#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?”

[collectivecloseness]

Warm Bodies AU

Eddie Munson x reader

Chapter 1

[notes: R!Eddie. Julie!reader. Dad/leader!Hopper. (Hopper!Reader.) This chapter’s a bit of a longer one, bc there’s worldbuilding before meeting! Tw for this chapter: Zombies, guns, blood, flesh/brain eating (not super graphic), briefly dating j*son (for the plot)]

God, life sucks.

Well, Eddie guessed it wasn’t much of a life anymore. He was dead, he knew that, or rather, part of the undead. That’s who he lived with too. If you could really call it living in any number of ways.

Eddie lived in an airport with hundreds, likely thousands, of other zombies, God it made it sound like he was living in some Romero flick. But this was reality now. He knew it was true, he was surrounded by hundreds of actual, undeniable, flesh eating zombies. Eddie was one himself.

Not that he’d cared, or even had the brain energy to count how many zombies there were around. He knew there were a lot in just this place, but Eddie still felt alone. He just wanted to connect with people. Why was that so hard? Maybe it was to do with the fact he could hardly communicate. He was sure his thinking was normal, but he never had the fuel or care to get out more than a few words, barely stringing a sentence together.

And he was probably the most well spoken, among zombies he actually communicated with. Most just moaned and groaned. His best friends responded with words, but Eddie thought he was a bit different, his sentences a little more... he couldn’t say passionate, really, but put together.

He was sure he would have had so many people he connected with when he was alive. Maybe he would’ve even been popular. Someone with lots of friends and a big family, someone who had someone always just as bubbly as him constantly around, who always had company. If the darkening sparks in his unbeating heart, and the few synapses that still fired neurons around, were anything to go off.

He did remember a dad though. It was one of the few other zombies he did ‘speak’ to, that he cohabitated this airport with. He barely had memories anymore, but he was sure Wayne was his father in life. He wasn’t exactly sure why his name was ‘Wayne’ in his head, rather than ‘dad’, but the energy to care fizzled away, when he at least had someone to sit by and feel like he was with.

There were a couple of zombies who stood out to Eddie. He had two other friends, who’d barely managed to stumble out their names of ‘Gareth’ and ‘Jeff’ when he first met them, although Eddie had no idea when that was. Eddie wished they could all just... do something, something together as friends. But those two were always happy, if you could use the word, to simply shamble about, so Eddie didn’t protest.

A couple of others stuck out to him. Three kids, boys, who always stuck together, that Eddie seemed to find himself watching longer than other strangers here, when they passed. The kids watched him too, with their duller eyes. The one with curly hair who was always wearing a cap, was the one who Eddie spotted immediately whenever the three briefly passed by him, on every creatures never ending loop throughout this airport.

There was one place, Eddie could call his own in this area. A home. An airplane, that Eddie never let anyone else inside. His Wayne had been allowed to see the outside, shuffled fowards by Eddie who could almost even come across as eager to show it off, like a child with a cool toy. Although there were no memories of that, more so the feeling of nearly having pride, twitching some part of his brain that that was what that experience was akin to. He’d let his Wayne touch the outside of the plane, having let Gareth and Jeff do so too, and even once, when the three boys found their way there, Eddie had let them explore the outside.

Anyone else, near Eddie’s plane, had been shrieked and bitten at and attacked, if they’d tried to come inside. None of the others like him cared enough to fight over it, so it was usually fine. They all just stumbled about the runway, uncaring towards anything like an object, such as a plane, because they didn’t care about anything at all. Except food.

It was another reason Eddie knew he was different, because not only did he, somewhat, care about his plane, but also the things inside. Eddie knew he was a kleptomaniac, but in this world, that shit didn’t exactly matter. Anything pretty that caught Eddie’s eye, made him tilt his head in an almost feeling, almost remembering way, he had to bring it home and keep safe. He stuffed it inside his pockets, and took it to his plane, to keep on display. Not just to be looked at, but to be used for it’s purpose. To be held over and over. To be touched, and explored, and cherished.

His Wayne, once, had picked up a very pointy funny shaped dice, that his hand had accidentally fallen on, and Eddie, who was sitting beside him at the time, had nearly had his eyes shine. A long whimpering groan came out of his throat as his Wayne briefly ‘studied’ the item, but even without hearing Eddie’s noise, he would’ve passed the item over to the man beside him anyways.

Eddie had never really been ‘gifted’ anything. The others wouldn’t care enough to pick up an object, to even see most as ‘special’ like Eddie did, and then remember to carry them around, carefully, to seek out Eddie and pass it to him. Zombies didn’t seem to put that much thought, or effort into things. But whenever Eddie had been next to his Wayne, in the few times his Wayne had found something in his hand, he had passed it to Eddie. So Eddie kept all of them, even if they weren’t items he usually would have swiped, because Eddie knew he yearned for humanity.

He wasn’t sure if the others did, or maybe they just couldn’t communicate it. Although Eddie was the only one of him he’d seen, who had special objects and tried to communicate more, to put himself out there. He remembered raising his arm, to wave at somebody once, but they kept standing on their escalator, not even keeping their head where they could look at him.

Certainly his friends maybe more than others might have some semblance of wanting the same, if he had to stretch an estimate, with what he had to compare to, but Eddie knew he was different. He... he liked, these things. He wished he could properly care for them, but they made him nearly feel something, even if it was a ghost of a memeory versus an emotion, but in this never ending loop, it was enough.

At least he wasn’t like the boney’s. No, they were the undead like him, but who had completely given up. Eddie shambled past a solemn and depressed looking woman, who seemed even more dead than he and the others were. On the inside, Eddie grimaced and groaned at her to stop stop stop eww, as she idly ripped and ripped a chunk of flesh away from her chin. Eddie thought of picking at spots, something the undead didn’t really have, so it must’ve been some form of memory. And he watched as her skin peeled and split into a girthier strip of flesh, until eventually it broke away at the top of her nose, leaving the left side of her chin and upper lips, with nothing but dark grey bone.

This was what the boney’s were. Skeletons only. Creatures who had completely given up on their un-life, and wasted away, until whatever ‘humanity’ they must have still had, like Eddie and his friends did, was completely extinguished.

These creatures would rip apart anything with a heartbeat. Even Eddie and the others stayed away from boney’s.

Of course Eddie would be a little hypocritical branding them monsters. They were, but so was Eddie. So was his Wayne, and his friends, the three kids he saw, and every single zombie in this world. They had to eat the living to survive. It was just nature. Eddie felt a sharp, twisting pain in his stomach, as he reflected on his monstrous side, leaning against the bar table where his best friends Gareth and Jeff were sitting together.

He didn’t want to hurt people. He really didn’t, he didn’t think he would have wanted that when he was alive. So why, now he was this, should he, Eddie, be any different?

Besides, humans tried to shoot at him all the time. Not only shoot, but use fire, axes, one woman even sent a sharped board sign at his chest once, Eddie thought he could remember not eating her brains, but he wasn’t sure. They tried to kill him, and his others. And, yeah, he knew they also tried to kill them too, but it really was kill or be killed. Of course Eddie would get a little cranky if he was already hangry, and someone tried to blow up him and his ‘friends’! Back when he was alive... well, maybe he still wouldn’t have killed those who tried to hurt him, or those he cared about back then, he supposed, but he was sure it was human nature to fight back. He understood why both sides did what they did. He was just obviously going to fight on his own team.

If he only ate their flesh, his... his victim, although he hated the word, he didn’t think highly or deludedly of himself enough to decribe his feats any other way - if he only ate their flesh, then a victim would become like him, a member of the undead. But their brains were the best part...

Without their brains, they’re fully dead. Not undead, not a boney, just gone. And in some way, Eddie could almost feel thankful he, his Wayne, and the others he thought of had had their brains spared. Even if you could hardly call this a life, not one you should be grateful for anyways. But the brains were the most filling part, the tastiest, the only thing that satiated his undead nature.

However there was one downside to eating the brains. You gained your victims memories. Their thoughts and feelings for those whiles too, while he ate. Eddie hated that part. He was sure he’d feel regret, guilt, if he was human. If the fullness of brains did not appease his appetite so well. He did wonder if others felt that way, after living through their victims eyes for a while. But Eddie never found the words, or the strive, to ask.

Instead he nudged Gareth’s shoulder with his arm, the two boys at the bar slowly groaning as they turned to look up at the curly haired boy.

“H-Hungry.” Eddie stuttered out, groaning roughly as if to show it. The three boys all grunted at the same time, rhythmically. About as close as an interpersonal connection they could get, except for maybe whatever their internal monologues thought. Eddie still had no clue if they thought as much as his brain seemed to.

Gareth eventually spoke up, him and Jeff barely managing to hit each other in agreement. “City.” The three boys nodded in agreement, as Jeff, then Gareth, slowly stood.

Zombies nearly always travelled in packs, as it was safer that way. Eddie lead the front with the other two boys, with about four more undead behind him. He didn’t see his Wayne, but he’d seen flesh dangling from his teeth yesterday morning, so Eddie wasn’t moved to stray from the pack.

Eddie did like being alone in his plane, but when it came to hunting, you almost always travelled as a group.

In the couple of years since the world changed, you hadn’t much.

Sure you’d had to grow a bit tougher. You didn’t have the life you thought you would when you were five years old. But you were lucky, in a way. You still felt like you were you.

Since the outbreak, your dad had gone from Sheriff Hopper, to the leader of your community. Your town, bordered by a massive wall that had been built in the years, was made of scrap and junk that no zombies could get through. You were lucky to still have your dad, even if he’d gotten gruffer than you remembered him being before everything happened. You even still had your friends, this side of Hawkins being fortunate enough to not have many infected during the start of the cataclysm, so you all had time to create enough of a barrier, to begin making your new society.

Robin, Nancy and Steve had been your childhood best friends, and you four were still a very close group. But you’d only met your now boyfriend, Jason, in high school. You never felt as close with Jason as you did with your friends, but you supposed that was to do with the life long bonds you guys already had. Jason was nice enough anyways. A gentleman, respectful, he was the first person to ever tell you he loved you. And you did too. You thought. According to one conversation with Steve, you apparently felt nowhere near what he had for Nancy, when those two used to date. But maybe you were just differnet than him. Your dad didn’t seem to mind Jason either. He didn’t particularly like anyone, of course barring you, and your three friends he’d watched grow up since babies. But he thought Jason was okay. Especially since Jason’s dad turned.

You showed Jason your route for escaping the confines of your walls, that Steve and Nancy had stumbled upon half a year prior. You five all knew of a weak part of the wall, that lead straight into a corridor in a damaged building that had once been part of your towns high school. It was a bit stupid to have an easily accessible exit next to a bunch of sneaky high schoolers anyway, with almost all of the other buildings of the school being right next to this wall. The nails weren’t even attached to the fellow sheet of tin. It was like having a key in a door that wasn’t twisted. You could pull away one sheet of aluminium, the nails all poking out, and they’d slot neatly back into place of the tin when you closed it.

That building of the highschool, adorned with posters in different languages so you could guess its old use, lead straight into a football field. That’s where you five all snuck off to in private.

And that’s how you and Jason escaped one day, only to find his dad and his team of scouts coming back from their mission. With empty bags, dead eyes, and stumbling with bite marks all over their bodies...

You’d always appreciate Jason for doing the right thing, even though you had no idea how hard it could’ve been. Watching him shoot his own father, to save both yours and his life, while the reanimated corpse of his dad lunged for his 18 year old sons throat, it had been hell. You couldn’t imagine what it was like for him.

You couldn’t ever imagine having to do the same with your dad...

Your dad hadn’t even asked how you two had gotten outside to see his father and the group, and you were thankful for that. Although you were sure he just forgot, in his efforts of aiding mourning families. Because your dad would never let you have an inch of freedom if he thought it was stupid and risky. He’d have boarded that wall up, and grounded you, and your friends, for a year. Instead, the hidden entry lay unused, too haunted for you, Jason, or your three friends, to purpose again.

You tried to help Jason, tried to be there for him. But things were never the same.

Jason had changed since then. He’d become angry and stoney, a bit like your dad. Versus someone who’d help you find hidden schnapps and beers to share with your friends, and would pull you into cars for late night make out sessions. You did understand his change. Jason wasn’t the... bubbliest, of individuals before his father. He never seemed quite as nice as your friends, but he wasn’t bad. Not at all. But since the incident with his dad, he’d been itching for his first official mission out there.

And while you and your friends weren’t eager, you, at least, were glad to finally be able to help. Beyond learning in school and running small errands, and staying out of trouble, which was what your dad asked most.

You knew Robin was probably the most worried, Steve and Nancy hid it better, but you’d all told Robin it was good to be nervous. That meant she was cautious. She’d be prepared. But all four of you were ready to go outside together, the first time you’d have seen the rest of Hawkins beyond its wall for a couple of years. You four- no, you five, Jason was a part of your circle now, you weren’t sure why you always had to remind yourself of it. You five, and four from the older groups, who had explored before, were setting out. Even those four though were only a few years older. Not much experienced themselves.

Although on the day of, Robin and Steve had been called to help with a semi-emergency. Something technical had occurred in the water mill that powered your ‘town’, and as a couple of close by workers panicked at the sudden explosion of streetlights above them - you swore your dad would jail people for panicking if he could - they’d accidentally released the horse’s stable doors. Robin and Steve had been singled out quickly by a guard, asked to go round the horses up while other adults who were at a much higher level of importance than you guys, sorted out the generator.

Steve had worried you’d be two short, wanting to come help, and Robin had slightly complained about not being able to all leave for the first time as a group, like you’d always planned. But you and Nancy assured them you’d all be fine, go catch the horses. You two both shared a giggle as they ran after the same horse, barrelling easily past them, but Jason had just exasperatedly sighed after them, marching closer to your side now Robin had gone. “We don’t even need them. We’ve trained for a year for this. I can protect you both with my bear hands.”

Jason hardly ever joked anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t obnoxious. Showing off his gun that he was holding wrong. You moved his finger off of the trigger, considering his safety wasn’t on and you were walking down the street of the commune, before dropping your hand off of his. Instead turning to your remaining best friend, and slipping your opposite hand into Nancy’s.

She raised her shoulders with a smile at you, her confidence either real, or being as good an act as your own, as you three, and four extra, walked towards the massive gates your dad had sworn you away from every single day you’d lived here. You kept hold of Nancy’s hand, your other on the strap containing your rifle, as your dad got closer. You wished he’d at least give you a smile, a reassuring word or two to you for your first mission. But he did give a nod. And he did look at you as he started his speech.

“Thank you all for being here today.” Hopper started, still only looking into your eyes, as he addressed everyone. “I want to thank you all for your courage, especially those who’re venturing outside our town for the first time since this plague.”

Now your dad gave your shoulder a squeeze. It was just before he moved on from talking only to you, to speaking to everyone. You gave Nancy’s hand one more squeeze yourself, before exhaling quietly and dropping it.

“You already know your mission is to collect whatever you can from Hawkins Hospital, but the items on the list y/n and Shaun have, are the essentials we need most. Antibiotics, clean needles, and salbutamol for the inhalers, are what we basically have dogshit of now. But anything you can find on the list, or anything you know we’ll need, stuff inside your packs.”

You watched from your peripheral as Jason readjusted the straps on his backpack. They were basically empty, sicne the mission would be less than a day. Some water, basic first aid in case a non bite related injury occurred, two people with item lists, two others who were trusted, Nancy and Frank, with maps. And most importantly, bullets. Boxes were stuffed in everyone packs, with guns in holsters or being held by straps, and you and Nancy with a knife each. Although she was a hell of a shot, so you’re sure she wouldn’t need it.

Your dad continued, an air of real seriousness intensifying now. “But first, a word of caution.” Another look straight to you, before darkening on everyone. “Zombies are not like us. They don’t think. They don’t bleed. They don’t feel.”

You’d heard this a thousand times. This information was solid in everyone’s heads who still had a functioning brain inside. “They may look human, but they are uncaring, violent, savage monsters. Whether they were your best friend, your mother, your sister, that person is gone. Zombies aren’t like you or I. There’s nothing that makes them human, that makes them feeling, still inside. They are hungry, they are apathetic, and they are murderers. They will rip you apart with their bear teeth, the second they get a smell of you. So don’t let them close enough to do so.”

You stood firm as your dads blue eyes bore straight into yours. Watching his expression almost seem human, like he claimed he was, as he saw you understood. “You shoot to kill. On sight.”

“Straight in the head.” Jason boasted, your dad flicking his eyes towards him. Although he didn’t say anything. Just gave you one more look, before he checked with Shaun about final plans.

It at least gave you a second with Nancy and Jason, moving into a closer circle as you asked him a question. “You think we’re going to this hospital to help with a cure?”

Jason narrowly avoided rolling his eyes at you, but he did speak directly. “I don’t believe in a cure anymore y/n.”

