the course of the country. About what was going on in the neighborhood. About her weight.
About yours.
The fridge was constantly full of whatever new diet food was out, and any fad diet she could get her hands on she would constantly try. A little jab here, a little nag there, “Honey I really don’t think you should have another snack today.”
“Sweetie, I really think you need to make a better choice.”
“Love, I really think you can wait until dinner.”
Always.
But Dad was sneaky. Before. When he would visit or have you for the week you’d get whatever you wanted. If you wanted to eat hot dogs in central park. He was on it. You wanted ice cream for breakfast. Anything you want. Whatever to make you happy.
“She’s a kid.” One of the big arguments, “It doesn’t matter.”
The shag carpet shifts under your feet as you enter your new home for the first time.
“A little musty,” Your Mother’s nose scrunches.
“Nothing we can’t fix with a little elbow grease.” A grin on your Dad’s face as he sets the first box down in the living room. Your Mom wasn’t impressed.
They’d put you in a free summer program.
“Something to keep you busy,” Your Mom said.
“So you can make new friends.” Your Dad said.
Both were kind of the truth.
It was like summer camp. But in the gymnasium of Hawkins Middle School. They had activities out in the yard as well as in the gym depending on what you felt like doing. Craft tables, card games, painting, or you could swing outside and play soccer, football, volleyball. Problem with those is you’d need to find friends to play with. Or you’d need to join an existing friend group to play. And that was way too much pressure.
So you were crafting.
A girl with braces and hair larger than you’d ever seen was teaching you how to weave on a plastic loom the first time you’d seen him.
He was shy. From what you could see. Buzz cut, big eyes. Too big for his face. A full mouth. He was painting something on the table. You couldn’t see what it was from your vantage point. But there was no one around him. You swallowed harshly, thinking about what your Dad had mentioned at dropoff.
“I know it’s difficult.” He’d knelt before you. Car idling beside you, “I don’t expect you to be a social butterfly and come home having made a gaggle of friends and being super popular.” His hands were a comfort, rubbing your shoulders, “But try this.” A little miniature from his pocket. Your favorite. A little goblin you’d hand painted with him. For his game.
Dungeons and Dragons.
That’s what he told you it was called. A game he and his friends played. It was a game, he said, “Where you go on a grand adventure, save the world, and defeat the forces of evil.” You’d helped him plenty of times. Creating stories.
“What if you had a monster with eight arms and one eye?” You’d offer. The grin he’d have, helping you sculpt it out of clay. He said it was good to bond over shared hobbies. Not just for parents and kids, but hobbies were how you made friends. “It’s always good to have something you like to do in common.”
“Try this,” The little goblin. Two oversized eyes, pot belly, and grin with yellowed teeth. “Keep Gargle in your pocket, and when you get nervous, hold it really tight and think of me. And when I get nervous on my first day of work,” Your little monster, one of the monsters you’d created for him, “I’ll hold Magna real tight and think of you.”
The goblin felt rough in your pocket as you gripped it in your fist. Standing before the boy with the buzz cut. He was painting a box. Something small with a latch.
“Hi.” Your voice shook. His eyes were bigger up close. His tongue reached out and licked his lips.
“Hi.” Just one friend. That’s all Dad wanted. Just one.
“I’m Y/N.” His eyes looked down at the box, fiddling with it. The black paint is on his fingers now. Eyes back on you he speaks low.
“I’m Eddie.” It comes out as a croak. It was kind of instant after that.
Your Dad was so proud.
And Eddie became a constant at your home. Dinners, sleepovers (much to your Mother’s chagrin), riding bikes through Hawkins. You’d found out he lived with his uncle. Both parents are gone.
“My Dad’s in jail.” He admitted. But didn’t tell you why. Just that he never wanted to see him again. Eddie was sweet. He was shy. And he did whatever you’d asked him to.
He told you of his friends, his band Corroded Coffin they’d decided on.
“I play guitar, obviously.”
“Why is it obvious?”
“Oh well…” He thought it was the coolest instrument to play, that’s why it was obvious. With complete candor it was a relief. A relief to have met Eddie on the first day of your term at camp. You’d spent the whole summer believing he was the only friend you needed. And you really did everything together.
