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“We can’t do it in the house,” Steve says. “Mom would kill me.”
“Well, we can’t do it out here!” Robin says, waving an arm at the lit-up pool. “What if I start hallucinating and fall in there and drown?”
“It’s marijuana, not acid,” Steve says. “You have done this before, right?”
Robin scoffs. “Of course I haven’t, no one ever offered.”
“So it’s your first time?” Steve says, starting to grin. Robin blushes, which makes him grin harder.
“Ugh, you suck,” she says, giving him a one-handed shove. “Fine, we’ll do it here. Why are you so eager to get high, anyway?”
“It’s kind of like a tribute, I guess,” Steve says, pulling the little bag out of his pocket. “Dustin found these in the guitar case he stole from Eddie’s room, and I wasn’t gonna let him keep them, you know? He’s too young. But I just think Eddie wouldn’t want them to go to waste. He’d want us to smoke them.”
“He probably would,” Robin says, sighing.
They stand there, looking at the joints in silence. The trees rustle in the breeze.
“Okay,” Robin says eventually. “Show me how it’s done.”
Steve fishes one out and flicks the cap off the Zippo. “Here,” he says, passing her the joint to hold as he lights it. “Start with little puffs, okay? You’re probably gonna cough no matter what.”
Robin doesn’t listen to him at all, inhaling like she’s preparing to dive into the pool and then coughing explosively. Steve snatches the joint out of her fingers before she drops it.
“That was awful,” Robin says hoarsely, wiping at her streaming eyes. “Why does anyone do this?”
Steve takes a drag before answering, relishing the tingle on his tongue and in his lungs. “Because it feels good,” he says, watching the smoke drift into the night sky. “Here, try again. You’ll get the hang of it.”
The stars are out. Even the lights around the pool can’t wash them out completely. Is that where people go when they die? Is Eddie up there now, looking down on them?
Robin is not getting the hang of it. “It burns,” she wheezes, thumping her chest. “Ugh.”
“Give it time,” Steve says, hitting it again and sitting down to make leaning back easier. The stars are beautiful.
Robin sits down too, hacking and clearing her throat loudly. It’s not a very pleasant sound, but it means she’s alive too. She’s his best friend, and the world didn’t end, and they’re getting high together under the stars. It feels miraculous, being here like this. Even if Robin clearly has no idea what she’s doing.
“This is nice,” Steve says, which sounds super inadequate coming out of his mouth. Robin will know what he means, though.
“Yeah,” she says, reaching out towards him. “Let me try again.”
Steve nods. “To Eddie,” he says, raising the joint high before passing it.
“To Eddie,” Robin intones somberly. The effect is only a little bit ruined by the way she starts coughing right after.
Steve doesn’t really care. He feels good. The constant stress of the past few weeks is just— gone, for the moment. He doesn’t have to worry about anything. Robin is here, and the two of them are all right.
“Ohhhhh my god,” Robin says, drawing it out. She must be feeling it too. And then she adds, totally out of left field: “You’re such a liar, Steve.”
“No, I’m not,” Steve says, hurt. “I don’t— we weren’t even talking. How could I be lying?”
“I’m hallucinating,” Robin says. She’s not worked up, not yet, but she sounds like she’s thinking about it. “You said I wouldn’t, but I’m hallucinating.”
“Weed doesn’t do that,” Steve says, frowning at her. “Why would you be hallucinating?”
Robin scoffs. “Oh, so you can see Bigfoot over there too?”
She gestures towards the tree line. Steve looks over, expecting to see— he doesn’t know what. A weird shadow. Maybe a large dog.
Bigfoot stares back at him, eyes gleaming red.
“Bigfoot doesn’t live anywhere near Indiana,” Robin says scornfully. “So obviously he’s not there, but—”
Steve can’t get his thoughts to line up for long enough to speak. He reaches out instead, wrapping a hand around her wrist. Robin breaks off.
“You—” she says, hushed. “You see him too?”
Steve nods. Robin sucks in a breath.
Bigfoot shambles closer, still staring right at Steve. Robin’s told Steve stories about him, along with all the other weird creatures she’s obsessed with. The stories made him sound pretty dangerous
They also made him sound a lot bigger.
