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005

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So much for the golden future, I can't even start
I've had every promise broken, there's anger in my heart

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 of the seats in the bed of the van. It rumbled and rocked and groaned over every bump and crack and crevice, but it was the only thing she could focus on. Eddie didn't turn on any music and it didn't seem like the time.

Chrissy was dead. Abandoned back in the Munson trailer. Broken and bloody and incomplete.

Jean hadn't spoken since he started driving wildly down the road and she didn't think she'd be able to once they got wherever they were going but she needed to call Steve. But how does she contact someone who doesn't have a phone? Hell, she didn't even have a phone.

Would the place they were going have a phone?

She wanted to bring her hands to her face and sob into them but she couldn't bring herself to move. Her face was soaking wet and her eyes felt swollen, her body stiff. Every time she allowed herself a moment to think outside of her rambling thoughts of what she needed to do, how she needed to hide him, and how to keep him safe for as long as possible, the darkness settled in.

Cracking bones. Sunken eyes.

Melting flesh, sizzling bones.

Billy sawing. Billy cutting. Billy slicing flesh.

She saw every trauma, every horror. It made her want to retreat inside of herself but if she allowed that to happen, then Eddie would be left on his own and she didn't think he'd last long without her because it knew now. Whatever had killed Chrissy, it had to know they were there too. The monsters within The Upside Down just knew things, sensed things, hunted things.

They were fucked the second the cursed thing started hunting Chrissy, taking her within the sanctuary of their home.

Jean felt the van slow, rocking more forcefully over grass and rock. Everything outside was dark and she had a feeling they were miles and miles away from Forest Hills and Hawkins High. Eddie put the van in park, turning it off and suddenly, it felt all too quiet.

Inside the van, neither of them spoke. No lights came on, no soft humming of music, just complete silence that felt so deafening that Jean's ears could've easily burst. It was like a pressure was building up and she couldn't stop herself before a whimper fell past her lips and her shoulders were shaking and her whimpers became agonizing sobs and cries that hurt her chest and throat.

Eddie moved quickly, far quicker than she expected, as he crawled into the back with her. She could feel his hands on her like a warm beacon calling her home but she was hiccuping and her eyes were blurry and she felt herself leaving this place and falling into the same mindless darkness she allowed herself to become one with after the Starcourt Mall.

But his hands were on her and he was whispering to her in a shaking voice, begging, "Jean, please, it's okay–it's okay–" His voice was breaking and she still couldn't look at him.

Being involved with her, in any way, had led him to this. This had been her fault. She'd gone to him for drugs, she had to make Chrissy come with her to get them and it all resulted in them together, forcing trauma through their eyes.

"Baby, please."

He moved her face until their eyes met and she could see the tears spilling past his eyes in long streams. She stuttered on a breath and he brushed the hair back from her face. He pulled her slowly against him until her head was buried against his neck and she heard him inhale deeply against her head, his hand running down her ponytail and back. She clutched at his jacket, digging her nails into the fabric to keep him close.

"It's okay," he whispered against her and they both knew it was a lie. It would never be okay again. "We're safe."

They weren't. They weren't by a long shot, but she nodded anyway. He moved only after a few minutes of them in the silence of their heavy breathing to slowly open the van door and gather their things. He helped her out of the van and she was happy she could walk, even though she felt weak and trapped in a daze.

She clung to her gym bag and Chrissy's so tightly she knew if she even pulled in opposite directions enough, she'd tear the bags in two. Eddie slid the van door shut behind her, easing to close so it wouldn't make too much noise. She recognized the area they were in and even recognized the house with its companioned boathouse near the back by the lake.

They were near Lovers Lake and the house they were now currently creeping upon belonged to Reefer Rick, Eddie's dealer who was in prison currently. He had a fat stash somewhere in the house that he'd kept behind for Eddie and every now and then, Eddie would return to trade out money he'd earned and the drugs. Of course, he didn't give back all of the money because this was a partnership. It was split nearly even, save for a few twenty or forty dollars.

Eddie opened the front door with his spare key and Jean looked around, observing how everything was so much darker and secluded out here. There wasn't a neighboring house in sight and the trees were dark and thick and hung low over the house and road. The forest surrounding them was lush and Jean had a thought that if she ran off right now, she'd get lost and fall into the lake before she even had the chance to save herself.

What a way to go.

The door creaked open and Eddie entered slowly. He checked the lamp by the worn down couch and it clicked on happily. He looked towards Jean for confirmation and she shook her head. He turned the light off. They didn't need anyone suddenly seeing a light from the distance if people knew Rick was in prison it would cause suspicion they didn't need.