From the minute you’d stepped foot into Hawkins Middle you’d be attached at the hip. If you wanted to paint, he’d paint, if you wanted to play cards, he’d play cards. And he’d agreed to making friendship bracelets without question. The braided string tightly wound around each of your wrists.
“Look.” In your basement. The table was littered with miniatures, tiny goblins, ghouls, monsters you helped create. The light in his eyes. Bright as your Dad ran a mini campaign for the two of you. He’d gifted a copy of the guide and a set of dice to Eddie for his birthday that year.
“Something to get you started.” The grin on your Father’s face was immense.
It was the last good summer. You think. The last one. In a long time.
The last time you felt like a kid. Truly.
The summer before you lost a key part of yourself.
It was the summer before your Dad died.
When your Dad died, everything ended. Everything.
When school started Eddie tried to include you in his friend group. He did. But they didn’t seem very receptive. As most 12 year old boys wouldn’t be interested in a girl joining the group. But Eddie insisted. Corroded coffin wasn’t having it. And neither was anyone else.
Your Mom put you in cheer. Maybe that was the turning point.
You didn’t know whose fault it was. Yours or Eddie’s. But you stopped talking.
He didn’t even look at you.
So you didn’t look at him.
At first.
You were hurt. Of course you were. You’d written notes. Countless notes from simple ‘How are you?’, ‘I miss you’, to ‘Why are you ignoring me?’.... ‘What did I do?.’
You never delivered them. They sat, much with everything else you had from your time with Eddie, in a black box with a small gold latch, collecting dust. The same box he’d been painting the first day you met. A gift. He’d handed it to you, blushing. Shy. A little figurine your Dad helped him craft inside, along with a drawing he’d done of your half elf ranger. A few rocks he thought you’d think were cool. And a few of his guitar picks.
He grew more wild. The shy boy you once knew became more outlandish. He started a Dungeons & Dragons club at school. Yelled at jocks. Roughhoused in the halls.
You’d see him from time to time.
Walking by you in the hall, your eyes would lock. Like a game of chicken seeing who would look away first.
The friendship bracelets were gone.
He’d replaced his with rings. Chains on his jeans. Torn jean jackets and patch jobs. His once rich brown hair box dyed a shaggy black.
“Good thing you stopped hanging around that boy.” Your Mom would spit. “Never liked him.”
Eddie “the Freak” Munson.
A new nickname he wore proudly. Flipping off both staff and students at school.
You knew he knew, when your Dad passed away. There was a period of time where he’d almost seem choked every time he saw you. And you were clearly not doing well. Your ass was a permanent fixture in the guidance counselor's office. Three days a week sometimes, not by choice.
“You can talk to me, you know?” Is what she’d say, but you didn’t feel like talking. You hadn’t talked to anyone in a while. You’d see Eddie in the hall and refuse to meet his eyes. The brush of his jacket as you squeeze past. Maybe a brush of a finger. By accident only. A few weeks had gone by before he seemingly had the courage. After school.
“Hey.” A cleared throat. His voice had gotten deeper but it was still cracking. You looked back at him and shut your locker, lifting your backpack onto your shoulder.
“Hi.” His eyes seemed glassy, lips bitten red. His tongue darts out to wet them before speaking again. He’s rocking on his heels a bit. Nervous.
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry… About your old man.” You felt your throat constrict. Like it did when anyone brought him up. You sniff and turn away.
“It’s fine.” You wanted to leave. You had to catch the bus. There was a small huff behind you and he reached and grasped your arm.
“Y/N, it’s not fine. I just–”
“Please let me go.” You turn to him with watery eyes. You needed to get out of there. You didn’t know you’d been waiting for him to come talk to you this whole time and now that it’s happening the emotions were overwhelming. His hand slowly releases. And he just lets you leave.
You wish he hadn’t. Maybe if he had insisted you would have invited him over like before. He could stay with you while you cried. He could maybe help you with all of Dad’s stuff in the basement collecting dust. Untouched from his final campaign.
Work Related Accident.
That’s what they told you. At Hawkins Lab. You didn’t know what that meant. Did he fall from somewhere high? Was it painful? Did he suffer? No details. It’s a government facility after all. And no matter what questions your Mom had asked, they were quickly hushed with a sum of money she wouldn’t disclose the sum of.
With lack of income now your Mom was forced to join the workforce. She got a job at The Hideout, a local dive. Asleep when you were getting ready for school, and already gone when you got home. You’d spend most of your nights eating microwaved bagel bites in front of the tv. Scribbling out your homework and falling asleep by nine.
