seen the world, lit it up

         “What are you looking at, creep?” Carol snapped, gaze trained on the hunched figure across the hall.

         Jonathan’s gaze slid from Nancy, just beyond Carol, to the accusatory redhead with furrowed brows. He opened his mouth to stutter out an excuse, but Eddie stopped him.

         “Don’t listen to her,” he muttered, barely paying Carol any mind as he scribbled in an open notebook.

         With a nod, Jonathan pulled another textbook from his locker and shoved it into his bag before focusing on Eddie again. “What’re you working on?” he asked, eager to change the subject.

         “Campaign stuff,” Eddie answered with a shrug, but as Jonathan leaned over for a peek, he angled the paper away. “Top secret campaign stuff.”

         Carol scoffed. “You saw what happened to Billy,” she told Tommy H., who flanked her. “No way he killed himself. Everyone was at that party, too, so it could’ve been anybody, but my money’s on one of them.” Her gaze was still trained on where Eddie and Jonathan were now turning to leave, and Carol moved as if to follow them, but Tommy grabbed her arm.

         “You think they’re cold-blooded killers, and you wanna go start something with them?”

         “Well—”

         “Carol!”

         Y/N and Tina pushed their way past Tommy, Y/N throwing her arm around Carol’s shoulders as they neared. “Meeting in the bathroom,” she announced, already beginning to urge the redhead toward the ladies’ restroom.

         Tommy H. started to trail after them, but Tina interjected, palm to his chest as she nudged him back. “Girls only,” she clarified, grinning mockingly before joining the others as they pushed through the bathroom door.

         Carol stood at the mirror, rifling through her bag on the sink for her Chapstick, while Y/N checked beneath the row of stalls in search of any indication that they weren’t alone. At last, she announced, “It’s clear,” to which Tina smiled and produced a cigarette from her pocket, bringing it up to her lips. Y/N passed her a lighter and entered the nearest cubicle, taking up post against one wall and leaving space for Tina to follow suit.

         “You should really be more careful who your friends are,” Carol said, at last breaking the silence that had settled over them, save for the sound of Tina exhaling a cloud of smoke before giving the cigarette to Y/N.

         It had been the elephant in the room for weeks now, that Y/N had taken a liking to Eddie Munson. Carol and Tina didn’t think he was good enough, but they’d bitten their tongues for her sake—it wasn’t their business what Y/N did when they weren’t around to stop her, but Billy’s death had struck fear and an odd sense of determination into Carol, and the mysterious phone call she’d received was the kick to the pants she needed to meddle in what she considered “problems” that weren’t even hers to solve.

         “What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N asked, peering around the door at Carol’s reflection, the warning glare that Tina sent the redhead going unnoticed. “I’m friends with you—is there something I need to know?”

         “I’m serious, Y/N! You know, I’m surprised you can stand to be around Eddie after what he did to Billy.”

         “Woah! Back up.” Y/N shoved the smoking stick into Tina’s grasp. “Eddie didn’t kill anyone. I was with him, like, all night. Just because someone has different interests than you, doesn’t make them a murderer or give you the right to call them one.”

         “I don’t know,” Carol pressed. “He likes that weird game they’re always talking about in the news. He could be a Satan-worshipper, for all we know—he sure looks like one.”

         Y/N scoffed. “Nancy’s Wheeler’s little brother plays D&D. That doesn’t prove anything.”

         “He’s probably a freakshow, too, then.” Carol heaved a sigh, fingers working to fluff her hair. “Back me up, Tina.”

         Tina had fallen silent for the duration of the exchange and wasn’t looking to get involved now. While she’d agreed with Carol’s points a couple of days ago when they’d first talked about it after Eddie had dropped by her house to pick Y/N up, Carol had no tact. It was one thing to be concerned for a friend but another to point blame and confidently accuse someone of stabbing another classmate to death, and personal biases aside, Tina couldn’t bring herself to do such a thing. As Tina waited for a half-assed excuse for an exit to the conversation—at the very least, a change in topic—to come to mind, she flicked the cigarette into the toilet, foot lifting to press the handle. The water swirling in the bowl reflected her turbulent thoughts, but at Carol’s insistent, “Well?” she started, “I—”

         The door of the stall next to theirs flung open, effectively cutting Tina off before her embarrassment could, and Y/N reached out, grabbing the closure to their own compartment and yanking it closed in the case a teacher had entered their midst.

         “What the hell are you supposed to be?” Carol asked. “You’re a little late—Halloween was last week.”

          Y/N and Tina exchanged a quizzical look, but before they could voice their curiosity, Carol said, “Hey! What are you doing? Get away—” Her angry words fizzled out into a pained screech, though the noise was muffled—by what, the girls didn’t know, and they didn’t dare ask. Instead, they waited with bated breath, hands clasped over their mouths and panic clawing at their throats like a wild beast desperate to break out of its cage as they listened to their companion struggle against her assailant. At last, Carol’s body slumped to the floor with a soft thud, and Y/N and Tina expected to be next, both of them shifting their weight to lean on the door in a poor attempt to keep it bolted shut, but the threat never came.

         Only silence.

         “Are they gone?” Tina whispered, her voice shallow and broken.

         Y/N nodded. “I think so.”

         Timidly, Y/N stepped out of hiding to find that they were alone. Carol laid on the tile, a red puddle oozing out from beneath her limp form. Behind Y/N, Tina’s scream alerted her added presence, but Y/N was hardly able to muster a reaction—all she could do was stare. This wasn’t her first dead body, and at the rate things were going, it probably wouldn’t be her last.

