#my eyes r stinging but god does my chest feel lighter

[peterparkeeperer]

I think there’s a sort of universal magic in that final, shuddering breath that you let out after a big cry. Like letting go. There is power in letting go

[funtimebunnyblog]

.... It was a moment of weakness, I swear. 😅

And what started out as a simple list of headcanons may or may not have snowballed into 4 short stories of reader slapping Pillarman cake that I have been working on almost non-stop since I got the request on A03... 😳😇 Oopsie!

Pillarmen react to getting slapped in the cake unexpectedly...

(Under the cut for length!)

(Warning! Do not attempt with real life Pillarmen! Slapping ancient Aztec buns may result in death...)

Kars:

It was a quiet morning at the house, which wasn't uncommon, but Kars always welcomed the silence and any and all absence of chaos. Nose deep in his book, he greeted you as you sauntered in to the room, not even bothering to lift his eyes from the text layered pages as per usual.

Always perceptive, even when distracted, it was no big feat to be able to differentiate your footsteps from the others; you being much lighter and smaller played a big part in that, of course. Though, he didn't think to wonder why you were tip-toeing like that...

He turned the page, the quiet rattle of paper breaking the silence, when he felt you right near him. The Pillarman still didn't care to tear his eyes from the sea of words he was lost in as he simply stood there, rooted to the floor.

"Hello dear one," he greeted, the timber of his deep and quiet voice floated through the Livingroom like a breeze. "if you're looking for Wamuu he's out--"

S M A C K!

The words evaporated on his tongue in a sheer instant. His blood-red eyes went wide in their sockets, unfocusing as the world around him stopped turning for just a moment.

Did you really just...?

No. He had to be mistaken.

You couldn't have--

No. You WOULDN'T have--

A pregnant and deafening moment of silence had fallen over the room, this time he all but welcomed it, only punctuated by the sound of a little giggle that managed to escape your lips.

You did.

You really just did.

Not that it hurt him; if anything he felt more the jiggle of his right cheek rather than the sting of the slap itself.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned his head to peer down at you; a frown tugging at the corners of his lips and etching deep lines into his fair, chiseled features. You were biting your own lip, your body shaking with suppressed giggles that tried to force their way out. You had your hands folded neatly behind your back, looking up at him with eyes best described as "innocent" as you made an attempt to hide the grin trying to force its way across your face.

You looked the very definition of smug.

Though he was displeased, he actually couldn't help but admire your bravery to be able to simply walk up and do such a thing.

Especially to him.

You must've been bored.

Really bored.

Either that or Esidisi put you up to this...

It didn't matter either way, as he fully intended to get down on your level if you wanted to pull such a stunt like that.

He shut the book that he was no longer invested in with a loud and heavy "THUD". In barely half a second, you were grabbed and thrown over his shoulder making you squawk in surprise.

"So," he began, tucking the book under his other arm and starting up the stairs. His voice was low, almost a purr, but it held an unignorable bite to it. "You like spanking, do you, little one?"

Uh oh.

UH OH.

You realized, quite belatedly, that you hadn't quite thought that through, squirming in his firm hold as he carried you all the way upstairs and right into his room.

Kars continued, you could hear the smirk in his very tone as he spoke. "Well in that case, I do hope you're prepared for one..." The door slammed shut ominously behind him. "Act like a child; you get punished like one."

You swallowed thickly at those words, a terror only best described a primal shooting through your body like lighting.

You had a feeling you weren't going to be sitting comfortably around the house anytime soon...

Esidisi:

The massive man chuckled as you hopped up and down, lips puckered like a sucker fish, almost meeting his cheek this time but just missing it as he stood up straight again.

You have been trying (emphasis on trying) to kiss him goodbye for nearly 5 minutes now.

On the norm, you made an effort to kiss all of your housemates, the Pillarmen, goodbye on their cheek every morning they went out. It became a routine for you all, or perhaps just a healthy habit on your part.

You'd kiss them goodbye as they went out doing God-knows-what for a few hours while you worked around the house; doing chores, working on courses, doing work inside at the computer or outside in the garden.

But this morning, Esidisi insisted on tormenting you.

And for his own entertainment no less.

You kissed Kars on his cheek and he patted your head. You kissed Wamuu on his cheek and he responded by respectfully kissing your hand. You kissed Santana on his cheek and he butted his head softly against yours.

And finally, you went to kiss Esidisi and he pulled away.

He laughed at your doe-eyed expression as your lips met empty air, smiling innocently down at you when you looked up at him in confusion. You blinked and tried again, only to be met with the same thing. You thought he would cut it out there but no; he was taking full enjoyment out of your determination, not to mention your reactions, as he just kept stopping you by pulling away or pushing you at arms length.

At this point, he was really milking it.

"Oh c'mon, Esidisi!" You whined, starting to get a little frustrated.

You stood on your toes, standing as taught as a bowstring as you held onto one of his massive and muscular arms, trying to peck his cheek. He refused to comply, grinning and standing at his full height; which was inevitably well out of your reach.

"Oh, but this is fun, my sweet little Human." He laughed, tapping his cheek almost invitingly. "Keep up. Maybe you'll get it if you jump just a little higher."

Kars rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his broad chest. He and the others had also been watching this display for almost 5 minutes now.

"Esidisi, come on and get it over with." The purple-haired Pillarman sighed, his amusement towards these antics long gone at this point. "We're burning daylight."

Esidisi let out a sigh, rolling his own eyes. "Alright." He said, leaning down to your level with a smirk.

You pursed your lips, that gleam in his eye told you what exactly he planned to do and that plan was to pull away one final time, just to get your goat before he left so he could have a good laugh about it like the bastard you knew he could be.

Unfortunately for him; you were one step ahead of him.

Like lightning, you pressed a kiss into the palm of your hand and threw your arm back, swinging it to smack your smooched hand it as hard as you could against his bare asscheek.

C R A C K!

The sound was almost like a gun going off.

Silence fell over the room, Esidisi's eyes were as wide as saucers and his cheeky (tee-hee) expression was now nowhere to be found.

"There." You spat, your own cheeks burning hot, the feeling spreading all the way back to your ears. "That's a cheek I can reach." Clenching your hands into fists, also trying to hide the fact one of your hands was stinging like fire, you stomped out of the room.

Finally, you could get a start on the chores you needed to get done for the day.

Even though, you knew it hurt your hand more than it hurt his bum; it was worth it. Esidisi had been the one to teach you a very important lesson to live by, after all; "Don't get mad; get even.".

Kars laughed lowly, Santana smirking as Wamuu hid a grin behind his hand; all of them watching you make your proud departure. Esidisi watched you go, bug-eyed and holding a hand gingerly against the cheek you had smacked.

"They certainly showed you, Esidisi." Kars chuckled.

Wamuu:

Training with Wamuu was definitely fun.

He was very encouraging; tempering you with praise as you pushed yourself and ensuring you weren't overdoing it. But once in a blue moon, once he decided that you had become substantially stronger and your lessons were becoming to easy for you, he upped the intensity a little.

Making it just a little less than fun for you at those times, of course.

Today in particular, you found yourself on the ground more than on your actual feet.

"Wamuu..." you panted, trying to force yourself up after he pushed you down for seemingly the millionth time that afternoon. "...I--... I'm..."

The warrior however, was having none of it.

Folding his arms, the green of his double-ringed eyes burned like glittering emeralds. "Try again, little one." He said, his voice soft but stern. "You must remember to apply what I have taught you; if you rush, it will only open yourself to be knocked down first."

Today, he presented you with the challenge of trying to pin him and needless to say, it was going just about as easy as it sounded.

He watched as you shakily got to your feet, huffing and puffing. It made his heart swell every time the undeniable gleam of ferocity in your eyes caught his, a fine warriors trait in his own opinion. He took stance, spreading his legs as he hunched his back, keeping himself open and ready to defend. You came at him, like you had done several times prior, grabbing onto him and trying to find a foothold only to be swatted away easily like a house fly.

A few more tries (resulting in a few more throwdowns) and Wamuu finaly decided that you were finished for the day.

"You are too tired to continue," he hummed, peering down into your face where you lay with your back to the ground.

His huge hands slipped under you, gently picking you up almost like a Mother would her babe, and setting you on your feet. He cupped your chin to peer into your eyes as you still tried to force breath into your burning lungs, evaluating what remainder of strength you had left. "I do believe that is enough for today, my little warrior."

He turned away from you, walking only a few feet away to the change of clothes sitting along with the items you had brought along with you laying idle on the ground. You watched, still dazed and incredibly tired as he bent over to pick up your things for you, still talking away.

"You must also try to remember to strike your opponent where and when they are vulnerable," he spoke as he busied himself. "Look for any given opportunity to gain advantage at any given time."

Focusing was hard enough when you were this exhausted, however, it was downright impossible when you were on the receiving end of a view like this.

It never really bothered you that the Pillarmen chose to walk around half-naked the majority of the time but right now, with those two bronze globes in your line of vision and shinning in the sun, a wicked idea formed as his previous words echoed throughout your tired mind.

'Strike when vulnerable, huh?' You thought to yourself, settling your eyes on the prize.

Maybe it was time for a little payback for him being so relentless with you today.

