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afighter
[ So this is what dying feels like. The burst of adrenaline, the rapid firing of neurons, fighting with every ounce he has to stay, just stay. There's cold, and darkness, no bright light but it doesn't seem like he's being cast down into the pits of hell either. The final breath hurts, ripping through him as the Upside Down and Dustin's face vanish into minute pinpricks of light. A final thought emerges, unspooling through him slowly, stretching his last moment out into infinity: I don't want to go.
And then he's gone. But that final thought echoes out from him as surely as if he had screamed it. The words twist through the strange atmosphere of the Upside Down, stretching, elongating, curling out like vines searching for something, anything, to latch onto. They find it. Or does it find them? Semantics. "It" follows the thought straight back to the source-- where Eddie is dying. Dead. Was Dead? Again, semantics. "It" can work with this.
As for Eddie, he's... somewhere. The fact that he can recognize he's anywhere at all is strange. This definitely isn't Heaven. Probably not Hell. Unless Hell is an empty, infinite void? He could believe that. It's strange, this sensation- he can think, perceive, but his body is... elsewhere? If he is in his body, he can't tell. Ok, he thinks. So this is it. Living in an infinite moment of an exploding neuron. Could be worse.
Then he hears the voice.
Hey kid, how about a little quid-pro-quo?
Eddie doesn't have a voice to respond with, and yet he does: A what?
You scratch my back, I scratch yours. You want to get out of here, so do I. How about you give me a lift?
There's no way this doesn't come with a million caveats, enough fine print to make your eyes go square. Under any other circumstance, he might have been skeptical, might have considered that this was too good to be true. But when you're dead? Dying? Exceptions can be made. Make the deal with the devil and sort it all out later.
Whatever this thing is must be able to sense the thought, hear what he's thinking, because the next thing Eddie knows he's crashing to the ground, gasping for breath. Breath. Holy shit, he's breathing! And he's... here! Somewhere! In his body. His body that, as soon as he's able to process it, feels like it was just run over by a truck. Twenty trucks. Fifty. But he can worry about that later, because for now he is overcome by the euphoria of simply being alive.
Eddie attempts to stand, emphasis on 'attempt', because he's barely able to lift himself off the ground before his limbs crumple beneath him. Okay, baby steps. He takes a moment, takes a long, beautiful breath of air, something that by the laws of nature, he has no business doing. He sees trees. Brush. He's in the woods? He has no idea what woods, but it's a start. It's dark, and as he blinks skyward he can make out stars through tree branches. Night time. Beyond that, there's not much more for him to ascertain where he is now. Eddie decides to try the whole standing thing again, this time clutching a tree for support.
This attempt goes better than the previous, and after a few minutes of struggle he's managed to get himself standing. Every single bone and muscle aches at the effort, but it's a good start. The idea of walking, however, makes his stomach turn. In the distance, he thinks he sees something. A fire? No... a flashlight? Some sort of light. ]
H-hey! [ God, is that what he sounds like? His voice is rough, raspy, chewed up and spit out. ] Anybody out there?
And then he's gone. But that final thought echoes out from him as surely as if he had screamed it. The words twist through the strange atmosphere of the Upside Down, stretching, elongating, curling out like vines searching for something, anything, to latch onto. They find it. Or does it find them? Semantics. "It" follows the thought straight back to the source-- where Eddie is dying. Dead. Was Dead? Again, semantics. "It" can work with this.
As for Eddie, he's... somewhere. The fact that he can recognize he's anywhere at all is strange. This definitely isn't Heaven. Probably not Hell. Unless Hell is an empty, infinite void? He could believe that. It's strange, this sensation- he can think, perceive, but his body is... elsewhere? If he is in his body, he can't tell. Ok, he thinks. So this is it. Living in an infinite moment of an exploding neuron. Could be worse.
Then he hears the voice.
Hey kid, how about a little quid-pro-quo?
Eddie doesn't have a voice to respond with, and yet he does: A what?
You scratch my back, I scratch yours. You want to get out of here, so do I. How about you give me a lift?
There's no way this doesn't come with a million caveats, enough fine print to make your eyes go square. Under any other circumstance, he might have been skeptical, might have considered that this was too good to be true. But when you're dead? Dying? Exceptions can be made. Make the deal with the devil and sort it all out later.
Whatever this thing is must be able to sense the thought, hear what he's thinking, because the next thing Eddie knows he's crashing to the ground, gasping for breath. Breath. Holy shit, he's breathing! And he's... here! Somewhere! In his body. His body that, as soon as he's able to process it, feels like it was just run over by a truck. Twenty trucks. Fifty. But he can worry about that later, because for now he is overcome by the euphoria of simply being alive.