         As Tina ran out into the hallway, calling for help, Y/N ambled along numbly in her wake. Several people rushed past, knocking into her, and she nearly fell if not for the strong hand that reached out to steady her.

         “You okay?” Eddie asked, dark eyes blown wide with concern.

         Y/N shook her head. “Carol—somebody killed her.”

         Eddie’s brow furrowed, and his mouth fell open to speak, but down the hall, Chrissy called Y/N’s name, her words accentuated by frantic footsteps and a bouncing, blonde ponytail. Once she was within reach, Chrissy clutched onto Y/N’s arm, pink fingernails digging into the thick fabric of her sweater’s sleeve. “Let’s get out of here,” Chrissy urged. “This place is giving me the creeps.” Then, sensing she’d interrupted something, she turned to Eddie. “Do you need a ride? I’m sure Jason won’t mind.”

         Jason scoffed as he walked by, clutching Chrissy’s shoulder and tugging her away. “He doesn’t need a ride,” he countered. “I’m sure the Freak can take care of himself.” Jason glanced back to his girlfriend’s prior companion with an impatience in his cold gaze. “Y/N, are you coming?”

         Y/N hesitated, gaze darting between Eddie and the couple. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry. I’ll call you later, okay?” and jogged to catch up with the pair of jocks.

                                           ────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

         The shrill tone of the telephone went unnoticed by most in the room, save for the woman sat at her desk, flipping mindlessly through a magazine. At the first ring, she exhaled, pushed the book aside, and slid her small notepad over into its place, pen already poised in her grip to jot down a message by the time she answered, “Hawkins, P.D.”

         Florence rose to her feet, shuffling around the corner of the table in front of her, and diligently strode down the dimly lit hallway. She paused at the shut door of the Sheriff’s office, knocking once out of forced politeness, then entered without an invitation.

         Jim Hopper’s muddy boots were propped precariously on the corner of his messy desk, chair leaned back as he licked off the donut glaze that had crusted onto the fingertips of his right hand, his left prying open the blinds for a clearer view of the tree line behind the station. He started at the woman’s sudden arrival but gained composure quickly with a dissatisfied grunt. “What is it, Flo?”

         “Carol Perkins is dead.”

         “Shit,” Hopper muttered, righting his seat. He threw back the rest of this morning’s coffee—cold from lack of attention—and stood, grabbing his coat and hat. “Where is she?”

         “They found her over at the school.”

         Hopper burst out of his office with Florence in tow as she returned to her spot in the office. The man threw on his coat as he strode toward the door, drawing the attention of some of the others as they took in his hurried state.

         “Where ya goin’, Chief?” Powell asked, hand slowly creeping toward his hat as an unspoken question of whether or not he should be accompanying Hopper.

         “The high school,” Jim answered. “A student died.”

         “Jesus,” muttered Officer Callahan. “Another suicide?”

         Hopper paused his movements, fingers stalled on the doorknob. “I’m not so sure it is.”

                                          ────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

         “I let it happen.”

         The muted strumming of guitar strings halted as Eddie shifted on the floor to get a better view of Y/N. “What?”

         “Carol,” Y/N explained. “I was there. I heard her getting attacked, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

         Eddie tilted his head, studying her. Y/N was perched at the edge of his bed, her fingers fiddling anxiously with a loose thread at the hem of her sweater. If she didn’t stop, she’d unravel it, but she didn’t appear to care. A deep furrow had taken up residence between her brows and didn’t show any signs of budging, the corners of her mouth turned downward to match. She stared at the space beside Eddie, one of the only bare sections of his wall, as if afraid to meet his eyes, that the information she’d just revealed to him would somehow negatively alter how he viewed her.

         Setting aside his instrument, Eddie hesitantly scooted over until he was sitting crisscross on the carpet in front of Y/N. “It’s not your fault,” he began. “You know, I can’t think of anyone outside of a comic book that would’ve done anything other than what you had. We’re only human, and there’s nothing wrong with being scared.”

         “That’s all I am, though,” Y/N answered, a tearful crack in her words. “Every day now, I’m scared, and I don’t even know what I’m scared of.” She inhaled sharply. “Maybe Carol was right. We shouldn’t be friends.”

         No matter how much Eddie had braced himself to hear Y/N utter that sentence, it hadn’t done anything to soften the blow. He’d allowed himself to become too comfortable, something he’d always been wary of when it came to letting new people into his life, and she’d stolen his breath with a punch to the stomach when he wasn’t looking. No. Eddie had been punched in the stomach before, and this felt worse.

         “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

         Y/N gave a helpless shake of her head, strands of hair catching in the dampness that now coated her reddening cheeks as her sadness overcame her. “I think I’m cursed. Everyone close to me keeps dying, and I can’t—I don’t want you to be next.”

         Eddie’s lips twitched. Oh. “Don’t worry about me,” he assured, risking a timid smile. “I’m tough. I mean, you heard Carver today—I can take care of myself.”

         “You shouldn’t have to.”

         “Well, sweetheart,” Eddie said, “that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He reached up, hand finding purchase on the side of Y/N’s face. His thumb brushed away water droplets as they trailed along her skin, urging her to meet his eyes. “If you’ll let me.”

         “I can’t ask you to do that.”

         “I know.”

         He was going to anyway.

         As the sun sank toward the horizon, the shadows cast through Eddie’s thin curtain grew longer, reaching toward the opposite wall of his room and threatening to creep down the short hallway toward the kitchen. The seemingly endless lull in conversation that had settled over the duo was ended only when Eddie pointed out that it was getting dark. “C’mon, I’ll take you home,” he said.

