He recognizes the car before he recognizes the voice- but at first, he doesn’t believe it. Why would Billy Hargrove be stepping in to save him from the hounds of hell? (No. Not hell. They’re not cool enough for that). Eddie scrambles back on his elbows when the car gets a little TOO close for comfort. The pavement rubs the skin raw. Stones cut into his flesh. Eddie is too busy gaping in awe at his unexpected savior to notice. He still can’t understand it. Or maybe it’s the head trauma.
“He’s fucking insane!” It sounds like Gerry, who had skedaddled out of the car’s path so hard he landed on his ass on the other side. Dean Thompson slams both fists into the hood of the Camero and jabs a furious finger in the air at Billy.Â
“Back off, Hargrove. This is our pick, not yours!”
Patrick hauls Gerry back to his feet with one great heave, and they share a look. Gerry nods. Patrick nudges Dean and nods toward Hargrove. They think that now that he’s out of the car, he’s outnumbered.
Dean plants both hands on the hood and vaults over it- hes coming right for Billy.
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He's on them in an instant. The level of violence they're about to be subjected to directly correlates to how quickly they back off.
Your muse sees mine being flirted with and mine obviously doesn't like it. How does your muse respond?
He’s like a hurricane, a force of nature. One moment Chrissy is stood there, smiling her way through a guy hitting on her, desperately trying to find the kindest exit she can and then he’s there, strong palms on shoulders, a sharp and powerful shove and a muttered threat to back off.Â
“Billy!”
It’s all she can think to say to get him to snap back to the moment and take stock of where he is. She doesn’t want to see him hurt anyone, she gets scared when he’s like that, but she understands why. He knows she wouldn’t have ended the situation herself, knows she’s too soft for it. So he became her wall, her immovable mountain.
Not anymore, anyway. Not since he moved to Hawkins. He arrived in this small town a big-city kid with big-city britches- nobody could try anything he hadn't lived through before, and it quickly became known that that Munson kid? Is fucking weird. Push him, and he'll tell you to do it harder. Call him names, and he won't just embrace them, he'll come to school the next day with a brand new button pinned to his chest with pride. Once somebody grabbed him and Eddie's eyes rolled back into his head like he were possessed, convulsing, and speaking in tongues.
So he doesn't get bullied.
But that doesn't mean he doesn't get his ass beat every now and again- it just means its harder for him to predict.
Gerry Vance, Patrick Hayes, and Dean Thompson were waiting for him after the conclusion of this weeks Hellfire meeting. Eddie was alone. He's almost alone after a session ends unless one of the guys want to hitch a ride, or smoke- today, nobody did. He wrote the session notes alone, he cleaned up alone, he left alone. He didn't realize he wasn't alone until he got in the empty parking lot and saw another car parked conspicuously close to his. Eddie stops. A Jeep Cherokee. Who the fuck does he know who owns a Jeep Cherokee?
He shouldn't have stopped.
"Where do you think you're going, faggot?"
Eddie's stomach lurches as hands snatch the handle of backpack and yank it back with enough force to rip the zipper open. Eddie lets them take it. He drops his shoulder out of the strap and tears forward in a blind panic. He feels his manuals hit the back of his scrambling legs, hears them slap the ground. Somewhere, his dice-cup bursts open, sending a torrent of dice clattering across the ground in a chorus of clicks and clatters. It's no use. As soon as he's freed from his bag, Patrick snatches him by his hair.
"Can't slip out of that, can you? Huh Cuntson?" He reaches down and snatches the bandana from his back pocket, raising it where Eddie can see. Dean is still holding his bag, and Gerry gigglesnorts as he watches Eddie wince and bend to Patrick's every desire. "What's this?"
Eddie feigns ignorance.
"My hankie? Gross, dude- I blow my nose into that thing." Gerry isn't laughing as he gives Eddie a good sock in the stomach. He would double over if Patrick didn't have a good handle on his hair, Instead, all he can do is jerk and cry out, stomping his foot as the pain crescendos and wanes. "motherfucker-"
Patrick tightens his grip on Eddies hair, forcing him to look at the bandana again.
"Feels pretty clean to me. Now I'm gonna ask you again. What is this?" Eddie grits his teeth into a false smile.
"Why? You been hitting the clubs, Patty?"
Eddie hits the floor like a sack of meat. He has only just begun to scramble onto his hands and knees when the first boot finds him. Then suddenly, there's three.
"Shut the fuck up!" There's six.
"Freak!" There's twelve.
"Fucking cocksucking freak!" There's a hundred and they hit everywhere, they kick everything. They hit his guts, his nose, his legs, his arms- blood spouts into a steady stream when somebody catches his lip and kicks him in the teeth. They kick him in the nose, and it becomes a faucet. Their voices have long distorted and blurred into the panic and the pain his body sings with. He doesn't hear what they're saying anymore, he only feels their intent. There is a pack of dogs around him and they're all barking with hatred, with disgust, with malice and spite and- He sees a blinding light.
Working on the track for the #DMHLabel commercial. #damaddhatter #DMH #AreYouMADDYet #dark #possessyou #cheshirecat #DaMaddHouze #indie #YouMayNotLikeUsButYouSeeUs (at Richmond, California)
