[ He doesn't know what to do with that knowledge. Be relieved? Be heartbroken? He's not been sure what to do for days, now. Maybe weeks. The adrenaline's running out, the exhaustions creeping in.
He packs some food - things already grilled, left to cool, meant to be snacks. He packs water, some clothes Eddie's left behind. Some are Jim's, likely too big, but they're warm. They're heavy.
It takes him forty-minutes to trek through the woods, to let himself in and call out, not as loud as usual: ] Just me.
( it takes a while for jim to arrive but the time flies in eddie’s mind, too quiet and somehow filled with a million racing thoughts. some are laced with panic, the others regret. others still with fear. alone with them, he feels nauseous.
when jim slips inside, eddie’s sitting on the bed wrapped in furs. he’s smoking a mostly tobacco cigarette, breathing out the smoke through an open window. the place is being aired out, the small fire going in the wood burning stove isn’t doing much because he hasn’t tended to it since billy left. jem’s at john’s, he thinks. she told him but he doesn’t remember.
he pushes himself out of the bed when jim’s inside, stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray. ) Here, let me get those.
( he doesn’t scurry over as he normally would, eager to dig through the haul like a raccoon that’s found a new hoard of garbage. there’s no glee at riffling through everything and commenting on jim’s choices. instead he moves slow, furs wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.
getting those really just means taking the goods from jim to set them in the counter in the kitchenette. the shack is just one room and a bathroom, a workshop not meant to be a home but eddie moved in a bed after passing out scribbling in his journals too many times. the bed’s covered in furs, clothes that are and aren’t his tucked into it too like a nest.
he turns toward jim, watches him strip out of his winter coat and layers and waits for the opportunity to shuffle in close, to hide his face in jim’s broad chest and inhale the scent of him. if he moves first, he thinks, it won’t make him flinch. )
[He gets a glance of the mark, first. Frowns over Eddie's head, arms slowly wrapping around Eddie's shoulders, along his back. He squeezes slowly, looks around the room at first: takes in the bed, the clothes, the quiet state of disarray, of frantic lived-in-ness. He looks down at Eddie next, catches sight of the gauze around his neck, and breathes out slow.
There's the smell, of alcohol, of faintly scorched skin. He exhales out hard, shaking, asks, very quietly: ] What happened?
[Because something happened, beyond the obvious. Beyond the control, the chaos, the everything else. ]
( there’s a moment where eddie just enjoys the closeness, the familiar weight of arms around him. eddie of the past would be balking at the scene before him, wondering why the fuck he’s trying to bury himself in hopper’s chest. the eddie who’s been through too much shit, who could admit to his fucked up brainwashed family that hopper means a whole lot to him without batting an eyelash? that’s still eddie now, so he finds himself relaxing, feeling a little safer.
he turns his head, hiding the mark on his cheek against hopper’s chest. the man’s shaking and eddie tightens his own hold around his flank, hands resting against hopper’s back. he looks up at him, head tilted up with a seriousness in his gaze. ) No matter how pissed you are, you can’t go ballistic on them.
It was a good idea. In theory. ( a pause and then firm, ) Promise you won’t.
Edited (just fixing a typo… days later after rereading this oops) 2024-02-01 06:43 (UTC)
[A good idea in theory is not what he wants to hear. He says:] I won't, [and is obviously lying. He already has a knot in his chest when he pushes Eddie out at arms length to really look at him.
He doesn't notice the cheek at first. His eyes go to his throat and the bandage there, the slight discolouration from puss and blood. Beyond this, it looks mostly clean. It looks like someone took care to apply it. He doesn't know whether Billy or the girlfriend are responsible for it, and he finds he doesn't really care.
He notices the mark on his cheek next, and faintly, even as he asks, he has some idea of what happened here. ] What did they do to you?
( eddie glances up with a sharp edge in his eyes, not convinced, but he lets himself be moved anyway so jim can get a good look at him.
he turns his head away, as if jim will suddenly forget what he saw if eddie's showing him the right cheek instead of the scarred up left. that's the nicer one, anyway, no scars on it whatsoever. he feels a fierce protectiveness in his chest, doesn't want to fucking say it even though it's inevitable. someone will rat what happened out, billy'll probably confess to it anyway.
eddie hates the thought of that too, as much as he hates the whole of the last month. fuck. ) They were trying to help. To cut me off from the others and M-- the Slender.
I'm fine now. ( just left with a mark on his face and the smell of his own charred flesh in his nose. he hasn't been looking at jim this whole time, glances up at him now and feels a tightness in his chest, a complicated twisting that makes him want to step in closer again. he reaches up, runs his thumb over the worry lines settle in below hopper's hairline like he can smooth them out and push the emotions away with them. ) You can look me over and check it if you want?
