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The room around them was tepid and uncomfortably quiet.
With the tattered curtains drawn closed over the one, cracked window on the far side of the room, the bright April sun shone through the gaudy, dated fabric and cast the space into a strangely calming orange glow; little golden pinholes of light projected through moth-eaten holes in those curtains, and dust danced around in the warm air. In any previous time, it would’ve been a peaceful sight, but now the look of particles adrift all around him filled Eddie Munson with an unwavering sense of dread.
It was bright, but welcomingly muted in comparison to the too-brightness of outside, and probably the closest thing to contact with actual sunlight the innocent fugitive would have for awhile.
Outside. Such a simple word, and even simpler concept seemed to be completely lost to the dejected young man laying sprawled out on the sunken bed. He hadn’t seen the outside in what felt like weeks, having no clue what day it was, or how many days had passed since his arrival here, let alone how many days had passed since he thought he’d taken his last breath in the Upside Down. Although he was going a bit stir crazy, locked away in the shelter of this hovel, he somehow didn’t miss the outside all that much.
Brown eyes cast upward, he counted what he could see on the disgusting ceiling hovering over him. — One busted ceiling lamp, with a single working bulb left out of the four that jutted from the twisted metalwork, maybe minutes away from crashing down on top of him. Seven clusters of cobwebs infesting every corner and doorway. One dark stain creeping down the far left corner, and a somehow more sinister, suspicious dark stain pooled adjacent to the broken light. Three coils of half-peeled wallpaper, each one stopped at a different length across the wall, indicating the moment Wayne chided him in hushed reprimands to “cut that out, boy.”
Thus, Eddie’s days were predominantly spent in relative silence and stifling boredom, trapped within four decaying walls with a half-busted tv, an emergency radio, and a handful of books that Dustin managed to bring. Steve and Robin had even offered to drop off some videotapes, but of course there was no VCR to be had in this shithole. Even Nancy offered to come study with Eddie, once he was feeling better, and while the sentiment was felt, both Eddie and Wayne quietly agreed that for the time being, her efforts would be wasted.
Hawkins High couldn’t very well let an alleged Satanic murderer walk at graduation, let alone one that was rumored to be dead, already. — The one thing Eddie had long promised his uncle was now seemingly forever out of reach. That fuckin’ figures. That good ole Munson luck, strikes again.
He was a mess, in every sense of meaning. Aside from the nerve-wracking fear and anxiety of being on the run, and without access to a shower or a proper meal for about a week, he was covered in blood, sweat, stagnant lake water, and whatever fetid manner of rot he’d accumulated from the Upside Down. It didn’t help that for the first few days after he’d woken up, he was so jittery and fearful and confused that he wouldn’t let anyone lift a finger to help him.
He felt like he was ready to vibrate out of his body in discomfort. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to tear open the door, run, and never stop. Adrenaline still pulsed through him too fast and too unceasing; his senses were on overdrive and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to calm them down, so he was experiencing everything. The sounds of the couple in the room above them stomping and arguing, the static radiating from the shitty television in the corner, the sputtering of the faulty faucet in the bathroom coupled with Wayne’s hushed curses, the overwhelming hunger twisting his empty stomach in knots, the putrid stench of himself that he couldn’t escape if he tried, paired with the stale aroma of mothballs practically radiating from the faded bed sheets, the torturous itch rippling through every inch of his filthy body, and the pain. Oh God, the pain.
Eddie curled in on himself and rocked gently on the edge of the bed, eventually allowing himself to slip to the floor with much less hesitation than anticipated. The unavoidable thump of his heartbeat radiating heavily through his limbs. His knees screamed at the painful sensation of hitting the rock hard floor as pain shot up his legs. But he remained there, rocking, mumbling something even he couldn’t understand.
It had been like this since he’d been carried out of Hell on the well-muscled back of Steve Harrington; maybe he would’ve enjoyed it more if not for the inconceivable pain shooting through every last inch of his unconscious body…and the torturous, heartbreaking sounds of Dustin’s grief, echoing painful and full into the darkness all the way back.
Even after his friends had managed to patch him up as best they could, even after Steve reassured everyone that this shady motel was safe: so far out of the way, nearly forgotten and left to waste by any ‘respectable’ citizen of Hawkins, even after he was reunited with his utterly devastated uncle, who wasted no time showering him with affection and apologies…Eddie hadn’t been able to utter a single, comprehensible word. Inside, he half wondered if he ever would, again. Yet another depressing new addition that made him feel so much less at home in himself.
“Eddie?” Wayne drawled, echoing from the open bathroom door. No answer. “Eddie?” He repeated again, followed by a strained grunt and the audible ‘pop’ of his bad knee. The younger of the pair didn’t bother moving even as the softened sound of footsteps approached.
