queenofhawkinshigh | in that pink dress, they're gonna crucify me

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in that pink dress, they're gonna crucify me

She shouldn't be here. Going into Eddie Munson's trailer to buy drugs is just about the last thing a girl like her should be doing, and Chrissy knows it. That isn't, though, what has her trembling and looking over her shoulder, teeth pressing to her lower lip as they step inside. For anyone to see her now would be the least of her problems, and that's saying something. She can only imagine how they'd react — Jason, her parents, everyone at school. The golden girl, not so golden anymore, all of the effort she's put into not letting anyone see that she's never been that — not golden, just gilded, a perfect surface covering anything but — for naught.

It's worth it, completely, if it clears her head for even just a little while, if it lets her catch her breath. Besides, while he's little more than a stranger, she got the foolish sense, earlier in the woods, that he wasn't looking at that thin gold varnish, but at her, the first person who's actually seen her and not just either what she wants them to see or all her shortcomings in a long time. Just the thought of it makes her feel even crazier than she already does, and she wouldn't have the first idea how to say so without sounding unbelievably stupid, but it makes it easier to follow him inside, arms wrapped around herself and fingers toying absently with the sleeves of her sweater as she looks around.

"Sorry for the mess. Maid took the week off," Eddie says, wry, and Chrissy would smile, offer a reassurance or joke in turn, if her nerves weren't so shot. She wants what she came here for. Anything else can wait.

"You, um... You live here alone?" she asks instead. She doesn't know anything about him, she realizes, except what everyone knows. He's been a senior for years, he sells drugs, he's supposedly a freak. He plays guitar, she knows that now, too. And he's warm, something that makes her feel a little guilty for being so rushed as he searches for the drugs she came here for.

"With my uncle," he answers, moving further into the trailer. "But, uh, he works nights at the plant, bringing home the big bucks."

Heart racing, she turns toward him. "How long does it take?" she asks abruptly. She's never done anything stronger than an ibuprofen or an antibiotic before. This is entirely uncharted territory, and it's terrifying, if not as much so as living with what's in her head. "The Special K. How long to kick in?"

"Oh, uh, well, it depends if you snort it or not," Eddie tells her, with an ease that makes her wonder just how much experience he has here. "If you do, then, uh, yeah. It'll kick in pretty quick."

She nods along. Quick is what she wants. When Eddie looks in yet another little container and says "Oh, shit," though, she feels a fresh burst of nerves. "You're sure you have it?"

"No, no, no, I got it," he assures her quickly. "Uh, somewhere." Without another word, he holds up a hand and runs into the back, where she can only assume his room is, leaving her standing in what amounts for the trailer's living room. It's not such a bad place, really. Run down and lived in, sure, but comfortable —

Or it would be, if the clock weren't beginning to chime.

Gasping, Chrissy turns toward the window, looking out at the still, dark night. There's nothing there, nowhere the ticking sound could be coming from except her own mind. She pulls the curtains shut quickly, turning in the direction of the hallway again. "Eddie?" she calls, trying not to sound so frantic, mostly failing. "Did you find it? Eddie?"

There's no answer. She definitely shouldn't be walking back to Eddie's bedroom, but she's desperate and she needs this now.

She calls his name again, but when she turns into the room, hand against the door frame, he isn't there. Her mother is, sitting at her sewing machine, altering her cheer uniform. "Mom?"

"Just loosening this up for you, sweetheart," her mother says, as sweetly cruel as ever. "You're going to look absolutely beautiful."

Her voice changes, deepens, distorts. Chrissy doesn't have a chance to react before her mother turns, and her face is — wrong, somehow, smile pulled too tight, eyes gone white. With a sharp breath, she pulls the door shut, anything to put distance between them, and she's not at Eddie's, she's at home. How could she be at home?

"Chrissy!" comes her mother's voice from behind her, still with that strange, distorted echo, the door giving way. Instinctively, Chrissy yanks it shut again, fighting as best she can, unable to help letting out a shriek. "Chrissy, open the door! Let go! Let go!" She doesn't want to let go, but she can't hold on, and she's taking off down the hall as soon as the door flies open, not wanting to see what's behind it. Bolting down the stairs, she pauses for just a moment, taking stock of her surroundings. There's a light in the den. Maybe her father will help her. Maybe he needs help.

