you could tell as much from the phone call. barely could you make out a sentence through his slurred words and the loud music, but you had picked up on several, i miss you’s and you were my everything’s.
a small part of you wanted to hang up on him and go back to sleep-- if one could call being wide awake, tossing and turning-- but you were still friends. good friends. it had been a few months but a three year relationship ended through mutual decision didn’t erase a decade’s long friendship.
and even if the breakup had been messy, you knew that he’d come to you in a heartbeat.
you found him perched against the wall of the bar, lost in a drunken thought when you drove up. perhaps the thought somewhere along the lines of, why the fuck did i ask my ex to come pick my drunk ass up at 3 in the morning?, was running through his head. because the exact opposite thought was sure running through yours.
you park the car across the street and can’t help the loud sigh that escapes you. a million different scenarios of how the rest of your night could go, plays through your head and each of them ends with even more heartache on your behalf.
you rest your head against the steering wheel, and mutter to yourself, “grow a pair y/n.”
exiting the car, you shiver and pull your coat tighter around you, the chilling night’s wind a harsh reminder that he was standing outside shaking like a leaf from his lack of a jacket. it was the middle of winter. how messed up did he get?
you coolly make your way towards him. in utter awe at the sight of you, he leans his head against the brick wall, grinning lazily. that goddamn smile. the lamppost behind you illuminates his features. allowing you to give in to the temptations and admire him once more. his cheeks are dusted pink and his lips are slightly chapped from the cold. his eyes are glossed over and his pupils dilated.
“hi beautiful,” he says. his voice raspy and hoarse.
you could say the same to him. but you only narrow your eyes. a silent warning. you knew his tricks and games. “don’t hi beautiful me. It's three in the morning. i have to get up for work in a few hours. you know this.”
he sighs regretfully and slides against the wall to the snow littered concrete. “i do, i know. i’m sorry y/n.” he replies, his head in his hands.
“and it’s freezing out. where’s your jacket?”
no response. you lightly toe his shoe with your boot.
“hey. where’s your jacket? and where are your keys?”
he looks up at you beneath his lashes and huffs a laugh, void of any humor. “i’ve got no fucking clue y/n. not the slightest. i don’t even know what i’m doing here. i don’t even know why i wasted your time calling you here.”
“are you okay?” you inquire, voice laced with concern.
“are you? we haven’t spoken in a while. and i miss you.”
“so you’ve said.” he quirks an eyebrow. “over the phone. among other things.”
“oh,” he groans melodramatically. “how bad?”
“terrible. pretty sure you said something about me having a killer body-,”
“jackass.”
you shrug and lean against the wall next to him. “hey, you know you can talk to me if something’s going on.”
he nods, acknowledging you. “i know. i know.” he stands, albeit disjointedly and stepping on your toe in the process. “i’m sorry for waking you. i’ll just walk home.” he says to no one in particular, making his way across the street.
you smack your teeth and reach out for his arm. stubbornly, he pulls against you and you latch on to his fingers, holding tightly. “jesus you’re freezing,” you whisper, your breath forming in the air. “and you’re going the wrong way genius. you live the other way. you’re so fucked up right now you can’t even tell. i don’t want to argue with you. just get in the car.”
he doesn’t bother to reply, he simply opts to stare into your eyes. searching. hoping. and for a second you forget its cold as hell. for a second, you forget that he’s no longer yours. you feel his thumb brush against the back of your hand and you flinch. there it is. that trap.
you snatch your hand back. nope.
“y/n...” he groans strangely.
“don’t say another word. just get in the-,”
and the motherfucker retches into the snow and on to your boots.
∞
the car ride to your apartment was silent. thank god. mostly because he’d fallen asleep sometime during the fifteen minute drive. but still, thank everything holy. the silence gave you time to think about whatever the fuck that was and confront the horrifying fact that he still had a choke hold on you.
you shudder at the thought, all the way from the car to your front door. the shudder stays even as you slip out of your boots marked with bodily fluid and into your house slippers. you toss his dead weight to the sofa collapsing to the floor, breathless, you nearly fall with him.
you fix a glass of iced water and grab two pain killers and a stomach soothing pill from the kitchen. when you make your way back to the living room, he’s moved from the sofa to the rug. you kick at his unconscious form, startling him
“sorry. take this. wash it down and drink all of it.” you hand him the pills and water, standing directly over him to watch him carefully as he follows your directions. “i’m going to run the shower for you. okay?”
he mutters something incoherent, pulling a pillow from the sofa and flopping on his side comfortably.
“and take your goddamn shoes off in my house,” you call over your shoulder. “caveman.”
he grunts a caveman-like response.
you snort and shuffle to your bedroom to rummage through the drawers for some of his clothes that you never thought to return. strangely enough most of his shirts and joggers sat in your laundry basket... as if ... a certain someone had been wearing them to bed or late night trips to the store...
the steam from the hot shower engulfs the room whilst you lay out clothing, body wash, an unopened toothbrush, mouthwash, and-- towels. shoot. you open the closet and fish for towels when he stumbles in.
“oh hey, i was just about to come get you and ohmygodwhatareyoudoing?”
you lift the towels to your eyes to obstruct the view of him pulling his pants down to take a piss. he’s so fucking out of it. you’re sure he hasn’t even noticed your presence.
