Disjointed: Twenty-Two

Disjointed: Twenty-Two

Series Masterlist

Summary: Eddie figures out what he wants to do with his life.

Word count: 5.7k

What to expect: Smut/Lemon (-18 kindly dni). Money struggles.

A/N: Howdy, friends! Welcome back! Hope you guys enjoy this one. Let me know if you did! For my friends oversees, if you need help understanding the high way robbery by Uncle Sam aka taxes, I can clarify. I say this because it varies from state to state. For instance, I never heard of income tax until someone from PA was bitching. TAXES UPON TAXES UPON TAXES UPON….

You figured the first paycheck after switching to surgery was short because of the off pay period. However, by your second check, the earnings were significantly less than before the raise, not taking into account the garnished wages for Eddie’s surgery. It seemed impossible to be this short without reason. Not wanting to look stupid by going to Human Resources for answers, you pocketed the pay stub and went to the only other person that you could trust besides Eddie.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” Wayne questioned when he noticed you outside of what used to be your apartment. “I don’t need to bust his skull open, do I?”

“No, nothing like that,” you giggled, allowing yourself to be ushered into Wayne’s apartment. You had been here only twice since he moved in and surprisingly, it was just as clean as the day he moved in. He bought himself a new little TV that sat on top of a TV tray a few feet away from his recliner. His mugs and hats lined the previous blank walls in the same exact order as they did the trailer. He seemed happy here.

“Sorry to impose, I know you have to work soon,” you said as you sat down at the little round table you had left for him since it was too big to fit in the trailer.

Wayne poured two coffees and set one in front of you with a can or powdered creamer. “No, no. It’s alright. What’s got you frownin if it’s not your boneheaded husband?”

Despite the wedding being months ago, Eddie being referred to as ‘your husband’ still made your heart skip a beat. You pulled out the envelope with your check and slid it over to Wayne to examine and explained the problem. “I don’t understand how that can be?”

Wayne gave you a sad smile. “Taxes, honey.”

“Taxes?” you repeated. “I picked the same allowances as I did when I first started. It shouldn’t be different, right?”

Wayne shook his head and pushed the document back towards you. “You must have gone up a bracket. That extra money put your gross income over just enough to make it to where you’re gonna get taxed at a higher percentage. And with that nice little chunk of change coming out for that surgery...” Wayne sucked his teeth. “Things gonna be tight.”

Your frown deepened as you read the itemized list of deductions for taxes, medical and dental insurance, and the payment to the hospital. You were missing nearly $300 dollars from what you were originally making in the ER. The raise wasn’t the selling factor of the career change, but had you realized the amount you would be deficient, you would have insisted on keeping the same wage.

“Eddie not putting anything in?” Wayne questioned.

You shook your head. “No, not for this. We decided that he’ll cover groceries, gas, and the phone bill. I’ve got the light bill and anything else.”

“That boy needs work. Honest work,” Wayne emphasized with a grunt.

“No, he needs to get the hell out of high school,” you sighed.

Wayne chewed the inside of his cheek, blue eyes doing that annoying x-ray thing that made it feel like he could see right through your soul. Eddie had mastered the same look and it was no wonder where he got it from.

“I know it’s easy to forget, but he’s a grown man. He doesn’t need to be coddled. If you need help, you tell him to help.”

“I’d rather he not find an excuse to avoid finishing school. If I tell him the extent of things, he’ll abandon graduation completely and he’s too close to the finish line for that.”

Wayne hummed in thought. “Weekend job wouldn’t kill him. If he’s got hours to fiddle with that guitar and write stories, he’s got time to pull some weight.”

It wasn’t that Eddie needed the time off to study in order to pass. The fool knew well enough what he had to do in order to graduate, he just never wanted to. Even with how much people hated him, Eddie found comfort in the halls of Hawkins High School. But now it was past time for him to leave and join the rest of the world. You wouldn’t take the last few months of comfort from him if you could help it. Coming home with only $180 a month would just have to do.

Not wanting to sulk in front of Wayne, you tucked the ugly paycheck into your purse and switched gears. “How are things with Peggy?”

Wayne let out an irritated groan and rolled his eyes. “Between you and Ed I’m gonna get sick of hearin that woman’s name!”

“Not good then?” you questioned.

Wayne exhaled heavily and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “She wants to be taken care of and truth be told, Y/N, the only person I wanna take care of now is myself. I’m tired. If I wanna spend Friday night watching Green Acres then that’s what I’m gonna do. I don’t wanna have to go to her brother’s house for dinner just ‘cause. I think I’ve earned the right to put myself first.”

He was right, of course. Wayne had lived his life taking care of others. First it was Wyatt and his mother, then it was Eddie, and now in his early fifties the man didn’t seem to have caught a break until now. It was understandable that the last thing he wanted was to be obligated to another person’s feelings. You told him as such, grinning as the tips of his ears started to redden, just like Eddie’s did when he was feeling bashful.

He walked you to your car and bid you a good day, once again advising you to kick Eddie’s ass into a sandwich shop for some extra cash. You smiled politely and disagreed before heading home.

——

Who the hell was banging on the front door at seven in the morning on a Saturday? Eddie hoped they would go away, but when he heard muffled yelling from the other side, he forced himself out of bed and put on some pants.

“What the hell—what are you doing here?” Eddie questioned in shock.

Wayne didn’t answer and promptly shoved his way inside, bringing in the crisp December air with him.

“Well good morning to you, too.” Eddie grumbled, burying his fist in his eye socket to wake himself up.

Wayne unzipped his bulky Carhartt coat and threw a stack of colored pamphlets and a newspaper onto the crowded coffee table. Eyebrows raised at his uncle, Eddie tentatively grabbed a few and immediately rolled his eyes as a man looking far too happy with a plunger smiled up at him.

“Not this again,” he muttered, letting the pamphlets drop from his cold hands.

Every few months for the last three years, Wayne would get it in his head that Eddie needed to figure out the rest of his life in one sitting. He’d come home with various information on trade schools or circled ‘Wanted’ ads in the paper and give them to Eddie along with a less than encouraging speech about becoming an adult.

“Yes, this again!” Wayne snapped. “You gotta do something, boy! School's out in a few months and something tells me you still haven’t figured out what you’re gonna do with yourself.”

Eddie sighed and threw his head back against the couch. “Cause I haven’t.”

Wayne removed his coat the rest of the way so his arms could be mobile enough to smack Eddie upside the head if needed. “Well you better figure it out quick. You already spent two extra years avoiding it.”

“There’s just nothing here for me to do! Nothing that I’d like, anyway.”

“Electrician,” Wayne offered.

Eddie shrugged, not really into the idea of potentially being bar-b-q’d by a rogue outlet in someone’s house. Not to mention the idea of being in someone’s home that he didn’t know was very off putting.

“Plumber.”

Eddie scoffed. “No shit for me, thanks.”

“HVAC.”

“Don’t wanna be climbing in people’s attics in the summer and sweat to death.”

Wayne went through the list. Mechanic, too boring and monotonous. Cashier, the worst fucking idea ever. Stock boy, somehow worse than cashier. Firefighter, didn’t have a death wish. Mortician, afraid of dead people. Cop, even Wayne laughed at that.

“I don’t know who put it in your head that you gotta love your job, but that’s not true. No one loves their job,” Wayne ranted. “You’re never gonna find a profession that’s perfect or feels like a damn party every time you clock in. So get that shit outta your head right now.”

Eddie sighed. He knew banking on Corroded Coffin wasn’t really a lucrative plan, but the dream would never die. He just didn’t want to be bored. He wanted to like what he did for nine hours a day, not suffer through and count the seconds until he was able to leave. He wanted a sense of fulfillment, purpose, and couldn’t stand the idea of just standing around and scanning soup cans for two dollars an hour.

“I wanted to drive trains when I was coming up but did I get to do it? Do you think working in a damn power plant gives me any sort of satisfaction? Hell no. But it does give me a roof over my head and food on my table, and that’s what should be important to you. So what if you gotta do the same shit every day? It’s life, Eddie. You bite the bullet and do what you gotta do for you and yours even if you gotta clean toilets.”

“Wayne, do you really think I’d stop slinging to clean toilet bowls?” Eddie challenged. “Nothing in these papers is gonna pay me more than what I already make now. Bills get paid, there’s enough left over for take out once a week, and I don’t have to forfeit my soul. We’re doing just fine. I have plenty of time to figure out what I want to do.”

Frustrated by Eddie’s response, Wayne scratched at the white scruff on the underside of his jaw. “Ed, I’m gonna tell you something that needs to stay between you and me, got it?” Wayne said sternly. Eddie straightened up in his seat suddenly worried about the edge in Wayne’s voice.

“Y/N showed me her take-home now that she’s switched shifts, and boy, you’re not fine.”

Eddie’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“She seems to think that if you went to work, you’d give up on school. And I’m not getting into anyone’s business, but boy, you’re the man of this house. You need to act like it and take care of your family. Don’t matter if washing dishes doesn’t pull in the same money as peddling, don’t matter if it’s not a stimulating occupation. You do it because she needs you to.”

Eddie wasn’t sure which was more upsetting: you conspiring with Wayne again or having to be talked to like this because of it. Why didn’t you come to him? You were the one always rambling on about being a team or a unit or whatever and why that meant you had to help him. You elected to pay for his surgery against his will and barred him from doing anything the only thing he knew how to make up for it. He made it perfectly clear how much he hated being supported like this, which is why he insisted on taking over some bills to begin with.

How could you do this? Tell him ‘don’t sell this, don’t sell that. Don’t worry about anything. Focus on school’ to then turn around and tell Wayne the truth about the financials? Going to Wayne for help when you were so insistent on refusing him felt a lot like being stabbed in the back.

Eddie put his elbows on his anxiously bouncing knees. “She ask for money?” he croaked.

“Lord no,” Wayne chuckled. “She’s just like you—rather sell her own blood than do that. Proud morons, both of you. No. She came asking about why her check looked so skinny since she was supposed to be getting more every two weeks instead of less. Asked me not to say anything so you could enjoy your last few months of shenanigans.”

Eddie’s anger morphed into something else. Maybe betrayal wasn’t the right word. Guilt. Eddie felt extremely guilty. Once again you were putting him before anything else. You married him so he could have insurance. Volunteered your wages to be garnished in order to pay for the surgery he couldn’t afford. Switched schedules to spend time with him. Took a big enough hit to the wallet to cause concern, and now you were perfectly content with letting him think the only thing he had to worry about was passing American Government just so he could avoid reality for a little while longer.

Eddie felt lower than a worm in the dirt.

Wayne seemed to have picked up on Eddie’s new mood and patted his knee. “Don’t go worrying about what was or why, just think about what you wanna do and go out there and do it. You’re not without skill, Ed. You know cars, you’re good at math, you’re good with people when you wanna be. Hell, I’m sure you could even get a job with me if you wanted.”

Eddie did not want that. Call it pride or arrogance but Eddie didn’t want to work as hard as Wayne for pennies in return. He’d seen first hand how the plant aged his uncle (though Wayne insisted his white hair was due to Eddie’s tomfoolery) and he didn’t want that for himself.

He’d also seen how your career of choice had burned you, too. He hated to admit it, but that piece of shit doctor really did cut you a favor by getting you out of the ER. Eddie wasn’t sure how many more stories he could survive the retelling of if you had stayed for the three years as previously intended.

“I promise you, Ed, there’s no better feeling than being able to take care of your woman and your home. Once you get that first check after doing some honest work, you’ll see what I mean.”

He doubted that very much since Wayne never had a woman to take care of to begin with, but kept the thought to himself. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he picked up the newspaper and scanned the few advertisements listed.

It didn’t take but a few days for him to figure out what he wanted to do, and it was wholeheartedly heartedly decided because of your bizarre reaction.

——

You hated feeling stupid. It didn’t happen often, but when it did you wanted nothing more than to bash the face in of whoever was making you feel that way. This time it was your own beloved.

Eddie was fumbling around under the hood of your Nissan, huffing and puffing and letting the occasional “are you shitting me?” slip from his lips.

Driving home after work, your car started to violently shake any time you went over 40 miles per hour making it almost impossible to hold the steering wheel steady. When you did eventually make it home, you asked Eddie to take a look at it.

“When was the last time you had it serviced?” he asked, pulling a yellow tab and wiping black gunk from the end of the metal stick against his shirt.

“Right before I came back in May, ” you answered, watching Eddie dip the stick and wipe it on his shirt again and again.

“What did you have done?”

You stared at him blankly. “An oil change.”

“And?” His brows disappeared behind his brown bangs.

“What do you mean ‘and’? I got an oil change. That’s it. He didn’t say anything else needed work.” you replied defensively.

Eddie’s face fell. “When did you get this thing?”

“Emily’s mom sold it to me right after graduation.”

“And in the last two years you’ve only had an oil change? Never checked anything else? Air filters, brake pads, fuel injectors—“

His line of questioning made you feel two inches tall. Not only did you not have a clue what he was talking about, the shock and hint of a smirk on his face made it that much worse. Which is why you were now riddled with embarrassment and fury. You didn’t like not knowing things.

“No, Eddie. I haven’t done anything to it besides an oil change when the light comes on,” you snapped.

“The light?” he repeated slowly.

You were getting increasingly annoyed at the way he was looking at you, eyebrow cocked and the corners of his lips twitching. “Yes, the yellow one that looks like a faucet.”

Eddie’s laughter came out in a sputter.

Cheeks ten degrees hotter than normal and fuming, you demanded, “Don’t laugh at me!”

Of course the site of your face scrunched up in irritation made him laugh harder, placing his oil stained hand onto the center of his chest.

Becoming genuinely angry, you turned on your heels with a huff and tried to yank your wrist from his hand as he attempted to stop you from walking away. Your efforts to escape were futile. Eddie is annoyingly strong and yanked you back into his chest. “Sorry, babe, but since you’re the brains of this operation and there’s finally something I know that you don’t….I’m gonna enjoy it!” Much to our irritation, he placed obnoxious wet open mouthed kisses on the side of your face, ending each one with a loud smack. When your only response to his back-handed apology was an annoyed glare, he sighed. “Really? I don’t get bent out of shape when you know something I don’t.”

True, you may be overreacting a bit, but it was upsetting all the same. “I don’t laugh at you,” you snapped.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Eddie rapidly kissed the side of your mouth until you relented and turned enough in his arms to give him access to your lips in a silent acceptance of his apology. His grip on your waist tightened, pressing his growing erection against your hip.

“‘My god, Eddie,” you mumbled against his lips. “Are you ever not hard?”

He nipped the tip of your nose and grinned. “What can I say? You’re sexy when you’re mad. Gets me all riled up.” You squealed and tried to shove him away as he dove his face into your neck and blew raspberries against the sensitive skin.

When he had enough of your giggling and writhing in his arms, he released you with a final kiss on the cheek and a slap on the ass. “Alright, you go on inside and I’ll see if your rollerskate here will survive the night.”

“My Cherry isn’t a roller skate. It’s a tank,” you replied defensively.

Eddie turned his back to you and disappeared under the hood of the 1970 vehicle. “It’s a roller skate, babe! Might even be a dead one!”

You rolled your eyes and watched as the back of Eddie’s shirt rose up and exposed his olive green boxers. The sight caused an overwhelming urge to run over and give him a wedgie, but you resisted. Knowing Eddie, he’d likely rip your clothes off in the middle of the yard, not at all worried about neighbors seeing. Going inside the shared home, not realizing how cold it had become outside once the warm air of the living room thawed your chilled cheeks.

Thinking of Emily’s mom being the one to sell you the burnt orange—you hated to admit that Eddie was right in his description—rollerskate in front of the house made you realize you hadn’t talked to Emily in months. The last you spoke to her was to get advice on how to approach Eddie after that horrific night in the emergency room. Taking the phone off the hook, you dialed the memorized number of the once shared apartment in Terre Haute and checked on dinner in the crock pot as the ring chimed in your ear.

No one answered, so you left a brief message telling her your new number and to not be alarmed if Eddie answered the phone. You didn’t want to tell her about the marriage on a voicemail, so you opted to just say that you lived with him now.

You hoped she would be happy for you, but you knew she would be mostly upset that you hadn’t called her sooner. To be fair, phones work both ways and she never bothered to call once you moved back to Hawkins. When you got your schedule from the hospital, you shared it with her to let her know what times you were available to chat, but somehow you were always the one to dial out. The realization of this pattern hurt your heart a little as you idly stirred the stew in front of you.