Slowly, you sauntered right up to him until you stood directly behind the massive warrior. With the sun at his back, there was no shadow for you to accidentally step on and set him off; so it was safe for you to get as close as you liked...

Completely none-the-wiser of your only half-thought out scheme, Wamuu continued. "Perhaps tomorrow we can--"

W H A C K!

Wamuu's eyes swole to an impossible size and whatever suggestion he was about to make was lost as the words got stuck in his throat.

It was only then, when you caught sight of the little red hand print that was left behind on his buttcheek, you realized to the full extent of what you had just done.

"...uh." You broke the deafening silence that had fallen between you two. "Uh-oh..."

"A charming observation, little one." He said, rising to his full height and turning to face you. The red in his cheeks made it hard to tell where the lines of his warpaint began and ended.

If you weren't fearing for your very life in that moment, you would have laughed seeing him so very embarrassed for the first time ever. Also, if you weren't so very exhausted from being tossed around like a rag doll, you would be running for the hills right now seeing the fire burning in his eyes.

"Since you have applied the knowledge of todays leason so easily, I have now decided that tomorrow we are going to be doing some very extensive training." He said, making your stomach drop as his lips slowly curled into a little smirk. "Specifically training on the art of sneak attack, since you are so very keen on it as it is..."

Oh...

You were starting to wish you had accidentally stepped on his shadow instead...

Santana:

You were starting to wonder if he forgot how to sit down, watching him stalk out of the room again barely even a minute after he entered it out just out of the corner of your eye.

You supposed you couldn't blame him however, as you were getting quite restless as well.

It was the dead of winter and of course it was very, VERY cold out. The snow had piled up so high outside there really wasn't a lot to do in the yard or the ability to go anywhere in it at that. And on top of those things to only make it worse; it was snowing again today.

Your eyes turned to the window, gazing out to the thick white out storm raging outside with no sign of stopping.

However when the storm finally stopped, which would be tomorrow at best, you planned on going outside to shovel out the driveway (for the 2nd time that week) and burn off some energy. But for now, you and your Pillarmen housemates, were stuck inside.

You knew the weather was bad when even an ultimate lifeform had no interest in going out in it.

You sighed, picking up your mug and finishing the last mouthful of your tea as you set down your book, you just couldn't seem to get into it today. You were just as bored as Santana was but you weren't driven to restlessly pacing.

Here he came again, back into the room. He was walking a little hunched over, arms loose at his sides, his face radiating with gloom and boredom. He had taken a nap already this morning and he had spent the last few hours flicking through the channels on T.V before it finally bored him enough to drive him to... this.

It made you feel a little sad to see him so very dejected.

Santana tred right up to the big window next to your chair, stopping and pressing his forehead up against the glass to watch the endless swirl of white with glazed eyes.

You smiled sadly, "Bored?" You happened to already know the answer however.

He hummed in response, his shoulders slumping visibly.

Santana wasn't very talkative on the norm but today he had barely even said one word, only worrying you further.

He stood there silently for a few minutes, watching the snow dance in crazed little circles. You hoped he would maybe go upstairs and have another nap or check in on one of the others and see what they were up to but no, poor Santana let out one more deep and heavy sigh and went right back to his restless pacing from room to room.

As you watched him depart from the livingroom (again) you decided that you had enough of this. You needed something to spur a reaction in him, which was difficult in itself.

Santana wasn't very ticklish (you had tried that before) so that was out of the question, nor did he take much interest in watching something funny online as he didn't quite understand half of the jokes and memes, there was also nothing interesting on the T.V and the signal kept fuzziness in and out due to the storm. You mulled over the very little options on what could possibly get him to cheer up or at least distract him from his pure, object boredom.

At last, that lightbulb went off over your head as he trod past you one more time.

Oh, this was bad and you knew it.

But really, you could only blame whatever outcome this would bring on your own devious curiosity.

With only a seconds hesitation, your hand outstretched and swung, just as he passed, skin hitting skin hard as hand collided with bottom.

S L A P!

Santana stopped the very second it happened, his posture suddenly making a very dramatic change as he stood as stiff as possible, some of his hair standing on end.

After a long second, he turned to look at you, puzzled and just a little wide eyed.

"What...?" Was all he could say, blinking slowly. He realized, belatedly, that you had slapped him on his rear.

Both of you stared at each other for another long moment, him staring questioningly and you sitting there, nursing your stinging hand, looking quite innocent.

Santana blinked as you started to laugh a little, his dumbfounded reaction only fueling more laughter to bubble out of you helplessly.

Mission accomplished at least, as you had now definitely distracted him from his boredom, that was for sure.

Santana put his lips together, tilting his head to the side as he pondered why you had just done that and why you were just simply laughing about it. He blinked again as specific dots connected in his head.

Where you trying to wrestle with him?

As a child, many (MANY) years ago, when he or Wamuu wanted to initiate some sort of play-fight, one of them would simply walk up to the other and give them a shove or a slap. Then, if the other was in a similar mood, the other would push or hit back and confrontation of the like would go back and forth until eventually escalating into a full on wrestling match.

A slow smile crept across his lips, making you feel a strange mixture of pure joy and overwhelming dread at the sight. Nonetheless, you clamped up and stopped laughing.

You got him to smile but the question now was, what exactly was going on in that head of his?

In a matter of seconds, he was suddenly on top of you, making you squeak in surprise. He pushed you down onto the floor, butting you softly with the two stubby horns on his head before returning the little slap you gave him on his tush to your own behind, only making you squeal at the contact.

You finally came to the realization of just what was happening, only making your smile return as your heart fluttered in excitement.

He wasn't angry, he was trying to wrestle you.

Oh, so that's how he wanted to play it, huh?

You pushed back, trying to wriggle out from under him as he kept butting his head against you. You clamored on top of him with little to no grace, "Oh, I'll show you!" You grunted, trying to butt your head against his side like he had done, making him rumble with laughter as he pushed against you.

He held back on a lot of his strength, remembering you were Human after all but indulged in pushing you down a few times, laughing even more as you cursed and grunted and wriggled as mightily as he had ever seen you do. You were thankful for all that training with Wamuu, else you probably wouldn't know the first thing about wrestling with Santana.

From the staircase, your other 3 housemates watched with some amusement, and perhaps a little surprise, as the both of you rolled and pushed and headbutted like Pillarchildren.

They honestly assumed the worst upon having heard the heavy thumps and the screams and the laughter from all the way upstairs.

Maybe snowstorms, and boring house days (and let's not forget devious curiosity), weren't so bad after all...

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E9; Chapter Nine, The Gate- [Pt. 5]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

The survivors turn up the heat on the monstrous force that's holding Will hostage, and Y/n's powers are put to the ultimate test in the process. Eleven makes plans to finish what she started.

A/n:.... yall ready for this???? + For some reason, the link isn't working but I looked all over and found this really bitchin [😉] synth score for your guys' scene. You of course don't have to listen to it or anything but it's REALLY cool and fits the scene well I think. It's called

Sorcerer by S U R V I V E

I recommend it! I understand though, if you don't 🥰Either way, happy reading! And yay, snowball next!!

Warnings: suffocation, noticeable amount of violence, more blood. Baddassery. Edit: a slightly tweaked sad endgame quote my subconscious slipped in there

||3rd Person POV||

Steve and the four party members now sit at the entrance of the tunnel that had brought them to the hub, all canisters now completely empty. The hub reeked of gasoline that manages to sting their throats despite their masks.

"You ready?" Steve asks, glancing back at the kids.

A chorus of muffled agreements ring out, and only then does he pull the lighter from his breast pocket.

Dustin looks up at Steve, sending him a curt and reassigned nod.

"Light her up,"

Steve sighs, taking one last look at their work. The tension in the air now palpable.

"I am in such deep shit,"

He flicks the lighter open, and in one swift click, it comes to life with a sharp and threatening hiss.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The flames in the fireplace grow brighter and far more intense as it reaches and swallows the bigger pieces of firewood. Will's screams have turned to violent grunts has his grip grows tighter around his mother's neck. Jonathan is already at her aid, trying with all his might to release her but Will's grip is unnaturally strong and unwavering.

Seeing this, Nancy jumps into action and quickly maneuvers around the bed to the fireplace. She can't bring herself to leave the poor injured girl passed out against the wall without sending several silent apologies to her. I'm sorry, Y/n! She makes it to the fireplace and pulls the tong loose from the fire where it had been cooking and shook a few logs loose.

The end was a bright and glowing shade of yellow, and Nancy fought a deep breath and the hesitation creeping up, but she had to do something! Her grip around the firepoker tightens until her knuckles turn white.

Behind her, the fire begins to pop as the loosened logs begin to shift, and several embers are sent flying. Several of them land on Will, angering him further. It's almost enough to make him let go, but he does not relent. The firepoker is already in his side, burning right through his shirt with a horrible sizzle, and the boy howls in pain, Joyce now set free.

His back arches in horrible pain, the stick plunging further into his side and another screech is let loose.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

This was it. It was now or never. The dogs weren't going anywhere, and he had to get El to the gate. Hopper's eyes flutter closed, and he counts to three under his breath, the cry of each beast echoing in his skull and beating against his chest.

One...

Two...

Three...