“His feet are normal-sized,” Steve says, trying to figure out where the nearest baseball bat is. There’s the one under his bed, and the one in the garage, and the one with the nails coated in demodog gore, stashed at the back of his closet where his mom won’t find it when she’s vacuuming. The garage one is probably their best bet, if they can get there. “Can he run fast?”
“That’s not— huh,” Robin says, which is really not very helpful.
Bigfoot — Normalfoot? — is almost by the pool now. Every inch of him is covered in mud and slime and bits of grass. If he gets any closer Steve is going to have to pressure-wash the concrete when the fight is over.
“Robin,” Steve says, standing up slowly and tugging on her wrist. He has to get her to safety.
Bigfoot opens his mouth. His teeth look oddly human, apart from the canines, which are much too sharp.
“Can I have some of that?” he says, voice creaking like a rusty hinge. He tips his muddy chin towards Steve.
Steve blinks, looking down at the still-smoking joint in his hand. Bigfoot— wants to get high?
“Oh my god,” Robin says. “Eddie?”
“I’ve had a really shitty day,” Bigfoot says, in what actually does sound like Eddie Munson’s voice. “I woke up in a— there were these vines, and—” He breaks off, shuddering. “Just, please, man.”
Steve lets go of Robin and takes a cautious step closer, and then another. The red eyes are new, but now that he thinks about it that jawline looks super familiar. He walks up and holds the joint out.
Bigfoot takes it and brings it up to his lips. The light from the pool glints off the metal on his finger.
“Holy shit,” Steve says. It seems too good to be true. “Eddie. You’re alive?”
Bigfoot-Eddie shrugs, smoke streaming out of his mud-streaked nostrils. “I guess, yeah,” he says, taking another big toke. When he passes the joint back it’s damp and stained with dirt. “It’s all kind of a blur. Can I use your shower?”
“We saw you, though,” Robin said, coming closer. “You were, uh. You were extremely dead. The forever kind of dead.”
“I don’t remember that,” Eddie says. “But I’d really like to clean up. This shit itches like a son of a bitch.”
Up close, Steve can see his eyes aren’t as red as they first seemed. They’re still brown, just— glowing, almost, when the light hits them right. It’s kinda cool, in a spooky way.
That doesn’t mean Steve can let Eddie in the house like this. “Sorry, no,” he says, passing the joint back in apology.
“What?” Robin says, indignant. “Of course he can shower!”
“Mom and dad are coming back tomorrow,” Steve says, turning towards her and putting his hands on his hips. “I’m not cleaning the carpet tonight, no way.”
“The pool is heated, right?” Eddie says.
“No!” Steve says, whipping around and holding up a finger. “No, no, not a chance, you’ll clog the stupid filter. Come on, this way.”
He leads them around the west side of the house, where the neighbors won't see. When he grabs the garden hose Robin tugs at his sleeve. “Steve, come on, this is crazy. He’ll freeze to death!”
“I’m not cold,” Eddie says, flicking the burned-up roach into the bushes. “Who cares, just get this crap off me.”
“Wait!” Robin yelps when Steve turns the tap on. “Let me get out of range!”
Hosing Eddie down takes a long time. He’s pretty stoic about it, finger-combing straw and little rocks and dead leaves out of his wet hair. He’s still wearing the clothes he died in.
“There are holes in my jacket,” he says, holding one side between thumb and forefinger. “And my shirt.”
“Yeah, uh, you kind of got eaten alive,” Robin says. “Don’t you remember?”
“Oh,” Eddie says, forehead creasing. “I don’t— were there bats?”
“There were bats,” Steve confirms. Dead, when Steve and the others found Eddie in Dustin’s arms, but by that time so was Eddie.
“Henderson was there,” Eddie says, frowning harder. “Is— did he make it?”
“Yeah,” Steve says, rinsing endless layers of mud off the bullet belt Erica insisted on buying. What was the point of that thing, anyway? Eddie didn’t have a gun. “Yeah, don’t worry, man. He made it. We all did.”
Eddie’s expression clears. “Oh,” he says. “Good. Hey, you guys have any food? I’m starving.”
“Steve made mac & cheese earlier,” Robin says. “There’s a bunch left.”
“Yeah, because it’s burnt,” Steve says. “Which was not my fault, by the way.” Robin makes a stink-face at him.