                                         ────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

         The front door had barely slammed into place when the phone started ringing, its demanding calls bouncing off the walls of the dark, empty house.

         “Jesus Christ,” came an irritated mutter.

         Steve had been with Dustin Henderson for hours of his life that he’d never get back, spent in a vain search for the boy’s supposed cat-eating lizard. He was tired—the teen wanted nothing more than to take a shower, scrub the dirt from his hair and wipe the grime from his face, and crawl into his inviting albeit cold bed.

         “Hello?” Steve asked, pressing the receiver to his cheek.

         “Remember me?”

         “Look, buddy, I don’t have time for your bullshit tonight.” Steve moved the speaker away from his ear, phone angled back toward its cradle, but the voice crackling from the other end was still audible, and what it said stopped him in his tracks.

         A week later, it was if Billy Hargrove had never existed in the sleepy midwestern town. The most news coverage his death got was a segment warning teens of the rising dangers of drunkenness and drug usage, both of which were blamed for his “unfortunate end,” though were nothing more than easy excuses to avoid investigating the mysterious circumstances of his demise any further, as lazy, small city cops were prone to do when their residents were always so eager to turn a blind eye to anything that went against whatever was in their Holy Book.

         Y/N had nearly forgotten about Billy, too, though Eddie made it easy. A part of her felt guilty for the countless hours spent with him in passing days, but he seemed to be the only person who wasn’t walking on eggshells with her—no matter how much it appeared that Hawkins’s residents had moved on from Billy’s death, Y/N was a living reminder of him, and there was a cautiousness in their approach to her now, like they were trying to talk someone down from a ledge. His name was a taboo subject, and their conscious efforts to avoid it were nearly written across their faces at each interaction.

         Yet, Eddie made it seem so easy. It was largely due to the fact that where others felt sympathy or morbid curiosity regarding Billy’s final moments, Eddie held only mild disinterest. He was of the firm belief that the world wasn’t being deprived of some great man in the absence of Billy Hargrove—there were plenty more just like him, and Eddie could only hope that he and Y/N would be fortunate enough so as to not cross paths with any of them, lest Y/N be swept away and ensnared again.

         It was irrevocably selfish of Eddie to feel that way, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that, either, not after getting a real taste of Y/N’s company, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, hand seeking out his arm to grip onto whenever she threw her head back in laughter at something dumb he’d said, or the way she’d started sitting in the back of their shared math class just to swap notes with him when their teacher wasn’t looking. If he had to choose between that or Billy’s miraculous recovery, he hoped Billy a long, peaceful rest six feet under.

                                                 ────── 〔 ☠ 〕──────

         The shrill ring of a phone cut through the laughter that bounced off the walls of Tina’s kitchen, where she, Carol, and Y/N sat scattered across the dining room chairs and countertop, sipping cold bottles of Coca-Cola fresh from the refrigerator. They’d come in from an after-school shopping trip not long ago, bags tossed carelessly in the entryway in favor of something to drink, and whoever it was calling now seemed to have impeccable timing.

         Tina hopped down from the counter and rounded the corner to where the house phone hung on the wall. “Hello?” she answered. A pause, then her head reappeared, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “It’s for you,” she said, extending the phone to Carol.

         “That’s weird,” said Carol, standing from her seat and crossing the space to join Tina. “How’d they know I was here?”

         All that Tina offered in response was a shrug before practically skipping back into the kitchen to pick up where she and Y/N had left off on the latest gossip.

         Carol held the receiver up to her ear. “Who’s this?” she asked.

         “Ah, Carol,” replied a voice, too warbled to be identifiable. “There you are. I had to send the other girl away. Don’t want to get her mixed up with the skeletons in your closet.”

         Carol scoffed, folding an arm across the striped fabric of her sweater. “What skeletons? Everyone knows I’m not a good person. It’s not like I’m trying to hide it.”

         “But do they know how deep it goes? That you left a girl to die in Steve Harrington’s swimming pool while you fucked your scumbag boyfriend in his parent’s room?”

         “She didn’t die,” Carol said, lowering her voice. “They said she ran away, found her car and everything...”

         “Aw, that’s cute, trusting the police like any upright, law-abiding citizen your town pretends to have so many of. That’s just what they want you to think. I’d thought a rule-breaker like you wouldn’t be so easily persuaded, but who am I kidding? You’re all the same, willing to turn a blind eye to save your own skin.”

         “What do you want?”

         “Wouldn’t it be a shame for you to fall victim to the same fate, gone without a trace with hardly a soul left to mourn your loss? At least she had parents that loved her, but what are you? Hawkins’ third-favorite bed warmer? A real modern-day tragedy...I’m sure Shakespeare would be proud.” A static-filled silence punctuated the caller’s words, then, “Tell me, do you even remember her name? If you can manage that much, I might see about postponing your untimely demise. You’d make an interesting final girl, the slut turned hero—no one would see it coming.”

         Carol bit at the end of her thumbnail, eyes studying the wall opposite her as if she expected the girl’s name to be written somewhere on the plaster. “Beth,” she finally tried.

         A tut of disappointment echoed through the earpiece. “Close, but no cigar. Can’t say I’m surprised, though. It’s just like you to only ever think of yourself. That’s your middle name, right, Carol?”

         “If you don’t tell me who you are, I’ll go to the police,” Carol warned, though the waver in her voice confirmed her fear to her accuser.

