Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Why, one might ask, was Eddie Munson trudging his way through forests thick and damp, when he could have been warmly tucked in his trailer, pouring over lore and stories and plots yet to be hatched, strumming on his guitar, or basically doing anything else other than walking through nature? Don't ask that question, because he wasn't going to answer it, mostly because he wasn't going to even think about the reason he was out there.

Some thoughts didn't bear thinking and Eddie's had always seemed a little loud for his head. Probably unimportant.

Somewhere, floating in the quarry, was a corpse. The nightmares said so, at least. The waking ones.

Eddie didn't actually have regular dreams. They were nightmares or nothing else, and the worst ones happened while he was awake. His uncle called it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and tried to get him to talk about everything that triggered those moments. The problem was that Eddie couldn't ever remember what triggered those moments. Partly because he didn't want to, partly because he simply couldn't. After the moment was over, it was as if the seconds—sometimes even minutes—leading up to the moment just vanished.

In any case, Eddie was kept up three nights in a row with horrible nightmares of a body in the quarry. It was pale and floated, there were bright lights flashing.

Eddie had no reason to think it was anything other than his mind doing its usual bullshit, but when he heard the whispers that a party was being held by the quarry, his ears had metaphorically perked up. He was not invited to the party, because of course he wasn't, but Eddie was a firm believer in "Ask forgiveness, not permission" and decided he'd pleasantly surprise them by relocating his living body from his trailer to the party at roughly halfway through its duration—that being, at midnight.

Driving was out of the question. His uncle was in that night, dead to the world, so it was easy enough to sneak by him, but Eddie didn't dare try to start up the vehicle. . . .

Right next to the trailer, that was. He walked a few paces down the street and knew there was no way in hell he was walking that distance.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

As it turned out, pushing his uncle's car was easier than anticipated. He pushed it down the driveway, turning the steering wheel so it would slide silently onto the street, taking it a far enough distance that he was certain the engine revving up wouldn't wake Uncle Wayne.

Eddie turned the keys in the ignition, the engine kicking to life. The grin that spread across his face was born from pure thrill—a mix of pride and elation buoyed by the fact he had the audacity to do this. Eddie usually made an attempt to listen to his uncle. Wayne seemed to have good reason to keep Eddie under the wraps, if the way Eddie was bullied so ferociously had anything to say about it. Perhaps Wayne had taken a look at him and immediately realized Eddie was born with a target on his back or something.

In any case, Eddie was out of the trailer, in the car, and down the road. He hadn't technically passed his driving test. Wayne had made him stop the car and swore never to let him drive again, though Eddie knew it was dramatics.

Once he arrived at the quarry, it was clear the party was in full swing. They were set up at the edge, right at the top of the quarry, a long plummet to the water below them. Ice chests of beer lined the quarry edge—"Great place to put those, it's like daring fate to kill you."—while a boombox was playing whatever was popular on the radio.

Eddie's eyes narrowed when he spotted Steve Harrington in the mix. He was loud, chugging down beer after beer, smashing cans on the ground. A girl, hanging on his shoulder for balance, reached around his neck and pulled him into a kiss, after which they both broke into giggles. Other people were dancing, a mess of movements. Eddie's gaze strayed away from the party at one point, to the quarry. The water was dark and still, but reflected the lights from the party.

A shriek pierced the air and Eddie nearly gave himself whiplash seeking out the cause: a girl had tripped, falling into a senior's arms. He let out an exhale, rolling his eyes.

Eddie had left the vehicle down the road, planning on checking up on the party briefly and leaving—well aware the entire thing was already strange to say the least—but he couldn't get the image out of his head. There was a body in that water, somewhere.

He crept to the edge of the quarry. From this point, he could see the party and the water directly below where they were stumbling around and drinking. Nothing floated there.

"This is stupid," he whispered to thin air, knocking his fingertips on his scalp several times, trying to center himself. He paced a few lengths. His beloved—the electric guitar his uncle gifted him—was waiting for him.

Time to leave.

The decision came easily. It was late and if Wayne woke to find him missing, he'd be pissed.

That was before laughter echoed through the quarry again. Steve Harrington was leaning against a friend, hand on his chest, laughing so hard he could barely stand upright. Something about the sight of it prompted Eddie to move forward, peering through the leaves, head slowly cocking to the side as he considered the view. On any other day they were rude and judgemental, but that was an undulated joy on Steve's face that Eddie would not disparage.

He leaned a hand against a tree—and pulled it away abruptly, hissing when he felt sticky sap.

"Oh, bullshit," he muttered, looking for something that wasn't his clothes or covered in even more sap to wipe clean his hands.

Another cry rang out—this time, chorused by many others.

Eddie looked up to see Steve tipping over the edge of the quarry, reaching out for nothing. The surrounding teenagers were all too tipsy and stunned to even think about moving to help him. He fell back with a brief shout that was cut off by shock.

"SHIT!"

Eddie lunged, too, as if he could do anything, as if he could stop it, reaching out with both hands. He wanted nothing more than for Steve fucking Harrington not to be the body in that quarry pool.

At once, everything seemed to freeze. Eddie didn't react to it, arms still outstretched. Steve wasn't moving, hanging suspended a few feet above the water. Nothing about that was believable, but in the moment it made perfect sense to Eddie. As the seconds wore on, it began to make significantly less sense.

Steve flailed his arms around, yelling incoherently in fear—and then dropped the final distance to the water.

Eddie's hands fell to his sides.

He skidded down the quarry, reaching the edge of the beach, watching as Steve painstakingly swam his way to safety. A few cars were almost making it down the quarry, taking the road. Though they moved faster than a human could ever wish, Eddie found it amusing that they arrived after he did—confined to roads, a set path, they could only go so fast as the road would let them. Unless they wanted to crash, of course.

By all accounts, Steve should have died. The drop was too far to expect any human to survive. Yet, despite the odds, Steve was sloshing his way to shore. He was rattled and confused, but already regaining his boyish charm, grinning and firing off some comment that had Tommy H howling and Carol cackling into her palms.

Maybe the wind had given Steve just enough of a buffer that he didn't die on impact.

Eddie was swaying on his feet, thinking it over, and didn't notice when he stepped on a branch. Classic horror novel protagonist mistake, he could have scolded himself had he the time—alas, the teens in the quarry had heard the noise.

He thought, confident, They can't see me here. It's too dark.

That was when Tommy H pulled out a giant-ass spotlight-esque that blasted a shaft of pure light into the forest-line, directly at Eddie. There was no way they could see exactly who he was, but they knew someone was in the forest.

Out of the passenger's side door, Tommy H pulled out a bat.

"Hey there!" he shouted, approaching the forest despite Steve's hissed protests. "Come on out, don't be shy!"

Eddie, obviously, took that as his queue to leave. He wasn't interested in talking to those people.

Naturally, Steve and Tommy took up the chase. Eddie managed to outrun them by sheer luck, though not before he lost one of his handkerchiefs in the wild. He was muttering words of accolate to the handkerchief, which had seen him through many-a bad days at school, as he tore down the road in his uncle's car. As he was driving out of the quarry, Steve broke through the forestline, possibly anticipating that the "perpetrator" would try to drive away in that direction.

Eddie couldn't say whether or not Steve saw his face beyond the front headlights, but he could say for certain that he was in deep shit either way: Uncle Wayne was awake when he returned.

Why did he leave? Eddie couldn't say.

What he could say was that powerful winds were blowing around the quarry at midnight. Also, the dry air had given him a nosebleed and a killer headache.

Chapter Text

After the quarry incident, Eddie kept his outdoors activities to a minimum. Or, he tried to. There was an accident at the factory Wayne worked in, by consequence meaning Uncle Wayne was out of a job for a few days, so he was spending an inordinate amount of time in the trailer. Eddie didn't mind the company, of course, but there came a time when a person might occasionally want a moment of silence. Uncle Wayne, when he wasn't in a terrible mood, was known to bicker about nearly anything.

He took long walks through the forest to get those moments of much-needed silence, winding his fingers around the chains in his jacket sleeves. Never the most surefooted person, Eddie frequently tripped over roots. Luckily, there always happened to be some kind of branch or vine low enough for him to grab when he needed it.

Deep in the woods of Hawkins was the forbidden Hawkins Research Lab: a place Eddie never dared stray too close to, repeatedly warned by Uncle Wayne that it was dangerous. Something something toxic fumes something—but, today, Eddie was bored and looking for a way to fill time when the trailer, weed, and his guitar were not options. The lab was the next best thing.

It was basically a real life adventure, he reckoned to himself, and certainly more entertaining than sitting and studying math or whatever it was he was failing now. There was nothing like the joy of exploring a place he wasn't supposed to be in, and if he was lucky he would get inspiration for a new D&D campaign. He'd been feeling a bit of a dry spell in his story-crafting. Nothing like moldy abandoned buildings to give him some ideas.

With a quick assurance to Uncle Wayne that he was going to the arcade—cross his heart, hope to die—Eddie proceeded in a direction adjacent to the arcade, stopping once at the Starcourt Mall to get an ice cream shake. It cost a dollar fifty for a large cup, so Eddie grudgingly settled for a medium for a dollar fifteen and waited while Steve "The Hair" Harrington prepared the shake.

"Quite the palace you have here," said Eddie, on the fence over whether or not he found the sailor theme of the ice cream shop ridiculous. If it was more pirate-themed, he'd have been on board completely, though Steve Harrington somehow managed to make the outfit look alright.

When Steve handed him the shake, Eddie was still thinking it over, rocking on his heels and occasionally taking a sip of chocolate ice cream.

Steve cleared his throat. "Do you need something, man?"

Eddie replied, "A ship to sail the seven seas and your hardiest crew."

"Oh, yeah I'll just put that on the list," said Steve with a touch of sarcasm.

"So, what's the deal with the outfit?" said Eddie. "Do they require that as the dress code or is that creativity on your part?"

He knew that it was a dress code, but it was amusing to see Steve scramble over himself to make it known, under no uncertain circumstances, that he did not opt to dress as a sailor on purpose. It was all company policy.

"Whatever you say, Harrington," said Eddie, smiling around the straw as he left Steve blinking in confusion over the fact Eddie knew his name, but Steve obviously didn't remember Eddie.