Before too long, Eddie came into the house. If you hadn’t heard the clattering of the screen door, you’d be able to tell he was close just by the potent smell of motor oil stinging your eyes.

“God, Eddie, I can smell you from here!” you exclaimed, lowering the D&D monster manual to scold him.

Your throat went dry and your heart started to race. He looked so damn good. Hands blackened by oil and grime that somehow accentuated the thick veins that trailed from his knuckles to his elbows. Some debris was smeared on his forehead and tip of his nose too, like he wiped his hand over it and didn’t realize he’d left behind a mess.

You tilted your head as you continued to survey him. He was starting to fill out now that he was being properly fed with more than stale cereal and packets of questionable deli meat. The physical therapy that helped him regain the strength in his arm was doing wonders for his biceps, something you didn’t mind telling him as you traced the sinews of his muscles through his pale skin when in bed together. His hair was getting ridiculously long, well past your own, but you’d be lying if you said you’d want him to cut it. The frizzy waves turned into soft, bouncy curls once you introduced him to the wonders of hair conditioner.

He wasn’t the silly boy you had known in high school—Taller, broader, jaw and cheekbones much more prominent and angular. He was a proper man, and all yours.

Eddie was always handsome, but for some reason seeing him look like he was auditioning to be a chimney sweep for a Mary Poppins production incited a rapidly growing ache in your belly that could only be cured one way.

He raised his stained eyebrows at you, a small confused smile plastered on his lips. “You okay over there?”

You needed him. Immediately. You lifted yourself from the couch to close the short distance between you and stood on your toes to crash your lips against his. Eddie held his hands up in mock surrender, trying not to touch the starched white uniform you had yet to remove.

“Wait—“ he muttered against your lips.“Mmm—let me wash my hands,” he said through the side of his lip. You ignored him by wrapping your arms around his neck and yanking him closer to you. He tried to protest again, but instead of allowing words to come out, you slid your tongue against his. He relented, lowering his hands to cup your cheek, inevitably chalking your skin with matching soot.

Absorbing the rumble of his moan, you let yourself melt into him, pressing your chest flush against his terribly stained shirt and letting him steer you to the couch. Except, Eddie isn’t very good at walking with his eyes closed and ended up tripping over his own feet, sending both of you toppling onto the plush carpet of the living room floor with him breaking your fall.

“You okay?” he asked breathlessly, as if it was you that just knocked your head on the floor.

You answered by straddling his slim hips. His brown eyes immediately started to bulge as his eyes raked over your chest.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, nodding towards the black blemishes smudged across your chest.

Smiling deviously, you grabbed his wrists and trailed his palms up your body, smearing a trail of grime in their wake. Eddie smirked as he kneaded your clothed breasts. “Don’t tell me you wanna be a dirty girl, Mrs. Munson.”

Giving in you your lust, you let all inhibitions fly. “What can I say? I love me a dirty man,” you winked.

That seemed to have done the trick. Eddie ripped open the front of your uniform so hard that the buttons were long gone and without hope of being reattached. Giggling as he tried to yank the offending material over your head, you assisted him in removing the horribly stained dress and tossing it aside.

Eddie grinned mischievously as he smudged black grease all over your chest like fingerpaint.

“You’re lucky you're so sexy like this because this stuff reeks,” you informed him. You pushed his shoulders down but Eddie didn’t budge.

“I don’t think so,” he mused. Wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, he flung himself over to roll you underneath him.

“Hey, this was supposed to be my way,” you grumbled, lightly knocking your forehead against his in a soft headbutt.

Like battleing rams, Eddie pushed against your forehead with his own until you accepted defeat with a huff. Smiling smugly, he made quick work of ridding you of the cotton briefs that kept you hidden from him and shimmied his pants down enough to get the job done. “This is your way, isn’t it?” he breathed, teasingly sliding the hard tip of his cock against the swollen bundle of nerves that made you jolt with each pass. “I wanted to wash my hands first.”

He lined himself up and pushed all the way to the hilt in one powerful thrust, making both of you moan loudly against each other’s parted lips. Instinctively, tangled your fingers into the unruly curls at the base of his neck and rested your forehead against his.

“Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” he admitted, sliding his arms under the small of your back to lift your hips and somehow push himself even deeper into you as he held you close.

Your favorite lopsided smile grew across his face at the yelp that escaped you from the dizzying new angle and the sensation of your walls clenching him as tight as possible. He experimentally drew his hips back a little before slamming back into you.

“Eddie!” you gasped, the grip on his hair tightening tenfold as a plea for him to do it again.

“Yeah, baby?” he replied, nudging the tip of your nose with his as he repeated the powerful thrust. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” you panted feebly against his lips.

He withdrew himself until only the tip remained and teased, “Didn’t hear you,” before launching back in.

Body trembling from the strength of his thrust, “YES!” you screamed pulling his hair with all your night in an attempt to tether yourself back to earth as he kept up the wonderfully brutal assault on the overly sensitive spot only he could reach.

And that’s the only coherent word he could get out of you while he continued to cure the ache in your gut. You cried out to every question he posed to you, not even paying attention to what he was asking, lost in the euphoria of the animalistic pace he set.

“God, you feel so fucking good, baby,” he rambled through gritted teeth. Yes. “Gonna let me fuck you like this every time I get dirt on my hands?” Yes. “Love you so fucking much, fuck!” Yes.

Clutching onto him like your life depended on it, you let yourself revel in the fervor and depth of his rhythm, hitting right you wanted over and over and over again, finding it difficult to remember to breathe. You unraveled when he buried his face into your neck, squishing his pelvis harder into you and providing the last bit of friction needed to send you off the deep end.

Broken sobs and choked up whimpers that were supposed to resemble his name rushed from your lungs as you twitched and convulsed beneath him, fully surrendering to the electric shockwaves of your release. He wasn’t far behind, groaning loud enough to make the inside of your ear tickle before crushing you with his full body weight.

“My face has a heartbeat,” he panted into the crook of your neck.

Dazed and unable to keep your eyes open, you slid your palms up and down his muscular back as you hummed in agreement.

You thought you heard him speak, but couldn’t comprehend a word he said. The fierce fire that had been set by his rugged appearance had been satisfied, leaving you halfway between consciousness and sleep. You rested your cheek on the side of Eddie’s head and stayed there, relishing in the comfort of his body heat and the tickle of his hair against your face. You could have easily spent the rest of the evening on the floor under his weight, too blissed out to care about the potent stench of grease and oil burning your nose.

“Are you listening to me?” he chuckled, propping himself up on his elbow and dancing his fingers around your smudged collarbone. You shook your head, still trying to fight the urge to fall asleep with him still snug inside.

“I said your car is a mess. Need new rotors, brake pads, lower control arms front and back, fuel injector needs to be cleaned out, both air filters replaced, tires rotated—shit just new tires all together, really,” he rambled. “Might be cheaper to just buy a used car from Harrington’s dad.”

The post-sex giddiness was fading rapidly at the thought of trying to afford a new car even if it was used. Either way, you were going to have to pay an arm and a leg for repairs, and that was something you just couldn’t do right now.

You pressed your finger over his delectable mouth. “Shhh. I don’t wanna think about that.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at you. “Now who’s the one hiding from reality? You really are a Munson.”

You hummed in agreement, sighing contentedly as his resumed fingerpainting your chest.

“Well, you convinced me, Lady Munson,” he announced. “You’ll be married to a grease monkey for the rest of your days.”

“Oh yeah? What did I have to do with that decision?” you giggled.

Eddie cackled. “If you’re gonna attack me like that every time I walk in with a little dirt on me, you can sign me up for lifetime employment at Jiffylube.”

A knock on the door killed the reply on your tongue. Much to your protest, Eddie detangled himself from you causing you both the hiss. He pulled you up along with him, joints popping and cracking from the shift.

Eddie noticed you checking him out as he put himself back together. “Avert your eyes, pervert!”

“Don't be so damn sexy, then.” Not having much energy to take the ten steps to the bedroom, you collapsed onto the scratchy gray cushions of the couch and pulled the throw blanket over your body to cover up.

Eddie opened the door to reveal Lucas and his redhead girlfriend, Max, who also happened to live across the way.

“Sinclair. Mayfield,” Eddie said. “What can I do you for?”

Lucas looked everywhere except at Eddie. “H-hey. Uh…can we borrow some eggs?”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at the two freshman before him. “Eggs?”

“Y-yeah. Need some eggs f-for a cake. It’s her mom's birthday.”

Eddie snorted and waved the freshmen inside. You quickly snapped your eyes shut and clenched the blanket closer to your bare body, pretending to be asleep.

“Don’t know about borrowing them, but you can have them. Don’t need the shells back.” You heard the fridge open and close.

Lucas chuckled awkwardly. “Good one, Eddie.”

“Asking for eggs got you this nervous, Sinclair? What’s wrong with him?” He must be talking to Max.

“Nothing—!”

“—He’s being weird about having to wait for you,” she sneered.

“Max!” Lucas pleaded in a voice much higher than it usually is.

“Wait for me?” Eddie repeated in confusion.

“Yeah. Wait for you,” she answered sarcastically. “We’ve been waiting for this place to stop shaking so we could come over.”

“Shaking? What do you mean sha—? Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

Slowly and discreetly as could be, you pulled the blanket over your face in order to hide from your embarrassment. How long had they been waiting? Or even watching the place?! Did the trailer really noticeably shake the entire time? Enough for people to notice?! You could never look Lucas in the eye again. And to think he was just now becoming a cute little fixture in your life during Saturday night hang outs.

Eddie ignored the insinuation as he ushered the two freshmen out of the house, demanding a few slices of cake as repayment for the eggs provided. As soon as they left, he ripped the blanket from your body and beamed.

“Have you no shame?” you scoffed, lightly shoving his face out of yours.

“Pfft. What's there to be ashamed of? I’ve been the butt of virgin jokes for years. Excuse me for enjoying the fact that people know that title has been laid to rest.” He slapped your bare thigh until he was satisfied with the loud clap of skin on skin. “Come on. Let’s eat. Food smells amazing.”

“Wash your hands first,” you grinned, fully enjoying the scowl that settled across his handsome features.

————————————————————

Part 23

Howdy, friends. If I missed you please please let me know. It’s not a slight im just shit at record keeping. 🙃

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Fortress Of Memories

AloneInTheHellfire's Masterlist

Summary: Y/n Byers and Eddie Munson were killed in the battle. Vecna had claimed their lives and murdered them right in front of their friends’ eyes. They died heroes, saving the town that hated them both. And now, months later, the first New Year since Hawkins’ destruction had come around. But no one celebrates. Instead, they are entering hell to finally stop Vecna. They were prepared for everything. Or... so they thought…

This story is set after ST4, featuring kas!eddie and reader. It focuses around different characters, often switching between past and present so pls bear with me.

[comment below if you wanna be added to the taglist for this :)]

Sacrifice [Snippet]

Intro: Sacrifice

Chapter 1: Soldiers

Chapter 2: Taken

Chapter 3: Grudges

Chapter 4: Leverage

Chapter 5: Wounds

Chapter 6: Nightmares

Chapter 7: Devotion [coming 10th Feb]

Chapter 8: ??? [coming 15th Feb]

Can't wait to see what's next! Loving your writing <3<3

BASIC BIOLOGY - BILLY HARGROVE X READER (PART TWO) | PART ONE

word count: 7396 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list

Summary: you're paired with billy for a biology project. you only visit his house once, but it's enough for you to understand why he doesn't want you to come over again. when he starts showing up more and more in your life, you realize that it's basic biology: you were made for him, and he was made for you.

Contents: graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of injuries, angst, fluff, happy ending

A/N: i hope you like this chapter! Billy and his love starvation seem like they’d latch onto the first real love they get, and I tried to establish that here. Please let me know what you think! 💞

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

You don’t expect to see Billy again for a while. Even though he’d thanked you, sincerely, awestruck, you hadn’t suffered through the tense car ride for nothing. He clearly didn’t want to talk to you about it, and he assumes you’ll pry.

You don’t really blame him, either. Because you want to pry. You want to beg for information, plead with him to give you a rundown of what hurts and where, so that you can fix it all. And then you want to pry about any particular allergies of his father’s, so that you can serve him shellfish pasta and make his death look like an accident.

It turns out, though, that you see him the very next day.

You don’t have your own car, nor can you even drive. You’re scared of it, of the thought of that much mechanical power granted to a simple human being, and you’d much rather walk or take the bus anyways. Your bike has a flat tire, or you’d be using it to ride back from the store.

All you’d picked up was a bottle of coke and a pack of gum - juicy fruit. The coke sweats a stain through the pocket of your jeans, but it’s secure, and not grating callouses against your fingertips with its puckered cap. All you hear is the thundering roar of cars speeding down the street next to you, your feet slamming against the pavement as you power walk home.

You’re only ten minutes out, in the final stretch, when you hear a particularly loud engine. It’s gotta be from a muscle car, and you wait for it to pass so that you can look without being obvious. But it doesn’t pass, the engine revs and then chugs once more, slowing to a stop right beside you.

You’re not in the practice of looking over at cars that stop next to you on the road, something eerie about the situation. But when you hear a newly-familiar voice say your name, you stop in your tracks.

“Y/N,” Billy calls, leaning over the empty passenger’s seat to brace his hand on the open window, “Hey, you need a ride?”

His face is red. It’s subtle, and you think that maybe there’s- is that makeup over it? Either way, you know there’s a mark, and you know why there’s a mark.

“Uh,” You stammer, glancing ahead at the sidewalk, “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Where are you going?” He raises an eyebrow, “Aren’t you hot?”

“A little,” You become hyper aware of the sweat sticking to your forehead, the stickiness of your socks against your feet, “It’s fine, though. It’s only, like, ten minutes home.”

“Just get in,” He squints up at you, the sun in his eyes, “I’m heading that way anyways.”

“Okay..” You comply, ducking down to step off of the curb and fit yourself into his camaro, “Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“Not at all,” He straightens up from where he’d been leaning out the window so that you can sit down, but he braces his hand on the back of your headrest. He uses it as leverage to look behind him to make sure he’s not pulling out into traffic, and when it’s safe, he peels away from the curb in what you now know is typical Billy fashion. Tires squealing, engine revving, confidence in his eyes.

“So,” You hum, digging the coke bottle out of your pocket so that you don’t smash it, “Why are you gonna be over by my place?”

“Oh,” he laughs, shaking his head, “I’m not. I just lied, knew you wouldn’t get in unless I said that.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, “Billy! You lied!”

“And,” He grins, nodding and readjusting his hands on the wheel as he turns you around a corner, “It worked, didn’t it? And now you’ve got a ride.”

“Thank you, Billy,” At your words you remember his own from the night prior, stiffening slightly in your seat, “Um, are you.. okay? Last night was.. Intense.”

“Yeah,” He takes a moment to answer, but when he does his voice is stronger than it was last night. He keeps himself preoccupied with ducking slightly to check his blind spot, “It’s nothing. I’m, uh- I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re okay, though.” You mumble, “Does it hurt?”

“Seriously,” He shakes his head, his curls flying around his shoulders, “Doesn’t matter. Just.. forget about it, okay?”

“Billy,” You gush, wanting so badly to respect his wishes for the sake of not starting an argument. But how were you supposed to forget possibly the scariest experience of your life?

“I’m not going to go around town blabbing,” You swear, “But don’t you think we should tell someone?”

“No,” He insists, voice sharp, “Because if he doesn’t get hauled in, then I get my ass beat, maybe even killed. And if he does get hauled in, then I’m the man of the house. And my summer job barely pays for the gas money it takes to get there, and Max is too young to work, and Susan probably doesn’t even want me, so then I’d be out on my ass, and- just.. No. It wouldn’t work.”

He’s heated now, cheeks flushed and eyes wild. His chest heaves with the breaths he wasn’t taking when he was rambling, and you let him catch up before you talk again.

“Okay,” You take care to keep your voice calm and soothing, “Okay, yeah, that makes sense. I won’t tell anyone, Billy, not if you don’t want me to. But.. but something has to give, y’know? I meant what I said last night,” You fiddle with the ridges on the cap of your coke bottle, “Come over anytime.”

He meets your eye in the rear view mirror, and no words are needed. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that’s reflected in his own, and beneath the cockiness that he slathers over himself, you see sincerity peeking through. He nods and it’s grateful, hopeful, even.

“You want a burger?” He sniffs, scrunching his nose and changing the subject. His hands are prying at the wheel, turning the car down a road before you can respond, but you’ve got leftover cash from the convenience store, so you nod.

“Sure,” You nod, “Uh, I guess I don’t owe you pizza money anymore.”