         “What would be the fun in that?”

         Before the redhead could get another word in, the dial tone told her that there would be no one there to listen, and she returned the phone to its hook with shaky fingers before returning to her friends.

         Upon her arrival, Tina and Y/N paused their conversation. “Who was that?” Tina asked. “You were gone for a while.”

         Carol glanced back at the clock over the door frame and realized that Tina was right. “Oh,” she started. “Yeah, my mom was just chewing me out for getting detention again.”

         A lie, but that was to be expected from a girl like Carol Perkins, who only cared to cover her tracks should someone try to sniff her out.

                                                ────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

         “Are you even listening?”

         Nancy’s gaze snapped away from the blur of trees passing by in a grey haze on the other side of the window. “Sorry,” she admitted, brows furrowing, “what were you saying?”

         Steve laughed humorlessly with a shake of his head, soft strands of meticulously cared-for hair swinging with the effort. “You know, for someone who cares so much about school, you seem pretty okay with dismissing this whole essay thing.”

         “Seriously? We’re going to eat dinner with Barb’s parents, and you’re still thinking about that? Can’t you give it a rest for now? I mean, Barb died because of us.”

         “I get that, Nance, I do, but that’s in the past,” Steve argued, one hand on the steering wheel as he gestured with the other. “There’s no way to change it now, but this is my future we’re talking about. If I don’t get into a decent school, I’ll be stuck here for God knows how long, hopping from job to job until I end up behind a desk like my old man.”

         “At least you still have a future.”

         The quiet air that fell over them was tense with unspoken arguments and pointless attempts at comfort, but eventually, Steve cleared his throat, hesitantly reaching across the center console to lace his fingers with Nancy’s. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I was being selfish.”

         Nancy smiled weakly. “It’s fine. I’ll help you with your essay after dinner, I promise, just—no more college talk until then, okay?”

         “Okay.”

         That was a little over a week ago, yet the couple seemed to find themselves in a similar situation now. Nancy kept waiting for Steve to call, to be the first to apologize as he always was—whether the fight was over something he’d been the cause of or not, he was the one to break, but this time, the sentiment had escaped him.

         If it wasn’t forgetfulness, though, then maybe, he was truly as mad as he had seemed when the two had talked during Steve’s basketball practice.

         Nancy didn’t consider herself especially prideful, but she didn’t believe an apology was necessary from her end. She’d been excessively drunk that night at Tina’s party—she hardly remembered getting home at all, much less who had taken her there. Of course, she’d assumed her knight in shining armor had been Steve as it usually was. In fact, the realization of him having presumably left her alone there in such a state was more troubling than anything that she may or may not have said to him in the heat of misdirected anger.

         He didn’t actually expect Nancy to feel guilty over something she couldn’t recall, right?

                                               ────── 〔 ☠ 〕─────

         When Y/N finally left Tina’s house, walking home under the last, fading blue of the day, her path illuminated by the glow of orange spotlights cast over the sidewalk by the streetlamps that lined it, she felt the gentle misting of rain beginning to wet the back of her sweater. She hurried her footsteps, plastic bag held over her head with little regard to its contents as she aimed only to get home before the rush of water creeping up behind her could catch up—a truly impossible feat but her goal nonetheless. Y/N should’ve taken Tommy H. up on his offer to drive her home, despite how annoying he and Carol were when they got together.

         Y/N was soaked to the bone when the blur of headlights appeared on the horizon, slowing as a van neared, then pulled to a stop beside her. She would’ve been startled by the prospect had she not immediately recognized the driver.

         “Get in,” said Eddie, voice loud to be heard over the rain pelting the metal roof of his beat-up vehicle.

         “Are you sure?” asked Y/N, trying in vain to blink away the droplets gathered on her eyelashes. “My house is the other way, and I don’t wanna get your seats wet.”

         Eddie laughed. “Yes, I’m sure. If I let you walk home in this, I’d be the monster everyone thinks I am.” He didn’t say anything about Y/N getting his seats wet—an arguably poor choice of words on her part; instead, he let the joke die on the tip of his tongue before he opened his mouth to speak again. “If it makes you feel any better, I forgot something back at school, so I was gonna have to turn around, anyway.”

         At that, Y/N relented, quickly rounding the front of Eddie’s van and sliding through the door, which Eddie pushed open for her from where he sat. “Thanks,” she muttered with a timid smile, wiping uselessly at her cheeks with damp sleeves.

         “Don’t mention it,” Eddie answered. “Who am I to turn away a damsel in distress?”

         A damsel in distress who should’ve known better than to walk alone at night with a serial killer on the loose.

         A damsel in distress whose mother had told her countless times not to get into strange boy’s cars, except Eddie wasn’t a stranger. She knew him.

         What’s black, white, and red all over?

         The question—dumb as it was—had haunted Billy since the previous afternoon, like a parasite in the back of his mind. Even now, at Tina’s Halloween party, the chilling voice echoed in his ears above the loud thumping of music that reverberated through the big house.

         “I’m going to get a drink,” Billy muttered, leaning down to Y/N’s level in order to be heard above the overwhelming noise.

         Y/N stopped fidgeting with the straps of the feathery wings on her back just long enough to spare Billy a sideways glance, nodding, before quickly looking down to smooth out the front of her white ensemble. She was vaguely aware of Billy walking off without so much as offering to get her a drink, too, but it was just as well—she didn’t need him to be a gentleman for her. Billy was nothing more than something fun to pass the time, and she was certain he felt the same way about her. By the end of the week, Billy would probably move on to bigger and better things—if the way Hawkins High’s female demographic ogled him like a piece of meat was anything to go off of—and Y/N would be left with nothing but the memories of a couple of wild nights at best.

