gygaxed | for rockulikeahurricane

for rockulikeahurricane

For a town so willing to believe that he was making deals with the devil and contracts with demons, Eddie can't quite figure out how willing they are to turn a blind eye to what's actually happening. Maybe it's easier to blame things on the devil you know, and he supposed satanic cults were at least slightly more believable than whatever the fuck the Upside Down was. Eddie thinks he would prefer the devil to what they've all been through. At least his name has been cleared-- sort of. The town thinks he's dead, and all it's taken is tucking his hair up into a hat and keeping a low profile to keep that rumor alive. Hawkins sees what it wants to see, and he's not going to argue.

The trailer park was left largely untouched by the destruction, and the two of them have been holed up there in the days following. It's been days of mostly uneasy silence, waiting for the other foot to drop. It's only a few days following the town being torn apart that the funerals begin. There's a lot of them, so much it makes him sick to his stomach.

Even in a town that hated him, he takes no pleasure in death. Except, perhaps, for this one. He's sure that he still doesn't know the true story of Neil Hargrove, but he's been able to pull enough out of Billy by now to have a good idea. When Billy says they're going, he doesn't question it, simply nods and and finds the closest thing to funeral attire he owns. They leave together for the funeral, but separate almost as soon as they reach the cemetery.

Like all the recent funerals, it's hastily thrown together and sparsely attended. Eddie still keeps his distance, hanging and watching the few people mill about as a preacher delivers the last rights. Most of the people drift away like ghosts the moment it's over, leaving only the two of them. He's had days to think of something to say, and still nothing comes to him.

"Hey..." Eddie's voice is soft, coming to a stop a few steps behind Billy. "You wanna, uh..." He wants to reach out to Billy, to hold him, but his hands remain at his sides. "You need some time?"

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Billy knows he could have actually gone home in the aftermath. He'd had his own shit during the latest insanity, after PT and government-mandated therapy and none of it had done anything to dull the pervading sense of doom, the near-constant fear he was going to lose himself all over again. Or the guilt that came with the deaths he knew he'd caused, no matter how much people tried to tell him it wasn't his fault, not really. He wasn't himself at the time, like being possessed by a monster that had hijacked everything he was somehow made it better. Made him less responsible. And eight months passed and then there was this bullshit, and it had tried to chase him down like the others, except he would have welcomed its punishment but no. It had already made him its plaything once, so all it did was torment, and then it took Max when everybody was distracted because of some stupid fucking jock.

He could have gone home after, except there really wasn't much to go back to anyway. Just an empty shell that had barely been home to begin with, just a place he ate and slept and kept time, and it was just him and Max's mom and a shitload of empty space that was too overwhelming to try to fill. She was nice, she tried to help, but all her efforts did was choke him.

Mostly all he feels afterwards is numb. Max is lying in a hospital bed, not dead but not really here either, and Neil.... Honestly it doesn't even feel like he's gone until the funeral. Until they're standing around the hole in the ground saying a bunch of nice shit that's all lies, words about somebody else because they sure as hell don't describe Neil Hargrove. Going wasn't even a question, and he figured he'd give the asshole a final 'fuck you' before they buried him, but his throat goes dry and he just stares. His eyes burn and it's stupid, so he blinks it back and scowls, shoulders squaring, dragging the armor back into place before it can fracture any more, and there's a moment when Munson speaks where he almost decks him on reflex. But he doesn't, only clenches his jaw, because the last thing his old man would have wanted was for him to cry over him anyway. Real men don't cry, and sure, Billy never really counted as a 'real man' in his father's eyes, but he wasn't going to anyway.

"We can go. It's fine."

Edited 2022-09-07 21:00 (UTC)

Eddie tries not to flinch as Billy fights against reflect, keeps his body and face still. He doesn't want Billy to think he's afraid of him, somehow, especially not right now. While he knows Billy would never hurt him, well, there was a reason Eddie had stopped a few steps shy. There's something stick twisting through him, guilt and anger and a feeling of helplessness. Dealing with death doesn't come with a handbook, and even if it did, something like this would not be defined. So he tries to simply remain calm, a placid lake to Billy's raging storm.

