FUCK MORDOR

❛ Oh— no, Ed— ❜ Peter lets a hand fly to his forehead, an openly remorseful look on his usually-blank face. ❛ You're not— you're not useless, I shouldn't have— you were just trying to help me... ❜

These things tend to happen with him. Never having been taught the true value of a good sense of emotional regulation, he fluctuates so quickly between feeling terribly numb and all-encompassing everything that it's enough to give anyone whiplash. While he'd felt like speaking up in the moment, he's regretting it something fierce now.

♫ ⸻ Trying. That seems to be a key word in Eddie Munson's life. He'd been trying to graduate high school. Trying to get clean and sober. Trying to be the kind of man his uncle could be proud of. Always trying but never quite making the cut. He wants to help Peter so badly, to be there for him like a brother should, because make no mistake, Eddie thinks of him as a brother, but he knows his own short-comings, knows them intimately.

❝ I don't want you to feel like you can't say shit to me, Petey... I want you to know that you can always say what's on your mind, even if you think I might not wanna hear it or you think it might be mean or something. I can work with it, help you through it as best I can, but I— ❞

He's not Henry. He's not Isaac. He can't read minds.

He listens as Peter points out something he's all too aware of, that three, well four if you count Theta, people in his life can do some stuff that belongs in a sci-fi movie, but that isn't what he meant when he said he wasn't good enough.

Like Peter, Eddie isn't too great at regulating his emotions, but instead of walling up and retreating, he blows up and makes it everyone else's problem. He doesn't mean to, and he always owns his shit once he's calmed down, but that also means he's not equipped to help people in the way they need. He's not Henry, or Lulu or Isaac, he hasn't got his shit together.

❛ It's not a risk you all take. Driving on the road is not the same as driving on the road with forces you don't understand stacked against you. ❜ While he knows he means well, Peter's a little sick of pretending that anyone can really understand the things he's been through on behalf of these people. This cult is not fun and games; not some childish heroes quest that he always comes back from when he's done playing pretend. ❛ ...sorry. It's just— nevermind. ❜

It's just that even with these people gone, who's to say they won't come back? Who knows how big their group became before everything? How does he know he's not ever going to be at their mercy— or lack of it— again?

♫ ⸻ He feels the sting of his fuck-up like a red hot poker between his ass cheeks. Funny how he remembers that weird old saying from his uncle in a moment that he needs to be present and accounted for. It is, perhaps, his minds way of coping with the fact that he doesn't know how to help his friend, that he hasn't got the first clue on what he should say in order to give his brother some peace of mind. Even if he had the words, would it be enough? Would Peter even want to hear it? Rubbing at the back of his neck, Eddie exhales slowly, letting his inability to do much of anything escape his lungs.

The news is... troubling, to say the least. Peter shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, willing himself to take another swig of coffee. While he's never been a caffeine fiend, he appreciates the effects of it more than ever now that he's terrified to go to sleep. Ever since Charlie's horrific death, his nightmares have been nothing short of awful.

"Okay... well, I suppose it doesn't matter why, in the grand scheme of things. What matters if that these things are happening."

Peter is often heralded as a dumbass, but that's because most of the people in this school have only ever really seen him high. Now that he's off the weed permanently, his sharp mind has come to the forefront; he may not be able to determine much about this mysterious 'Vecna' character, but what he can surmise is that whatever has him so angry, it's likely too late to bring him back. Nobody kills kids in such a graphic way unless he's stuck in some sort of tragic loop.

"You're... talking about telekinesis," Peter says slowly, as if he hadn't heard him right. In a way, it's quite funny that the terrifying interdimensional monster bent on revenge wasn't his breaking point— but perhaps, with whatever the fuck unfolding his house right now, he can pardon that with considerably more ease than people using their minds to defeat said monsters. "I... that just doesn't— Henry Creel?"

He's a little bit of a weird guy, though Peter's never had any quarrel with him. In fact, in some ways he reminds him of Charlie. Perhaps he isn't weird but neurodivergent.

♫ ⸻ Eddie is far from offended. After all, it isn't like he's spinning some yarn for shits and giggles and needs to drive home the fact that his adoptive brother can do stuff with his mind. He takes Peter's disbelief in stride simply because he knows that sooner or later he's going to see what Henry can do for himself.

There's no point in trying to make him believe when it's just a hard fact.

❝ I get it, if I hadn't grown up with him and say him do this shit on the daily? I'd be thinking and saying the exact same thing you are now. ❞ He takes a swig of his coffee before placing the mug down on the table, ringed fingers lacing loosely together as his forearms find purchase on his thighs. ❝ I'm not gonna sit here and try to convince you that it's true, it's like that old saying about protesting too much or somethin', right? The more I try to tell you it's true? The more it sounds like bullshit. ❞

Still, Peter has taken everything else in stride, and so far he hasn't given any indication that he wants to cut this conversation short and get the fuck out of dodge. For the most part, at least from what Eddie can gather, Peter believes him, or he believes him enough to stay and talk over it some more.

❝ So... has anything I've told you so far sound like what has been happening to you? Just so cards are on the table? If you're having... I dunno, some kind of episode? Mental break, whatever... I wanna help you, I don't want what I've told you fucking you up more. But if this is more than mental health stuff, if you really believe that Vecna has something to do with what is happening to you? I still want to help. ❞

He hopes that comes across the way he's intended. Sure, he doesn't know Peter all that well, but given that his brother has mental health issues, and, now that he thinks about it, most of his closest friends have some sort of mental health issue, he'd feel like an asshole if he didn't at least try to help Peter with it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ— How come he introduced himself like that? It almost felt like the way she might give her own full name, if she were allowed to hand that information out anymore. No, she was Evan Elgray, now, complete with fake documents and all. They looked pretty good, if you asked her. The coffee shop had taken them, anyways. The name was a nod to her late aunt, her favorite person to have graced the planet, still, to this day. "It's nice to meet you, then, Eddie Munson," she said with a soft smile, trying to ease whatever anxiety had turned his name into a question, "I'm Evan Elgray. I just moved here not too long ago."

Motioning for him to sit and then taking a sip of her own drink, she decided to let him think he'd won in terms of her not owing him a coffee of her own. If they ran into each other here again, she was definitely going to rope him into trying it; if there was one thing left about her that could still be perfect, it was her coffee. The more people she could share that with, the better. She'd already taken enough from the world, and she wanted to give as much as she could.

"Anyways, while you get comfy at the table, what can I get you?" She was curious about his go-to order. Sometimes people surprised her with their favorite drink, but she couldn't figure out what she expected him to drink in the first place. Maybe black?

♫ ⸻ The relief he felt was instant. Not that he wasn't used to people quickly changing their mind about hanging with him. What surprised him more was that she'd been here more than a week and didn't seem to recognise his name. People in Hawkins loved to gossip, and worst still? They'd gossip about the same shit for years.

❝ Evan Elgray? Sounds like some name from a Victorian novel. ❞ He's smirking as he says that, the anxiety he'd felt over introducing himself slowly ebbing away from the pit of his stomach. He pulls up a seat and plops himself down into it heavily, various chains scraping against the metal framework that holds the dainty wooden back and bottom together. ❝ Why you'd wanna move to this dump is anyone's guess, but... welcome to Hawkins, where there's shit all to do except watch the days roll by. ❞

In fairness, it wasn't that bad. Sure, before his newfound infamy had kicked in, things weren't exactly great for him; he was a Munson and that name carried a certain reputation, a reputation he had elevated simply by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the town itself was okay, if a bit boring.

❝ Oh, um... strong coffee, splash of cream aaaand.... yeah, fuck it, throw some cinnamon in there! ❞ Normally his go-to order was a black coffee which he'd load up with sugar, but he was hoping to make a good first impression... though something told him he might want to ease off the cursing if he wanted to achieve that.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ— If only he could know that she was the weirdest person in the room. In fact, she was the weirdest in every room she wandered into, to her knowledge. It wasn't like people with powers like hers were exactly common. "You'd be in good company, I think," she said with a grin. He didn't need to know that her weirdness wasn't the good kind, like she could see his was. He had kind eyes. She was a strong believer in the eyes being windows to the soul. She'd witnessed that much. A chill ran down her spine at the way her mind pulled out an image of its proof; the coldest, most sadistic eyes she'd ever seen, on the man who had to be the devil himself, the reason she was hiding in the town to begin with.