“What about— meat?” Eddie says. He’s not shivering, even though it’s after sunset and the hose water is ice cold. “Steak or something. Uh. Raw steak. You have any?”
“Uh, maybe frozen,” Steve says, wrinkling his nose. “Why does it have to be raw?”
It’s pretty dark on this side of the garage. Eddie’s eyes have that red gleam in them again.
“Oh no,” Robin says, in tones of dawning horror. “Oh, man. Eddie, whatever you do, don’t think about blood.”
“Oh,” Eddie says, gaze going unfocused. His tongue pokes at one sharp canine. “Oh, that sounds— blood. You guys have blood?”
Sharp teeth. Red eyes. Coming back from the dead, hungry for blood. Oh, shit. Steve’s seen this movie.
“Seriously, Robin?” he says, clutching the hose tighter. “Of course we don’t have blood, dude! Who keeps bags of blood in the house?”
“I’m sorry!” Robin says anxiously. “Let’s all stop saying blood, okay? We, uh, we have more grass! You can have that, all of it. Eddie, you still like that stuff, right?”
Eddie licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says, darting a look at her. He’s standing very still, hair hanging limp in his face, wet clothes clinging to his body. It makes him look even paler and skinnier than usual. “Uh. Why do you smell scared?”
Robin swallows back a squeak. Steve steps closer to her, trying to put his body between them without being obvious about it. He’s cleaned almost down to Eddie’s formerly-white shoes. They’re beyond soaked by now. If they’re lucky, that ought to slow Eddie down long enough to buy them some time.
Eddie’s expression is doing something weird. “You’re scared of me,” he says slowly. “Both of you. Why—?”
“Please don’t hurt us,” Robin says. Steve can feel her fist bunching in the back of his jacket. “We’re your friends, remember?”
“What?” Eddie says. He’s not moving at all, except for his mouth when he talks. Steve’s not sure he’s even breathing. “Why would I—?”
He pauses, frowning, poking at his teeth with his tongue again, and then a single finger.
“What the shit?” he mutters, staring at his fingertip.
“Steve,” Robin whispers. “Steve, do you have any silver?”
“That’s werewolves,” Eddie says absently, not looking up. “It’s wooden stakes, for vampires. Or, uh, sunlight.”
“There’s a croquet set in the garage,” Steve says under his breath.
“Wait,” Eddie says, eyes snapping to his. “Wait, wait, don’t kill me yet. I just woke up, okay? I haven’t hurt anybody, I swear.”
Steve bites his lip. It’s not like he wants to kill Eddie. But if Eddie’s a vampire…
Eddie sighs, shoulders slumping. “Can you at least stop with the hose, man?”
Steve’s not stupid enough to turn around and mess with the tap, but he twitches his wrist, angling the spray at the grass. It won’t be any good in a fight, anyway, except maybe as a distraction.
Even with the spooky red gleam, Eddie’s eyes look sad. “I can just leave,” he says, the lines around his mouth deepening. “Thanks for the, uh, cleanup. And the weed.”
He turns around and heads for the sidewalk, shoes squelching.
“Wait,” Steve says. Robin’s hand on the back of his jacket twitches.
Eddie pauses mid-stride, glancing over his shoulder.
“Where are you gonna go?”
“Home,” Eddie says, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s fine, man, I get it. Don’t worry about it.”
Oh, man. Eddie doesn’t know yet. Steve shakes his head. “You can’t go home, dude.”
Eddie laughs, short and joyless. “Why not? You gonna stake me?”
“No,” Steve says. “It’s just— the trailer’s gone. Those guys from the government came and took the whole thing after we killed Vecna.”
Eddie’s expression wavers. “Oh,” he says. “Well, shit.”
Robin pipes up. “Dustin went in and stole a bunch of your stuff first. I’m pretty sure he’ll give it back if you ask.”
“Listen,” Steve says, making up his mind. “If you promise not to bite us I can get you a change of clothes and— and some frozen steak. We can thaw it in the microwave. Okay?”
Steve will have to drive to the butcher shop in Jonesboro and buy a replacement with his own money so his mom won’t make a big deal over Sunday dinner being ruined, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. Eddie needs their help.