Nancy bit down on her lip. You moved to face the door again. If he’d at least said it remorsefully, defeately, you would’ve at least felt bad. Wanted to talk about it more. But he said it like he was one of those men in power who didn’t think anything would ever change, and was happy sticking to the kill everything and just survive style, because living was too much trouble. That kind of person. Well you weren’t that. You never wanted to be that.

You candidly took Jason’s hand in yours, turning to Nancy to speak words of encouragement as you gave him that comfort. But instead, Jason shook your hand off, pointing back towards your dad who he was trying to listen to, as reasoning.

Jason was spun around to take in the conversation about the same non useful information of just “do what you were trained to and you’ll be fine”. Meanwhile your eyes were square on his face. You could still study him, from his angled body. Still take in his face, trying to figure him out like you always seemed to be doing now. Looking at him, as if it may be the last time, since it was your first leaving.

Meanwhile he clearly wasn’t thinking of you at all. At least, that’s what it seemed like. More focused on the whole ‘nothing can touch me’ confidence he was clearly brimming with, as he paid strained attention to your dads every word. Versus actually worrying about you, since things didn’t always go according to plan. You know what your dad says, but maybe you want someone who thinks more with their heart than with their brains, in this world.

At least you and Nancy had each other. Hugging fully and squeezing tight, she playfully tugged on your hair as her arms wrapped around your neck, and you giggled while yanking some of hers back. Like it was the last time you’d get to to mess with each other’s hair. Get to smile at each other as just best friends. Not as comrades in arms. No matter what happened, if you both came back, you could both be changed.

Your dad stopped his little meeting now. Stepping towards the huddle of fresh volunteers, and, with a quick pat to Nancy’s shoulder, he looked only at you. No goodbyes for Jason.

“Hey, kid, listen.”

“I know I know. Stick to the plan, don’t get bit or killed.” You gave a meek smile, but you grumbled your words.

Hopper shook his head “No listen. Just... stay safe. Don’t take any stupid risks, if you need to retreat...”

It was still advice. But it made your heart beat quicker.

Hopper sighed wistfully. “Just come back safe. Okay, sweetheart?”

You didn’t feel more scared, at your dad showing emotion, nearly showing vulnerability. It only made you proud, not in yourself, but of him.

He laid his hand on your shoulder, then once more on Nancy’s. “Both of you, you hear me? These items aren’t as important as you two, just do what you can, and get home.” His face barely changed, but his words stayed clear very purposefully, head bouncing between the two girls he’d watched grow up. Between Nancy Wheeler, and his daughter. “You keep each other safe. Especially with the others dropped from your team today.”

“Yes Chief.” Nancy nodded, gently holding your elbow.

“Yes dad.” You took in a shaky breath, before leaning to hug him. The one thing your dad didn’t disappoint you in - not as a leader, he did a good job at that, but as your dad, was that he still hugged you back straight away. Just like he did when you were a kid. When the world was safe. “Bye dad.” You mumbled, your rifle caught between both your sides.

“Bye y/n.” He responded, pulling back, and, while still not smiling at you, at least nodding, before giving Jason one as well.

Who seemed to beam under the acknowledgment.

You didn’t notice him now moving to slink his arm around you, because you and Nancy were focused on linking your arms with each other’s, stepping towards the gates as your free hands found your pistols.

Jason bristled by your side at the show up in front of your dad, but he was soon raising his rifle, as all seven of you, and the three guards behind, lifted your guns while the doors opened.

Nothing. Nothing but the outside of your wall, and spike traps on the sidewalks was there. The four volunteers coming to help the three rookies still kept their guns closer by, half raised, but you, Jason, and Nancy gawked, at the ruins of buildings right in your eyesight. The graffiti covering the walls so close, yet out of reach for you. And the grass, growing through the cracks of the pavement, even though nothing living must have been near for years.

You kept your arm linked with Nancy, as you three lead the front, and an awed smile crept it’s way onto your fresh face.

“Awesome.”

You all managed to get into the hospital with ease. No zombies to speak of. One actual corpse on the way, half buried in a car window, but it wasn’t like you guys hadn’t seen bodies at this point in your lives.

The walk took hours, so you weren’t surprised by the time you all got to the first room stuffed with medical supplies, two members of your group sat on the floor to just have a chat with each other.

You couldn’t deny, the feeling of success from actually being here, did wonders for the adrenaline in your blood, as well as your spirit. You, Nancy and Jason cheered when you broke the lock of the first cabinet, enabling Nancy to stuff shelves on penicillin in her backpack. And there was plenty more to go!

You slapped Jason’s arm when he attempted to smash a glass cabinet open, telling him you should probably try to stay quiet, but the feeling of pride didn’t let either of you sour over it, him smirking at you before grabbing some painkillers.

Nancy hissed for you, making you stalk over to her, curious from the smile on her face. Only to flip her off as she chucked a box of viagra into your hands. You threw it back at her head, before she tilted it at Jason’s back, with a comedically disapproving look at him. You knew Nancy wasn’t the biggest fan of Jason. Neither of your trio of best friends were. They didn’t hate him. You guys even had some alright times together, before his dad. Which none of you could really blame him for. And he wasn’t a bad guy. They’d just all told you the same thing. And not just as lifelong friends, but as a fact they really wanted you to understand. ‘You could do better.’

You threw a roll of surgical tape at Nancy, that she stuffed in her pocket, both of you sharing a giggle as you bent by the drawers, than lined every row of the room. Above the drawers, were the glass cabinets. Two columns of them, with several rows in the medium sized room. A couple of desks lining the final column.

Right as you were bending down, Nancy snapped straight. “Did you hear that?”

Everyone in the room fell silent. The four in front of you, who were supposed to be helping train you but had never even encountered zombies on their missions, just stiffened. Nancy’s hand resting on her shotgun on the table, while you stood slowly, finally seeing the wide white look in her eyes.

You hadn’t. But you trusted her. “We should go now.” You decided easily, Nancy nodding at you as she picked up her gun and headed towards you, near the back exit.

But Jason didn’t even flinch.

“Nope.” He popped the ‘p’, continuing opening and closing drawers, three of the other four wearily following his own movements. “Have you seen the reports on how much medicine we’re getting through each month?” He didn’t look at you, just kept digging around.

God that drawer was noisy. Your teeth clenched. “We should keep our asses safe versus-“

“Don’t be a coward.” Jason interrupted you, being assertive. He just came across as toxic. “We’ve got our guns.” He lifted his pistol to show you, making you blink furiously at the way he was handling this. You looked around at the people who ‘had guns’, the four of them back to just dicking about. Nancy only waiting for you to do something. You looked back at Jason. He smiled. “Those things are stupid brainless mutts.”

“They were people.” Nancy defended, always hating his brashness and entitlement. Especially as he snipped back at her. “I know Nance. ‘Were’.”

He turned back to his task. You walking to Nancy to give her an incredulous look, and to also stick close by her.

’Were, Nance!’ Nancy mocked to you, making you chuckle breathlessly as you went to reach another drawer.

This time, the thud was clear.

“I definitely heard something.” Nancy set her sawed off shotgun in position, as you grabbed your rifle from your shoulder. You and Nancy were near the penultimate row, with Jason behind you, and the four others in front. You should all just run for the back now, with your weapons ready.

But before you could silently order everyone that way, Jason stepped in front of you. And he kept walking.

Jason was slowly heading towards the door. Right where the noises were coming from. You could tell he was spooked. But so were you! Especially because he just kept going!!!

“Jason!” You hiss whispered, him looking back at you, stupidly, instead of the door with glass, in front. “We should definitely retreat now.” You urged, heart racing as your dads words echoed in your ears. So much you were scared you wouldn’t hear any thuds in front of or behind you.

“I’m just checking it out.” Jason whispered back, not quite as quiet. Getting to the front of the line, being the closest to the door and looking through the glass in the top half. Pistol in his hand, but not raised... before he exhaled. Turning around with a smile. “See? You’re just being paranoid-“

*BOOM*

Nancy shot a round right above Jason’s head. Straight through the glass of the door, where a herd of the undead were coming through. About the exact same amount of bodies you guys had.

You immediately knelt on the floor, half sheltered behind the drawers, as you snapped your safety off.

Eddie could sniff the living flesh from outside this buildings doors. Jeff hadn’t needed words to communicate, but being closest, he inhaled first, causing the others to quickly follow along. Eddie smiled the slightest at Gareth and Jeff, before they all meandered inside the buildings doors. He hated that it was a mean smile. But instincts were strong now he was hunting, and there was little time for humanity. Except for the humans themselves.

They followed the very strong scent now, as well as the noises, upstairs, until they rounded a corner, and they could spot their first human through the door.

A bullet burst through Gareth’s chest, brown blood just barely oozing in the wound, and a growl rose from his throat. Gareth kicked the door wide open, and the pack was released.

Eddie was growling now too. A wild sound, as the others ran for the humans left and right, Jeff barging forwards with Gareth, but knocking Eddie over in the process.

He strained his hands against the cold marble floor, lifting himself onto his elbow with ease, a snarl on his face. And that was when he saw you.

Eddie’s face dropped. His expression smoothed and expressively awed. As his eyes dilated, honed in on you. Bullets rang out like faint bells around him, as one of his favourite Chicago records span on repeat in his brain ‘I don’t wanna live without your love.’ There you were, twisting out from behind your cover. A rifle on your shoulder, pressing into your fleshy, warm, cheek. Soft, and squishy, against the pull back of your gun. Your eyes were sharp. More focused, more determined than anything Eddie had ever seen. Your pink lips, so full of life, just barely brushed against your gun, but you were silent. No screams of rage, just thought, and strength, and confidence, as your gun pushed back and forth against your shoulder, your body keeping straight with its vitality, while your pretty eyes focused on his surrounding comrades. Pretty...

Your hand expertly pulled back and forth on a mechanic hook, golden shell casings flying around your hair, that Eddie now noticed. The sun hitting it perfectly, from the glass shelves above you, and Eddie had never felt thankful for shelves before. Your hair cascaded around your head, being flipped away with ease, to show off more of your face. So full of life. So... so you. Eddie didn’t know you. But you were you. You were different. You were devastating, and you were enchanting.

Nothing else rang through Eddie. Not the screams of humans. Not the smell of flesh. Not the others. Not his friends. Not the zombie behind him getting shot, apart from the fact you were the one who aimed that way. Everything was slow. Everything was exactly what Eddie had needed, since the moment he’d come into being. And Eddie was stuck on you. You were the only thing. You were somehow Eddie’s everything.

Eddie’s eyes widened, almost looking like they had life in them, some sparkle as he rested where he was, just watching you. His tongue darted out, poking on his bottom lip, fully entranced by you.

You pulled back that pin, and no more gold flew to shower your being. Your face remained the same. Lips together, eyes so so bright, and your look captivating. You remained this way, as you dodged behind the drawers, and right out of Eddie’s view.

Something inside of Eddie sunk. And he panicked as you moved away.

His eyes widened, still feeling slow and sludgy, way more than his usual pale body did, as he pushed against the floor and frenziedly got onto his feet. Cold lurched up into his throat at your new absence, like a hole. Pushing his hands off the cold floor to stand up, slow, readjusting legs, carrying him as he groaned, not a noise of apathy, but more like an echoed whimper, hand outstretching for you as he stumbled quickly over to you. Unsteady on his own feet he’d just gotten used to, his song still playing in his thoughts. Shuffling closer to your row, to come find you again.

That’s when the first shot rang clear, not blurred by his ears or shut out by his brain. But loud, as a bullet forced itself into his shoulder, and shoved him back.

Anger overtook Eddie, as he looked up to the blonde man standing on top of a desk and smiling at him. Bouncing on his two, much more coordinated, feet. Eddie’s instincts made everything much clearer again. Like the cacophony of meat. Wet, sticky, hot, meat.

Eddie’s head tilted at the blue eyed man.

“Yeah! That’s what you get you fucking frea-!”

His feet were grabbed, yanked by Eddie’s very strong hands, as he slammed the man face first into the table. Losing grip of his gun immediately, and his hands panickedly scraping for the end of the desk. Eddie dragged him once, and he immediately fell to the floor right by Eddie’s feet. And he screamed.

The first thing Eddie did, while ripping the man’s arm up as he pulled him close, was to bite his venomous mouth deep into the blonde’s wrist. This way no matter what, he’d at least definitely fuck him over.

Eddie thought that his gold watch was sparkly, like your bullets, as the man screamed in pain and horror. Terrified of the curly haired man above him, teeth and jaw bloody with his own flesh.

Eddie didn’t like this one.

He smashed his once brilliantly smarmy face into the marble ground. Over. And over. And over. He couldn’t feel the pain of the bullet, but he still knew this man tried to hurt him. And it of course, made him pissed.

Luckily for Eddie, this guy’s watch slipped off as Eddie was doing so! He didn’t even think consciously about putting his watch in his ripped jean pocket, he just did it with his easily available left hand, while he tossed around briefly, the thought of eating this man’s brains.

Eddie didn’t really want this guys memories, his thoughts and feelings... But he was also hungry.

With the skull cracked open, Eddie began picking the best food source out of him, stuffing it into his drooling bloody red lips, the only way they could be as colourful as your living ones, hunger the one thing on his mind as he finally started to chew down.

As an older blonde haired man sat opposite this guy, Jason, on the seesaw, Eddie relished in the extra burst of humanity he briefly got to feel, while his stomach was satiated. His dad got up, Eddie’s view only up to his hips, before the smiling father lifted them, Eddie and Jason, higher and higher, closer to his height.

Eddie couldn’t hear his own groan of content he was making. Instead he was watching Jason’s hands score a basket, lowered clearly for kids. Other nine, maybe ten year olds, friends Eddie soon knew the names of, coming to celebrate around Eddie, who was feeling the rush, the pride, the genuine joy, of throwing that ball into that hoop.

A barely teen was punching Jason. Eddie felt the pain in his nose. Then he felt it in his fist, as Jason punched the red headed fourteen year old back.

Then Eddie saw hair he recognised. It was the back of your head. Y/n... He knew your name now. You had the prettiest name he’d ever heard in his ears. You turned back to look at Eddie. His heart skipped a beat. And then, your face smiled.

Eddie could decipher between the two men’s emotions, even enhanced by the former. Eddie felt like he was soaring. He hadn’t seen you smile before.

Another flash was before him, and this time, your face was closer. The classroom swapped for posters on the walls and a lamp. But you weren’t smiling. You looked nervous.

“And... well, you?” A nervous laugh left Jason/Eddie’s lips as well. Eddie could feel his heart pounding, he didn’t really remember what that feeling was like, but he was mesmerised by your face. Slowly, easing into another smile. This one full of exhilaration, of joy, of love Eddie/Jason thought. “I love you too!” You exclaimed. Eddie couldn’t even decipher his own feelings then, too caught off guard by the image of you leaning forward. Until you two weren’t in your bedroom anymore. You were both on a football field.

“I think we can be whatever we want to be. Fuck what they think.” You said, laying down with your arms beneath your head, and your chin tilted towards Eddie’s eyes. A hand shot out, gently brushing a lock of hair away from the hem of your sleeve, against the plush of your arm, and Eddie was uspet he couldn’t physically feel that. “Maybe.” Jason’s voice responded. “Maybe I don’t care what we do, who we are. As long as I’m still with you.”

You snorted. Eddie wanted to moan delightfully at the happy sound, but Jason just chuckled instead. Watching as you slid up onto the palm of your hand, and leant above him.

“Jason?” You asked. And Eddie wished it was his name leaving your lips instead. But then, the brightness of the memory began to flicker, and Eddie felt his tongue grow empty. Your face warped into a terrified look, and you repeated the same question.

“JASON!?”

Eddie shot up, in the lab again. That time was real.

Drool slobbered down Eddie’s chin and between his greedy fingers, twinged pink with blood, as he didn’t care to clean up his slobber.

Instead, he was looking straight up towards you. Your face was different now. Worried, like it was a bit in the tainted memory. You span all the way around, only for Eddie to see your gaze finally focus, away from the desk he and Jason’s corpse were hidden behind.

You were looking at another girl, frizzy haired and short, being pinned to the drawers by one of the zombies Eddie did not know. That determined look slightly covering your fear was enough to get a clear aim. One shot fired from your rifle, and Eddie saw the girl get freed, the other zombie slumping down her legs, and onto the ground.

Eddie actually felt fear now. Not of you, never could Eddie be scared of wonderful you. Fear you’d see what he is, what he’d done...

Quickly he stuffed what he could of the brains into his jacket pocket, fingers not nimble enough to do the leather’s zipper, although he did not care. He had more important things.

Clearly, you’d lost count of your bullets. He saw you staring at a backpack, but it was out of reach, as Gareth was tearing the flesh off a man right in front of it. He saw the panicked look in your face once more, saw you spinning around, and without taking his eyes off of you, Eddie began to move.