Socked feet stopped just in front of Eddie, currently curled up into a filthy heap on the even filthier matted carpet, trying to make himself as small as possible; pulling in on himself as tightly as the injuries that peppered his entire body would allow him to. Wayne stared down at the young man - still more of a boy, really - and sighed sadly. “Oh, Eddie.” He exhaled softly, recalling the bruised and beaten ten year old that once sat, curled in the farthest corner of their trailer’s cramped living room with that same fragile, distant look in his eyes.
Wayne’s instincts reluctantly kicked in, and he knelt down carefully, his bad knee popping again as he grabbed onto the edge of the bed for leverage on the way down. Eddie noted the quiver in Wayne’s legs as he crouched down, close. Inside he knew that they were getting to the point that their roles should start to change; Eddie shouldering some of the weight his uncle had long supported for both of them. But Eddie also knew that both men had silently acknowledged that current impossibility.
Hands spread out visibly, Wayne rested one atop a leg, and slowly approached Eddie with the other. Eddie’s eyes, wide and red from lack of sleep, watched him unflinchingly the entire time.
“Eddie, c’mon now, it’s been a couple days, we gotta get ya cleaned up.” Wayne started, moving his hand to the edge of Eddie’s vest. “And…and that Harrington boy, he said uh…he said ya was hurt pretty bad and—“ Eddie noticed his wandering gaze and moved like lightning to pull the open vest in closer to himself. Wayne sighed and pulled back. “Eddie. Baby, c’mon now, this ain’t healthy…for EITHER of us,” Wayne cracked a smile as he attempted to lighten the mood. “we just gotta get ya clean and patched up, then ya can do whatever you want, okay?” The exhausted man extended a hand to his nephew, who eyed it cautiously, before relenting, and allowing himself to be pulled up. Eyes squeezing shut in silent agony as his muscles tensed against his haphazardly patched wounds. Somehow standing upright left him feeling even worse for wear, his head pounding and spinning from the quick movement upward. He hunched over quickly, cupping his forehead in his hand.
Wayne patted his back gently, urging him upright. “C’mon.” Wayne spoke softly. “Up you get.” He curled a supportive arm underneath one of his nephew’s and pulled Eddie against him, trying his best not to let on how difficult it was to help lift him; this whole ordeal had seemingly taken years off his uncle’s life. Yet another thing Eddie silently felt he had to atone for.
Wayne sat Eddie down on top of the toilet, where he’d preemptively draped a towel over the lid. Whether it was to protect the toilet from Eddie’s filth or the other way around, went undiscussed.
Eddie hunched over, curling in on himself once again, involuntarily rocking a little, as if still fruitlessly trying to calm himself while he watched Wayne jump into action. Bad knee be damned, the man was on the broken tile of the unforgiving bathroom floor, again, gently pulling Eddie’s legs towards him, one at a time. Unlacing his boots, caked completely in mud and what he was certain were rotting pieces of demobats, before setting them neatly and gently off to the side as if they were pristine and precious.
Wayne paused and forced a smile, placing a hand atop Eddie’s scraped knee. “Can ya help me out a little, son?” He asked warmly. Weakly and wordlessly, Eddie pushed himself up, shakily pulling the sullied bandana from his greasy mop of curls and letting it fall to the floor. He practically chucked that useless fucking “military grade” vest to the wall with all the force he had in him. Hell of a lot of good that piece of shit did him…maybe if he’d zipped it up? Hell if he knew…
Eddie slowly wriggled his long legs out from his hole-laden pants, visibly cringing at how the dried blood and sinew pulled at the hair on his legs, and parts of the sullied denim practically crunched as they were pulled away. He turned to remove his shirt, next, briefly examining the damage, which was more aptly described as ‘carnage.’ Thank God he’d been the one to make the original silkscreens for his precious Hellfire shirt, because this one was history. But…maybe it was better kept that way, he thought dejectedly, mentally casting off yet another piece of himself he knew he was unlikely to get back. He had a sinking feeling that ‘Hellfire’ wasn’t a word anyone in Hawkins would want to hear anytime this century.
Wayne paused, face paler, but trying his best not to look horrified as he stood to help Eddie remove the shirt, immediately taking note of the once crisp white surface now absolutely saturated in his boy’s blood. And…were those bites? “Oh, Eddie…God…” He exhaled, choking back tears at the sight of the mutilation.
He’d spent a significant part of the past decade or so putting on a brave face for this boy. Determined to never let Eddie know how he sometimes sat up all night, crunching numbers and praying he’d have enough to pay their lot rent at the trailer park that month, or which groceries they’d be able to buy that week; how many days in a row Wayne could cut down to two meals a day so Eddie would have three. Or how Christmases and birthdays and every other celebration in between were going to happen. He’d do it all again, but damn if seeing his boy suffer so much for no reason like this wasn’t gnawing away at his resolve.