"Keep–" She licked her lips, her throat was dry. "Keep the lights off, no one can know we're here."

He nodded and walked further into the small home to investigate. As he did so, Jean turned slowly and closed the door, bolting it shut. She could hear him rusting about, fidgeting with drawers and closets. She could track him through the house she was so familiar with. Tucking into the kitchen double the size of the one in their trailers, slinking into the large bathroom, the master bedroom and then the small office littered with trash and old baggies of drugs never sold.

She could trace these rooms with her eyes closed but when she did, when she closed her eyes, red flashed behind her lids.

"I'll be right back and then we can have some fun, okay?"

Jean shuddered against the door, her eyes closed tightly.

Chrissy fixed the tiara on her head, doing a little twirl in her living room as Zoya, Lucy, Jean, and Heather all squealed and clapped their hands. They were dressed as knights this year and Chrissy, their princess.

Halloween of eighth grade was going to be epic.

"You like it?" whispered Chrissy in her feather soft voice.

Zoya clasped her hands together with a grin. "You're exactly how I envisioned, my darling!"

"All pink and frilly?"

There was a nervous glint in Chrissy's eyes and Jean rushed forward, her fake sword gripped tightly in her left hand so she could wrap her right arm over the girl's shoulders.

"You, my beautiful soon-to-be queen," said Jean, "are a magnificent sight! We will protect you from dragons and drooling boys!"

This felt a little too young for them but they embraced Halloween every year. They liked dressing up and acting like fools, no matter how old they got. This year was no different. The four girls, aside from Chrissy, wore silver skirts and long sleeve shirts, metallic and shimmery under the lights. Chrissy wore all pink, a frilly tutu gown.

Heather and Lucy thrusted their swords into the air and Jean let out a wild cheer before regarding her shy spoken friend.

She blinked and there was blood and she blinked and it was gone.

But the blood was coming back, seeping down from her eyes and scalp, running down her pale cheeks and chin. Jean fumbled backwards, she was seeing things–this wasn't her memory. This wasn't what she wanted to see.

Chrissy coated in blood, agony spilling over her face as her jaw worked open and broke from its hinges. Chrissy staring back at her, jaw uselessly hanging, her tongue flapping inside her wilting mouth.

Hands touched her from behind and she flinched, nearly jumping against the door when Eddie's soft voice spoke to her, soothing her.

"Hey, hey," he whispered, turning her slowly to face him.

She was curling in on herself, her arms bunched up against her chest, her shoulders hunched forward and when she finally allowed herself to look up at him, her lashes were cold and wet against her cheeks.

Let yourself cave in. Let it all be pulled right back inside of you.

Why didn't Chrissy tell her anything? Did she even know what was happening beforehand? Was this from her lack of sleep? Was this why she was seeing the guidance counselor?

Jean walked past Eddie in a strange blank state. Stepping through the house, she made it to the back room and noticed that Eddie's flustering about had been putting clean sheets and blankets on the bed. She didn't know how long they'd have to wait it out (how long did a murder investigation take when said murderer was probably a monster?) but she appreciated the cleanliness.

Dropping a knee onto the lumpy mattress, she crawled up to the old flat pillows and laid her head down. Still clutching the gym bags, she found that she couldn't let them go. It held all of Chrissy's love and belongings from the night and being parted from her made Jean's stomach feel queasy.

Eddie had followed her and in his hands was a slightly dirtied washcloth. He approached her slowly on her side of the bed, dropping to one knee to meet her eyes. It was difficult for her to even bring her eyes up to meet his gaze from where her eyes had been trained on the floor. The carpet was beige, nearing brown.

He took one hand in his and peeled it back away from the gym bag. He held the damp cloth to her knuckles and slowly washed the dried blood from her skin. He even shifted her gently on the bed so her knees draped over his lap. Wiping softly, he was gentle with her, only allowing soft fluttering touches from his free hand that rested against her shin. He cleansed her, slowly, like she was some far away maiden and he was a knight.

How long were they going to stay here? How long until the cops finally tracked them down?

Would she be able to call Steve? Was there even a working phone in this place?

"We need a phone," she whispered and he looked up, surprised to hear her voice. "We–" She swallowed thickly, like her whole mouth was coated in blood. "–we need a game plan here, Eds."

He dragged the cloth against her nails, trying to work the blood out from underneath gently. His hands were shaking. "How do you...how do you know what to do?" When he looked up again, his brown eyes were large and deep, he was terrified. But of her? Or of what had happened? "You–you knew what to do, what we had to do to get out–" He shook his head, interrupting himself with another thought. "Chrissy was, like, possessed and you told me to grab the beer and the drugs and the..."