“No,” You’re glad that he takes it as a joke, instead of a painful reminder of the night before, “Max should be the one paying me, Jesus, I mean she ate half the box.”

“She’s a growing girl,” You scold him, “She needs her nutrients.”

“Oh, yeah, melted cheese and greasy pepperoni, real nutritious.” He scoffs, but there’s a smile on his face, “What’s your order, Doctor Nutrient?”

You’re tempted to order a salad just to fuck with him. But you don’t, you let out a breathy laugh and recite your burger preference. He nods, pulling up to the window of the only drive-thru fast food restaurant in town.

Part of you is that glad that you don’t go inside, and part of you is crushed.

On one hand, you’re sweaty from walking, and you probably don’t look your best because of it. You don’t feel like being in the public eye right now, you feel like curling up on your couch and relaxing for the rest of the day. 

But on the other hand, what is Billy feeling? Part of you, deep inside, a horrid little piece that wants to make you sad, tells you that he’s not going to go into a burger place with you because he’s embarrassed to be seen with you. That you do look sweaty and gross, and that he’s not going to risk his reputation for some girl in his biology class. You thought you’d had a sort of breakthrough with him, unlocked some part of him that no one else had, because of those minutes stuck hiding in his closet. You’d thought you were maybe even friends, not just partners for class.

But he orders and pays for a meal to-go, and you’re silent as his wheels screech against the asphalt as he pulls into a parking space.

“Here,” He hands you the tray that they’d given you, spreading a meager, flimsy napkin over his lap in its absence, “You take that, and just keep my fries in there while I eat this.”

“We can share it,” You offer, scrambling to balance the tray on the divider between your seats, but he pushes it back into your lap with a shake of his head and a large, strong hand, “No, no, don’t worry about it. One of us should have an easy lunch.”

“Thanks,” You murmur, choosing to stuff your mouth with burger instead of voice any of your internal monologue out loud. You eat in silence for a few bites, blaming it on your mouthful of food instead of your awkward reservations. But he glances over to get a fry, and sees you staring out the windshield, lost in space.

“Is yours drugged or something?” He teases, elbowing you gently in the side, “You’re zoning out, hard.”

“Oh,” You take a deep breath, chewing the last of your burger and swallowing it, picking at your fries, “No, I think I’m just tired from walking.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s good I picked you up, then. Where were you even walking?”

“Corner store,” You mumble around a mouthful of burger, “I wanted a coke. Oh,” You remember, sticking a hopefully-clean hand into your pocket to retrieve your cash, “Here, for the burger.”

“‘S fine,” He waves you off, “It was, like, two bucks. Don’t sweat it.”

“Billy,” You huff, “Just let me pay you back!”

“No,” He drawls, sipping from his fountain drink, “Stop arguing, or I’ll kick you out of the car.”

You fall silent, neglecting to remind him that you weren’t in his car to begin with.

“So,” His eyes flash over the stereo, and he breaks the momentary lull in conversation, “What kind of music are you into?”

“Anything, really,” You shrug, “I like it all.”

“Even pop?” His nose wrinkles, and he stares accusatorily at you from his seat.

“Pop’s fine,” You nod, “Classical is only nice when I’m trying to study.”

“Classi- Like, piano and shit? Jesus,” He laughs incredulously, “Are you ninety?”

“Hey,” Your mouth falls open, and you fall easily into teasing banter with him, “Classical music is not for old people! It’s for people who need music on to study but get distracted by lyrics.”

“Metal’s good for that, too,” He reaches across the center divider to snatch a fry from the tray, “It’s, like, 90% guitar, and half the lyrics don’t even make sense, anyways. Nothing to pay attention to.”

“I’m not surprised you like metal,” You hum, “Did a Mötley Crüe tape come with this car?”

“No,” He insists, and you catch the flash of his grin from the side of your eye, “I bought it on the way back from the dealership.”

He doesn’t want to drown out your giggles with music, so he waits until you take another bite to pop a tape in. 

“That’s real music,” He boasts as the sound blares to life, “None of that violin shit.”

“I like metal,” You promise him, foot tempted to tap to the beat of the drums, “It’s just not all I listen to.”

“Yeah, well it’s gonna be all you listen to in here,” He assures you, “I’m gonna turn you into a diehard.”

“You have all of, what, twenty minutes?” You laugh, “Billy, how often do you think I’m gonna be in your car?”

“Whenever you want,” He shrugs, “You think I’m gonna let you haul your ass around town without a car?”

“Billy,” You frown, swallowing roughly to stare suspiciously at him, “What are you talking about? You barely even know me, why are you acting like my chauffeur all of a sudden?”

“Barely even know you-” He scoffs, jamming a fry into the ketchup that’s pooled on your tray, “We’re friends, dumbass. That’s how friendship works, right? We do shit for each other?”

Your heart thuds to your stomach. Friends? An hour ago you wouldn’t have even called Billy Hargrove your acquaintance. Sure, you knew each other. Hell, you probably knew more about him than anyone else in school. But not because he told you, because you found out. It was an accident, a fluke, a mistake. He didn’t tell you on purpose, so it didn’t mean you were close. But maybe you were, maybe his borderline kidnapping of you was because he cared, because he liked you.

“Yeah,” You decide, “Yeah, we’re friends. And that’s what friends do. I just.. I can’t offer you much, can I? I mean, shit, you won’t even let me give you a $5 for lunch.”

His eyes narrow, and you’re nervous you said something wrong. He huffs out a sigh, jaw tightening, “Jesus, Y/N, are you gonna make me spell it out?”

“What?”

“You offered me a place to stay,” He mumbles, glaring daggers at his keys in the ignition, “That’s.. A lot, okay? And I appreciate it.” He says it almost angrily, and if you weren’t so taken aback, you might have laughed.

“So I don’t mind dumping you where you need to be. Or spotting you for lunch.”

“Thank you,” You echo his sentiment from last night, hoping that even though they’re about a burger and not a home, they’re just as sincere, “Thanks, Billy.”

“Don’t mention it,” He grumbles, stuffing the rest of his burger into his mouth so that he doesn’t have to speak.

Being friends with Billy Hargrove is interesting. He’s brash, abrasive, but he cares in his own way, you find out, when he stops hard at a red light and throws his arm out over your chest.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, gruff and stiff, “You okay?”

“Fine,” You nod, a little breathless from how the seat belt had rubbed against your skin, “You can pull over here, if you want. I can run around the back, it’s unlocked already.”

“I’m not dropping you off at the curb,” He scoffs, “I think I can manage your driveway.”

“Fine,” You tease, “I was just trying to make it easier for you.”

A small smile curves over his lips at your tone, and you know he’s not upset. You’re starting to realize that being friends with Billy is easy, as soon as you accept that he can be harsh. He’s not the type of friend to gush about feelings, you don’t think, preferring to quip back and forth, and you can handle that.

He pulls into your driveway, and spots a familiar red car parked three houses down.

“You’re neighbors with Harrington?” His eyes shade over with something that can’t be good, considering his well-known feelings towards the other boy.

“No,” You shake your head, “No, that’s his friend’s house. He just drives him around sometimes, I think. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

You shoot him a grin as your head rests against the headrest of your seat, and he can’t argue with that. He rolls his eyes despite the growing grin on his lips, and he reaches over to shove you.

“Get out of my car,” He groans, “And- here,” He tears a shred of napkin off of the leftover stash from lunch, digging for a pen to scrawl his number, “Call me whenever you need a ride. Or good music to listen to.”

“I’m gonna go study to Chopin,” You leer at him from your front steps, and he lunges, reaching out the driver’s side window to reach for you. You shriek, jumping out of the way before he can grab you, and it pulls a long, hearty laugh from his chest.

“Take it,” He reaches into his glove compartment to pull out a tape, red-and-black designs etched over the front, “I’m not driving away until I hear it blasting from your window,”

“My parents are home,” You gush, fingers curling around the plastic case, “I can’t!”

“Headphones, then,” He insists, eyes alight with amusement, “I’m expecting you to know the words the next time I see you.”

It’s a hefty promise to make, but you do so with a smile on your face.

You don’t get much studying done amongst Metallica. It’s hard to focus on finishing your biology project when you recognize a song you’d heard earlier in Billy’s car, and you hum the familiar tune, thinking of the way he’d tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the drums.

You think you’ve figured him out. He’s vibrant when he knows he’s alone, when he knows he’s safe. He’d panicked hearing that car door, those voices outside. He’d been rough, jagged, hurtful. But in his element, flying down the road with music blaring from his speakers, he’d been happy. All he needs is a safe place, and you’re glad he has one, even if it isn’t his home.

Biology is easy to finish, because you only have to cover half of the slack from being sent home early last night. Billy knows which of the last two drawings to complete, and you tuck your finished ones away in your folder, pulling out a sheet of math work to tackle next. Unfortunately, it’s less simple.

Dinner comes and goes, and you’re still working by the time the sky bleeds black. You’d been using the light from the window to aid you in your homework, so when it finally covers you in enough shadow to make you squint, you give up and make for your light switch.

It flicks on with a click, and when you whirl around to settle back on your bed, there’s a face in your window. You scream, backing yourself up against the door in the split second before you recognize the features.

Billy is staring at you from the window, hand up to the glass. You hear commotion from downstairs, a quick shout of ‘Are you okay up there?’ and thundering feet towards the hallway.

“I’m fine!” You shout at the gap in the door, praying no one comes to investigate, “I’m fine, I thought I saw a spider.”

You stand there, petrified, staring at him as you wait for your parents to go away. The commotion dies down in seconds, but they feel like hours as they tick away, leaving Billy pressed to your window. When you hear the soft wheeze of a couch cushion, then the creak of bedsprings, accounting for them both, you relax, breathe out a sigh and step forwards.

Even through the glass, you can tell something is wrong. Billy’s right eye is starting to shut, and you don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. It looks swollen, and there’s a purple hue blooming over it.

You work on unlatching the window, and in doing so you press your hand flat against the glass. It lays inches north of his own print, and he shifts his hand up to meet yours on the other side of the window. It’s touching, but you don't’ have time to evaluate it when your fingers snap the latch out of place.

“Billy,” You breathe, gripping his forearm to offer him leverage while he hauls himself up and over your windowsill, “Are you okay?”

He lands on the floor in a heap, and your heart sinks.

“No.” He groans, voice soft and wheezy. When he moves he rolls to clutch his stomach, and the only solace you find is that there’s no bloodstain on his t-shirt.

“I ran,” He groans, keeping his voice just quiet enough to be inaudible from another room, “I- I didn’t have time to get in my car, I just-”

“Okay,” You watch his chest heave with the effort of speaking, bracing a hand on it gently, to stop him, “Okay, save your energy. I’m going to go get you water, and an ice pack. Then I’ll fix your face.”

He manages a weak nod, then a raspy, ‘Okay.’

You slip into the kitchen with only a sheepish grin towards the couch at your spider cover-up. Luckily for you, you’re jumpy around bugs, so it doesn’t look out of the ordinary.

You tuck the ice-pack into your pocket, and you’re wearing such a baggy sweatshirt that it’s covered up. The glass of water isn’t suspicious on its own, and you make it back to your room without any problems.

Billy has hauled himself up to sit against your bed, head tipped against the mattress. There’s still no blood, but his face is tilted towards the light now, and you see copious amounts of bruising that definitely hadn’t been there before.

“Jesus,” You breathe, reaching for his cheek. He tenses as your hand approaches, and you pull back before you can reach him. You stand there, arm outstretched, waiting. Your fingers are only inches from his face, a blotchy purple mark over his eye that spreads down his cheek like poison. You wait, for a sign, a sound, anything to let you know that it’s okay to touch him, and what you get is almost more shocking than the sight of him.

He tilts his head to the side, nudging his cheek into your hand.

“You can touch,” He croaks, breath short and hot against your palm, “I don’t bite.”

If you’ve learned anything about Billy in the past 24 hours, it’s that he doesn’t like the mushy stuff. So instead of gushing, instead of promising him that he’s safe now, that his father can’t hurt him, you say it with your touch, and shift your tone to teasing.

“Oh yeah?” You kneel beside him, brushing your thumb against the underside of his lip and smearing away wet blood there, “Melissa MacDonald says you do.”

He laughs, a short, wheezing sound, and his cheek presses further into your palm as it apples with his smile,  “Yeah? Well, she asked me to.”

”Freaky girl,” You hum, eyes glued to his lip. You use the towel that you’ve wrapped around the ice pack, bunching a corner of it up and wiping it over the split skin. It morphs into a grimace when you touch it and he hisses, hand reaching up to grip your side hard.

“Sorry,” You breathe, your exhale fanning over his face, “Sorry, just- give me a second.”

When you’ve managed to get the blood off of his lip you shift your focus to his abdomen, and suddenly realize what you’re about to ask is very suggestive.

“Okay, um.. What happened to your stomach?”

“He kicked me,” Billy groans, “Boots on and all.”

“Okay,” You see a dark purple bruise spreading over his stomach from where his shirt has ridden up, and you toy with the edge of the ice pack, “Can I-? I need to see it..”

“Strip me, baby,” He chuckles weakly, “You can take it off.”

It’s a button-up, once tucked in and now rumpled from the commotion. The top buttons are undone, so it’s not hard to slip the last two out, spreading each side apart to showcase a truly horrific amalgamation of cuts and bruises.

“Ok-ay,” You hum, eyes wide in terror, “Um, this is.. A lot. Should we go to the hospital?”

“No!” His eyes flash with fear, and he grabs your wrist, “No hospitals.”

“”But-”

“But I can’t tell anyone,” He reminds you, gaze now sad and defeated, “No hospitals.”

All you can manage is a nod, tears gathering in your eyes as you stare down at his bare torso.

“Like what you see?” He drawls, and you glance up to see his lip bleeding again from how he’d smirked and torn the cut open.

“Not at all,” You admit sheepishly, reaching a hand up to press and hold the towel there, “Billy, this looks like you escaped a warzone.”

“I did,” He mumbles around the towel, “He’s the enemy.”

“What did you even do?” You ask, prodding gently at a patch of skin and apologizing profusely when his stomach tenses because of it.

“Someone.. One of our stupid neighbors,” He recalls, “Saw you last night. Said my old man must be proud I've got girls sneaking out of my window at night.”

“And… he wasn’t proud.” You grimace, pressing the ice pack to the largest bruise. It spans over most of his lower stomach, and it looks more painful than you can imagine.

“No,” Billy groans, writhing against your bed, “He was not. Didn’t even wait to get inside,” He squeezes his eyes shut, which you’re sure hurts his right one, “Just grabbed my arm and smacked me right there on the driveway. No one cared. The neighbor, he- he laughed. Thought it was all some big joke, I guess. When we got inside he pushed me over in the doorway and pummeled me. He kicked my stomach, and he-” Billy cuts himself off with a hiss of pain when you start dabbing at a scrape on his chest, “Stomped on my face. He used a fucking fireplace poker, that’s the gashes.”

“You can’t go back,” You cry, barely withholding yourself from a long, loud sob, “Please, Billy, you can’t go back there. He’ll kill you!”

“No, he won’t.” Billy heaves, shaking his head, “He wants to, I’m sure. But he knows he can’t hurt me too bad, or people’ll notice. This was a mistake, he’s gonna be more careful from now on. He might be a monster, but he’s smart.”

“But- but what if this happens again, Billy? He gets angry, real angry, and he lashes out, and he uses a fireplace poker-!” Your chest heaves with sobs that you’re barely able to withhold, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping onto his chest.

“Hey,” He shushes you, a hand over your mouth, then uses the other to wipe your tears away, “Hey! Don’t think about that,” he scolds, but you’re sure it’s meant to sound reassuring, “He’s probably freaked right now. He thinks I’m ratting him out to the cops, or something. So when I come back, he’ll be more careful. He won’t be sorry, but I don’t care about sorry anymore, I know he won’t ever be. He won’t kill me,” Billy promises you, finally dropping the hand that’s covering your mouth, “He can’t afford a body on his hands.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, blink away the tears in your eyes, and nod. He seems satisfied at your silence, watching with droopy eyes as you clean off his chest.

“I’m gonna get bandages,” You murmur, leaving the ice pack on his stomach and padding to the door, “Move it if you need to, okay?”

He manages a weak nod in return, and you make sure to shut the door behind you when you leave.

Gathering adequate medical supplies isn’t the problem, concealing them is. You have to fumble your way through tucking bandages and gauze under your shirt, and the bottle of antiseptic doesn’t fit anywhere but in your hands. You keep it tucked against your side when you rush to your room, though, and you hope no one notices.

