chapter twenty-eight — the unraveling

March 23rd, 1986

The room is freezing when Eddie wakes up. The haziness of slumber slowly rises like morning fog from his eyes when he realizes he's not at home – the sound of Irene's soft snores share as another reminder of his circumstance. He sits up and tries his best to relieve his stiff shoulders and aching neck; relaying a mantra of gratitude in the back of his mind as he looks over at her sleeping peacefully, her face squished against a pillow. She's too damn good for this world, he thinks as he slowly gets up. The clock on her nightstand reads 5:30 and he can only assume that his nerves are what have him awake at such an ungodly hour – that and he has to go to the bathroom.

The sun isn't out yet but you can tell it's getting ready to rise at the azure hue it holds (a color Irene introduced him to), far lighter than its midnight equivalent. Thankfully he doesn't have to foolishly stumble around the room but stops at her door to look back while he opens it as slowly and stealthily as he can. It creaks once but even that is enough to garner a minor heart attack; he knows her mom starts to get ready for work pretty early and doesn't want to get caught. Nevertheless, he makes it across the hall and into the bathroom where he quickly does his business.

As he finishes washing his hands there's a soft knock on the door that makes him freeze.

"Mija?" Her mothers voice cooed softly, "You okay?"

He doesn't know what to do or say; he's absolutely catatonic as she jiggles the door knob and knocks once more. He figures the fact that Irene doesn't typically wake up early (like at all) is the reason for her concern.

She sighed, "I know it's been...crazy, lately."

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut; this isn't his conversation to be had. It feels wrong...but somehow he can't help but also feel like it's something he needs to hear. "I don't know if you've seen the news yet but...jesus, everythings gone to hell. Eddie's in trouble, the town is gonna want answers, and I don't really know what to do. Callahan and Powell are too damn stubborn to see that none of this is as it seems and so I feel like I'm stuck. I feel like I'm the only one that's paying attention." There's a small pause and Eddie can hear her softly nudge, what he assumes is her forehead, against the door as another sigh leaves her lips.

"I'm sorry...I shouldn't be putting this all on you this early in the morning but I don't know who else to talk to about it because no one will listen to me." There's another brief pause and a whisper so faint that if he wasn't listening so intently he wouldn't have caught it, "He couldn't have done this. It just doesn't make sense."

She takes another, even longer, pause and Eddie can feel himself holding his breath at the silence. She's holding his beating heart in her hands and is about to either absolutely crush it or mend every single tear that's ever been torn into it by their town. He leans forward, hovering near the door as he waits for anything to emerge from the quiet stillness.

And then suddenly, "I'm gonna make it right, I promise. Prove to all those people that I can do it – I can solve this case, the right way, and bring justice to everyone ever wronged by whatever is sickening this town. I promised Wayne I'd fight for his boy and I meant it. They're wrong about him, I know it, I can feel it. You just...if you happen to see him, tell him I'm gonna fix it I swear. Tell him his story doesn't end here. I won't let it." His breath hitched at the words and he instantly felt the prickle of pesky tears plaguing his eyes. A lump formed at the base of his throat and all he could do was cover his mouth so a sob won't escape from his lips. 

He couldn't tell you how, but he was sure that she knew who was in there – who her words were reaching. The confession or comment, whatever had just occurred, was entirely intentional and he knew because it just felt right.

He wanted to yank open the door and collapse into her arms and get one of those soul-mending hugs Sofia was known for (Irene used to spend hours gushing about her mothers embrace and how it had the uncanny ability to make you feel whole...complete). It was in that bathroom that he realized the world was extremely undeserving of Sofia and Irene Vasquez; their hearts had to have been blessed by every deity possible and it wasn't fair that they had never received the love they so openly gave out.

"Well I've got to head out; I'll be home pretty late tonight so don't wait up. Please for the love of God stay safe. No roaming around at night again, okay? I love you." She rushed and he could hear her scurry off toward the living room before the front door opened and then shut swiftly.