( he doesn't actually want jim to check them but he'll let him look, let him fuss. eddie thinks he might lose it and cry if hopper's too gentle about it, kind of wants to come apart when he hasn't let himself do that after the tears and breakdown that followed being free. )
[The tightness in his own chest knots tighter still. It's not anger, exactly. Anger would be easier, a less complicated thing to feel that the thing that claws its way out through his ribcage and settles just over his skin, lays itself over the flesh holds still. This feeling is harder to name, especially when he cares just as much about Billy as he does Eddie.
Very gently, he runs his thumb over Eddie's geek, feeling over the new mark, the way it sits starkly contrasted against the paleness of his skin. ] I'll clean it and change the bandages.
[He says this instead of you're not leaving and you can't go back there. He's maybe saying it with his eyes, though. A quiet plea for Eddie to say yes, and yes he'll stay here, because going anywhere else suddenly looks like a death sentence. He says, instead: ] Go grab some of the vodka from outside. I'll get the bandages and start boiling water.
( the touch hurts a little, the mark feels raw like it had been burned into his skin too. eddie's pretty sure that's all in his head, like the whirlwind of paranoia and panic each time someone steps out of his space or mentions going outside.
he finds himself leaning into jim's touch, chasing it when he pulls his hand away. he clears his throat to recover, pats the older man's chest as he nods. ) Right. I can do that.
Good thing we have some. ( billy brought it in from town so they could clean the wound, drink it eventually. he scurries out the door toward where the icebox is, comes back in quickly and shuts the door a little too hard like being outside has spooked him. back inside, he sets the vodka down and leans against the counter as he watches jim in the kitchen. ) Sorry I'm such a-- That I keep giving you headaches.
( that jim keeps having to break himself away from his own peace to piece eddie back together in some way; if it's after ianthe, the slender, or in this moment when he's got his own shit to deal with. )
[He says, abruptly: ] You’d know if you were giving me a headache. [He wouldn’t be here, he means.
He’d be anywhere else, doing anything else. He’s here. He gets to work with undressing Eddie’s wound, takes in the damage as he cleans it, re-bandages it. He doesn’t say a word about the knife shaped burn; doesn’t ask if it was Billy or Jem. Knowing won’t help. It won’t change anything.
When he’s done, he feels an old paternal protectiveness. Can’t help taking Eddie back in his arms, holding him to chest, and feeling so immensely sorry that he couldn’t shield him from any of this. He’s failing. He’s not trying hard enough. He’s letting himself become too distracted. ]
( it's personal growth that Eddie doesn't open his mouth to argue with Jim, instead keeps his mouth shut for once and just nods. maybe it's the certainty to Jim's voice, the abruptness with which he answers that tells Eddie that he doesn't even think about it.
it's nice, that certainty directed at him. not that he doesn't get it with Jem, but--- but it's nice to have it here too with Jim. Jim's much more complicated.
he's not a complete pussy about pain, he's not, but Eddie hisses as Jim pulls back the dressings. the wound's not doing great, it hurts. he tries to not make eye contact, eyes watering anyway. the tears don't spill until he's pulled into a broad chest, until he's encircled in Jim's arms. maybe he's shaking a little. ) Fu-- ck. Shit.
Hop.( there's a hint of desperation in his tone but even Eddie's not sure what it means, what it's for. ) It's-- I'm so fucked up. It's so fucked up. It was-- Fuck.
[He doesn't know the details. He doesn't understand the extent, the sheer depth and breadth of what Eddie's been through: what Eddie has done, or what has been done to him. He says: ] Tell me what happened.
[He squeezes him, gentler than he would usually, suddenly afraid of hurting Eddie. There's a hand in Eddie's hair, thumb soothing over the back of his head. It's a slow sway, and he doesn't push Eddie away to look at him. Will let him speak into his chest if he really wants to. ] I'm listening.
It got me in the forest -- He. It. It wasn't Murphy. ( he's sure of that, dead sure. he won't let anyone argue it, won't let anyone lay the blame for what happened on a set of shoulders that don't deserve it all.
he's not sure what else to say after that, where to start. but he sounds near hysterical when he lets a cry stumble from his mouth: ) I fucking burnt someone's house down, their farm. Hop. I-- I did that.
I carved a guy up. ( he feels sick, he feels sick, he feels sick. he lifts his hands up, shoving at the circle of Jim Hopper's arms. suddenly that hysteria is panic, is anger, is confused frustration because this isn't the first time Jim's seen him at a low, carrying scars someone else lead him toward. ) You shouldn't-- Why do you keep being here when I fall a-fucking-part?
