#I feel warm and fuzzy now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bizaar · 1 year

Text

Cruel Summer - Part 8

First - Previous - Next

pairings: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

summary: After breaking up, you and Eddie do your best to soldier on with your lives, but you slowly begin to discover that there is a stronger line of connection keeping you together than just history…

word count: 12k

warnings: swearing, mentions of Chrissy's death, fluff, just really saccharine fluff, sappy love, if you know you know

A.N.: Babysitter!reader part eight, newly formatted to make jumping between chapters easier! Mean!Girl Steve is in full force, and I kind of love it, Dustin finally learns the truth.

When you finally get back to Benny’s, the parking lot is full, indicating that with the passing of mid-morning into afternoon, the masses have finally descended.

The diner is swamped with regulars and newcomers, a whole host of the same onlookers you’d seen standing around gawping back at the trailer park. They’d been staring at you then, trying to get a good look while you were being forcibly removed from the Munson trailer and unceremoniously interrogated, and they’re staring at you now, whispering amongst themselves as you push through the doors and stalk across the diner floor.

Your coworker is running back and forth like a freshly decapitated chicken, berating you for leaving her to fend for herself, but you don’t stand around long enough to listen to her dig into you for abandoning your post.

You’ve wasted enough time as it is.

You’d been detained by the Hawkins’ boys in blue for the better part of an hour, and the walk back had been unceremoniously long. With the weight of Wayne’s money sitting heavy in your pocket and his words even heavier on your shoulders, you’d walked, repeating them to yourself like they were the lyrics to a song you were trying to memorize, a desperate attempt to ward off the paralyzing fear they stirred in you.

You said them over and over again until that fear subsided and gave way to something more grounded, over and over until it was all you could think: Find Eddie, get out of town, don’t come back.

You’re muttering the words to yourself as you slip into the hallway between the kitchen and the dining room, where a short row of beat-up lockers stand beside the punch clock.

There you find Earl, looming in the doorway behind you with his thick arms crossed over his barrel-chested form, staring tiny holes into your back as you snatch your things from the locker you’d stashed them in that morning – jean jacket, bag, car keys, find Eddie, get out of town, don’t come back.

“– Are you even listening to me?” Earl snaps.

You twist at the waist to blink at him, stupidly you imagine because you had not heard a word he’d just said, so caught in the mire of your thoughts as you were.

“No,” You answer honestly, followed directly by, “I’m leaving.”

The tone of Earl’s flesh deepens until he’s turned nearly purple and is all but frothing at the mouth as you skip back through the diner. He follows, as any self-respecting employer would, you imagine, hurling threats at your back.

You’ve already made it to the door by the time he manages to get out from behind the counter, making one last-ditch effort to stop you.

“You step out that door and you’re done here, Missy!” He shouts.

The proposed loss of your income does nothing to deter you.

You don’t miss a step as you shove the door open with a familiar chiming bell that you imagine you will be hearing for the last time.

Fine — Good riddance.

Your triumphant exit is, however, not punctuated by the cheers and swelling music you’d always imagined it would be. It is, in fact, wholly uninspired as you leap down off the curb with Earl still shouting at you how you best not come crawling back, blah blah blah, and make your way across the lot to your little Toyota, left all but abandoned.

It is only after you slide into the driver's seat and jam the keys into the ignition that you discover, much to your chagrin, at some point over the last couple of hours your car’s battery has died.

Just fucking typical.

You don’t have time to run around trying to find someone to jump it for you, so you shoulder your bag and bid a silent farewell to your trusty little car before starting up the road towards town at a swift jog.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know it is going to be a problem when eventually you find Eddie and have to figure out how you’re going to get him out of Hawkins without the use of a car, but you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you come to it.

You’ll get this done if it kills you, one Sisyphean hurdle at a time.

Of course, you have no earthly idea where you are even meant to start looking for Eddie, and it is only by sheer dumb luck that you somehow miraculously find yourself headed past Adam’s house.

Miraculous, considering you’d only cut into the neighborhood in a panicked attempt to avoid the cop car you’d seen nestled in its speed trap on the shoulder of the road, but all the more so because, like a stroke of divine intervention, you’ve somehow found yourself stumbling across an honest to God, Corroded Coffin jam session.

What are the odds?

Like nothing has changed and somehow the encroaching cloud of doom has not yet reached this part of town, Jeff, Adam, and Gareth are all there, standing huddled together in the open garage like they were waiting for you.

The coincidence of it all drives you a little crazy, especially considering Eddie is not with them. You can’t help the pang of bitter disappointment you feel as you have to remind yourself it was never going to be that easy – nothing with Eddie ever is.

The band, sans its frontman, stands staring at you wide-eyed and gawping like they’re seeing a ghost as you bolt up the driveway, shouting their names and waving your arms for their attention as you come screeching to a halt.

Your body is surging with enough adrenaline to almost make you forget how your lungs are burning. You’ve done more running today than you have all year, and your body is not happy about it – funny how quickly you get out of shape once things like regularly mandated physical education become thing of the past.

“Whoa, holy shit, Dude!” Jeff squeaks out, stumbling over your name and the chord of his electric guitar as he moves towards you, “H-hey! It’s been a minute,”

You don’t let him finish, you don’t have time for a game of catch-up.

“Where’s Eddie?” you demand, well aware of how you are starting to sound like a broken record even if only to yourself. “Have you seen him?”

The question seems to shock them. Adam and Gareth exchange nervous glances, meanwhile Jeff makes a harsh sound in the back of his throat that is a little closer to disgust than you like and recoils like you’d threatened to slap him.

The reaction might have confused you if not for the fact that you are well aware of the way he’s always had a big crush on you and the tension it has created between him and Eddie as a result.

You are not in the least bit surprised to see that it has not changed, but you have neither the time nor the patience to be nice to him about it.

You don’t care about Jeff’s feelings, you only care about finding Eddie.

Gareth has to elbow him in the ribs to stop him from saying something snide as he answers you.

“Not since Hellfire last night–” He begins, lamely fumbling for the excuse he doesn’t get the chance to trot out before Jeff cuts him off with a scoff.

“I saw him.” He says matter of factly, garnering horrified reactions from his friends.

Gareth’s eyes widen as his head whips around so fast you half expect to see it spin all the way around.

He and Adam are staring daggers, silently willing him to shut up, and suddenly you get a strange, sinking sense of betrayal like they are grappling with something big and unwieldy that is not for your eyes.

You swallow it, you can process it later if your feelings are still hurt.

“You did?” You gasp.

Jeff nods.

“Dude— don’t.” Adam hisses.

He narrows his eyes and shoots Adam an unimpressed look.

“What? It’s not like she isn’t gonna find out.” He says, sounding almost like a mocking reference to a conversation they’ve had before. Adam glares at him but says nothing, and Jeff looks almost smug as he turns back to regard you, “I saw Eddie,”

Your heart is in your throat and you can’t quite decide if it’s for excitement or nerves. You’re practically vibrating for it and you have to ball your hands into fists to stop yourself from grabbing Jeff by the front of his shirt and shaking him.

“Where?”

He shrugs.

“In the school parking lot after the game. He was headed out with…”

Jeff trails off under the chorus of Adam and Gareth swatting at him and telling him to shut him up. It sets the band to bickering aggressively and your skin to crawl.

You can’t stop yourself from bouncing up and down in a near panic as you try to reign their attention back in.

“You guys, come on, please focus! I have to find Eddie, it’s an emergency!”

It is enough to silence them.

“Jeff — you saw Eddie in the parking lot after the game…” You prompt him.