"Dad!" she calls, taking off again, running to him. "Dad! Dad?"

He turns toward her. His eyes and mouth are sewn up. She screams again, this time loud and long and shrill, until the lights start flickering, and she knows she's caught. There are footsteps on the stairs that definitely don't belong to her mother, a deep voice, one that's become familiar by now, saying her name. She runs anyway, because it's all she can do, away from her struggling father, into the dining room, where she takes in the sight of food on the table — rotted, covered with flies and spiders — before she keeps going, trying to get to the front door, her best possible means of escape.

Throwing the double doors open, she finds, instead of a way out, wooden boards, keeping her trapped in here. "No!" she says, pounding against the planks, throwing her body against them. "Help, help! Somebody help me!"

No one comes. No one hears her. No one's ever heard her.

"Chrissy," the deep voice says again, rounding the corner now. There's nowhere left for her to go, nothing for her to do but cry as the horrible creature encroaches on her, shrinking back like it will make any kind of difference. "Don't cry, Chrissy," he says, lifting one hand, a long, wet, spindly finger brushing a tear off her cheek. "It's time for your suffering to end."

He says it almost like it's a good thing, like he means to be compassionate, like he hasn't been haunting her for days and chasing her through her own home. And she did want that, didn't she? Not to hurt anymore, the way she's hurt for so long. She just didn't want it like this, the thought just barely crossing her mind before he extends his hand, holding it up over her face, snapping her head back.

Everything hurts, her mind and body both, and then everything goes dark. Somewhere, Chrissy crumples, a cheerleading uniform-clad heap on the ground.

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"This is so weird," Chrissy admits, pressing her lips together after she's blurted the words out. "Not... not this, but..." Really, this is weird, too, and all the more so for how much it doesn't feel like it is. Something about being around Eddie makes her feel comfortable, or at least as much so as she can at a time like this. It was the same earlier, too, out in the woods. Shaken and jumpy as she was, he made her laugh, put her at ease for a few moments. She wouldn't have expected that to be the case. She never would have thought that she would be going home with Eddie Munson for the second time, but she doesn't want to give him the wrong idea, to make it seem like she's bothered by that particular fact of their circumstances.

It's everything else that she finds strange enough to comment on. The elevator doors opening, she steps out into the hall, shifting her weight as she waits to see which way they're going. "It was this thing that I thought was happening just to me," she explains, a little awkward. "And now you know more about it than I do, even... gave it a name. I feel like I missed so much."

She did miss so much, she reminds herself. She died. There's still something unbelievably surreal about considering that while standing here, alive and comparably well, at least physically.

"No, it's weird," Eddie says as he jingles his keys in his hand, a little nervous despite himself. Bringing her to the trailer was one thing, he'd had a purpose then, selling her drugs, but his apartment here is something else entirely. He's just bringing her here. Because it's quiet, because it's safe, because even though she technically has somewhere else to go, Eddie hasn't even thought to bring her to the weird ass train station where she can pick up her stuff.

"It's seriously weird," he says before letting them both into the apartment. It isn't much, but at least it's clean.

"It sucks that you missed it." He winces a little, then shakes his head. "Not that it was fun. It was pretty shitty, honestly, and terrifying, but that... you know. That you died."

Blinking, Chrissy nods, arms wrapped around herself again as she follows him into the apartment. It gives her the weirdest sense of déjà vu — not half an hour ago, she was stepping into his trailer, uneasy in a whole different way — but it's hard to be too thrown by that with those words echoing in the air. She already knew she was dead; she would have even if she hadn't asked for confirmation earlier. Hearing him say it outright, though, you died, still hits hard, rattles her in a way she wouldn't quite have expected.

Until today, she wouldn't have thought that what happened to her would make any kind of difference to him, either. They didn't know each other at all. They still don't, really, though it doesn't feel like that. But it also probably changes things, for someone to have a person drop dead right in front of them, in their home. He said it was bad, and she's inclined to believe him.

"Yeah," she agrees, her voice weak and a little uncertain. Glancing around, because she feels like she needs to say something, she adds, "It's nice. Your place."

"Yeah, it's okay," he agrees, a little uncertain.

Eddie realizes he doesn't really know what to do here. He needs to explain this place to her, even though it's as crazy as the whole Upside Down thing, just in different ways. What he should do is sit her down, tell her the deal, and then take her to the train station.

