Chapter Text
Eddie Munson officially meets his kid neighbor when she knocks on the trailer door at nine in the evening with a bloody palm.
He’s in the middle of planning for the next campaign at his tiny kitchen table when he heard the banging on the door. He and his Uncle attributed it to a raccoon in the garbage again but then Eddie heard the distinct sound of a person swearing and he figures that sure, a lot of terrible things have happened in Hawkins lately, but he doubts any of them knock.
He’s glad he opens the door because Max Mayfield is a sight for sore eyes.
“Hi,” she whispers a little breathlessly. Her pale face looks paler in the moonlight, her expression pained and queasy. She’s got her bloody hand palm up, her left hand gripping the injured one by the wrist, as if she could cut the blood supply off to stop the bleeding.
“Jesus, kid,” Eddie swears and tries not to look sick as he takes a look at her hand - it’s a clean slice through the middle of her palm. “What happened?”
“I,” she swallows thickly. “I was picking up glass.”
Eddie gently grabs the kid by the elbow closer to the porch light; he sees the glint of green glass in her palm. Classic Heinken bottle. He spares her trailer across the street a short glance - the lights aren’t on - before he tugs her a little more so she’s inside. “I’ve got a first aid kit, kid. C’mon.”
“Thank you, thank you,” she mumbles. Her teeth are chattering, but the night isn’t that chilly. “It doesn’t hurt that much but it won’t stop b-bleeding.”
“We’ll stop it,” he decides. Their kitchen is small, but he makes room on the counter by unplugging the toaster and tossing it on the couch, and shoving the still-drying pots and pans in the bottom cabinets. Eddie slaps the counter with his palm. “Hop up.” She does, cradling her hand to her chest. “I’m gonna go get the stuff, ‘kay? Be right back.”
He passes his Uncle on his way to the bathroom for the first aid kit. He peers over his nephew’s shoulder, brow furrowed. “The neighbor girl? What’s wrong with her?”
“Busted her hand with some glass.” He slips into the bathroom and grabs the little kit in the medicine cabinet. “Gonna see if we can avoid some stitches.”
“Her mom doesn’t have a first aid kit?”
Eddie sniffs and sets the kit in the sink before he pulls an elastic off his wrist and starts to messily pull his hair up and out of his face. “Y’know, judging by the woman’s front porch and the fact that there’s a shiny green gemstone from Heineken lodged in that kid’s palm, I’m assuming that they don’t.”
Uncle Wayne shrugs. “If her mom’s got that much liquor, the kid coulda just poured some on it.” The man pats Eddie on the shoulder. “But alright. Let me know if she needs stitches. I do some good ones.”
“Um, no you don’t.”
“Your shoulder didn’t scar that bad,” he snickers before he slips away into his room.
Eddie hustles back to the kitchen, shaking the kit like a maraca. “Got the goods. How’s Old Faithful?”
Max sniffs and pulls her hand away from where she had it pressed to her shirt to stop the bleeding. “I think it’s stopping.” Another sniff. “Sorry. It freaked me out. I never bled that fast before.”
“Little different from wiping out on that skateboard of yours, I guess,” Eddies says. He taps Max’s thigh with the kit, urging her to scoot over so he can set up the stuff. “I need to pick the glass out of your hand, babe.”
Max pulls a face. “There’s still glass in it?”
“Oh, and she’s a real beauty. Could be set in 14k gold.” He pulls out a pair of tweezers they keep ever since Eddie found it useful to pick gravel out of his knee when he used to dirt bike. “But it doesn’t belong in your hand.”
Max nods, holding her hand out. “Just do it.”
To her credit, she doesn’t make a noise. She bites the ever-loving shit out of her bottom lip, and her feet squirm like a worm left on a sidewalk after a rainy day, but she doesn’t make a noise. He’s quick, fingers nimble from guitar and he holds up the tiniest piece he’s ever beheld up to the light.
