#ccfest2k25

The only thing he could think about was that he hated this fucking boathouse.

And that his butt crack was starting to itch.

This was definitely not how his last and best Spring Break was supposed to go.

This week was supposed to be full of hedonism and music and blowing up firecrackers from last July.

But that was just his luck. Edward J. Munson. Royal Fuckup. Karma's little bitch.

"This is because I killed off everyone's characters in the Cult of Vecna, right?" He glanced upwards, expecting to find god but only seeing a leaky roof.

He wrung his hands as he stewed.

His friends...

Had they heard about Chrissy being found in his trailer? Did they think that he killed her?

A different kind of feeling gripped Eddie then.

It was fear at the thought that his friends would see him as something he wasn't. Because for as much as he liked to talk a big game, he wasn't evil.

He would never do that to Chrissy. Could never do that to anyone.

His friends had to know that. Henderson and the others did. Then again, they knew a lot more than it seemed. Enough that they sought him out just to tell him that they knew he was innocent and that there was a greater evil responsible.

And Eddie might've been friends with Dustin--a mentor--but the others? They barely knew him. So if Steve Harrington was willing to put his life on the line for Eddie, his friends had to know he was innocent too.

They just had to.

He mashed the palms of his hands against his eyes until he started seeing colors, to keep the tears at bay.

He needed to keep his cool. So he forced his thoughts back to DnD. To Hellfire.

There were many things he deserved in life but maybe it was his ruthlessness as a DM that got him into this realistic of the game. Just a lowly Level 1 character ready to lose his hit points.

That had always been Gareth's complaint, right? That Eddie killed them before they could level up? This year, he made it all the way to the end. Only for Eddie to reward him with a Nightwalker and decapitation.

"If only I hadn't done that..." he muttered wistfully.

There was always an "if only."

If only he hadn't agreed to a side quest on his own to sell to Chrissy, a side quest that he might eventually find his own demise.

If only he went ahead to play ping pong and eat junk food in Dave's basement after Hellfire.

If only he had his party with him now...

Somehow there was a god in that stupid boathouse. In the water-stained ceiling and dusty windows. A god that found him pathetic enough to throw him a bone.

Because just as he wished his friends there with them, the door of the boathouse burst open, and his three idiot bandmates stumbled inside.

Eddie jumped to his feet in shock and he stood there, dumbfounded, as Jeff, Gareth, and Dave all shouted and smacked each other.

"Hey!" Eddie shouted, trying to stop their bickering. "Hey! Nerds!" The three younger boys all quieted down and looked at him, varying expressions painting their faces. Relief, anger...fear. Eddie stepped forward with his hands raised in innocence. "What...How did you find me?"

"Not hard to find you if you know where to look," Jeff scoffed.

"And we had to be the ones to find you first," Dave piped up.

"First?" Eddie frowned. "Wha--"

"Because Carver and his jockstraps are looking for you." Gareth's mouth spread in a shit-eating grin. "Don't worry, though. I sent them on a wild goose chase."

"He literally almost crapped his pants," Dave snickered to Jeff, sotto voce. Gareth turned on him immediately.

"Eat my shorts, D."

"You eat my shorts."

"Nobody's gonna be eating anyone's shorts," Eddie shouted again. They all got quiet and Eddie put his hands on his hips as he shot them a stern look. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We're here to rescue you," Jeff explained. "If there's a manhunt, then we know you're in some deep shit."

"Do you..." Eddie hesitated. "Did you hear? What happened?"

"With Chrissy?" Gareth nodded. "Yeah. We heard."

"And we know it's all bullshit," Dave joined in. "You wouldn't hurt a fly. Actually, I don't think I've ever seen you hurt a fly."

"He hasn't. Eddie's a wimp."

"Hey, what the fuck?!" Eddie was up in arms again. "Guess I'm never saving your asses anymore."

"What we mean," Jeff--ever the peacekeeper--began. "Is that you're not a killer."

"And you've protected us over the years," Gareth added. "So it's time for us to protect you."

