#I feel like Eddie would be convinced .. until it rains and no one can drive on the 5 and he’s thinking why did I come here

[beeprich]

hc that Richie convinces Eddie to move to LA by constantly singing it never rains in Southern California and Eddie keeps saying “that song is literally about a man moving to LA and flopping so hard he wants to go back home” until Richie says “if LA is home there’s nowhere else to go ♥️”

[fuctacles]

@steddiesummerexchange for @chaosgremlinmunson | part 1/3 for easier reading on tumblr, but will be posted as a one-shot on Ao3 later | thanks @stevesjockstrap for beta-reading and mental support 💚

T | 10858 | Steddie, Buckingham, platonic Stobin and Hellcheer, Wayne&Eddie | Soulmate AU, unconventional soulmates, misunderstandings, idiot4idiot, fluff | divider by me | Part 2 | Part 3 | Ao3

The shop was never busy. Aside from Valentine’s Day and Christmas, it was a lot of goofing around and packing online orders. And since it was pouring on a Tuesday afternoon, they expected no customers until closing, which was more than okay with them. They didn't choose it because it was popular. They chose it because their younger friends were too embarrassed to bother them here. 

“It’s getting pretty bad,” Steve points out, squinting through the window. “I don’t wanna drive in this weather.”

Robin looks up just in time to catch a flash of lightning splitting the dark clouds outside. 

“Maybe it will let up before we close.”

Thunder crackles above them, and Steve raises his eyebrow skeptically.

“We can wait it out in the pizzeria across the street,” she offers then.

“I like the way you think.”

There’s a loud bang as their doors slam open, letting inside some of the summer storm carnage. Despite the size of the shop, they can feel the cold rain on their faces, and for a second, the sound of the storm is deafening. It cuts off as suddenly as it started but is replaced by loud, displeased sounds of two figures drenched to the bone.

“Holy fucking shit!” a wet rat dripping on their floor curses loudly. He shakes his hands creating a small waterfall down the lapels of his leather jacket. The figure next to him drops down the hood of their jacket with a wet smack.

“Holy shitting fuck,” she agrees.

“They better be selling towels here.”

“Uh...” The unhooded figure, a short blonde, looks around curiously. “I’m afraid not.”

This prompts the guy to peel the wet hair away from his face and look properly around.

“Did we just walk into a fucking sex shop?”

“You did, yeah.”

The two turn to the desk when Steve speaks up. 

Next to him, Robin flinches, and he senses something weird from her, like a brain equivalent of an exclamation mark. But he doesn’t think much of it, assuming it might simply be a reaction to the pretty girl in front of them.

“We have a radiator in the back, I could take your clothes to dry,” he offers the newcomers.

“No, we—”

“Are you seriously going back out in this weather?” The girl looks at her friend with raised eyebrows. He scoffs.

“No,” he admits petulantly.

“I can make you guys some hot tea. It’s not like anything is happening here anyway,” Robin pipes up.

“That would be great, thanks.” The blonde lights up gratefully, and Robin squirms. 

Stave takes it upon himself to gather their wet things, afraid his friend might combust if she comes any closer to the girl. When he’s hanging the clothes, she is uncharacteristically quiet, so he turns to her and cocks his head.

“What’s up?”

She frowns at the mugs she's pulling out.

“Her.”

"Huh? She’s cute, isn’t she?" He grins.

“I think I could hear her,” Robin clarifies. 

Steve straightens up immediately and walks towards his friend. She’s looking back up, worrying her bottom lip under her teeth.

“Do you think they are dating?” He motions to the front of the shop where they can hear the other two talk. She looks at the clothes scattered around the backroom. A denim vest, two black jackets, and a hoodie. Judging by the size and style, they all seemed to belong to one person.

“They could be like us,” he points out, but she doesn’t seem convinced. He isn’t either.

“Or she could not know.”

That would complicate things, wouldn’t it?

After exchanging a few heated looks they trail back to the front and Steve hands the teas to their intruders.

"Thank you." The girl smiles sweetly, though her gaze slides towards Robin.

Steve gives his friend a pointed look but she's too dazed to even flip him off. 

"Thanks." The guy blows on his tea, keeping his gaze mostly on the window and the storm outside. "We'll take a look around and won't bother you guys," he says, giving his companion a pointed look before disappearing into one of the sections. 

Steve knows it’s bad to stereotype but the assortment of strap-ons is not what guys like this usually go for, and his brain gets whiplash with the sudden onslaught of images he's not proud of. The tall guy wearing black and chains getting pegged by his tiny blonde girlfriend? It kind of suits him. He tries not to think about it.

They give them space to roam around the shop and whisper to each other while they finish their duties for the day and start closing up. 

"Guys? We need to close in fifteen minutes!" Steve would feel bad for kicking them out into the storm, but the rain clouds have moved, turning the onslaught into a light drizzle.

It's only after they leave that Steve looks at the tattoo on the palm of his hand. Surprised at what he sees, he shakes it experimentally. The d20 lands back on the same number.

“Hey, look.” He holds it up for Robin to see. “I’ve never rolled a twenty before.”

Three days pass and Steve can't stand it anymore.

He slaps his hand on the counter, making Robin yelp.

“You’re thinking about her again!" 

“I’m sorry!”

Steve shakes his head.

“No. Don't care, no sorries," he says with finality. “We’re finding her.”

"We go to the same school!" she protests. "I think. I mean, I'll run into her eventually!"

But Steve won't take that chance, tired of all the sighing from her brain, and decides to find the girl they've met. He figures the easiest place to find high schoolers is at the mall so that's where he goes.

With all the groups of friends and couples passing by, he feels even more like a loser than usual, being there all alone. But he's on a mission, so he won't let that deter him. 

That is, until one of the faces he sees in the crowd gives him a pause. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to realize what's familiar about one of the three girls coming at him, but when the memory hits, he panics. Letting his flight response take over, he ducks into the nearest open door to avoid his ex. 

After making sure the group has passed him without notice, he lets himself breathe. He's taking in the shop he stepped into, a record store full of tapes, vinyls, and band merch,  when a voice startles his adrenaline levels back up.

"Well, well, well. How the tables have turned. Running from a gaggle of women, are we?"

Steve turns to find the metalhead who ran into his shop a few days ago, smirking at him.

"Just one." He shakes his head, instinctively looking back behind the glass door. "Really don't feel like running into my ex right now."

"Must be happening a lot, huh?" The man leans on the counter that separates them. "My friend told me you're quite the casanova."

Steve spots his opportunity and grabs it.

"The girl from the other day?" he asks.

"Yes?" The guy's eyes narrow. 

“So you guys are friends?” he adds to clarify before he uncrosses his figurative fingers.

“Yes? Why else would we hang out?”

Steve feels his cheeks heat up under the man's suspicious stare.

“Well, you could be dating.”

The guy snorts.

“Yeah, I don't see the local freak bagging the head cheerleader. The fact that she can even stand me is enough.” Then his eyes narrow again. “Why? You interested in Chris?”

Chris.

“No? Well, kinda, but not… exactly.”

Steve has never felt less smooth in his whole life. And judging by the guy's expression, it shows. Whatever he was trying to sell, he wasn’t buying. His brain scrambles to salvage the situation and comes up with a painfully honest solution.

"Look, I just graduated and my friend group has fallen apart." He yells at his brain-to-mouth wires but keeps going anyway. "And you guys seem chill, I thought the four of us could hang out, or something?"

If the 'you suck' board still existed, he'd fill it out with tallies himself. 

The man doesn't seem convinced and he opens his mouth to tear him to shreds probably, but then somebody yells from the back of the store:

"Eddie! A little help, please!"

And the guy, Eddie, gets reminded he's at work.

"Coming!" he yells back, and on his way there, throws Steve a quick string of, "Great seeing you again, we'll think about it, we know where to find you, bye!" before disappearing behind the back door.

After such a disastrous interaction, the last thing Steve wants to do is go back out into the mall full of people. But staying here to risk Eddie looking at him like that again was the more humiliating option. He turns around, planning to lick his wounds at home before reporting his findings back to Robin. For the hundredth time since finding her, he wishes they couldn't read each other minds. Because all he can think of is making a complete loser idiot of himself in front of a cool metalhead dude, and he knows she won't let him live it down. Maybe the Scoops board will make a comeback after this.

“Chrissyyyyyy!”

“Eddieeeeee!”

The rest of the cheer squad does perfectly synchronized eye rolls when their captain jumps down the human pyramid to greet her friend.

“Hi!” She smiles brightly. “You’re early. We’re not done yet.”

“I got some news.” He taps his fingers on the small partition between them, ignoring the cheer practice in progress. “Bad ones and good ones.”

“Bad first,” she says with a decisive nod.

Eddie opens his mouth but then frowns and closes it.

“It won’t make sense if you don’t hear the good news first.”

“Oh my god! Just spill it!”

“So, they’re almost surely not dating.”

“The sex shop guys?”

He nods.

“Okay, and the bad one?”

“Steve seems to be into you.”

“No!” she gasps, scandalized. Eddie snickers.

“Yeah. Sorry sweetie." His smile turns more apologetic.

Chrissy makes a face. Then she keeps making faces until Eddie can’t help but snort and slap her playfully.

“Stop! What are you thinking about?”

“I mean he’s kinda cute, but gives me repressed gay vibes.”

Eddie chokes but she keeps going.

“And his friend? His friend is just hot.”

“Ehh, I guess.” Eddie shakes his palm, making his friend roll her eyes.

“You’ll never understand the beauty of a woman in suspenders.”

“More women in suspenders for you then.” He grins, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Chris! You going back or what?” one of the cheerleaders behind them yells out, barely containing her annoyance.

“I’m coming!” Chrissy yells back. She turns to her best friend, her soulmate, with a dazzling smile. “You joining in?”

“You know they hate it when I do,” he points out.

“And you love it that they hate it.” She smirks like the evil little gremlin she secretly is.

“Fuck yeah, I do.” Eddie grins, climbing over the partition to join the cheerleading squad. A couple of girls groan, knowing what’s coming next but none of them dare to protest. If their captain’s soulmate wants to perform a perfect cheer routine, putting their months of practice to shame, there’s nothing they can do except blame the fates.

Eddie drops his leather jacket on the bleachers and does a couple of stretches in perfect sync with his friend. They grin at each other while mirroring each other’s movements without a word.

“If only you could read my mind during math exams like that,” Chrissy teases.

“Okay, shut up.” He rolls his eyes with fake annoyance. Yeah, it would be convenient, but he got a cheerleading routine memorized in his muscles instead. He’d be complaining if Chrissy wasn’t so fun to be around.

Despite his involuntary knowledge of the routine, none of the other girls fully trust him, so he usually ends up working mostly with Chris, tossing her in the air and catching her when needed.

“You should join us for the game,” she asks as always, after jumping down from his arms.

“I’ll think about it,” he answers as always, patting her head. She huffs, swatting his hand away and fixing up her ponytail, now loose from practice.

“Wanna go grab pizza?” she asks casually and he immediately goes into suspish mode. Chrissy rarely proposes eating out together. Don’t get him wrong, it’s great that his girlie is starting to eat better again, but… He doesn’t let his suspicion show when he asks:

“Sure. Any place in mind?”

She hums, but it’s a short hum. Very 'i-already-had-a-place-in-mind' like.

“The one with the Ninja Turtles poster?”

“You mean the one across the adult toys store?” He raises his eyebrows.

She blushes a fierce red and he knows it’s not because of the sex shop thing. He grins, wide and teasing.

“You wanna see that girl again.”

“Maybe,” she huffs defensively. “Okay, yes, so what?”

“So nothing.” He shrugs innocently. “Grab your things and we’ll go.”

“Yes!” she pumps her hands in victory, a dorky move Eddie’s proud to have taught her, and runs off to grab her backpack. She snatches his jacket before he can, overly eager to get moving. “Let’s go!”

He can’t help but laugh while trotting after her towards his van. 

The inside of the store is brighter than they remembered, what with the sky being clear this time. It looks surprisingly normal until you take a better look at the contents of the boxes on display. A sex shop during daylight just lacks a certain ambiance.

The preppy-looking guy behind the counter doesn't match the vibe either.

At the sound of customers, the guy looks up.

"Hello! Oh, it's you guys." He visibly relaxes, realizing it's not his usual run-of-the-mill customers. 

"It's us indeed." Eddie smiles, confidently strutting up to the counter. "Has anyone ever told you you look out of place here?"

Steve raises an eyebrow.

"Has anyone ever told you not to judge someone's sex life by their looks?"

Eddie raises his hands placatingly.

"Fair enough, man. I'll back off." However, the comment made him insanely curious about what a guy like that would be into. Behind him, Chrissy gently kicks him in the ankle, prompting him to take a look around. "Alone today?"  he asks with a curious tilt of his head.

"Yeah, Robin is tutoring after school today. Why?" His eyes narrow. 

"No reason, no reason." 

Chrissy kicks him harder and he smiles through the pain.

“What is she tutoring in? I’m having trouble passing the last grade.”

It takes Steve a moment to answer, like he's measuring how much information he can give away.

“Foreign languages.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Eddie snaps his fingers.

“Perfect! Can I get her number or something?”

The kick is so hard this time it jostles him forward and he glares back at his friend. It also attracts Steve’s attention to Chrissy.

He smiles at her, a bit unsure and shy. It rubs Eddie the wrong way and he can feel his hackles rise. 

“Chris, right?”

“Chrissy,” she corrects, slightly scrunching her nose.

“Oh, sorry. It’s nice to see you again, Chrissy.” He smiles, more genuine this time.

“Uh, you too. Steve.”

Eddie clears his throat, hoping to come off as rude as possible.

Steve looks back at him and his expression shifts immediately. It’s almost a scoff.

“Listen, I don’t just give off my best friend’s number to random guys. But if you give me yours, I’ll pass it on.”

“Works for me,” Eddie says with the tightest approximation of a smile he can manage. “Do you have something I can write on?”

Steve looks around for the pen and notepad that are never in their designated spots and never together. He finds them under the keyboard.

