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They are the Immortals. Born scattered across the world, hundreds of years in between, they never walk alone. There are others like them- those who are good, evil, in between. For centuries, they have hunted, battled; Holy ground their only refuge. They cannot die, unless their heads are taken and with that- their power.
For in the end, there can be only one.
“I am Immortal, I have inside me blood of kings. I have no rival, no man can be my equal.”
“Princes of the Universe”- Freddie Mercury, John Deacon
~*~
England
March 26, 1586
Hawkins Castle
The light from the fading sun casts an orange glow through the open windows; the breeze wafting in carries the contrasting scent of wildflowers, horses, and the stench of life within a castle. Smoke from the lit incense curled upwards and around, casting an ethereal atmosphere within the room, hidden away from the prying eyes of the court. A fire burned cheerily to chase away the early springtime chill, the logs popped and sparked merrily. This room- their room- was warm, safe, and serene.
“Pray tell me again why you insist on going through with this farce?” Edward snaked his way through the sheets to curl around the trim frame of his lover. His dark eyes sparkled in the fading light, reigniting their dangerous dance.
Stephen huffed a breath, batting at the curls that tickled his face, “‘Twas the only plan I could think of to distract my mother; it would look rather unseemly to be missing at my own betrothal banquet.” His irritation at the thought of his future activities melted under Edward’s gaze, “Though I would rather stay right here, with you. I’ve missed you.”
“If you would have sent for me, I would have been on the front lines fighting alongside you,” Edward murmured seriously. Constant skirmishes along the edges of Hawkins’ territory stole precious time away from them. The wars waged at their borders long before they were born, and Edward suspected it would continue long after they were buried.
“You know I couldn’t do that,” He answered back quietly, his attention drawn to the bruising along Edward’s shoulder, the dark marks mottling along his collarbones and bleeding into the long column of his neck. The stark juxtaposition of how his lover received the marks was not lost on him. He remembered the sound of the impact, thanked the heavens above that it wasn’t a sword but a simple staff that crashed into his shoulder but it did enough damage to ensure that Edward wouldn’t be seeing the battlefield anytime soon.
Even now, the twist and pull of the muscles, the tendons, even the very skin was painful. It was more than a dull ache, this was like falling into a bonfire- forever burning, the agony fed upon itself like an ouroboros. He worked around the issue, kept the shoulder wrapped and in a sling when outside. He learned from the weapon’s keeper how to wield a sword with his other hand. It was slow going, frustrating at times, but he was learning quickly. His longing to stay with Stephen- to keep him safe was paramount.
It wasn’t that Stephen Harrington was a bad swordsman, far from it in fact. However, he was the heir. He was unmarried. The Harrington line rode on Stephen’s heels.
Edward himself was bastard-born, taken in by Lord Harrington to serve as a companion and bodyguard for his young son. The moment they laid eyes upon each other, a chill ran down young Edward’s spine, and he knew then he was lost to anyone else. The sun rose and set upon Stephen, they were inseparable. To be so careless now as an adult as to let an almost killing blow strike was unconscionable.
Edward smiled at his strange luck as Stephen’s light touch explored the bruising along his collarbone, merlot wine spilling over dappled ivory.
“So when is the banquet? I hear that your betrothed is fast approaching, what with Ser Creel as her guide, they should be here soon.”
At the mention of his future nuptials, Stephen huffed irritatedly through his nose, “I’d rather not speak of this now.”
He vacated their nest of bedding, leaving Edward cold as he held in a hiss of discomfort at the jostling his lover’s abrupt movement caused. “If not now, then when, my love? We haven’t talked about what would happen when she arrives, about us-” He cut himself off, twisting the sheets between his worried fingers. He should have known that things would change between them; he would have been a fool not to.
He just didn’t think time would pass so quickly in the sunlit meadow of their love. Now the clouds were approaching, gray and ominous, he could feel the electricity of something bewitching in the air. No one else felt it but he, whispers in the court passed down to him, suspected that Edward was “touched” and somehow wrong.
Stephen only hesitated for a moment before he shook himself, moving to gently pull his lover into his embrace, “I thought that if we didn’t speak of it then it wouldn’t…happen. I know that is foolish of me, and in my cowardice, I’ve caused you to doubt where I stand. Would that we could just run from here…”
Edward pressed his face into Stephen’s neck, breathing in the scent of his skin: the salty sweat from their lovemaking, underneath the leather and steel, he always smelled of green, earthy fresh, and bright.
His breath caught in his chest, the image of them free, laughing as they roamed over the fields burned through his troubled mind. Stephen’s beaming smile, teeth so white and straight, matched the mirthful sparkle in his eyes as they chased one another over the rolling hills, hooves beating down the dirt pathways to a boat docked just at the edge of their borders-
They could do it.
They could run.
“Take our horses, and pack our bags,” Edward mused under his breath. His eyes flicked up to catch his beloved’s as he shifted in surprise, “We could sail to port. Take a ship to France. We could be gone before they had a chance to break bread.”
Stephen laughed, breathy and light like a dove on the wind, “And then what?”
Edward straightened in his embrace, Stephen’s large and warm hand cupped his shoulder. He always seemed to know where it hurt the most, letting the heat of his palm soothe the ache away. He beamed, excitement blooming over his face at the promise of hope, “We could be free, Stephen.”
“What of Elenor? Of Wayne? You’d leave them behind?”
His beloved little sister, his uncle, who took them in so young. He was the stableman of the castle, tending to the animals just as tenderly gruff as he was with the two youths under his care. They were close-knit, together through tragic circumstances. The plague ripped through their countryside, taking with it so many loved ones, including their parents. It was a miracle they were both spared.
A miracle that started the rumors of witchcraft, that forced Wayne to pack up their belongings and escape to the Harrington’s, pledging fealty and life-long service for sanctuary.
“They would be fine,” Edward assured softly. The pang of leaving them behind was strong; it spread over his chest like burning wings, but he couldn’t watch from the shadows as his love went to another. To pledge before God and family to take no other, lay with another, have children, and a whole completely new life that did not include the presence of a third.
“I…we could send for them, they could-“
“Of course,” Stephen assured, taking his hand gently into his own and bestowing a light kiss upon his scarred knuckles. They shared a tremulous smile, fragile and special like blown glass sparkling under the fairy light of their love for each other. “You know, I meant to give this to you last night-“
“We were distracted.”
Stephen’s blush rivaled the brightness of the sun, glowing golden in the sunlight, “Yes. Well.” He lifted his free hand, the dark stone ring set in silver glinted in the light before Stephen tugged it free, slipping it onto Eddie’s ring finger on his left hand.
“With this ring, I thee wed-“
“Stephen?”
He blinked through his tears, the smile never wavering as they slid down his sweet face, “No matter what comes between us, I choose you.”
I choose you.
*
New York
Tudor City Apartments, Penthouse
1986
‘I choose you.’
Edward stares at the ring gazing innocently back at him on the mirror ledge, his face dripping with tap water and tears. He glances in the mirror, at the face he’s worn for so long, and sighs with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
In the gray light of the morning, his shoulder aches.
Pressing his eyes closed for a moment to collect himself. He dries his hands with a nearby towel, using it to roughly wipe his face before tossing it into the hamper behind him. He moodily grabs his ring and shoves it roughly onto his finger, refusing to think as he stalks into his bedroom to dress for the day.
He feels jittery, restless. He knows something is coming, someone, and is unsure if it’s friend or foe.
He opens the thick curtains, tying them back to let in more of the silvery light.
He feels the spidery fingers of alarm skitter down his spine before he hears the buzz at his door.
“Devil’s at my door, and here I am without my fiddle,” Edward snorts before he goes to answer.
The familiar, worn face of his uncle eases his tension, and he leans against the doorframe in relief, “You said you’d call, old man. I thought you were the reaper coming for me.”
Wayne rolls his eyes as he enters Edward’s sprawling penthouse, bringing with him the scent of cigarettes and Old Spice that burns at his nose. Comforting, even now. He slowly meanders by, observing Edward’s paintings on the walls. “Funny words coming from you, old boy. Would you have answered?”
“I guess it depends on the day or context.” He moves to the coffee pot, plucking his uncle’s favorite mug from the cabinet, “Coffee?”
Wayne nods as he takes a seat at the island, “Please.” He watches Edward pour for both of them, expression neutral.
As always.
They drink in silence, the clock ticking the seconds away like time would affect either one.
Edward stares at him over the rim of his mug, this wasn’t a social call. It rarely was since he walked away from The Game, both needing space from each other. The length of time apart never bothered them, but the way they left things still makes Edward’s stomach twist with regret.
Even now, despite the many years between them, Edward’s main emotion in regards to his uncle is immeasurable guilt.
“You haven’t called in a year, haven’t visited longer than that. Why now?”
Wayne sighs as he sets his mug down, fishing out the pack of cigarettes he keeps in the front breast pocket of his flannel, and it’s so natural and human that Edward shifts in discomfort.
Sparking it, Wayne takes a drag before letting the smoke out as he answers, “We got a hail. Something’s happening-”
“I told you I was out,” Edward says softly while emptying the rest of his coffee into the sink. His hands are shaking, and he feels the heat under the collar of his t-shirt. He doesn’t want to fight, he’s tired.
Tired of all of it really, but he has no choice, he’s forced to go on.
Oblivion never looked so tempting, alas.
When he turns back holding his middle for self-comfort, he sees Wayne nod, “I know. But, this isn’t about The Game. It’s something else.”
His uncle reaches into the pack Edward’s only noticed now, bringing out a thick Manila envelope to set on the island between them. There’s no name on the front, but the packet mocks him anyway. Stepping away from the Watchers was his choice, and he chafes under the knowledge that by sending Wayne, they know he will capitulate.
“Brenner-”
“I fucking knew it,” Edward kicks off from the counter, snagging the pack and fishing out a cigarette as he stalks back to his bedroom without caring if his uncle follows or not.
Hearing the slow footsteps and feeling the skittering of alarm at the back of his neck at having another immortal out of his eye line tells him that Wayne is following. The matter must be important, but the mention of the ‘exiled doctor’ raises his hackles.
His uncle stays silent, making himself comfortable on the armchair next to the large window. It was his spot, they lugged that great stupid thing from the motherland to the New World, and many states in between. It had sturdy, dark wood carved legs, a curved back, and arms. He hears clanging rapiers, hears phantom laughter, can smell the stink of sweat and burning incense.
It’s like a punch to the gut, seeing everything in perfect clarity. Remembering good times amidst never-ending grief felt like a betrayal. In the spring of his youth, he dreamed of a long life, but he never thought at any point that Stephen would not be by his side to share in it.
Eternity stretches out before him with no end in sight, and though he loves his uncle, he wishes for the millionth time that he didn’t have to spend it with the older man. Wayne was meant to find a woman, sire his own children, and die in bed at an old age surrounded by his family. Not be dragged over the surface of the Earth waiting for sweet oblivion.
It’s in times like these, feeling the claws of guilt raking at his soul, does he yearn for his long lost would’ve-been husband.
He misses his Stephen.
~*~
England
March 26, 1586
Hawkins Castle
They dressed each other when their time ran short, where Stephen had his duties and Edward was to report to the lists. Stephen brushed the back of his fingertips over the shoulder he carefully wrapped. Edward caught his hand, kissing each fingertip before stealing a kiss from his lips. They broke apart quickly, knowing they must separate and pretend that they were different people, heart aching at the loss of proximity.
They pause before walking through the threshold, Edward stops just short of opening it to drink in Stephen’s dark, soft features: his wild chestnut hair that Eddie braided back to keep out of his face, his tanned olive skin holding the kiss of sunlight, his straight nose, gleaming teeth, his eyes-
Oh, his eyes were the most intense darkness of the forest, like fresh-turned soil with flecks of gold and hunter-green. Edward knew every emotion Stephen locked away from the rest of his face by taking just one glance into their murky depths. They told stories when Stephen kept something from him, he could never look Edward in the eye.
Stephen smiled back, nuzzling at the hand that brushed back his fringe that already escaped, “Try as you might, this hair is untameable.”
“Give it time.”
~*~
Hawkins, Indiana
Harrington House, Loch Nora
1986
“Oh my god,” Robin bellows from the open doorway, her voice echoing up the staircase, “We’re gonna both be late because you can’t stop playing with your hair! Let’s go!”
Steve continues to tweak at his bangs, waffling whether giving his hair another spritz or tease is the right way to go for the day. His lips thin, and he breathes out an impatient noise through his nose. Today, something in the air is making his hair poofy, wispy, and downright unmanageable.
This is not ideal because he has a date tonight and now he suspects he’s going to have helmet hair by the time the day is done.
Should he call off work entirely to ensure that his hair will stay this time?
Should he… cancel his date?
“DINGUS!”
“Augh, Jesus, fine!” He snags his green vest from the back of his chair and hurries down the stairs while shrugging it on. He looks up to see Robin’s upset muppet face, “What’s with your face? You were being all rushy-rushy.”
She frowns as he gathers his things and chastises him on their way to the car, “You really need to watch where you put your feet. I hate your stairs; what would I do if you trip and fell and broke your neck, Steven Beverly Harrington?”
He smiles wide while buckling in and turning the key in the ignition, “Well, if I didn’t know any better, Miss Buckley, I’d think you’re sweet on me.”
“If I weren’t such a hardcore lesbian,” She starts sweetly, toying with his collar, “I still wouldn’t be into you.” She draws back cackling when he smacks her hand away, “Honestly, though. Just worried for your welfare is all.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve redirects, their laughter and friendly vibes leaving a warm glow in his chest, “If not for me, then you’d have to walk to and from. I see you, Buckley.”
She snickers and she checks her makeup in her mirror, adjusting it as it’s the weekend- prime time for babe scouting, “Yeah sure. And not your incredible house with the pool, or that you are like, the best lesbian finder.”
Steve laughs uproariously as they turn into the parking lot, “Boss makes a dollar while we make a dime, so might as well cruise on company time!”
*
New York
Tudor City Apartments, Penthouse
1986
Wayne’s eyes scroll down to land on his bare feet as he puffs on his cigarette, “You gonna get dressed the rest of the way or is there a reason for your retreat jus’ now?”
Edward’s lips thin, roughly wiping his face did nothing to scrub away the grief or the bristling anger he was feeling. Honestly, he’s cornered like a wild animal, and he can barely stand it, “I don’t fancy discussing Brenner right now. Nor do I recall mentioning anything about wanting to hear the going’s on of the Watcher’s Council. Far be it from me to believe you actually came by to visit me.”
Edward turns his back on his uncle, his breaths harsh through his nose as he searches blindly in his top drawer for a pair of socks to warm his suddenly freezing toes.
He was always cold. A part of him thinks it’s been this way since his first death, but it could be PTSD… a number of things. It would be his luck to have poor circulation until the end of time. He takes a deep breath in relief when his fingertips brush over a pair of thick, soft socks.
Wayne nods in approval once Edward turns back with a more calm countenance. He is once again met with the unwavering kindness his uncle brings to every interaction between them, even when Edward doesn’t make it especially easy. Edward swallows past the lump in his throat. It hasn’t even been ten minutes, he marvels.
The older immortal watches him while he takes his time to put his socks over his marked feet. He forgot about the spidery coils of scarred and black vines that wrap over the length of his feet and up the length of his calf.
“…Difficult to get used to after all this time, I understand.” Wayne doesn’t, his body never did this every time he should have died. When the energy keeping him alive burned through to heal and mark him forever. Sometimes, in defense of another, they were beautiful.
There were other times when they… were not.
This is one of those times. He would rather forget it, so he shakes his head and directs his gaze at his uncle, “Might as well tell me about the ‘doctor’, then.”
“I need you to know that the Watcher’s Council didn’t send me, first.”
Well. That was… news to Eddie.
“Come again?”
Wayne blows a plume of smoke out and offers the pack to him. Figuring it was going to be one of Those talks. He levels an even look at his uncle, the same one that bores into him, as he shakes a cigarette loose. Wayne nods in satisfaction when Edward catches the proffered lighter and frowns when his nephew confiscates it. It was the least the older man could do- waltzing into his safe corner of the world, upending it, and corrupting his peace.
“It wasn’t the Watcher’s Council that hailed me,” Wayne begins. Once again he holds out the folder, an imploring look sufficient on his face, “It was actually your man, Hopper.”
“J-Jim Hopper?” Edward asks in shock, taking the folder in nerveless fingers. He shoves the cigarette in his mouth as he opens it, rifling through papers detailing strange occurrences happening in a town named Hawkins, Indiana. Attached to a clip is a black and white photo, to his utter shock and horror, the face staring back at him causes the cigarette to fall from his open mouth, “Elenor…”
*
England
March 26, 1586
Hawkins Castle
The weather was deceptive in their sanctuary, for the air was crisp holding promises of a spring storm. The wind whipped his hair and cloak, cutting through any space to nip at tender flesh. It made his shoulder and neck ache, chills skittering down his spine. He swore he heard a crack of thunder in the distance.
He slowed his trotting steps at the sight of his younger sister leaning against the doorway into the great hall, her dark blue woolen cloak wrapped tightly around her. Her face was solemn, as she always was. Her dark brown eyes- so much like his and their Uncle’s that he felt that strange shiver once more down his spine as she studied him.
“You are late this morning, brother.”
“Oh sweet Elle-bell,” he sang as he pulled her to his side, walking them both into the blessed warmth of the castle Hawkins, “a man is neither early nor late you know this.”
“Yes, a man; however, I woke with the dawn to help our uncle feed the horses.” She pushed off of him, hiding a secret smile in her hair, pulling a lock of curly chestnut curls over her mouth, “I suspect you were…occupied.”
They never spoke of his secret dalliance with Stephen though he knew she had an inkling. He wasn’t quite sure if their uncle knew, though if he did he kept it to himself. It seemed the Munson family were quiet folk, keeping to themselves and holding secrets close to ensure each other’s safety. He couldn’t begin to think of all the things that Wayne held inside, the man would look so worried for him at times that Edward had begun to jest that their uncle would turn gray far before his time.
“I…was,” he supplied. He snagged a goblet off of a tray that a servant carried, taking a healthy gulp of the watered-down mead. It had a bite, crisp like apples and sweet like wine, “the young lord had need of me early this morn.”
“A great need perhaps?”
Edward took another healthy swig, the sweetness of the drink turning over his tastebuds. He swallowed thickly and arched a brow, noting the deep blush that bloomed over her cheeks.
“Someday, you will find someone that seizes all sense and then you’ll understand. Until then, be happy with tending to the animals.”
“I dare say that day is long in coming, sweet brother.” She huffed before grabbing the goblet out of his hand and turning it to take a drink from the other side,
“I’m still considered a child to most, and looked over by many.”
He rolled his eyes, if she only knew of the many gazes that followed her, she wouldn’t make such a statement. She was beautiful in her solitude; dark features, ivory skin as clear as a statue, quiet and modest, she’d make anyone a fine bride. The mere thought of which made his blood run cold, so used to seeing her as the toddling babe he grew up with.
“A man would be honored to call you his wife, make no mistake of that, dear Elle.”
*
New York City, New York
Tudor City Apartments, Penthouse
1986
Edward curses, picking up the cigarette and patently ignoring his uncle watching him. He makes a face at the small burnt spot in the dove-gray carpet as if any of that mattered to him. Really, it was to stop himself from focusing on the little girl’s face, he refuses to believe it’s her- that she is his Elenor.
This one is a copy, some kind of soulless shell of a little girl that held his heart centuries ago. This one was some kind of puppet, had to be. Brenner was evil; wrong. He only wonders how Hopper is involved.
“So you’re what now? A glorified, immortal courier, perhaps?”
Wayne rolls his eyes while puffing his cigarette, “Why don’t you read it and find out, yeah?”
So he listens and reads every horrifying word made out in Wayne’s handwriting.
The photograph is of a little girl, by now fourteen simply named Eleven. At the age of (9? 10?) escaped a government-funded lab in Hawkins, Indiana. She was taken in by a diner cook, Benny Hammond, who was then neutralized by the security employed by Dr.Brenner.
Dr.Brenner was employed by the government to conduct experiments on a group of genetically altered children, intended as super spies. They were raised in Hawkins Lab, sheltered from the public, even from their families. These were children taken from their mothers who were then rumored to be on drugs, but no evidence supports this.
After Benny’s discovery, the security group hunted down the little girl resulting in the loss of many agents. She has since disappeared and is rumored to be in the care of James Hopper.
“Did he call you?”
Wayne nods quietly, “He did. He honestly had no idea what to do. There are kids… a group of them that befriended her, kept her safe. They still are.”
Edward closes the folder, laying it beside him on his bed, and relights his cigarette with shaking fingers. He’s glad that Hopper contacted his uncle first. He remembers a time a few years ago in which the man had called him for help and Edward was more than reluctant to give it to him. Then, he had zero context to go on and said some things Edward knew he shouldn’t have. He knows that he would have deleted the message outright, not out of a grudge but out of more than a little shame and reluctance to face his behavior.
Funny how being almost half a millennia old he still acts the age he was when he died. It was frankly ridiculous, he knows he needs to call Hopper. He understands out of anyone that time is short, and unfortunate things could unravel so quickly.
He lets out a breath, letting the smoke out through his nose to curl in the overcast light spilling into the bedroom, “I’ll have to call him. Sort this out, I expect.”
“An apology may be good for a start.”
Edward nods as he finishes his cigarette. The other man waited this long, he can wait a while longer for Edward’s heart rate to slow. Calling Hopper wasn’t the issue, it was facing the specters of their last conversation.
They were both heated, Hopper wanted to go back to his fiancée and live his life for as long as he could before he had to move on lest questions were asked. He wanted a wife, a career… children.
Edward closes his eyes as if it would shut out the things he said.
“Nothing will change what we are, you are damned- same as I!”
“I’d rather live my life than mourn it!”
Edward scrubs his face and ends up making a decision he hopes he won’t regret. He’s sure that he will because anything that alerts the Watcher’s Council’s attention, actively or not, always ends with him getting maimed in some way. He stubs out the cigarette, the tobacco going bitter and acidic. He faces his uncle, suddenly glad the man was there. He always had a habit of showing up right when Edward needed him most. They share a wan smile, Edward glad for the company while he talks through a reconciliation, and Wayne glad to be of any comfort to Edward.
That was the thing about immortals, Edward guesses. For them, there was still time to rewrite wrongs.
Even though time has taken away so many things from him, Edward is glad that it didn’t take his uncle.
He holds the receiver to his ear, punching in the numbers from memory, and Edward fondly remembers the time when the blasted invention was first made. How everyone who was anyone in high society just had to have one and now they have payphones on the corner of all things. The faint smile wipes away as it rings and rings until he hears a gruff, “Chief Hopper.”
“Oh, it’s ‘Chief’ now, eh?” Edward chuckles over the mouthpiece, already hearing the tinny, long-suffering sigh from the other end, “It’s Eddie, by the by.”
“Yeah, I gathered. I take it that Wayne caught you up?”
Edward leans back, eyeing the folder as if it were going to up and bite him, “He gave me the folder, Brenner is involved?”
“Has been since I called you last.”
Edward looks down at the floor, his jaw working. He’s wrestling with what he knows is right and the risk of losing his friend. Yes for them, time didn’t exactly matter all that much but he doesn’t want to deal with another decade of abject silence.