         What’s black, white, and red all over?

         The guy manning the punch bowl was, his face flushed pink and dark pupils blown wide, the specks of punch dotting the top of his toga costume standing out against the stark white background.

         “What’s in this?” Nancy asked, approaching cautiously.

         “Pure fuel,” the guy answered, raising his cup emphatically. “Pure fuel!”

         Nancy wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but based on how inebriated he was acting, the drink’s mixture had to have been strong, and if she intended to act like a “stupid teenager,” she needed something that would put her anxious mind to rest, much to Steve’s dismay. Despite his pleading earlier in the day for them to let loose and party tonight, he seemed to have changed his tone, now encouraging Nancy to slow down as she poured herself a second cup full of the liquid.

         Rolling her eyes, Nancy stepped away from her boyfriend. “This is what you wanted, right? I’m just being a stupid teenager for the night.” She took a big sip, walking away before Steve could protest any further, leaving him no choice but to chase after her through the surging crowd of their dancing peers.

         What’s black, white, and red all over?

         The demon head on Eddie’s shirt as his leather jacket fell open with the effort of pushing through the sweaty bodies congesting the living room. He never intended to come inside, but the sight of Jonathan crossing the lawn towards Tina’s house had piqued Eddie’s curiosity just enough to urge him out of the safety of his van because just like him, the Byers boy didn’t belong there.

         Instead of Jonathan, however, Eddie found a lonely angel hovering by the wall, her eyes scanning the room as if looking for someone.

         “You’re a long way from home,” Eddie joked, coming to a stop beside Y/N. “You lost?”

         Y/N’s mouth turned up at the corners. “Good one,” she said, leaning back to see Eddie better. “And to answer your question,” she continued, “no. I’m just bored. My date sort of...ditched me—temporarily, I think. I don’t know, though—he’s been outside for a while now.” Y/N punctuated her sentence with a subtle nod directed toward the open door leading to the backyard, through which they could see the trail leading down to a big bonfire, its flames creating long shadows on the grass.

         “He’s an idiot,” Eddie stated simply.

         “Yeah, well, I’m not hanging around him for his massive intellect,” Y/N replied, throwing back the rest of her drink.

         Eddie was right about one thing—Billy’s lack of sense was to blame for his being absent, though not in the way that the metalhead had perhaps insinuated. There was no other woman involved, but rather an excessive amount of alcohol all for the sake of proving a point and establishing his place as Hawkins High’s new “King” figure, since Harrington had, apparently, gone soft. Now, though, he was regretting it.

         Billy’s leather-clad hand gripped at a tree as he leaned his weight against it, fingernails digging into the rough bark. Behind him, he could hear the shrieks of partygoers as they danced and played around the bonfire, but Billy wanted to be alone for a moment. Everything was too loud, too bright, too much.

         A branch snapped somewhere in the darkness, in the expanse of woods separating Billy from the edge of the clearing behind Tina’s house. “Tommy?” he called out, squinting at his surroundings. During Billy’s short time in Hawkins, he wouldn’t say that he had made a lot of friends, but he’d managed to amass an oddly large following, one of which was Tommy H., who took the term “follower” too literally for Billy’s liking; he was like Billy’s shadow at times, so it would’ve come as no surprise that he had come to join Billy now.

         Except, Tommy H. didn’t answer. No one did.

         “Who’s there?” Billy tried again, his voice louder.

         What’s black, white, and red all over?

         The face that stared down at Billy would qualify as so, its dark, hollow eyes boring down into him tauntingly, the splattering of blood on the chin a stark contrast to its pallid skin. The mask’s mouth held a permanently shocked expression, one that mirrored Billy’s as he looked down at his stomach, where his hand had flown at the first shockwave of pain. If the agony hadn’t been enough to make his knees buckle, the sight of the deep crimson liquid seeping between his fingers would have sufficed.

         What’s black, white, and red all over?

         Nancy’s shirt as she clumsily elbowed her way through the crowd, towards the staircase leading to the second floor of Tina’s house. The black, velvet ribbon around her neck wasn’t nearly as neat as it had been when she’d first arrived at the party with Steve earlier that evening, the loose ends swinging to and fro over the stained fabric of her shirt as she walked. She was nearly to the staircase when a hand reached out to stop her.

         “What happened to you?” asked Eddie. “Everything okay?”

         “I don’t need your sympathy, Munson,” Nancy spat, wrenching out of his grip.

         Eddie’s eyes widened, though he couldn’t say he hadn’t walked into that one—Nancy’s choice of words was all too familiar. He was afforded no time to question it further, though, because a shrill scream from the yard cut through the night air, distinctly clear despite the pulsing music.

         Carol Perkins entered the house in a hurry, out of breath and looking as if she’d seen a ghost, but there was a motivation behind her madness. Her presence had barely made itself known before she was seizing Y/N and ushering her outside.

         “What's the matter?” Y/N asked, taking in Carol’s panicked face.

         “It’s Billy.”

         Y/N told herself she didn’t care—how could she? She’d only known him for two days, which, logically speaking, wasn’t nearly long enough for any sort of strong emotional bonds to be formed—not to mention she’d kept herself especially guarded around Billy to avoid any future heartbreak he might inflict upon her—but the sight of him now made her doubt.

         “Oh, my God,” Y/N said, kneeling beside Billy.