Wayne shakily ran his fingers against Eddie’s sides, the raw skin, dry and leathery with dried blood and dying skin made him feel absolutely sick. Eddie’s chin quivered at the sight of his uncle’s steely blue eyes welling with tears, and looked away. It reminded him of the first time Wayne found out about him dealing drugs, and about the first time he’d come home saying he wouldn’t graduate, or the first time Wayne showed up, work-weary and strapped for cash to bail him out of jail…It reminded him that he’d always felt like a disappointment to this man who had given him everything without a second thought.
Wayne tried his best to avoid staring at Eddie’s wounds, and supported him as he unsteadily bent down to slide off his boxers; fresh blood leaking out into Wayne’s hand as he bolstered his nephew. Eddie winced in pain, and Wayne pulled away slightly, as if sensing the muscles beneath the gaping wounds tense under his touch.
Eddie, overwhelmed with pain, the eagerness to get clean and patched up, wasn’t the least bit concerned with modesty or privacy, and didn’t put up the slightest bit of fuss or protest as Wayne helped him into the tub. A shrill, stifled cry escaped him involuntarily as the hot water made contact with his shredded torso. Wayne let him squeeze his work-weathered hand so hard he was sure his nails were cutting into him. “It’s alright, I’ve gotcha.” He soothed through his own tears. “I’m right here darlin’, I’m here.”
The water immediately turned murky; an unsavory brownish grey with a twinge of red as fresh blood leaked from his wounds. Eddie closed his eyes and let Wayne take over. Dizzy, still recovering from blood loss and the stifling but indulgent heat of the water. Wayne softly hummed some nondescript tune as he took his time, scrubbing every inch of Eddie down: carding his fingers through stubborn tangles, scouring broken fingernails caked with dirt, deftly making a mental note of the injuries, and doing his best to be gentle around them. His heart clenched in his chest every time yet another wound made itself known as the mire was scoured away.
Gently, Wayne pressed a hand to Eddie’s forehead, covering his eyes as he moved to rinse the third round of suds from his hair. Eddie jolted back, slightly. He’d never been afraid of the dark, not even as a small child, but now, the sensation of not being able to see, or rather to see everything around him (or for that matter, what could be coming for him) filled Eddie with an unshakeable sense of dread. — He and Wayne were beginning to realize, day by day, exactly how many new things Eddie was afraid of, now.
“Hey! Hey! It’s alright, you’re alright.” Wayne soothed, reaching out carefully to touch Eddie’s bruised shoulder. “And look at that, you look ‘bout half human again.” Wayne joked, forcing a smile, Eddie’s frightened, yet oddly blank stare boring into him, threatening to bring on the tears once more.
Some of these behaviors weren’t exactly new. Eddie had been quiet, skittish, and frightened, when he’d first come into Wayne’s custody. And back then, it felt like every little thing Wayne did was wrong. Accidentally dropped something, spoke too loudly, cracked a beer after work, kicked off his boots a little too hard…it was like Eddie was constantly on edge. Ready to run or hide as soon as that sense of fear Wayne’s bastard of a little brother had beaten into him after his mama died.
Even now he was reminded of one of the first times his brother’s neglect - which proceeded the outright abuse - reared its ugly head. He recalled holding a wailing eight year old, steady as he could and taking the clippers to his head. His mama had been in and out of the hospital for close to a year, now and things had gone wildly off the rails with Wayne’s already wayward little brother.
It was no secret that Wally had been apprehensive about being a father, but once the partner doing all the work was largely, helplessly out of the picture, it became clear to Wayne that he resented and rejected the role, entirely.
It was the first time Wally had been locked up, that Eddie was actually old enough to remember, and he’d been sent to his uncle, hungry, dirty, woefully behind in school, and curly dark hair crawling with lice. He remembered his heart breaking for the boy as he cried and begged, declaring that it ‘wasn’t that bad!,’ or ‘just wash it again, they’ll come out, I promise!’ In the end, Eddie sat curled up under a blanket on the couch, refusing to speak to his uncle. It took him a couple of years to fully realize he’d done it for his own good, and that unlike his father, Wayne’s intentions were genuinely for Eddie’s own benefit, but damn if it didn’t kill Wayne to see the boy suffer any more than he already had.