He throws himself through the door, gun first, and his finger on the trigger.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Joyce now towers over her son, spit flying and her voice strained from injury. Nancy had helped her to her feet and was now aiding the rest in restraining Will.

Joyce takes a deep breath as strained screams bellow from her.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SON!"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The lighter in Steve's gloved hand cast out into the fume soaked air, it's small but greedy flame swallows the entire room in seconds. The vines once woven into the dirt come alive in seconds, and they reach the ceilings, writhing and squealing as the flames engulf them.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

A strong and booming roar erupts from deep within Will's chest, the deep voice of the Mind Flayer they had caught a glimpse of in the shed, returns at full force. His back arches once more, the back his head digging deep into the pillow. He is shaking violently now, as he had the night the lab had set the tunnels on fire.

Joyce stumbles back as his shaking grows more violent. His head arches back even further against all odds, and that's when they spot it.

"His neck!" Nancy cries, pointing feverishly as she returns to Jonathan's side. "Look at his neck!"

Several thick and dark veins began protruding through his skin as it crawled up his neck, and it looked as if they were full of dark sludge.

"The Mind Flayer's losing," Jonathan mumbles.

Will's head shoots up at the words, the veins have already spread to his face and even stretch across his arms now. They all jump back as his head whips off the bed, his eyes completely black. The Mind Flayer's grip on the boy tightens, his rage stronger than his pain at their audacity to tempt his strength with Henderson's presence.

"AND HE'LL DIE WITH ME!"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The end of Hopper's gun finds its first target, but before he can pull the trigger he sees them writhe and hiss. Their slender bodies begin to shake violently in pain and for a moment he hopes...

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Go, go, go!"

The party does not hesitate, they are already on their feet and begin their sprint for the exit.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The bed begins to shake with him, every muscle in his body tensed with his fists clenched at his sides and shaking. They all watch in horror, his deep screams turn to grunts, not realizing what he is truly doing until it is too late. His left leg bursts free, the rope still dangling around his bleeding ankle and the others scramble to restrain him. His leg reels back before barreling into his mother's ribcage.

With his unnaturally given strength, she is sent flying a couple of feet, landing just in front of the bookshelf. His rage burns as hot as the fire that fuels it.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The fire in the hub spreads, already flames rain down from the ceiling as every inch is consumed.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The Demodogs shrill howls climb even higher, as they twitch. But their attention never leaves Hopper. They crawl and stalk towards him, heads bowed and hissing. They weren't weakened.

They were pissed.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Jonathan rushes to his brother, pinning his one free arm back down.

"You're... gonna lose... him!" The words are spit from Will's mouth, a struggle through the growing pain.

Just as the monster had hoped, Jonathan hesitates, his tearful eyes widening and his whole jaw quivers fighting back a sob. Will's fist breaks loose from his grip and before Jonathan can catch it, it meets his nose sending the older boy flying back into the couch, knocking his breath loose.

Another painful scream erupted as the fire beneath Hawkins spread, but he fights it as much as he can. He was almost free. But most importantly, he couldn't let them win. Not with her on their side.

His black eyes meet with the one they called Nancy, who had been kneeling over Joyce on the floor. Her wide eyes locked onto Will's, and she froze. Her eyes darted to the spike she had left near the pit and she made a run for it.

But he was too quick and had been expecting it. Just as he had with the mother, his heel collided with her jaw and sent her to the floor as he let out a painful scream. Every movement was pure agony, but he knew he could take them now.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Hopper's bullets are sent into several Demodogs, but he only manages to bring down two. The swarm was advancing on him, they had nearly crossed the glass when suddenly they stopped altogether.

In a matter of seconds, each of their screams blended into one and they began to writhe and shake, one of them even collapsed. Its body was still crying out in pain, but it was as if it could hold it's self no longer. One by one they began to mimic their sibling, their twitching growing ever violent. They were rooted in place, they couldn't walk.

That's when Hopper felt it. The ground beneath his feet had begun to rumble, the steady stream of cold air that had drifted in from the gate began to dwindle. He lowered his gun, his attention pulling him all around the room as it began to shake.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Let's go, let's go!"

Steve calls back to the group of kids, unable to run without checking behind him every few moments assuring everyone was with him.

"Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god," Dustin pants as he runs.

A screech leaves his throat as he finds himself on the ground once more, but it was no vine or root that tripped him. Everyone felt it, a great rumble that shook their very bones. They all stop and Max helps Dustin up to his feet.

"What is that?" Lucas calls over the booming rumbles.

By now, the vibrations were so intense, the dirt was being shaken loose from the vines and rained down from above.

"I think it's an earthquake!" Mike cries.

A light breeze picks up in the tunnel from where they're headed, carrying with it a warm toasty wave of heat that answered their question.

"No, not an earthquake!" Dustin's eyes went wide from behind his goggles as he looked to others excitedly. "It's Y/n!"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The Henderson child had managed to pull herself from unconsciousness, and she now stood across the bed. Her arms were stretched out before her and a blazing fire resided in her eyes, a grunt pulled from deep within her throat. Three bloody lines where his nails had caught her ran diagonally down her vein covered face. Each vein protruded from her skin as blood poured from her nose and ears.

Like a broken dam, all that raw power trapped inside her burst free. Y/n was a supernova, a sight to behold as everything inside her exploded all around her. She allowed the weight of all that she had endured to shoot to the surface and engulf her completely. It awakened every cell in her body and touched every nerve in her system.

She didn't have to close her eyes to relive the painful memories as she did on the side of the road. The vast and seemingly neverending pool of dark thoughts and feelings swallows her whole and it all washes over her in angry red flashes.

《•••》

Like her friends, she had mounted her bike ready to flee the Wheeler house and away from the bad men who had found them. She paused in fear, looking over her shoulder at the man who stood before his fleet of vans.

He had stark white hair and his slightly wrinkled face and surrounding him was an aura of menace.

It was him. Martin Brenner, the power-hungry man responsible for the threat that had reached Hawkins. And the man obsessed with Eleven. And herself as she would soon discover.

It was the same man who struck fear into her very soul only minutes ago through the window.

His cold eyes bore into El, but then he turned his attention to her. Something about him and the way his eyes were fixed on herself... it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her blood ran cold.

It was the day he had caught her scent.

•••

"Dustin? Dustin!" She shrieks.

Her brother's desperate calls for her break her heart, but it turns to fire when she hears the man's voice.

"Y/n, don't fight it. You belong with us. We are your true home. Come home to us, Nine"

•••

The intense and raw ache of her heart as she choked on every moment of silence El was in the bath. Everyone surrounds her as she floats silently amongst the saltwater, everyone including Y/n watching with bated breath. When her voice breaks the silence it is a soft whimper, a plea for life as she says the boy's name.

"Will?"

Y/n's hands grip the edge of the pool so tight she fears the skin of her knuckles will tear. Every moment of silence is devastating but the small snivel of Will over the walkie and what he says, deliver the final dagger to her heart.

"Y/n?"

《•••》

Y/n can feel the dagger even now, the devastating weight of all the strain and heartbreak flooding her lungs and escaping in an ear-piercing scream that moved the earth.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

El joined Hopper's side in cautious steps as she traveled through the tremors, her hand coming to wrap around his elbow to steady herself. Her widened brown eyes were surveying the shaking world around them, and she could see rubble breaking loose and raining down from the ceilings around them. The warm burst of heat hit her face and neck, and that is when her eyes meet with Hopper when it finally clicked.

Simultaneously their attention is pulled to the gate where the entire army of Demodogs begins collapsing into the dark abyss one by one. The darkness swallows their bodies and their many lingering wails of agony as they fall.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The underground team looked at one another in astonishment as the reality settled in, their hands still clinging to the grimy walls around them for balance. Steve broke from his temporary stupor and began waving the kids out.

"Come on, team, keep it moving! Keep it movin'!"

They fell into action, clambering back into line as they tried to make a break for the exit. They were close, but still had several turns to make. Steve helped the children through, catching them as they fell and sending them on their way with his eyes above their heads watching carefully. All the while in his sprint, Dustin cries out proudly into the air, a beaming smile hidden behind his bandana.

"Yeah, that's my fucking sister!"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The world bent at Y/n's will, everything not screwed to the walls or floors broke loose as the cabin moved around all inside it. It was a movement so forceful and demanding, it moved all of Hawkins. A guttural battle cry pierced the air as her powers exploded into an unstoppable force that had awakened her full potential.

《•••》

"She disappeared... Bang," El said slowly, a saddened frown forming on her face. "Gone."

"So, my mom? She's...?" Y/n took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in her throat and El nodded.

•••

"Jane, let me put it this way. Does it not bother you that not only did your friend get a better life than us, but our lives were made worse because of it?"

•••

"This could be your home, you said it yourself, we're sisters[...] We'll look after each other. We understand each other. Y/n will never understand you. But I do. Would you like that, Jane?"

•••

"That pesky tag-along friend of hers, what about her?"

"I have no use for her. She's not to be trusted, I want her gone by morning."

《•••》

The heartbreak that fills her up inside no longer slows her down but instead fuels the fire in her chest. Not the Mind Flayer's hatred for her, but the fact it was using her best friend as a puppet. The awful things he was doing to Will, not only to hurt him but the ones he cared about.