After a moment's hesitation, Jeff averts his gaze and clears his throat. It causes your stomach to churn with dread. Despite how fairly certain you are you already know what he’s going to say, you suddenly aren’t sure you want to hear him say it.

He nods in a way that is almost halfway sheepish, like he’s only just realized what it is he’s about to say and who he is about to say it to.

“... I saw him getting into the van with Chrissy Cunningham… you know, that cheerleader?”

Bingo.

Stupidly, it hits you like a fist to the gut, winding you ever so slightly.

You suppose you already knew that Eddie and Chrissy had been together last night in some capacity — how else would she have ended up dead on his living room floor — but in the midst of the morning’s panic, you hadn’t allowed yourself to consider the reasons why they were together, and now your insides are burning as your mind races with the suggestion of hideous possibility.

You swallow hard and clench your teeth – it’s stupid to be jealous of a dead girl, you know this, and yet…?

Gareth pipes up then, grabbing your attention before you can go down the tantalizing road of bitter self-destruction by imagining Eddie and Chrissy together in any kind of intimate capacity.

“What’s going on?” He asks tentatively, “Why do you need to find Eddie so bad?”

You open your mouth to speak before you’ve decided what you should or should not tell them about what you know. Do you tell them the truth or do you make up a sanitized version of things to try and save face, to protect Eddie?

You’re suddenly so conflicted that you feel as if your throat has filled with cotton, rendering you speechless.

It takes you half a minute to finally force something out, settling on, “He’s in trouble.”

Which, in the grand scheme of things is a relatively banal statement. Eddie is always in some kind of trouble, but you hope your presence is enough to clue the band in on the gravity of the situation as you swallow hard against the tightness of your throat and the black pit of jealousy forming in your stomach.

Gareth’s brows come together over his eyes.

“What kind of trouble?”

The worst kind.

You shake your head, partially because you don’t know where to begin but mostly to try and banish the image of Chrissy’s gaunt, screaming face from where it has shouldered its way to the front of your mind.

You set your jaw and breathe out a slow, shaky breath, but you don’t get the chance to gather your thoughts before they’re scattered to the wind again.

“Oh, shit…” Adam mumbles, “Is it that bad?”

You don’t answer, though only because you don’t expressly know how to answer. It is that bad, and it’s worse.

After a long moment of silence, he blows out a harsh breath and shrugs.

“You know, you’re not the only person looking for Eddie,” Adam says, sending a pang of white-hot fear lancing through your midsection for what that could possibly suggest, until, “Dustin Henderson called about twenty minutes back asking basically the same thing.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as a cool wave of relief washes over you. In spite of yourself, you feel a bright and dangerous hope welling in your chest, banishing the black pit swirling there.

Dustin! Of course, wonderful, sweet, amazing Dustin would know where to look!

The bright feeling lasts only the briefest of moments before it is dashed to oblivion because Gareth is giving you a very tense look, like he’s busy putting the pieces of a puzzle to paint a terrible picture of the truth.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with that girl who got killed… does it?” He asks.

It’s shocking, like the clanging of a bell ringing in your ears and deafening you.

You feel your heart seize in your chest and are aware of how your jaw falls open ever so slightly, betraying any discretion you might have hoped to keep regarding the situation at hand.

Trust Gareth to always see straight through to the greater underlying truth.

Adam and Jeff exchange nervous glances as you fail to answer. You feel suddenly very small under their collective gaze as words fail you, and all you can do is stare back at them.

Unfortunately, your silence speaks for itself, and you watch Gareth’s jaw flex as the gravity of the situation finally starts to sink in.

You suspect they must have imagined it was just the typical Eddie trouble and no real emergency. What are you if not their friend’s ex-girlfriend, banging down the door and demanding to know where he is after he goes off with some cheerleader for God knows what – you think you can probably make a pretty good guess for what — don’t go there, don’t do that to yourself…

It makes sense that they would close rank around their friend, “bro-code” being what it is – it’s bullshit, but in the fucked up logic of the masculine brain, you suppose it’s bullshit that makes sense.

It doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“…It’s Chrissy…isn’t it?” Gareth asks then, his voice trembling and so soft you would not have heard him had he not been standing so close, “The dead girl?”

The silence that falls over the garage is deafening.

Your stomach bottoms out and you are struck with a wave of cold nausea. You wire your jaw shut, suddenly reluctant to answer on the off chance that despite being Eddie’s friends, somehow their collective consciences lead them to the same terrible conclusion you are certain everyone else in this backwater town is going to jump to.

You would protect him from that if you could, in spite of everything, be his shield, but your body betrays you, and you’re nodding before you can stop yourself.

They react with varying degrees of horror, faces blanche, swears are uttered, Adam covers his face in his hands and you can hear him muttering “Jesus Christ” to himself over and over. It leaves you wondering if he’s swearing or praying.

Gareth takes you by the arm, then, and leads you away from the cloud of hysteria you have created among them, back towards the drum set crouching in the shadows of the garage.

He doesn’t immediately speak to you, he can hardly even look at you, which is not expressly fair considering you’re only the messenger. The color has drained from his face, and for half a second you think maybe he’s about to keel over or throw up, or something.

After a very long moment, he finally makes himself breathe out a harsh, shaky sigh. His hands are shaking as he cards them through his hair – he glances back at his friends, at his feet, and then at you, like he’s trying to decide what to say.

You can’t blame him. What does someone say to something like that?

You imagine if you hadn’t been so single-minded in finding him you would be reeling too – you’d seen Chrissy’s body, afterall.

“He-he didn’t…? Fuck– did Eddie—”

“Stop.” the word wrenches itself from somewhere deep within you in a breathless gasp. You can’t bear to hear him say it, “Don’t you dare ask me that…”

Gareth sets his jaw and levels you with a strange, hard look before finally giving a short nod. You’re not sure what it means, but you don’t like the jagged edge of the way he’s looking at you.

You do your best to steady yourself, but your voice is trembling as you speak.

“Look, I know this seems really bad, I get it, but… but Christ, G, this is Eddie we’re talking about, okay? It’s Eddie. We know he’s not like that, he would never do something like this… I mean, come on … he won’t even kill a spider.”

Gareth is shaking his head, but somehow you don’t think he disagrees with you.

It is, after all, a point of favored teasing among the group – Gareth in particular. Big tough Eddie Munson is scared shitless of spiders … and all flying bugs, you might add, but now is neither the time nor the place to offer that little tidbit of information.

Still, your brain offers you the rather unhelpful mental image of Eddie last January, leaping up out of bed and literally sprinting to the safety of the trailer’s front porch, where he’d stood shivering in his boxers as you quickly relocated a particularly large wolf spider from the nest it had made in a dark corner of his bedroom.

You wish you were back there now, arguing with Eddie as he refused to be coaxed back into the trailer, despite the subzero temperatures, instead of standing here in this terrible moment, wondering where in the hell he could possibly be.

“What happened?” Gareth sniffs, squeezing his eyes shut like he hates to ask but he has to know.

You cross your arms over your chest and cast your gaze down to your grease-stained keds.

“I don’t know,” You mumble, “But it’s only gonna get a lot worse if I don’t find Eddie right now.”

A sticky silence blooms between you, but it barely has a moment to settle before it is whisked away.

“Uh oh,” Adam calls from the front of the garage. “Jerk alert,”

“Jesus, what are they doing here?”

A cursory glance toward the front of the garage reveals Jeff and Adam staring at something out on the street.

You follow their gaze to see the butched-out Jeep Cherokee that has pulled up to the curb and your heart seizes in your chest as you come to recognize it and the great many basketball players that begin to spill out of it – the Hawkins Tigers, with Jason Carver at the lead. This is bad, this is very bad.