Billy doesn’t even ask what you’re doing when you press a wet cotton ball to his injuries, and you shudder to think of all the times he’s had to patch himself up. Does he sit in his room against his own bed, drink in hand? Does he stand in the shower, soap cleaning out his wounds? Does he sneak to the freezer, pressing frozen peas to his eyes?

You sniffle, and BIlly’s thumb rubs under your nose.

You frown, ‘Gross,’ And he chuckles weakly.

“I’m covered in blood, sweat, and-” He glances down at the droplets on his chest, “Tears. You think snot crosses a line?”

“My snot does,” You grumble, laying a bandage over a scrape on his chest and biting the inside of your cheek in concentration.

“Fine,” He huffs, smearing his thumb over your cheek, “Have it back.”

“Billy-!” You gasp, hand flying off of his chest and rubbing furiously at your cheek, “Gross!”

You’d be more upset but he laughs, really, truly, genuinely, and you think that maybe you can live with it.

“Snotface,” He cracks, and if you think for a second too long about the heartfelt lilt to his voice, it sounds like a term of endearment.

It’s hard to maneuver him in order to wrap his more serious injuries in gauze, but with a little cooperation, he’s wrapped like a mummy. It’s probably a sloppy nurse job, but you’re all he’s got, and you won’t give up on him because things are hard.

It’s his face that you have the real trouble with. You squint as you scan his features, looking at bumps and bruises and scrapes and trying to assess how deep they are. Your fingers turn his face this way and that, prodding, prying, pushing, pulling, until you decide that the light from above isn’t enough to see his smaller injuries.

“I need to move you,” You speak softly, “Up onto the bed. Can you do that?”

“Help me,” He bargains, and you’re happy to lift him to his feet.

He slumps against you while upright, but it’s not long before you can push him back onto your bed. He practically melts against the mattress, letting out a guttural sigh that’s almost too loud.

With a flick of your bedside lamp he’s bathed in a soft yellow glow, face now illuminated for all its abrasions to be seen.

His split lip is the least of it, you recognize with a sinking feeling.

Leaning over his face is awkward,and it hurts him when you turn his head. You suppose his neck is sore too, and it leaves you at a standstill.

“I can’t see that side of your face,” You huff, “Could you- I mean, it hurts really bad to turn your head?”

“Sorry,” He grimaces, testing the movement out again, “Yeah. Just- sit on the bed.”

“There’s no room,” You protest weakly, his broad form filling out your twin bed, “I’ll have to turn you around, we’ll put your feet at the headboard and your head down below, but that’ll take a lot of energy, so we should just-”

“Stop talking,” He pleads, eyes heavy, “Just- get on the bed, Y/N.”

“There’s no room!” You insist once more, and he groans, sitting himself upright despite your protests.

His arm slings around your waist, surprisingly strong for the state of the rest of his body. You scramble to fight his embrace but he hauls you up and onto the mattress, your knees digging into his thigh.

“Sit on my stomach,” He instructs you, then remembers it’s bandaged, “Or- or my waist. Just- sit down.”

It feels wrong. A boy in your bed, your legs over his waist, your hand on his chest as you lean over his face. You’re careful not to press anywhere that hurts, and you dab carefully at a cut near his eye.

“I think this earns you the title of best friend,” He mumbles, his breath hitting your face and warming your nose.

“Oh, yeah? Who was my competition?” You bite your lip to stop from grinning, shifting your waist against his own so that you can reach higher on his face.

“I dunno.” He’d shrug if he wasn’t lying down, “My car, maybe? There’s a cat that hangs out behind our house.”

“I’m not as cute as a cat,” You hum absentmindedly, picturing poor Billy with a car for a best friend, “I think it’s got me beat.”

“I dunno,” Billy murmurs, reaching up to thumb at the space between your brows. It knocks your concentrated frown loose, and he chuckles at your dazed expression as you peer down at him, “I’ll call it a tie to keep the peace.”

You busy yourself putting a bandaid over the bridge of his nose so that you don’t have to look into his eyes. You’re worried about what you’ll find there, if it’ll be the scared little boy you’d seen in them last night, or a charming young man. You’re not sure how to handle either, but you smooth the sticky patches of the bandaid out over his cheeks to try and aid the former.

“Done,” You whisper, and brace your hands on his face.

“Thank you,” He hums, sincere and sweet, “Really, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” You promise, “But for your sake I hope you don’t have to come over here like this again.”

“Me too,” He laughs, a short, breathy sound, “So.. uh, you got a car?”

“No,” You shake your head, “That’s why I was walking earlier.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” He cringes, hoisting himself up onto his elbows, “I’ll have to walk back.”

“Not now!” You push a hand against his chest, gently landing him on his back again, “You- you can’t! You need rest,” You reason with him, “Please, Billy, just stay here tonight.”

“Usually the girls kick me out when their parents get home,” He jokes, his tongue poking out to run over his lips, which you’re sure are sore from the cut. You giggle breathlessly, only then realizing that you’re still straddling him.

“Uh-” You rush to slide off of his hips, landing with a thump on the floor, “Sorry. I’ll go… um, do you need a change of clothes?”

“If you’ve got something,” He tilts his head up to watch as you fumble through your closet, “If nothing fits it’s fine.”

Luckily, you find a pair of sweatpants that are cinched with a tie, as well as a particularly average sweatshirt he’ll fit into. You step out of the room so that he can change, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to need any help. You use the time to change your own clothes, and when you emerge from the bathroom, you push your bedroom door open to find him on your mattress again.

“Bed’s comfy,” He marvels, turned onto his side. He’s pressed against the wall, staring at you where you’re frozen in the doorway.

“It is,” You nod, “Enjoy it.”

“You, too.” He prompts, patting the sheets, “Get up here, Y/N.”

“No, I-”

“You just stuck your fingers in my bloody cuts,” He groans, scooting even further back against the wall with a strangled groan, “I’m not making you sleep on the fucking floor.”

Logically, you know you should argue. He’s proclaimed you as his best friend but you’ve really only known him for a day. But he’s made up his mind, closing his eyes so that he can’t even see you disagreeing. His arms are crossed, and his face is set in a stubborn frown, brows tugged together beneath a bandage on his forehead.

Though his eyes are screwed shut, he pops them open when he feels the mattress dip beside him. His frown morphs quick and easy into a grin, his arm slinging around your waist to tug you closer from where you’re practically sliding off of the bed.

“I told you,” He drawls, “I don’t bite.”

“I’m not worried about you biting, Billy.” You mumble, stiff where he’s holding you. He notices, grin dimming as he lifts his hand away.

He looks almost annoyed, “So? What is it? Are you an insomniac, or something?”

“No, Billy,” you frown, biting the inside of your cheek, “I’m not an insomniac, I’m worried. Are you okay? I’m not a nurse. And- and I’m not tired, either,” You spring out of bed, standing beside it instead of laying with him, “I’m not going to sleep.”

He lays there staring, eyes hardening over from where they’d cracked open to ooze happiness. You watch it happen, watch him change until he’s the boy you know from school, deep, cutting glares and harsh movements.

“Fine,” He huffs, fighting to keep his face straight as he presses himself up off of the mattress with his palms, “I’m gonna go. Clearly- just.. Bye.”

“No, Billy..” You rush to stop him from reaching the window but he sticks out an arm, shoving you away with the side of it. He keeps his hands off of you, and you’re grateful, but it still sends you stumbling slightly.

He hears the sound of your feet thumping clumsily. He tenses up for a moment, shoulders drawn closer to his ears and legs locking. But he feels your hand against his back, soft and slow and smooth, and with each brush of your fingers there a muscle in his body relaxes.

“Please don’t go,” You finally beg, your voice a sweet whisper. It seems to have been the wrong thing to say, because his limbs lock up again, back stiffening against your palm.

“I shouldn’t be here,” He grumbles, gruff and weak.

“Yes you should,” You assure him, “Because you got hurt, and I told you you were safe here. We’re friends, remember, Billy? That’s what friends do.”

“We’re not friends.” He scoffs, and you can feel him slipping away. Every second that you stand there, hand on his back, soothingly brushing over his tense muscles, he seems to drift away, until you’re not even sure he’s with you anymore, just a foggy silhouette on the horizon.

“You said we were friends,” You remind him, lips nearly brushing his back, “What changed? Why aren’t we friends now?”

“Because..” He starts, and you wait patiently for him to continue, rubbing lines into his back over and over again.

“Because I want.. Because- Because friends-”

“You can tell me, Billy,” You promise, testing the waters as you creep forward. Inch by inch you snake your hand around his waist, carefully avoiding the injuries you know are lurking beneath his unbuttoned shirt. When your palms meet over his stomach you lean your cheek against his back, hoping that if you can squeeze enough love into him, he’ll come back.

“This,” He hovers a hand over your own, glancing down at your touch on his skin, “This is what… friends do, right?”

“Friends hug,” You confirm, “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” He chokes out, raising a hand to his face to smear away a tear that you’re sure has slid down his cheek, “Yeah I want that. But- but you got up, so I- I didn’t want to freak you out. You obviously didn’t want to, so-”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” You brush your thumb over his toned stomach, thinking about the way he’d stared at you from your bed, eyes sparkling and arms outstretched, “It’s just that… I want to do right by you, Billy. And I don’t think you get that a lot, do you?”

“No,” He rasps, and he starts to relax, back no longer tense as you practically whisper against it.

“Right, so..” You reason, biting your tongue before speaking out of nerves, “I think that you live like you drive, Billy. You blow past stop signs and you nearly run people over, you speed. You go so fast that you can’t slow down anymore, and you need someone to tell you to do that, or else you’ll crash.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I want to make sure you’re not rushing things,” You can feel his heated skin beneath your cheek, only the fabric of his shirt separating you, “You just got beat up by your dad, because of me, and I’m glad that you came here, but don’t you think that sleeping together is going pretty fast? I know we’re not like- sleeping together,” You mumble, cheeks aflame, “I just don’t want you to get ahead of yourself. You can.. You can have a hug anytime you want, and… we can sleep next to each other, too, but I need to know that you want that. That you’re doing it because you want to, and not because you think this is the only chance you’ll ever get. I’m telling you to slow down, Billy, you don’t have to rush if you don’t want to. I won’t kick you out if you don’t sleep in my bed, you don’t owe me anything for helping you, and I want to make sure that’s really what you want, and not just something you think you have to do. I… I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow with a clear head and regret it.”

By now your lips have reached his back, brushing softly against the material of his shirt as he stands by your window. It’s shut now, no one can see you from the outside, but his face is turned towards it like he’s examining the neighborhood. He’s not tense anymore, but he’s not moving either, and for a moment you’re nervous about having said the wrong thing.

“I’m not going to regret anything.” He murmurs, fingers ghosting over your own as he sets his hand over yours, “I.. I’m doing it because I want to, not because you’re the only person that’s nice to me. I’m doing it because… because I want to be-”

“You want to be…?”

“I want to be… held.” He whispers it like a curse, like he thinks the roof will cave and the floor will crack open to hell if he admits it. Your heart aches for the lonely boy, the battered son, the scared child, and you squeeze him gently in a hug.

“Okay,” You nod, and you know he feels it against his back, “I’ll hold you, Billy. Get back in bed, I’ll hold you.”

This time he’s less confident; not as suave. He turns towards you with a trepidatious expression, eyes tracking your every move like he thinks you’re going to give up the joke, turn, point, and laugh at him. But you don’t, of course, instead you hoist a leg up onto your bed and lay down clumsily beside him.

The mattress isn’t big enough for the both of you, so it’s a good thing you’ve agreed to hold him. You’re not really sure how to initiate it, you just simply leave yourself open, uncovered, waiting.

“Where can I touch you?” He glances up at your face, expression clouded with nerves.

“Anywhere,” You say without thinking, then stammer to fix your mistake, “I mean- I mean not like anywhere, just- anywhere.. PG.”

“Okay,” He chuckles, eyes once more heavy with sleep, “I won’t feel you up, I promise.”

When he braces a hand at your waist, cautious, unsure, you wonder if he’s ever not felt anyone up. Has he ever laid beside anyone before, just for love? Not for sex, not for lust, but for calm?

He looks nervous to continue, so you lean into it. You roll yourself onto your side, slinging his arm that’s on your hip to lay over your back. He scoots forward to meet you in the middle, and with a hand on the back of his head, you guide his face to press against your neck. His chin bumps your shoulder, and he nestles it there snugly. It means that his eyelashes brush your neck, that his lips part to release a shaky breath against your collarbones, and his curls tickle your chin.

“Is this good?” You ask, your voice a murmur into the crown of his head. He nods, and the action knocks his head into your cheek. He mumbles out a hasty, ‘Sorry’, and you laugh it off.

“It’s okay,” You drag your hands up his back, fingertips barely grazing his skin that his shirt has twisted up to expose, “It’s okay, Billy. This is okay. You’re allowed to want this, you know? You’re allowed to like this. You deserve this.”

Billy thinks he deserves a lot of things. A kick in the teeth, a tight pair of handcuffs and a drab cell, maybe even the fireplace poker. But he doesn’t think he deserves kindness, which is why he’s so confused why you’re gushing it like a fountain. 

He’s the type of person to make himself unhappy so that no one else can do it for him. He shuts out love and light and life so that no one can steal it away, no one can send him reeling when they leave. But tonight - he’s not sure why, maybe it’s the stinging wounds on his torso or the tickle of your fingers against his back - he’ll love.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

Disjointed: Twenty-Six

Summary: Jealousy is as fierce as the grave.

Word count: 8.4k

What to expect: Smut/Lemon (-18 kindly dni) Angst.

A/N: Howdy, friends. Welcome back! I hope you guys enjoy this one. Let me know if you do!

Special thanks to the hive for brain storming with me. Because this one was annoyingly difficult. ❣️

The new year in the surgical ward meant scut work for everybody. The only surgery cases coming in were from the emergency room, and even then most patients were trying to bargain their way into just being patched up until the later months once they paid off the newly reset deductible. No one wanted to pay for surgery without the little percentage that insurance covered once the out of pocket payment was met for the year.

With there only being an average of three cases a day, the idle nursing staff were responsible for the mind numbing task of taking inventory. All the instruments had to be counted, re-logged with their serial number, and reordered if there was any deficit. The same went for the supplies in the wing, such as soaps, solutions, dressings, and everything else under the sun a doctor may need during a procedure. The autoclaves, oxygen tanks, and other necessary equipment had to be serviced by the manufacturing company and given the bright orange sticker that signified a passed inspection and logged into a binder in case anyone from the state quality control agency came snooping.

The downside to this was that with six unoccupied nurses doing the same task for twelve hours in the morning shift, and twelve hours in the evening, everything had been completed within a few days. Dr. Erlich wasn’t too keen on paying six nurses to sit around and gossip about Fisher being caught with his pants around his ankles in the chapel with Delia, so Dr. Erlich made Beatrice reintroduce flexing.

At first, only working six hours a day made you worry about losing too much money, but when the check from all the accumulated overtime from December hit, the concern was quickly forgotten.

You had never received a check large enough to have a comma in it, so when you did all your financial worries subsided for just a second. Eddie wanted to blow it on a microwave, but you talked him out of it. Instead, the money went to a house full of food which Eddie said was the first time he ever got to buy name brand cereals instead of generic, and a couple pounds of top sirloin steak. Eddie looked too damn excited over slabs of beef to not give in to his plea, and when he pulled “Think of Wayne. A Sunday spent grilling steaks? It would mean the world to him,” it was impossible to deny him. Not that you were planning to anyway—he was so cute when he thought he was getting away with something.

The rest of the money went into the bank for a rainy day. Well, more like what you owed Steve for the tools, what Eddie owed the shop, what you both owed the hospital, a prom dress, and whatever incidentals that were flung your way. It fucking sucked being in debt. And no matter the cushion in the account, the thought of owing so much was a looming shadow over everything. Would saving the $1.87 difference between Chocolate Sugar Puffs and Coco-Puffs really matter much in paying off the collective debt total of over $10,000? Unlikely. Even so, the guilt of having a simple novelty weighed heavily on you once the rush of being able to “afford” such a thing wore off.

Eddie sure enjoyed having you home before him, and it felt almost like normal again. It was…weird at first to have him missing from the house after school. He often invited you to come to Gareth’s garage when he went to band practice. Sometimes you did, sometimes you didn’t—not wanting to be the clingy and annoying girlfriend loitering about. And without another girl to hangout with in the small garage, it was easy to feel that way.