Instead of doing any of that, Eddie asks, "Do you want some water? And maybe to... lie down?"

Christ, it's like he's never talked to a girl before, which isn't true. Eddie does really well with a certain subset of women, usually ones that wear tight jeans and have teased hair and are maybe a little bit older than he is. But now he feels like kind of an idiot just trying to explain Darrow.

"Um, yeah," Chrissy says again, summoning up a faint little half-smile, trying at least for a moment not to look as awkward as she feels. It's not his fault, after all. None of this is, and he's not the reason for any unease she feels. If anything, he does the opposite. He shouldn't have to deal with any of this, though. These problems were hers from the start, and at least before, she was going to him for a specific reason, a customer wanting to make a purchase. Now, she's just lost and afraid and deeply shaken, coming to him because she doesn't know where else to go or what to do.

As much as she already feels like an imposition, though, something to drink does sound like an alright place to start, as does getting off her feet. She feels unsteady, a little woozy, and she's not sure if it's because of whatever happened to her body in Eddie's trailer, whatever brought her here, or simply that she can't remember the last time she ate anything she kept down. "Some water would be good. And to sit?"

Even with his having basically offered, she still waits to get an okay before she heads to the couch. Once there, she takes a seat at the far side of it, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, toes of her sneakers hanging off the edge of the cushion, like she's trying to make herself as small as possible. A part of her has wanted for a long time just to disappear, and maybe she should be relieved now that she apparently did. She just wouldn't have wanted it like this.

She's so small, he thinks, fingers going to his lower lip for a second to push it between his teeth where he chews nervously on his way to the kitchen. What he'd love to do is make her laugh again, take her mind off all the awful shit that's happened, but honestly, Eddie's still kind of shaken himself. He hasn't even fully healed yet, the wounds still fresh.

He's probably dead, too. Back in the Upside Down. Maybe telling her that might help.

Running the water so it gets cold, Eddie goes to grab a glass and stops when he sees an envelope inside the cupboard.

"What the hell?" he asks, taking it down. Chrissy's name is scrawled on the front and he recognizes it from when he'd gotten his own. Still chewing his lip, Eddie fills up the glass, then returns to the living room with the water and with the envelope.

"Um," he says. "I think this is yours."

Lifting her head from where she's let it rest against her knees, Chrissy looks up at him, brow furrowing when she realizes he's holding a large envelope out to her along with the glass of water. Her confusion only grows when she reaches out for both and finds her name handwritten on the envelope in question. In the face of everything, she hasn't been able to dwell as much as she probably should have on the fact that she doesn't know where she is or how she got here. She's just followed along with Eddie, not entirely sure why she feels so safe with him, only that she does.

That's still true, but it's more than a little confusing why there would be anything waiting for her in his apartment. No one should have known she would be here. It doesn't make sense. None of this does.

"What is this?" she asks, frowning at the envelope as she sets it against her legs. "I don't understand. Did someone leave this here? For me?"

Edited 2022-07-14 18:16 (UTC)

"Yeah, so, uh... this place is kinda like an alternate dimension," Eddie explains as he sits down on the couch as well, not too close, giving Chrissy some space because this next bit is kind of wild, even for someone like Eddie, who has a pretty extensive imagination.

"We're in this city that's completely self-contained," he tells her. "We can't get out and a bunch of people here are like us, just sort of transported here somehow." He laughs, the sound forced. "Steve Harrington is here."

And he doesn't remember any of the shit they went through together, which sucks, but Eddie just shoves that bit aside.

"The envelope thing is weird, but it's got an ID card and keys for an apartment. Probably a lot like this one. There's some money, it sort of looks like play money, but it's real."

Quiet for a moment, Chrissy turns her head enough to look in his direction, legs still bent up, the envelope propped against them. She's not sure why it's so unnerving, just a simple envelope bearing her name. Maybe it's just because her nerves are still so frayed, monsters still lurking every time she closes her eyes. Maybe it's because she's spent the past week feeling hunted, and she still doesn't trust what's in front of her now. Eddie, yes — she doesn't know why, but she trusts him — but that doesn't mean this is real, or that it won't give way to another nightmare at a moment's notice.