“Look, Hop,” For all his years of living, he finds it truly difficult to try and traverse this conversation. He’s not good with feelings, not after his heart shattered centuries ago. He takes a breath for courage and lets it out, “I don’t really think I can help-”
“- I don’t have time to talk you through your imposter syndrome right now, Munson. Things have steadily been getting worse, and I figured if I got Wayne or the council to help, then you would come around.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to help-”
“Look we can rehash this later, a lot is going on that I can’t discuss over the phone.” Edward can hear crashing, a loud tv, and several children yelling before he hears Hopper let out an exasperated sigh before holding the phone away, “Can you little shits not see that I’m on the phone right now?! Settle down before I send all of you outside to get sticks or something- I swear to god if you don’t bring at least one bottle of the good stuff I think we’re going to have to fight.”
Edward lets out a loud laugh, relief flooding through him and as if Hopper lifted a giant weight from his shoulders. This was how they did things; use humor, booze, and the ever-present annoyance of being surrounded by several beings younger than themselves. He nods even though Hopper can’t see the action, “Indeed, my friend. Expect us by tomorrow. I suspect this will be an extended stay?”
“Uhh, yeah. I hate to say it but it’s been a few years for me to try and straighten shit out myself and to be honest with you, I’m lighting the beacon.”
“Gondor calls for aid,” Edward sighs, mentally listing all of the things he was going to have to pack and plan. “And we will answer. I’ll keep in touch, but now you have my number, don’t hesitate to call.”
“-MIKE, I said keep the door open three inches, what part of that do you not get?!…..I don’t care who suggested it, but none of you need to be playing Bloody Mary in the middle of the goddamn day! Next time I turn around and see a closed door, I’m taking all of them off their hinges!”
“Yeah you lay down the law, you know how that turns my crank.”
“… I’m not going to dignify any of that with a response.”
He shakes his head and wishes him good luck as he hears another crash and a howl before the phone goes dead. Then it’s silent, except for their breathing. Edward can’t shake the dread he feels. It claws at his neck, and he can feel the phantom burn of his mortal wound even now, centuries later. They say those who don’t learn from their past are doomed to repeat it. What was it that he didn’t learn, what kind of trial must he be put through now?
He hates to admit it, that he’s scared. For the first time in a very, very long time he is terrified.
*
Hawkins, Indiana
1985
Hopper hangs up the phone, doing his level best to count to ten. He gets to five before he hears another crash, “Were you kids raised in a barn?! What the hell are you guys doing?”
It looks like they were building a fort, Jesus Christ. Sure, the lamp is destroyed, shoes are strewn everywhere, and he doesn’t want to know how long it’s going to take to clean everything up. But the look on their faces was worth the headache. They only got to be kids once. Eleven never got to have a childhood like the rest did.
Max’s brother is missing, they have no idea where. Hopper had an inkling that he was taken by Creel but that was information best passed on to people who were better equipped at handling things. That wasn’t to say that Eleven couldn’t handle things on her own, he’s seen how she can handle her abilities, but he also witnessed how much energy it took from her. She was so young, so powerful, and he was afraid of the toll it would take if she went up against Creel on her own.
He just couldn’t… he couldn’t let anything worse happen to her. And he knew that feeling this way was dangerous. He supposes that this was why Edward had been alone for so long, with no one but his uncle for company. Love is painful, the heartache burns until there’s only silence left.
He watches the kids as they blow out their candles, the boys blustering that they weren’t scared at all. He can see right through them, those boys were minutes away from bolting. The girls were far more put together yet still jittery. Over their heads he can see the lights flickering in the bathroom, he can feel a chill in the air. Something… someone was close.
Close, but far enough away to tell Hopper that whoever it was, they were powerful. Old.
Hopper rubs at the sudden ache in his chest, where poppies bloom in a close bunch right over his heart. He remembers when he felt that chill, that buzzing in his ears, the whiff of ozone in the air not that long ago…
~*~
Vietnam, 1968
When Jim wakes, it’s sudden and in the middle of the night. He sucks in a deep breath, his heart pounding. Each flex of the muscle was tight and pulling, shockwaves of pain arching over his sore chest and bruised rib cage. He drags in air as he paws at the sheet over his face in a panic, he has no memory of how he got here or why.
The only thing he remembers is going on patrol, making plans for when they get to go home. He remembers someone in his unit making the snide remark of ‘if we get to go home’, he turned and in that next second, he heard a rustling before there were a series of pops and red mist.
He looks down at himself in horrified disbelief. He’s still in his bloodstained uniform. A part of him wonders if they even had time to process the paperwork. He looks around at the rest of the space, hoping that he isn’t surrounded by all the friends he’s made. He hears footsteps approaching before he feels icy chills skitter down his spine. He can feel a sort of crackling in the air, can smell ozone but he’s not sure if that’s something to be concerned about or if it’s just… what it smells like in the morgue.
He’s gleaned enough to know that’s where he’s ended up. He’s plagued by questions but has the overwhelming urge to hide. He has no idea who or what is coming for him. Call it due to living in freaky Hawkins for years, he knows what this feeling is. There was a sense of something Other coming near, some kind of eldritch horror that his mind refused to articulate for him.
Jim ducks behind a few racks filled with boxes just as two men walk into his eyeline. The air suddenly feels heavy, the lights flicker, then silence descends save for their breathing. One is younger, tall, and lean with dark curls peeking out from under his helmet. He wore a dingy tank, his dog tags gleaming under the soft lighting. He didn’t look right; strangely pale despite the blistering sun during the day, littered with tattoos, large eyes bruised and haunted. There is a vulnerability about his demeanor that compels Hopper to come forward, shelter the young man. It was an odd feeling.
His older partner looked more at home in his uniform, wearing an olive unbuttoned over shirt, sleeves rolled up with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He too wore dog tags tucked under his tank, his helmet pushed back, his camo pants tucked into his boots. His ancient eyes held a world of sadness in their dark depths, projecting a sort of peace in the void of sorrow.
“You said he was brought in here.” The younger man was annoyed, his strangely melodic voice hushed. He sounded and looked so young, like all the teens shipped here straight out of high school.
“Aye, I did. As you can see I wasn’t wrong,” His companion’s voice was strained but patient, with underlying amusement that bespoke a long familiarity. “Notice the linens?”
“Fuck!”
The younger guy was a little dramatic, but then again Jim just woke up in the morgue so he doubts either man was expecting this turn of events. They draw closer and Jim soon realizes he doesn’t have anywhere to go, he doesn’t know why they are looking for him to begin with. If they were going to rob him he barely has anything of value except his clothes, his boots. He backs up as they get closer and the sound of his boot scuffing the ground makes both their heads whip over to his hiding place.
“Halt! Don’t move, son,” The older man holds up his hand, while the younger one moves between Jim and the tent flap. “We’re not here to hurt you, we have a lot in common.”
Jim glances at the younger man, whose attention shifts from the tent flap to the older man anxiously. He has no idea why he’s acting so twitchy, but he too can feel a kind of crackling in the air. He can hear a rumbling in the distance and hears a noise from the outside like something is happening.
“Wayne, we gotta get him out of here…”
“Get who out of where?” Jim manages to get out. He can’t explain away the panic he’s feeling, why he feels so jittery.
The older man, who he’s assuming is Wayne, holds up a calming hand. Like how one would calm a frightened horse. The younger man blusters just like the animal, rolling his eyes as he straightens. He directs his dark gaze at Jim who takes a step back, “He’s meaning you, Jimbo. You’re the one we need to get away from this mess. There’s a war going on out there.”
Jim scoffs, “Yeah. I kind of figured. Tell me something I don’t know, like how am I standing right now?”
“That’s quite a tale that I wouldn’t mind telling you,” Wayne assures, “but someone’s coming that I don’t think you’d care to meet. We can get you to safety if you trust us.”
Now Jim can hear the cacophony outside all the clearer. Their reason for their alarm was right outside, and coming towards them quickly. Jim can admit that he’s scared now, it’s different when he didn’t see his death coming.
He watches the younger man bounce on his heels and hurry to the back of the tent. Wayne quietly whispers for him to calm but Jim steps towards them to stop their brewing argument from boiling over. They quiet when Jim gets closer and though Jim knows better than to trust strangers because the world is awful, there’s something about these two that screams at Jim to follow them. Jim doesn’t want to run, knows that would technically mean going AWOL, he can’t stay here.
He takes a deep breath, “I’ll go with you. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Ooo, naughty language,” chirps the younger man as he ducks down to slide a rather long knife out of his….boot? That really didn’t look like it could fit-
He slices the back of the tent right as the other side rips open. The three men look back to see the coldest eyes set on a deceptively handsome face. The pleasant expression twists, darkening with hatred as a hand raises and he rasps, “Edward-”
*
They escape with Edward hot-wiring a nearby Jeep, driving it to the city with Wayne filling him in during their escape. They were Immortals; born with the gene to live forever, triggered by the shock of a violent death with only beheading their only release from the bloodlust and need to survive. It’s almost too much for Jim to believe until Wayne raises an eyebrow at the left side of his chest where they can all see the three poppy blooms.
“Do you have…?” Jim gestures to his torso, thick eyebrows high on his forehead.
Wayne cracks a grim smile before he lights his cigarette, “No, can’t say I do. I’m a Watcher, bound to my Immortal. We’re called when they are, and at some point, they’ll find you.”
Jim leans over to take the proffered cigarette from the far older man, “So did you guys happen to stumble upon me or-”
“Sent by the Council,” Edward says from the driver’s seat. His voice is soft but at the mention of the ‘Council’, his voice has a touch of brittleness to it, giving layers to the hurt held in the deep darkness of his eyes. He peeks at Jim through the rearview mirror for a second, the look like a physical touch of sympathy, “It’s a very long story, One of which I would rather discuss over a few drinks if that be amenable to you of course.”
His voice was melodic, a hint of an accent- somewhere from the kingdoms no doubt, having gone rushed with anxiety and the weight of time. Jim blinked, not sure if it was the strength of the nicotine or the blood loss- having died- that was making everything seem a little crazy.
Insanity or not, Jim’s life has just changed forever. He has no idea how he’s going to explain this when he gets home, or how he’s going to get home. All he does know is that these two strangers saved him from what he knows now was certain death- the forever kind. Just now he can see through the rearview mirror the golden glow of fire alighting Edward’s grime and sweat-streaked face. Eternally youthful, and yet so old at the same time.
Jim wonders if he’s going to look as haunted as his savior.
*
Hawkins, Indiana
Forest Hills Trailer Park
1986
“Ach, you gotta be kiddin’ me!” Edward whines as he slumps in the passenger seat of the beat-up van Wayne picked him up in, “This place is barely big enough to fit in my bathroom back home.”
“Quit yer griping,” Wayne grouses back as he turns the engine off, he wipes his face with the hanky he keeps in his shirt pocket. The air conditioning- if the van had any to begin with- was not working and it had been a long drive. “It was the only thing Hopper could find on hand at a moment’s notice-”
“We passed at least three rental houses-”
“Maybe this is his one last ‘fuck you’ until you both settle yer business, I have no idea but I’m tired and would like to get outta this van, iff’n you don’t mind.” Wayne makes a grand gesture of tipping the brim of his cap before he turns to hop out.
Eddie rolls his eyes, pouting for a moment because this was not what he was expecting in the slightest. He hops out of the vehicle as well and stomps up the few short steps into the trailer behind his uncle. It’s… exactly as he expected it to be from the outside. Cozy isn’t the word Edward wants to use, but he supposes that’s due to the heat and travel if nothing else. He’s lived in far worse places.
The floor has a pretty goldenrod shaggy carpet in the living room where it hosted a pull-out couch, a recliner, a stubby coffee table, and a television set in the corner. Wood-paneled walls were bare but were soon to be filled with Wayne’s mug and hat collection no doubt. He’s not sure how long they were to stay but he suspected for a good while yet and wondered what their story would be. He leaves Wayne in the kitchen to check out the rest of the small space. He strides down a short hallway that leads to a cozy bathroom that has a soft gold light over the dated vanity. He makes a mental note to visit the grocery store to get the essentials before moving into the bedroom.
It’s half the size of his guest bathroom back home, but it’s warm, cozy. There are two small windows, a closet, and access to another exit right next to his door. All he would have to do is take a peep down the hallway for any trespassers. He has to concede to Jim, the man did a good job finding them something easily defensible that would blend in with the rest of the town, won’t cause too many eyes prying into their lives for however long the Munsons stay in Hawkins.
He steps into his new life with a sigh that comes from deep within his bones. He’s weary of this. He wonders how many more lives he’ll have to step into, essentially alone in the prison of his existence.
Wayne’s arrival at his door breaks Edward from his thoughts. They both know why the silence descends between them, why the atmosphere in the room grows heavy with unspoken apologies and unending guilt. Edward’s eyes fill just as his throat closes with sentiments aching to escape. Instead of begging once again for forgiveness for shackling his uncle to him for the rest of eternity, he croaks, “What’s our story, then?”
Wayne smiles gently as he leans against the doorframe, unconsciously mirroring Edward’s pose, “Yer my young-buck nephew, Eddie Munson. I took you in when you were eight, yer dear mam is passed, father in the wind. I work at the diner with Hop’s watcher, Benny. You work at a record store in Starcourt Mall.”
Eddie’s eyebrows climb his forehead, impressed at the olive branch Hopper sent him. It wouldn’t do to make that known, however, so he purses his lips as he mulls it over, “I get to listen to my music?”
“That infernal screeching? Yeah, ‘course.”
Eddie snorts as he squints at the older man to hide the twinkle of amusement, “I suppose there’s all the food and drink I could possibly desire?”
Wayne rolls his eyes, which only makes Eddie snicker. He toys with a lock of his hair in mirth as he watches his uncle fight his smile. ”I suppose that can be arranged.”
“Mmm,” Eddie hummed with glee at the thought of endless chili fries, his beloved. “And I suppose I’ll be surrounded by noise and lights-”
“However, all the young pretty boys and girls for you to ogle to your heart’s content.”
“Ah, that.” Eddie sighs dreamily, “I guess… if I must. Can’t give the game away.”
“Appreciate your sacrifice,” Wayne murmurs as he straightens up. “We might as well unload the van whilst we still have daylight.”
Eddie stretches, “T’would be a lovely warm-up for my workout.”
“Just remember-”
“Yes, yes, yes, I know.” Eddie stretches with a groan, aching to take his Sweetheart out to join her in song again. It’s been so long since his self-imposed isolation, he can’t wait to dance alongside her again. However, “I’ll be sure to stay unseen. There’s a car graveyard over yonder, a forest beyond that. Plenty of cover.”
“Mm,” Wayne nods in approval and even now, centuries later, Eddie can feel his chest warm with the glow of affection. The older man pats the doorframe as he eases away down the hallway, calling out behind him, “Bring us back a bucket of that chicken, extra crispy.”
Eddie’s small smile stretches across his face and moves to join his uncle. The sooner he helps unpack the sooner he can sing with his Sweetheart. His fingers tingle to get his hands on her, the anticipation crawls under his skin and twists his guts. There’s a skip to his step, he somehow feels lighter as he follows his uncle out the doorway.
Who knew that he’d feel happy about running back to The Game? Certainly not Eddie.
*
Eddie never thought he would be so at peace standing in the middle of a wreck yard, in a small town he’d never lived in, and practicing moves he hasn’t needed to use in a long time.
Step. Step. Swing.
His sword whistles through the air, singing her deadly song as she cuts through the breeze. His heart sings with her, a forlorn melody, bittersweet that they can now harmonize together though the circumstances for their song are going to end in sadness. At least for someone.
Step. Step. Pivot.
Twist. Step. Thrust.
Tragedy for someone, though not for Eddie. Not this time.
He thinks he should be worried, it’s been decades since he’s faced the likes of Brenner. Eddie knows the man wants the secret to immortality, he’s one in about a million scientists who attempted such a thing through the years. Eddie was sent to destroy countless of them for the council through the years. However, therein lies the question: how did Brenner get Elenor’s DNA?
Step. Step. Pause. Listen.
Eddie swears he heard something- a cough or sneeze. He turns swiftly around, scanning the broken-down cars surrounding him. His sweaty brow furrows as his sharp eyes narrow in on a dusty bus. That would be the perfect hiding spot…
*
Dustin was on his very last nerve. First, Ted was awake and in rare form for the day, and that was enough to irk any well-behaved child. Secondly, no more syrup. Dustin wants to blame Erica, but since she didn’t stay the night he can only blame his other friends. He’s given Lucas the hairy eyeball since the unfortunate discovery, and yet their illustrious ranger still affects innocence.
He could set those two aside, but then- utter betrayal. Someone took the batteries out of his walkie-talkie, and it wasn’t Dustin. He knows that for a fact. He checked like, three whole times before bed. They were there, and then- they were not.
He may have gone a little too far in his investigation and knows that he ruffled some feathers. He knows he didn’t display good diplomacy, in fact, he believes he rolled a massive one on that skill-check roll.
He looks up to see that their path brought them to their usual hide-out: the car graveyard. Sandwiched in between the railroad tracks just outside Forest Hills trailer park and the rest of the town. There were fields in between, surrounded by the woods it was the perfect place for quiet contemplation.
Or it would have been if it wasn’t already occupied by a stranger.
He and his friends stop as they hear the scuffing of precise footsteps. Dustin’s brow furrows as Mike and Lucas peel off from the group, creeping near silently up to the front side of the school bus. Dustin and Will sneak over to the back of the bus. All four look around their respective corners to see a very strange sight-
A young man, tall and lean, stands in the middle of the broken-down cars. His hair is longer than Max’s brother, but brown and frizzy, much like a wood-elf is described in their D&D books. He wears a cut-off Metallica crop top under a leather jacket and denim vest studded with pins and patches. A pair of hole-ridden jeans are held up with a black and red flannel shirt tied around the lean waist, the cuffs of the jeans stuffed into black combat boots.
He’s wielding a sword as easily and deftly as Aragorn. He’s the most badass person Dustin has ever seen. Like, even more badass than Steve while they were hunting down Dart.
Aw. He misses Dart.
His breath catches in his throat as the man twists, steps, spins, swinging his flashing sword and cutting down invisible foes. He was graceful like Nancy, noticing the delicate footwork like dance steps already printed on the ground. He’s as silent as Eleven, they could barely hear him breathe or hear the crunch of his steps over the sound of the birds.
The man’s blade flashes as he makes a spinning x, the low whoosh of the air like a hum carrying over the breeze. The power of his swing seems to vibrate the air, Dustin feels a rumble in the ground underneath him. Dustin’s blood pounds in his ears stings in his veins as he watches the man dance in the middle of the clearing with a feral smile on his rangy face.
Dustin feels like he’s witnessing Aragorn stepping off the page and is now fighting for Hawkins, for them.
Dustin sees a true hero before him, and he’s everything Dustin thought he’d be.
*
The dance was something Eddie learned long ago, by firelight with his mother before she grew ill, and then from Wayne adding a wooden training sword to his barely large enough hand. It was heavy then, his seven-year-old scrawny self could barely lift the sturdy wood. Wayne was patient, forever patient with a stubborn, hyperactive child with a wee babe hanging at his hip.
It is that image, his uncle so tired and care-worn already with his sweet baby sister clinging to him that strengthens his arm and spine. He struggles then to hold it up, still so small and weak, but certain.
He wishes he carried the same stalwart bravery that his younger self wore like a mantle about him through the years. However, the more he drew to himself the more he stood to lose. He was so afraid to lose his family, his friends, and later his beloved Stephen that he hesitated-
A chill down his spine, a crack of thunder in the distance startles him enough to make him stumble. He stops; panting, sweating, heart thundering in his chest and his ear straining to catch any hint of his new adversary.
The wind tells him nothing.
But his heart whispers to him, clenching in his chest with the ache of familiarity. Of facing a loved one he’s wronged.
“Hopper,” Eddie looks over his shoulder at the man he hasn’t seen in almost thirty years. His attempt at looking older was effective, he held his age in his eyes. They looked so dark and haunted for someone so young, and it makes Eddie wonder what had transpired in the time he’d been gone to make his young friend look so ancient. “It’s been a long time…”
“Never had to be.” He shrugs. Easy, unaffected. His hands stay at his sides but that tells Eddie nothing. He wonders where the other man keeps his sword before he sees the flash of silver at his belt.
Smart boy, you learned well. Eddie’s feet shift ever so slightly, twisting and bringing his blade up to catch Hopper’s blade just in time. He beams at him over their crossed blades, licking his teeth and watching Hopper’s eyes track the muscle. He always knew how to distract him, “Well if I knew it was going to be this easy to taste your blade again I would have… come a lot sooner.”
“It’s not like that.” Hopper pushes him away with his blade, making Eddie stumble backward. He shifts his foot back, raising his blade in defense, “Did Wayne not give you the file?”
“He did,” Eddie parries his swing, following his blade in a little twirl. He deflects Hopper’s lazy thrust forward, tsking at the slow move, and swats at the man’s backside. He bites his lower lip as the impact travels up his arm, making him tingle, “I wanted to hear it straight from the source, you understand.”
Hopper straightens up, frowning at him, “E-El? You want to talk to her?”
The sound of her petname was like a punch to his gut. He knew their paths would eventually cross. It was an expectation for him of course, Eddie needed to see her, to be faced with what the outcome of misplaced trust brought all of them. What he can’t put his finger on is how Brenner accomplished it. This means he needs to face the reality that things are going to be uncomfortable for all of them.
Instead of making any of this known to Hopper, he shrugs lightly with his sword lazily swinging in his grasp, “Yeah? I assumed that’s why her photo was included in the folder. Or was that another manipulation?”
Hopper sighs as he straightens up and wipes his sweaty face with one large hand, “No. I guess I just didn’t think you would be interested, considering how we left things-”
“I was angry-”
“-you were hurt and you had every right to be.” Hopper says with finality. His jaw works as Eddie can do nothing but stare at him in silence, the atmosphere dropping in temperature with the abrupt mood shift. Hopper sheaths his sword, the hilt shifting into a broad belt buckle better to hide the weapon. “I think we both have a lot to talk about. But my shift is going to be over in a few hours, and I need to get back to her. She’s very… punctual. I’ll meet up with you at Benny’s and you can follow behind me.”
Eddie nods as he considers Hopper’s proposal, “Is there anyone else involved? T’would be best to have everyone circled under one roof to catch us all up, yeah?”
Hopper’s face shifts into immediate distaste, “I’m not saying you’re not wrong but…”
“But what, Jimbo?” Eddie walks to the hood of the nearest car where his guitar case is resting. His brows immediately drop when he hears something skitter behind the bus. He looks over but sees nothing amiss, he shrugs and chalks it up to a small animal. He flips open the lid and smiles at his beloved.
She is a gleaming Warlock, dark red and black, her strings perfectly tuned and gleaming beautifully. He strokes his fingertips gently down her strings and coos, “Sorry I’m late, Sweetheart.”
He takes her out of her case, sliding his blade into her neck with a soft hiss. He gingerly lays her back down to rest, the weight of her heavier than she looks now that his blade is safely sheathed inside. He locks the case with a quick flip of his thumbs and slides the strap over his head. He faces the other man, quickly clocking that his eyes were roaming everywhere face-down. He wants to smirk, maybe pose a little but he’s unsure of where they stand currently. It wouldn’t do well to try and push him into something he isn’t ready for. He can see the gears turning in the other man’s mind and wonders how close he and his Watcher are.