The first thing he did was wipe off the blood on his face, self-consciousness striking in his brain as he realised how that may look, and he wanted to look presentable. He didn’t want to scare you. Eddie rose, his eyes fixed on you, an awed look on his pale face once more, as he stumbled towards you.

For the first time, you looked right at Eddie, not through him, but at him. Eddie wasn’t sure he was expressing how this made him feel on the outside. His eyes did widen a little. But he just kept moving. Feeling like his legs were sludgy again. But semi-confident as the room quietened down, with just his friends eating.

Eddie saw fear flash across your face. Before you quickly searched your pockets. He understood why you might be frightened at first, but he kept going, knowing he just needed to let you know-

Eddie looked down as he saw a knife, thrown, and wedged, just below his heart. A saddened expression flickered onto Eddie’s face. Stopping for a moment as his lips turned upside down, while he slowly pulled the knife out. It didn’t hurt, Eddie just felt slightly hurt, a whimper in his throat as the brown blood lightly smeared his shirt, but didn’t flow. The knife clanged to the floor as Eddie casually dropped it, hurt expression slightly lifting, with every step he took closer to you.

You squeaked. And Eddie supposed an instinctual fearful sound was alright, survival wise, if it was quiet. Eddie wouldn’t judge you even if it wasn’t. Eddie would never judge you.

You shuffled to the side near your drawers, backing up, before very quickly hitting it. Now your eyes weren’t leaving Eddie’s either.

Eddie kept walking, your scared expression on your face making Eddie’s lip wobble, as he tried hard to speak. Eyes purposeful on you now, trying to communicate with you. His eyes trying to let you that know he was trying.

Your lips were parted now, a petrified tremble of a sound leaving your throat, as everything flew out your brain, leaving only your racing heart beating the imminent fear around you. Of this thing you’d learned to be scared of, in the form of a curly haired, still brown eyed man. Who was shambling towards you with purpose.

“Yyyy/- y/nnnnn...” Eddie stammered quietly, trying to calm you, with an upturned and open hand. Watching your face pale in confusion at this man knowing your name, this zombie speaking to you.

You slowly slid down against the drawers, Eddie following you, face to face, as he finally got close enough. You both fell to the floor, and Eddie’s eyes squinted.

Your face no longer held horror. Instead, you looked defeated, with a hint of perplexity. Tears fell from your cheeks, and Eddie’s own eyes began to soften. His face fell, spattered with small drops of blood, but genuinely smooth and saddened, his eyebrows raised in slight hope, his lips opening and closing with effort. “Yyyyy/nnnn.” He tried again.

You were more confused. But also more scared. Now at least you realised it was no accident, no one final word. He... the man who looked like you shot his puppy, who was gently kneeling down near you as you started to cry, was trying to talk to you.

You didn’t sob. You couldn’t. But a few tears still ran hot down your cheeks. Eddie’s index finger, clean, pale, and adorning a dirtied silver ring, slowly, and trembling, began to raise up. If it’d been his whole hand, you’d have been terrified, but his singular finger made you aghast. Especially as, when you screwed your eyes closed, you felt the cold, but calloused flesh, touch your cheek so gently. Eddie’s finger brushed down your cheek, lingering a little at your chin, as he clearly wasn’t super coordinated. You opened your eyes, to check if this was actually happening.

When you did, the zombies paler brown eyes were fixated on your wet streak, eyebrows scrunched almost... almost forlornly, at your tears. When his eyes shot back up to your own you hiccuped, leaning further back into the drawers as best you could. But you stayed deathly still, as his finger gained closer again. The man was still shaking, so it worried you more when his finger came close to your eye, but he was precise. It was like he was focused. His finger very very gently found the waterline of your eyelid, and so so carefully, it dipped slightly into it. Almost pulling, but extremely delicately. Soaking away your tear, as you stared awestruck, in disbelief, and worried about your eyes, while this sad looking man, felt the drop of your tear accumulate quickly from your eyelid, onto his finger, streaking down it. And you swore you heard the zombie gasp.

He studied his damped finger, before brushing it down the apple of your cheek and away.

Suddenly, Jeff started upwards, bringing both yours and Eddie’s heads, who were hidden in your position, straight to the bloody jawed zombie. The other three survivors near him, raising slower, but all of them beginning to sniff the air.

Your heart thunked in dread, but you didn’t get much time to look at them, as Eddie close by your head, swung back to look at you. He held a similar dread to your own.

Eddie whimpered, for you. His mouth gaped open, jaw slack, and eyes bugged. His eyes scared. You whimpered too. He knew the others wouldn’t understand. But he had to keep you safe.

Eddie placed his hand some inches away from your head, against the wall of drawers, trapping you in his little pile with him. You didn’t whimper, you were too scared of the others, but a wave of angst did hit at the finality of being sealed in with him.

Whatever he was doing with you.

An idea quickly formed in his mind, and Eddie drew his bloodied hand to the knife wound in his chest, circling the hole of brown blood that stayed in place. Until Eddie dug his fingers around a little. Scooping up the blood, with a caring expression, Eddie gently went to smear his blood onto your skin.

Your face twisted back in a grimace. Too scared to move away, too frightened of this monster. You had no idea what he was doing, but you felt a gross pit of defeat, as you held your breath, and felt his fingers once again caress your cheek. This time, grimy and bloodied with that awful colour.

Eddie traced his bloody fingers down your apple, and the indent of your nose, letting his heavy hand fall, with grace, sweetly down your chin, his fingers drawing down the side of your neck, dragging tenderly to your collarbone, where he pulled them back.

His eyes stayed tracking the smear of him marking you. Making you bite your lip more with fear, as he simply focused on his task.

Once again, Eddie’s hand gently rubbed down your face, repeating the process of covering you with his blood. Stopping on your neck this time, before he finished.

No grunt of approval. Nothing. Eddie’s eyes were transfixed on where your neck met your shoulder, his stopping point.

You didn’t move. You were too scared to. You just sat there, staring forwards, too frightened to look at what you knew was a monster, as he slowly, began to lean in.

You didn’t swallow. You didn’t think about your dead friends. You didn’t think about the other zombies. You just sat there, breathing shallowly, as the zombie moved in. Staying still for him, while his hair gently pushed yours out of the way, hovering unsteadily by your neck.

You could hear him sniffing. Small sounds, like an animal, a beast, scenting you. But gentler sniffs, like they weren’t from his frame. The bursts of air against your neck made you shiver. One last small tear escaping your eye, not even feeling the need to cry anymore, body just tingling all over instead. As the tip of his nose gently brushed your jaw, tracing the outline of it as he continued sniffing at your collarbone. Blood dampened with his cold breath on your skin, rippling sensations over the little hairs all over you, including from his dangerous intimacy.

Your eyes managed to move downwards, looking at the mess of hair completely surrounding your side, seeing the look of focus in his eyes, as his nose continued softly creasing, in times with the tufts of his air he was laying upon your sticky neck.

Eventually, the zombie began to pull back, clearly satisfied with his scenting or marking of you, whatever he was doing. His soft nose bumped against the side of your neck as he shakily moved backwards. And your eyes blinked in shock to find the smallest of smiles on his face, even reaching his brown eyes.

“S-Sssafe...” Eddie smiled, feeling encouraged at the fact you smelled of him. You smelled of all of them. Like one of them. The others wouldn’t hurt you now, not if he kept you close by. He could keep you near him, while his blood on you was still there, and then he could take you home! Where you’d be safe with him!

Eddie’s smile widnened a little further, at the knowledge he was able to communicate that you were safe now with him! At least, he presumed you understood him, by the way your head tilted in slight disbelief. Your eyes holding his so beautifully... he swore he could read them forever.

“W-What?” You asked, barely above a whisper. Too in shock to even comprehend was was going on.

“Come nowww...” Eddie spoke gently, his hands taking both edges of the sleeves of your jacket, and helping pulling you up.

He was happy that this would work.

You were too shocked to stop him from pulling you. Trembling, as he brought you close behind him.

Eddie was still smiling, more gleeful than he’d ever felt in his entire un-life, as he brought you to his side, the others walking ahead of him as they’d only smelt the overpowering scent of their own blood.

Gareth walked slightly faster to be in line with Jeff. More likely, Eddie was just being slower, as he was helping you get on your feet. You were still a little shaky. But you managed again, only a small squeak, nothing loud, as Gareth’s cold arm brushed past your torn jacket sleeve.

You huddled close to Eddie’s side. Not exactly holding him, but not wanting to be anywhere away from him either. Pressing your hip into his, as his body slunk solidly with yours, happy. Eddie moved his hand from your sleeve, tenderly bringing it down, and wrapping his hand around yours. Focused on getting it right, as he moved his digits carefully, being gentle as he pressed his palm into your own.

You were so warm

He held your hand tenderly, but not loosely. Not tight and possessive either. Just secure. It was set sturdily in yours, pressing his fingers against the back of your hand, as he helped lead you forwards.

You were both stumbling, together. You mostly from fear and unsureness, Eddie helping keep you upright and moving, as you two went to join the group of groaning, mindless, zombies.

Eddie being anything but. Content, with a glazed over look that wasn’t apathetic, but pleased, in his eyes, as he looked forward, just ready to get you home.

As your feet crunched on the glass, you managed to look down to find Nancy. Seeing her hiding in the space under the drawers, peeking out at you, with an awful look on her face.

You very subtly shook your head. They hadn’t noticed her. And you and her both knew, it’d only be a suicide mission if she came out now. You tried to get one last look at Nancy, one last look at home. Before your best friend, with tears in her eyes, held her hand to her mouth and nose to stop herself from breathing too shakily, and watched as you were walked away, past her field of view.

You just had to look forward. You couldn’t risk giving Nancy away. Even the zombie holding your hand clearly had no cares in the world to check any of his surroundings behind him. He was still smiling.

You looked at him in terror, and wonder. Questions couldn’t fill your mind, it was just racing with the knowledge you had to follow him, to survive. You had no weapons on you, no backpack, nothing. You just had his hand in yours, and clearly he was willing to be some kind of shield for you. You didn’t know why, but you thought, maybe, he’d protect you.

As you got to the stairs, with the sounds of the others a floor below you, the curly haired man turned to look at you again.

A noise like a question left his thick lips. It was a sort of high moan, but very clearly the sound of him asking something. Your gritted teeth parted to take a rocky breath, staring at the crooked steps you’d taken up here an apparent lifetime ago.

Understanding him, but not speaking, you took the first step down.

Eddie kept hold of your hand, wanting to help you because you were still shaking, but you both made it down the stairs with no problems.

You two were still slow, Eddie didn’t want to give you away by moving too fast when not on a hunt, and he didn’t want to trip you, considering you were walking a little funny. But he managed to walk well enough to rejoin the group. A little space between you two and the others, at the back. You smelled a lot like Eddie though. Making him pleased with his good work.

You clung to Eddie’s side once again, not letting him go as you hid slightly into his dirtied leather jacket. And Eddie felt something swell within him. Almost beaming. He continued to look forward, thinking about how the sun had looked in your hair again, and thinking about you. He groaned happily, holding your hand closer to his body. Keeping you safe.

You stayed close to the one who’d... who’d done something, with you. You didn’t want to upset him. You didn’t want to alert the others. You had no idea why he’d covered for you. Or why he was holding your hand. What you did know though, was that you were going somewhere with him...

[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.

[alleiwentcrazy]

The point is, Steve can’t hear.

A person can get hit in the head only so many times before it takes effect and does permanent damage. Steve’s incessant claims that being in the front row when the fight breaks down does nothing to him, that he’s safe and alright as long as everyone else is, mean very little in the face of cold, evident facts.

His hearing isn’t intact. It takes him a while to adjust to this reality, but with the help of his friends, he eventually does. Thanks to Nancy’s fierce bullying of the government guys who come to Hawkins to assess the situation and cook up some half-assed excuse for everything that’s happened, Steve now has a small army of well-paid doctors that really seem to be eager to help. He also gets state-of-the-art hearing aids that, well—they work, but Steve’s range of possibilities is still quite narrow. Let a few people into the room, let them speak simultaneously and all he can hear is static, rustles and crackling.

But he’s pliant. He listens when Robin tells him they have to get in the car and hit the road to get to his appointment on time. He lets her help with inserting the aids properly on the days he’s just too impatient and too bugged about how they feel and look to even care if they help him hear. He’s not dismissing her enthusiasm when she starts learning sign language before he even gets a chance to discuss it as his option.

He’s doing a lot of things for her, even if they’re supposed to be important to him first. To be honest, these days it’s mostly doing things for Robin that keeps him going. He would have gone completely numb ages ago if it weren’t for her and her unique ways of picking up the severed pieces whenever he crumbles.

He’s also doing it for Dustin. If Robin is his twin sister, Dustin is the little brother he’s never had. And Dustin… It’s just been too rough on him. It’s been rough on everyone; how could it not be if the only thing they seem to be able to do is wait? Wait for the lab guys to figure out a way to end this. Wait for the panic to cease. Wait for Max to wake up.

Wait for the grief to pass.

They wait and wait, but it never stops—on the contrary, it brings fresh, equally unwanted feelings. They’re always there, lurking behind the corner like a kitten that wants to launch itself at an unsuspecting owner – only with them, there won’t be any playtime involved. Steve recognizes this feeling. It’s the same feeling he’d had in that Winnebago when he was dropping off Max, Lucas and Erica at Creel’s doorstep. An awful anticipation of doom waiting to happen.

He doesn’t like it. He’d like to find a way to do something about it, but he can’t seem to get to the core of it.

Maybe that’s why he thinks he’s hearing things when he really can’t be hearing them.

At first, Steve writes it off as him being paranoid. It happens only when he’s home by himself, so it’s the only logical explanation – he takes off his aids, he gets too attentive about his surroundings, right? He thinks he hears something, but it’s only his tired mind playing tricks on him.

Especially because what he hears are mostly usual, non threatening things. The sound of water running in the bathroom (he goes inside, everything is dry and quiet). The sound of kitchen drawers being opened (he goes to the kitchen, the cabinets are exactly the way he left them). The sound of cutlery being dropped on the floor (but he hasn’t even taken anything out in the first place).

He even gets used to it. Things happen, his brain is weird. It’s confusing, sure, but hasn’t he seen worse things? He definitely has.

But it doesn’t keep him away from sleeping with his bat perched on the side of the bed. If he sleeps at all, if a sudden sound of breaking glass doesn’t keep him awake until his morning shift with Robin, when he can finally leave this goddamn house and take his mind off of things.

Steve tries to ignore it. He really tries, but the point is—Steve can’t hear things like running water in the bathroom when his aids are off. Hell, he only makes it out if he focuses on it when they’re in, so why the heck can he hear it so well? Why are the sounds multiplying?

It goes on for weeks. He avoids the topic for as long as possible, trying to shoo away the obvious similarities between his house and the house that made him hate spiders and cringe at fireplaces not too long ago.

It gets a little too real on just some random Tuesday, when his kitchen positively explodes with sounds the second he gets the hearing aids off. Cabinet doors slam left and right, mugs fall to the floor and shatter, forks and spoons seem to be getting thrown around like ragdolls—but Steve sees nothing. He hears it, he hears it so loudly it hurts, the cacophony of noises he’s never even heard before, but his eyes register no proof of it. He curls down on the floor, expecting sharp glass pieces to cut his skin, but nothing happens. Nothing’s here.

He still covers his head, tucked away in the furthest corner of the kitchen, waiting for it to just stop, to leave him alone—

Steve doesn’t know how long it takes, but when it’s finally done, his knees are shaky and his breathing is ragged. He snatches his aids and takes off, straight to Robin’s house. He doesn’t even lock the door, a thing his parents would kill him for if they knew.

It’s the first time he explains everything to her. It would be hard not to, because she sees right through him. His panicked, restless eyes are enough indication of things not being right.

“Maybe, uh—I think I’ve read something about hearing loss and auditory hallucinations? That they happen, sometimes, especially if the loss of hearing is sudden?” she says, already flipping through her notebook where she keeps all Steve-related stuff and pacing around the room with enough force to make a hole in the carpet.

Steve’s not convinced. “It seems pretty real to me,” he mumbles and frowns. “But that’s the point of it, right?”

Robin shrugs. He notices that she has a small set of wrinkles around her eyes. Steve looks at them for a second in total disbelief. They already have some worry wrinkles, and they’re not even well into their twenties.

He’s gonna lose all his precious hair in a span of months if this doesn’t stop.

*

They decide to bring it up during his next appointment, still hoping that it’ll maybe go away on its own. Robin tries to make him get a consult straight away (what if it is rabies after all, Steve, like a really really really weird, belated presentation of rabies?), but he waves it off. The option of hallucinations doesn’t soothe his nerves, but as long as it’s not a chiming clock, he can avoid confronting it for a while longer.