Eddie deflated and felt his eyes well up with tears once again. He tried to keep composed as he listened to his friends' plan to get him safe and hidden.

But before they were able to enact said plan, they had a question.

"What really happened? How did Chrissy Cunningham end up dead in your trailer?"

And he could've life. He could've kept his friends in the dark to keep them safe. But if an evil wizard really was out there, he knew lying wasn't gonna protect them.

Besides, who would be better companions to defeat Vecna, than his friends? It was almost like they had all prepared for this very moment. One failed campaign at a time. They would win this one together.

So he took a breath and said fuck it.

She knew that the Hideout had a certain reputation for serving anyone. To her, what was the difference if someone were 17 or 18 or 21? She’d had seen her fair share of drunk teenagers running around. Had been one herself once upon a time. What was the big deal?

The only problem was that this kid looked like a strong wind would blow him over. No way he was old enough to know what beer was, let alone drink it.

Not to mention it was just past 11am.

The door swung open and one of her regulars, Bill, walked in with a grunt and a wave.

Then again, it was 5 o’clock somewhere.

Bev turned her attention back to the kid.

“I’ll get you a coke and some pretzels,” she said resolutely. “And then you’re gonna go back to school. Or back home. Doesn’t matter to me but you can’t stay here.”

She was about to turn away to make good on her offer, but she heard the boy’s meek response.

“Don’t have anywhere else to go,” he whispered.

She stopped in her tracks and looked at him again, really looked at him this time. Red-rimmed eyes, fingers that picked at themselves until they were a little bloody.

“I don’t run a daycare, kid,” she sighed. “This is a bar.”

“Gee, I couldn’t tell,” he replied with weak sarcasm.

Smart ass.

And let the record show, Beverly Anne Rollins didn’t want to get involved in whatever sob story this kid had.

But she wasn’t heartless.

So she got the kid a coke and a bowl of pretzels, poured Bill a tall one, and then dried glasses as she listened.

There was a fight at school and he got suspended. Wasn’t the first time but this time apparently wasn’t his fault. But the principal of the high school wouldn’t listen to reason and he didn’t have anyone to take his side. Would’ve gone home but his dad was out of town for one reason or another and he didn’t want to be alone. Uncle lived across town…but he was out of town too.

“Fishing trip,” the boy explained. “Once a year, he always looks forward to it. He left a phone number but…I don’t want to bother him.”

“And you figured you’d come here instead?” Bev laughed dryly. God, if she truly cared, she would have to get the Hideout’s reputation in order.

The kid shrugged bashfully, an innocent kind of look that only could’ve signified guilt.

Bev just sighed and shook her head and got him another pop.

“Uh,” he hesitated as she passed it across the bar top. He nervously pulled a wallet from his pocket, the chain attached to it jangled against the wood. He pulled a few meager bills out of the bifold. “I think I’m gonna have to tap out after this one. Otherwise I won’t have lunch money next week.”

Bev sighed again. A different kind of sigh this time. One that was more defeat than annoyance.

Like a cancer, the kid had grown on her.

“How old are you, kid?” She asked.

“16.”

Bev nodded.

“How about you come here after school…or once you’re back in school,” she offered. “Sweep the floors. Help me haul shit around. I’ll give you a few bucks and all the pop you can drink and you don’t need to go home to an empty house if your daddy’s still god-knows-where.”

“A-a job?” He straightened up, smiling the first smile she’d seen since he set foot into her bar. It seemed to brighten up the place. She didn’t really like that.

“For tax purposes, no,” she said. “But…sure. It’s a job.”

“Assistant manager,” he said in awe, earning a snort of laughter from her.

“Sure, kid. Whatever you want.” She held out a hand. “Name’s Bev.”

“Eddie,” he grinned and slapped his hand into hers. “Eddie Munson.”

Munson. She knew that name. Suffice it to say that everything he told her made a little too much sense, if this was really Al Munson’s kid. It also made her a little nervous.

But she was a woman of her word. And she knew if she tried to take it back, it would feel like kicking a puppy. So she just shook his hand with a smile and hoped this wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass.