fickle little bit

Words honestly can't describe how much this fic means to me, and I had so much fun binding it as a gift for the author 💜 Tuesday's explores such beautiful themes of love - both romantic and platonic, as well as a deep love and appreciation of music - not to mention rockstar shenanigans, grief, loss and recovery. Even though I've read this fic multiple times now, the story and the characters always make me emotional - I *may have* (absolutely did) cry while I was typesetting it! No spoilers but there is a particular scene that gets me every. single. time.

Typeset and handbound by me, for personal use only.

Typeset featuring gorgeous art by @sentient-trash

Dust jacket design and endpapers featuring images and articles from the fic ✨️ **Heads up - dust jacket features some spoilers!!**

Carolyn white knuckles the armrests on the plane. She feels like everyone is staring at them, knowing exactly who they are. They don't. She knows they don't. But it doesn't stop it from feeling true.

This is hell. She thought they'd been in hell before. Drugs. Arrests. Felonies. Addictions. Rehab. More Rehab. Gareth turning out to be a fucking little dickhead cheater, just like his dad was. No matter how he was raised. Those tendencies were scraped up from the bottom of the gene pool, apparently. 

But they'd cleaned their act up. Eddie got sober. Gareth eventually followed his lead, like he always has. Even if she was scared he wouldn't there for a while, especially after he'd fucked everything up with Di. But the boys had made it out the other side.

And this — this — is how they were rewarded?

Things were looking good, great even. It was the first time in a long time when she wasn't constantly worried about them. She had let her guard down.

Now, she's mad. If she's not mad, she'll cry, because none of that holds a candle to this. Life just isn't fair.

Their babies were in a plane crash. 

And they can't do anything about it. There's no fixing this one. What's done is done, and they don't even know how bad the damage is yet.

Their boys didn't fuck up this time, this happened to them. 

Lana is sitting slumped forward, head between her knees. She's scared to fly on a good day. And today? Today's not a good day. Carolyn rubs her back. Gloria is staring out the window, not seeing anything, Carolyn's certain.

There's a bump of turbulence, it's honestly nothing. But it's too much today, too much after, and Lana is crying. Fingers clutching the back of the seat in front of her.

Carolyn pries one of her hands free, and Gloria follows her lead, getting the other one. Squeezing tight.

They're in this together. They've always been in this together. No matter what they find out when they land. 

But there's a pit in Carolyn's stomach, and she knows it's bad. She knows. They must look crazy to everyone around them, but nobody says a word.

The news in the airport said three or four people had died. Including the pilots. The other two might be some of their boys. It might be none of them. Right now, they're just in limbo. Not knowing is torture.

She tries to guess how many other people were on the plane, but every person she thinks of is part of the Corroded Coffin family, and she doesn't want it to be any of them.

But as long as they don't know, the worst hasn't happened. There are levels to the worst case scenario, and the guilt she feels at feeling that way is overwhelming.

Nine. The television in the airport bar is saying nine are dead now. Four to nine dead is a big jump, and Carolyn grips her purse strap tighter. The odds are worse. Much worse. There's no way they've all made it. She knows it in her gut.

They're gonna have funerals and their lives will never be the same ever again. You aren't supposed to lose your children.

Gareth isn't dead. She can tell. She thinks she'd know if he left this earth without her, and he hasn't. She's sure of that. He's fine.

He's fine.

He has to be fine.

Dustin Henderson is waiting outside of the airport, standing next to an idling cab. Arguing with a cop. Arms waving. Notepad in hand.

"Dustin," Carolyn says, and he turns.

He looks bereft. Like he hasn't slept in days, maybe weeks. 

He looks shell-shocked. 

Aren't they all?

They walk towards him, and Carolyn sees him take a deep, steadying breath. She had expected Steve, for some reason. This whole time, she imagined when they landed in Baton Rouge that Steve Harrington would be there to greet them at the gate, walking and talking them to the hospital, the situation firmly under control. Under his control.

But there's no Steve. Only Dustin, looking heartbroken.

He glances between Lana and Gloria, voice cracking as he says, "I'm so sorry."

All three of them cry, as he goes down the list. He's direct, and sure in his information. There's no hedging, no maybes. No false hope. Gareth is at Holy Heart. Eddie is at General. Jeff and Goodie are at the morgue. He's seen them himself. He's sure.

Then, he tells them everything else he knows, and nothing they've ever wanted to hear.