"If you're sure," He says gently, his gaze drifting between Billy's hard set face and the open pit in the earth behind them. It's unsettling, eerie, makes sweat bead on the back of his neck despite the cool day. Somewhere in the distance, a low roll of thunder rumbles through the sky, and he can't help but think that it's somehow appropriate. Eddie reaches out a hand, wants to touch Billy's shoulder, his hand, wants to hold him. But not here, he thinks, not now.

"Come on." Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets, jerks his head in the direction of the camaro.

Billy's not sure. He's not sure of much right now, everything feels too hollow, painted over with a layer of unreality. Like he's stuck in a dream he can't wake up from. He's the one who should be in the hole, he's got the impossible scars to prove it, and shit, didn't he do worse than Neil in the end, really? At least Neil never killed anybody. Never led people to slaughter.

He feels sick, and angry, at a dozen things he can't all name, but he stalks after Munson all the same with a growl because at least its something, a direction, throws himself behind the wheel and starts the car and never mind that he probably shouldn't be driving.

The only thing that might be worse than letting Billy drive in his current state would be trying to convince him not to, and so Eddie says nothing as he climbs into the passenger side. He tries his best not to stare, doesn't want Billy to think he's watching him like some kind of zoo animal. As they pull away, Eddie fidgets with the too long cuffs of his sleeves, teases out a loose thread. The gears of his mind click and whirl, try to cobble together a sentence that will make everything alright.

"Why don't we get out of Hawkins?" He says abruptly, breaking the tense silence. It's what most of the town has already done. The rest of their rag tag group had been lingering in varying capacities, waiting for the next bit of evil to emerge. Eddie doesn't think they'd hold a few days away against them. "Get a room somewhere. I've got some cash saved up."

Driving is at least kind of soothing, in a mindless kind of way. It doesn't help, but it gives him something to focus on, even if he still drives too fast. He wants to blast the radio, drown out everything, but Munson opens his mouth before fingers do more than brush the dial, and the words stall out his movements.

"What?"

It's reflexive, out before he fully processes the suggestion, but once he catches up he huffs a breath and shrugs.

"Fine. Whatever."

His words are hollow, like he doesn't really care one way or the other. Like he's barely there at all. There's nothing really tethering him anywhere anyway, not anymore. Seeing Max just makes him want to break things, like he had any real chance of stopping it, and the only tangible, physical person he could take it out on is dead.

"Aren't your nerd friends gonna freak out?"

"They'll be alright," He says offhandedly, punctuating the statement with a small shrug. There's not much for any of them to do right now besides wait and watch, and he doesn't think they'll go somewhere far enough away that they can't get back. Not that the idea isn't tempting as it crosses his mind. Maybe they just keep driving until they hit the Pacific, see what's so great about California.

"Let's just... drive until we find something." It seems like driving is doing Billy some good, even if only a little. Eddie tentatively stretches a hand out towards him, lets his fingers brush over his thigh. He's fully ready to withdraw at the slightest indication, but he wants to offer the comfort he wants to give through words with touch instead.

Billy drags a breath in at the contact, jaw tensing for a moment before easing with a deliberate exhale. It doesn't really matter where they go, he's pretty sure they can never get far enough away. But the contact is nice, if he's honest with himself. Reassuring, even if he doesn't really feel like he deserves to be reassured. Fingers tighten their grip against the steering wheel for a moment, flexing and easing, trying to vent everything stuck under his skin.

"Sure. Not like I got anywhere else to be."

Eddie likes to think he's pretty good at reading Billy by now, noticing the little ways he gives his thoughts away. There's enough of a positive response at the touch that Eddie slides his hand fully onto Billy's thigh, lets it settle firmly there, and squeezes. Part of him wants to say 'sorry', is that what you say when someone dies? Not that he'd mean his 'sorry' like that. It feels like the stupidest fucking idea in the world.

"Dunno if you want to talk," He lets his gaze drift away from Billy, doesn't want to seem like he's staring. "But I'm here if you do."

The suggestion, or offer, however Munson means it, drags a laugh out of him, brittle and a hair or two too close to manic. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench. His foot presses harder against the gas, camaro shooting forward down the road, hugging curves just too recklessly enough to be entirely comfortable.