There weren't many people on the road, most at work or church, being an early Sunday, leaving Eddie with nothing but himself and the wind while he drove to the research lab. Upon arrival, Eddie was hit with his first wave of apprehension, a feeling he shook off as his overactive imagination doing its job a little too well.

A gate surrounded Hawkins' Research Facility, mostly intact with the exception of a spot off the road by about a mile. It was flattened to the ground there, the barbed wires torn to shreds in places, as though something had ripped through it—only to ultimately crush it under its weight. Eddie stood with his hands on his hips over the damages on that gate with another feeling of "Well, that's not normal," but he had come too far to turn back without at least looking. He was genuinely curious now.

Eddie delicately stepped across the gate, careful not to scratch himself on the metal, and hopped onto the grass on the other side.

"The forbidden lands," said Eddie to no one, "where only those truly mad dare to tread."

He continued to skirt the gate, keeping to the forest line to stay out of sight on the off chance someone was still in the lab, until he reached a building. There were several buildings scattered around the area, one huge and main facility circled by many smaller ones. Not to say the smaller ones weren't enormous, too—just that the center complex was sprawling.

"Who decides we can't come here anyway?" he muttered, peeking through a dusty window into a parking garage. There was an old, abandoned car in there that instantly grabbed his attention. "Oh, who would be so cruel...?"

He fiddled with the lock for several minutes before trying to kick it. No luck—he wasn't exactly made of muscle. When rattling the lock didn't make it magically open, either, Eddie grabbed a rock and smashed the window. Once he'd cleared the sharper shards of glass, he wriggled through the opening, tumbling to the other side with a grunt. Despite his best efforts to avoid pain, his palms smarted on impact, tiny shards of glass leaving piercing scraps.

The car was an old one, one of those antiques that people cared for meticulously. For it to have been left there to rot was unprecedented.

Eddie ran his hand over the pale blue coat of paint, not his color but nice-looking on the car, his fingers coming away thick with dust. He crawled all over it, determining there was still gas in the engine and that, unless something else was seriously wrong with it, the car should still run just fine.

"Enter the mastermind's palace, steal the weapon . . .?" mumbled Eddie to himself, looking for a key around the car on the off-chance someone left it. When he found nothing, he resigned himself to sitting in the driver's seat. "Impassable obstacles, use your wits . . ."

He knew exactly the way to hotwire a vehicle, a memory burnt in the back of his mind. It was one of those fun things his father liked to teach him. Age had a way of contextualizing memories, knowledge adding shading to flat surfaces that seemed simple and plain as a child. His father was bitter, a failure, and Eddie knew he had taken some vindication in knowing his son would be, if not exactly like him, a similar shape and size.

Eddie wasn't his father. He gripped the steering wheel, turned it this way and that, and left the vehicle.

He slammed the door shut. The echo lasted one thump too long.

That alone wouldn't have been enough to make him think anything was off, but the lights also started to flicker on and off. He gripped the front of his jacket when everything went dark, eyes peeled wide as though that would grant him the ability to see without light, abruptly deciding to leave when the lights came back on.

A fun—and by fun he meant absolutely fucking terrifying—detail was the corner of the door being torn right away, as if something large had barreled right through it. It was big enough that Eddie could roll through it with ease.

Eddie would have left then and there, were it not for the sight of something roughly dog-sized galloping over the hills towards the research lab. A few moments later, a young man in a sailor outfit was racing after it from another facility building, holding what appeared to be a bat studded with nails.

Eddie watched the odd duo peel across the fields, into the main facility. They vanished through the broken glass doors, into shadow.

"Nope," said Eddie, while his foot took a step forward, as though with a mind of its own. "I'm not even curious."

He was—he was super curious. For one, he was ninety-nine percent certain that was Steve fucking Harrington who had run across the lawn. For two, Eddie was getting that creeping feeling along his neck that accompanied those waking nightmares, those premonitions that something horrible was about to happen.

Eddie might have ignored it, but those nightmares had a habit of coming true. That corpse in the quarry pool all those years ago didn't turn out to be Steve—but a child who was mistakenly identified as William Byers. The image of Barbara Walters in water, her skin terribly mottled, as though she was melting? Poor Barbara was found dead, according to authorities, killed by poisonous chemicals leaking from the Hawkins Research Labs. He didn't ignore those premonitions anymore, though he wasn't about to tell anyone about them.

If that was Steve, he was most definitely heading into a dangerous situation. Steve was an asshole, but did he deserve to die?

Eddie dithered on the grass, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. Was Steve even going to die? He was just chasing a dog.

But why?

"None of my business," said Eddie, not moving an inch. "Jesus, fuck, it's not my business."

He started jogging towards the main lab, fisting his hair. "What am I doing—what am I doing—shitshitshit—"

The ground was littered with glass inside the facility. It was dark, making Eddie wish he'd had the foresight to bring a flashlight, especially considering the way the sun was heading behind the trees on the far side of the facility. Visibility was low, courage was low, inclination to leave was high, but Eddie's burning curiosity and lowkey desire to see Steve Harrington chasing down a small animal in that sailor's outfit was even higher.

A few indications of there being a deadly wrongness to this place presented themselves relatively early: dried blood on the floor, on shards glass, splattered across the walls. Droplets of rusted blood even reached the ceiling in places. The second indication was the scraps of debris, such as shredded bits of clothing and pieces of the walls and ceiling collapsed.

Somewhere in the middle of the rubble was a dead body. The body was pierced through the chest, a gaping hole where the heart should have been, splayed out and desperately trying to work out a few last words, before a breath escaped from cold lips and a wail rang through Eddie's ears—but not the lab. None of that took place in reality, but in some dark corner of Eddie's mind that was small the way a ship's rudder was small, hidden beneath the waters and guiding him to a full stop in front of what appeared to be an elevator. That person's hair had been curly, soaked dark with blood and sweat. Eddie couldn't remember the details of the person's face, but he was fairly certain they were masculine. It could have been himself, for all he knew.

Time to leave, right? he thought.

A slam of metal echoed through the facility, followed by a loud curse.

It really wasn't his business. Steve could take care of himself, and the world had seen fit to prove to Eddie before that Steve was a favored child. He'd probably get another miracle gust to blow him to safety or something.

Again, though, Eddie really wanted to know the driving factor that brought Steve here. There were no chicks or beer, Eddie would have heard whispers of a party in Hawkins Lab of all places. That would be a hard one to keep under wraps.

Eddie would have liked to have said that he made up his mind there, but the truth was that the swelling of the conundrum reared its head every so often, as he neared the racket Steve was making—he sounded like he was fighting (and losing) against that small dog.

Eddie followed the source of the noise, now beginning to sound like a malfunctioning washing machine, to an open room. There was a stairwell, at the top of which was the door Eddie peeked out of, giving him a clear view of the room below him. Several tanks lined the place. He couldn't begin to say why the sight of them made his head feel heavy, but he knew with certainty that he didn't want to think about it. At the very bottom was Steve, occasionally driving his nail-bat through the holes in the floor. The nails banged and scraped off the cement, echoing loudly.

Abruptly, Steve halted his attacks on the floor, keeping the bat at the ready. His head was downturned, thoroughly fixated on the floor, never noticing Eddie watching him from above.

The first best time to leave Steve to whatever he was up to had been the moment Eddie looked through the door—the next best time was now, with Steve preoccupied staring into the abyss below his feet.

Eddie never got the chance to consider backing out, a sudden weight crashing into his back and sending him flying forward. He smacked against the ground with a cry of pain, knocking his forehead against the floor. Dazed, he thought he felt several knives digging into his back, threatening to puncture skin. Something hot breathed against his neck. It smelled like rot.

He freaked out, thrashing against whatever held him down.

The weight abruptly left his back. All the lights in the building flickered violently. Eddie lay on his stomach, gasping, hurrying to get his hands under himself and scrambling to his feet—only to lose his balance yet again when the railing that should have been there turned out to have been blown clean away.

"Ohshit—CAREFUL!" yelled Steve, catching sight of him in time to witness him almost fall to his death.

Eddie blinked—as if he'd materialized, Steve was at his side, a mixture of concern and annoyance on his face.

"What are you doing here? The hell?!" He didn't wait for a response. "Come on, come on, get a move on, dude—"

"What was that?" asked Eddie, as he was corralled from the room, back up the hall towards the exit. There were two flights of stairs between them and the outdoors.

"Some kind of opossum," said Steve. "Or something."

Eddie dug his heels in. "There is no way in hell that was an opossum!"

"I don't know, man! Let's just get out of here."

Eddie couldn't fault him for that, at least.

They had almost made it out of the facility, when a shadow darted across the open space of broken glass and dried blood, launching at them with a scream. Eddie screamed in unison, throwing his arms up over his head out of reflex, while Steve swung his bat, missing entirely. The thing had launched itself with too much velocity to have pristine control, sailing to the left of Eddie and skidding into the darkness behind them.

Steve moved Eddie behind him forcibly, eyes fixed in the dark corner, putting himself in front without a second thought. He gave the nail bat a spin around his wrist, and some part in the back of Eddie's mind that wasn't freaking out or confused went, "Okay, that's badass."

The next time the creature jumped at them, Eddie's luck was no different—he could only make out a vaguely greenish body streaking towards them. Steve, however, knocked the thing halfway across the state, the nail bat landing with a solid thwack.

Instead of running away, as he'd been so insistent on doing a moment ago, Steve chased the thing.

"Whoawhoawhoa—where are you going?!" hissed Eddie, reaching out too late to stop Steve. He rushed to catch up, fists in his curls of dark hair. "This is not good, this is not good—"

"Maybe you should go," said Steve. "This will take way too long to explain and I need to kill that thing."

"Kill it? Just like that?" said Eddie, in disbelief over Steve's relative nonchalance. "With a bat?"

"Hey, this thing has some wicked nails in it," said Steve, "and what else do you suggest? They don't exactly have heavy weapons laying around here." He looked like he was going to say something else, then shook his head. "Look, just get out of here. Get to safety."

Now, under normal circumstances, Eddie Munson would not hesitate to leave Steve Harrington to rot in some abandoned research facility. At least, he would have hesitated risking his life to help Steve. It was no great secret that Steve was unkind to students in high school and middle school, despite being popular—or, perhaps, because he was popular.