Since graduating, you don’t keep up with the interconnected gossip of the Hawkins social elite, like who is dating who, but it occurs to you all too late that you are, in fact, very well aware that Chrissy Cunningham had been Jason Carver’s girlfriend.

At least until last night.

Adrenaline spikes through your limbs and you’re struck with the same nagging urge to run that you’d woken up with that morning.

If Jason is here, then it can only mean that news of her death has reached him, though more importantly, it means Jason knows who Chrissy was with when she died.

You have to find Eddie, now.

Before you can even think to move, Gareth grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and drags you deeper into the garage, leading you to the wall where a dozen boxes are stacked up against a disused side door.

He begins pulling at them, doing his best to dislodge the cardboard barrier standing between you and your escape. He speaks with a hushed urgency as he works, looking back over his shoulder at the scene unfolding at the mouth of the garage.

“Go.” He says, wrenching the door open as far as it will budge, “Find Dustin, if anyone’s gonna have a line on Eddie, it’ll be him. We’ll try to buy you some time.”

It’s a tight squeeze, but you hold your breath and manage to push through with the meager sacrifice of two buttons from the front of your dress and only the slightest amount of scraping.

Before you can slip out the other side, Gareth catches you by the wrist and says your name.

His brows are pulled tight over his eyes as you glance back at him.

“He didn’t mean it.” He says thickly – you don’t have to ask to know who he means, “Whatever he did with… with Chrissy?”

Gareth trails off then, shaking his head like he isn’t sure he ought to even say her name, let alone try and make excuses for whatever did or did not happen.

You dismiss the notion with a quick shake of your head. The jocks are getting closer, and you’re running out of time to escape.

“It doesn’t matter–”

He cuts you off.

“No, it does. Just… just let me say it, in case he’s too chicken shit to do it himself.” He huffs, “Eddie’s been fucked up over you all year, okay? Trust me, whatever he did, whatever happened between you? He’s killing himself over it… he still loves you, Man, he’s just too stupid to do anything about it.”

You swallow hard to try and stop any kind of reaction from spilling out of you.

You don’t have time to fall apart, but the coincidence that he would use those exact words? He still loves you? What could possibly have possessed Gareth to tell you that, why now?

How much had Eddie told them about what he’d said to you that night last August?

Before you have time to consider the notion, to muster any kind of proper feeling about it, Gareth pushes you through the door and shuts it behind you.

You stagger gracelessly into the grass on the other side of the wall, only just managing to stay on your feet as you hear the telltale scrape and thump of Gareth putting the boxes back in place.

You’re off and running again as the first of the jock’s voices reach you, body surging with adrenaline despite the way your legs are trembling as you go.

Find Dustin, you tell yourself, You’ve got to find Dustin.

+++

This is the fourth time Dustin has tried you at home over the last hour, and yet again the phone rings and rings and endlessly rings with no sign of picking up.

Behind him, Max and Robin pace back and forth, dialing every number they can get their hands on, attempting to oh so casually inquire after Eddie to any of the citizens of Hawkins who might happen to have some inkling of where he could be.

So far no dice.

Not even getting Adam on the phone had drummed up any kind of result, except for Dustin having to make a very rushed, very lame excuse about why he couldn’t stay on the phone and reminisce about the previous night’s awesome session.

It had been awesome, and under normal circumstances, he would have loved the opportunity to relive the glory of Vecna’s defeat, but Dustin has to find Eddie as soon as humanly possible, and before he can do that, he has to get a hold of you.

Both of those things are seeming more and more improbable an outcome as the minutes tick past.

The phone continues to ring, and Dustin watches Steve with a misplaced vehemence as he skirts around the floor, assisting and suggesting and being an overall excellent Family Video employee like he was going for goddamn employee of the month or something.

He is very obviously doing everything he possibly can to avoid assisting in the search for Eddie, and it is very un-Steve of him.

In Dustin’s opinion, he is being very uncool about this whole thing, about looking for Eddie but also about getting you on the phone.

“You’re wasting your time,” he’d said the second time Dustin had tried your number, in that same cryptic way he always referred to you when the subject of Eddie came up.

Dustin had no patience for it today.

“Steve, quit being such a douche,” He’d said, hurrying to finish his thought before Steve could get pissed about it, “I’m telling you — she’s good at this stuff, finding lost things? You don’t have to be her friend, just try to be nice to her for once, okay? She’s our ace in the hole.”

To his credit, Steve just huffed out an annoyed breath and rolled his eyes, which was a win considering he was within his rights to bite Dustin’s head off over the insult.

“Not if the lost thing is something she doesn’t want to find.” He'd muttered.

“What does that even mean?”

But by then a slender brunette had walked in through the door and Steve had completely lost interest in the conversation.

The phone is still ringing, and Dustin has to remind himself for the hundredth time that it does not automatically indicate that you’ve been arrested, as Max suggested.

You’re probably at work, even though your mean coworker had already informed him that you’d gone running out the front door without a word, like a bat out of hell — headed for the trailer park, if I had to guess, she’d said.

It makes Dustin’s stomach curl to imagine it – you, mixed up in whatever weirdness was going on down there, with Eddie – his two missing friends.

It makes no goddamn sense.

On the ride to Family Video, Dustin and Max had unanimously agreed that said weirdness very likely had something to do with the Upsidedown, which stresses Dustin out to no end, considering the fact that half of their party is presently all the way in California and unable to help if another gate has cropped up; not to mention how tirelessly he has worked to keep you safely removed from all that, and yet there they were, and here you were not.

The phone is still ringing.

With a dejected sigh, Dustin resigns himself to the fact that you’re still not home. Just as his fingers have come down to rest on the switch hook, ready to end the connection, there is suddenly the telltale click of the receiver picking up.

Dustin’s heart leaps to his throat as he snatches his hand away from the phone and finally — finally, your voice comes through the line. You answer, loud and breathless, like you’ve just finished running for your life as you all but shout into the mouthpiece.

“Eddie!?” You gasp at the same moment that Dustin bleats your name with a similar fervor.

It confuses him, though not nearly as much as the rush of relief that floods your voice as you course correct and immediately begin speaking a mile a minute.

“Dustin!” You shout, “Oh, thank God – Did you find him? Have you heard from Eddie?”

It leaves him more than just a little bit stunned.

“No, not since last night…” he hears you heave an overloud sigh of frustration and is quick to continue in a juvenile hope of pleasing you, “B-but we’re calling around and asking everybody we can think of…” and then a thought worms its way to the front of Dustin’s mind, “Hold on a second, how do you know Eddie—”

You don’t let him finish. Over the phone, Dustin can hear a cacophony of crashing and banging, the rustle of clothing and you swearing harshly under your breath, like you’re busy ransacking your apartment.

“Where are you right now? Are you home?”

“No, I’m at Family Video, Max and I—”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

And then there is the hard clang of the receiver being slammed into place followed by the monotonous droning of the dial tone, and just like that you’re gone.

Dustin drops the phone from his ear and stares at the receiver as he tries to understand what the hell just happened.

You’re very clearly not sitting in a jail cell, that much is clear, but somehow you’re already out there looking for Eddie?

He can’t decide if it’s fortuitous or just plain bizarre.

It’s fortuitous because it means he doesn’t have to waste any time trying to convince you to help, but it’s wholly bizarre because up until this point Dustin had been under the impression that you don’t even know Eddie.

How did you know he was in trouble? And why do you sound so stressed about it?

Dustin supposes it doesn’t really matter if the means add up to his intended end, but it’s just one more thing in a long list of things stacking up to make today unbearably weird.