《•••》

"Get out!" She winces, but this time she doesn't listen to him. "GO AWAY!"

"No. Not until I talk to Will."

"GO AWAY! GO AWAY! GO AWAY!"

"-Will," Joyce tries.

Will's small frame starts to move again, fighting as hard as he can against the restraints under the harsh light in the shed. His teeth are bared and his usual warm and kind eyes are dark and cold as they burn holes into her skull. Hopper has to pin him back again, but the hatred bottled up inside him for her is undeniable.

•••

"NO! NO! GO AWAY! NO! GET THE HELL OUT!" He screams. "GET OUT! GET AWAY! GET AWAY! GET AWAY!"

•••

Y/n watched tearfully as Joyce began to choke on her words at the pride of her son as she listened intently from the corner with a simultaneous swelling, and breaking of her heart. "You said she should have it because she was sad. She's sad, Mom, and I want to make that go away."

"I love you so much," Joyce tearfully coos. "So, so much."

The heartbreak evident in Joyce's voice brings a whole new level of pain to her heart, unable to imagine the position Joyce was in as his mother. The thought of watching your son endure such a horrific thing, not knowing if he'll even survive. It pissed her off even more.

•••

"...I asked you why you were being so nice to me, why you wanted me to be apart of your group,"

A small sob came out in the form of a chuckle, and she wiped a tear off her cheek.

"And you told me it was because..." her lip quivers as the words tumble out. "because that was your birthday wish."

A tear slips down Will's cheek, but his expression remains as still as stone. She can practically hear the breaking of her heart as she sees Will losing his battle before her very eyes. His body shakes violently in an attempt to regain control but the Mind Flayer quickly pulls him back down, swallowing him in darkness as he tries to silence him.

《•••》

Each of these moments are enough to send her over the edge, but the words she had yet to shake from her mind were the ones to do the trick. The words still bouncing violently around her skull, taunting her and reminding her that they were all moments away from losing Will forever.

As the storm inside her reaches its peak, swirling around her head and heart in a violent mass closing in on her, all she can hear are the last words she had heard from her best friend before he had attacked her.

"KILL HER, DAMMIT! KILL HER! KILL HER!"

The room grew from dim to blinding in a matter of astonish-filled moments.

Her s/c skin began to glow like a star, the cosmic force at work pumping hard through her veins. Nancy, Jonathan, and Joyce watched in awe as she comes alive, all the while Will's small and trembling frame twisting and kicking as he is engulfed in searing pain.

His screams vibrate with his body before his small frame shrinks in on itself like a dead spider. He straightens in seconds, his head, hands, and feet now glued to the bed as he bends in one final arc, his chest rising to the heavens. Will's mouth opens in another scream and a billowing cloud of inky black smoke escapes. It twists and unravels out from between his lips like a pitch-black tornado.

It grows larger and larger, circling over the boy and looms over the entire room as it had the last few days. Will's body goes limp, falling back onto the mattress as the dark mass zips across the room and through the front door breaking it open.

Nancy quickly recovers her footing and chases it out of the door to assure it's leaving for good. Sure enough, when she reaches the porch she spots the black dust circle the trees before disappearing into the sky.

The first thing that stops is the light, all that illuminates the room now is the dim lamps they had flipped on and light of the flames. Everything in the room begins to settle, the rattling of dishes and furniture, and dust rained down from the ceiling from where it had broken loose.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

By now, their trek back to the exit is halfway through, their gloves now completely damp from grasping the walls as they navigate through the tremors. But they find themselves slowing, meeting each other's eye excitedly when the earth gradually steadies again.

They picked up speed immediately, eager not only to escape the tunnels but to see their friend - and sister - again.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

A thud breaks the shocked silence as Y/n collapses to her hands and knees, coughing and panting for breath. The room is blurry and she only catches every other word. Her arms feel just as weak and strained and she allows herself to collapse against the wall nearby.

The scuffling of shoes enters her subconscious as she fights to understand what's going on. Y/n can barely register what is happening when she feels a hand lightly touch her shoulder. She nods either way and the figure scurries away.

It had been Joyce, who had pulled herself up from the ground and came to check on Y/n when she gave the all-clear. Her eyelids weighed a thousand pounds and she could feel herself falling asleep against the wall. She tried to stay awake, to know if Will was okay but again she found herself catching every few moments.

All heaters now unplugged, the door left open to let in the cold autumn air.

Jonathan had helped untie the rest of his restraints, and Joyce now sat at his bedside as he lay unconscious. His eyes were sunken, his eyelids dark. He was still awfully pale but already he looked more himself. Will's limp body shifts around as his mother lightly tries to shake him awake, her chest sore and her throat strained but she doesn't care. She just wants her baby.

"Will," she sobs. "Will. Please, Will. Will."

Through sobs of his own, Jonathan places one trembling hand onto his brother's head, brushing away the stray hairs as pleas leave his lips. "Come on, buddy. Come on."

"Please," Joyce wails. "Can you hear me?"

"Come on,"

"Will?"

With great struggle, his eyelids finally flutter open. When Will sees who is in front of him, he feels relief overwhelm him. His lips tug into a weak smile, eliciting an excited gasp from his mother.

"Mom?"

Will feels his limp and drained body being pulled into his mother's embrace, he happily welcomes it. His sobs of relief are buried in her hair and he can feel his shoulder dampening further with her own tears. His eyes are squeezed shut, and despite his lack of strength, he squeezes with all his might, never wanting to let go. He was all too afraid none of it was real, and he doesn't realize it to be possible but his happiness grows when he feels his brother join the hug. Jonathan locks his long arms around his family, like them, not ever wanting to let go.

Nancy has already returned, and when she found the Byers in a tearful embrace, she was happy to know the youngest was now okay. But worry remained and quickly she maneuvered through the now cluttered cabin floor to Y/n's side and knelt to her knees to check on the poor girl.

Y/n's head was propped up against the wall, her chest moved up and down in shallow breaths but the blood seemed to have stopped flowing. Nancy lays a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, pulling her from sleep. Y/n looks up around the room, trying to see through her foggy vision who was with her now.

Nancy whispered to her softly, her thumb subconsciously running soothing circles into her shoulder as her mother always did for her when she was unwell. "Y/n, are you okay?"

"I..."

She tries to speak, but her mouth is too dry. Her dry tongue meets her dried and cracked lips as she tries to find her voice and that is when she notes the taste of salty copper on her tongue. Her blood had mixed with tears, she hadn't even realized she had been crying. When her vision clears, it lands on Will's trembling form as he clings to his mother and brother in relief.

Her eyes begin to sting, and she looks at Nancy, trying to form words but none seem to come. It feels as if a rock sits in her throat, and she can feel more tears streak down her cheeks stinging the scratches on her face. She should be happy that Will was alright! She was, but what she had just done...

It was all too much for her at that moment, and sobs choked her airways. Y/n's limbs were growing heavier by the second and she felt herself collapse into Nancy's shoulder. Nancy pulled Y/n in, her eyebrows knitting together in a sorrowful frown. Y/n's tears and blood soaked her neck and shirt further, and like Joyce, she couldn't care less. Her arms wrapped around the girl's shaking form and began rubbing her back soothingly.

"You did it, Y/n," she whispers, eyes closed, holding back tears of her own. "You were so great..."

The words coax another sob out of the Henderson girl as all her emotions come flooding out, no longer held back. The words Nancy speaks to her are the words she hadn't known she had needed to hear.

"It's okay," she mutters. "It's over, now. You can rest."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The rest of the pack had disappeared down into the abyss, Hopper's right arm still secured tightly around El's shoulders in a protective manner. The warm wind gusting through the broken glass separating them from the abyss gingerly fades away, allowing the cold atmosphere leaking in from the gate to return.

The earth had stilled completely, leaving behind an eery silence that rose the hair on the back of their necks. They didn't have to say anything, but when their eyes met, they knew then and there that Will was safe.

Y/n had done it.

As if reading their thoughts, the walkie Hopper holsters crackle loudly disrupting the deafening silence, and Jonathan's voice booms over the other side.

"Chief, are you there? Chief, do you copy?"

Hopper hastily draws the walkie from his pocket and up to his lips, his breath shaky. "Yeah, I copy."

"..."

Both pairs of eyes land on the gate before them as Jonathan speaks, dread soaks them to the very bone and the icy chill returns to the stale air.

"Close it."

||Reader's POV||

"Close it,"

It takes about all the energy I have but I manage to peel my eyes open at the sound of Jonathan's voice. He's speaking into a ham radio attached to the wall, and his face is hardened in a frown.

The room shakes once very suddenly, or at least it feels like it does as my head throbs. I groan, my eyes screwing shut. I hear more footsteps, and the low steady creak of the bedsprings dipping as Jonathan takes a seat next to his brother.

It all washes over me again, the intensity of it all. My chest tightens and I feel more tears brimming. It hurts to breathe, to move my chest since my entire body is aching, every muscle.

But I also feel... Really good. Finally confronting all of my pain, and letting it all out... In a way, it felt like fresh air and natural light streaming in after years of living in a dark and stale room. The change felt good.

It's an intense and bizarre cocktail of emotions that barred my thinking and made it hard to function. But over it all, I know one thing for sure. I need to rest.