“Here.”

But Eddie isn’t taking the items from him. Steve wiggles them like he would attract a pet or a child, but it doesn’t work. He’s about to make a snarky remark when the guy speaks up first.

“You have a D20 tattoo.”

“Huh?”

Steve is losing his mind.

But then he remembers that he does indeed have one and it’s partially visible when he’s holding out a pen like that.

“Ah, right.” He opens up his fingers and shakes his palm, causing the dice to roll. “It’s my soulmate mark.”

“Dude, that’s so dope.” Eddie’s eyes sparkle with marvel and Steve’s throat tightens. “You rolled a twenty, does that mean anything?”

Steve shrugs.

“I don’t know. One of my friends is a Dungeons and Dragons nerd and he told me it’s a luck thing? He freaked out pretty badly when I kept rolling ones on vacation, but nothing happened.” He smiles, fondly remembering Dustin’s panic. 

Eddie hums.

“Man, having a functional D20 tattoo would be so fucking cool. I’m kinda jealous here.”

Steve snorts.

“Yeah, Dustin told me that too.”

Eddie finally takes the writing utensils from him, eyeing him contemplatively.

“I’m guessing you’re not a DnD nerd yourself? Considering you get your info from a friend?”

Steve chuckles.

"Yeah, no. Though I do get a lot of brain chatter from my soulmate."

"Brain chatter?" Eddie picks on curiously. 

"Uh, yeah. I dream up whole campaigns and know lore I've never really studied. The kids go bonkers over it."

"Kids?"

Eddie's feeling both stupid and entranced by the guy. 

"The DnD nerd? Dustin?" Steve says with annoyance that poorly covers up his fondness. "He comes with a full set of other nerds. A party, if you will. They just started high school and no, it's not weird that I know them. I used to babysit them and they just kind of..." He waved his hand. "Stuck on. Like parasites.

Eddie barks out a laugh. 

"They sound delightful."

"They have their moments," Steve admits. Then they both stare at the number Eddie has scribbled on the piece of paper handed to him. 

"So uh, see you around?"

"Yeah." Steve smiles. It's genuine and pleasant this time. But then, to Eddie's chagrin, he looks to the side. "You too Chrissy. Come over anytime. Maybe you need some tutoring too?"

"Uh, thanks, I'm good. Good luck finding a DnD nerd soulmate," she says, her tone weird. Eddie can't blame her. He wouldn't like being so blatantly hit on either. He could already feel her tugging on his jacket. 

"Thank you," Steve says, smile turning a bit wistful. His eyes turn back to Eddie, away from his poor, sapphic-leaning soulmate. Good. He waves the note with the numbers. "I'll let her know you're interested but no promises. And hey, if you're into DnD too maybe you'd be interested in DMing for a bunch of freshmen?" 

"I'll think about it," Eddie manages, slowly backing away, the force behind Chrissy's pull increasing. "Thanks, man. And, uh, good luck with the soulmate thing too!"

"Thanks."

The doors close in front of him and it feels like a curtain has just separated him from a whimsical spectacle.

"What the fuck was that?" Chrissy and Eddie ask each other in unison, albeit in vastly different tones. 

"Huh?" Eddie frowns at his friend. She had already turned around and was pulling him towards the pizzeria across the street.

"Don't huh me! You forgot I was there!"

"I didn't!" He kind of did. For a teeny tiny second.

"You were clearly flirting with him."

"What? No, I wasn't!" he bristles. He'd know if he was flirting with someone.

She looks back at him sternly when they reach a table of her choosing. She plops down heavier than a tiny cheerleader should be able to and takes on a mocking, high voice.

"Oh man, I'm so jealous of your soulmate. Yes, I will play with your kids. Here's my number."

"I said no such thing," he hisses, sitting down across from her. 

"Might as well." She shrugs. "You were interested in him."

"Well, he's an interesting person!" Eddie defends.

"Yeah, the preppy, vanilla high school heartthrob that is clearly not into the same stuff as you, other than his connection to his soulmate," she deadpans back. "Wouldn't have guessed."

"Shut up," he huffs, crossing his arms.

"Eddie, he asked you to hang out with his kids, himself," she points out.

"These are not his kids."

"You're so focused on the wrong details here. Do I have to wingman for you as well? Because I will. Just say the word."

Eddie closes his eyes and sighs. He knows his friend means well but it's just too much.

"Chrissy, stop. I don't need someone who has a soulmate with a matching, kick-ass D20 tattoo waiting for him somewhere. Probably a busty, nerdy girl, too—"

"Ew."

"Yeah, I know. He just seems interesting, and honestly? Expanding the party would be cool. So I might take him on the DMing thing I guess. But please, for the love of gods." He makes fierce eye contact with his friend. "No matchmaking. No wingmaning. Or wingwomaning. No setting Eddie up with a probably-heterosexual dude, who is probably into you."

A shudder goes down Chrissy's lithe body.

"Please don't remind me."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know," she sighs. "I'm really hoping I'm right about his friend." She drums her fingers on the table, biting her lip. "Maybe it's stupid but I feel like it would magically solve everything. He'd get over me, I'd get to bone his friend, and you'd get a new friend with a kick-ass nerd tattoo." She beams at him and he just can't help but laugh at his little ray of sunshine.

"I hope you're right too." 

[elisela]

echo oscar mike buck x eddie, 1.9k, vermont verse @extasiswings​ wanted eddie to have a cat in vermont and I wasn’t gonna do it but then .... well, it’s chapel so.

Eddie learned, very shortly after moving to Vermont, that he likes routine. He thrives off it—blame his parents and their strict schedule when he was growing up, blame the military, or maybe just blame his personality—but he finds comfort in knowing what his day is going to look like when he wakes up in the morning.

And he has a good one, has had a good one since he met Buck and fell into an easy(ish) life with him, waking up in the morning to kick a seventy-five pound dog off his bed so he can have sex with his husband, said husband making him breakfast every morning, filling up his days with workouts, running the youth center a few days a week, taking classes at the community college just because he hates being bored, and being home by the time his kid and Buck are both back just to spend the rest of the day with them.

(Less Chris these days, now that he’s sixteen and more interested in girls, trying to convince Eddie to take him in for an exam so he can be cleared to drive, and spending every waking minute out of the house and with his friends. Eddie’s mom had said he was too permissive last time she called and Chris hadn’t been home, but Chris is happy, Buck is happy, and Eddie is certainly happy, so he tried not to let it get to him.)

So Eddie’s in the middle of his Tuesday routine—breakfast with Bobby, Combat to Classroom lecture at a community college in Burlington, and a run around the University of Vermont campus before he heads home to clean up before opening the youth center—when he passes the Delta Tau Delta house and stops.

He’s not sure why the cardboard box catches his eye, but it does, and laying inside is one tiny kitten, eyes closed against the soft rain that’s falling.

Eddie’s parents were not big on pets growing up. His dad was never home, and he can still hear his mother saying, “when you’re mature enough to take care of a pet on your own, then we’ll talk.” Christopher had been born before Eddie was ever deemed mature enough for a pet, so it wasn’t until he’d found Ox out on the trail that he had gotten any experience. But Ox was a monster, a beast of a dog who took up so much room that he and Buck had gotten new furniture just to accommodate him.

So this—this tiny tan and black kitten that might fit in Buck’s palm—he’s not sure what to do, so he does what he always does when he has a question, and he calls Hen.

“Eddie, being a surgeon is not the same as being a vet,” she sighs when he fills her in. “Is the cat warm?”

He bends down and strokes a finger over its fur and down to its paws. “Not really,” he says, “but her eyes opened so she’s still alive. Should I take her to the vet?”

“Sometimes I wonder about you,” Hen says, and Eddie grins even though she can’t see him. “Yes, take the cat to the vet. But you know you’re gonna have to keep it for awhile, don’t you? The shelters have been full for months, that always happens when it starts getting colder.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do, leave her to die?” he says—

—which is the same thing he says that night to Buck, when Buck takes three steps inside the door, looks at Eddie bottle-feeding the cat, and says, “no.”

“No,” Buck says again, shaking his head as he toes off his untied boots and kicks them under the bench. “You already—” he leans down and kisses Eddie, a soft press of lips at the corner of his mouth, “—brought this beast into our—get off me Ox, let me get my jacket off first—into our house without asking.”

“She was in a wet cardboard box,” he says, looking down and tilting the bottle to get the last drops out. “What was I supposed to do, leave her to die?”

“Leave her at the vet,” Buck says, scratching Ox on the head and moving towards the kitchen, talking as he disappears through the doorway. “I put chicken in the fridge to thaw this morning but I think I want—Eddie!”

“I think he saw the litter box,” Eddie whispers to the little bundle in his hands, setting the bottle down and sliding her back into his hoodie pocket to keep warm. He stands up, sliding a hand into his pocket to make sure she’s secure, and goes to console his husband. Buck might be upset, but he’ll get over it. “The vet wouldn’t take her,” he says, leaning against the doorway and watching as Buck looks over the bags on the kitchen table.

Eddie’s never had a cat; he had no clue what to buy, so he just … bought one of everything.

There’s something—off, about it though; when he’d brought Ox home, Buck had sighed and complained about it, but he hadn’t looked—mad.

Like he does now.

“I named her Echo,” Eddie offers, expecting to be laughed at, for Buck to roll his eyes and finally crack a smile, but he just lets out a breath and allows the bag to fall from his hand. “Buck,” he tries again, “really, the vet wouldn’t take her and—”

“And did you try anywhere else?” Buck asks, looking at Eddie skeptically. “Because the seven bags from The Dog and Cat tell me that you didn’t.”

“Hen said the shelters were all full,” Eddie says. “Maybe I should have talk to you first, but you were busy—”

“Funny, you’ve never thought I was too busy working when you want me to come home in the middle of the day because you want me to fuck you—”

“—and you love cats,” Eddie says over him, because he can’t exactly argue with that. He’s definitely taken advantage of Buck working for himself now, not having a set schedule or time-frame unless it’s his own making, the couch out in the workshop getting so much use that Buck had joked about finally just bringing a bed in. “You volunteer at an animal shelter, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“I walk the dogs,” Buck says, “and you didn’t think that, you thought if I came home and saw the cat that I’d just accept it like I did with Ox.”

Eddie opens his mouth to keep arguing, but Buck crosses his arms over his chest, and he closes it again. Buck doesn’t get closed off like this often, and although he still thinks he had a good reason—he’s not leaving any animal outside, exposed to the rain that’s now pouring down—but he’s also aware that Buck is … entirely right. Somehow, Eddie had fallen in love with Echo in between jogging back to his car with her wrapped in his hoodie and walking into the veterinarian’s office, and he really didn’t intend to look for a home for her anywhere else.

They haven’t fought in a long time, he thinks suddenly, because he has no clue what to do right now.

“I’m gonna go out to the workshop,” Buck says, “can you take care of dinner?” and leaves without waiting for the answer, motioning for Ox to follow him.

Ox goes, the traitor.

---

Eddie gives it an hour, calls the little italian restaurant that’s on the way to the ski resort—where Eddie had taken him on their first date—and orders Buck’s favorite dishes and a slice of peanut butter pie, because if he’s going to pull out all the stops he might as well get the dessert they’d shared that night. He checks in with Chris, who sends a picture of himself with three of his friends at Pizza Putt, grinning widely and holding up mini-golf clubs, and shuffles around the house cleaning up to kill time until the food is ready.

With just a few minutes left, he realizes suddenly that taking Echo with him is not a great idea, and he doesn’t want to leave her alone in the house, which means—

“Hey,” he says, stepping into the workshop. “I—are you okay?”

Buck’s laying on the couch, hand against his rib cage; he winces when he sits up. “I wasn’t watching where I was going in the house and I kinda ran into a dresser that May was bringing in,” he says quietly, and lifts his shirt. There’s a large bruise blooming under his skin, spreading across his side.

Eddie crouches down beside him, careful not to jostle Echo in his pocket, and rests his hand against the spot, pushing gently. “You want to go to the hospital? I don’t think it’s anything serious—”

“I’m fine, Eds,” Buck says, pulling his shirt down before Eddie withdraws his hand. “Dinner ready?”

“I gotta go pick it up,” he says, “but—I’m sorry. I should have called you, and I’ll call around tomorrow to see if there’s a shelter that can take her or someone who wants her. I’ll find a home for her.” Buck nods, but his gaze is on Eddie’s pocket, where Echo is poking her head out. “Would you watch her while I get the food?”

“Sure,” he says, and when Eddie sets her in his hand, Buck curls his arm to his stomach to hold her, and uses the other hand to pull Eddie down for a kiss.

---

There’s a fire going in the living room when he gets home, the first of the year; October is wetter than normal and Eddie makes a mental note to buy firewood over the weekend, because he has a feeling they’re going to need it more often this winter. Buck’s not on the couch, though, and there’s no trashy reality show playing on the television, so he goes through to the kitchen, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on the coat stand.

Buck’s not there either, but all of the bags from the pet store have been cleared away, so he starts setting out dinner—transferring it onto plates instead of leaving it in the boxes like they normally do—and is wondering if they even own candles for a candlelight dinner when Buck comes around the corner, hair damp and wavy, clearly just out of the shower with his joggers and t-shirt on.

In the stretched out chest pocket of his blue shirt is Echo, curled into a half circle, eyes closed. One paw sticks out, and Eddie feels such a sudden pressure in his chest that he thinks he may be having a heart attack.

“Don’t say a word,” Buck says, fitting a hand around Eddie’s hip and kissing him. “Is this from Trattoria?”

“Buck.”

“No.”

“Buck,” he says, staring down at Echo’s fuzzy ears.

Buck kisses him again, his lips pressed sweetly against Eddie’s, and Eddie has to force himself not to press up against him, mindful of the tiny kitten residing in his husband’s shirt pocket. “Shut up, Eddie,” he says, but it’s soft, gentle.

“And he said we had to give you away,” Eddie says to Echo when he pulls back, stroking one of her ears with the side of his pinky. “Looks like you went and found yourself a home.”