"Talk. Right. About what. Nothing to talk about."

Point taken, Eddie thinks. Now is not the time. Of course, the reaction alone tells him that Billy very much does need to talk. Just not while he’s operating a moving vehicle. Normally, Eddie enjoys when the other drives a little dangerously, enjoys the thrill of it. This is undoubtedly different, makes him just a touch nervous.

“Maybe some music then,” He says, reaching for the radio. There’s already a tape loaded up, Slayer comes blasting through the speakers. It’s not the kind of music most people would find relaxing, but neither of them are most people. Eddie resolves to try broaching the subject again once they’ve found a place, settles for rubbing his thumb over Billy’s thigh, hoping to soothe.

The chords interrupt, break apart some of the tension, or at least blare loud enough to drown out most of the more unpleasant thoughts. It's not really enough, though. Enough to keep it all at bay for a little while, but he knows that's not going to last. So instead he tries to focus. On the words, and the music, and the hand on his thigh, and eventually things start to ease back. It's only temporary he knows, there's something bigger and heavier underneath, it's only keeping it at bay, but it's something. He can breathe for a moment.

"Let me know when you want me to turn off otherwise I'm just gonna keep driving until we run out of gas."

Now that he’s feeling a little more confident that Billy isn’t about to run them off the road, Eddie lets himself relax back into the seat. He keeps his hand on Billy’s thigh, continues drawing soothing lines there. He’s content to just let Billy drive for a while, watching towns fly past out the window. They drive in silence, music choices not included, until Eddie finally picks an exit at random.

“Let’s try that one,” He says as he reaches to lower the volume. “See if it’s more or less of a shithole than Hawkins.”

Driving isn't like surfing. It's an important distinction, the two are about as different as you can get, but the way they kind of white things out for a little while is similar. It's freedom, a focus that frees everything up, lets things settle in a way he can't get any other way. Road stretches out ahead of them, no destination in mind, and things uncoil somewhat. The contact helps too, not that he'll ever admit it, grounds in a way that always feels like he's touching something he was never meant to. So when Munson finally picks an exit he's not necessarily any more communicative, but he exudes less of a hostile vibe. Grunts his acknowledgment and follows the exit off the highway, navigating streets he doesn't know until he finds a motel. Something nicer than he would have picked on his own, but nothing too fancy. He cuts the engine after pulling into a spot, and relaxes back into his seat.

"You want to get the room, I'll hunt down something to eat?"

“Sounds good.” Eddie offers a small, gentle smile, letting out a relieved huff of breath. It feels strange to be out of Hawkins, like they’ve entered a different world altogether. One where things like Vecna or the upside down or Neil Hargrove don’t exist. If only it were that simple.

Eddie finally withdraws his hand, but not before leaning in to press a kiss against Billy’s jaw, quick and sweet, before slipping out the door. He stops at the trunk to grab their go bags, something Nancy had suggested they all keep on hand, and he’s grateful for that. Especially because he had seen fit to include a few joints and a handle of whiskey in his.

As Billy heads off in search of food, Eddie takes care of a room. His rainy day funds take a hit, but he thinks it’s well worth the expense. After dropping their bags off in the room, he makes a quick call to Henderson to explain their MIA status. Then he settles himself outside, keeping an eye on the parking lot as he worries at a cigarette.

Once Eddie's out of the car and on his way to get the room, Billy heads out to handle his side of things. It doesn't take long; there's fast food pretty close, so it's fairly mindless, and then he's heading back, pulling into the spot closest to Munson when he sees him and then heading out to meet him. The room, when they get inside, is pretty nondescript, but as long as it's got four walls and a bed Billy doesn't really care. He drops the bags of food on the little table next to the window then drops onto the bed bonelessly. He'll eat, but he's gotta figure out what he actually wants to do first.

A cigarette. That's what he needs. So he hauls himself back up and digs through his pockets for the carton and lighter before parking himself next to the window and lighting up.

"Home front fine?"

Because he knows Munson, knows he would have checked in while Billy was out.

