#zombie!eddie munson

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

  You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.���

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O���Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

[m0llygunn]

CREATURE FROM THE GRAVE

Creepy guy on the side of the road? Perfectly acceptable to pick up and bring home, especially when he’s the living dead.

Summary: The first night at your house— the undead has a name! wc: 900 ─── † ཐི❤︎ཋྀ † ───

“Frankie boy, my love, my new pal, please stop gargling or growling or whatever that dreadful noise is.”

He gurgles another low, stomach deep noise, and you use your elbows to prop yourself up on the mattress, looking over the edge to see him lying on the floor. His eyes meet yours and with his cracked, decrepit lips pulled into a frown, you make a mental note to buy him some chapstick tomorrow. His frown deepens, brows pinching together as he shakes his head, upset over something. You fall back onto your pillow with a sigh. 

“What is it now?”

He groans in response, dragging out his deep, annoyed tone. You hear shuffling as his voice grows taller. 

Rolling your eyes, you meet his gaze as he sits up on his makeshift bed, barely visible through the darkness of your room.

“Frankie, I can’t understand you. Didn’t your mother ever teach you about enunciation?” 

He grunts. You sit up again and as soon as he has your focus, in a slow, creaky movement, he raises his arm to point at his chest. 

“You?”

He nods. His shaky finger points towards his chest again, pairing the movement with a negating shake of his head. 

“You not…?” you guess.

He nods enthusiastically— well, as enthusiastically as the undead can get. He points to his chest again and you have absolutely no clue what he’s trying to say. Zero, zilch, nada clue. It’s past midnight and he might not need sleep but you do.

“You not… tired?” you guess again. He groans, shaking his head, disagreeing. He pauses for a brief moment, shrugging— maybe— but then he continues shaking his head more convincingly than before. He’s not tired but that’s not what he’s trying to say. 

With a sigh, you deflate. It’s already felt like the longest night of your life but now this… “Frankie—”

He grunts harshly, interrupting you. His jagged movements point his finger into his chest a final time, followed by a final shake of his head. 

“You’re not Frankie?”

He nods, letting out an agreeable grunt. 

“Well, I know that, silly. We’ve already gone over this— I don’t know your name and until you can better enunciate your grunts, you’re going by Frankenstein.”

He stares at you blankly and you roll your eyes, shifting on your elbows to get a better look at him. 

“You know Frankenstein? Like the book? Mary Shelley? Judging by the pins on your jacket, you should have been alive way after the book was written, so either you’re being difficult or you just had really, really terrible taste in books, Frankie.”

He groans dreadfully again, dragging out his explicit disagreement for his new name. 

“Well, what do you want me to do? Guess names at random until I get it right? That would take forever, and it’s already past midnight because we had to spend three hours scrubbing dirt off of every inch of you. And bugs, Frankie, so many bugs!”

He rolls his eyes and you gasp— to be treated like this in your own home! 

“Frank—”

“Euggh!” he cuts you off.

“Euggh is not a very nice name but if that’s what you want to go by…,” you smile, watching him scowl his hardest yet. “Sweet, Euggh, I am so very tired and I have to wake up tomorrow morning to scrub the house clean from your mud. I am going to sleep. Goodnight. Again.”

You toss your comforter back over yourself and sink into your pillow. Not even a full second goes by before you hear the creaky shuffle of Euggh getting up.

“If I knew the undead operated on a different time zone I would have left you where I found you,” you say, shifting to get comfort. 

He grunts in response, short and abrasive, but you don’t take it to heart. You hear more shuffling, the drag of his bad foot, and the squeal of your desk drawer being pulled open. There’s about 12 seconds of silence before every noise you just heard happens in reverse.

“Hmmmmm,” he groans beside your bed, dragging out the low rasp of his voice. When you pretend to sleep he gets louder, even going as far as knocking the edge of the mattress. 

“Jesus, this can’t wait until morning?” you sigh, sitting up. You switch on your bedside lamp, blinking away the harsh light to look at your new, quickly-growing-annoying friend.

Not having looked at him in a while, his once wet hair has now dried, sticking up and frizzing out in all different directions, making him look more like Bride of Frankenstein than Frankenstein. You can’t help but snicker a giggle. His brows pinch together and once again, he’s back to scowling. 

“Lighten up, would ya?” you tease. “We can give your hair a good deep condition tomorrow, then it won’t be as frizzy. Who would have thought a century of grime would be drying for the hair follicle?”

“Errrgh,” he drags out, before shifting his balance and raising a hand towards you. In his pale, scrubbed clean fist is a paper, ruled lines ripped straight from your diary— classy.

“What’s this?” You sit up even further, crossing your legs in front of you as you take the paper from him. 

Flipping it around, you read the messy chicken scratch writing scribbled across the page in sparkly pink gel ink. 

“If you knew how to write, why didn’t you say something earlier, Eddie?”

[steddieas-shegoes]

undead or tired?

for @steddie-spooktober prompt ‘zombies’

rated t | 970 words | no cw | tags: established relationship, Steve has migraines, hurt/comfort, fluff, Eddie is a good boyfriend | also on ao3

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟

“He’s been grumpy all day.”

“And his hair’s all greasy.”

“He told me I was being too loud and then stuck his head in the freezer.”

Eddie nods along to the kids’ complaints, but he already knows what the problem is. He sensed it earlier this morning when he stopped by Family Video to bring him the makeup for his Halloween costume.

Steve rounds the corner before Eddie can say anything else and he…

Well, he looks like a zombie.

“Is that the makeup?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer.

“No,” Steve walks past him and sticks his head in the freezer. He sighs with relief and the kids look between him and Eddie.

“Everyone out,” Eddie waves his hands to shoo them away, hoping they’ll take the opportunity to leave the house altogether and go about their Halloween plans.

Eddie walks over and places his hand on Steve’s neck, squeezing the points of tension he knows are the root cause of the migraine. Steve’s knees nearly buckle as he groans in relief.

“When I said we should be zombies, I didn’t mean literally,” Eddie says softly, rubbing his fingers against the knots in Steve’s shoulders now. “You wanna get in bed?”

Steve shakes his head once. “Promised the kids.”

“I’ll take them, sweetheart. You should rest.”

“But I promised,” Steve turns his head, leaning his cheek against the edge of the freezer. His eyes are dull, bloodshot from the strain of keeping them open when he’s clearly exhausted. “S my job.”

“As long as the job gets done, you didn’t break your promise,” Eddie soothes. “C’mon.”

Eddie guides him back upstairs to his bed, tucking him in with a kiss on the forehead.

“Maybe next year we can be zombies?” Steve asks.

“You accomplished it just fine this year, baby. I’ll think of something better for next year.”

Steve’s asleep before Eddie even leaves the room. The moment he closes the door, El and Will are standing there in their costumes: the twins from The Shining. It’s creepy and a little too on the nose for Eddie.

“Jesus Christ!” He jumps, holding a hand over his heart. “You’re supposed to be…not here.”

“Is Steve okay?” Will asks.

“He’ll be fine. But he needs to sleep off the migraine so I’m in charge tonight.”

Will nods and makes his way downstairs, but El stays. She looks like she’s deep in thought, but she always kind of looks that way.

“Does he get migraines from being too tired?” She asks.

“Sometimes. Or stress. Or just because he’s had a lot of head injuries.”

El nods. “I think I can help.”

“How?” Eddie’s not doubting her, but sometimes she misjudges her powers a bit, thinks she’s capable of things she just isn’t.

El doesn’t answer, just brushes past him into the room. Steve’s asleep, doesn’t even budge at the sound of them coming in, so Eddie knows he’s exhausted. He’s usually a light sleeper, always ready to fight the moment he hears a bump in the night.

Eddie doesn’t stop her because he trusts her and he’s curious. She’d never hurt Steve, so whatever her plan is is worth a shot.

Her hand hovers over Steve’s forehead, then his neck, then his chest. Eddie watches with fascination as El’s brows wrinkle in concentration.

“Do they always start in his neck and shoulders?” She asks.

Eddie nods, then realizes she isn’t watching him. “Yes, yeah. Usually.”

She continues moving her hand until it rests on his shoulder.

And then she smiles and turns to Eddie.

“All better.”

She leaves the room without another word or even glance their direction.

Eddie looks between the door and Steve, still asleep in bed, but now without the crease in his forehead and tense jaw. He’s tempted to wake him up and ask, but there’s still dark circles under his eyes. He’s still tired regardless of the migraine.

He leaves the room as quietly as he can.

When he gets downstairs, the kids are all ready to go, waiting surprisingly patiently.

“Alright, I don’t have time to do my makeup, so we’re just gonna pretend I’m rockstar Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin fame. Top of the charts for the last year and guitar hero for all of eternity.” Eddie gestures to the front door. “My limo awaits.”

Max snorts, but doesn’t make a comment. They all shuffle to the door to head to the Hopper home, where Joyce has been preparing “the best Halloween party in Hawkins” for two days now. It probably will be the best, but the bar is pretty low. None of them would ever say that to Joyce, though.

“Wait!” Steve is running down the stairs, holding the bag of makeup he’d had in his room. “Someone do my makeup!”

“I thought you had a migraine?” Dustin asks.

“It’s better. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

Eddie rushes to grab the bag from him, not commenting on the fact that the makeup was only a small part of the costume. He applies the green and purple heavily, knows it’s not the best he can do. Steve’s still got natural dark circles under his eyes, so he’ll let that speak for itself.

“Scary enough?” Steve asks the kids as they watch Eddie put all the makeup away.

“You were scary enough before,” Mike jokes.

Will nudges him and shakes his head once.

“Alright, good enough answer. Let’s go!” Steve leads them to the front door, opens it, and scoots them out. “Eddie, c’mon!”

Eddie leans in to kiss him, his lips barely brushing against Steve’s painted lips.

“Better?”

“Mhm. Don’t know how it went away so fast,” Steve shrugs.

Eddie decides now probably isn’t the time to explain that El can apparently manipulate his migraines. Plenty of time tomorrow when he’s no longer a zombie.

[livwritesstuff]

found this in the deep recesses of my drafts – probably was supposed to be posted around mother’s day lol but here we are

Eddie comes home from manning their younger two daughters’ carpool one day and immediately chases down Steve.

“Hey” he says once he finds him switching over a load of laundry, “Can I run something by your therapy brain, please?”

Steve looks at him warily, “Sure…”

"So, I’m in the car with Haze and Robbie, right? And Hazel and I were talking about moms because, I guess they're starting to work on mother's day stuff at school, and Hazel was asking me about my mom, and so I was explaining that my mom is dead, and then Robbie – who I didn't think was even paying attention – said ‘Hey, my mom's dead too!’”

“Oh — jeez,” Steve blinked.

“And then we high-fived,” Eddie finished.

“Okay,” Steve slowly said, “And��what’s your question?”

“How concerning do we think that is?”  

“Uh, no more concerning than the usual shit that comes out of their mouths.”

[mugloversonly]

Rise

For @steddiemicrofic prompt Feb “Rose” | WC: 367 | Rating: G | CW:N/A ao3 summary: Steve leaves Roses on Eddie’s grave.

Steve stood at Eddie’s grave, a bouquet of roses in his hand. He didn’t know why he was here, he didn’t really know Eddie. Still, Robin said it would help and she was usually correct.

“Hey, Eds. It’s been a while. I should have come sooner, but it feels weird, talking like you can hear me.” He sighed. At least they didn’t leave his body behind. Dustin wouldn’t let them.

“I came out here because I realized something about myself, something you helped me realize when we were in school but I didn’t really put together until I met Robin. Spring break really confirmed it.”

He paused and sat down.

“I’m bisexual. And I had a crush on you throughout most of high school.” He laughed at himself. “If I realized it earlier would it even have mattered?”

He sat in silence for a few minutes before he stood. “I miss you. But I also wish I missed you more? Because it means I would have known you better.” He reached over to place the roses on Eddie’s grave.

A hand thrust through the Earth and wrapped around his wrist.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” He screamed and tried to pull his hand back. Whatever held him, used his retreat to its advantage and pulled itself out of the grave. As soon as it was half way out, it let him go.

He scurried back and watched in horror as…

“Eddie?!” He exclaimed.

“Dude, help me out of this hole.” The zombie(?) said and spit dirt out of his mouth. Steve didn’t think, he just did as he was asked. He yanked Eddie out of the grave and helped him lean against the headstone.

“Eddie?” He whispered. “How is this possible?” Eddie turned to look at him and shrugged.

“Did you really have a crush on me?” He asked, his throat raspy and dry. Steve nodded.

“I still do.” Eddie smiled at that.

“I like you too.” He leaned forward like he was about to kiss Steve; who leaned back with a hand to Eddie’s chest.

“Not until you shower and we call Hopper.”

“That’s fair.” Eddie said even as he pouted. “And Wayne?” His eyes turned hopeful.

“Sure.”

tags

@katyawriteswhump

buy me a coffee

[sir3n-s]

Steve hoped they would all get out of this apocalypse together. Hopefully in one piece, but he'd take just alive.

And everything was going great until someone got bit by a zombie.

When Eddie told everyone they were all devastated. And only had 3 days to decide what to do. 

Either let Eddie wander until he fully turns or kill him. 

On the first day they all spent time with Eddie as a group. They didn't get much done but they all wanted to soak up the remaining time Eddie had before he was gone forever. 

On the second day everyone started getting setemintal. Saying how much they love Eddie and how they'll miss him. And of course Eddie gave a very over the top speech about his love and appreciation for the group. 

No one commented on how many jokes Eddie cracked during it despite him being teary eyed. 

On the morning of the 3rd day Steve took him in the forest with a pistal. Preparing to be the one who shoot Eddie. 

They chatted as if everything were normal, as if these weren't Eddie's last moments. And for a moment, Steve forgot these were his last moments.

Eventually they stopped talking once they've made it far enough. 

They stood there silently only for a moment before tackling each other in a huge. 

"I'm going to miss you so much" Steve says holding Eddie tighter. They've only been together for a month and a half and he's already losing Eddie. 

"I know" he responds, "I'm sorry."

"Its not your fault" 

"It kind of is," Eddie says, backing up a bit while keeping his hands on Steve. "I should have been more careful. I got careless that day."

"It's okay," Steve says, cradling Eddie's face in his hands, trying to memorize the way Eddie looks. He wishes he would have asked Eddie out sooner so he would have had more time to study every feature on his face.

"I love you, Eddie, more than anything" he crashes their lips together like he needs it breathe.  And maybe he did. 

He's not ready to know how it feels to live in a world without Eddie. He just got him. Just got to know him. Just got to love him. He doesn't want to give it up. 

"I love you too Steve, never forget that" Eddie says against his lips. 

"How could I forget you?" He says resting their foreheads together. 

"Can't believe I got The Steve Harrington to fall for me," Eddie says without a smile, "make sure to put that on my tombstone" 

Steve laughs but it comes out wet. Tears filling his eyes as he tries to stop them. He doesn't want to make this moment worse by sobbing. 

"Everything is going to be okay, promise" Eddie says before walking away from him. 

Once he stand still Steve takes the gun out and aims it as his head. 

"I can't do it" Steve admits lowering the gun as he starts to sob.

Eddie just takes the gun away from his shaky hands and pours out all of the bullets except one, handing the remaining bullets back to him.

Kissing Steve on the forehead before pushing him away, "Don't look back okay?" Steve nods and turns to walk away. 

When he eventually hears the gunshot and a body hit the floor that's when he starts to sob until he feels a pain in his chest.

Because he just lost apart of his heart. 

[cielie-voss]

Drunk late night talks with Eddie

(probably part one of many more to follow)

Masterlist

The music, which is only muffled through the closed door, seems far away. Occasionally, someone slams against the door or pulls it open to shout something unintelligible into the dark kitchen.

"You know," you say, holding a pickle, gesturing towards Eddie as he nibbles on raw spaghetti, "if a zombie apocalypse happens, we need a plan. We should hole up somewhere."

"No, no," Eddie intervenes, shaking his head. "We should be on the move. Always be on the move. In a caravan, for example."

"And what do you do when the tank is empty? Or if the zombies try to break into the car at night? Besides, they can easily smash the windows." Your interjection makes him think. With a furrowed brow, he stares at the noodle in his hand.

"And what about other survivors? They might turn on us. And I don't think they would hesitate to kill you in a heartbeat to stay alive themselves."

"Okay," he clears his throat and looks at you firmly, "then on the water. A houseboat. Zombies can't swim, right? And I don't think others would bother swimming to our ship just to hijack us!"

You look at him skeptically and gnaw on the pickle. The small flashlight, which only illuminates the small space between you, flickers dramatically to add atmosphere to your vital discussion, casting eerie shadows.