And it would be years before you’d talk to Eddie again.
Spring, 1986
The diner was quiet tonight. Somewhat of an annoyance, but also somewhat of a relief. No rowdy kids throwing french fries across the table. No spilled sodas. Milkshakes spewed out of their noses. It was just you and a trucker stopping in for something to eat before hitting the road once more. The news ambled on in the background. Quiet.
One more hour until you could close it up for good.
“Pour me one more cup, sweetheart.” Low and grumbly, “Then you can close me out.” The tink of the trucker’s fork against the now empty plate of pie. A glare of headlights hit the front of the diner and your heart sank, it was too late to want to do anything now. You looked behind you at the line cook. John. He’d already begun cleaning up. You topped the trucker’s coffee as the bell rang on the front door. And your heart stopped.
“Eddie?” He was panicking. Wild eyed. You could see a sheen on his face. Clammy and pale. His knuckles gripped white on the counter.
“Y/N.” His eyes drifted to the trucker who was now staring at him. He swallowed. Hard. “I need you–your help.” It was startling. And you thought you should be angry. You hadn’t spoken in almost six years. You didn’t even know that he knew you worked here. And now he needs your help? But the panic. The sweat. It gave you a chill. It made your stomach turn. Something was wrong.
The trucker’s footsteps retreated on the gravel as you locked the door, flipping the open sign to closed. You noticed Eddie’s van, parked haphazardly by the dumpster, almost out of view entirely. You’d sat him in a booth, his hands gripping a cup of coffee he hasn’t taken a sip of. He’d closed the blinds around him.
“I’m heading out.” A call from the back.
“See you tomorrow John.” And the two of you were alone. It was then you saw how badly Eddie was shaking. Trembling. As you slipped into the booth he jumped, startled. Eyes drifting slowly from his hands up towards your face. His rings tapped against the mug. “Eddie–”
“I didn’t do it.” Quick, startling, “You have to believe me.” His hand shot out and gripped yours. He felt as clammy as he looked. “I didn’t–” He was crying.
“Eddie,” You place your hand over his, leaning in. “I need you to calm down and tell me what happened.” His bottom lip trembled.
“Chrissy…” Eyes rolling up to look at the ceiling.
“Cunningham?” The cheerleader. She was a sophomore when you graduated. When Eddie was supposed to graduate the first time. You knew her. Vaguely. You had nothing against her. Not really. A sharp pain in your chest whenever you thought about her though.
The talent show, 1980.
You hadn’t planned on going. Not at first. But you’d seen Eddie sign Corroded Coffin up to play and you couldn’t help it. You’d wanted to see him play on stage before, never had the chance. You had felt so proud of him. It was the first time they’d performed for an audience. This was pre-Hideout days. Before they started performing regularly at your Mom’s job.
You’d gone into the hall behind the auditorium. Working yourself up for it. You were going to talk to him. For the first time in a year. You were gonna do it. You had a reason to. To congratulate him on his performance. Let him know you saw it. Let him know how much better he’d gotten since strumming your Dad’s acoustic in your basement. Maybe you could be friends again. This was your in.
Until you’d seen him with Chrissy.
He liked her. You could tell. He really liked her. And you didn’t know why your chest hurt so badly. His hand rubbed against his freshly buzzed hair and she gripped her pom poms to her chest and grinned up at him in a way that made you sick. The way he looked at her, it made your stomach turn. Acidic, bubbling up your throat. Your chest was tight. He’d never looked at you that way. As the rest of the band stumbled out the door carrying equipment, Eddie soon dropped off to help them. Chrissy skipped away to join her friends.
And you left. Without saying a word.
You didn’t need him.
“Chrissy Cunningham?” You asked again. His eyes. You’d never seen them so wide.
“She’s…dead.” And he didn’t do it. He didn’t… The disbelief on your face. You could feel it. And he could sense the fear.
“Eddie–”
“I didn’t. Y/N, please.” You pulled your hands from his and he chased them, abandoning the coffee mug, gripping your right hand with both of his. “I know you’re not gonna believe me, but please. I didn’t do it. They’re gonna say I did it, but I didn’t.” You had to know he didn’t. Not Eddie. No way. He’d cried when he accidentally killed a ladybug. You had to have a funeral. A headstone made out of twigs.
