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littlewinter1917 · 2 years ago

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The Haunting

Part I - I See You In Everyone

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Series Masterlist

Series Summary: It’s been a few months ever since your boyfriend, Billy Hargrove, died in the battle of Starcourt Mall. You’re still struggling to come to terms with his death, when weird things start happening in your house - almost as if you’re being haunted. Against your better judgement, you get the growing feeling that it’s Billy, and that he’s trying to tell you something, but you cannot figure out what. And then the Vecna attacks start happening, and you and your friends are hurled back into an adventure that seems closely tied to the weird activities in your house, to Billy, and above all, the cursed town of Hawkins, Indiana.

Words: 20.6k (Yes, I know, a little excessive)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Chapter warnings: A lot of grief, angst and survivor’s guilt. Some hurt/comfort. Slightly spooky stuff. Some swearing. Talks about Billy’s death and the events of Starcourt Mall.

Please check out the more detailed series warnings here if you’re unsure about what this story might entail in future chapters.

A/N: I’m quite excited about finally being able to share the first chapter of this! I’m not sure if anyone wants to read a slightly spooky story in the middle of March, but I’m impatient incarnate, so, I simply cannot wait until October to publish this.

I really wanted to capture a certain eerie atmosphere in this story, and you can find some of the visual inspirations I’ve used for it here, as well as a playlist, which you can find on Spotify here.

I've also decided to start a taglist, and you can fill out this form here or let me know in a comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapter <3

“And now, another song that’s been requested: Survivor’s I can’t hold back! A great one, might I add; and even greater for this particular Friday night.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You quietly curse under your breath, as you try to turn off the radio quickly, because that’s the last song you need to hear right now.

Truly, the last song.

“Oh, come on! What is it with you this time?”

The annoyance in your voice is only amplified by the angry stare that you throw the car radio’s way, once you realize that the off button seems to have developed a mind of its own, as it stays unresponsive to your biddings.

“No, no, no!” You whisper, panic rising up in your chest, as the opening notes of the song start to play, and the radio still doesn’t budge.

Pushing the button forcefully a few times more, just for good measure, and maybe as a way to air some of your current frustrations, you can’t help but curse that damn Camaro.

“Fuck!”

Even though your steering wheel bears hardly any responsibility for your current misery, it finds itself on the receiving end of your angry outburst anyway, as you hit against it hard.

This must be one of fate’s cruel jokes again, you think defeated, as the song continues to play on; and haven’t you had enough of those already?

Truly.

There’s no other way to stop the oncoming catastrophe either, because neither the switch to change channels, nor the one that regulates the volume, reliably work anymore. And with the on/off button now officially joining their ranks of the dead and unresponsive, there’s nothing left for you to do.

No way for you to avoid the song that used to mean so much to you.

To the both of you.

To you and Billy.

“And I feel the hand of fate ♪

reaching out to both of us.

♪ I’ve been holding back the night.”

Jimi Jamison sings, and your grip around the steering wheel tightens, as you try hard to keep it together.

This used to be your song, but now it’s nothing more than a torture device that leaves a hole the size of the earth in your already desecrated heart.

How it can still hurt so much, without there being anything left to destroy, is not something you have an answer to; only that you’ve run out of tears weeks ago, yet the ache in your heart never falters, never sleeps.

You feel like this is going to haunt you forever, for a lifetime, at least.

And that’s without having to listen to that stupid song!

You try to distract yourself by focusing on the road instead, but the darkness of the night and the cold silhouettes of the surrounding trees hardly offer a relief.

Or a distraction.

The headlights of your car seem to be the only guiding constant in this equation, as they illuminate fractures of the passing landscape before moving on to something further away in the distance, over and over again.

It’s kind of unsettling, really, if you think about how much of your current surroundings you can’t see, can’t capture with the fleeting lights of your vehicle. How behind the first line of trees looms another, darker one, and then another, and another, and-

“That’s a forest for you, sweetheart.” Billy would’ve probably teased with a smile, if you’d voiced that thought to him.

If he was still around.

He is not.

Instead, you get taunted by a��fucking rock ballad, and the wave of painful memories that come with said tune.

To your horror, it’s not even halfway done yet, and for a moment you actually consider stopping the car completely and turning off its ignition, just to escape it.

Just to make it stop.

But, miraculously, your silent prayers seem to have been heard by someone with at least a little bit of agency in this universe, because suddenly, out of nowhere, that current curse of a song gets cut off by blaring sounds of static before a different melody breaks through the speakers.

“ Operator … could you help me…”

Jim Croce’s voice croaks through the buzzing noises, and a shiver runs down your spine at the memory of where exactly you know that song from.

But before you can dwell on that too much either, your radio simply decides to unceremoniously turn itself off.

“Fucking finally,” you mumble relieved, while the long-awaited silence engulfs you and the surrounding space of your Camaro.

Your Camaro?

Billy’s Camaro.

No one’s Camaro.

Shifting uncomfortably in your seat, you quickly come to the unpleasant realization that silence has its teeth and claws too, as it grows and takes shape right there beside you in the car, flashing you a sinister smile, threatening to swallow you whole.

Getting haunted and tortured by music, or torn apart by nothing, is hardly a choice worth making.

Especially not when you’re driving through a darkened forest, on the way home to a town you deeply resent, in a car that used to be your boyfriend’s before he got possessed and brutally killed by an inter-dimensional goo monster.

And the scars of that story still litter your heart, and your thoughts, and your memories, in ways you can’t even begin to express, because the pain is simply too vast to fit into words, or phrases, or anything else that bears some form of communicational function.

Except scars would imply healing; and you feel anything but that.

Healed.

Nor do you think you’ll ever get there again.

Not in this lifetime, you won’t.

You speed up the car a little, until you see the first flickering lights of the town you call both, home, and hell; and the knot that builds in the pit of your stomach at the sight is not something you actively fight anymore.

You wouldn’t know how to anyway these days.

Once upon a time, there was the pleasant dream of Californian beaches, of the day where both you and Billy would speed off into the night together, and never, ever, come back again.

Only for you to wake up in one big, cruel nightmare, with no means for you to escape it.

You wouldn’t know how to anyway these days.

Somehow, you make it through half of the town, despite feeling like you’re on fire, and each passing crossroad is only adding gasoline to the flickering flames eating away at your heart. There’s memories splattered all over this town, and the stains they leave won’t ever truly wash away. No amount of tears, or denial, or distraction will do that job.

You’ve tried all three enough times to confidently stand by that verdict.

There’s no escaping it.

You would have to soak your heart in bleach and acid to get the remnants of Billy out; and even then you’re not sure it would work, because Billy has been the sole inhabitant of that place hidden deep within your chest for so long, that you don’t think it would still count as your heart, without Billy in it.

There’s nothing that can fill the bleeding gash he left in your life, and it’s not like you’d want to replace him either.

You just want him back.

You still wait and long for that moment, where you wake up and find out that all of this was just one, big, exceptionally cruel nightmare.

Yet, that moment never comes, and as of late, you’ve started to lose faith that it ever will.

Acceptance, or so they call it, but this is just one more of the many things you’d rather not think about.

And by the time you reach the trailer park, you’ve succeeded in your mission, of blocking these thoughts out completely.

As usual, Max is already standing outside her trailer, waiting for you, and she’s quick to run up to the car as soon as she spots you and the blue Camaro.

You’ve barely come to a stop, when the door to the passenger side already swings wide open, and the little redhead plops down beside you.

“You’re late.” Are the first few words she throws your way, and with a quick glance at the tiny time display inside your dashboard, you come to the realization that she’s right.

You are almost 15 minutes late.

Weird, you think with a frown, you could have sworn you left the newspaper’s office just in time – a rather rare occurrence these days. You’ve been doing a lot of overtime ever since Starcourt Mall.

Anything, really, to keep yourself from going home or not being busy enough. With Fridays being the only exceptions, because, well, you and Max have shared plans on these evenings.

A ritual, so to speak.

“Sorry,” you mumble apologetically, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“It’s alright, can we just go now, please?” Max grumbles, one of her legs bouncing nervously in anticipation.

“Right, right.” You state, before maneuvering the car out of the gravely grounds of the trailer park.

The silence that’s been haunting you is back inside the car, hovering over you and your dead boyfriend’s little sister from the comfort of the backseat now.

“So, uhm, how’s school?” You offer, as a way to keep its claws from gripping either one of you too tightly.

It’s a sorry excuse of a topic, and you almost cringe physically as the words leave your lips.

Still better than silence, though.

But Max just huffs as a response, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

“It’s fine.” She says in a way that leaves you to think that she’s said these exact words today about a million times before.

Like a script.

Like something she’s practiced and recites automatically, without much heart or thought.

Like the way you do, too, whenever someone brings up your current emotional state or well-being.

Looking over at the little redhead, you quietly observe the way the passing lights of the street lamps illuminate her face, and let her drift into darkness again.

Illuminate her face, and let it drift into darkness again.

Turning your gaze back towards the road, you can’t help but take the mental note that she looks exceptionally pale today. Paler than she did the last time you saw her, which would have to be exactly a week ago.

Maybe, it’s just the harsh and unforgiving lights of the street lamps feeding that illusion, you tell yourself, but you know in your heart that’s not right. After all, these lights must have been the same ones last time around, too, and you don’t remember her looking so pale then, so what exactly changed now?

As usual, she has her headphones hanging loosely around her neck, and the baggy flannel she’s wearing is something you immediately identify as Billy’s.

There’s a lump the size of the earth stuck in your throat now.

You know she’s hurting. One could say you all are, but it’s safe to say that Billy’s sudden death hit Max and you the hardest.

Launching the two of you into the biggest and deepest spiral.

You’ve lost the love of your life, and she lost her only brother.

Her big brother.

And though they shared a rather rocky sibling dynamic from the very start, things had been cooling down over the past year. They even started bonding a bit before the tragic events of Starcourt Mall.

Before both of your lives were turned completely upside down, and then never recovered.

Glancing once more over to the girl next to you, you’re overwhelmed by a massive wave of helplessness that washes over you mercilessly.

Dunking your head underwater, filling your lungs and your chest with despair, rendering your body immobile.

Taking you over, and under, and then spitting you out.

Soaking your heart till it drowns.

You feel like you should have some comfort, some guidance, something, anything, to say, that might make your young friend feel a little better, but you’re struggling just as much as she is.

There are no words to relieve the steady ache in your chest, the silent longing, the pounding headaches from all the crying.

So why should it be any different for her?

Anything anyone says to you, about how time will heal and mend the cracks of your heart, how they understand, how they’re there to help; it all feels like a cruel joke.

Because no time can heal or mend your heart. There’s hardly anything left of it anyway.

And they don’t understand your loss because, how could they?

They didn’t lose the love of their life.

Hell, most of them didn’t even know Billy.

At least not the real Billy.

No, they didn’t know him the way you did.

They only knew him as the troublemaker, the hot lifeguard, the one with the speeding Camaro and the anger issues.

The one who embodied recklessness down to his very bones.

And don’t most men like that die a tragic and terribly young death?

But you knew him as the sensitive and softhearted boy he really was underneath it all.

The one who would snuggle into your side even in his sleep, because he always needed you as near and as close as possible.

The one with a terribly odd sense of humor, that would make you laugh until your stomach hurt.

The one who was so utterly protective and tender when it came to you; whose kisses could make the world stop spinning, whose touches felt like heaven on earth, making even the strongest of angels blush and bloat with envy.

Billy, your Billy, was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of guy.

Someone, who took over your heart and mind in an instant.

And you knew even then, after the first few dates you two shared, that your life would never be the same again without him in it.

He did have his demons, too, of course.

The angry voice of his father, like a taunting shadow in the back of his mind.

The lack of love and trust, a jealous and hungry monster in his heart.