"We've officially been relieved of duty." Not that either of them had been doing much. While the others were off at the high school sorting donations and making sandwiches, he and Billy had spent more time skulking through the woods looking for any signs of more weird shit. He's not going to miss that for a couple days.

Eddie joins him by the window, rifling through the bags of food. He pulls out a bag of fries, picks at them as he watches Billy smoke. Neither of them have eaten yet today, but the hunger is masked by a simmering anxiety. They've only just gotten settled, he's not sure if it's the right time to bring up the idea of 'talking' again.

"See anything cool while you were out?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he answers dryly, avoiding looking at the other now they're stationary. There's no distraction anymore, only a room and Munson, so he focuses on smoking, eyeballs the food he doesn't really have an appetite for, and tries to avoid exactly what he knows the metalhead is going to bring things back around to. Talking won't change anything. It's over. Move on. Even if he just feels stuck. Spinning his wheels for a reason he can't put into words.

"There's a strip joint a couple blocks down. And there was a little old lady screaming at what I'm pretty sure was a raccoon."

"Strip club might be fun," He says with a dry laugh, shoving a few more fries into his mouth. Eddie nudges Billy's leg with his foot beneath the table, trying for some kind of connection. It's impossible for him not to feel hopelessly ill equipped for this, but he's determined to try. A lot about their relationship has been clumsy, difficult to navigate, so he supposes this shouldn't be any exception.

"I've got something that might help," Eddie bends down, reaching for his bag to pull it closer. He digs through it until he produces a bottle of Jack and sets it on the table. It might not be his best idea, but he thinks it might help grease the wheels, so to speak. "Thirsty?"

Billy steals a fry, mostly just because it's probably expected, but he doesn't pull away from the contact under the table. He knows he should say something about the strip club, but there's just...nothing. No inspiration. So he keeps smoking and brooding, at least until the alcohol makes an appearance. Yeah, like that's really going to improve his mood, but it might at least make him numb longer.

"Good, you planned. Shit, yeah."

He's almost relieved; there's no coddling, no attempt to talk about feelings, maybe he can just drink until he passes out.

"You bring cups so we can pretend we're not gonna get shitfaced or are we just splitting it?"

"Well, Nance told us to pack the essentials, so." He shrugs, knowing that if Nancy were here right now she would definitely not approve of him considering liquor to be an essential. He can't help but think she'd be wrong about that, all things considered. Drinking might not be the best idea right now, but it's something to take the edge off, to maybe get Billy in the mood to talk.

"Hold on," Eddie swivels his head around the room, spots a coffee maker tucked away in the corner. Beside it is a small stack of paper cups, which he hurries to grab a couple for the two of them. He sets on in front of Billy and the other for himself, filling them both with a heavy pour.

"Now we can pretend we're not degenerates," He says with a half hearted smile, lifting his cup in a mock toast. "Cheers."

Like he would have cared about cups, like he cared about not looking like a degenerate. Shit, right now he didn't care what he looked like period. But he accepts the cup, toasts just as mockingly, and knocks back the contents in the better part of one gulp before putting the cup down and refilling it. It burns in his chest, and his throat, and he relishes it, savors it until it dulls again. He doesn't think about it, makes a point to not think about what that means, because it doesn't matter, not really.

"To the fucking survivors. Go us."

"Still alive whether we like it or not." He gives a little nod before raising the cup to his lips, making a much slower go at it than Billy. Eddie stretches his legs out beneath the table, lets his legs interlock with Billy's. This is probably not the best way to be dealing with things, but he can't imagine that it's the worst. So he reclines in his chair, tries to relax, hopes the whiskey will do some of the heavy lifting.

"You should try and eat," Eddie says after a moment, even as he reaches to refill Billy's cup. "Whiskey on an empty stomach isn't going to end well."

"Not hungry."

He knows it's a shitty answer. Knows his feelings on whether or not he wants to eat are irrelevant in this particular context; he needs to eat, he hasn't eaten a damn thing all day. Shit, he hasn't really been eating great since he found out about Neil to begin with, like he's just...given up without the one major constant in his life gone, and isn't that something to unpack. But he doesn't want to. Doesn't want to think about any of it, keeps the whole thing at arms length because he doesn't know what will happen if he doesn't. So he smokes, and drinks, and at least doesn't pull back from the contact.

