[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.
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.
[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.]
[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.
[ 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?
[ 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 ]
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.
[ 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.
[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?
[ 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.
[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. ]
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. ]
[He should deck him. Billy freezes in place, all his joints locking while his eyes go wide for a moment with a wild kind of fury. His breath stutters, comes out ragged as his fingers flex into a fist.
He should throw him off. Lash out. Scream, howl, but Eddie’s chest is warm against his own, his arms feel grounding, somehow. His hair smells faintly of shampoo and mostly weed, and Billy feels a wild surge of something he thinks is hatred, but -
But his arms move slow, then his hands are clinging to the back of Eddie’s jacket-shirt-whatever. His nose is somewhere on his shoulder, and Billy thinks he might be shaking. He thinks he might be crying.
The last time someone hugged him had been a million years ago, tucked away in a California home with his Spider-Man sheets. It was his mothers hands stroking his hair, kissing his face, her arms so tight that Billy thought he’d never leave them. Then she’d left, and no one has hugged him since, realises. Not a single person, except Eddie fucking Munson.]
[ Eddie Munson collects strays. He's not sure when that became something he did - maybe before he moved in with Uncle Wayne, maybe after. Only that one day he'd blinked and he was no longer the only freak in Hawkins, he had a whole merry band of outcasts and suddenly he had a purpose to temper the old Munson anger.
He'd deserve the hit if it came, and he knows it. They barely knew each other in Hawkins, and they barely know each other here. Little connects them saved for shared secrets they buried deep beneath their feet to be spared the fury of small town small mindedness, a love for a boy with a sweet smile, and a grim fate that they weren't quick enough to alter.
So he just holds him. Rubbing his back and murmuring softly every now and again, little reassurances he remembers his uncle giving way back when all this was new to him too. And he'll keep holding until he's pushed back, miming zipped lips before any threat can even be uttered. ]
[In some ways it feels like a relief to be seen. He’s spent so long stuffing all his weaknesses down; all the things that made him warm and kind, the things his mother gave him all locked away. You can’t be hurt if you’re angry, except that had been a lie. Being hurt makes you angry, he guesses.
When he’s disentangled he feels colder. He feels a little wrecked, like he’s just committed a horrible sin, something so terrible that he’ll have no choice but to wrap his fingers around Eddie’s throat and squeeze until he cries too.
But Eddie zips his lip, and Billy’s face is damp, and he doesn’t want to hurt him. So he nods, gets and stumbles to the kitchen. Runs the cold tap and wets his face until the cold shock has soothed his face. Until he stops shaking. All he can say, really, is a soft, quiet:] Thanks.
[ Though there's no need to thank him, saying that won't be a comfort. Not when something as simple as basic human decency is so foreign to him it reduces him to tears.
He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, lights it. Goes quiet as he thinks about what to say and how he wants to say it. ]
[He's hunched over the sink for a moment, letting his face and front curls drip into while he steadies his breathing. In, out, in, out. His head started buzzing somewhere between thanks and you're welcome - it might be the weed.
He grabs a dishtowel - new, microfibre - and dabs his face, turns around and leans back against the sink and shrugs. ] Been known to, sometimes.
[Not just the porn magazines, or the class textbooks he skimmed to graduate. ]
No, because then you'll never fucking do it. [ he blows a smoke ring, grinning lazily. ] I'm sharing the shit I like with you. Common interests. Friendship.
And in exchange you can haul my ass to the gym once in a blue moon.
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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.
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[ 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.
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[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.]
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[ 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.
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[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.
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[ 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?
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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.
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[ 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.
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[ 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.
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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.
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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?
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[ 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.
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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. ]
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[ 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.
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He should throw him off. Lash out. Scream, howl, but Eddie’s chest is warm against his own, his arms feel grounding, somehow. His hair smells faintly of shampoo and mostly weed, and Billy feels a wild surge of something he thinks is hatred, but -
But his arms move slow, then his hands are clinging to the back of Eddie’s jacket-shirt-whatever. His nose is somewhere on his shoulder, and Billy thinks he might be shaking. He thinks he might be crying.
The last time someone hugged him had been a million years ago, tucked away in a California home with his Spider-Man sheets. It was his mothers hands stroking his hair, kissing his face, her arms so tight that Billy thought he’d never leave them. Then she’d left, and no one has hugged him since, realises. Not a single person, except Eddie fucking Munson.]
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He'd deserve the hit if it came, and he knows it. They barely knew each other in Hawkins, and they barely know each other here. Little connects them saved for shared secrets they buried deep beneath their feet to be spared the fury of small town small mindedness, a love for a boy with a sweet smile, and a grim fate that they weren't quick enough to alter.
So he just holds him. Rubbing his back and murmuring softly every now and again, little reassurances he remembers his uncle giving way back when all this was new to him too. And he'll keep holding until he's pushed back, miming zipped lips before any threat can even be uttered. ]
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When he’s disentangled he feels colder. He feels a little wrecked, like he’s just committed a horrible sin, something so terrible that he’ll have no choice but to wrap his fingers around Eddie’s throat and squeeze until he cries too.
But Eddie zips his lip, and Billy’s face is damp, and he doesn’t want to hurt him. So he nods, gets and stumbles to the kitchen. Runs the cold tap and wets his face until the cold shock has soothed his face. Until he stops shaking. All he can say, really, is a soft, quiet:] Thanks.
[He can’t bear to turn around though. ]
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[ Though there's no need to thank him, saying that won't be a comfort. Not when something as simple as basic human decency is so foreign to him it reduces him to tears.
He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, lights it. Goes quiet as he thinks about what to say and how he wants to say it. ]
You read much, Hargrove?
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He grabs a dishtowel - new, microfibre - and dabs his face, turns around and leans back against the sink and shrugs. ] Been known to, sometimes.
[Not just the porn magazines, or the class textbooks he skimmed to graduate. ]
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[ he folds both hands behind its head. ]
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[Eddie ?? No?? ]
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And in exchange you can haul my ass to the gym once in a blue moon.
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[HOWEVER, however -] You serious?
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[ he shrugs, flicking ash. ]
If we're going to be fighting monsters I should probably start leveling up my physical stats.
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[ :) :)]
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