It took a while, until he truly opened up to you, but when he did, well, you got to experience an exceptionally vulnerable and strong-willed man, whose cards had always been stacked against him; but still he fought, still he survived, still he loved you with a heart so fragile, so scared; with an utter and blatant tenderness, that no one who’d hear the name Billy Hargrove would connect to the boy in question.

But to you they were one and the same, really.

Yet you’ve lost all of that in an instant, in the blink of an eye.

And you’ll never get it back either, never get to experience the future you and Billy dreamed so vividly about.

Now his body is stuck in a town he hated, and you’re stuck right there with him.

So, no, when people say they know or understand your loss, they really don’t. Because it wasn’t their world that was ripped away and taken from them in the most cruel way; but yours was.

And Billy’s.

And you’ll never recover from it, you’re sure of that.

There’s a crater where your heart once was.

There’s only hurt where there once was love and happy memories.

And the pain of that loss is so vast, so strong, it renders you almost physically immobile on some days.

The bad days.

The really bad days.

You have a lot of those.

And the empty promises of, “I’m there if you need anything,” or, “If I can help in any way, let me know,” they hurt the most, like stabs and twists of an ugly knife, because where were these promises, when Billy needed them?

When he needed help, there was no one there.

Not even you, because you’d been out of state.

The biggest mistake of your life.

But despite that, there had been so many other people in the cursed town of Hawkins, Indiana, and yet, no one noticed. No one cared. And the few people that did realize something was wrong, well, that apparently wasn’t enough.

And on some days you can’t help but think that maybe they simply didn’t try hard enough.

You know you’re not being fair in your judgment or resentment, but those feelings are hard to stop and rationalize.

You wonder if Max feels a similar way. If that’s one of the reasons why she keeps such a distance from most of her friends these days.

You know you kind of do.

“Geez, is your radio broken, again?” Max curses, her finger still lingering over the on/off button, that apparently stayed unresponsive to her biddings, too.

Her words are what pulls you out of the hurricane in your head, and back into reality.

“Yeah, sorry, it started acting up again earlier.”

Max shakes her head slightly, before muttering, “That’s so weird that it keeps happening, right? Maybe you should let Eddie look over it once more.”

“He already did, trice. I don’t want to bother him a fourth time with this.”

“I don’t think he’d be bothered. If anything, he would probably rejoice. Come to think of it, maybe it’s been his doing all along; manipulating the car to get you to talk to him, I wouldn’t put it beyond him.”

“Well, I would.”

There’s the hint of a hint of a smile playing on both of your lips.

“It’s a shame that the Camaro doesn’t like tapes either, anymore.” Max slender fingers linger on the opening of the tape enclosure for a moment, and you watch her with careful eyes.

“Yeah, it’s-“

“It’s almost as if she knows.” Max interrupts, her blue eyes questioningly finding yours.

Despite the fact that she and Billy aren’t related by blood, her eyes look so much like his to you.

“It’s like the Camaro knows that these aren’t Billy’s tapes, and so, she rejects them.”

“Max,” you chide gently, because now that’s ridiculous.

“I’m sure the Camaro would reject Billy’s tapes as well; I just haven’t gotten around trying it out yet.”

And I don’t think I ever will, you think.

You can’t even bear the idea of listening to them without him by your side, laughing and singing along. It just feels wrong.

“After the crashes, not everything in this car could be fixed or replaced. She’s bound to have some quirks and flaws. The tape player not properly functioning is just one of those cases, you know.”

“I’m sure they said something similar about Christine.” The redhead mumbles dryly, and you can’t help but scoff with a laugh.

“Max, please.” you huff, trying to keep a straight face.

“I’m just saying that Billy would have probably kicked me out of the car if I’d asked him to play Kate Bush, so it makes sense that his car would react the same.”

“Oh, hush, Billy wouldn’t have minded a little Kate Bush. In fact, I think he would have secretly liked it.”

Now, it’s Max’s turn to scoff in disbelief, because of all the lies she’s been told today, this has to be the most blatant one yet.

“Yeah, right.” She states, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m serious!” You insist, “but I guess that only means Billy’s never told you about that time when he and I got awfully drunk on my mom’s expensive port wine, and we were convinced that now was the best moment to try and learn the choreography to Wuthering Heights .”

Max looks at you wide-eyed.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m really not.”

There’s a short pause as you recall the memory, a small smile playing on the edge of your lips.

“You know, he was always surprisingly steady on his feet, even while drunk, and so of course he ended up being a whole lot better at executing that damn choreo than I was.”

You still remember that night vividly. The two of you had laughed so hard, your stomach still ached the very next day. And you’ll never forget the big, boyish smile taking over Billy’s face, when he managed to nail the Choreography part of the chorus without much fault.

“I’ve got it!” He’d beamed, outshining all of the stars that night.

“Look, look! I've got it!”

And as he twirled around he almost knocked your dad’s car magazines off the coffee table. But he still looked great doing it, and most importantly, he was having the time of his life, so, it was all okay.

He looked so young that day, so full of life and hope.

That memory, like all memories involving Billy, stings somewhere deep within your chest. But for a brief moment there’s also a small spark of happiness there, as a tiny smile etches itself on your lips.

A very tiny smile, but a smile, nevertheless.

And Max, who’s lost in the idea of trying to imagine her older brother dancing to that particular song out of all the possible songs, well, there’s a tiny smile on her lips playing, too.

“That must have been quite a night to remember.” She mumbles, and you nod your head in agreement.

“It was.” You admit softly.

It really, really was.

The silence that takes over the car now has nothing threatening, nothing sinister. Instead, there’s a calmness that you haven’t experienced in quite a while, and for a moment you feel like you can breathe again.

Like you aren’t suffocating under the weight of Billy’s loss.

Or your loss.

The loss of the world.

“Alright, we’re almost here.” You state while setting the blinker as you take the last turn. It’s only a handful of minutes now, until you two will reach your destination.

Billy’s final destination.

Clenching your hands into fists around the steering wheel, you realize just how much that truth still angers and upsets something deep within you.

That thought, however, drifts into the background as the parking lot creeps into view, and just like every Friday evening, there’s not a single spot taken.

Not a single car around.

Except for the one you and Max are currently sitting in.

The headlights of the Camaro illuminate a sparse line of trees in front of you, as you park the car, and you can vaguely make out the first few silhouettes of some lonely gravestones peeking out from behind them.

For a brief moment, you stare at the sight ahead of you. Taking in the way the cold light of the car leaves an eerie glow on the dark tree barks, giving their trunks a haunting yet artificial look. The grass beneath, wet with dew, or remnants of the last rain, reflects the light softly, intensifying the surrounding glow.

The only thing missing is some fog, you think. But with summer slipping into autumn, that kind of element is waiting just around the corner. Give it another week or two, and you and Max will have the perfect horror movie setting at your hands by then.

“I’ll go grab the flowers from the trunk.” Max pulls you out of your thoughts again, and you take that as your cue to shake the lingering residue of your last mentation off, before grabbing your backpack from the backseat, as well as the flashlight you keep in the gloves department, and then, finally, you decidedly turn the engine of.

In the blink of an eye darkness encompasses the surrounding trees again, while the Camaro’s headlights go to sleep.

As you close the car door with a heavy thump, Max echoes the sound shortly after with the booming noise of the trunk shutting, too.

“Ready?” You question, as you turn around to face her, and she gives you a brief nod.

But when you move to lock the car, the headlights of the Camaro suddenly turn themselves back on again. It’s only brief, for a split second maybe, before the darkness of the night creeps back into its rightful place, like nothing happened, like nothing disturbed it at all.

If you had been all on your own, you might have convinced yourself that you just imagined it, but with Max right there by your side, bearing witness, that’s hardly a possibility.

Max, however, just shrugs her shoulders as she comes up next to you.

“Eddie.” She simply states, and you’re not sure if she’s trying to state the name of the culprit or the solution.

As the two of you step up the curb that gives way to the graveyard, marking the territory like a faint line between the home of the living and the dead, she softly bumps her shoulder into your side.

“Or, Christine, if you know what I mean.”

“Max,” You huff again with a small laugh.

She’s really trying to drive that point home, you think.

“Aren’t you too young to watch horror movies like that anyway?” You tease.

Despite the deep darkness surrounding you two, you can tell that Max is throwing you the most utterly offended look, like you’ve just asked her if she still sleeps with a nightlight and a mobile, or something.

“I think I should punch you for this.” She mumbles, but there’s no real malice behind her words, just a matter-of-fact kind of dryness that she most definitely picked up from her brother.

This time, it’s your turn to playfully bump your shoulder slightly into her side, as you continue to walk next to each other.

You both know the way by heart. Eyes closed, eyes tied, in a dream – it doesn’t matter, either of you know the exact path to the grave that holds so much more than a brother, or a lover.

You continue to walk a little longer in the lingering silence and darkness.

It’s not even that dark once your eyes have become accustomed to the lack of light sources. The flashlight you crammed into the side-pocket of your backpack only really exists for emergencies, like when your zippo won’t work to light the candle at the graveside.

A few weeks ago, you and Max didn’t even need any additional light sources at all, because the sun wouldn’t set until you were back inside the car.

But as of late, ever since the days have begun to get colder and shorter, and the sun started to stick around less and less, you found yourself needing some kind of extra illumination at the very least when the two of you are at the graveside.

The choice to only go with a candle was easy enough. Both you and Max luckily shared the sentiment that anything’s better than the harsh and artificial glow of a flashlight.

Besides, you’d been lighting candles next to Billy’s headstone even before the nights started to creep in earlier, and earlier, and stay for so much longer, too.

It also seems more peaceful that way, walking to the grave in the natural darkness, trying not to disturb any of the surrounding sleeping souls buried on the haunting grounds of Hawkins, Indiana.

During your last few trips to visit Billy, the setting sun was at the very least still a loyal companion on your walks to the grave, but today might actually mark the first time that there isn’t even the faintest sliver of orange hovering at the edge of the horizon anymore.

Instead, there’s only a deep indigo blue, similar to the one of the Camaro you now get to call your own.

“You know,” you break through the quiet song of the last remaining crickets and the low humming of the wind rustling through the trees, whispering sweet nothings to the blushing leaves before carrying them away.

“When Billy and I initially started dating, one of the first things he told me about you was how much you loved horror movies. He tried not to sound too impressed, but I could tell he was quite proud of that, of you.”

You feel Max’s wide-eyed gaze on you once more, two big oceans of blue and a wave of disbelief.

“Really?” She mutters, trying hard not to sound too affected.

“Yeah, really. Told me how often you’d want to rewatch Halloween. He tried his best to look annoyed, but you could tell he really wasn’t. Not even in the slightest. Max, I know you two used to share a complicated relationship, and he certainly wasn’t the type of guy who’d wear his heart on his sleeve, but he did care a whole lot about you.”

“I know,” Max mumbles while kicking a few pebbles across the grass, one hand buried in the depth of her pocket, the other one still holding on to the small flower bouquet that you bought earlier during your lunch break.

Silence takes shape between the two of you once more, safe for the sound of your steps on the mix of fallen leaves, dirt, and gravel.

But you come to a stop soon after - at a grave whose sight still burns holes in the broken remnants of your heart.

William Hargrove it states, etched into dark and cold stone, followed by two dates: One that means the whole world to you, and one that pulled the rug from under your feet in the cruelest of ways, leaving you to float in a state of disbelief, anger, and infinite sadness.

And you still struggle to come down from that, to face the reality of it all, accepting it.

Leaving you to question what’s the world without Billy in it. Not much, not really. Not when it comes to your world anyway.

And then, underneath that, the grave’s finishing touches says: Gone, but not forgotten.

Such an impersonal statement.

Something that could also be said about the missing neighborhood cat for all you cared.

But what did you expect from a father like Neil?

A big ode devoted to how great of a son Billy was? Of course not.

You almost got into a physical fight with him over Billy’s burial. You had wanted for Billy’s last resting place to be somewhere in California. The place he never stopped calling his home with so much fondness and longing, instead of the town he absolutely despised with every single bone in his body.