“It’s just that- through no fault of my own, mind you- we’ve collected… some friends.”
“‘Friends’?”
Hopper looks as if he’s mentally counting to ten and Eddie’s not sure if he should be offended that he’s trying the younger immortal’s impatience or if it was something else. “Yeah, it seems as though El has quite the following.”
The wind rips out of his lungs. He has to look away as his eyes immediately fill with tears he hasn’t let himself shed in what feels like centuries. His stomach clenches as his guts twist in alarm. The grief of his loss is as sharp and new as if he lost her just yesterday. He fights the memories as they crowd in the forefront of his mind, and he knows without looking that Hopper takes a few steps closer to give him comfort.
Eddie’s immediate intrusive thought was to burrow into Hopper’s warm embrace and beg him to make Eddie forget all of it. Even if it was just for a night or two. He’s unsure if that ship has sailed or if he’s hurt Hopper too much with their last words.
“That sounds… very familiar. Completely understandable.” Eddie wants to scream instead. He wants to rage at Hopper and ask him why he allowed children into their war. Again.
“You’re mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
Hopper smiles without any humor, “I know how you get when you’re mad and you’re mad.”
Eddie blows a pent-up breath through his nose in irritation, hating that Hopper can read him so well. “What do you want me to say? ‘Yes, Jim. I’m mad that you allowed children into our world when it’s not their war to fight.’ There. Are you happy now?”
“I’d be more happy if I didn’t have to pry that out of you.”
Eddie scoffs, wanting to be anywhere but where they are right now. He was feeling so relaxed before Hopper trundled into his sanctuary. He winds his arms around his middle, feeling suddenly very cold. He scuffs at the ground to avoid looking Hopper in the eye, “Yeah. Well. You know how much I dislike confrontation.”
“Which is just precious, considering.”
“You better have beer.” He glares at Hopper through his hair.
The younger immortal scoffs at him, “You don’t look old enough to have beer. I have soda, that’ll be fine.”
“I am at least three hundred years your senior. You will absolutely have a decent brew at yours if you want any help out of me.”
*
Lucas waited with his fist in the air while the rest of the Party were trying their best to be one with the side of the bus. They listened, barely breathing as the two men- nay, the two ‘immortals’- walked down the dirt path toward their vehicles. As their voices faded off into the distance, Lucas scanned the rest of the area around them before he nodded in satisfaction.
He turns to the rest of them as his demeanor relaxes and he allows himself to react to everything they just witnessed. Dustin feels the same way and they both share a flabbergasted look. Mike and Lucas were silent. For the first time ever, the Party was faced with an encounter they had no idea how to handle.
Lucas’ dark eyes darted between the boys before falling on Mike, then dropping entirely. Dustin squints as he folds his arms over his chest, Lucas mirrors the stance and nods as Dustin says, “Well somebody’s got some explaining to do.”
*
Eddie hops out of the driver’s seat of his van, stretching his arms over his head. He smiles as his muscles burn from the workout as brief as it was. He looks into his backseat where his Sweetheart rests and figures that a Watcher’s den is still a sanctuary as much as sacred ground was, thus the same rules should still apply. No fighting on hallowed, sacred ground. The dance is put on pause.
So as much as he would love to bring her inside, it would be seen as a threat and must be noted in the Chronicles. He has an inkling that Wayne would make sure the infraction would never see the light of day but he never got the chance to meet Benny. He blames his own insecurity, self-hatred, and jealousy for that. He blows her an air kiss, promising to play with her later as he locks the door.
The bell above the door calls out his arrival, with nary a trucker caring in sight. Wayne nods at him from the end of the bar with a mug of coffee in front of him. He slowly walks through the entryway, the scent of greasy food and breakfast meats wafting over him. It’s a welcome scent that makes his belly gurgle happily. He catches the eye of a man cooking in the kitchen through the order window: tall and broad, bald with a kind face. He works like a machine, his body moving so fluidly like the action was all muscle memory as he scans the diner with an alert eye.
Eddie supposes this man must be Benny, Jim Hopper’s Watcher. He ignores the immediate stab of jealousy, he has no idea what the relationship is between the two, and besides- it wasn’t any of his business. Whatever happened between Eddie and Hopper was (a decade? Decades?) ago, and he doubts that the other immortal would want to revisit it so soon.
Eddie accepted long ago that this is the silver lining to their curse of immortality: all they had was time.
He sits down next to Wayne, answering his uncle’s nod of greeting and taking the menu from him. How well he knows Eddie, a few hours of training always made him ravenous. He needs something to ground the raised energy and power. He needs salt, bread, and water. These are things for his body to burn that’s not his own blood, bone or muscle. He quickly scans through everything, it’s all so neat and organized. Everything Hopper likes. Everything that Eddie isn’t.
He has no idea why he’s harping on this. It doesn’t matter, none of it does.
He knows when Benny approaches, he can feel that same tingle down his spine that lets him know that an immortal is near but this is muted. It always is when it’s a Watcher. They were to follow their Immortal, always to record- never to interact. It seldom stops the most bloodthirsty of his kind.
He looks up into Benny’s warm gaze and knows instantly that this man will be threatened. He has goodness shining out of him like a beacon as bright as his welcoming smile.
“Wayne here tells me you’re his nephew,” Benny leans his hands on the counter, almost looming over the pair of them. Eddie doesn’t miss Wayne ducking his head to smile into his coffee. “You’re Eddie, right?”
“That’s right,” Eddie agrees in a low voice, directing a sly look at his uncle who was turning an interesting shade of vermillion, “Eddie Munson, at your service it seems. I take it you’re Benny Hammond?”
“That’s right.” The man agrees in the same tone as Eddie. Sassy, Eddie decides he likes that. The man magics a ceramic mug out of thin air, though he’s sure that Benny keeps the mugs under the counter. He fills the mug with hot coffee without taking Eddie’s order, a good tavernkeep knows what their clientele desires and Benny is no exception. Eddie likes him more as he slides the sugar well and creamer over with a cheeky grin.
They spend an hour or two sitting at the counter and conversing with Hopper’s Watcher before they get the message that he just clocked out. Eddie’s stomach clenches with the need to purge his meal. It isn’t just that he is anxious to see Hopper again, he supposes it’s the mix of being between the same four walls as the other immortal and seeing his charge for the first time that is making him nervous.
He wants to see her, this…Eleven- or was it Jane, now? She should have a real name by now. Having a being reduced to just a number chafes his soul. He truly thought they evolved from such barbarism but Eddie knows there was little if no hope for Brenner’s soul. He wonders just how similar this child is to his beloved young sister Elenor.
He wonders just as much if he could walk away from her once they meet. Or even if he should this time. Maybe this was his chance to rewrite the sins of his past.
*
They follow Benny’s directions towards Hopper’s cabin out in the middle of the damn woods. Eddie grips the middle console of Wayne’s truck and the oh-shit handle, cursing under his breath at the bumpy ride. Wayne just snickers at him and apologizes to his ‘ladyship’ for the rough backroads of Indiana. It was worse centuries ago, carriages and horses barely had the shocks that modern vehicles have now. Eddie’s always hated motor travel, he misses his horse.
He feels another clench in his guts as he sees Hopper’s Jeep parked outside his cabin. As Wayne pulls closer to park the vehicle, he feels the familiar ripple down his spine that indicates an Immortal is near. He climbs out of the passenger side of the door, hearing the crack of thunder in his mind, smells ozone in the air- the second warning that more Immortals are near. He doesn’t feel the usual alarm in his chest that would indicate they want to cause them harm, so he relaxes.
It’s not as if he doesn’t trust Hopper, far from it in fact. He doesn’t exactly trust anyone else around here, certainly not a young child who looks eerily like his own family. He worries that this is some ploy either to get close to Hopper or Eddie himself.
Wayne walks around the front of the cooling truck, sending him a crinkled and comforting smile. They climb the stairs, hearing Hopper through the cracked window. The breeze ruffles the soft curtains beyond but does nothing to muffle the shout inside, “I told you not to say anything! To anyone, kiddo! I don’t know what’s so confusing about that!”
“Friends don’t lie!”
God. Her voice.
Wayne had a hand lifted to knock, but it was frozen in mid-air at the shout. Eddie stumbles backward off the stairs, twisting to scramble to his uncle’s truck. He grips the door, his fingers wrapping over the open window. He hangs from it in a crouch in order to slowly breathe- to slow his hammering heartbeat.
It has been four hundred years yet he remembers her voice as though no time has passed. He can’t breathe, his lungs burn- whether it was for oxygen or to scream he’s unsure.
He startles when he feels a warm, broad hand settle between his shoulder blades and knows it's Wayne as he crouches down to eye level.
“I know. It messed me up too, bud.”
“It’s her,” Eddie croaks. He didn’t know he was capable of tears after so long but here they come all the same, flooding his eyes and threatening to spill. What would Wayne say to that? “It’s her, Wayne. How can I face her? After all this time? After everything I’ve done?”
Wayne doesn’t say anything for a few moments, long enough for them to hear the creak of the cabin’s door opening. Eddie hunches into himself, he doesn’t think he should be here anymore, not even with the subtle promise of being near Hopper again. He feels Wayne’s hand stroke down his back, the short scuff of his boot grinding in the gravel as he faces the newcomer, “We’ll just be a minute, Jim.”
Fuck. Jim can see how this is affecting Eddie; it was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to come to Hopper from a place of strength, of steel, and bravery. Not weak, small, and feeble. Undone by a young lady’s voice. Even if it is his long-dead sister’s.
“Shit,” Hopper’s voice was gravelly but still a balm. Eddie can mentally see a harried Jim filling his doorway, a great paw of a hand dry-brushing his face in a show of nerve and fatigued irritation. Eddie aches to be wrapped in his strong arms, to have those hands caressing away his pain. Even if it was just for a night. He was forced to let Stephen go due to his mortality, but there could be a happy ending yet. At least for beings like them. “Sorry, we just had some shit go down and…It looks like things aren’t as secret as they should have been.”
“I said I was sorry-”
“I told you to get back in your room! I wasn’t just wasting air there!” Hopper yells into the cabin and leans wearily against the door, “Sorry. I figured we might have some things to discuss before I had her come out, but it seems like my plans have been derailed.”
“Tends to happen with children,” Wayne chuckles easily. Eddie can’t see how his uncle is so easygoing with all of this whereas Eddie feels like his soul is trying to claw its way out. He trembles against the truck, terrified to go inside. He suddenly feels equally too young and too old to deal with this, to face his young sister’s doppelgänger.
Eventually, his heart settles. Wayne stands, stepping away from Eddie to give him some space. Eddie just shakes his head, takes a deep breath in and holds it. He closes his eyes, seeing the desiccated burnt corpse of her small body dangling from the parapets of Hawkins Castle.
Maybe this was a second chance for Edward and Elenor. Maybe there was hope for all of them. So he summons all his strength and turns to face his future. He joins his uncle and faces Hopper at the doorway to his cabin, giving him the first smile in ten years.
*
Walking back into Hopper’s warm, cozy cabin is like walking into a memory. The last time he was here was at least ten years ago. A whole weekend with just the two of them: hunting, fishing, training, fucking. It was bliss.
It was bliss until Hopper mentioned his fiancé, and how she was pregnant. That started the beginning of their end. They fought long into the night; circling in betrayal, cheating, the reality of their immortal lives, and the bitter disappointment of their handicaps.
Immortals couldn’t have children. Women couldn’t bear children, their wombs completely barren. The men had the slightest chance of conceiving with a mortal woman, but the chances of the pregnancy staying viable were slim. Even then, if the child were to live long enough to reach puberty they could be targets for other Immortals gone mad with power.
Hopper didn’t want to listen to Eddie, too wrapped up in a dream of a mortal life that Eddie knew he had no chance of keeping. They fought for hours before Eddie told him that he was free to make whatever mistakes he wanted, but that he wasn’t going to be present when it all blew up in Hopper’s face.
He left that very night, off to New York to live like a ghost in his penthouse apartment. For ten long years, he stayed away and now he was walking inside. Honestly, it was like he never left, the TV was facing the couch and he can see the little Formica table set for two.
For all the similarities, he can see influences of someone else: fresh wildflowers picked from outside, movies and books in haphazard stacks, smaller shoes with doodles and words marked all over them kicked off near the door, a small coat. He feels a knot in his throat, a hitch in his chest, and wants nothing more than to turn tail and run like he did all those years ago. Wayne’s hand between his shoulders stops him from doing just that, and he forgets that this is just as important to his uncle as it is to him. He knows he can’t take this away from him like Eddie’s taken away nearly everything else.
“So uh… just make yourselves comfortable,” Hopper nods at the broad expanse of the room before he takes a deep breath and approaches the door. Wayne moves throughout the small space, picking up random things that on the surface wouldn’t mean much to another but mean everything to them.
Wayne lifts a Walkman with headphones, a small notebook filled with stickers and scrawling handwriting. It brings a watery smile to Eddie’s face as he watches him from just inside the door, too nervous to walk further inside. He can see Hopper and a smaller shadowy figure conversing with each other in the next room. He can hear their muffled voices but nothing of consequence, his attention too focused on what Wayne was poking through.
His uncle places the items back on their small table and moves on to poke through their kitchen. He opens the cabinets, pulls down a few mugs. Eddie fights the urge to tease the man, he is only doing his job as a Watcher. Anything of consequence was recorded, which also included their cutlery apparently.
His humor fades as Wayne makes a noise from deep in his chest. When Eddie looks at the trash to see what affected him, he can see an empty box of Eggos. His heart skips a beat.
It may mean absolutely nothing to others, but to Eddie and Wayne, it means the world.
Wayne looks up at him, his eyes bright, “She always liked those honey cakes the cooks made.”
“Aye,” Eddie croaks out. His words felt like sand and gravel over his dry tongue. He refuses to let any further tears to shed, at least not here and not in front of Hopper. He nods at his uncle, “That she did. Used to con me out of my share every morning.”
Wayne huffs a faint laugh, “You never liked the honey cakes.”
“Mmm, t’wasn’t a secret. Cook knew I gave my cakes to her, she gave me extra rolls and meat.”
“Cook was always sweet on ye. Reminded her of yer mam she said.”
The creak of the bedroom door opening alerts them to the newcomer’s presence. Wayne and Eddie turn to see Hopper in the doorway, with slim legs and little feet peeking out from just behind him. Eddie straightens up, keeping his hands where they can see them as his fingers curl around the counter.
“No fear, little lamb,” Wayne says softly. The shock and shiver that occurs throughout Eddie feel as if Wayne gutted him with his own blade. It was the same phrase he’d say to Elenor when she’d wake from a nightmare.
It was just as magical a phrase then as it was now since the young lass edged out from behind Hopper. All the breath leaves Eddie’s lungs because there before him is the spitting image of his younger sister, Elenor.
She was taller now than she was then, he supposes it was due to whatever else they spliced her DNA with. Her dark eyes were large, framed with long sooty lashes, her hair a curling halo about her head. Eddie yearns to reach out, to test the softness of the curl closest to her porcelain, rosy cheek. She looks at them without an ounce of fear, more curious and intrigued than anything.
Even as she looks at Hopper for encouragement- which he gives with a nod of his head and an indulgent smile that makes Eddie ache, she still walks toward them with courage. She stops a few steps away from them but Eddie can feel the power rolling off of her. It’s different than sensing one of their kind, this feels more like a rolling thunder, like a storm on the horizon filled with warm raindrops.
The energy tells him she means no danger, none at all. He’s drawn to her like a magnet. Without giving any leave to his feet he’s compelled to approach her. He can barely breathe as he reaches out, unable to stop himself. Her hair was just as soft as he thought, silky and sweet-smelling, springing from his shaking fingers. She blinks up at him with wide, guileless eyes and all he wants to do is crush her into his arms.
This is his sister, his little lamb, his everything. She was taken away so young, at the very start of her life. A tiny flame snuffed out before she could become her own fire.
She reaches up, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone to wipe away a tear he didn’t know he shed. He gasps at her light touch, feeling the spark of electricity, of unbridled power they held within them. Her dark eyebrows tilt up and in a low, soothing voice proclaims, “You look just like me.”
He beams at her, tears leaving silvery tracks down his rangy face as he nods, “Aye, little one. I do.”
“Just old.”
“El!” Hopper admonishes. He sputters at the room at large as Wayne and Eddie laugh. “We discussed this: manners?”
She shrugs, “Why? He is old.” She peers into his eyes and he shivers at the void he sees in those dark depths, “Very old.”
“How old do you think I am?”
She reaches up as he leans down, his eyes fluttering closed at her gentle touch. Once again he feels a shiver, he can feel power vibrating from her fingertips all the way down his body but breaking their contact is furthest from his mind. He takes a deep breath, and as he lets it out-
Hawkins Castle
1586
“I dinnae see why you must leave tonight of all nights,” Elenor grumbled, under her breath but Edward could hear her anyway. His heart broke for her, and he wanted- so desperately- to bring her along with him and Stephen but they had only enough funds to get passage for two. She shook her head as she rolled his sparse clothing into a sack, “They’ve set more guards on tha parapets since Lady Wheeling arrived. You both will be spotted. Sir Stephen will get out of it unscathed but I willnae say the same for you, my brother.”
He hesitated as he fastened a pack closed. He padded up to her and cradled her face in his hands, “If I could bring you, I would. You are my soul, sweet Elenor. My heart beats for you. Nothing anyone can do will change that.”
“I’m frightened for you, brother.” Her eyes were large, glassy, their look equally as imploring as they look far away, “I fear for you this night. You shouldn’t go, either of you.”
He’s seen this expression before, on their mother just before their father abandoned them. He’d seen it when the skies grew gray and the leaves fell when his mother paused at the open window and took a deep, rattling breath. It was the last autumn they spent with her. He saw the same look on her face from time to time and he’s never questioned any of her prophecies.
“What do you see, sister?” She trembled in his grasp, so he took his cloak off and wrapped it around her, “Have the stars been speaking to you? What do they say?”
“Grief. Pain, so much pain,” Tears fell to paint her cheeks in silvery tracks, but her face still remained frozen. As if her soul was stuck inside of her mind. She gasps, letting it out in a rasp, “It is not safe here. It’s not safe on the road, where the trees arch. Do not go down the road.”
Hopper’s Cabin
Hawkins, Indiana
1986
“-you went down the road.”
Whatever proof he needed to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the young lady before him was his kin was like the soft whisper of a blade as it slid along one’s throat. They move out of each other’s space, “I did. You were right long ago.”
“She was,” El agrees. She smiles sadly, “I’m sorry for what happened.”
“What the hell was that?”
Wayne shrugs a shoulder at Hopper’s outburst, his arms crossed in front of him as he leans against the counter. He is utterly relaxed, watching the two in bittersweet awe, “It’s a thing El always has done. They were both touched in a way.”
“So asking is just going to raise more cryptic questions, right?”
“Mhmm.”
Eddie reaches out his hand, relaxing as she takes it without hesitation, “You have our protection. For as long as I draw breath, I shall defend you and all you hold dear.”
“You’ll be my friend?”
The sweet, innocent question breaks his heart even more. To know that more than likely her childhood was ripped away by a madman bent on making the Perfect Being, one at his disposal to use was nauseating to the Immortal. Ripped away from her mother, grown without freedom, light, and laughter? If all she wants was something so simple as friendship, that was easy enough to give.
“Aye, sweet El-belle. I’ll be your friend.”
*
Dinner was frozen pizza heated in the oven. Eddie is shocked at Hopper’s lack of cooking skills, Wayne cackles at the room at large while El questions what kind of meals Eddie could make.
“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you tend to pick up a thing or three.” He says primly as he takes a large bite of his pizza, curling his tongue around to catch the string of cheese as he pulls it back. Hopper just stares at him- or rather his tongue, as El giggles at his antics. He catches Wayne’s eye roll and attempts to kick him under the table to no avail. For a man that just watches for a living, he’s rather spry when he wants to be.
“Yet ask him how long it took him to get used to all the new-fangled cookware,” Wayne supplies, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he sips from his beer, “And how many fire extinguishers we’ve gone through.”
“It’s not my fault they don’t know how to make a microwave you can put metal in,” Eddie sniffs delicately, “That just seems like a design flaw to me.”
Hopper grins at him, making Eddie’s chest feel warm and tight. This isn’t exactly what he was expecting when they came out here: having a pleasantly cozy night with his created progeny, another Immortal, and his Watcher. He can’t say that he minds it, El was a real treat- full of questions, an excellent listener, and refreshingly honest.
Everything his dearest Elenor was, and yet when Eddie looks at her it’s almost like seeing a stranger.
By the time they were finished with their pizza, El’s walkie-talkie was going off in her bedroom. It seems that one of her friends knows how to enhance the signal power so they can reach each other within Hawkins. Ingenious according to Eddie, irritating according to Hopper. Eddie supposes it’s because he was jealous that he didn’t have a cool gadget like that, only receiving a dirty look when mentioned.
Her friend lives in Forest Hills trailer park, across the gravel from where the Munsons live. They both want to see each other, her friend having some ‘new information’ that they ‘totally gotta talk about’. Eddie wants to pry, already protective of his pseudo-younger sister and mistrustful of others on general principle. But then he remembers, like ice water over his back, that El is not his El, his Elenor. She is actually Eleven- the child made from part of his DNA, raised in Hawkins lab for ten years. One year on her own, and three more with Hopper, she was not a delicate doll to be cradled against one’s chest. He couldn’t imagine the things she went through, at least he has a childhood of memories whereas he doubts she has half as much.
She squares off against Hopper because she wants to go to her friend yet Hopper is firmly against it, although why is unclear to Eddie. He supposes the two get into more trouble than Hopper can handle, her aura practically screams trouble and mischief but on a far grander scale than he’s ever seen so he can understand Hopper’s reticence. He might have only known her for a few short hours, but even Eddie is protective of her.
“Mayhap- er, maybe Wayne could take her since she lives so near to our trailer?” Eddie decides to interrupt their staring contest to provide an alternative suggestion, one that would appease all parties involved. El seems very keen on the idea, Hopper looks to be on the fence. Wayne was on board with their plans, and smoothly broke eye contact by directing Hopper out to his balcony with a beer ‘to talk’.
Of course, Wayne would ease the way for his kin, Eddie has no idea what he would do without him. He lets the other two talk out on the deck and focuses on his- on El.
“How are you faring, little one?” At her questioning look he shrugs, “It seemed your young friend needs you something awful fierce. I hate to have overheard because a young lady deserves her secrets, but if there’s a way we can help… I wouldn’t mind assisting you.”
She considers it, seems the air around her is buzzing again as if her thoughts were trying to make their way into the physical realm. Maybe if he helps her, she will trust him enough to let him into her past and the secrets therein. Growing up was difficult enough without being born different… special. Besides, trouble has a way of finding their family without anyone looking for it. They have a duty to keep an eye on the youth.
“My friend’s brother went missing,” She begins quietly. Eddie notes that she developed the same little line between her brows as his long lost sister. He wants to smooth it out, to smile as she leans her head into his palm until he remembers that once again, this is not his Elenor.
“Ah, I see. And she needs your help to find him?”
She nods, “I’m the only one who can find him.”