"I'll eat later or something."

"Fine," Although it's not really fine, especially considering they're drinking, but he isn't going to argue. "But I don't want to hear any bitching later about the food being cold." It's hard not to feel helpless, useless, even. So he settles in to keeping their cups filled and working his way through a burger. There's not much to be had in the way of conversation, but the physical connection is there, grows with each swallow of whiskey.

Before long, he's moved his chair around so they're sitting next to each other, letting his hand rest in Billy's lap. Eddie reaches to steal the cigarette from his lips, takes a few drags of his own before passing it back. All he wants to do is help, and he isn't sure that this counts.

The more Billy drinks the more he seems to....not really relax, so much as uncoil. When Eddie moves his chair he leans into the weight of him, or at least shifts himself in his own chair so they're touching shoulder to shoulder, knee moving to add another point of contact. He doesn't protest when Munson borrows the cigarette, only takes a couple extra drags when it's passed back. The alcohol burns in his veins, a comfortable warmth in his guts and a burn in his throat that seems only fair, really.

With more alcohol comes less of an ability to keep a handle on everything, to shove it all down where he doesn't have to deal with it, and with not much in his stomach to soak up the alcohol he gets there a lot quicker than he normally would. Suddenly he laughs, fractured and borderline manic but without any real humor, because this whole situation is ridiculous. Crazy, almost. Munson's hand is in his lap, and he half wants to hold it, tangle their fingers up, and half wants to press it against his crotch just to try to vent some of the expanse of whatever's trying to threaten to break through.

"My old man would fucking hate this," he offers to nobody in particular. "Sitting here like a couple of queers." A beat, and he laughs again, more broken and unsteady this time. "Guess he wasn't wrong about that part though, huh?"

There's no reason for him to enjoy this. Billy is grieving, in a way that is so far beyond his reach, and they're in some motel in who the fuck knows where, Indiana. Eddie knows, even in the best of circumstances, that Billy isn't the type to share his feelings. That doesn't do much for the way he wants to draw them out, to drag them into the light and really deal with them. But this? This is a start, at least.

"Guess not," Eddie doesn't laugh, though he feels like he should. Maybe most of Hawkins, most of the country, would find their relationship all sorts of ridiculous, reprehensible. Eddie doesn't, doesn't pull his hand away, instead runs warm lines that run dangerously close to Billy's crotch with each pass.

"Think I could have been a girl and he still would have found a way to hate it." It's more than he has any right to say. He hadn't known Neil, not the way Billy had. For as little as he had known about Neil, he had known him to be full of hatred. Being gay feels like just a cherry on top of everything, one more way to turn his anger outward. "But I don't think you should feel bad about it. I sure don't."

Edited 2022-09-12 01:24 (UTC)

The contact is all too apparent, sears a line with each pass, close but not close enough, and he shifts hips in answer, tries to get closer, to feel something that's not just numb anger. Downs the contents of his cup again and reaches to refill it before answering. Don't feel bad about it. Right. Like his entire life hasn't been one failure after another, face shoved in it over and over like a dog with its nose shoved in a puddle of piss to teach it not to pee on the floor.

"Wouldn't have hated you. It was never about anybody else. Just my fuckups. Shit, tried my damnedest to pass and he saw right through that shit."

"Yeah... guess you're right." Eddie answers reluctantly, doesn't want to agree simply because he wishes it weren't true. Wishes that Neil's ghost wasn't clinging to Billy like a second skin. He darkly thinks that what they really need right now is an exorcism. It's a relief that Billy's talking about it, even if it had taken whiskey on an empty stomach, but he knows there aren't any words he can offer that will undo a lifetime of damage.

"It's fucked up, the stuff he did." He huffs, almost sounding annoyed, angry. Eddie thinks Billy already knows that, but then has to wonder if he does thinks it, or if he believes he somehow deserved it. Eddie lets his hand water out of Billy's lap, up his chest, before finally curling his arm around the other's shoulders.