It doesn’t go away, though. Steve can’t quite pinpoint it, but it almost feels like—well, it obviously doesn’t feel like it’s real enough to be real. But there’s something that accompanies the sounds, the lack of evidence, the missing of this ominous feeling that Creel’s house inflicted on him.

The sounds—it feels like they bear a presence. Steve’s still scared and gets spooked by them whenever they happen, but he’s no longer truly afraid of them.

Some of them are even comforting. The sound of his pillow being fluffed up before he gets to bed, the sound of pen scratching on paper whenever he leaves his journal open on the desk, the whooshing sound of a lighter being opened and closed – they all make this eerie place his parents have left him a little less empty.

He rarely lets himself think about it that way. He may be a little kooky, but admitting that he’s lonely enough to find hallucinations comforting would be way too much to handle at the moment.

So Steve can’t hear, but he learns to accept the fact that, apparently, sometimes he can. He doesn’t know how it works—to be quite honest he doesn’t know a lot about experiencing hearing loss at all, despite now being hard of hearing himself—but it just makes its place in his life.

He thinks about it a lot, but he tries not to overthink it too hard. It just happens. Things fall to the floor in his house, curtains get torn, the fridge gets opened frequently. He just can’t see it. His mind hears it, but his eyes don’t get the memo. He lives for longer than a week. It’s probably a good sign; nothing’s going to make his bones snap in two now, probably. Hopefully.

Things change suddenly.

Steve tries to spend as much time with Dustin as possible. Between work, his appointments and Robin, Dustin, Max and the kids are his top priority. He doesn’t think he would be able to function if he let himself take a breath and step down from his piled up responsibilities that he chose to take on himself. They keep him together. They keep him going.

Besides, Mrs. Henderson gets really worried. Sometimes it’s just better for Dustin to stay with Steve, and Steve is more than happy to be with him, even though it seems that Dustin doesn’t really like his cold house either.

It’s one of Dustin’s quiet days. He gets them, sometimes—Steve knows that trying to get him to talk on one of those days is a lost cause, and his ears are killing him. He was in such a hurry this morning he didn’t take the time to put the aids in properly. Work was overflowing with people, too, so now his temples are throbbing from trying to pick up the chatter from the static. Seriously, how is it possible that people still spend so much time watching movies in the face of almost-apocalypse, Steve doesn’t know.

“Would you mind if I took my aids off for a while?”

“Go ahead,” Dustin mumbles, bending over his new book.

Something flips inside Steve’s chest. He knows it’s not supposed to be like that, it’s unlike Dustin to be so… not himself. But what can Steve do? He can’t make him talk. He can just wait, nothing else.

He gets up to leave his aids on the counter and pour himself some coffee. He should probably start making dinner soon, but he decides to take a few peaceful sips first.

It’s weird. To sit with Dustin Henderson, of all people, without a single word. Steve glances at him every once and again, but Dustin either ignores him or genuinely forgets that he’s there.

Steve’s so deep in his thoughts about Dustin, he doesn’t even look to the side when a sudden sound of kitchen chair toppling over cuts through the silence. His eyes are trained on the kid.

Who flinches. And frowns. Steve can swear that he fights the urge to look around.

Each and every chair Steve keeps in the kitchen is standing where he placed them in the morning after breakfast. Nothing real has happened. But Steve heard it. And, apparently, Dustin did too.

Steve’s brain is working overtime for the rest of the evening, and he desperately tries not to show any of it. He’s jumping into conclusions. It was an accident; dumb luck. It’s nothing. He’s working himself up, nonsensically.

But it doesn’t feel like it’s nothing. It was only one chair, one sound, but the feeling that accompanied it was strong. Too strong to be nothing.

He waits to drop Dustin off at home like he’s on pins and needles, fumbling with his fingers and keys and pacing around. Maybe it’s better that it’s one of Dustin’s quiet days, he mostly gets away with it, getting only a few side glances.

When gets back home, it’s late, but he’s buzzing with anticipation nonetheless. He can finally do something. He discards his aids haphazardly, not nearly as carefully as he should, and starts running around the house. The house his parents built is huge—but the kitchen turns out to be quite small when he’s finally done with arraying at least a dozen lamps there. He has to raid three of his father's garages to get enough extension cords.

When he turns them on all at once, he has to take a step back and shut his eyes, because it’s too much light.

Just the right thing he needs.

His heart is beating so fast he can almost feel it ramming against his ribs. That’s about how far he’d thought this plan through.

“Come on,” he says and clears his throat, trying to gauge how his voice may really sound now. He repeats himself, hoping that it’s louder this time.

Nothing happens for a while, but he knows he’s close. The feeling is here. The presence that hasn’t left him in months. It’s here.

Steve walks around the kitchen, moves the lamps a little, shakes some of them. His hands are clammy and it feels like he’s chewed through his cheek at this point, but he can wait. He’s waited for a long time. He can wait a while longer.

When the microwave beeps, he stops breathing for a second.

Until it beeps again. And again.

“Oh god,” he breathes. He doesn’t know if he speaks clearly or not, he doesn’t even care. “Come on, show me that it’s you. Come on, come on—”

The lamp furthest to the left starts blinking, slowly at first. Then the one next to it, then another one, and another one, like someone’s walking around and making them flicker one by one.

They’re blinking so much one of the bulbs goes out. Steve doesn’t hear it hiss, so he knows it went out here, now. He knows it’s real.

“Oh god,” his hand goes to his mouth. His eyes are weirdly itchy. “Oh god, is it really you, Eddie?”

The lamp directly in front of Steve goes wild. When he reaches out, it’s almost like he can touch the presence that’s here with him.

And it’s Eddie. Eddie’s here with him.

[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.”

[zombiethingy]

it took some time to realize

Written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘shower’

And with special thanks to @griefabyss69 for betaing! 💜

Title from 'Alive' by Engrave

wc: 399 | rated: T (for language) tags: Eddie lives, concert, mosh pit, hopeful ending cw: references to depression [AO3 link]

Eddie feels alive again.

It's a fucking miracle.

It's already a miracle that he is alive and not simply a rotting corpse in the hellscape of the upside down. While his body was dragged out of there, patched back together, and made to breathe and pump blood on its own again, part of his psyche didn't get the memo and decided to play dead anyway.

Most days, he feels like doing nothing but rot – on the couch, in the new house, still feeling like a walking dead guy.

But not today. Today he's standing next to Steve in a sea of people, all screaming along to the lyrics of his favorite song. The infectious energy slowly seeps into him, making him want to be alive and move for the first time in what feels like forever. Then the crowd behind him parts, getting ready to let all hell loose, and he's itching to dive right into the pit – pushing, jumping, moving around with everyone in there – and just be alive with them.

Steve must feel it because he puts his hand on Eddie's arm, giving him a look and a little shake of his head, before he has to turn back around to intercept the first person stumbling into him and sending them back into the romping bodies.

Right, his body still isn't really healed either. It stings a little – but only until the next person comes hurtling towards them, and then it's Eddie's turn to push them back in, and another one right after.

Eventually he's content with being on the edge of the pit, side by side with Steve, protecting the crowd behind them and absorbing the energy of the people colliding together in front of them.

He could have gone without catching a shower of something – it has to be beer, he tells himself – just at the end of the song; it's easily forgotten when the next song in the set is an acoustic version of another masterpiece, when he gets goosebumps from how it makes him feel after being numb for so long.

Especially when Steve shuffles closer during the first verse, bumping his equally moist shoulder into Eddie's and reaches out to link their hands.

And he's never been so alive as when Steve – the miracle worker himself – sings the refrain at him, around the loveliest smile, promising more miraculous things yet to come.

[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

[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

[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.

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐈: 𝐑𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

previous — next part ┊ 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ( + playlist)

Summary: You learn the identity of your new undead friend, get a mini ‘makeover’, catch your crush’s attention and bury a body while Eddie learns throwing up on the girl he’s interested in probably doesn’t display his potential as a boyfriend, but his protective nature might.

Chapter Warnings: a stinky boy, dark humor, unpleasant home life, intense longing (on eddie’s behalf). oh yeah, and murder.

a/n: so i lied, this is actually longer than the first chapter and i accepted my fate. we’re getting to the fun stuff, though. next up: more vigilante justice, eddie lore and emerging feelings for a certain dead man walking. hope you like it!

light dividers ℗ cafekitsune ♡

“C’mon, over here.” You gestured to your open doorway, watching your new zombie pal hobble up the final step and round the staircase. His movements were harsh, stiff as hell and made your bones hurt to watch for whatever reason. Every over limp was accompanied by an inhuman grunt, and you wondered if moving his limbs might actually be painful for him.

  You were never particularly skilled in the art of masking your emotions, so your eyebrows were furrowed, mouth parted and upper lip tucked up to clearly display your phantom discomfort. 

  Once he was close enough, you crossed over the threshold, standing a little in front of your bed as he wandered in, large eyes immediately raking over everything on your walls. After beckoning him further in, you moved around the filthy corpse standing in your room to close the door. 

  “Despite your deadly good looks, we can’t risk anyone seeing you. No one else can know you’re here.” You informed him, trying to stress the seriousness of the situation without seeming too controlling. While you had waited for The Zombie to struggle up the stairs, you’d determined there were three possible ways this town would react to discovering a member of the dead had risen—that only seemed to be socially acceptable and celebrated in the form of Jesus Christ:

 1.) Pitchforks and Torches.

2.) News, Military, and Government attention, which would no doubt mean you’d have to break him out of some lab.

3.) Pitchforks and Torches, News, Military, and Government attention, which would mean you’d have to save him from an angry mob before inevitably losing him once News stations picked the story up, causing subsequent Military and Government interference and the scientific study of your undead friend in some high tech/high defense lab, leaving you to figure out how to break into and get him out of it. 

  Or, he could just not leave your bedroom. A beautiful alternative.

  The Zombie didn’t even pay you any attention, stumbling forward—and banging his foot against the leg of your bed frame—to take a better look at your things. He was grunting and groaning, though this time it seemed to be a little different. It almost sounded like he was talking to himself. Or maybe to you. 

  Zombies in film seemed to be able to voice their demands for brains. Could he? Did he have the same urge or need to eat brains? How would you even feed a zombie?

  “Can you talk?” You asked, leaning back against the door, eyes on him as he had to hop in place in order to turn his body to face you, “Like, speak? With words?”

  He seemed to consider your question for a moment, eyes darting to the side.

  “Uuuuuuunnnggghhh.”

  “So, that’s a no. Do you…do you need brains? Because I’m not sure I can get you any of those—and if you think for one second that you’re gonna eat mine, you should know I fall under fight when it comes to fight or flight responses. I’m like an alley cat, I’ll fuck you up.”

  The Zombie stumbled back, rocking from side to side. It took you a moment to realize he was trying to shake his head, no.

  Interesting.

  “No brains?”

  Again, he rocked from side to side, “Uunggh-uunghh.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Your defenses dropped immediately as you played with your hair, pulling gently at a section of it, “Well, what do you eat?”

  He did the choppy shoulder raise he’d done in the livingroom earlier, “Unnhh unnhh.” 

  Your lips curled into a small, fascinated smile. Okay, you knew he had been once alive, once a human being existing on this earth with blood pulsing through his veins—and now he was dead.

  Yet, he wasn’t dead. He was dead but standing in your bedroom, amongst your girly things and not so girly things, staring at you in his grotesque form, and shrugging I dunno, like some alive person. A full blown, supernatural one-time (to your knowledge) occurrence only depicted in Sci-fi films and horrors.

  Why you? What did he want with you?

  You hadn’t realized you’d voiced the question until he hobbled back around to your bedroom wall, raising his left hand, and the only one he seemed to have, up to one of the tombstone etchings. His fingers were all sorts of fucked up, frozen in the most uncomfortable looking positions as a result of rigor mortis in whatever position he’d died.

  “What? That? It’s just an etching I made of a tombstone.”

  He craned his head around, and you tried not to be freaked out with the way his neck hadn’t turned enough with it, tapping his crooked pinky finger against the craft paper and then moved it to his chest.

  Your eyes zeroed in on the etching, trying to understand what he was attempting to tell you. 

  It was MUN’s tombstone—no, Eddie Munson’s tombstone.

  Your jaw dropped. Had to be somewhere around your feet, on the floor. Holy. Shit.

  “That’s you? You’re Eddie Munson?” It was rude, but you openly pointed at him.

  He didn’t grunt in response this time, rather, he began to cough and gag as he jerked his body around to get his hand in his dirty jeans. 

  While he did whatever it was, you took the time to take him in even further. He wore black jeans, but under his leather jacket he seemed to be wearing a discolored dress shirt that had once probably been white. You had a feeling the sneakers on his feet, while horrendously dirty, weren’t all that worn out. Dress pants were pricey, you knew that much after buying some for your father when your mother would take you to outlets and malls with her. Dress shirts were a little cheaper and new shoes were seen as a staple in big events for peoples’ lives, such as graduations, birthdays, dances, weddings and funerals. 

  You had a sneaking suspicion this lively carcass hadn’t been from this part of town when he was alive. 

  “UUUUUUNNNNGGGHHHH!” The Zombie moaned out, almost victoriously as his stiff arm stuck straight up in the air. Dangling from his curled fingers, was your mother’s pearl necklace. You’d seen it last when you’d entrusted MUN with it yesterday.

  You gasped, reaching out as he lowered it into your furled palm. 

  With the proof in your hand and his corpse before you, you knew you were speaking to Eddie Munson. He was, without a doubt, the grave you’d been running to.

  “Holy crap, you are Eddie Munson!” You gripped the pearls in your fist, eyes wide and blinking rapidly to try to make sense of it all, “You were murdered and now you’re not—I mean, you were, but you’re back from the dead, standing in my—ooh, standing pretty close actually.”

  You tried not to flinch as you became aware of just how close he’d stumbled over to you. Definitely within arms-length. He didn’t exactly stink, his flesh looked much too leathery to actually smell (you weren’t about to lean in and sniff to test the theory), but the scent of wet dirt was strong and the smell of whatever he’d spat on you earlier seemed to be lingering. 

  Zombie Eddie was in desperate need of a shower.

  “So, this is all pretty cool and bizarre—I’m a fan of both—but uhm, why are you here…? Like, in my house.”

  He slouched even further into your space, this time you did flinch a little as the most muffled whimper sounded from him. Reminded you of the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz when he couldn’t speak properly because he was all rusted up. 

  Eddie held eye contact as he struggled to grab hold of your hand and the minute he did, dirt from his skin pressing into yours, you knew what was coming.

  Because of course it would. This is something that would only happen to you.

  Shakily, Eddie tried lifting your hand and your mouth puckered, brows furrowing before you sucked your lips into your mouth as you watched him prepare to kiss your hand with his filthy, dead, dried out lips that still had bits of that green goop he’d spat up around it.

  You were a nice person—a relatively decent human being, but you weren’t that nice and you didn’t wanna have to go to the hospital on the off chance that you caught something from a corpse. Explaining that one would send you straight to the psych ward and probably end in some sort of abuse of a corpse charge, so you quickly pulled your hand out of his grasp, rubbing your fingers together to roll some of the dirt off of them.

  “Okay, okay, I see, mhm—alright. You’re here because—when I said I wished I was with you, I didn’t mean like, I wanted to have your dead body…y’know, pressed up against mine. I meant like…in the grave. Next to you. Like buried there because I’d be dead. It was a moment of intense angst—I’m nineteen and my life is in the fucking gutter. I’m surrounded by terrible people in this town and I have the rest of my life to live out this way.

  “I didn’t mean to lead you on or something, and I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to do literally anything with a corpse, other than bury it.”

  The two of you stood there, just staring at each other. He still hadn’t moved out of your space and you were still kind of leaning back, away from him, so you added, “So. Just a little recap, I wanted to be dead. Did not mean I wanted to be with you. Romantically. Together. Like a couple.”

  And then you felt a little guilty because that wasn’t entirely true.

  “Well, not with you as a cadaver.” Because you had fantasized about the person in the grave being a source of comfort to you, “Or—or, you in general. ‘Cause…’cause I didn’t know it was you given how fucked up your shit was, and I didn’t know you when you were alive.”

  God, you were messing this up. Rather than continuing your ongoing word vomit, you flashed him a tight smile.

  Finally, you got a reaction out of him. He creaked back, those little whimpering sounds coming from his lips before that same nasty ass green shit from before started leaking out from behind his eyeballs.

  You’d made him cry.

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—I just moved here a couple of months ago and you were already dead by then! I’m sure you were a lovely person and I would have liked y—y—yo—ECH!”

  You gagged, hand flying up to cover your mouth and nose as you felt the contents of your stomach start to make its way back up. While your hand was in that position, it squeezed the tip of your nose, cutting of the assault currently taking place against it.