He folds his arms, leaning against the counter he asks her, “And how is that, pray tell?”
“If I have a picture of the person I can find them anywhere.”
That alone was chilling. He’s sure that there is more than what she is telling him, he’s doubly sure that he would have to gain more of her trust in order to find out anything else. Is it alarming to him that he’s willing to hear her out, actually help her?
Maybe, but what part of his life wasn’t truly alarming? A four-hundred-year-old Immortal in the guise of a twenty-something who couldn’t die unless he was decapitated? Or that a teenager wasn’t being entirely truthful to an adult who yearns to reform a severed connection?
He’s truly fucked all around. Maybe if he helped her then she wouldn’t come to any harm or less harm than she would have otherwise.
He needs to act fast, he knows how fired up their blood could get under normal missing cases. He looks out at Hopper and Wayne, mentally asking for their forgiveness because this is dangerous- any one of them could be harmed, maybe even killed.
He vows that he will be the only one in the crossfire should that happen. It’s not like he can really die a true death, but he’s old enough now to understand that this is but one thread in the massive tapestry of life, and disturbing it in any way could unravel things that should never have been messed with.
“The only thing I ask of you is that you keep this between us for now- me helping you,” Eddie nods out to their respective elders adding, “I don’t want them to overhear us plotting and getting it into their heads that they need to protect us. You know how protective Hopper is?”
El nods at him. He smiles because in that second she reminded him of when his Elenor was just as young, hanging on to his every word like it was direct from the angels.
“You haven’t seen ‘protective’ like Wayne.”
*
They stand in silence, enjoying their beers out on the deck. The sun is low on the horizon with the rest of Hawkins out in the distance, their twinkling lights beautiful against the night sky. It’s peaceful, the crickets already singing their songs.
If it wasn’t for the certain heartache he knew that was waiting for his nephew, he would enjoy the camaraderie. Alas, it was not to be because these idgits had to keep secrets all the damn time.
“So are you gonna be the one to tell him?”
Jim takes a sip of his beer, pretending nonchalance but Wayne’s seen the way he was tracking Eddie since he walked through the door. Jim further disappoints him by shrugging, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do,” Wayne easily disagrees with him, “Lying to a Watcher is pretty dang stupid. Didn’t take Jim Hopper as damn stupid but then again, I have been mistaken from time to time.”
He still says nothing.
Wayne sighs. It seems that just like with his nephew, he was going to have to pry it out of him. He dry brushes his face with his hand before he just comes out with it, “This whole drama with El is tied in with her friends.”
“Yes.”
“Friends that are connected with a certain young man in Hawkins.”
Hopper’s shoulders square. He’s trying to seem like Wayne isn’t chipping away at his defenses, but no one could square up against a Munson and their eyes without coming back from it unchanged. He levels a look at the younger immortal, knowing exactly when he hit his target. Hopper blinks rapidly and huffs. He was caught.
“A certain young man who is descended from someone that could break our boy.”
“And what would you want me to do about that?” Hopper bursts out. He peeks through the doorway but the other two seem to be in a deep conversation of their own. Which was fine with Wayne, he’s familiar with Eddie and El- even if this new El was a faint copy of his niece, he would never deny their kinship. As it is, he can take them on easily.
It was the damage that he knew Hopper could do to Eddie that made him pause. He isn’t about to let that happen to him. Not again.
“If you do not tell him about Steve before he has the chance to actually see him, I will.” Wayne stares him down, putting every one of his four hundred years of age, pain, and rage into his words, “If you don’t tell him tonight, knowing what it is that you know, you will lose his trust forever.”
With that he leaves the deck, chugging the rest of his beer, “Bus is leaving in five, short stack.”
*
He watches Wayne maneuver the truck out to the road, smiling as El gives both Eddie and Hopper a jaunty wave out the window. It breaks his heart, to see such a stark contrast in her from the solemn girl he met to this excited and cheerful young lady being escorted to her friend’s house.
For just a moment, Eddie can pretend that this is just a normal night for them. He and Hopper could have been together all this time, raising a child that had started with no one and nothing. They could have given her a happier life if Eddie didn’t fuck things up between them. Now, he wonders if maybe they could heal the rift between them. He hopes that Hopper can forgive his time away with no contact. The thing that gives him hope is that they have all the time in the world to talk things out, to heal.
He feels Hopper’s presence without needing the skittering of alarm that he always feels when one of their kind is close. This time, the buzzing isn’t as frenetic as it usually is. He supposes that Hopper’s mood is mellow and not bent on taking his head- which is what Eddie is used to feeling when confronted with another immortal. His suspicions are confirmed as he feels Hopper’s large hand sliding along his lower back to his side. He lets himself be guided to his friend’s side, burrowing into his warmth like he used to do all those years ago.
He rests his head on Hopper’s shoulder and listens to the noise of the woods, sighing contentedly. Hopper chuckles, and squeezes him close until Eddie creaks, “You seem happy for someone who did a fine impression of a hedgehog earlier.”
“I had my reasons to stay away. You know that.”
Hopper snorts, “Punishing yourself.”
Eddie closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of Hopper’s warm body along his own. His fingertips stroke his side like he’s soothing a wild animal and Eddie knows he’s not far off in that assumption. Eddie was like the wind, a surging storm, thunder and lightning- wild, free, and alone. Which was how he preferred it for so long. No ties to anyone, not anymore, no one to have to pay for his crime of immortality. No one to use against him anymore.
It was lonely. He was lonely, frozen, and so tired of running. Fighting. Haunted by memories that he can never erase, not with drugs, booze, or willing bodies. He tried everything, and nothing could make him forget his last true night of being human. Of seeing exactly how evil trusting someone could be.
“You know,” Eddie can’t help but smile at Hopper’s voice rumbling through his chest, trying to sound nonchalant, “The sunset looks really nice from my deck out back.”
“Yeah?” Eddie presses his lips together to stifle the chuckle and the immediate teasing he wants to do. “I suppose the deck out back is through yon bedroom?”
“Yeah,” Hopper agrees, he sounds nervous and irritated at himself at the fact, “The trees around here block out the best of it, but I-I get how that sounds.”
Eddie twists to face Hopper, grinning from ear to ear as the other immortal winds his arms around his waist, “And how did it sound, Chief Hopper?”
“Like I was propositioning you, I guess.”
“Hmmm, tempting-” Eddie smirks as Hopper’s eyebrows meet, seeing the twinkling in his eyes as the other man catches on, “-but isn’t solicitation against the law?”
“I’m not paying you.”
“What would you be paying me for?” Eddie lets his eyes go big and wide, pressing against Hopper’s front and feeling exactly how their proximity is affecting each other. He enjoys playing and teasing. It makes the blood pump hotter.
“Jesus-”
“Nope, just Eddie.”
Hopper sobers a little, brushing a thumb against Eddie’s cheek. Eddie’s breath stutters in his chest because he hasn’t seen Hopper look at him like that in a very long time. Like he’s melting inside with affection, the frozen parts of him are thawing under Eddie’s presence, and he wonders just how long he kept himself away from everyone.
How lonely it’s been for both of them because they were so stubborn. How harrowing the reasons that brought them back together were. Eddie knows this isn’t the end of it, missing children didn’t just happen, nor was children coming back from the dead a regular occurrence. He knows all of this is connected somehow, he just doesn’t know how exactly.
Whatever it is, he hopes that this could be the start of something better.
“Eddie, do you want to watch the sunset with me in my bedroom?”
He doubts they’ll be watching anything but each other. Just like the last time, he feels a stab of guilt that he was once again losing himself in someone else. A part of him, whom he thought long since dead, insisted that it should be Stephen in front of him. It should be Stephen wrapping his arms tightly around him, brushing his cheek and along his jaw with his thumb. It should be Stephen making him tremble and gasp, feel safe in one’s arms.
But it’s not. It’s someone else. And maybe it was time for him to let Stephen go. He can’t live forever being haunted by his past, by the ghost of a lover whom he gave his heart, body, and soul to. As much as it hurts, he needs to take Wayne’s advice and move on.
So he pushes down the yawning grief of his first love, and decides to take a step towards something new and healing. He smiles at Hopper, catches his thumb between his teeth for an impish bite before husking, “Lead the way, Officer.”
*
Hopper was right, the sunset did look beautiful on his back deck. He watches the lights of the town twinkle as the sun dips below the building’s skyline. His thoughts were for once settled into a gentle hum, anticipation nipping at his nerves, coupling with the soft breeze, making him shiver. He feels Hopper’s presence along his back before his large hand winds around his side, gently holding his flat belly. He feels so warm, so comforting as he holds Eddie close and gently rocks them from side to side.
His eyes slip shut as Hopper nuzzles behind his ear, “Any second thoughts?”
Eddie gasps as his fingers tease underneath the hem of his shirt, stroking the soft skin. His lips part, nothing but a barely there sigh escapes as he feels Hopper’s lips brushing down the side of his neck, his mustache tickling the skin. His other hand brushes down Eddie’s arm, lifting the beer bottle from his lax grasp.
“Don’t want that to tip over,” He murmurs as he sets it on a table beside them. There was a chair next to it and an ashtray spilling over with spent cigarettes. Eddie wonders if the chair will hold both of them and quickly squashes that idea as Hopper cradles his face, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip. Eddie forgets to breathe for a moment, “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”
His lips tingle when Hopper kisses him, his lips are soft, but it’s his mustache that catches Eddie's stubble, scratching at his lips and chin. God, he wonders how his whiskers would feel scraping against his neck, down his chest. Fuck- between his thighs.
Hopper shushes as he pulls back, “It’s okay. We’ll go at your pace.”
Hopper thought he was scared. Nervous, yes, overwhelmed maybe, but he was far from scared. He’s slept with plenty of people over the centuries, but never one that he knew for more than a fortnight. He was afraid of creating deeper ties, in case something should happen. People who grew close to Eddie wound up injured or worse…dead. He knows that Hopper is just like him, that he can take care of himself, but there was this lingering presence in his past- always at his back, lurking in the shadows, ready to strike when he was his weakest.
Could he chance being weak with Hopper?
Eddie wets his lips, noticing how Hopper zeroes in on the action, “I need you to know, I don’t do this with people close to me.”
“If this is about Creel-”
“Yes, but-“
“Then you know I know about him. I know what he did to you,” Hopper runs his thumb along his jaw, “I won’t let him hurt you again.”
“That’s sweet,” Eddie chuckles. He drifts out of Hopper’s arms and walks into his bedroom, pulling his t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion. He turns to face a gobsmacked Hopper, running his hand down his tattooed and scarred chest. Hopper follows his ringed hands as they ghost down his body, undoing his belt, “I meant I don’t usually fuck people close to me.”
Hopper snickers as he leans against the doorframe, “What, you got some kind of murdercock going on?”
Eddie grins at him, sliding the zipper down tooth by tooth. He watches as Hopper’s eyes glitter while they rake all over his body, as he licks his lips in anticipation. Eddie’s never felt this lusted over in so long; most of the time his dalliances were quick and hurried. Enough to slack the thirst, to ease the ache long enough to quiet the screaming grief and unending loneliness. This was nice, it felt like they were just two men meeting up to fuck because of nothing more than lust and attraction. There’s so much more that he sees when he looks at Hopper, but he tells himself to not get his hopes up, Eddie might not be the one for him. He wants to be enough. He wants to be enough for someone.
All he wanted was to be someone’s and to have that taken away the first time killed him. He’s afraid of what it will do to him if it happens again.
He doesn’t let any of it show, he wants to lose himself with someone he can trust to let down his guard. Even if it’s just for one night.
Eddie snickers at him as he shimmies out of his jeans, letting the denim and his boxers pool at his feet. Hopper’s already across the room, unbuckling his belt and almost tearing his buttons off the flannel he’s wearing in order to press their hot flesh together. He plunges a huge paw into Eddie’s hair, cupping the back of his head to pull him in for another kiss. This time, he doesn’t gingerly taste his lips, he slides them together and uses his tongue to part his lips.
Eddie is breathless as Hopper takes his mouth like a starving animal, already growling with anticipation. He hasn’t been consumed like this since he was separated for nigh a month from-
He refuses to think of someone else whilst in the arms of a new lover. He forces his eyes to close, to relax in Hopper’s arms. He gentles their kiss, changing it from an almost primal devouring to something slower to savor. Hopper’s grip gentles as he adjusts his hand in Eddie’s hair, cradling the back of his head as he nibbles on his bottom lip. Hopper guides them to the bed, his focus moving to sample the flavor of Eddie’s jaw, his neck, leaving a tingling trail of sensation in his wake.
Eddie pushes Hopper’s flannel off his arms as the other immortal attempts to shimmy his pants off, resulting in clacking teeth and fumbling hands. Hopper slides his hands up Eddie’s arms, bringing his hands over his head. He holds them there for a moment, kissing Eddie’s forehead, then the tip of his nose before capturing his parted lips once more. He languidly slides his tongue inside, the tip playing a warring game with Eddie’s. He pulls away to whisper into the shell of his ear, “Keep those here. I don’t have my cuffs.”
Eddie shivers whilst arching his back, “Definitely next time.”
Hopper chuckles as he nibbles at his earlobe, tugging at the silver hoops gently and making Eddie whimper with pleasure. Hopper nips at the tendons of his neck before nibbling at his collarbones, tracing the runes etched in the dip with his tongue. Eddie is panting with desire, anticipation, the need to exist with someone and be in the moment.
He’s actively refusing to let his mind wander as it usually does in these circumstances. After everything he endured, his mind tends to disconnect from his body, because if he wasn’t exactly present, then it wasn’t like he was betraying anyone- least of all someone who was now a distant memory. How long does it take to mourn one’s first love?
Eddie gasps as Hopper nips his nipple while twisting the other, effectively jerking him out of his mind’s wanderings. He looks down, the other immortal winks as if he knew what was happening. It brings tears to his eyes that he seems to know Eddie so well that he wanted to distract him.
That he cares enough to do so.
Hopper pauses his caress down Eddie’s sides, “We can stop. We don’t have to do this.”
“No, no,” Eddie wipes at his face harshly, hating how his voice sounds. It’s been four hundred years, he’s fine. “I’m fine, I swear. Like I said, I haven’t done this in a while with someone that-”
“-that gives a shit about you.” Hopper interrupts kindly. He presses a soft kiss on Eddie’s breastbone, right on top of a medieval-styled anatomical heart surrounded by thorns. The tension on his chest eases at the sweet gesture, even more so when Hopper’s gaze softens, “I do, you know. Care about you. Dare I call us friends?”
“Be still my heart!” Eddie jokes back, the dark emotions fading away with every laughing breath.
The grin that crawls along Hopper’s face is near diabolical, but before Eddie can say anything, the hand that hovers over the black branch over his hip skirts around his thigh. He hooks his palm behind his knee and slowly hikes it almost up to Eddie’s shoulder. The stretch is effortless for him, not having felt the pain of aging joints or tendons. He trembles as he’s exposed fully to Hopper’s lustful gaze.
“Keep ahold of this for me?”
Eddie snorts as he holds his own leg up, letting out a shuddering breath as the younger immortal’s thumb brushes over the tight furl of his hole, “Fuuuck-”
“That’s the idea, kitten.” He winks, leans over, and rifles through a drawer for a moment before taking out a small bottle of lube. Eddie trembles at the confidently sexy way he moves, the pet name, and the crack of the lid as his lover pops it open.
Eddie arches, mewling as one thick finger slowly sinks inside. Hopper croons in his ear, husking encouragement as he slowly pumps the digit in and out. He crooks his finger, chuckling as Eddie whimpers again before he surges up to fit his teeth into his shoulder. His head rocks back, slamming into the pillows as another finger joins the first, the stretch a delicious burn.
“Fuck, Hopper- yes!”
“You’re so tight, Eds,” Hopper presses a kiss under Eddie’s jaw, scissoring and crooking his fingers while Eddie yowls and thrashes, “Not hurting you, am I?”
“Fuck, I don’t care if you tried to choke me out right now,” Eddie rasps in almost one breath. He catches Hopper’s gaze and glowers at the unrepentant immortal, “Get your cock inside me!”
“Jesus Christ, far be it for me to not want to hurt you,” Hopper grouses good-naturedly as he slicks his thick, purpling cock.
“I told you, it’s not Jesus-“ He groans loudly, arching his hips as Hopper eases his cock inside. They both pause, breathing as Eddie gets used to the feeling of being filled so gently after centuries. He blinks rapidly and continues as if Hopper’s hot cock wasn’t already buried inside of him, “-Christ. It’s Eddie. Kinda rude to say someone else’s name whilst fornicating with another.”
“Oooo, say fornicating again.” Hopper jokes as he thrusts at a slow, steady pace. He winds Eddie’s other tattooed leg around his waist, watching as his wet cock rocks into Eddie’s body. Hopper’s fingertips rake through the soft hairs of Eddie’s inner thigh, crooning nonsense as he thrusts to find that spot that will send Eddie wild.
As if he weren’t already driven there. His toes curl with every thrust, his neglected cock leaking precome and throbbing. He wants Hopper to touch his aching cock, to kiss him, maybe even turn him over so Eddie can scream and cry into the pillows. He’s not sure if he wants gentleness or if he wants the roughness.
Eddie wails as he grips the sheets under his head as Hopper’s hot hand encircles his cock, and as if the other immortal could read his mind he whispers, “Come back to me, sweetness. No one else here but us.”
“Oh fuck,” Eddie sobs, squeezing his eyes shut as Hopper matches his strokes to his thrusts, thumbing the slit of his cock to spread his leaking precome all over. He grips the sheets as he’s nearly sawed open by Hopper’s thick cock, each rock of his body scraping against his prostate pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
“Yeah, that’s right Eddie, cum for me,” Hopper growls his encouragement. He jacks his fist faster, he gives more power to his thrusts, sweat drips down to collect in the dip of Eddie’s throat, but he doesn’t care. He wants to cum, wants to cum for Hopper and make the other immortal cum inside of him. “I know you can do it, baby, we’re so close, ride it out for me.”
Eddie keens as he spills into Hopper’s fist, his body quivers as he takes every one of Hopper’s erratic last thrusts. He trembles, feeling the hot gush of Hopper’s cum inside of him, wondering why the hot sting of tears prick at his eyes again. He expects Hopper to pull out abruptly, to stumble to the bathroom to hastily wipe himself off, but he doesn’t do any of that. He adjusts them to lie on their sides, with Eddie tucked in close. Hopper guides his head to rest on his chest while their breathing settles, stroking his back with his fingertips.
He doesn’t know if Hopper can feel the tears that Eddie can’t help but spill through all his plush chest hair. He knows the other immortal can hear his watery breaths, but he distracts himself by tracing the poppy blossoms over Hopper’s heart.
“Moving on is hard,” Hopper’s soft voice rumbles through the quiet. Eddie sniffles as Hopper starts playing with his hair, “I had such a hard time after Sara died, and then the divorce drove me to drink for… too long, actually. You share so much with someone. And sometimes it's not just the memories, but it's the ‘what could have been’ that makes it hurt the most.”
Eddie leans on his elbow to give him a small smile, his heart singing as Hopper gently wipes his cheeks, “It helps to have good friends to help distract.”
“Glad I was an acceptable distraction. I’ll be ready for business again in- oh, say, twenty minutes?”
“Only twenty?” Eddie yelps as six feet of brawny man squashes him into the bed.
*
Eddie wakes with the dawn’s golden light spilling through the open window, the breeze crisp and chilly. He smiles into the pillowcase as he listens to the birds’ cheerful song. He stretches every aching muscle, delighting in how he was pleasantly sore and satiated. He doesn’t meet another limb, only cool sheets that tell him Hopper woke before him. For once, he doesn’t mind waking up alone. Not after the night they had and how he can smell the heady aroma of freshly made coffee.
He groans as he feels his belly rumble, but first things first: coffee. So he maneuvers himself out of bed, grumbling as he goes. He’s never been one to enjoy waking up early unless it was for more… athletic things than breakfast.
He shuffles out in Hopper’s slippers, his boxers, and a random shirt he picked up off the floor. Hopper is sitting at the table, fully dressed and looking like he’d taken a shower. Which, weirdly, makes him feel a sharp pang in his chest.
It’s not like they made any promises to each other, didn’t talk about the future so much as let their hormones speak for them. He shakes his head, he’s probably reading too much into things again. Overthinking was his downfall at times. He lays a hand on Hopper’s shoulder, feeling the muscles bunch and tense before relaxing. Hopper looks up at him in surprise, and if Eddie catches the momentary flash of guilt in his eyes, he doesn’t say anything.
Hopper clears his throat, rumbling out a brief ‘good morning’ to him. Eddie smiles back and murmurs the same before he pads over to the coffee pot. He grips the counter for a moment as the world spins, his guts clenching, and the thoughts of ‘what did I do, what did we do’ spiral and unravel in his mind. He takes a few deep breaths to get his heart rate under control- this was silly.
Mornings were meant for coffee and contemplation. Eddie was inflating emotions from last night, wrought by Last Night Eddie. He’s worrying over nothing. Hopper probably just felt guilty for sending El away just to get his leg over. Guilt for jumping into bed together so quickly with barely anything said between them. Or guilt that he had the last of the cream and sugar. Any one of those things, although making Eddie drink his coffee black was crime enough.
He makes a disgusted face when he faces Hopper after taking a drink, “Before we meet anyone else today, I require actual coffee.”
That breaks Hopper out of his storm cloud brooding. It’s like the sun peeking through when he smiles, “That is actual coffee. You just murder it.”
“I take exception to that,” Eddie sniffs primly. He tucks his knee right behind his ear, settling into the chair while holding the hot mug between both hands. “I just know what I like.”
Hopper coughs, his face blushing, and Eddie has no idea what’s making him- oh. He realizes as he looks down that the shirt isn’t his and is in fact showing a lot of collarbone, and the position in which he’s sitting is oddly reminiscent of last night. Coupling that with what he said, he can understand why Hopper was a bit choked up. He feels an odd bolt of shame go through his chest, feeling like he did something wrong somehow. It shouldn’t feel like this, should it?
“Well then, princess,” Hopper recovers a bit too late to ease any kind of awkwardness. The pet name feels more like a jab than any kind of affectation, “We can hit up the diner. I gotta make some phone calls anyway.”
Eddie lowers his leg, shifts uncomfortably, “Who would you be calling?” And why was he being so secretive?
Hopper shrugs and speaks more into his mug than to him, “Just rounding up the troops, so to speak. I just need to get a hold of one of them. They have this walkie-talkie phone tree system, and then soon the little shits will be assembled. Probably at the school, it’s the weekend anyway, no one will be there.”
Eddie nods, he can’t shake the feeling of dread that’s descended upon him. His throat is tight, his hands shake, and he immediately looks around for his pack of cigarettes. He hears a scuffling sound before Hopper’s warm hands place a lit cigarette between his fingers. He looks up as Hopper pats him on the opposite shoulder, “Sorry. I don’t know where I went.”
Hopper shakes his head and quietly assures him, “I go places too. Let’s not think about it too much today, okay?”
That was the smartest thing the other man has ever said to him, Eddie thinks. Overthinking leads him down terrible paths that only serve in self-sabotage. It was time to give himself a respite before the world turned upside down for him again. He nods, Hopper sits beside him this time, and they spend the rest of their morning sharing the cigarette until it’s gone.