That was Steve two years ago. Steve now was bleeding from a split lip, waiting for a response, hands gripping the nail bat so hard that his palms were bloody. He swatted a monster out of thin air.

Eddie swooped down and picked up one of the pieces of debris: a solid beam stuck through cement, like a club.

"This'll pack a punch," he said.

"Dude, can you even swing that?" said Steve skeptically.

The heaviest thing Eddie had carried in over a year was his guitar, but through sheer force of will he managed not to make a fool of himself as he swung his makeshift weapon through the air. "I've got it handled, Harrington."

Steve raised his eyebrows, but didn't protest.

They crept into the darkened corner the creature had retreated into, discovering a corner of the wall was shattered. Steve knelt under first, stayed crouched as Eddie shuffled through, Steve's hands dithering in the air for a moment when Eddie almost lost his balance.

Once Eddie got a look at the newly uncovered area, he whistled.

"Damn, Harrington," he said, swatting Steve's arm a few times to get his attention, as if Steve couldn't see in front of him—really, it was just a habit Eddie never broke—and pointed down the long hallway of numbered doors. "What do you think they did here?"

"Honestly, I don't want to know." Steve was leaning subtly away from Eddie. Eddie responded in kind by shuffling a step closer.

"Can that thing open doors?" said Eddie.

"God, I hope not," muttered Steve, starting the walk down the hall.

He stopped to peek in each room. Eddie followed suit, taking note of the evidence of people having lived in them—in small, prison-like cells. The hallway branched off on one side, to a wing that was given the label "B 1 - 20" and led to an open area that seemed suitable for playing. There were toys, such as blocks and drawing utensils, as well as a keyboard set up near the entrance.

While Steve inspected the room, Eddie couldn't help testing the keyboard. It worked, surprisingly, so he tapped out a quick nursery rhyme—this whole place was reminding him eerily of his old daycare.

Steve shot him a look and Eddie pulled his hands away quickly. "Sorry, man. Making noise."

"It's not that—I'm not worried about noise, that monster's probably hiding to lick its wounds," said Steve. "Didn't know you could play, is all."

"Dude, for real? I can play anything I can get my hands on," said Eddie, all but skipping across the room to nudge Steve's shoulder, grinning. "I could show you, anytime."

Steve made a face, but immediately was side-tracked by the keyboard again. "Do kids really like this kind of stuff? I hated doing music lessons as a kid."

Eddie had to bite back a sarcastic response through sheer force of will, some of his grudging admiration of Steve becoming slightly tarnished with the time-old jealousy. He would have killed as a child to have music lessons. Everything he knew was self-taught.

"Yeah, man, I loved this shit as a kid, still love it now," he said.

Steve let out a thoughtful hum, and then was off again.

In the end, the monster found them. They were in a sprawling compartment, metal walkways leading up to computer terminals and such. There was a floor over their head, followed by multiple just like it, rows upon rows of computers.

The monster jumped them from the floor over their head.

They did not have the advantage of high ground, so Eddie and Steve were forced to scramble back a few strides, while Steve swung wildly at the monster.

Eddie could finally see it in all its ugly glory: a face like a venus flytrap, dark seaweed green and sinewy. It smelled of decay and blood.

Without warning, it lunged. Eddie swung with the cement club in his hands, only to miss spectacularly.

Steve yanked him to the side, narrowly saving him from being gored.

"Shit shit shit—"

The creature skidded down the polished floor, then spun around. With a primal scream, it galloped at them again.

A mix of fear and frustration welled in Eddie at that moment—he was possibly going to be gored to death in the stupidest way possible holding the most useless weapon with a person he'd always low-key detested. He swung the cement club down with a yell.

With a tortured shriek of metal, the walkway above their heads came down as well. A support beam impaled the monster directly through the head. Eddie and Steve fell over each other trying to get away, though there was really no need: only part of the upper level collapsed, the destruction stopping almost at their feet.

"Holy shit," said Eddie, swaying on his feet as he observed the wreckage, feeling oddly detached. "That was close."

"Are you . . ." Steve trailed off, looking at his face.

Eddie twitched, looking over his shoulder reflexively. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing, just—you have a nosebleed."

Eddie's hand shot to his nose. "Aw, again? The dry weather's killing me, man."

Steve offered him a tissue, seemingly pulled from nowhere. He hadn't torn his gaze from Eddie's face.

"Does red really look that bad on my face?" said Eddie, wiping his nose with the proffered tissue.

"It's just kind of weird to get nosebleeds out of nowhere," said Steve.

"Better call Chief Hopper, he'll appreciate the tip," said Eddie.

Steve looked like he very much wanted to press the matter, but didn't. That was good, as the line of questioning was drawing a tautness in Eddie's chest that was uncomfortable. They were almost out of the complex, before Eddie's mounting panic had reached a fever pitch, his thoughts spiraling, and he knew—he just knew from experience that he was about to be embarrassing but he also knew there was no stopping the babbling once it began. He clasped his hands behind his neck, subtly trying to expand his chest as a feeling of breathlessness took over.

As though attuned to the things others would rather keep hidden, Steve stepped over some debris, making a bit of a show of approaching Eddie, and lightly swatted his arm.

"You did pretty well with that... cement chunk," he said, motioning to the club still clutched in Eddie's grip. "Club?"

"Yeah, club's about right," said Eddie. "And forget me—have you seen yourself? That was some metal shit you pulled, Harrington."

"Metal...?" echoed Steve, looking a bit lost. It was adorable. Eddie kept that to himself.

"You know, like... Ozzy? Really, uh," Eddie motioned with his hands a lot, as though he could pantomime what metal meant metaphorically. "It was badass."

"Yeah, well, I've been in on this shit for a bit longer than you have, I think," said Steve, before giving him an exaggerated fake suspicious look. "Unless you're hiding something...?"

Eddie broke into a grin, still uneasy but also finding—miraculously—that Steve had a calming mien of a sorts. Maybe it was because he was clearly not new to monsters, but it made the corpse of the creature they'd left behind them less terrifying. Though, admittedly, only slightly.

"Only my musical genius, apparently," he said, leaning in to knock Steve's shoulder. "Can't believe you didn't know that, man. I was only extremely loud about it in middle school."

Steve's smile faltered all of a second. "Did we... know each other?"

"Yeah, Harrington, you've got amnesia. I sold you my Atari and you haven't payed be back yet—"

It was Steve's turn to give him a good-natured shove, rolling his eyes.

Eddie did know Steve from middle school, not that he blamed Steve not remember him. Between the buzzed hair and the dead expression, Eddie was a far cry from the child he'd been in middle school. Fresh out of the debacle involving his father's criminal life of grand theft auto and larceny, as well as a temporary foster home, he'd been wary of everything and everyone when he first came to live with Uncle Wayne.

Time had changed him, for better in some ways, a bit sideways in others, and Eddie wouldn't say he was happy—but, well, he was alive. That was something. It meant a lot more too, knowing there were monsters on the prowl.

Outside, the sun was setting. Steve walked him to the parking lot of the lab. His car was there, still idling.

"You just drove in, huh? No cares. I can respect that," said Eddie.

"I mean... yeah, I drove in. How else do you get here?"

Eddie's mind flashed to the long walk he took around the fence.

"There's always more than one way to tackle a problem," he said, in lieu of admitting he didn't know he could have just driven right up to the front door.

"Oh. Well. Do you need a ride back or something?" asked Steve, everything in his expression screaming that he didn't really want to.

Naturally, Eddie was fine eating up the rich boy's gas mileage—at least to where his van was parked.

"There she is," said Eddie, pointing to the van. Steve's car was still rolling slightly when Eddie opened the door, climbing out despite Steve's protests that he hadn't come to a complete stop. "Thanks for the ride, big boy."

He bounded out towards his van before Steve could respond or react, spinning the keys around his finger, buoyed by an inexplicable giddiness.

Chapter Text

Eddie was starting to think something was wrong. Besides the monsters and Hawkins in general. He had known there were problems with Hawkins since early childhood, but it had been a long time before he questioned whether or not there was something wrong with himself.

Well, that wasn't entirely true either, but that was normal questioning. This was entirely different. This was a deep-set, there might be something truly deeply wrong with me and it's getting worse, the kind of fear that stemmed from a nightmare he had three days ago. He was in class, trying to pay attention—key word: trying—and had taken maybe three notes of the entire info dump that left the teacher's mouth with the speed of angry hornets out of a kicked nest, when he started to feel dizzy.

It was a feeling similar to eating too many edibles in succession, like his head was falling backward but his body was still upright, and he was sinking, sinking, sinking. Except he was still in the chair, staring blankly ahead, with a white-knuckled grip on the edges of the desk. Normally, when he was doing this on purpose, it felt great. This was not on purpose and it felt like someone had opened a trapdoor in his skull that he was unaware of and was in the process of lobotomizing him.

The edges of his vision started to go gray and Eddie started to worry in earnest. He didn't know what a stroke felt like—he was fairly sure stroke-victims didn't notice a lot right away. Not that he knew anything about strokes. Was it a brain aneurysm? Was he dying?!

A fuzzy silhouette appeared in front of him. It reached a long tendril to him, splitting into two before it hovered over his eyes.

Someone brave might have kept their eyes open. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and hoped the phantom wouldn't kill him. He'd lost all sense of feeling in his hands and feet, disconnected from reality.

It wanted him to look at it.

It was desperate for him to look at it.

This thing needed him to open his eyes.

Standing in the center of an empty classroom, barren of chairs and desks with the exception of Eddie's, crawling with dark vines, was a young man with curly blond hair and steel-blue eyes. His face was deceptively soft, hiding an interior that held great potential for cruelty. This was undoubtedly Billy Hargrove.

"What the fuck?" said Eddie—or he tried to, but couldn't bring himself to move his mouth.

Billy pointed at him. The silhouette Eddie had seen earlier was still there, separate and part of Billy, enclosing him. A dark tendril caressed Billy's bicep, creeping down his forearm and finger, approaching Eddie again.

While Eddie was distracted by that, he almost missed the dark red that bloomed in Billy's chest—a begonia dark as the night sky, a few petals falling to the ground. Its stem was nothing but a collection of vines that seemed to have merged with Billy's veins, a parasitic thing that to remove would have been as well as removing all the blood in Billy's body.