         At the sound of Y/N’s voice, Billy weakly turned his head toward her, but his eyes were glassy—he seemed to be looking through her rather than at her.

         “Oh, my God,” Y/N repeated and gently brought Billy’s hands away from his abdomen to assess the damage only to quickly press her hands there in their place, applying pressure to the wound—the trees surrounding them may have created a shade from the moon’s light, but Y/N could see well enough that the urgency of the situation was well-apparent.

         As Billy’s head lolled back, his eyes threatening to close, Y/N risked moving a hand from where it was trying to slow the bleeding to hold his face. “Hey,” she said, bending closer. “Stay with me, Billy.” Then, turning to the small group of on-lookers that had formed behind them, she yelled, “Don’t just stand there—someone call for help!”

         Though Y/N’s words were commanding, her tone was more broken and desperate than she cared to acknowledge at that moment—she could deal with the meaning behind it later.

         No one made any sudden moves to comply with Y/N’s request, but even if they had, it wouldn’t have made a difference—Billy took one last shuddering breath beneath Y/N’s shaking hands before succumbing to the cold embrace of death.

         What’s black, white, and red all over?

         Them.

         The blood on Billy’s torso had oozed onto the black leather of his jacket, and as several hands pulled Y/N away from his body, rigid with shock as involuntary tears crept past her lashes, she clutched desperately at the white tulle of her skirt to ground herself, the red liquid coating her fingers tainting the pale fabric. It’d be impossible to get out, but she could add that to the ever-growing list of problems she had to deal with at another time.

                                                  ────── 〔 ☠ 〕──────

         Billy’s funeral came and went in a blur, as many things had for Y/N in the past few days. His death had impacted her in a way she hadn’t expected it to, though that was perhaps her own fault. She had spent much time mentally and emotionally preparing herself for the end of a relationship—if it could even be called that—but she’d only braced herself for one kind of ending. She’d been so scared of the impending abandonment that had awaited her that she’d never even considered it might take on a more literal meaning, though how was she to know? No one ever anticipates a young person’s death, which led to a question that had been nagging at Y/N’s restless mind: who killed Billy?

         As Y/N was unlocking the door to her car, she didn’t notice someone approaching her until they spoke: “Hey.”

         Eddie stood by the trunk of Y/N’s car, his hands shoved in his pockets and looking every bit as timid as one does when approaching a stray animal. He was dressed in all black, but not out of reverence for the dead, though there was something ironic about the skeleton on his t-shirt that peeked through the opening created by his unzipped leather jacket.

         “Hey,” Y/N returned, brow furrowing. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

         “Oh, I’m not—I didn’t go inside if that’s what you mean. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

         Y/N dropped the hand that held her keys, pausing her efforts to face Eddie fully. “Why?” she asked. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault.” While many of Hawkins’ other residents would’ve been happy to point the blame to the metalhead as soon as a dead body showed up, Y/N didn’t believe Eddie to be a murderer, despite his obvious distaste for Billy—besides, even if she did suspect him, he had an airtight alibi: Y/N herself had been with him when Carol had barged in with the grave news.

         Eddie only shook his head. “It’s not that. You were pretty shaken up when I took you home that night, and I wanted to check on you. See how you’re doing, now that it’s been a few days.” He sighed, looking around the parking lot as he fiddled with a loose thread on the inside of his left jean pocket. “I guess now probably isn’t the best time to do it, either.”

         Amidst the chaos, as Tina’s party drew to an untimely close, Eddie had managed to haul Y/N to the front yard, waving off Carol as she insisted that Tommy H.—who was obviously too intoxicated to drive—could take Y/N with them. When Eddie pulled up to Y/N’s house, he’d asked if she was okay to walk inside, to which she’d nodded numbly and robotically gotten out of his passenger seat before stiffly crossing the distance to her front door. He’d felt bad about leaving her alone but knew that he was in no position to insist on keeping her company.

         “No, it’s fine,” replied Y/N. “Thank you, Eddie. Really.” She paused, pursing her lips, which were without their usual rosy tint, Eddie noticed. They looked chapped. “Why do you care so much?” Y/N continued. “You hardly know me.”

         It was an acknowledgment that Eddie had been dreading. He looked down sheepishly, kicking a piece of gravel with the toe of his dirty sneaker. “You’re too nice,” Eddie said. “You care so much about other people, and I thought you could use a taste of your own medicine for once.”

         That sounded a lot less cheesy in his head.

         “I'm busy that night anyway,” Eddie assured Tina in response to the exaggerated way with which she snatched her Halloween party flyers out of his reach. The irony of it, though, was that he’d most likely end up there regardless; he almost always did—any time the popular kids threw a big bash, he was never explicitly invited, but on the night of, just as he’d gotten as comfortable as he could on his worn-out mattress, his house phone would start ringing off the hook and who would be on the other end but some self-entitled rich kid looking for a high? It was easy money—living in a neighborhood like Eddie’s, one took as much of that as they could get their hands on—so, he couldn’t really complain, though, he usually did, under his breath, as he changed back into the day’s clothes, grabbed his lunchbox of questionable substances, and headed out the door.

         Tina regarded Eddie with a sneer before quickly turning her attention to the people behind him—a pair of cheerleaders—and shoving two invitations into their grasp with a saccharinely sweet grin. “Hope to see you there,” she encouraged.