She stuffed the image back into its box; she had company, finally, someone to help her keep herself busy.

"I'd offer to make you a drink myself, but my manager won't let me behind the counter today. I make the perfect coffee," she bragged, only a kidding a little bit. Her coffee truly was something she was constantly working to perfect, and it was one of the things she was most proud of in herself. "So for today, I'm gonna have to just buy one for you. But if I don't scare you off somehow, then we can just say I owe you for next time."

♫ ⸻ Eddie had been making strides in keeping better company, as in, company that was outside of his tight knit chosen family. It was all so he could keep himself sober, work on becoming a man that his dear old uncle could be proud of. It wasn't that he thought she could potentially be bad for him, but he also wasn't going to jump in feet first into a friendship like he used to. Being sober and staying sober was top priority these days.

❝ Oh, you work here? ❞ He'd normally make a comment about a person spending their free time in their place of work, but lately he'd been doing the same. Maybe not for the same reasons she had, but he figured it now seemed rude to point it out. ❝ Uh, names Eddie, by the way, Eddie Munson? ❞ He always does that, gives his name like it's a question instead of a statement, like he's waiting for the penny to drop and be told to fuck off.

It's why he hasn't sat down just yet.

⸸  ⸻ He feels juvenile for snickering, yet the mood they've fostered permits it. Eddie is about the only person in the world that Henry feels he can be truly authentic with. Whilst opposed to pretence, he recognises that to get by in the modern world, a certain level of irony is required; a means of protecting their unique sensitivities as human beings. It's funny how the planet continues to get crueller yet people are not built to withstand the ruin it causes. After all, even from Chrissy is he keeping secrets. One of them arguably being so large that it borders on fictive to keep going this way. He simply can't risk it. He loves her too much.

♫ ⸻ It's nice that they can cut loose like this, just relax and unwind after pushing themselves to their limits and beyond on stage. Of course they both have a persona up there, a part they play for the crowd, but after? They're just Eddie and Henry, two men that come from some nowhere town in the back of beyond. As a kid, before Henry came along that is, Eddie always wanted a brother and not just because he'd been lonely as fuck, which he had been. It was more because he wanted someone he could spend his life with, someone he could be completely himself with, share all of his deepest and darkest with and still be loved in spite of it all.

Maybe that's why he'd picked up that something had been off with his brother of late, that at least something was playing on his mind. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but Eddie saw it simply because he was on the outside looking in. —His brother was trying to protect them from something, he could see it in the way he acted with the people he loved most.

And that little hum? It all but confirmed it.

❝ You know it was your belief in me that got me this far, right? I know dad always supported me, but... and I don't blame him for this, he's a realistic person, wanted me to consider getting a 'real job' just so I had something to fall back on. Now? I'm starting to believe in myself. ❞ He'd leaned forward in his seat as he'd talked, shovelling in mouthfuls of food to replace the calories he'd lost on stage, and it was with his mouth half-full that he asks his question.

𖤐  ⸻  ❛ Hale's been suggesting lately that I lowkey try to 'take back' driving... I don't know how I feel about it. ❜

@ripmvnson

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ— While most might savor their days off, stay far away from where they worked for fear of losing the small amount of free time they could get, Evan, as usual, was another thing entirely. She needed the busy atmosphere of the little coffee shop that day, needed to feel life buzzing around her even if her manager refused to let her behind the counter. It was frustrating; they obviously needed help that day, but apparently she looked too tired for her senior to allow her to work. So here she was, on her fourth espresso, trying to fix the problem so she could keep her hands busy.