[tripleaxeldiaz]

i will learn to love the skies i’m under

read on ao3

It’s been a minute since Eddie has been in such a bad mood.

A bad mood is annoying enough as it is, but this one in particular has been lurking for about a week too long, filtering into every part of his life so that he’s pissed from the minute he opens his eyes in the morning until he’s back in bed at night. 

The worst part of it all is that nothing even happened to set him off in the first place. Chris is back from camp, the 118 has been miraculously tragedy-free recently, he and Buck have even been able to work a few date nights into their endlessly busy schedules. Everything is objectively perfect for the first time in a long time.

But still, these past few days, the very act of being a human has taken so much effort.

He smiles listening to Chris talk about the latest addition to his comic book collection, but he can feel that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and he knows he missed a bit in the middle about some big twist when he zoned out to stare at nothing. It takes extra energy to make sure he’s focused during shift, so any socializing in between calls just feels draining. The jokes, the carefree laughs, it all slowly grates on him, his skin itching like it’s trying to slide off his bones. He tries, still, laughs at all the right places, but by the end of the day he’s retreating to the bunks between calls instead of the loft, blaming it on a migraine or sore back when he’s questioned.

He’d had his bi-weekly with Frank shortly after it started, but even he couldn’t offer much help.

“I can prescribe you something if this keeps going on and starts interfering with work or family. Otherwise, try and focus on the positives in your life. It’s easier said than done, but sometimes it makes all the difference.”

So he was trying. He went out for drinks with the team, played with Chris in the backyard, had movie nights, the whole shebang. But everything was just off — he was off. And as much as he tried to act like he was fine, there was still that constant hum just under his skin, a constant reminder that his brain has decided hey man, I know your life is all peaches and cream right now, but that doesn’t mean shit. We’re gonna focus on the bad things instead.

What bad things? Hell if Eddie knows. He can’t focus on one good or bad thing long enough to pinpoint what exactly is making him feel like this. It just seems to be the general cloud of past traumas hanging over his brain, and it’s raining all the residual bad feelings down, and he doesn’t have an umbrella.

He sets his coffee cup down hard (harder than he meant to, really) before sitting down at the table, earning identical eyebrow raises from Hen and Chimney. He sees them look at each other out of the corner of his eye before they turn to him, pushing MCAT practice books out of the way.

“Everything alright, Eddie?” Hen asks, maternal and receptive as ever.

“Fine,” he says tightly, and great, he’s snapping at people now. His energy is so depleted that he can’t even keep his people skills in check.

“We’re here if you need us, man,” Chim says with his reassuring smile. “We won’t even tell Buck about it if you don’t want us to.”

Eddie can’t help smiling at that, though it’s still small. He does want to talk to Buck about it all, of course he does. But Buck has been pulling extra shifts this past week while Ortiz is out with a busted ankle. They’ve barely had a conversation about what groceries to get let alone the fact that Eddie feels completely out of sorts, like he’s screwing up everything he’s normally good at and can’t figure out how to do it right again. And he knows Buck will help him, knows he would want to if he knew, but he keeps convincing himself that he can figure it out on his own, that Buck is so overworked now that he shouldn’t unload any more stress onto him. That, at least, he can still control.

He wishes his brain wasn’t so damn loud.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face as Hen and Chim watch him with matching weariness. “I’m okay guys, I promise. Just been feeling a little off lately.”

Hen smiles sympathetically, reaches across the table to squeeze his wrist. Chim opens his mouth like he’s about to offer his patented sage advice, but he’s quickly cut off by the alarm. They rush to the truck, and Eddie feels just a bit relieved that for at least the next two hours, he’ll be humming with adrenaline rather than baseless uncertainty. He’ll forget the clouds and the rain and focus on saving lives, something he knows he can always do well.

He almost convinces himself that clouds will stay away this time.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the end of shift, Eddie’s whole body feels like lead. The last two calls of the day weren’t even remarkable, but he feels listless and slow, and he’s glad that he can basically drive home by muscle memory now, because the rain is pounding in his brain agan and it’s hard to focus on anything. As he sits in the driveway, willing his body to get up get up get the hell up, he allows himself to slip for a minute. Maybe if he lets some of the rain in, briefly succumbs to the ever brewing storm, it’ll release some of the pressure and it’ll be easier to breathe. Maybe he’ll feel like himself again for the first time in weeks.

10 minutes later, and he’s pretty sure he just feels worse.

He opens the front door and is greeted by darkness and silence. Christopher is at a sleepover, and the first thing he feels when he remembers is relieved, because now he can sit in his dark living room, alone, all night, and see if he’ll feel better if he stews a little longer. Maybe he can work it out of his system in a few hours instead of a few minutes.

He also feels a little guilty that he’s glad his son isn’t around, but he can just add that to all the other bad feelings. Might as well keep fueling the fire, at this point.

As he drops his bag in the entryway, he notices that it’s actually not totally dark in his house. There’s a soft glow coming through the sliding glass doors that lead to the patio, and he’s pretty sure he hears music too now that he’s paying attention. As he makes his way outside, he’s greeted by blankets and every pillow they own set up on the lawn, pad thai containers, and his boyfriend drenched in string lights and moonlight, adjusting the speakers set up around the yard. 

Buck looks up as he hears the door slide closed, smiling brightly, and Eddie swears he can feel the rain lighten up. It’s still there, steady as ever, but the drops aren’t as heavy. Buck meets him at the door, drops a kiss on his cheek, and Eddie’s hands instinctively come up to rest on Buck’s hips.

“What’s all this?” Eddie asks as he continues surveying the yard. “I thought you were working tonight?”

Buck shrugs, his hands grabbing Eddie’s as he steers them to the pillow nest. “Ortiz got cleared for work a few days early, asked for her shifts back. Plus it’s a beautiful night, and I really just wanted to spend it with you.”

He kisses Eddie, warm and sweet, and pulls him down to sit next to him. They start to eat, chatting about everything they’ve missed since they’ve been on opposite shifts, and for a minute, Eddie can almost pretend like everything is normal, like a reset button has been pushed and he can breathe again. He always felt like Buck’s presence and love was a balm for his heart, but it’s moments like these where he’s reminded just how true that actually is.

But as they finish up, lying back and lapsing into comfortable silence, Eddie’s mind starts wandering again. All he wants to do is look at the stars, but the clouds are back, dark as ever, and he doesn’t have the strength to keep fighting them off. He just wants a minute of peace with his boyfriend, that really doesn’t seem like too much to ask.

“You wanna let me know what’s got you all huffy?” Buck asks, his fingers running through Eddie’s hair as his head rests on Buck’s chest. He thought he’d been keeping his irritation in his head. Or maybe he has, and Buck really can read his mind like Eddie’s always suspected he can.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, and he knows it’s not convincing. Buck doesn’t press though, just kisses the crown of his head and keeps his fingers moving.

And that’s it, for whatever reason. Buck allowing him to just be, not expecting him to put up a front or plaster on a smile. Letting him navigate the storm in his head on his own, silently supportive. No one else has really pried or made him talk either, but with Buck it’s different. Everything is different with Buck. Eddie knows that he can fully lean into himself and Buck won’t think any less of him or ask too much of him. And he’ll be there when he can finally articulate what the hell is going on.

Eddie shifts up, lying on his side so he and Buck are face to face. His eyes flit over Buck’s face, searching for...he’s not sure what. Just taking in the fact that he’s here for Eddie, in every way, and judging by the soft but determined look in his eyes, he doesn’t plan on going anywhere. Eddie closes his eyes, lets out a hard breath through his nose. He feels Buck’s hand come up to rest on his jaw, gentle and grounding.

“Everything just feels...bad. I feel bad. And I have no reason to feel like that, because this is the most solid my life has been in years, but that makes me feel even worse.” Buck’s thumb traces a soothing trail along his skin as he collects his thoughts. “It takes so much of me to function normally and it gets harder and harder every day. People keep asking if I’m fine and I am, I should be, but I don’t know how to say, ‘Things are going great but I still feel like garbage and I can’t stop blaming myself for not being able to be happy.’”

Buck’s hand moves down to Eddie’s waist and tugs, their bodies pressing together, his head resting on top of Eddie’s. Finally being able to put words to the noise in his brain helped, but he still feels the static at the surface of his skin, and everything still feels wrong.

“Honey, it is absolutely not your fault that you’re feeling like this,” Buck whispers as his hands start roaming up and down Eddie’s back. “As much as you try and control your emotions, sometimes we don’t get a say in the bullshit our brain makes up, and it can be hard to tell if it’s lying or not.”

Eddie sighs, feels his throat catch as he tries to talk. “I’m just tired of being mad for no reason. It’s one thing when I know specifically what’s pissing me off, but having it be everything and nothing at the same time is exhausting.”

“Then rest, baby. It’s just you and me now, you don’t have to pretend for me. I’m here for the ups and downs, no matter what.”

Eddie doesn’t know who or what blessed him with a man as good as Buck, but he’ll be paying them back until the day he dies. He’s never had someone he could fully let his guard down around, and now that he does, it’s strange and wonderful, something he hopes he never gets used to and never takes for granted.

He can’t find the words to thank Buck, so he kisses him instead. Long and slow, pouring every once of gratitude he has into it, hoping Buck feels it. He thinks he does as he feels him smile against his lips.

He takes Buck’s advice, shifting back to settle into his chest, lets his body get heavy, tries to force the tension away. Buck’s hands on his back and lips on his forehead help.

He’s not miraculously better, but he feels a little less weary. Left of center instead of all the way off course. The rain is still coming down in his mind, but Buck is there with strong arms, a warm heart, and an umbrella big enough for both of them.

He’ll always be there, Eddie knows that for sure. It makes weathering the storm a little easier.

[detectivecarlosreyes]

Academy Together Friends Forever 5/10

Also on Ao3 

(Beginning) (Prev Chapter) (Next Chapter)

Buck sighs as he walks into the café next to the hospital. Owen was being more stubborn about leaving for the night and so now Buck was on a coffee run with the request that the coffee was made by a real barista and did not come from a sachet, which is what he presumed the hospital coffee was made of. He was not wrong.

While decided on his own order, his phone buzzed in his hand. Looking down at the text message Buck almost dropped his phone for the second time in two days from surprise.

 He’s awake

Two words. The best two words that he’s read in a while. Forgetting the coffee, Buck rushes out of the café and sprints back to the hospital before settling his pace to a hurried walk as he makes his way down the hallways, knowing doctors and nurses alike would stop him if he went running through the hospital like a madman.

By the time he made it to TK’s room he was more out of breath that he should be, but it didn’t bother him, not when TK was sitting up and talking to his dad as if he’d just woken up from a nap.

Casually crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, Buck just watches the father and son as catch up on everything that happened. TK caught his movement out the corner of his eye after he dropped his hand from his face, confusion creasing his forehead. “Buck? What are you doing here?”

He reaches out to him with his good arm and Buck steps in close to give him a gentle one-armed hug, being mindful of his injured shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, little brother,” Buck says with a smirk on his lips as he leans back but stays in TK’s grasp. “Owen called, saying that you got yourself into some trouble.”

TK rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Seriously dude, you’re barely four months older than me.”

“Yeah, and I take my role very seriously.” He lightly ruffles TK’s hair. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

TK swats at Buck’s hand good-humouredly but smiles anyway before settling himself back against the pillow with a yawn. Seeing Buck’s concerned frown, Owen motions Buck close and whispers in his ear telling him that they gave TK methadone for the pain, explaining his sudden sleepiness.

He shares a quick look with Owen who gets up from his spot on the bed and pats TK’s leg. “It’s late, we’ll let you get some rest and we’ll be back in the morning to take you home.”

Peering up at them with heavy-lidded eyes, TK smiles dreamily. “M’kay. Glad you’re here, Ev.”

He was snoring in less than a minute and they leave quietly soon after that, both overjoyed to be heading home no longer feeling stuck in limbo.

** ** **

Falling into one of the armchairs after picking TK up from the hospital, Buck can’t help but laugh to himself watching Owen fussing around TK. “You need another pillow.” “I’m fine.” “You looked uncomfortable.”

TK must have heard him laughing because a deep scowl is sent in his direction before TK turns his attention back to his dad, convincing him to go back to work.

“Yeah Owen, don’t you worry, TK’s got me to keep him company. You just go to work.” Buck chimes in, making up for finding amusement in his brother’s misfortune and earning a grateful look from TK.

Looking between the two of them, Owen puts his hands up in defeat and starts moving towards his bedroom. “Okay, okay I’m going. Rest up alright, and you’ll be back to work in no time.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” TK responds under his breath, too quiet for Owen to hear but Buck heard it loud and clear. Pursing his lips, he decides not to say anything just yet instead waiting until after Owen had left for work.

Still facing the TV, Buck gives TK a side-eye glance only to see him chewing absentmindedly on a hoodie string. “Alright, what’s with the face?”

TK keeps his eyes trained on the TV not bothering to look at Buck. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got that look that you always get when you’re worried about something. And you’re chewing on your hoodie string which means something is on your mind, so spill.”

Muting the TV, TK sighs and turns his body so that his side is flush with the back of the sofa and leans up against the armrest. Buck does the same in the armchair, with his legs hanging over the arm so that they were both facing each other. He watches as TK opens and shuts his mouth multiple times clearly trying to find the right words.

Eventually, he settles on, “Did you have any doubts?”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific,” Buck responds.

Breaking eye contact, TK changes his focus to his hands. “When your leg got crushed under the ladder truck, did you have any doubts going back to work?”

Buck scrubs at the back of his head and looks away from TK. “Uh, I never told anyone this but yeah, I did.”

Surprised, TK looks up sharply. “Really? Cause whenever we spoke on the phone, you always seemed so focused on getting back to work.”

Fiddling with the zipper on his jacket, Buck lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I had a lot of time alone to think, both in the hospital and at home while I was in the cast. I thought a lot about my job and my life. And in that time, I realised they were basically the same thing. My friends and-”

He gestures at TK, “-my family were all interconnected with my job. If I didn’t go back to that, what would my life even be? For a while, I did try coming up with other potential jobs, in case I wasn’t able to get recertified, but I couldn’t come up with a single one that could even begin to replicate the same feeling of saving lives in the way that we do. Why do you want to know?”