What he says should sound like one. Instead, finally, she lets out a breath that's nearly a laugh, helpless and confused. "I don't think I have any idea what you just said," she admits. "An alternate dimension? But how... I should be..."

She should be dead. She would have known it even if he hadn't confirmed as much for her.

Edited 2022-07-15 05:53 (UTC)

"I don't know," he says. "I don't know how any of it works. The same thing happened to me. One second I was in the Upside Down, that's what they call this other version of Hawkins where Vecna lived. I was fighting off these bats things, just covered in goo and blood and-"

He pauses here, leaning back and lifting up his shirt. The worst wound is still bandaged, but there are others, clear bite marks, pink and healing.

"Anyway," he says and drops his shirt. "The next second I was here. With some bats. The hospital had an envelope just like yours with my name on it."

For about half a second, Chrissy feels her cheeks begin to heat, confused as to why he would be lifting up his shirt. The reason becomes clear quickly enough, though, when she sees the healing and bandaged wounds marking his chest. "Oh my god," she breathes, her eyes going wide with something like horror. She still can't understand most of what he's telling her — another version of Hawkins, bat things — but those marks speak for themselves. "Are you —"

She winces as she lifts her head to look up at him again. It's a stupid question. Nothing about any of what happened is remotely okay. She changes her approach instead, her worries about the creepy envelope temporarily forgotten. "Is it bad?"

He seemed alright when they were coming back here, at least, but she wasn't exactly paying attention to how he was walking at the time. Distracted as she's been, she hopes she didn't miss anything significant.

"Nah, it's okay. Nothing a little advanced healing spell can't fix," Eddie says, knowing she won't understand the reference. They just sort of spill out at times. "Dungeons and Dragons thing, I can't really cast healing spells."

He hasn't talked about it much, how scary it had been, how sure he had been of his own inevitable death. Back in the Upside Down, he doesn't know what happened, how it ended. Steve and Robin don't know, neither does El, and he's keeping his distance from Chief Hopper. Not that he's done anything wrong in Darrow, he just knows the man doesn't like him much.

But he can't talk about it now. Not with Chrissy. Not with what she's gone through.

"It's not so bad," he tells her. "You'll have a place of your own. Money." And she's alive.

While she may not understand the reference, minimal as her knowledge of the game is, Chrissy does at least manage the faintest hint of a smile when he tells her he can't really do healing spells. It's like earlier, sort of, out in the woods — a distraction, however momentarily, from the frightening, overwhelming things in her head. She's grateful for it, really. She just wouldn't know how to say so without sounding completely stupid.

"I would have been pretty surprised if you could," she replies, as close as she can get to teasing right now. The words come out softer, more sincere, but she guesses it's better than nothing.

There's only so long she can put this off, though. Looking down at the envelope again, she worries at her lower lip with her teeth, fingertips nervously skimming over where her name is written. "So someone left me money," she says, "and a place to stay, but... they knew I would be here to find this?" It doesn't make sense, she thinks again. No one saw them together out in the woods; no one saw her get into Eddie's van and go back to his trailer.

She died, though. Not just now, but for him, a week ago, in his home, and as pieces start to come together in her head, she feels her stomach lurch uncomfortably. "Oh, god," she murmurs, half to herself, before turning to Eddie, wide-eyed again. "Everyone knows, don't they? That I was buying drugs."

Edited 2022-07-18 00:53 (UTC)

"No one believes it," Eddie offers, not knowing how much comfort that will offer, if any. "They all think I lured you back to my trailer for some satanic ritual. It justified their little game of Hunt the Freak."

He says it with a bitter smile, because being a freak had never bothered Eddie before. Knowing people blame him for Chrissy's death sucks, but it isn't like he did anything to try and help her. Maybe Eddie didn't kill her, but he didn't save her either. But being weird, being different, that's all the evidence they needed that he would do something as awful as that.

"But this place, it's sort of magic," he says, not wanting to dwell on what Hawkins thinks he did. "I still can't cast spells, but yeah, that's the only way I can explain the envelope and the bank account and the ID card."

