welcome to hawkins

Then the bike hit something wrong.

The tire caught on the warped street and jerked sideways, and Eddie went down hard. The impact rattled his teeth, knocked the air clean out of him, sent pain flashing up his spine as the bike skidded away in a useless clatter of metal. He lay there gasping, the world spinning, ears ringing, the taste of blood sharp on his tongue. His hands trembled as they scraped against the ground, panic spiking hot and fast.

“No—no, no, no—” he rasped, forcing himself up before fear could lock him in place. The sound above him shifted. Not pursuing anymore. Circling.

Eddie staggered to his feet, chest heaving, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might tear him open from the inside. The demobats wheeled overhead, silhouettes cutting through the red sky, their shrieks rising and falling in a rhythm that made his stomach twist. They weren’t chasing him now. They were watching. Waiting.

Every instinct screamed at him to run. To find another bike, another road, another way out. That’s what he always did. That’s what people expected from Eddie Munson — loud mouth, big hair, first one out the door when things got real.

His fingers closed around the spear instead.

He thought of Dustin’s voice. The way the kid had looked at him like he was something more than a screw-up, more than the town freak. He thought of the others still back at the trailer, counting on him, trusting him to keep the bats away long enough to matter. He swallowed hard, fear burning in his chest, and felt something else rise up under it — stubborn, shaking, furious resolve.

“I’m not running,” Eddie said aloud, voice cracking but loud enough to hear himself over the shrieks. He planted his feet, lifted the spear, and squared his shoulders even as his hands shook. “Not this time.”

The bats dove lower, wings beating harder, shadows closing in around him like a living storm. Eddie’s heart hammered, terror and determination colliding in his chest, but he held his ground anyway — shaking, terrified, brave in a way he’d never let himself be before.

This is it.

The thought hits him with terrifying clarity. Not heroic. Not dramatic. Just the awful certainty that this is how he’s going to die — alone in the dirt, terrified, torn apart while the sky screams. His chest burns, breath coming in broken gasps, fingers shaking so badly he can barely hold onto the weapon anymore. “No—no, no—” he sobs, panic flooding him, every instinct screaming to run even though his body won’t cooperate.

Then the weight lifts.

A demobat is wrenched off him with a sickening crunch, its body flying past his head. Another drops. Another. The pressure eases enough for Eddie to suck in a lungful of air that hurts like hell but counts. He curls in on himself instinctively, arms coming up to protect his face as the shrieks fracture and scatter.

He dared to open his eyes.

“Oh—” His voice comes out broken, disbelief threading through the pain. “Oh, shit.” He coughs, chest heaving, ash sticking to his sweat-slick skin as he turns his head and finally sees who’s standing over him, tire iron dripping, eyes wild. Recognition clicks through the haze. “Hargrove. Billy fucking Hargrove.” Seniors. Same school. Different worlds. He laughs weakly, the sound half-hysterical, half-sob.

Eddie swallows hard, staring up at him like he’s seeing a ghost. “I thought that was it,” he admits hoarsely, fear still shaking through him. “I really thought I was done.” He shifts, wincing as pain flares, but forces himself up onto one elbow, eyes never leaving Billy.

Breaths dragged harshly in and out of his lungs when he was finished, sticky black blood dripping from the iron. His gaze shifted to Eddie still on the ground, assessing and, there and gone so quickly it was hard to catch it for what it was, concern. He barely knew Eddie. They hadn't run in the same circles back at Hawkins High, not even close. But they were in this together now, and somehow that created a bond. He didn't want Eddie to die. He didn't want anyone else to die.

"You hit your head, man? I came in here with you. Wasn't gonna leave you behind." He reached out a hand, grasping Eddie's and hauling him to his feet whether he was ready or not. He could carry him out if need be, but he didn't think lingering in this shithole any longer than necessary was wise. "That was a hell of a solo. How the hell were you planning on getting out?" The question was as neutral as he could make it, but he thought he knew the answer. Eddie hadn't been planning to walk out. Billy had been in that position once himself. He knew what it felt like to know with absolute certainty that he was going to die.

Billy - Then who the fuck did?

Billy was mid-rep when Eddie slipped in, the quiet clink of weights and Billy’s steady breathing filling the space. Sweat slicked his skin, muscles tight and focused, eyes locked on the ceiling like nothing else existed — which only made it better. Eddie didn’t announce himself; he never did. He stepped close, waited for the bar to rack, then leaned in while Billy was still catching his breath, hands braced on the bench. The kiss landed quick and playful at first, all heat and surprise, before Eddie lingered just a second longer than necessary, grinning against Billy’s mouth like he’d just stolen something he had every intention of doing again.

Billy didn't stop what he was doing when Eddie came in, but he noticed. It was partially an instinct after living with his father for so many years, to always know where anyone was in a room. But it was also just that Eddie was distractingly cute. It took effort to stay focused on what he was doing, the steady exhale of his breaths matching his movements. His muscles burned not unpleasantly as he racked the bar, neck craning slightly to see what he was up to. He wasn't expecting a kiss, a surprised huff of a laugh escaping into it. "Hey, c'mere." He reached for a handful of Eddie's shirt to drag him close again, head tilting to catch him in another kiss.

At the question, Eddie’s nose scrunched faintly, a mock-considering look crossing his face. “Joining you for leg day?” he echoed, glancing down at himself like he was taking inventory. “I mean, I could… but I feel like that ends with me unable to walk for a week and you judging me the entire time.” A beat, then he smirked. “Which, to be fair, you’re probably gonna do anyway.”