It was hard to focus on her book, the words blurring together every now and then. Eventually, she gave up, sighing and putting her bookmark in and leaning back in her chair. But then her eye caught someone; she'd never seen him around before in the little shop, and that was enough for her to at least try to drag him into a conversation. "Hey," she greeted with a warm smile, "wanna trade? I'll get you a coffee if you'll hang out with me." Maybe it was a weird request, but she figured it'd kill two birds with one stone; she got company, and maybe she could get him to come back in the future. More business for the tiny shop was always appreciated.

✘ ⸻ Since getting sober, Eddie had discovered that going cold turkey meant that he'd have to find another vice to replace it. He'd tried gum, sweets and all other kinds of snacks, but none of them ever truly scratched the itch that came with having a beer in his hand. That's when he truly embraced coffee. It had been random, really, his hands needed something to hold and they wouldn't stop trembling enough for him to play his guitar, so, he'd made himself a coffee and whaddya know? He felt better. Just having the mug in his hand made him feel balanced, somehow. It also helps him from caving when at work. Since getting ownership of the Hideout, he's found it harder to abstain from getting black out drunk.

Thank fuck he discovered coffee!

Coffee shops on the other hand, were something of a new venture for him, and it was obvious from the way a few people stared that he didn't really belong here. —The place was a little too hipster for his liking. He'd been about to turn on his heel, and run, he was going to run, when a girl called out to him, offering a trade. ❝ Me? You're talking to me? ❞ And yes, he absolutely points to himself with both index fingers. Once it's established she does indeed mean him, he saunters over and carefully pulls out a chair. ❝ You sure about this? I mean... I literally just walked in off of the street. What if I'm a weirdo? ❞

𖤐  ⸻  ❛ Yeah. I remember Starcourt. It was huge news. ❜

Of course, Peter's default reaction to the things that Eddie tells him is SCEPTICISM. It seems absolutely improbable that any of this could happen— but so does what he is currently going through. When looking at things through that lens, it's hard to truly discredit the things he's being told.

Still, interdimensional monsters...? Sounds a little bit like he's in the midst of a prank.

❛ So, this... 'Vecna' guy... why would he do any of this? If I'm understanding what you've said right, he's not even part of this... uh, 'dimension'. ❜ Peter cringes at himself. The things he's saying sound ABSOLUTELY ridiculous. They feel wrong in his mouth. ❛ I mean, what's his problem? And why is he targeting random teens? ❜

It isn't even that he expects Eddie to know the answers to his questions per se; it's that if he doesn't at least question what's being said to him a little bit, it'll fail to sink in. He won't be able to ACCEPT it because he'll forever worry this is a joke, a means of some asshole kid taking advantage of another's fucked up state. Highschoolers have always been cruel, and though he tells himself that there's no way he'd have bothered to talk him down from a panic attack if his only intention was to mock him, the sad reality is that so many do equally big or EVEN BIGGER gestures to lull their targets into a false sense of security. Hell, pretending to have romantic interest and asking people on dates as a means of getting them to a desired location is a popular means of attack here. If LOVE isn't sacred then what is?

✘ ⸻ In a way, Eddie was glad that Peter was asking questions, trying to pick holes in his story. It showed him that he could think for himself, that he wasn't going to accept what he'd said at face value because of some dumb shit reason like wanting to impress him. The truth of the matter was that there are holes in the story, things Eddie doesn't know enough about to be able to give him answers or fill him in.

Vecna was still very much a new problem for them, and while they had an idea what he wanted, the methods and the reasoning for it were just out of their reach.

❝ That's what we're still not a hundred percent on. Like, he's shown us snippets of his 'master plan' or whatever... it's the usual shit, destroy the world so he can be the king of its ashes or whatever, but as to why he's been targeting kids he doesn't exactly know? I can't answer that, I wish I could, but I can't. ❞

It'd pain Eddie to know that Peter thought this was some kind of joke, he'd understand why he thought that and wouldn't be mad about it, but it'd hurt all the same. One look at Eddie was enough to know that he'd had more than a few pranks pulled on him over the years; a cute girl he'd been crushing on asking him out on a date, only for him to end up having seven shades of shit beat out of him, or mocked rather viciously.

