- RETROMIX + HEATMETAL

[camarod]

Comments

[heatmetal]

Ugh.

[ he folds an arm over his face, laughing as he holds the joint back out. ]

I am noooot about working out. [ he moves his arms, glancing down at the pants he's currently wearing. ] Those I can do, though. I'm thinking leather.

[camarod]

Shit Munson, you rock up in leather pants I might even fall for you.

[This Is A Joke; he’s even laughing, plucking the joint back and inhaling deep, holding it in. His head is blissfully empty for the moment, stays that way when he exhales out and visibly seems to relax into the couch.]

You had a band, right? In Hawkins? You recruiting here?

[heatmetal]

I'll consider that my greatest accomplishment.

[ he bats those pretty eyes and considers, then nods. ]

I'm not built to be a solo act.

[camarod]

Sick.

[Pointedly ignoring those batting eyelashes, thank you, take the weed -]

You sing too, Munson?

[He hadn’t considered that, before. Can’t remember enough of his last months before Vecna to recall of Eddie ever told him.]

[heatmetal]

[ taking it. ]

I'm better at screaming than I am singing, but yeah. It's passable.

[camarod]

The whole package.

[There is one thing about Eddie Munson: he always finds the goods that leaves Billy feeling a little boneless. A little loose limbed and less shitty.

He racks his knuckles against Eddie’s thigh, a quiet little you’re okay actually.] You still owe me a song. I want vocals. Might even drum if I’m felling nice.

[heatmetal]

Forgot my guitar. Unless you want acapella.

[ he grins. ]

[camarod]

Nah I can wait. Trying this new thing called patience. It’s a real buzzkill.

[A matching grin. ]

Speaking of buzzkills, [a little gimme for the joint -] where is that pretty boy other half of yours?

[heatmetal]

[ handing it back over. ]

Cleaning my room. I mentioned my fibula should be somewhere too and he had a conniption fit.

[camarod]

[the bark of laughter is immediate, ]

He’s such a goddamn mom, jesus.

[heatmetal]

Completely. Not that he's gonna admit to being a single mom of six.

[ making grabby hands for the joint. ]

Those kids adore him. Seriously, Henderson? Never shuts the fuck up about him. I didn't believe that jackass Harrington suddenly turned soft and domestic until I saw it with my own eyes.

[camarod]

[he is a little greedy - inhales an extra draw before he hands it back, snorting.]

Tommy H said it happened over night, but Tommy H talks more shit than his ass. I figured it was for the Wheeler girl, but he still had all those goddamn kids even after she dumped him.

[He remembers Steve asking if he was lonely, wishes he’d had enough of a memory to bring up the kids.]


You seen the way he puts his hands on his hips? Even Max’s mom doesn’t pull that shit.

[heatmetal]

It's his power stance.

[ eddie snorts a laugh around the joint. ]

Kinda figured it was because he figured out highschool is just a load of bullshit. [ he pulls a coin out of his pocket, rolling it between his fingers for something to do with his hands. ] Hanging out with people you actually like makes a big difference in the kinda guy you end up being.

[camarod]

We don’t all get that freedom.

[It’s less defensive than it would be, sober. He feels a little high; feels like the weight of being Hargrove is featherlight for now.

He watches the coin roll, catch the light then roll again. Eddie Munson has long fingers, he realises. Skinny things decked out in chunky rings, but they move so effortlessly. Good for guitar, he supposes. Good for - well.

He sighs, lolls his head back and tips his chin up and wets his lips.]

[heatmetal]

Ain't that the truth.

[ he holds the joint back out with his other hand. ]

... Harrington talks a big game about getting us all back home, but it's going to be more complicated than he thinks.

[camarod]

- You think we can go back? Me and you?

[He takes, lolls his head sideways, pupils blown and his jaw tight. He doesn’t draw.

The scars are scabbed over. Tender, purple and silver patches of mottled skin that sometimes Billy swears are black. Sometimes he can still feel the tendrils splitting through him. Sometimes they’re completely numb.

His gaze is heavy on Eddie, intense in a way that feels a little foreboding, even for Billy. ] ‘Cause I don’t.

[heatmetal]

... Don't know.

[ he answers honestly, threading his fingers through his curly mop of hair. ]

It's possible we go back and start a new timeline. We're both already dead, so... [ he shrugs, scrunching his brow. ] It's not like we have to worry about doppelgangers running around. The Byers kid pulled just about the same thing, didn't he?