You had been willing to take care of it all, to drive him there yourself if you needed to, pay for anything, sell your soul if that’s what it took. But Neil had refused every single plea and offer from your side, and it took both Eddie and Steve to hold you back from, well, escalating that whole situation further.

But all of this lays behind you now, even if the wound that Billy’s sudden death created continues to feel so tender and raw, like it just happened yesterday, and each time you visit his grave, there’s still a twinge of disbelieve bubbling up inside of you at the sight of the gravestone and everything that lies beneath.

Billy.

Your Billy.

“Are you going to-�� Max’s voice pulls you out of your head again.

“Oh yeah, sorry!”

You don’t know where your head is today.

Your heart? No question, six feet under next to Billy.

Your head? You must have left it somewhere during the car drive to the trailer park because you’re pretty sure you were still doing somewhat fine while working at the newspaper earlier.

Trying hard not to keep Max waiting any longer, you kneel down while getting the new candle from out of your backpack, but before you even get to lighting it, Max speaks up again.

“How about I get the broom this time, while you finish up here?” She offers and though that idea surprises you, you nod your head.

“Sure, why not.“ You state, offering her your flashlight, but she just brushes you off.

“It’s fine.“ She says with a little wave before walking in the direction of where some gardening materials are usually hidden underneath a small shelter. You’re not even sure if these things are actually intended for public use or not. But so far no one’s told either of you otherwise.

The whole routine is based around a weird little habit you two established early on, after your first or second visit to the grave together.

Initially, it was a simple watering can that you would go get from that place at the other side of the graveyard, giving Max the possibility to have some time with her brother by herself.

There were a few wildflowers blooming near Billy’s gravestone that you two would then water with the can together, before Max would bring it back to its rightful place again, leaving you to have a couple of minutes of alone time with Billy in return.

Now, with summer slipping into autumn, there’s no need for watering flowers anymore. Instead, Max incidentally found a small hand broom in between the other gardening tools a few weeks ago, and her eyes lit up immediately, as a new idea formed in her head.

There‘s a strong pine tree not too far off from Billy’s grave, and occasionally a few needles and debris find their way onto his gravestone.

But not anymore, because nowadays Max makes a continuous effort to brush them away, with the help of the small broom she’s found, of course.

The first time she decided to do that, it caught you off guard completely, and the tenderness with which she‘d clean the gravestone certainly didn’t help your emotional tumult either; brushing the stone with a care like it could be Billy’s hair.

“Now you’re all pretty again.” She would mumble to the cold stone once she was completely done, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek hard, to not let out a single sob or tear.

You’d get back in your rhythm after that, with you usually getting the broom, and Max bringing it back again. Occasionally you would switch up these roles, but for the most part they stayed the same, yet you are thankful to get a few minutes alone with Billy first, this time around, for a change.

You really, really need that right now.

“Hi,” you whisper softly, still on your knees while planting your hands securely on the ground, fingers trying to dig their way inside; inside the earth that holds Billy’s remains.

You don’t notice you’re crying until the image of your hands gets blurry, and a small sob escapes your lips.

You haven’t cried by his grave in a long time.

Geez, what is it with you today? You mentally chide yourself, rubbing your eyes in a hurry. You don’t want to worry Max any more than you probably already do, so she really shouldn’t witness you like this.

Get yourself together! You scold underneath your breath, trying to focus on the flickering flames of the candle for a little bit, before turning back fully towards the grave.

To Billy.

“I miss you,” you whisper, like old times, like always.

“They played our song today on the radio, but I c-couldn’t… It just hurts too much, Billy. It just all hurts too much.”

Slumping down a little more, your fingers find their way back into wet earth.

“Billy,” you whisper, “I don’t know how-“

The sound of careful steps in the distance makes you pause.

Max.

Talking a steading breath, you try to get back in a more dignified position, straightening your back and blinking hot tears away quickly.

By the time she comes to a stop next to you, you hope you look a little more pulled together.

“Do you want to-“ Max holds the small broom out to you like a peace offering.

“No, no, it’s fine, Max, go ahead.”

Your eyes cannot bear to witness her gravestone-cleaning-ritual tonight. So, instead, you toy with the zipper of your backpack for a little while before standing up, brushing lingering pieces of earth from your jeans in an effort to seem busy.

And fine.

You’re absolutely fine.

“I’ll just bring the old flowers over to the compost.” You state after a heartbeat of silence and nothing to do. “You can put the new ones in the vase if you’d like.”

Max only nods her head at your words, too absorbed in her own little routine.

Taking the withering flowers out of the small, sturdy vase you two planted next to the edge of his stone, you walk over to the compost with quick strides. It’s not too far off, and you’re glad you have something to do as a distraction.

That’s another one of your shared rituals – bringing a fresh bouquet of flowers to Billy’s grave every Friday night, and getting rid of the old one by default, too. It’s the least you can do, in your mind. Because you have to do something for Billy.

Anything.

Even if it’s too late now.

Once you’re back at the grave, Max has finished not only the cleaning of the gravestone, but also managed to put the new flowers up, too.

They’re a lovely mix of blue and yellow, kind of like sunlight reflecting on the ocean’s surface – at least that’s what they looked like in broad daylight earlier, anyway. Now, their colors are more muted by the surrounding darkness, but you can still guess their shades roughly.

“Looks great, Max.” You quietly praise, and she gives you an appreciating smile. It’s only short and faint, and vanishes quickly, but it’s still a smile.

You two stand there in silence for a little while longer, gazing at the graveside together.

The glow of the candle bathes its surroundings in a soft and tender golden hue, but it flickers every now and then, like an unsteady heartbeat. You try not to think of Billy at that realization, try not to let that memory of Starcourt Mall overtake your mind.

Max keeps fidgeting with the broom in her hand next to you, and you’re about to ask her if you should take it back to the shelter, when she suddenly speaks up again.

“Does it ever make you angry?” She asks, and you can’t help but furrow your brows in slight confusion.

“Does what make me angry, Max?”

Turning the broom over in her hands once more, she’s quiet for a heartbeat longer, before whispering: “That you can’t tell anyone why he’s gone; why he left. That he died saving-“

Her voice breaks slightly, and there are tears back in your eyes.

“I mean, instead, he’s just one more victim of some stupid fire. L-like he didn’t sacrifice everything. And I can’t even talk to the other’s about it because they don’t understand, not really, not when it comes to Billy. But honestly, I don’t care what it takes, I just want him back!“

Your gaze softens at Max’s admission, her outburst, because, hell, if you don’t feel the exact same way.

“Max, hey,” you quickly soothe, once you realize that her eyes are darting restlessly over the vicinity, her jaw clenched, the hand around the broom tightening.

She’s doing the exact same thing Billy used to do, when he was fighting back tears, trying hard not to let them slip.

Trying hard not to cry.

“Oh, Max.” You whisper, before instinct takes over and you wrap her up into your arms.

It takes her only a split second before she melts into you, a little sob wrecking her body as she hides her face in the crook of your neck.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you mutter, “it’s alright, you can cry. It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

You don’t immediately notice how much these words sound like the ones you’d usually mumble to Billy in an effort to ease his falls, his pains, his tears in the past.

You stay like that for a little while, rubbing gentle circles on Max’s back, voice soft and calm, encouraging her to let it all out.

“I just want him back!” She wails, and the desperate tone of her voice cuts you right through your heart, through your bones, through every fiber of your being.

“I know,” You whisper, tears openly running down your face as well now. “I do too, I want him back just as much as you do. And there isn’t anything I wouldn’t sacrifice, to get that, but we both know this isn’t possible. There’s nothing any of us can do, to bring him back alive and well.”

Blinking your tears away once more, you try to steady yourself and your voice, while you continue to hold Max.

You wonder when the last time was that she let herself cry like that, be held like that. You know she’s been keeping a certain distance from her friends, know that she broke things off with Lucas shortly after the events of Starcourt Mall, know that her family life turned even more chaotic with Billy’s passing.

You know all of these things and yet you found yourself so occupied by your own hurt and grief that the struggles of the little redhead managed to drift out of sight for you, at least for a little while.

But right now, in this moment, you’re once more reminded of just how much you two have in common when it comes to the loss of Billy, and the significance it carries for the both of you.

To a certain extent, you think you might even have it a little bit easier than her, because you don’t have to reconcile so many different versions of Billy, the way Max undoubtedly has to.

The way you felt towards Billy has never been particularly divergent, never been exposed to much change, but Max on the other hand… There’s a more intricate relationship there. One with a rocky start and middle at the very least.

So, reconciling Billy’s death in the context of their history carries a different weight for Max than it does for you.

Additionally, something that you also slowly realize, as you sway Max gently in your arms, is that she kind of serves as a reflection of Billy for you in many ways. She’s adapted quite a few mannerisms from her older brother; things that make you see him in her, and there’s an odd comfort in that.

But, you doubt that it’s the other way around as well. That she can see glimpses of Billy in the little things you do, too.

“Max,” You whisper softly, “I miss your brother dearly, and I know you do, too. I know you’re hurting more than you let on. And I wish I could ease your pains. Wish I could take your hurt and mine and just bury it somewhere together with Billy, but I can’t. I can’t get him back, and I can’t make it better, and I’d be lying if I said I know how to move on, but we do have to try, somehow.

“I know me out of all people saying that you shouldn’t distance yourself from your friends too much, while I do the exact same thing would be hypocritical of me, so I’m not even gonna go there; but Max if you ever want to talk about Billy, not just the good things, but the bad things as well, I’m always here, always.”

“Fuck,” you huff with a quiet laugh, “I usually hate it when people tell me that, so feel free to hit me now, if you want to, but I still stand by these words. And for the record, I’m still incredibly angry at the whole mall-fire-lie. It hurts that even in his death there’s nothing but misconceptions about Billy, I don’t think he deserves that.

“Max, I understand how much the loss of Billy must affect you, cause it affects me, too. You and I might be the only two people in this god forsaken town, who really knew Billy, so, if you ever want to talk about it, about him, his death, anything; even about how much of a fucking dickhead he could be, I’m always just a phone call away, alright? A phone call and a quick drive of the Camaro is all it takes, Max.“

By now, Max’s sobs have eased into quiet sniffles, and she looks up at you with her usual wide-eyed gaze.

“Yeah?” She questions.

“Yeah.” You promise with a reassuring smile.

“You’re like a little sister to me, always have, always will be.”

Brushing a few loose strands of orange from her face, and wiping away the last remaining tears from her cheeks, you look at her with all the sincerity in your eyes that this world can hold, before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Okay?” You question softly and Max nods her head in a slow manner.

“I will be.” She whispers.

And that’s all you can wish for, for the both of you.

The moon has decided to show her face around, too, by now, peeking through a few translucent clouds, painting silver stripes on the ground and the cold graves.

“Do you want me to take the broom back while-“ You offer after a short pause, but Max is quick to interrupt you.

“No, it’s okay, we can do this together and then get back to the car, if that’s alright?”

“Sure thing.” There’s a gentle smile playing on your lips as you watch Max skip ahead a little bit before she’s turning back around towards you.

“You can always talk to me about Billy, too, you know.” She offers quietly, and you hope that the moonlight doesn’t give away the tears shining in your eyes.

“I know.”

The rest if the walk back to the car turns out to be uneventful, but then again, it usually is. The detour to the shelter takes only a few minutes more, and by the time the two of you are back in the car, you feel a shallow tiredness start to slowly creep up on you.

Luckily, the trailer park isn’t too far off, and Max also seems in a more chatty mood now, than during the previous ride, so, you have something more to focus on than just the empty road in front of you, and maybe the growing inabilities of your car radio.

“You know,” she suddenly says, “you really should talk to Eddie.”

“Still convinced this car is Christine 2.0?”

“No. I just- listen, how about a deal?”

“A deal?”