  Whatever it was Zombie Eddie was secreting instead of his tears, stunk. It was the most putrid scent you’d ever had the misfortune of knowing. Nothing could compare to it, not literal shit, not vomit, not pasta that had been left out to cook in the sun for several weeks, nothing.

  You were sure one more sniff of it, and your nostril hairs would either shrink and curl up, or disintegrate. 

  “MOTHER OF GOD—your tears smell horrendous—I’m gonna throw u—ECH!”

  You gagged again, tears flooding your sight and you hurried over to the bathroom, gesturing for him to follow behind you.

  Chrissy had left her door to the bathroom open, so you skidded across the tile to shove it closed, desperate to make sure the scent didn’t reach the room and wouldn’t linger in there.

  She’d drive you straight to the ER to get checked out, because nothing you could possibly shit out should ever and would ever smell that bad.

  You yanked the shower curtain back from the tub, setting Chrissy’s products to the side and out of the way, “You need to bathe like two years ago, my dead guy.”

  You stepped to the side, pointing into the tub with a finger as your other hand rested on your hip like you were ordering a misbehaving child in.

  Eddie groaned, and you got the feeling that he was unimpressed with your theatrics. Unfortunately for the both of you, you hadn’t been dramatic about it. His stank tears had to be an actual biohazard and you didn’t want to think about the fact that very same biohazard had been projectile vomited onto your face a couple of minutes ago. You were so gonna scrub it raw.

  Begrudgingly, he hobbled over to your tub and struggled over the edge until he was in—his upper half slamming into the tile wall. 

  You didn’t say anything about him being fully clothed, shoes and all, because everything he wore needed a good rinse off. If not, you’d have to hose his clothes down in the yard before subjecting the dryer and washer to them.

  “There’s my soap.” You pointed out the pink bottle of pomegranate and berry scented shower gel, “And my shampoo and conditioner—those two are very expensive and a little goes a long way, so don’t waste any.”

  You eyed him for a moment, mouth twisting in consideration, “Nevermind, it’ll take half the bottles to get your hair clean, I’ll just have to replace them a little earlier than my budget expected.”

  This time, Eddie’s mouth parted rather wide as he moaned out, “UHNNNGGHH.”

  He was probably telling you to fuck off already, but you were distracted by whatever insect was currently in his mouth, on his tongue.

  “SPIT IT OUT!” You shrieked, and he aimed his head down, the large thing with too many legs falling right out to crawl around on your bathroom floor.

  You screamed as you began to stomp around, trying to crush it beneath your remaining slipper but it kept evading it! Finally, your foot flattened it with a satisfying crunch.

  The evil had been defeated. You were nearly panting, shoulders rising and falling as you calmed your breathing and another sound registered.

  Eddie was croaking now, it sounded almost like the most painful gasps someone would let out on their deathbed. You stared, puzzled for a moment before it dawned on you.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  He did it again, stiff body leaning completely back on the shower tiles now.

  “Oh my god, you are! YOU DICK!” You slapped the side of his arm and then quickly yanked it back, frowning at the mud now caked to the back of your fingers. 

  “Ugh,” you tried to shake some of it off over the tub, your head shaking as well—and despite the predicament, you found the corners of your lips twitching but you refused to smile. Wouldn’t let him get that over you, “You’re gross. That better be the last living creature to come out of you, you Zombie Headbanger, take a shower.”

  You didn’t give him a chance to moan, groan or croak at you again, yanking the curtains back to shield the tub and it’s undead occupant.

  You rolled your eyes, almost fondly, and gathered too much toilet paper to wipe up the remnants of the bug and toss it in the trash. Should’ve been in a different corpse’s mouth if it wanted to live.

  “You know how to work a shower, don’t you?” You asked aloud as you approached your bathroom counter, taking notice of the bathroom mirror as you uncapped a room spray and gave your bathroom a good burst of it. The mirror had already been replaced, looked like Laura couldn’t stand to know there was something imperfect in the house—aside from you. 

  You heard the tub start to run before the shower stream took over. At least he still remembered that much.

  “You wanna listen to some music?” You asked over the loud stream of the shower.

  “Uunngh.”

  You took that as a yes and leaned over the counter to tweak the knob of the radio you and Chrissy always left on it. Immediately, a country station started playing and you quickly switched the station.

  “That’s not one of mine! Chrissy listens to Country whenever she misses her ex-boyfriend, I don’t know why.”

  You kept twisting the dial through various stations. When you hit a station midway through Disposable Heroes, you turned the knob again only for your companion to voice his outrage.

  “UUUUUUNNNGGHHHH!!!”

  “What?” You switched the station back, “You like Metallica?”

  He grunted from behind the shower curtain, and the scent of your body wash began to fill the bathroom, much to your relief. You could hear him banging around in there, probably not the easiest to wash up with a bad case of rigor mortis.

  “They’re alright, I liked Ride the Lightning, but Master of Puppets is good, too. Their last album was good, too, but it felt kind of different. Not the same without Burton.”

  Eddie made a sound of confusion, hand with the fucked up fingers reaching out to push the curtain back so he could poke his head out.

  You met his gaze through the mirror, “You don’t know?”

  He just blinked, almost owlishly. 

  Shit. He must have died before the fall of ‘86. You’d have to ask Chrissy when exactly Eddie had died.

  “The bass player, Cliff Burton? He died in ‘86. Bus accident.”

  You watched as Eddie’s gaze dropped, and the groan he let out sounded remarkably sad as he ducked back behind the curtain.

  Unsure of what to say to make him feel better, you let the radio play out the rest of the duration of Eddie’s shower and took diligent care in washing your face and brushing your teeth. Once he was done, smelling amazing and just like you, you’d had him shed his clothes for one of your nightgowns and dragged him back to your closet.

  You knew he was quite literally stiff, but he seemed extra unenthused with his choice of ensemble, so you were going to let him choose his own.

  “Alright, take your pick.” You yanked the doors of your walk-in closet (as in you could take three steps in and that's it) open and he flinched back at the amount of pink seeping out of it. When he made no move to look through his options, you selected one for him.

  An even gaudier nightgown you tried to shove in his arms. And he let you, before purposely dropping it to the ground while holding eye contact. 

  “Well, I thought you would have looked great in it.” You mumbled as he creaked down to pick it up for you. When Eddie hobbled into the closet to hang it up, you shut the doors behind him, “Pick something else and then you can come out!”

  Your closet doors didn’t lock though, so you were just banking on him assuming they did and you heard his offended zombie groaning. While you waited, listening to him no doubt bang into the walls as he struggled to dress himself, grunting and groaning, you twirled around on your desk chair.

  Eventually, the closet doors parted and you gasped at the sight of him, standing there in your lavender fluffy, oversized sweater and pair of white pajama pants with hearts all over them. He couldn’t really move his face all that much, not very expressive and yet you could somehow tell he was scowling.

  “You look like Grimace.” Was all you said, mind conjuring up Ronald McDonald’s purple monster friend.

  The closet doors were promptly slammed shut. When he emerged once more, gone was the former ensemble. Eddie was wearing a neon green skirt, a tight off the shoulder black top, and nothing else.

  You wolf whistled at his skinny, severely discolored legs.

  He stuck one out, modeling it for you and you realized he was humoring you. You laughed, eyes crinkling.

  “You tryna knock me dead, too?”

  When he nodded, you laughed again and stood up to rummage through your dresser. You found a band tee you used as a pajama top, and some black pants that looked like they might fit him. Then you spotted a red plaid flannel you had hanging on your bedroom door, waiting to be placed in the closet.

  The clothing items were shoved into his arms and you pushed him back into the closet.

  When he came out (eheheheh) again, you were practically bouncing in your seat. You’d never seen Eddie alive before, had never seen him in clothes that weren’t his burial ones, and he definitely still looked as much of a Zombie as Michael Jackson had looked in the Thriller music video, but he also looked like a young adult, and very much so in his Metal element. He was stretching your baby blue socks to their limit, but they’d have to do until you could steal some from your dad. You’d scrub his shoes tomorrow, before class.

  If Eddie were alive, he’d look…hot.

  You smiled to yourself, still taking him in as you realized you were looking at Eddie Munson.

  To show your admiration, you clapped for him, “That’ll do real well. What do you think?”

  Eddie raised his forearm and you tilted your head, confused. He followed your gaze and groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized that was the arm lacking a hand. Then, he held up his other arm, painful looking thumb finger cracking and popping until he was giving you a thumbs up. You ended up tying a scarf around the wrist without a hand, just to hide the gaping wound. 

  With the matter of his clothing solved, you moved onto his hair, sitting on the bathroom counter while he stood in front of you as you worked on detangling with a spray bottle and a legion of hair products. It took some TLC, and ignoring the hole where his ear should’ve been, but you brought his curls back to life. You were shocked to even see he had bangs, they’d been plastered to the top of his head when he was the Swamp Thing.

  They framed his eyes, looked real good on him and he seemed to enjoy the entire process, eyes slipping shut and little moans (not like that) coming from him.

  “Well, I think we’ve got you back in good shape.” You put down the comb, placing your hand on his shoulders to turn him towards the mirror, “Is this Eddie Munson?”

  You watched his gaze scan his reflection, before those eyes were on yours in the mirror. 

  “Unnnghhh.” Eddie held up his arm with the missing appendage and you nervously scratched the back of your heard.

  “Well, you see, I don’t really have any extra hands on me, at the moment. Just down to these two,” You emphasized the sentence with some jazz hands to display yours, then immediately felt guilty over still having yours so you hid them behind your back.

  Eddie groaned low, lifting his wrist to the side of his head, where his ear should have been and you made a displeased sound. 

  “Oh. Noticed that, did you?”

  His eyes narrowed and even though you had no idea what Eddie had sounded like, you could still hear him in your head, Notice my fucking ear is missing? Yeah, I did.

  “I don’t have any extras of those, either. If it’s a body part, I’m out of stock. But—who cares? Plenty of people live without them.”

  Eddie grunted, eyes narrowing even further at you.

  You winced, “Poor choice of words—the point is, no one will even notice. Because no one is going to see you.”

  Eddie’s next grunt sounded disappointed and you felt even guiltier. What were you supposed to do? You’d already made him look as relatively normal as you could, there was only so many ways you could disguise a zombie who walked oddly, communicated via moan, groan and grunt, and looked like he had a medical skin condition.

  You were about to try to comfort him when you heard the front door open and you gasped.

  “WHAT IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?” You heard Laura cry out, and your dad shouted your name. 

  “I don’t mean to sound homophobic, but back in the closet!” You shoved him out of the bathroom and in the direction of his new hiding place. He hadn’t looked very keen as you shut the closet doors on him, but he’d have to wait for now.

  Your dad was probably having one hell of a heart attack, staring at the mess of the house, the broken window, fearful a similar situation as your mother’s assault had taken place with you as the victim.

  “I’m alright, daddy!” You reassured as you raced down the stairs to your concerned father. He was concerned alright, but not about you.

  He had Laura in one arm, who was openly distraught about the shards of her damn plates, and Chrissy, who was staring at the mess with open confusion, in the other.

  “You,” Laura spat at you with venom the moment her chilling gaze locked onto your approaching figure, “What. Did. You. Do?”

  Wow. You’d seen an actual Zombie—he was upstairs, in your bedroom closet—and still the most unbelievable thing to happen to you was your ‘family’’s ability to immediately blame you. You hadn’t expected Eddie’s corpse to be the first suspect in their head, still, they’d seen your house ransacked—as you tried to escape your friendly deceased headbanger—with you nowhere in sight, and hadn’t been at all concerned for your wellbeing. God, they sucked.

  “Me?! I didn’t do this!”

  “Then who did!?” Laura screeched back and you found yourself getting angry.

  “The guy who broke in!” You shouted back and Laura immediately rolled her eyes. You could hear your dad say both of your names to calm you down, but you were growing tired of him, too. Like Eddie, he seemed to be missing parts of his body. Noticeably, his goddamn spine.

  “Really? You expect us to believe that after last night? The smashing of the mirror, my precious moments figurines? Muffin, your daughter is out of control. She destroyed my house!”

  “Do you ever use those creepy eyeballs stuck in your skull?” You found yourself blurting out, “Does it look like any part of my body came crashing through that window?!” You pointed aggressively in the direction of the livingroom, where glass littered the floor. It was too much for just an object to have been thrown through and your body had no cuts, nothing to show from possibly jumping through it.

  “Mom, if sissy was attacked─” Chrissy tried, her her mother was having none of it.

  “Attacked? Who would want to attack her? She’s invisible, taking up space!” Laura was practically hysterical as she gathered pieces of her broken dishes, “That’s why she’s acting out, can’t you see? She’s recreating the crime scene that got her so much attention and you’re all falling for it!”

  The woman was crying, mascara smearing around her eyes as her angry glare was once more directed to you, and you found yourself shrinking and hurt at the accusations, “You need serious help. You’re crazy and a danger to us all!”

  “I think you might be mistaking me for your psyche.” You mumbled before turning your attention to your father with pleading eyes, “Daddy, there was a home invasion! I tried to call the police, but as soon as I heard him, I ran up to hide in my room.”

  “She needs help, institutional treatment.” Laura hissed into your father’s ear as as though she was the devil on his shoulder.

  “Daddy…”

  “Mom, sissy’s not a nut, we can’t send her to the looney bin!” 

  You wanted to scream. All this talk about you being insane, and there was a literal walking corpse upstairs who could disprove that. You just weren’t willing to sacrifice Eddie for yourself. 

  “Dad, I’m not crazy. Okay? Last night was just a mirror, and tonight someone broke in. There’s a huge difference between the two, I’m not crazy.” You tried to reason, desperate to not get shipped off to some mental ward. 

  Your dad appeared sympathetic, “No one is calling you crazy, sweetheart.”

  ”I did.” Laura guffawed at your father siding with you.

  “She did, I heard her.” Chrissy confirmed, frowning at her mother.

  “No, Chris. Your mother’s just upset, she’d never say something like that and mean it.” You watched with disgust as he pulled Laura into his arms. It was more than you could stomach so you stormed out of the dining room, making a retreat for your room.

  You were on your own. Your father had just proved that. Laura could say anything to you, treat you like crap, starve you and he wouldn’t ever step in, just continue being his wishy washy self. If it had been him and not your mother that night, you wouldn’t be suffering like this. 

  You’d have a loving parent. 

  You quietly shut your bedroom door once you made it in, leaning your forehead against it as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Emotions were something you tried to embrace, but crying because of your family felt…wrong. Like something you shouldn’t have to do. 

  Wiping your face, you realized more tears would be coming. Tonight was meant for crying. So, you slipped into bed, tears leaking steadily down your temples to seep into your hair and pillows. You were so hurt and you wanted to sob, but you were conscious of the dead guy in your closet. What if he heard you?

  With a stuttering breath, you peered over at the closet to see the doors barely open and Eddie peaking out at you.

  You rolled onto your side, back facing him to hide your tear stained face and weakness as you thought about how loud you and Laura had been downstairs. He’d probably heard what she said about you.

  It was one thing to be treated the way you were, it felt extra pathetic to have someone bear witness to it. 

  The closet doors closed quietly behind you and just as you did every night, you squeezed your eyes shut, willing sleep to come so you could be done with the day and move onto the next, just solemnly trying to make it through life. 

  Maybe you and Eddie had more in common than you originally thought. Maybe you were a zombie, too.

  When your alarm blared from your nightstand, rousing you from sleep—the only peace you ever seemed to get—you stumbled out of bed almost blindly, eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion as you yanked your closet doors open.

  A garment was immediately thrown over your head, covering your face and you remembered your current house guest.

  With a sigh, you yanked the clothing off your head, balled it up and threw it back at Eddie, “Dude, I have to get dressed. I have class today.”

  Eddie grumbled, un-balling the little black dress and holding it up for you. It was the dress Chrissy had bought on sale and then given to you when she came to the conclusion that black washed her out and she looked much better in pastels.

  “I’m not wearing that, not so much my style.” You tried to push past Eddie, but he remained planted where he stood, grunting as he held the dress out to you once more.

  “Do I look like Madonna to you?” You asked, pushing the dress back towards him. Eddie groaned and threw the dress at your face again, closing the closet doors while you yanked it off your head, again.

  “We’re gonna have to have a conversation about your communication skills later.” You called through the door and fiddled with the dress, “Can I get a sweater or something to go along with this?”

  The closet doors were quickly opened and a new article of clothing was flung over your head before they closed. You’d just pulled the sweater off of your head when the doors opened once more and a hat was tossed at you.

  “Dang—anything else?”

  “Uuunggh.” Eddie moaned through the door, and you tried to pull at them but he must have been holding them shut from the otherside. 

  Resigned to your fate, you swapped out your pajamas for the outfit Eddie had apparently selected for you. He would navigate to the black clothing. You were unsure of it until you saw yourself in the mirror. Normally, your clothes weren't all that revealing. Form fitting—maybe, but never as attention drawing as this. You just figured you weren’t the type that could pull it off.