His confusion does not go unnoticed.

“Hey, what happened?” Robin asks softly, craning her neck towards Dustin and holding the phone just far enough away from her ear so as not to mix conversations.

He blinks at her as he tries and fails to untangle it himself, then shrugs and puts his phone back on the hook.

He explains as much as he knows: you’re on your way over, you’ll be here in five minutes.

It’s closer to ten by the time he finally spies you through the front windows, darting across the street and only just avoiding the passing traffic as you cross.

You’re flushed and jumpy as you push through the door with a loud clanging of the bell.

The sound of your arrival brings Steve whipping around a shelf from the romance section, eyes bright with possibility and diving into his bullshit spiel before he sees who has come in through the door.

“Hey there, welcome to Family — oh, it’s just you.” His face visibly falls as he turns on his heel and heads back towards the counter with a sigh, “Dustin, your babysitter’s here.”

He says it’s like a dirty word, gesturing to you with a flippant jerk of his thumb that makes Dustin’s skin feel hot and prickly with indignation – he’d told him to be nice.

Dustin knows very well that you and Steve don’t like each other, and he doesn’t precisely know why, except that it has something to do with something that happened back in High School, before Steve came around and joined the team.

He has tried and failed on many occasions to plead his case, to convince you that Steve is not all that bad, but you would not relent in your opinion of him.

You’re speaking before Dustin can make any sort of effort to defend you.

“Eat shit, Steve,” you huff, taking the words right out of his mouth and looking very agitated as you follow him across the carpet to the desk.

You greet Robin with an absent wave when she gives you a big, friendly smile.

She either can’t or won’t speak for the tension between you and Steve, but she likes you just fine and as far as Dustin can tell, you have no issue with her.

Of course, this isn’t about your mysterious feud with Steve, this is about finding Eddie, so he does his best to ignore the way you’re staring daggers at each other.

“Where’ve you been?” Dustin demands once you reach the counter.

He can’t help but notice the way you’re gripping the edge of the linoleum so tightly your knuckles have turned white.

“I’ve been calling you all morning! Max said—”

You shake your head.

“It doesn’t matter,” You say, which Dustin finds to be particularly outrageous because of course it matters when Max is out here spreading rumors that she’d seen you getting arrested.

You’re talking again before he can voice any of those concerns.

“Where’s Eddie? What do we know?”

Not much, unfortunately, and he hates to admit it.

Dustin’s cheeks puff out with a heavy breath as he turns his attention back to the long list of crossed-out names and phone numbers they have been meticulously calling for what feels like hours now.

All this time and all those people and still they are no closer to Eddie.

“Only what Max saw.” He says simply.

Your eyes widen and your head snaps around to the redhead, pacing back and forth behind the counter as she talks on the phone. She casts a sidelong glance your way and scrunches her nose as if to say ‘quit staring at me’.

It takes a very long moment before you finally turn back to Dustin.

“What did she see?” You demand.

He doesn’t know why, but having your undivided attention like this makes his stomach tighten with anxiety – you’re just a little more intense than he is comfortable with right now, and strangely he’s nervous about telling you the truth.

“Eddie and Chrissy together at his place.” He explains slowly, bracing himself for your reaction.

You clench your jaw and something indiscernible flashes across your eyes, but you prompt him to continue with a short nod.

Dustin takes a breath.

“Then a little while later the lights go wonky and she hears him screaming like he’s being killed, next thing she sees is Eddie hauling ass to get out of there.”

He feels oddly proud, in the grand scheme of things, saying it all out loud helped to make it seem like they knew a lot more than he'd previously thought, but disappointingly you heave a dejected sigh and your shoulders fall.

“So, she didn’t see anything,”

It leaves Dustin feeling strangely indignant.

“She saw Chrissy.” He posits, deflating a little when the information fails to impress you.

“Yeah,” you say bluntly, “So did I.”

Dustin doesn’t know what that means, but he can’t shake the feeling that there is some terrible reality behind that.

You’ve got this far-away look in your eyes, and you bodily shudder. He can’t imagine what must have happened to Chrissy to send Eddie running for the hills, big tough Eddie who everyone was so afraid of, who wasn’t really all that big or tough at all once you got to know him.

A sharp pang of protectiveness lances through his midsection and Dustin finds himself eyeing you warily as he sees how your brows have come together, an angry scowl etched into your features.

He suddenly can’t stop thinking about the conversation you’d had with Eddie on the campus phone, how quickly it had turned before you’d inexplicably hung up on him – it leaves Dustin wondering just how you know Eddie, why you’d never mentioned him before, and suddenly he is very worried about your opinion regarding his guilt.

You want to find him, that’s for sure, for whatever reason that may be, but wanting to find him doesn’t expressly mean you want to help him, particularly if your opinion of Eddie is any shade of similar to your opinion of Steve.

Dustin hates to be suspicious of you, normally he would swear you don't have a mean bone in your body, but it's been a long time since you've been normal...

“You know he didn’t do it.” Dustin says firmly, “...right?”

He watches you carefully as your head snaps up and you regard him with a strange look.

“Eddie.” He clarifies, “He’s innocent.”

Then your brows come together over your narrowing eyes, pulling a face that is somewhere within the realm of the same familiar look you always get when he says something you think is stupid or outrageous.

It’s oddly comforting, despite the way it makes his stomach clench with instant regret.

“Of course, he didn’t do it,” you snap. “Dustin–”

He puts his hands up in surrender before you can admonish him for whatever it is that has offended you.

“Okay! I just wanted to make sure we’re all on the same page here–”

“Well, hold on,” Steve interjects, rocking up to lean beside you on the counter. You shift away from him, “We can’t just say Munson’s innocent and call it a day just because Princess Daphne here has got a major hard-on for him.”

He jerks his head towards you and you recoil like he’d reached out and slapped you.

“Excuse me?” You snap.

And Dustin can’t say he feels any different, he can’t believe what he is hearing.

“Steve, what the hell?” He yelps, trying his damnedest to be outraged and not to think of you dressed as Princess Daphne, which is easier said than done now that the image is in Dustin's head.

Even Robin is unimpressed, glaring at him from behind the counter.

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” she huffs.

Steve, in turn, immediately goes on the defensive, throwing his arms wide and raising his voice like he can’t believe no one is agreeing with him.

“Oh, come on, people, he fled the scene! That’s pretty much an admission of guilt right there”

You level him with a hateful look.

“He didn’t do it.”

Steve stares at you a moment before shrugging and giving you a halfway apologetic look, almost like he hates to say it, but in a very condescending way.

“Well, of course, you’d say that,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re biased,”

Dustin watches warily as you bristle.

“Biased.” You mimic, curling your hands into fists.

“Completely,”

For half a moment, he thinks you might swing at Steve, and you wouldn’t be wrong for doing so, he’s being a complete and total douche.

To your credit, you take a deep, steadying breath before you come back with your rebuttal.

“You don’t think maybe I’d say that because I have just a little bit more insight on the matter than you do?”

Steve scoffs, and just like that, all sense of diplomacy has gone out the window.

“Oh, okay, insight? Is that what we’re calling it?” He prods, crossing his arms and staring down at you, “Insight?”

Once a mean girl, always a mean girl.

“Fuck you.” you snap, and Dustin takes it as his sign to intervene.

He does his best to separate you, but unfortunately, he’s on the wrong side of the counter to do much more than reach out and grab the both of you by your sleeve.

“Okay guys, take a breath.” he urges, rather helplessly considering how you and Steve have gotten into each other’s faces now.