“Uh-huh. If you’ll talk to Eddie, I’ll talk to Lucas…no, wait! I’ll talk to Dustin; that would make more sense, right? Since Eddie is to you what Dustin is to me?”

“Max, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, you know.”

You do in fact kind of know. There’s a small inkling about what she’s trying to say, even if you don’t like where she’s getting at.

“And why should I talk to Eddie?”

“ Be-cause. Also, I think you two might need it, and maybe he’ll finally stop asking about you constantly. Besides, you did say I shouldn’t distance myself too much from my friends, and neither should you, so…”

“Max…”

“I’m just throwing ideas out there, alright. I mean, shouldn’t you as a big sister set a good example at least?”

“You’re seriously going to use all of my own words against me right now, huh?”

There’s no real malice in your voice, just a hint of surprise and dare you say, a little amusement.

Max really is as sly as her big brother.

“Fine,” you mumble, “but you better keep up your end of the bargain and talk to Dustin, too.”

“Deal.” Max promises, as she holds her hand out to you. Such a Dustin-move, you think, or maybe even Steve’s, but you probably do well not to mention it.

“Deal.” You echo, before slapping Max’s outstretched hand and she smiles.

And as you turn away to set the indicator, you notice that you’re smiling, too.

You two turn up at the trailer park shortly after, and by now, the night has truly settled in.

Some of the trailers are left completely in the dark, while others illuminate the glumly surroundings through their rectangular windows and makeshift porch lights.

You don’t immediately notice Eddie sitting on the steps of his trailer at first. He, on the other hand, notices you straightaway.

You’re hard to miss with the Camaro, though.

“Alright, here we are.” You mumble after turning off the ignition and Max leaps out of the car quickly.

You watch her walk up to Eddie, who in return is making his way over to you, and you quietly sigh.

Please don’t make me regret this, Max, you think.

Please don’t make me regret this.

Once you step out of the car, you roughly hear Max say something about the state of your radio, and you watch the way Eddie nods his head deep in thought before his gaze shifts, and his eyes suddenly find yours.

Oh, you’re going to regret this, you think.

But there’s no way out, and Max, that little shit, fakes an exaggerated yawn.

“Huh? I’m really tired, I better get to bed now.”

You can tell that she struggles to say these words with a straight face, trying her very best to cover the pleased smile that threatens to spill out. She even has the audacity to do an overzealous stretch, trying hard to drive her look-at-me-I’m-so-sleepy point home.

Smug little shit, you think, as you watch her hop up the steps to her trailer, opening the door swiftly.

She calls your name one last time, thanking you with a small, yet sincere smile, before calling out to the both of you: “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

By now, she has almost vanished behind the door, but not before giving you a little, hidden thumbs up.

Pointing over to Eddie she mouths, “Be careful with the car!” or something of that sort. You’re too far away, to really be able to tell, so you wouldn’t bet your life on it.

And then with a low rumble, the door falls shut behind her.

For a moment, you find yourself dumbfounded at the redhead’s behavior, but before you can dwell on it for too long, the sound of crunching steps pulls you out of your thoughts again.

Eddie.

“Hey.” He sounds slightly out of breath, timid even, like he’s worried you might run off if he speaks too loudly.

“Hey.” You echo, because you don’t know what else to say.

“Max told me that your radio is acting funny again.”

You almost let a sigh of relief slip past your lips at the realization that Eddie decided to skip the whole how-are-you-doing-and-holding-up part of the conversation.

Guess he still knows you better than you thought.

“Yeah,” you mumble, eyes darting over the ground like it might hold the world’s secrets, or maybe just an escape plan for you to get out of this conversation.

Unfortunately, it features neither; nothing but dimly lit gravel, dirt, old cigarette buds, and dried, fallen leaves.

There’s not even a hole that opens up to swallow you whole.

Seems like you’re completely out of luck today, you think, resignation settling heavy in your heart.

It’s just a conversation, you try to tell yourself.

Just a simple conversation with an old friend.

But when you look back up at Eddie, his big brown eyes are immediately too kind, too understanding, too much for you to bear at once.

“Uhm, yeah, the radio has been acting off again, but, it’s fine, really, don’t worry about it.”

Your words come out jumbled, like they all tried to leave the captivity of your mouth as fast as they could, tumbling over each other in the process.

But Eddie just gives you a look that seems to say: It’s not the radio I’m worried about.

And you can’t take it.

You can take the pitiful glances from the unfamiliar and whispering women at Melvald’s. You can take the talking, the stares, the fingers pointing in your direction, when they think they’re being real smooth, but you cannot take it from your friends.

The strangers? Yes.

Your once-upon-a-time best friend? Not so much.

“Max said, you’ve been fucking with the car.”

You’re not sure what in god’s name possessed you to blur that out, but Eddie looks at you like his eyes might pop out of his skull.

“What?!”

“Max said, she thinks you might have been fucking with the car.” You repeat, as if it’s the words that Eddie didn’t quite catch right the first time around.

“I-I know, you didn’t, obviously, but she also said that you’ve been asking about me and-”

“Yeah, no shit, genius,” Eddie huffs, slight amusement illuminating his features, “how else am I supposed to find out about your well-being, when you’ve been dropping from the face of the earth.”

You’re grateful for the things he doesn’t say. The accusations he very well could throw your way. Like how you haven’t returned any of his phone calls over the last few weeks for example.

“And for the record, I didn’t fuck with the Camaro. Though, I do have to admit, I’m slightly baffled that Max would even consider me capable of that, I don’t know if I should feel flattered or concerned.”

“Bit of both, maybe.”

The small smiles you and Eddie exchange feel entirely foreign, yet at the same time oddly familiar.

This is wrong, a voice in your head proclaims, you have no right to be doing that. No reason to feel even a little bit cheery.

But now that Eddie managed to crack the surface of your aloof exterior, he’s going to seep into the protective walls of withdrawal and detachment you’ve built around yourself in the span of the last few months. Coaxing his way in, trying to pull you out.

You know it, and maybe, he knows it, too.

There’s a tug and pull war inside your brain. A damsel in distress, wanting to be saved, and a dragon that spits angry flames at anyone that comes too near. And the way that Eddie is able to put you at ease is entirely too close.

He’s going to get hurt, or you are, a voice inside of you warns.

You’re not ready yet. You’re still mourning, still struggling, still walking around with half a beating heart, the other, better half, lifelessly buried somewhere in Hawkins. Gone, but not forgotten.

You shouldn’t be happy yet. Shouldn’t exchange smiles with a friend you once held dear.

You’re doing a disservice to Billy, an ugly voice chides, and you feel your smile slipping.

You’re doing a disservice to Billy.

The smile on your face is gone for good.

“Do you want me to look at the car radio?” Eddie offers after another heartbeat of silence, haunted by the sudden inability to read your face.

The walls are up again, and there’s a strong defense sitting in the highest towers of your broken mind.

He can’t reach you anymore.

You can’t let him reach you anymore.

“It’s fine, Eds.”

The nickname slips past your lips like ice cream on a hot summer’s day. Like the earnest laughs you used to share. Natural, and warm, and-

But that was at a moment in time when Billy was still around.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to do that, Eddie. You’ve already inspected it three times, I can’t ask you to do that again.”

“You don’t have to ask, I’m offering. I don’t mind checking it out once more.”

Maybe there’s simply nothing to check out, maybe the car just hates me, you think.

Maybe Max’s Christine fever dream of an idea isn’t too far off at all.

Maybe you’re just going a little crazy.

Maybe there’s nothing to fix.

Broken beyond repair.

Yet your friends keep trying anyway.

The unwelcomed silence has decided to crawl out of the car, taking heavy steps towards you, pushing itself between you and Eddie. Taking the words out of your mouth, your brain, and filling it with cotton.

Until you can’t breathe.

You wonder if Eddie can feel its presence, too, as you watch him shuffle his feet uncomfortably. Trying to come up for words, like air, but the current of silence renders you both immobile before pulling you under again.

You’re drowning at the offshore trailer park of Hawkins, Indiana, in a cobalt blue night, and a silence so heavy, the surrounding trees might start to buckle and break at any given moment under its weight.

“You know, I, uhm-“ Eddie starts, helpless. Like he’s putting one hand up as an imploring sign, before vanishing under the waves again.

But you’re out in the open, too, incapable of throwing him any kind of lifeline.

“I, uh, I’ve made you the tape.”

“What?”

Is there water in your ears? Or cotton? You don’t think you’ve heard him right.

“The song that you talked about that night, I managed to get my hands on it, and I thought-“

Your mouth feels too dry, but now it’s for an entirely different reason.

“Eddie-“

“I know, I know, I promised to never bring that night up again, but I thought, maybe you still crave that song and-“

You only now notice the small, rectangular object in Eddie’s hands that he keeps fiddling with.

Turning it over, and under, and over again.

Like flotsam in a current.

“If you don’t want it, it’s fine. I just thought that maybe, I don’t know, it might help? Listen, I know it’s probably silly, and maybe you don’t want to hear that song at all anymore but-“

“No, I do!”

Your hand reaches out towards Eddie before withdrawing again halfway.

“I do. I still miss that song.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathe.

He still cares, you realize.

He still cares, deeply.

Why else would he remember the things you drunkenly told him during that one night, a few days after Billy’s funeral, when he’d found you out of your mind inebriated at the quarry.

That was months ago.

Months.

You wonder if his attempts to reach out had been partially about this, all this time.

How long has he been trying to give this tape, and how long have you kept him, like everyone else, on more than a little arm's length?

The remnants of your heart do an uncomfortable twist sparked by a wave of guilt.

“Eddie, I don’t know what to-“

“You don’t have to say anything. Just take it, and maybe it can help you a little; cheer you up a little.”

With the uttermost tender care, you take the mixtape that your friend is holding out to you.

Your fingers brush against each other, slightly, softly, yet it sparks a feeling that travels through you like lightning moving through a single tree. Cutting it open, setting it ablaze, painting its body in flames and ash down to its very roots.

Maybe, you think, it’s not just Max that needs a good hug.

If Eddie notices the turmoil taking place inside of you, he doesn’t show, doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t seem to be affected in the ways that you are.

“So, about your car radio-” He starts, once you’ve securely stored the tape in the biggest pocket of your leather jacket.

Billy’s leather jacket.

You’re about to brush him off again, but Eddie just lifts his hand in a gesture to continue speaking.

“Let me inspect it just once more. Maybe there’s something wrong with the wiring that I didn’t catch before, for some reason. I’ll look at it first thing in the morning, I promise, and in the meantime I can drive you home instead.”

“Eddie, I appreciate your offer, but I don’t think this is going to work. Tomorrow is Saturday, and I-”

“Shit, that’s the day you usually join Chrissy in her visits to Heather in the hospital, right?”

“Right.” You nod your head slowly, while Eddie lets out a pensive sigh.

Silence takes over the space between the two of you again, and you shift your gaze towards the distant woods, watching the way the wind moves swiftly through the branches of a couple of trees, leaving their dark silhouettes shivering and shaking.

Once your eyes dart back to Eddie, you expect him to look somewhat crestfallen, but instead there’s a tiny, mischievous smile playing on the edges of his lips.

“I have an idea,” He proposes, the small smile on his lips growing, “I would have to check in with the headquarters office of Eddie’s Mechanic Enterprise, but I’m pretty sure we offer an additional shuttle service for our very best customers.”

"Shuttle service?" You question, lips tugging upwards as your friend’s smile proves itself to be of the contagious kind once again.

“Yeah...” Eddie shifts his feet slightly, one hand coming up to rub a hidden spot on his neck, “I need to run some errands for my uncle tomorrow at Melvald’s, meaning I’d already be in your neighborhood at some point.”

“So, you’re shuttling me and-”

“A carton of eggs, yes.”

“Well, in that case, that company seems hard to top.”

“Is that a yes?” Eddie asks, trying hard to curb the excitement bubbling up inside of him.