  You were wrong. 

  The dress hugged your figure in the most complimentary way. It was short, stopped mid-thigh, but it didn’t look awkward or make you feel like your vagina would be on display if you bent over, thanks to the lace of the bottom hem flaring out.

  For once, the girl in the mirror looked stunning. And when you did your makeup, taking your time to smoke a dark blue shadow out along your lash line and eyelids, she looked drop dead gorgeous. 

  You’d walked onto Campus with your head high, body rocking and a new found confidence that hadn’t quite made it’s way to the surface before. The heads turning in your direction were new and you found you kind of liked it, their gazes weren’t uninterested, scowls or looks of annoyance. They were appreciative, even from the straight girls!

  “Okay, am I seeing things or does your sister look drop dead gorgeous?” Tina asked, as Chrissy and her friends stood admiring you from the bench they were occupying.

  “You’ve got perfect 20/20 vision. She’d be unstoppable if she kept the confidence. Could probably even win pageants. Do you think she’d join cheer?”

  Eddie fiddled with one of your shoes, tugging on a shoestring in boredom. He was sat on the floor of your closet, light from your bedroom windows creeping in through the cracks of the doors. 

  You’d lectured him before you left for class, told him he had to stay put. Laura wouldn’t be leaving for her nurses’ conference until the afternoon, so she’d be lingering in the house and she’d have a cow if she stumbled upon him.

  So you’d pointed and lectured until he was creaking and groaning his compliance. 

  He’d stayed in the closet while you got dressed and, after you’d made sure Chrissy had already left, watched you do your makeup in the mirror while you chatted about the classes you had to take for the day.

  Eddie had listened, to the best of his ability with one ear, and stared at your reflection as the heavy sense of longing settled on his chest, crushing the heart that no longer beat but desperately wished to. For you.

  Death was not like he’d ever expected. No heaven, no hell. He was just…dead. Maybe it’d been the way he died. Perhaps, the suddenness of it, his lack of peace in life while living, or the fact that he was murdered, was the reason he saw neither heaven nor hell. He’d just been in a dark place. Literally, no source of light, no out of body experience, just darkness. For a while, it was tolerable, he’d heard Wayne’s voice comforting him. Telling him how much he loved him, how much he missed him. Then, nothing.

  Nothing for so long. Quiet. Silence, not at all a peaceful kind. He no longer existed in life and yet the silence was still somehow smothering. 

  Until one day, he wasn’t alone anymore. 

  You found him. 

  Talked to him all the time, laid with him, kept him company and said such wonderful things. Eddie had no idea how much he’d appreciate hearing about current news events as a dead guy.

  And while you kept him from feeling lonely, there was always a sadness to your presence. Broke his heart when you told him out of place you felt because he just wanted to claw his way out of his grave and tell you that no, you weren’t odd, you weren’t weird, you weren’t out of place. You were unique. You were the type of person he would have admired if he had been alive, different but not desperate to fit in. Just longed to be accepted.

  He understood the sentiment all too well. 

  Eddie understood you. And you had no idea who he was, had voiced as much to him, couldn’t come up with his identity because some fuckers had defaced his tombstone—of course they would—and yet, you knew exactly who Eddie was. Knew him to his very core.

  When you visited him, Eddie felt warm. He had no idea he could even feel things, other than the constant loneliness that had plagued him after Wayne’s presence disappeared, and before you.

  With you, it felt like you were right there with him, beside him. A warmth, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for some much needed comforting. How ironic that he finally found someone who could finally see him, and he couldn’t do anything about it because he was dead. 

  And when you had come to Eddie that fateful night, the sadness he always noticed about you was heavier. A new despair attached, one that had him desperate to get to you, comfort you as you’d done for him.

  I wish I was with you.

  You’d said it. Had said what Eddie had wanted to hear you say for so long, even before he was dead. Before he knew you. It had always been you he was waiting for. He was beginning to understand the universe was bigger than anything he could have imagined (and yeah, maybe universal studios was the first thing that came to mind when he was alive), was positive the heartache he went through was necessary if it led him to you. Eddie could have done without the murder—there was no undoing that. Except, there kind of was. And it happened with a strike of lightning.

  Unlike the many times he wanted to before, he’d actually been able to open his eyes, break out of his coffin and dig his way out of his own grave. 

  Eddie had had a major breakdown, freaking out at just about everything regarding returning from the dead after he’d broken through that final layer of thick terrain, minutely softened by some light rain from the storm. He had first tried to go home, only to find himself face to face with an unfamiliar mobile home set up on Wayne’s lot. A peek into the window revealed a couple. 

  No sign of his uncle.

  It filled him with a sense of panic and he’d needed something—someone to stabilize him, keep him grounded. 

  Eddie was sure he was tied to you. Not only because of the unique bond you shared, he also felt a pull to you. Just some intense instinct. 

  He knew where to go after.

  Your welcome hadn’t exactly been as warm as the grave hangouts—he didn’t blame you, his vocal chords were useless to him for the time being, meaning he couldn’t explain himself as you shrieked and flung dishes at him (and he was impressed) and fled from him. He could make sounds, so Eddie suspected he had the ability to talk, just lacked the healthy cords due to years of non-use to them, what with him being dead and all. 

  Eddie’s case was definitely not helped when he’d broken your fall—he was freaking the fuck out about you dangling from the roof like that—and you’d pressed on him stomache when you landed on him. 

  He hadn’t meant to…y’know…spit all that up on you, it just happened and he immediately wanted to die right after, just roll right back into his grave, he was so fucking embarrassed.

  Projectile vomited on the girl you’re tryna romance, Munson. Nice.

  Then, you hadn’t been attacking him, tugging him along to your room instead where you immediately told him you were just using dark humor to cope and didn’t actually want to be with him.

  Probably something you should have clarified for him before he returned from the dead to be with you, but whatever. He wasn’t mad about it. Just a little bit heartbroken. Definitely didn’t stink up your closet with a little cry sesh while you were at college. Totally didn’t smell like Cherry Bubbles (how is that a scent?) from the bathroom spray he’d had to limp out to grab in an effort to hide the scent of his rotting body tears.

  Now, he was just confused. Had no idea what the hell to do. Thinking on it, it had obviously been stupid as fuck to think you’d want him when he was literally a dead body. Couldn’t exactly stroll down the street, holding his one hand without garnering a few odd looks and arrests. 

  So, what could he do now? Sit in the closet and think about everything. Try to remember everything about his last moments alive—and when it had him wheezing in the closet, cowering in the dark, he’d switched to thinking about his uncle. Concerned. Wondering what had happened to him. When that subject, too, began to promise a panic attack—he switched to thinking about you, and oh how he ached in a different way. You were right there, in reach for him and yet the two of you couldn’t be. 

  The most frustrating part is how good the two of you could be for each other, and Eddie literally couldn’t talk you into giving it a chance, couldn’t even flirt with you. 

  He had some mad rizz when given the opportunity, a body that wasn’t stiff as hell and a fucking voice. Eddie knew he’d be able to get you all shy and cute, similar to how you were when you talked about what you thought he was like back at the cemetery. 

  FUCK. What the hell? Life wasn’t fair to him, death wasn’t fair to him, now life as some zombie wasn’t gonna be fair to him?

  What kind of fucked up existance was this?!

  All because of some stupid fucking lightning that—

  Lightning. Eddie perked up, theories racing through him. If it had brought him back from the dead, maybe it could do more. Before he could think on it further, he heard your door open and froze. 

  It was too soon for you to be home. You said you’d be back in the afternoon, after Laura had left. 

  Eddie heard a scoff.

  “How has it gotten even worse in here?” Laura mumbled to herself. 

  Eddie scowled, as he heard her footsteps enter your room, could hear her padding around. 

  The fuck was she doing in here?

  It was a risk, Eddie pushed the closet door open, just enough to give him a crack to peep through. 

  Your stepmom was in some sort of jazzercise outfit—ugh, of course she did jazzercise. The blonde woman was currently rummaging through your drawers, looking amongst your belongings. 

  She was invading your privacy.

  If Eddie had blood flowing through his veins, it would have been boiling. 

  He’d heard what she said last night, how she berated you. Accusing you of using your mother’s murder to seek attention.

  And the other members of your family weren’t speaking up nearly enough to defend you. He was surprised that Chrissy—small town for Cunningham to be the Chrissy you’d been telling him about—even tried to defend you but she should have been putting her mother in her place. She hadn’t come up to check on you, either. 

  Eddie had a few things he wished he could say to Laura Cunningham, tell her exactly where she could shove her stupid figurines and verbal abuse. 

  If she was searching for something, Laura didn’t find it. She slammed one of your drawers shut, eyed your sketches pinned to your wall with disgust before speed walking out of your room. When she passed the closet, Eddie took notice of the headphones over her ears, could hear whatever she was listening to, Walkman probably set to the loudest volume.

  Eddie’s mouth chipped up into a smirk that kind of hurt his face. He opened the closet door fully, stumbling out to poked his head out of your bedroom doorway just in time to see your stepmom disappear down the stairs.

  Eddie followed, steps loud and uneven. Laura didn’t notice his presence, too engrossed in whatever she was listening to and occupied with her own ego. Looked to be cleaning up the place before her little trip. 

  Laura disappeared into the kitchen, well out of view of the living room so Eddie stumbled in, eyeing the pristine setting. The place looked impeccable, spotless, antiques everywhere that Eddie just knew the old bat was dying to have people ask about so she could name drop and be as haughty as possible.

  Eddie could wreck all of this in no time, and he would if he didn’t know she’d immediately blame you for it. He still felt guilty you’d been chewed out for the mess he made. 

  Bitch.

  Eddie heard her returning, so he hid behind the wall, waiting a few moments before he peered around it and across the foyer, into the dinning room where she was seated after having fixed herself something. Laura still had the headphones on, so Eddie took that as the all clear to continue exploring.

  He spotted a family portrait hung over the fireplace, a seemingly picture perfect family was displayed. A man he assumed to be your father loomed over Laura and Chrissy, one hand on each of their shoulders. Eddie barely glanced at them before you pulled all of his attention. You were stunning, light catching the highlights of your face, lips parted just enough to encourage a pout. Your hair was wild in comparison to the other women in the portrait—Eddie loved it. You looked like you belonged on an album cover for some rock band, even with the sorrow swirling around in your eyes. Your unwavering melancholic stare pinned Eddie, and he could feel himself getting protective over you again. You must have been miserable that day. 

  See, if he had been around, he could have easily cheered you up. Snuck over on the day in question. Laura would have hated his fucking guts—Eddie wouldn’t have minded being the boyfriend your stepmom didn’t approve of.  Horsing around behind the little photo shoot set up to get you smiling, get those pretty eyes of yours twinkling before whisking you the hell out of there once they got the money shot.

  He rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself as he turned away from the past that never was. Couldn’t have (he’d already been dead), should have (but couldn’t) and would have. In a heartbeat.

  His posture worsened under the weight of his own despair, sulking with it until he spotted an acoustic guitar, tucked in the corner and resting on a stand.

  “Mm?” Eddie tilted his head in curiosity before making his way over. It was difficult to do, but he managed to settle the neck of it in the crook of the arm lacking a hand, and strummed with his stiff fingers, pleased to find that it was already tuned. 

  He plucked a couple more chords, stopping once to adjust a peg. Then the doorbell rang and Eddie’s eyes widened. He fumbled to place the guitar back on its stand and plaster himself against the wall as Laura got up to answer it, having apparently been able to hear it ring but not his guitar playing.

  “Yes?” Laura asked as she opened the door, impatience soaking through her tone.

  “Carpet cleaning.” A man’s voice stated, sounding bored beyond measure. 

  “Carpet Cleaning? My carpet is so clean you can lick the fibers.” God, was your stepmom ever not insufferable? The carpet cleaner salesman seemed to be thinking the same thing and Eddie figured he had to be annoyed with his work day already to say what he did next.

  “I doubt the one downstairs is.” The salesman snorted and Eddie would have snickered if he could as he heard Laura let out an affronted and embarrassed gasp. 

  “EXCUSE ME?!” 

  The guy must have turned tail because Laura was stepping out after him, yelling as she closed the front door behind her. 

  Eddie eyed the bowl she’d been eating from, curiosity getting the better of him as he stumbled over to inspect it. Spaghetti.

  He shouldn’t….But what was the point of being a dead corpse if he couldn’t use dead guy powers for good?

  It only took a little effort, Eddie successfully gagged and heaved until a warm that had been lurking in his stomach came out, dropping out of his mouth to wiggle around in Laura’s lunch. Eddie watched as it disappeared between the noodles and sauce, satisfaction filling him.

  Served the hag right.

  With justice served, Eddie made his way back upstairs to your room. He’d just made it to your doorway when he heard Laura return. He waited a few more moments for her to sit down, settle herself, twirl some spaghetti around her fork and put it in her mouth.

  Eddie was beginning to think the worm had made its way to the very bottom of the bowl when Laura let out a high pitched scream. 

  That one was for you.

  Eddie smirked and walked back into your room, quietly closing the door behind him.

  You had two classes for the day, back to back so as to not have to stay on campus longer than necessary, and both classes were pleasant. There hadn’t been any change in the materials covered or anything, eyes just kept attempting to discreetly take you in, which you caught from your peripheral vision. 

  While you enjoyed the new attention your attire and the way you carried yourself brought you, you quickly realized it wasn’t something you needed. What you needed was to feel good about yourself and for once in your life, you did. 

  You were absolutely giddy, and you felt so badass somehow, was this what Chrissy and her friends felt like all the time? Maybe putting effort into your appearance wasn’t just a load of crap dispelled onto ugly people by the conventionally attractive. 

  Regardless, you were strutting your way to the library, eager to turn in some books, make Steve Harrington’s jaw drop, then run back home to Eddie so you could thank him profusely for not having fugly taste.

  Once you made it to the library, you noticed no one was at the front desk. Steve must have been putting some books back on their shelves.

  No problem, more time to prepare yourself, maybe run through some possible conversations so you wouldn’t go stupid at the sight of his gorgeous face.

  Your bag hit the ground with a thud, thanks to the weight of the hardcovers within it and you bent down at the waist to rummage through it, placing one heavy hardcover book, two heavy hardcover books, three heavy hardco—

  “You got the rest of the library in there, Mary Poppins?”

  You snapped back up, whipping around just in time to see Steve’s gaze rise from where your ass had been unknowingly on display, to meet your eyes, his honey brown ones swirling with warmth.

  Oh, god. Just play it cool.

  “Just some tampons and some chips.” 

  Leave. Walk out. Save face.

  “No chocolate for that time of the month?” He asked, leaning up against the desk, rather than going around it to handle your returns. Steve wanted to talk to you. He’d been eyeing your ass and now he was making small talk. 

  You were going for it. 

  “Craving a different kind of sweet thing right now.” You leaned in, just as he had at the tailor’s yesterday. You were laying it on thick, sure. It worked though. Steve leaned in, too, and you clocked the tick of his eyebrow. Interest. Holy shit—things were finally looking up for you.

  “I’ve got some starbursts in my car,” Chrissy chirped, materializing out of thin air to stand in front of you and Steve. 

  You almost knocked down the books you’d stacked on the desk, cursing under your breath. “Geez, Chrissy.”

  “Hi.” She grinned at you, her darling crooked teeth gleaming before she was fixing Steve with a stern look, “Sorry, I need to talk to my sister. Preferably, alone.”

  “I’m not exactly gonna run to the gossip columns about anything.” He mused, exchanging an amused look with you but you couldn’t really hear anything going on around you because Steve Harrington was flashing you smiles around Chrissy, your pretty and practically perfect step-sister, and not her. You’d entered another dimension and you did not want to leave. All you could do was smile back at him, like some infatuated idiot while your fingers reached up to pick at your lower lip.

  “That may be so, but I think it’s best if she hangs around a good crowd.” Somehow, Chrissy had wedged herself between you and Steve, standing protectively in front of you with her arms crossed. She was about as intimidating as a pomeranian. Still, it was endearing to have someone act like they cared about you.

  “And the library is just full of Neanderthals, is that what you’re implying?” Steve leaned both elbows back on the desk, gesturing out to the few students—most meek in appearance—occupying the area.

  “I was thinking more of creepy librarians, high school peakers, and former playboys.” Chrissy shot back and you nudged her, hissing out her name. The protective thing was nice, just not when she was trying to scare away the man you’d be making your boyfriend.

  “Golden coming from you, of all people, your royal highness, the Queen of Hawkins High; former head cheerleader and Miss Hawkins of ‘87, but not ‘88 and I’m pretty sure Heather Holloway won again this year, so looks like we both don’t have a lot going on, do we?” Steve was smug, shooting you a wink that made your heart melt and drip down your sternum.