“Voila!” The glass is all red like a ruby now, and he tosses it in the trash. Her palm has pretty much stopped bleeding, dried blood covering her palm like frosting. He cleans her up with peroxide and numbing creams and a bandage that seems two feet long wrapped around her palm.
“Thank you,” she says, running her thumb across the thick layers of bandage. When she looks up at him he sees dried blood in the strands of hair framing her face, where she likely grabbed at her head in worry when she’d realized what happened.
Eddie takes a cool cloth and starts wiping at her hairline, trying to ease the scabs of it away. “No worries, Red.” The name slips out. Red hair, red blood. She’s red. “You gonna be okay?”
Her stomach sort of answers for her, letting out a growl that sounds like something straight from one of his band’s songs. “Um, sorry, I’m -”
“-Hungry?” he asks, and Max nods pathetically. “Hey, no worries. I was just about to treat myself to the finest Kraft offers…” He rummages through the cabinet and pulls out a box of macaroni and cheese. “If you think your palette can handle this sort of sophistication, you’re more than welcome to stay.”
Max is a kid, sure, but she looks particularly small sitting on top of his counter, hunched into herself. She’s looking out his window back to her place and Eddie follows her gaze - the lights aren’t on. Eddie gets a sinking feeling the lights haven’t been on for a long time.
“Listen,” He begins with a clearing of his throat. “Why don’t you go sit on Wayne’s favorite recliner while I cook up some grub, hmm?”
She does as she asks, carefully taking her shoes off before she curls up into the chair.
He’s got a little radio on the counter and it turns the knob, letting it crackle to life. He searches for a suitable, friendly-to-the-masses type of tune as he boils water on their two-burner stove top.
Eddie steals glances at her as he pours the noodles in; Max is a blank canvas, her face a fine line and her eyes cast downward as she picks at the dirt underneath her nails. Every few moments she lets out a little sigh, seemingly burrowing further into the recliner, as if hoping the upholstery will swallow her whole.
It reminds him of when he was a kid, hiding under his blankets, reading Lord of the Rings and daydreaming of a better world, of things beyond his comprehension, of heroes and quests, not a beer bottle in sight.
“You like hot sauce? Because I like hot sauce.” He drains the noodles and starts adding the cheese and milk, stirring it absently. “I mean, this stuff is good without it, don’t get me wrong but I really do think everything tastes just a little bit better with -”
He steals one last glance and finds her completely slack, the furrow of her brow gone, her lips parted in sleep.
Suddenly the radio seems too loud, but he doesn’t dare touch it. He doesn’t know her, doesn’t even think he wants to know her, but at this moment he wants to cover her in 10 blankets and make her as much macaroni and cheese as she’ll ever want.
He glances at her trailer - cold, dark, lonely.
It’s no place for a kid.
He doesn’t have 10 blankets, but he does have one - quilted, itchy, something his grandmother made years ago. He wraps it around her shoulders as carefully as he can - she doesn’t stir and it makes something in his chest twist. He remembers being this tired, a life of hiding and living in the inbetweens to escape the agony.
Eddie knows he’s not much. But he can be a good neighbor.
“Sleep tight, Red.”
A lone bowl of macaroni sits on the counter as he slips off into his room and into bed.
He just hopes it isn’t too cold by the time she wakes up.
Eddie, despite himself, worries about Max Mayfield.
He knows all too well when things at home aren’t good and while the Mayfield residence is never erupting with loud screams, the sounds of broken lamps or conversations that should never see the light of day, Eddie worries. The lights are rarely on, the front porch is always dirty, and the clothes stay out on the line for far too long. Sometimes he catches a glimpse of red hair in the wind yanking soaked clothes off the line, a deep frown on her face.