It had taken the pair years to figure out how to exist in one another’s company, to read each other’s intentions, and on Eddie’s part, to ascertain whether or not he was truly, genuinely safe, for the first time in years. — Wayne watched as that timid, battered little boy grew up. Shot up like a wild weed, found his voice, his talent, his people. Sure, he’d encountered more than his fair share of bumps in the road along the way, but Wayne had always been there to support him, comfort him, and love him. He’d promised that boy that he would be there, always. No matter what.
Wayne drained the bath and helped Eddie out of the dirtied tub, wrapping him in a towel. “Phew, I think I’d best take care of this…” Wayne muttered to himself at the thin layer of grime that was left against the cracked porcelain as the murky water rushed down the drain with a gurgle. “Go on n’ lay down a spell, oh! N’ get the kit out for me, would ya?” Wordlessly, Eddie nodded and shuffled out of the bathroom, admittedly much of the discomfort he’d felt previously had left him, washed away with all evidence of his inter dimensional escapades. But he still hurt.
Clutching the towel firmly around his sides with cross-crossed arms, he floated around the cramped room, rummaging through the sparse duffel of personal effects that Wayne had been able to salvage. Nestled at the bottom, banged up, taped up, and plastered with a few stickers from Eddie’s youth was a heavy, off-white box with a scratched red cross on the top. The Munsons might’ve been poor, but their fully stocked first aid kit probably rivaled that of a small hospital; medical bills were expensive, so it had long been a quietly established rule in their household, that it was always best to try and patch themselves up, first, before entertaining a visit to the emergency room. This was perhaps the only thing Wayne and his brother had in common.
Eddie sat the kit on the bed, and reclined into the creaky, sunken mattress. Curled up in a ball, soft towel wrapped around him like a precious security blanket, he silently reveled in the feeling, of being clean and comfortable, and safe. Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt renewed, and found himself fighting off sleep with the rhythmic sounds of Wayne scrubbing out the tub.
Eddie heard the sputtering faucet turn on, then off again in quick succession, followed by a strained groan as Wayne returned to the room. “Don’t fall asleep on me, just yet.” Wayne gestured with a hand for Eddie to sit up, and popped the kit open.
Eddie scrubbed his eyes with the back of a hand, and sat up as best he could, letting the towel fall slack across his lap. He noticed more than just a few tiny flecks of blood staining the pale blue fabric. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Wayne placed the necessities out onto the bed, and audibly groaned, almost whined at the site of Bacitracin. “You’ll be fine, Eddie. I hate to do it, but it’ll help ya heal faster…” He mumbled, adjusting his position to get a full look at his nephew. Eddie had to look away as Wayne’s lip quivered, catching full sight of the pale, thin body sitting next to him, absolutely covered in painful wounds that would no doubt leave scars. As if his boy didn’t already get an unfair amount of stares and scrutiny in this heartless town.
Eddie sensed the unease, and quietly began drawing in on himself, again. “Alright, I’m…I’m gonna go ahead n’ get started, okay?” Wayne asked, already soaking a rag with some of the acrid medicine, as if asking forgiveness before permission. Shakily, Eddie let his arms fall limply to his sides, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the worn comforter in both hands. “I’m gonna try and go as fast as I can…”
As the first dabs were applied to the largest open wound across his chest, Eddie shuddered and pulled back, practically wheezing in pain as an agonized scream broke from him. Wayne shushed him gently, eyes darting around the room. The dam on his own tears breaking, and he offered nearly inaudible apologies as he kept going, picking up the pace to get this nightmare over as quickly as possible. Wayne’s stomach lurched, and he felt like he was bound to fall apart at the seams right then and there, as Eddie reached out, weakly pushing against him, wet, curly hair shaking wildly from side to side as Eddie protested in silent agony.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, just…” Wayne put the bottle down on the nightstand and paused, once Eddie’s shoulders began heaving, a precursor to the stifled sobs that soon escaped him. “S-ss-s-sto-ss-stop…pp-ple-p-p-plee-please.” He whimpered, so softly it almost went unnoticed; this time Wayne felt like he was going to lose it because these were the first words his nephew had uttered since they’d been reunited.
For the time being, Wayne surrendered. Opting to slather the more shallow wounds with Neosporin and begin the arduous process of padding and wrapping. By the time they were done, Wayne couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight; Eddie looked the spitting image of the toilet paper ‘mummy’ he’d dressed as for Halloween his first year living with Wayne. Money was tight (as always) and tighter now with a child to care for, but two things that were never in short supply in the Munson household were creativity and resourcefulness.
Wayne turned back to his duffel on the floor and came away with an oversized orange tee shirt with some local restaurant’s logo on the front in blinding blue and white, and a pair of bright green sweatpants with a ‘Hawkins High’ logo emblazoned in gold against the sides; both grimaced at the combination, seeing as it was quite possibly the least attuned to Eddie’s usual aesthetic, but in times of desperation, who was he to complain? Besides, Dustin and Steve had taken risk after risk coming here to drop off what resources they could manage to grab without being questioned.