Impatience seemed to grip the creature: it lunged at Eddie, six tendrils launching through the air at him. Two for his legs, two for his arms, two to remove his eyes and ensure the only world Eddie could see was one that this creature wanted him to.

Of course, Eddie wasn't going to take that lying down.

"No!"

It was the first time in his life he'd willed something to move away, knowing he couldn't touch or affect it. He threw himself out of the chair, arms held out as if he could stop it. Logic stood to reason that, if this was in his head, he could control what happened—but as it were, Eddie so rarely had control of what went on in his head, dreams and nightmares alike.

Despite his pessimism, for this once his mind was listening. The shadow was stopped in its tracks. Eddie hadn't thought he'd get that far, so his epic clap back after the monster's initial attack was a slightly pitchy, "FUCK OFF!"

He also imagined the creature slamming through the window and splattering all over the ground.

One of those things worked, sending the shadow careening away. The only issue was that it carried Billy's body with it. He burst through the window, glass shattering everywhere. Eddie ran to the edge of the window to peer down, horrified by the wreckage it had caused to Billy. His arm was definitely broken, wounds were bleeding on every inch of exposed skin. His eyes were dead.

Eddie hissed as pain flashed up his hands. He jerked away from the window, the glass having cut his palms. Something about the blood on his hands and Billy's body on the ground below him settled like a stone in his gut.

"I think it's time for this to end," he said. "Hear that? Enough! I get it, Billy's gonna die! I've been seeing this shit all year!"

The shadows gathered at his feet, preparing again for an attack. Before it could launch itself at him again, Eddie's vision wavered. The world slid sideways, as though the rug was tugged out from under him.

Sunspots dotted his vision. Faces hovered over him, unusually bright in the otherwise gray classroom. They were trying to say something. Eddie was trying to listen to them, mind caught up in a bubble somewhere far, far away. His thoughts flitted across his mind in bizarre patterns. Sometimes he found people easier to understand when he couldn't see them, but he couldn't bear to speak to them over the phone.

What did the phones have to do with anyone? Someone had called his uncle to pick him up. Ah.

He was veritably catatonic until he crashed in the car, slipping into unconsciousness as Wayne drove him away from school.

It wasn't a restful sleep. He didn't dream, which was something, but it wasn't restful, either. Eddie slowly regained awareness of himself and had the horrifying idea that he must have been taken to a hospital. Just the thought of the medical bills—but no, there were no beeps, no whirr of machinery. Just the occasional car driving down the road, a familiar hum of sound outside his trailer window. Someone had brought him home, while he slept.

Sitting at his bedside was Wayne. He looked tired, but he always looked tired so that didn't necessarily mean anything. When he noticed Eddie was awake, he wasn't quick to move, but his gaze was serious.

"You hungry?" he said.

"Yeah, starving," said Eddie, rolling his shoulders back. "Feels like I haven't eaten in years."

"Today is Saturday," said Wayne. "You slept all day yesterday. I was about to call an ambulance."

"Look, I—"

"We can talk about it later," said Wayne, already heading towards the kitchen. He didn't appear angry, though Wayne wasn't the type to get angry. Nor was he the type to yell, or snap, or raise his voice in general. Eddie cherished him all the more for it.

"No, really, I don't know what caused that," said Eddie insistently, keeping his uncle's gaze even as he squirmed on the inside. Maintaining eye-contact always felt—odd. Like there were bees in his stomach. "I mean, I think I was just tired and like... fell? And probably hit my head. Oh, man, what if I had a concussion?"

"Mrs. Dawney said you were sleeping, no concussion or anything otherwise," said Wayne, referring to one of their neighbors: a retired nurse. She wasn't quite a family friend, but she wasn't not a family friend. It was a stroke of luck she was so kind, as whenever Eddie was sick or injured, Wayne would bring him to Mrs. Dawney rather than a doctor. "If something feels wrong, though, I can put some calls in—"

"That's just... Nah. Let's not do that," said Eddie.

He climbed out of bed, a little shaky on his feet. A full day in bed didn't seem like too long but it was enough that his legs were flimsy under him.

The full implications of his long rest were setting in.

Eddie had plans that Friday. He was supposed to meet up with a few clients to drop off their goods. Most of it was just weed—the clients might be annoyed but they'd otherwise understand he was unconscious in bed. One of the clients however was not known for being magnanimous.

And of course, of course, it was him. Billy Hargrove.

Eddie couldn't have chosen another day to KO himself?

To say Eddie didn't know Billy Hargrove was a truth and a lie. Eddie knew him for the weed pickups and the underlying threat of bodily harm if Eddie told anyone. For the most part, he was taciturn during their exchanges, with the exception of one time where Eddie got a little too comfortable with him. Billy had pinned him by the neck to a tree with his hand—one hand, big enough to span Eddie's entire throat, his fingers almost forming a ring at Eddie's spine—and threatened him if he didn't keep quiet. He'd said he would break Eddie's neck. Except, that wasn't exactly what he'd said, to Billy's great mistake.

He'd said something more along the lines of "...gonna break your pretty little neck," and Eddie had been able to tell it was a slip-up, because Billy's whole face twitched as soon as it came out. Eddie could have ignored it. Alas, he had the self-preservation instincts of your average deer in the headlights.

Eddie's mouth had spat out something stupid like, "You think I'm pretty?" and Billy left him in a heap on the ground. He was for the most part unharmed, though his neck was bruised with fingerprints and it hurt to swallow or speak for a week, and the Hellfire Club had wanted to launch a real-life campaign starring Billy as the lead villain.

Although the campaign never went through at Eddie's own behest, he was wishing for the support of several people around him now.

So, Eddie knew of Billy. He was fairly certain that few people actually knew Billy—as in, knew whatever the hell was going on in his thick skull. Eddie had never seen someone so opposed to feeling better. The weed was supposed to help.

Luckily, it wasn't hard to find Billy. He had taken a job as a life coach at a swimming pool, watching people swim around in artificial waves all day, occasionally flirting with the women lined up along the pool in a show getting a tan.

Eddie normally wouldn't have considered going to a public swimming pool in a hundred years, but at this point it was safer to approach Billy in public. Alone, Eddie couldn't be sure he would be able to walk out alive.

The attitude Billy wrapped around himself sometimes made approaching him feel like greeting a tiger. Billy's eyes were blue, his lips a natural shade of cherry pink that probably drove people insane, and even his curls were perfect—all things that drew in unwary people. Eddie was not immune to the eyes and curls, so he wouldn't make fun of those people. He'd have to make fun of himself, and he was only into humiliation in some settings.

The first warning sign of there being something wrong from Billy was that he didn't immediately notice Eddie walk up to the pool. He stood out like a sore thumb fully clothed, in a leather jacket and vest and torn jeans, while everyone else was in a swimsuit.

He was not willing to go to Billy directly, so he dithered at the entrance of the pool long enough for it to feel creepy. Eventually tiring of the stares he was receiving, Eddie shuffled around the pool towards the stand where Billy sat in observation.

Billy was wearing a shirt, the second sign that something was wrong. There was a good set of pecs under that shirt and Eddie had never known Billy to not show them off.

Eddie was halfway to him when Billy's head jerked around, looking directly at him. The abruptness of the motion made Eddie's hair stand on end. He waved awkwardly, halfway wishing he'd gotten a note from the school nurse as proof that he'd actually been out for medical reasons. He never usually worried about that kind of stuff, but that was usually because the only people who needed it were teachers—and teachers didn't typically leave him with bruises and a split lip.

Billy checked his watch, and then held up a hand to show off five fingers, making a zero with his other hand. Fifty minutes until he was free.

Not needing another prompt to beat it, Eddie nodded and backtracked out of the pool. He was waiting inside the building, sitting on one of the benches with a magazine in his hands, snatched from the front desk, and making a show of actually being interested in women's swimsuits. It was a perfect cover, no one suspected a thing.

The problem about waiting fifty minutes was Eddie's attention span: it wasn't that strong. He tapped his fingers. Beat out a tune with his feet on the ground, shifting and twisting on the bench, stretching his arms high above his head. He was trying to get a kink out, hands pressed against the small of his arched back, when Billy slammed into the room.

No one else was in the room.

"Hey, man—" Shit, shit, shit. Eddie held up his little chest full of goods, waving in a way that he hoped was disarming. "Got the stuff, just got out of the hospital after a brain aneurysm so I was really out of it—"

Billy knocked the goods out of his hand, and pinned him to a locker by the throat in a move that, by now, should have been predictable. Despite the rage his motion projected, Billy's expression was chillingly placid.

"Get. Out." Billy hissed, squeezing just hard enough that Eddie started to thrash in panic, before he was tossed aside as though he weighed nothing.

Let it be known: Eddie was aware Billy was stronger than him. In a fight, Eddie would be curb-stomped like Jiminy Cricket trying to 1-v-1 Godzilla. That was a normal fight though, with regular fractures, bruises, blood, pain in the morning—this was being lifted clean off his feet and thrown bodily through the air as if Eddie was an overstuffed pillow.

He rolled twice, catching his elbow on the wall, coughing for air. Billy didn't need to tell him twice to leave, scrambling to grab his chest of drugs. The door couldn't fly shut behind him fast enough. Eddie skidded to a halt by his van door and hesitated as he reached to pull it open. Back at the pool center, he saw Billy standing in the shade. His eyes were shadowed, dark pits on his otherwise ashen face. Something was very, very wrong with him—other than the usual things that were wrong with him.

Instinct was telling him to leave. Even as he put the keys in the ignition, Eddie knew it wasn't that easy. Leaving. Pretending Billy's very touch hadn't made Eddie's head spin. Not in a good way, obviously, but in a way that reminded him of that vision he'd seen in school. A darkness was engulfing Billy Hargrove and Eddie wasn't certain that anyone other than himself noticed it.

At first, he was at a loss as to what to do. He was one person with some freaky brain shit that may or may not have been happening since he was a kid and he wasn't ready to acknowledge that.

But there was one person he knew for a fact would believe him. At least, Steve had better believe him. If Steve could brutalize a monster-dog to death with a nail-bat, he'd better be willing to believe Billy was possessed.