“I just- I don’t know.” says TK with a sigh, “I just wonder if this is what I actually want to do with my life.”

“That’s not something I can tell you, sorry. But, what I can tell you is that it’s not who you are in the uniform, its who you are out of the uniform. It’s something that I learned from my captain and it’s something you have to figure out yourself.”

“How did you figure it out?”

Buck shrugs. “Honestly, I only truly knew a little while ago. I was off duty and it was Halloween; a lady hit a guy who got stuck in her front windscreen and she was just driving around with him like that for a day, while she had a concussion and brain bleed. I was on blood thinners at the time and got a little cut up on the broken glass, but I didn’t notice until the paramedic pointed it out.”

“Damn, so basically you’re saying I have to go save someone in a potentially life or death situation,” TK says with a sigh.

Buck chuckles. “No, but what I am saying is that if you listen to your instincts, you’ll know it in your heart if it feels right.”

TK falls silent after that, looking more contemplative than Buck had ever seen him before. It was a companionable quiet and Buck used the time to finally message Bobby saying that TK was awake and that he’d probably be home by the end of the week.

Actually, TK was quiet for so long, lost in his own little world that Buck actually ended up having an hour-long conversation with Eddie on his day off, and then after lunch, he spent another hour talking to Maddie who wanted an update on her baby brother’s second family. It's been a while since he last talked about them to her.

It was sometime in the afternoon when TK finally broke his silence. He’d gotten changed and looked as though he was on a mission.

“Want to come for a walk to the station? I need to talk to dad.”

Buck, of course, agreed to come wholeheartedly, keen to finally see the station and to meet the last two members of the team.

Tagging: @seaofashes @kingtxhalla @buckleystrand @justsmilestuffhappens @diazbuckleysworld @confessions-of-a-shipperholic @spell-of-the-rain @novemberhush @black-forest-girl @bluebelle88 @adamngoodbuck @overtimeme 

Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the tags list (I won’t be offend of you do) 💖

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 6

AO3 link here

They take the train up from Washington. They had driven down the first time - though they hadn’t left Howard’s until Bucky was healthy enough to travel, he was still breaking in some ways, wildly fragile. They needed to have no one else around, needed the time and ability to stop on the roadside so Bucky could gasp in fresh air and scream through clenched teeth because just sitting in a car with people he trusted made him feel closed-in and trapped.

Bucky sits between them at first, all of them pretending that it’s simply the order they entered the row rather than a supportive bracketing. He switches seats with Peggy after about an hour, trying to use the scenery rushing past the window as a distraction. His fingers, both sets, curl and uncurl in his lap. He had planned on leaving the arm behind - the one Howard made for him detaches fairly easily, and he figured that seeing him simply missing a limb would in some ways be easier than the blunt, inhuman metal - but changed his mind at the last minute. This is part of him now, whenever he wanted it to be, and he tries to convince himself it will be better for everyone to face that from that start.

Peggy puts her hand over his balled fists before he even registers exactly how tightly they are clenched.

They had tried at first to get him reacclimated in New York. Howard’s large house had been fine when that just meant finding his memories again, when it was only about having a quiet place where everyone understood nightmares and knew to step loudly and never to touch Bucky when he wasn’t ready for it. It had worked well enough when it was just Steve and Bucky, the quiet and caring Jarvises, Peggy on the weekends and Howard dashing in and out. And they all had thought that the city - large and anonymous, the site of so many remarkable things - would be the perfect place to start when it came time to take on somewhere more public; any scene Bucky caused would be forgotten by the time the witnesses reached the next block. But it was all too newly familiar, too overwhelming with strangers and crowded with memories, too much.

They hadn’t had a chance to visit Brooklyn. (If Steve were a bit more selfish, it would hurt that he still hasn’t seen those ever familiar streets, the place he still goes when he dreams. As it is, he doesn't even have time to think about it as more than a hope for his friend.) On Bucky’s hoarse, wild-eyed orders, they hadn’t even mentioned to his family that he had been found.

Peggy and Steve’s neighborhood in DC was easier. In the type of close-knit environment that they had thought best avoided, where everyone knew their names and no one forgot exactly who they had seen shatter one of the cafe’s mugs into an explosion of porcelain dust just from hearing old Mrs. Eissenmann’s accent, they found compassion. Al noticed the way Bucky flinched away from photos of Korea and East Berlin on the newspaper fronts, and tucked them away so that the covers of Life and The Saturday Evening Post were visible instead. Bucky learned to answer questions about his arm from the innocent, interested ones the kids asked before they were hushed by their parents. The ticket taker at the movie house, Eddy Carroll from two streets over, didn’t say anything as Steve and Bucky left in the middle of Annie Get Your Gun twice because the sound of even comical movie gunfire made Bucky flinch and go cold and grasp for a gun of his own.

There were other people in the neighborhood who had served. There was a look that Bucky recognized when they passed each other in the street, a certain shift to alertness at car horns sounded suddenly, and when they asked him to have a beer with them, he said yes. While Steve and Peggy went out on one of their evenings together, he sat on a barstool with these men who would become his friends and talked about favorite books and movies and radio programs, about the best ballgames they’d seen, about the particular, muffled punch of a bullet entering flesh and the strange, grim, necessary realization that you were the one to put it there.

“Why did you invite me tonight?” he asked, walking home with Charlie Gibbs in the place by his side that was usually Steve’s. “You don’t even know me, but you’ve probably guessed that I’m more of a handful than most.”

Charlie chewed his toothpick thoughtfully for a moment. He took it out and held it between his fingers as he said, “We all have brothers who didn’t come back. We have to be there for the ones that did, even if they left a piece of themselves behind. Code of war doesn’t end just because the treaty’s been signed.”

And when the cold came, not as bad there as in New York or the Alps or Russia or places that he can’t quite and might never remember, when the cold came and made Bucky shiver and wish for a hot drink but didn’t leave him paralyzed with the fear of what might come, he said that he was ready to go home.

They called ahead. Of course they did.

“Can you imagine, someone you love and thought was dead just turning up out of the sky as you’re trying to eat your breakfast?” Peggy asked, eyes wide in pretend shock.

“I thought it was a good surprise,” Steve said defensively.

“Oliver in the kitchen has taken a liking to me, as you well know. I think the extra treat I get with my order is all the surprise I need.” She gave his hand a fond touch on the tabletop, regardless of her words or her arch tone.

“Fine, everyone knows you’re adorable, you can quit showing it off,” Bucky said, and it was the joking eyeroll more than anything that convinced them that he was ready.

They can see Mrs. Barnes from down the block. She is wearing a navy dress with creamy lace trim - her church dress, Steve is sure, even if it is not the gray number with the big silver broach that he remembers from his childhood. She stands on her front steps, solid as a lighthouse. Bucky’s father is most likely inside; he had always gotten emotional easily and never liked to show it in public.

It’s a chilly, overcast Tuesday, the middle of a morning that threatens rain or snow or both. The street is empty of the usual schoolkids or housewives chatting to their neighbors with shopping in hand. It makes it easier: no one to double take and recognize them, catch them up in excited conversation. It makes it harder, the overly noticeable sound of their footsteps seeming a driving echo as they move closer.

“You remember back in ‘26, when I was sick from Halloween until New Year’s?” Steve asks, because Bucky is pulling sharp breaths through his nose and his shoulders are set with a statue’s rigidity.

The beginning of the familiar story seems to ease something. “They had the priest in for last rites twice that time, didn’t they?”

“Three times, I think,” Steve says with a casual shrug, at which Peggy looks vaguely horrified. “You kept trying to play truant, coming up the fire escape when no one was looking.”

“And I started getting escorted to school, but my ma couldn’t stay all day, so she told my cousin Frankie to sit on the street corner and scream if he saw me coming.” Bucky leans over and says conspiratorially to Peggy, “I would give Frankie a penny a week to keep his trap shut. He was a soft touch.”

“But then my mother asked Sister Mary Bernardus to sit with me while she went to work, and that nun almost kicked you out the window when she saw your face coming over the sill while she was just trying to pray the Rosary,” Steve finishes with a muted smile. He bumps Bucky’s shoulder with his. “If you could still face your mother after that, you can face her now.”

And then she is coming down to meet them, slow and careful even in her sensible, square-toed shoes. She holds onto the handrail, although there’s no ice on the steps. Bucky has stopped two houses away - the Green’s place, or it had been fifteen years ago. He seems as if he can’t move forward. Any shimmer of ease has gone out of him again.

Mrs. Barnes walks the rest of the way to him herself. Steve had forgotten how small and solid she looks beside her son. She reaches her hands up and holds his face between them, and doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

When she finally speaks, it is in that husky voice with its second-generation Irish tinge. Somewhere inside himself, Steve still expects to hear his mother’s bright call twining with hers, a harmony of care. “James. My boy, come back to me.”

Bucky stays very still. “Hi, Ma,” he manages, and lets her lead him inside.

Bucky’s family had always seemed enormous to Steve, though anything would have when compared with a pair of Rogerses. Winifred Barnes was the youngest of three sisters, George had four brothers, and most of the extended clan lived close enough to take the streetcar if they couldn’t walk. The Barnes place had always been so full.

Without it being mentioned, they haven’t asked anyone over today. George is sitting in his usual chair. Bucky’s sister Josephine stands over his shoulder, her body taut beneath her neat sweater. Rebecca paces the room, a baby in her arms, and Steve’s first thought is that she’s too young for that, just a baby herself, but that isn’t true anymore. The man who must be Becca’s husband sits looking more awkward than anyone - perhaps because he’s entirely a stranger to Bucky, perhaps because he’s all gangly limbs, too tall for the furniture.

“It looks the same,” Bucky says, taking in the faded wallpaper, once a patterned green now white, the heavy old General Electric wall clock which still has the crack across the face, the good lace cloth dressing up the table. The scent of coffee from the ever-boiling pot fills the place, and it is this that makes Steve remember how long it has truly been since he was last here: growing up, he would never have even noticed it.

Mrs. Barnes has set out a stack of saucers and one of her delectably heavy lemon pound cakes on the tabletop. As she leads Steve, Peggy and Bucky over to sit around it, she still hasn’t let go of her son’s hands.

Becca bursts into tears, which makes the baby start wailing too. George covers his eyes with his palms, the unknown husband looks entirely out of his depth, and Peggy stands again. “Let’s have a seat,” she says, guiding Becca over beside her husband. She gets her settled against the cushions, then passes the baby from his mother’s arms to his startled but silent father. Peggy strokes a soothing hand over the baby’s crown as she completes the transfer; it doesn’t help but does make Becca give a shaky little smile. The radio is over in the corner and Peggy walks over, snaps it on, and tunes it quickly until she finds an afternoon symphony program on WNYC. She adjusts the volume to midlevel and turns back.

“For the neighbors,” she explains as she comes over to rejoin Steve by the table. Once again, as always, Steve is impressed: the Barnes apartment is the entire first floor of the frame house, but that doesn’t entirely mean privacy. He hadn’t even considered that anyone else might be home, but now that he thinks about it, the water rushing through the pipes isn’t coming from anyone in this room.

“How did you get here?” Josie asks suddenly. She hasn’t so much as shifted through the outburst of chaos.

“The subway,” Bucky tells her promptly, and she snaps, “Don’t give me that, James Barnes,” in what must be her schoolteacher voice now. Steve’s already familiar with it: Josie was younger than Bucky by a bit less than a year, but she had always acted the big sister to the both of them. “We got an army notification half a decade ago that you’d been killed. We got a letter from—” She turns on Steve. “And you. What are you doing here looking ten years older than you should instead of dead from saving the world?”

“Josephine,” says Mrs. Barnes, warning in her tone, “they’re back. What does it matter where they’ve been?” But her husband lifts his face and says, mastering himself with clear effort, “No, Winifred, I would also like to know exactly what’s happened.”

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Becca asks, her voice very soft, as if it is being trapped in the needlepoint pillow she has pressed against her chest.

The version they tell is one they've practiced, a snipped and pasted version of the truth, but Steve still isn’t a particularly good liar. It's not that he doesn't trust these people who have been family to him - he knows that they would never go to the police or the press with anything he told them, that they wouldn’t gossip about it in the shops. But they have never seen a person explode in front of them in a blue flash, have known his transformation only as something already completed out of sight. Their lives have been so normal, untouched by direct contact with the strange and wonderful and terrible things with which Steve is familiar.

Unless he misses his guess, the baby Rebecca's husband is currently rocking back to sleep is Jimmy Proctor. Steve has met him as a sixty year old man, a former railroad engineer with a million stories of an entirely typical childhood sparkling with the little memories his mother would recall of her brother. He doesn't want to take that from all of them.

So, knowing his own abilities, he is careful with his contributions, letting Bucky and Peggy tell most of the story: of Steve suspended in the ice, the serum effecting him in unexpected ways, of his being found and coming to Washington, the information slipped to Peggy that made them go looking for Bucky in the first place. Bucky doesn’t remember many of the details of his time in captivity anyway; Peggy glosses over it with quick compassion that brings them past without the rest of the Barnes family asking for more information.

Watching Bucky now, Steve finds himself remembering more than ever his friend as he was. Buck had always been the one to tell the stories, to make excuses and conjure the sweet, sly smiles to get them out of trouble. Bucky now, Bucky as he once would have been, is quieter. Steve doesn't mind it, but it's more noticeable back in this familiar place.

There's a silence when the story has finished.

"And now you're fine?" Josie asks finally. She has begun to lean on the back of her father's chair, not softening as much as weakening when confronted with it all. "Now you're back?"

"For now," Bucky says.

His mother looks up from the hands she has clenched in her lap. "What do you mean by that? We've a room here for you while you get yourself settled. There's no reason to go anywhere. I’m sure your things can be sent up for you."

"Ma," Bucky says gently, "I don't think I'm ready yet."

"And why is that?" She draws herself up straight, some of the strict force coming back into her tone. "You're doing just fine, and what would you do somewhere else anyway?"