Before he returned to Irene's room he tried his best to compose himself but failed, miserably. He stood there crying for a good fifteen minutes before he finally calmed down and went back to his spot on the carpet and fell back to sleep.

The radio is on when he wakes up again. He can hear the hushed sounds of The Best of My Love by the Eagles and wonders why Wayne's playing his sad-ass country music so early in the morning. He groans and opens his eyes and is reminded (yet again) that he isn't actually home and Wayne's not going to come knocking on his door to tell him that there's still some warm coffee in his special Garfield cup in the microwave, before he pulls out his cot and heads to bed.

The smell of something cooking draws him further from his spot. He glances over at the empty bed and takes a wild guess at who's playing country rock so early in the morning and cooking for their guest no matter how unconventional the situation may seem.

Irene is humming when he finds her in the kitchen after waking himself up with a splash of cold water to the face before brushing his teeth. Her back is turned towards him as she flips a pancake, seeming unbothered by the current state of things. He wonders how she can be so calm considering they're all practically in deep shit and he doesn't even know half of whatever is going on. He clears his throat awkwardly, startling her as she pours a cup of coffee. 

"Jesus christ," She mumbled and turned to greet him with a wobbly smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." There's a gentleness in her eyes that he can't entirely decipher, like she knows something he doesn't. Both refrain from asking how the other slept because both know the answer.

"It's fine..." He trailed and an uncomfortable silence sat between them for a brief moment.

"I made coffee if that's something you're into...it helps me think and I don't mind the taste. I do add a lot of sugar though so that might be why." She rambled, reaching for a cup to serve him and he took it with a grateful smile and fixed it up for himself.

He leaned against the counter beside her as the Eagles song faded and was replaced with the gentle sounds of Van Morrison's Into the Mystic. It doesn't surprise him when Irene starts singing along as she plates their breakfast which he can see now is two sunny-side eggs and two blueberry pancakes.

He contemplates telling her about the conversation with her mom as she pours syrup over their dishes, licking the sticky residue off of her thumb before she holds a plate out to him with a toothy grin. It isn't fair, he thinks. It isn't fair that someone like her, someone so angelicy perfect in all her imperfect glory, exists here, in this shithole full of its problems and assholes.

He can't even be mad. Don't get him wrong though, her words still haunt the corridors of his mind – is saving his own ass all he's good for? – but time and time again Irene has stuck her neck out for him, made him feel safe and seen and comfortable in his skin. She took him in despite knowing the repercussions and there's something to be said about that – about the way she's always there...

"The pancakes are a little burnt but I think this is the fluffiest they've ever been." Her voice brings him back as she heads out of the kitchen and into the dining room. They sit across from one another as the radio continues to serve as background noise while they eat. They don't say much because they'd both rather enjoy the comfortable stillness before all hell breaks loose – they know this is the calm before the storm.

"I also–uh–I washed your clothes for you." She whispered before taking a big bite and then gulping down some coffee. His cheeks heat up at the gesture and the way she's looking at him with her gentle-kind eyes. "And don't worry, I hung your hellfire shirt to dry so the paint doesn't fade." She teases with a knowing smile. How could he be mad at her? 

"Rena, you didn't have to."

"And let you wear the same dirty outfit for an eternity? Come on Eds, you should know me by now."

She's right, he thinks. He should know that hospitality comes easily to the Vasquez women – that they're brimming with warmth and hope and everything under the sun. And it makes him fall down this hole of questioning how in the hell he got so goddamn lucky to have met someone like Irene. He struggles with this internal battle of wanting so desperately to be mad – to be bitter – because he's afraid and masking his fears with anger is a lot easier than letting anyone in, but if it weren't any more obvious, he's madly in love with the girl that's sitting across from him.

"I–I don't know what to say..."

She made a face as if it were obvious and held up her fingers, showing a peace sign, "Just two little words." A deep chuckle rumbled inside his chest as he shook his head at her antics before he looked at her gently – Irene thought she might swoon at the sight.

"Thank you."