"Wait, what?" Chrissy asks, brow furrowing in confusion. She knows what people think of Eddie, of course, and of the game he plays; it's always sort of seemed to her like he's leaned into that on purpose, though she admittedly has little to draw on in that regard. Still, even when she expected him to be, as he put it, mean and scary, she never thought he was dangerous. No matter how desperate she might have been for something to put her mind at ease, she wouldn't have gone to meet him alone in the woods if she suspected he would be threatening to her in any way. They haven't spent a lot of time together since then, just that conversation, the drive back to his trailer, and now this, but she knows without question that he wouldn't hurt her.

That anyone could think he was responsible for what happened to her when she'd been dealing with something so awful is baffling to say the least, and unsettling beyond that.

"That's — that's crazy," she says. As much as she hates the idea of everyone knowing what she was doing when she died, at least it would have been the truth, and at least she wouldn't have been there for the fallout. When she somehow, improbably, feels safer around Eddie than she has in a long while, this alternative seems even worse. "They wouldn't believe that I was looking to buy drugs, but they'd believe that?"

Eddie smiles a little, because it's sweet that she thinks it's crazy, it just goes to show she's kind, probably kinder than a lot of people like him ever thought. People like Chrissy, like Jason, even like Steve, they're usually too popular to be kind.

Some of them grow out of it, apparently, like Steve. Some of them were just always kind, like Chrissy. It's just that people were too scared of her to really notice.

"Don't think the demon tattoos really helped my case," he says with a crooked smile. "Don't worry about it, though, all that's pretty much done with. I feel kinda shitty for my uncle, though."

Something about the way he says that, the way he smiles at her, makes Chrissy feel indescribably sad, like a weight has settled on her chest. Or maybe that's everything, though. She's safe now, maybe — she can't actually bring herself to ask about it, too afraid this will all vanish in the blink of an eye — but she's spent a week feeling like she was losing her mind, scared of every shadow, jumping at every sound. Now that she has a moment just to breathe, it feels like it's all catching up to her at once. Thinking about Eddie, the one person who made her feel even halfway okay for a few minutes, being blamed for her death, and the wounds she saw on his chest, only adds to it.

Before she can realize it or hold it back, she feels her eyes start to sting with tears, and abruptly looks away, gaze fixed on her knees instead.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice wobbling and deeply earnest. "God, I never should have dragged you into all of this." At the time, it felt like a last resort, the only thing left for her to try. She didn't know, though, how nice he would be, or that things were so much worse even than she realized. She definitely didn't know that anyone would get hurt.

"Hey," he says, leaning a little closer, although he doesn't touch her. "No. None of this is your fault. Hawkins... they already thought I was weird, you know that. You didn't do that. You didn't do anything wrong."

Eddie Munson has been Eddie the Freak for a long time. A lot longer than just the past week and a half. He'd been a freak in middle school, with his buzzcut and his angry music, and he'd been a freak as a kid, too, with his criminal dad, then his dead parents.

"If they need to blame me..." He shrugs. "It doesn't matter now. Not here. Now we can both be the freaks we were always meant to be." He's hoping to get another smile out of her and he tries one of his own, smile and tentative.

He says freak like he did out in the woods earlier, like it's a compliment or a point of pride. She should balk at the thought, but instead, Chrissy does smile. It's faint and tremulous, its effect probably dulled somewhat by the fact that she sniffles at the same time and uses the cuff of one of her hoodie sleeves to dry the few tears that have spilled down her cheeks, but at least it's there.

Really, she doesn't understand any of this. He barely knows her, and yet not for the first time, he's going out of his way to try to make her feel better — this time, over something that does very much feel like her fault, even if she couldn't have known how everything would end. Stranger still, he's succeeding, at least as much as it would be possible for anyone to right now. She's not sure if he's right about her having always been meant to be a freak, but she's not sure he's wrong, either. If she's honest with herself, as somewhere deep, deep down, she has to be, so much of her life has been dictated by other people's expectations that she doesn't know who she would be — who she is — without that pressure overhead.

"You make that sound like a good thing," she says, not a disagreement, just an observation. Whether or not it is, or she is, is something she's going to have to figure out later, much too daunting when there's so much else to take in. "But I guess... the way things have been didn't work out so well for me anyway."

"Being a freak?" he asks. "Yeah, I mean, you get to be who you want. Who you are. People say it makes you a freak, but they only mean you don't fit into the little box they've imagined for you."

He smiles again and says, "Y'know, the, uh, the royal you."