Eddie attempts to stand, emphasis on 'attempt', because he's barely able to lift himself off the ground before his limbs crumple beneath him. Okay, baby steps. He takes a moment, takes a long, beautiful breath of air, something that by the laws of nature, he has no business doing. He sees trees. Brush. He's in the woods? He has no idea what woods, but it's a start. It's dark, and as he blinks skyward he can make out stars through tree branches. Night time. Beyond that, there's not much more for him to ascertain where he is now. Eddie decides to try the whole standing thing again, this time clutching a tree for support.
This attempt goes better than the previous, and after a few minutes of struggle he's managed to get himself standing. Every single bone and muscle aches at the effort, but it's a good start. The idea of walking, however, makes his stomach turn. In the distance, he thinks he sees something. A fire? No... a flashlight? Some sort of light. ]
H-hey! [ God, is that what he sounds like? His voice is rough, raspy, chewed up and spit out. ] Anybody out there?
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breath fogs out in a cloud before her lips as twigs snap beneath her feet, propane lantern dangling from her fingers, making her way once more to the clearing in the body of trees that overlooked the now splitscape of hawkins. even in the dark, it's almost as if it'd been interrupted, as if the flowers hadn't been instructed to bloom or the earth to hold color, and she can't help but to feel as if it's a direct reflection of the residents themselves. a chokehold of fear, choosing to pack their bags and line the single county exit road, choosing to close their eyes rather than look up at storm clouds that linger without any real relief.
she stands there at the breach of the trees and nostrils flare, jaw gritting as she attempts to swat away another wave of frustration. and within her that ever-gnawing journalist claws at her chest, the reporter, the girl that holds steadfast to the truth even if it takes her down with it. even if not one cared to understand, to even begin to listen.
she knows she'd be chastised for heading to hop's cabin at such an hour on her own, knows that they'd all agreed if anyone left their house, it wouldn't be without backup. vecna was still out there, the doorway to the upside down now stretching for miles upon end — but for her, it's not a reason to stay put, to hide. it's every reason to come up with a plan, and the last place she could devise it is sitting in her room listening to the news drone on about mistruths.
maybe she should be busying herself volunteering at the school, making a difference in the eyes of hawkins, sorting through clothes for those whose homes crumbled through one of the tears, aiding the search parties that roamed the streets and woods looking for those who've been lost — but she's learned she doesn't fair well to dishonesty, to ignorance, to taking the easy route dictated by irrational fear even if it meant damning another's name.
the munson murders. a catastrophic event suspected to be the result of a satanic cult known as hellfire.
knuckles bloom white along the lantern's handle, and with a last lingering study of the sky, the sweeping greyscale covering the town like ash, she's retreating back into the belly of trees, strap of her shotgun swung over her shoulder when she hears it — someone, a voice calling out. breath catches at the bed of her throat as she spins in place, squinting into the seemingly endless patch of trees and holding the lantern up towards the source. she can't quite make what it's coming from, voice distorted with tire and distance.
a thick swallow, stealing a glance back to her car where walkie waits on the passenger seat, and then she hears them again — closer, now, and directed towards her. )
Hello? ( branches give like frail bones beneath her feet, the dense fog of the forest keeping them obscured from one another, limbs picking up in pace. )
Over here!
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He thinks he recognizes the voice, but his head is swimming and he's not in a good place to differentiate one voice for another. It could be Madonna for all he knows. God, please let it be Madonna.
The idea of actually getting himself to move towards the voice is another story, but he has to at least try. It's far easier for him to make his way towards the light than for the light to find him here in the darkness. Okay Munson, time to man up. Become one with the trees, let them guide you. He pushes off from the tree he's currently clinging to, lurching towards another and grabbing on with all the strength he can muster. ]
Yeah, I- [ He still sounds like his vocal cords have been run through a shredder, and for a brief moment he hopes that's not permanent. Certainly going to put a ding in his music career. ] I'm coming!
[ Or trying to. He's moving with all the grace of a wounded bull in the proverbial china shop, hurling himself from tree to tree desperate to keep his momentum going. If he stops now, he's not sure he'll be able to get started again. It feels like an eternity before he finally steps into the glow of Nancy's lantern, and the light feels so blinding that he has to lift a hand to shield his eyes. ]
I think I'm lost.