I'm not sure I could do anything else if I tried, but I'm just thankful it's over. And above all, that Will is safe. Still, I can't quite wrap my head around what I had just accomplished, everything that still sits on the surface.

I feel more tears squeeze past my eyelids as the grief washes over me in its usual steady waves. They streak down the sides of my face and disappear through my scalp, tickling my cheeks as they glide across my skin. It finally clicks that I'm no longer on the floor, but the others must have moved me to the couch where I now lay on my back, head propped against a woolen pillow. The searing hot tears diverge in many paths in a new batch and now soak into the creases of my ears.

My joints scream at me in protest as I reach limply to swipe away as many tears as I can, my eyes still closed and my lip screwed in a quiver. On instinct, my palms travel across my face as I try to rub away the tears, and the blood from my nose and ears but I surprise myself with a whimper.

I barely register a small and gentle gasp and the scuffle of footsteps heading towards me as I try to understand why my face is stinging. I feel the couch dip slightly, and a pair of soft hands touch my wrists urging me to pull away. Soft shushing captures my attention and I recognize it to be Joyce. I fight against the pain of the soft light illuminating the cabin that sears my throbbing head to look at her, and it takes a moment to adjust but for the first time since I opened my eyes I can see clearly now.

Joyce sits next to me, her eyes are swimming in tears as looks at me and her lips are stretched across her face in a beaming smile, though her bottom lip still quivers. I feel more tears escape as I try to find words, but none come and that seems to break her more.

She shakes her head with the same expression still fixed on her face and sniffles. When she speaks her voice is still hoarse and raspy but I can still make out the pride in it.

"I know, honey. I'm so, so sorry." I feel her hand intertwine with mine and give it a reassuring squeeze. "I'm so sorry,"

Through my blurry vision I make out Nancy's figure approach us from behind me, and she hands something to Joyce who mutters a thank you. Her hand releases mine as she unfolds what Nancy had brought her, and I realize now that it's a wet cloth. She bunches it up and meets my eyes with a soft motherly gaze.

"This might sting a little, but it'll help, okay?"

I nod, my eyes fluttering closed again as a shakey sigh escapes. I feel the cool cloth meet my skin, stinging the three prominent streaks across my face. I bite back a hiss, feeling soothed just ever so as I hear her muttering softly to me.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Almost done,"

The worst of the pain begins to fade and my eyes flutter back open. She pulls the cloth away to turn it over, and I spot the dark smears of blood already soaked inside. She brings it back to my face, dabbing away the dried up streaks that had tightened my skin under my nose and the streaks under my ears.

Joyce pulls away, bunching up the cloth dropping it in her lap forgotten, her eyes back on me. It hurts to swallow, so I can feel the uncomfortable build up in my mouth as more tears seem to brim. I catch Joyce's hands gently reaching for mine and I let her take it, both her calloused but soft hands sandwich my own and it forces me to meet her eyes.

"You are so, so brave," she chokes, tears spilling from her eyes. "and so strong..."

Her head shakes back and forth slightly as if trying to will the tears away but she can't. She can only try to compose herself long enough to get the words out. Her right-hand breaks free and her thumb gently wipes away one of many stray tears on my cheek and comes to stroke my chin in one gentle swipe.

"I'll never be able to thank you properly for what you just did..." her lip quivers violently now, but the large smile returns, breaking out on her face as she speaks with absolute certainty. "I am so proud of you,"

An audible sob shakes my body, and with some struggle - and help from her - I pull myself up and into Joyce's arms. She gladly pulls me in, sobs leaving her lips as well and I feel a different kind of warmth spread through my chest, all the way to my fingertips and toes. It wasn't a hostile warmth, but a comforting one, and I realize for the first time why both her and Nancy's embrace and words meant so much to me.

It was the warm motherly reassurance I hadn't realized I'd been missing. My own mother had no knowledge of my powers, my past, anything that had truly happened in the past year. And therefore knew nothing of the enormous weight the Upside Down, my powers, Will, all of it, had on me. And to have the acceptance and reassurance of Joyce - even Nancy - after going so long without it, felt almost intoxicating in the moment.

I burrowed my head in the crook of her shoulder, and as Nancy did, her palms rubbed soothing circles into my back as she let me cry into her hair. I kept hearing her mutter the words softly in my ears, assuring the words stuck inside my brain so I wouldn't ever forget it.

"I'm so proud, baby, so proud," her voice was low and soothing and she cradled me. "You did so good."

My heartbeat had already slowed significantly in her embrace, and it felt as if I had melted into her shoulder. She never broke the hug, showing me she was here for me as long as I needed her which I greatly appreciated. Finally, my eyes fluttered open and I slowly pull away.

For the first time since waking, I am getting a good look around the cabin, and my mouth parts slightly in shock. It looked as if it had been ransacked, so many things had fallen to the floor and I looked at her worriedly. She smiled, shaking her head.

"It's okay hon, it's fixable," she assured, she then picks up the bloodied cloth from her lap and sends me a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back,"

I nod silently, still fighting back a wince as I look behind me at the fallen stools at the breakfast bar and the many things littering the floor that had once been on shelves. The lamp on the table had fallen over and several shards of glass from the bulb were sprinkled across the table and floor.

My eyes wander back to the living room and my breath catches in my throat when I see Will. Jonathan and Nancy sat on either side of him talking to one another as well as him. But he was looking at me, and I felt my heartbeat spike significantly. His face was full of guilt as he had been examining my face, most likely where he must have scratched me. He didn't break away when I met his gaze, and for a moment we shared silent apologies.

I offered him a weak smile, telling him it was okay and he seemed to melt. And yet, the sight was enough to make my insides melt as well. It was such a wonderful sight to see after the past few days, knowing and seeing him okay. My stomach begins to flutter when I see a blush creep up on his cheeks. It wasn't hard to spot given his still paled skin, but I felt the heat rising in my cheeks as well.

But just as soon our attention was pulled to the lights around the cabin. It drew everyone's attention, including Joyce who paused at the kitchen sink as the lights grew brighter and brighter. The cabin grew blindingly bright for the second time that night, and halfheartedly my palms raised off my lap to silently say 'it isn't me this time.'

My brain races to connect the dots as my eyes squint through the blinding light of the bulbs when it finally clicks. Jonathan and Nancy seem to have made the same connection when I meet their wide-eyed stare, the word tumbling out of my mouth in a whisper.

"Eleven."

||3rd Person POV||

༄ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ༄

The final lock is secured with a defined click, signifying the end of Hawkins Laboratory. One of the final many guards to lock up steps away from one of many chained up entrances revealing the large signs plastered over the wall behind him.

WARNING RESTRICTED AREA

The man climbs aboard the jeep and no sooner does it take off down the main exit of the now-abandoned lot, bleeding into line with the rest of the troops.

Thanks to Nancy and Jonathan and the help of an eccentric conspiracist, Murray Bauman during the unfolding events of the prior month, the three had concocted a plan to take down Hawkins Lab. With enough proof - a secret audio tape of Sam Owens discussing the cover-up of Barb's death - were able to fabricate a smaller conspiracy big enough to take down the lab.

A conspiracy that was now being broadcasted nationwide.

"Since the release of the incendiary tape, the once quiet town of Hawkins, Indiana, has spent time in a place it never expected."

One by one the line of military troops file out of the main entrance to the lab for good. Sat comfortably in a lawn chair outside his parked van was none other than Murray Bauman, who watched the parade of troops merrily with a smug grin on his bespeckled face.

"The national spotlight."

The man giggled happily, one hand leaving his pocket and waving an exaggerated salute at the man in the jeep. Glaring as the car carried him by, he sent the smug man the finger without breaking contact from the road. Murray's giggles only grow more mischievous, and he sends a very kiddish wave to the rest, his cheeks sore from smiling.

"Under mounting pressure, several high-ranking members from the U.S Department of Energy have admitted involvement in the death and cover-up,"

Several sullen figures dressed all in black surround the polished coffin being lowered into the ground. Three of these figures, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, and Steve Harrington.

"of Hawkins resident Barbara Holland who died due to exposure to an experimental chemical asphyxiant, which had leaked from the grounds of the lab."

Mr. And Mrs. Holland stand in each other's embrace at their daughters grave in tears, grasping tightly to one another. The long search for their daughter over in the most devastating conclusion.

"We send our own April Kline to Hawkins to speak to residents,"

The news anchor's voice echoes throughout the Hideaway bar from the small television set sat high on the shelf. The walls and shelves are decorated with many chunky Christmas lights for the upcoming holiday. The bar is filled with small chatter that fades out over the TV and the occasional clinking of glasses.

"residents who told us they thought they lived in a safe town. A kind of town where, they say, nothing ever happens."

The entrance to the Hideaway is pulled open with little strain, the warm air trapped inside is swept out with the demanding winter breeze that quickly takes its place. Wrapped up in a thick winter coat, Hopper steps inside and takes a quick look around. It hadn't changed much since his last visit over a year ago during his investigation of the lab and Will's "death". Funny enough, he used to frequent the place often, but since El had entered his life, he had quickly lost interest.