         Eddie seriously doubted that Tina would know whether or not those girls made an appearance—Tina’s family was in the same tax bracket as Steve Harrington’s. She came from money—lots of it—and had an obnoxiously large house to show for it. Eddie had never been inside her humble abode, only met a couple of jocks at the curb out front during another of her infamous get-togethers, leaning out through his van window to make a hasty exchange before driving home to head back to bed, but he could easily picture what it would be like. The walls would be lined with family photos to make it look like a loving home, two well-to-do parents and a perfect angel-of-a-daughter, one that, in reality, was often left to her own devices and with a key to the liquor cabinet in her father’s study.

         It was when making realizations like that that Eddie wondered if maybe he wasn’t so bad off. Sure, his dad was in jail and had never done much to earn the title ‘dad’ in the first place, his mom was dead, and living with an uncle wasn’t necessarily ideal to most people, but Wayne loved Eddie like he was his own kid—even if Wayne didn’t often say it outright, Eddie picked up on the little things, like the way he always made sure to take off for Eddie’s birthday so he wouldn’t have to spend the night alone in the trailer, or the way Wayne would sit through the scary movies Eddie would pick up from Family Video despite having a queasy stomach. Tina’s parents would never do that.

         “Fuck me,” Eddie muttered, watching helplessly as the books in his hands toppled into the trash can on his right at the sudden jolt of someone passing by harshly on his left.

         “You’d like that wouldn’t you, bitch?”

         Eddie didn’t recognize the voice of his assailant, but the cocky tone was all too familiar—he was just what Hawkins needed: another blowhard with a god complex and his head shoved so far up his own ass that Eddie could almost convince himself he saw a bit of the guy’s straggly mullet poking through the middle seam of his skin-tight jeans, which were at eye-level as Eddie ducked down into the waste bin to retrieve his belongings.

         “Sorry,” said Eddie, standing again as he did a poor job of cramming his unfinished chemistry homework back between the pages of his spiral notebook. “Assholes aren’t really my type.”

         "Watch it,” the other male warned, leaning so close that Eddie could smell the familiar stench of cigarette smoke on his breath, “or the next thing in that trash can will be you.”

         Eddie shrugged. “I mean, we could give it a go if you’re that desperate. Maybe you can change my mind—”

         The guy was a man of his word; Eddie had to give him that. 

         "Are you okay?”

         From where Eddie sat crumpled amongst the morning’s garbage—a browning banana peel, quite a few orange party invitations (surprisingly), and a chewed-up piece of gum that, naturally, got tangled in Eddie’s wild hair—he could make out Nancy’s face beyond the black folds of the trash bag.

         “I’m fine, thanks,” Eddie answered, though there was a lack of genuine gratitude in his tone. He dislodged himself from his prison before turning around again to pick up his books. “I don’t need your sympathy, Wheeler. I don’t wanna be another one of your charity cases. You don’t have to pretend you care about my well-being like you do with Byers.”

         Girls like Nancy Wheeler were too good to be true, and Eddie knew better than to fall for the concern in her big, blue eyes and the pout on her glossy lips because the innocence was only ever skin deep.

                                                      ────── 〔 ☠ 〕──────

         That afternoon, Eddie welcomed gym class with open arms—he wasn’t an avid enjoyer of physical education or anything, but after he was sentenced to another senior year in the Hawkins High Hellhole, it was the only period he felt he could skip in good conscience.

         Sitting with his back to the brick wall, tucked away in the alley between the gymnasium and the main building, Eddie was offered a momentary solace of sorts, a reprieve from the judgmental eyes of his peers. He took out the carton of cigarettes from where they’d been tucked into the waistband of his gym shorts and opened the lid, first pulling out the lighter he’d stowed away inside, then a smoke. Placing the cigarette between his lips, he lit it with nimble fingers before returning the lighter to its rightful spot and hiding the rest of his contraband.

         Beyond the ashy clouds his mouth produced, he could see the field behind the gymnasium where the cheerleaders were practicing. Chrissy Cunningham stood off to the side, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back by a green scrunchie, the tiny shorts she wore perfectly showing off her slender legs. Her back was to Eddie as she took a sip from her water bottle, but if she’d been so kind so as to step to the side a bit, he would’ve had a much clearer view of Y/N.

         Y/N wasn’t a cheerleader, but she got along with just about everyone, which was something that Eddie admired about her—theoretically speaking, she was just as likely to befriend someone like him as she was Chrissy.

         Eddie was nothing if not painfully self-aware, and after a while, he realized he was staring, and not a moment too soon because as he was looking away, he caught Y/N in his peripheral turning away from Chrissy and towards his general vicinity. His paranoia told him she’d spotted him and was creeped out—though he couldn’t say he blamed her if that was the case—but the more logical part of his brain reminded him that his reputation preceded him everywhere he went in Hawkins and that, despite how welcoming Y/N was, if she had indeed seen him gawking at her, she was most definitely creeped out.

         Sighing, Eddie stood, flicking his half-finished cigarette to the ground and stamping out the ember. He kept his head down as he begrudgingly returned to the gym’s back door, unwilling to meet Y/N’s gaze on the off chance she was still watching him. It also meant, however, that Eddie wasn’t aware of the door opening until it swung into him.

         “Jesus Christ,” Eddie complained, stumbling away with a hand held to the side of his head. Instinctually, he drew it back, checking his fingers for any sign of blood. “Watch where you’re—”

         The words died in Eddie’s throat when he at last glanced up to see who stood on the other side of the doorway, looking entirely too pleased with themselves. Billy, as the metalhead had come to learn.

         “Look, man,” Eddie started, “if this is about earlier, I think I learned my lesson already. I’m still picking gum out of my hair—”

         “Relax,” Billy said, smiling easily, though it didn’t reach his pale eyes, which bore into Eddie. “I just need some shit, and I heard you’re the guy for that.”