He’s no good at this stuff. He keeps his ears peeled at DnD sessions, hanging on to Dustin’s every word because the kid is always talking, even about things he shouldn’t be. Max’s name comes out of his mouth once or twice in a way that he knows they’re close friends, but even he’s missing puzzle pieces, which frustrates him. Lucas’ frustrations are greater, yet quieter, and Mike seems a little oblivious, his mind states away. All in all, her friends aren’t very helpful to him.
But Eddie isn’t completely useless himself. He pays attention. For example, he knows this: it’s November, it’s cold, and Max’s lights haven’t been on for a week.
He borrows from his guitar to end all guitar funds and goes down to the electric company to pay for the Mayfield family's next bill; it’s pretty simple after he lifts an angry NOTICE: TERMINATION letter from Max’s overflowing mailbox to get the account number.
(The mailbox is filled with other things - overdraft notice, credit card statements, a hospital bill that makes Eddie’s insides churn).
The week finishes out and the lights at Casa De Mayfield flicker on, which eases some of Eddie’s worries. But fixing one thing only leaves room for other problems to come flooding in. He thinks of Max’s ratty coat, the hole in her backpack, and the slow concave of her cheeks as the kid grows wearier and frailer.
There’s no way that fridge has anything other than beer.
“Hey, Red!” He calls one day, feigning engine trouble as he stands lazily, stupidly, in front of the open hood of his van. Truth be told, he knows nothing about cars, nor about being discreet. He’s been standing with a wrench in his front yard for 15 minutes waiting for the kid to skateboard home. “You got a second?”
She nods numbly and slaps her board on the ground, skating just a few feet over until the overgrown grass of his lawn forces her to halt. “Car trouble?”
“Something like that,” he lies. “You mind hopping in the front seat and giving it a start while I fiddle?”
Her eyes are wide as she catches the keys he throws in her hand. Her fingers play absently with the tiny little metal skull keychain that’s attached. “You sure?”
“Are you planning on stealing my van?”
“Not today?”
He winks at her, his smile just a little devilish. “Works for me. Go on.”
There’s a pep in her step as she hauls her ass into his van and starts the car. Of course, since there’s nothing wrong with the car in the first place, it starts as planned. But of course, it only does so with the fanfare of some…concerning sputtering noises. Maybe he should actually fix up the van sometime.
She cranes her head out the open window. “All good?”
Eddie throws her a thumbs up. “All good. You can shut her down.” The van coughs and sputters as the engine shuts off and Eddie’s starting to think he cursed himself. He’ll be jumping this thing in the morning with his luck. But that’s for tomorrow to worry about. The rest of his plan is still in motion. “You hungry?”
Max blinks at him, her head still hanging out the open window. Her posture says deer in headlights but her eyes shine with the hunger of a scavenger. “Um. I guess. Why?”
Eddie shrugs, playing it cool, as he slams his hood shut. He beckons for the keys as she hops out. “I was going to order a pizza. My uncle’s working a night shift, but I can order a large one if you want in?”
“Oh,” she says awkwardly, tossing him the keys. He catches them. She briefly glances back at her house before she makes her decision. “Um. Okay.”
“Any requests? Pepperoni? Olives? Pineapple?”
Max shrugs. “I’m not picky. I’ll eat anything.”
He believes her.
Forty-five minutes later they’re back in the trailer; Max has her previous spot on the counter where he fished the glass out of her hand, her feet kicking idly as she scarfs down a couple of Hawaiian slices.
He decides to get straight to the point. “How’s the hand?” Eddie asks, picking up a fallen pineapple piece off his shirt.
Max isn’t bothered by the question. “Oh, it’s fine.” Her feet continue to kick idly. “Thanks for your help, by the way. And sorry,” she pauses, too much pizza in her mouth to chew, not enough room to talk. “And sorry that I fell asleep on your chair.”
Time to pull out the big guns. “No worries. I know what it’s like when you can’t sleep at home.”
Her chewing slows, and so does the happy feet kicking, but she says nothing.