  Steam was practically blowing out of Chrissy’s ears, “Shoo fly, don’t bother us.” 

  Steve rolled his eyes before they fixed on you, past Chrissy’s head, “I’ll see you later okay? Thanks for bringing your books back on time.”

  You giggled, still staring at him as Chrissy began to tug you away, “Until the next time, I guess?”

  Steve held your stare, smirk softening into a smile, “I’ll be waiting.”

  It was easy for Chrissy to guide you out after that. You were floating. Light as a feather and high on life.

  “You are the only girl I know who can survive a spiked drink and still want to have anything to do with the guy.” Chrissy sighed in exasperation as the two of you loitered by the drinking fountain, “There’s like at least four other guys here who would date you, sissy! Don’t waste your time on that one.”

  Okay. Only four other guys? Ouch. “Steve didn’t spike it. Carol did.”

  “And she’s always following him around like some sad little mutt. Better to just stay away.”

  You scowled, mood souring. One afternoon. You couldn’t have just one afternoon where you felt good about yourself without someone bringing you down. You knew Chrissy meant well, but in that moment, she was pissing you off. 

  She seemed to pick up on the shift of your attitude, changing the subject, “After practice, I’m gonna go out tonight. Some of the girls want to go bowling and then have a little kick back. Cover for me?”

  How very much like Chrissy to insult you in the name of protectiveness, and then ask you for a favor. She still cared more about you than your own flesh and blood, so, “I thought your mom was gonna be away for a few days in Akron.”

  “She is, but daddy’s not. And he’s way too overprotective, I can’t even sneeze without him bursting into my room to ask me what’s wrong. He always wants to know where I’m going, argues with me when I try to go out late—it’s so annoying.”

  All you could think about were the many times you’d said goodbye to him as you left the house at whatever hour you wanted while he mumbled a bye and read whatever magazine he was reading or watched TV. 

  You tried to consider it a good thing that he let you be so independent, yet something in you ached, sure he simply didn't care enough for you. Not like he did Chrissy, and he’d known you longer, all your life. 

  “Oh. Uhm, I think he works late today, anyway. I’ll cover if he asks, but I’m sure you’re good.”

  Chrissy perked up, pulling you into a tight hug, “You are the best! I knew I was gonna love having you as a sister. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  Chrissy didn’t wait for your reply, practically bouncing down the hallway and you sighed. 

  At least you’d have some peace and quiet, maybe you could get Eddie into better shape too, and you’d get to tell him about your day!

  With your classes done, you made your way to the parking lot, where Mystery waited for you. 

  You slid the back door of the Volkswagen open, tossing your bag in before sliding the door shut and climbing into the driver's seat of the bus. Then you started your mantras and manifestations, gripping the key with a sweaty palm before you were sticking it into the ignition and turning it with bated breath.

  She roared to life and you sagged back in your seat, bones like jelly knowing you piece of crap bus was still kicking.

  It was the biggest lemon of a car you’d ever seen, carried around jugs of coolant in the back because it had to be refilled almost every time you started it.

  But it was yours.

  When you pulled up to the house to see Laura’s car was gone, you felt yet another weight lifted off your shoulders. You were completely free to be you. Snatching your bag from the back, you made a run for your house, quickly unlocking the door before stampeding up the stairs. 

  You burst into your bedroom, chest heaving to find it in normal condition and no Eddie around. Frowning, you tossed your bag on the floor, beside your bed, and made your way over to the closet, yanking the doors open.

  Eddie peered up at you from his position on the floor, rocking an old feather boa of yours.

  “Eddie, I told you you were free to roam once Laura left. You don’t have to stay cramped in there all day when no one is around.” You offered him a hand and helped hoist him when you took it, “You wouldn’t believe the day I had—you’ve got stellar taste, by the way.”

  “Uuungh?”

  You reached under your bed, snatching an old Easter basket out that you used to hide your snacks. After you settled on the bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Eddie hobbled his way over, grunting as he settled onto the cushy comforter.

  “I know I was grumpy this morning. I’m sorry, you were right. The dress was a hit!” You exclaimed, ripping a bag of sour gummy worms open. The pink end was clenched between your teeth as you bit it off, bag of sweet and sour treats held out to Eddie as an offering.

  Eddie reached into the bag, attempting to crook his fingers enough to hook one. You watched the leathery skin between his brows pull—if you had blinked, you would have missed it—as he struggled to free his hand from the bag, shaking it a little until you pinched the bottom firmly, allowing him to pull it out.

  “Unngh.” He grunted in thanks. 

  As Eddie moved onto the challenge of getting the gummy worm to his mouth, you went back to telling him about your day, “I mean, god—all I did was put on a little dress and I felt kind of invincible. Not to mention Steve Harrington seemed to like it.”

  Eddie froze, gummy worm hanging out of his mouth, “Mm?”

  “Steve Harrington, did’ ya know him?” You asked, steamrolling right on as if you hadn’t, “Talk about winning the genetic pool—that man is so fine. We talked a little at that party I told you about, and before I did drugs, he was being so nice to me. And I didn’t look as hot as I do now, so I was hoping for a reaction out of him—BOY did I get it.”

  You let out a dreamy sigh, recalling the way Steve had leaned into your straightforward flirting.

  “He’s kind, funny, and sometimes he even has good book recommendations. He’s like the total package and I think he might actually like me.”

  You paused your ranting to look over at Eddie. If you didn’t already know his face was stuck like that, you would have thought he was scowling. 

  “You got a little…” Reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, your thumb lifted the gummy worm hanging out of his mouth the rest of the way up. Eddie’s cracked lips parted, just enough for you to press the rest of it in, then he chewed slowly, face not even twitching to clue you in on his emotions. 

  “There.” Your hand dropped back into your lap as you perked up, “I wanna assume he’s better than the other horndogs who popped woodies just because I wore a dress and flashed some leg.”

  You stuck out your leg to demonstrate, the dress slipping even further up your thigh as you held it out, smooth (mostly, she was a little prickly but no one would notice unless they were stroking it) skin on display under some fishnet stockings.

  Eddie let out a pained sounding groan, which you figured meant he was agreeing with you about the rest of the male population. 

  “Yeah. Well, I think everything’s gonna work out perfectly. Even if Chrissy keeps butting into my love life like some fairy chastity-mother. God—I just, I’ve never been close to actually having something I wanted before, you know?”

  Eddie whined from behind closed lips, holding up the wrist that lacked his hand. 

  “What?” You asked, glancing down at the scarf wrapped around it. Eddie reached up with his fucked up fingers to point at where his ear should have been and it clicked for you, “Eddie, I can’t pull an extra hand and ear outta my ass. I wish I could, but I don’t have spare human parts lying around like pieces of a vacuum.”

  Eddie whined again and this time you could actually see his lips pulling down, frowning.

  “I told you I wish I could, but I can’t! I don't know how to get people parts and I don’t exactly have the black market on speed dial. Besides—you’re fine like this, I mean what are you able to do as walking dead guy anyways?”

  “MUUUUNGGGHHHH!” Eddie groaned, loud and obviously upset as he dramatically flung himself back on the bed hard enough to shake it.

  “Hey!” You snapped, fearful for your bed frame, “Chill out dude—don’t act all coked out!”

  He turned his head, face miserable but before you could continue your scolding, you heard your name called upstairs.

  Laura.

  “SHIT, hide!” Eddie stumbled up and barely even had the chance to turn around before you shoved him into your closet, shutting the doors.

  You’d barely stepped away when Laura burst into your room. She was dressed in her nurse uniform, complete with the stupid hat, yet there was something off with her. Her skin had a grayish tint to it, she looked clammy, eyes and nostrils red with irritation and her mascara was running. Laura Cunningham looked just as terrible on the outside as she was inside.

  And for once, she scared you.

  “Laura! I thought you were headed out of town for your trip.” Laura’s stare was even colder than you’d ever seen it, unnaturally icy blue eyes both vacant and filled with a deranged sort of rage. You expected her pupils to turn into slits any second, it would be the last physical trait she’d need to resemble a demon.

  Stepmother from hell, indeed.

  “Mmm, I’m sure you were looking forward to that,” Her voice was soft, almost gentle and nothing about it was kind. It was as if to coax you forward to her, lull you into a sense of ease before striking. You were reminded of the anglerfish, and the glow of their fin ray. They used it to draw unsuspecting prey towards the light before they were devoured. 

  You took a small step back. She took one forward.

  “I suppose I’ll just have to attend next year, I’ll be skipping the conference this year. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to do much learning or networking with my head plastered in a toilet bowl. I seem to have come down with something. Do you know what my symptoms are?” She asked, voice so sugary sweet and thick. 

  “Uhm. I-I’ve been on my period. Maybe we synced?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

  Laura’s lips pressed into a thin, cruel smile, “No. I haven’t been throwing up with a cramping stomach because of my period. I’ve been vomiting non-stop because a little slut under my roof is trying to kill me. And do you know who that psychotic little tramp is?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, mouth parting in shock. Did your stepmother just call you a slut?

  “ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!” She bellowed, making you jump and gasp. You’d never heard Laura raise her voice like that, it dropped several octaves and she was staring at you with nothing but pure hatred burning in her eyes.

  All you could do was shake your head. You were terrified, but you weren’t about to play her game. You were neither a slut nor a tramp and it was clear, regardless of what you’d say or do, she’d be unleashing her wrath upon you.

  Laura chuckled without humor, “You really are just a stupid, insignificant bitch, aren’t you? I open up my home to you and you do nothing but cause trouble every time I so much as turn my head. I have been nothing but kind to you, even after you wrecked my home. I’ve been an angel. But putting worms in my food?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t touch your food, I just got home from classes. An—And I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask to move here.” You could see tears beginning to blur your vision, welling up and threatening to cascade over your lower lashes. They didn’t. You refused to cry in front of her. Refused to give her that satisfaction. 

  “Oh, please.” Laura scoffed, looking at you in bewilderment, “Did you want to stay in the house where your mother was sliced and diced? Was that a comfort for you?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant, I didn't want to start my life over in some town full of ignorant people.” You gritted out, hand clenching the bag of gummy worms.

  “Ignorant people, and yet—you still don��t fit it in. Telling isn’t it?”

  Despite your fear, you felt your own rage starting to build within you and before you could stop yourself, you spat out “What do you care? You never wanted me here. You just wanted my dad here in your clutches and you knew that wouldn’t happen if we hadn’t moved. He would have never chosen you over my mom.”

  Laura sneered, “It’s not much of a choice when she’s rotting in some coffin, six feet under, is it? I’m sure she’s relieved to be done with you and all the disgusting things you do for attention.”

  “Shut up!” You demanded, seething now as the devil incarnate dared to speak about your mother in such a disrespectful manner. Laura was only able to sleep in a bed alongside your father—wear that tacky ring on her finger because your mother had tragically lost her life. 

  Laura wouldn’t be but a mosquito in the room if your mother were alive.

  You hadn’t been expecting the strike that came next, hadn’t been prepared for Laura to pull her arm back and swing it forward, cracking your cheek so hard you almost spun. You yelped, hand reaching up to press against the skin of your cheek, feeling it throb and sting under your touch.

  She fucking hit you. You gaped at her in disbelief and Laura didn’t look remotely apologetic.

  “I am beyond tired of you and I am not going to wait until some maniac guts me to be rid of you. Especially when you’re already a threat to my life. No. I won’t stand for it, so I took it upon myself to begin your admittance to Hawkins National Psychiatric Center.

  Your blood ran cold as images of the unsettling ‘center’ flooded your mind. You’d heard of it before, horror stories told amongst your peers. A psych ward. And Laura Cunningham was going to have you committed. 

  “No, please. No.” You whispered, voice laced with fear.

  “It’s for the good of everyone,” Laura began, leering over you. “You don’t belong here. Your place is locked up, solitary confinement where no one will have to see you ever aga—

  THUNK.

  Laura let out the smallest of gasps.

  You watched the unsettling blue of her eyes give away to whites and red veins as they rolled to the back of her head, her body going limp as she tipped forward and fell face first to the ground. Your mouth dropped open as you watched her collapse, gurgling and twitching on the ground for just a few seconds before she went still. Then your gaze flitted to Eddie, who stood tall with your old sewing machine clutched in his hand, a corner stained red. 

  Your eyes flashed back down to Laura, and they widened in size when the pink of your carpet began to turn a bright red, blood seeping out of her skull to pool around her head and soak into the floor.

  Eddie made a grunt that sounded more so like a noise of satisfaction and tossed the sewing machine back into the closet. 

  You heard them before you saw them. Eddie had found the small pair of scissors included with your sewing machine and clipped them in the air before he bent down. You could only watch, stunned silent and with morbid curiosity as Eddie snipped your stepmother’s ear off.

  “Oh, god…” You finally found your voice, eyes darting anywhere else to avoid seeing the skin severed. You breathing became labored, chest rising and falling rapidly as you staved off a panic attack while your undead friend cut the ear from Laura’s dead body.

  Eddie held it up in triumph, like it was some sort of medal rather than a human ear.

  “Wha─? Why─?” You couldn’t even finish a sentence and Eddie must have noticed how distraught you were. He rose from the floor, stepping over Laura’s body to pull you into his arms and despite what had just occurred, you returned the embrace; arm slipping under his to clutch at the back of his shoulder, desperate for the comfort he was offering. His hand rubbed circles over your back and you leaned your cheek against Eddie’s shoulder, stare never once leaving Laura’s body as you whimpered.

  When he pulled back—just enough to be able to look at your face—he held the ear up, towards you.

  You knew exactly what he was asking you to do.

  ”Eddie…I—I can’t. I can’t do that…We have to bury the body first.” You placed a hand on his chest, leaning into him again as you both turned your heads to stare at someone who was no longer a problem for you. For the first time, in a very long time, you felt safe.

  Eddie had rescued you.

Moving the body was surprisingly easy. You’d expected Eddie’s limbs to be fragile for some reason, a foolish thought considering he’d so easily crashed through your window that first night. Eddie actually possessed a great deal of strength, easily lifting Laura’s body—wrapped in sheets—and carrying her downstairs. 

  Movement seemed to be getting easier for him, limbs that had been out of use for years returning to life and unstiffening just as he had. If his arms could support Laura’s body with no problem, you wondered what had happened to his missing hand in the first place.

  You made sure the coast was clear before you pulled your bus up the driveway and Eddie placed the body in the back. It obviously hadn’t been strapped down, so while you drove to the cemetery, Laura’s body was rolling around, banging against the sides of the Volkswagen. Eddie just turned up the music you’d been playing.

  The cemetery was vacant, thanks to the relatively early time of the day. Most people still hadn’t gotten off of work yet, which made this easy for you and Eddie. It wasn’t the most respectful thing to do—you were just out of options. A grave had already been dug out, for some poor recently deceased soul (not Laura, she could go to hell), so, the two of you had quite literally dumped Laura’s body into the empty hole and covered her with a layer of dirt so she’d go unnoticed when they’d lower the coffin, of whoever’s grave this was, into it. 

  After the deed was done, the two of you stood side-by-side, staring into it. 

  “Is death comforting?” You asked, breaking the silence. Eddie didn’t answer, didn’t even grunt, so you turned your head to the side to find him already staring at you. 

  He shook his head. 

  “Good. C’mon.” You gave the burial plot, now and forever housing Laura, an extremely and aggressively disrespectful finger, and tugged Eddie back to the bus. He went willingly after kicking some more dirt into it.

  When the two of you returned home—after you briefly stopped for ice cream while Eddie waited in the bus—you’d gotten straight to work; Eddie’s head in your lap as you sewed the ear into place.

  While you threaded the needle through the skin, Eddie waited patiently, thumb playing with your fishnets. Once you knotted the string and used your teeth to nip off the excess, you admired your work. 

  Good stitching, secure and it wouldn’t fall off. The coloring was a bit odd, skin appearing obviously more lively than Eddie’s dull gray-green tint. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  “Done.” You announced, hands resting on the mattress at your sides. Slowly, Eddie rose to a sitting position, head shifting around to face you, “What’s the survey say? Ear any good? Hear anything?”

  Those big, deep brown, baby cow eyes of his looked despondent as he shook his head. 

  “Mm-mm.”

  You sighed, feeling a bit despondent yourself. He’d saved you from a life of medicated compliance and padded walls, and you couldn’t even get the human ear you’d stitched to the side of his head to work. You felt guilty knowing you couldn’t make him whole again, as he so desperately wanted to be. Couldn’t be his blue fairy.

  You reached your fingers up, tips brushing alongside the soft outer edge of his ear. How funny that an appendage that had once belonged to the nastiest person you’d ever encountered, a woman who hated your very existence, was now endearing because it was a part of the guy before you. Your friend. Your protector. What had taken place that afternoon would no doubt lead to trouble, but you knew Eddie hadn’t acted out of malice. 