"Jesus, shit, possessed, this is ridiculous," muttered Eddie to himself furiously, as he pulled into Starcourt Mall, tapping his ringed fingers anxiously on the steering wheel. "I mean possession? Really? What're we gonna do? Exorcism? Fuck. Shit."

He was all but physically vibrating with nervous energy as he entered the mall. There was a bounce in his step that had nothing to do with a good mood and everything to do with the fact he was one scare away from sticking to the roof in fright. He slammed his hands down on the counter of the ice cream parlor Steve had been working at all summer, drawing the attention of the girl leaning against the back counter.

"Is Harrington here?" said Eddie.

"Why?" said the girl, tone shrewd as her narrow-eyed gaze.

"I need to talk to him," said Eddie, bouncing on his heels, impatience welling inside him. "I'm not gonna do anything to him. I just need to talk."

The girl pursed her lips, still looking suspicious, and Eddie finally snapped.

"I don't have time for this—" He jumped the counter, slipping a little ungraciously to the other side, while the girl shouted, "Woah! You can't be here!" and was summarily ignored by Eddie. "Hey, Harrington! Hey, I know you're in there—"

"Dude!" Steve stepped out of the hall, arms held up. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Eddie darted passed the girl and grabbed Steve's arm, yanking him back down the hall. "We need to talk."

"You really can't be back here, man—"

"Remember those monsters?"

Steve immediately stopped protesting, brows furrowing. "The demo-dogs?"

"Yeah, those. Do you think—"

"Wait a second," said Steve. He turned to the girl, who was standing around the corner, eyebrows raised at them. "Hold the fort for me, will you, Robin? Me and him need a sec."

Robin started to protest, but was cut off when Steve opened the door to the backroom and ushered Eddie through, closing it behind them.

"Okay, now what about the demo-dogs?"

"Alright, well, I just said that to, y'know, get the point across that something weird is going on. There's no actual demo-dogs, it's just—" Eddie was drawing on a blank. He couldn't find a good way to explain that a good portion of this was coming from intuition and the visions in his head. He pressed his palms together, rocking back and forth slightly as he paced, thinking. "So, demo-dogs exist, so it's not weird that other things exist, right?"

"Dude, I'm going to be honest. I'm not surprised by anything. Just shoot." Steve had his arms crossed, head tilted to the side. His brown eyes watched Eddie with a steadiness that somehow worked to make him feel calmer.

"I... think..." Was he really going to say this? Eddie hated it. He hated it so much. "...Billy Hargrove is possessed."

Eddie wanted to go back to being one hundred percent certain that demons and shit were fake. He was getting hives thinking about it.

"Like... with evil, or assholery?" said Steve.

A laugh flew from Eddie's lips before he could help it. "Both."

"I can get in touch with someone, at least," said Steve. "We were pretty sure everything was dealt with last year, but—well, those demo-dogs weren't dead, so maybe...? Ugh."

"Do you have contacts with, like, professionals or something?" It was probably too much to hope there were professionals for problems like this, wasn't it?

"Hah, no. I'm friends with a friend whose friend is dating a psychic," said Steve. "Who's, like, fourteen."

"Oh, for the love of—never mind, maybe we should just trying fucking holy water or something—"

"Hey, it'll be fine," said Steve, clapping him on the shoulder. Eddie tried not to focus on the lingering sensation from the touch. "This isn't the first time weird shit's happened. We shouldn't be reckless, but it's not like we're flying in the dark, either."

Eddie fiddled with the rings on his fingers, pensive and skeptical of the certainty in Steve's voice. He remembered Steve in school. He remembered him on the quarry, partying and drinking, nearly falling to his death. And he remembered Steve in the lab, too. Monster-slaying was no task for the faint-hearted and Steve didn't hesitate to enter that place alone.

Whether that attitude was reckless abandon or Steve being a genuinely brave person, Eddie couldn't tell.

"So, when you say you've dealt with this kind of stuff before...?" Eddie trailed off meaningfully, hoping for a more in-depth explanation.

"Where do I even start, man?" Steve huffed out, shaking his head. He stared at the schedule on the wall, then his watch, and said, "Alright, Munson. Here's the deal: You get out of my hair before I get fired, we both meet up in the food court to talk after my shift is over. Three-thirty-five o'clock. Sound good?"

Eddie checked his own watch. One-thirty.

"Yeah, that'll work," said Eddie. "See ya then, Harrington."

"Oh, yeah, and one quick piece of advice? If shit starts flickering—y'know, lights and stuff—then get the hell out," said Steve, tone serious, eyes fixed on Eddie's to make sure he understood. "You just run. Weird lights are a bad sign."

Eddie wasn't going to wait in the mall, so he headed out to the parking lot to lean against his van. He had a pair of headphones on and his walkman tucked into his pocket.

A small eternity passed.

Eddie checked his watch again.

It had been fifteen minutes. He groaned, throwing his head back so quickly he accidentally smacked it against the van. Rubbing his smarting head, he dropped into the driver's seat, turning on the ignition to ride around town in the meanwhile. He kept mostly to main roads, until making a turn that put him in the direction of the quarry.

Eddie hadn't returned to the quarry since the night he was chased through the woods by Steve and Tommy H. Nothing had changed, the pale cliffsides circling the murky pool. He stood at the edge of the water, looking at his reflection in the water.

Dark, curly hair. Big brown eyes. There were times that he felt his face didn't quite match his perception of himself. Or, that his perception of himself was so thin that when he saw the physical proof of his existence, he couldn't help thinking it wasn't quite right. Not lore-accurate. Something was missing. He let his hair grow out, decked his fingers in rings, built his persona in every way that his face seemingly could not.

He crouched by the water, reaching out with a finger to tap the surface. Before he brushed the water, he stopped. He could see his hand, the reflection of his pale wrist. There were a few things he never left the trailer with every morning: his clothes (obviously), rings, watch. The watch over his left wrist always rode a little high, covering a patch of his skin. It was by design, hiding a smudge of ink that had been a mistake of youth: an old tattoo that Eddie always kept hidden.

He couldn't remember where he'd gotten it, but Eddie always assumed his father gave it to him.

At least, that was his impression of what went down. There was so much he didn't want to remember about his childhood that trying to think back to that one little memory was nearly impossible—to dig that up, he also had to dig up a lot of other things, too. Bad memories had a way of holding hands with other bad memories. They came up in a chain of unwelcome regret.

Eddie remembered it was a bright morning. Light had filtered in, his eyes had been sensitive from his dark room. His father had smiled and said he was doing good. Eddie had been crying.

("Papa, no."

He could never be certain if saying that was a memory or wishful thinking—the chance that he tried to stand up to his father, even once. That he said no, and didn't bow his head and go along with every shitty thing his father said and did.)

He pried his fingers under his watch, thinking of checking now. Maybe the years made the ink fade.

Instead, he looked at the time.

Three fucking fifty o'clock.

Eddie scrambled to his feet so quickly he almost fell over, kicking up pebbles as he flew across the beach. He had parked the van further up the quarry, a long shot up the road. In hindsight, he should have parked closer to the beach, but Eddie hadn't actually planned on walking all the way down. He'd just fallen into something of a stupor as he walked and ended up by the water.

By some miracle, a familiar car rolled around the corner ahead of him. Steve had his head hanging out the window, waving at him. Eddie grinned, waving both his arms. He really, really hadn't wanted to walk all the way back up the mountain.

Steve was yelling something at him.

"Yeah, yeah! I know, Harrington, I stood you up!" shouted Eddie, bracing his hands on his hips. "I'll make it up, alright?"

Steve abruptly sped up.

Eddie cocked his head, hands sliding off his hips to be clasped by his stomach, confused.

"Dude, what the fuck—?"

An engine roared.

It wasn't Steve's.

Eddie had about enough time to look behind him to realize a bright red car was whistling up the road at him before it was on him. Holding out his arms was an instinctive motion, shouting in horror.

"NO!"

He didn't want to die.

There was a screech of metal, Eddie tripped sideways over his feet. The car spun around to the side, running off the road—luckily, not on the quarry side. It rode halfway up a short hill, stopping dangerously close to a tree. Eddie's head was buzzing, filled with the image of that car inches away from striking him, too close to move to the side so quickly—

Another car—Steve's—hit the brakes next to him.

"Get in!" said Steve. "Dude, get in!"

Eddie wasn't really thinking clearly—he could be excused for that, he thought—so he yanked open the driver's side door and crawled right over Steve. For his part, Steve didn't protest too much. He was already driving away again before Eddie had even sat down in the passenger's side, reaching for the seatbelt with shaking hands. It took him three fumbling tries to get himself hooked in.

They rode for a few minutes in silence, until they reached the nearest gas station. Steve pulled over with a harsh jerk, stopping abruptly. Eddie was thrown forward listlessly, knocked out of his mindless reverie.

"What the hell was that?!" said Steve.

Eddie shook his head. "I don't know, man, a car? Did you see who was in it—?"

"Not that! Look, man, I'm going to be honest: I don't like getting strung along."

Once again, Eddie was confused. And annoyed. "Stringing you along? I didn't mean to miss the goddamn date, but y'know, I was a little preoccupied, almost getting hit by a car!"

"No! Why are you even bothering hiding this? I literally just said—did you think I was making the whole thing up?" said Steve, and then added with suspicion, "Are you making this up?"

"Making what up?!" Eddie felt like they were way beyond being on different pages—Steve was in a whole other damn book.

"Your nose!" said Steve, accusingly. "It's bleeding!"

Eddie brought his thumb up to his nose. Sure enough, there was blood.

"So? It happens."

"Your nose is bleeding."

"And?! It's dry out!"

Steve threw his arms in the air. "It was raining for, like, a week straight! It's spring!"

Eddie sucked in a breath to yell, stopped and took a deep breath, giving his clenched fists a small shake. "I have no idea what you are trying to say, you need to be clearer."

"It's the car, the car almost hit you," said Steve, also calming down. "It was, like, this close—" he held his forefinger and thumb about a half-inch apart, "—away from hitting you. And it didn't."

"Yeah, I know," said Eddie shakily, "it scared the shit outta me, too."

"Cars can't just... stop like that," said Steve, quickly losing steam the blanker Eddie's stare became. "Like, something else moved it out of the way."