“What happened?” It was unbelievable. He was right. But you’d never seen him so scared before. And your gut had never been wrong. But her body, levitating? Bones snapping? Her eyes…
“I didn’t know where else to go.” And he came to you. You felt conflicted. But the timer was running out. “Wayne will be home in a few hours, he’ll find her and then they’ll be looking for me.” You had a choice to make. And you didn’t know what to do. Your eyes drifted back out towards his van. The tick of the clock behind you in silence before you decided,
“We’ve gotta ditch the van.” You tug your bottom lip between your teeth, looking back at his glassy and hopeful eyes. “C’mon.”
Why were you doing this? The early hours of the morning greeted you, Eddie in the backseat under a blanket, van tucked away in the woods by Lovers Lake. There was mud on your shoes from the hike back to your car. Pulling into your driveway with a sigh of relief, “Mom’s not home yet.” As you kill the engine. “Hurry.”
The basement, untouched. White sheets covered mostly everything, a thick layer of dust on top made the both of you cough as you swept one of them off the couch. The plaid green couch that you’d last sat on the day your Father died. Eddie’s eyes swept the room.
“Y/N–”
“I couldn’t.” You shook your head. “I couldn’t touch anything.” He nods. It’s an understanding. But so much has happened in the last 8 hours you were pretty sure he wasn’t actually listening anyway. “Mom never comes down here so just don’t make a lot of noise and you’ll be fine.” You could begin to feel how tired you are. The weight in your limbs. Eddie sunk into the couch beside you. A beat of silence, then another.
“Do you believe me?” It was important. You could tell. But you didn’t know. The Eddie you knew wouldn’t have killed anyone. But you weren’t sure if you knew him anymore. Not really. And you weren’t sure if you really were harboring a murderer or not. But it was important for him, to know you believe him. The silence was too loud. “Okay…” He sniffs, “Okay.”
“Get some rest.” You pushed up from the couch, “When my Mom goes to work we can figure it out.” It had to be enough. For now. And as you started up the stairs you couldn’t help but feel your heart break with the way he looked at you. But you needed sleep. You both did.
And it hadn’t come easy.
But in the end it came. And that’s all that mattered.
Later on that day, Mom had already left before you’d woken up. And you called the diner to let them know that you couldn’t come in. Your eyes couldn’t part with the tv screen. Nails bitten clean off. Down to nubs, painful and a little red. Bacon was frying on the stove.
“A body was discovered in Forest Hill Trailer park this morning–” Eddie’s trailer not too far in the background. Blurry. Alongside the rest of the trailers in the back. The creak of the basement stairs made you jump, turning quickly to see Eddie creaking the door open. You’d shouted down to him ten minutes ago. He hadn’t responded. You thought he was still asleep. But it didn’t look like he’d slept at all. His eyes instantly shot to the screen where the reporter continued, “Police are asking for cooperation in finding the killer, if you have seen anything suspicious please do not hesitate to call in.” You stepped to the tv and turned the knob, changing the channel to something a little less ominous.
“Food’s almost ready,” You gesture your head to the bathroom, “Go shower, give me your clothes so I can wash them.” You didn’t know what you were doing. As you shut the lid to the washing machine and cranked the knob. What the hell were you doing?
Your hands shook as you plated the food in front of him. He was in your Dad’s clothes. Temporarily. Just sweats and a t-shirt, but still. This whole situation was unnerving.
“Please talk to me.” A whisper. A plea. His voice seemed so soft. You sighed heavily, taking a sip of orange juice.
“I don’t know what to say.” Which was true. Which was why you weren’t saying anything. What do you say? What could you say?
“Anything, please.” You watched him push his eggs around his plate. He was nervous. You could hear the clock ticking behind you. The cartoons flashing across the screen not too far away. And you were sure that your heart was pounding so hard it could burst through your chest at any moment.
“How is school going?” It felt redundant. Stupid to ask. He’d been held back. Twice. You remember. He tugged his lip between his teeth and shrugged.
“Thought I was gonna finally graduate.” He thought he was. Who knows what will happen now. “Ms. O’Donnel was giving me some extra credit. Help me get my grade up. All I had to do was pass the final. A 70 or more.” And now he was wanted for murder. “You really haven’t gone down there since…” The basement.