His eyes find the man he had come here to meet across the bar, sat at one of several booths enjoying a ham and turkey sandwich. Making his way across the bar, Hopper discards his heavy jacket, folding it up against his chest and tossing it in the corner of the booth before taking a seat across from Dr. Sam Owens.

"Cheif-o," the man pipes with a smile.

"How's the leg?" Hopper questions with a small smile.

Owens nods, swallowing the last of his bite and gestures to his right leg.

"Better," he chips. "Pretty sure my football career is over."

The two men share a small chuckle. Owens picks up the half of his sandwich he had touched and pushed the plate full of chips and the rest of the sandwich across the table in offering.

"Want some of this? No way I'm gonna finish it."

A tight, polite smile plasters over Hopper's face as he waves it off and gives him a shake of the head.

"No. I'm, uh... on a diet." He admits, thinking of El.

He had done a lot of thinking, and he knew now that he wanted this kid in his life for good. And that meant taking good care of himself so she had someone looking out for her.

It was also the very reason for this visit, and why he had been so anxious to talk to Owens. He stared at the man across from him as he spoke. Not bothered to try and hide the intimidation in his eyes as he prepared to reap the threat that was sown back in Hawkins Lab all those nights ago.

"Well, you're a better man than me," Owens says, immediately perking as he turns to his discarded jacket pocket. "Hey, got a little something for you."

Hopper sighs, leaning further back in his seat a bit taken aback. He watches curiously as Owens pulls a sealed white envelope out, places it on the table, and slides it across into his hand.

With a furrowed brow, Hopper picks it up and the envelope opens with a small crinkle. A somewhat thick piece of parchment lays inside that makes his heart skip a beat, all previous intimidations he was prepared to throw at the doctor vanish completely. He tucks the ends out of the envelope to get a better look, also being cautious of any possible prying eyes but no matter how many times he reads the words it doesn't seem real.

STATE OF INDIANA Certificate of Birth

This Certifies that according to records if the State of Indiana

Name 𝙹𝙰𝙽𝙴 𝙷𝙾𝙿𝙿𝙴𝚁​​​​​​ Was born in 𝙷𝙰𝚆𝙺𝙸𝙽𝚂 Child of 𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙰 𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚂

"Congratulations, Pops," Owens smirks.

Hopper's wide eyes dart to across the table to the man watching his reaction. "I thought--"

Owens shrugged. "Sometimes I impress even myself."

Hopper slips the parchment back into the sleeve, and folds up the envelope before slipping it into his jacket pocket where he wouldn't lose it. His defenses creep back up at what the man says next, though not as bad given the progress.

"Still, I'd let things cool off for a while, if I were you."

Hopper subconsciously squares his shoulders, his long and bulky arms coming to stretch across the table in an intimidating manner. His brows bunch together in a creased frown, tilting his head.

"How long is a while?"

He tries to remain patient with the man, but it proves more difficult than anticipated considering the heavy weight of his guilt. Hopper couldn't deny he played just a big of a part in El's captivity in the cabin, even if it was out of good intentions. All the more reason he was now determined to make it right.

"Want to be safe? Give it a year," Owens answers.

Hopper's brows shoot up. "A year?"

Shit.

His chest deflates in a sigh and snatches the untouched sandwich off the plate, taking a rather large bite out of the side. He thinks for a moment, an idea forming in his head.

"What about one night out?"

"One night?"

"Yeah," he hardens, quickly attaching himself to the idea, knowing how important it was to El. "How risky would that be?"

"What's so important about one night?"

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[gillianfoster]

hey nerd here’s your special fic preview @basinhounds

Ever since Eddie was born, his soulmate mark had been illegible. His mother all but ignored it. She said it was a mess. When he’d been born, and it had been smaller and practically just a solid bar, she always said that she and Eddie’s father had doubted it was even a real soul mark. As he’d gotten older, it still never got clearer than two utterly messy squiggles, and it seemed like his mother was determined it would never amount to anything.

Sometimes Eddie would stand in front of the mirror and just stare at the signature on his hip, trying to make it out. He would stand there for hours, guessing and second guessing. For the first hour he’d think maybe the first letter was a B, then he’d think it was an R, then he’d think it was a D. Around hour four, everything stopped looking like a letter and started looking like thick, black scribbles that no one would ever be able to read. Then Eddie would give up, and take a shower, and not look at his mark again for weeks and weeks, as long as he could avoid it.

If there was a person behind his mark - if it wasn’t just all some big fucking joke from the universe and he did actually have a soulmate, somehow - Eddie knew their only hope was his own signature, on them. He had practiced his handwriting constantly growing up, day in and day out, and he made his signature as neat and as legible as he possibly could, just in case. He knew the mark was based on a particular signature, and it was already there, but it made him feel better somehow. It was the one hope he had.

When Eddie met Bill and Stan and Richie, when they were kids, none of them could read their soulmate’s signatures, so none of them felt left out. None of them had even really understood what a soulmate was - it had barely been explained.

As they get older, they learn to read cursive writing - Stan is the first of them to really master it. Bill’s always been the only one of them with his soul mark in a really visible place, right on his arm. It wasn’t a name any of them knew yet, then, but Stan helps Bill read it, and it’s obvious that Bill would never forget it. Mike Hanlon is the name. Apparently. His signature is written in thin, slanted letters that were still fairly small on Bill’s arm.

They’re still fairly young, around 10, when Richie and Eddie are lying on Eddie’s bed and reading comics and Richie turns to him. “Eds-”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says automatically.

“Eddie,” Richie says, and it sounds like he’s being serious for once.

Eddie closes his Fantastic Four comic and turns to face Richie. “What is it, Rich?”

“Do you, uh. Do you know what your signature says? Your one. Is it... What does it say?”

Eddie blushes, and looks down at his bed. “I don’t know. I can’t read it. Neither can my mom. Neither can Stan. I tried to get him to help. Nobody can read it. I’m not even sure it’s... a name. Or anything. Sometimes I think it might be a fake one or something.”

“Oh. Can that happen?”

Eddie shakes his head, and shrugs, and Richie doesn’t say anything else. Part of Eddie wants to ask what Richie’s says, but he bites his tongue instead, so hard it hurts. He doesn’t want to know. Even then, he was scared to know.

They all get older. They meet Ben, who’s met Bev, and the two of them join the group. They’re not really together yet, but they’ve identified their own signatures on each other, and they sit close and whisper and Ben blushes every time Bev gets close, and Eddie can barely stand to look at them sometimes, and then he hates himself for it.

He loves them both, they’re his friends, and he found himself caring about them quickly. He’s glad they’re happy - but he’s also getting closer and closer to thinking he doesn’t have a soulmate. It hurts. It makes him angry. He doesn’t like the way jealousy rises up in his chest, sticks in his throat, but he can’t seem to stop it.

Sometimes he scratches at the mark on his hip like that’ll make it change or go away, scratches until the skin around it is red and angry and it stings, and then he’s glad again that it’s hidden easily under his clothes.

They’re all 16 when they meet Mike. The great, mythical, Mike Hanlon. He’s good and strong and he smiles at Bill and his whole face lights up. They’re perfect for each other.

Eddie really can’t be around them. He loves Mike, too, loves when he can sit among all seven of them and pretend he’s normal and they’re all only friends and that they all love each other equally as much - but he knows it isn’t true.

He still hangs out with Richie, alone, because he feels comfortable with Richie. Even Stan has a name he can read, he knows who his soulmate is, too, he just hasn’t met him yet. Richie never talks about that stuff.

One day they’re at the quarry and Eddie finally forces himself to ask. “Rich. What’s your mark say? Your signature?”

Richie drops the rock he was holding and turns his head so fast his glasses nearly fall off. He pushes them back up. “Uh. Why, Eds?”

“Just. You asked me about mine like a million years ago, I never asked about yours. Is there something wrong with yours too?”

“It, uh. I mean. I can read it.”

“Oh. What’s it say?”

Richie picks up another rock, turns to look down at the water again. “...Amy Thompson.”

“Like from school?”

“No, not like - I mean we don’t match. She’s got somebody else’s name so that’s. I mean either it’s another Amy Thompson, cause it’s like a name, right, or we’re just. Mismatched somehow.”

“Can that... Can that happen?” Eddie asks, quietly.

Richie shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Did you have her sign her name to check?”

Richie tosses the rock, then turns around. “I’m not even sure I believe in soulmates, Eds. I mean if yours is all fucked up and people can get matched wrong, and then there’s. There’s too many people around here who shouldn’t fucking be together or got hurt trying to be with somebody just because some shitty birthmark, basically, says they should, it’s all just bullshit.”

Eddie blinks at him. “What about Bill and Mike? Or Ben and Bev?”

Scoffing, Richie kicks at the dirt, looks down at his own dirty Vans. “Fucking good for them, I guess.”

The tone in Richie’s voice is familiar because Eddie’s felt it, too. Feels it, all the time. He stands up and walks over, nudging at Richie’s shoulder. “Rich...” He says quietly. He pulls Richie towards him, and Richie actually comes.

Richie’s arms go around Eddie’s waist, and Eddie’s go around Richie’s shoulders, and Richie puts his face against Eddie’s neck, and Eddie even slides a hand into Richie’s curls. They stand there, in the chill, holding each other. It’s almost enough. Not quite, but almost.