"It all happened really fast," said Eddie.

Steve was still watching him, an expression Eddie knew he'd seen before—the same one he'd worn while they were in the lab, and part of the building had come down on the monster. Eddie hadn't been able to pin-point the emotion behind the look, only that it irked him slightly, but now he realized: it was accusatory. As if Steve thought he was responsible for it.

His knee-jerk reaction was to defend himself, but his words died in his throat. There was no doubt, some odd things had happened around him. It wasn't really his fault that weird things followed him.

"Did you see who was in the car?" asked Eddie, deciding to ignore it entirely.

Steve flexed his hands on the steering wheel, looking ahead. "It was Billy."

Of course. The red Camarro. Billy really had it out for him—or, at least, the creature possessing him did. Not that Billy hadn't sort of had it out for him before, too.

Eddie was tired. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Unknown to him, Steve's expression softened, a grudging acceptance stealing over him.

"Hey, let's just hit up a place for food," said Steve. "I could use a burger."

"Jesus, yes. Food sounds great."

Steve rolled out of the gas station, into town. They stopped by a burger joint that had been open for about three years. It had received a lot more visitors after the death of Benny, the previous restaurant oldie of Hawkins. Eddie liked the place well enough, but it wasn't Benny's.

Once they were inside, Eddie slumped over a table and ordered a meal. Steve finished ordering, looked at him, and frowned.

"What happened to your neck?" he asked, leaning in to get a closer look. "Those are—handprints? Who did that to you?"

Eddie gingerly touched the ring of bruises around his neck. "Oh, you know. Unsatisfied customer." The words had left his mouth before he realized they could be taken the wrong way. "I was late with some deliveries."

"Yeah, but, who?"

"Why're you asking?" said Eddie, breaking into a grin. "Worried, Harrington?"

"I mean, yeah, you look like shit," said Steve. "No offense."

Well, he had no witty comeback for that level of genuine concern, especially when it came from Steve Harrington. He spun the ring around his thumb, eyes cutting between the menu and Steve, before looking out the window. He was hesitant to tell the truth. It was Billy and that it was him seemed something believable—but was it him? That shadow inside him was an expansive devourer.

"'Mn reminds me of the Mind Flayer," said Eddie, cheek mushed on his fist. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

"The what now?" said Steve.

"The thing in Billy," said Eddie. "It possesses its victims and changes them—makes them stronger. It's like a hive mind. Reminds me of the Mind Flayer."

"How did you even—the hell is it with that game? Hivemind this, hivemind—you all have one brain," said Steve. "The kids came to the same conclusion. That's from D&D, right?"

Eddie did a double-take. "You know it?"

"Hell no," said Steve.

That was unsurprising. Eddie rapped his hands against the table to a beat only he could hear, filled with a nervous energy. Steve was staring out the window, seemingly content to just sit there and wait for the food to arrive.

Eventually, he couldn't stay quiet anymore. Eddie had always been a nervous rambler. "We need a way of getting that... thing out of him," said Eddie. "I mean, preferably without killing him. The dude's an asshole but he doesn't deserve to die, y'know?"

Additionally, Eddie wasn't keen on seeing a corpse. He kept that part to himself.

"Last year, something similar happened and all it took was heat to get this thing out," said Steve. "I can't think of many places that could get hot enough, though. The temperature needs to be high. Dangerously so."

"Don't suppose hanging him over a fire would do the trick?" said Eddie.

Steve snorted. "No. He needs to be submerged. No escape. And... well." He broke off, lips pursed. "Look, don't tell anyone this, okay? But some torture was involved, too."

"Torture?"

"If this thing has been in Hargrove longer than it was in—in the other person—sorry, dude, I just don't feel comfortable spilling out everything about someone else—"

"It's fine, just continue."

"If it's been in Hargove longer, then we might have a bigger issue," said Steve.

"How long was it in this other person?" asked Eddie.

"Ugh, man, I don't know. I don't keep track of time, and when this was all going down, I was preoccupied with the demo-dogs that were popping up everywhere," said Steve. "Trying not to get eaten and shit. Fun."

"That doesn't sound like fun," said Eddie, staring at him wide-eyed.

"Yeah, it really wasn't! Which is why I was hoping this would all turn out to be a false alarm," Steve admitted, rubbing his temple. "But seeing Hargrove in that car, it—well, it seems this really isn't over."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," said Eddie earnestly. After hearing some of the events that had occurred over the course of the past few two years, he couldn't help feeling regretful that he was, essentially, dragging a hapless bystander into the fold again. "I know you said you didn't want to tell me, but getting in contact with whoever got your friend... un-possessed... last time might be the best bet at taking care of Billy."

"Yeah, yeah, I know that," said Steve. "Just. Not looking forward to being the one to tell them their nightmare is probably not over yet."

Eddie couldn't think of anything to say to that, but thankfully he didn't need to because at that, the food arrived. Saved by the food. He thanked the waiter, digging in as though he hadn't eaten in days. The breakfast he'd had with Wayne couldn't have held him down all day, so he found his ravenous appetite warranted. Across from him, Steve was scarfing down the food in much the same way. The hum of music playing in the restaurant and the clink of utensils filled the air.

"When we're done here—do you want to stick around?" said Steve, setting down his fork. He'd gotten a sesame seed bun, and there were a few seeds stuck just past the corner of his lip. "I can drop you off wherever you live. Honestly, I'd recommend just doing that. This shit's weird, man, there's no harm in wanting to stay away from it."

Eddie, however, was not paying attention. He motioned to his own cheek. "You've got a little—"

Knowing instantly what Eddie meant, Steve wiped at his mouth. He got the wrong side though, and when Eddie told him as such, he kept missing the spot.

"To the left—little down—no, that's—" Eddie picked up his own napkin, reveling in the way he felt more nervous doing this than he did facing down a speeding car. Or a monster. Or Billy. This was different. "Do you, uh, mind...?"

Steve didn't respond, only turning his face in a way that communicated that Eddie could take care of it. Eddie dabbed at his face gently, feeling as though even the slightest touch was probably too rough. As a child, he had difficulty regulating the force and pressure he put into everything—that fear of being too much hadn't quite gone away.

"You look good—your face is good—clean." Eddie was going to stammer himself into an early grave. "The sesame seeds are gone."

Steve's expression was odd. A bit blank. He nodded, a few times too many.

"Great! Thanks."

Eddie folded his fingers under his chin, abruptly realizing Steve's gobsmacked look was hilarious. "I'm here any time, Harrington."

"I'll let you know if I need any cleaning up in the future," said Steve, not quite flirting, not quite not flirting, and that was enough to send Eddie for a loop. Steve nodded down to Eddie's mostly empty plate. "You finished?"

"Oh—yeah."

"Then let's get a move on."

After the meal was paid for by Steve because Eddie didn't have money on hand, they got back on the road.

"You never said whether or not you want to stay on board—"

"There's no way I can pretend nothing's going on," said Eddie. "This shit's been bothering me all summer—" In more ways than Steve knew, "—and I want to know about it. I need to know. If you're worried about me keeping secrets, trust me when I say I can keep a secret."

"Oh, yeah? Name one secret you've kept."

Eddie opened his mouth, paused, and snapped it shut. Then he lunged over and shoved Steve's shoulder enthusiastically, while Steve cracked up.

"Not funny man."

"Oh, it's hilarious. You almost fell for that! Whose secret were you about to spill?"

"Die wondering, Harrington."

Steve only laughed harder, the sound contagious enough that Eddie started grinning. He rifled through Steve's cassettes, looking for anything familiar. Blondie, Madonna, Stevie Nicks—nothing Eddie listened to. There was also Heart and Queen. He came to the conclusion, after some digging, that Steve was the most basic of basic bitches.

"Like what you see there?" asked Steve, and once again Eddie was really wondering if he meant the cassettes because what reason was there for that tone when asking that question?! It was doing things to Eddie's heart that he didn't like. Maybe flirting was an inseparable part of being Steve fucking Harrington and that was why he always got all the women. It was just a switch that couldn't be flipped off. Yeah, that made sense. (It didn't.) "I've got more where that comes from."

Eddie considered throwing a cassette at Steve's face. Just because.

He didn't, because two people could play this game.

"Everything here's a little vanilla for my tastes," he said bluntly, leaning back against the chair, his elbow braced against his palm. He twirled a lock of curly dark hair around his finger. "There's a first time for everything and all, but that only counts when it's a first time."

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that," said Steve. "Nothing's quite the same when it comes out of different speakers. The company matters, too."

"Your preferences change depending on the company?"

"Yeah, man, I'm pretty flexible. I mean everyone has their favorites, but I'm open to trying new things."

He's talking about music, thought Eddie feverishly. He's talking about music.

Eddie listened to Madonna and Blondie (mostly against his will) until they rolled into the driveway of what Steve announced to be the Byers residence. Despite the family in that house being all over the news not long ago, it had never crossed his mind that the Byers family was somehow involved in the fuckery going around Hawkins. He was almost disappointed in himself for missing that clue.

"Should I wait here, or...?"

"No need, they aren't gonna bite."

Steve strolled up to the doorway as if he owned the place, with an easy confidence that Eddie always had to feign with great effort. He shuffled behind him, picking at his palm. After a few knocks, Jonathan Byers opened the door.

Now, when it came to relationship drama, Eddie was the last person to keep up with it all. He just didn't care. That he knew about Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington's legendary break-up showcased those two's popularity, a drama that floated in the air and wormed into the ears of even the most uncaring individual. Against his will, Eddie knew about the Jonathan-Nancy-Steve melodrama.

The bad blood he was expecting between the two boys was either so buried it was invisible, or straight up didn't exist. Jonathan opened the door a little wider.

"What's going on?"

"More wizard shit," said Steve. "Plus Hargrove. And this is Eddie Munson—he's got a target on his back."

"You're going to have to be clearer," said Jonathan, stepping aside to usher them into the house. Eddie kept his hands close to his stomach as he followed them down the hall, surveying everything. There were pictures on the wall—both photographs and drawings. A potted plant was drooping on a stand. At the table, a young boy with an unfortunate bowl cut waved at Steve. "Explain from the beginning."