Wayne placed the garments on Eddie’s toweled lap and gently ran a hand over his head. “I’m gonna step out for a smoke, I’ll leave ya to it, then.” Eddie nodded and watched as Wayne tiredly slipped from the room with the faintest ‘click’ of the door.
Eddie dressed as quickly as his tightly wrapped and aching body would allow, only pausing to sneak a peek at the gaudy sweatpants. Face flushing as he recalled Steve being the one to drop these off, and wondering with a devilish spark of his former self if they might be his. “Thanks for the pants, Big Boy,” he monologged internally, a smile spreading across his face, only to be stopped and quickly withdrawn by the sudden, sharp sting of the wounds on his cheek flaring up.
Eddie reclined against the pillows stacked on the bed and cracked open one of the books his friends had brought him; some lonely housewife type romance novel with a damsel in distress and a muscular knight with rather ineffectual armor painted dramatically on the front. He scoffed a bit at the sight, wondering what in the world possessed his friends to pick this book, other than cruel humor. With a flip of the pages, a small note fell out. Scrawled on a torn sheet of notebook paper, the familiar letters read: “Probably not what you’re used to, not “METAL” enough! But it was the only one with a hero (kind of) on the cover, so have at it, Batman!” -Robin. Eddie nearly laughed at the revelation of ‘Batman’ as a nickname, better still coming from ‘Robin.’
The two had never been particularly close, but they had crossed paths in school, not to mention the unspoken similarity they both shared. Although, Eddie had long since cast off any care for what the reserved yuppies of Hawkins thought of him, so his homosexuality was loud and proud - yet another thing Wayne had deftly supported him on - whereas Robin’s was quiet. There, but only in a whisper, and only in a whisper that was heard by a special few. He sometimes felt she resented him for being as boldly open as he was, but upon reflection, he’s sure it was just that she thought he was weird. — Now, he thinks it’s because she knows about the torch he carries for her best friend. But that’s a contemplation for another time.
The front door opened again and Wayne emerged with grocery bags full of takeout in hand. “You hungry?” He asked, jostling the bag; from the corner of the open door, Eddie could’ve sworn he saw the familiar maroon flash of a fancy little Beemer peeling out of the parking lot.
The pair sat on the bed, dinner spread out across paper plates and a folded paper bag as they absentmindedly watched the news.
Wayne usually wasn’t one for the news, too much sensationalism. Too much taking advantage of unfortunate stories and too little of actually caring, but as was his luck, the local news channel was just about the only one that registered clearly on the shoddy motel television set.
Regardless, he listened silently as he picked at the last remains of fried rice and veggies at the bottom of his container, eyes and ears glued to the fuzzy screen. He listened to the rising numbers of dead and missing, hoping that the few friends he had, after his nephew’s ordeal had made it through alright.
“Eddie Munson, the leader of this Satanic cult, has been missing for several days, and is presumed dead.” Wayne’s heart ached at that. Call it a silly parental intuition, but Wayne couldn’t stand hearing of a kid Eddie’s age, hurt, missing, abused, or God forbid, dead, and the fact that his own, sat here, terrified in this shitty motel while false accusations and witch hunts still swirled all around them filled him with an anger he had no idea what to do with.
When he heard that she reporter dub the recent tragedies “The Munson Murders,” he rose and shut off the tv with a forceful ‘smack’ to the knob. He turned to look at his nephew, praying he hadn’t heard that, but knew it was useless. Wayne rested a gentle hand on Eddie’s shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head. “We’ll get through this, kid. We always do.” He promised, though both of them seemed to quietly acknowledge that this ordeal was quite a bit different from the mundane struggles of daily life they’d conquered up till now. Still, Eddie chose to cling to whatever scant rays of hope came his way.
Then came the nightmares.
There was only one bed in the cramped motel room shared by the two men. Aside from that, the only poor excuses for ‘furniture’ in the sparse space was a rickety night table, with cardboard wedged beneath one leg, an equally shoddy dresser (missing one drawer) which also doubled as the tv stand, and a lone, sad chair - wooden with no cushion, sitting off to one side of the room.
It went without question that Wayne’s nephew got the bed; injured or not, he wouldn’t hear an argument, otherwise. At first he contemplated them sharing the bed, which had happened a few times, since their reluctant stay first began, but he found it most sensible to sleep in shifts. — He was beyond accustomed to keeping strange hours, working graveyard shifts for no less than a decade, and cross-country trucking for years before that, but he also liked the security of being awake to watch out for Eddie. Sure, his friends had promised him that this hole was just about as out of the way as they could get, while still remaining within reasonable driving distance for them, not to mention being in a rough area meant most of Hawkins’ sheltered elites wouldn’t dare come knocking, but Wayne Munson was not a naive man.