*
Breakfast was spent watching Hopper use Benny’s phone while choking down arguably the greasiest bacon and eggs Eddie’s had in a while. It could’ve just been any number of things other than Benny’s cooking prowess that has soured his mood. How hard was it, really, to make bacon and eggs? Thinking it makes him feel guilty, that wasn’t exactly charitable. Benny’s a good guy, Eddie can already tell that just from their first meeting. He has so much going through his head that it makes it supremely difficult to differentiate between a true gut feeling or an immediate emotional response.
It’s taken him centuries to achieve some sort of peace, which has since begun to unravel the second Wayne was at his door. To be realistic, he was never meant to be at peace. His whole existence was to be separated from his-
From Stephen. No longer his, not anymore.
He looks up from his mug’s creamy depths, locking eyes with Hopper. His face was unreadable, and Eddie had the distinct feeling that he somehow interrupted a private conversation. Although how, when he was a kitchen and a whole counter apart, was really anyone’s guess, but he’s been accused of a lot worse for a lot less. Hopper made the conversation brief, something about meeting up with him at the school, but to be careful.
It was sweet, Hopper being so protective of this little group that unfortunately got pulled into Immortal drama. Eddie understands the caution that Hopper is showing, realizing the guilt was from bringing more people into this and how dangerous it was for all of them. If the Council of Watchers found out that there was a whole town affected by something that needed to be kept under wraps- say, their very existence- Eddie was afraid to think of what would happen to all of them.
They put themselves into quite a pickle, and it was up to Eddie, as the eldest, to fix things. If it wasn’t for his DNA, El wouldn’t have been made. He wonders how they did it, how they circumvented the seeming curse that befell every Immortal’s progeny before it was outlawed altogether.
Modern science at its finest, but playing God was abhorrent.
He cannot imagine what El and the rest of her brood went through. The abuse they endured. He wonders if El will tell him, or if he can get any information out of this ‘Party’ that she speaks so fondly about. He knows that there is a girl, Max. Her brother went missing, and neither one can find him- which, of course, they are literal children. Something tells him not to say that aloud, of course.
There’s a handful of boys around her age, which chafes Hopper upon mention. Eddie wonders if there’s a story there, and he’s sure he’s going to find out. Children were chatterboxes, especially when excited, and he’s sure that a newcomer with a sword was pretty exciting.
Although-
What exactly were they going to tell them?
Eddie looks barely old enough to have known Hopper for so long. How were they going to explain things whilst keeping their identities hidden? He truly wished they would have talked more than they did, at least come up with some sort of a plan. Anything.
Eddie pushes his plate away, having lost his appetite. It was just as well since Hopper joined him moments later by sliding into the stool beside him. He nudges him with his shoulder, “Not hungry anymore?”
Eddie gives him a facsimile of a smile before shaking his head, “Thought I was. Not so much anymore, I’ll stick with my coffee.”
“Mind if I have the rest of your bacon?”
Eddie leans back, bemused as he’s already sliding the plate closer. Seems the caution Hopper was feeling earlier has faded. He looks around the diner, eyes settling on a young couple in the corner booth. They were drinking milkshakes and fries, and though he could only see the back of the young man’s head, he knows he’s attractive. The coiff of his hair was immaculate, hints of gold and amber in his brunette tresses. The set of his shoulders looked powerful, his skin gorgeously tanned and dotted with moles.
He ignores the weird feeling of Deja-vu; he could have seen him in passing at any point as he and Wayne were moving or hanging out yesterday at the diner, it didn’t mean anything. Except-
It meant something to the freckled blond he was with, who was glaring daggers at him from across the diner. Damn if looks could kill, he would have been frozen to the spot. He kind of was, since he had Hopper sitting beside him, it would be weird to call more attention to himself. He turns to Hopper, knocking their knees together as she gestures to her friend.
“Ow! What the hell, Eddie?!”
Eddie chops the air in front of him in order to shush the other immortal. Hopper looks up, his warm expression freezing for a second before he gives the couple in the booth a short nod. Eddie is absolutely mortified, now Hopper thinks he was checking out someone closer to his own visible age, someone significantly younger. And right after their tryst last night. If the earth below could swallow him right now, that would be wonderful.
The bell above the door rings, Hopper relaxes as he finishes his coffee and mutters in a low voice, “They left. You can relax now.”
The food feels like a lead weight in his stomach, and he has a strong urge to run to the toilets, but he forces himself to relax. He nods and pushes his mug away, copying Hopper as the other man stands from his seat. Benny comes by just in time to collect their dishes, Hopper’s money, and gives them both a solemn nod that makes Eddie want to evaporate.
It’s not like he has to spend the rest of the day playing nice with Hopper while meeting new, innocent people he’s now responsible for.
It was about to be a long fucking day.
*
Eddie has to admit, these kids were his brand of chaotic mischievousness. He has yet to learn their names, but from his view through the double doors leading into the gym, he can see how El would feel safe with them. There are four young boys, a red-headed young lady he can only assume is Max, an older teen couple, and a mother figure handing out sodas to the group. The way she handled all of them while making sure each one had their favorite tugs at his heartstrings, despite the more pragmatic side of his mind that is chastising Hopper for pulling more innocents into their web of drama.
Eddie sincerely hopes that he can express caution and be heeded by this brood. He knows how captivating his and Hopper’s lives seem, a sort of bohemian vagabond experience swirled with danger, mystery, and violence. What’s not to love?
Footsteps at his back and a slithering down his spine alert him to Hopper’s presence. He turns with a grin, knowing full well how nervous he looks and hates it. He’s an immortal, he has no need to be nervous meeting literal children. And yet, here they were. Facing off with each other in the middle of the hallway in a school supposedly shut down for the weekend. Good thing he’s banging the chief of police, who just so happens to have the keys to every building in Hawkins.
That really shouldn’t be as hot as it sounds. Eddie has learned that he’s pretty easy when he allows himself to be. Maybe he can convince Hopper to take them to the top of the City Hall and fuck on the roof-
Or on the Mayor’s desk.
Hopper stops short in front of him, poised to open the double doors but squints at him instead, “What are you plotting?”
“Plotting? Me?” Eddie tries his best to look as innocent as possible.
Fails. “Yeah. You.” Hopper grins at him anyway, crowds him against the wall beside the doors with his body to steal a steamy kiss.
Eddie opens his mouth willingly with a small moan, arching his hips to rock against Hopper’s. He shudders when his hips are stopped abruptly and the other immortal pulls away. He pants breathlessly, slumped against the wall as Hopper gets himself under control. Hopper’s molten eyes promise Eddie ‘later’ before pushing through the doors.
Eddie takes a few cleansing breaths, rubs his face roughly, and hopes that the evidence of their stolen kisses wasn’t painted all over his expression. He sends a prayer to a god he doubts is listening that everything works out fine and that he won’t be too much.
He can’t believe that at the ripe old age of four hundred years old, he would be this nervous meeting mortals for the first time.
Walking through the doors was like casting a spotlight on himself. The chattering petered to a lull as he approached this little group, his Reeboks squeaking obnoxiously on the freshly waxed flooring. He sees a gigantic tiger’s head painted in the middle of a… oh hell, he can’t keep up with the sports. He’s assuming it’s something with a ball in the title- basketball was too easy a name, wasn’t it?
The boys make no pretense as to what they think of him, their jaws dropping near to their collarbones as they take in the leather, his demon crop top, his holey jeans, and battle vest. He looks like someone who would probably set fire to their gym. The boys quickly recover when Max and El nudge the boys nearest to them with their sharp little girl elbows.
El gives him a short little wave, curling her delicate finger at him, and smiles as he copies the move. Max seems to relax at that, popping a skinny hip out and considering him with her sharp crystal-like gaze. She brushes a curtain of shimmering copper hair behind her ear, he can instantly feel the jealousy radiate from the boy next to her.
Awkward.
Hopper twists and gestures to Eddie to come closer, proclaiming to the rest of the group, “This here is my friend Eddie. He’s here to help us.”
“How is he gonna help us?” The question’s delivery reeks of derision. Eddie’s eyes lock in on the stork-like boy standing next to his El. His gawky arms are folded over his narrow chest as he squints down his hawk nose at him.
“He has a hard time dying,” Hopper fires back sharply. His hand lands between his shoulder blades briefly before sliding away, and Eddie misses the immediate warmth his touch gave him.
He looks back at Hopper’s friends and freezes as he catches the gaze of an older teen dressed smartly in a maxi skirt and striped blouse. Her gaze is sharp as it flickers between the slight space between him and Hopper. He hopes she didn’t catch the touch that Hopper gave him, hopes that his face doesn’t display how it made him feel comforted for only a few seconds. How he wishes that Hopper had stayed by his side for a little bit longer.
Hopper gestures to each person, introducing them quickly: Joyce, the one who brought the snacks and greets him cheerfully, is Will and Jonathan’s mother. Two boys of similar build step forward, Jonathan awkwardly waves as he hovers near the other teen- whom he blushes through the introduction as his girlfriend, Nancy. Will nods shyly at Eddie when his name is called. There’s something about the boy that calls Eddie; he’ll have to circle back to that at a later time. He finds he immediately likes their demeanor, relaxing as Joyce comes forward to squeeze his hand in her surprisingly strong grip.
“If you need anything at all, I’m right here.”
“Mom, he’s like, totally old.” Jonathan admonishes quietly. He realizes how that sounds and tries to amend his words, “I mean, I doubt he needs to be mommed.”
“Au contraire, my new friend,” Eddie corrects softly as he lifts her delicate hand to place a feather-light kiss over her knuckles, “My mam passed away long ago, it’s been ages since I have felt a mother’s touch.”
Joyce blushes beautifully, she was a stunner in her youth and even more gorgeous now. Her eyes held a wealth of pain, perseverance, and survival the likes of which he’s seen in many abandoned women’s eyes. She’s strong, vivacious, and a survivor. He hopes to see that sparkle more often in her countenance.
“Oh, you’re a charmer,” she giggles as she places a light hand on his arm, her eyes bugging out at the hard muscle there. He winks at her, delighted to see the sparks igniting within her.
“Yeah. He sure is.”
Eddie frowns at Hopper’s bitten-off words, tries to catch his eyes to wordlessly tell him he was just flirting with a young mom. That both of them know it didn’t mean anything at all, but Hopper refuses to look at him. Eddie feels a coil of dread bloom in his stomach. Hopper keeps looking at the doors as if expecting something or someone to burst through.
This is not at all what Eddie expected would happen today, and he wishes that Hopper would relax. If only a little, at least in front of this group of innocents lest they suspect something was really amiss, and thus be noticed.
El pulls Stork Boy and Max forward, their hands in her tight grasp. The boy drags his feet, still looking suspicious, and dare Eddie assume, a hint of jealousy. “This is Mike, I used to live in his basement.”
The group erupts in gentle chuckles, and though Mike bristles, Eddie smiles warmly and proclaims him, “A knight in shining armor, I’m sure. ‘Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Michael.”
At that, the boy brightens. His eyes grow big and sparkle, smiling widely as he says to the room at large, “Hey, that’s what I named my paladin!”
“Paladin?” Eddie freezes as he straightens, excitement brimming in his fingertips at the thought, “Do you mean Dungeons-”
“Okay, that’s not what we came here for,” Max bullies her way in between Mike and Eddie, flashing him a snotty smirk. “Hi, I’m Max. The only cool one in this group.”
“Oh, I have heard plenty about you, Red.” He takes her small hand delicately in his, pressing a feather-light kiss over her knuckles. He can hear the boys groaning at the smooth way he handles their firecracker friend. The girl is rattled but pretends not to show how his chivalry affects her as she awkwardly struts away to sip at her soda.
Lucas and Dustin introduce themselves at the same time, their words overlapping each other in their excitement, and Eddie is instantly charmed by their delightful nature. Lucas is calm and cool while Dustin’s precociousness charms Eddie beyond all measure. Their energy is fierce, and they spar like a litter of puppy dogs, quickly piling onto each other as they retell how they first came across Eddie at the junkyard.
Seems the small animals he suspected were watching him were a pack of feral teen boys. He laughs at their near-accurate stances and shadow swordplay. He would love to put a stick in their hands to see what they can really do, but decides to save that for another day.
Instead, he sets his guitar case down onto one of the bleachers and quickly flicks the locks open. The boys are mesmerized by the sleekness of his Sweetheart, as they very well should be. He takes very good care of her. Eddie lifts her gingerly out, clocking Jonathan’s careful interest in his instrument and smirks. “This here is my Sweetheart. She’s very special to me because she’s not just the best guitar I’ve ever played, she holds my lifeline.”
He takes hold of the headstock, a bright light shines as it shifts into the hilt of his sword. With a metallic rasp, he pulls his blade out amidst the gasps of the ladies present. The boys were falling all over themselves to get closer while Joyce warned them to stay back because it looked sharp.
Oh yes, his Sweetheart was sharp. Like a razor.
She sang as he brandished her, letting the lights spilling through the windows in the gym catch on the silvery blade. He gives them a jaunty bow and tries to hide his grin when Mike asks Hopper, “So where do you keep your sword?”
Mike shifts in place before he gives a gusty sigh. Rolling his eyes, he touches his belt buckle. Just like with Eddie’s blessed guitar, a light shines forth, and the hilt of Hopper’s sword appears. Joyce looks impressed, while all the kids giggle. Jonathan and Nancy look away, their faces beet red. Hopper nods in exasperation, “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead an’ laugh it up-”
“We are so sorry we’re late! It’s all completely my fault, I had a milkshake at lunch and you know what dairy does to me.” The outside doors to the gym open with a boom that echoes in the large room. Two young people join their group, and as soon as his eyes adjust, Eddie’s heart seizes in his chest. He recognizes the girl from the diner, however, the young man beside her has been haunting his dreams for over four hundred years. “Honestly, if it wasn’t for Steve-”
“Stephen,” Eddie doesn’t mean for the name to come out as a wheeze. His eyes widen in horror as they come closer, Steve’s smile fading when his eyes fall upon Eddie.
He doesn’t recognize him.
Eddie grows hot, near boiling under his collar as his stomach clenches in horror. Stephen- Steve is in front of him, and he’s looking at Eddie like a stranger.
Eddie is a stranger to him.
Of course, he is- because Steve doesn’t know him, he didn’t even know Eddie existed until right this moment. Just like Eddie didn’t know-
Someone knew.
The pieces fell into place like snapshots in his mind:
The conversation between Wayne and Hopper right before they left, Eddie swears he saw them arguing before Hopper responded, and how disappointed Wayne looked. The flash of guilt the morning after his and Hopper’s tryst, and how Eddie chalked it up to just having sex in general when the world was crumbling. The diner, he knew the couple. The phone call for everyone to meet at the school, a public place, so there was no chance of airing out grievances. Clearly, Hopper doesn’t know Eddie enough to not cause a scene when warranted.
If Hopper was willing to keep a secret like this, what else is Hopper keeping from him? From all of them?
“You knew.”
Everyone stops what they are doing, the conversations peter out at the devastated tone Eddie’s voice takes. The color drains out of Hopper’s face, proving Eddie right almost instantly. He raises his sword, pointing it right at the dip in Hopper’s throat, right where Eddie kissed and nuzzled the night before- what they planned to do later after all of this. It makes him sick to think now.
“You knew and you let me-“ Eddie gags, the thought of last night, of what Hopper knew, what he omitted from him and yet still-
“Eddie, please,” Hopper attempts to placate, to gentle his words, and holds his unarmed hands up. As if it would sway Eddie, as if anything he had to say would undo what they did. “Put down the sword, let’s talk about this-”
“I don’t believe there is anything more you and I shall speak of!” Eddie’s words sound as if they are being ripped from his chest. He sounds torn apart and more than feels it, like carrion birds pecking at his still-beating heart.
“Eddie, honey, is everything okay?” Joyce breaks off from the group of kids, hesitantly moving forward with a hand out in an attempt to give comfort, “Why don’t you put the sword down and we can talk about this-”
“Apologies, Lady Joyce, but I do not believe I will be sheathing anything just yet,” Eddie says everything so eerily calm, not at all what he’s truly feeling inside. He stares Hopper down, watching the bead of sweat trail from his temple to the collar of his shirt. He hates that he knows what that tastes like, and that the whole time Eddie was blissfully unaware Hopper was keeping secrets from him.
Eddie’s a stranger to Steve, and Hopper knew.
Steve would be the one and only person to sway Eddie in anyone’s favor, and Hopper knew.
Steve is vulnerable and unaware of their world. Brenner is making Immortal children, there is danger all around, there are Immortals out there bent on killing Eddie. Steve is Eddie’s Achilles’ Heel and-
Hopper knew.
“I’m not going to ask you how long you knew, Jim. All I know is that you’ve lied to me from the start.”
“I didn’t lie about anything-”
“Omission is a lie!” His words echo in the gym, making Hopper flinch. There’s no relief to any breath Eddie takes, his eyes fill, making everything blur. He’s ashamed that this is happening at all, let alone in front of perfect strangers. He wants the world to swallow him, and not for the first time, he truly begs for death. He’s angry that he is once again treated as a pawn, that he bought into everything Hopper said. “Friends don’t lie.”
His sword clatters to the wooden flooring, the squeak of his shoes still obnoxious as he runs out of the gym. He can hear them calling after him, but over the sound of his pounding heartbeat and sobbing breaths, they sound so far away. He ducks into a dark room, the scent so familiar, but in his heightened emotional state, he can’t place it.
He sees a long, ornate table, with an equally ornate chair set at the head. He lets out a watery ‘oh’ and the tears come again, dripping down his face. It reminds him of home, his first one, with Stephen. Where they were happy and alive-
~*~
France, 1585
The keep was beautifully decorated in white and blue flowers, ferns and ivy, candles on every surface. The tables were set in a large U shape, leaving the floor in front of the wedding party open for dancing. Everyone was laughing and singing. It was a beautiful day full of music, of love.
Of course it was, for Stephen was getting married.
It was springtime on the coast of France, and he was getting married to the young lady he was betrothed to months before. His parents found Stephen, and in their relief and happiness, didn’t question any further when he said that he was spirited away by Edward to keep him safe. They decided to stay in France, with his new wife’s family.
They looked so happy, smiling at the head table.
“Why ye doing this to yourself, boy?”
Edward stiffens as he stands in the shadows, wrapping his arms around his middle. He peeks at his uncle through his hood and whispers, “I just needed to see him, one last time.”
“What if he sees you? T’would be like seeing a ghost, you really want to do that to him on a day meant for joy?”
He didn’t want to marry her, that’s what Stephen told him. Looking at the happy couple, however, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He can’t blame Stephen, he had a life to live, a whole future ahead of him. He could do so much worse than Lady Wheeling.
The early evening’s light shines upon her like a beacon, taunting Eddie with her feminine beauty. Her banners hang high on the walls, white split with green over a golden wheel. Nicola Wheeler was a prize to many: soft waves of light brown hair down to her tiny waist, a waif-like girl with large blue eyes the color of the sea, of the heavens themselves. She had a pointy, fox-like chin cupping a secret smile as she gazed on all who looked upon her. As if she couldn’t fathom people’s fascination with her glowing ethereal beauty. She was more than just her features, she was a master of mind, smarter than the ladies who flocked behind her. Her gaze keen and sharp when others were in attendance, softening with her loved ones- those who accepted her peculiar affection for blades and bows.
Edward hung back with his uncle, unable to get closer to hear Stephen’s blessedly soft voice. Edward had been betrayed, separated from his love, forced to watch him marry another.
And Stephen was happy.
Happy to not have Edward by his side, smiling from ear to ear as he listened intently to his new wife’s words. Edward’s place was taken by Thomas Hagan, a little rat of a man speckled with freckles like a spray of shit, only bringing into clear focus his attitude about everything. The man was determined to climb the ranks and step on anyone and everyone to get where he wanted to be.
Where once Thomas would have only been a cup-bearer and thus making eyes at his sister, believing he could get no other, his gaze soon turned away once he was called to squire for Ser Hargrove. Then, because of Edward’s injury, to Stephen. He was insufferable ever since, giving small smirks and jabs at Edward as if whatever he said and did affected him. It only made Edward watch over Thomas like a hawk at the time, to watch Stephen’s back to protect him from any ill fate, and the other to make sure that Thomas didn’t step out of line- leaving Stephen open to pain or death. A painful death.
It seems Edward and his sacrifice were cleanly swept away like the rushes underfoot. Stephen was protected, surrounded by friends and family, and guards to protect him. He had no need of Edward anymore.
He had Nicola Wheeling.
~*~
Hawkins, 1986
Hawkins High School Gym
The gym is so quiet, Steve can hear everyone breathing. Which wasn’t exactly difficult for most people, but significantly harder for him. He looks around at the range of expressions around him:
He checks Dustin, who looks upset, which makes Steve a little angry. He just got the kid over the whole LuMax situation, he doesn’t need another hit already. That, and they were still trying to find Mews with no headway. He can’t remember exactly how many cups of tea he’s shared with Claudia, but he can’t keep watching her poor face crumple at the mention of sweet little Mews. He plans on taking her to the local shelter as soon as they clear up the whole frog/lizard/dragon/demodog situation they have going on.
El and Max looked incredibly pissed. If looks could kill, then someone was going to be eviscerated. Which is, like… not ideal after Robin colorfully explained it to him. He really didn’t want to be on the other end of that look- Eleven was fucking scary, and Max was kind of her partner in crime. Max on a good day was tricky; Steve can’t imagine what one of them did to set her off.
Mike, Lucas, and Will all look in varying degrees of shock and confusion. It doesn’t take much to get them that way, but it makes Steve curious as to why the other guy ran out so fast.
Joyce looked incredibly disappointed. Her arms were folded, she had that little line between her eyebrows that his mom gets when she’s unimpressed with something either he or his dad said. Which was… often.
Yikes.
She was looking at Hopper, which leads Steve to assume that it’s his fault. He looks guilty enough. He’s looking after the guy who sprinted out of the gym like-
Well, honestly, like how Steve felt when Nancy ripped his heart out. Oh look, there she goes after him. Robin is watching her go like her heart was going with her, which makes Steve sort of nauseous, actually. He knows he told her it was fine to go after his ex, but that she might not even be on their level and that it might cause a lot more unrest than she’s capable of dealing with.
The heart wants what it wants, though.
Jonathan he couldn’t give a shit about. His heartbroken expression as he watches his girlfriend run after an admittedly hot dude doesn’t exactly ping his radar. Jonathan deserves every bit of heartache he has coming to him in regards to Nancy, in Steve’s not-at-all-biased opinion.
It’s not at all lost on Steve that it was his and Robin’s entrance that set the whole kerfluffle off. The hottie looked at Steve like he was seeing a ghost, and not that it exactly offended Steve, but he’d at least like to know what he did to make him take a runner.
Maybe Steve could fix this?
He plays it cool, puts his hands on his hips like his mom does when she Means Business™️, “What’s his deal?”
*
He’s kneeling at the throne when he hears the doors behind him open. The soft tread tells him that it’s not the boys, at least none of them save Will. He sniffs sharply, wipes his face roughly, and looks over his shoulder to see, “Lady Wheeler, to what do I owe this pleasure? Sorry for my state, if you could just give me a moment-”
“Of course,” she says kindly. She threads her fingers together, taking a gander around the room while Eddie gets his breathing under control. She approaches him gingerly as he sits on the throne. She smiles at him, “I just wanted to check on you, see if you’re okay?”