Eddie’s hands flex at his sides. “You don’t have to,” he says, but there’s no mistaking the longing in his eyes.
“No, come on,” Steve says. “We’re friends. And you promise, right?”
Eddie hesitates another moment, and then nods sharply, jamming his hands in his pockets. “No biting. I promise.”
“Okay, great,” Steve says. “Robin, can you go grab a towel? There’s a bunch in the laundry room.”
“On it,” Robin says, darting into the house. Steve turns around to close the tap before he drowns the lawn completely.
There’s a rapid series of squelches behind him, and then something cold and slimy hits the side of his face. Pain blooms in his neck, and then fades just as fast.
“Ow!” Steve says, slapping a hand over where the sting was sharpest. His skin is wet. “What—?”
When he turns back around, Eddie’s mouth is stained red. “Uh,” Eddie says, eyes very wide. “Sorry.”
Steve looks at his fingers — red — and then at Eddie’s sheepish face. “Did you just—?”
“I didn’t mean to, alright!” Eddie says, hunching his shoulders. “Just— you smell— never mind.”
“Towels!” Robin calls, jogging back into view. “You want the pink one or the— um.”
“It was an accident,” Eddie says defensively, licking his lips. His eyes snap back to the side of Steve’s neck and stay there.
“This is my favorite jacket,” Steve says, tugging the lapel out of the way with his dry hand. “There better not be a stain.”
“I can take care of that,” Eddie says in a rush, and then makes a face. “I mean—”
“Okay, the good news is, no one is dead yet,” Robin says. “And, uh, I guess we can use one of these towels as a muzzle, sort of? They should be too thick to bite through.”
“What if I just let you kill me?” Eddie mutters, but when Robin pushes a towel into his hands he ties it over the lower half of his face gamely enough. It makes him look like they’re playing cowboys.
It’s not actually such a big deal, in the end. Eddie takes his shoes and jacket off in the garage, and keeps to the kitchen to avoid tracking water onto the hardwood in the hall, and leaves the muzzle towel in place until Robin and Steve are safely on the other side of the room. He eats his barely-thawed steak so fast it’s kind of nauseating.
“Christ, that was good,” he says, putting the plate down — licked clean — and leaning back in his chair. “Maybe I am a werewolf.”
Robin raises her eyebrows, despite looking a little green around the edges. “Oh yeah? You think you can shape-shift?”
Eddie cocks his head and then squeezes his eyes shut, face scrunching up. Steve leans forward, tensing.
Nothing happens.
Eddie opens his eyes again. “Nope,” he says, sounding put out. “At least not on command.”
“Damn,” Robin says. “That would have been cool.”
“Not in my mom’s kitchen,” Steve grumbles. “So does that mean you don’t want to bite me anymore?”
“... yes,” Eddie says, doing a terrible job of lying. He’s even staring at Steve’s neck as he says it.
“Great,” Robin says, clapping her hands. “Okay, I should get going, it’s almost curfew.”
“You can’t just leave me here with him!” Steve says, waving an arm at Eddie. “I mean, no offense, dude, but you eat people now! What if he bites me in my sleep?”
“None taken,” Eddie says. “I, uh. I might.”
“Just tie him up or something,” Robin says with a shrug. “You have all that rope in the trunk of your car.”
Eddie turns crimson. “Uh, that’s okay,” he says. “I can, uh— go to Rick’s again, or something. Nobody’s gonna be looking for me now that I’m dead.”
Steve sighs. “No, it’s safer if you stay here,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “What if you go and bite someone else? Or— what if a cop sees you and tries to arrest you?”
“Goddamn it,” Eddie mutters, slumping in his seat. “Fine. I’ll stay. You can— you can tie me up.”
Robin keeps an eye on him while Steve runs upstairs to fetch something dry for Eddie to wear. “Don’t eat Steve,” she tells him before she leaves. “I mean it.”
“Not planning on it,” Eddie says.
He strips out of the rest of his wet clothes in the garage, his back to Steve. Steve’s not staring or anything, but he finds himself darting glances at the knobs of Eddie’s spine, his skinny calves, the reddened knuckles of his hands. He doesn’t look like a monster at all, apart from the teeth and the eyes. He just looks like a regular guy. A regular guy putting on Steve’s old sweatpants and an Indy Auto Show t-shirt.