“I’m not gonna pry,” he says. Which is true. He doesn’t think prying and loud interventions are going to be particularly helpful in this part of his real-life campaign. “But I know what it’s like. Why do you think I live with my uncle?”
Max’s lips purse. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. She looks down at the scraps of her final slice as if it’ll make her sick if she eats one more bite.
Eddie waves her off. “I’m not looking for pity. And I know you aren’t, either. You’ve got a lot going on.” He’s heard the stories. Billy Hargrove was a prick and Eddie’s sure that the apple didn’t fall from the tree. “But you know your limits. So. If you ever need a distraction. I’m here. Hell, you can come to Hellfire. Your friends are there. That Lucas kid? You used to date him, right?” she nods. “I know you guys didn’t have some big ugly fight. He misses you.”
“DnD isn’t really my thing,” she mumbles.
“I know. I’m trying not to take it personally,” he jokes. “But you don’t have to play. You can just sit and listen. It's like listening to the best book of your life. I’m a way better Dungeon Master than Mike.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Lies. You so do, Red.”
Max gives a twinge of a smile, a little crooked and shaky, but doesn’t really stop staring at the paper plate in her lap.
“How about this. Whenever it’s hard to sleep over there, or you need some boxed macaroni and cheese? Just come on over. Wayne’s a grump, but he’s still a gentleman; he’ll give up his recliner for you.”
She doesn’t elaborate, but she doesn’t reject his help. “Okay,” is all she says, and Eddie figures it’s a start.
But then a week later, Max is on his doorstep again, this time a shard of glass stuck in her temple.
“You got that recliner ready?”
“Jesus H. Christ!” he shouts. His voice is almost lost as lightning and thunder crack and rumble above them. He pulls her soaked form into the house as he steps out, eyes squinting in the pouring rain as he looks across the way.
The lights are on. There’s a car he hasn’t seen before in the lawn. He stares for a moment as if waiting for ominous flickerings of the street lights, of the lamp in her house. A sign of a monster from another dimension.
Instead, he sees a man’s shadow pass by her window and he gets angry.
Max is shivering. He has her shrug out of her hoodie as he goes to his room and gets his leather jacket, carefully wrapping it around her shoulders as she stands awkwardly in the kitchen.
Wayne’s in the recliner. He rises slowly, the toothpick in his mouth rolling from side to side. Reminds Eddie of the old Westerns he used to watch with Wayne when he was little - the cowboy on a mission for justice. “C’mon, girl. Take a seat. Let Ed fix ya up. I’ll get you a drink.”
“Whiskey coke,” Max jokes as she settles into the recliner. Eddie spares Wayne a look, a short communication - I’ll handle this Eddie tells him in silence, and his uncle understands.
Eddie crouches in front of her, fiddling with her coat, wrapping it more tightly before he starts pushing damp hair out of her face. “Let’s take a look,” he says softly.
Out of the rain, Eddie can see there is more damage than just the glass in her head. Her cheek is swollen, beginning to yellow and green with an angry bruise. Her hair is caked in dry blood, an angry wound lost in her hairline.
“Kid, maybe we should go to the hospital -”
“No,” she shakes her head. “No, they’ll call my mom and then -”
He knows the rest. Her rising hysterics are proving it. “Okay, okay. No hospital for now. But I can’t guarantee it. Because I gotta pull this sucker out. But it might bleed a lot more than I like. Lots of pressure. Not gonna be fun. Got it?”
“Okay,” she mumbles.
Wayne hands him a clean kitchen cloth. “On three. One -” He tricks her, forgoing two and three, and rips it out, quick to cover the wound with the cloth.
“Ow,” Max whines.
The cloth turns bright red very quickly, his own fingers staining with blood. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“What?” She asks, her panic coming in like a crashing wave. “What’s wrong? Is it bleeding a lot?”