"But even the ship needs fuel at some point." you argue, debunking Eddie's plan. "And at ports, we risk being attacked.”

"God damn it," Eddie hisses, pressing his lips into a thin line in resignation.

"I'm sticking to my guns, we should hole up." You insist and lean back, your back pressed against the cold, glazed wood of the kitchen cupboard and a shiver creeps through your body. The alcohol level in your blood is certainly not conducive to making such an important decision. A decision for an absurd hypothetical scenario of a zombie apocalypse. But even in this state of inebriation, Eddie seems to have reasonable doubts about your plan.

"And where?" Eddie asks, prompting you to improvise. Damn, that's a very good question that you haven't thought about yet. But of course you can't admit that. So you shrug your shoulders.

"I don't know. In a supermarket?"

"No, lots of people will be planning to do that too, that's not safe.”

"In an Ikea!" After a moment's thought, you come up with this glorious idea, your eyes light up and, thrilled with your idea, you lean forward and steal the noodle from Eddie's hand.

"In an Ikea?" Eddie repeats skeptically.

"Yes, that's perfect! You've got enough furniture and comfort to live in, enough material to keep you safe, food, sanitary facilities! It doesn't get any better than that!"

Eddie watches you skeptically for a moment, but has to admit to himself that this proposal is indeed great.

"You've got a point," he finally admits reluctantly and grabs the noodle you snatched from his hand earlier. "That's pretty clever of you, I didn't think you were like that."

"A zombie acopalypse like that must be well thought out!" you beam, your cheeks glowing red from the alcohol and weed.

"Acopalypse," giggling, Eddie repeats your slip of the tongue and after a moment of realization you both burst into laughter.

Taglist: @violettsoul @kores-mun-son-n-more

[trianglegoddess]

Zombie Apocalypse

Uuuuuh guess I'm starting a new meet-cute series. Lmk if yall have some ideas

Also on AO3!

------

Eddie has always been a runner. 

Fuck, he’s good at it, too. 

In elementary school, when the kids playing soccer would chase after him, the teachers would sit by and do nothing when they caught him because boys will be boys. In middle school, when those same kids spat at his feet and called him trailer trash and Eddie couldn’t help but snarl something back, and he’d be running then, too. In high school, he ran when his drug deals went sideways, or if Hargrove was just fucking on one and wanted to take it out on the freak. 

He’s always been good at running. It’s kept him alive, kept him safe, mostly, and kept his stoner lungs from completely giving out on him. He’s always been slick, always been able to get away, always lucky. So much so that for a long time he questioned it. Questioned why he was always able to get away, questioned why he was able to avoid worse things happening when the universe clearly had it out for him. 

Today though…Today his luck runs out. 

He’s running, just like he always has, feet pounding into the ground, arms pumping back and forth, the weight of his supplies thumping on his back with every step he takes. He’s out of ammo, and he’s too much of a chicken-shit to let those things get close, so he runs. 

The first zombies appeared in the bigger cities-New York, Chicago, L.A., Houston-the list goes on. The government did a shit job of trying to cover it up, and because they were so focused on covering it up they didn’t do anything to actually solve the problem. The whole zombie thing spread like wildfire across the country, tearing through the bigger cities. Hawkins, thankfully, had a little more time, a little more preparation, but it too eventually fell to the undead hordes. 

He and Wayne had left town pretty quickly, taking nothing but the essentials-non perishable food, the old hunting rifles that haven’t been used in years as well as the ammo, some canteens full of clean water, and weed. They had no map, no real sense of direction. They just picked a direction and fucking ran. 

That was three years ago. 

Last week, Wayne went on a solo supply run and never came back. It’s their own fault for even getting this close to another town, where the zombies would no doubt be lingering. If Eddie hadn't been sick, he would have never needed the medicine. If Eddie had been smarter somehow, or stronger, Wayne would have never had to go off on his own. 

Which led Eddie to sneak around the city, ducking behind cars and whatnot, silent as a mouse because most zombies couldn’t see for shit but they could hear like no other. But then one had snuck up on him, had taken a swipe at him, and Eddie had stumbled back and cursed, and that had made one zombie turn into five, five turn into ten and so on. 

Most zombies are pretty slow. Their bodies are all weird and decayed and the muscles don’t work like they should, not when the thing piloting the bodies if half-rotted and can’t send proper signals. 

Emphasis on most. 

There are a few in this particular pack who are wearing letterman jackets, and Eddie has to bite back a comment about how typical it is that the ones gaining on him are the undead jocks of the world. 

He’s still not fully recovered, not really. It had been a bad sort of cold or flu or something, leaving him with body aches and a terrible cough that he can still feel rattling around in his chest with every breath. It doesn’t surprise him in the least that they eventually catch up to him. 

He’s got a knife in one hand, and tries to swipe at the one in arm’s reach, but he ends up falling ass over tea kettle instead. He manages to scoot just far enough away where the zombie swiping at him misses. He kicks the thing in the face, and it stumbles back and lands on its ass, but more just crawl over it, pawing at Eddie. 

His lungs are tight and his limbs feel like jelly and he’s absolutely terrified, and also frustrated because between fight or flight it’s always been flight but now, now he’s freezing, and he’s wondering why nobody ever talks about that secret third option as a zombie gets a little too up close and personal, jaw hanging open inhumanly and-

-a shot echoes throughout the otherwise quiet neighborhood and the zombies all sort of scatter. It’s enough of a distraction for Eddie to get his feet back under him. He turns away from the zombie pack as he starts to pick up speed, only to run straight into something very-firm?

A pair of gentle hands grasp him by the elbows and gently move him to the side, murmuring soothing reassurances in his ear as he steps away. It’s dumb because Eddie doesn’t even get a look at the guy’s face and he feels a sort of unfamiliar ache in his body as the guy steps away from him. 

Eddie wants to reach out, sorta starts to, but then there’s a girl around his age, maybe a year or two younger, wearing a little hat over her blonde bob, and she’s grinning like a maniac as she chucks a Molotov cocktail into the center of the horde. 

Several of the zombies screech at the sky as the fire eats away at them, and it’s not the first time Eddie had ever smelled an on-fire zombie before but every time he has to fight away his nausea. 

The ones who are lucky enough to get away from the fire are unlucky enough to run straight to McDreamy. He’s got his back towards Eddie, illuminated in the dusk by the raging fire in front of him. He’s got a denim jacket with the sleeves rolled up part way, and a baseball bat full of nails gripped in his right hand.

He’s beautiful, Eddie thinks. He hasn’t even seen the dude’s fucking face and he knows it for a fact. 

A zombie makes a move at McDreamy, and the dude casually sidesteps the attack before bringing the bat down hard. The zombie collapses to the ground, its rotted brains spilling out onto the pavement. 

There’s another shot, and a zombie near the back of the pack drops. Another Molotov is thrown, more screeching, more swinging, and in a matter of minutes the whole horde of two dozen zombies is wiped out. 

Movement catches his eye, and he turns to see a short, curly haired brunette with rifle in her hands and a sawn-off strapped to her back making her way towards them. She goes straight for McDreamy as the other girl, the one with the dumb little hat, loops her arm through Eddie’s and starts taking him for a fucking walk. 

“Soooo,” she says, “you’re name wouldn’t happen to be Eddie, would it?”

“How do you know that?” He asks. 

“We found your uncle, he’s been worried sick. He took a nasty fall, couldn’t get back to you, but he’s okay. And now you’re okay!” She steps back for a moment. Not far enough to detach herself, but enough to get a better look at him. “You are okay, right? No bites or anything?”

“No, I’m-I’m good,” he says. “No bites. Just a few scrapes from falling.”

She nods, satisfied, before gluing herself back to his side. “I’m Robin, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Robin. Uh, where the hell are we going, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Robin just grins at him.

—-

Turns out their destination is a big fancy house with two stories and boarded up windows. There are spikes in the ground facing towards them to keep the zombies out, as well as barbed wire and other bobby traps that Robin guides him through. McDreamy and Shorty take the lead and lead them into the house. 

Immediately Eddie is hit with the sound of multiple voices. McDreamy drops a ring of keys into the bowl by the front door as he steps further into the house. Eddie watches as a horde of children all come barreling out of the other room-seven that Eddie counts-and they surround McDreamy, hanging off of him and trying to talk over each other as he leads them back to the main room. They’re all around fifteen maybe, except for the youngest one, who looks like she’s about eleven or twelve. 

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond as she looks on at McDreamy as he expertly child-wrangles. She leads him into the same room-a spacious sort of den area with lots of soft things strewn about and a sectional for a couch. 

A sectional his uncle is currently sitting on, with his ankle wrapped and elevated. When he sees Eddie, though, he’s on his good foot in an instant. Eddie rushes in, trying to keep his emotions at bay as he grips Wayne tight. There’s a hand on the back of his head, bringing him down to Wayne’s shoulder as they just hold each other for a minute. Eddie lets out a shaky breath, forcing all of the tension in his shoulders to release. 

“It’s good to see you, boy,” he says when they part, patting Eddie on the cheek. Wayne’s eyes are a little tired, a little watery, but relieved all the same.

“You too, old man.” 

Eddie helps him get comfortable again before turning to look around the room. The older teens-the ones who saved him-are lingering by the doorway with an older woman with dark hair and big eyes. She catches sight of Eddie and gives him a soft, motherly smile before turning back to listen to whatever Robin is telling her. 

McDreamy isn’t facing him, but Eddie can still sorta see his side profile. Tan skin, perfect, floppy hair, sharp jawline and a strong nose all dotted with freckles and moles, and Eddie thinks he’s going to profess his love right then and there until there’s a tug on his hand. 

It’s one of the younger teens. She’s got a mop of dark curls on her head, short and wild, and big brown eyes. She tilts her head to the side, looking at him like she can see straight into his soul. Maybe she can. It’s a weird world they live in. 

“You are Eddie?” She asks. 

“Yeah, I’m Eddie. I appreciate all of you looking after my uncle. The old man doesn’t know when to hold ‘em and fold ‘em and all that,” Eddie says with a wave of his hand. He hears Wayne snort off to the side, though the little girl just looks a little confused. “It’s uh, it’s a song,” he explains. 

“Oh. We are still collecting music, so I haven’t heard that one. My name is Jane. These are my friends,” she gestures behind her. She puts a name to the faces of everyone, even the older teens, even the adults that aren’t in the room. 

“You guys got like a little army going on, huh? It’s nice.”

“Yes,” she says, nothing but sincerity in her gaze as she looks at him. “It is.”

—

It’s not until later, when Robin ushers him into one of the bedrooms, later when Robin throws some clean clothes at him and points him to the shower, later when he can scrub all of the mud and muck and grime off of his body that he feels settled. 

He looks in the mirror, takes his time. He doesn’t really remember the last time he looked in one. The zombie apocalypse had kind of ruined the need for one, and keeping up appearances wasn’t really a priority when running for your life. 

He’s sharper, he thinks. His cheekbones jut out a bit more than he remembers, and his eyes are a little more sunken in the way everybody’s is now. His hair is longer, too, though he kind of figured that. He loves it, but it’s almost too much to maintain most days. It’s hot and sweaty when his hair is down, and a tangled, matted rats nest when it’s not, but the last time he had a haircut it was his dad who did it, gripping the ends of it as he took an electric razor to Eddie’s head, ignoring his cries, ignoring the cuts that he caused. It’s stupid, Eddie thinks, given it’s kind of the end of the world, but he doesn’t feel like he can cut his hair, despite lacking the resources to take care of it. 

He lets out a weary sigh, tries to fit this new version of himself into his brain, before he finishes getting dressed in the clean clothes that Robin had thrown at his head. When he steps out into the bedroom that the bathroom is attached to he stops short. 

Because standing in front of him is McDreamy. 

Or, no. Not McDreamy, because now that Eddie can actually see his face in its entirety, it doesn’t feel like enough. Eddie feels like he’s staring at the sun. All tanned skin and dark hair and warm, brown eyes. His nose, Eddie can see now, is crooked like it was broken and never healed right, and he’s got a thin scar that disappears into his hairline. He’s got freckles and moles dotting his face and neck, as well as miscellaneous scars that seem to be scattered everywhere. 

He feels like he’s looking at just some pretty boy. He feels like he’s gazing upon Apollo, unworthy but begging to be seen anyway. 

“Hi,” the boy says, and he smiles, soft and warm and safe and Eddie doesn’t know why, too tired to process, but it makes his insides feel all warm, like soup on a cold day. “Eddie, right? Sorry I didn’t introduce myself properly earlier. I’m Steve.”

Steve. It’s a name that seems plain for him but also seems perfect. Maybe that’s what Eddie is always going to get with Steve. Just a pile of contradictions that make the butterflies in Eddie’s stomach go haywire. 

“Thanks for the save back there,” Eddie says. He’s doing his best to not sound absolutely smitten, doing his best to look at Steve’s eyes and not his mouth. 

“No worries. We don’t have a spare bedroom or anything but you’re welcome to bunk with me. Bed’s big enough for two, but if you don’t want to share I can take the floor.”

“No! No, I mean-uh-bed. Sharing. Sharing the bed is good. With me.”

Eddie kind of wishes the zombies had gotten to him. 

Steve, though, he just chuckles, and in the dim light of the room he can see a dusty red coating his cheeks. “Come on, food’s ready.”

At dinner they sit close, and Eddie doesn’t even register the fact that this is the best thing he’s eaten in three years because the table is small and everything is hands and elbows and Eddie feels like he’s going to catch on fire every time he and Steve touch. They’re shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh and it should be uncomfortable, they should be pulling away but they don’t. 

After dinner, after he talks with the kids about music and DnD and after he and Wayne say their goodnights, Steve leads him back up to the bedroom and they wordlessly get under the covers. 

Neither of them fall asleep immediately. Eddie tries to focus on all of the imperfections in the ceiling, but he can hear Steve’s steady breathing and the rustle of the comforter and, for the second time that night, wishes the zombies had gotten him. 

“So you said you play music, right?” Steve asks. His voice is soft, quiet even though there’s no chance of him waking anybody up with how far apart the bedrooms seem to be. “What kind of music do you like?”

It’s the start of a long conversation. Despite the exhaustion in his bones, Eddie lights up. He hasn’t been able to really talk to anybody about music, what it was to him, how it’s kept him going all these years. He talks about his favorite bands, and he talks about Wayne’s, and he talks about his mom’s and he talks about his age-old pipeline dream of making it big. He wonders, openly, if they would have made it in another universe where zombies didn’t tear everything apart. 

“I think you would have,” Steve says, all sincerity and seriousness. 

They talk and talk and talk and they don’t fall asleep until dawn is peaking through the curtains. 

—-

When they do eventually get up, it’s with soft breaths and interlocked hands and heated gazes. 

Eddie is staring at Steve and Steve is staring at him and neither of them move. If anything, they hold on even more, unwilling to break this bubble they’ve created for themselves. 

Slowly, one of Steve’s hands comes to Eddie’s face, and he pushes a lock of hair behind his ear. 

Steve, whose hands are made for wielding nail bats, for bashing in zombie skulls, for protecting the kids that swarm him every time he walks through the door. Steve, with hands so gentle as he lets Jane paint them, cooks with Joyce, braids Max’s hair. 

Steve, whose hands are so impossibly gentle for Eddie as he rests it against Eddie’s cheek. 

“I was talking with Hop last night,” Steve tells him. Hopper, the old police chief who found Wayne, kept him safe, kept all of them safe. “I told him you and your uncle should stay. With us, I mean.”

“For how long?” Eddie asks. 

“However long you want.”

Eddie places a hand over Steve’s, holding it to his face as he beams at Steve. Steve grins right back at him, and Eddie is blinded by Steve’s warmth as they scoot closer to each other, lips centimeters apart. 

“I think I’d like that,” Eddie tells him. “I think I’d like that very much.”

[luveline]

I have a potential request for the eddie zombie!AU! could I request eddie taking shy!reader under his wing as he is traveling? maybe she is injured and is like 100% sure she’s going to die but then eddie comes along like a knight and helps her to safety, and then they just stick together?

thank you for your request angel! —eddie finds you wounded in the midst of the apocalypse and wants to help, 2.5k, fem!reader. tw for zombie apocalypse typical circumstance, blood and injury

Eddie is absolutely sick of being alone. He imagined the apocalypse cooler than it turned out to be —there aren't that many people around anymore and he's constantly a bit hungry, and having long hair is now the norm. He hasn't seen a real living human being in three weeks and he's starting to wonder (worry) if he's the last man on Earth. 