"How far back in the beginning?" said Eddie, drawing the attention of all three boys. "Like, do we need to start with childhood memories or...?"

"No, man, why would we need to know that?" said Steve. "The thing that got Will last year—we think it's back. And that it's gotten Hargrove."

Jonathan was already shaking his head. "It was destroyed, the portal was closed. Plus, Will—" he turned to his brother, only to find him focusing very hard on the table, guilt lining every inch of his being. "—would probably know..."

Will pushed a colored pencil back and forth with his pointer finger. Jonathan took a seat next to him, hands clasped on the table.

"Hey—" Before he could so much as try to softly coax a response, Will was sighing.

"Yeah, he's back." He looked up, dark eyes worried and tired. "I felt something a few nights ago. I should have said something sooner, but..."

"It's easier to bury your head and pretend nothing is abnormal," said Eddie, trying not to be too specific, as he was speaking directly from experience. "Isn't it?"

"I'd hoped it was just a coincidence," said Will. "But a few nights ago, when the power went out, I... felt it."

He brushed his fingers against the nape of his neck.

"Right here. Like always. Like... he never left at all."

Steve blew out a high-pressure exhale. It sounded almost like a hiss. "That's a great thought."

The pieces were starting to assemble themselves in Eddie's mind. Steve had said he was taking Eddie to someone who'd had to deal with a possessed person before, and he'd come right to the Byers, and now Will was talking as though he understood the creature. It was him. Eddie wondered why the creature was ignoring Will in that case. Perhaps it wasn't the revenge-seeking type.

"And it's Hargrove who's possessed," said Jonathan, eyebrows arched, emphasizing his disbelief. "Billy Hargrove?"

"That's Max's brother," said Will, sitting upright. "She could be in danger."

"It should be time for Billy to be off work, so he'll be heading home," said Jonathan. "We've got to get him away from people. Isolated. Otherwise, this will be a hundred times more difficult."

"It's not time," said Eddie. "He has a double-shift today."

Steve threw him an odd look. "How do you know Hargrove's schedule?"

Self-preservation. "I'm his biggest fan, don't you know?"

"We need to warn Max!" said Will.

"Then let's not sit around here," said Jonathan, grabbing the keys to his car off the counter. "I'll look around her neighborhood. Steve, you—"

"Oh, no, absolutely not—I'm coming with you," said Steve. "Look, we've all almost died so many times. We are not splitting up."

He shot a look back at Eddie, who was hanging away from the group, watching the proceedings in a bit of a daze. After that vision and being attacked by Billy in the pool, he'd been terrified. These people were all just hopping right to saving lives, no hesitation. Perhaps they were more used to it, but even then—Eddie couldn't really give himself that excuse. He'd helped Steve kill a demo-dog. It wasn't as though he was "uninitiated" into the weirdness.

So why was he still so fucking scared?! His hands were shaking—scratch that, his whole body was shaking. Trembling like a leaf, as though a live wire was running through his body, he followed after Steve, Jonathan, and Will. They were going to take Jonathan's car, as it was slightly bigger.

Will took the passenger's seat of Jonathan's car, giving Steve a slightly impish smile. Steve rolled his eyes and gave his head a little ruffle, opening the side door. Instead of getting in, he looked at Eddie again.

"C'mon, man, hop to it."

It felt odd, to say the least, to have Steve opening and shutting doors for him. Steve even stopped to make sure Eddie's feet were completely in before he shut the door. A second later, Steve slid into the other side.

"First things first, we need to find Max," said Will. "Max is always hanging around Lucas and Mike, so they could both be in danger."

"Of course, but the best case scenario is that we find Billy first," said Jonathan. "That would get everything out of the way faster."

They kept talking, but their words drowned into a lull. Eddie was sliding, sliding, quickly losing grasp of his surroundings. There was panic flooding him, but also curiosity. He'd sensed that Billy was possessed last time. Perhaps, if he tried, he could sense more.

A large hand dropped on his shoulder. It was cold. Eddie chased the motion, looking up at—

Blue eyes. There was no light in them. He heard a far-off ripple of water, lapping gently against cement. Soft footfalls on the ground. A girl's voice: "Are you alright?" Billy struck out too fast for the human eye to track. The girl dropped, her cry of fright dying before it could become an echo.

In the car, Eddie let out a yelp, both a reaction to the way Billy had seemed to be striking at him not a moment ago, and the way phantom pain burst through his skull, starlight spinning across his vision. There was still a hand on his shoulder, but it was warm and shaking him.

"Eddie!" Steve's voice broke through, shouting about two inches away from his face. Eddie let out a strangled cry at the sudden close proximity, prompting a similar reaction from Steve. It would have been comical if Eddie wasn't ninety percent certain that Billy had just killed a girl. "Eddie? Jesus Christ, Eddie, don't do that! We're already on edge!"

"I..." His voice wobbled. Not as in he was about to cry, but as in he was so abruptly tired that he wanted to yawn.

Steve's hand was by his face, hovering close by, but not quite bold enough to touch.

"Your nose." He rifled through his pockets, finding a few napkins he'd snatched from the restaurant. As for why he had them, Eddie didn't know. Maybe it was for the gaggle of kids that followed him around like ducklings. "It's bleeding again."

His voice was low, soft as if not to let the others overhear—not that it got by Jonathan, whose eyes Eddie briefly met in the mirror. They were quickly averted, but Eddie still felt awkward for reasons he didn't know.

Dabbing his nose, Eddie played it off with a wave of his hand, leaning against the seat.

"We should check the pool," said Eddie, keeping his head up through sheer force of will. He needed to sleep.

"Yeah, that's where we're going," said Steve. "Where've you been?"

"The pool," said Eddie bluntly.

"Hey, wait—" Will was pressing his face against the window, looking out at the street as they passed by Starcourt Mall. "It's them!"

Eddie followed his pointing finger, where a pair of girls and a boy were strolling down the street. Contrary to the relief he was expecting to see from Jonathan—hadn't Steve said Eleven was powerful?—Jonathan let out a disgruntled sound at the two of them.

"She's supposed to be hiding," said Jonathan. "The government is out for her."

He turned into the parking lot, honking the horn, and pulled to a stop next to them. The kids turned out to be Lucas Sinclair, Max Mayfield, and El Hopper, as introduced to Eddie by Steve.

"Is something going on?" asked Lucas, dark brown eyes passing from face to face in the car. He stared at Eddie a while longer, probably wondering why a stranger was there. Eddie gave him a decidedly unenthusiastic wave. "We would have invited you, but Max and El really wanted to go now and I left the walkie-talkie at home—"

"Not what happens," said El, to the chagrin of Lucas, who grinned apologetically at Will.

"Something had better not be happening," said Max, with no little amount of force behind her words. "We're busy. It's the weekend."

"Where do these kids get the audacity?" mumbled Steve under his breath, a sentiment Eddie, as someone who'd almost been hit by a car earlier, agreed with entirely.

El's gaze was wary, also staring directly at Eddie, though with significantly less tact than Lucas.

"What is happening?" she asked, her voice low.

Eddie was glad to let Jonathan explain everything to an increasingly skeptical Max, who couldn't seem to accept that Billy was acting out of the realm of ordinary. She kept a slightly defensive stance, remaining in front of El, as though El wasn't the girl with supernatural powers.

"So, let me get this straight, some random dude says Billy is acting strange and that means, what—the world is ending again?"

"Hey!" Eddie protested, pushing off the seat to half-climb over Steve's body. He rolled down the window to stick his head out, while Steve complained in his ear. "I'm not making this shit up! Which sounds like something I'd say if I made it up but I swear, I'm telling the truth—"

"Dude, just sit back down—" Steve took the back of his jacket and pressed him back onto the seat with a hand against his chest. The heat was pouring into the vehicle, and Steve's cheeks were flushed. He turned to Max. "I don't have a sibling, so I don't know what it's like, but—hey, don't roll your eyes at me, little—" Steve broke off, mumbling under his breath. "Hargrove tried to run him down. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Yeah, he does... that," said Max, looking vaguely guilty. "Sorry."

Eddie was already shaking his head, even as a helpless and resigned sort of fear settled over him. No one ever believed him. Whether it was because of his looks or his reputation or the fact he lived in a trailer park, he came across as untrustworthy to people.

"Did your brother come home last night?" asked Jonathan.

"No, but that doesn't mean anything—he's always out late. Sometimes he stays the night at someone else's place," said Max. "You know, girls."

"Yeah, yeah, Hargrove has game, we get it," said Steve, "but that doesn't make this any less worthy of checking out."

"Okay, and? I'm not stopping you," said Max.

"Wait, wait, wait, the shadow thing? Max, that sounds exactly like the Mind Flayer last year," said Lucas insistently. "What if we're dealing with something like it? Or it never went away?"

Will was quick to jump in and add, "I was thinking it possibly got stuck on our side when you closed the portal, El. That means it... It might have been gathering power this whole time."

"I want to see," said El.

"You sure? They're probably making a big deal out of nothing," said Max. "It's Billy. He's always weird."

El nodded, reaching for the door.

Steve scooted over until he was pressed flush to Eddie's side, drawing a startled intake of breath from him. At the gasp, Steve turned to ask him if something was wrong. Sitting so close, Eddie saw the light freckles on his nose and cheeks, the intricate details of his warm brown eyes. He smelled Steve's cologne, a scent that made his breath turn shallow, as though breathing too much of it would intoxicate him. He couldn't think of a single way of answering the question.

He didn't have to think of one, because the trip from the mall to the pool wasn't long. They parked outside the gate, in a spot where it was easy to find Billy sitting in the lifeguard chair.

At once, Eddie knew that Billy was off. He'd never known Billy not to show off his pecs and abs when he could get away with it. He was also wearing a visor and sunglasses, keeping a towel wrapped about his body.

"He's hiding from the sun," Will whispered, fingers in the chain linked fence. "Look at his arm—it's burned raw."

Max's expression must have concerned Lucas, as he was quick to try and reassure her that Billy might have simply injured himself elsewhere—

"He probably just finally picked a fight with the wrong guy," said Lucas. "Can't say he doesn't have it coming."

"You can say that again," said Eddie, reminded of the aching bruises around his neck.

"Let's hope that's the case," said Jonathan. "Come on, I have an idea."