"Actually I was looking for 'you're awesome,'" Eddie snorted at the confession and this caused a soft smile to fall against her face, "But I'll take a 'thank you' anyday so you're in the clear."

There's a stillness that resides between them again as they keep eating their breakfast; Dolly Parton's I Will Always Love You starts playing and Irene can't help but heat up at the universe's keen timing.

Suddenly, the sound of someone rapping harshly against the front door startles the both of them, Irene is quick to freeze as Eddie's face pales while he tightens his grip on the butterknife in his trembling hand. They both share quick looks of terror before there's a faint yell from a familiar freshman on the other side of the door. They both let out a sigh before Irene gets up and lets the four in. 

"Oo, it smells great in here. Did you make us breakfast?" Dustin was the first to speak while he toed his shoes off before waltzing toward the kitchen. Steve, Robin, and Max trailed right behind and soon enough they were all cramped in the kitchen as Irene whipped up another round of pancakes and eggs.

Eddie caught Dustin's prominent stare as they leaned against the counter beside each other, "What?"

"Just never thought I'd see the day where you'd willingly wear a Muppets t-shirt and–"

Irene is quick to cut in before handing Steve his plate, "Didn't Fluttershy teach you anything about kindness, Henderson?" Dustin's face immediately paled at the mention and Max turned to the two with a questioning gaze.

"Fluttershy? That pony from the cartoon show?" She questioned and Dustin couldn't help but send daggers at Irene while she innocently took another sip from her cup, hiding a devious smile.

"You know what? It doesn't matter," He lifted his hands defeatedly and then turned to Eddie, "Forget I said anything." He mumbled before grabbing his plate and trudged toward the dining table. Max, with burning questions still on her mind, follows behind him and their conversation turned augment is muffled by the wall and radio.

It's just Irene and Eddie again in the kitchen, cleaning up the remnants of pans and bowls used to make their friends' breakfast. They're trying their best to hold onto the last beams of the golden morning before having to go and face the music.

Eddie turned to Irene while she handed him a glass bowl to dry, "You don't think I look like a dork in this shirt do you?" She smiled and ran her sudsy hands underneath the warm water, giving him a onceover.

"You do..." He scoffed dramatically as she grabbed a kitchen towel and looked at him like he'd just gifted her the stars, "but I like dorks." Her whisper is left to linger inside his mind as he stands alone in the kitchen.

What the fuck? He thought to himself and once again felt absolutely torn. 

"So...we got good news and we got bad news." Dustin is the first to speak up at the table as he takes a swig of his yahoo chocolate milk. Once Eddie had finally stumbled into the dining room, they realized it was time to get to business. "How do you prefer it?" He directs the question toward the super-senior who is sitting silently beside Max, staring at the coffee mug in front of him.

"Bad news first, always." He mumbled and Irene nodded in agreement.

"You might already know this, but we tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they're definitely looking for you...Also, they're, uh, pretty convinced you killed Chrissy." They all caught Irene's grimace.

"Like 100% kind of convinced." Max chimed in. Eddie's face fell momentarily but he remembered Sofia's words and there's a small ember of hope that ignites in him.

"They can't all think I did it–"

The brunette across from him sits up, "My mom hasn't even mentioned it, like at all, and I'm pretty sure she knows that I know."

"Well good news is your name hasn't gone public."

"So there's a fighting chance then?" Irene was quick to question.

Robin shrugged, "I guess...but if we found out about Eddie, it's a matter of time before others do too. And once that gets out, everyone and their shallow-minded mother is gonna be gunning for you."

"Hunt the freak, right?" Eddie scoffed lightly and Dustin's confirmation only caused further distress to fill his body, "Shit."

"So, before that happens, we need to find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence."

"That's all, Dustin? That's all?"

He tilted his head to the side to think, "Yeah, no, that's pretty much it."

"It sounds like bullshit but we've done it before."

"They've done it more times then Rena and I and ours was more human-flesh-based while theres was more smoke-related but bottom line is, collectively, I really feel like we got this." Robin piped up confidently.

Steve leaned against the table with a dim gleam in his eyes, "Yeah see we usually rely on this girl who has super powers. But...uh, those went bye-bye so..."

"So we're technically in more of the–"

"Kinda..."

"Brainstorming phase." Max answered and Steve was quick to snap his fingers at the response.

"Brainstorming."

"There's nothing to worry about..." Dustin reassured and Eddie eyed him suspiciously. "I mean we've still got Rena so technically we're already halfway there."

"What's that supposed to mean? How do you fit into all of this?" Eddie looked across the table as he directed his last question to Irene.

"Well you know...her visions." Dustin retorted as if it were obvious. There's that word again, Eddie thinks to himself as he slumps further into his chair, reeling in all the information that was just shoved in his face.

He can hear Irene's sigh and faint whisper, "I haven't told him." The confession almost sounds as if she's embarrassed.

"Oh...Rena can see the future."

"Dustin!" Max instantly reached over to punch her friends' arm.

He recoiled, "What?! The band aid had to come off sooner or later." There was a slight uproar between Max, Robin, and Dustin while Steve kept quiet on the sidelines. His heart absolutely ached at the way Irene looked over at Eddie – her eyes swam with guilt and a sadness that he couldn't quite describe. For some reason they both looked broken, like the confession was a lot bigger than either let on. Did we miss something? He thought as he watched the way Eddie's face looked full of hurt.

Then it clicked. 

The distance, the tension, all of it that had been swarming the two suddenly made sense. She had a vision in front of him, didn't tell him, and instead pushed him away (like she always did when it came to vulnerability and opening up) and now here they were...facing a cacophony of music – a fucking orchestra.

He caught Robin's eye across the table and motioned to the two. She grimaced slightly and suddenly they all felt like they were swimming in uncharted waters as the thick tension rose between them. Dustin instantly shut his mouth, quickly regretting selling out Irene when clearly it wasn't his story to be told.

Before anyone could even try to clean up the mess that had been made, off in the distance they could hear the harsh crackle of Sofia's police radio in the garage. Irene gulped and looked at her friends who were staring back eagerly. Dustin was the first to hop up and rush toward the sound and soon everyone followed behind, wanting desperately to get out of the dining room.

"Eddie–" Irene whispered but he scoffed, evident tears brimming his brown eyes.

"Don't." She bowed her head and left from the table, finding the other four huddled in the garage near the device. She could feel their pitying looks, it made her skin crawl with embarrassment.

A male's voice fizzled to life, startling all of them, "Dispatch we've got a call right outside of Forest Hills Trailer Park, witness says it's a young male most likely in his teens...the body is fractured in many areas." This brought even more distress to Irene as she thought of all the possibilities; she was too late, again. "They think the boy might be...dead." There was a collective sigh of defeat amongst the group – their enemy had struck again right under their noses.

Irene scoffed, "Wait it out, right? Gather more evidence, right?" She seethed, looking up at Steve and Robin, with a wavering voice. They all knew exactly who the victim was and she was pissed that they were acting so indifferent about it.

"Don't jump to conclusions, Rena."

"Jump to conclusions?! We had everything we needed and yet none of you listened to me. You want so badly for me to talk to you about my problems – about what's going on in my head – and when I finally say something you all act like its bullshit!"

"Hey!" Steve piped up sternly, "That's not true."

"Well that's how it feels." She said before leaving the garage and heading back to the dining room to pick up the dirty dishes. Eddie was still sitting in the same spot, unmoved as he tried his best to piece all of the fragmented information together. 

All those bitter feelings rose to the surface again, bubbling profusely, daring to spill over his roughened edges. He could hear the others talking in the living room amongst themselves and then Robin had said something to Irene in the kitchen before the front door opened promptly and then was shut with a thud that made him flinch. Thankfully silence didn't swallow him whole – the radio was still on, a commercial had weaseled itself between the tunes, and he could also hear the faucet in the kitchen running. He sighed and pushed his chair back from the table, it screeched against the wood floor causing him to wince at the awful sound.