You cleared your throat, “No.” You wiped your sweaty palms against your shorts, “I couldn’t.” He hesitated and then said,
“I missed you… I missed you a lot.” You scoff.
“You stopped talking to me.” His brow furrows,
“No, you stopped talking to me.” You roll your eyes.
“Eddie–” His fork drops to the plate as there’s a knock on the door. Not just a knock, but a pounding. “My room.” You grab his plate and toss it in the trash, glass in the sink. “Now.” He runs, shutting the door behind him as you step to look into the peephole. You unlock the door and yank it open, stuffing yourself in the empty space, one foot in and one foot out.
“Harrington?” You were out of breath, needed to calm down, “What are you doing here?” With Buckley and a group of kids you didn’t recognize. You knew Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley only because you’d worked with them for a brief moment before Starcourt burned down. Not really acquaintances at school, not enough to nod.
“Is Eddie here?” A kid with a trucker hat and braces. Your heart begins to race.
“Henderson, relax.” Steve stood with his hands on his hips, “He means to ask if you’ve seen him.”
“Why would I have seen him?” You cross your arms, leaning against the door jam. Dustin looks confused,
“Because he’s in trouble and he talks about you all the time, so why wouldn’t he come to you when he’s in trouble?” The kid, Dustin, steps closer. “We just want to help.” A crash could be heard behind you and Dustin uses that to rush past.
“Kid!” The rest follow, running in. It doesn’t take long. Dustin enters your room without knocking, with Steve quick to follow. Another crash and you’re running in after them. Eddie had Steve up against the wall. The letter opener from your desk against his throat. Dustin was pushing himself up from the floor where he’d been presumably knocked down in the tussle. “Eddie!”
“Hey, Eddie, it’s okay.” You could feel the audience growing behind you as Dustin began to reason with him. “We’re here to help.”
“Eddie.” You call. His eyes drifted towards yours. Steve is sweating.
“We’re just here to help.” Robin repeats. You step closer, softly gripping Eddie’s wrist.
“Here, give it to me.” You can see Eddie’s knuckles are a blistering white against the handle of the sharp letter opener. You could see he’d been going through your desk beforehand. That little black box opened, its contents splayed across the surface. Not really time to think about it now, “Eddie, please.”
“We just wanna know what happened.”
His grip loosens on the letter opener, enough for you to slip it from his hand, and he moves. He presses himself into the wall and slides down, resting his forehead on his knees. You squat in front of him, tossing the letter opener on your bed, you rest your hands over his.
“You guys will never believe me.” It’s mumbled. Shaky.
“Try us.” It’s the girl. The one whose brother died in the fire last year. You recognize her. She meets your eyes and shrugs.
It’s unbelievable. But he’s not lying. Not after what they tell you. It kind of feels like a joke. Something sick and twisted from some campaign that’s had nothing but low rolls. Failing at every turn. You feel Eddie’s eyes on you as they talk about the lab. Hawkin’s Lab. What went on there. Something you’re sure your Father knew about. How could he have not? You’re sunk to the floor in front of Eddie. The strength in your legs is long gone. Dustin and Robin are sitting on your bed. Max was still in the doorway. Steve was leaning against your desk.
“So Vecna…” You began, “Is it just on a list of creatures in the Upside Down?”
“Not a creature, but… A dark wizard.” Dustin offers.
“Like in D&D.” Eddie’s hand grazed your arm before settling. It gave you comfort you didn’t know you needed. You read about him. Vecna. In the new book. Briefly. You hadn’t played in a while, but you still kept up on the guide books. The Cult of Vecna. Unfathomable power.
“So this creature has the power to curse those topside?” You tug your lip between your teeth, “How do they choose? What happens if one of us is next?”
“It was easier when we had this girl.” Steve offered, “El, she had superpowers. So.” But that didn’t really help us now. Eddie seemed to have some kind of peace with the explanation. It didn’t help his case with local police, but knowing that the government knew about what was going on here in Hawkins made him feel like there could be a way out.
“If they don’t just pin it on me in a coverup.” Was uttered later.
But the group decided to go investigate. Leaving the two of you with a walkie talkie and new information you had to mull over.
After shutting the front door, you made a beeline for the basement. The table in the center, covered for years, you rip the sheet from the surface. Revealing what’s underneath. It looked like a village. Mountains and forest surrounding. Center of town. But now you knew what it was. What it really was.