[ And bloody, bruised, battered, back from the dead. But one problem at a time. ]
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and just as lips part to greet the figure as he stumbles into another tree, lantern reflects a glow over dirt-ridden features, and there's just... blood, a lot of blood, fresh and dried speckled together, harrowing wounds at each side of his neck particularly gruesome in the harsh light. a mess of curls, and then she meets his eyes, those eyes, light and lost, and it's all she can do to choke out a quiet noise in the form of his name. )
E-Eddie?
( the sound splinters with disbelief, but she doesn't allow herself to merely stand there in a stupor for long before she notices his weight begging to give out beneath him, lurching forward to tuck a small arm around his back, trying to gauge some safe place to hold and settling for just above his ribs. his clothes are too caked with dirt and blood to tell exactly where the source(s) are, and while she helps keep him upright, she's ducking down to try and meet his gaze, suddenly juggling far too many things. )
How did you...? ( not the time. ) Shit.
Okay, um— my car isn't far. We just— we just have to get there, okay? ( she hoists him from the tree for what she can, but she doesn't set off until he gives some sort of indication that he's ready. )
Here we go.
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[ Talk about luck. Not only has he come back from the dead, but he's been dropped right in the line of someone who doesn't hate his guts. Better still, someone that actually wants to help him. He says her name in utter disbelief, as if this is somehow more surprising than everything else that's happened. If he actually makes it out of this, first thing he's doing is buying a lottery ticket. Now he thinks he actually might, with Nancy here. ]
You're-- I--
[ He has no idea what to say, and his brain is too sluggish to string together any coherent thoughts. Then she's at his side, trying her best to help keep him upright. Eddie summons up what strength he has to use her for balance rather than putting his full weight on her. That would probably end with the both of them ending up in the dirt, and who knows if she'd be able to get him back on his feet. ]
Right, car.
[ It gives him something to focus on, and step after sluggish step, he manages to make his way to Nancy's car. The short trip has left his breathing ragged from exertion. His fingers tighten their grip on Nancy almost reflexively, as he feels his knees buckling. Despite his best efforts he begins to topple forward, only to be saved by catching himself against the side of her car. Eddie groans, turning to rest his head against the cool metal of the roof. ]
Sorry.
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their breaths cloud the area just before them, tripping from their throats as neither of them have the easiest go en route to the car. they both nearly take a tumble at least once, having to adjust their weight numerous times given her tiny stature. what she doesn't have in brute strength she makes up for in will, at least, but it doesn't stop his lurch forward that lands him against the unforgiving metal of the car.
she surveys him a moment with breath held in her throat, hands up almost as if to catch or steady him, whichever was needed, but he manages to keep himself hoisted there with a pained groan, and she has to remind herself to fumble through her jacket for her keys. )
We have to stop the bleeding and get you out of here. I can-- we can go to my house, for now. ( she's a bit breathless, and with the mention of blood, she's shrugging out of her outermost layer. ) We'll figure everything else out later, okay?
( stop the bleeding, get out of dodge — that's enough to tackle for now. she's leaning to his side to wrap her jacket around him, and she gives an apologetic wince as makes a knot out of the arms of the fabric and pauses, ) Sorry about this. ( and then pulls knot taut at his front, tight enough to hug each side of his abdomen practically blackened with blood loss. )
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[ This somehow seems news to him. Despite the pain he's in, the miraculous return from the grave-- there's something about it he can't wrap his head around. Then again, he hasn't actually been able to get a look at himself, hasn't been able to assess any damage. Every inch of him feels the same, and there's no way discern what's still bleeding. Nancy's always been the smart one, he figures, so if she says he's bleeding, then he must be. ]
Sorry about wh-- [ The question ends in an abrupt gasp as she tightens the jacket around him. A tourniquet, he thinks dimly, but around his middle. As if his whole body is the leaking vein. Is he really in that bad a shape? ] Y-yeah. Got it.
[ It's incredibly uncomfortable, but then, that's the point. A brief period of supreme discomfort in exchange for his life. Seems fair. Eddie's hand fumbles for the handle, managing to wrench open the door to the backseat. He collapses their with the last of his strength, hoping he'll remember later to apologize for whatever mess he leans behind. ]
Nancy, I would love-- love to get the hell out of here.
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she takes care to make sure he keeps his footing as he manages the door open only to tumble inside, murmuring a breathless — ) Okay, ( to herself, clicking off the lantern and tossing it to the passenger seat while climbing in. the ignition rumbles to a steady hum, and as she twists to guide herself out through the narrowly lit drive in the midst of the trees she looks him over. )
Just stay awake, Eddie. It's not far. ( a question, she thinks, make it a question — not a statement. something for him to answer, to focus on. )
Can you do that?