Less simple, of course, is how he feels about all of this. He can’t imagine Eddie - Eddie Munson - carving up a man. He can’t imagine him capable of deliberate cruelty; he can’t imagine him doing any of this.
Except he did, and Jim doesn’t know what the right thing to say is. That it wasn’t him? That he didn’t have a choice? Stephen’s explanation had been less kind to himself. That the acts were all him.
He doesn’t want to think that any of this is what Eddie’s capable of without morality or inhibitions holding him back. He can’t. ] You need me, and I’m here. Tell me what else.
That's fucking bullshit. It's never that simple. No one just fucking stays because you need them. ( Eddie shoves at him again, rougher this time but he feels so kitten-weak after the week he's had -- kept in the bed, lost between madness and pain and pleasure. he feels weighed down by it still, like he's moving with a speed nerf or like he's got a -15 modifier and fucked no matter what he rolls.
he doesn't want to tell Jim anything else, doesn't want to and all the same he needs the man to stay and listen. the hands threatening to shove again grip the front of his shirt and Eddie lets out a frustrated laugh, a huff -- a sob.
he hasn't admitted this to Jem or Billy yet, wasn't ever going to say this out loud but thinks maybe he should. ) I goaded them to do this-- the burn, the marks. I knew it would fuck them both up but that was the whole point. To fuck you all up.
That part's me. I know how to do that, what to say. That part was all me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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We can save the booze for another time, Eddie.
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fuck
i’m so sorry
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The well was a kick in the teeth, though.
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sorry
it was—- i wasn’t letting the other option happen
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Eddie, let's not - not right now. I'm coming.
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ok…
i just want to see you
the door’s unlocked
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He packs some food - things already grilled, left to cool, meant to be snacks. He packs water, some clothes Eddie's left behind. Some are Jim's, likely too big, but they're warm. They're heavy.
It takes him forty-minutes to trek through the woods, to let himself in and call out, not as loud as usual: ] Just me.
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when jim slips inside, eddie’s sitting on the bed wrapped in furs. he’s smoking a mostly tobacco cigarette, breathing out the smoke through an open window. the place is being aired out, the small fire going in the wood burning stove isn’t doing much because he hasn’t tended to it since billy left. jem’s at john’s, he thinks. she told him but he doesn’t remember.
he pushes himself out of the bed when jim’s inside, stubs the cigarette out in an ashtray. ) Here, let me get those.
( he doesn’t scurry over as he normally would, eager to dig through the haul like a raccoon that’s found a new hoard of garbage. there’s no glee at riffling through everything and commenting on jim’s choices. instead he moves slow, furs wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak.
getting those really just means taking the goods from jim to set them in the counter in the kitchenette. the shack is just one room and a bathroom, a workshop not meant to be a home but eddie moved in a bed after passing out scribbling in his journals too many times. the bed’s covered in furs, clothes that are and aren’t his tucked into it too like a nest.
he turns toward jim, watches him strip out of his winter coat and layers and waits for the opportunity to shuffle in close, to hide his face in jim’s broad chest and inhale the scent of him. if he moves first, he thinks, it won’t make him flinch. )
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There's the smell, of alcohol, of faintly scorched skin. He exhales out hard, shaking, asks, very quietly: ] What happened?
[Because something happened, beyond the obvious. Beyond the control, the chaos, the everything else. ]
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he turns his head, hiding the mark on his cheek against hopper’s chest. the man’s shaking and eddie tightens his own hold around his flank, hands resting against hopper’s back. he looks up at him, head tilted up with a seriousness in his gaze. ) No matter how pissed you are, you can’t go ballistic on them.
It was a good idea. In theory. ( a pause and then firm, ) Promise you won’t.
cw: uhh puss mention
He doesn't notice the cheek at first. His eyes go to his throat and the bandage there, the slight discolouration from puss and blood. Beyond this, it looks mostly clean. It looks like someone took care to apply it. He doesn't know whether Billy or the girlfriend are responsible for it, and he finds he doesn't really care.
He notices the mark on his cheek next, and faintly, even as he asks, he has some idea of what happened here. ] What did they do to you?
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he turns his head away, as if jim will suddenly forget what he saw if eddie's showing him the right cheek instead of the scarred up left. that's the nicer one, anyway, no scars on it whatsoever. he feels a fierce protectiveness in his chest, doesn't want to fucking say it even though it's inevitable. someone will rat what happened out, billy'll probably confess to it anyway.
eddie hates the thought of that too, as much as he hates the whole of the last month. fuck. ) They were trying to help. To cut me off from the others and M-- the Slender.