He freezes in place at the drape of arm, but at least doesn't knock it away, only slumps after a few long moments, as if in defeat. Fucked up is an understatement, he knows that. It's not a thing most kids had to deal with, he's pretty sure of that much, but that doesn't make things any less complicated. It's all he knows, what the hell else is he gonna do about it.

And there's always been a part of him that figures he deserves it. His mom left him behind; he's always figured, deep down, there was a reason she didn't take him with her. That she left him with the monster. And if she left him with the monster, then maybe that meant he was a monster too. Especially after everything with the Mindflayer, it just cemented it. He deserved everything he got. End of story.

"It's whatever. Can't change it now, right?"

Eddie can feel the way Billy stills under his touch, but he doesn't pull away. Fuck it, they're both on their way to properly drunk, in a motel room far enough away from Hawkins. There are no prying eyes they have to worry about, and unless Billy is the one to push him away, Eddie isn't going to hold back anymore. And so he reaches his other arm across Billy's chest, encircles him fully, pulls him close. If only all of this could be willed away by an embrace.

"Guess not," Eddie says softly, no matter how much he wishes he could undo it. He turns his face into Billy's hair, presses a kiss against his temple. "You didn't deserve any of that shit, you know. Don't know if anyone's ever told you that, but it's true."

The over arm wrapped around him is just an arm. Just more contact, in a lot of ways it shouldn't really matter. But Munson pulls him close and something in his chest pulls too tight, a lump settling in, heavy and thick enough to choke. And then lips press against his skin and he can't swallow, feels like he can't breathe. The words that follow only make it worse, pulls a fragmented, broken laugh from him that feels too close to a sob. He can feel his eyes starting to burn and he blinks hard to try to stall it, reaches for the bottle instead of the cup to down a couple swallows.

"Sure I did. Shit, my mom bailed because she couldn't deal with either of us. You know the shit I've done, right? I deserved every fucking second of it."

"No, you didn't," Eddie replies firmly, almost relieved to have something he feels fully confident saying. Eddie knows a thing or two about shitty fathers, but from that their experiences diverged dramatically. Never in his life would he have thought he could feel so thankful that his dad only taught him to steal cars and made him accessories to petty crimes.

"Look, I know you haven't been an angel," He reaches to take the bottle gently from Billy, sets it back down on the table. "You still didn't deserve what he did. None of it."

Fingers release the bottle when Munson tugs, shoulders slumping in defeat. There's a lot he can say to disagree, to disprove, but there's only so much he can hold in.

"I killed people. I'm supposed to be dead, but I couldn't even do that right, so why didn't I deserve it?"

"And I'm telling you that you still didn't deserve it." Eddie could lay out the list of reasons why that's true, that Billy wasn't in his right mind, that the reason he almost died was protecting someone else, or the simple fact that his dad was pushing him around long before any of that even happened. But he doesn't, because Billy knows all those things and still believes it's deserved.

"He was the fuck up, not you." His fingers drift along Billy's jawline, tilts his head so they're looking at each other. "He can't hurt you anymore. Never will again."

Bile mixes with the lump in his throat, thick and choking, enough to drown him if he lets it. He's been pushing the inevitable back, because he can't deal with it, can't face it. The man's been in his life for so long, for better or worse, the idea of him being gone, for good? It doesn't connect. Doesn't seem real. Munson tilts his jaw to better look at him but Billy avoids his gaze, eyes damp and burning, something heavy trying to claw out of his chest.

"Bullshit. He obviously knew something I didn't. That thing picked me, you seriously think it didn't? So what does that say to you?"

"Fuck that," Eddie practically snaps back. It kills him to see Billy like this, to assign blame to himself for so many things that were never his fault. All he can do is offer a strong dissenting voice, try and show Billy that there are other lines of understanding. "Your old man didn't know shit." The idea of not speaking ill of the dead is thrown out the window, and Eddie doesn't think Neil Hargrove deserves that adage in the first place.

"It picked you because you were there," His voice turns stern now, still hoping he can get Billy to look at him, to really hear what he's saying. "You're really gonna let what some fucked up monster from another dimension did be some kind of personal judgement?"

"What the hell else am I supposed to do?"