That is, until he sees blood on the sidewalk outside of a pizza place. He'd been planning on going inside just to smell the floury scent of pizza dough, and maybe pretend to answer the phone (he never worked as a delivery guy, but he thinks it might've been his calling). Blood is everywhere in the apocalypse. Genuinely everywhere, and it smells bad when it's old, vinegary and acrid. There's blood on car doors, bloody handprints on windows, pools of it where people died and then their bodies, reanimated and without control, stood and walked off again. 

So Eddie's gotten good at blood. He knows old blood from new blood when he sees it, dead blood from alive blood, and the blood trail leading behind the smashed glass door of the pizza place is both new and alive. Or, probably alive. Was alive. He nudges it with his shoe, and it's still wet, not even slightly clotted. 

Definitely alive. 

Eddie doesn't really think about how whoever it is that's inside could murder him in cold blood for his gear. Eddie's sort of stacked —he has a bike, a proper one like a professional doing the Tour De French, or whatever, he doesn't remember what it's called, would need. The point is that he has a really sturdy bike and a wagon strapped behind it full of camping shit, and the world is so desolate that nobody's tried to shank him for it yet. He leaves his bike by the door and tries to open the door slowly, not wanting to startle whoever it is that's bleeding that badly into hiding from him and his extensive first aid kit. 

Eddie pulls it to his chest and steps carefully over a path of broken glass. 

"Hey," he calls out. He clears his throat. "Is someone here? I– listen, I'm not here to hurt you, I saw the blood, and I have bandages and antiseptic and everything you need. Maybe. Unless you got shot, I can't do stitches for shit, trust me." Trust the weird huge scar on his ankle. 

"Listen," he continues, approaching the counter, peering behind it at a skyscraper of pizza boxes and a dust covered floor, "I know you have no reason to trust me, so I'm gonna go sit outside, and if you want to come out where I can't corner you, I'll help. I swear." 

He follows the trail of blood to the cabinet under the ingredients counter. The door moves near imperceptibly.

He gives it a second, and then Eddie turns to leave.

"Wait," says a girl's voice, muffled and weak, "wait, please." 

Eddie waits, spinning on his heel to watch as you push open the cabinet door. 

He's surprised at the cleanliness of your top half until he realises the bottom of you might as well have been dipped in an exploded blood bank. 

"Oh, shit," he says, rushing forward. 

You flinch back and he follows on unperturbed, even when you throw your hands up to cover your face. 

"I'm not gonna do anything," he promises, panicked, "where are you bleeding? You'll have to show me." He makes sure you can see his lack of weapons and his huge green first aid kit. 

"It's my side," you say, and as soon as you speak you start to cry, little shuddering huffs of pain escaping you as Eddie kneels at your side. "I– I– I tried to climb over a fence, and I got caught on the barbed wire, I didn't– I don't–" 

He shushes you with as much gentleness as he possesses and pulls up your shirt. It's your hip, not your side, and the cut is a frankly gruesome laceration into the fat. Eddie's going to have to sew you up after all. 

He knows what he should do even if he's only done it once before, finding your blood covered hand on instinct and squeezing it. "It's okay," he says, not knowing if it will be, "I can fix it. I have everything, okay? Can I fix it?" 

"Please," you whimper. 

He doesn't need any pleading. He clicks open the first aid kit and looks first for gauze, pressing it to your side even as blood pools wet and shiny on the floor beneath you. You're in agony, clearly, twisting away from his touch. 

"Please stay still," he says, firm but kind. "It'll hurt more the more you move. I have painkillers, and I'll give you some right now. Right now, okay? Stay still." 

You shriek as he presses down on your hip but you don't move. He hates having hooked a sound like that from you —Eddie's not a violent person, even if he's rough around the edges— and he rushes to correct it. He swaps the soaked gauze for a second, pressing down hard again, and remembers with a white hot panic that he didn't disinfect his hands. 

It's rough going. He finds the painkillers, you take them dry. He has the urge to touch your cheek because you're in so much pain, and the blood has somehow ended up on your face like a crimson tear. Eddie disinfects his hand and your hip, which still hurts wildly untouched by the painkillers, and opens a sterile packaging of needle and medical thread. His hands shake as he ties the thread with tweezers. It's imperative he doesn't touch the needle, even if he did disinfect his hands, because it will end up deep in your skin. 

By the time he's ready to start the stitches you're crying and not speaking, a hand pressed to your mouth. "I don't know how much the painkillers have worked, and I don't think they'll stop this from hurting, but I think I have to stitch it before you lose too much blood. Is that okay? Can I start?" he asks. 

You nod hurriedly. "Just– Don't– Just ignore me if I ask you to stop," you say weakly. 

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek until he can taste blood as strongly as he smells it. 

He stitches your wound closed. It's a jagged wound shaped like an italicised 'y', and he does it as carefully as he can manage, even if the amount of blood pouring from it scares him. He doesn't want to do it wrong and have the stitches rip, or cause more pain than they need too. 

He never wants to hear someone make the sounds you make ever again. When he tells you it's alright, that you don't have to bite them back, you start to sob with each string he tugs. He can't imagine how fiery the pain is. 

When it's done, he disinfects your hip again generously. He must not do a bad job at stitching you up, because while the wound weeps blood into the disinfectant like dye seeping into fabric, it's ten times slower. You look down at your hip, hiccup, and look away. There's blood everywhere, so Eddie pulls you by the underarms across the floor and sits you up. You're still crying, sobbing, but you don't say anything. Eddie wipes away as much blood as he can. Then he covers your newly stitched wound with a fresh, thick square of gauze and tapes it. Finally, he wraps bandages around your waist to keep everything in place, and to apply pressure to the wound. 

He looks at your clammy face with a mixture of pity and newfound pride. He doesn't know who you are, but you did a damn good job.

"Well done," he says, rubbing the lengths of your arms quickly, like a hug without closing in on you. "You did awesome. I'm gonna run outside to get my stuff, I have a shirt that should fit you, and some pants. Water, food. I have whatever you need." 

"A tranquilliser?" you ask. 

"Maybe not one of those."

Eddie retrieves his bike and his wagon, carting them into the kitchen, through your blood trail, and into the staff room behind you. It's snug but there's a couch, and that's all that matters. He shoves the bike aside and runs back to your side, crouching. You look like you're gonna pass out.

"Hey," he says, "can I lift you up?" 

"It's gonna hurt," you say. 

"Yeah, but there's a couch in there, and a door that locks, I don't want us to get attacked while we can't move." 

"Are you going to attack me?" you ask, looking like you want to curl up in a ball and disappear. 

He shakes his head quickly. "No. I promise." 

A promise from someone you don't know isn't worth much, but you take it, and Eddie helps you up and into the staff room. Your crying wanes. Maybe the painkillers are working, or maybe you've run out of steam. Acclimatised to the pain. 

Eddie stops before he gets to the couch. "No funny business, I'm gonna take off your pants." 

"It's okay, whatever," you gasp out. "Sit me down." 

Eddie unbuttons your jeans and you kick them off the best that you can. Your legs are streaked with blood too, but at least you can sit down without absolutely ruining the couch you'll be sleeping on for the next few days. Eddie locks the door, grabs the clothes shears, and cuts off your top. You really do look at him then, your eyes wide with fear, and he backs away from you with his hands up. 

"Sorry," he says, "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to scare you. You've been holding your elbow, I thought maybe you hurt that too, didn't want you to lift your arm."

Your fear ebbs with his explanation. He grabs clothes from his wagon, ears piqued when you speak up. "I think I've broken it."

"Your arm?" he asks. That's an entirely different problem. It could be painful for the rest of your life.

"My elbow. It's swollen." 

"I'll give you more painkillers," he says assuringly. 

He grabs the shirt that looks like it'll fit you and a pair of pants that will be too big. He doesn't know why he has all this stuff that doesn't fit him, he kinda thought they were cool. And who could abandon a Dio t-shirt when no one will ever make one ever again?

"Do you need help?" he asks. 

You sigh regretfully. "I don't think I really have a choice."

"You do. We could throw a blanket over you? Two blankets, even." 

"Please help me put on the t-shirt," you say. 

He doesn't resent you at all for sounding untrusting, even if he did potentially save your life a few minutes ago. People are cruel and will do the worst thing they can do to another person if they want to. He helps you into the t-shirt. You flinch when you straighten out your arm, but it goes on well. Next he helps you into the cargo pants that are luckily a starchy but flexible cotton. You wince as they reach your hip. He lets them lie low. 

He makes sure there's a pillow behind your head, laying his favourite blanket over you and tucking you in amicably. 

Pulling his hair out of his face, Eddie laments how sweaty he is and eyes the wagon for what best to feed you with. You're probably nauseous from pain, so while he'd love to feed you hearty oxtail soup or a can of meatballs that promise protein, he grabs a box of crackers, a tin of vegetable soup that he knows from experience is watery and sad, and his big flask of water. 

He sits down a half a foot from you on the couch. 

"Here," Eddie says, opening the crackers. "You should eat something, please. And drink some water, too." 

You accept everything silently, though after a few morose chews of saltine you murmur, "Thank you." 

"You're welcome. Really welcome." 

"You didn't have to help me," you say, shivering with pain still but looking less like you’re going to pass out now you’ve stopped bleeding profusely.

He looks down at his hands, blood in the grooves of his palms, and shrugs. "Yeah, I did." 

"Most people wouldn't, though." 

"I don't think there's a precedent for what people do anymore. You're the first person I've seen in weeks."

"You're lucky." 

"Yeah?" He tucks his hair behind his shoulder. "I guess I am." 

You eat another cracker, and then you stick out your hand very tentatively. "I'm Y/N. Thank you for saving me." 

He shakes your hand with the same tentativeness.

"I'm Eddie," he says with a smile. "You're welcome." 

"I thought I was gonna die in the cabinet," you say, rubbing your eyes, "like a sick dog. I just wanted to be alone while it happened." 

It's a very solemn thing to admit to, and in the quiet of the room, your face and hands dull with blood, it's macabre.

"Sorry I didn't let you die," he says, trying not to laugh in shock. 

You visibly fluster, your embarrassment held tightly in the set of your shoulders and your frenetic hand as you rub your collar. "I didn't want to die. I don't want to." 

"Then you won't," Eddie says, knowing it's not that simple, but needing to persuade the agony from your face. 

You look down at your lap. Eddie searches for something to offer, something he can give now that you're lucid enough to know you were in the shit. It's terrifying business, knowing you could've died. 

"I have a bottle of Black Coconut rum if you're interested. I thought it might come in handy lighting fires, but I think you could use it," Eddie offers. 

"Yes," you say, your voice small. "I think so too." 

"If we had some pineapple juice, I would love to make you a Piña Colada. Now that would cheer you up." 

"Rum is fine, please." 

Eddie doesn't let you suffer. He gets up to grab the rum and passes it to you. You drink it in surprisingly eager glugs, rum running down your neck in shiny rivulets like shooting stars plummeting through a vermillion sky. He needs to help you clean the blood from your throat and face before it dries. 

You shudder and pass the rum bottle back to him, looking sicker than sick. "That wasn't bad," you say, eyes squeezed closed. You sound like you've been punched. 

Eddie hoots a laugh. He really missed having good company. 

—

thank you for reading! reblogs are appreciated, and if you have a request for this au let me know, I’d love to write more of their story!! <3

[kittycatcrackhead]

Just watched the movie "warm bodies," and I feel like it would make for an interesting steddie zombie au

Like you've got zombie Eddie and like scavenger Steve, Eddie sees Steve and thinks he's absolutely gorgeous, and helps save him from the other zombies.

Idk something like that

[bigheadbrooke-9]

⭑.ᐟ Unusual ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𓍼────────𓍼

Eddie Munson x afab!reader

♱ ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU

Summary: Four months into the outbreak, survival was all that mattered. I had been alone until I found Eddie Munson—someone I barely tolerated—lurking nearby. Despite our differences, we teamed up, navigating the ruins of our world together.Then, everything fell apart.A sudden horde forced us to run in opposite directions. Now, lost and alone again, I had no idea if Eddie was alive or dead. But I had to find him—no matter what. ♱

A/N: This idea has been on my mind for a while, and I finally decided to bring it to life. I’m incredibly grateful for the support—40 followers and over 1,000 likes is more than I ever expected. Thank you all so much! ♱

Warnings: anxiety attacks, mention of a close death, zombies. If you don’t like it don’t read

Wc - 1.2k

“Eddie, can you hear me?” I pressed down on the button of my walkie-talkie, my voice barely above a whisper. Silence. Then, just static.

I swallowed hard, peeking around the crumbling brick wall of an abandoned building. The street ahead was eerily empty—no movement, no groans, no signs of the undead. But that didn’t mean they weren’t lurking. It had been hours since we got separated, and every passing second without contact gnawed at me. I knew Eddie. I knew his limits, his fears. He could face a fight, handle close calls with raiders, even talk his way out of the worst situations. But zombies? That was different. That was the one thing he couldn’t handle.

We had been scavenging for supplies when we heard them—hundreds of them. The sheer number was overwhelming, their guttural snarls filling the air, echoing off the hollow remains of the city. In the chaos, we ran, splitting up in opposite directions. I had been searching ever since. I refused to go back to base without him. That wasn’t an option.

Taking cover inside a half-collapsed storefront, I crouched behind the counter, gripping my walkie-talkie so tightly my knuckles turned white. What if he was in trouble? What if he was—

The radio crackled.

“Y/N… are you there?”

I exhaled sharply, fumbling to turn the knob to respond. “Eddie! Oh my god, are you okay? I was so fucking worried!” I let go of the button, waiting anxiously for his response.

More static. Then, breathing—shaky, uneven breathing.

Shit.

He was panicking.

I knew that sound too well. The rapid breaths, the struggle to stay composed—it was an anxiety attack creeping in, the kind that could paralyze him if he didn’t get it under control.

“Hey, hey, calm down, Eddie. Where are you?” I kept my voice steady, controlled, pressing the button again and waiting.

A few seconds passed before his voice came through, small and trembling. “I’m on Sherry Lane… by the gas station.”

I frowned, quickly pulling out the crumpled map I kept tucked in my bag. That was at least a thirty-minute walk from here—maybe less if I took the alley shortcuts, but those were risky. I didn’t care. I had to get to him.

“That’s far, but I’m coming, okay? You just need to hang tight and try to breathe. Can you do that for me?” I spoke gently, hoping my words could ground him.

On the other end, I could hear him sniff, his breaths uneven. “Please h-hurry…”

My heart clenched. “I will. Just stay where you are.”

Shoving the map back into my bag, I hoisted the heavy pack onto my shoulders and slipped out of the building, making sure to stay low. The streets were dark now, the sun having fully set. That made things both easier and harder—easier to move undetected, but harder to see what was coming.

“Alright, Eddie, listen to me,” I murmured, keeping my voice hushed as I moved along the edge of a broken-down car. “Go to the back of the building, away from the street. Try to stay quiet. Take deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

I could hear him following my instructions, his shaky inhales mixing with the static of the walkie-talkie.

Fifteen minutes. That’s all I needed.

But then, as I rounded a corner, I saw them.

A horde.

They hadn’t noticed me yet, but it was only a matter of time. Dozens of them, their slow, shuffling movements blocking the direct path to Eddie.

I cursed under my breath and immediately turned on my heel, retreating into a narrow alleyway. I had to find another way—fast.

I yanked the worn, crumpled map from my bag, smoothing it out with trembling fingers as I scanned for another route. There was only one other way to get to Eddie, and while it was technically faster, it was also far more dangerous. A direct path meant moving straight through a street teeming with the undead. But what choice did I have? Every second that passed, Eddie’s breathing grew worse, crackling through the walkie-talkie in uneven gasps. He was spiraling, and I had to get to him before he completely broke down.

I adjusted the straps of my bag, took a deep breath, and bolted through another alleyway. The street ahead stretched into the darkness, the gas station barely visible in the distance. It wasn’t far, but every step felt like a mile with the threat of death lurking around every corner. As I rounded a bend, I caught sight of a lone zombie clawing at a shattered storefront window, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering remnants of an old neon sign. It hadn’t noticed me yet. Moving as quietly as possible, I edged past it, holding my breath until I was safely out of range.

My eyes flicked up to a two-story house nearby. That was it—Eddie’s temporary shelter. A faint light glowed from the second-floor window. He was in there. I pressed the walkie-talkie to my lips.

“Eddie, open the window. I’m right here.”

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, I saw movement. Slowly, he turned his head toward the window, his movements sluggish, as if he wasn’t fully present. He pushed it open weakly before slumping back down against the wall, disappearing from view.

Shit.

I scanned the street once more, making sure the coast was clear, then sprinted for the house. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I reached the window, tossing my bag inside first before pulling myself up and through, landing with a quiet thud. I wasted no time securing the window and quickly moving to the closet to block any potential light from seeping out.