[camarod]

- No. [He still doesn’t draw; it’s easy to take it back. Billy’s a little breathless with how quick he knows Will Byers isn’t the same.

It’s not his memory, not really. It’s something shared with him, that’s stuck in the back of his brain and refused to leave. His teeth grind.]

No. He didn’t die. [He blinks, slow. Watches those curls twist around Eddie’s fingers.] He made it so angry. But he didn’t die.

[heatmetal]

Technically, neither did we.

[ eddie sucks on his bottom lip thoughtfully. and then after a moment, grabs the joint because if he has to think about this supernatural shit he needs more in his body than his own rattling nerves. ]

I don't remember a whole hell of a lot about getting here. [ he catches the coin, bouncing his flesh and blood leg instead. ] But I know I didn't die. Was nearly dead, but not all the way there. So... So...

[ he doesn't want to give too much hope to it. ]

It's possible we were pulled into this world the same way people fall into the fucked up version of Hawkins that's stuffed full of monsters and shit. And we just... need... to get out. [ his hands do a dramatic little flourish ]

... Unless we're better off here.

[camarod]

It’ll fuck with you if keep running the numbers like that. I’ve been doing it since Harrington told me about Max.

[ Too many variables. Too many risks. Billy thinks he was dead. Thinks he died the moment that kid reached into him. He doesn’t say that; supposes Eddie doesn’t care. ]

Do I die? If I don’t, does it save her? Do I keep doing the same shit over and over until someone else does me in? [His voice is eerily calm, until he blinks, then his eyes sting, and he has to look away, has to inhale sharp. ] I killed so many people, Munson. I don’t even deserve to be here.

[heatmetal]

[ He knows. He knows. It keeps him up at night. That, or the feeling of the life draining out of him, or the horrific sight of Chrissy Cunningham's limbs going all the wrong ways.

At the first waver, Eddie sits up. Reaches out a hand to grip the other man's knee. ]

I don't know a lot about any of this. But I know that thing gets in your head and breaks you. Mentally, emotionally, and physically.

[camarod]

[His knuckles rap against his teeth. He thinks his fist might be shaking; thinks he might be too high to keep his shit together.

He wants to laugh. Wants to be mean, suddenly, because it’s not the same. It’s not. ]

You don’t fucking get it. He used me. He was riding my body like a rental.

[He’s still looking away, eyes off somewhere in the kitchen and holding. His breath hitches. He doesn’t move Eddie’s hand. ] I almost killed those fucking kids. Me. Him. I don’t know where he started and I ended. [He could have. He wanted to. Giving in was so easy because he didn’t want to care. Didn’t want control of his own life.

He wishes, on his darkest days, that he’d at least got to Neil before the kid dragged him back to the surface. But that would have been too kind for that Thing. Now he laughs, a hot bubble of hysteria.] You know I vomit if I smell bleach? Do I go back to that? Guzzling that shit?

[heatmetal]

Jesus Christ.

[ he keeps it from verging on pitying, but it's horrible. that thing. what it does to people. the damage it's caused all throughout their little town. ]

You're right. I don't have any idea what it's like. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but [ he grips his knee a little tighter, trying to be grounding. ] you said it yourself. Vecna used you, man.

And they killed him. [ he hopes. he hopes. ] And you start eyeballing bleach like you wanna make a cocktail out of it? I'll slap it out of your hand.

[camarod]

[He chews a knuckle, blinks again until there’s a wet drip on his face. He feels a tightness in his chest, hot and humiliated. But relieved, too. Maybe. He turns back to Eddie, looks him in the eye and -

And it’s heavy again. Being Billy Hargrove. He doesn’t know what to with kindness. It makes him feel so small, makes his skin feel too tight on his bones. He thinks he might be crying, a little. He hates that. ] Don’t you - [he starts,] Don’t you dare sit there and fucking pity me - [but there’s no heat. It’s so weak. ]

[heatmetal]

Come on now, California, give me a little credit. We both know I'm too smart to do a stupid thing like pity you.

[ He slides closer. Not... entirely sure how to handle this. His other friends are different. Less afraid of physical affection. Less afraid to cry in the face of something as horrible as their own death, losing all their autonomy.

He thinks maybe, just maybe, he could tell the story of Kas the Bloodyhanded. Slide a book his way. Give him something other than reality to escape into.

So he does the only thing he can think to: he springs on him, nearly toppling them over in the process. Locking long, lanky arms around him and holding tight. Fully expecting to be fucking decked for his efforts. ]

You're alright, man.