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Yeah, uh-- totally.
[ She's asked him to stay awake, and now he's determined to manage that. Eddie struggles to pull himself up, sitting across her back seat with his legs outstretched. Stay awake, stay awake, he repeats to himself, squinting out the opposite window as dark scenery whizzes by. It occurs to him that sleeping would not be a good thing, that if he goes under right now, he might not come back up again. ]
I'm gonna try... try not to bleed al over the place.
[ Not that it's something he has any control over, but talking helps him stay grounded in reality. Eddie moves his hands over his own body, trying to find sources of bleeding, to locate the exact places where he's been torn open. It's a fruitless search, but it gives him something to do, a reason to stay awake. ]
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but she operates better this way — nancy, focused on something other than herself, on helping, and so she's swallowing with a few nods that are more to reassure herself than anything else, cheeks splotched with flush. )
You'll be okay. ( despite it all, it comes across unwavering. because he has to be. they couldn't take any more loss. considering the speed limit when hawkins is split into a divided hellscape would be foolish anyway, and the only time she takes care to slow down a bit is on any winding curves or turns, trying to jostle him as little as possible. )
We have to find a way to get you inside without my mom seeing. ( honestly, can the tv show reruns just... stop? climbing up to her second floor window clearly wasn't an option, but thankfully her parents were so far gone to what was actually going on in the town that sneaking in and out had never been a particular problem. ) The back door, I think. ( another glance back at him, noting the twist of his features and the jacket wrapped around his midsection beginning to bloom slightly with blood. when they turn onto her street, she kills the lights before pulling into the driveway — leaving her shotgun on the passenger side floor probably wasn't the best #gunettiquette, but bigger problems right now. )
I'm gonna come around and help you out. Just— ( she pops her door open, ) Hang on.
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And then there was the voice. Had it been a voice? That time seems so hazy, so far away. It doesn't even feel like a nightmare, it feels like something that happened to someone else, a story he's heard once. How about you give me a lift? A lift, a lift, a lift. That's right, Nancy is giving him a lift back to her place. Without her, he'd probably just be bleeding out in the woods. He needs to remember to thank her at some point. Has he thanked her already? He can't remember. ]
Yes ma'am.
[ Hang on. He can do that, can't he? Isn't that what he's been doing this entire time? Eddie reaches for something to grab a hold of, anything he can leverage to get himself sitting. His hands find something, though he's not sure what, but with a grunt of effort he's managed to sit upright, though it makes his stomach roil. Sleep, he just wants to sleep. But that's a bad idea, some small voice within him tells him. Don't sleep. He's not sure if it's his own voice or not. ]
You're a life saver, you know that? [ He laughs, short and abrupt. ] Heh, life saver. Get it?
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for some reason, she'd been the one in those woods when he'd come stumbling through, she'd brought her car rather than taken her bike like she had for so long now, so she's just going to trust the process. at this point, nothing in hawkins really seemed like a coincidence.
by the time she makes it to the door he's managed to tug himself up against, weight slouched against it, and so she takes care to slip her hand in the second the door unlatches from its place when she opens it, making sure he doesn't spill out. getting him inside and up the stairs was going to be a feat on it's own, if he ended up on the floor now, she's not so sure she could get him up. )
Lets hope so... ( it's spoken in a breath, because she's yet to really see the state of him when he wasn't hidden by the dark of trees and shrouded in night.
for what she can, she's helping him twist around to step out feet-first, heart still hammering something wild in her chest. )
Try to use me— ( a huff, and she makes it evident what she means when she's tucking in to his shoulder to wrap his arm around her, wobbling til they're both taking a moments pause as he's upright once more, and on an exhale— ) There we go. ( and step by step she guides him, avoiding the motion light beside the garage. )
My parents should be in the living room. We just need to get past them.
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But she's helping him up, back on his feet again. And for as agonizing as the entire process feels, it makes him feel a little more connected to reality. Normal people can get out of cars, even with help. He is normal. This is normal. It's not true, of course, but telling himself so is helpful. Once he's standing, he immediately wishes he was back in her backseat again. His vision doubles, singles, triples, singles again. This is fine, okay, there's only of one of everything he thinks there's supposed to be one of. One Nancy helping him towards her house. One him, hopefully. ]
Shutting up now.
[ He says it seriously, as though until now he's been a chatterbox instead of struggling to string sentences together. He's forgotten just where they're supposed to be heading, but he trusts her to lead him there. Eddie takes in a slow breath, trying to get himself to focus on the task at hand, to get himself a little more steady. It helps, at least a little, keeps him from having to lean so heavily on her that he'd send her toppling over. They inch forward, his steps small but even, and slowly but surely they make their way inside.