I'm fine now. ( just left with a mark on his face and the smell of his own charred flesh in his nose. he hasn't been looking at jim this whole time, glances up at him now and feels a tightness in his chest, a complicated twisting that makes him want to step in closer again. he reaches up, runs his thumb over the worry lines settle in below hopper's hairline like he can smooth them out and push the emotions away with them. ) You can look me over and check it if you want?
( he doesn't actually want jim to check them but he'll let him look, let him fuss. eddie thinks he might lose it and cry if hopper's too gentle about it, kind of wants to come apart when he hasn't let himself do that after the tears and breakdown that followed being free. )
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Very gently, he runs his thumb over Eddie's geek, feeling over the new mark, the way it sits starkly contrasted against the paleness of his skin. ] I'll clean it and change the bandages.
[He says this instead of you're not leaving and you can't go back there. He's maybe saying it with his eyes, though. A quiet plea for Eddie to say yes, and yes he'll stay here, because going anywhere else suddenly looks like a death sentence. He says, instead: ] Go grab some of the vodka from outside. I'll get the bandages and start boiling water.
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he finds himself leaning into jim's touch, chasing it when he pulls his hand away. he clears his throat to recover, pats the older man's chest as he nods. ) Right. I can do that.
Good thing we have some. ( billy brought it in from town so they could clean the wound, drink it eventually. he scurries out the door toward where the icebox is, comes back in quickly and shuts the door a little too hard like being outside has spooked him. back inside, he sets the vodka down and leans against the counter as he watches jim in the kitchen. ) Sorry I'm such a-- That I keep giving you headaches.
( that jim keeps having to break himself away from his own peace to piece eddie back together in some way; if it's after ianthe, the slender, or in this moment when he's got his own shit to deal with. )
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He’d be anywhere else, doing anything else. He’s here. He gets to work with undressing Eddie’s wound, takes in the damage as he cleans it, re-bandages it. He doesn’t say a word about the knife shaped burn; doesn’t ask if it was Billy or Jem. Knowing won’t help. It won’t change anything.
When he’s done, he feels an old paternal protectiveness. Can’t help taking Eddie back in his arms, holding him to chest, and feeling so immensely sorry that he couldn’t shield him from any of this. He’s failing. He’s not trying hard enough. He’s letting himself become too distracted. ]
cw: misogynistic language
it's nice, that certainty directed at him. not that he doesn't get it with Jem, but--- but it's nice to have it here too with Jim. Jim's much more complicated.
he's not a complete pussy about pain, he's not, but Eddie hisses as Jim pulls back the dressings. the wound's not doing great, it hurts. he tries to not make eye contact, eyes watering anyway. the tears don't spill until he's pulled into a broad chest, until he's encircled in Jim's arms. maybe he's shaking a little. ) Fu-- ck. Shit.
Hop. ( there's a hint of desperation in his tone but even Eddie's not sure what it means, what it's for. ) It's-- I'm so fucked up. It's so fucked up. It was-- Fuck.
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[He squeezes him, gentler than he would usually, suddenly afraid of hurting Eddie. There's a hand in Eddie's hair, thumb soothing over the back of his head. It's a slow sway, and he doesn't push Eddie away to look at him. Will let him speak into his chest if he really wants to. ] I'm listening.
cw: gore, violence, murder
he's not sure what else to say after that, where to start. but he sounds near hysterical when he lets a cry stumble from his mouth: ) I fucking burnt someone's house down, their farm. Hop. I-- I did that.
I carved a guy up. ( he feels sick, he feels sick, he feels sick. he lifts his hands up, shoving at the circle of Jim Hopper's arms. suddenly that hysteria is panic, is anger, is confused frustration because this isn't the first time Jim's seen him at a low, carrying scars someone else lead him toward. ) You shouldn't-- Why do you keep being here when I fall a-fucking-part?
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Less simple, of course, is how he feels about all of this. He can’t imagine Eddie - Eddie Munson - carving up a man. He can’t imagine him capable of deliberate cruelty; he can’t imagine him doing any of this.
Except he did, and Jim doesn’t know what the right thing to say is. That it wasn’t him? That he didn’t have a choice? Stephen’s explanation had been less kind to himself. That the acts were all him.
He doesn’t want to think that any of this is what Eddie’s capable of without morality or inhibitions holding him back. He can’t. ] You need me, and I’m here. Tell me what else.
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he doesn't want to tell Jim anything else, doesn't want to and all the same he needs the man to stay and listen. the hands threatening to shove again grip the front of his shirt and Eddie lets out a frustrated laugh, a huff -- a sob.
he hasn't admitted this to Jem or Billy yet, wasn't ever going to say this out loud but thinks maybe he should. ) I goaded them to do this-- the burn, the marks. I knew it would fuck them both up but that was the whole point. To fuck you all up.
That part's me. I know how to do that, what to say. That part was all me.