When I turned back to Eddie, my stomach twisted.

He was slumped against the wall, his head resting back as he stared blankly at nothing. His usually expressive face was drained of life, his eyes hollow and exhausted. I stepped closer.

“Eddie… are you okay?”

The moment my voice reached him, something in him snapped. His head shot up, and before I could react, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around me in a bone-crushing embrace. I stumbled slightly as he buried his face into my shoulder, his entire body shaking violently. He wasn’t just scared—he was falling apart.

A muffled sob escaped him, and I felt my heart break just a little more.

I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped my arms around him, one hand instinctively moving to the back of his neck, my fingers threading through his tangled curls as I held him close.

“Shhh… you did so good, Eddie. Thank you for waiting for me,” I murmured, my voice soft and reassuring.

His grip on me tightened, his breath warm and ragged against my skin. “I-I can’t do it,” he choked out between sobs. “I can’t handle being alone. It—it gives me so much anxiety. It’s draining, it’s terrifying… ever since that day, I—I—” His words crumbled into another wave of trembling cries.

I knew what day he was talking about. The day I found him.

It had only been three months since we became partners, but I knew Eddie better than anyone. He wasn’t just afraid of zombies—he was terrified of isolation. He had been alone when the outbreak began, and when I met him, he was barely holding it together. That day still haunted him.

He had told me about it once—how a zombie had grabbed him from behind, how he had hit the ground so fast he thought it was over right then and there. He got lucky. If he hadn’t fought back, if he hadn’t reacted fast enough, he wouldn’t be here now. Ever since then, he couldn’t handle the thought of being left alone, even for a second.

And now, after today, that fear was stronger than ever.

“I know, Eddie. I know you’re scared,” I whispered, continuing to rub soothing circles into the back of his neck. “But you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me?”

He nodded against me, his breath still uneven, but the weight of my words seemed to settle him. I kept talking, murmuring reassurances, grounding him as best as I could.

“Don’t think about what’s out there. Just focus on me. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

He let out a shaky exhale, the tension in his body slowly easing. His grip on me didn’t loosen, though—if anything, it tightened. I could feel his exhaustion seeping into me, his body growing heavier as the adrenaline drained out of him. He was still shaking, but less than before. The worst of the panic was passing.

I ran my fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. I knew this always helped him relax, and sure enough, I felt his breathing slow as his body melted into mine.

“Next time…” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “Next time, we go the same way. I don’t care what’s going on.”

I nodded against him. “Next time, we stick together. I promise.”

I meant it.

Because seeing him like this? Seeing him break like this?

I never wanted to go through that again.

This story will be a series, as I have a deep appreciation for zombie apocalypse AUs. I find them both engaging and versatile, making them an enjoyable setting to explore. Expect multiple parts. :) ꪆৎ

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈𝐈: 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐎𝐮𝐭, 𝐁𝐨𝐲, 𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐔𝐩

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous ─ next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: After your stepmother's ahem accident, and now brimming with confidence, you decide it's about time to make Eddie whole again and lend him a hand in doing so, while Eddie regains new and old sensations along with some feelings. An excruciatingly heavy dose of jealousy, included. And you confirm that Eddie Munson is hot. Eddie is so very hot.

Chapter Warnings: he's not super stinky anymore but his feet still are, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing. oh yeah, and murder. again. so there will be descriptions of violence and blood but its a creep getting what's coming. includes references to SA which occurred in a previous chapter.

a/n: surprise, bitch. bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. anyways, got a new macbook so here we are. this chapter was a lot longer but i actually forgot to add crucial details for my plot, so, I'm going to split it into more chapters. hope you enjoy this one! and yes, we are pretending certain songs existed during the year this is set.

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“I mean—I haven’t stared at his hands or anything, he’s just got to be dexterous with all the books he handles. It’s perfect.” You’d decided on the next unwitting donor for Eddie. A suitable hand to replace the one he lost.

  Of course, with the hand meant there’d be another body to dispose of. You’d planned it out carefully and quickly. You only had about a week until Laura was due back from her conference, or whatever the fuck it was. Regardless, you knew she wouldn’t be making another appearance, alive that is. You were sure her photos would assault you on news channels when she was discovered missing and you were relatively fine with that. It’d be the last of your abusive step-mother you’d ever have to see. You really were finally free of her, and it surprised you how relieved that made you feel.

  From the moment she came into your life, she’d made it almost unbearable for you to exist in your own skin, in your own life—in any space or capacity. The months spent enduring her verbal, emotional and mental abuse had eventually made you grow used to it, not that it ever became tolerable or normal to you. You just…stopped realizing you weren’t yourself anymore; always hunched over, eyes staring at the ground, walking on eggshells every minute you weren’t locked in the safety of your room. You’d become meek, doing anything you could to seem small so she’d leave you alone. Always holding your breath.

  You could finally breathe.

  There was a bit of guilt present, only because you knew regardless of how horrible Laura was to you and how she’d been to Chrissy before your step-sister had graduated high school (she’d told you all about it when you’d first moved in), she was still Chrissy’s mother, and Chrissy would no doubt feel the loss.

  She’d get over it.

  Eddie slowly made his way into your bedroom after you, and you took the chance to really look him over. He certainly did look more lively. Still dead as fuck, but not so much a corpse rotting for years. Maybe just a few months.

  “I’ll see him tomorrow, so we’ve got to do it then.” You kicked off your boots, letting them land wherever they wanted as you padded over to your bathroom with Eddie trailing behind you. 

  The bathroom light flicked on and you quickly got to work, pulling out your makeup removing balm and skincare products. You got started, making sure your hair was out of your face before you were massaging products into your skin, “You know, my dad said this move would be a new start for us—really, I didn’t have a choice unless I wanted to be homeless—and I thought that was a huge load of crap.”

  You stopped the motion of rubbing the balm to pry your eyes open, blinking past the product coating your eyelashes as you stared at Eddie’s reflection in the mirror. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring intently at your reflection and not at all bothered with the state of your severe raccoon eyes, “I still think it’s crap. But maybe this happened for a reason, maybe I was meant to tend to your grave until lightning brought you back to life kinda. Maybe Laura only ever existed so she’d be around to give you another ear when you’d need it. I mean she always gave me an earful so, I think it’s poetic justice. Now, she’s the one who only has a singular ear. Ear-y, if you will.”

  You quickly rinsed off your face and patted it dry with a towel, pausing to contemplate.

  ”And she’s dead now, too, so it’s like you guys just traded places. Freaky Friday and all that—did you ever see that movie? Jodie Foster?”

  Eddie nodded his head.

  “Did you like it?”

  “Mm.” He shrugged, sticking his hand out and letting it teeter. 

  You pursed your lips as you applied your moisturizer, “I mean it’s got its moments, some real nice mother-daughter understanding but I thought it was just okay, too.” 

  You were expecting him to make some sort of zombie sound of acknowledgement, so when he remained silent, your eyes drifted once more to his reflection, finding him now staring intently at the shower curtain, fingers of his good (the other one wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t there) hand twisting it this way and that. The shower curtain was bright pink, holographic and shifted to reveal a bunch of kittens when angled correctly.

  Eddie looked perplexed and you had to bite your lip to keep your grin from taking up your entire face at such a blatant display of boyish ignorance.

  Slowly, as you watched Eddie continue to fuck around with the curtain, the grin twisted into a small frown. 

  Sure, Eddie looked a little rough around the edges, had apparently been in the drug dealing business while he’d been alive—but you couldn’t imagine someone wanting a guy fascinated with shower curtains designed for late 40 something year-old women with no taste (Laura had picked out the curtain), dead. 

  You wondered if they’d been behind his missing appendages, too. Glancing down at his wrist to take in the wound—bone still visible, a heavy feeling settled in your stomach, one similar to the feeling you’d get when you’d watch Carrie; see her smiling on that stage, overwhelmed with joy at finally feeling accepted, but you couldn’t be happy for her. As a reader and viewer, you knew about the bucket.

  With your night routine finished, you turned to face Eddie, clapping your hands twice to get his attention. He reminded you of a puppy the way his head tilted in confusion at you.

  “Back to my room.” You swept your arms out in front of you, gesturing for him to leave first and when Eddie stood up he tried to do the same thing, only his arms weren’t as loose as yours, so it just looked like he was doing the robot.

  You smiled, turning to walk out the doorway when you stopped short, eyes honing in on the dark, red stain on your carpet.

  Fuck, you had to clean the crime scene still. Panic filled your chest while your brain tried to recall your dad and Chrissy’s schedules for the day. Chrissy had said she’d be out with friends so she probably wouldn’t return until well past the time your father went to bed, and he’d probably be home by dinner time. Even if he did return early, he rarely—and by rarely you meant never—went into your room. Not to lecture you, not to say goodnight, not to check if you were still alive.

  You were in the clear.

  Moving to stand directly in front of the stain, your sock covered foot tapped rapidly as you fidgeted. There was no way you’d be able to get all that out, Laura had bled harder than you did when you sneezed on your period. You could soak up most of the blood, scrub out the rest but the stain would always be present, no hiding the dull red amongst the pink fibers. 

  But maybe…

  Your eyes trailed over to the rug placed deliberately under your bed. It was a piece you brought from your room back home, a nifty find from the estate sales you and your mother would frequent with a shared love for antiques and the unique.

  You could pull it out a little, have Eddie lift the bed and then you’d be able to cover the stain left behind after you cleaned the carpet. Your lower lip became the victim of nervous chewing as you wondered if Chrissy would notice the difference in placement. Did she even pay that close attention to you? Could you risk it?

  Well, it’s not like you had any other option. With the clean up plan in mind, you turned to your doorway and jumped when you nearly collided with Eddie’s chest.

  “JESUS! Fuck, sorry dude—I forget you’re so quiet.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, and you were almost taken aback with the amusement you could see in his eyes. Eddie had found some amusement in having freaked you out by doing literally nothing—and his eyes kind of…sparkled with it. They hadn’t done that before you electrocuted him. While big, they hadn’t been all that expressive.

  Interesting.

  Whatever—you’d have to look into that later, right now you had something to cover up. And you needed to keep Eddie busy while you did.

  “C’mere.” Rather than just have him follow after you, you grabbed his hand—tugging him over to your bed. When Eddie was in front of you, you pushed on his shoulders to get him to sit down and then grabbed your beat up Walkman, your headphones, and rummaged through your bedside drawer for a certain tape. 

  No luck. You scowled, slamming the drawer shut as you scrutinized your room. You eyed your school bag, on the ground by your door and scrambled over to it, arm reaching in to search around before dumping the contents out. Damn, still no tape and your irritation was beginning to fester. 

  Sure, you had more but you needed Eddie to listen to that one. It was important for a reason you didn’t care to delve into. So, you handled your lapse in memory with grace.

  “WHERE THE FUCK IS IT?” You shoved everything carelessly back into your bag, practically throwing it back down as you rushed over to your dresser, moving all your crap aside in search of the plastic rectangle.

  Not there either.

  There was absolutely no way you’d ever misplace your tapes in the drawers of your dresser but you ransacked those, too, slamming them each when they proved futile. Your blood was practically boiling.

  “Eddie, cover your new ear because I am about to LOSE MY FUCKING SHI-oh, there it is!”

  It had been on your dresser, hidden under an open copy of Frankenstein, with the corner sticking out.

  You hummed, annoyance fleeing your person as you held the cassette case up between your fingers to show off to Eddie. During your little bitch fit, he’d made himself comfortable on your bed, laying back and popped up on his forearm. The lower half of his face was cinched up and you had the sneaking suspicion he was smirking at having witnessed you lose your cool, but he was a dead guy so who was he to judge?

  “This is gonna change your freaking life, I swear.” And then, as a guilty afterthought, “Uhm. In a good way.” You tucked his hair behind his ears, fingers gentle, and placed the headphones over them before you were pulling The Lion and the Cobra out of its case. “It’s one of my favorite albums and—honestly, I bought it because she’s bald. Well, I guess not bald bald, she’s got a buzzcut. This is Sinead O’Connor. I told you a little bit about her last night.”

  After slipping the tape into place and closing it in, you offered the case to Eddie so he could see Sinead on the cover of it, wrists crossed over her chest, and her normally soulful stare avoiding all those gazing upon her.

  When Eddie stared down at it a little too long for your liking, you snatched it out of his hands, an unpleasant feeling in your belly, heart clenching a little. It was a simple cover, he didn’t need to scrutinize her, didn’t need to admire her for that long. 

  You knew his eyebrows would be raised—if he could, but the most you’d seen them do is twitch—with the look he was giving you.

  “Shut up. Just—listen, okay? Every single track is a work of art, but some feel a little more…personal than others. Tell me your favorite afterwards, ‘kay?”

  Eddie stared at you for a couple of beats and when he nodded, you pressed the play button, giving him a smile.

  You could feel his eyes on you as you walked out of your room to retrieve a sponge, some hot soapy water and the carpet shampoo mix Laura concocted and always drenched the floors in.

  While you worked on making sure no one would ever know Laura took her last evil, foul wench breathes in your bedroom, Eddie had managed to shift into a different position, lying on his back with his head dangling off your bed, the ends of his curls pooling on the rug below.

  Now Eddie had always considered himself a music connoisseur, loved discovering new artists—but he was a little unfair in his practice. As in, he didn’t give a shit what other people told him to listen to. 

  Well, people he didn’t care about. Eddie cared about you. 

  Eddie cared about you a lot. 

  He’d been rediscovering his body the longer he remained alive, still marveling over his ability to reanimate from the grave. With his apparent deceased status, came the sensation of knowing where every organ in his body was.

  Eddie had been tempted to cut himself open, confirm with his sight what was going on in there, but he had a feeling you would have yelled at him so he settled for taking mental notes. He could think, so his brain was clearly working, maybe jump started by that lightning strike. He could tell the exact location of his stomach, feel things moving around in there and he’d spent a great deal of time hacking the creepy crawlers up after he’d spat one up in Laura’s lunch—he didn’t want to gross you out by accidentally coughing one up on you or something since he’d already puked on you.

  After making sure he didn’t feel any more bugs roaming around in his organs (and he was extremely grateful they’d yet to make his way to his lower intestine because there was no way you’d be normal about him shitting out bugs—if he even could shit), he realized he had a couple of broken rib bones. 

  Eddie couldn’t remember much about the night he was murdered, couldn’t recall too many images—mostly just experienced an intense wave of fear that clawed its way out of some crevice in his chest and up his throat, desperate to break through with a scream, so he tried not to think about it much. They must have broken his ribs in the attack, if he pressed just below his left pec, that particular rib bone would move inwards with a popping sensation. 

  Definitely hadn’t done that before he was dead, would have been a sick party trick, though.

  And then came the matters of the heart…it’s the one thing he couldn’t really feel, couldn’t locate, unlike his other organs. Eddie had briefly assumed that shit was still dead or dust but then you’d returned home, radiating with jubilation—a far cry from the miserable girl he’d observed that first night, so beautiful and marred with self deprecation.

  You’d said it was because of him, of the dress he’d seen hanging in your closet and then fantasized about seeing you wear all night while you’d slept. 

  Eddie swore he felt the heart he thought had given up, clench. It had been a fleeting sensation, but he’d felt it nonetheless. He had no idea what it was doing, had no idea if was actually beating or just responding. All he knew was that it belonged solely to you.

  And then you had to go and mention Steve fucking Harrington. 

  He wasn’t exactly fond of the self proclaimed King of Hawkins, had sold him some really shitty weed because the blockhead didn’t know the difference. He was an asshole, even worse than Eddie. 

  And for some fucking reason, the love of Eddie’s life—who read him poetry, talked about all her interests, shared her secrets with him along with the very same loneliness that had plagued him all his life and followed him to his grave, and who was far out of Steve’s league—wanted him. Not Eddie.

  No, because this is Eddie’s second life, he still can’t be happy. You wanted Blane and your movie Pretty in Pink ending. Eddie was just Duckie and he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the novelization ending. 

  When the fourth track began to play, Eddie’s despair was calmed by the sound of a guitar strumming, and he was able to yank himself out of his head. No point in dwelling. This wasn’t about him anyways. 

  Yes, he’d come back from the dead. The circumstances of his return were still unclear, but he knew it was somehow your doing, somehow because of you. And he’d spend the rest of his life (he had no idea if he was gonna age or not, he’d only been alive for like a day) expressing his gratitude and protecting you.

  Besides…

  Ah when you close my eyes, babe, I can see most everything, Sinead sang.

  And Eddie understood it. 