It helps that the Wheeler parents are so regularly oblivious that they likely could have come crashing in and still not be noticed. It feels almost too easy to slip by them, even as Eddie struggles to descend the steps that lead down to the basement. It's only once he's able to collapse back onto the thread bare couch that Eddie finally makes a sound, lets out a groan of pain that he must have been holding this entire time. ]
See? Easy breezy.
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it's a a straight shot to the basement, night-dimmed kitchen flickering with light from the television, the familiar sound of her father snoring in his recliner rustling up every few seconds. that's usually the cue for her mom to stir him awake and bring him to bed, so she's holding her breath as they cross the floor, managing to shut the door silently behind them before they start their descent.
neither of them say much, it's more a conversation of ragged puffs of breaths cut off or stumbling over one another, and the moment he folds back onto the couch it's almost as if she goes into auto-pilot. keeping him hidden in the basement was one thing — a feat that's certainly proven possible — but it'd be a lot more difficult to explain the couch being saturated in blood. she's grabbing two of the darker towels from the basket atop the washer, tucking them beneath his sides and sliding one beneath his curls, matted and dried with blood just the same as his shirt. )
I'll be right back. ( she starts, teeth catching the tip of her tongue before stay here mindlessly slips from it, and she's climbing the stairs again to thumb with shaky fingers through the various first aid kits kept in the home. )
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[ When she leaves, he suddenly feels... untethered, drifting beyond the couch and the Wheeler residence. Having her there, someone he could see and talk to, reminded him he was real and alive, no matter how impossible that had seemed. Now he's drifting, feeling so alone in her dimly lit basement. Eddie struggles to find something else to latch onto in the meantime.
His fingers reach out clumsily, first brushing over the towels she had laid out. This doesn't quite do the trick, and instead his touch roams over his own body, trying to feel out just where he's hurt. He can feel dried blood on his clothes, a lot of it, an impossible amount. Surely he can't have bled this much and still be alive. But then, there's so much about this situation that doesn't make sense. ]
You still there?
[ Even as he calls out for her, his voice is only just above a whisper. Part of him just needs to hear her again, to know that this isn't all some fever dream. Something about being left alone now pushes his mind to strange places, and he's trying so hard to resist following down that path. ]
I might be bleeding out over here.
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even if she isn't medically trained, she knows enough that if he loses consciousness now, there's a high chance he'll end up going into a coma — and honestly, the last thing any of them can deal with right now is a max 2.0 — no pressure. )
I'm here. ( she assures, letting the first aid kits tumble to the floor as she kneels beside the couch and him, popping one open to grab one of the small sets of scissors. ) We're not going to let that happen, okay? ( she finds those glossy set of hues as she says it, and if she lacks any confidence, she doesn't let him see it. )
We have to find out where the bleeding's coming from. ( she's talking him through it, engaging him for what she can. with a slow exhale she gives a brief nod, before she's carefully pulling apart the knot that'd been fastened with her jacket around his midsection. she doesn't waste any time finding scissors at the hem of his shirt, splicing a clean cut upward rather than fussing to try and get him to sit upright to remove the layers.
when she's able to peel the fabric off to the side, she's met with an array of wounds so close together she can hardly tell where one begins and ends, if there's any bit of untouched skin left. but she keeps moving, dousing some peroxide in one of the small cloths she'd brought down. ) This is going to sting— ( a warning, similar to when she'd wound her jacket around him back in those woods, before she's blotting at the sites as delicately as possible, gauze prepared at her ankles. )
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Eddie meets her gaze, and there's just something about it that makes her words so easy to believe. He thinks that she could tell him he'd be tap dancing across the basement by the time she's done, and he'd have no choice but to believe that too. He almost protests when she starts cutting away his clothing, before realizing just how fucking stupid that would be. Instead he tries to settle back, brace himself for the inevitable sting of peroxide. ]
I can handle it. [ Though he tries to sound confident, the sentence is punctuated with a quiet hiss. ] You'd think they make this shit hurt on purpose.
[ He tries to laugh, to "man up" as it were, sit still and let her work. As Nancy clears away blood, both fresh and dried, a strange sight begins to reveal itself. While many of what are surely bite wounds are still fresh and oozing, several of them have the soft, pink skin of a wound that has time to heal. What's more, in the places where he still actively bleeds, the skin around them seems to pulse faintly, as though each has a separate heartbeat beneath it.
Eddie cranes his neck, trying to look down as she works. ]
How's it looking, doc?