Absolutely not.
He tries to smile, knows he fails, but she has the good grace to play along politely. He decides he likes her gentle spirit. “I’m trying to be, I’m finding quite a bit of difficulty in that venture.”
“I gathered that. It must have been hard for you.”
“Whatever could you mean by that?”
Her expression changes, her smile shifts into a delicate and lovely grimace. He’s not exactly sure why that description comes to mind, but she wears it well, “I know what it’s like to play like everything is fine when it’s clearly not. To try and move on when you’ve lost someone. Which, I’m guessing, looks an awful lot like someone I know.”
He doesn’t have a response to that. He wants to tell her that she is wrong, that she has no idea the intricacies of adult relationships. She may look very young, but her eyes tell him a story so long and dark. He realizes that the threads connecting their story go deeper than just basic surface level, and that there may be things she’s seen that he’s never had the displeasure of experiencing.
He hides his trembling lip with a lock of hair, “Tis a long and terrible story, poppet.”
“It’s why I’m here,” she settles into a seat across from him, arranging her skirt and purse in her lap. When she’s settled in her seat as prim and proper as any lady Eddie’s ever seen, she directs a look at him that sends chills down his spine, “Tell me. I want to know.”
“A long time ago, I gave my heart to a boy that was meant for another,” He begins softly, but he can see the small furrow in her brow. “We were going to run and build a life of our own, but I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. My love, along with my life, was taken from me. Long story short, I thought I could trust someone again, I was lied to and used, because had I known your young friend was here, I wouldn’t have-”
Sad that he can’t say it. He can’t say that he succumbed to his base desires, because he was lonely and needed something familiar from someone he thought he could be vulnerable with.
He feels her cool fingers wrap around his, and looks up to see her beautiful crystalline eyes filled with tears. He hates that he put them there; he hated to see her sweet face wracked with grief. Her lower lip quivers before she whispers, “I lost my best friend Barb, because I was so focused on a boy. That boy out there. We had to lie, to everyone, her parents-”
She stops herself, looks away for a moment with pursed lips. Her eyelashes flutter, and he sees exactly when she has calmed down enough to continue, “I hated myself, hated him, and hurt us both. We were kids, which is honestly crazy to say that. Grief; it changes you. Forever. You’re not who you were.”
”There’s always a Before and an After.” He agrees with her. He covers her fingers with his other hand, warming them. He smiles at her, “How is your After?”
She takes a long breath. He can see the tears forming again, and he wants to enfold her in his arms. Just to let her break a little, to soak up her tears and let her rest until she was strong enough to keep going. He doesn’t think she feels safe enough to do so, like she hasn’t found the one to truly trust. He hopes she finds them; no one deserves a life having to constantly look over one’s shoulder.
That’s why he fights, he supposes. That’s why he plays The Game. So that no one else has to bear that mantle of grief.
“I don’t think there’s an After yet, I think I’m stuck in the During. Does that make sense?”
Oh, how well he knows the feeling. He nods, “I do believe it does.”
*
Nancy left the drama room’s storage room after a few moments with Eddie promising he would join them back in the gym soon, he just needed to collect his thoughts. He rolls his shoulders, grimacing at the faint click he can hear. Strange how he doesn’t feel the pain from it, but the injury still lingers to this day. He wonders what an X-ray of his skeleton would look like, until he remembers how much he dislikes the medical facilities.
He pauses at the door when he hears faint voices through the crack-
“Is he-”
“He’s upset,” Nancy’s strident words echo through the silent halls like the crack of a whip, “and he’s got every right to be.”
“Look, this has nothing to do with-”
“No, no, I think it does actually. I might be a kid to you, but I know what that was. He deserves an apology at the very least, but I’m not sure if he really wants to see you right now.”
He shakes his head, he’s not going to let her fight his battles, no matter how much he was thoroughly enjoying all of this. He strides out with his shoulders back and head held high, “I think the lady is quite correct. I do deserve an apology, but I also believe you should go. I can handle it from here.”
Hopper steps back, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, Jim.” Eddie folds his arms over his stomach, hoping that his softly spoken words hold more strength than he was feeling at the moment. Just looking at the man made Eddie yearn for a hot, stinging shower. “You’re not wanted here.”
“I’m not leaving my kid-”
“She’s not yours.”
The lights flicker over them, and Eddie can feel a tingle in the air. Outside, he can hear the rumble of thunderclouds, knows the sun is being blotted out by a sudden storm: the start to The Game.
Nancy looks up in budding fear, Hopper freezes in the hallway, and though Eddie hates that he put that look on both of their faces, it was time for him to teach Hopper a lesson. See, he may think he has all the cards, since he encountered El first. He has no idea the power that Eddie holds, he’s been pulling punches this entire time to keep the peace.
Peace that has been tested and found wanting this day.
”I am Edward Munson, four hundred years your superior, and you will back down.” He has zero clue where any of this is coming from, save the anger and passion of centuries bottled inside. “You will walk away, and stay back until I have need of you, whenever I see fit. You and I? We are not kin. You have broken my trust. If my eyes fall upon you on our quest without my summons, your head will meet my blade. Do you understand me?”
“Eddie, come on, you can’t mean this.”
“I think he asked you a question.”
The casual words were like lightning through Eddie’s sails. The rumbling thunder outside quieted, the sun came back, the lights stopped flickering, and it takes every bit of energy Eddie holds to keep standing. Standing in the doorway to the gym was the very man he ran from just moments before.
Nancy’s ex, whom he now knows as Steven J. Harrington.
He catches Eddie’s eyes, gives him a little wink that stabs the Immortal directly in the heart, and then throws Hopper the bitchiest face Eddie’s ever seen, “Well?”
Hopper’s jaw works before he gruffly says, “Fine. I’ll back off. Until you need my help.”
“And?”
Hopper looks heavenward, mentally counts to ten, and relaxes. He looks at Eddie, an imploring look on his face, “I’m sorry.”
He can’t stand to look at Hopper as he passes as he walks by and out the main doors. He knows Hopper pauses in front of him, can sense his hand out to touch Eddies, but Eddie shies away. He doesn’t think he can stand Hopper’s touch after all of this. He feels dirty and tired.
Exhausted beyond all measure, actually.
He knows he’s gone when the doors shut, when he can’t feel the chills down his spine any longer. He can breathe again, as much as it hurts. He feels Nancy’s small hand over his bicep, “Come on. Let’s get out of here, okay?”
“Where?”
Steve smirks, his cheeky smile lighting up the hallway better than the sun outside and the lights above ever could, “My house!”
He sounded so cheerful, more innocent of the world than Stephen was. His Stephen was already an adult at such a young age, being the heir and more learned than Edward was. Stephen was articulate, eloquent, charming, and in so many ways just as cynical as the gentry at court.
This Steve seems just as well-bred but sweet, softer, and quietly confident. He busts through the doors as if this were his castle, directing the boys to help Joyce pack everything up because the party was moving to his house. His Stephen was a born leader, and it seems as though the very qualities Edward grew to admire have carried on in Steve. Eddie’s impressed at how quickly the boys snap to attention, and it doesn’t escape his notice how Jonathan looks less than enthused with the change in scenery.
Jonathan stalks up to them to take Nancy’s hand, “Can we talk?”
Nancy’s brow furrows, but she waves Eddie away as he slows to ensure she doesn’t need assistance. “It’s okay, Eddie, go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
He wants to stay near, but Nancy seems like a lady who can handle the youth. Besides, he can feel Steve’s pull behind him. He watches Steve assist Joyce with the bags of snacks, making the boys carry the cooler out to her car. Before long, they had everything packed with the boys racing and bickering as to who was going to get the front seat.
“Sorry guys, Robin called dibs.”
“What?!” Dustin screeches, “That’s like, totally unfair! When?”
“In your dreams, pal,” She croons at him while flipping the bill of his hat. The sandy blond giggles as she slams the passenger side door.
“Jesus, will you not, please?” Steve sighs in exasperation and concern for his admittedly gorgeous Bimmer. He rolls his eyes and smiles at Eddie, making his heart stop for a moment before Steve asks, “So, it looks like these little shits are coming with me. You mind getting a ride with Nance?”
“I-I don’t mind at all,” Eddie lamely adjusts the strap of his guitar case as it’s slung over his shoulder, “I got a ride with Hopper.”
Smooth, Munson.
Steve nods as if he knew that already, which Eddie is sure it wasn’t exactly hard to glean that much from the brief but embarrassing display earlier. He’s not sure why Steve is waiting with his hands stuffed in his pockets, but he makes a lovely figure in the early evening sun as he leans against his rocking Bimmer.
Eddie hears the soft crunching of small footsteps behind him and turns to see Nancy walking up to him alone. Behind her, Jonathan ducks into his car and peels out of the parking lot.
“Might I request a ride in yon chariot, my good lady?”
Nancy rolls her eyes and smiles, “Well, a girl can get used to that. See you there, Harrington!”
It’s eerily quiet when they shut their doors. Eddie watches her as she grips the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, “Far be it for me to call attention to such things, but I’m guessing there is trouble in paradise?”
Nancy’s eyes flutter shut, and she sighs as if the weight of the world is on her delicate shoulders, “I don’t even know if there’s a paradise anymore.”
“I wouldn’t give up on the boy just yet, at his age, the blood runs hot like fire.” He nudges her shoulder as the Bimmer and Joyce’s car pulls away, “I take it he didn’t want to join the party?”
“It’s… complicated between Jonathan and Steve.”
*
Steve Harrington’s house was… large.
Eddie couldn’t help the loud snort that erupted from him as they drove down the long driveway that led to a double parking garage, stopping right next to his bright red Bimmer. If Steve was in his mid to late thirties, Eddie would assume he was compensating for something.
He helped Nancy out of her car and assisted her with the bags, and as soon as they approached the door, it opened to reveal Steve standing there in the golden light of his foyer like an angel guarding the gates of heaven. He gestures them inside, bowing deeply as he intones, “Enter! At your peril-”
“It’s ’at your own peril’, Steve! God!”
“Shut UP, you little shit. I was trying to be cool!” Steve huffs and grins at the two. Nancy flounces inside to bring the bags to the kitchen, abandoning Eddie in the doorway. Steve leans against the doorframe, grinning mischievously as he winks, then he asks, “Won’t you come in?”
Eddie hesitates for just a moment; to savor the kind, welcoming smile Steve is giving him. He wants to play this cool, like he’s just another young adult, the same as the others. He wants time to stop, so he can keep this moment forever. Because Eddie knows as soon as he walks through that door, this moment will be gone. He wants to keep Steve exactly as he is, just like this. For the first time in a long time, he wants to take up the paintbrush again; to immortalize Steve just as he did with Stephen so long ago.
His skin was the perfect golden tan that always made Edward jealous. Perfect, sun-kissed skin dappled with moles and so soft to the touch. His hair fell artfully to his shoulders, so unlike Stephen’s, whose wild mane had to be tamed by braids. Eddie’s fingers itch to delve into those luxurious locks, to wind the silky strands around his fingers. Steve’s eyes shimmered with the glow of youth, of beauty and life. It makes Eddie’s soul ache.
He suddenly realizes he’s been standing there, staring at Steve for probably too long, but he can’t find it in him to care. He’s proven how odd he is already, a staring problem meant nothing compared to what Steve already witnessed today.
He clicks his heels together and offers Steve a courtly bow, “Don’t mind if I do, good sir.”
The foyer is bright and airy, with an open staircase and a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Eddie feels like he could lie on the landing of the stairs and watch the light beams bounce off each other, shattering into beautiful prism colors over the walls.
He startles as he hears Steve’s soft voice over his shoulder, “I used to sit on the landing and watch the lights bounce off the walls, waiting for my parents to come home. Sometimes I’d wake up and the sun would peek through the skylights.”
“You’d… wake up?” He looks over his shoulder to see Steve shrug, his eyes a little brighter than before.
“Yeah. Sometimes they didn’t come home.” He gives Eddie a wan smile before he gestures down the hallway, “The kitchen’s through there, where all the vultures congregate.”
Steve follows Eddie as he traverses the narrow hallway into a bright, sunny kitchen. Eddie chuckles as he sees the boys clambering to be the first to get to Joyce. El and Max were already seated at the table.
The boys tear into the bags like wild coyotes, acting as if they haven’t eaten in days, let alone a little under an hour ago, where they demolished a family-sized bag of Ruffles. He snorts, fondly remembering shoveling food faster than he could taste when he was their age. Even now, the hunger remains. He supposes it’s to maintain his body long before it should be dust and bones. He was always ravenous after training, even more so after the Quickening, when a dispatched Immortal’s energy combines with the victor’s.
It is as exhilarating as it is terrifying.
“Hungry?”
Eddie startles as Steve’s soft voice is at his ear once more, his heart pounds as the young man is right at his elbow, holding out an open can of Pringles. He gasps as there is a low-grade hum to the air, like a vibration of potential power brimming under the surface. He looks around to see where it could possibly be coming from until he sees El sitting at the table with Max. She’s staring at him with a concerned expression, but he shakes his head to let her know he’s fine.
“I- um… I’m okay. Still kind of,” He rolls his eyes, laughing mirthlessly at his meltdown. He mimics his head exploding, “-from earlier so… um, are you? Hungry?”
Oh, he needs to get it together.
Steve presses his lips together, his eyes squinting as he leans close to peer into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie’s eyes, in turn, widen in alarm. He rarely gets so close to young men in an environment like this. Steve pitches his voice low, breath smelling of salty potatoes and soda, “Are you high?”
“To be honest with you, H-Harrington? I really wish I were.”
The grin that crawls across his face reminds Eddie of when the Grinch thought of his horribly brilliant idea for mass robbery on Christmas, like the evil little green Krampus he was. He looks over his shoulder, catching Robin’s eye. The blonde’s eyes furrow, and Eddie watches as Steve nods at Eddie, then the hallway. He bounces his eyebrows and squints, like he’s asking her a… question?
It’s been quite some time since Eddie has seen silent films, so whatever was happening in front of him right now was downright fascinating. He’s starting to think maybe being a Watcher was in the blood, the same as being an Immortal. He hopes that after they take Brenner down that he will be able to contact the Watcher’s Council, to see if there’s a way to predict potential Immortals and protect them if possible.
He worries that the Watcher’s Council already knows and is playing The Game their way. It wouldn’t be the first time people tried to cheat the system.
Robin nods at them, rolling her eyes and flapping her hands away as if they were asking merely to step away to get some ‘fresh air’. Steve sets the Pringles can down, pointing emphatically at Dustin, “Don’t you get your filthy little paws on Pringles! I counted every single one of them, and if I come back and I don’t have exactly the same amount, I’m going to-”
Dustin’s eyebrows go up, “What, Steve? What are you gonna do?”
“He’s going to short-hand all your gear on your character sheet.”
Steve squints at him, smiling amidst the ‘ooooo’s from the other boys, “What does that even mean?”
Dustin pales, then hisses at Steve, “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”
Eddie steps in front of Steve, resting the tips of his long, ring-fingered hands on the countertop, “I’ll assist him.”
Dustin gasps, putting a hand on his heart as he takes a step back into the arms of his noble friends. Mike covers his shoulders with a gallant arm while Lucas holds up his outstretched arm. As one, the trio falls to the floor in a dramatic and tragic death pile. Steve rolls his eyes and snorts at their theatrics, gesturing for Eddie to follow him.
Eddie would follow Steve through all the circles of Hell, but the young man doesn’t need to know that. At least not yet, maybe not ever.
He leads him around the corner, past a sizable living room with a large TV and fireplace, and into a room that closely resembles a study. One wall consists of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pool in the backyard. The vertical blinds are pulled back to set the bright sunlight inside to shine upon an impressive bar, a large emerald settee, a massive mahogany desk with an ornately framed painting-
Eddie freezes in the middle of the room as Steve plops onto the settee, taking the lid off of the dish on the side table. He busies himself selecting one of the little joints, filling it while Eddie quietly has a heart attack. He skirts the desk to get a closer look in the hope that his eyes are deceiving him.
Because hanging on the wall in front of him is a portrait of Edward’s Stephen.
“Neat, huh?” Steve’s bright chirping voice is punctuated by the flick of a lighter and an inhale. Eddie hears him let out the smoke in a short cough, “I guess he’s like a great-great-like super great grandpa. Lord, uh, something-”
“Lord Stephen Henry Harrington the third.” Eddie corrects with barely a breath. He wishes the universe could stop throwing his beloved’s memory in his face. Eddie knows he made a mistake in betraying Stephen’s memory by letting his guard down with Hopper.
“You know him?”
~*~
Hawkins Castle
March 15, 1586
“Wait, wait, wait! Just stay like that!”
Stephen looks at Edward in bemusement from where he’s sitting by the fire, “I wasn’t going anywhere, my love. Why, what are you plotting?”
Edward scrambles from his sprawl in their bed, wrapping the sheet around him and snorting as he catches Stephen’s interested look, “Even you can’t entertain more than five times in so few hours, beloved. I’m not plotting anything, just stay as you were!”
Stephen huffs and settles back into place, gesturing with his hand holding the goblet, “May I drink, or is that against the rules?”
His soft purr stirs Edward’s loins with carnal interest, and he has to physically shake himself free from temptation. He frowns, shaking a finger at his love as he laughs, “Thou shalt not tempt me, devil! And yes, you may drink occasionally. My sketch is done, I just want to finish this.”
“Is that what you were doing over there this whole time? I thought you were resting.”
Edward affixes his parchment, then busies himself opening the small bottles Stephen acquired for him during Christmas. He wanted to save them for a special occasion, and this was the perfect time- right before he was sent out to leave again. Stephen broke the news to him earlier that day, and Edward couldn’t go with him as he was still recovering. It was only now, after their many rounds of passionate coupling, did the time feel right.
Stephen was all at once peaceful yet somber, the most relaxed Edward had seen him in a while. The firelight danced over his face, reminding him of the god Apollo racing to bring the dawn. The sketch came easily, his hand flew over the parchment, the inspiration singing through his veins. Very rarely did he feel like this, the urge to immortalize someone in charcoal and paint. It was a gift he rarely told anyone about; only his immediate family knew. Sharing it would only prove the rumors true, that the Munsons were touched- by either the angels above or the Devil, and their fates would reside on what the Lord of the manor would say. If he knew how intimate his son and heir’s relationship was with Edward, it would be sure to end in Edward’s execution, no matter how devoted he acted to the church.
Edward pushed those thoughts away, letting all his troubles drift as if they were cobwebs in the springtime. Now was the time to bask in the sunset glow of their love, so he focused on getting the perfect hue of gold and amber, consisting of Stephen’s somber expression. He was so focused on his work that he didn't feel the gooseflesh erupting over his skin, that night had fallen until he felt Stephen’s warm palms covering his shoulders.
“This is how you see me?”
Edward leans against his chest, humming as he sank into Stephen’s warmth, “I do. You are the heart of the flames themselves, righteous and wild. You are the light in the darkest night.”
~*~
Hawkins, Indiana
1986
“…the light in the darkest night…”
He painted Stephen in his chair nearest the fire, with a deep crimson curtain behind him. He was relaxed, relaxing his head on his open fist, his other hand outstretched and holding his goblet in a loose grip. He’s dressed exactly like all the heroes on the cover of the trashy romance novels that Eddie devours whenever possible. It was his favorite piece; he can still spot his signature worked into the embroidery in the curtain.
Stephen saved it.
Eddie knew that he packed some things that would remind them of home, some luxury items that could pad their home or be sold in emergencies. Eddie just never knew that his painting was essential to Stephen, especially after he married. The proof that Stephen brought it with him to hang in his new home, with his new life, and had it framed rocked Eddie to his core.
He thought Stephen had moved on. Eddie thought he was just the first chapter in Stephen’s life, closed and packed away, never to be touched or pondered again.
His mouth opens to answer Steve, and finds he can’t speak. He blinks the sudden tears away and tries again, “Aye. I knew him. I painted this portrait four-hundred-some years ago.”
He fights to keep himself nonchalant, to sound casual when he feels anything but composed. He doesn’t hear Steve padding closer to him, but he feels a soft buzzing in the air similar to what he felt in the kitchen and just assumes that El is checking on him. He’s startled when Steve leans against the desk beside him with the joint held between his soft, pink lips. He takes it out, blows a steady stream of herbal smoke into the air. Eddie licks his lips, his mouth already feeling like a dessert, and wonders what this Steve’s lips taste like. Do they taste like wine, like ripened berries in the summertime? Do they feel like soft rose petals, plush and silky? Would he whimper or moan if Eddie were to bite down ever so gently?
Eddie is jolted out of his thoughts when he hears Steve softly snicker. He’s merely smiling back, his dark eyes shimmering with weed and some other emotion Eddie can’t quite identify, “Seems pretty… uh, intimate?”
“Is that a question, or an observation?” Eddie reaches out to take the joint, and brushes his fingertips against Steve’s. He freezes as he feels a shock, can literally see the spark between the contact of their fingers. He feels a warmth flowing down his fingers, feels the buzz, but stronger this time.
He knows what this is, this feeling that rocks Eddie’s entire being. He steps back, shaking his head because no- this can’t be happening, not here- not now.
“Eddie? Are you okay?” He looks so sweetly concerned. Eddie wants to reassure him, run his hands down Steve’s arm like he knows intrinsically would relax the young man-
God, he’s just a boy.
His jaw works with no sound coming out, his horrified scream caught in his throat. He steps back, close to the door, and as soon as he reaches the doorway, he croaks, “I have to get out of here.”
Eddie Munson runs away from a new beginning, from the one person he never thought he would run from.
*
Steve leads his new friend into his dad’s office, trying his best to be as casual as he can. It feels wrong somehow, like he’s doing something he shouldn’t, and in this case, yeah. He is. But this room hasn’t held his dad’s presence in months, and he’s not sure when they’ll be coming back. If they’re coming back.
He’s tired of the unknown when it comes to his parents. He hates that when it comes to them, there are faded memories amidst a horde of expectation and pressure. Though as much as he would like them to come back, this is his home now. They left him here to fend for himself, so he should be able to do whatever the hell he wanted to do with this house.
He likes his dad’s study. Richard spent a lot of money decorating it to his particular specifications, and he had a penchant for quiet luxury. Steve supposes that’s where he gets that flaw from, but he knows he just doesn’t know any better. Thank god for Robin to check him, he doesn’t want to sound pompous.
He really likes the improvements, though. The carpet was thick, better than the dark orange shag carpet they had in there before. His aunt gave Steve the green couch, so until he moved out, his dad kept it in his office to make sure it stayed nice. Steve has his own suspicions about why he wanted it in there, but decides he really doesn’t want to unpack that.
He filled the bar with expensive alcohol that both of his parents enjoyed- that Steve has enjoyed thoroughly in their absence. Old books lined the shelves with his dad’s boring taste in knick-knacks: old Civil War guns that don’t fire, statues, and things. There were some books he liked to glance through, their family history was one of them. It was one of his favorites; he’d come in while it was storming and make a mixed drink, sit on his couch, and look through the book. He never felt like he was alone in here, because hanging over the large desk along the wall was this beautiful painting. The guy looked cool, like he was watching over him somehow.