His nephew was wanted. Wanted by people who had every right to be furious, people who had lost everything. And in his experience, people who’d lost everything were prone to taking unusual risks.
Parting the already tattered curtains to catch one last glimpse of the outside, now awash in the darkness of night, reassuring himself of the parking lot’s emptiness, Wayne glanced back over to the bed where his nephew sat, absentmindedly watching some nondescript program, unfortunately lost in a garble of static. “S’been a long day,” Wayne said with a yawn, catching Eddie’s attention only briefly. “let’s go ahead and get ya to bed, hmm?” Eddie didn’t speak, but instead shot him a look that said ‘Really, Wayne? I’m not a little kid, anymore.’ To which the older man chuckled warmly. “More rest ya get, the faster you’ll get better.” He enticed. Eddie rolled his eyes and moved to lay back against the wall of pillows Wayne had stacked for him. Wayne turned to shut the tv off, before pulling the blankets up over Eddie’s legs.
As Eddie settled in, Wayne seated himself at the edge of the bed and stared down at the young man. Expression a somewhat uncomfortable mix of love, relief, sadness, and frustration. Just utter exhaustion. Eddie raised a brow and cocked a shoulder as if to question the stare. Wayne responded by quietly dragging his calloused knuckles against Eddie’s cheek as softly as he could. “My sweet boy.” He simpered under his breath, Eddie sighed and took hold of Wayne’s hand, patting it firmly and giving it a squeeze. Wayne squeezed back.
“If I’m able to get out tomorrow, I’ll see if I can get ahold of some of them Dungeons & Dragons books for ya, how’s that sound?” Wayne offered, Eddie smirked but couldn’t meet his uncle’s gaze. — He would love some of his old Dungeon Master books back, even just his campaign planners, his sketches, anything. But he was more than one hundred percent certain that any D&D paraphernalia in Hawkins had probably been rounded up and burned or something. The gesture was still nice. Plus it was the first time Wayne had actually remembered ‘Dungeons & Dragons,’ he aways remembered one word of the title, but never both. Intuitive as ever, Wayne picked up on that sentiment and sighed. “Well…I’ll find somethin’ for ya to read.” Wayne spotted the romance novel Robin had so graciously gifted him and raised a brow. “Anythin’s better than this I ‘spose.” He joked, Eddie smiled, and Wayne could’ve sworn he heard the faintest chuckle escape him.
With that, he lifted himself up from the edge of the sunken mattress and ruffled Eddie’s hair, gently. “Goodnight, kiddo. I’m gonna step out for a smoke, but I’ll be right here if ya need anythin.’” Eddie nodded before turning to shut off the lamp on the bedside table. Wayne waited a moment until he’d tossed and turned and shuffled around in the creaking old bed, until the rustling stopped and signaled he’d found a comfortable spot.
Outside, Wayne stood, shoulders slack with exhaustion, against the peeling red paint of their room’s door. Exhaling noxious smoke into the evening air, catching the occasional glimpse of the fading trail of vapors as they caught in the flickering light of the street lamp across the parking lot.
Internally he was pondering exactly how the Hell they’d gotten here. What they must’ve done in a previous life to warrant such perpetual bad luck in the present. — Ever since he’d helped bury his best friend, the girl who got away and ran straight into the arms of an abuser, ever since his little brother was given twenty five to life, ever since his little nephew was placed abruptly in his lap, Wayne Munson had tried hard to make the best of what life had thrown at him. Constantly feeling like he was in over his head trying to break the cycles that had swallowed up his brother, just like their father before them, determined not to let Eddie fall into those same trappings.
As for Eddie, that boy was twice as resilient as his uncle, twice as kind, and by Wayne’s own estimations, about a hundred times as brave. Where Wayne had been content to keep his head down and stay quietly in his lane, Eddie had the courage to live, loud and proud and in-your-face, effortlessly embracing everything that made him, him, consequences be damned. He was breaking the Munson family’s curses in his own way, though he’d given Wayne plenty of cause to worry that he was sometimes toeing the line too closely. But in the end, he’d never, not even for a second, doubted that his boy was anything but good.
Inside, Eddie had drifted off to sleep, but had become usual, it was anything but restful.
The light by the bedside table was far too bright, and the busted light on the ceiling had an odd habit of flickering at night, just like the one ‘working’ streetlamp outside, but Eddie had gotten to such a point that he simply couldn’t sleep in total darkness. The compromise Wayne had come up with was to leave the bathroom lights on and the door cracked open just enough to let some of the light pour comfortingly into the main room. Eddie would turn to face that light and calm himself into sleep, using it to ground himself and hoping that the serenity he’d tricked himself into feeling would carry him through one more, restless night. This was rarely the outcome.