  His gaze bore into the side of your face, admiring the tick between your brows as you scrubbed at the stain, the pout of your lips and Eddie wanted nothing more than to be able to get up without his limbs literally creaking, saunter over to you with the confidence he knew would make you swoon over him, pull you up into his arms and kiss you until you forgot Steve Harrington even existed.

  He closed his eyes and let the scenario play out, changing a few details in the scene.

  The two of you weren’t in your room. Pink carpet switched out for his dingy, stained bedroom carpet. Generic in color, you didn’t seem to mind it at all as you rifled through his vinyl collection, greedy fingers flicking through the covers at an impressive rate. 

  Sinead’s voice was still comforting Eddie, just not through a pair of headphones. Her voice crooned out from the turntable on his dresser. 

  He’d been passively engaged in a sketch of the main villain for one of his favorite DND campaigns, still needed a ton of details that wouldn’t be hitting the page tonight. Not with you present, not with you sitting there engrossed in your own world and oblivious to his appreciative stare.

  Eddie didn’t like to consider himself particularly vain, and truthfully it hadn’t mattered to him what you’d look like the entire time he was—whatever. He didn’t care. But oh did someone up there have to favor him just a little bit, because when he saw you for the first time with his soil embedded dry eyes, he was sure it was love at first sight. Would have popped a woody if he had any sort of blood flow and if you hadn’t freaked out at having a dead guy crash through your window.

  Oh, fuck, he was ruining his own fantasy by remembering the circumstances of his existence. Back to it.

  While he could envision you in that black dress, as hot as you were in it, it was the pajamas he first ever saw you in that covered your skin. Hair ready for bed as the two of you winded down in a show of domestication. 

  Thump, thump.

  There it was again. Not always lively but always coming to life when you were around, even in just his daydreams, ready to beat for you. And since this was his fantasy…

  Eddie tossed aside the sketchbook and pencil, not caring where they bounced to on his bed in his haste to stand. He padded the short distance to you, snatching the vinyl you’d been checking out right from your hands.

   “Hey!” You cried out, any semblance of protest disappearing the moment you turned to look up at him and caught that mischievous Munson Smirk on his face as he dangled the album in front of you. He was teasing you.

  Your eyes narrowed up at him playfully and for a moment you were still until your arm darted out in an attempt to snatch the album back—a move Eddie was already anticipating.

  The album was quickly held just out of your reach and your grin was sheepish as you moved to get up from the ground. Clearly, your boyfriend (yes, he was your boyfriend in this fantasy, sue him) was feeling playful, and honestly, he just really liked it when you threw yourself at him just as you did right then.

  Eddie still held his ground, arm sticking straight up in the air to try to keep the album out of your grabby hands. 

  Teasing would always get a little physical, since he’d known what it was like to be without another’s touch for so long, he was keen on forever feeling yours.

   “You’re such an asshole!” You laughed as you did this pathetic little jump to try to reach it and Eddie snickered, the arm not clutching the album snaking around your side to bring you impossibly closer to him. Keep you there. Preferably forever.

  “Mm, but I’m your asshole,” Eddie cooed down at you, angling his head down so the tips of your noses bumped. The gentle curve of your lips had his heart thumping again as you settled against him, one hand stroking up his chest to rest on his shoulder. He could feel your breasts against him but it didn’t excite him as it should have (okay—it did, he just wasn’t paying attention to his dick in the fantasy), what he really cared about in that moment was how he was able to hold you so close, he could feel your heartbeat. And it wasn’t beating for Steve Harrington. It was Eddie who made your heart flutter and race, “and you can do whatever you want with me.”

   “Gross,” you whispered, breath ghosting over his lips.

   “You say that and yet you still let me─” The rest of Eddie’s sentence was lost against your mouth, soft, and a little tacky from your lip balm but oh so sweet. He let out a pleased hum, flicking the album onto his bed so he could cup the back of your head as your tongue parted his lips. The two of you stood there, holding each other, kissing each other with no ulterior motives. Just the burning desire to ensure the other knew exactly how wanted their very presence, very existence was. Sinead echoed her own statement over and over again in the background, making it the perfect soundtracked moment.

  God, there was nothing more he could ever possibly want.

  Actually—there was one thing he wanted more, he realized as his eyes opened once more, and your profile came into focus with a couple of lazy blinks. 

  Eddie wanted you to want all of that. 

  Wanted you to want him back, because you deserved more than what Steve Harrington could give you. Materialistically, sure okay—the rich douche could give you more considering Eddie was technically homeless without a penny to his name, but you didn’t care about material things. Not like that. It hadn’t been objects or devices you’d told him you longed for at his grave.

  You longed for something Eddie was positive he could give you. He just needed his body to be up to par, needed what he was missing so you could see the whole—Eddie as a whole—was greater than the sum of his parts. He could make you happy. He could make you so happy.

  If only he wasn’t a fucking zombie—and really, c’mon, that’s the main thing Steve’s got over him. He’s…y’know…more alive.

  You must have felt Eddie’s heavy and romantic, not creepy, stare because your head snapped up and you gave him that gorgeous smile again. Then you were knee crawling over and Eddie wanted to bite a chunk of your mattress out—you were so damn cute.

  When you were in front of Eddie, and still very much so upside down to him though you were actually right side up, you lifted the headphones off his ears, “How you liking it so far? You good over here?”

  Oh, you know just, yearning over a love we’ll never share because I know I could be everything you’ve ever wanted and anything you need, whatever you want, if I weren’t a corpse and I have to listen to you talk about another, much less cool guy when I’m right here and I’m missing a hand, so I could be better.

  Eddie held up (down, technically) his thumb and you leaned your body over so you were kind of upside down too, grinning brilliantly at him. Eddie had never wanted an upside down kiss so badly.

  “I don’t know if I’ve told you this yet, Eddie. I really like hanging out with you.”

  Eddie let out a groan, rolling his eyes and gently pushing your face away from him after your terrible pun while you cackled. 

  After you finished cleaning the stain to the best of your ability (so not well), you enacted the rest of your solution and had Eddie lift your bed frame so you could pull your rug a little more out and successfully cover the stain.

  Before bed, you asked him what his favorite track of the tape was. When Eddie pointed at Just Like U Said It Would B, you nearly jumped up and down on your bed before revealing that was your favorite song, too.

  Eddie wasn’t even remotely surprised. Yuuuuup. You were definitely his soulmate.

  When you woke up the following morning, squinting like an elderly chihuahua as you once more fumbled out of bed to pry your closet doors open, Eddie had another outfit waiting for you. Unlike yesterday, Eddie wasn’t awake.

  He was sitting against the wall of the closet, head resting against the bottom of various dresses and long skirts as a makeshift pillow. His eyes were closed and he was unnaturally still. 

  Alarms started to blare off in your head and you nearly shit your heart out of your asshole because you thought Eddie had somehow died again. Your reaction was instant, eyes filling with tears as you got on your knees and crowded into his space, hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him with a strength you didn’t know you possessed, “Eddie?! Eddie, c’mon, don’t do this to me—don’t leave me, I just got you, c’mon get up.”

  When he stirred, chest rising as he inhaled, you nearly dropped dead from the relief, allowing yourself to fall back on the carpet and partially on the rug sticking out from under your bed.

  “Oh my god.” You breathed out, lifting two fingers to check your own pulse. You still had one so you were kicking, and Eddie was still very much alive or whatever he was, “Okay, new rule, you gotta tell me what your body can and can’t do anymore—I thought you were DEAD, Eddie!” 

  You pushed up on your hands before you launched yourself at him, arms wrapping around his upper half. In that position, his hairs rubbed at your nose and the scent of your own shampoo filled your nostrils and he felt very hard overall, but his arms wrapped around you too. He was fine. Except for y’know, his current state of existence—but at least he still existed.

  When you pulled away to look at him, you noticed his eyes looked kind of hazy, bleary. Tired. He was full alert yesterday morning, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t slept that night, nor had he been tired when you got home. 

  “Are you okay?” You asked, fingers raking through his bangs to settle them against his forehead. 

  Eddie nodded slowly with a grunt, and grabbed the items that had been resting on his lap when he fell asleep, pushing them into your arms.

  A sheer black mesh long sleeve, a red corset to go over that and keep you from getting arrested for the public indecency, and a sleek midi black skirt that was sure to hug your hips and flow the rest of the way down to stop a little past your knees. 

  “So, yesterday it was Madonna and today it’s Cyndi Lauper?”

  Eddie pushed you out of the closet but before he could shut the doors, you wedged your way between them to prevent him from doing so.

  “Wait—okay, you win again. Are you tired?” You pried the doors all the way open again so you could see Eddie more clear with the light, his head nodding slowly.

  ”I didn’t know you could sleep,” You mumbled and the look Eddie gave you made you think he hadn’t known either. You were beginning to suspect your little Dr. Frankenstein moment did more than simply bring Eddie’s ear to life, “Well get up. You can sleep in my bed, I’ve got a couple of classes today. Chrissy likes to carpool on Tuesdays and my dad’s gonna head to work, not that he’d ever venture to this corner of the house anyways. Get some rest and I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

  He looked a little unsure of himself so you had to pull him out. And once you remembered he was in the same pair of clothes, you gave him another band shirt and some plaid pajama pants you’d received on some birthday in the wrong size, to wear to bed.

  By the time you’d finished getting ready and doing your makeup, Eddie was asleep again. You found him lying on his stomach, head nuzzled into your pillow with his feet hanging off your bed.

  You walked over, grabbing your comforter from where you’d bunched it up on the other side of the bed after you’d thrown it off you and pulled it over him. Whether or not his blood circulation was working wasn’t even a thought, the action of tucking Eddie in was more so an affectionate one than rational. 

  It’d been years since he’d slept in a bed, having been wrongfully sentenced to spend eternity with worms and everything beneath the earth’s surface. You hated that, something hot simmering in your belly. Laura’s much deserved murder aside, Eddie hadn’t done anything wrong! Yeah, okay, you didn’t exactly know him—but you knew him. The dead dude, currently sleeping (?) in your bed, had acted earlier only and solely to protect you. You hadn’t been in Hawkins when he was alive so the odds of him running around with a sewing machine to bash people’s heads in for you were pretty slim.

  Impulsively, your hand reached out to run through his hair with ease, fingers twisting into the curls. His tresses were still surprisingly soft and there were no tangles. Part of you wanted to lean forward and smell him but you didn’t because it’d be creepy and he’d just smell like your shampoo, probably. 

  With a sigh, you retracted your hand and silently gaped when some of his hair came out with it. 

  Oh, shit.

  Rolling your lips together and with no alternative, you rolled the hair into a little ball and tucked it into your bra to dispose of later. The last thing you needed was for him to be nosey and bored enough to go through your bathroom trash and find his hair in it, without him having put it there.

  You were just about to head out when you remembered his shoes and how uncomfortable going to bed wearing them must have been so before you could USE YOUR FUCKING HEAD you were carefully pulling one off (it would be just your luck to accidentally pull his foot off or something) and once his foot was free—you realized immediately why he’d kept them on.

  The stench hit your eyes first, tears filling them faster than you’d ever experienced before and stinging them something fierce. When the smell breached your nostrils, it triggered your gag reflex and you did everything you could to keep your dry heaving relatively quiet. 

  After you threw up in your mouth a little, you managed to put his shoe back on and ran for the bathroom. Once your stomach was settled, you held your breath and braved your room, lunging for your body spray to aggressively mist over Eddie’s sleeping figure before hurrying out, gasping for air once you were in the hall leaning against the bedroom door. 

  God, your wallpaper was fucked. No way it wasn’t curling in on itself.

  You were still in a state of shock and recovery when you ventured downstairs, almost snapping to attention when you heard Chrissy gasp and your head lulled towards the dining room where she sat at the table across from your father. He had his head buried in some magazine while she stared at you in awe, hands covering her mouth.

  “My goodness, Sissy! You look like you could have walked straight out of that witch movie that Cher was in! You know, the one with the three witches?”

  “I’m familiar, let's hope men in real life are easier to knock dead.” You commented, leaning against the entryway with your arms crossed and the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

  Chrissy laughed, the sound ringing out like the most annoyingly pleasant wind chimes as she explained to your father who wasn’t really listening, “Because in the film, daddy, there’s this awful man and they’re trying to get rid of him and really all the men in the film aren’t the greatest.”

  Your dad just grunted, still thoroughly engrossed in his magazine, “Uh-huh, I’m sure your sister’s a regular maneater.”

  The sarcasm was evident and unappreciated by both you and Chrissy. The brief glare you spared the oblivious sack of meat was lethal before your steely gaze was back on the strawberry blonde.

  “You ready?” You usually carpooled with Chrissy on Tuesdays since your last classes lined up.

  “Ohhhhh, here she comes. Watch out, boys, she’ll chew you up.” Chrissy teased, popping the last of her eggs into her mouth. You noted, with great satisfaction, specks of pepper peeking out from her gums and between her teeth, “You know, sissy—you seem a lot more confident without mom around.”

  Your dumb bitch of a mom, you internally corrected her, lips curling into a smile as you recalled exactly where that woman was. Probably arguing with Satan about which ring of hell she’d be damned to for the rest of eternity. It had to be one of her choosing or she wasn’t going to budge an inch, you could imagine her telling the fallen angel. 

  “I do have to admit,” Chrissy continued, “It’s pretty peaceful without her here. I’ll have to convince her to go out more often.”

  This next part pained you, and you could actively feel your stomach clenching as you forced the words out, “Not too often. I kind of miss having her here.”

  Oh, you were so gonna throw up, “I mean—everyone needs a Debbie Downer to put life into perspective.” 

  Or make you want to kill yourself. The sole reason you were even voicing these lies was because you needed to establish a somewhat ‘healthy’ relationship with your stepmother, for investigative purposes. 

  Sure, you argued a lot; she hated you, you wanted her dead and now she was, but if you went around saying you missed her, you likely wouldn’t be number one on the suspect roster once she was determined to be missing. 

  That caught your dad’s attention and he finally looked up in confusion, “Really?”

  “Of course! I know we fight sometimes but she’s a good example for me.” You had to put your all into this performance, forcing your expression to appear somewhat genuine even if you were really mocking her, “Because of her, I now know it’s possible for you to be a bitch your whole entire life if you don’t fix your attitude and outlook while you’re young, and that if you don’t start caring for your skin sooner rather than later, you’ll have wrinkles the size of California. I know she doesn’t want that same bitter existence she goes through, sunup to sundown, for me. That’s why she’s so tough on me.” 

  Chrissy looked touched, a dainty little hand over her chest as she blinked back tears, “You are so right. I know she’s hard on you but I’m glad you’re starting to see she can’t help it. She’d probably rather die than not be a little judgmental.”

  You scratched the back of your neck and cleared your throat, “Mhm. So, school?”

  “My, aren't you eager to just snap the neck of every boy at school today?” Chrissy gathered her utensils after she’d cleared her plate.

  “Just certain ones.” Your nose crinkled with your smile. Chrissy briefly disappeared into the kitchen, and when she emerged, she was tightening the ponytail she’d sectioned the top half of her hair in, allowing you to see a faint bruise just below her jaw.

  “Hey—you good?” You reached up to rub a knuckle over the same area on your skin and her eyes widened as her fingertips flew to her jaw, pressing at the skin until she seemed to feel the tender spot.

  “Oh, yeah. I must have got myself with my straightener this morning.” She laughed, nervously and your eyes narrowed as you followed her into the foyer. 

  “I thought you valued not ever using heat on your hair.” You reminded her, having had to often listen to her brag about how her hair was sooooooo healthy and sooooooo long because she never used heat on it. She only slept with curlers on, and judging by the bump to her ends—that had been exactly the case. 

  Chrissy’s eyes darted away and you knew she was lying, “I-I—I do! I mean I don’t! We were just doing each other’s hair at the sleepover yesterday, and I let them─”

  “Sleepover? I thought you just went out for some bowling and a kickback. Did you not sleep here last night?” You quirked your head, mouth setting in a frown. There was nothing more you hated than being lied to. Except maybe getting the shit slapped out of you by Cruella de Vil yesterday.

  Chrissy’s eyes widened and she began to stammer, “No, no! I-I did! It was, you know, it was supposed to be a sleepover but I didn’t stay all that long. S-School night and-and all.”

  “Huh.” Was all you said, deciding to let it go after making her a little more nervous with your stare. It was powerful when lined with kohl. Chrissy looked like she was about to start shaking in her white princess Reebok’s and you started to feel bad for her. It had been over a year since her boyfriend had broken up with her and she still always felt guilty about being with other guys. You had a feeling she was still holding out for him. That, coupled with the fact that you were feeling sorry for Chrissy—and not the other way around—made you feel good about yourself so you’d happily look the other way while she tried to find affection she probably craved.

  Oh, how the turn tables.