Steve opens his mouth, but Bucky says, "One day I might come to stay, but now there's a life I'm trying to make down in Washington. I'd like to see how it turns out."

"So I'm never to see you?" She turns to her husband with a cry. "Listen to this boy of yours, George."

"Mama." Steve knows that it's the way Bucky sighs it that makes the difference, that brings the tension from the room. "Of course you’ll see me. I'm going to come back."

"And when will that be?" George asks.

"It's three weeks until Christmas," Bucky points out. "I think I could use a good Brooklyn Christmas."

"All of you," Winifred commands, standing suddenly and clapping her hands together. She pulls the cake plate toward herself and begins to cut slices. "You'll all come for Christmas. Unless there's some other family I don't know of?" She looks askance at Peggy.

"We shall reserve tickets on our way back," Peggy says with equanimity.

"Home again for Christmas, then," says Winifred, satisfied enough as she begins handing out cake.

Later, Bucky will hold his namesake for the first time and Rebecca will cry again, and so will George. Later, Rebecca’s husband will be introduced and will not wince as his hand is shaken three times with a bit too much force to be strictly comfortable. Later, Mrs. Barnes will try to give her cake recipe to Peggy only to have it intercepted by Steve. Later, Steve will notice Bucky taking himself into the kitchen for a moment alone before they are pressed to stay the night. Later, they will lie in the preserved bedroom with its old Dodgers scorecards peeling from the walls, and Bucky will tease Steve for not daring to mention that there’s really no reason to have him and Peggy in separate rooms based on their sleeping arrangements back home. Later, they will lie awake for a long time before they are finally lulled by the familiar sounds outside the window. But for now:

"Home again," Steve agrees softly, and digs into his piece of cake.

Previous chapters here

[d0gdaze]

3.

The body swap au a surprising amount of people asked for, actually.

Read on AO3 / Summary

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak / Richie Tozier

Warnings: swearing, sexual references

Chapter 3/?

Prev | Next

Word Count: 4676

Eddie’s playlist

Mother Nature must have had it out for someone in Derry, because the storm hit hard. Overnight, the roads were flooded, trees bared of their leaves, some smaller ones nearly uprooted from the harsh winds, and though it had since reduced down to a drizzle, the sky remained dark and threatening well into the morning.

Richie didn't like the rain. Everything was wet and cold and grey, and that one part of the roof in the hallway always leaked, and the thunder meant he barely got any sleep, and his midday smoke breaks with Beverly were compromised. But, rather than feeling miserable about the weather, he woke up on that Tuesday morning with a newfound appreciation for it.

The storm had blown the power out.

There wasn't any music, or horrid singing.

The window was still closed.

Eddie wasn't awake yet.

Holy shit.

The grin that took over Richie's face then and there was only comparable to a child's on Christmas morning. Giddiness bubbled up in his chest, and he giggled – actually giggled – at the feeling. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this unashamedly happy right after waking up – to be honest he thought this might be the happiest he'd ever been, maybe period. He chose to blatantly ignore how sad that fact was.

This was going to be a great day, he thought.

He practically skipped down the stairs at seven-ish, graffitied-to-all-hell backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing (relatively) fresh clothes and his favourite, most obnoxiously coloured hawaiian shirt over a white long-sleeved one, with his hair hanging over half his face, still damp from the shower. Morning showers, ah, how he'd missed those.

He hummed a tune absentmindedly as he went about collecting his shoes from where he had thrown them haphazardly into the living room the day before. He couldn't quite place where he'd heard it, for a while. He was just about to shrug it off, until he caught himself subconsciously singing.

“I used to think maybe you loved– FUCK,” he hit his palm against his forehead, as if he could physically dislodge the song from his brain. “Damn it, Kaspbrak.”

Beverly raised an eyebrow at him as he strutted out of his house, half a minute after Mike announced their arrival via car horn, smiling wider than she had ever seen him.

“What the hell are you so happy about?” she asked as he approached, faking a scowl.

“And hello to you too, gorgeous,” he winked, and proceeded to make a show out of taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, planting a kiss on her knuckles. She snorted out a laugh and yanked her hand back.

“Seriously, did you hit your head or something? Wait,” she did a double take, mouth falling open in an overly exaggerated gasp, smacking her hand over her heart, “did you actually shower? Who're you trying to impress, Rich?”

He shrugged, sucking in a breath through his teeth.

“Nobody, my dear,” he reached forward and took the cigarette from behind her ear, turning it over in his fingers before putting it in his own mouth. She made an annoyed sound in protest, but didn't actually stop him from doing so. “Today's just my day, y'know? I can feel it.”

“Well, could you bring it down a notch? You're making the rest of us look more miserable in comparison,” she brought her hand up to ruffle his hair. He laughed, jerking his head away. Something shiny caught his eye as he did.

“Would ya look at that,” he said, slightly muffled by the cigarette, and leant down to pick up the piece of copper. He held it up in front of his face, squinting slightly to make out the engravings.

“Lucky penny,” Beverly teased, crossing her arms over her chest, “guess it really is your day.”

“Yup,” he flipped it in the air and caught it, then shoved into the front pocket of his jeans, “guess so.”

“How goes it, Mikey-boy?” Richie asked as he squeezed himself into the back seat, without half the usual displeasure.

“It goes fine,” Mike replied, “you're very chipper this morning. Anything interesting happen?”

“Maybe,” Richie said, smug as anything, for some reason. Mike shot him a slightly confused glance in the rearview mirror but didn't press the matter. “Sadie's? We have heaps of time.”

“You still owe me for yesterday's,” Beverly reminded him as she swung herself into the car, “but I'm game.”

“Oh shoot, hold on-” Richie started patting himself down, searching his pockets for spare change. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans, awkwardly thrusting his hips up as he did. He pulled out what he thought was a dollar bill and dropped back down into the seat. “Here's- oh!” He held up the crumpled tenner, attempting to straighten it out a little.

“Aw, Richie! So nice of you to pay for everyone!” Beverly grinned before snatching the note out of his hands. Richie let her take it.

“Just give me the change, yeah?” he laughed. An old Billy Idol song faded in on the radio.

Oh yes, he thought, sneaking one look back up at Eddie's window – he could just see out the back windscreen that the curtains were still closed – this was going to be a great day.

Eddie was having what was possibly the worst morning that anyone had ever had in all of human history, and it was unbelievably unfair, because he had never done anything wrong in all his life and he did not deserve this to be happening right now at all, and the universe or whatever was making him go through this terrible fucking morning obviously had a personal vendetta against him. He may as well have just crawled into a hole and died because that would have had a better outcome than what was currently happening. Everything was SHIT and FUCKED and every other cuss word out there all rolled into one – and even then it wouldn't be enough to describe how downright awful this morning was for Eddie Kaspbrak.

His internalised tantrum came and went, only really lasting for five seconds before he unclenched his jaw and took a breath. Really, it wasn't that bad. Not great, sure, but not the end of the world, and he knew that, it was just good to let all the frustration out preemptively. His alarm hadn't gone off, and for the first time in four years his mother had woken him up, immediately jumping to the conclusion that he had contracted a debilitating illness overnight and that was the only reason why he would still be in bed at – god forbid – quarter past seven in the morning. He had spent a good five minutes trying to convince her that no, he was fine, his alarm just hadn't gone off, and he could still make it to school if he hurried, and she had reluctantly let him get out of bed.

Hurrying, he soon discovered, was not something that came naturally to him, nor was it something he was particularly good at, especially when factoring in the compulsivity he had when it came to his bathroom routine, the lack of power – and therefore light –, and his mother asking him if he needed help with anything every three seconds, making him feel more like an invalid and less like a kid who woke up an hour late. But he did the best he could do under the circumstances, which involved brushing his teeth with one hand and pulling his socks on with the other, and ended up leaving the house – albeit looking just slightly disastrous – with just enough time to make it before the bell rang if he turned his walking speed up a to a power-walk and didn't stop by his locker first.

So he walked, fast, granola bar shoved into his pocket that he only grabbed in a last-ditch effort to calm his mother's nerves so she would release her death grip on his shoulder long enough for him to bolt, one hand desperately trying to flatten his hair out to a mildly presentable degree and the other swinging wildly at his side in time with his steps. It had stopped raining for the most part, only spitting lightly now, but he could deal with that. He just had to keep the pace up, and get to school. Easy enough, right? Today was going to be an okay day, he thought, if he could just get to school without any issues.

But you know what they say, when it rains it pours.

Okay, so maybe it was kind of a dick move on Richie's part. But he deserved it! For what he did the night before! So it was okay! Right?

They had picked up their shakes – and damn, they were good, as always – and were on the way back to school when they saw him; head down, walking quickly, undoubtedly going to be late. He looked a lot less put together than usual, even from behind.

Richie knew he probably should have just given the poor guy a break, maybe just flipped him off out the window and let it be. He knew he probably shouldn't have done what he did, that he probably ruined the kid's whole day. And at the very least, he knew he probably should have felt some sort of empathy after the deed was done.

But the opportunity was just too good to pass up, and Richie was nothing if he wasn't an opportunist.

So yeah, he told Mike to drive through the puddle.

Okay, he may have ordered, and then begged him, and then bribed him that he would do all his homework for a month, and then bribed him with fifty dollars. And then lurched forward and grabbed the steering wheel anyway. Not that he was desperate or anything.

It was almost majestic, in a way. The wave of water – so much water, it really didn't look that deep, honest – sprayed up from the tires and hit Eddie – the poor bastard had turned around when he heard the car approaching – face on, absolutely drenching him from head to toe. And Eddie stood there, shocked expression, hands held up in a feeble attempt to block his face from the onslaught. And they drove away, Richie absolutely beside himself, howling with laughter and full of sadistic pride, Beverly with her hand covering her mouth as she tried not to spit vanilla milkshake all over the dashboard, and Mike just- well. Mike watched Eddie get further away through the side mirror, feeling guilt bubble up in his stomach. Because that's who he was, way too sympathetic. Sometimes Richie was worried it was going to rub off on him. He wasn't sure if he could handle being a good person.

“Oh, COME ON.”

Eddie watched after the car, at that four-eyed twit in the back seat, looking like he was going to piss himself from laughing so hard. He hadn't been driving, but it was so clearly his fault, judging by the middle finger that came flashing up through the window just before the car turned a corner, and by the fact that he was an asshole, and only he would think this was funny.

He was soaked, and dirty, and definitely covered in germs, and his books would be all wet, and his shoes were going to be soggy and uncomfortable all day, and his hair was going to frizz up and be all over the place, and it was cold out so he was probably going to get sick, and he was still fucking late for school.

He should have just turned around and gone home, had a shower and gone to bed, but that would have meant admitting defeat – and facing his mother, and possibly a hospital trip to check for water-born diseases, but mostly admitting defeat –, so he took a deep breath, swallowed his pride and kept walking. His shoes squeaked with every step, and he found himself pouting – actually pouting. And he wasn't crying, it's just that there was dirt in the water and it got in his eyes, and he was only sniffling because it also got up his nose. And he wasn't going to cry, because he was an adult and adult's don't cry because they get splashed with puddle water. He was going to go to school and change into his track uniform – thank god his mother made him bring it in a plastic bag, something he never understood nor appreciated until now – and he was going to miss some, if not all of first period, and he was going to feel miserable and uncomfortable all day, and people were probably going to laugh at him, and it was all going to go to absolute shit, but he was going to deal with it. Like an adult.

He was also going to murder Richie Tozier, but that could wait.

By the time he got to school, class had already started, and the hallways were mostly deserted. He made a beeline for the nearest bathroom, head down, trying to look unsuspicious, though he wasn't sure how well he was doing.

The thing with walking with your head down, with wet hair hanging down over your face, is you can't actually see where you're going, and eventually you're going to run into something. Or someone, in Eddie's case.

He fell back, rather unceremoniously, onto his arse. The person who's back he had just barged into only stumbled forward. Eddie thought, briefly, that that was unfair.

“Watch it,” the person spat, spinning around once they regained their footing. “Oh.”

He looked up, squinting against the fluorescent lighting. Of course it was Stan. Because the awkwardness from the day before wasn't enough, obviously.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, gritting his teeth. Stan swallowed visibly, then offered a hand out to help him up. He looked at it for a few seconds, before standing up by himself. Stan frowned, narrowed eyes scanning him as he brushed himself off.

“Did you,” he said, almost hesitantly, “take a shower with your clothes on or something?”

“Hilarious,” Eddie replied, deadpan. He straightened out the hemline of his shirt. “Obviously not.” He restrained himself from throwing an insult in.

“Okay. Really though, why are you all wet?”

“Why don't you ask your friends?”

Stan shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Richie?” He winced slightly as he said it, almost compassionately.

Eddie gave him a look that he hoped said, 'No shit, sherlock. Who the fuck else?'

“Sorry,” Stan said, quietly, ducking his head and biting his lip. Eddie studied him for a drawn out moment.

“Why aren't you in class?” he said, his tone a lot less snarky and a lot more genuine. Stan's head shot up, frown dispersing, replaced with what could have been a smile if you looked close enough, side-on, possibly with the aid of a magnifying glass..

“Study period,” he answered simply.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They held awkward eye contact for what was probably the most uncomfortable five seconds either of them had ever experienced. Eddie sucked his teeth slowly, letting out an odd, slightly embarrassing squeaking sound.

“I should g-”

“I need t-”

They both spoke at the same time, cutting each other off. It was followed by incredibly nervous laughter from Eddie. Stan scuffed the toe of his shoe on the linoleum.

“I should be studying,” he said, a little loudly, then creased his brow, looking as though he had surprised himself a bit.

“Okay,” Eddie replied, almost breathlessly, for some reason.

“So,” Stan continued after a moment, “I should go. To the library. To study.”

“O- kay?” Eddie repeated, the end of the word raising up an octave.

Stan licked his lips, eyes darting around Eddie's face. Eddie suddenly regretted every choice he had ever made that lead to this exchange.