They drape Eddie’s wet clothes over some shelves to dry, and then go inside. The tow rope in Steve’s trunk is too thick and coarse by far, but there’s an old jump rope in his dresser that ought to do the job. He herds Eddie upstairs, careful not to turn his back or get too close. Eddie sits quietly at the desk while Steve rolls out an old camping mattress and some blankets on the floor by the closet.
Sure, he could lock Eddie in one of the guest rooms, but something about it doesn’t feel right. Someone needs to look after him.
“Okay,” Steve says, taking a pillow from his bed and fluffing it up before adding it to Eddie’s makeshift bunk. “It’s time.”
Eddie makes a face, but he comes over, holding his wrists out. “Not too tight, okay?” he says, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Guy I know got nerve damage that way.”
“I’ll be careful,” Steve says. “But, uh, the other way might be better.”
Eddie’s mouth flattens, but he turns around and crosses his wrists at his lower back. He inhales sharply when Steve wraps the jump rope around them.
“It’s just for tonight,” Steve says, adding a couple of crosswise twists. Not too tight, not too loose. If he does this right, they’ll both be safe.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, his voice deeper than it was a moment ago. “Okay.”
Steve finishes up with a square knot. “How’s that?” he says, stepping back, holding on to the end of the jump rope. “Can you get loose?”
Eddie’s forearm muscles strain and bunch, but the rope stays put. Eddie’s next exhale is shaky. “No,” he says. “I’m— no.”
“Good,” Steve says, giving Eddie’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Alright, sit.”
Eddie twitches, almost turning his head, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he sinks to his knees at Steve’s feet, sitting on his heels. Steve follows, squatting down to loop the end of the rope around the leg of his nightstand. It ought to hold long enough for Steve to wake up if Eddie starts trying to get free.
“There,” he says, examining his handiwork. “Perfect.”
Eddie does twist to look at him, then, chin tipped back. There’s something raw in his expression, cracked open like an egg. “Thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
“For this,” Eddie says. “You know. Letting me live.”
Steve looks down at his hands. “I don’t think I could actually do it, man. I mean, you’re my friend.”
Eddie shuffles around to face him, awkward and off-balance. He takes a deep breath, like he’s about to say something, but then he topples forward instead in a clumsy, armless attempt at a hug.
“Whoa,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around Eddie without really thinking about it. They weren’t close, before all this, but the guy did almost—
Pain flares in his neck again.
It’s not even scary, really. Steve sighs. “Seriously?”
Eddie’s stiff as a board against his front, hot mouth pressed to the join between neck and shoulder. “‘Orree,” he says, muffled.
Steve grabs him by the shoulders, peeling them apart. Eddie doesn’t put up a fight, though he cranes his neck and laps frantically at Steve’s skin until he’s out of range. The sensation is not as unpleasant as it should be. “You’re a menace,” Steve says, shaking his head.
“So they tell me,” Eddie says, averting his eyes. There’s a thin smear of blood on his chin. “I— sorry.”
“If you don’t stop doing that we’re gonna have to find you a real muzzle,” Steve says. “Maybe a leash, too.”
Eddie makes a noise like he almost swallowed his tongue. “I’ll be good,” he says, strangled. “I— look, I’m lying down.”
He topples to the side with a little ‘oof’ and wriggles until his head is on the pillow, the jump rope trapped under him and pulling at his bound wrists. It doesn’t look comfortable. Steve reaches out and helps him roll over, finger-combing Eddie’s damp hair out of the way. “There,” he says, giving Eddie’s shoulder a reassuring pat. And then, because he can’t help himself: “Good boy.”
“Oh, piss off,” Eddie mumbles, the tip of his ear turning red. Steve laughs and ruffles his hair just to be a little shit.
The bites aren’t even that deep; each one just four little punctures that are already crusting over. They’ll figure this out. Maybe not right away, but Steve will call Dustin in the morning, and Dustin will call the others, and together they’ll help Eddie adjust to being… whatever he is now. Steve turns off the lights and crawls into bed, listening to Eddie’s unnaturally slow breathing even out and turn into very faint snores. Everything’s going to be fine. Steve will just have to wear a lot of red shirts in the meantime.