He couldn't finish and she couldn't speak. How did she tell him of all the horrors she'd seen? How the mall was filled with static and electricity and screaming and blood and death? How she saw Billy die, how she saw Heather die, how she saw them all die right before her very eyes–

"Chrissy wasn't possessed," was what she finally settled on, her voice scratching up her throat.

"She flew to the ceiling, Jean," said Eddie. "She flew to the fucking ceiling and something crushed her from the inside fucking out!"

"She wasn't possessed. Not really." She pulled her hands away from his to rub them over her face. She pulled at her skin, pulling and tugging with her sticky palms. The friction felt good, it felt needed. "This isn't The Exorcist, okay?"

Red, fire, blood, flashing lights.

"This isn't like some game of D&D."

Howling, screaming, choking, spitting.

"And we can't hide here forever," she was whispering again. "We really need a phone, Eds, we need to get a phone and call Steve or–or Dustin–"

"You want to call Steve fucking Harrington and a fucking kid?" Eddie was shaking his hand, already to his feet and backing away. "We just saw someone die and the cops are gonna be after us and you want to call some guy who peaked in high school and a nerdy kid who has all those weird fucking snacks?"

"Don't act like you aren't just like Dustin and you know it."

"We're not calling him."

"We have to!"

"We aren't going to put him in danger like that."

Jean felt how she was coming back to herself as she pushed to the edge of the bed, resting her feet flat against the ground. She was no longer clutching the gym bag, was this argument the distraction she had been begging for?

"He knows what to do," she told the boy who was gnawing on his thumb nail. He had blood on his knuckles, too, splattering across his white skin like droplets of something cursed. "They both do. They're..." They'll find you sooner or later. "They're the only help we can count on right now."

"But why?" He was staring now. "Why them?"

"This world..." She started by biting the inside of her cheek and shook her head. "It's not...normal."

He gave her a blank stare. He didn't understand, he couldn't–

"The fire at the mall," Jean could barely get it out, her whisper like nothing but an exhale, "it was like this, not–not normal."

Chrissy would forever be reduced to this state of non-normalness, this othering. She would not die surrounded by friends at an old age, hoping to see her greatest love waiting for her on the other side. Because, no, the other side was not heavenly or white or lush, it was upside down, it was crashing down on all of them, slipping through their veil.

Eddie's brows furrowed. He was so far away from her but she didn't have the energy to reach for him. "What are you talking about right now?"

"Hawkins...it's..." How would Dustin say this? How would he tell Eddie if he were here right now? "It's cursed." He was staring blankly, his blinks slow like they were robotic. "There's this other world and sometimes it can..."

Fire. Blood. Screaming. Tearing.

"...it can bleed into ours through tears or–or portals." She paused, running her dry tongue over even drier lips. "It's not ghosts or–or demons," she could argue that there were demons but that was for another time, "they're monsters, like in D&D. Dustin and Steve have fought them, more–more than I have, they know what we have to do. They'll come find us, help us with the police–"

"What the fuck are you saying?"

She glanced up at him, unaware she had been digging her nails into her palms and had been staring so deeply at the red puckered skin on her hands.

"What the fuck are you even saying?"

"We–we thought they were gone," whispered Jean, shaking her head. Eddie didn't get mad at her but his face was contorting, twisting, his brows so bunched she thought he'd begin to bleed. They all bled, anyway. "But they're back. The lights in the trailer, it's a sign, they can control that, it's a sign," she was ranting and he was getting more angry, "and Chrissy, she was a c–casualty."

Eddie was shaking his head, his hands balled into fists. "I–I got that but–but–what the hell happened at the mall, Jean?" He stared at her deeply, his worry had been mistaken for anger. "It wasn't a fire?"

"Eddie–I–" How did she explain this to him? How did she tell him that she watched people die, not by fire but from some monster bigger than her, bigger than this whole town? "It...the Russians..."

"It wasn't a fire?" he repeated himself and it took everything in her to meet his eyes. "It–it was a cover up?"

"Yes–no–" The mall did end up burning, after it all. But not before Billy was killed and before Hopper vanished.

"You came out of that hurt," he whispered, shaking his head, "and if it wasn't a fire, then what the fuck hurt you?"

She'd bled all over Steve, all over Nancy and Robin's hands. She'd been thrown across the floor, slammed against walls and pillars, she'd had hands wrapped around her throat. All human, all controlled by something greater than themselves. She wishes, deeply within herself, that none of this happened and that she wasn't here in this bedroom with him but she is and she swallows and finds that everything is so much more difficult to say when you don't want to say it.

"The monster," she whispered. "The–the Mind Flayer."

His brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing. "Like the ones from D&D?"