Eddie doesn't remember a time when he wasn't looked at sideways from most of the people in Hawkins. He's lived in that trailer with his Uncle Wayne for most of his life, before that it was a different trailer with his dad until his dad was arrested. People thought they knew his parents, they thought they knew his uncle, and they thought they knew him. Wayne never fought against it and honestly, Eddie is glad.

He likes who he is. Most of the time anyway. He has his flaws, everyone does, but he's glad he's never pretended to be anyone besides exactly who he is.

For as far back as she can remember — her whole life, really — Chrissy has bent over backwards trying to fit into that box, just like she's tried to fit into her clothes, making herself smaller and smaller until she's not sure how much of her is left, or if she's even a person at all. A lot of the time, she feels like she might be nothing more than an idea, and one that never lives up to expectations if examined too closely. If anyone saw what's behind the reputation and the fake smile, she has no doubt that they wouldn't like what they see. At best, they'd brand her ungrateful. She has everything, after all. What right does she even have to be so dissatisfied?

She felt earlier, though, like she feels again now, that Eddie does see her. He unquestionably knows more than anyone should, given what he said on their way here about what she was seeing and trauma, even if he doesn't know the details. And maybe all of this is just pity, his feeling bad for a poor, sad, dead girl, but still, it's something, terrifying and comforting in equal measure.

"I'd ask what makes you so sure I'm a freak too," she says, blotting at her eyes with her sleeve again, "but the whole... Vecna thing is probably a pretty clear giveaway, huh?"

Edited 2022-07-27 02:12 (UTC)

"I mean... levitating vine monster stalking you kind of makes you a freak, yeah," he agrees, smiling at her. "And I mean that as the sincerest compliment. You're in great company. Some of the coolest people in history are freaks. Cleopatra, big time freak, all the snake shit? Tom Waits, so weird, so cool. Ozzy Osbourne, absolute menace, but also very cool."

Gently, Eddie nudges his shoulder against Chrissy's.

"And who cares what anyone back in Hawkins thinks anyway?" he asks. "You're here now and they're not."

"Yeah, I... only know who one of those people is," Chrissy admits, visibly a little embarrassed by that fact, though she manages to return his smile. She can't really claim to be good at any subjects in school, but history tends to be one that she doesn't do too badly in. Besides, she's seen the movie. The latter two people, though, she doesn't have a clue about, convinced all over again that he must think she's shallow and sheltered, just another vapid, popular cheerleader.

He doesn't sound like he does. He's never once treated her like that. Despite the irony in worrying about what he thinks of her when he's telling her not to worry about what people think of her, though, old habits die hard, and the instinct is one too deeply ingrained in her to shake that easily.

"I'm pretty sure that crying on your couch is the least I've ever cared what anyone would think, though," she points out. Even as the words leave her mouth, she knows they aren't true. For a few moments after she woke up, she didn't care, either, too scared to do anything but desperately cling to him. It isn't something she wants to remind him of. "So that's something."

"That's something," Eddie agrees, watching her with a small, crooked smile for a moment. At this point in his own arrival, he had been unconscious in a hospital bed, more than happy to just sleep away the next twelve hours and hope it had all been a really bad, really fucked up dream. Maybe if he hadn't lost so much blood at the time and had been fighting evil bats intent on killing him, he would have cried, too.

He's definitely cried since.

"Do you want something to eat? Or... you can just... I mean, I guess you probably don't want to go to your place yet," he says. "You can stay here and chill for awhile. Maybe take a nap?"

Shit, that sounds so stupid out loud.

Just the thought of trying to eat makes Chrissy feel a little queasy, though she doesn't want to draw any attention to that fact. Going to her own place — wherever that might be, the envelope still unopened in her lap — doesn't seem any better. She's no safer here than she would be on her own, something she's all too aware of, having been in his trailer when everything went so horrifically wrong, but she feels a little more at ease. That has to count for something. Right now, she doesn't have the wherewithal to pretend she's any more okay than she actually is.

"I don't think I could sleep right now," she admits, sniffling again, a little sheepish. She's barely slept in a week, but she can handle the exhaustion far better than she could handle whatever would be waiting when she closes her eyes. "But... as long as it's not too much trouble... I don't really want to be alone yet, either."

He's the one who offered, but all the same, she doesn't want to be an imposition. They barely know each other, after all, even if it no longer feels like that's the case.

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