He gestures Eddie inside and makes himself get the joint ready instead of watching him move. Eddie was weirdly graceful and altogether clumsy, like he’s full of frenetic energy. He looked around with the biggest, darkest eyes Steve has ever seen. They looked so… haunted. Old. Strangely innocent. Tired.
All of those things. It makes Steve want to take care of him, and it boggles his mind because the guy’s technically like, really old. He knows he can take care of himself, but one look at him makes Steve question:
Does he really? Or is this a punishment, a thing to endure because he hates himself?
He’s really… something. He likes that his hair is grown out and is all fluffy, his curls tumbling down his shoulders. He smells so good, like that smoky incense that Robin liked to burn, also like leather and spice. He wants to see what his hair smells like, see if he can tell what kind of hairspray he uses just by scent alone.
He also wants to bury his face in his long neck. God, the tendons, that neat snake thing he has. All of his tattoos, really. He wants to see all of them, wants to see the ones he can a lot closer- for the details, of course. He also wants to see the ones that peek out under the hem of his cropped shirt.
He’s so lean, fit. Steve has to actively keep his eyes from roving all over his intriguing physique.
Just out of curiosity!
Maybe.
Steve was unsure of why this is coming up now all of a sudden. Wasn’t the gay panic supposed to hit during puberty or something?
He can’t be gay if he likes boobs. Steve really likes boobs. Like that’s one of his favorite things, big ones, little ones, he doesn’t care.
Eddie doesn’t have boobs, but he’s got nice hands. Long fingers, with chunky rings. He likes how he talks with his hands, with his whole body even. Eddie is so animated it’s really-
Eddie’s really cool, and Steve wants to get to know him better. A lot better.
He reminds Steve of something wild, free. Like a wild stallion or a deer. He gingerly makes his way into the room, looking around in curiosity but like he’s on the verge of bolting.
He’s like Bambi.
He shakes his head, laughing at himself while he gets a joint ready. Looking up, he notices Eddie standing stock still behind his dad’s desk, looking up at the painting. “Neat, huh?”
Eddie twitches at the sound of the lighter and whirls to face him. His brows are furrowed and upturned, like he’d seen a ghost of a loved one. His voice is soft but raspy as he asks, “Where did you get this?”
“Oh, that old thing? Just something my Nana passed down to my dad when she passed. She was emphatic that we keep it in the family, that it was cherished by one of our ancestors. There’s like, a whole story behind it,” He leans back on the settee, gesturing behind him and casually twitching his hips to get comfortable. He thinks for a wild second that Eddie’s eyes twitched, but maybe that was Steve’s need for positive attention from people. He’s not willing to unpack that either. “My dad has it written down somewhere. He kept it because my mom is like, into that whoo-whoo shit and doesn’t want us to get haunted.”
Eddie laughs along with him nervously, and Steve’s tempted to just go and fetch the book for him to see for himself. The expression that flickers over Eddie’s face looks bittersweet, like he’s grieving and looking for answers.
“An heirloom, of sorts?”
“Yeah, something like that..” Steve looks at him quizzically and stands to join him, noticing the other man’s eyes widen further in response. He hopes he’s not scaring the guy. He takes a fortifying drag of the joint, hoping he looks cool before he releases the plume of smoke with a short cough, “I guess he’s like a great-great-like super great grandpa. Lord, uh, something-”
“Lord Stephen Henry Harrington the third.” Eddie corrects with barely a breath. Steve looks over and Eddie’s so pale, smiling even though he looks so devastated. Something tells Steve that Eddie knows more than he’s letting on, and he wishes he could help.
“You know him?” It’s a lame question, because obviously Eddie does.
His mouth opens to answer Steve, yet nothing but a tiny creak comes out. He looks up, those large doe-eyes filled with tears that he tries to blink away, he nods as he looks away towards the painting, “Aye. I knew him. I painted this portrait four-hundred-some years ago.”
He takes a chance to distract the other man, to maybe feel his way around asking him the important questions without seeming like he’s prying too much. He snickers softly and smiles at Eddie’s startlement, trying his best not to think about how incredibly attractive he looks up close, “Seems pretty… uh, intimate?”
“Is that a question, or an observation?” Eddie snarks back as he reaches out to take the joint, brushing his fingertips against Steve’s. They both freeze as he sees a little spark arch between the contact of their fingers. He feels a warm buzz down his fingers and finds he really likes it.
“I mean, it could be both,” Steve muses, wondering why Eddie is so jumpy, acting so guilty. It’s like he can’t look Steve fully in the eye, blushing like he was wrong somehow to snark back.
Eddie takes a longer drag, his hand shaking as he motions to the painting, “We were, um… We-”
Something in the air shivers, and Eddie trembles. He looks heartbroken, like his world is crumbling all around him. Steve knows that feeling so well, “Eddie? Are you okay?”
His jaw works as he silently sets the joint on the ashtray between them. He steps around Steve, his arm brushes his, causing more little shocks. He whirls around whilst stepping back, his face completely crestfallen as he nears the doorway, he croaks, “I have to get out of here.”
Then he’s gone, leaving Steve wondering if he came on way too strong.
*
Hawkins Cemetery
1986
Eddie ran through the streets as if the hounds of hell were at his heels. Down busy streets, passed barking dogs, little ladies gardening, and children playing in their yards. He can already feel the clouds rolling in, darkening. He can feel the vibration of thunder rumbling in the skies above him. His heels pound the pavement, and he swears he can hear cracks forming with the impact.
He barely feels the pain of his burning lungs; everything around him is a blur as he keeps running. His mind is screaming, his thoughts crowding and jumbled together. All he can think of is escape, to run far away.
If he runs far enough, fast enough, then maybe he can protect Steve. Protect all of them.
It’s too much of a coincidence. Hopper needing him, getting Wayne involved, El, and now Steve? It was only a matter of time before the one person he least wanted to see showed up. Right at a time when Eddie was-
Vulnerable?
Betrayed?
Broken?
He reaches the gates of the cemetery and doesn’t stop until he reaches the very center. He feels the peace wash over him, the silence settling his mind. Leaning against a headstone, he slides down until he’s able to rest in the loamy grass. He wipes the sweat from his brow, taking a few deep breaths to slow down his heartbeat when he feels the shiver down his spine. He freezes before he hears a soft clapping, knowing exactly who’s behind him.
Henry Creel.
“Well, well, you certainly gave me a run for my money,” the older Immortal’s melodic tones grate over Eddie’s nerves. He closes his eyes, knocking the back of his head gently against the headstone.
He sighs deeply as he takes his time to stand up, brushing off the grass from the seat of his jeans. He turns slowly to face Henry, letting the other Immortal see exactly how enthused he is to see him. Eddie sees only a minor twitch of his eye to let him know that he was affected in any way.
“I knew you were involved somehow,” Eddie states softly. He looks above them, at the clouds already darkening. He can feel the buzz of electricity in the air, only muted, like cotton stuffed in his ears. This was hallowed ground, they couldn’t fight here, but knowing that doesn’t change nature nor how his body is already keying up for a fight. He folds his arms around his middle and murmurs, “I just wasn’t sure how.”
“Until now?” The blond smirks, “Come now, could you resist after meeting a brilliant doctor such as Brenner?”
Eddie can’t explain why that makes his blood run cold.
“Wait, you-”
Henry’s eyebrows climb his forehead, his creepy smile crawling across his face, “Yess. Me. It seems saving trophies worked in my favor.”
With that, he reaches into the breast pocket of his suit coat, pulling out a braid as thick as Eddie’s pinkie. The breath seizes in his lungs, he knows that hair. He knows that if he stepped closer, he’d be able to see the slight reddish highlights, how it curls at the end. He wonders if it still holds the scent of wildflowers, the sweet yellow, white, and purple sprigs Elenor would weave into their curls.
It was still tied with her red silk ribbon, the bastard.
“Why?” Eddie shakes his head, the words dragging out of him hurt. “Why do this?”
Henry cocks his head, as if he’s actually considering the question, “Would you have come here otherwise? I doubt that. Besides, the Council said it could never happen. Except I did.”
“Have you ever stopped to think that there is a reason why the Council prohibited Immortal procreation in the first place?” Eddie flings his arms out incredulously, “I feel like I’m taking crazy pills here- you’re actively making children with superpowers? For what purpose?”
The look on Henry’s face makes him sick, he doesn’t need to say anything for Eddie to start connecting the dots; “Come on, old chap. I’m sure with your brilliant mind you can answer that yourself. But I’ll answer your question with another question: How long do you think we can manage keeping ourselves out of the mortal’s spotlight?”
Eddie slowly turns to keep Henry in his field of vision, he knows the man is goading him. He’s trying to find the chink in Eddie’s armor but he’s not as innocent nor naive as he used to be.
“We fight in public, anytime any one of us gets angry, our powers spill over. For how long can we keep our existence a secret? I say, let’s not bother.” Henry smiles, gesturing at the town around them, “This is the perfect place- far enough away. A nice and secluded town to cultivate their little minds with countryside around for them to hone their abilities-”
“For what purpose? Far be it from me to believe you when you say you want to make more of us. Children don’t work out, we’ve tried it before-”
“And they haven’t worked out until now.” Henry interrupts, snapping his fingers with an unholy glint in his eye, “Brenner cracked the code. All that was needed was to find the perfect host-”
“Their mothers. They aren’t hosts for Christ’s sake, Creel!” Thunder cracks above, the clouds blocking all semblance of the sun. The wind picks up, and all Creel does is tip his head back as he laughs at Eddie. “So what, you’re going to raise these children and cut them down when they are at their most powerful to collect their energy? It doesn’t exactly work like that. Time is-”
“Time works too slow for my tastes.” Henry sobers, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly as he brushes off of invisible lint, “I’d rather take them when their power is at its most unbridled. With their defenses broken down, it makes it easier to slip into their minds.”
“You know I won’t let you do that.”
Henry scoffs, “‘Let me’? My darling, you’re one of them. Don’t you get that already? Your mere presence, your connection to Eleven, is what makes this possible.”
“I’ll never help you,” Eddie vows fiercely. He would rather die than help a madman absorb countless Immortal children. “There is nothing on this Earth that would make me want to help you.”
“At the expense of an innocent’s life?”
Eddie’s brow furrows as a chill goes down his spine, “What do you mean?”
Creel makes a show of thinking about the question, “Your little mortals are looking for someone…”
Billy, Max’s step-brother.
The police think his father had something to do with it, having evidence of his abuse through Susan and Max’s testimony. She recounted everything the officers grilled out of her to Eddie, and adamantly blamed herself for getting him arrested. He had to assure her that by telling the truth, she brings to light the wrongdoing to her step-brother despite his disappearance. It’s telling the police that her step-father has motive, and the best thing for everyone is for him to be behind bars.
It’s good for Eddie at least, so now he knows where the man is at all times. One less person for him to hunt down. He doesn’t truly think that Neil Hargrove had anything to do with Billy’s disappearance, but wouldn’t blame the boy if he decided to run away with all of the horror stories.
“So?” Eddie shrugs as if the information doesn’t affect him, when it most assuredly does. Creel wasn’t the type to be a gentle kidnapper; he can only imagine what the boy was forced to endure. “You have Billy, and what? You want to trade?”
“I have Billy,” Creel agrees, “However, unless you give Eleven to me, then I shall take someone close to her, day by day, and leave their corpses for you to find.”
Creel bows deeply, the smile never leaving his face as he turns to walk away. Eddie can do nothing but watch him, frozen in place by the terrible choice the older Immortal has put forth.
It’s not a choice. It’s completely out of the question for Eddie, he can’t give up his blood. Whether she was made in a lab or naturally, El is still family. He can’t imagine giving her up for anything. Anyone.
“Oh, and by the way,” Eddie rolls his eyes as Creel’s cultured voice echoes through the cemetery, “It didn’t escape my notice how similar that felt like you did before the Change… Steve, is it? Tell me you sensed it too.”
Eddie folds his arms, doesn’t acknowledge Creel’s query. Acknowledging it makes it real, and he can’t accept this.
“You know, when I come upon someone like us, it’s always a hard choice,” Eddie frowns and faces Creel. He seems utterly sober, a sort of clarity alighting his eyes that Eddie hasn’t seen since they first met. “You can ignore it, and watch them age, wondering why you haven’t, and listen to them curse you. Or, you can take it into your own hands-”
“I could never sentence someone to a life like this.”
Creel’s smile is devoid of mirth, his eyes once again darkening ‘til there’s nothing but a void in its stead, and as he leaves, he throws over his shoulder, “Maybe I won’t give you the choice. Be seeing you, Edward.”
*
Steve was just settling things down for the night, cleaning up the mess the kids left and checking all the windows and doors. After all the trash is gathered and the food is put away, he begins to boil some water for hot chocolate. He prefers the homemade recipe, but he forgot to get milk, and it sounded like a storm was brewing outside.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, his temples throbbing with a sharp, sudden pain. He gets migraines often; some of them are sports injuries, concussions from fights he found himself in, and not to mention the situation from last summer. He doesn’t tell anyone how bad it gets, he doesn’t want anyone to worry about him.
He’s grown used to that over the years, with his parents going on vacation and long business trips once he could reach the sink. Sure, he had nannies sometimes. It wasn’t enough.
It was never enough for him, so that’s why he feels too much. His friends in high school never understood. They only saw the mask he wore, the easy smile, the rich clothing, and endless parties with beer and drugs. They saw the money, the glamour. They never saw his frantic looks through the blinds as car headlights beam across his room. The cars would pass, none of them turning into his driveway.
He fell asleep on the stairs often, watching as the stars glow before winking out to make way for the sunrise. He never got to hear the jingling of keys, nor his mother’s heels on the marble floor; his dad’s heaving sigh at finally coming home. Steve’s pretty sure the resorts and hotels they chose over Hawkins felt more like home.
He hears a loud rumble of thunder before the soft pattering of rain pelts the windows and roof. He’s always liked the sound of rain; it’s soothing and makes it easy for him to relax. The rumbling of thunder used to scare him, but not anymore; not after hearing a demogorgon’s growl.
He reaches up to grab a mug in the cabinet above him and freezes as he hears a knock at the door. Three loud knocks, like the visitor is exhausted. He’s not expecting anyone, but he has this strange feeling, like a pull in his stomach. A chill down his spine tells him that the visitor is important.
He looks through the peephole he had installed months ago to see a wet, bedraggled, “Eddie?”
He opens the door to see Eddie standing weakly on his doorstep, clutching his side while his free hand hangs in the air. He’s soaked through, his hair hanging in curly clumps. His eyes look impossibly big, the shadows dark and bruised underneath. Eddie takes a deep breath and softly asks, “Can I stay here? Please?”
As if he could say ‘no’ to that Bambi face. Steve nods emphatically, ushering him inside, “Yes, of course! Come in! You must be so cold!”
Steve smells leather and the rain from outside as Eddie walks through the door. He shivers as their knuckles brush together, sending a sizzling spark down to his fingertips. Eddie chuckles humorlessly, but as soon as he steps foot inside, he droops wearily. He waits for Steve to quickly shut the door, throwing multiple deadbolts and a chain. He turns back to see Eddie softly smiling at him, nodding at him like he’s…proud of his safety measures?
Steve feels the warmth of happiness and affection bloom in his chest. He doesn’t take any time to examine it because the guy is standing right there, looking at him, and yeah-
Dripping everywhere and probably very cold. Seeing Eddie’s slight tremble spurs Steve into action; he inhales sharply, “God, what am I doing? You’re probably freezing! Here, let me-”
Steve doesn’t miss how Eddie shrinks in on himself as he draws closer, nor how his expression makes him seem so much younger than he really is. Steve can recognize the need for touch while also denying comfort in self-punishment. Though he has absolutely no idea what Eddie could have possibly done to look so guilty, and like he’s grieving.
Steve gets it, of course. It doesn’t escape his grasp that it has a lot to do with the painting.
But Eddie came to him. Like he needs Steve somehow, and he’s not going to treat Eddie any differently than he would the girls, or the Party.
He doesn’t hesitate as he lays his hands over Eddie’s shoulders, feeling the sparks again coupled with Eddie’s renewed trembling, “Here, let’s get you to the nearest bathroom. Right through the hallway here.”
Eddie chuckles softly, “More than one bathroom? Ooo, fancy.”
“I’ll have you know, I have six bathrooms,” Steve chirped primly, he even sticks his nose up and everything.
It has the desired effect when he can see a smile peeking through his wet mop of hair. Jesus, it’s so thick, even wet. He has to strongly fight the urge to run his fingers through it, arrange the curls, and play with it. He wonders if Eddie likes his hair played with before they finally reach the downstairs bathroom, and Steve’s forced to let him go.
“So uh, here’s the bathroom. We got a shower installed because of the pool, mom didn’t want us to track pool water all over the house. I made sure there’s good shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and lotion in there though.” Eddie blinks slowly, taking in the furnishings.
A pine and white marble counter with a shell-shaped sink, with a round mirror set above. Two shell-shaped sconces glowing a golden/pink hue. The walls were a soft blush, with creamy sand tiles and pink shag rugs. The shower stall was frosted with a rainfall shower head. This was arguably one of Steve’s favorite rooms, especially since it connected to the laundry room.
He gestures Eddie further inside as he strolls to the linen closet built into the wall, pulling out a couple of fluffy towels. He sets them on the counter and rubs the back of his head awkwardly. Eddie shut the door in the meantime, making the room feel very cozy and intimate all of a sudden.
Eddie’s a little taller than him, Steve realizes. The golds and pinks of the room complement his face, softens the sharp angles and makes him look so warm. The light hides the dark circles, effectively erasing the darkness in his eyes, and makes Eddie look like he’s just one of them. Like Eddie had come over for a movie night, or his car broke down, something mundane.
He has absolutely no idea how long they’ve been staring at each other, but Steve gives him a comforting smile. Eddie seemed to like it when he smiled. “So just go ahead and take a shower, use what you need, and I’ll lend you some threads in the meantime. Hate putting on wet jeans, ya know?”
Eddie relaxes, taking what seems to be the first deep breath since he walked in, nodding in thanks. Steve rushes off to dig out a pair of warm sweatpants, boxers, and his old Hawkins High t-shirt. He smiles down at the big orange tiger and thinks that it would look really good on Eddie. The thought of his rangy body in his clothes really does something to him.
He shakes himself out of those thoughts, and hopes he wasn’t spending too much time just standing in the laundry room, leaving Eddie all alone. He seems to relax when Steve joins him and smiles softly at the tiger, tracing the picture with the tip of his ringed index finger.
“So I’ll just be hanging out in the kitchen-”
Steve stops suddenly as he turns to leave, and looks down at Eddie’s hand wrapped around his wrist. He gasps and freezes when he looks at Eddie. For a moment, he looks surprised at himself. As though Eddie didn’t mean to grab him in the first place, but instead of letting him go, he gentles his grip, “Please. I- I know this sounds really pathetic, but would you please stay? I don’t think I can be alone right now.”
Steve can swear his mind completely crashes for a few moments, like on the TV when it’s late in the night, and the screen is covered in these color bars and there’s that odd tone- Anyway. He didn’t really expect Eddie to want him to stay, but it wasn’t the first time he talked with a guy while they showered after gym. All in all, it isn’t exactly an odd request; he just wasn’t expecting it from someone like Eddie.
“Yeah,” Steve mentally curses the odd breathy tone his voice makes and clears his throat, “Yeah, sure. I’ll just sit on the john and we can talk about cars or something.”
Whatever he said breaks Eddie out of the anxious paranoia he fell into, and he chuckles, “I can tell you why they call it ‘The John’ if you’d like.”
Steve is momentarily distracted by Eddie’s bright white smile until Eddie starts taking off his jacket/vest combo. Steve shakes himself out of his stupor and reaches out for it, “Oh yeah, go ahead! I’ve always wondered!”
Steve keeps his back turned as he can hear Eddie struggling to take his wet clothing off. He doesn’t mean to, but his eye just so happens to wander to the mirror, and the brief flash of tattooed, pale skin shocks him. Miles of lithe, long limbs etched in black ink and silver scars. Steve finds himself wanting to see all of them up close. He feels a momentary bolt of guilt, shame because he shouldn’t be looking, should he?
They’re friends, kind of. He has a feeling that there’s something…more here. Something that’s just out of reach, something so fragile that as much as he’d like to reach out for it, he’s terrified that it would shatter in his hands. Like this thing that exists between them is something priceless and precious, like his mother’s delicate knick-knacks she keeps in her curio cabinet. They are beautiful to look at: crystalline figures and animals, their details so tiny and exact. Steve’s always loved looking at them, never dared to reach out to touch due to reprimand.
So he does what his mom told him to, ‘see with your eyes and not your hands’.
God, how much he wants to see with his hands. But that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? Guy friends don’t do that, no matter what kind of young exploration he and Tommy engaged in. Even though Eddie seems like the type, it doesn’t mean he would want Steve. No, he’s just being nice to Steve because he looks like… that other guy. The Lord dude.
Someone that Steve couldn’t live up to, not even if he tried. He’s just some guy that happened to be born in the Harrington family, he’s not cultured or refined. He drips ketchup and mustard on his shirts for Christ’s sake. He barely passed high school.
Steve is so lost in thought that he missed Eddie dropping trou entirely, hearing the shower door close, and the water starting. Steve smiles when he hears the low groan. The water pressure was immaculate; it was one of the reasons why he never bothered to move out.
“Nothing in this world beats indoor plumbing.”
Steve cackles at Eddie’s rumbling voice. Steve turns around and mourns as he sees the shower cubicle already filling with steam. He makes a striking figure, blurred as he is. Steve can see how long his legs are, see the ghost of the curve of his ass before he can feel his face burning. He looks away and slaps his thighs, “Story time.”
“Ah yes,” Eddie’s head tilts back, the blurry form of his arms reaching up to get his hair completely soaked. Steve wants to do that, to feel Eddie’s wet curls snaking and coiling around his fingers, down his arms. “The tale of Sir John Harrington, Stephen’s uncle.”
“No way!”
Eddie laughs, deep and long, “Yes! He was younger than Henry, closer to Stephen’s age, and lived at court with her majesty, Queen Elizabeth I. He was the one who engineered a flushing toilet, but for some reason named it Ajax. My suspicions have always been that he knew an Ajax, but maybe that’s beside the point.”
“So why did people call them john’s?” Steve hears the pop of the shampoo opening, and soon a fruity, herbally scent wafts through the air. He can only imagine how Eddie’s hair will smell after this.
“Well, to be quite honest with you,” Eddie starts as he lathers, groaning softly at what Steve can only assume is the luxurious feel of the silky suds working through his thick tresses. “John was a shit. He was the ‘Saucy Godson’ of the queen.”
“You can’t be serious.” Is that… where the Harrington Charm came from? His super great uncle?
“Oh, I am dead serious.” Eddie snickers through the pregnant silence that follows, “He wrote a lot of risqué poetry, flirted with everyone, man or woman, it didn’t matter. None of his prolictivities garnered him any derision since he was favored. The man was ridiculous, but the jeering didn’t get him down.”
Steve was reeling. His family invented the flushing toilet? No wonder his mom called the toilet his father’s throne. He knows for a fact his father kept all of that under wraps, image was everything to him. It still boggles his mind, not only his family’s history and fortune, but that he’s learning all of this from someone who actually knew his ancestor. That the man currently naked and wet in the shower cubicle right beside him has lived for over four hundred years.