“It’s Hawkins.” You tell Eddie. “It was always Hawkins.” The two of you circle to the table. Where your Father would have sat. Where the villains come from. He sat on the edge of the board where the lab would be. “He knew.” You couldn’t help it, bottom lip trembling. “He knew something bad was coming.”
“They said that the Upside Down didn’t open until 1983.” Eddie reasoned. So what did that mean? He died in 1979. Four years before the Upside Down opened. You shrug.
“He must have seen something.” You shake your head, looking at the pawns still on the board. “Or maybe he was threatening to tell the truth.” About what was actually going on there. The testing. The kids. Which would mean maybe Eleven knew him. In some capacity. Maybe she would know what happened to him.
“You kept it.” His knuckles rested on the table. Rings scraping against the surface. You looked up at him questioningly. “The box.” There was fondness there, in his voice.
“What did Dustin mean?” You ask. “When I opened the door, he said he knew to come here because you talked about me all the time.” His cheeks seemed to flush, he cleared his throat and began,
“Your Dad introduced me to Dungeons and Dragons, it’s only fair that you’d come up every once in a while.” It wasn’t the answer you’d been hoping for. The disappointment felt high in your chest. It sat like a weight on your heart and you nodded.
“Makes sense.” There was a pregnant pause. Something that seemed to be itching out of both of your throats, but something that wouldn’t come out. His stomach growled and you sigh, starting back up the stairs, “You never finished your breakfast.”
He’d changed a bit since you’d last seen him. The chains weren’t new. Neither was the clothing he had on, fresh from the dryer. But his hair was longer. He had tattoos now. His face had lost that last bit of baby weight. He looked almost too thin. But that’s what being poor is like. There wasn’t always food. Which is why he was currently inhaling everything you’d put before him.
Something in him settled after talking to the group. His appetite came back at least.
“I’m going to head to the store.” You shuffle towards the cabinet, pulling a coffee tin out of the back behind a box of honeycomb. “I’ll grab some groceries,” You flip through a few bills, “Some snacks for you to keep downstairs.” Because for half the day he won’t be up here. Shoving the coffee can back, you turn to bills being pushed in your face.
“Here.” One hand outstretched towards you with the money, and the other still holding his wallet open. Empty. This $34 is the only money he had. “Could you grab me a six pack too?” Money exchanged, you looked at him exasperated.
“I don’t think you should be drinking right now.”
“Well I don’t have any weed and I can’t calm my nerves.” He exaggerates his hand shaking which makes you roll your eyes.
“You’re so annoying.” As you slip on your shoes you hear him say his appreciation, muffled by the door slamming behind you.
It wasn’t far. Two minute drive. There was too much to process as you walked through the grocery store, throwing things in the cart haphazardly. Eddie didn’t kill Chrissy. He was just dealing to her. She was cursed by Vecna, killed. In his trailer. And no one knew where he would strike next. If he would strike next. And your Father… his death was not an accident.
Government coverup is more likely.
You stopped in front of the cooler section. The beers in variety staring back at you. You felt overwhelmed. And suddenly, very, very tired. You grabbed the cheapest six pack you could find and hit the register.
It was as you loaded the groceries into the car that you saw them. Jason Carver was hard to miss with his blonde hair and letterman jacket. Followed by a group dressed the same. He looked devastated. He was Chrissy’s boyfriend. That’s what Eddie told you. When he looked your way you caught a chill. Did he know? How could he know? Were you just paranoid? You tore your eyes away as fast as possible and slammed the trunk. You had to get out of here.
Eddie was watching cartoons on the couch when you returned.
“I’d help you, but–”
“Yeah, yeah.” Two trips later the groceries were laid out and sorted. “Take this downstairs.” A paper bag filled with chips and chocolate. Candy. Snacks you could remember him liking. The six pack was placed in the basement’s mini fridge, plugged back into the wall for the first time in a long time. But the beer wouldn’t last long. Eddie had already cracked one open before you’d placed it in there.
The two of you settled on the couch, staring at what was a Lord of the Rings, rather, a Middle Earth inspired Hawkins.
“I think we need to talk.” Your admission made him take a deep intake of breath. He took a deeper pull from his beer.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” The two of you sat in silence for a moment. Staring at each other. The sun had set fully just a moment ago.