"If you don't want to walk for a week, I can think of better ways." A wicked smirk spread across his face. There was no way he wasn't taking that opportunity when Eddie left it wide open for him. He released his hair, a hand finding its way to his hip and tugging him closer on the bench. "Start stretching. I'll give you a real workout later." He stole another kiss, this one decidedly less wholesome than the last. Billy could go from cute to filthy faster than the Camaro could do zero to sixty.

[P4tre0n] [Linktr.ee]

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh at that, the sound softer than usual, like it doesn’t quite make it all the way out. “Yeah,” he murmurs, a little crooked smile pulling at his mouth again. “Pretty sure I’ve already got the reputation. Might as well lean into it, right?” His thumb keeps moving against her hand, slow and absent, like he’s grounding himself without thinking about it. But the joke doesn’t stick for long. His gaze drops to where her hand rests against his chest, like he can feel it more because she’s noticing it, the steady rhythm under her palm.

“Hey,” Eddie says, softer this time, not teasing anymore. His fingers tighten slightly around hers, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. “You don’t have to pretend it’s nothing, you know. People are gonna talk. They always do.” He pauses, searching her face like he’s trying to make sure she really means it, that she’s not just saying what he wants to hear. “But yeah,” he adds after a moment, voice low, steadier now, “we’ll know the truth.”

"It's not nothing. It'll be hard. It's… been hard." She'd struggled with public perception since she broke up with Jason, her pristine reputation tarnished for no reason people could understand. It was especially hard for Chrissy, who cared so much what people thought of her. But with Eddie, she was slowly learning to care what she thought and what she wanted, instead of being what everyone told her to be.

"I don't want to hide this though," she added, softer. Eddie deserved better than to be some dirty secret. She wasn't ashamed of wanting him. And maybe, just maybe, Chrissy was starting to believe she deserved better too. A little teasing smile twitched at her lips. "That is, if you think your reputation can handle being seen with the school princess."

Eddie catches that half-smile, and something in him softens—not because it’s convincing, but because she’s still trying. Still here. “Yeah,” he says quietly, glancing over at her before looking back at the road. “It is. But that doesn’t make it normal.” His fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel, not restless, just present. “Just means you got used to carrying it.” Another small glance her way, softer this time. “Doesn’t mean you’re supposed to keep doing it forever.”

When she says she doesn’t know how, Eddie nods like that makes perfect sense. No surprise. No pressure. “Most people don’t,” he admits, voice easy and steady. “Not at first.” A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “It’s not like there’s a switch you flip and suddenly you’re good at being honest about how you feel. It’s more like… you get a couple minutes where you don’t have to pretend. Then maybe next time it’s a little longer.” His eyes flick briefly to the way she’s curled in on herself, but he doesn’t call it out, doesn’t try to pull her out of it. Just lets her have it.

The tease earns a quiet huff of a laugh. “Wow,” Eddie mutters, shaking his head a little. “My scary van? That’s cold.” There’s no bite to it, just warmth, something lighter threading back in. “And here I thought I was building a solid reputation.”

The road opens up ahead, trees thinning until the horizon stretches wide. Eddie slows, guiding the van off onto a narrow path, tires crunching softly before he brings it to a stop. When the engine cuts, the quiet settles differently—no walls, no pressure, just open space. He leans back slightly, glancing over at her. “Figured if you’re gonna try not pretending,” he says gently, “might as well do it somewhere no one’s expecting anything from you. Here you can scream all you want. Get all of that bullshit you deal with out and breathe a little. I do it from time to time."

"It's actually pretty cozy inside." She smiled, glancing around the van. It was a little shabby, true, but the seat was big and comfortable like the rest of it. There was so much space. It made her feel small and protected, almost cocooned. Her smile widened a little as her gaze settled on him again. "Kind of like you. Scary on the outside, but cozy and safe on the inside." Again, the words were a surprise to her, the realization that she felt safe with Eddie only fully hitting once she'd said it out loud. What a weird day.

She lowered her feet back to the floor, leaning forward a little when it seemed they were arriving at their destination. The trees fell away and the space before them opened up until it was nothing but sky. The view made her smile. She knew a lot of people hated Hawkins and longed for the vibrant, bustling city life, but he was right. She liked it here with nobody else watching. "What?" A surprised laugh slipped out, and she looked over at him, disbelieving. Scream all you want? That didn't sound even remotely like something she would do. "I don't think I can do that."

Steve hears the water shut off, and something in him tightens before he can stop it. The sudden quiet shifts the whole room, makes every sound sharper—the rustle of fabric, the dull clang of metal, the steady rhythm of his own breathing that’s just a little too uneven. He doesn’t look toward the showers right away. Instead, he buttons his jeans, drags a hand back through his damp hair like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he didn’t just stand there listening.

That’s what finally does it. Steve turns just as Billy comes through the doorway, towel slung low, like nothing that just happened meant anything. Like he didn’t say it. Like he didn’t look at him like that. Steve pushes off the locker without hesitation, stepping forward to cut him off clean, planting himself right in Billy’s path. Not aggressive—but deliberate. Close. Closer than they’ve been yet.

“Funny,” Steve says, voice lower now, quieter—but heavier for it. His gaze lifts, locks in, doesn’t waver. “You talk a big game in there.”

His hand comes up—not touching, not quite—but hovering close enough to the edge of Billy’s shoulder that it feels intentional. "I would have lasted longer."

He paused when Steve stepped into his space, head tilting slightly as he surveyed him. There was something amusing about the smaller guy thinking he could stop Billy if he really wanted to get somewhere. Normally, he would have risen to that challenge, but his mind was still back in the shower with the weight of Steve's gaze on him and all those lovely lines on full display. If the options were to punch him or fuck him, there was no question which he wanted more right now. Fucking hell, his dick was waking back up just looking at him, the traitor.