“If you and your eggs can make it to my place before 10 o’clock, say, a quarter to 10, maybe?”

“A quarter to 10, confirmed and noted, ma’am.” Eddie states with a small salute, and this time you really cannot help the soft giggle from slipping out.

It’s a warm and gentle sound, one that Eddie hasn’t witnessed in quite a while, and it fills and nourishes a spot in his chest that has been starved for way too long.

“I’ll try to have the Camaro looked over and finished by then, but I’m not entirely sure…”

“Eds, it’s fine. I’m sure Chrissy can drop me off after the visit, and if not, I’ll be sure to call Eddie’s Mechanic Enterprise from one of the hospital pay phones. In any case, you can bring the Camaro over throughout the day, whenever.”

“Okay,” Eddie sighs, clearly relieved, as you suppress the urge to reach out and give his shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure that car radio is beyond salvation, so don't stress about finding a cure too much. Besides, this is Hawkins we’re speaking of, so, the radio signals are kind of shit either way.”

“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever had issues with my radio signals.”

“Interesting, and how many times do you, Eddie Munson, listen to the radio again?”

“Fair enough.” Your friend huffs with a quiet laugh, before taking a few steps back, stretching one of his arms out in a wide gesture.

“Your carriage awaits you, m’lady.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, suddenly overwhelmed by Eddie’s determined kindness and effort to make you feel at ease.

But Eddie just brushes you off with a quick movement of his hand, as if to say don’t mention it.

As you two walk up to his van, you can’t help but turn around once more, glancing back at Max's trailer. For a brief moment, you think you see one of the curtains move swiftly, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Little red haired devil, you think. You’re still not sure what exactly she’s up to, but you’re certain you’ll find out eventually.

By the time you turn around again, Eddie’s already waiting by his car, holding the passenger side open for you.

This, you notice once more with a sudden shred of wariness, feels entirely too familiar.

Eddie’s van looks and feels the same way it always does. Slightly chaotic, a little dusty, and the smell of weed is, well, rather present to say the least.

It’s a little odd being back in that space, but not entirely uncomfortable, and Eddie is quick to turn the radio on, filling the lingering silence with a more pleasant background noise.

For a brief moment, you wonder why on earth he’d do that voluntarily, especially considering that he has about a million metal tapes scattered around this place, before it hits you.

He’s deliberately not playing his metal tapes because of Billy. Because if there’s one thing he and Billy used to have in common, apart from sharing a certain fondness for the devils lettuce, it’s their love for metal music. And while Billy steered more towards glam-metal and Eddie preferred the trashy kind, they still would rock out together to Metallica and W.A.S.P. and KIX.

You all would.

And you can’t help but think that the only reason Eddie’s currently putting up with the seemingly endless horror that’s commercially popular and radio suitable music, is out of a deep consideration for you.

Because he doesn’t want to trigger you. Doesn’t want to bring up any kind of painful memories of you and Billy and maybe Eddie in some way or another.

There’s Eddie Rabbitt coming from his speakers now, for crying out loud. There’s no way he’d listen to that on his own accord, and yet, he’s putting up with it, for you.

Staring deliberately out of the window to your right, you wipe your eyes quickly, anxious that Eddie might see. You don’t know where all of these tears are coming from today, but they sure love showing up.

The drive to your place continues for a little bit in silence before Eddie, your Eddie, not the singer currently proclaiming his love for rainy nights on the radio, decides to speak up.

“You know, I miss you, I mean, we all do, obviously, the campaigns aren’t the same without you, and-“

You watch Eddie take a steading breath, as his hands tighten around the steering wheel.

“I know that losing Billy must be incredibly difficult for you, and I won’t even try to pretend to know what that’s like, but he was my friend too, you know. A-and I’m not saying this in an effort to downplay your pain in any way. I’m saying this as a reminder that you’re not alone in this. That you and Max aren’t the only ones missing him, and also because I.. I don’t want to lose you too, okay?”

There’s another heartbeat of silence before Eddie whispers: “I’ve already lost one good friend, and I don’t want to lose another. I understand that you need your space, but please don’t be a stranger. Please, don’t turn into one.“

The ticking sound of the indicator and the low whispers of music are the only two things that fill the heavy silence that follows, and you have to wipe your eyes again.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, voice incredibly soft and timid, “I didn’t mean to lock you out, it’s just…”

A sniffle breaks through your words, through the silence, through the entirety of Eddie’s heart.

“I think when Billy died, something inside of me broke, something significant, and I don’t think I can fix it. I don’t know how to fix this, Eddie-“

This time, it’s a sob that cuts you off in your own speech, and you don’t even try to hide the tears running down your face anymore.

There’s no way you could, because there are way too many now.

“I’ve only ever imagined a future with Billy by my side, and now that he’s gone, I don’t know how to move forward.” You admit quietly.

“It feels like his death created a chasm between me and the rest of the world. And I can still see it somewhere in the distance, see everyone else moving on, right there on the other side, but I can’t find a way to join them for the life of me.”

It takes everything in Eddie not to stop the car, not to unbuckle your seatbelt and engulf you in his arms, in the biggest hug of the universe.

But he’s not sure you’d appreciate that; not sure if he’s crossing ten lines in one breath by doing so.

So, instead, he slows the car on the otherwise empty road down a bit, before leaning over to you slightly, taking your hand securely in his.

“But I’m right here, sweetheart,” He whispers, big brown eyes finding yours, “there’s not a chasm between us right now, is there?

"I understand that it might feel this way, especially when you’re all on your own, but I’m right here, and so is everyone else, too. Nobody expects you to continue on with your life like nothing happened, but you’ve been so hard to reach lately, I’m worried that one day you’ll slip away completely, and I don’t want to lose you, too.”

There are tears swimming in Eddie’s eyes, mirroring yours.

There’s a heavy understanding in his heart, mirroring yours.

Maybe, you think, you really aren’t quite as alone in this.

“I just,” you try to think of a way to phrase this, unsure of where to start, and where to stop.

“I just miss him so much.”

“I know.”

“And I thought, I think, I don’t know, I guess I’m just not that easy to be around these days.”

“You don’t need to be, sweetheart.”

“You don’t understand, Eddie. I’m hardly fun anymore. I start crying out of nowhere at the most random times, and I still feel so much anger, so much hurt, that on some days I think that’s all that I’m made of, a-and I feel like I’m doing a disservice to Billy by-“

“By letting yourself be happy? By putting yourself in situations you know you might enjoy, even if it’s just a tiny little bit? By starving yourself of the company of your friends, because you fear you might be too much of a bummer, a burden, or you could find yourself enjoying something despite Billy’s absence?”

Eddie questions carefully, and though you hate to admit it, he’s hitting the nail right on the head, finishing the sentence forming in your heart perfectly.

Putting words around an otherwise almost unexplainable thing. A fear. A worry. A dark shape in the back of your mind, with a murky voice to match its exteriors.

He’s describing exactly what you’re worried about.

“Yeah,” you whisper, voice stunned and eyes wide, “yeah, that’s, that’s it.”

And Eddie’s eyes are nothing but gentle and understanding when he glances back over at you, but this time around, they don’t feel too kind, they just feel earnest.

“Well, in that case, let me tell you that I’d rather spend time with you, even when you’re in some dark mood, than not having your presence around me at all. You can show up in any state that you find yourself in, I promise, I can take it.

“When I said, I’m here to help, I really, truly, meant it. Taking care of one another is a fundamental part of friendships, and you're one of my closest ones, so please, let me at least try to help. Don’t push me out completely.”

You sniffle again, searching your pockets for a tissue or something to wipe your nose with, but you come up completely empty.

“The glove department.” Eddie suggests out of nowhere, and you can’t help but let out a tiny, timid laugh.

There’s a small pack of kleenex hidden inside of it, and you gratefully take one.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and you hope that Eddie knows you’re not just talking about the paper tissue clenched in your hand.

“You’re very welcome.” Eddie answers with a small smile, and when your eyes meet, you know he understood the implications of your words, too.

“I’m sorry about distancing myself so much, and-“

“You don’t need to apologize for grieving, just let me at least try to catch up with you sometimes? Maybe don’t lock the door completely?”

“I’ll try.” You whisper.

You promise.

“And about Billy.” Eddie starts carefully, because there’s something that needs to be said, even if you don’t want to hear it.

“Do you really think Billy wants you to suffer for the rest of your life without him? I know you feel a lot of guilt about his death, but you’re punishing yourself in the cruelest of ways, by-“

“It’s not that I don’t want to be happy, Eddie.” You interrupt him quietly.

“It’s that I don’t deserve it. Not after everything that happened. Not after the way I’ve let him down. I have to make it up to him somehow-“

“And you think you’re making it up to him by, what, stop trying to live a happy life?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, because, truly, you don’t. “But it feels wrong to… to just move on without him.”

Eddie knows there isn’t anything he can say to convince you otherwise, and if he’s really honest, he kind of gets it. If he imagines losing you in such a way, he would struggle with an endless amount of guilt and an inability to move on from that, too.

But what happened still isn’t your fault, yet you’ve put such a heavy burden on yourself, one that no human soul can possibly bear or carry. To his despair, Eddie doesn’t know how to make you take that off. How to find a space big and strong enough for you to put that, lay it down to rest.

“If it was Billy who survived,” Eddie tries, since he knows there’s no other way to reach you, “would you want him to suffer, too?”

“Of course not,” you huff, “but it wasn’t Billy who survived, now was it?”

There’s a bitterness in your voice as you cross your arms defensively over your chest, and Eddie feels you slipping away from him again, away, and into the steady silence and darkness of the car.

He’s almost by your house now, and he feels the dire need to turn this around somehow.

“I get it,” he finally whispers, “If it was the person I loved, I would feel like this, too. But that doesn’t make it right, doesn’t make that narrative true. What happened wasn’t your fault, and punishing yourself like it is, isn’t going to add anything other than additional suffering on yourself. It’s not going to bring Billy back, and I very much doubt that he’d want that for you either.”

“But it’s not about what he wants, or you want, or I want!” You say, voice desperate and rising in volume.

“It’s about the fact that I don’t deserve to move on without him; besides, there’s nowhere to move on to anymore. There’s no way I should be happy when the better half of my heart is lying six feet underground in some cheap ass casket with a ribbon on it.

“And I still wake up every night reaching for him, only to find his side of the bed empty and cold. And every time the world comes back crashing down on me again, every. single. fucking. night. And I take it, because, maybe, that's simply what I deserve! He’s been through so much, and it’s all my fault!

“I keep seeing him in everything I do, yet it’s completely pointless because he isn’t there by my side anymore. And he never will be. I will never be able to hear his voice again, never be able to hear his laugh. Never feel the comfort of his presence ever again, because he died!

“He died saving a town he hated and yet nobody cares. And I can’t even leave this shithole of a place because I made a promise to him months before his death, that if anything ever happens to him, I would look out for his little sister! So I’m stuck here just like his fucking body is!

“And how am I even supposed to move on, when all of my dreams, all of the plans I had for the future involved Billy in some way. He was the one constant in my life, the only constant in my life that truly mattered more than anything else in this world. Just for it now to feel like the light of my life, the sun I’ve been revolving everything around has gone out, and I’m left all alone, spinning out helplessly on a cold and dying planet.

“It’s fucking hard to move on, when there’s nowhere to move on to, because I simply cannot imagine a future without Billy in it. And there’s no way to soothe the hurt, or to fill the emptiness that his absence has created, since there’s no way for me to get him back ever again!“

You’re full on crying now, and after having sobbed so much throughout the latter part of your admission, you didn’t even notice that Eddie already parked the car and unbuckled your seatbelt.

You only notice it once you’re done, all the words having left your mouth, energy completely drained, when suddenly two arms wrap themselves around you, lifting you up, over the center console - and into Eddie’s lap.