“Hey, Eddie?”
“Hay is for horses.”
Steve rolls his eyes, such a dad thing to say. He shivers a little at how corny Eddie is, how much he likes that. He smiles down at his feet, “How old were you? When you uh- when you-”
There’s a beat of silence before Eddie asks the question for him instead, “How old was I when I died the first time?”
The first time? What does he mean?
“Um, y-yeah.”
The faucet squeals a little as the water turns off, and soon Steve sees Eddie’s spidery fingers reach over the door making grabby hands, “Towels, Jeeves? Please.”
Steve snickers, holding up the fluffy towels for Eddie to easily pluck from his hands. Soon the shower door opens, and Eddie emerges covered from armpit to thigh with his hair in a towel turban like he’s seen girls do. It makes Steve immediately burst into laughter, and he supposes that’s exactly what Eddie was aiming for. His face beams, his eyes sparkle, his smile widens to where Steve sees deep dimples carved in his skin.
His tattoos glitter with water droplets, dripping from the tips of his curls to run over his smooth skin. Steve wants-
Steve wants. It scares him as much as it delights him.
Eddie’s smile softens, his mirth sobered as he softly answers, “I was twenty.”
*
It doesn’t escape Steve how familiar this is, bringing someone up to his room and trying to ignore his pounding heartbeat, worrying if the room looks decent enough. His mind flicks through thoughts so quickly:
Is my hamper overflowing?
Are there clothes all over the place?
Does it smell weird?
Did I remember to change the sheets?
He tells himself he’s being silly, that Eddie wouldn’t care about any of that. He’s scared, Steve can see it written all over his perpetually young face. His large whiskey colored eyes dart around to find monsters in the shadows, exactly how Steve used to. Still does, sometimes.
He hurries over to his desk to flick on a lamp, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. The lights from the pool down below shine blue through his blinds. It highlights the blue plaid on his walls. He wishes he could have put something else up besides the hot rod poster, but Eddie has inched his way over to his dresser, looking at his bowling trophy of all things.
With a smile, he remembers the time he won that, such a simple thing but it meant the world to him at ten. His dad joined a league with him, a father and son tournament, Steve remembers the huge smile on his dad’s face when they won. For a moment, Steve made Richard proud.
It’s too bad it didn’t last, now it was just something collecting dust. A reminder of a time when he was the apple of his father’s eye.
Steve shakes his head, his thoughts scattering away at the sight of Eddie in his old clothes. The sweatpants cling to his thighs, riding low on his hips. His legs were so long, the ankle cuff kept crawling up his calves. He can see ‘Run’ tattooed on each of his Achilles heels, knowing that ‘Far’ and ‘Fast’ were on the bottoms of each foot. He saw them as the Immortal stepped into the shower. Black vines crawl up his calves from the tops of his feet, black vines arch over his sides and belly, an intricate mandala around his belly button that makes Steve’s tongue ache to trace. Just those glimpses of tattooed skin makes Steve’s fingers tingle to reach out and touch.
Steve forces a smile when Eddie faces him, “This is my room…obviously. My bathroom’s through the other door.” He gestures lamely to the open door, as if Eddie couldn’t have gleaned that information by himself. Man, he was being so lame. “I’m sure you want to sleep-”
“I believe sleep will be hard for me to come by, but I wouldn’t mind to rest my eyes.” For all his age and general badassery, Eddie seems to shrink in on himself. As if asking for things is hard for him to do. Which Steve gets, obviously. He’s the same way.
He thinks back to when he came home to a quiet, cold, empty house after the whole debacle with the Russians. How he felt truly, utterly alone. Tired, concussed, scared, and sad. All he wanted was to lay down, be held by someone. He wanted to be told that everything was alright. Steve wanted to fall asleep in someone’s arms, to sleep the whole night, and to wake up next to them. To know that they wouldn’t leave sometime during the night with a half-hearted note.
He gestures with a nod of his head, and an easy smile towards his bed. He lets Eddie pad his way over as he turns on his stereo to play some soft music. He likes Queen, doesn’t really talk about it to anyone but as soon as Robin saw the records she gave Steve articles she’d found about Freddie Mercury. It was like she was trying to tell him something, showing that she supports him, and it’s only now that he really gets it.
Eddie looked good perched on the edge of his bed, it makes Steve’s heart clench with how much he likes the image. He chuckles nervously as he sits beside Eddie, “I don’t usually do this.”
Eddie grins impishly at him, “What? You don’t make a habit of letting strange men lie with you in your bed?”
Steve knows Eddie means it as a joke, but he feels his face flame anyway. He thinks Eddie notices, but the older man’s not saying anything, thank God. He hears Eddie sigh deeply before he falls back onto the bed. He lifts a tattooed arm to rub wearily at his face, and Steve notices matching tattoos that crawl from his wrist to mid forearm.
They were daggers, bisected by what seems like a strip of ripped skin. A ruby red droplet of blood drips from the tip. The hilt was intricate, like what a real knife would look like. Steve looks down at the wrist between them, and he can see a faint line of scarring through the tattoo. Without thinking first, he reaches out to run a gentle fingertip to trace the scar. He hears a gasp, feels that spark and tingle all over again. It makes Steve’s heart race, and he can’t explain why the air feels so heavy all of a sudden.
“Could you tell me? About these?”
Eddie sits up, but when Steve moves away he catches his fingers, weaving them together loosely. Eddie chuckles softly and with some difficulty he says, “‘Tis a truly sad tale full of woe and pain. I wouldn’t want to subject you to that, it’s bad enough that I went through it.”
Steve turns Eddie’s hand over, starts playing with his rings, and admires the skeleton ink, “Not to burst your bubble there, chief, but I’ve seen some strange things the past few years. Lay it on me.”
Eddie’s sooty eyelashes are so long, they take all of his notice for a few moments as they flutter closed. He’s so close he could almost count every lash, every individual hair of his sleek eyebrows. He was so pretty that it almost takes him by surprise when Eddie speaks, not expecting the deep tone he uses as he starts.
“It was March 27th, in the year 1586, when I died for the first and last time…”
~*~
Hawkins Castle
March 27, 1986
The clouds were threatening to unleash their rage upon the inhabitants around Hawkins Castle, it was not the best night to travel. That wasn’t going to dissuade Stephen nor Edward from traveling. Stephen took the opportunity to sneak out as the dancers entertained the guests. Edward wasn’t sure how he achieved it, but he couldn’t see his hair nor his cloak among the throng. Time was of the essence, they couldn’t afford to mess anything up. Edward watches from the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to duck out into the dark night.
He sees Nicola conversing with her ladies, one of them is beyond consoling, weeping into her embroidered handkerchief as if her tears were going to change anything. He commiserates with her, his heart would be breaking too tonight, if it wasn’t for his and Stephen’s escape. When they take the main course out- a wild boar with a bright red apple in its mouth, Edward dips into the darkened hallway behind him leading him out to the stables.
He thinks he heard his name called but he doesn’t stop until he reaches the stables. Taking a glance around, he noted that Bimmer was gone which meant Stephen was well on his way to the docks. Wayne was missing, either inside the castle with the rest of the court, or having his own fun with Cook. The path was clear for Edward, so he quickly saddled his Sweetheart. She was a beautiful red mare, with a long silky black mane and tail. She was even tempered, sprightly, always ready for a ride through the Highlands. It hurts to know he’ll be leaving her for a time, but he hopes that maybe they could come back at some point.
“Aye girl, we’re off on an adventure,” He softly coos to her as she wickers, bumping their heads together.
They’re quiet as they set off, blending in with patrons, peasants, and guards going in and out of the portcullis. If he wasn’t so focused on getting to the orchard path that led to the docks, he would have been suspicious that the men outside were still in their armor, their weapons nearby. As if they were waiting for something.
Sweetheart picked up the pace as they turned towards the orchard, it being their favorite spot outside of the castle. The air was thick with woodsmoke, flowers, and the scent of apple blossoms blooming on the breeze. There was nothing better than to pluck a ripe apple from the trees outside in the cold crisp of autumn, taking a bite from their flesh, and crunching through the tight skin and pulp. Stephen knew how much he loved apples, and would join Edward and Elenor outside to collect them for the harvest festivals. Later, he’d feed Edward slices of the fruit in front of the fire and it would be one of the most dear memories he had of them.
Off to create more, he thought with excitement. He closes his eyes, and takes a last deep breath of the orchard, hoping that they could plant an orchard of their own one day.
Opening his eyes he can see a figure up ahead, Edward can’t believe Stephen waited up for him, but his lordship always worried for him. He grinned as he approached, calling out a soft bird call.
Stephen didn’t turn around. Why wasn’t he turning around?
He can hear obnoxious calling behind him off in the distance, and figured the party got raucous. It wouldn’t be the first time when there were pretty dancers, fire eaters, and mead aplenty, so maybe Stephen didn’t hear him. He suffered from hearing trouble since he was struck in the head so many times in the lists.
“Stephen, my love, why are ye waiting for me?” His Sweetheart slows, side stepping a little in caution. Edward’s brow furrowed as he drew closer, “I thought you were-”
The man in the saddle turns, revealing himself to be Sir Henry Creel. Always so quiet, kind, yet unnerving to most. He was Nicola Wheeling’s bodyguard, and allowed her more freedom than some would say was wise. Edward and Stephen always respected the man, and he treated them as equals despite their respective stations.
“Henry? Why, what are ye doing here?” Edward tries for lightness, but the grave look on the knight’s face gives him pause. He looks the man over, feeling a chill go down his spine as he sees his torn, bloodied, and burnt tabard. He can hear explosions behind them, screams and yelling. He assumed it was merry making.
The blood on Creel’s sword told him otherwise.
“I thought you were gone,” Creel whispers. He looked frightened, devastated. “I thought you managed to get to the docks in time.”
“What… what do you mean ‘in time’, Henry?” Edward can hear the approaching thunder off in the distance, punctuated by the booming of cannons.
“The enemy has launched an attack, my friend. Can’t you hear?” Creel gestures to the castle behind them, “I was waiting at the docks, I was trying- well, I was trying to smuggle Nicola away. My apologies to your lord-”
“I hardly care about that, I was taking Stephen away myself.” He looks off into the distance, where he knew the ship was taking off. All of them did when there was an attack, and Edward could hardly blame them, they had a job to do as well. He closes his eyes in defeat, wishing he would have left earlier, that they would have done so together, and avoided all of this mess.
Creel ducks his head in deference, “We can meet with them soon. For now, we must do what we can.”
Edward wheels Sweetheart around, urging her into a gallop, and cursing himself for shirking his duty to his people- his family.
He prayed that Wayne and Elenor were spared, that God gave Elenor the Sight to save herself and their uncle. Sweetheart’s hoofbeats merged with Edward’s, hammering in harmony the faster they approached the castle. He sobbed as he saw the fire crawling like a great Wyrm, billowing flames destroying everything in its path. So many men, friend and foe, lay dying, and calling for help as they raced through the gates.
Edward slipped numbly to the ground, Sweetheart running off towards the fields in fear of the fire and screaming. He had no thought of her anymore, and prayed she found sanctuary but all his thoughts soon circled around the vision handing from the parapets.
“Gods no, Elenor,” he whimpered, tears running down his face as he saw her delicate, burnt body swinging like a trophy. He fell to his knees, his hands shaking as he blindly searched for his sword.
He barely heard the crunching of footsteps behind him, and gasped in alarm as a harsh hand grips him by the hair. Pulling his back he can feel the brush of Creel’s lips along the shell of his ear. He could feel shocks like lightning, can smell ozone along with the light hint of wine on his breath as he whispers, “Do you know how long it took me to find someone like you?”
“W-What are you talking about? Creel, my sister-”
“Your sister is dead, Edward.” Edward cried out as his hair was tugged sharply. He grabbed Creel’s wrist to loosen his hold but it was like fighting a statute, he was unmoved. “She refused to join the Calling, which is a pity, but I will not leave here without my prize.”
“Creel, no stop-”
“You will forgive me in time.” Eddie felt the barest brush of a kiss on his cheek before the white-hot pain lining his throat. He gasped, the sound coming out in a wet gurgle as hot blood rushed down the front of his shirt.
He looked down, his brow furrowing in numb surprise at what just happened. His arms slowly lift, to try and stop the blood, but the ground meets his side instead. As he laid there with his life’s blood mixing with the mud and rain, all he sees is Elenor lifeless corpse hanging amidst the flames of his home. The universe condemned him for trusting a friend, for making the wrong choice, for running away.
He couldn’t care which sin it was, for his death soon approached. For all eternity, he would then burn for his transgressions.
*
March 28, 1586
The first thing Edward heard upon waking up was birdsong. He pressed his eyelids shut, believing all of it to be a dream. It had to be, it was the only way he could get through.
“Ye might as well open yer eyes, I know yer awake.”
The early morning sunlight was near blinding, he told himself it was only that and the bonfire smoke that stung at his eyes. Not that his whole world was gone. It took him some effort to sit up, he felt as weak as a newborn kitten, maybe even weaker still. He looked around the shack he and his uncle were staying in, wincing at the soreness of his throat. He was too afraid to touch it, but his fingertips found the skin anyway. He thought he would find it tacky with blood, still ripped open and raw but there was nothing there but warm skin.
“You really like I’d leave ye as I found ye?” He looks up where his uncle was perched on a chair near the open window. He was smoking from his pipe but he lays it down on the table before approaching Edward. He sat on the edge of the bed, grasping Edward’s hand in his own well-worn one, “There’s a lot I need to tell you.”
Edward shivered, wanting the comfort of his uncle’s warmth but afraid of what just happened to them. To himself.
In one night he lost his home, his friends, his sister, his only love. What more did he lose?
They talk long into the night, how their family’s bloodline held a special magic that made them immortal. The only trigger for the spell was the shock of a violent death, and that only taking another Immortal’s head would end their lives. The last living relative was then called to be their Watcher, tied to their lifespan to record every moment of the Immortal’s doings.
“So you’re… tied to me? Forever?”
Wayne’s face softened, and gave Edward a warm smile, “There is no one on this Earth I’d rather be tied to for the rest of our lives. Yer my heartson, Edward. Where you go, I follow.”
“I’m so sorry,” Edward sobs as he breaks down in tears. Wayne wound his arms around him, pulling him into his side as he’d done all Edward’s life.
He rocks them back and forth while Wayne assures him, “You’ve done nothing wrong, sweet boy. You were just born into something beyond our ken.”
As Edward grew strong enough to travel they picked their way through the wreckage of their home, packing the things they could salvage or sell, whatever was left over from the scavengers. They buried the bodies, prayed over them as best they could, and hoped that their friend’s souls were accepted into Heaven despite their meager faith. It was by blind luck that Sweetheart emerged from the forest, completely unscathed and letting out a whinny when Edward called out for her.
She trotted up to him, butting her face into his side. He strokes down her nose, cooing softly to her, “I thought I lost ye, my beauty. Such a smart, clever girl.”
“Truly a magical beast,” Wayne agreed as he stroked along her neck. He looks up into the sky, scanning the color of the clouds above, “We should be moving onward, they’re too close for comfort.”
“Who?” Edward climbs into the saddle as Wayne climbs astride his own.
Wayne peers pensively into the tree line where the clouds above were darkest. Almost in a curse he answered, “Henry Creel. He’s like you, he cannot die unless his head is taken.”
Eddie urges Sweetheart to follow alongside Wayne, going the complete opposite direction away from the docks and going towards more inland. Edward looks mournfully over his shoulder at the darkened clouds swirling above where the docks and the ship that took his love away were growing further away.
“I’ll kill him for what he’s done to me.”
~*~
Jamestown, Virginia
June 20, 1616
Edward waited until the settlers had left the burial before he emerged from the shadows of the church. The grass was soft and loamy underfoot, the sun above was bright and hot but Edward felt cold as he stood at the foot of the burial mound. He wore the brim of his hat low to shield his face and longed for one of those lace veils the ladies wore. He hated crying at all let alone in public. Though it was so beautiful outside all Edward saw was misty rain as he gazed upon his beloved’s headstone.
Here Lies
Lord Stephen Henry Harrington
Beloved Husband and Father
Born July 4, 1566
Died June 19, 1616
Edward falls to his knees, not caring as the dew of the grass soaks into his trousers. He wished he could sink into the earth as well, to join his beloved as he becomes one with nature, as his soul joins his loved ones in Heaven. As much as he willed it, death would not come for him.
“I’ll be joining you my love,” Edward vows in a whisper, “One way or another I will find you again, and I won’t let you go.”
It was that night he gave the lady innkeep a soft kiss on the cheek with a bag full of coins, urging her to keep making her cakes as they made him smile. He pet every stray cat and dog that came his way, and bought every child he came across a sweet cake. After today he wouldn’t be coming back to this town for the foreseeable future, a few decades at least.
He drank himself numb at the local tavern, and waited until every patron had left before he nicked a couple bottles. He took them out to the cemetery to watch the sunset, trading stories with Stephen’s headstone as if the man was there and would answer back. He sang their favorite songs as the stars winked into existence, whispered the vows he wanted to tell Stephen so long ago as the moon climbed high into the sky. It was midnight when he said his goodbyes, begged forgiveness, and told Stephen he loved him one last time.
He let the blade of his dagger dig deep into the vulnerable flesh of his wrist and forearm. It was almost like a release in a way, he felt lighter. He almost couldn’t feel the tacky hilt of the blade but he lifted it through will alone, the energy crackling in the air as the wind whipped around him. The universe, the Gods, Satan himself hated it when he tested their power but it never stopped Edward from trying to find oblivion.
There was nothing else for him any longer. Wayne had settled in the town next to this one, ready to “die” in a few years in battle or old age. The man was happy, he couldn’t take him away from that but Edward couldn’t live any longer in a place without his love, his very light. He sighed as the blade slipped from his nerveless fingers, a strange sort of smile on his face. Sometimes he’s awake long enough to see Stephen reaching out for him, beckoning him home with angels singing.
There are times when he doesn’t lose consciousness before the Fates pluck him back to existence, and he feels a searing pain in his arms before there’s a blinding light. His eyes squeeze shut, he doesn’t know what’s marked him forever. He doesn’t want to see what the universe says about this dramatic display of grief and self-pity. They are far beyond his follies at this point.
He shakes his head as tears slip down his face, he wants all of it to stop. He wishes he could just bash his head into the stone behind him but he knows better than to tempt the Fates again so soon. Even now, he could hear the rumble of the thunderclouds above him. He feels a shiver down his spine, but muted.
“I thought I’d find you here, son.”
Edward bites his bottom lip, lifting his bloody arm to wipe at the tears on his face and smearing blood in its wake, “I couldn’t just leave him here alone.”
Wayne nods in understanding before he sighs, “You know he wouldn’t want you to be like this. Not over him.”
“You have no idea what he wanted for me!”
“Mayhaps, perhaps not. I know I don’t want to see you like this.” Wayne squatted down and fished an unopened bottle of wine out of his hoard. Edward hissed at him, gathering the rest of the bottles closer like an angry mother goose.
“I dun care wot ye want er dun want for me!” Edward kicks out, scraping the heel of his boot into the grass to make a small trench. He sniffles, his eyes blinking slowly and unequally in his haze of drink, “He’s gone from me. Forever. I’ll never see his smile, hear his laugh, an I- I have to go on without him? How- how can I do that?”
Wayne sits beside him, takes a deep, long drink and considers what to say. Edward has always appreciated that about his uncle, how thoughtful he was. He hoped one day he could grow to be like him yet worries that he’s frozen in the mind and maturity of a young boy still.
He felt so exhausted. So old. He would be fifty by now. He looked at Wayne and wondered if he would have looked like him. Gray hair and wrinkles, eyes as dark and old as the mountains themselves. Wayne swallows, takes a deep breath and shrugs, “You take it day by day. Hour by hour. Minute by minute. If you can get through the next few moments unscathed, there’s hope. There’s time for us now, to heal. Learn and grow. If you cannae live for yourself, how about ye live fer him?”
*
Harrington House, 1986
“When I first saw you I felt like I lived for him so long he came back to me. Like a ghost I willed to be real, yet I was a complete stranger.” Eddie finishes softly. He jumps a little as Steve traces his tattoos gently, as though they still hurt. They ache, and Eddie’s not sure if its because its a phantom pain or if he’s just so touch starved he’d accept anything from Steve.
“So these, all of these mean…”
Eddie’s brow furrows, he doesn’t understand why the young man’s voice sounds like it’s warbling until he sees a tear drop onto the bedspread between them. A couple more patter on their joined hands and Steve looks up with watery eyes. Dear lord, the sweet child was crying over him.
“All of these mean you died somehow?”
Eddie lets out a slow breath, his heart aching at the pain he sees pouring out of Steve. Compassion for an almost complete stranger, so much like his Stephen but so refreshingly, innocently different. He nods as he gently wipes away the silvery tear tracks, “Yeah. But it’s not all bad. These are some sweet, sweet tatties. Could be worse, I could have Alf on my ass.”
His lame joke does have the desired effect, making that gorgeous smile peek out. Steve glowed when he smiled, a sweet blush formed over his cheekbones, crawling down his neck. Steve ducks his head, shyly brushing his nose against the palm of Eddie’s hand. It makes him gasp softly, makes him shiver because it took a long time for Stephen and he to create this intimacy laced with hopeful anticipation.
It barely registers when he feels the first soft brush of Steve’s lips over his own, but when he does he chases after him as Steve pulls back in hesitation. Eddie cradles the back of his head, delighting at the soft whine that spills forth when he tugs gently at the soft hairs at the nape of Steve’s neck. It’s a gentle, feather-light press of their lips together and drinking in Steve’s panting breaths. As much as he aches to, Eddie doesn’t try to press for anything more. He knows this must be new to the young man, Eddie’s satisfied with just this.
Steve’s eyelashes flutter open when Eddie leans back, and he laughs softly, “Wow. I-I mean, like, you probably um, with a lot of other people and- shit, god, fuck! I’m just gonna shut up now.”
Eddie’s head tips back as he watches Steve try to bury himself in the pillows to hide in embarrassment. He digs him out and pokes at his sides, “I wouldn’t say a lot. Just not that many that I didn’t care deeply for.”
Steve flops back against the pillows, looking sweet and sexy all at once. Eddie wants to do… oh so many things. The mind was willing but the body-
The body was tired after running for so long.
He gently brushes Steve’s fringe aside, chuckling as the boy tries to nip at his fingers, “I know that this- all of this is new to you, and just because I told you there’s history doesn’t mean that you owe me or anyone else anything at all. I just want to assure you, that no matter what happens I will protect you.”
“Not just because you find me pretty?”
“Well,” Eddie makes a show of hemming and hawing over the decision before he’s assaulted in the face with a squishy pillow, “Augh! Enough! I yield!”
Steve’s grinning face is above him and Eddie wants to kiss him again, he thinks he can see the same desire on the boy’s face so despite the warning of his trampled heart he lifts up to gently press a kiss to his lips, “Not just because I find you pretty, big boy.”
That seems to satisfy young Steve Harrington, who has no problem at all being the Big Spoon. Just as well, because it has been four hundred years since he felt as safe and at peace in another’s arms.