“jesus!”
you hurriedly rush out of the bathroom, throwing the towels behind you and running to your room which happened to be void of half naked exes. it was going to be a long night.
an hour later, you’d nearly drifted back off into sleep when there’s a knock at your door.
“come in.” you croak, switching on your bedside lamp.
he opens the door, peaking in, fully dressed, hair damp. “you don’t happen to have a blanket or something do you? i was half tempted to use your rug for warmth.”
you press your palm to your head and curse. “no, i’m sorry, a friend stole my only one because she liked the designs.”
“oh,”
“yeah.”
“that’s fine. goodnight y/n. thank you anyways.” he starts to close the door.
“wait,” you’re going to regret this so much. “honestly you’re plenty familiar with this bed.” he clears his throat at the sudden rush of memories. “just sleep in here. i can make a pillow wall or something.”
the room stands so still and silent it almost makes you want to scream. was that weird to offer? did you overstep?
“are you sure?” he asks, slowly making his way in.
no! “yeah, pfft i don’t care.”
“cause i was fine with using your dish towel. really.” you giggle at the smart remark.
a familiar sensation one could only describe as nostalgia fills you when you feel the bed dip in as he crawls in beside you. you’d lived through this night routine countless times. some part of you half hoped that he’d lean over to give you a goodnight’s kiss and tell you he loved you. like he used to. like he did hundreds of times before.
but he doesn’t.
he simply places a pillow in between you two and you turn out the light. you both had more to say to each other. but in your hearts they were best left as words unspoken.
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Eddie Munson knows who he is. He is painfully self-aware. He is aware of the way he uses his devil may care persona as a shield against the rest of the world. He uses biting words as weapons; he never was one for physical violence. He is well aware of his flaws.
He wears all of it like armor. He knows who he is and he doesn't need the people around him to see the softness that lurks right below his hard edges. That he feels everything so much.
He's always felt everything so much it spills out of him. It allows people to hurt him.
He knows he's a sucker for a pretty smile and flattering words. He knows he shouldn't deal hard drugs to a scared cheerleader, but she nearly begs. And he impulsively takes her back to his trailer. And it goes wrong. So fucking wrong.
He knows his life is ruined the moment Chrissy Cunningham is supernaturally, gruesomely killed right in front of him. He watches her body snap from the inside out. Her eyes implode. And he learns something else about himself.
He's a coward. Or at least, he thinks is. For all his self-awareness, Eddie is always too hard on himself. Always assuming the worst. Cannot see all the ways he's already brave. Brave for being himself. Brave for refusing to be hardened and cruel despite the mistreatment he experiences at the hands of others.
So yes, he leaves her and runs. He hates himself as he's doing it. It cements the fact that he is a coward into his mind. He is well aware of his reputation. The reputation he's leaned into for years as a coping mechanism. Because it fucking hurts less when he embraces the title freak. When he throws devil horns at basketball players and makes a scene at lunch. He falls back on his dramatic nature and leans into the whispers that he worships satan. He has always known how to put on a show and force himself into the center of attention, be it good or bad.
He's actually an atheist which is just hilarious to him. Satan, he doesn't even believe in the dude. What a joke. It's not until he is cowering in a canoe while he hides from the basketball team that he starts to think maybe he leaned too far into the satanic thing.
The whole town is hunting him. Hunt the freak. He's depending on the weirdest combination of freaking teenagers to save the world, but even still, it won't save Eddie. He's wanted for the murder of Chrissy. Jason wants to kill him. The entire town hates him. What life awaits him after all of this?
Eddie Munson also knows that he is prone to self-sabotage. If something is good, he's better off ruining it in a way that he can control. There is an always lingering sadness that lurks under his biting remarks and witty sarcasm.
A depression underneath his boisterous persona. He truly believes his life is over and that darkness is there in his as eyes as season 4 unfolds. It's barely perceptible underneath the big smiles and easy laughter but it's there nonetheless.
He cannot envision any way that this ends without him in jail or torn apart by the close-minded citizens of Hawkins. He will now always be known as the freak who killed the sweetest girl in Hawkins High. So, even though every single cell in his body his pressing him to run, he stays. Makes a quip about following Dustin and the others into Mordor.
Deflect with humor so others don't see how afraid he is.
What does he have to lose? He can at least help kill this Vecna fucker. Steve Harrington of all people tells him not to be a hero. This makes Eddie laugh. He's no hero.
He is no hero even as he cuts the rope that night and leads the demo-bats away from Dustin. He's not doing it to be a hero. He's done running away from danger, true. But, Eddie is painfull self-aware that he finds the most peculiar ways to run from things.
Sometimes running away is hidden by a heroic act of self-sacrifice. Because what's left for him after all of this? He chose this. He has the control of how this ends and how it hurts. At least now he made some kind of impact. He helped save the world. He hopes the other succeeded. He regrets leaving Wayne. Regrets leaving Hellfire and Corroded Coffin, but those things were already gone.
So he goes out fighting and his last words show that maybe he's not as aware as he thinks. He was never a coward, not until the moment he uses heroism to avoid dealing with what was waiting for him back in the real word.