You slump against him immediately, heavy sobs still wrecking your body, while your best friend, the one you shared your very first kiss in middle school with, the one who has seen you cry a thousand times before, quietly whispers soothing words to you.

“Shh, just let it out. Let it all out, it’s okay, I’ve got you. You can let it all out, love.”

His touch, much like his words, feels incredibly comforting. His arms are wrapped securely around you, keeping you close, one hand brushing that tender spot at the back of your neck in soothing strokes.

He stays true to his words, takes all the vulnerability and hurt that flows out of you in cries and tears, witnesses you breaking down completely, yet he never falters in his mission to gently guide you through it all.

Like a storm that you’re both trapped in. But his comfort, his presence, soothes the severity of the rain pouring down, lessens the strength of the howling wind, until the hurricane quiets down, and your cries, like clouds, start getting smaller.

Letting go like this, crying unrestrained in his arms, feels not as hopeless and heavy as it usually does when you’re doing it all alone in the darkness and isolation of your bedroom. And suddenly, you feel compelled to admit something you’ve never told anybody.

“It’s my fault, Eddie. It’s all my fault.” You whisper, but Eddie brushes you off gently.

“Shh, no it isn’t, sweetheart. The only one responsible is the mindflayer, remember?”

“No, Eddie, you don’t understand, I could have saved him, I could have-”

Eddie furrows his brows in confusion. He doesn’t know the events that happened at Starcourt Mall that night to a T, since he wasn’t there during them, but he’s pretty sure that there’s hardly anything you could have done to save Billy.

From the things he’s been told, you arrived there when it was already too late. When Billy already decided to stand up to that monster all by himself.

You had just come back from the airport, fresh out of California, confused and incredibly concerned because Billy hadn’t responded to any of your calls while you were away.

When you finally made it back to Hawkins, you found yourself rushing to the Mall, just to watch the love of your life fight a monster with his bare hands, trying his hardest to hold it back, to stop it, but to no avail.

And despite the fact that you ran up to him immediately, you still had to watch him get impaled and killed by that interdimensional monster.

And by the time you made it to Billy’s side, the only thing you could do was to hold his dying body close in your arms, while he took his last, uneven breaths, and you whispered your final I love you’s.

Weeks later, when Steve came over to pick up a few things to help ease his own nightmares, he told Eddie in secret that he doesn’t remember much from that night, but one of the things that had etched itself into his brain were your fierce cries.

He said he heard you scream Billy’s name that night so loudly, so full of utter desperation and horror, he was sure your cries could be heard all over the town of Hawkins.

But your horrors didn’t just end there that godless night at the mall. Because when help finally arrived, you refused to acknowledge the first aid responders, as they told you that Billy was dead and gone or good.

You refused to budge, refused to let Billy go, refused to watch him be put into some cold, plastic body bag.

They needed four grown men in order to get you off and away from Billy’s body, and no matter how much they tried to calm you down, you still wouldn’t stop fighting back, not until someone finally infused you with some tranquilizer, but even while drifting into unconsciousness, you continued to whimper Billy’s name in quiet pleas.

That night, under a starless sky in the town of Hawkins, Indiana, you lost the love of your life, and you knew, you would never be the same again.

There’s no such thing as recovery when you lose the most vital part, your heart, in such a gruesome way.

But there’s another reason for the immense guilt you feel.

The knowledge that you could have prevented it.

And it’s time for you to share that part.

You talk one last steading breath, hoping that your voice won’t sound as shaky as you feel.

“Before I went to Cali, to meet with that administrator from UCLA, we had initially decided that I would fly out there all by myself, but two days before my departure, Billy told me that he wanted to join in on the trip and come with me instead.”

Eddie feels your frame trembling slightly, your hands digging into his shirt in an effort to hold on to something.

“But I told him no.” You wail, sobs rumbling through you like thunder. Tears streaming down like hail. Each and every single one punching holes in Eddie's heart.

“I told him no; That that was silly, that I’d be fine on my own, and that I would be gone for hardly a week anyway. I told him that booking a flight so last minute would be way too expensive, and that we could use that money a lot more for our first rent payment, because, you know, we wanted to move into that small apartment right by the sea once uni starts-“

Eddie is stunned. He’s frozen. He doesn’t know what to do, because he had no idea.

Sure, he knew about yours and Billy’s plan to move to California once the summer break came to an end. But you have never, ever told him that story, and he doubts that you’ve shared it with anyone else either, judging by how hard it is for you to recall any of these details.

“Even when he dropped me off at the airport, he still joked about sneaking in and getting his own ticket at the desk. He said that there was still time, that I only had to say the words and we’d board that stupid plane together… but I didn’t.

"I just laughed and kissed him goodbye, and told him to stop being such a sap; that I would be back in no time, and in only a couple of weeks we would both soak in the Californian sun till the end of our days, and never have to hear the word Hawkins again.

"But if I had listened to him; if I’d taken him with me, he would still be around!”

Your voice, now utterly hoarse from crying, might haunt Eddie for a lifetime or two.

He’s at a loss of words, because what really is there to say?

Of course, what happened isn’t your fault, you didn’t know. You couldn’t have predicted that this moment with Billy at the airport would end up being the last time you sincerely saw him smile, and yet, Eddie understands now, why Billy’s death feels even more like a burden on the tender shoulders of your soul.

How you didn’t just lose the love of your life, but feel utterly responsible for it, too.

“I could have saved him, I could have prevented his death, if I only had let him buy his stupid plane ticket.”

The regret in your voice is almost palatable, dripping from your slumped frame like the tears from your eyes.

“If I hadn’t said: No, Billy. Money’s tight, Billy. Being away from me for a few days won’t kill you, Billy... If it wasn’t for me, he’d still be here. ”

Well, shit, Eddie thinks, hindsight really is one brutal tool.

Are there any words, in this universe, that could take some of the burden off your shoulders? Something to ease your guilt and the blame you clearly feel? Eddie doesn’t think that there are.

All the words he thinks about saying just sound hollow and dull.

He can repeat the phrase, this isn’t your fault, a million times; he’s sure you still wouldn’t believe him.

But at the very least, he has to try.

“I didn’t know,” Eddie whispers, wiping a few stray tears from your cheeks, “I didn’t know that that happened.”

You sniffle, eyes darting everywhere, but the face of your close friend.

“I’ve never-”

You can’t even finish the sentence, and Eddie feels his heart do an incredibly uncomfortable twist, as he hears his assumption be called true.

You’ve been dragging that secret around like a dead horse; and that’s on top of all the other shit that’s been thrown your way.

“Please don’t tell the others,” you whisper, and the desperation and worry in your voice is hard to miss. Like you almost expect Eddie to start blaming you, too.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell, I promise.” He pledges, “but what happened still isn’t your fault. I know, it’s probably impossible to change your mind right now, but it really wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. If you did, things might have gone differently, that’s true, but you didn’t know.

"You didn’t know that in your absence, Billy would find himself getting possessed and taken over by the Mind Flayer. You didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself for something you had no clue would happen.”

Your sniffles have now quieted down to something that doesn’t feel like bullets through Eddie’s heart, but the way you curl up into him still tugs on something tender deep inside of him.

It’s like you’ve turned shy all of a sudden, worried about what Eddie might think of you, now that you’ve shared that heavy secret. But Eddie doesn’t see you in a different light, and he’s determined to reassure you that, too.

“I really mean it, when I say that what happened to Billy isn’t your fault. Looking back at the past with the knowledge you have now, is always going to leave you wondering why you picked one choice rather than another.

"And you’ll drive yourself mad, if you judge all of your life’s choices that way. You didn’t know. And punishing yourself for a decision you made in nothing but good faith, wondering what could have happened if you didn’t, sweetheart, that’s just no way to live.”

Tentatively moving your face out of your hiding spot that’s Eddie’s neck, you look up at him with careful eyes.

“You think so?”

Eddie just nods his head with a deep hum.

“If you had taken Billy with you, you don’t know what could have happened. He could have died there, too, you know? And then you’d wish that you’d left him in Hawkins instead. It’s a vicious cycle of what was and what could have been,but, ultimately, we don’t know, and we never will.

"All you did in that moment at the airport was make a sensible decision based on all of the information you had at that time. Judging it by anything else is doing a disservice to you and your intentions. You just tried to do good, to look out for you and Billy, with your shared future in mind.”

“So, you don’t think I’m -“

Despicable, a murderer, a horrible person, responsible for Billy’s death, the voice in your head finishes.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person at all, sweetheart.” Eddie whispers, knowing what you’re thinking without saying it, while wiping the last few tears from the apples of your cheeks.

“And you’re not just telling me this because you are my friend?” You sniffle, voice and mind still a little unsure.

“I’m telling you this because it is true.”

The sincerity and earnestness of Eddie’s words are hard to miss, hard to ignore, hard not to let seep into your heart at least a little bit.

You stay intertwined like that for a while, until your breaths have evened out, and the last tears on your skin have dried down.

They’re back in your eyes for a moment, when you notice the dark mascara stains you’ve left on Eddie’s Hellfire t-shirt, and something inside of you starts to panic, but your best friend is quick to shush you again, calming you down with gentle words.

“It’s just a shirt, sweetheart. Just tears and mascara stains on a shirt, don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?” You mumble, and Eddie nods his head enthusiastically.

“Nothing a washing machine can’t fix.”

Still not completely convinced, you try to rub some of it away, but only with little success.

Letting out a defeated sigh, you decide to curl up into your friend a bit more, enjoying a closeness you haven’t experienced in a while.

And Eddie lets you, not just because you clearly need it, but because he does, too.

He missed this, missed you, and despite your promise to try and be around more, he’s worried that by tomorrow, you will have receded back into your reclusive ways.

Time moves through the space of the van in the form of the quiet music coming from the radio. Currently it’s some cheesy 70s ballad that neither of you pay too much attention to.

You’re both deep in thought, only grounded by the touch of the other.

Eddie has a few more words sitting heavy on the tip of tongue, waiting for him to open his mouth and finally tumble out.

There’s no such thing as the right moment in a space like this, he thinks, and so, after another beat of slow moving music, flowing like syrup all around him, he whispers: “Do you trust me?”

If his words confuse you, or catch you by surprise, you don’t show. Instead, you just look up at him with honest eyes.

“Yes.” You whisper, and there’s not an ounce of a question stained in your voice, or written on your face.

“Of course, I do.”

“Then please trust me when I say that there’s a future for you, even if you can’t quite see it yet. And you’re allowed to move towards it, even if it still seems gloomy, or unattainable right now. The things that happened that night at Starcourt Mall should have never happened, but none of it was your fault. None of it, okay?”

He’s holding your face in both of his hands now, cradling it gently, silently hoping, begging, crying to the gods above, that at least a fraction of what he’s said will take root in your heart.

“Okay.” You whisper, overwhelmed by the deep sincerity in each and every single fragment of Eddie. His eyes, his voice, the gentle brush of his fingertips.

“Good.”

He leans in, leaving a lingering kiss on your forehead, but before either of you can dwell on the meaning of that too much, a sudden noise of static cuts right through the moment, making the both of you jump.

Catching you off guard and slightly startled.

“What the-” Eddie mumbles while leaning forward to change the station, but the frown on his face only deepens when the radio won’t budge at all.

“So much for a perfect radio reception, huh?” You can’t help the tiny dig, and Eddie scoffs, though there’s a small smile growing on his face.

“I swear, this has never happened before.”

“Uh-huh, and you don’t think that this might be explained by the fact that you usually never listen to the radio?”

“You know, I might be inclined to believe your theory, if it was just the radio signal that’s going off, but the whole thing is acting strange. I can’t even-”

In an attempt to demonstrate to you that he isn’t even able to change stations, Eddie forcefully turns the button- only for it to work perfectly this time.

But for some odd reason, all the other channels seem to consist of nothing but pure static, too.

“Okay, that’s weird.” You whisper, trying to ignore the small chill that’s started to run down your back, as you realize how familiar this situation feels.