Eddie having a job was even stranger. You drove him to work on Saturday mornings in his cute jumpsuit looking dangerously sexy, leaving you alone in the house until late afternoon when you went to pick him up, his idea to squeeze a few extra minutes together.

Having time to yourself outside of sleeping was totally new. As much as you loved him, Eddie being absent was kind of nice once you got used to it. He wasn’t around to ask for things he was either too lazy or too blind to see (‘Where’s the remote? Are we out of ketchup? I don’t see it in the fridge. Have you seen my bandana?’), nor did you have to sacrifice a sizable bite of food to what was known as ‘the husband tax’ when he got a peek into your cereal bowl. (‘Really, babe? I said a bite not a nibble.’) You could watch the TV in peace without Eddie’s constant commentary drowning out the actor’s line of dialogue, and you were able to explore your own body in a way you hadn’t since moving into your new home. Of course it didn’t feel quite as good as when Eddie used his fingers on you, but the ability to try without an audience or potential interruption made up for it.

Now that you were the one coming home early on the weekends when Eddie worked, you took over making dinner. You checked on the tenderness of the beef roast in the oven, hoping Eddie would like it. You had yet to find something he wouldn’t eat, but you feared the day was soon to come.

“Another hour or so,” you muttered to yourself after poking the hunk of meat. Checking the time to see when dinner would be ready, you hadn’t realized that you were supposed to already be on the way to the garage to pick up Eddie.

Though you’d rather he put off working and stay focused on finally graduating, you couldn’t help but be proud of him. He hadn’t skipped any scheduled shifts, nor did he show up late. He told stories of his coworkers. There was Travis, his son Trevor, Caleb, and an old guy named Scooter that left most of his brain cells back in the 1960s. Eddie seemed to get along with them, you supposed. He never said that he didn’t, nor did he come home bellyaching about any of them. Besides the time one of them microwaved fish for lunch and had the whole break room smelling like ass and a half for two days.

He had plenty of stories about customers who tried to bandage something in their car with the wrong part, laughing and snorting as he called them idiots. Much like when he talked about DnD, You honestly hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about, but you nodded and agreed with him wholeheartedly anyway. It was nice seeing him passionate about his work, and knowing that he was doing what he could to help shoulder some financial responsibility made you feel much more secure with him in a way you hadn’t realized you weren’t before.

It was also a real treat to see him sweaty, grimy, and tired from what Wayne would call a day of honest work. While Eddie was attractive in almost any state, seeing the skin of his taut biceps glistening with sweat and marked with smudges of motor oil was oddly alluring.

Pulling into an empty parking space, you quickly killed the engine and started to jog into the storefront. While the glass thermometer on the doorframe said it was 25 degrees outside, each inhale of cold air felt like a flurry of pin needles stabbing your nose and throat. It didn’t matter that you were in your warmest pair of fleece bottoms and winter coat—the few seconds of exposure had the chill seeing into your bones.

You sighed with relief as the warmth of the lobby met the skin of your frozen cheeks. The owner, a ginger bearded mountain man named Trevor, leaned back in his desk chair to peek through the open door of the office. Once he realized it was you, he gave a small wave, let you know Eddie was still messing around in the garage, and turned his attention back to his desk disappearing from sight.

Trevor was the only coworker you had been formally introduced to and it was awful. Apparently he thought Eddie was pulling his leg when he said he was married and no, it wasn’t a shotgun wedding since there wasn’t a teenage pregnancy involved. With those missing elements, Trevor believed Eddie was just talking out of his ass because why would a guy his age ‘saddle himself with a ball and chain so early in life without reason?’ The sentiment was insulting enough, but the fact that Trevor said it to Eddie in front of you like you couldn’t hear him was horrifically disrespectful. Eddie laughed awkwardly and made haste in ushering you out of there before anything else could be said.

The other guys you met only in passing—a wave from the van or in Scooter’s case, when he came to the car window to presumably introduce himself, but somehow decided reciting Ronald Regan’s entire filmography in alphabetical order was a better conversation starter. Another bizarre encounter Eddie had to intercept.

The wall adjacent to the garage was made of glass panels for customers (and likely Trevor) to see the progress being made in the garage. Eddie was at his workstation wiping down his fancy chrome set of tools before filing them away. It seemed no matter the weather, Eddie couldn’t be bothered to keep his jumpsuit on all the way. Though, at least this time he had on a long sleeved shirt to accommodate the cold before tying the sleeves of his canvas suit around his waist. You couldn’t help but smile at him. Hair pulled back just enough by his bandana to keep his bangs from his eyes, but allowed his wild curls to frame his smudged face, Eddie was as handsome as ever.

Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one to think so.

From seemingly out of nowhere, a slim woman no older than twenty-five with blue eyes and blond hair teased to high heaven sauntered into the garage, taking extra care to swish her hips with each step of her heeled boots.

You made no attempt to hide your eye roll. Who wears heeled suede boots when the street is filled with black ice? Was she asking for a broken neck just for the sake of fashion? The rest of her outfit made even less sense. Sheer tights covered her legs under a tight sweater dress with no coat or hat in sight. If you still worked in the ER, you felt comfortable betting money in seeing her skimpy ass on a gurney seeking treatment for pneumonia.

Your annoyance with her impracticality just to show off her body turned into full fledged anger when she stood next to Eddie, grabbing his wrist with a manicured hand and smiling up at him through her lashes.

The pathetic attempt at a pout on her cherry red lips sent your heart racing fast enough to where your chest began to ache. The hussie couldn’t have missed the ring on his finger, the one thing that damn near sparkled on his dirty hand, which of course happened to be the one she was grabbing. As soon as her thumb started to sweep over his wrist, a move you often did to him when you held his hand, you saw red.

Scoffing aloud to yourself, you marched toward the glass window pane with flared nostrils and a clenched jaw. Surely once she saw you smiling at her with eyes full of venom and flashed your ring at her, she would get the hint and take her paws off your husband.

But, as you neared the window, your own reflection pulled your attention away from your mission.

Where this mystery woman had styled hair, your own was tucked under a knitted beanie that Eddie’s big head outgrew long ago. Your puffy maroon winter coat made you look like the feminine version of the Michelin Man, not a full figured woman like her. Slimming sheer tights and heeled boots made your fleece pajama pants and no-slip work shoes look downright barbaric.

Actually, the longer you compared yourself to her, the more you realized you looked homeless rather than just homely. Your hands were dry and cracked from the cold and insane amount of times you washed your hands at work, and your face bore no makeup.

Rage melting into despair, you watched Eddie, still seemingly unaware of your arrival, nod to whatever she was saying with a lopsided grin on his face—big enough for one of his dimples to dent his cheek.

While you didn’t expect Eddie to shove her across the garage, you did expect him to at least look uncomfortable or try to weasel out of her grip. Maybe find an excuse to point out his wedding band and force her to acknowledge its existence. If he’d just look to the left and through the window, he’d see you standing right there. But no. He remained engaged in whatever conversation he was party to.

Your heart sank farther into your stomach the longer he remained in her grasp. The desire for him to wiggle away from her molded into the realization that maybe he didn’t want to. Though it pained you to say it, she was pretty, and if he looked at you at that moment, he would see that you weren’t.

You tried to tell yourself that you were being ridiculous, but you didn’t have enough time to complete the thought. Because when that woman curled his hair around her finger and giggled at him, you had seen enough.

——

No one ever accused Eddie of being a genius, but he didn’t have to be one to know you were mad. He could see it through the hazy mist from the garage as he pulled the door shut behind him.

He hoped it had something to do with work, but again it didn’t take a whiz kid to know that it wasn’t.

Eddie hadn’t seen you arrive or make your way into the warm sanctuary of the store, but he did hear you stomping back out to the car loud enough to wake the dead. He directed the customer that insisted on tangling his already matted locks with her eagle talons to Trevor in order to work out the payment—something she not so subtly tried to convince Eddie should be lowered—as he watched you climb into the passenger side of the Mystery Machine and slam the door so hard it made him worry about the window cracking.

If the stomping wasn’t a sign, you getting in the car that way certainly was.

It had become a bit of a game between the two of you when you came to pick him up. Once you saw him starting to lock up his box, you’d go back to the van and sit in the driver’s seat while he gave you enough time to do so. Then when he made his way over, he’d tell you to ‘scoot your boot’ and either offer you the easy or hard way out. ‘Easy way’ was him being charged 1-3 good kisses before you slid over to the passenger side. The ‘hard way’ was a smart smack to the thigh and Eddie trying to climb his way onto your lap until you relented and moved out of the way—still often followed by the same parameters as the ‘easy way’.

Maybe Trevor said something to you that made you mad enough to decide sitting in the car was better than waiting in the warmth. It wouldn’t be the first time Trevor said something stupid in front of you.

Preparing to hear about what his asshole boss said now, he climbed into the van and placed his tools on the floorboard behind the seat before attempting to smile at you.

“What did he do this time?” Eddie asked as he clicked his seatbelt into place.

Instead of looking at him and launching into a story about what went wrong in there, you clutched your arms tighter against your chest and looked out of the passenger side window.

“Helloooo?” he questioned, waving his hand around the side of your head. “I said, ‘what did he do this time’?”

When you still didn’t answer him or turn your head his way, he grumbled a ‘Guess I’ll just go to hell then,’ before pulling out of the driveway and onto the main road. He didn’t turn on his Judas Priest tape just in case you felt the urge to spill the beans, and got increasingly worried the longer you remained silent. By the time he passed the corner store three miles from the shop, he finally got a word from you.

At first he didn’t hear you, having spoken too softly for him to make out more than a syllable or two. When he asked you to repeat yourself, you once again didn’t speak any louder than a whisper.

“You’re mad because Trevor called you pretty?” Eddie guessed with confusion. “I can’t exactly hear you when you’re talking to the window.”

“She was pretty,” you replied a little louder.

“Who?”

You finally turned to meet his gaze with a blank expression. “The woman at the shop. Couldn’t have missed her, Eddie, she wasn’t but a hair width away from your face.”

He nearly swerved into the left lane when he snapped his neck to look at you with utter disbelief. Dumbfounded, he asked, “What?”

You rolled your eyes and went back to looking through the window.

Eddie kept staring at you as he wracked his brain for the reason behind the bite in your words, and only one possibility came to mind.

“You mean the chick with the she-mullet?” he questioned incredulously.

“I don’t know. Was there more than one girl with her hands in your hair today?” you snapped bitterly.

Eyes flickering between the road and what he could see of your hidden face, it took a second for the implication set in. When his brain made the connection, he started cackling.

“That’s what’s got steaming coming from your ears?” he chuckled. “Jealousy?”

When you didn’t respond, he laughed even harder.

“Babe, come on,” he continued to snicker. “You have no reason to be jealous of anybody, okay? You know I’ve only got eyes for you.” He leaned over to give you a peck on the side of your head, but you moved farther away from him.

Eddie smirked. “Really? Come on. Give me a kiss.”

You ignored him completely.

Eddie’s grin slipped from his face. With furrowed brows, he leaned over to try and catch your line of sight. “Hey,” he frowned. “You know I only have eyes for you, right?”

He was once again met with silence.

Pulling up to the stoplight, Eddie tried again. This wasn’t funny anymore. “Y/N. Please tell me you know that.”

Startling him with your sudden movement, Eddie’s eyes bulged as he took in your expression, scowling at him like he just said this most offensive thing you’ve ever heard.

“I don’t think even you know that,” you spat.

Eddie’s frown turned into bewilderment. “The hell does that mean?”

You huffed sharply before answering. “It means exactly what I said. How do you know? That you ‘only have eyes for me’?” The use of air quotations sent aggravation prickling through Eddie’s nerves. “You’ve only ever been with me, so you don’t know that.”

Eddie couldn’t be more confused as to what you were on about. When he said as much, you sighed in exasperation.

“I’m saying that you’ve only been with one woman. Me. You don’t know any different.”

“So? Who said I wanted different?”

“It’s like saying your favorite flavor is strawberry when you’ve never been offered any other kind. Once someone dangles a taste of rocky road in front of you, then what?”

Lost in staring at you incredulously, Eddie hadn’t realized the light had been green for several moments before the car behind him started to blare the horn in rapid recession. Eddie raised his hand up in a quick apology before accelerating. Though he should have kept his eyes on the slick road, he couldn’t tear his glance away from your angered glare and wonder if you were really putting down what he was picking up.

There was only one way to find out. Trying not to be offended, Eddie asked, “You’re saying I’m only with you because you’re the only girl who’s ever paid attention to me?”

“Am I wrong?” You challenged bitterly.

“Fucking—YES!” Eddie shouted angrily. “You’re absolutely fucking wrong about that!” Forcing himself to focus on the road, he kept his face twisted with fury. “Nice to know that’s what you really think of me. How would you know, anyway? I’m the only dude you’ve ever really been with. Are you only with me because I paid attention to you?”

“It's different for me,” you replied sharply.

“Why? Cause you had a ten second tumble with some guy in your friend’s car?” he spat venomously. “I wouldn’t exactly call that trying another flavor.”

You scowled at him. “No, asshole. It’s different because I love you more than you love me.”

Eddie’s foot slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road, surging both of you forward into the dashboard. For what felt like the hundredth time in the last few minutes, Eddie shrieked, “What? What did you just say?”

You couldn’t be serious. This had to be some sort of sick joke. Things had been fine. Better, actually, now that you weren’t as busy. He hadn’t felt this close to you ever—not before New Years at least. The phrase from The Grinch Who Stole Christmas often ran through his mind when he looked over your sleeping form at night—Heart growing three sizes and whatnot. He couldn’t have possibly gotten it this wrong.

“I thought you finished your period last week. Are you on it again? Because you sound fucking insane.”

“This whole time, Eddie, I’ve had to convince you that I want you. I’ve had to show you over and over and over that I choose you. I’ve been away from Hawkins. I’ve been to college. I have gone out on dates before you. I know you’re the one I want. Seeing that harlot all over you made me realize that you probably only think you love me because yeah, I’ve been the only one around.”

He wasn’t sure if it was because you were saying these things so matter-of-fact or that you looked like you truly believed them, maybe a combination of both. Whatever it was, his eyes started to sting from the pain of his heart breaking.

“And you got all of that,” he began with a croak. “From a chick with a mullet trying to get a discount on her oil change?”

Your bottom lip started to tremble, though Eddie could see your effort in trying to stop it. “Well. If not her, then I’m sure someone out there in the real world will turn your head.”

The sound of another blaring horn snapped him out of his thoughts, remembering he was just sitting in the middle of the single lane road. Eddie wiggled his nose in an effort to keep his tears from betraying him and hit the gas.

“You’re wrong,” he sniffled discreetly. “So very fucking wrong.”

The remainder of the short drive was as silent as a morgue. Eddie propped his elbow on the ledge of his window and leaned against his knuckles as he drove. He’d glance over at you periodically, but you stayed in the same position—whole body turned towards the passenger side door and pressed against it like a lifeline. Shoulders trembling every once in a while let him know you were crying though he couldn’t hear a sound.

He couldn’t decipher what he was feeling. Offended as all hell because you thought he was some loveless loser who will just take whatever he can get. Pissed off that you were treating him like an ignoramus that was too stupid to know what or how he felt. Aggravated that you would try to tell him to his fucking face that he didn’t love you the same as you did him. And most of all, devastated that you believed it.

He sighed heavily when he spotted the rusted sign for the trailer park. The irony was not lost on him that it was he who was usually on the other side of the conversation. Of the two of you, you were the sensible one. The one who kept things grounded. The one who managed the episodes of catastrophizing that took place every one in a while. Watching you believe wholeheartedly in something that couldn’t be farther from the truth was new to him.

He knew exactly what you were feeling since it had been a battle he often lost with himself, and unfortunately the subject of a few disagreements. He knew why he felt that way—He was broke, still in fucking high school at 20 years old, immature at times, and the best night of his week was playing a board game with a bunch of kids at least thee years younger than him—most not even old enough to drive a car.

But why would you think you weren’t good enough for him? And why was some random chick touching his hair against his will the catalyst? It’s not like he did anything wrong. He didn’ flirt, touch, or do something that could be perceived as cheating. So what the hell?

He fully intended to ask these questions once you were both at home and no longer at risk of holding up any more traffic. But when he pulled into the drive, you opened your own door and bolted up the concrete steps. He tried to catch up to you to at least open the door for you, but flung it open yourself and nearly took him out with it.

The house wasn’t as warm as the store front, but 60 degrees was far more comfortable than 25. His stomach growled at the smell of hot food wafting through the air, and he quickly kicked off his boots to enjoy dinner.

He carefully approached you as you pulled a chipped ceramic pot from the oven, setting it down onto the coils of the stove. “What’s to eat?” He asked delicately.

You pulled off the mismatched oven mitts and threw them onto the counter with more force than necessary before mumbling, “Food,” and storming off down the hall.

Eddie rubbed his palm over his forehead as he watched you slam the bedroom door shut. He didn’t know how, but he was going to have to fix this.

——

Numb was the best way to describe your current emotional state. No longer upset, not angry, not even hurt. Just void of any and all emotions.

Though he didn’t believe you now, Eddie would realize you were, as usual, right. You were sure the more he hung around other women, the less he’d want to be with you. There were plenty of prettier, interesting, more feminine girls around that would love him. It was an easy thing to do.

Goofy, endearing, handsome, selfless, talented, and kind—these were only a few things that made Eddie one of the best people you’d ever met. Sure, he was fucking stupid at times and would get carried away with Dungeon Master persona around his friends, and by god did you wish he’d stop waiting until you were mid shower to burst into the bathroom to take a shit—but all that aside, he was without a doubt a good man.

It seemed unfair you were only a placeholder until someone better came along.

Buried under the cold sheets of the bed, you shuffled as close to the edge as you could. Trying to fall asleep as a way to escape your thoughts of him when you were surrounded by everything Eddie was nearly impossible. He was everywhere all the time—his scent on the sheets, random strands of his hair stuck to your clothes, the smiley face he drew on the top of your oxfords for work, the occasional hickey or too that had to be covered by makeup. You gave up on the idea of trying to drift into blissful unawareness and just blankly stared at the posters on the wall, not really seeing them.

Mindlessly picking at the singed hole in the gray sheet, likely from Eddie’s smoking days, you nearly jumped out of your skin when the door suddenly flung open.

Keeping your back towards the door, the scent of Irish Spring invaded your nose. You hoped he would go to the living room and watch Mork & Mindy or something, maybe fall asleep out there so you didn’t have to be near him right now.

But of course that didn’t happen. Instead of going away, Eddie’s weight made the lumpy mattress dip beneath him as he settled next to you. You rolled your eyes and burrowed deeper under the blanket.

“Why?” He asked aloud.

“No,” you answered simply. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Well that shits because I do,” he argued. “You had your time to mope. Now let’s fix it.”

Sneering, you replied “There’s nothing to fix, Eddie. Just drop it.”

He sighed and shuffled around. “You know I do have eyes right? You’re not the first girl I’ve ever seen, and I’ve talked to other chicks before, too. Just because I never did anything with them before you doesn’t mean I saw you and went ‘Wow. She kissed me and now she’s topless. I’m never gonna have this chance again. Can’t let her go.’”

You scoffed. “That’s not what I said—“

“Yes, it is!” he snapped. “You’re making it sound like you’re the only chick to ever look me in the eye and that I’m fucking desperate. And I’m not.”

Electing to ignore the point he made, you said, “I know you have eyes, Eddie. That’s what I’m saying. You’ll see someone prettier and that’ll be it. You’ll come home reminding me that this was supposed to just be for the insurance anyway and that we can still be friends later even though we both know you won’t mean it.”

“Why do you suddenly think I’m gonna run off?” he asked. “You’ve never thought that before—that I know of at least—so what the hell makes you think that now?”

True, you never considered it before. But you also never saw anyone else give Eddie the kind of attention you did. You didn’t think you had any competition since it has always just been the two of you and a bunch of dudes, save for Robin and Nancy. But seeing someone better looking at him the same way you do…

You rolled over onto your side to face him and propped yourself up on our elbow, unknowingly mirroring his exact position. He hadn’t bothered to put on anything other than his boxers, letting water droplets from his wet hair slide down his chest and arms—a sight that made your frown deepen.

“What do I look like to you right now?” You questioned.

Seemingly irritated, he ran his eyes over your body and shrugged. “Annoyed?”

“I’m serious,” you deadpanned.

“So am I!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know what answer you’re looking for! Cold? Comfortable? Like you’re ready to go to sleep?”

You huffed. “How about like I should be begging for change at the stoplight on Main?”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth ticked up into a small smirk. “You’d make a pretty sexy panhandler.”

“Oh for God’s sake, Eddie, just stop!” You shouted angrily, throwing your hand up in Exasperation.

Eddie threw his head back and let out a frustrated groan. “Can we stop playing guessing games? Just fucking tell me what your damage is. Since when have you not believed me when I call you sexy?”

You studied his disgruntled face with equal agitation. “You didn’t move!” You yelled. Flinging yourself onto your back and crossing your arms over your chest, you continued. “There was another woman with her hands on you and you didn’t move.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Uh, well, she’s a customer so I can’t exactly suckerpunch her in the throat,” he replied sarcastically. “And I did move after she grabbed my hair. Actually had some of it pulled out ‘cause it got stuck on those beads or whatever she had glued to her nail.” Eddie wiggled closer so he could look you in the eyes. Brow furrowed, he said, “I get being jealous, but I don’t understand why you think some random chick is gonna all of a sudden whisk me away.”

“I told you,” you spat. “She was pretty.”

“And you’re not?” he challenged.

Attempting to keep him from seeing the pained expression on your face, You looked away from him and directed your gaze towards the hand drawn Led Zeppelin poster on the opposite side of the room without answering him.

Eddie’s annoyance fizzled into concern as his face softened. “Wait—seriously?” he questioned with disbelief. “You really think that?”

You scoffed at his dismissive tone. “My hair is always in a bun or ponytail. I’ve had the same clothes for the last two years. My hands are about as smooth as sandpaper and look like they belong to an old man. Wouldn't even know how to stand up in a pair of heels let alone walk in them. Probably smell like bleach and guts all the time from work.” You wiped away the rogue tears that seeped from the corner of your eye and sniffled. “I’m about as glamorous as a fucking turnip.”

Unable to keep the sob at bay any longer, you turned your back to him once again. Or at least attempted to. Eddie wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you with him towards the middle of the bed despite your verbal insistence through throaty sobs to just leave you alone. You didn’t want him to lie in an attempt to make you feel better. You knew you weren’t going to be like the girl from the shop, or as cute as someone like Nancy with her permed hair and stupid round bambi eyes.

“Hey. Hey. Stop,” Eddie demanded softly as he fought against your determination to get away from him. He managed to get you on your back, and cage your head between his elbows as he braced himself on his forearms. When you tried to wiggle away, he put more of his body weight on yours. “Look at me.”

Hiccuping, you tried to calm yourself down enough to oblige even though you really didn’t want to. He wiped the wetness from under your eyes and cheeks, and even went as far as wiping your nose with his bare hand before wiping it on the sheet without a second thought.

“Gross,” you muttered quietly.

Eddie ignored your comment and rested his forehead on yours, forcing you to look at him, though you were fairly certain that you were now cross-eyed as well as snotty and tear stained.

“Wanna know what I think?” He asked gently.

You sniffled and cleared your throat. “Not really.”

Eddie chuckled lightly. “Well, too bad, because I’m gonna tell you anyway.”

He leaned on his arm so he could free up his other hand to grab yours. Bringing your fingertips towards his mouth, he places soft kisses to each one.

“These hands are beautiful because,” he paused to turn your palm over to pay equal attention to your knuckles and wrist. “They heal the sick and wounded. Create kick ass food. Keep mine company. And hey, the hand jobs are pretty stellar, too.”

That earned a watery chortle and an eyeroll from you as you tried to pull from his grip. “Just what I always wanted to hear—“

“I’m not done,” he scolded, lacing his large fingers between yours and placing a final smooch on the back of your hand. His lips traveled up your arms in a session of gentle kisses until he made his eyes level with your again.

Pressing his lips on your forehead, he continued. “The brain you got in here could make us millionaires if we got you on Jeopardy. Got a lot of knowledge, wicked ideas—I mean wicked as in cool—and wit sharp enough to carve glass. Oh, and the crinkle right here you get when you’re scowling at me? I know I’m not on your nerves until I see It.”

He made sure to give every bit of your body a visit from his lips. Saying your eyes were his favorite color and he loved the way they lit up with joy over small things—like when you noticed the dishes were washed and put away. He claimed your cheeks were perfect real estate for raspberries and made sure to gift one to each side before adding, “oh and here, too,” and burying his face in your neck to provide another. He smiled at the quiet laugh you let out at that.

Stroking your bottom lip with his thumb, he grinned. “Gorgeous lips, devilish tongue that you most certainly have used for evil on me, and the voice of an angel.”

“You're so full of it,” you said bashfully.

“Full of love,” he jested with wiggled eyebrows.

You leaned in to press your lips to his, but he pulled back. “No can do, sweetheart,” he shook his head. “Cause if I do that I’m not gonna be able to finish my guided tour.”

You wanted to argue with him that he could indulge just a little, but he refused and continued his journey down your cloth covered chess.

“You’ve got to know how much I love my girls,” he said. Propping himself up on his elbows to get a good handful, he stared at you with his mouth agape. “You came to work in the freezing cold with no bra on?” he said gleefully. “Fucking hell you’re gonna kill me.” Not bothering to lift your shirt up, Eddie’s tongue went to work.

Despair was rapidly morphing into desire at the sensation of his teeth gently scraping across the sensitive flesh—the texture of the cotton adding extra stimulation. Closing your eyes to get lost in the feel of it, you hand found refuge over his kneading one.

He moved on faster than you would have liked, giving attention to your sternum. “Got a good heart, too. Loves pretty hard when you decide someone earned it. Damn sweet if you ask me.”

Though initially brushing off his attempt to make you feel better, it was starting to work. He lifted your shirt to give two well placed hickies above your belly button to make it look like a face with an open mouth. Snapped the waistband of your lounge pants and said that they were his favorite because your ass jiggle like jello with every step you took while wearing them.

Despite the countless times you’d been wrapped around him, being under his adoring scrutiny had an element of discomfort that he seemed to ease away with the delicate trace of his fingertips along the way.

He skipped over where you really wanted him, once again citing he’d get to it at the end so he could remain on task. Sliding your pants and underwear slowly down your thighs, decorating them with feathery kisses along the way sent your chest heaving with ragged breaths. Eddie’s lips dusting lightly over your knees, caressing your permanently sore calves in the way he knew you liked as he continued toward your ankles was becoming more and more dizzying.

“Ew, don’t kiss my feet!” you exclaimed through giggles when Eddie got too close to your toes.

“Why not?” he mused, ignoring your request completely. “I think they’re cute.”

Mouth tickling the tops of your toes, you winced and wiggled until he pulled your pants off completely and repeated the journey up the other leg, grazing over your belly again, and adding an afterthought when he got to your other hand.

“How could I forget? These hands are also willing to cut people who’ve tried to kill me so that’s a nice perk, too,” he smirked.

Settling his hips between your thighs and nudging his nose against yours, he asked quietly, “Now that I’ve told you how beautiful you are, can I show you?”

A small frown tugged against your lips. The issue wasn’t if he loved you now, but later. When you expressed this to him, Eddie sighed and cradled the side of your face, thumb gently caressing your cheek.

“No one is gonna take me away from you. Not now, not in ten years when all the twizzlers I’ve ever eaten start to catch up with me, not when I’m fifty and graying. You have to trust me on that,” he said sadly.

That was rich, coming from him. How many months had you spent telling him the same thing? “And you?” You retorted with a raised brow. “Do you trust me that I’m not gonna high tail it alongside some jerk with a scalpel? Or hop on his tour bus when Mellencamp comes back for his other knee replacement?”

He snorted. “Since I know for a fact you think he looks like a foot, I can confidently say John Mellencamp doesn’t worry me.” His thumb trailed down to your bottom lip and lightly traced over it. Voice losing all humor, he said, “I know it’s taken a hot minute but yes, I do trust that you’re not gonna disappear on me.”

The tension that seemed to have been there since christmas, or maybe even before, eased away completely. Eddie must have sensed it too, because his faint smile grew a little more lopsided. “Let me show you.”

He was so gorgeous with those big round umber eyes and downright kissable lips. Tucking a piece of his drying hair behind his ear, unable to hide the smile that spread across your face at the shudder Eddie gave when your fingers brushed against it, you gave a small nod of approval.

Light as a feather, Eddie slotted his lips against yours as he continued to cradle your face. You slowly moved your mouth against his, slinking your arms around his bare back and relishing in the weight of his body fully pressed against yours.

Parting long enough to remove your shirt, he last article of clothing for you, Eddie kicked off his boxers and went right back to where he was—the heat of his cock brushing against our center. You tried to slide your hand to grasp him, but he pulled your hand away, interlacing his fingers with yours and held it by your head firmly against the mattress.

Eddie took the whine of disappointment as an opportunity to lick into your mouth. Tongues curling around each other, your breathing became more and more ragged. The warmth from his body, the feel of his chest brushing against your peaked nipples, his hot breath fanning across your cheek with each exhale from his nose was intoxicating and banished all thoughts from your brain.

Trailing his mouth down your jawline and finding a new home in the crook of your neck, electric jolts pulsed through you as he rolled the flesh there between his teeth, nibbling and sucking hard enough to surely leave a mark. In desperate need of friction, your hips bucked on their own accord, sliding deliciously against his hardened length pressed against your center.

Though he groaned and panted against the other side of your neck where he was trying to give a matching mark, Eddie didn’t pay much mind while he worked on driving you insane with the placement of his lips, the rolling of your nipple between his fingers, and tickle of his breath on your neck. At least, not until the head nudged your sensitive button and made both of you gasp.

“Relax,” he whispered, returning his face level with yours. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Opting to acknowledge all intentions of that statement, you kissed the tip of his nose and whispered back, “I know.”

His mouth found yours once again, languidly mounding to yours as his fingertips drifted down the side of your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake until he reached your knee and hooked it around his waist.

Your fingers began to ache with how tightly you were gripping his back. Feeling him poised at your entrance but making no effort to go any further was maddening. “Eddie,” you whimpered against his lips and opened your eyes to meet his. “Please.”

“Don’t close your eyes,” he instructed, lips still touching yours. “I want you to look at me.”

It was a struggle to do as he said—slipping in slow enough to be borderline torturous, but you obliged and watched his kiss-swollen lips open in a silent ‘O’ as he pushed himself in till the hilt, a simultaneous exhale fanning over each other’s face.

Eddie tightly gripped the doughy flesh of your thigh wrapped around his waist as he steadily rocked his hips against yours. He had never been this delicate before—this slow—and it was wonderful. Taking the time to fully enjoy each other without rushing to quench a primal need, feeling the goosebumps erupt across his skin as you slid your hands down his back, memorizing the flex of every muscle. His thrusts were slow yet powerful, taking your breath away with each bump against the spot within you that only he could reach.

With foreheads touching, noses nudging, and lips skimming in the ghost of a kiss you each inhaled the other’s moans and gasps, the breathless “I love you”s and sigh of each other’s names. Taking what the other gave and breathing as one.

Complying with his command to keep your eyes on him was becoming more and more difficult. Tummy tightening from the tantalizing friction of the coarse patch of hair on his pelvis grinding against your clit was pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Eddie slid his arm under the small of your back, angling your hips in a way that shattered the coil in your belly almost instantly.

Eddie wasn’t far behind, sliding his tongue against yours in a sloppy kiss as he groaned through his release while you mewled through the aftershock of yours.

Sweat slicked chests heaving in unison, you didn’t break away from Eddie’s kiss until the pulses of pleasure subsided. He rested his head in the crook of your neck, catching his breath and preening at your touch as you happily carded your fingers through his hair, peppering his shoulder with kisses and reveling in the salty taste of his skin.

There wasn’t a more perfect moment than this—being held tightly against Eddie’s naked body, the ache in your abdomen sated, all doubt of being inadequate now or later were long gone. This memory would be your first line of defense when the voice of doubt decided to make itself known. Eddie loved you with everything he had: body, mind, and soul. There was no way to part without losing half of himself, or taking half of you with him.

“Okay,” you hummed in content. “I believe you now.”

“Good,” he replied. “But I must warn you, if you ever say I don’t love you like you love me ever again…I don’t know what I’ll do but that shit hurt. Probably keel over and die honestly.”

You frowned at the recollection of your foolish words. “I’m sorry. You’ll be glad to know you convinced me otherwise.”

Eddie pulled his face from the refuge if your neck and rested his head on his propped up palm, his other hand fiddling with the opal pendant between the valley of your breasts. “Yep. I love you even though you lied to me.”

You blinked at him in shock. “Lied to you?” you repeated harshly. “When the hell did I lie to you?”