In his dreams, everything was so much…more. More real, more painful, more inescapable. He relived it all; Vecna, the Upside Down, the town’s brutally unanimous witch hunt, the demobats, his brush with death…
As he writhed in bed, screams catching in his throat, limbs twisting and tangling up in the shabby motel room sheets, he felt Vecna’s vines all around him. Choking, strangling, consuming. Holding him in place this time, as his bats devoured him piece by piece. Rows of tiny razor-sharp teeth pulling flesh from his bones without an ounce of struggle until there was nothing left.
He saw his friends, mocking him. Punching down at him with inspired vitriol, unleashing their deep-seated hatred for him as Vecna pulled the strings. “Fucking loser, couldn’t even graduate high school.” Nancy scoffed, face hardened and haughty. “I always knew there was something wrong with him.” Robin chastised, looking to the others for confirmation as she shook her head piteously. “Tch! To think this trailer trash FREAK actually thought I LIKED him!” Steve guffawed, eyes empty despite his smirk. “You put us all in danger, you put ME in danger! You’re selfish and SICK. Grow up!” Dustin spat, turning away with crossed arms. “N-no…p-p-please…” Eddie choked, pulling his mutilated form up from the ground as the circle of onlookers vanished.
Heartbreakingly enough he saw Wayne, next; turning his back on him with a scathing shake of his head. “Lord knows I tried my best…” He began woefully. “…some efforts are just in vain. Why somethin’ as useless as you had to be born at all’s beyond me.” Tears fell hot and heavy down his mangled cheeks, burning as they mixed with the blood that poured from every inch of him in seemingly endless streams. He held out a hand, mostly comprised of exposed bones and hanging skin, begging Wayne to come back like he always did, to hold him close and reassure him that everything was okay, that he loved and supported him no matter what. He didn’t turn around.
With that, the ground beneath Eddie’s feet began to rumble, blinding red streaks began breaking through the stagnant earth and heading right for him! There was nowhere to go, every direction was cloaked in black, an endless void with nothing beyond the prison he found himself standing in. The faces of his loved ones, distorted and fearsome loomed overhead, chanting “FREAK! FREAK! FREAK!” Jeering, laughing, as he sunk to his knees, shredded hands clasped protectively over his ears as he rocked. The red lines in the ground grew closer, the chanting grew louder, the pain overwhelming his senses became harder to ignore. “FREAK! FREAK! FREAK!” The voices persisted. “S-s-st-stop.” Eddie sobbed softly, to no avail. “S-stop.” He commanded again, a little louder this time. By now his ears were ringing, and all Hell broke loose. “STOP! STOP! STOOOOOP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UPPPPP! GO AWAY!” Eddie screamed until he was sure he felt more blood pooling in his open mouth.
The voices stopped, so did the rumbling. The four red lines searing through the ground collided beneath his feet, and everything went black.
Back in the motel room, Eddie writhed in a cold sweat, tears running down his cheeks despite his deep slumber, and body twisted into uncomfortable angles as he fought to wake himself. He could’ve sworn he heard the slam of a door and the hurried shuffle of familiar boots against the trodden carpet. “Eddie?!” A voice called out to him.
Trapped in the quiet but unnerving darkness of the eternal fall through the ‘X’ in the ground, Eddie heard the echo of his name. “Eddie?!” It called again. His limbs flailed, reaching out for nothing, heart thumping and air catching in his throat as he tried to find his voice again. “I-I’m h-here! He-hello!?” He cried out, only his own voice echoing back to him. A weight shifted, and his limbs felt loose and tired, no longer squeezed by whatever invisible force had held them before. A hand to the back of his head, the homey scents of menthol cigarettes and dime store laundry detergent permeated his senses despite there being no one else around. “Wa-Wayne?” Eddie realized.
“Eddie, c’mon now, wake up.” The voice, now fully recognized as his uncle’s, urged gently. Eddie’s fall slowed, leaving him floating, still shrouded in darkness, but somehow awash in tranquility. “Wayne!” Eddie got his name out all at once, without a stutter. “I-I’m here! I’m here!” He cried out, cupping hands around his mouth. Looking down he was surprised to find them covered in healthy skin, not a trace of the Upside Down of its horrors marring him.
“Wake up. C’mon darlin’, wake up for me.” Wayne persisted gently, a feeling of warmth and safety cradled him. Slowly, Eddie let himself be pulled out of the dream with a flutter of his weary eyes.