You’re about to tell Eddie to just turn the radio completely off, when he finally finds a channel that is not just static upon static noise.

“Hah!” He exclaims, quite pleased with himself, though that sentiment turns out to be rather short-lived.

“Still weird.” You mumble, while Eddie continues to toy with the volume button this time, and it makes you listen to the song more intently.

It’s Take my breath away , of all things. Not quite the song you’d pick for a Friday night, sitting in your best friend's van, still perched upon his lap.

“Through the hourglass, I saw you.

In time, you slipped away.”

Terri Nunn sings, and you’re about to ask Eddie if he can just turn this whole thing off, when the song, completely out of nowhere, starts to change its pitch.

“Take my breath away,” rattles through the speakers, only now it resonates both slower and lower, kind of like a vinyl record being played at the wrong speed, giving the singer a much deeper voice.

The song suddenly sounds a lot more sinister and a lot less romantic, and though you don’t mind the latter, the way the song is now being played hardly counts as an improvement in your books.

“Uhm, Eddie, what exactly are you doing?” You question, as you watch your friend continue to tinker with the electronic device.

“I don’t know.” He mumbles, voice slightly muffled because he’s bent over quite a bit, and you take shelter on his left knee in an effort to get out of the way a little more.

“Watching every motion in this foolish lover’s game.

Haunted by the notion somewhere there’s a love in flames.”

The distorted voice coming from the speakers promises, and you feel yourself grow rather uneasy, as the odd voice manages to sound more and more threatening.

“Eddie, please turn this off.”

“I’m trying, but the power button won’t work.”

“Eddie, don’t fuck with me right now.”

“I’m not, alright. I promise, I’m not.”

To prove his point, your best friend purposely pushes the on/off button a couple of times, but it simply continues to stay unresponsive.

“See?”

To your own horrors, you not only see the radio’s inability to shut itself off, you hear it, too.

“Uh-huh, kind of hard not to notice, Eddie. This sounds like music straight from hell.”

“I honestly don’t think the music down there would be that bad.”

That comment deserves your friend a small punch in his side, which he retaliates in turn with a poke of his own, and for a moment the weird music is almost forgotten, until suddenly it turns itself completely off again.

“Fuck, about time.” Eddie exclaims, relief evident in his voice.

“Seems like even the broadcast from hell struggles with transmission difficulties sometimes.” You state dryly, although, you’d be lying if you said that whatever this just was, didn’t unnerve you, too.

“This seriously never happened before.” Eddie mumbles, eying his radio with two watchful eyes, like he doesn’t quite trust the silence yet.

“Guess I can’t say the same thing.” You state with a small shrug, and when Eddie gives you a slightly confused look, you elaborate: “This is kind of exactly like the stuff plaguing the Camaro.”

“Your music gets that distorted?”

“No, but anything except that seems quite familiar; the static, the unresponsiveness of the buttons, the radio just turning itself off like that.”

“Geez.” Eddie summarizes, and you don’t think you could put it any better either.

“Well, in any case, I know now that the problem can’t just be the radio signal, but probably something a lot more technical. Maybe an issue with the speakers, too, if the sound comes out that weirdly.”

“Yeah, for a minute I thought we were in some kind of horror movie.” You joke with a timid laugh, and it’s only now as you begin to relax again that you notice how incredibly tightly you’ve been holding on to Eddie’s shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt and the soft cushion of his flesh.

After letting go quickly, your hand repeatedly strokes over that spot inconspicuously, like you’re trying to brush out a wrinkle you caused in a tablecloth without getting caught.

Like Eddie can’t still feel the cresent moons of your fingernails pushing into his skin.

“Quite honestly, a minute more of that racket, and I would have gone insane.”

“Would have?” You tease, and Eddie’s quick fingers are back at your sides.

“Stop, stop!” You plead in between soft giggles, and Eddie thinks he would endure hell’s music for eternity, if it means he can listen to your earnest laughter one more time.

Eddie’s fingers come to a rest soon after, and you lean into his frame once more, slightly out of breath from the tickle-induced laughing.

“You’re not playing fair.” You huff, as soon as you have enough of your breath back to properly talk again, and Eddie just gives you a big grin.

“Never said I was.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s a half-hearted act, one that leaves you dodging Eddie’s fingers again.

“Well, I think I should get going now.” You state, after the ceasefire between tickling hands has reigned for a little bit longer, and it slowly dawns on you that you’ve spent a whole lot more time with Eddie than you’d initially planned.

“Right, sure!” Eddie quickly fumbles with the door, trying to get it to open for you, without dropping you in the process.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow then.” He states, as you reluctantly detach yourself from him, before hopping out of his car and catching your footing on the curb in front of your house.

“Yeah, a quarter to 10,” you remind him, “and don’t stress about the Camaro too much, especially now that you have two patients to look after, instead of just one.”

Your eyes fixate on his car radio.

“Guess whatever is going on is contagious now.”

You initially meant it as a joke, but now that the words have left your mouth, you can’t help but feel like there’s a bitter aftertaste to them.

“Eddie, whatever you do, please be careful, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I usually know what I’m doing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I just know you, is all.”

This time, it’s Eddie’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Oh, and Eddie,” you quickly interject, suddenly feeling a little more shy, “thank you.”

Your friend’s gaze immediately softens.

“Anytime.”

“I… uh, I think I really needed this, so thank you for not giving up on me.”

“I would never!” Eddie looks almost offended at the implication that you could even think such a thing.

“I know now, I guess. And, uh, thank you for the tape, too.”

Waving the small item for emphasis, you hope Eddie truly catches how much the events of tonight matter to you.

And you’d like to think, as your eyes meet his in parting, that he does.

That he does understand how much all of this means to you. How much his efforts are appreciated.

“Drive slowly!” You exclaim in a last farewell, “and I can’t wait to meet your carton of eggs tomorrow.”

Eddie’s laugh echoes through the space of the night like warm rays of sunshine.

“I’ll let them know how eagerly you’ve been waiting for an introduction.”

“Please do. Good night, Eddie.”

“Night, sweetheart.”

One last wave and a shared smile later, and the van’s door closes with a dull thud.

You watch Eddie drive off into the night, his taillights vanishing in the distance until they’re only a mere memory of two red eyes glowing in the empty space of your street.

Turning around to walk the few steps through your yard and up the stairs to your entrance, you can’t help but notice that the many memories buried deep within your chest feel a little lighter, or maybe just a little less heavy.

And by the time you make it through your front door, the profound dread you normally feel upon walking into your family home does not overcome you the way it usually does.

Once inside, you make your way into the kitchen immediately, getting some cold beverage before settling down in your bedroom.

Like every night, you turn the TV on, letting it play as a background noise mindlessly, without paying much attention to it.

It’s another rerun of the movie Rumble Fish, and you honestly couldn’t care less about it, you just need some kind of distraction, some kind of stimuli, because anything is better than the haunting silence, especially in the portent hours between midnight and the rise of dawn.

It’s not quite that late yet, but it most likely will be, by the time you feel exhausted enough to get at least some resemblance of sleep.

Putting down Eddie’s tape on your bedside table, you decide to look for your cassette player, while the movie continues on lowly in the background.

The TV also functions as your only light source, and its flickering lights illuminate the space of your bedroom before turning darker and then back into brightness again.

It’s an endless charade of light and dark against your bedroom walls.

As usual, the television alone isn’t enough of a distraction, and with a sigh, you decide to put on a record as well, to reallydrive the last remnants of your spinning thoughts out of your brain.

Tonight, that honor falls in the hands of Patti Smith, and her powerful voice joins the hushed ones coming from the television.

Moving through the space of your bedroom restlessly, you still try to find your walkman, but to no avail.

You know you haven’t used it in a while, yet that doesn’t explain its apparent disappearance, and you feel angry tears start to fill your eyes.

You just want to listen to that goddamn tape, and forget about the rest of the world for a little bit.

After going through the items in your bookshelf one more time, you come to the realization that this current search-mission is a rather fruitless endeavor, and you might find yourself having more luck in the morning.

Defeated, and admittedly in a worse mood than you were before entering your bedroom, you flop down on your bed again, picking up Eddie’s tape and opening it up carefully.

He’s written you a little note on the inside of the cover, underneath the, admittedly, rather small tracklist.

I See You In Everyone by Survivor

x 5 times on Side A

x 5 times on Side B

Knock yourself out with this.

- Eddie

The tiny smile creeping up on your lips is impossible to call a halt to, and you really wish you could listen to the cassette now; if only you knew where your tape player currently resides.

The song, that Eddie put on a tape as many times as it could possibly fit, is from the same album as the love song you and Billy used to call your own. And despite owning it as a vinyl in your rather extensive record collection, you don’t have the heart, or the strength, to listen to the complete album anymore.

When Billy was still around, you used to listen to it all the time, obviously.

But with I can’t hold back as the opening track on it, every song that followed would usually fade into the background quickly.

Especially with the amount of times you've made out with each other to said record, and by the time it was time to flip the vinyl over, you two were already in a completely different world, music and your surroundings completely forgotten.

With that in mind, you never really listened that much to the B-side of the album.

Until Billy’s death.

Until in a desperate attempt to feel closer to him, a few days after his funeral, you decided to listen to it, the whole way through.

A great mistake, as it turned out, because the onslaught of memories that came with everything in that moment; picking the record out, pulling it out of its covers, putting it on, and above all listening to it, felt like stabs straight through your heart, through yourself, through every fiber of your being, until you felt like a puddle of pure misery, tears, and despair, staining the soft carpet of your bedroom floor.

But still, you pulled through, flipped the record over and listened to everything that that album had to offer.

And you cried the whole time, completely overcome by sadness and anger, until the very last song.

I See You In Everyone.

You don’t think you’ve ever listened to it before, or maybe you did, but you don’t remember. Either way, that afternoon, something about that tune struck a vital cord deep inside of you.

And you wanted to listen to it again, over, and over, and over, until the vinyl would be completely worn out, or your record player broke, or the world got up in flames.

The outside world, of course.

Your world already did.

But unfortunately, you could hardly bear looking at that record, could hardly stomach touching it, or pulling it out of its designated space on your sideboard; let alone repeatedly engage in the whole process of actually putting it on and listening to it.

You had to banish that vinyl from the space of your bedroom completely, each time you merely saw the cover of Vital Signs your heart would drop ten million feet below, shattering at the bottom of the earth and piercing every part of your soul.

That night, after having listened to the record completely, maybe for the first time ever, you got out of your mind drunk, kicking stones into the abyss of the quarry, until Eddie found you and-

Well, the exact details hardly matter now, and it’s not like you remember much from it anyway. That night, like most of the nights following the first few weeks after Billy’s death, are nothing but a blur to you.

But you do recall telling Eddie how there’s this song on your favorite Survivor record. That one record that’s cursed as your least favorite now, because it sparks nothing but painful memories, like lightning in the sky.

Except for that one song, that one song.

That one song you want to listen to until your world doesn’t feel like it’s burning anymore.

Until your heart stops hurting, until you wake up one morning without feeling like there’s a massive hole in the middle of your chest.

And Eddie, attentive as ever, somehow remembered.

And now, here you are, with the song you’ve been craving for a whole long while, right there at the tips of your fingers, but with no real way to listen to it.

You know that crying over something like this is a bit silly, but you’ve cried over smaller things before, and this right now feels rather big on your side of the universe.

“Goddamn it!” You whisper, irritated by both, the tears in your eyes, and your inability to find that walkman.

You stare at your ceiling for a little bit, almost ready to call it a night, when suddenly, out of your peripheral vision, you see something light up.

It’s only brief, only for a short moment of time, and you brush it off as a trick of the light coming from the TV at first, before it happens again.

And again.

And again once more.

And by the fourth time, you finally lift your head.

It’s the small night light on your dresser that’s lighting up, and then goes off again, lights up and then goes off again.