His voice breaks then, because while he appreciates the thought, he can't see through to it. Everything's tainted, has been for too long, twisted and turned around so tightly he can't find the way back out.

"Nobody else around here thinks any different, so why not? Shit, that's just...my whole fucking life. Who's mom just....bails on them? And leaves them with that piece of shit? There's gotta be a reason, otherwise it's just..."

Pointless. Meaningless.

"Sometimes parents just... aren't there when they're supposed to be." He knows that well enough, even if it's not in the same capacity. Eddie tries and pulls Billy closer to him, even when they're so close already. "They're people, and they fuck up and-- leave us to pick up the pieces. It's not right, but that doesn't stop them from doing it."

He has to take a moment then, quiet and still as he nuzzles against Billy's neck. He wants to be close to him, wishes he were better at this. Everything is just off the cuff, flying by the seat of his pants. But he's trying, more than he ever has, reaching out to Billy over years of trauma to try and forge that connection.

"I get it. You want it all to mean something. Because if it has a point, then it's good damage. But sometimes damage is just... damage. Just people that hurt you."

He can feel the dam heavy in his chest, cracking and resettling, crushing him with its weight. It threatens to break, to swallow him whole, to drown him in its depths, and for a moment he relishes the thought. Like a riptide, dragging him under, forcing the ocean down his lungs until everything stops and he just....drifts. But this isn't like that, it won't overwhelm and leave stillness in its wake, it will just continue, on and on, caught in its own pull, beating against the rocks forever.

Munson tries to explain, but it just seems to hang heavier. There's no point, things just keep going and they suck and there's no reprieve or explanation, just things picking away at him, letting things heal just enough that they hurt that much worse the next time. Eddie nuzzles at his neck and Billy all but flinches, even as he fists hands in Munson's shirt to keep him close.

"I just wish I knew what I did to make them hate me so much."

"But you never will," Eddie replies softly. He doesn't mean it cruelly, wonders if he even means it say it aloud at all. Billy has been dealt a shitty hand, and there's nothing he can do about it. That alone drives him crazy, makes him wish he could reach back through time and somehow change things, make them better. Even if it might mean he would never meet Billy at all. But all they can do is move forward from where they find themselves, however difficult that might be.

"I love you though, Billy," His voice is only just above a whisper. It's something he's thought many times now, never felt it was the right time to say it. Now is definitely not the right time, and yet he says it, hopes it means something to Billy. "Have for a while. Think I always will."

He's not expecting the words when they come, either set of them. And maybe he should be fixating on one set more than the other, but the first ones kick him right in the gut, stall out anything else.

He never will. He'll never get to see either of them, never get any kind of closure. He hasn't seen or heard from his mom in years, and there's nothing left of Neil for much of anything. He'll never know what he did to cause any of the shitty things that happened to him. He'll never know anything.

Something breaks loose in his chest, and everything gives way, crumbles under his feet. A sob tears free even as he tries to swallow it, and then another, shoulders shaking as he chokes down the sounds, ingrained need to keep it as quiet as he can surfacing even now.

"You shouldn't," he mumbles thickly, because he heard the rest too. He can't process it right now, but he at least knows it's a bad idea for Munson to get attached like that.

The sob makes Eddie wind his arms tight around Billy's shoulders, pulls him in close. He lets Billy come undone beside him, just holds him close and feels the weight of each sob against his chest. His own heart breaks inside him, aches from the weight of not being able to fix things with love and kindness. One hand tangles in Billy's hair, cradles his head and holds him close, determined to weather out the storm.

"Yeah, well, it's too late for that." He turns his head so he can press a kiss somewhere against Billy's head, follows it with another, another. There's nothing he can do about the past, but maybe there's something he can do for the future. "Because I'm stupid in love with you. Love you so much it's almost embarrassing." Eddie laughs a little, but it's tempered by a sob of his own, because all of it is true.

"You're just gonna have to deal with that."

"I'm just gonna disappoint you too," he counters, even if he doesn't pull away. He's too selfish for that, wants to soak in the contact as long as he can even if he knows he doesn't deserve it, regardless of how Munson feels.