He and Richie have always gravitated towards each other, for whatever reason. Now they spend more time together than ever. With both of them having given up hope, they find comfort in each other. It’s not the same - and Eddie isn’t sure if the others think it is or not - but he and Richie are both able to go back to spending more time with the group. They lean against each other, and Eddie finds his jealousy eases a little. He’s not alone in his hopeless mess - he and Richie are both alone, and that’s completely different.

Now when the seven of them hang out, it’s BillandMike and BenandBev and Stan  - and then Richie and Eddie, not quite all one word, but still set apart together somehow.

They watch movies at Bill’s house, and Stan takes the only single chair. The rest of them curl up on the floor in pairs - or Richie and Eddie tend to take the couch, Richie sprawled over it with his head in Eddie’s lap. Sometimes he reaches up and flicks at the ends of Eddie’s hair, where it’s started to curl up.

“You should keep letting your hair grow out, Eds. It’s cute.”

“What, so we can match? How ridiculous would that be?”

Richie hums, looking up at him. “No, your hair is lighter than mine. And it’s softer. It’s different.”

“True, I like yours better.” Eddie ruffles both of his hands through Richie’s curls, mussing them up completely, and Richie laughs and grabs at his wrists.

“God, stop it, dipshit.”

Eddie grins down at him. His hands slide down to Richie’s face. “Yeah? Why should I?”

“Got a hot date with your mom tonight, that’s why,” Richie says with a wink, and Eddie scoffs and smacks the back of his head, lightly.

Interactions like this are commonplace now, so none of the other losers really react, focused on the movie or each other or generally just ignoring Richie and Eddie. Stan smirks at them a little, Bill seems to be smiling, too, but Eddie doesn’t really mind. He’s warm, and he can go back to running his fingers through Richie’s soft curls, and surrounded by his friends and with Richie so close, he feels whole. It doesn’t feel like there’s some part of him missing.

Things stay like that for a year or so. He and Richie are close, and comfortable, but not romantic in the traditional sense. There’s no kissing, except the occasional kiss on the cheek, and there’s definitely no sex, but other than that he and Richie are draped all over each other, touching constantly more often than not.

Then everything has to go to hell - because of course it does.

He and Richie have decided to apply to schools together, so they’re filling out applications in Eddie’s room, alone. They help each other figure out what to put, and Eddie even fills out some of Richie’s forms for him, because his handwriting is shit. Except obviously Eddie can’t sign it for Richie.

“Here, you just need to sign it down there at the bottom.”

“Eds, your handwriting is so much nicer than mine,  you know mine’s shit, can’t you just do it?”

“Rich, you’re basically signing, like, a contract, that’s so illegal. There’s no way I’m signing your name for you. Just sign it.”

Richie huffs out a sigh and scribbles a little signature on the line.

Only Eddie would know that little signature even if he was brain dead, he would practically recognize it from feel, with his eyes closed. He would know the shapes from miles away. For a second, he thinks maybe his heart stops.

“Richie-” he chokes out, but he is nearly choking, definitely panicking, and Richie’s immediately crawling over to put his hands on Eddie’s face.

“Eddie, baby, what is it? Come on, breathe. God, my signature’s not that bad, is it?”

Somehow, even near tears and halfway into a panic attack, Eddie laughs. It’s wheezy and pathetic, but he gets it out.

Then, because it’s Richie, and only Richie could do that - make him laugh at a time like this, get him to start calming down, touch his face and call him baby and just leave Eddie leaning into the touch - Eddie starts freaking out all over again.

Eddie knows what Richie’s signature said. Richie told him. Amy Thompson, but not like Amy Thompson at school. Even if Richie doesn’t believe, even if he thinks the whole thing is bullshit, Eddie’s signature isn’t the one on Richie’s skin.

There’s finally a person behind the mark on Eddie’s skin, proof that it isn’t just some cruel joke - except that it is. Eddie’s got the signature of the person he loves most in the world right on his hip, but it also turns out that Richie was right - mismatches can happen. And they have.

He spends the rest of the time he takes to calm down his breathing thinking of what he’s going to tell Richie. He could tell him the truth, but he refuses to ruin what they’ve got - it’s good. It’s the closest Eddie is ever going to get to his soulmate. He won’t fuck that up.

His breathing calms down, and Richie asks again, “Eds, what is it?”

Eddie’s breathing is calmer, he can speak, and he’s got his excuse all settled. “I just. It sort of. Became real? When you signed it, I just realized that we’re doing this, the whole. College thing and we’re gonna go off, and like, God what if you get in somewhere you really wanna go and they don’t accept me, then what are we gonna do?”

Richie sighs at him, seemingly partly with relief, and smiles softly. “Eds. Don’t be silly. We’re gonna go somewhere we both get in - we picked a whole fucking. List of schools. I’m not gonna just run off without you. What would I do without my little Eddie Spaghetti?” He says that, and he starts pressing smacking kisses all over Eddie’s face, and Eddie starts to laugh and blush at the same time, overwhelmed by the silliness of it but also by just how sweet and affectionate the gesture really is.

Once Richie’s winded down, he presses one last kiss against Eddie’s temple, and then lays down on top of Eddie, covering him like a blanket. Eddie puts one hand in Richie’s hair, and another just resting on his back.

“I mean it, Eds,” Richie says quietly. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

It feels a little like someone’s twisting a knife in Eddie’s chest, but he smiles still. “You’d better not.”

The realization that Richie is his soulmate - but that he’s also not Richie’s - doesn’t change as much as Eddie feels like it should. It changes the way he sees Richie, maybe, a little - but Eddie also has the sneaking suspicion that feeling has always been there, and he just hadn’t been ready to acknowledge it.

Now, kissing Richie is most of what he thinks about. If he wakes up next to Richie - and he nearly always does - he spends some time watching him sleep, looking at the bridge of his nose, the areas just below his eyes, where Richie’s freckles are prominent and where his glasses are normally in the way. Once, Eddie presses a kiss there, just a gentle one at Richie’s cheekbone, and Richie just wakes up and smiles at him - and Eddie nearly dies, just overwhelmed by it all, but it turns out he only feels like he was having a heart attack.

Other times he just sits and watches Richie talk - he’s always listened, but now sometimes he gets distracted from listening to Richie talk by watching him talk instead. If he gets too dazed, Richie will poke him or nudge him or even deliberately brush over a ticklish spot to pull Eddie back into the conversation.

It’s pure chance, the day it happens. The fact that it happens just three weeks before graduation, that it happens after they’ve known each other for over ten years, that it happens when it does and not somehow ages and ages before - Eddie can’t find a reason.

But finally, one morning, Eddie wakes up, and he and Richie have kicked off all the sheets in the night. Richie’s pyjama bottoms have ridden down, and his shirt has ridden up, and the skin on his hip is actually visible.

Eddie knows looking will only hurt, but he does it anyways.

Only instead of any girl’s signature, what he finds there is his own neat, practiced signed name. Eddie Kaspbrak.

Immediately, it feels like Eddie’s lungs are going to collapse. He tries to calm down, but he wakes up Richie in the process - only this time, when Richie gets that concerned look in his eyes, and reaches over, Eddie shoves him away, breathing on his own - or trying to.

He starts to gesture, and Richie looks down himself and seems to realize what’s happened. He goes completely pale, and pulls his shirt down, covering up Eddie’s name just as quickly as Eddie had accidentally first read it, only minutes ago.

“Eds. Eddie. Look, it’s not - I mean I can’t change the name I’ve got, I can’t change what’s on here, If I could-”

Eddie can’t hear the end of that sentence, can’t imagine why Richie would have lied, so still hyperventilating, he goes into the bathroom and locks himself in, going straight to his knees on the floor because it feels like his heart just rose up into his throat, just imagining that Richie might have finished that sentence If I could I would.

He hears Richie outside, smacking his open hands against the door. “Eddie, don’t. Please don’t.”

“You lied, why would you lie? Why’d you lie?” He finally forces out - but it’s as thick in his throat and as breathless with panic as Eddie has ever managed in his life.

“I didn’t... Eddie I don’t wanna do this through a door.”

Eddie closes his eyes, and feels his head thump back against the door. The linoleum in the bathroom is cold on his legs, too hard to sit on comfortably. There’s nowhere he’d rather be than back in bed with Richie, warm and comfortable and almost happy.

Except Richie knew. Richie’s known this whole time, since he could read the writing, and he never told Eddie. Richie’s known since they were teenagers, and he knew about Eddie’s name in neat handwriting on his hip, and he said it’s all just bullshit. Eddie thinks about the fact that Richie’s never kissed him on the mouth, and how apparently it’s all just been intentional.

“I don’t want to do this at all. Can you leave, please?”

“Eds...”

“Don’t call me that. Just. Leave, Richie.”

He hears footsteps, then, and there’s a finality in them. Sitting on the bathroom floor, he starts to cry.

Except the footsteps come back, after a few minutes, like Richie only got downstairs before he changed his mind. “Eddie. Please just let me explain. Don’t... Can you just open the door? Don’t make me leave like this.”

“...Give me a minute.”