“Bye then,” Stan said, before turning and leaving faster than he had seen anyone turn and leave before.

“Bye,” he said, even though Stan was already out of earshot.

He regained himself, waiting for his soul to return to his body after it ejected itself out of humiliation, and started walking towards the bathroom, making a mental note to never look Stan Uris in the eye ever again. Not that he thought that would be possible now.

“I feel bad.”

It was lunch, and Richie and Mike were sitting at their table in the corner of the cafeteria, closer to the food line and away from the doors. It was situated directly across the large hall from where Eddie and his two nerd friends sat, and when Richie positioned himself just right in his seat he had a perfectly clear view of the sad-sack himself, who appeared to have switched out into his gym clothes – and gym shorts, damn them to hell –, hair still a bit wet and unkept – a very unfamiliar sight – and looked downright depressed, hunched over a seemingly untouched wholemeal sandwich. Not that Richie was looking, or anything.

“Well, ya shouldn't,” he said, pointing a plastic fork in Mike's direction, who hadn't been able to rid himself of his guilty, vaguely queasy expression since that morning. “He was one-up last night, and now the score is even. It was a fair shot.”

“Yeah, but look at him,” Mike glanced over, and Richie's eyes followed. His friend – Barry? No, Ben, yeah. The one with the stutter, or was that the other one? Anyway – whats-his-face had moved to put an arm around his shoulder. “We should apologise.”

“Don't you dare,” he said, ungraciously shoving a forkful of mac and cheese into his mouth, “no apologies. It's a rule.”

“What's a rule?” Beverly slotted herself in next to Richie, while Stan appeared beside Mike, dropping a chemistry textbook on the table. “Am I missing out on something?”

“Not a thing, sweetcheeks,” Richie said, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek before she pushed him away with a look of disgust, “s'just Mikey here,” he swallowed his mouthful of pasta, “Mikey here wants to go say sorry to Kaspbrak. But we don't play like that, and he knows it. Ain't that right, Stan the Man?”

Stan glanced up from the book, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, I was actually gonna bring that up. What did you do to him?.”

“Nothing, just drove through a puddle that he happened to be standing next to and he may have gotten a little rainwater on his cardigan. Not even a big deal.”

“He was drenched, Richie.”

“How would you know? You talk to him this morning?”

Stan looked back down at his textbook.

“Maybe.”

“You're not going soft on the fucker, are you Stanthony?”

“Don't call me that,” the tips of Stan's ears flushed pink, “I just think you should apologise for this one. You know how he is about-” he hesitated, just for a second, nose wrinkling, “hygiene and stuff. This might have been a step too far.”

“Stan, are you- fucking hell,” he exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Guys, no one's saying sorry, got it? It's done. It's over. I got my kick in, he'll get me back with some pathetic bullshit tomorrow. That's how it works. We fuck with each other. No one's allowed to feel sorry for him.” “But-”

“No, Mike! So fucking what, he got his clothes a little wet. Boo-fucking-hoo. Maybe it'll teach him to dress better.”

“He dresses pretty much the same as Stan,” Bev pointed out, “if you think about it.”

“Nah,” Richie rebutted, “Stanley dresses like, like,” he gestured his hand towards Stan, lip pursed as he tried to think of an analogy, “Stan dresses like your cool english teacher, you know? Like that one that every one likes and he's kinda chummy with you and lets you call him by his first name, you feel? He pulls it off. Kaspbrak looks like your shitty math teacher who probably plays golf on the weekends and gets pissy if you use your phone in class. Scratch that, he confiscates your phone if he even sees it. You know the type. He's probably gonna buy a station wagon in the future.”

There was a moment of silence, all three of them looking at Richie with varying expressions of confusion.

“That was-” Beverly said, “oddly specific.”

“Thank you,” he smirked, smug, as if it were a compliment. “Now are we done? We all agree to not apologise?”

He looked between Mike and Stan. Stan rolled his eyes, returning full attention to his textbook. Mike opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but shut it after a moment and nodded, dropping his gaze to the tray of food in front of him with the same guilt-ridden expression.

“Great! Now that we're all on the same page,” Richie stood, picking up his tray of half-eaten food, “I'm gonna go chain smoke under the bleachers, like the good christian boy mama raised me to be. Miss Marsh?”

“M'eating,” Beverly replied, stuffing another tater tot into her mouth.

“Right,” he took a step out, not at all looking where he was going, “see you losers la- OOF.”

Eddie Kaspbrak was not an intimidating person. It was practically impossible for him to scare people. He was barely five foot five, standing much shorter than his friends and most of the other boys in the school, and quite a few of the girls, and despite being rather fit, he looked quite frail. When he was a kid, his mother use to say it would be easy for someone to pick him up and snap him like a toothpick, and he believed her, because back then anything his mother said was basically god's word. He wasn't hit with the same puberty truck that Bill and Ben were – instead it was more like a puberty tricycle. He never quite shot up, never quite lost the roundness in his face or had his voice drop an octave like his friend's had. He didn't necessarily still look like a child, but he definitely wasn't going to be fooling any liquor store employee or nightclub bouncer any time soon. And the clothes he wore only aided to accent his non-intimidating qualities, the light coloured sweaters, the faded jeans, he knew his wasn't exactly the manliest of wardrobes.

All in all, Eddie was the last person you would expect to be able to make someone feel small.

Richie Tozier had never felt smaller in his entire life than in the moment that followed.

As timing would have it, Eddie had gotten up and travelled across the cafeteria to the garbage bins to dispose of the sandwich he wasn't going to eat. He knew he would unavoidably have to walk right past Richie's table, so he made sure to do as he always did when needing to avoid confrontation; head down, walk quickly.

Richie had stood up, lunch tray in hand, unaware of his proximity to the other, still busy conversing with his friends. He had taken a step, then another, out into the walkway. Eddie hadn't looked up. Head down, walk quickly.

Richie took another step, and turned around.

Eddie looked up, only a split second too late, but too late nonetheless.

Richie sentenced had been cut off by the sound of his lunch tray first hitting Eddie square in the chest, and then clattering to the floor.

The collision drew attention from only the immediately surrounding tables, hushed whispers replacing whatever conversations were taking place previously.

He didn't react, at first, just froze, jaw tight, gaze stuck on the floor, midway between the yellow plastic tray, face down with bits of food splattered beneath it, and Richie's worn down combat boots. His breath was so slow and shallow, there was a point that he wasn't even sure he was breathing.

Richie, for a moment, was sure Eddie had died standing up. He was unnaturally still, just staring at the ground, completely stone-faced. I broke him, he thought, I actually fucking broke the kid.

Eddie looked up, finally, at Richie's face. He decided, seeing as his brain had apparently tried to reboot itself, to base his reaction on Richie's next move. He raised one eyebrow, oh so slightly. It said; this is a test. Answer it wrong, and I will kill you.

Richie was unbelievably put off by the look that Eddie gave him. It wasn't angry, upset, annoyed, anything he was expecting. It was a challenge. The fucker was challenging him. And he really wasn't going to like what would happen if he lost.

“So,” he started, thinking harder about his word choice than he ever had before, “I know you're not going to believe me, but,” he paused, slowly raising his hands up in front of him, as if a gun was being pointed at him, “that was totally an accident.”

The calm before the storm, as they say.

“What,” Eddie said, barely a whisper, “the,” his hands balled into fists at his side, so tight they started shaking, “fuck.”

“Oh Richie,” Beverly muttered from the sidelines, “you poor son of a bitch.”

“Are you actually kidding me, Tozier? Wasn't this morning enough? You have to get your fucking chucks in twice in one day?” Eddie decided then and there, that being an adult was overrated. He was a brat, and he was going to be a brat.

“Chill out a bit, man,” Richie took a brave step forward, snapping his head around to the growing number of spectators, “It's just a stain, it'll come out.” His voice was hushed, praying to every god he knew that this wouldn't escalate in front of everyone.

Eddie was fuming by now – and, ironically, kind of having the time of his life –, his face heating up, and chest heaving. He saw Richie flinch, for a fraction of a second, and felt proud.

God, he was a sadist.

“Just a fucking stain, are you serious? Are you actually fucking serious, Richie?”

Richie wanted nothing more than for an eighteen-wheeler to come crashing through the wall of the school, killing him instantly. “Calm your shit, Kaspbrak, I'm sorry.”

“Sorry? You're fucking sorry?” Eddie had to remind himself that he wasn't supposed to look happy while this was happening, purposefully deepening the scowl on his face. “You are the most inconsiderate, infuriating, irritating,” fuck, running out of synonyms, “disrespectful, single-minded, asshole-piece-of-shit-stoner dickwad,” dickwad? “that I have ever fucking met and I hope you burn in hell, you absolute fucking-” “KASPBRAK.”

Both the boys jumped, as did quite a few of the onlookers who had gathered around their little love spat. Mr. Wagner, the school principal, had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, looking red-faced and mildly disarrayed, to say the least.

“Sir, uh, we were just-”

“Can it. Detention,” he pointed a spindly finger at Eddie, who scoffed a high pitched scoff, and then at Richie. “You too.”

“But I didn't-”

“No but's.”

“BUT SIR-”

“TOZIER.”

Richie let out a defeated sigh.

“Yes sir.”

The man took a deep breath, shooting a look between both of them.

“This,” he gestured to the tray and the food on the floor, “cleaned up.” He turned to look at the crowd of students. “Nothing to see, git.”

Everyone dispersed, going back to their own seats, leaving only Richie and Eddie standing there, pretty much robbed of all their dignity, staring each other down like they could set fire to the other with their eyes.

“I hate you,” Richie spat, top lip upturned to show his teeth.

“Go to hell,” Eddie returned, with the same amount of passion.

“I'm already there, princess.”

“Oh, fuck off, asshole.”

“You fuck off.”

“How 'bout both of you fuck off!” Beverly stood, grabbing Richie by the arm and pulling him away towards the doors of the dining hall, but not before shooting Eddie a look over her shoulder. “He'll see you in detention, hotshot.” She punctuated her sentence with a wink.

This is the worst fucking day of my life, he thought.

Tag list (bolded won’t tag):  @fanficisgoodforthesoul @i-is-gazebo@dandeliontozier @panicatbakerst @howellhxlic @musicalsaftermusicals@bernaynay @bust-a-move-bev @reddie-to-go @richietoaster@omgboiledcabbages @reddietofall @flowersiren @lousytrashmouth @get-fcking-reddie @finnwollfhards @bjrdies @steve-harringtwin @thecastlebyers@books-and-donuts @valenschmidt @grasshoppper @80s-trashmouth@beepbeeprichiellc @little-miss-hellraiser @okay-i-get-it-alreddie @finn-trashmouth @welctothelosersclub @kaspbrakseggo @lolahood @sad-synth @turtleneckrichie @reddieforanything

[losvcr]

do you? (reddie)

Type: One-shot

Summary: After years of not speaking after a break-up, Richie finally gets to talk to Eddie over the phone.

Pairing: Reddie

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: N/A

A/N: okay so i know i’m supposed to be writing rain and doing request and my blogrates but after hearing my favorite song by neyo called do you, i got so inspired and had to write this. i had to. i actually cried a lil writing this one. it’s probs sucks bc i didn’t edit it and wrote it in an hour but i hope you guys like it!

The gravel of the road cracked underneath Richie’s boots, his tread slow and hesitant.

Once he reached the booth, his hand reached out to touch the cold glass, staring at the phone on the inside. Did people even use these anymore?

This was a terrible idea. No, scratch that - it was the worst idea he could ever have.

It was selfish. It was disrespectful. It was low.

He just needed to hear his voice one more time.

The tall, curly headed boy finally stepped inside of the booth, not bothering to close the door behind him as he picked up the phone and deposited a coin inside.

Richie’s heart was beating so fast that he felt like it would explode out of his chest. Would he answer?

“Hello?”

The sound of Eddie Kaspbrak’s voice on the other end brought tears to Richie’s eyes. A shaky breath sounded into the receiver on his end, doing his best to hold it together. It was a voice he wanted to hear for years now, and god, did it still sound just like a song.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Hey Eds.. It’s me.”

Eddie froze when he heard that voice, one of his hands slapping down to rest against the counter in front of him so that he wouldn’t fall.

He almost didn’t believe this was real, just like he almost didn’t believe Richie had been trying for weeks to reach him.

“Hi...” Eddie’s greeting was flat, but that was purely because he didn’t want Richie to know that he still had an immediate effect on him.

The other line was silent for a few other beats, and Eddie’s heart started racing at the idea that it had disconnected. It frustrated him to think that he was actually upset at the prospect.

“Maybe.. maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I know you probably don’t care about anything I have to say.”

Eddie remained quiet, hanging onto the sound of Richie’s voice. He’d heard it the other night, listening to one of the five voice mails that Richie had left because Eddie refused to answer the phone.

“But you’re listening so.. thank you for that.”

It grew uncomfortably silent again, and Eddie could tell that Richie was waiting for him to say something.

“Why are you calling me, Richie?” He finally asked quietly, unable to hide the wariness in his voice. Before Richie could answer, they both flinched at the sound of a voice wafting over from Eddie’s living room.

“Eddie, who’s that?”

Eddie hesitated, unsure if he should answer that truthfully. It was as if Richie could sense the hesitation, because a second later, he was speaking up.

“Tell him.”

Another beat passed, and Eddie sighed before relenting. “It’s just Richie, Bill.” He called back.

There was some more silence, and then Richie could clearly hear Bill’s voice feet away from Eddie.

“What does he want? I thought we agreed you wouldn’t talk to him, Eddie...” Underneath the frustration, Richie felt could make out another emotion in Bill’s voice. It sounded like fear.

“It’s not what you think, Bill. I didn’t know the number, so I--”

“Tell your fiance he can relax. I’m not trying to start any trouble. I just wanted to talk.”

The line went completely silent a moment later, which startled Richie.

“Eddie? Eddie, are you there?”

He wasn’t ready to let go of his voice just yet. He just needed to hear it one more time. He had a question to ask, and didn’t think he could rest until he got his answer.