He’s halfway to panicking because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you start to fight, like, really physically fight.

Dustin doesn’t think Steve would sink so low to hit a girl, he’s got principles even when he’s being an unhinged half-reformed mean girl, but he can also hear you berating him for being a sexist at the notion – “Girls can get in fights too, Dustin, don’t be such a –”

“I think I’ve got a lead.” Max says suddenly, slamming her phone down into the cradle and mercifully cutting the tension enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Some guy called Reefer Rick? Apparently, he’s Eddie’s dealer and I guess he crashes at his place sometimes,”

For half a moment no one reacts, and then Robin snorts with laughter.

It is almost loud enough to cover the harsh sound of indignation you make.

“Reefer Rick? Is that his legal name? Like, do you think it says that on his driver’s license?”

Max just rolls her eyes.

“Did you get a last name?” Steve asks then, leaning over the desk on his elbow.

“What, suddenly you care?” Dustin scoffs, “Two seconds ago you were ready to call the cops.”

“Listen, I’m just trying to be realistic, you little creep — any way you’re biased too, you’re obsessed with the guy,”

The comment goes largely ignored, as Robin slides into the computer chair and immediately begins typing.

“Maybe if we can find this Rick guy, he can point us in the right … direction…?”

Robin trails off when she notices how you’ve spun on your heel and started across the lobby.

“Where the hell is she going?” Steve asks, reaching across the counter to shove Dustin for his attention when he doesn’t answer right away.

“How should I know?”

Steve narrows his eyes in a way that would have left Dustin half inclined to slug him were he the type of person with those types of inclinations.

He’s really in rare form today, and Dustin is almost certain at this rate someone is going to punch Steve by the end of the day.

“She’s your babysitter.” He drawls.

Again, he says it like a dirty word, and Dustin bristles.

“What, so like I can read her mind or something?” He snaps, scrambling out from under the desk and nearly tripping over his feet in an attempt to go after you.

You’re out the door in an instant, the chiming of that stupid bell signifying your escape.

Dustin staggers out after you, blinking against the sun and shouting your name. He has to say it three times before you slow enough for him to catch you.

“Where are you going?” Dustin gasps, winded from having to dash after you so quick.

You’re practically vibrating, eyes bright as you stare back at him.

“I know where he is!” You say.

“Who?" He demands, then feels his brain melt a little, "Reefer Rick?”

Your brows come together and you roll your eyes.

“Oh please,” You scoff, turning to leave again.

Dustin grabs you by the sleeve of your jacket and holds you there, stopping you from dashing off to the odd corner of the world.

He doesn’t notice the strip of paper that falls from your pocket, too busy fixating on you.

“Stop!” He pleads.

You pull against his grip and glare at him, the slightest twinge of annoyance coloring your face as you jerk your arm out of his grasp.

“Dustin!” You start, swinging hard into your serious babysitter voice, “I have to go!”

He knows this, despite how annoying it is, but he’s desperate to make you stay, anyway he can.

“Just – wait a second, will you? You don't understand how goddam stressful this whole day has been, first with Eddie, then you–"

Your eyes go wide as you gesture to yourself incredulously.

"Me?"

It sets Dustin's teeth on edge.

"Yes, you! I've been trying to reach you all day. Max said you were in jail and when I couldn't get a hold of you..." He trails off as he realizes just how whiney he sounds and feels his cheeks burn for it.

All that talk about how he was too old for a babysitter and here he is wailing and moaning like a little kid.

You stand a moment, searching his face before your features grow soft in the strangest way. Dustin’s heart leaps up into his throat as you surge forward and embrace him.

"It's gonna be okay, Dusty, I know where he is now." You say against his ear.

Only at that moment, Dustin could not have guessed who you were talking about or what they'd all been doing only moments before if his life depended on it. Eddie? Eddie who? All he can think about is you and how good you smell.

It’s a quick hug, much to his chagrin, and it leaves him standing struck dumb enough that he doesn’t notice you skipping away until it’s too late.

You’re halfway up the street by the time he comes back around.

“Where are you going!” Dustin shouts,

You twist around and offer him a big bright smile, one he hasn’t seen in what feels like years.

“To find Eddie!” You call, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world,

The sound is lost to the afternoon traffic, and as quickly as you’d arrived, you’re gone again.

Off to whatever corner of Hawkins Eddie is hiding in, he supposes. Dustin doesn’t know how he feels about it.

For some reason, his insides feel cold and squirmy, like they’re about to jump up into his throat. It feels like jealousy, but he can’t rationalize why he would be jealous.

You don’t know Eddie, except apparently you do, well enough to come running at the first sign of trouble. He can’t wrap his head around it.

He’s not worried you won’t find him, he’s only worried that after you do, he won’t be able to find you, like somehow you’re on the cusp of slipping through his fingers and he’s never going to see you again.

With a dejected sigh, he turns on his heel and starts back toward the video store, then he spies the long strip of paper lying on the pavement where you’d just been standing.

Dustin stoops to retrieve it, guessing you must have dropped it in your rush to leave. He turns it over in his hands and his heart seizes.

It’s a photo strip, one from the many kiosks they’d had at the Starcourt Mall before the Mindflayer took care of it.

The pictures are all more or less the same: it’s you and Eddie.

Eddie giving you bunny ears and you sticking your tongue out, followed by Eddie pretending to bite your face while you laughed, followed by Eddie kissing you, and you kissing Eddie, and… and and and …oh God.

Dustin feels like he’s going to be sick.

So that’s how you know each other… that’s why you’d been down at the trailer park this morning, why you are so desperate to find Eddie.

Finally, here is the missing piece of the puzzle, landing perfectly in place with an earth-shattering crash, threatening to knock Dustin off his feet.

Your stupid boyfriend, the one who had plagued Dustin’s life for years, skulking around the periphery of his brain, slowly pulling you away from him, the one who had so callously broken your heart and left you sobbing pathetically on his couch last summer, who Dustin had sworn to avenge you against… is Eddie.

Of course it is, it makes perfect sense now that he really thinks about it, and Dustin hates every second of just how much it makes sense.

Who drove around in a shitty panel van blaring over loud rock music? Your stupid boyfriend — Eddie. Whose silver ring with the dark stone had you been wearing up until last summer? Your stupid boyfriend’s — also Eddie, as Dustin had noticed during his first session at Hellfire and done an incredible feat of mental gymnastics to convince himself that it wasn’t the same ring.

Who had he seen picking you up outside his house that night he’d torn down his curtains in a jealous rage? Who had he seen lean over the center console to kiss you? Your stupid boyfriend — Eddie Eddie Eddie. All signs point to Eddie, and Dustin’s mind is reeling for it.

Now he knows why you’d never once mentioned Eddie or Hellfire in all your hours of doomsday prepping, and why Eddie had been so periodically weird and sulky and withdrawn. Dustin had long suspected it was a breakup that was ailing Eddie, especially considering Mike had acted the exact same way in the weeks following Will and Eleven’s departure for California.

Behind him, the door to the video store chimes as it whips open, and Steve calls out to him.

“Hey! Come in man, we’ve got a lead here!”

Dustin crumples the photo strip without thinking and stuffs it into his pocket, hoping somehow he might forget he ever saw it, forget he knows what he now knows.

He whirls around and does his best to stuff down all the big unwieldy feelings threatening to burst out of him, making his way back toward Family Video.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Keep your wig on.” Dustin mumbles, swallowing hard to keep his voice from trembling as he goes.

+++

Eddie doesn’t know what happened to Chrissy, but he knows somehow it is his fault.

At least that’s what everyone is going to say.