“What the fuck?” You whisper confused, especially since you’re beyond certain that you didn’t even turn it on in the first place.

You simply stare at it for a little while, watching the slow rhythm of the light flickering on and then off again.

On and then off.

After having seen enough of this odd routine, you decidedly get up, making your way over to the weirdly behaving culprit.

The night light is a simple lamp in the shape of a small, plastic surfboard that lights up from within, giving its surroundings a warm, orange glow.

It used to be a gift from Billy, something he’s gotten you without any special occasion, just because he thought it might look cute in your room, and maybe, as a small thing to remember him by.

“So, when you wake up in the middle of the night without me by your side, you can still think of me, and remember that I’m always yours, even when we’re miles apart.” He had told you with an uncharacteristically shy gaze, and your heart beamed with the luminosity of a thousand suns.

You had wanted to get him a night light, too, initially. Thinking there was something deeply romantic about the small gesture of sharing matching night lights with each other while being apart.

Separated physically, but united in spirit, thinking of the other in your dark bedrooms, the small night lights a whisper of the other’s name.

In practice, that turned out to be a whole lot more difficult, mostly thanks to Billy’s dad.

There simply was no way that such a thing would survive even a single night in Billy’s room without harm, and it wasn’t really worth the risk either, to be honest.

You didn’t want to give Neil any more reasons to mistreat and discipline his son, than he already had.

So instead, you got Billy a little figurine that looked a lot like his Camaro. It wasn’t completely right, but still close enough, and you even took the time to paint two little faces on the windows of each side.

A small iteration of Billy on the driver’s side, and you on the passenger seat.

In reality, it looked a lot like two stick figures with bad hairstyles, and Billy started crying with laughter upon seeing them. His hearty hyena laugh echoing through your room for what felt like hours before he would calm down.

“I love it,” he said, voice rough from his unrestrained glee, wiping a few tears away.

“You look like something out of an alien movie, trying to disguise itself as human, and I look like a possessed doll, but at least you got my angles right.”

And Billy threw his head back laughing again, curls flying everywhere as he shook his head in nothing but pure joy.

“No, no, wait, I’ve got it! I’ve got it! I look like if Robert Plant and the smiley face from the goodwill logo had a baby!”

And then he was back to laughing his ass off again, amusement in every heaving breath leaving his lips, and you couldn’t help but join in on his laughter, too.

“I’m never painting you something again.” You huffed, once you’d both calmed down enough, and though you tried hard to sound annoyed, you failed miserably.

“Oh, no, Baby, please do! Please paint me things all the time now!” Billy exclaimed with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I didn’t know about your talents! Tell me, who was your teacher? A five year old?”

“Asshole!” You'd grumbled, but you couldn’t keep a smile from spreading on your face.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry.” Billy immediately backtracked, not having seen your amused facial expression yet, and thinking you were earnestly hurt by his jab.

He quickly rolled over on the bed to see you properly, caging you in between himself and the mattress, before cupping your face gently.

“I love it, okay? It’s a great gift! It kind of looks like Picasso threw up all over it, but I love it and-“

“Oh, shut up!”

His comments had you laughing again, and you slapped his shoulder playfully while Billy gave you an earnest smile.

“I really love it, it’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“This is going to be us one day,” you whispered, “just us, leaving this shithole town and never looking back.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And where are we going?” Billy murmured, face inching closer to yours, until the very tips of your noses touched.

“Wherever you want to go,” you whispered, “wherever you want to go, Billy, I’ll follow.”

“You promise?”

Billy’s voice suddenly sounded more vulnerable, like it was thick with emotions, or tears, or disbelief, or maybe a jumbled mix of it all.

“Cross my heart.” You murmured, fingers tracing a X upon your chest.

“I’ll always be by your side, Billy, and that little car is supposed to be a reminder for you.”

There had been tears swimming in Billy’s eyes when you pulled him close for a deep kiss, and by the time your lips met, there were tears in your eyes, too.

From that day on, Billy left that toylike figurine sitting on his bedside table, at a spot where it would always be illuminated by the soft glow from one of the street lamps outside at night.

It almost looked like it was glowing a little itself, and each time Billy woke up from a nightmarish dream, his eyes would find the small object, and he knew that he was going to get out of all of this, one day.

One day, you and him would leave everything behind and start over some place else.

And his heart longed for that moment, where he could walk out of his father’s house and never ever come back again.

So, that’s how you and Billy gifted each other a tiny copy of the Camaro, and a glowing, plastic surfboard.

A surfboard that’s now flickering away on your dresser, and you can feel your heart sink a little at the sight.

“Oh, please don’t die on me, too.” You whisper, worried that the present that reminds you so much of your boyfriend decided to fritz out at the worst possible time.

It only takes you a couple of steps from where you’re currently sitting on the bed to get to the item in question, a deep frown settling upon your face.

And that expression only deepens, once you notice that the lamp’s switch is still securely placed in its off position.

“What-” you mumble quietly, as unease begins to settle in your stomach more and more, “how’s that even possible?”

The flickering of the light increases its speed.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

“Okay, t-that’s enough.” Your voice comes out with a little tremor, but how could it not?

There have been weird things happening in your bedroom before; sometimes, lights will flicker. Sometimes, your TV will suddenly turn to static, seemingly out of nowhere; but none of that ever bothers you too much, because it can all be explained away with the easy excuse of old wiring, or the growing age of your devices.

Take your record player for example. A loyal thing gifted to you by your mother on your 14th birthday, but only a few weeks ago it started to act up, skipping and looping perfectly good vinyls for no apparent reason with increased frequency. It has to be its growing age, you’re sure of that.

Maybe, it’s simply getting a bit too old and tired of spinning records all the time. And you can’t really blame it. You’ve been planning to take it to RadioShack for a while, to get it checked out and hopefully fixed, but it’s not something that concerns you too much, either.

So, when your night light starts to flicker in your room, it’s not like you’ve never seen such a thing before, but usually, the device is at the very least turned on.

This, however, cannot be said for the little surfboard right now. It’s definitely switched off, and yet, every two seconds, it lights up the space of your dresser in a bright, orange hue.

Your first attempt to make it stop is to simply turn the lamp on and then off again. Unfortunately, it doesn’t budge in the slightest, and the memory of your and Eddie’s car radios doing something oddly familiar creeps its way into your mind.

You feel your heartbeat quickening, as a growing anxiety rushes through you, this should not be possible, you think, and yet, here you are bearing witness to it.

With trembling fingers, you try switching it off one last time, but after being unsuccessful again, you can’t help but take a few shaky steps back.

“Okay,” you whisper, trying hard not to freak out completely, “okay, okay, okay, okay.”

There’s one more thing that you could try.

One more chance to make it stop.

Whatever it even is.

You quickly approach the dresser again, this time kneeling down next to its side, hand stretching out in an effort to reach into the space behind it.

There’s cobwebs, and dust, and hardly any room, and your fingers keep touching things you’d rather not think about, before you feel the outline of your outlet merging together with the plug.

It’s a tight fit, the space between your furniture and wall being rather narrow, and trying to pull the plug from its socket without scratching up your hands is not an easy task, but somehow, after some rounds of trial and error, you manage to finally set it free.

There’s a small clicking sound, and then, unceremoniously, the lamp turns completely off.

“Jesus Christ,” you exhale, resting your head gently against your wooden dresser, trying to take a few steading breaths.

“That was…” You don’t even know how to finish that sentence.

Spooky? Unexpected? Quite something?

Retreading your hand from the space between turns out to go a lot quicker and smoother than getting it there, and you shake it a few times with slight disgust, convinced that you can still feel faint traces of cobwebs haunting it.

With a heavy sigh, you take a look through your room, but everything else seems just the same.

Like nothing weird happened at all.

Your TV keeps playing in the background, and your Patti Smith record is still spinning.

And your pulse is slowly coming down to healthy level again.

You’re about to get up and back into bed, hoping to forget whatever just happened, when something small and rectangular lying underneath your dresser catches your eye.

Your breath hitches once you realize what you’re looking at, and your heart might actually be doing a tiny flip.

There, behind one leg of your wooden dresser, hides your missing walkman.

“No way,” you mumble, confused and slightly stunned.

“How the hell did you get here?” You question, though you don’t expect the inanimate object to actually answer that.

You don’t remember any event that might explain why your tape player currently resides in such an odd place, but you also don’t really have the energy, or brain power, to question the whole thing, either.

You just want to cuddle up in bed and forget a good portion of this night. Block out the weird behavior of your lamp and its meaning; at the very least for a few hours.

You’re still trying to convince yourself that this was probably just a faulty cable, or maybe, a defect wiring connected to the switch, or something.

You can overthink these details in the morning, though, because right now, your fingers really itch to finally, finally listen to that tape.

To have its melody soothe a part of your soul that you otherwise can’t touch, can’t reach.

Putting your headphones on securely, and pushing the play button with still slightly shaky fingers, you feel yourself exhale slowly as the opening notes of the song begin.

You stare at the ceiling for a bit, as you let the music wash over you.

The glow from the TV draws flickering shapes on some parts of the space surrounding you, before withdrawing again, like waves.

It’s a hypnotizing spectacle, and you watch it for a while, trying not to think of the many Californian beaches you’ll have to visit all on your own.

By now, the moon has traveled enough across the horizon, to finally find its way in front of your bedroom window, painting your desk and the edge of your bed in a milky hue.

“Listening for your footsteps in every hallway

Watching for your headlights around the bend

I can see you standing in every doorway.

Out in the street, in every glance

I see your reflection, I fall in a trance

Can't you see what I've become

It's making me crazy

I see you in everyone!”

The song continues, as you long for Billy in ways that can’t be put into words.

For a moment, you decide to sit up again, turning around to face the window, looking up at the midnight blue canvas high above, hoping to find some comfort in it.

The waxing moon, a lonely companion in a cloudless sky, seems to glance down on you with a benevolent gaze, as you wipe a stray tear away.

“I miss you, Billy.” You whisper into the endless sea of midnight sky.

“I miss you so much. There’s not a single day where I don’t wish you near, where I don’t long for you to come back and hug me close.”

You continue to stare up at the moon with teary eyes while your favorite part of the song begins, and a small sob leaves your lips.

“Day by day, I watch the memories slip away

And traces of reality come back to me

Then I see your face, somewhere in a distant place

The fantasy has gone too far -

I close my eyes and there you are.

I can see you standing in every doorway

I can feel your heartbeat -- I hear your voice

And hiding in my shadow you're with me always. ”

“I just wish you would come back.” You whisper, “I just really wish you would come back somehow.”

With your eyes still transfixed on the moon, and the volume of your walkman turned up to its maximum, you don’t notice the sudden picture of static flickering over the TV screen behind you, disturbing the current scene of Rumble Fish, before turning back to its normal broadcast again.

Only this time in the movie, when Rusty James begs his brother to engage with him, to pay attention to him, his voice comes out distorted.

“Look at me, I just want you to see me, man.” The young man on the TV screen urges, voice slipping into something different, “I’m right here. I'm right here. I want you to see me-”

The screen flickers again, as the scene loops back to its beginning.

“Look at me… I’m right here, I’m right here.” A different voice says.

Billy’s voice.

Ahhh! And that’s it for the first chapter! If you’ve made it this far, thank you!! I know this part was quite Eddie/Reader heavy, but I promise Billy will start to make a lot more appearances (one way or another), too, and Eddie will have to take a backseat then.

I’m not sure when I’ll have the next part for this finished. Considering that I have a few more series and works in the drafts, it will probably take a little bit.

Like I’ve already said, I’ve decided to start a taglist so if you want to be tagged in the next chapter just let me know or fill out this form here <3

Also, before anyone decides to come for me because of my inaccurate music choices. I know that 'Take My Breath Away' was initially released in ’86 rather than ’85, but with a little suspense of belief I hope we can all overlook that tiny flaw. Thank you!

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fluff

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