“Shit..” He cursed, resting his forehead against the payphone while doing his best not to get upset - it was more easier said than done. Just as he was getting ready to hang up, he finally heard something.

“Richie, are you still there?”

A flood of relief ran through his lanky frame, causing him to shudder slightly. “Yeah, yeah.. I’m still here.”

"So, why did you call me?” Eddie sat on the bed in his bedroom, having convinced Bill to give him a few minutes alone to completely cut Richie off. He understood why Bill thought that was the best decision. He was sure they all understood.

A soft sigh sounded from Richie’s end. “...I heard that you and Bill adopted a baby girl.” He paused, reaching up get rid of any moisture underneath his eyes; he convinced himself that it was just how windy it was that day.

Eddie closed his eyes gently, a sad smile finding his lips at Richie’s words. “Her name is Hannah.” After Bill popped the question, they decided on adoption a year later. Eddie loved their little girl with everything in him.

“That’s good... Congratulations.” Richie breathed, doing his best to sound happy. He was happy for them, but it was incredibly bittersweet. “I also heard she looks a lot like you. She must be the prettiest thing in the world.”

“Richie, please..” Eddie couldn’t help but sound like a wounded animal, his stomach having bottomed out. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry.”

Silence. It seemed to stretch on for ages before Richie was speaking up again.

“Got a few minutes? I just want to catch up.”

Eddie hesitated for the umpteenth time, before he found himself relenting again. He wouldn’t admit that he wasn’t quite ready to let go of Richie’s voice yet, either. “Yeah. A few minutes.”

---

An hour passed, and Eddie was nearly rolling with laughter, tears in his eyes.

“Stan almost killed you that day.”

Richie let out some more laughter himself, his sides aching from the amount of laughter he’d done. “When is Stan not almost killing me?”

“Good point, Richie.”

After their laughter died down, the godforsaken silence returned, bringing them back to their dreary reality.

Richie wondered if Eddie was thinking the same thing as him.

Before he could stop himself, he was vocalizing once again. “I miss you, Eds...” He whispered wistfully.

“Richie, please don’t...” Eddie begged, his own voice small with grief. As Eddie found himself sliding down to the floor, Richie was doing the same in the small phone booth miles away.

“No, let me talk, Eddie. I need to tell you something.” His throat was coated with saliva, making it heavy with sorrow as he tried to hold back his tears. “I know.. what we have is dead and gone. I know that I don’t deserve you. I’ve made you cry too many times. I fucked up too many times. I never deserved you, Eddie. I’m glad you have Bill, because he’s stable. He will never let you down when you need him.”

“I wish I could talk to you in person, but I know why that can’t be. I didn’t even mean to interrupt your life. I wasn’t going to, but I needed to you hear you one last time, Eddie.. I just.. I have one question for you. Can you answer this one question for me, Eds?”

Silent tears rolled down Eddie’s cheeks, his knees pulled up to his chest while he listened to Richie talk. He had spent years of stuffing these feelings for Richie down, but they were back tenfold. “What is it, Richie?”

Richie could no longer push back the tears, allowing them to freely drip from his eyes without trying to wipe them away. “I just wonder... do you ever think of me anymore? Do you?”

A choked sob fell past Eddie’s lips, but he tried to keep it quiet. He already knew Bill was on edge about him talking to Richie, and Bill hearing him cry would ruin everything.

“I think about you all the fucking time, Richie. Even when I don’t want to. You still have a hold over me...”

That was all Richie needed to hear. He just needed to hear that he wasn’t the only one.

“I’ll leave you alone now, Eddie. I hope you and Bill have a great life together. Thank you for this. Thank you for giving this to me.”

A frown found Eddie’s face, his heart racing at Richie’s words. “Where are you?” He demanded as he scrubbed the tears from face.

Richie hesitated, unable to help himself as he said “the phone booth on Madison”.

“I’m coming. Just... stay there, okay?”

A sad smile found his lips, and he shook his head a few times despite Eddie not being able to see as he wiped away his own tears. He couldn’t let Eddie ruin what he had with Bill for him. That was the relationship Eddie needed. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie Spaghetti. Don’t ever forget that, okay? I will always love you.”

“Richie, please. Just wait for me.” Eddie scrambled up to his feet, frantically searching for a jacket to slide on. “I love you too. Wait for me. Please. Please, Richie.”

“Goodbye, Eddie.”

---

Eddie knew Bill didn’t believe him when he told him he was running to the store, but he didn’t stop him from leaving.

It had taken him 30 minutes to drive across town to Madison road, and when he reached that phone booth, he could feel his heart collapse once he saw it was completely empty.

He might have thought the whole phone call to be a dream, if he hadn’t seen the phone dangling down from the box.

Eddie crouched down in the booth, crying softly as he held the phone to his chest. “I still love you, Richie.”

[hotdogjumpingfrog5]

It’s Strange - Chapter 1

Just another cloudy day in the town of Derry, Maine, along with Hawkins, another nearby town. September is back, summer is over, and it’s just the start of another school year. “Oh my god Mike, stop drinking out of the carton, you’re worse than Richie!” Nancy scolds. “Does this look like I care?” Mike sneers “How come you’re so obsessed with me, Nance?” says Richie cockily, “Heard you talking about me.” Nancy rolls her eyes and leaves the kitchen, shortly heading out the door and on her way to Johnathan’s. Why do I have to have twin brothers? They’re a pain in the ass! Nancy thought “Morning, nerd.” Richie said smuggly, grabbing the carton of milk from Mike’s hand. “Hey I wasn’t finished, asshole!” “Mine now, dipshit.” At first their four year old sister, Holly looked at Mike while he took the carton, then her eyes widened again while watching Richie chug it down. “The hell you looking at, pixie?” said Richie “Nerd.” Holly says, after learning a new word. Mike chuckles, Karma for you, bitchy Richie. “Hey don’t be laughing you douchebag!” Richie complains “I’m the older one here, by seven minutes,“ says Mike, "I can do what I like.”

"Don’t need to remind me every fucking time.” That was one of the differences between Mike and Richie, along with each having two different personalities, and different last names. Mike has their dad’s last name, while Richie has their mother’s maiden name. Long story cut short; Karen had made that decision so people wouldn’t mix the two up. Their mom had left for work early, Nancy left for school early, and their dad is out in the living room resting in the La-Z-Boy chair, almost falling asleep again. Awkward silence rings in the kitchen for a bit, neither Mike or Richie saying anything, until Holly comes in with a surprise. “Nerds!” Holly comes in, repeating over and over, obviously referring to the pair of them Holly is saying a lot more than she did before, after learning more vocabulary from pre-school. “Holly, shut up!” Mike lectures Followed by Holly blowing a raspberry, then skipping into the living room. “Richie, why did you have to say that in front of her?” Mike says, annoyed. “Hey, not my fault I’m twins with a nerd.” “Piss off, Richard.”

It was 8 am, and Eleven was woken up by the sound of birds outside, followed by the voice of her father. Well, adopted father. “Jane, you up yet?” he calls out Eleven rubs her eyes, followed by “Yes…dad.” She still wasn’t used to calling anyone dad, even after nine months of living with him. Considering the fact that Jim Hopper was the first to take her under their care without the intent of doing anything sinister. Eleven suffered a bit of post traumatic stress, but she didn’t let that overcome her. She still used her telekinetic powers, but only when it was really important or feels the need to. “Eleven! Eggos are ready!” Hopper calls out, butting in her thoughts. Eleven makes her way out to the kitchen, and sits on the table, across from her adopted father. There was a bit of silence for about half a minute, not the awkward type of silence, but rather, a comforting silence between the two. “So, got a long day, and I would like you to watch the house for a while. Make sure you catch up on your readings.” says Hopper “I will, dad.” says Eleven. Eleven had been homeschooled ever since Hopper took her under his care, he kept her homeschooled so nothing bad would happen. “Dad, when will I go to a real school?” Eleven asks, “I’d like to see Mike and my other friends more.” Hopper sighs, thinking. “I know I was with them over the summer and during the year, but still.” Eleven says “You will, don’t worry.” says Jim, “Just need to make sure everything is in good hands first. I’m sure we’ll get you to school within another year or two, just in time for high school.” “Got it.“ Jim gets up from the table after a few minutes, clearing his throat. “So, I have to get going into town, I should be back around five.” “Bye dad.” says Eleven. “Love you, be good.” Hopper replies, closing the door behind him. Eleven watches as his car pulls out, driving down the country road and out of sight. From where they lived, they lived in a remote cabin about 20-30 minutes away from Hawkins-Derry. Derry and Hawkins were two towns right next to each other, Hawkins being slightly smaller than Derry, with a population of 6,000, whereas Derry had a population of about 30,000. The towns weren’t that big, so you could get over from one town to the other in just a 10-20 minute bike ride, or 5-10 minute drive. She remembers first meeting Mike’s twin brother, Richie, whom she remembered calling a mouth breather. Eleven had also met his friends Eddie, Bill, and the rest of the Losers club. Well, all except for Beverly, but instead Eddie’s twin sister, Ella, who had just become a new member of the losers club in the winter, after Bill asked Eddie if she wanted to join them. Eddie not wanting her to at first, but at the same time, didn’t care, since him and Ella got along better than they did when they were children. Besides, the rest of the Losers were insisting that she join them. Eddie said more than she did, though she was comfortable around them. Ella found herself to fit in a lot better with them than any other girl or peers, which made her apart of the losers club. Ella decided she was going to switch from St. Peter’s Private Academy, to Ninth Street Junior High, the same school her brother and the rest of the Losers went to, and just in time for the final year of junior high, grade nine. Besides, she hasn’t attended public school before, and wanted to give it a go.

Except for Mike Hanlon, who was still being homeschooled, but Eleven remembers him mentioning that he’s thinking about going to public school sometime in high school, and will convince his grandfather somehow.

Eleven looked at Ella, and noticed that Ella and Eddie had many similar features, the only difference was, Ella had blue eyes. They were the exact same height, even though Eddie was three minutes older. But Eddie will probably tower over her in another year or so. “I h-h-hope Beverly comes b-back, she was a good p-p-person.” Eleven remembers Bill saying “Yeah,” said Ben, “She really was.” Ben almost called Beverly pretty, but stopped himself when he remembered that Bill and Bev kissed the day before she left. “I hope we see her sometime.” said Ella “Hopefully.” Eleven grinned. “Oh for crying out loud guys, stop being so fucking serious, last thing I need is a headache from Ella the weirdo and some strange as fuck girl!” Richie rants. Ella gave Richie a punch in the arm. “Ow, what the fuck?” “Mouth breather.” Eleven mutters. Stan and Mike laughed at what Eleven had said. Ella and Eleven exchanged certain glances, and within those few seconds it was obvious that they already liked each other.

“Say that again!” said Mike (Hanlon), still chuckling. “Mouth breather?” Eleven repeated The pair laughed again, along Ben joining in. “We like you already.” said Stan “Don’t mind Richie,” said Mike (Wheeler), “He can be an asshat sometimes.” Although Mike and Richie had separate friend groups, which each went to different schools, the two gangs all got together sometimes, and when they did, they interacted well with each other. A year had passed since they all seen It. The clown. The demogorgon. Words can’t even describe what It was. It was like a shapeshifter of some sort. Attacking two different communities. The two gangs saw a different thing, which scarred them all for a long time, but seemed to forget about It over time. Eleven goes back to reality, finishes her breakfast, and lies down on the couch, opening the book Hopper had given her to read. ~ Nancy goes over to Johnathan’s house, and him and Steve are there waiting. “Come on guys, let’s go!” said Steve. “No wait,” said Johnathan, “We gotta wait for Will, remember?” Steve groans, followed by him calling out to Will to hurry up. “Coming! Can’t you wait two minutes?” said Will The four of them hopped into Johnathan’s car, Johnathan being the driver, Nancy being the front passenger, along with Steve and Will in the backseat. After they drop off Will to his school, the car falls quiet again. Nancy sighs of annoyance, breaking the silence. “What is it?” Johnathan asks “Brothers. They can be such a pain.” Nancy sighs “What happened with Michael and Richard now?” Steve asks “Just them with their usual attitudes, and their bickering.” says Nancy “Yeah, Will can get a bit moody too,” says Johnathan, “But that’s probably from past stress.” “Guys, don’t pay attention to your brothers,” Steve advises, “Boys can be assholes, especially at a young age.”