“So I’m in the garage working on your rickety Nissan and I’ve got the stereo on. A Lesson in Violence is playing and I’m certain I’m in a dream because goddamn it you keep surprising me. And then, all of a sudden, I hear this opening riff to a fucking Ratt song!” he scoffed. “The woman who has claimed for years that she hates hair metal has Lay It Down on a mixtape. A mixtape with Exodus on it no less! Total treachery.”

You rolled your eyes and tried to bite back the smile of being called out. “It’s one song, Eddie. And it’s a song that makes me think of you! It’s not like I’m gonna go out and buy a copy of Out of the Cellar.”

Eddie deadpanned. “I’m disappointed you can even name an album of theirs.”

“How do you know I was right unless you know it, too?” you challenged with a smirk.

Eddie dodged the question. “Want me to ask Gareth if you can borrow Pyromania? I’m sure he’d lend it to you if you asked real nice.”

“You’re the one that was learning Def Leopard songs, not me,” you teased. “I like one Ratt song! I don’t tease you for liking Woody Guthrie or Hank Williams, good lord.”

“Hey, you hush,” he replied, flicking your sternum. “I never said I didn’t like country. I’ll own my obscure tastes instead of hiding them like some dirty secret. Besides, do you think Wayne owned any other 8 tracks besides Waylon—“

Eddie’s train of thought was cut off by a loud bang that sounded way too close to the house for comfort. He looked at you with a furrowed brow, silently asking if it was his imagination or if you heard it too. You both remained silent, staring at each other for reassurance as your ears strained to hear for any more noise. Sure enough, you heard a muffled clang and felt the trailer rattle.

“Someone’s in the house.”

————————————————————

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I’m sick of modern celebrity drama. i want that vintage beef. famous people had plenty of drama that we don’t spend enough time exposing. I’m start starting a rag mag dedicated to digging up buried (literally) grudges. someone spill more tea about how harry houdini & arthur conan doyle went from besties to worsties bc one of them believed in ghosts and the other went around disproving them

Dear Eddie

Eddie Munson x best friend reader

Summary: a summer fling between best friends ends in heartbreak

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, implied sexual content, secret pregnancy, birth, post-partum depression, leaving a baby on someone's doorstep, work accidents (Wayne getting stitches)

Part one | part two

Word count: 6.8k

He hasn’t had a lot of visitors at his new place… not since the ground was patched up and the insurance sent him a new trailer but it wasn’t the same. His boy wasn’t with him anymore, the place was bigger, there was room for him too, but he wasn’t there. 

Eddie’s been gone almost 4 months now… and it hurts just as bad every day. Especially today, he doesn’t want to get up, but there’s a knock at the door and he’d hate to ignore it if it was Dustin coming for a talk or a hug or just a place to escape to. 

When Wayne opens the trailer door, however, he finds a baby wrapped up in blankets, placed in a cardboard box, perfectly content to be there. 

He looks up, staring down the road for any glimpse of the person who left it there. He walks past the baby and runs towards the end of his driveway, noticing a girl walking as fast as she can out of the trailer park. 

“Hey!!” He calls after her but she doesn’t respond, she starts to run instead but she can’t, not well. 

He can tell she’s hurt, something’s wrong with her… she’s sobbing as she stumbles and hits the gravel, hard. Wayne is quickly at her side, “hey, are you alright?”

“I’m sorry,” she pushes him away, “I can’t keep him.” She tries to stand up again, limbs weak and face stained with tears, “I have to go.” 

“No, please stay, talk to me?” He begs. “Who’s baby is that? Why did you leave him with me?” 

“Ed— Eddie,” she chokes on her sobs and accepts Wayne's support. She buries her face in his shirt and holds him tight. “I can’t do it without him. I can’t raise his son alone…” 

“Oh, god,” he holds her close, rubbing her back as he realizes who she is. “You’re Y/N, aren’t you?” 

She nods, he feels it, but she doesn’t pull away. “I had to hear about it on the fucking news… I was so pregnant and then he was gone…” 

“Come live with me,” Wayne offers. “I have another room with all his things in it, we can get a crib, I’ll help, but this baby needs his mom. Eddie would want his son to have a mother.” 

“I know,” she pulls away and wipes her tears. “I’m sorry… I just didn’t know what to do?” 

“No one ever knows,” he tries not to sob. “I’ve been so lost without him… but he’d want us to raise his boy, I know that.” 

“He didn’t even know I was pregnant… he hadn’t been up to see me in forever and I couldn’t tell him over the phone cause I knew he’d just drop out and run to me but I— I was going to come and see him for spring break, I had a whole plan on how I was going to tell him and then it was too late.” 

He rubs her back gently, “I know, it’s tough. I went to work one day and came home to a dead girl and no Eddie.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through, either. He loved you a lot,” she reminds him. Knowing all too well the relationship between Eddie and his uncle and just how pure and precious it was. 

“Let's go back to the trailer, I wanna meet this little guy,” he turns back to the house, baby still in a box on his doorstep, not crying, just chilling there on the front step. “What’s his name?” 

“James, like the lead singer of Metallica… I thought he’d like it if he was here,” she admits, so caught up on the fact he’s gone. She really thinks he’s dead and not just missing. 

“He’s not dead,” Wayne whispers. “He’s just not here.” 

“I know but the police technically consider him dead and they’re not even looking anymore—

“Because the government told ‘em to stop,” he keeps his voice low. “I’ll tell you more inside,” he doesn’t want to explain in the open, the fewer people that know his business the better. 

“Wha—“ she just follows him quicker, up to the trailer where he picks up the box and brings both her and James into the main room. “Where is he?” 

Wayne sighs as he sets the box down on the coffee table and takes the little guy out. He’s big, for a tiny baby he’s very long and chunky and healthy from what he can see. Under his little hat he has the cutest dusting of dark curly hair, he can’t be more than 4 months old… she must’ve had him whence found out. 

“Um… can I ask you some more things before I tell you the truth?” 

She nods, “of course… I wrote you a letter, it’s in the box,” she takes James from him and holds him close, kissing his little head as she snuggles him close. “I didn’t want to abandon him… I just heard about the settlement and I know how much Eddie loved you like a dad and I knew he’d be safe with you and I— I—

“You were struggling,” he gets it, taking the note from the box and skimming through everything she wanted to say to him. “I don’t blame you…”

“I don’t have any of my things here, I was just going to catch the bus back but if you were serious?” 

“We’ll get your things later,” he agrees with a smile. “There’s a lot I can’t tell you, but I guess it starts during the earthquake… something big happened, something I don’t understand, all I know is he fell through the cracks in the earth and got hurt and he was exposed to something and they’ve got him quarantined somewhere I can’t go,” his voice gets louder the more he explains, angrier now than when the men in black first came to tell him about it all. 

Her eyes grow impossibly large, and she has to sit so she doesn’t drop the baby as she stares off into space, “how?” 

“I don’t know… they don’t tell me nothin’ but Eddie’s friends said he got hurt trying to save the world, so I know it’s not for nothing,” he simplifies it, it’s what he’s said to himself a million times to make it seem okay. 

Her shoulders drop as she melts into the couch, it’s all too much to even fathom. “He didn’t die?” 

“He didn’t die.”

—

When she found out she was pregnant, Eddie was just an old friend who visited her every few months. Last month he visited to play a show with his band, it was the first time he got a real standing ovation, the first time he looked at her like more than a friend from kindergarten… the first time he slipped into her bed and into her and then seemingly, out of her life. 

She saw him twice after getting pregnant, both times she could hide it well, unable to tell him the truth in fear their friendship would end in burning flames. He stopped coming around after the first trimester when school started again and he was trying to graduate.

That’s when the first letter came. 

Dear Y/N,

School sucks, I miss you, I wish I could come up and see you again soon but I promised Wayne this is the last year I’m freeloading on him. 

I need to graduate, and honestly think if I came to visit you I wouldn’t be doing a lot of homework. Not since the last few times I’ve been to see you have all ended up the same way… It’s hard to stay away from you, but if I came back I don’t know if I’d be able to leave you again? I hope you truly know how much you mean to me and how much I wish I could say this in person without chickening out… But, I love you. 

I love you a lot, I can’t wait to see you again soon. Maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas? Let me know what you can do, maybe you could even come here? I don’t know. I just know I miss you.  

Love from Eddie &lt;3

She called him that night, and they talked for hours about feelings and truths they never shared with each other… all except the pregnancy. She brought that up slowly but he never caught on. 

He wanted kids one day, she knew that from the way he talked about Dustin, Lucas and Mike, he would be a good dad if he had kids… he knew she wanted to be a mom and she also knew his relationship with his own mother and how unfortunately short it was cut. They both wanted a family, and she listened to him talk about his childhood and how great Wayne was, how much he changed his mind on what a dad truly is… they both had shit dads and yet they turned out pretty okay. 

He couldn’t see her for thanksgiving, her parents were mad that he got her pregnant and even more angry that she didn’t tell him yet while at the same time they were grateful. They wanted her to never tell him, put the baby up for adoption in the spring at the end of her semester of college and go back to school as if nothing happened in the fall. But she didn’t want to do that. She wanted this baby, she wanted a family with Eddie, she was going to tell him at Christmas and they gave her an ultimatum. 

She was cut off the moment she left their house after that awful dinner. 

Her current semester was already paid for which gave her until January to get her act together and find a new place when the school kicked her out for not paying the winter semester fees. So she got a job, she made friends, and she went to single mom support groups that introduced her to the good food banks and how to get good coupons for all the baby things she’d need. She was even gifted some hand-me-down items. 

Eddie still called her every day and wrote her the occasional letter. He was super excited to come to visit for Christmas, she was going to be so pregnant she wouldn’t have to say much when he saw her, she just hoped it all went well.

When he didn’t show up for Christmas her heart broke a bit, she called the trailer 3 times and no one picked up, she called the hospital to make sure there wasn’t an accident that he was brought in for… nothing. She sat in her bed and worried with her hand on her stomach and a tiny roast chicken for two cooking in her oven, alone on Christmas. 

He called a day later, apologizing profusely but there was an accident at the lab, he spent the night beside Wayne in the hospital, holding his hand as he slept. It was a head injury, they had to cut his hair and sew his head back up, he was going to be out of work for a few weeks, and Eddie couldn’t leave him to take care of himself. 

She understood perfectly. It just sucked that another thing got in the way of her telling him the truth. 

She got a new apartment at the start of January, it was a low-rent place meant for moms and their kids… the distant sounds of babies crying made a very unpleasant ambiance but at least it was preparing her for what was to come. Alone or not, she was going to raise this baby to the best of her ability. She took a lamas class, she practiced her breathing, she had checkups every few weeks at planned parenthood and they were going to help her with her birth plan and apply for social assistance to help while she’s recovering and watching the baby. They assigned her a social worker, and she had free therapy, it was all really helpful while she went through it alone. 

On Valentines Day she came home to a bouquet of blue and yellow flowers sitting on her doorstep with a sweet note.

“I still love you so much, can we spend spring break together?” 

Spring break… it seemed so far away at the time and then it showed up in the blink of an eye. She turned on the TV that morning, struggling to angle the antenna to pick up any new channels to pass the time while she packed up to see the love of her life, the father of her child, the only person she’s thought about for the last 8 months… and longer if she really admitted that to herself. 

“Local girl's body was found in the Forest Hills Trailer park this morning, there’s no word on her identity or who the killer is. All we do know is foul play was involved and locals should be vigilant,” the reporter says, standing right in front of Eddie’s trailer. She’d know it anywhere. 

She called him, she called every Gareth Emmerson from the phonebook to find him, she even called Wayne’s work to see if she could reach him at all… nothing.

The TV is her only way of getting any information. Another boy died the following morning, back to back 8 am news reports suggested that Eddie was the one who did it, and if she knew his town, they were probably all hunting him by now… every fibre of her being wished he ran to her? If he was okay... if he was able to run… she wanted to help him and keep him safe and she knew he didn’t do it. There was no fucking way he did it! 

He was the sweet little boy who kissed her boo-boo’s better on the playground after Dean Barker pushed her down. He was the adorable teenager who bought her pads when they were hanging out and she randomly got her period. He was the gentile and considerate man who took in lost sheep without even thinking twice… he’s not a murderer. 

The earthquake rocked Hawkins the same day she was supposed to take the bus to go and see him. The helicopter footage showed the whole town in absolute disarray, the whole trailer park was practically sucked underground, the town hall was on fire, over 25 people died and then the worst fucking sentence to ever be spoken on television was said. 

“Edward Munson, the cult leader many accused of the horrific killings that happened here in Hawkins earlier this week is presumed dead, no one has seen him and with the growing death toll, local police don’t expect to. Back to you Janice.” 

“What?!” She throws the remote at the TV, “FUCK JANICE?!” She breaks down, sobbing, knowing she’ll never see him again and not a single soul gave a fuck. 

She spends almost a full 24 hours sobbing on the couch, holding her stomach for support, the baby inside her being the only piece of Eddie she had left. 

When her water breaks early, the doctors tell her it’s the stress she’s under, knowing something is wrong with her by the way she wouldn’t stop crying. Most women cried, it was completely normal, however, she was hysteric. She couldn’t even explain why, she ended up writing it down for one of the nurses. 

My boyfriend died.  

Yesterday.

She walked into the hospital alone. 

She wasn’t alone for long. 

She thought a lot about names, she considered everything from family names, both hers and his, to the names of things that mean a lot to them, songs, people, friends, and colours, she thought over everything. And yet the one name she keeps coming back to is Eddie’s middle name.

James.

Also, the lead singer of Metallica’s name, something Eddie found so cool that he shared with his favourite person, his idol… and now his son shared it with them both. 

She walked into the hospital alone. But she wasn’t alone for long, James Edward Munson, born March 29th, 1986, was a perfect little mirror of the boy she loved her whole life… and she was going to dedicate the rest of it loving their son. 

There are a few bumps in the road. Making money and watching a baby and trying to stay sane while working through grief is all really hard. So hard that she hops on the bus with James when he’s a little under 4 months old and almost leaves him with Eddie’s uncle… she couldn’t do it anymore, it was a lapse f judgement, it was her best option at the time, a silent cry for help that was answered in the best way possible. 

She moved in with Wayne full time in July ’86, she was able to stay home while he worked, she didn’t go many places except the grocery store, no one knew who she was or that Eddie was her baby’s father, she was a recluse in a town she never wanted to live. She saw him in everything, mostly in the kids wearing hellfire shirts walking home from school, and especially in their own son… she misses him so much it starts to kill her slowly and Wayne knows it. 

“You should introduce him to the boys,” Wayne suggests one morning while preparing James’s bottle, both of them sleepy wandering around the kitchen as James lightly whines in the other room, waiting for his breakfast. 

“Like Eddie’s friends?” 

“Yeah,” he gives her a sweet smile, holding a bottle in a boiling pot of water to heat up the cold breastmilk she stores in his fridge. “Dustin, Gareth, Jeff… they’d want to meet Eddie’s little boy… James needs some uncles.”

“Okay,” she takes a deep breath and crosses her arms, leaning against the counter as she waits for the bottle. “Do you think they know about me?” 

Wayne laughs, “yeah… how do you think I knew about what you two were?” 

“What were we?” She’s confused by that. “‘Cause to me, I was his friend and we slept together after high emotional nights and—

“You took his virginity,” Wayne cuts her off. 

“No, he took mine… he said he already—? What?”

“Oh, no,” Wayne keeps giggling, taking the bottle out of the water and testing the milk on his wrist. “He just didn’t wanna feel like a loser for not having sex until he was nearly 20, but yeah… you meant a lot to him and he loved you so much he knew if he went up to Indianapolis he’d never come 

“So thats why he got so weird,” she mumbles, taking the bottle and heading off to James’s room with Wayne in tow. “He sent me love letters and flowers and things…” 

“Sounds like him,” Wayne chuckles. 

“Morning, cutie,” she changes her tone when she sees James, picking him up from his crib and taking him to the rocking chair. His 7-month-old body barely fits comfortably in her arms anymore, he’s getting so big. He takes his bottle, he holds it himself and looks up at her with his big chocolate brown wonders. She runs her fingers through his little curls, he’s so much like his dad it hurt sometimes. “I love how much of him is in James…” 

“I know,” Wayne takes a knee beside her, looking at James just the same. “I hope he gets to meet his dad soon. I want him home.” 