He was there, he had his hands on her, trying to snap her out of whatever terrifying fugue state had suddenly gripped her, sure, but fingerprints are fingerprints, and his are all over her.

She was there, and then suddenly she wasn’t; now she is dead.

It all happened so fast, and yet it won’t stop playing in his head in a constant loop, like a slow-motion instant replay scorched into the backs of his eyelids that he’s destined to relive every time he closes his eyes until the end of his days.

He’s never seen anything like that, never heard anything like it – he didn’t know a person’s body could bend like that, that bones could make that sound.

When he was thirteen, his father purposely slammed his arm shut in a car door in the weeks leading up to his final arrest. Why he did it didn’t matter – that was just the old man for you – what mattered was how Eddie had heard the bones in his forearm break and sat staring in the blissful ignorance of shock at the bend in his arm that didn’t belong before he ever felt any pain.

That was nothing like the noises that had rung out when Chrissy’s arms and legs snapped up out of place or the unnatural way she’d hung there, limbs bent out of shape.

He hopes Chrissy wasn’t present enough in those final moments to feel any pain.

He can still see it when he closes his eyes like the image is forever burnt into the back of his eyelids. He doesn’t know if he’s ever going to stop hearing that sound.

And now he’s hiding out in Rick Lipton’s boat house, which is probably the most incriminating place he could have chosen to hole up considering the circumstances, but it’s not like Eddie had a lot of options.

It’s dark, dingy, and full of all kinds of nasty dust and debris that hurts his lungs to breathe, and all of that would be positively fine if it weren’t for the spiders. So many goddamn spiders in this shitty crumbling boat house.

Normally he would have bolted straight for the safety of the house at the first sight of them, but things are anything but normal right now, and Rick is supposed to be in jail.

In spite of being currently half out of his mind, Eddie knows well enough that it would do him no good to draw someone’s attention with signs of life in the house, so there he sits, miserable and terrified and itching with the sensation of phantom legs crawling up and down his body.

He would say that things could not possibly get any worse, but he’s worried he’ll jinx it.

And then, like it was just waiting for its cue, a sudden commotion startles Eddie into leaping up to his feet.

A crashing bang of metal and glass out in the yard causes him to damn near leap out of his skin. Trash cans, he rationalizes, but what knocked them over?

Eddie balls his hands into fists and tries to convince himself it’s just raccoons, he's heard them skulking around outside the trailer for years, causing a ruckus, but he could have sworn he heard someone swearing under their breath.

Last time he checked raccoons don’t go around muttering “Goddamn— son of a bitch,”

He crosses his arms tightly over his chest and hugs his biceps protectively. He holds his breath, listening hard for any kind of sound.

It’s faint, but it’s there.

The telltale crunch of gravel, moving from one end of the building to the other, footsteps, drawing closer with each passing second.

Fuck.

There’s someone outside.

Oh fuck.

They’ve found him.

Fuck fuck fuck shit oh fuck.

Eddie’s head is on a swivel, looking for somewhere, anywhere to hide – there are dozens of places, plenty of dark corners and tarps he could tuck himself into, but the threat of spiders keeps him frozen to the spot.

Move or die, Man! his inner voice screams, now is not the time for irrational phobias, but his legs have turned to jelly frozen in concrete. If he moves they’ll shatter and he’ll fall.

The footsteps are getting closer.

Eddie’s mind races with every terrible possibility, his subconscious whispers hideous things to him and urges him to run, but he still can’t move.

He knows he needs to get as far away from here as he can as fast as humanly possible, but the tiniest, nagging thought has him paralyzed — where is he going to go?

Who’s going to help him?

Wayne’s bound to be tied up in police tape by now, Rick’s in jail and so is his father, not that he would ever dream of going to the old man for help, his mother is dead, and his friends all think he’s an asshole, so who is there in the world left to help him?

Chrissy was the only one left around who was even halfway nice to him and he saw what happened to her. She’s the reason he’s in this mess.

Who would even believe him if he tried to explain it?

He’s tired — so goddamn tired he can’t think straight, and he doesn’t want to run anymore.

He’s been running all night, hasn’t closed his eyes to so much as blink for fear of seeing Chrissy’s face again, and he’s dead on his feet… so incredibly fucking tired that he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care what happens to him now despite how untrue that is.

He ought to just give himself up.

The footsteps are closer now, nearly to the door.

So what if someone is out there? So what if he’s found? He knows he didn’t do anything, but how far is his word going to take him in this town?

How much is he willing to bet the court system will take one look at his name and decide his guilt without so much as a thought for things like motive and evidence?

What’s the worst that can happen? Prison. Just like his father.

His heart sinks at the thought, despite how he tries not to care.

Of course, like always, the problem is that Eddie cares too much— how unfair it is that he’s spent his whole life doing everything he can to get off that train, be good (as good as he can, considering it all) stay out of trouble, and keep his head down, only to end up in this mess.

Worse than getting picked up for carjacking or possession or just because the cops in this town just plain don’t like him, if Eddie goes to prison for Chrissy’s murder, he knows he’ll never get out again.

Not alive, in any case.

If he runs he’s going to spend his whole life running, if he stays he’s going to die. What kind of options are those? He suddenly feels like an animal in a trap, presented with the prospect of chewing off his own leg to survive.

Does he have the fortitude to do something like that? He doesn’t know.

The footsteps have stopped, and Eddie realizes with a burst of hot stinging adrenaline that whoever is out there skulking around is right outside the doors and he doesn’t know what to do.

You would have known what to do… wouldn’t you? Probably not, but it would have made him feel a whole lot better not to be doing this on his own. Not to have to do any of it on his own.

Instinctively, Eddie jumps forward and grips the door handle, the cool metal bites into the flesh of his palm and sends a shiver up his spine. He tells himself it’s to stop anyone from entering if they try the door, but apathy is clawing at him, urging him to twist the handle, open the door himself.

Better to get it over with, he thinks, and in a moment of despair he makes his decision.

He doesn’t want to run anymore…

He takes a deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth, and another, and then one more for good measure as he tries to gather his courage.

He grits his teeth, and whips the door open.

In an instant, all the air has left his lungs in the form of the loud, terrified shout that he is powerless to stop as it tears itself from somewhere in his chest cavity.

You scream too, leaping damn near out of your skin and covering your ears like you always do when you get scared like that.

It’s you — holy shit, it’s you — clutching your chest like you’re attempting to recover from the mini heart attack he’d just given you.

The feeling is mutual.

Eddie suddenly thinks he might pass out as he feels his heart seize erratically in his chest before dropping into his stomach. His vision goes spotty for the briefest of moments and his legs tremble under his weight.

“Jesus—”

“—Christ!” You gasp, like you’re finishing his curse for him. “God, Eddie!”

You stomp your foot when you say it, like he’d jumped out and scared you on purpose, and the way you say his name makes Eddie’s heart thump painfully in his chest.

“You scared the hell out of me.” You breathe, shaking your head and fisting your hands in the front of your shirt — his shirt, he realizes with a start.

It’s inside out, funny enough, but he doesn’t miss the faded Metallica logo, backwards and staring up at him from between your fingers.

It’s painfully endearing, and his heart is beating so fast it makes his chest hurt looking at it, at you, two of his favorite things, long since written off as lost, mourned and now miraculously found again.

All this time and you still had it.

He tries to breathe but it catches in his throat.

Holy shit holy shit.

Out of everything and anything he could have imagined he would find on the other side of that door – police, national guard, an army of angry hicks, the re-animated corpse of Chrissy come to feast on his flesh – Eddie never once never imagined someone would be coming to help him.

He never imagined it would be you standing there.