~

The rain pelted on the windows of the Kaspbrak’s house. Along with the faded paint on the edges of the house, slowly peeling off. Eddie and Ella’s mom, Sonia, often kept plants in the front yard, which hid the fact the house needed to be painted. “Come on Eddie!” Ella yells, “We’re going to miss the bus!” “I’m coming! Hold your damn horses.” Eddie muffles, eating the toast as fast as he could. After a few minutes, the pair are about to head out the door, until - “Eddie. Ella.” says their mom, “Aren’t you guys forgetting something?” They both take a deep breath, knowing their overbearing mother still wants a goodbye kiss, despite them being fourteen next month. After they’ve done that, they try for the door again, and get interrupted a second time. “Not so fast…” Sonia continues, “I got advice for the both of you. Eddie, make sure you keep that bottle of hand sanitizer with you at all times. And Ella, don’t sit on the toilet while on your menstrual cycle, blood attracts germs.” This made Eddie chuckle. Ella gave him a dirty look, and gave Eddie a quick push, rushing him out the door, clearly embarrassed their mother would say that in front of her BROTHER. ~ The new girl walks into Hawkins High School. She transferred there in April, but still hasn���t become accustomed to the place, so Emma was basically still the new girl. Catherine and her adoptive mother and adoptive sister, Lucy, moved back to Derry-Hawkins from England. Emma was still in high school, and Lucy now in college. Lucy was two years older than Emma, and the pair weren’t that close. Lucy had a snobby way about her, probably since her father left her and her mother at a young age. Catherine looked down at her wrist, which read that numbers 007. “Bloody hell, why the heck do you have a number on your wrist?” Lucy would often scoff. Their mom would often tell Emma to ignore Lucy’s comments. But honestly, she just wondered. She wondered the truth. Where she really came from, and why that number was written on her wrist. She never asked about it much, since her mother would always say the same thing, “You were adopted from a local orphanage back in England.” “You’re adoptedddddd” Lucy would tease So asking was pretty much useless, and she didn’t want to put too much worry on her hardworking, single mother. Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a bang on the bathroom stall. “Hey slut, I know you’re in there!” Carol yelled. Tommy standing outside the lady’s room, listening to what Carol and her pose have to say next. “You can hide in there if you want, but that’s not going to hide the fact you slept with hundreds of guys before you moved here from that terrible toothed country, and knocked up this entire town during the summer!” Carol sneered. “Who said I did?” Emma answered back “None of your damn business who did,” said Carol, “But everyone knows about it!” She could hear them snickering in the bathroom. “Let’s get out of here before we catch an STD!” said one of Carol’s minions. Catherine steps out of the bathroom when she knows they’re gone. She steps out of the bathroom, afraid to go any further. Turning around the corner, she already notices the dirty looks she’s getting, along with whispers and snickers echoing throughout the hallway. Catherine runs back in the bathroom, too afraid to face reality. The bell rang for class. “Shit.” she mutters to herself 8:55, five minutes after the first bell had rung, but she was still afraid to move. She stepped out, to see two girls in the bathroom, looking over her way. But not exactly a dirty look this time. “…Hi.” she says, and makes her way out. ~ Within the next week or so, Eleven keeps having strange dreams. Dreams which she’s never had before. Last year she met her sister, Kali. But ever since Eleven had a funny feeling about Kali and her gang, she never heard or seen from them since. Could it have been her sister trying to telecommunicate with her? No, it couldn’t have been. The dreams Eleven have been having were of her mother, Terry. In the dream, was her getting knocked over the head, which seemed to have taken place before her or Kali were born. Eleven often woke up confused, but too afraid to really mention anything, she brushed it off as just “one of those dreams”. ~ It was Thursday, week two of school, and Emma was getting so used to the dirty looks she’s been receiving. 8:57, and she makes her way out of the bathroom stall, bumping into someone. “So sorry!” said Nancy “It’s ok.” Emma muttered Nancy looked at her for a minute. “Have we met before?” she asked. “No.” Emma responded. “I’m Nancy, and you are?” “…Emma.” “Nice name. Where are you from?” “England…I think.” Nancy looked at her with a confused expression. “What do you mean you think?” she asked. Emma shrugged in response. “Seriously, are you okay?” Nancy asked. That’s when she noticed it. Nancy noticed black markings on her wrist, in the form of a number. “Hey, what’s this on your -“ She pulled her arm back quickly “Sorry about that.”

She pauses for a few seconds.

“…Meet me back in here at 12:00 for lunch? We’ll talk later?” Nancy suggests 

“Yeah, sure.” says Emma *three hours later* Nancy paces around the bathroom, waiting for Emma to arrive. Footsteps are heard outside the bathroom, but instead comes in Carol. “If it isn’t bug-eyed Nancy,” Carol sneered, “I hope you had a terrible summer, you dating that psychopath who kidnapped his own brother -“ “He didn’t kidnap him!” Nancy protested. “You’re right,” says Carol, “You and Steve helped too, you did that so you guys could get attention back you lost from when we used to be friends! I still can’t believe you and Steve came near us.” Carol’s posse shrieked with annoying laughter, as Nancy said nothing. The sound of Tommy outside the bathroom could be heard grunting, then fall. Emma walks in. “Leave her alone. Now.” she says sternly. “Says the girl who fucked the entire school. What the hell did you just do to my boyfriend out there?!” Carol shrieks Before she could go any closer, Carol is pushed into the garbage can by an unknown force. Her posse stands there stunned, shocked, unsure of what to do. They run out after Carol screams at them to stop looking at her. “Carol, guys, get out of there, she’s crazy!!!” Tommy yells frantically, "Come on, QUICK!!!!!” They all run down the empty hall, running faster than ever, followed by Carol shooting Emma and Nancy a dirty look before the rear doors closed behind them. The pair of them look at each for a few moments, both of them afraid to speak. “That was…amazing…” Nancy says, breaking the silence. “Thanks…” Emma responds, “Look, what you’re hearing about me…isn’t true. I haven’t even dated anyone yet.”

“I know.” says Nancy, “You don’t seem to be that type, unlike that idiot.”

“Thanks.” She runs to grab a few tissues, her nose all of a sudden became runny. “Hey…you remind me of someone.” Says Nancy “Who?” “Oh, nobody, I’ll explain later.” Nancy and Catherine sit in the bathroom until 12:25, when people make their way back into the corridors. The pair of them go outside, getting to know more about each other.

~

It was now Friday, second week of school. When walking into school, Eddie and Ella made their way over to Bill, Stan, Ben, and Richie, who were laughing at whatever inappropriate joke Richie was saying. “It’s my favourite pair of twins!” Richie said, in a weird accent, which couldn’t be described. “Hi.” Eddie and Ella responded “So g-guys, w-w-we were just disgussing about m-m-meeting up w-with M-Mike and the r-r-rest of them in H-Hawkins s-s-sometime soon m-maybe.” said Bill “Sounds cool.” Says Eddie “Yeah, I really like Dustin especially” Says Richie, “I get to see them more, since Mike is the moodier version of me and we live together.” “H-hopefully Eleven will b-b-be there too n-next time we h-hang out.” said Bill, then looked over at Ella, “I-I mean, I would say y-you’re t-t-tired of h-hanging around us g-g-guys all t-t-t-the t-time.” “I’m never tired of hanging out with any of you.” Ella smiled “You sure?” says Richie, “All we ever do is gross stuff.” Ella laughed, along with Richie licking his hand and attempted to put it near her face. “Ew, get away from me, Richard!” Along with the rest of the Losers snickering at the gross joke he pulled. Richie liked to get on Ella’s nerves the most, considering her being Eddie’s twin sister, but she always brushed it off, since they were friends. “So…how do you like this school?” Ben asks “It’s not too bad, other than that Greta girl in my math class always giving me a dirty looks when she hears my name getting called out.” Ella says “She’s an idiot, don’t mind her.” says Stan. Ella found public school to be a lot better than private school actually, more opportunities, and she didn’t have stupid Kevin calling her out on everything. Kevin was a snobby kid who went to St. Peter’s Private School, whom Ella didn’t like. He always thought he was all that, and found ways to criticize her and many others, as well as get them in trouble. ~ The bell had rang for lunch “Too bad Max isn’t here,” Says Lucas, “It’s a shame she had to switch over to that private school.” “Ooh! Someone misses the love of his life!” Dustin teases. “Shut up.” says Lucas. Mike, being the leader of the group, walks ahead. They make their way over by the benches outside for lunch, Will being quiet as usual. Will stares off into space, whilst Dustin and Lucas still bicker and joke over different things. “Hey, Will, you okay?” Mike asks Will nods his head and assures he’s doing fine. “Hey Will, catch!” Lucas flicks over a tiny figure. A tiny figure from dungeons and dragons. “Thanks!” Will smiles The group continue to chat about different things, including dungeons and dragons. “So Mike, have you heard from Eleven?” Dustin asks “Yeah frog face, how is that freak doing?” The gang spin around, and see the sight of Troy and James lurking over them. “She’s not a freak!” says Mike “Yeah she is” says James “And so are the rest of you,” says Troy, pointing in all directions, “Frog face, midnight, toothless, and zombie boy.” “You tried to kill us!” Dustin protests “Can’t you guys learn to take a joke and toughen up?” says Troy, “That reminds me, where is that lesbian friend of yours? You know, the one who looks like a boy.” Playing with a weapon isn’t a joke, Troy. They all thought. “She’s not a lesbian!” Lucas yells, “And she does NOT look like a boy!” “Don’t forget about the time you guys made me piss my pants.” Troy says to Mike, “Took rest of the year off because your creepy girlfriend broke my fucking arm.” “And made me sit alone in the bathroom every damn lunch.” said James “James, no one cares. Whatever, let’s get away from these creeps.” says Troy Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will watch them until they go, then resume their chat. Occasionally, students would walk past them and give them funny looks, ever since Will came back. Every once in a while they would hear the occasional “zombie boy”. From somewhere, or someone. Will tried not to let that get to him, but sometimes he still got offended and worried about it. “Like I said earlier, before we got interrupted by those douchebags,” said Dustin, “Have you heard from Eleven?” Mike tried to think the exact last time he heard from her. Maybe the last week of summer? Two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure. “No,” Mike responds, “She’s being homeschooled for now, but hopefully we get to see her again soon, I really miss her.” “Oh yeah, that reminds me, are we hanging out with your brother and his friends soon or what?” Dustin asks “Yeah, I think so.” Says Mike, “Not sure when yet. Richie can be such a prick sometimes. His friends are obviously more mature.” ~

Next Chapter: Two

[marcusssanderson]

9 Life Lessons from Sales Superstars

A little-known training ground with huge personal development gains is on sales. It doesn’t sound glamorous, but learning sales can teach you how to handle pressure, rejection, negotiations, and how to communicate like a rock-star.

It doesn’t hurt that there’s a lot of potential for a great income, too. Here’s how sales work helped make me a tougher man in life and in business.

My life lessons from learning sales

It started with optimism and a can-do attitude. I was convinced I was going to be a sales superstar. In fact, I was so convinced that the manager at the Ford lot believed it, too.

At least, until I started crumbling under the pressure of the sales environment.

A couple months into my new job and things were not looking so good. Besides making almost NO sales, I had a big hole in the sole of my shoe and it was raining, hard. Another potential client walked off the lot because I was terrified of approaching and did a really bad job.

I joined the sales team at Ford to change my life. But I couldn’t even afford to change my shoes. The optimism I felt the day I was hired was fading fast. Day after day, I was supposed to put a smile on my face – but I felt empty inside.

Every time I saw someone on the lot, I cringed because I might have to talk to them. That was my job, but the daily rejections were weighing heavily on me.

Then one day, I learned a lesson that I would never forget. The sales manager called me:

“Eddy, someone just drove on the lot. Go talk to him.”

I dragged my wet feet across the giant car lot to greet this potential client. I could hear the water sloshing inside of my shoe from the small lake that I had soaked up.

I greeted a guy sitting in an old Mercury. He obviously needed a new set of wheels.

“Uh, hey. Do you need any help?” He answered with a very disinterested look on his face, “Um, no I’m OK. Just kicking tires…”

I felt like an idiot for failing, again. I needed a sale badly, but I didn’t know how to keep a customer’s attention.

I made my way back across the lot knowing the sales manager was going to ask me what just happened. I could feel his eyes glaring at me as I got closer to the showroom.

That’s when I received one of the most valuable life lessons on body language: “Eddy…as soon as you got to the car you shoved your hands in your pockets. Insecurity was written all over you.”

This insight into body language opened up a new world of communication that I was unaware of. Your body will always tell other people what you’re feeling.

In spite of my crushing experience at the Ford lot, I learned some big life lessons. They’re part of the foundation of soft skills which I apply to my business and social interactions every day.

My bumpy start helped make me to become the man I am now. Every experience is valuable if you learn its lessons – especially when you fail.

Nine different sales and business superstars contributed to this post. Here are some life lessons that these business and sales leaders want to share with you:

  9 Life Lessons from Sales Superstars

“Don’t assume that because something is the conventional wisdom in the organization that it based on wisdom. Question and doubt the basic principles of what you do on a frequent basis.”

– Dan Ariely, author of Irrationally Yours and The (Honest) Truth About Dishonesty @DanAriely

  “[Sales taught me] that learning to understand, respect, and work within human nature is the key to success, whether in sales or any other area of life.”

– Bob Burg, co-author of The Go-Giver @BobBurg

  “The distance between a dream and the stark reality of the present is a major problem. Setting a huge goal is supposed to be hugely motivating, but comparing your current state to your eventual goal is in fact incredibly de-motivating and demoralizing — and is usually the reason we give up on our goals.

Instead of thinking about the end result, the key is to a process and a routine. Pick something you want to do, break it down into daily chunks, commit to keeping your head down and grinding out those daily chunks… and one day you’ll lift up your head and realize you’ve accomplished what that once seemed impossible — even to you.”

– Jeff Haden is an author on Inc., a LinkedIn influencer, and the author of TransForm @jeff_haden

  “Beyond a close circle of people who care about you, don’t worry what others think.”

– Daniel Pink, author of Drive: The Surprising The Surprising Truth about What Motivates Us @DanielPink

  “My #1 life lesson from sales:  It’s truly energizing when your authentic motivation to ‘sell’ is driven by the desire to deliver great value and improve the condition of the client. Not only does that propel you to talk to more people and help you handle objections and rejection, but it changes how your clients perceive you! Instead of seeing you as selfishly pitching them, you get perceived as someone who wants to help, and then their defence shields come down.”

– Mike Weinberg, author of New Sales Simplified and The Essential Handbook for Prospecting @mike_weinberg

  “Sales isn’t something you do to somebody. It is something you do for and with somebody. You have to wade into the breach and have the difficult client conversations that others fear. It’s your willingness to ‘go there’ that makes you a trusted adviser and someone worth doing business with. Face your fears and help others face theirs.”

– Anthony Iannarino, author of The Only Sales Guide You’ll Ever Need @iannarino

  “You’ve got to be tough to succeed in sales because there are so many obstacles. Sales taught me how to keep going in the face of adversity; how to be get up after being knocked down; and, how to relentlessly, and single-mindedly pursue a goal.”

– Jeb Blount, author of Fanatical Prospecting @SalesGravy

  “Sales made me a tougher man by forcing me to realize that numbers do not lie and at the end of the day, you—and you alone—are responsible for your numbers, the primary number being your bank account balance, which is the direct result of your bad or good decisions.”

– Wes Schaeffer, author of 79 Stories on Selling with Integrity @SalesWhisperer

  “Sales made me a better man because I learned to come to grips with who I am, not what other people thought of me. Sales is a personal development course with a pay plan attached.”

– Ryan Stewman, author of Hardcore [C]loser @ryanstewman

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