  The ride to school was filled with chatter, Chrissy’s way of trying to make sure the subject didn’t return to her escapades from the previous night, no doubt.

  You let her chatter away as you pulled a piece of paper from one of your notebooks to jot down a quick note. Much flirtier than you had originally planned to write it, but after spotting Chrissy’s hickie, you were inspired. 

  Once you were done, you folded the pink lined paper up and pressed a kiss to it, leaving your lipstick stain on it. The paper was rubbed discretely against your neck as well, an effort to get some of your perfume on it. 

  I’m tired of playing games. No more interruptions. Meet me at the old bench in the woods behind the high school at 4pm?

  Yes /  No

  Leave your response on the windshield of the white miata

  Xoxo

  When Chrissy pulled into the parking lot and the two of you parted ways, you scanned the area for a certain car and placed the note under one of the windshield wipers before making your way to your first class. Luckily, your seat was right next to the window that overlooked the parking lot. You spent the entire class nervously fidgeting until you saw him making his way towards his car. 

  You watched, with bated breath, as he paused in his approach when he noticed the note. Your asshole clenched when he pulled it from its secure spot and unfolded the note to read its contents.

  He was too far for you to make out the expression on his face but he dug around in his pocket until he produced a pen and scribbled his response before jogging over to Chrissy’s car to leave the note exactly where you instructed and you wanted to stomp your feet against the ground in victory but no.

  No. You couldn’t, not in front of all these people and certainly not in class. You were just beginning to garner a cool reputation and you weren’t about to let a guy ruin it.

  You did, however, maintain a constant smirk throughout the day and it briefly morphed into a genuine smile when you’d intentionally wandered in front of the library, catching Steve’s eye. He’d traded you a secretive smile, fingers waving in your direction and you returned the sentiment before carrying on your way to beat Chrissy back to her car.

  You were in such a rush to make it to the parking lot before her, you didn’t stop to think someone could be coming around the corner and crashed right into a broad chest, dropping your back in the shuffle.

   “Shit. Sorry,” You mumbled, dropping down to your knees to grab your bag and the subsequent items that had fallen out of it. The mystery person bent down in time to grab the tube of your mascara before you could, the last item you needed, and held it out to you and you glanced up, body freezing as Tommy Hagan stood before you.

  “No harm done.” He shrugged, appearing nonchalant as he smiled down at you, “You really should take those corners slow. They’ll get you.”

  Tommy Hagan was…something. You didn’t really like him. 

  He hadn’t given you much of a reason to not like him, since you never interacted with him, it was just…something about him. He was a wildcard. You’d seen Tommy in many different states; cool, calm, collected, goofing off. Then, with a snap of a finger, it was like he was a completely different person. 

  You’d witnessed him lose his shit on someone before, crowding some poor guy up against his car as he threatened to bash his face in with the door. 

  He wasn’t much of a bully to you, Carol seemed to target the girls and while you’d heard Tommy used to be a big bully in high school, you hadn’t seen him pick on people continuously. Just those he actually seemed to have friction with, so you assumed he’d grown out of the bullying. 

  That being said, up until recently, he was still involved with Carol and anyone that could willingly want to deal with her in a romantic situation had to be bad news, and that’s why you stayed away.

  How he could go from Carol, to appreciatively eyeing you up in the middle of the corridor, you had no idea. 

  You didn’t like it.

   “Uh, yeah.” Was all you could say when you realized you hadn’t responded to him. “I-uhm-I was in a hurry.”

  He nodded, brown eyes sweeping over you once more, sending a bad shiver down your spine. You definitely did not like it and you couldn’t even explain why because there had been nothing inherently crude about the way he looked at you. It wasn’t anything like with Fred the other night, Tommy wasn’t looking at you like he was about to have his way with you…you couldn’t explain it. There was just something so ominous about his presence. Something dark attached to his freckled, ‘friendly’ face. 

  “Do I know you? From somewhere? We have a class together or something?” He asked, apparently keen on making small talk with you.

   “No, I don’t think so.”

  ”You’re Chrissy’s sister!” He supplied, eyes lighting up and you weren’t fond of being linked with him any sort of way.

   “Yeah. She’s-Chrissy. My step-sister.”

  How the fuck can I end this conversation?

  Tommy smirked, and you could feel your stomach drop as the ominous aura came over him, his face somehow darkening. Not in color, in nature. “Is she the evil one, or are you? Hmn?”

  You didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know if he was cruising around for his next cruel girlfriend, but it wouldn’t be you.

   Instead of answering his question, you laughed nervously. The sound wasn’t pretty, nor was it modest. You laughed loud, and you laughed obnoxiously. It’s not like you could help it!

   “I gotta, I gotta go.” You managed to get out between rounds of your laughter as you backed away.

  He watched you with something akin to interest, as you whirled around and made a dash for the parking lot.

  You could hear him call out a see you around and since you didn’t want to see him around, you just lifted a hand in acknowledgment without turning back.

  Good god, that was unpleasant. That was extremely uncomfortable and it made you feel the need to panic poop. The urge faded, when you saw Chrissy’s car. A white square was under her wipers.

  You snatched the note up, quickly unfolded it and the smirk made its way back onto your face, mimicking that of the Grinch’s when he’d come up with his plan to ruin Christmas for The Whos.

  Yes was circled, several times, so it looked like you had a date with destiny after school.

  “What are you so happy about?” Chrissy asked on the drive back home, a smile on her own face as bright eyes darted from the road to you and back again. The maniacal smile remained firmly in place on your face. You couldn’t help it. Everything really was falling into place for you.

  “We watched Bill Nye in a segment of Almost Live in my Lab class today.”

  “I love that guy, they really should give him his own show. He is kind of cute, isn’t he?”

  You gave Chrissy some side-eye, “Uuuuuhhhuuuh.”

  When she pulled up along the curb outside your house, you noticed she only put the car in park and made no move to unbuckle her seatbelt.

  When you raised a questioning brow, she supplied, “I’m gonna run into town for a little bit. You need anything?”

  Immediately, you were suspicious and if it weren’t for your plans, you might have pushed at the lame excuse. This worked for you, she’d be gone for a while and out of your business, “Nope.”

  You made sure to wait until her car had disappeared around the corner before you entered your house, jumping when you saw Eddie trying to yank his good hand out of one of the vases Laura had placed near the fireplace. It had been one you made in art class back at your old high school, so naturally, she deemed it hideous, and hid it behind an even bigger vase. 

  It was also where you stashed your weed.

  Eddie turned to you, his hand still stuck in the vase, and somehow managed to look sheepish.

  You glared, shoulder sagging enough to have the strap of your back rushing down it, “Seriously?” 

  He shrugged his shoulders, grunt sounding small.

   “Can you even smoke weed?” You asked, abandoning your backpack on the floor as you bounded over. 

  Eddie’s grunt in response sounded more like a scoff. Can he even smoke weed…

  You took hold of the bottom of the vase, holding it still to allow Eddie to pull his hand from it, still intact—thank god. In his grip, was a brightly colored Lisa Frank pouch, meant for holding your school supplies. 

  It obviously did not hold your school supplies.

   “Alright, bloodhound. We’ll give it a shot. Later. Right now, we’ve got big plans.” You gestured for him to follow you upstairs and he did, after stopping by the front door to retrieve your bag for you.

  You shoved your bedroom door open to find the bed fully made, and Eddie’s pajamas haphazardly folded on top of your duvet. 

  Sparing a glance at his approaching figure, you made a mental note to stop at one of the stores in town to get him some more threads. He couldn’t wear the same thing everyday. Actually, he could but you didn’t want him to. That was gross when guys did it, especially dead ones. 

  Your bag was tossed to the side, and you began rummaging around in your closet in search of spare sheets, “Did you get everything else ready?”

  Eddie grunted in confirmation. After he’d woken up, he’d put the items you’d requested in your van and discovered a discarded filter in there, which resulted in him searching your house for the stash you had to have.

  When you emerged from the closet, arms around balled up sheets which you soon transferred to Eddie’s waiting arms, you gave him a determined look. 

  “Let’s do this.”

  The van ride had been a quick one, and it was parked somewhere in the woods away from the roads and any foot traffic once you made it.

  A quick detour was made at the cemetery before you walked over to the area behind the high school, not too much of a walk away from the cemetery. How appropriate. 

  You assumed it was once a family location back in the glory days of Hawkins, but you had no idea why there was only a singular picnic table there.

  Come to think of it, you didn’t see any sort of grills or anything else that would make this area a popular destination, so why the hell was there a random picnic table in the middle of the woods???

  Before you could give it much more thought, you heard the sound of leaves crunching and turned your head to see Eddie’s latest donor walk right through the treeline.

   “Hey,” Fred grinned, a surprisingly thick finger reaching up to push his glasses further up his nose. His hair was wet, and you tried to keep your lip from curling at the knowledge that it was sweat and not just water. You had a sneaking suspicion the walk had been a challenge to him.

  Show time.

   “You got my note,” you breathed out, making sure the statement sounded airy and affectionate despite how the hairs on your arms were rising at the sight of the guy who’d touched you so brazenly without your consent. 

  “I did,” Fred confirmed, nearing you and you stood up to stop his approach, “I was really hoping you’d come around. And-And don’t worry, you don’t have to be embarrassed about the other night or anything.”

  You don’t have to be embarrassed about the other night.

  You.

  Fred had tried to take advantage of you while you were under the influence of a drug you hadn’t known you’d taken, had whisked you away to an empty room where something sinister could have taken place had you not saved yourself—and you didn’t have to be embarrassed about what he’d done to you.

  Something in you snapped, blood boiling so hot you could feel yourself sweat a little.

  You didn’t even like Fred as a person, and yet you could feel something lodged in your throat, heart pumping heavy in your chest and loud in your ears. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t the anxiety that overtook you more often than not. 

  Rage coursed through your entire being.

  You had no pity for him, Fred was going to get exactly what people like him deserved.

  “I was just so nervous,” you lied, tips of your fingernails dancing over the wood of the table top as you slowly moved to the other end, “And you were so kind to look after me.”

  A glance was spared in his direction, your gaze heated through your lashes.

  His cheeks flushed, splotchy face gaining more color to it.

   “It was nothing, really. We freaks gotta stick together, right?”

  You scoffed, the sound playful though you held nothing but malice for the guy across from you.

  Fred was no freak. He was a monster disguised as a nerd. You’d gone through Chrissy’s yearbook before, had seen how small he used to be. He’d evidently gained a bit of muscle since high school, swapped out a wardrobe for something slightly better, but all the physical change could do nothing to hide the little man he really was. A self-titled nice guy who wondered why girls never went for him while trying to take advantage of ones that could barely stand up on their own two feet. 

  At least the creeps made their nefarious intentions obvious. Fred was dangerous; someone calculating who hid his intentions behind a pair of frames and a somewhat friendly approach.

  “You’re right. You’re so right, and I feel really guilty about the way I ran out on you. I was hoping…” You fiddled with your fingers, feigning a coy demeanor, “Would you let me make it up to you?”

  If Fred really was worthy of some sort of stupid fucking redemption, of living, he’d say no. He’d realize how fucked up in the head he was, this whole situation was, and go get help or put himself on some sort of registry if not just disappear from the face of the earth altogether. In an ideal world, those would be possibilities. 

  This wasn’t that world, so Fred only nodded his head frantically as his knees began to shake. 

  As you led him through the woods, you briefly wondered what was going through his head. What exactly did he think you were going to do to him? Not like it really mattered, since he’d proven to be the type to try and force people to do whatever he wanted.

  You felt something swipe against the side of your pinky and pulled your hand to your chest just in time to prevent Fred from taking hold of it.

  At his questioning look, you just gave him a demure smile, “That’s for later.”

  He just shrugged his shoulders, not at all upset about being unable to hold your hand just yet because he’d get to do other things to you.

   “Where’d you say you parked your car, again?” Fred asked as the two of you approached the back of the cemetery. It was eery in this section, the area even creepier after the lightning strike. You could feel Fred’s nerves.

  “Just outside of the cemetery, it’s quicker if we cut through it. Although, I have to say, I quite enjoy strolling through it. Really puts life in perspective, don’t you think?”

  Fred gave a nervous chuckle, hair dampening again, “Uh-huh. I don’t have many dead relatives, so, no-uh, real reason to come on by this place.”

   “What’s the matter, Freddie? You scared?” 

  “No way, just not one to take romantic strolls through a cemetery. I’m not scared though.” He huffed out.

  You should be, you thought.

   A chuckle was the only response you gave him as you neared Eddie’s grave.

   “That one’s my favorite,” A polished finger was pointed in its direction and you could hear Fred’s intake of breath. Eddie’s gravesite was particularly fear inducing, the stone cracked and blackened. Patches of the grass around it had also been charred, with black arms seemingly reaching out from it. Patterns from the lightning strikes.

  Fred’s steps slowed significantly, tension building until it all came to a head when he finally noticed the mounds of dirt pushed aside, a large hole in the ground just in front of his tombstone.

  “We—We should really be g-getting out of here,” He stammered in fear.

  “Nonsense. What? Does it creep you out? Relax, Fred. It’s just from that shit weather that night, remember? Lightning, is all. Not like the dead can just climb right out.”

  Your tone was reassuring but if the noob couldn’t see the marks Eddie had made when he’d clawed his way out, couldn’t see the footprints of his shoes embedded in the mud—well, that was on him.

  But Freddy boy had had enough, walking right up to you to grab hold of your wrist so he could drag you away, “Let’s just go to your van already, this place is evil as shit and his grave is not a welcome place for anyone, let alone me.”

  Fred pulled you to his chest, which sent you into a panic. You hadn’t been expecting him to get physical with you so soon. Your body went into fight mode, squirming to get away from him which seemed to only annoy him as he fought to subdue you.

  Before you could even voice your protest, demand he let you go or kick him in the balls, Fred yelped. His grip on your wrist disappeared and you jumped back in time to avoid his body colliding with yours as he went crashing down to the ground.

  Your breathing was labored, relief morphing into the best kind of elation when you spotted the hand, coming from the hole in the grave, wrapped around Fred’s now twisted ankle.

  Fred turned to stare down at it, too. His mouth dropped in horror, body shaking like a leaf as the two of you watched Eddie Munson rise from the grave.

  The shriek Fred let out was decidedly girlish in nature, high pitched and almost impressive. You couldn’t have anyone hearing him though, so you dealt a swift kick to his mouth.

  You didn’t use much of your strength, but the kick still sent him onto his back. He groaned, reaching a hand up to his mouth and you noticed his teeth were staining a shade of red, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

  “Feeling ambushed, Freddie? Violated, perhaps?” You hissed down at him, mind flashing back to that night, feeling so disoriented and lost and wrong as he’d cupped your breast, felt you up while you could barely string a coherent sentence together and still said no.

  Fred groaned again, hunching over to spit out some blood, “What the fuck?” He asked, voice sounding dazed. 

  You didn’t notice your kick had also knocked his glasses off his face until he was shakily reaching for them. One of the lenses was cracked. It didn’t impair his vision too much, though, because he started screaming again when he caught sight of Eddie again, who’d climbed completely out of the grave and stood just over your shoulder, glaring menacingly down at him.

   “Stop screaming, you banshee.” You quickly squatted down, scooped up some dirt and shoved it into his mouth. He fought against your palm, but the idea had the desired effect; Fred was too busy coughing the dirt out to scream.

  “Please,” he croaked out, tongue sticking out of his mouth, “Stop! Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t know what I was doing!”

  The chuckle you let out was void of humor. Of course, when a man has to answer for his evil ass actions, suddenly he’s capable of admitting what he did wasn’t in the right. Too fucking bad for him. You were about to tell Fred it was far too late for pleas, until his next round of statements made you realize his begging wasn’t directed at you.

   “It was Chance! An-And Andy! It was their idea, I had nothing to do with it! I mean—I mean, I was just the lookout! How was I supposed to know what they would do?”

  Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you looked over your shoulder at Eddie who appeared just as perplexed as you.

  His brown eyes bore into yours, searching for the question in them before he shook his head.

  You turned your attention back to the weasel cowering on the ground, “You know him?”

  Fred’s gaze darted frantically from you to Eddie as he kept stuttering. He’d clearly caught on to you being unaware, and possibly Eddie. You couldn’t have him keeping secrets, though, so you reached for the ax Eddie had pulled out of the grave where’d he’d hidden it and Fred let out an inhuman line of gibberish.

   “Yes! Yes, okay, yes, I know him!”

  You weighed the ax in your hand, glaring down at Fred. You just needed this fuckers hand for Eddie. That’s it, just needed his hand and you couldn’t let him live after that. 

  It’s not like he’d just let Eddie have it, go about his life pretending like he didn’t know there was a deadman walking around with his hand after the two of you cut it off.