Somehow his mind is simultaneously going ninety miles an hour and moving at a snail’s pace. He can’t think, and yet he can’t stop the tide of thoughts and feelings and everything he suddenly needs to say to you fighting for real estate at the front of his brain.

For half a moment, it’s all either of you can do but just stand there staring at each other.

Finally, you gesture awkwardly into the room.

“Can I…?”

It takes him a moment too long to realize you’re asking to come in, and Eddie all but leaps out of your way, staggering to the side to make room as you jump up over the threshold and shut the door behind you.

You make a wide circle around him, surveying the room, and he watches you carefully as you do, still not entirely convinced he hasn’t just been breathing toxic chemicals all day and is now hallucinating you.

You cast a sidelong glance in his direction and he thinks he sees the corners of your mouth quirk humorously.

"Take a picture, Eds, it'll last longer." you hum.

"...Sorry." he mumbles.

He knows he’s staring at you, but he can’t stop.

He can’t believe what he’s seeing. After all those months he’d spent dreaming about you, imagining he was hearing your voice or seeing you turn a corner, always there but just out of sight? He doesn’t trust it — he can’t.

You try again to make idle conversation.

“Rick’s boat house, huh?” You say, glancing at him over your shoulder in a way that is enough to make his knees tremble.

His throat closes before he can even think to answer you, and it forces Eddie to settle on a meager response, nodding stupidly.

He doesn’t know what else to say about it and it’s driving him crazy.

Eight months of memorizing all the things Eddie thought he would say to you if he ever saw you again and suddenly here you are and he can’t remember a goddamn word of it.

He tries to speak, but words fail him. Still, he tries, opening and closing his mouth in an attempt to force the words out, gawping stupidly at you like a fish out of water.

He wants to ask what you’re doing here, how you found him, but he realizes in an instant that he doesn’t care how you found him, he only cares that you’re here.

Your eyebrows come together in stark concern and you finally take a step toward him.

He’s this close to panicking about it.

This was not how he’d imagined reuniting with you would go. His palms have become sweaty and he resists the boyish urge to wipe them down the front of his jeans.

Eddie makes himself swallow hard to try and wet his throat where it has suddenly bloomed with cobwebs.

He can’t keep staring at you like this. He’s got to say something — anything. He blurts the first thing that comes to mind.

“That’s my shirt,” he chokes, for lack of anything better to say.

His voice cracks and his mouth slams shut. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

You blink at him, like you have absolutely no idea how to respond.

“You left it in my room.” You say petulantly.

It’s almost enough to break the tension hanging heave between you … almost.

He left a lot of things in your room, most of which you’d given back to him, but he won’t say that, for fear of sounding like he isn’t happy to see you, it’s just with the way you’re staring at him, he can’t make any kind of coherent thought come through the fog of his mind.

“What are— h-how did you—?”

You shake your head and heave and airy sigh, giving him this strangely pained look, smiling with your nose scrunched and your eyebrows turned up.

“...Heard you were in trouble.” You say, your words punctuated by a wet sniffle, and then you shrug and roll your eyes, like you always do when you’re halfway embarrassed by what you’re about to say, “Came running.”

Jesus–

You might as well have stabbed him for how his lungs flatten in his chest.

Eddie rocks back a step, without really meaning to, shaking his head in awe of the specter of you, miraculously standing there in the dingy light of a place you by all rights have no business being, staring at him in too close a shadow of the way you’d looked standing at the bottom of his front steps last summer.

Eddie finally makes himself breathe, sucking greedily on a sharp intake of breath before he realizes the distance he’s put between you, that he’s still putting between you, and something in him snaps.

He needed you and you came running.

“—Oh, my God.”

Eddie surges forward and seizes you, crushing you against his body.

He curls his arms around you and hugs you so tight you’re bent nearly backward. You make a faint sound as his embrace forces the air out of your lungs, almost like a whimper and Eddie buries his face in your hair as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

The movement kicks up the familiar hint of your shampoo and conditioner, cutting through the murky, mildewy tang of the boathouse like a breath of fresh air.

He breathes deep — your perfume is different, something soft and faintly floral, but it is not enough to mask the subtle sweetness of your flesh.

Christ, he’d nearly forgotten your smell, and now he’s forgotten everything but you.

His mind is caught in a flurry of spinning thoughts and feelings that are quickly overwhelmed by a strange calm, seeming to radiate outward from your point of contact and bleeding down into his limbs to react with the adrenaline still surging there. It brings with it a sensation Eddie has only felt very few times in his life;

Walking home from the diner hand in hand with his mother while the setting sun guides them home, climbing the steps of Wayne’s trailer the last time it was ever just that and the first time it was home, laying in your bed at three o’clock in the morning with your head on his chest, watching your lashes flutter and listening to the slow pace of your breathing, a deep breath in followed by a slow breath out.

Little moments that live like glittering jewels tucked safely away in the spot behind his lungs lead him to one, gentle, all-encompassing feeling: he’s safe.

Somewhere, very far back in his mind, Eddie knows he isn’t, that there are people looking for him who think he’s done something terrible.

There is still the faintest alarm trilling danger, danger, Will Robinson! in his deep psyche, but how can he make himself think about anything else with you in his arms? How is he supposed to care about anything besides the fact that, somehow, in spite of everything he’d said, everything he’d done to hurt you, you’ve come back to him?

Eddie breathes out a shaky sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he feels your arms snake up around his body — for a brief, terrible moment he’d worried you wouldn’t reciprocate, that he was really well and truly kidding himself that you were here for him, but those fears dissipate the moment he feels the press of your skin beneath his jacket and vest.

The warmth of you burns him even through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it is such a relief to be under your touch again. You hold him so tight that he thinks at any moment you could slip beneath his skin and live there, and he’d let you do it because now that he’s got you again, he’s never going to let you go.

Then suddenly you’re carding your fingers through his hair, stroking his face, looking up at him with your big pretty eyes, and speaking softly to him.

“Hey—” you’re saying, “It’s okay, Eddie... hey, look at me — you’re okay, I’ve got you.”

He sniffles and dips his head to wipe his cheek on the soft denim covering his shoulder because there’s no way in hell he’s letting you go for something as trivial as wiping his face.

He almost whimpers when you take your hand away from where it’s been resting on his side, and when you reach up to brush the pad of your thumb across his cheekbone, he realizes with a start that his face is wet, he’s trembling under your touch, body heaving – he’s crying.

He doesn’t even have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about it, he’s too busy looking you over, trying to commit your face to memory in case this is just a terrible hallucination and he’s never going to see you again.

He takes your face in his hands and reverently compares what he sees now to what had lived in his mind before, trying to decide what, if anything, is different.

Your hair maybe? Your clothes? He doesn’t know, he suddenly can’t remember anything before this moment.

"You’re here, you’re really here…" He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but running on nothing but adrenaline has his brain all but malfunctioning.

Your face scrunches up in the most heartbreaking look, much too similar to the way you’d been looking at him when you pounded on his door last summer as your hands come up to shadow his on either side of your face.

“Oh, Eds…”

It makes him feel sick — his skin is suddenly hot and prickly with it.

He never wants to see that look on your face again.

“What are you doing here?” He finally manages to choke out, “You — you shouldn’t be here,”

Eddie regrets saying it as soon as it tumbles past his lips. Particularly with the way your face ever so briefly contorts with the shadow of the same look you’d given him when he’d told you he didn’t love you, when he'd lied to hurt you — even with you here he feels his heart break all over again just at the thought of it.

He’d meant you shouldn’t be here in the sense that it wasn’t safe for you as much as it didn’t make any sense, because hadn’t you moved away? Left Hawkins behind? Left him behind?