“Me too…” 

—

With James held against her with one arm and his diaper bag slung over the other, she walks into the school after the bell rings and follows the instructions from the receptionist. Down the hall, past the washrooms and to the left there was a drama room, that’s normally where Dustin Henderson spent his time. She finds it easily, there’s a “game in session” notice on the door but she knows there hasn’t been enough time since the last bell for them to be too busy, so she walks in anyway. 

“Hello…?” She calls out. 

“Hey?” A young boy stands from the table to greet her. “Are you lost?” 

“Um, no, this is hellfire, right?” 

“It is…” another curly-headed boy comes up behind her, trying to get into the room. “What can we help you with?” 

“I’m Y/N… Eddie’s girlfriend?” She keeps her voice low, “or I was trying to be before all the shit went down here…” 

“The Y/N?” The kid behind her asks. 

“Yeah, that one,” she manages to laugh, “this is James, if you couldn’t put it together, Eddie is his daddy,” she bounces the baby a bit, making him smile as he grips onto her shirt and leans into her shoulder with a drooly smile. 

“I’m Lucas, that’s Dustin,” the first boy explains for them both, shocked but not speechless like Dustin. 

“Wayne mentioned how James needs some uncles, so I thought I’d come to meet you guys?” She makes sure it’s okay, “do Gareth and Jeff still go here?” 

“Yeah,” Dustin finally answers, leading her over to the table, right to Eddie’s old thrown. “Let’s get you a seat, he looks heavy… and he’s the rightful heir so…”  

“Prince James,” she teases her little guy, setting her bag down on the floor as more boys start to pour in. 

“Gareth, Jeff, this is Y/N and James… Eddie’s family,” Dustin explains, his voice low and sad, wishing more than anything he could tell them all the truth about where their friend was. 

“no way!” The boys light up and rush to the table. “He said you two slept together but—

“He didn’t know,” she shakes her head, cutting them off. “I never had a chance to tell him, I wanted to, believe me,” she forewarns. “But uh, yeah, this is little James. James, say hi to daddy’s friends.” 

The little boy waves slightly, shying away into his mom's side. “He’s slowly becoming more of a people person,” she laughs, holding him tightly and kissing his curly mop.

“How old is he?” 

“8 months,” she presses her lips together awkwardly, they knew how to do the math, they would all know. 

“You had him when he died?” Gareth is the first to pick it up. “You knew all that time and never told him?” 

She shakes her head, “no, I couldn’t. It’s not something you say over the phone to someone trying to graduate high school, now is it? If I told him he would’ve dropped everything to run to me, the band, this club, all of you, I wanted you to have him as long as possible.”

“Yeah, none of us got enough time with him,” Jeff sympathizes, placing a hand on Gareth’s arm. “But you’re right, Eddie would’ve done everything for you. What do you need? We’ll be here for you both now instead.” 

“Thank you,” she gives them a genuine, toothy, smile. “I’m living with Wayne, we’re still in the trailer park, I just wanted you in James’ life, I wanted him to have at least 1 cool uncle like how Eddie had Wayne… we’ve moved onto calling him gramps by the way.” 

“And he doesn’t hate it?” Dustin asks, shocked. “I’ve tried calling him pops and he thought it was weird.” 

“It is,” Lucas shoves him. 

“he loves it, now at least,” she can’t help but laugh. “James is still trying to say grandpa… can you say, papa?” He shakes his head and buries it back into her shirt. “I guess that’s a no.” 

“He’s adorable,” Gareth gets a little closer, squatting beside her so he can seem less tall and scary to the little baby. “Hi, James. My name is Gareth, your daddy used to call me Gare… I wouldn’t mind you calling me uncle Gare?” 

“He called you Gare-bear,” Jeff corrects, “call him uncle Gare-bear, please?” 

“he doesn’t really talk yet,” she laughs, feeling more at home than she has in a long time. Like Eddie was there with them, watching and smiling too… the room carried so much of his essence that it was hard not to feel him. 

God, she missed him. 

—

May 1988

“What do you mean she doesn’t live here?” 

“I’m sorry, Sir, Miss Y/L/N moved out almost 2 years ago now… I might still have her forwarding address?” 

“Please?” Eddie begged, following Y/N’s old landlord into the building and waiting for her at the threshold of her office, not wanting to intrude. 

“Her last address I was given is Trailer 13, Forest Hills Trailer park, Hawkins Indiana,” she hands him a copy of her address on paper and a small smile. “Something about moving in with her son's grandpa… I don’t know.” 

He tries to stay calm, feeling so fucking confused and out of the loop because who knocked her up and why was she living in his uncle's trailer park? He just takes it and thanks her, heading back out to the van the government supplied him with as an apology for keeping him locked up for 2 years to run tests on him… he was telling them the whole time that he’s healthy and fine and just wanted to go home, but they didn’t listen. The last thing they wanted was to send another monster back to Hawkins. 

With a haircut and lighter clothes, he’s been cleared of all charges and it's been suggested that he not go back to Hawkins for his own safety, but now he had no choice. 

He drives the 2-hour trip in under 1, speeding until he hits the town he spent most of his life in and abiding by the speed limits. He travels down newly paved roads, over patches in the ground he was once deep under and towards where his heart ran off to in the midst of the madness. 

He pulls up to a brand new trailer, nowhere can he see that ugly blue trailer he watched fade over the years under the sun. Behind a new truck, he parks his van and gets out, there are kids' toys all over the yard, evidence that she did have a kid, the windows are blocked by shutters and the door doesn’t have a screen he can spy through either. 

But he knocks anyway.

“Coming!!” He hears Wayne's voice and his heart stops.

The door swings open, and he’s holding a curly-headed little boy with a wide smile that drops the longer Wayne stares into his eyes, “Eddie?” 

“Hi,” he whispers, eyes welling with tears. “Where is she?” 

“Work, what are you doing here?” He changes the topic right away. “I thought you weren’t allowed to come home?” 

“They declared me not a risk to the general public,” he explains. “I would’ve called but I went to Indianapolis first to talk to Y/N cause I missed our last meet-up… turns out I missed a lot?” 

“Come in,” Wayne holds the door open for him, letting him into the trailer, it's big and clean and nice… “sorry for the mess.” 

“What mess?” He manages to laugh. “It’s nicer than when I was a kid… speaking of?” He points to the toddler in Wayne's arms, snuggled into his shoulder with his thumb in his mouth, scared of visitors as it would seem. 

“This is James,” he smiles, “James this is your daddy… ‘member the photos mommy shows you at bedtime? He just has short hair… he’s not scary, see?” Wayne walks over to him and sets his hand on his shoulder, shaking him as he presses his lips together and tries not to cry. 

The last thing they needed was to scare James. 

“Papa?” James whispers to Wayne, his grandpa. “Daddy?” He turns to Eddie that time, reaching out for him. 

“Yeah,” Wayne helps his little brain understand. “I’m papa, he’s daddy,” explaining further as he hands him over.

Eddie takes him in his arms, looking into his brown eyes and noticing everything about him that he got from himself and Y/N. “Hi, buddy?” He tries not to cry and scare him at all. “yeah… I’m your daddy.” 

James rests his head on eddies shoulder, cuddling into him, “you just caught his nap time,” Wayne explains. “You want to read him to sleep? Your old books are all still here.” 

“yeah... I just want to sit with him?” He tears up a bit, holding James as close as possible while being extra delicate with the toddler. “I have so many questions?” 

“Y/N gets home at 4,” he smiles. “She’ll tell you everything… I think she’s written you a letter every day since she move here since she found out you lived.” 

“Oh god,” he whispers, “she thought I died?” 

“for 4 months…” 

He closes his eyes and tries to stop himself from crying, he cradles the back of his son's head and presses his cheek to the soft baby curls on the top of his head. He smells like a baby, he’s soft and sweet and his and hers… “I love you so much,” he whispers. “I wish I came home sooner.” 

Wayne wraps his arms around the two of them, joining the hug because he just couldn’t take it anymore. He missed his boy so bad. “I love you.” 

“I’m not supposed to stay in Hawkins…” 

“So we move,” he replies in no time. “As long as we’re a family, we can be a family anywhere.” 

“Daddy?” James asks again, squished between the two men. “Ba?” 

“Oh,” Wayne pulls back, “he wants his bottle and to go to sleep… he’s big about schedules,” he teases with a laugh as he heads to the kitchenette. 

Eddie trades arms, holding the toddler on the other side and taking a moment to look at him with a sweet smile, “what books do you like, buddy?” 

“Trucks,” his eyes light right up, even with the sleepy sand gathering around his lashes. 

“he’s obsessed with anything with wheels, isn’t that right, buddy?” Wayne explains as he comes back with a bottle. “Let's go to his room,” he nods down the hall, making Eddie follow him. 

His room is cute, not too big, not too small, full of photos of him when he was even tinier than this with Wayne and his band and his friends, he has a hellfire poster, he has trucks everywhere and eddies old rocking chair in the corner. “You can sit there and read to him and then carefully put him in the bed when he’s asleep… I’ll give you your time with him—

“What?” Eddie panics. “I can’t be alone with a baby?” 

“He’s your baby, you’ll do fine,” he waves it off, points at the chair and then heads out, closing the door behind himself. 

The rooms dark, but the chair is in front of the window so some light still shines through the blinds and onto the pages he holds in his free hand. James snuggles into him, holding his bottle in his arms and listening contently to every word. He nods quickly, his eyelids flicker shut and flashback open as he fights it. Still suckling on his bottle, he fights it for at least 10 minutes before the bottle drops from his lips and barely stays in his grasp. Eddie stops reading then. He puts the book and the bottle on the table beside the chair and just looks at his son. 

His son.

He had curly hair and a round button nose. He had chubby cheeks like Y/N did when they were little, he’s tall like Eddie’s side of the family, he’s smart like hers… he’s everything. 

If he does the math right in his head she had him around the time he went missing, which meant one of those first and only 3 times they had sex got her pregnant and she never told him… she tried, he supposes that’s what all the family and baby talk came from. She asked about the future too much for someone simply curious. 

He places James gently in his crib and watches for a moment to insure he doesn’t wake up, when the coast is clear, he tip-toes out of the room and quietly twists the door handle as he shuts the door for ultimate quiet… the deep breath he lets out when he’s successful is unlike any other. 

Wayne’s in the living room watching tv with a plate that once held a sandwich, “want some lunch?” 

“I’m good,” he passes and takes a seat beside him, snuggling into his uncle's shoulder he finally lets himself cry. “No, I’m not…”

“Oh, my boy, I’m so sorry,” he wraps him up and lets him cry. He can’t even imagine what they did to him for two years, 2 months and 6 days. It was far too long for him to be quarantined with no contact with the ones he loves. It was so unfair. “When you can, I want to know anything and everything… you can share it with me, you don’t have to carry this all alone.” 

“She had my baby,” he whispers, unable to pull back, still broken inside and numb everywhere else. “All alone…” 

“I’ve been here. She showed up 4 months after, we’ve been together ever since,” he explains. “Not like together, but she lives with me, I love her like family. She is family.” 

“What about hers?” 

“They cut her off,” he sighs. “Cunts, the whole lot. You should hear some of the shit they said, and how rude they were when she tried to invite them to Christmas 2 years ago… she tried to have them meet their grandson and they didn’t care.” 

“They always sucked,” he finally pulls away and wipes his tears. “I’m glad she had you. You’re the best dad a kid could have.” 

“Grandpa,” he corrects, “I love being a grandpa to that little boy, he’s such a gift.” 

“I want to know everything, how old is he? What’s his full name? What does he like? All of it.” 

“His full name is James Edward Munson, James for Metallica and Edward for you,” he explains as if he needs to. 

“Seriously?” He lights up, “that’s amazing.” 

“His birthday is March 29th, ’86,” he confirms Eddie’s suspicions. “She was going to tell you, at Christmas and then,” he points to his head scar. 

“She was so sad when I finally called her back,” he remembers like it was yesterday. 

“She’s not mad at you at all anymore, she wishes every day that you’ll come home, she’s going to pass out when she sees you,” he half kids. He doesn’t really know how she’ll react. “I think I should tell her first…” 

—

Works long, she hates it the whole way, all she wants is to get home to her baby for some snuggles and a nice night in after Wayne leaves for work. She clocks out at 4 on the dot and all but runs to her car, she couldn’t wait any longer to get home. 

Much to her surprise, Wayne is waiting outside. Which is weird seeing as he doesn’t smoke anymore… who was with James? She parks behind the strange van in her drive, thinking it’s Gareth’s, he was in the market for a new one… so she grabs her purse and gets out with a cautious look on her face. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Eddie’s home,” he breaks the ice with a fucking sledgehammer.  

“What?” She drops everything and covers her mouth in shock. 

“He’s inside, James met him, they’re in there together—

She breaks past him and runs inside, stopping dead in her tracks when she sees the 2 pairs of matching brown eyes turn to her with glee. “Mommy!” James stands from the carpet and runs to her. 

She scoops him up, “hi baby,” she tries to stay normal and calm, she kisses his cheeks and breathes in his baby scent after a long day apart. “Can you go outside with grandpa so mommy can talk to daddy?” 

“Why?” He asks one of his new favourite words. 

“Cause mommy needs to tell him some grown-up things, but it’ll be 5 minutes, I promise,” she hands him off to Wayne. “Then we’ll all go out for dinner, okay?” 

“Okay,” he trades off easily, heading outside and out of earshot. 

She lunges for Eddie, diving to the floor and wrapping her entire body around him. He holds her back just as tight, sobbing uncontrollably without any words to be said. There wasn’t much that could be said. She pulls back only enough to press their foreheads together as she holds his face in her hands and he holds her right back. They stare into each other's eyes, sharing how much they miss and love each other with just one glance. 

“I’m home,” he assures her. 

“Good,” she brushes her nose against his. “It’s about time we were a full family.” 

He kisses her for the first time in forever, something he’s thought about day in, and day out throughout his quarantine. He can’t stop kissing her either, he kisses her whole face, making her laugh instead of cry but his kisses still taste like salt from the tears already shed. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m sorry, too,” she takes some of the burdens off his shoulders. “But that little boy out there has no idea anything happened, he doesn’t know this is weird and not normal… so it’s okay.” 

“you think?” 

She nods, “he’s had the best life so far, he’s surrounded by love. I didn’t know you had so many friends until I moved here.”

“Who?” 

“Well the guys, obviously, but also all your friends from the end of the world,” she knows more than he expected. Dustin must’ve spilled the beans. “Uncle Steve really likes to buy our son expensive shirts, Aunt Robin and Nancy are the best babysitters ever… Dustin loves him like a brother, Mike and Lucas and Erika are always coming over to see him too… our son is very loved.” 

“Our son,” he repeats, still astounded by it. “I can’t believe I have a son and wasn’t there for it…” 

“I made you something,” she struggles out of his grasp and to her feet, dragging him up as well and towards her room in the back.

Under her bed, she has a shoe box full of things. “This is our memory box… we’ll it was before I moved here. I started putting all of my memories with James in here too when I learned you could come home one day…” 

He sits on the bed beside her, watching her sort everything into what she wanted to show him the most. “I have the letters you sent me, the dried flowers from valentines day, my pregnancy tests, his sonogram,” she hands them to him so he can look at their baby’s first photo. 

And then his second, she hands him a polaroid. “The nurses took this of us.” 

“You looked so cute pregnant,” he can’t believe it, she was swollen and happy and adorable with their son resting on her chest. 

“And then this is his umbilical cord stump,” she holds up a plastic bag with a dried-up brown thing in it. 

“Ew?” 

“Not ew!” She can’t help but laugh at his disgust. “Lots of moms keep them, it’s the last part of us being together… and when I become the tooth fairy I’ll probably keep them too.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head with love, “of course.” 

“And…” she gets up from the bed and opens her bedside table to take out two notebooks. “I wrote you some letters.” 

“Letters?” 

She nods, opening it up to page one, “dear Eddie, today our son is 5 months old and I realized you’ll be back and wondering all about him and these milestones you missed. So here are some things to know, he was born in the middle of the night and now it’s his favourite time of the day…” 

“It’s all like that?” His eyes light up. 

She nods, “and there are some parts from me… about the days it was hard to not be with you.”

He takes the books from her and flips through the pages, seeing some had polaroids taped to them. Photos of their son on the carpet with numbers, each one he gets bigger. 6 months, 7 months, 8 months, he grew a personality with each one too. Smiling, rolling, kicking, he was never in the same position, he was such a cutie, his heart swelled in his chest. 

“I thought you’d like them,” she notices his tears, sitting beside him and wiping his cheek for him so it didn’t get on the pages. “I knew you’d be home.” 

“And I’m never leaving. Either of you.” 

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