"I poison everything I touch, you'll figure it out eventually."

It's all he's ever been taught, after all. Not worth anything better. It's better Munson figures that out now before he ruins him like everything else. But he clings anyway, buries his face against his shoulder and cries snot and tears and everything else into the metalhead's shirt, hating himself for the weakness but unable to hold it back.

This. This is why his own father couldn't fucking stand him. Because he was a weak piece of shit who cried like a little bitch, because he couldn't even pretend to be a man for more than five minutes at a time.

"You shouldn't talk about the guy I love like that." Eddie isn't sure how he wants that to sound, light and teasing, or solemn and serious. It comes out somewhere in between, as he tightens his grip around Billy. The damn has finally broke open, with Billy crying against him, and Eddie doesn't know quite how to handle it. Granted, he hasn't known how to handle anything that's happened today, and so he only holds Billy close and holds space for him.

They are of differing minds about all of this. Billy might think it a display of weakness, but to Eddie, it feels like some sort of relief. This entire time he's been trying to work out just the right thing to say, but now, silence seems to be the correct answer. He lets his fingers trail through Billy's hair, slipping further so he can rub at Billy's back instead.

"I love you, Billy," He whispers, so low it might be lost beneath the sounds of sobs. "I love you and nothing's ever gonna change that."

Eventually, everything starts to subside, sobbing slowing into something more occasional, shuddering breaths dragged in as he tries to get himself better under control. He takes a few steadier breaths, exhaling harshly as he instinctively leans into the contact, and he may have only caught part of the first two statements, but the last settles heavily in his chest, a lump he can't swallow past.

"Okay," he ultimately mumbles, drained and numb, unsure how to respond.

In other circumstances, an 'okay' might hurt. Eddie has all but opened up his heart up, let his most fragile feelings spill out. But right now, 'okay' feels like a hell of a lot. Especially when he's just had Billy sobbing against him, even with how abruptly it ends. Eddie stands, unsteady as the whiskey seems to suddenly flood through him. But they're both standing now, however precarious.

"Come on," He says softly, tugging them towards the bed. It creaks beneath them as the collapse down onto it, the threadbare quilt flattening beneath them. All of this is played by ear, Eddie trying desperately with every passing moment to make things alright.

"I've got you," Eddie pulls Billy close, winds his arms around him. "I'm sorry if-- I'm sorry that you've gone so long without someone telling you they love you."

Billy follows, a bit like a skittish dog afraid to do anything else, but it's more that anything else requires too much thought. A numbness settles into his limbs and chest, a relief after having everything feel like he was torn open and scooped out, so he doesn't question the request, doesn't protest the guidance. He settles against Eddie, fingers absently curling into his shirt again as he buries his face against the other's neck, and grunts in acknowledgment of the apology, even if he's not sure how to respond. There's nothing to apologize for, not really. It just is.

"It's fine. You get used to it after a while."

The statement needles into his heart, makes him shift just a little uncomfortably at hearing it. Eddie knows he'll never truly understand. While he has his own complicated relationship with his father, it will never come close to what Billy has experienced. There is still the hope that he can say or do the right thing that will make the years of hurt fade away, but Eddie knows better. Knows that all he can do is try to make things better from this day and each day forward.

"We'll try and do something about that," He murmurs as he presses a kiss to Billy's temple, pulls him as close as he's able. It could take a life time to undo, and Eddie thinks he would be okay with that. From there, Eddie lets his lips trace down Billy's jaw, over his collarbone, down over his chest with each kiss pressed through the fabric of his shirt.

"You can... you should--" The attempts at finding something to say die on his lips, because who is he to say what Billy can or should feel right now? Eddie laughs, almost from embarrassment at his failed attempt to concoct a solution. "I love you," Is what he ultimately opts for, and for as much as he means it, it still seems to fall short. "We'll figure out everything else."

He shivers under the attention, humming in muted encouragement. This doesn't feel deserved, none of this does, but he's too weak to push Munson away, too weak to do anything but accept it. To reach and clutch at whatever kindness he can have until it necessarily turns to ash.

"Okay. I just...don't want to think about anything right now. I....too, I just. Can't think right now."

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