You shift backward, like you mean to step away from him and Eddie feels himself grow panicky about it.

“Do you want me to–” You start, but he doesn’t let you finish that terrible thought.

“No!” He cries, surging forward to catch you, “No, please don’t go, just… just…”

Eddie grips you tightly by your shoulders like he needs to hold you there so you won’t disappear, but it’s not enough.

His hands move, scrabbling higher and higher even still until they come up to grace the curves of your throat. He’s desperate for more of you, desperate to kiss you, but he doesn’t dare.

He can’t shake the sense that your being here is balancing on the edge of a knife, and any wrong move will send you running for the hills.

In spite of that thinking, you lean into his touch and his heart thumps painfully in his chest.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” Eddie asks.

Your face softens as you take his hands in yours.

“I always know where to find you, Dummy.”

He doesn’t know why that’s the thing to set him off, but it does.

Eddie chokes on the steadying breath he’d been trying to take as the dam breaks, wrenching it out of him in a hiccuping sob.

He tries to cover his face with his hands but you don’t let him hide, you take his wrists and pull them away to wrap around you instead, and you hold him.

He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve this chance with you, doesn’t know how he got so lucky to even have it, but he’ll take every moment he can get while it lasts.

Eddie clings to you, weeping pathetically into your hair and babbling incoherently, apologizing for anything— everything— an endless tide of all the things he’s wanted to say to you all year, since the moment he’d stood there and watched you leave that terrible night in August.

He should have fought harder for you, he should never have let you go.

Eddie tells himself he’s got to stop crying, to stop talking, to try and pull himself together, but it is just another thing he has no power over.

His brain had all but switched off after what had happened to Chrissy, and his body has been operating on primal instinct in a desperate attempt just to try and get somewhere safe — he’s held it together up until this point, but he’s never been so scared in his goddamn life.

“God, I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “I’m so sorry, Baby, I don’t know why I said any of that stuff, I’m a fucking idiot, I didn’t mean it— I swear on my life I didn’t mean a goddamn word of it. I love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts, Jesus Christ, I’m just so fucking sorry—”

As much as he’s talking, you’re nodding, pushing his hair back, stroking his face, and all the other lovely little gestures you’d always done before when things were still fine, when you were still his.

“I know,” you tell him, pressing your cheek against his temple and carding your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. “I know, Baby. We’re gonna figure this out, okay? Me ‘n you, whatever it takes. We'll fix it.”

He can’t help the startled, watery laugh that bursts out of him to hear you say that.

It fills him with a bright and dangerous hope that maybe this is real, maybe you can pick up the pieces where you left them, maybe you still love him.

“Yeah?” Eddie sniffs, brushing your hair back out of your face. “You promise?”

You catch his hand on your cheek and bring it down to draw an x over the left side of your chest, smiling sweetly and sincerely at him as you do.

"Hope to die."

Without the use of his higher functions, all Eddie knows how to do is love you, deeply, to his very core, and to hold you is not enough.

He knows he has no right, but he cannot help himself.

Eddie presses forward and kisses you, a wet, forceful thing that you can barely move against as he frantically crushes his mouth against yours.

He kisses you with a desperation he’s never felt before, and he blesses you for how you lean into it, fisting your hands into the front of his shirt and doing your best to pull him that much closer to you.

It’s all scraping teeth, ragged breath, and reverent groping hands, only breaking apart in the briefest of intervals when the need to breathe and tell you how sorry he is outweighs the need to make up for all the time Eddie has spent not kissing you over the past eight months.

He tells you he loves you, again and again, breathing the words into your mouth, whispering them against your lips.

He chases it hungrily, starved and greedy for your love, and wonders how he could have ever forgotten how much he needed it? How did he ever survive without it? Without you?

He would remind himself that he hadn’t been doing a very good job at it, but his mind is blown wide and bleached of all thoughts but you.

Had he been able to really think, Eddie might have been afraid he would hurt you like he’d somehow hurt Chrissy, but the only thing he can muster is relief, because you’re here and that means something. Maybe there is at least the slightest chance you still love him.

Thank you thank you thank you–

Even when you finally part, he does not release you, only holds you that much tighter. He presses his forehead to yours and he loves, loves, loves, bursting with the feeling like your touch has miraculously restored him after having been so wretched for so long.

For the longest time, all either of you can do is lean against one another, swaying ever so slightly like you’re drunk on the euphoria of being together again.

After a while, he lets you coax him into the house, and you collapse against one another on the sofa as exhaustion creeps into Eddie’s bones.

He can barely keep his eyes open, laying back with you spread over him, your face tucked into the crook of his neck where every now and then you’ll leave a gentle little kiss. He hums in response to each press of your lips, and he would thank you for each and everyone one, but his limbs are quickly turning to cement.

He’s so goddamn tired, but he fights against it, afraid that if he falls asleep he’ll wake up and find that he’s dreamt this whole thing. He's worried if he submits himself to Morpheus's embrace, you'll be gone when he wakes up, despite the way you’re tracing lazy patterns across his chest, how he can feel your steady heartbeat thumping in time with his own, the gentle rise and fall of your body with every breath in and out, in and out, in…

A burst of soft, lilting laughter bubbles up from inside you, and Eddie startled awake, feeling himself light up for his favorite sound in the world, his favorite feeling as you smile against him.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, thick and groggy.

He pushes up a little higher on the couch in the hopes it might stave off the need for sleep a little longer and pulls you with him.

You shift to accommodate this higher position, sitting on your knees and pressed into his side.

You shake your head and laugh against the way your eyes are suddenly brimming.

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” you sniffle, tilting back ever so slightly so you can look at him. “I was so scared I wouldn’t find you,”

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he pulls you into his lap and hugs you tight.

He’s still having trouble wrapping his head around the concept that you’d been out there looking for him in the first place, that you’re here now, after all the time he’d spent wishing for this, how he would have given his right arm just to hold you again.

He doesn’t know how you knew he needed you, what kind of unearthly force intervened to send you to him, but he’s so goddamn thankful you came running.

“But I did it,” you continue, sounding so endearingly proud of yourself, “I found you.”

Your hands come up to stroke his face and brush at the dried tacky lines of salt left struck down his face. And then you say again, quieter this time like you’re in awe of it.

“I found you…” Your eyes are bright and sparkling with admiration and tears and relief and a hundred different happy emotions that spill out of you and into Eddie.

He can’t help but laugh, a thick, watery sound dripping with relief and half muffled by your lips as he dips forward to kiss you. Once, twice, three times for the sentiment, precious little thank yous because he can finally breathe again. He’d spent the last eight months drowning and you finally pulled him up to break the surface.

You saved him, just like you always do.

“Yeah, Sweetheart, you did,” he sighs, letting his eyes slide shut as he holds you tight and breathes a deep, contented sigh, “You found me.”

Taglist: @harrys-tittie @r-a-d-i-0-n-0-w-h-e-r-e @itsrainingbisexualfrogs @thicksexxualtensionaltension @ganseysgff @scoopsr0binn @peanutbutter-y-jams @audhd-dragonautagonaut @clilxlxx @alexandriaemily200 @averagestudent03 @but-vanessa @cosmictime45 @timelordfreya @forever-war @munsonzzgf @chervbs

@irisabrams

#cruel summer #cruel summer fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #crikey this took everything i had #i really hope it was everything you guys hoped for in a reunion because i made myself feel all warm and fuzzy writing it #now i just gotta figure out what happens next lmao #if you find typos no you didn't I'll edit this in the morning

172 notes · View notes