Jean nodded. "The kids came up with the name but that's not the point." Her hands were shaking so badly she had to ball her hands into fists and stick them under her legs. "It can possess you, it can–it can kill you–"

Heather. Screaming. Bodies. Melting.

"–it killed Billy."

"Billy Hargrove?"

Jean nodded, her mouth felt like putty and her head was heavy. She'd cried so much tonight and yet, she could still feel her eyes prickle with tears. "He was possessed all summer, and he–he attacked me at the mall–" She shook her head. It hadn't been him. "You can beat the Mind Flayer, you–you can beat its possession and Billy did but he–" She looked down at her hands. "It killed him."

"He attacked you?"

"Was that all you heard?"

"He–" Eddie pointed to her side which had begun to throb during their conversation but she didn't know when. "–did that?"

She nodded and Eddie ran both hands over his face and through his hair. "He broke free from its control and it killed him for it." He'd saved them in the end, turning on the Flayer with everything he had but in the end...none of it ever really matters when they still die. "The Mind Flayer used him to turn others, it used him to kill Heather, Eddie. I saw her die. I saw her die and I saw Chrissy die, I saw them all–"

He had his hands on either side of her face and she wished she knew what he was thinking about. How was he taking this all so well? Had the evidence through Chrissy's death been enough for this to be all logic and reason?

"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered. "We're safe here, okay? We'll get word to Dustin and Steve in the morning, somehow."

"But–" There were hot, fat tears running down her cheeks.

He got onto the bed, his hands smoothing down her hair so she would look up at him. He was illuminated by the soft white glow of the moon through the curtains. He was ghostly, pale and dark, staring at her like she was a worshiper. Or maybe he was the one worshiping.

"We can't do anything right now," he said and she knew he was right, but once morning came and once Chrissy's body was found... "We–we need rest, alright? We can smoke, take some coke, I don't fucking know."

She shook her head, pulling herself away from him and moving slowly to her side. She laid her head down on the old pillow and felt herself trembling. When she'd fall asleep, Chrissy would be dead, and when she would wake in the morning, Chrissy would still be dead.

Eddie moved so he was sitting beside her on the side of the bed, his back pressed against hers. She could see him, just barely, over her shoulder. He had both his hands on his head, his elbows resting on his thighs. She could feel his leg jostling up and down, the movement shaking the bed. He was scared, she could tell, but there was nothing to be said or done to fix it.

They'd witnessed a crime, they'd witnessed a murder.

Blood running down her cheeks. Her bones snapping.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack–

"I'm so sorry," whispered Eddie and Jean thought she'd misheard. Had that only been a noise outside? Why was he apologizing?"

"Eddie..." She was croaking, her throat so raw from screaming and crying she didn't think she'd survive until morning. She almost hopes she doesn't.

"I'm sorry you had to carry all of this," he told her, moving until he was facing her and she could hear him more clearly. He was on the bed fully now, the length of his body pressing against her as he curled himself around her. His hand was lightly resting on her side and she took his hand into her own, interlocking their fingers and pulling him closer. "I know why you didn't tell me," he murmured against her hair where he pressed his lips, "and I know you were protecting me."

She was expecting a but, yet there was none.

"I'm just so sorry."

She shook her head, feeling the warmth of him consume her completely. "I'm so sorry, Eddie."

"You have nothing–"

"I'm sorry that you're in this now," she was shaking and his grip got tighter, "and I'm sorry that you'll never get out." We'll die before we ever survive this. "I'm sorry you had to see her die, it should've just been me. It shouldn't have been you–"

"We're in this together," he said, interrupting her. "It was always going to be us there, together, with her."

She shook her head. "I wish we didn't have to be."

Jean could feel herself curling in again but she fought against the urge to go crawling inside of herself to stay until this ended (even though it never would). She could see so many different memories of blood and gore, all from contrasting moments that were never the same. When would this be enough? When would the beings above see all that she'd suffered from and finally end it for good?

She was scared she would never be free from this suffering to be able to breathe properly, to feel her lungs and chest ease up. Eddie pressed his face against her head and she felt him breathe deeply as his body tried to relax.

(it was always going to be like this. the fight to calm down. it would never get better than this moment in the darkness, alone, and with each other.)

(at least, that's what jeanie thought before it all began to happen all over again.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE━━short chapter but i feel bad bc i havent updated in so long </3

havent had motivation to write this for a while but im hoping i can find some soon. im really hoping this gets more reads/interactions bc it motivates me sm more to write for something ppl actually like/want to read. i probably won't update for a while unless this gets more interactions :/

this is unedited, i might go back and add more, make sure it doesnt feel as rushed as it does now

until then, pls vote/comment !!