“Do you want to start or–” Eddie clears his throat and picks at the torn fabric of his jeans.
“I’m not sure what to say to start.” He admitted.
“Maybe why you–” Left me, “Stopped talking to me. All Together.” He thought about it for a beat. Then another.
“I didn’t mean to.” Guilt. “I didn’t really… I guess I didn’t really fight to keep you around.” When you’d met Gareth and Jeff they’d been apprehensive. They didn’t want you taking Eddie away from them, away from the band. They said you’d be a distraction. “Which I didn’t get because how could you have been?” You’d been such an important part of his life that summer. But like Yoko Ono had broken up the Beatles, you’d break them up too. “Which is crazy because I didn’t even think of you as a girl.” Ouch. “Not that I didn’t know–it’s not that I didn’t see you as a girl–I just never really thought about you like that.” Double ouch. He buried himself. And it was hard for you to swallow. The dead skin on your finger suddenly seemed far more interesting.
“I didn’t exactly put up a fight either.” You’d just accepted it. He started hanging out with Gareth and Jeff when school started back up and that’s when he’d started walking by you in the halls. You’d go to greet him and he’d turn the other way. It broke your heart. But more than that. You had to explain to your Dad why Eddie suddenly wasn’t coming over. That hurt more than anything. You remember how upset he’d gotten for you, but then tried to explain how kids were.
“He’ll come back around,” Your Dad promised, “He will.”
“Still…” Eddie continued, “I should have done more.” But he tried. Maybe. The interaction in the hall. Just after your Dad died.
“You tried to talk to me and I pushed you away.” That one was your fault. No doubt about that. But Eddie shook his head.
“You were grieving.”
“And I really needed you.” It came out more of a whimper than you wanted. “And I still pushed you away.” He places the now empty beer can on the floor and leans back against the arm rest, head tipping back to look at the ceiling.
“I thought about just coming over.” Eddie shrugged, “I think I even got to your door once or twice, but I just couldn’t do it.” His voice was terse, angry. “Which makes sense… I’m a coward after all. I just run.” He was sore over leaving Chrissy’s body like that. She died alone. Afraid. And he ran. “I just run away when things get hard.” Just like when he couldn’t face you in the hall. In middle school, right there at the beginning. He would turn the other way. Avoid. “After your Dad died I kept hoping, maybe you’d come to me.” Maybe you’d seek him out. For comfort.
“I wanted to.” But you couldn’t. You thought… there was no place for you in his life anymore. You didn’t want to risk the rejection on top of it all. You thought him reaching out to you was just for pity.
“It wasn’t.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Your Dad… was the best.” His Dad was a jailbird. Teaching him how to steal from when he had honed his fine motor skills. How to hotwire a car. How to peddle drugs. Your Dad though, was everything he had wanted his Dad to be. Everything he could have hoped for in a Father. And your Dad was so giving with the love and approval he had. “I cared about him, and about you.” You waited for the ‘I still do.’ It seemed absent.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The two of you sat in silence. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” It feels stupid now. In light of everything. You’d both been too scared. You’d both ran away from one another, and for a brief moment your mind wanders to what could have been. You’d have been in Hellfire Club. A founder maybe. Eddie, who you once taught the game, would have been your Dungeon Master. You’d have been together. Through all of it. Maybe you’d have gone to prom together. Maybe Eddie wouldn’t have failed high school had you been there to tutor him. He wouldn’t have been dealing to Chrissy. He wouldn’t have been there when she died and she wouldn’t have died in his trailer. Maybe this is all your fault.
“Hey.” A touch to your hand. “Where did you go just then?” You forgot how big his eyes were. God, you forgot how big his eyes were. How full his lips were. You shook your head, retreating in on yourself.
“Just thinking about something stupid.” Pushing yourself from the couch, away from him, you’d fetched him blankets from upstairs. The chest at the end of your bed and spared him a pillow. “This might be better for you tonight.” Hopefully he could finally get some sleep.
“Thanks.” He settled back onto the couch, feet hanging off the end by a hair.
“I’ll uh… talk to you tomorrow.” Before you could retreat his hand reached out and grasped yours.
“Thank you, honestly, for everything.” Your heart skips a beat as he brushes his lips to your knuckles. Briefly.
“You’re welcome, for everything."