“Eddie?” Wayne said, his scruffy face blurry in his nephew’s eyes as he adjusted to the waking world. “W-Wayne?” He whispered back, throat raw from screaming in spite of only managing a few, garbled noises in real life. “Hey there, kid.” The older man said warmly, brushing calloused knuckles down Eddie’s tear-stained cheek. Eddie swiped a hand brusquely across his eyes, but the resulting clarity of Wayne’s face, warm and comforting, only lasted seconds as the tears began welling up, immediately. “Wayne.” Eddie blubbered, reaching up to wrap both wiry arms around Wayne’s neck. Wayne grunted slightly but held Eddie against him, anyway, rubbing gentle circles against his back, and rocking him as best he could while he cried.
“Shhh, I’ve gotcha, baby, I’ve gotcha. Everythin’s okay, n’ you’re safe, I promise.” Wayne reassured, supporting Eddie’s weight as he relaxed his hold on him. Eddie pulled back and met Wayne’s gaze, catching sight of his misty eyes. Eddie didn’t care about his harshly furrowed brow, the wrinkles in his quivering chin, or the disgusting mixture of snot and tears running trails down his face…he was relieved at the presence of his uncle, he knew how much he loved him, how much he worried, but he also knew how convincing that bastard Vecna could be. How he played at people’s deepest insecurities. He just needed some sort of confirmation that he was here, and safe, and wanted.
“W-Wayne.” Eddie began, wetly. “I-I’m s-s-so, I’m so sorry, I-I-I d-didn’t…” With that Wayne pulled Eddie back in, head against his chest. Whether it was out of comfort, or hoping that his nephew wouldn’t see the tears finally beginning to rain down his own weathered cheeks was a mystery. Wayne gently ran his hands through Eddie’s curls, and rained kisses down upon the crown of his head.
“Ain’t NOTHIN’ to be sorry for, boy. Nothin’ at all.” Wayne sniffled. “If anythin’ at all, I’m sorry. Shoulda been there to protect ya.” Eddie reached up and placed a hand against the one Wayne had pressed against the back of his head. “I love you. A-and, th-thank you.” Eddie spoke into the soggy surface of Wayne’s old flannel. “I love you too, Eddie. More n’ you know.” Wayne said, deeply fond.
After a few moments, Eddie reclined back against the pillows again, Wayne remained seated at the edge of the bed, one hand resting against Eddie’s leg while he searched his pants’ pocket with the other. When he came away with a wrinkled old hanky, he clambered over to Eddie and cleaned off his face, holding it firmly over his nose and silently urging him to blow. Normally, Eddie would’ve snatched the cloth away and chitted Wayne about embarrassing him, or ‘not being a little kid, anymore,’ but lately he was learning to let those who wanted to help him, do so, and offered a stifled ‘thanks,’ in response.
Wayne took Eddie’s chin in his fingers and raised his face to meet his gaze. “I meant it, y’know. Not sure if ya even remember, but I’m always gonna be here for ya, no matter what, okay?” Eddie nodded in his grasp. “Yeah. I remember.” He managed with a small, but warm smile. Wayne patted his cheek. “Good. We’ll get through this mess, don’t ya worry ‘bout that.” Wayne promised, rising from the bed with an unexpected jolt as the beam of headlights suddenly poured in from the holes in the curtains.
Reaching for the shotgun he’d placed in the corner beside the door, he parted the curtains as subtly as possible; back on the bed, Eddie’s anxiety ramped up again and he curled in on himself, preparing for the worst. Just as Wayne sighed and his shoulders relaxed at the sound of car doors.
Smiling, he sat the weapon back down and moved to unlock the door. “N’ y’know Eddie, I’m not the only one who’ll be here for ya…” He gestured with a wiggle of his fingers for Eddie to join him by the window. The young man pushed himself up laboriously, but made it to the window, heat rising in his cheeks and his heart feeling a little fuller as he noticed Steve, Robin, Dustin, Lucas, and Erica filing out of Steve’s Beemer. And only a few parking spots down, Nancy exited her Buick with Mike and Will, who helped unload Max’s wheelchair from the trunk while El got her settled. Eddie looked over to Wayne, infectious smile spreading across his features again, this time it didn’t stop or shrink just because of the pain in his cheek.
Wayne clapped his nephew on the shoulder and pulled him close. “Y’got yourself some good people, kiddo. Make sure you keep ‘em close.” Wayne gestured out the partially open curtains to a brawny young man in a cozy yellow sweater. “‘Specially that one, call this old man crazy, but I think he’s got eyes for ya.” Wayne half-teased as Eddie shoved himself away. “You a-are crazy.” Eddie chuckled, but he couldn’t conceal or deny the flutter in his chest when at last there was a knock on the door.