She starts to squirm and he puts a hand on her shoulder to steady her, pressing harder with the cloth. “You’re fine. Hold still, Max. It’ll stop, okay? Just like last time. It stopped.” He’s not outright panicking, but he does a poor job of hiding the shake in his voice.
Luckily for the two of them, Wayne diffuses the panic with a glass of soda and a pack of frozen peas for Max’s cheek. “Lemme see,” he gruffs and pushes Eddie’s hand away. He peels back the cloth and sure enough, the blood is already stopping. “Doesn’t look so bad. I think you dodged my stitches kid. You’ll be just fine.”
Eddie frowns and turns the cloth around, pressing back to Max’s temple. “She’s not fine,” he grumbles. But everyone in the room already knows that, Max included. She’s shaking a little as she grabs the soda and takes a small sip. “Red. Did -” Eddie sighs loudly, frustrated with his inability to be soft and kind and everything some poor kid needs right now. “Who did this?”
Max matches his frustrated sigh. “I don’t even know the dude’s name. My mom, she’s come back plenty of times drunk off her ass from God-knows-where, but she’s never come home with some guy. I mean, she can do what she wants, I get that, but this guy’s just like Neil. They started arguing and he slapped my mom and when I tried to get over to her…”
“He threw a beer bottle at your head?”
Max tossed her arms up in the air, a loss for words. Her face begins to crumple and she shrinks into his jacket, desperately trying to keep a breakdown from happening.
“Hey,” he whispers. He’s not soft, he’s not quiet, but at this moment he’s got to find a way to be that for her. “Hey, listen. You’re safe here, okay? No more picking out shards. I won’t even let you look at a glass bottle.”
She laughs, watery, as she tips the glass of soda at him.
“Okay,” he amends. “Starting now. That’s the last one.” She laughs a little more. He pulls the cloth back, and the bleeding has stopped. The blood caking her scalp is pretty terrible. “Terrible dye job, babe. We’ve got to do something about this hair.”
Max wipes at her eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. “I’ll have to ask Steve.”
Not what he expected her to say. “Harrington?”
The name is something Eddie is very familiar with. The kids in Hellfire talk about Harrington all the time, especially Dustin, much to Eddie’s dismay. And sure, the guy’s got great hair, but Eddie had been hoping that was the only great thing about him. But now even Max Mayfield is putting in a good word about him.
“Damn,” Eddie chuckles. “All you brats know him, huh? How’d you elect him president of the babysitter’s club anyway?”
He hands Max the pack of frozen peas, wrapped in a clean cloth, and guides her to put it right over her bruising cheek. “He elected himself,” Max says and before he can get a snide remark in, she says, “Billy broke a dinner plate over his head.”
Eddie’s brows shoot up.
“He was trying to kick Lucas’ ass. Mine, too.” She shrugs. “Steve didn’t let it happen.”
Eddie thinks back to the times he caught sight of Harrington around town sporting black eyes and stitches.
“He….never lets it happen.”
Ah. The hero worship on Henderson's part starts to make more sense.
It’s not precisely jealousy that stirs inside him. It feels more like failure on his own part for not seeing the situation getting worse as quickly as it has. But maybe that’s not a fair thought. Whatever the feeling is, it gives him an idea. “Okay, Red,” he says softly. “I think there’s one towel left in this house not covered in your blood. Why don’t you go wash up, maybe take a warm shower, and we’ll get some grub going. Sound good?”
Max agrees with him and gets up, all slow movements and wobbly steps. Eddie vaguely wonders if she’s got a concussion as she holes herself up in her bathroom, the shower turning on minutes later.
Wayne’s by the stove, getting the macaroni going. He sees a can of tuna out to go with it as he grabs his keys off the door. “Can you watch her until I get back? Knock on the door in a few if she’s not out and check to make sure she hasn’t dropped dead?”
“Sure,” Wayne agrees. “Where you headed?”
He opens the door and the sound of pouring rain engulfs his senses.
“To rent a movie.”