         “Oh,” Eddie replied, his shoulders visibly deflating slightly in relief, though he still spoke carefully. “Yeah.”

         Eddie assumed Billy wanted something for Tina’s party—whether it was for himself or to score brownie points with the host, he wasn’t sure, nor did he care enough to ask—and he was surprised that the guy had bothered to go out of his way to get it this early, rather than wait until the night of like everybody else. Billy didn’t exactly seem like the type to think of anyone but himself—his ego had radiated off of him in waves since he’d arrived—so Eddie figured it was more a matter of Billy not knowing his home phone number rather than not wanting to inconvenience him. Still, Eddie appreciated the effort, however misplaced it may have been.

         “Do I just swing by your place after school?”

         “No, no. My uncle will be there—probably asleep—so, uh, I have this place in the woods out behind the football field where I do my deals. We can meet there.”

         Billy eyed Eddie as if he thought the metalhead had something up his sleeve—premeditated murder, perhaps—but at last nodded, deciding that if it came down to it, he liked his chances, given their previous interaction. “Alright,” he complied.

         Eddie hummed in something along the lines of agreement before side-stepping Billy and heading inside.

                                                    ────── 〔 ☠ 〕──────

         The afternoon sun shone through spindly tree limbs, creating a web of shadows that fell across Eddie’s hunched figure and the rickety, wooden picnic table at which he sat. Beneath his elbow, his knee bounced nervously as he once again checked the watch on his opposite wrist. Billy had yet to arrive, and as much as Eddie needed the money, he was all too eager to chalk it up to a no-show and be on his way—with every passing minute, each rustle of wind through the dry underbrush had Eddie growing more and more anxious, eyes darting around in anticipation of an attack from any direction.

         Snap!

         Eddie jumped to his feet, spinning towards the direction from which the sound of a breaking twig had come. Instead of finding Billy there with a taunt on his lips, he saw Y/N, looking just as startled as he felt.

         “Woah,” Y/N said, raising her hands defensively. “You okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.” She accentuated her apology with a nervous giggle.

         “Yeah,” Eddie answered, glancing momentarily behind Y/N. “Where’s—”

         “Billy?” Y/N guessed. At Eddie’s nod, she continued, “His stepsister’s running late, so he sent me. Hope that’s okay. I mean, if you need to meet with him, I can—”

         “No,” Eddie interrupted, much too eagerly for his liking, the response tumbling out before he could catch it on the tip of his tongue. He pressed on in the hopes of distracting Y/N from his slip-up, “You’re a lot less intimidating than he is.”

         “What?” Y/N said, eyebrows raising in mock disbelief. “Don’t tell me the Eddie Munson, Devil Worshipper, is scared of someone.”

         Had it been anyone else, Eddie would’ve taken those words like a punch to the gut, but when Y/N said them, there was no bite, as if she didn’t believe the rumors behind them—and thought that anyone that did was kidding themselves—and the very inclination made Eddie weak in the knees.

         “Don’t let all the chains and leather fool you, Y/N,” Eddie warned, taking a step closer. “I can be a real baby.”

         Y/N laughed again, this time more confidently. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

         Eddie cracked a smile. “Only the fun kind,” he replied with a playful wink.

         Silence fell over the two, then, like a warm blanket after a long day. Y/N was smiling at Eddie as if they were old friends, and his stomach did somersaults at the sight. She was wearing a blue sweater—it looked much softer up close than it had when she was talking to Chrissy, and Eddie wanted to reach out and touch it—and her lips were such a pretty shade of pink, and Eddie wondered why Y/N had to be keeping company with someone such as Billy.

         Billy.

         Eddie cleared his throat, suddenly remembering why he was being graced with Y/N’s presence in the first place. He swept his arm out, motioning to the picnic table behind himself. “Step into my office, milady,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to keep Billy waiting.”

                                                   ────── 〔 ☠ 〕──────

         “Are you gonna get that?”

         It was the third time the phone had rung in the short half-hour time frame that Y/N and Billy had been at his house. The last thing Billy wanted to do was engage in a conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line—he had Y/N right where he wanted her: cheeks flushed and neck already starting to bruise, she was stretched out on the couch beneath him, her sweater pushed up just enough that he could splay his hands across the bare skin of her stomach.

         “It can’t be that important,” Billy grumbled.

         Y/N didn’t know how much more she could take. “Well, they sure seem to think it is.”

         With a roll of his eyes, Billy clambered to his feet and strode across the room, snatching the phone off its hook as soon as it was within reach. “What?” he demanded.

          “Oh, good!” said a garbled voice. “I’m glad you picked up. I thought I was going to have to pay you a little visit.”

         Billy wrinkled his nose, brow furrowing. “Who the hell is this?”

         “A friend of a friend,” replied the caller. “I’ve got a riddle for you: what’s black, white, and red all over?”

         The only answer that Billy offered was the sound of the phone’s speaker smacking against the receiver as he hastily tossed it back onto its hook, effectively ending the call.

         Y/N was still lying on the couch, listening absentmindedly to the conversation unfolding in the other room, but her focus was trained steadily on the popcorn ceiling above her. There was a scuff at the edge of the ceiling, where it met the wall, and she wondered for a moment how it had gotten there. Billy’s family was new in town, so she doubted any of them had caused it. At the sound of Billy re-entering the room, though, her attention was torn away from the house’s ailment. “Who was it?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows to see him better.