  That’s all you needed of Fred, and now he was mentioning having known Eddie. Implying something was done to Eddie, and you had a sickly feeling you knew exactly what.

  Did Eddie want to know? Would it do more good than bad?

  You turned your attention to Eddie once more, and found that he was already watching you. There was nothing expectant in his gaze. Despite the circumstances, and the guy shaking like a leaf on the ground with broken teeth and a broken wrist, Eddie didn’t appear menacing to you at all. 

  Just looked like he was waiting to follow your cue. And you remembered how he’d come to your rescue so many times already. It was high time you started showing up for him.

   “Explain.” You demanded of Fred, handing the ax back to Eddie.

  Fred looked hesitant, only speaking when you turned to Eddie as if to deliver the instruction to kill Fred, “It was…It was after graduation. Look, I don’t know everything, okay? Chance and Andy told me I had to meet them at the Quarry and just make sure no one else came by but Eddie. I wasn’t thinking, I was just scared as hell about someone else showing up, like what was I supposed to do to stop them? I was a twig! And then—And then, everyone came running out and yelling to scram and run for it! So…I did.”

   You watched as Fred seemed to shrink before your eyes, back to that scrawny boy you’d seen in the yearbooks.

   “I…I didn’t find out until my mom turned on the news later that night…I didn’t know Eddie was dead until then.”

  You couldn’t do anything to stop the shaky croak, a hot tear trailing quickly down your cheek as Fred confirmed Eddie had been murdered.

  Your Eddie, the sassy guy with long curly hair, a mischievous and playful nature, so far from hostile unless someone was a direct threat to you.

  He’d been harmed, his life stolen. The rage you’d felt earlier was nothing compared to the craze you were spiraling into.

  “They killed him,” You whispered out, nearly shaking. When Fred gave a slow nod of confirmation, you just about shrieked, “And you didn’t tell anyone?! You didn’t go to the police!?”

  Fred looked at you like you were out of your mind to even suggest that of him, “And tell them what? That I was the one making sure no one interrupted? I would have gone to prison.”

  Your mouth dropped open. 

  Okay. 

  Yes, you were fucked up. Your emotionally, mentally, and apparently physically abusive mother was dead and you’d played a role in that. But she was only dead because she meant to seriously harm you, and Eddie had stepped in to protect you. If it had been someone innocent, someone like Chrissy, you would have taken the blame and the prison time. You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself.

  But this motherfucker knew Eddie had been murdered that night, had not been too far away when it happened, and hadn’t told a soul because he was afraid of possibly being held responsible. Always only thinking of saving his fucking skin.

  “You selfish son of a bitch!” You spat out, “Eddie died that night, you knew he was murdered and you let them get away with it! If you weren’t an accessory then, you sure are now!”

  “Does it look like I was meant to be in a cell!? Admonish me all you want, I did what was best for myself! I can’t take it back, what’s done is done. Besides, you didn’t know him. Eddie–he was a burnout. He wasn’t gonna do anything worthwhile anyways.”

  You couldn’t believe someone so pathetic EXISTED!

  It made you want to scream, but you held it in, physically having to close your eyes and take deep breaths before you made the last demand that would determine what would happen next.

  “Go to the police. Tell them everything. You can even tell them about me, and you can try telling them about Eddie,” You jabbed a finger into your zombie boy’s direction, “They’ll never believe you about that, though.”

  Fred blinked at you, incredulous. 

  “I’m not telling anyone anything. I’m not going to jail. I’m not.”

  You nodded your head a couple of times, running a hand over your hair. “Yeah, okay, you’re right.”

  Then, you grabbed the ax from Eddie’s grasp, swinging it down onto Fred’s propped up wrist. It was a clean cut, hand perfectly severed and Fred let out a scream.

  “You’re not going to jail.”

  Blood spurted from the wound and you cringed back a little, wishing he’d aim it away or something. Gross.

   “Why’d you do that—oh my GOD, my HAND!”

  Fred was in hysterics, clutching his arm, and really you couldn’t blame him. It probably sucked to lose your hand this way but he wouldn’t have to suffer for long.

  You picked up the appendage, waving it around triumphantly.

  “Why are you bitching? What’s done is done. I’m holding your hand like you wanted.”

  Eddie made a sound behind you and turned to hand him the…hand.

  “Here, this is yours now.” 

  Fred whimpered as you positioned yourself over him, ax in hand and poised near your head.

   “The hand is Eddie’s, but chopping it off was for me. You’re never gonna touch another girl, never gonna cause harm with it. Never again. This, however,” you adjusted your grip on the ax, making sure you had a good handle on it, “Is for Eddie. It’s nothing personal, it's just that I hate you and you shouldn’t have been too much of a bitch to report a murder.”

  With that, the ax came down. Fred didn’t make any more noise.

“So, you really don’t remember much about dying?” You asked for the third time, perched on Eddie’s headstone as he shoveled dirt over the grave to seal it once more. 

  “Uhn, uhn.” 

   “Can’t remember faces?”

   “Uhn, uhn.”

   “…Did it hurt?”

  Eddie paused in his ministrations, stabbing the shovel into the ground as he leaned against it and seemed to ponder your question. You wondered if he was trying to recall the answer, or if he was debating on whether or not he should answer. 

  You got your answer a few moments later when Eddie slowly nodded his head, shoes smoothing over the surface of the dirt before he pulled the shovel out and gestured for you to follow him back to the van.

  Eddie was quiet, something had changed. Aside from, you know, your body count.

  You had an inkling it bothered Eddie to not know what happened to him. Not a whole lot of your thought went into it, but Eddie had to have been mourned by someone. He had that tombstone, the inscription. Those weren’t cheap and someone had to have cared for him enough to make sure he had it. Did he have a mom and dad? A guardian? Family?

  He’d left people behind, against his will and probably had no idea where they were now.

  You hoped he didn’t feel alone in the world. 

  It wasn’t impulsive, it was an action that came from a great deal of caring… you reached out for the hand still attached to his body. It wasn’t warm, and it wasn’t cold, either. What it was, was comforting.

  From your peripheral vision, you could see his head turn to you in surprise and you met his gaze, offering a smile and a squeeze to his hand you were sure he couldn’t feel.

  Until he squeezed yours back.

  “We didn’t even need the sheets.” You realized out loud. Originally, you were gonna wrap Fred up, weigh him down with some rocks and throw him in Lover’s Lake. It had been Eddie’s idea to bury him. By that, you meant he just dug out the rest of his grave (impressive with one hand) and rolled Fred into it.

  RIP FrEddie Munson.

After a quick trip into town to get some things for Eddie (he had to lay down in the back), and pick up some more thread, the two of you made it home to find no one else had which worked in your favor. 

  You didn’t bother changing out of your bloody clothes just yet. You still had some Frankenstein work to do with a live-ish appendage, so you found yourself on Eddie’s lap, sewing his new hand into place.

  It would have been quicker if you could focus but Eddie’s face was just a few inches away from yours and he would not look away. The side of your face his gaze was boring into felt hotter than the other side and it was making you nervous for some reason. Not a bad nervous, just…nervous.

  You decided to break the tension.

   “Oh, shit, this is the wrong hand.”

  That did the trick, you felt him tense up underneath you and Eddie’s head darted down to make sure he didn’t have two of the same hand, body relaxing when he realized you were joking.

   “Got’cha.” You grinned, eyes scanning over his features. You felt your heartbeat stutter when you noticed the twitch at the corner of his lips. Eddie was smiling at you.

  Swallowing hard, you cleared your throat, gave him a tight smile, and went back to work. 

  He groaned on one particular tug of the thread, and you paused with a wince, “Did that hurt?”

  He shook his head, but he was also making a bit of a face.

   “Feel unpleasant?” 

  “Mm.”

   “Sorry,” You were a little more gentle in your actions, trying to carefully weave the needle through his wrist, and his new hand, making sure your tugs were extra gentle which he appeared to appreciate, nuzzling his head against yours for a brief moment.

  You nearly convulsed.

  Once the hand was on, the thread had been snipped and neatly secured, it was to the tanning bed!!!

  You got him all situated, made sure he didn’t hit his head and then watched him light up.

  The smell of burnt hair filled the mini garage, and you made a mental note to pick up some hair products later. Eddie’s curls were gonna need it if they wanted to stay attached to his scalp, though you supposed you could probably scalp someone should he need a replacement.

  Argyle, a guy who worked at one of the local pizza places, had long luxurious locks of hair, but you couldn’t do that to him. He was a nice dude, stuck in a permanent trip for sure, and so always pleasant to you. He was also your dealer and you were pretty sure his girlfriend was a witch. The last thing you needed was to be cursed or hexed. Or turned into a goat.

  Settling in for what you expected to be a long wait while Eddie tanned, you were surprised when just a few moments later, all sparking stopped. Figuring you didn't set the right temperature to bake him at, you moved to mess with the dial only for a hand to curl out and push the lid of the bed up.

  Eddie’s time in the tanning bed, while somewhat briefer this time, still seemed to have cooked him. Smoke dripped out, flowing almost syrup-like down to the floor where it all seemed to pool and twist around your ankles as the bright blue lights of the bed’s panels cast the room in a euphoric glow. 

  You stared wordlessly, mouth parted in complete enchantment–and you swore you could hear the intro to Ozzy Osbourne’s No More Tears in the background like some godly music video on MTV–as Eddie’s figure emerged from the smoke still gathered in the bed.

  And in seemingly slow motion to your captivated self, Eddie pulled the goggles over his head, hair tousling just the right amount. His movements were fluid, not a stiff limb in sight. In fact, he even stretched out, shirt riding up to expose his pale—no longer a completely sickly shade—stomach and a smattering of dark hair that made up his happy trail. 

  Uh oh. Something was going on in your body.

  It was only when that happy tail was covered again, Eddie hunching forward, that you realized you were staring at his crotch region. Your eyes drifted up to find Eddie staring at you, more life in those warm, gorgeous eyes of his, framed by attractive dark circles as he smirked at you. No twitching of his lips, no maybe smiles. It was a full on smirk. Eddie was in complete control of his face (and you noticed his cheeks dimpled when he smiled).

  He lifted his new hand and wiggled his fingers at you in greeting. That’s when you lost it, jumping up and down in elation. 

  “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!”

  Eddie was fast, pushing himself off the tanning bed to dart forward and sweep you right out of the garage, spinning you around and around.

  You clung to him, laughing and filled with so much joy at the knowledge that Eddie was coming back to life. When he decided you’d been spun enough, and your head was a whirlwind, he released you and you stumbled a little, finding your balance with the hand Eddie offered to you for stabilization.

   “Look at you.” You breathed out in amazement. It was more of a whisper but Eddie heard. He looked pleased, gesturing to himself with a sweep of his wrists, Look at me.

  You were correct in your scrutinization of him when you’d first played dress-up.

  Eddie Munson was very much so hot when he was alive. There was no doubt in your mind. You hadn’t seen a whole lot of his movements, what with him finally being able to move freely occurring just a few moments ago, but you were inclined to believe he was extremely theatrical in them. Probably in everything he did. 

  And confident.

  Eddie seemed to have had enough of the small distance between the two of you, twirling you back in his grasp so you were pressed right up to him, his hands on your sides to hold you. He was grinning like an idiot and you were positive your face was no better. Your cheeks were beginning to hurt from your smile.

  “So. You’re the infamous Eddie Munson.”

  He rolled his eyes and you laughed, something inside of you warming up at the smile he gave you in response to it.

   “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie. I’ve been wanting to for a while now.”

[m0llygunn]

CREATURE FROM THE GRAVE

After a much needed hair cut and a very pleasurable scalp massage, you find out something new about your undead friend! wc: 600

The first night at your house— the undead has a name!

─── † ཐི❤︎ཋྀ † ───

“You’re lucky fashion always loops back around. Long hair on guys is in its… third?” you pause, doing quick decade math. “Yeah, third wave since your time, at least… actually, maybe it’s at its fourth loop around?”

“Hm,” Eddie hmphs, slouching in his seat. The sectioned part of his hair slides out from between your fingers right as soon as you go to snip it, and you’re quick to scold him. 

“It’s just a trim! Your ends are dead! More dead than the rest of you! It’s a bad look, Eddie, I won’t be seen with someone who has split ends up to their ears, I just won’t!”

“Nuuh,” he moans— his new favourite word, his best version of ‘no’.

“Yes. And if you don’t sit up, I’m going to mess up, and then we’ll have to shave it all off— and who knows if it’ll even grow back?”

“Nuh!”

“Well, Eddie. Sit up.”

He complies with gurgles and mumbles and you part his hair again, sectioning out what hasn’t been trimmed, finishing the job. 

By the end, he looks magnificent, not a split end in sight. You run your fingers through his hair, shaking it out, starting from the scalp.

“Mmm,” Eddie moans quietly.

“You like that?” you tease. He meets your gaze through the mirror reflection and rolls his eyes, but his demeanor shifts— he definitely likes it.

You do it again, this time focusing more on the root of his hair, letting your fingers rub at his scalp. You get a quiet gasp from him as his eyes widen. 

“Relax, Eddie. It’s just a massage,” you laugh as you run your fingers through his hair. 

As your fingers work against his scalp, he lets out a content sigh. Pulling a hand from his hair, you pat his shoulder, encouraging him to sit back further and slouch like he so badly wanted to before. With hesitancy, catching your gaze in the mirror with a subtle scowl, he eventually scoots his hips forward, letting his head rest back against your stomach. You hum happily and return to massaging his scalp. 

After a few minutes of your hands in his hair, with the occasional gentle pulls from the root, you can’t help but notice something in your periphery. 

You can see Eddie’s face in the mirror. His eyes are closed and he looks truly relaxed. If you didn’t know any better, and if he didn’t have the pale complexion of someone who’s been in the ground for the last hundred years, you’d think that, well, he wasn’t in the ground for the last hundred years. He's got a youthfulness to him, both in looks and attitude. 

Eventually, your gaze shifts downwards, traveling south, to see… something else. Something you didn’t know was even biologically possible for him— something tenting the crotch of his pants. You can’t help but smile to yourself— dead or alive a guy is a guy, you suppose. 

“Well, it’s good to know that still works,” you laugh. “Good for you.” 

Eddie’s eyes blink open, immediately looking for your gaze in the mirror. You pat him on the cheek before emptying your hair supplies out of your borrowed-from-the-kitchen apron pockets, sitting the big mismatched hair clips and silver shears down on your vanity. 

“I have to go get the vacuum for the floor. You can get up now,” you instruct him as you catch his gaze in the mirror once again. “Huh,” you pause, seeing the pink flush to his usually grey-ish cheeks. “I didn’t know you could blush either. Interesting.” 

[missbuckyhellfire]

[steviesbicrisis]

Zombie AU where Steve gets to an unhealthy level of "it's my responsibility to protect everyone" because when the Pandemic started, Barb Holland was one of the first infected and he had to kill her as she was trying to bite Nancy.

Even if it was the right thing to do, the relationship between him and Nancy has never been the same and he promised himself he would never get to that point again.

For the following years he trains, takes the most dangerous missions, always makes sure to be in the first line to protect his friends and somehow he manages to survive despite always putting others first.

It all changes when he meets Eddie. Who doesn't expect him to jump right in front of the danger to save him, who gets mad every time he does so, who tries the best he can to share the burden with him.

And Steve, for the first time in years, dares to be hopeful about the future, to daydream a farm where he and Eddie could live together, to let go of the things he can't control.

Steve dares to fall in love.

And right when he finally believes he deserves good things too, Eddie gets bitten.

It was supposed to be a simple mission to look for supplies in the abandoned trailer park, Eddie offered to go since he knew the place better than anyone else, and they were so sure it would've been a simple one they let Dustin go with him.

It only took an infected who was stuck in one of the trailers to get him. Dustin is in tears as he tells Steve how Eddie jumped on the infected to protect him.

All the progress Steve made thanks to Eddie, learning to lean on others, to not blame himself for fucked up shit he cannot control, goes away in an instant. Because Steve should've gone instead of Eddie, he should've been there to protect Dustin, he should've been bitten.

Steve takes his decision quickly.

He sends Dustin home with Hopper, he takes one of the guns and promises he will handle the situation.

He goes inside the trailer as they're driving away, Eddie is sitting on the floor, leaning on the wall behind him, a knife in his hand.

When he sees Steve, he is ready to protest and send him away until Steve shows him his gun. Eddie looks stunned, then nods slowly.

Steve sits next to him "I'm sorry".

"It's not your fault" Eddie sounds so convinced Steve wishes he could believe him.

Steve takes Eddie's free hand in his "I'll stay with you until it's time."