He gets it, it just sucks that Peter's even in a position to be thinking like that.

𖤐  ⸻ The air feels tight as he nods his head and seats himself in the passenger side. Part of him feels oh so foolish when he doesn't protest against Eddie turning the keys in the ignition and taking off out of Hawkins High's modest car park. Most of him doesn't care about his fate. He should be dead anyway.

He's been in Hawkins since he was nine years old, and yet Eddie's half of town is quite unfamiliar— or at least it is until he catches sight of the ratty '5 MILES — FOREST HILLS' sign on the side of the road. It's half buried in an overgrown weeping willow, as if the mayor wants nature to swallow the undesirable little trailer park whole. Peter wouldn't be surprised. The reserve is notorious for housing all of the dregs of society; the poor and the disabled and the addicts, and don't forget the teenage mothers left with no options after their parents disowned them for their reckless affairs. As a Loch Nora dweller, a son born into a position of material privilege and the pseudo-respect that wealth grants, he was always heavily discouraged from interacting with that side of town. Then he'd found weed, and the rest was history.

As they come to a stop outside of Eddie's trailer, Peter breathes in the quiet chaos for just a moment too long. From somewhere to their distant left, an older woman howls with evident frustration. Her door is flung open, a clearly drunk man shoved out of the front door before she slams it shut behind him. He lands face first in the dirt, bottle of liquor still tightly in hand. He doesn't get up.

❛ Yeah, ❜ Peter agrees, far less disturbed than one from his neighbourhood ought to be. How could he be afraid, though? His time spent smoking had seen him in this very cluster of trailers fairly often. It's a wonder how he hadn't already crossed paths with Munson.

After they enter, Peter glances around curiously. Taking note of the mug collection lining the walls and the ugly camper curtains in the trailer's small square window. It's the antithesis of the Graham House, drab and cluttered and cramped, and Peter thinks that might very well be why he finds it charming.

❛ Oh, um— I'll... take a coffee, ❜ he replies, finally taking a seat on the couch. By now, his tremors have passed, but his hands still clasp in his lap before giving into the urge to habitually wring. ❛ You're making it sound like I'm gonna need it. ❜

✘ ⸻ Forest Hills might be viewed as housing the 'dregs of society' to most, but for Eddie? It had been home for as long as he could remember. Sure, he didn't have a fancy driveway with an even fancier car sat out front, and the roof had a tendency to leak when it rained heavily, but it was home all the same, the first place he'd ever felt truly safe in.

As the pan boiled the water for their coffee —because of course they didn't have a proper stove top kettle or anything— Eddie began to figure out just how he was going to go about the next part of their conversation, where he should start, how much detail he should give —that sort of thing.

Before long he's handing Peter a steaming mug of coffee, of course it isn't the expensive, fancy kind, but it'll do the trick. Plus, he's added an extra sugar in there to help with Peter's nerves. Probably an old wives tale, but he figured it couldn't do any harm. Sugar usually makes him feel better when he's stressed or anxious.

❝ I'll be honest, dude... I don't even know where to start, which sounds like a cop-out, I know. ❞ He speaks as he lowers himself into the seat at the other end of the couch, giving Peter room, the sense that he's not being crowded. ❝ See, I've only been in this mess for a little while, and there's shit I don't know the full story of. ❞

Eddie takes a measured sip at his coffee, the bitter liquid burning his tongue briefly before swallowing it down. He's stalling, he knows he's stalling, but he also knows he can't do that forever, not if he wants Peter to stay and listen.

❝ You remember the mall, right? Starcourt? How it got burned down and some people were killed in it? Local authorities tried to make out it was faulty wiring or some shit... that's... not exactly what happened. I wasn't there, so you're getting a secondary account of events. ❞

Carefully, Eddie explains to Peter what really happened, that a monster from another dimension wrecked the mall in a bid to... well, on that point, he's not so sure. He then back tracks a little more, explains that this monster, the Mindflayer, wasn't the only one, that Will Byers had gotten stuck in this place it came from, that he was partly responsible for bringing it back to their world.