The "idea" turned out to be torture. It took some creativity and patience, but eventually a way of luring Billy into the sauna was formulated, starting with a wig and a walkie-talkie. Jonathan made Eddie give up his leather jacket and vest, which killed him on the inside, leaving him to stand there in an oddly ordinary navy blue T-shirt and red plaid button-up, which he left open.

"It's a thousand degrees out—how you've been wearing that many layers is beyond me," said Steve, a hint of teasing in his tone as the others gave finishing touches to the trap.

"It's a matter of pride," said Eddie. "I won't let some heat get between me and my jacket."

"So, you never take it off for anything?" said Steve, quirking a brow. He was remarkably blank-faced for one who smiled and teased the kids so easily.

"Some things," said Eddie. "They have to be persuasive."

"Guys," Jonathan cut in, motioning for them to get down. "He's coming in."

Their plan required Billy to stay behind longer than anyone else, and that part was going well—right up until a girl approached him. She asked him something, too far to hear the words but it was clear by her tone that she was concerned, and all at once Eddie knew exactly what was about to occur.

Distantly, he recognized the girl. He'd seen her in high school last year, though he didn't know her name. (It was Heather Holloway.)

The second before Billy struck out, Eddie knew at once it was going to happen. Before his hand could move, Eddie popped around the corner, startling more than Billy and Heather, but also Steve. He made a fumbling attempt to pull Eddie back, fingers slipping by Eddie's forearm.

"Hey, Hargrove. We never discussed payment for the last deal!" He spoke in a sing-songy tone, arms held out as though he wasn't fighting every instinct in his body that was shouting at him to run.

Heather's brow furrowed. "Don't I know you—?"

Eddie didn't have time to be flattered that she remembered him, before Billy was striking out, evidently uncaring that there was a witness. Helpfully, Eddie's brain informed him that that probably meant Billy intended to neutralize the witness, whatever the cost. As Heather collapsed bonelessly to the ground, Eddie backed up several feet.

Shoulders squared, Billy started at Eddie, footsteps echoing down the halls in a way that made him seem larger than he was in reality. Taunting him was one thing, facing him was another.

He was yanked to the side by Steve, who was hissing reprimand after reprimand like he was some kind of disapproving mother into Eddie's ear. Down the hall, Jonathan was peering around the corner, gesturing at them in confusion.

What happened? He mouthed.

Steve flung his arms out, gesticulating for Jonathan to get a move on. They ran down the hall, skidding behind a door and slamming it shut.

"We've gotta keep him coming—"

Eddie cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "Oh, Bil-lyyyy," drawing out his name far longer than strictly necessary, grinning at the look Steve threw at him.

They didn't waste a single second. Eddie kept looking over his shoulder for Billy, who remained far enough behind that he never caught sight of them again. He was moving slower than them, careful not to run, lest he slip on the floor.

Eddie brought his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle that made Steve flinch, dropping Eddie's wrist to cup his ears. Steve's eyes were wide as he mouthed, What the hell, dude?

Behind them, a voice that was more rage than human was threatening them. It was the usual stuff: they were going to regret ever being born, just wait until Billy got his hands on them, et cetera, et cetera.

At some point, Steve grabbed Eddie's forearm to force him to run a little faster. It wasn't Eddie's fault—he was a little busy throwing a rather pointed insult back at Billy (revenge for the bruises around his neck)—but Steve's grip slipped below his wrist. For a second, Eddie thought he'd let go to grab his sleeve instead or something, but Steve only adjusted his grip to link their fingers together.

Waiting for them by the sauna was Will, Lucas, Max, and El. Jonathan motioned wildly for them to get out of the way. Steve and Eddie ducked into a supply closet. Eddie struggled to get his breath down, feeling as though he was breathing loud enough that the people outside could hear him.

Eddie had barely closed the door, leaving it open a crack to peer outside, before Billy barreled into the area. He slammed the door shut behind him, hazy blue eyes scanning for them. The way he was moving was unnatural, as though something unused to human muscles was making him walk, using far more than was necessary for simple movements. It wasn't that, however, that really struck Eddie with a sense of fear—but the feral, mirthless grin that split Billy's face when he saw the dummy in the sauna. It was so clearly a fake, yet he couldn't seem to notice, too pleased to get his hands on his prey.

"Got you, bastard—" Billy stopped at the door's threshold, frowning, and Eddie jammed a knuckle into his mouth, biting down with anxiety. Shit, shit, shit. The bluff was called, it had to be called.

Except, he still stepped through, lifting the dummy up bodily. That was when El stepped out, a sight that had Eddie reaching out from the instinctual desire to not see a kid put herself in harm's way. Steve's hand on his shoulder grounded him.

His eyes were dark in the shadows. She's got this. Eddie stomach did an odd flip. Did Steve mouth that, or—

"Hi."

El's greeting was short and punchy. The force with which she flung Billy into the sauna was even punchier, and the way she closed the door without touching it had Eddie gaping—despite already knowing she had superpowers.

Jonathan leapt into action, throwing a chain around the door handle, sticking a rod—handed to him by Will—through them for good measure. With Billy sealed into the sauna, they were safe to back away. Eddie and Steve pushed out of the sauna.

There were few times in his life that Eddie had seen someone so furious. One of the times had been his own father, a fuzzy memory resurfacing from so far back that he was shocked he remembered it at all. His father had gripped his arm and shook him bodily, screaming in his face, spittle flying. His eyes were dark, so dark, and only grew darker the more furious he became, as though there was something wholly alien behind them. Eddie had been so scared of him. He'd wanted to run away, to hide. To die.

Billy's fury was worse. It was wild. He slammed against the window, screaming, spewing the foulest insults at them—at Max. Max, whose chin was trembling, tears gathering in her eyes. Lucas had taken her hand in his, squeezing tightly to ground her.

The sight made Eddie's heart clench. He knew that feeling. Someone yelling. Yelling and yelling and not stopping—worse still, getting even more furious when someone tried to make them stop. This was probably worse for her, but he understood. Just a little. And he knew, most of all, that he never wanted kids to have to go through a fraction of what he'd experienced as a child. Max enduring the vitriol, Lucas doing his best to keep her together with his own two hands—it wasn't right for them to have to handle it.

"Hey!" Eddie barked, surprising himself with the authority in his tone, drawing Billy's attention. His poisonous blue eyes landed on Eddie's face. It was like staring into the face of a viper. It didn't matter that he was behind glass, Eddie knew that bite would kill him. "Shut the fuck up. No one is going to let you out."

"I'm going to kill you!"

"Cry louder, dude, I don't think the whole county heard you," said Eddie.

Billy let out an unbridled scream, slamming his palms against the glass again and again, until they were turning purple and blue.

Jonathan wasted no time turning the heat up. Within a few minutes, it was up past two hundred degrees Fahrenhaidt. Eddie wasn't certain it would be enough. Billy was whimpering within the sauna, rocking back and forth and pleading—pleading to Max, in particular, repeating that it wasn't his fault, over and over again like a chant.

She approached the glass, urging him to speak.

"Don't get too close, Red, we don't know what he can do," said Eddie, keeping his voice soft.

At that moment, Will gave a shaky warning: "He's activating."

Lucas was quick to reach forward and take Max's hand back, pulling her away from the door—before Steve corralled them both away. Steve was not a moment too soon.

Eddie saw it, a split second before Billy moved. There was something sharp in his hand, a weapon, and he was swinging it to the glass.

(The glass was going to break.)

"Stay back!" The order came out more of a shriek than a command, but Billy wobbled, weapon held aloft. All the momentum was gone, so when he smashed the chipped ceramic against the glass, all it did was create a racket.

El shoved her hand out and Billy responded by flying back again.

"How long does this process take?" asked Eddie.

Jonathan grimaced. "Can't be certain. I don't think Hargrove's case is exactly the same."

Eddie looked away, unsatisfied with that answer, to feel another gaze boring into the side of his head. He found El staring at him, quite intensely. Granted, she seemed to do everything in an intense manner.

"Hi?" he said, unintentionally echoing her earlier, while Billy let out another low moan from within the sauna.

El looked away.

Well, okay then.

In the end, they were almost successful.

Almost, in that the evil creature possessing Billy extracted itself from him, leaving painstakingly through his gaping mouth—Eddie was certain that Billy was going to have a broken jaw—and shattering the glass to fly out into the open air. It was going to be a problem later. For now, though, they had a horribly injured and disoriented Billy Hargrove on their hands, bawling his eyes out, digging his nails into his scalp as though he could claw out whatever memories he had in his skull.

Max was in a daze. Jonathan and Will offered to take her and Lucas home, though she ended up opting to go home with Lucas, while Billy was driven off in an ambulance.

"I can't believe this shit," said Eddie, dragging a hand through his hair. The shakes were returning. His chest felt tight. "What the hell, what the hell..." He was certain he wasn't speaking too loudly, but the next thing he knew, there was a figure in front of him. He blinked several times to clear his blurred eyes. "Eleven—El."

"Did you do that?" she asked. While her tone was low, her gaze was earnest. It was a genuine question.

"Do what?" said Eddie, blinking in confusion.

"Billy almost broke out," said El. "Almost got free. He stopped. You stopped it."

"No—"

"I saw."

"You didn't see shit—"

"I know, I saw," insisted El, before pointing two fingers under her eyes. "I watch you."

With that last warning, El turned to rejoin her friends.

That wasn't concerning or anything. Eddie decided not to linger on it too long.

He shoved his fingers in his pockets to steady them, trudging over to where Steve was talking into a walkie-talkie, loudly sniping back to someone over the receiver. Despite the irate tone he used, his expression was begrudgingly fond. He noticed Eddie and raised his eyebrows. He motioned to the walkie-talkie and mouthed, "Another brat."

"How many kids do you have, Harrington?" said Eddie.

"Just call me Steve, it's been too long a day for... formalities and shit," said Steve.

"Right, then... Well, call me Eddie."

"I've been calling you Eddie," said Steve, cracking a smile. He waved the walkie-talkie. "Anyway, let me finish this up real quick. The kid's decided Russians are infiltrating Hawkins."

Eddie snorted.

"Right?" said Steve. "There's totally Russians right under our feet."

"That's about as likely as me getting anything over a D."