"Steve, you don't have to do this-"

Steve squeezes his hand "Please, let me buy us a little more time."

Eddie quietly stares at him, studying his expression, and he knows him so well Steve wonders if he figured out his real plan. If he knows that Steve has no intention to get out of that trailer without him.

Eddie's eyes get watery and he can't tell if it's because he's scared of dying or because he knows Steve won't use his gun.

Finally, Eddie nods "Okay."

Steve nods back "Okay."

Eddie rests his head on his shoulder.

And they wait.

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Zombie Stomp

Prologue: Fade To Black

I’m an attention whore, so any thoughts from anyone are greatly appreciated :)

Ao3 Link

Eddie moves his body awkwardly to his Uncle’s old boombox. His palms sweat as his fingers slide over the buttons, a soft clicking noise leaving when he presses down.

Behind him, on his bed was one of the first breathtaking boys he’s seen in a while. Eddie’s standards may be low as Robert was the new line cook at Benny’s. Eddie couldn’t be picky. He was a gay man in Hawkins, Indiana. It wasn’t every day you saw an out-and-proud queer walking down the street. Or have one that isn’t out in your bed possibly leaving a grease stain on your mattress and your record.

The Gays flocked out of Hawkin’s faster than they came. Eddie would too if his Uncle didn’t live here.

Uncle Wayne was currently on an overnight shift, thank god. The stars seemed to be aligning for Eddie to get laid, finally. At twenty he was going to lose his virginity. Thank Fuck. ‘86 was going to be his year. He was sure of it.

Turning away from the box he starts to go through his cassettes. In the movies, they normally had music playing in the background. Even in the limited amount of porn Eddie’s seen, there was some tune on.

With that knowledge, Eddie doesn’t think he has a good cassette for this setting. That was a strange realization for him as his music normally fit everything he did. So unless Robert could get it up to Black Sabbath he was out of luck in the music department.

“You like Black Sabbath?” Eddie asks, his voice scratchy from nerves.

Eddie was sure he was going to somehow fuck this up like everything else he did. He turns his body at a slight angle to look at Robert, trying to distract himself from overthinking.

The other man was tilting his head around inspecting his room. Eddie rarely had anyone in here. He was nervous the mess would disgust Robert.

“Uh… who’s that?” Robert asks in a tone that almost turns Eddie off.

Eddie bites his tongue, holding back a sassy remark. He didn’t want to be a dick to what may be his only opportunity with another man. This was his shot to lose his virginity before he was legally able to enter a gay bar. He wanted a little experience under his belt before he had anything else underneath him.

“Um- It’s a uh…” Eddie’s voice cracks. He clears his throat before beginning again. “It’s a band from the seventies. You may have heard of the lead singer. Ozzy Osbourne? That guy who bit a bat’s head off,” Eddie rambles.

“Never heard of her,” Robert admits, beginning to chew on his gum obnoxiously. Eddies suspicions that the other wasn’t listening to him were proven correct.

The longer Eddie spent time with Robert the more annoyed he got. The guy didn’t seem all that interested in Eddie. Not like he had been at the restaurant.

“Hey man, I don’t care what you put on. It’s not like I’m listening to it anyway,” He snorts slightly.

Eddie was starting to think that Robert might be one of the most unattractive men he’s ever met.

“Yeah, alright- alright, yeah, no. No music should be fine then. Silence is probably better than what I have here.” He jokes, cringing at himself feeling like he just disrespected the metal gods. He just wanted to break the awkward tension that was slowly beginning to fall over them.

Eddie moves away from his cassettes, still fidgety and unable to stand put. He knows his nerves made the antsy feeling that never let him sit still worse. Normally he would smoke a joint, but his gut told him that he shouldn’t get high right now. Not with this man who could barely pay attention long enough to get Ozzy’s pronouns right.

Robert responds with a soft grunting noise. Eddie’s body tenses up. He was slowly starting to think that Robert didn’t want to be here. It had been his idea in the first place, now he was acting like Eddie’s pulling his teeth.

“Robert, do you even-” Eddie starts as Robert speaks.

“Why don’t we get this show on the road, huh?” Robert hums out, unbothered that he interrupted Eddie. He doesn’t apologize or wait to hear what Eddie has to say.

That doesn’t sit well with Eddie. If he wasn’t such a chicken shit he would stop this entire thing. He couldn’t. Not while Robert was giving him that look. The same one that led them here after closing Benny’s, and was beginning to spark Eddie’s interest again. Despite all the warning signs pointing to a terrible first time.

The other man begins to pat his lap suggestively. Eddie’s unsure whether he was feeling uncomfortable, or realizing this was all a phase. He did know he wasn’t enjoying himself like he thought he would. He also knew that the voice telling him to get this over with was the devil on his shoulder. He pictured a little demonic queer on his right and a perfectly straight angel on his left.

He moves forward, carefully placing himself in Robert’s lap. He begins to chuckle awkwardly as he realizes he doesn’t know what to do with his limbs, expecting instruction. Instead, Robert moves forward beginning to mess with Eddie’s belt silently. The only noise was the gentle clinking from Robert struggling to get his belt undone.

This is when Eddie realizes that he isn’t hard. He had been earlier when Robert pulled him behind his van to whisper about what he wanted to do to him. Now, his Dick wasn’t responding and Eddie doesn’t think it could be brought back to life. Not even with mouth-to-mouth.

Robert doesn’t seem to be bothered by this, he just begins to kiss up Eddie’s neck. Eddie scrunches his nose up in disgust at how sloppy the other was being. Plus he didn’t see Robert pull his gum out. That made Eddie uncomfortable, worried that the other might get gum in his hair.

After a moment of hyping himself up, Eddie opens his mouth to speak. Robert interrupts him again.

“Gotta relax baby.” A soft chuckle tickles Eddie’s neck before Eddie begins to feel the other’s tongue.

Ok, Eddie thinks he might throw up.

He pushes back with the other still stuck to his neck like a leech. As if he was trying to suck the fruitiness out of Eddie, he was currently succeeding. Not in a good way.

Eddie’s about to rip Robert a new one or consider setting him on fire when his door flies open.

“Eddie pack your shit we-” His Uncle was now in his doorway looking distressed.

Eddie freezes in Robert’s lap. He's starting to believe that God put a curse on him. First, he’s a gay man trapped in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. Second, he couldn’t even find a decent gay to fuck around with. To top it all off his Uncle, who was supposed to be at work, was currently standing in his doorway seeing him in all his faggot glory.

Eddie’s eyes are wide. His heart beats fast in his chest, possibly skipping a few. He can’t bring himself to move from Robert. It was like his limbs were frozen.

Robert on the other hand doesn’t waste a second. He shoves Eddie onto his ass and to the floor. He buckles his belt, which Eddie didn’t realize was undone, before frantically pushing past Wayne. The front door softly shuts behind him.

Wayne doesn’t break eye contact. Eddie’s ears begin to ring. His head went light as his hands shook. All he was able to process was, “...Pack your shit…”

Eddie Munson was getting kicked out, again. You would think he would be a pro at this. But no, he sat there on his ass having a panic attack.

Only if his father could see him now. Probably would call him a little bitch like he had when he kicked Eddie out.

His body goes on autopilot, suddenly standing up and picking clothes off the floor. Eddie doesn’t know when he grabbed his duffle bag, the one he saved for this exact purpose, but he was now stuffing clothes inside it.

Eddie had always expected this to happen when Wayne found out. What he didn’t predict was how hurt he was going to feel. He promised himself after his father that he wasn’t going to let anyone see him like this ever again. Yet here he was, crying like a little bitch.

Eddie could barely feel the tears running down his face. Nor did he feel Wayne’s hands move to his shoulders until they lightly squeezed. A feeble attempt to grab Eddie’s attention.

“Eddie,” Wayne’s voice was soft. Whatever he came in so distressed about was forgotten for just a second.

Eddie’s shoulders tense, and he clenches his jaw preparing to hear his Uncle become a bigot right behind him. His hands stopped doing what they were doing. He digs his nails into the palms of his hands in hopes that it hurts more than this.

He doesn’t turn his head around, not wanting a black eye if that's what Wayne wants to give him. His snot rolls down his face and pools above his lip. He sniffles loudly, wiping the snot from his face into his sleeve.

Eddie was a wet mess. Not in the way he had expected or wanted.

“I- Uh,” Wayne pauses to clear his throat. “I love you, Eds.” The words come out awkwardly and foreign.

Eddie flinches expecting to hear something else. Furrowing his eyebrows confused he turns his head to look at his Uncle. Within the time he has lived in this trailer, Wayne has never spoken those words to him. They knew they loved each other. It was left unspoken and in a grey area, they avoided.

“You.. you what?” Eddie asks stunned. His eyes were wide and puffy as he blinked slowly, feeling as if he was hallucinating. Was this entire scenario just him having a psychotic break? Or was he having a sick nightmare in some conversion camp right now?

“I love you, Eddie,” Wayne speaks, his voice growing more confident as he says it. “And I don’t care who you’re uh,” He pauses awkwardly.

“Who yer romantically involved with. Just as long as you wrap it, and I don’t hear you doing your thing.” Wayne coughs a little. His face was going a light pink, the color reaching to the top of his head.

“You don’t care that I’m a faggot?” Eddie asks in disbelief. “A raging homo, a queer, a fairy, a…” he begins to ramble out. He wants it to be clear what he is to his Uncle. He may have not enjoyed Robert like he had thought he would, but he still got pretty worked up over Ozzy’s chest hair. There was fruitiness a foot and inside Eddie.

“Boy,” Wayne’s voice raises to what Eddie thought it would when he first found him. “If I ever hear you talk about yourself like that ever again, I’ll - I’ll make sure to - well I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll make sure you won’t be talking like that ever again.” Wayne huffs out.

A determination in his eye that Eddie hasn’t seen since he first moved in. Wayne had sat him down all of those years ago. Looked him in the eye like he was now and told him he was never going back to his father. Not if he was still breathing and around to have any say about it.

Eddie opens his mouth, feeling like a goldfish trapped in a bowl. Nowhere to go or hide.

“Now, you do need to pack your shit,” Wayne says seriously. “That thing making people turn on each other is in Hawkins. And people already give you enough shit for DnD. Don’t need you getting eaten alive just because they think you’re the devil reincarnated.”

Wayne pulls his hands off Eddie’s shoulders. Then moves calmly to his bedroom door, though something is still off with him. As if he knew something Eddie didn’t.

Eddie just nods his head dumbly, not questioning it. He didn’t want to push the limited amount of luck he had. He was grateful that he wasn’t covered in bruises and on the side of the road again.

****

The man’s face had been covered in so much blood that there was no way of identifying him. Eddie had been carrying the last of their packed bags out to his van when he saw him. The man walked around like it was normal to be covered in blood, nothing frantic in the way he moved. That was the first alarm bell that should have gone off to Eddie.

Eddie was too focused on trying to recognize who it was, so he could ask him if he was alright. It could be Jim, from two trailers down; a man who used to babysit Eddie. Though going off from the limited amount of hair it was more likely George, a middle aged man who was always walking his dogs Or Liam, a police officer that lived closer to the entrance of the trailer park and once busted Eddie for dealing.

Eddie shakily breathes, feeling as if his chest was going to explode. His ears were ringing, his head was foggy and for some reason all he could see were the man’s eyes. They were bloodshot, as if he had or was still crying. His eyes were wide, afraid of something. Of what Eddie hadn’t known. The red was slowly beginning to leak into the man’s iris. Eddie wondered how he was able to see.

Eddie felt his bones ache, reminded of the sound the man’s jaw had made. The loud cracking noise as if it was dislocating itself. The bottom jaw had moved and fell open, the man having no control of it. Though at the same time it looked like he was trying to speak. His face pinched up as a pained groan left him.

From where Eddie stood he could see bits of meat stuck in between the man's teeth as his mouth opened further. Blood slowly dripped down his chin. Instead of words a soft clicking noise came out. Eddie was slowly starting to panic. There was something off about this man. It didn’t seem like he was trying to come over to recieve help.

“Eddie.”

The more Eddie watched him, the more suspicious the other was becoming. From how he walked something didn’t seem right, as if the man hadn’t been a human a day in his life.

Eddie doesn’t believe in skinwalkers. He’s heard a tale or two from his uncle warning him how people could be possessed by one but he never believed him. Now, watching this man he can’t help but believe that this may be a skinwalker. It was irrational and not logical but there was nothing rational with how this man walked.

The bones in his legs were visibly sliding through his skin. The more Eddie observed that’s when he catches the huge chunk of meat slowly sliding behind him. How he hadn’t noticed sooner was odd.

“Boy,”

How could anyone not notice that they were leaving a bloody snail trail behind them? What was scarier than the leg was the noises he made.

The more he moves the louder the groans become. Each time the man tilted his head a soft clicking noise would follow and his eyes would begin to squint.

Eddie took a step back from the van, hearing the trailer door opening with a loud creak as this man or thing came towards him.

“Eddie!”

Eddie could hear his Uncle yelling as the man started to stumble forward faster. As if he was finally processing Eddie was there.

A sudden bang echoed in the trailer park. Eddie doesn’t get enough time to even process that his Uncle was the one who shot the man thing before the loud ringing began. It’s so loud it makes his eyes go foggy and he isn’t even sure he’s really in the trailer park anymore, or if he even had been. Time was moving slowly and then fast forwarding on repeat.

It seems like forever before Eddie’s eyes slowly begin to focus again. The ringing stops. The only sound he could hear was loud breathing. He barely recognizes that it was coming from him.

“Ed’s?” Wayne was leaning over the van. His hand was awkwardly floating an inch above Eddie’s shoulder as if he were afraid to touch him.

Eddie blinks confused. He wasn’t sure what just happened or how he got in the passenger of the van. He had been outside of their trailer just a second ago. Watching as someone’s head gets blown off by Wayne’s shotgun.

He glances around, looking out the window, trying to place where he was.

They were now pulled to the side of the road, right in front of the ‘leaving Hawkins’ sign. It was as if Eddie lost a portion of time. Where it went he was unsure. What he did know was he needed to get out of this van.

Before his Uncle could stop him he’s standing on the side of the road. Dropping to his knees, not caring how bad the pavement hurt. Crouching forward he aims for the grass before he begins to throw up. Tears fell down his face as his throat began to burn. It was painful enough that he had to cough in between small breaks, before he was hurling more.

He lets out a pathetic whine before he vomits each time. Feeling his hair being pulled back with a slight tug. A hand, which he assumes is Wayne’s, begins to rub gently at the knots of his now tense shoulders.

When he’s finished he’s pretty worn out. He could barely keep his eyes open. He leans back, scrunching his nose up before he’s moving to stand. Stumbling into Wayne, before pushing himself away from the other.

He opens his mouth, his hair falling back down his shoulders. Eddie’s looking at his Uncle and he doesn’t know what to say. He just watched his Uncle kill someone and he doesn’t know how to react.

“Wayne,” Eddie’s voice cracks. Tears were rolling down his face. He was having some difficulty breathing or getting words out.

Trying to compose himself he takes a deep shaky breath that hurts his chest.

“You killed him.”

“Eddie-” Wayne starts, hands moving in the air in an ‘Everything is alright’ gesture. He tries to speak but Eddie doesn’t let him.

“No Wayne, you killed that man. What if he had children?” Eddie hisses out. Stumbling back a little more. He felt drunk with how bad his balance was.

“Kid, will you listen to me.” Wayne pleads, “That wasn’t no man anymore. You’ve heard the radio talking about people going nuts. How they’re biting chunks out of people.”

Eddie listens. He has no choice but to. He thinks back to that guy's mouth. How it was covered in blood, mixed with fresh and dried. The way he barely reacted to a piece of his leg dragging behind him. Not only that but for a split moment Eddie had thought the man was a skinwalker. Something that Eddie has been arguing wasn’t real to his uncle for years.

Everything Wayne was bringing up was making since, as Eddie did hear those news reports. Even heard stories from kids in school.

Eddie’s speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. His mouth opens, trying to make a small attempt before it closes. A moment of uncertainty falls over the two of them before Eddie decides he believes his Uncle.

He moves forward without thinking, not afraid to bury himself in his Uncle's arms. Both of them have tears rolling down their faces. Neither of them would ever mention it. Instead, Eddie focuses on the soft, warm breaths that tickle the top of his head. How his arms wrapped tightly around Wayne’s middle. The way Wayne returns the hug, holding Eddie tightly as if he were afraid Eddie was going to disappear.

Eddie squeezes the other gently, as a reminder that he was there and very much real. When they finally separate Eddie looks his Uncle in the eyes. He may not know much right now, but does know he can’t ever lose Wayne. No matter what.