Eddie can’t make it look like he wasn’t crying, but he wipes his tears and stands up. He tries to pull himself up to his full height, to seem more put together than he really is, but it can only do so much when Richie’s still taller than him. He’s hoping that at least his posture will make him seem more composed than he feels, because he feels like the last stitch holding him together just finally fell out and like he’s going to just collapse into pieces at any moment. He opens the door.

Richie looks up at him and then back down at the floor.

“I. I knew your mark was... inconclusive, or what the fuck ever. You told me. When we were kids. So when I knew mine was you, but yours didn’t have to be me, I figured you had an out. I wanted to let you have it. Only then you asked me, and I didn’t know how to tell you that everything just... was shit, you know, so I sort of lied. Not completely, because I let you think I was mismatched, but I didn’t want you to feel bad. I just figured with yours all fucked and mine matched to you with no way to-”

“Mine’s not fucked up, you idiot.”

Richie blinked at him. “What? What does that mean?”

“It means I.... It means I figured it out. A while ago. While we were still applying for colleges. Before we’d got our stuff back.”

“...Who is it?” Richie looks anxious, and annoyed, and Eddie loves him but he’s also completely fed up.

“Just... look at it.” Eddie pulls up his own shirt, pushes down his pyjama shorts, and watches as the realization dawns on Richie’s face.

“That’s why you had a panic attack when we were applying for college.”

“Yeah. Because that’s the only thing that was fucked up. Was your fucking... shitty handwriting.”

“Then why did you lie?”

Eddie frowns at Richie. “You told me yours was Amy Thompson! I thought we were-” His voice gets stuck in his throat for a moment. “After all that shit you said, I thought you were right, I thought mine was fucked up and we were mismatched, because that would be about my fucking luck, after all the trouble it’s given me. So I didn’t say anything or do anything because there was supposed to be some girl out there you were matched to, probably, you were just... Not gonna find her for a while or maybe didn’t want to, but I wasn’t going to take the option away from you like that.” He pauses, thinking for a second he’s done, but then he remembers why he’d really been upset in the first place. “But you! You... Rich, you knew the whole time that I was yours, and whatever your stupid reasons, you knew mine was just unreadable, but I. I used to practice my handwriting so it would be neat, I used to sign everything for practice, you used to watch me do it. I thought the only way, that it... I was doing it so they. You’d. Whoever could... Read it and know. But you... And then you haven’t...” He trails off. He can’t say any of the things he wants to do - he’s too scared. This is all bad enough without him making it worse.

“I haven’t what?”

“You just never said anything. And you could have. I don’t know.”

Richie sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied, Eds. Do you still want me to go?”

The fact that Richie knows they’re matched and he’s just offering to go brings the pain back to Eddie’s chest. “Do you want to go?” he asks.

“That’s really up to you, it’s your house.”

It’s obvious that Richie doesn’t really seem to want to stay - he hasn’t reached out to touch Eddie at all - but Eddie still can’t be the one to tell him to go. He just shakes his head. “You’re the one that thinks all this stuff is bullshit - I think that decision’s up to you.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and Eddie walks past Richie, carefully not touching him, and goes back to his room. Even his skin seems to ache at this point. There’s just pain, all over him. Once he’s in his own room, he can’t sit down on the bed - because it’ll still be warm, and smell like Richie. He just stands, in the middle of everything, and wraps his own arms around himself.

“I don’t really know that I’d say it’s bullshit,” Richie says from the door.

Eddie’s surprised, and he turns back to face him.

“I mean. There’s something here, right? And like you said last time, Mike and Bill are happy, Ben and Bev are happy, and I’m happy for them, I’m just. I’m jealous, too,” Richie continues.

“Yeah. I know. I was, too,” Eddie replies.

“You were?”

“Well before we... I mean before there were two of us, you know? Ever since we talked that day and things were... A little different, you know, I felt better. I guess with things... You know since this is... We’re... Whatever, that makes sense. Right?” Eddie can’t say that they’re soulmates, or a match, or whatever they might be, because he’s terrified that Richie won’t agree.

“You mean since we match?”

Eddie looks down at the ground, shrugs. “Yeah. That.”

There’s a pause. “Do you think... Do you think maybe there can be platonic soulmates?”

It’s the thing Eddie had feared most, but also thought Richie might say. He feels his shoulders curl in a little. “I don’t know. It’s possible. I don’t... know enough about this, Rich,” he says in a small voice.

“Eds, I can’t figure out what you want me to do.”

Eddie feels a little of his anger return. How the hell is he supposed to tell Richie what he wants when Richie is so reluctant about everything, asking about platonic soulmates and standing on the other side of the fucking room? “You’ve never kissed me,” Eddie blurts out, and then he immediately bites his own lip so hard it hurts, like it can stop the words that already escaped.

“I- What?”

“You’ve never... You’ve known this whole time that I was yours, and we’ve been doing whatever it is we’re doing for like a year and a half, and I’m pretty sure everyone else thinks we’re already matched or whatever but you’ve never... done anything like that or even tried. I mean there’s like kisses on the cheek and stuff and that one time after I freaked out about your signature, but... I don’t know why you’re asking me about staying platonic when it’s pretty obvious what you wanna do, I’m not gonna ask you to do stuff just to make an idiot out of myself. You won’t even touch me right now. I’ll be platonic, I’ll do whatever you want, just. Don’t. Don’t let it mean I have to go to college alone, or that everything’s fucked up.”

“You think I don’t wanna kiss you?”

Eddie can’t bring himself to look up. Richie still hasn’t moved, and now Eddie knows he’s fucked everything up, so he just shrugs a little. The answer is that he knows Richie doesn’t want to kiss him, but he’s determined to stay shut up.

“Eddie. Eds. C’mere.”

He looks up, and Richie puts a hand on his shoulder, and that’s all it takes before he’s wrapped his arms around Richie’s waist like he’s going to disappear, holding him more tightly that he really should, probably. Richie holds him just as tightly, though, and Eddie melts against him, finally able to relax, finally able to breathe again. “I’m sorry,” he mutters against Richie’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, too, Eds. I mean. Mostly I’m sorry about my fucking shit handwriting, but I’m sorry about lying, too, it was - that was fucking stupid. I’m sorry.”

Eddie lifts his head up and blinks at Richie, who close up is clearly as upset as Eddie is. Eddie reaches up and pushes his curls off his face with one hand. “It doesn’t really matter, Rich, I just. I freaked out because I was scared about how you’d react, as long as... As long as we’re okay, it doesn’t matter.”

“Are we okay?” Richie asks, blatantly nervous. His eyes are big and worried behind his glasses, and Eddie still feels a little of that, but it shrinks and shrinks while Richie’s holding him.

“Yeah, Rich. Of course we are.” Eddie leans up to kiss Richie on the cheek, and then moves back again, but Richie catches him with a hand on the back of his neck.

They’re so close their noses are still brushing. “Eds...” Richie says quietly, and then he presses his lips against Eddie’s, just briefly.

The last of Eddie’s uncertainty fades as he blinks it away. “Oh,” he whispers. Then he leans up and presses his lips against Richie’s, kissing him back, but this time the kiss turns desperate with obvious want.

They only barely know what they’re doing, but Eddie presses as close as he can and licks into Richie’s mouth, and bites at his lower lip, because now he finally, finally can.

When they pull apart, Richie’s eyes are wide and dark, his pupils dilated. His lips are a little swollen, and Eddie can’t help leaning in for one last kiss, a gentler, lingering one against Richie’s still parted lips.

“So... not platonic, then,” Richie says as Eddie pulls away again.

Eddie laughs, helplessly, and leans forward with it so his cheek brushes against Richie’s and then he’s pressed his nose and face right at Richie’s jaw, staying as close as he can. “Yeah, no. Not exactly.”

“Yeah, good. That’s good with me. I can handle that.”

Pulling back, Eddie looks up at him again, and they both smile. “I love you,” Eddie says, unable to hold it back. Only they say that all the time, so he pauses, revises his statement. “I mean. I’m in love with you. I have been for... a while. Maybe the whole time.”

“Yeah, well, we’re soulmates, aren’t we? Makes sense that you can’t resist me.”

“Richie,” Eddie says with annoyance - but he’s still smiling, too. He pokes Richie in the side for it, still.

“Alright. I love you, too, obviously, I’m also in love with you, you’re fucking perfect and it’s ridiculous that somehow you got stuck with me but I’m also fucking delighted. Better?”

Eddie kisses Richie again. He can’t seem to stop. “No, not exactly, because you’re being ridiculous, but it is better, so I’ll take it. I’m not stuck with you. I love you. You’re my soulmate. Asshole.”

“See? You know I’m an asshole.”

“Stop it!” Eddie says, but he’s grinning, because Richie is, too. Still, he shoves Richie and they both topple onto the bed, and Eddie leans in and presses kisses all over Richie’s face, copying what Richie did to him the day Eddie had first seen his signature.

Richie laughs, too, and grabs his face and eventually pulls Eddie into a real kiss to make him stop. When they pull apart from that, they just lie there, Eddie on top of Richie, Richie looking up into his eyes, and they stare.

“You’re really stuck with me now. For college, and everything else,” Richie says.

“Yeah, good. You’re not getting rid of me either. Not anymore.”

Eddie finally lays down, fully on top of Richie, and Richie puts his arms around Eddie’s waist to keep him there, and they’re RichieandEddie after all.