  He’d simply wanted to help you. And—okay, yes, he got an ear out of it, but it didn’t work. What mattered is that you weren’t alone anymore. You had someone that actually cared about you. Enough to kill for you, even. 

  It felt…like you mattered to someone.

  “I’m sorry.” You mumbled in disappointment, “I really did think it was gonna work, too. Guess Laura’s still useless, even when she’s dead.”

  Your hand dropped back into your lap as the two of you simultaneously heaved out sighs. 

  “At least you have something there, you know?” You tried to see the positive side, keep Eddie happy, “Like nipples with boob jobs. The dial doesn’t work but you can still turn the knob.” 

  He made a humming sound, contemplating the analogy, weighing it as his head tilted this way and that way. 

  “Maybe it’ll catch up with you later, like the rest of your body. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you getting better at moving around.” You teased, nudging your shoulder playfully against his.

  Eddie stiffened and you thought you might have offended him, “I mean—I’m not paying super duper close attention or anything, I just like to watch you—It’s not like I see a living dead guy every day.”

  “Unngh.” Eddie seemed to pay no attention to your word vomiting, pointing at a sharpie on your nightstand. 

  “What? This?” You reached over and snagged it, offering it to him. He carefully took it from your hands, his hardened fingers brushing over your soft ones, and awkwardly popped the cap off with his thumb. 

  Your eyebrows shot up as Eddie began doodling on the skin of your hand near your thumb and index finger. 

  “Why did I think you were illiterate?” You mused aloud and Eddie briefly stopped to glare at you and grunted, unamused, “You can’t blame me, you could have picked up a pen and paper this entire time, hell—I have an Etch A Sketch you could have been using instead of making me decipher your ‘uuunnngghhss’.” You did your best impression of his zombie grunting and he put the sharpie between his thighs so he could flick the cap at you. 

  Like an expert dodger, you lifted your hand just in time for it to bounce off your palm as you giggled and he went back to finishing up his little doodle. 

  A lightning bolt. 

  Your lips pulled into a soft smile as you admired it, something warm pooling in your belly. It was cute and there was something very attractive to you about walking around with Eddie’s little sketch on you.

  An Eddie Was Here, if you will.

  And then it hit you. Lightning.

  “OH.”

  Eddie grunted, pleased that you’d picked up on what he was trying to convey.

  “But how are we gonna…” You trailed off, brows furrowing as a montage of the two of you played in your head; sticking a metal rod in the ground with Eddie holding onto it as you waited for some approaching storm to electrocute him. The only problem was the weather forecast for the week predicted nothing but sunshine and clear, starry nights. No electrocution for the week. Unless…. “Oh my god.”

  You turned to Eddie, grinning almost maniacally, “I’m a genius.”

  Forty minutes later, you found yourself staring at your reflection in the vanity mirror Chrissy had set up inside the tan shack. It was softly aglow with pink and warm hued fairy lights, and neon blue coming from the tanning bed. One of her beauty pageant crowns was placed on your head, and you had to admit, it did make you feel pretty. It looked good on you, too. Huh. Maybe you should have done pageants, could have won one, even.

  Sparks flew from the tanning bed, some feet away, with Eddie inside of it. 

  It was the next best thing to actually being struck by lightning. Well, it was either the tanning bed or electrocuting him in the small pool with a plugged in radio, but you didn’t want to get wet.

  You grabbed a little fairy wand, no doubt part of one of Chrissy’s pageant costumes—probably Galinda—and posed with it, pleased with your reflection. Your hair was frizzy and it somehow added to your allure. 

  You could rock with this confidence thing for a while if it made you not hate yourself like usual. 

  The tanning bed’s buzzing whirled down until it was silent, save for a few random sparks, and the bed opened up, top lifting to reveal Eddie laying in a cloud of smoke, wearing those little goggles you’d insisted on to protect those pretty eyes of his.

  You got up to check on him, tapping his chest with the end of the wand, “You baked enough?”

  He groaned as he sat up and dinged his head on the top of the tanning bed and you flinched, dropping the wand.

  “Ooh, yeah, I’ve been there too.”

  Grabbing onto his hand, you helped pull him out of the tanning bed to sit on the edge and sat beside him, pushing the goggles up his large forehead and pinning away his bangs.

  Eddie didn’t say anything, just blinked sluggishly. He was baked alright, that voltage was no joke.

  “Eddie,” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can you hear me in there?”

  No reaction. 

  “EDDIE MUNSON, CAN YOU HEAR ANYTHING I AM SAYING?!”

  To your amazement, Eddie flinched away from your shrieking, and with his face turned to you, you noticed he looked different, skin more…skin like. Not the leather you’d noticed before. He still hadn’t answered you, so you kept going, “IS THAT A YES—YEAH?”

  Eddie groaned out, face affronted as you continued to scream at him and your shrieking turned into screams of excitement. Eddie joined you in yelling (well, he tried, it was very loud groaning) when it dawned on him.

  It worked. Eddie Munsons had two working ears.

  “Oh my god!” You flung yourself at him and immediately jolted away when you got shocked. Eddie reached out for you, resting his hand on your shoulder, “No, it’s okay, that was on me. I got too excited, but oh my god! Eddie! It worked! We got you a working ear!” 

  You were beaming, felt like you’d cracked the secret of life. And it looked like Eddie was trying to smile at you, corners of his lips pulled up just a tad. 

  The two of you looked ridiculous, you with your frizzy hair, crown and fairy wand, and Eddie with his electrocuted hairdo, tanning goggles making his bangs look insane and a slightly discolored (actually, it was looking more like his skin tone now, bizarre) ear, with one earring and one hand.

  You glanced down at your arm; specifically, at Eddie’s arm resting against it. The one that lacked a hand.

  Well, you’d already started. 

  “I think I know someone who can give you a hand.”

[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.” 

[collectivecloseness]

I really wanna write a warm bodies!Eddie Munson au... Would anyone be interested in that?

[bettyfrommars]

Heyy, I have a little optional request for the nightmare factory. Eddie could be located in an abandoned theme park or an abandoned place half submerged in water & loves how much this location freaks you out in the best way…

nightmareGuide!eddie x reader

another installment of The Nightmare Factory

masterlist

This is a collection of blurbs and short fics about Eddie falling for you, but only being able to communicate through your nightmares. 2.3k

This suggestion really inspired me, and I don't think it's exactly what you had in mind, but I will be using more abandoned themes throughout this series. This is a comfort write for me that I post as soon as I'm finished, so I'm sure there are plenty of errors.

18+ONLY, nightmares, terror, abandoned places

------

When you showed up to the theme park, you were the only one there. Strange also because you didn’t remember how you got to that location, and as you looked around you wondered if maybe you were at the wrong place.

Perhaps you were supposed to go to a different fairgrounds or theme park because this one looked like it was abandoned.  It was dark out, and there didn’t seem to be a single star in the sky.  The moon was bright, though, and it loomed comically big, as if it were somehow much closer to earth.  You were standing in the empty parking lot in front of the ticket booth and rolling metal arm entrances, which were all covered in graffiti; the pavement littered in shattered glass from the broken windows.  Ahead you could see the looming rides spread out over the vast park, each of them overgrown with moss and vines, rusted and frozen in time like a place where laughter goes to die.

Questions echoed somewhere in the back of your head as to why you were there, but all the same—your feet kept moving  

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw a black mass with multiple spider legs crawling up the ferris wheel—but when you turned with a gasp, it was gone.

“You lost?” A deep voice called to you from between the fence and the ticket booth. You saw the plume of smoke first, and then someone stepped out.

It was a man, possibly in his twenties, with long, curly dark hair past his shoulders and bangs that covered his eyebrows.  He was wearing dark jeans with holes in the knees, white shoes, and some type of denim vest covered in patches over a leather jacket.  When he took a drag of his smoke, you noticed the chunky silver rings on his fingers.

Eddie wanted to contain his excitement, but it was hard to be normal about this.

He finally found a way for you to see him—-to really see him.  To talk to him.  You could even touch him, if you wanted to.

In dreams, there are people we travel with once in a while that are simply known as Guides.  Sometimes they pass knowledge on, sometimes they are there as a reflection of your needs, and sometimes—they are just there to hang out with you.

Usually, to be a Guide you had to be employed with the Nightmare Factory for a long time; it was the equivalent of slacking off for a few years before retirement.  But, Eddie had wormed his way into the Abandoned Spaces Simulation wing of the factory by flirting ruthlessly with Jean, the older woman who worked the front desk.  

And now, there you were—looking right at him.

“I think I came to the wrong place,” you said.  It never occurred to you to ask him who he was or where he came from—there was an instant familiarity.  You even wondered if he was the reason you came to the amusement park to begin with.

“Come with me,” he inclined his head, extending the crook of his elbow for you to take.  “I have something I want to show you.”

In a blink, you were deep inside the park, surrounded by the long-forgotten rides and a place along the fence where there were once games to win prizes like pop the balloon and bullseye.  A roller coaster loomed menacingly in the distance like a big, green, sleeping monster while a vendor that advertised cotton candy had what looked like mold growing all over bags of the sweet treat and bullet holes through the sign.  

Eddie guided you to the ferris wheel, and for some reason, now it looked brand new—as shiny as the day it was first erected.  

“Take a ride with me?” Eddie asked, enjoying the expression of awe on your face.

A gust of wind blew his hair back and you wrapped your arms around yourself, horrified to realize you were still wearing your pajamas.

“Oh shit,” you whispered, meeting his amused gaze with terror.  “I forgot to change my clothes before I came here.”

“It happens,” he shrugged.  

He took your hand to help you up into the metal bucket, and then he settled in next to you and pulled the safety bar down.  Your hips were touching and he opened his knees a bit wider so that your legs were touching too.  He arched forward to adjust his jacket, and when he sat back, he turned his head to ask if you were comfortable, and you had this overwhelming urge to kiss him.

Eddie felt it too.  He noticed the way your gaze fell to his lips, the way you swallowed hard and then sought his eyes with a childlike curiosity.

“Do I know you?” You asked. “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”

“Not here,” Eddie rocket the squeaky bucket as the ride started at a crawl. “But yeah, we’ve met before.”

Who was operating the machine? How was it suddenly in working condition?  You didn’t even think to wonder. When their seat finally made it to the top, it stopped and swayed there. Eddie lifted his arms up for a mock yawn and a stretch, and then one of his arms came down around your shoulders.

You heard the music first, and then the playful screaming and the buzz of conversation.

“Look down,” Eddie told you.

Below, the park was completely functional again.  There were no more weeds or mold growing on everything, and a sea of people made their way around to the various rides and games, enjoying the festivities.  There were bright carnival lights and people cheering and the smell of buttered popcorn.

Eddie was watching your face; basking in the way your eyes lit up.

“We should get a funnel cake after this,” you told him, forgetting that the place was ever abandoned. “With powdered sugar and strawberries.”  You put your hand on his leg so that you could lean further over to see the rest of the scene.  There were stars in the dark blue sky again, and they twinkled like jewels.

“Hey,” he brought his arm down from around your shoulders and took your hand to interlace his fingers with yours and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.  You were warm and soft and he didn’t want this to end; he could feel desperation tightening in the back of his throat.  “Can I ask you something?”

You met his gaze, searching for your answer.  “Sure?”

He looked down, rubbing his thumb along yours.  “Do you think you could try to…remember me? After you wake up, I mean.”

Your face offered the genuine confusion that you felt.  “Wake up? You mean, this is a dream?” Your attention returned to the swarm of people down below.  “Why does it feel so real?”

“I’m real,” he whispered. 

You turned to face him, to return the affection in his rich, umber eyes, and he squeezed your hand.

“Fuck it,” he breathed, deciding to shoot his shot.  “Listen, this is going to sound crazy, okay? But I work for a place called the Nightmare Factory and I was dispatched to scare you a few months ago, but I just…I don’t know…I really like you.”

As his mouth moved, his face began to distort; his eyes and nose vanished, and then they came back misplaced like a deranged Mr. Potatohead.  You watched it in awe, having trouble registering what he was saying.

“I mean, I’m not sure how this could work,” Eddie continued.  “Because we exist in different realms, but there are dreams that last for days, and I’m going to find one for us, so we can get to know each other better. If you want that?”

You nodded, even though his voice was garbled and there was an eyeball where his mouth should be.  You blinked a few times, and then his face finally went back to normal.

“I’d like to spend a few days with you,” you heard the words come out of your mouth and felt the response come from your heart, even though you didn’t think you had heard a word he’d said.  As you slept there was another very important part of you that stayed awake—and it yearned for this boy you were with.

Eddie coughed out a laugh, relieved, and then tightened his lips around a long exhale.  “Damn, that’s a relief.”

The lights all around the park began to dim, but you didn’t notice or mind, because Eddie brought his hand up to cup your jaw and ran his thumb a few times over your cheek.  The screams you heard coming from down below were different now—more blood curdling—but Eddie was pulling you close to press his forehead against yours.  

“I want to be your favorite nightmare,” he confessed softly.

“Are you supposed to be scary?” You asked, innocently, rubbing the tip of your nose on his. “Because you’re not very good at it.”

The bucket you were in began to swing aggressively as something made the ride jostle.  

“Shit,” Eddie hissed.  “There’s always something. But wait—don’t look!”

Before his words could register, you did, indeed, look down to find that what had once been a sea of regular people, had morphed into a horde of zombies.

Snarling, hungry, ragged zombies with bulging eyes and skin hanging off their bones.  

They were crawling their way up the ferris wheel to get to you.

You screamed and crushed in closer to Eddie. He wrapped his arms around you and put his lips against your ear so you could feel the sensation of his hot breath.  “They won’t hurt you, I promise. You trust me?”

A few of them were half way up, screeching and moaning as others joined the ascent.  You were thinking maybe you should crawl down the other side and run into the woods.  The last thing you wanted was to be mauled to death by the walking dead.

“Do you have a knife, or something we can stab them in the head with?”

Eddie chuckled at your exuberance to kill his co-workers.  “Baby, it’s okay, I promise. They’re just trying to scare you, they won’t hurt you.  Hey—” he took your face in his hands as the metal basket made a cracking sound at the hinges like it was about to break.

“Oh god oh god oh god—”

And then he pressed his lips to yours, softly, but with enough pressure that your eyes fluttered and you forgot to be worried.

The big wheel you were on started to move forward, chugging and jerking along at a labored pace.

Eddie pulled back to see you.  “Remember me? Please? Remember my face.”

All you could do was nod a few times.

The zombies were sliding off and falling to the ground as the contraption rotated on its axis, but the next problem was that you were about to be deposited right into the arms of the waiting horde; jagged teeth snapping at the air, eager to tear you limb from limb.  

“I promise I’ll try,” you told him, bracing yourself as you were lowered into the outstretched hands of your demise.

When the bucket was about to ground level, two of the zombies lunged at you from the side, and just as their fingernails clawed at your clothing and you screamed bloody murder, a wide, black hole with blue edges opened up in the atmosphere and you fell through, screaming.

You fell back to your bed.

Your eyes flew open as you gasped, feeling your arm and neck for bite marks.

“What the hell was that?” You said aloud to the dark room.

It was so vivid, so real.

There was a boy in the dream that you desperately did not want to forget, and a voice inside told you to write down what you remembered of him.  Even as you searched around in the drawer of your nightstand, the details of the boy you kissed were slipping away and turning to mist.  

Writing frantically in the dark, you recalled that he had brown eyes and he said he wanted to be your favorite nightmare.

But what did that even mean?

The abandoned theme park and the zombies—-those details were very clear.  But him…him…HIM.  Why couldn’t you keep him in your mind?

Why couldn’t you keep him?

When the ferris wheel came to a stop, Eddie pushed the metal bar up with a grunt.

“Thanks for nothing, you guys,” he told the group of flesh-eating zombies that were all gathered casually around him, mingling with clueless expressions on their faces.

“Sorry Munson,” Val—the one with a broken neck that made her head sit sideways and a missing eyeball—said with a helpless shrug.  “Kevin said we had to.”

“Fuck Kevin,” Eddie jumped from the platform to the ground, his wallet chain clapping against his thigh. “I suppose he wants to talk to me?”

They all nodded in unison.

“Are you coming to the potlatch this weekend?” Norman—the one with a skeletal face that looked like his skin had been burned off with acid and a bloody hole in his stomach—-asked with his wide, lipless mouth.  

“Maybe,” Eddie answered, shouldering his way through the rest as they mumbled their greetings. “If I have time before band practice.”

Marv, the Zombie with maggots in his rotten cheek, clapped Eddie on the back a few times.  “Kevin is on the warpath today, but don’t let him get you down, kid.  You do good work.”  

Eddie walked a bit and then stopped and turned around when he realized none of them were beside him.  “You guys coming?”

“Nah,” Val said.  “We’ve gotta wait around here for the next one. Our shift isn’t over for another hour.”

[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.