She can feel him behind her but doesn't move from her spot at the sink. She scrubs and scrubs at the syrupy plates, her fingers are wrinkly and scorned by the hot water but she attempts to grow comfortable with the sting and burn. It's a far better feeling to focus on instead of the overwhelming anxiety that pinches her skin. 

"I was going to tell you..." Irene mumbled informatively. "Just, not like this. Not this way. I swear I wasn't hiding it from you maliciously, I just–I got scared." Eddie's silence prompts her to continue, he's now beside her, helping dry the dishes. 

Deep down he wants to retort something spiteful, something along the lines of: You should know me better – to trust me. Don't you trust me? But he knows that's not true and that her fears and anxieties are a lot more justified than his pride would like him to believe. He knows what it's like to be different – and to have those differences be villainized – and even though he wishes to revert back to that anger that easily comes apart at his seams, he doesn't. His dad was like that – quick to turn to rage when things got difficult – and he sure as hell wasn't his father.

She turned the faucet off and watched as the soapy water traveled down the drain, "When I got my first vision I was seven...I think. I was playing handball during recess and then suddenly I got this bloody nose before my eyes rolled back and I just...collapsed. Doctors assumed it was heat exhaustion but when the "dream" I had during it came to pass I knew something was off. Everywhere we moved kids treated me like I had some kind of disease. Like, like I was wrong. They called me a freak...bullied the hell out of me and my brother. Parents told my mom I was evil and that I was marked because our kind were servants of the devil." She explained as hot tears fell down cheeks. She wiped them away quickly, angrily.

"All I've ever known is judgment, fear, and ridicule. For once I just wanted someone to think I was normal..." Her voice wavered and Eddie gulped when she looked up at him with her glossy eyes. "Meeting the group was nice you know, it's always nice to make friends, but it just felt like after they found out they stopped looking at me the same – they didn't see me as me. But when you came along, it was different; you never asked even though you were always paying attention and it was safe and normal but then it happened at the lake and I just, I saw your face and how scared you looked and...I thought that if I pushed you away I'd be protecting you but I'd also be protecting myself because I am selfish, you were right." She chuckled bitterly, turning to lean against the counter.

Eddie winced at the mention and followed her actions, leaning beside her as he tried his best to think of what to say.

Irene stared up at the ceiling with itchy eyes. So much had happened and she wasn't ready to dive back into all the danger. She was still trying to come to terms with everything that happened in the summer – her brother died and it felt like she didn't have any time to recover. Eight months does not provide wiggle room for grief – she needs at least a year or maybe even two. And yet here she is having to writhe out of Lucifer's grasp, again, hoping she'll make it to the end and live to tell the tale. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of her lungs.

A sigh brushed against her lips before she looked over at Eddie. He's staring at her with an expression she can't put a name to but it makes her heart ache. There's no malice in it – rage doesn't taint his vision and she thinks she might be tripping. She knows he's pissed and probably teetering on the edge of betrayal and hurt, yet he looks at her as if she's golden, like she just gifted him the stars. She doesn't think she deserves it. She brought him into this mess and he has every right to be mad, to get angry – to never want to talk to her again. She fucked up, he should be fuming. 

He broke her gaze and slumped beside her, "So I guess neither of us are perfect, huh?" He questioned and Irene let out a quick laugh through her nostrils, giving him a once-over.

"I don't think we've ever been perfect, Ed."

He snorts, "Or normal and I mean that as like the highest compliment. That's why I like you, you know. There's something so beautiful in the way that you carry yourself – it's the first thing I noticed on that bus. You stuck out like a sore thumb and I knew that you couldn't have been from here." She gave him a knowing look, "Honestly, this place kills dreams! It murders creativity in broad daylight."

They both shared a moment of laughter before Eddie looked at her seriously, lovingly, "I would've never looked at you different, Irene. You're still the girl I met on the bus all those months ago who likes black licorice and country rock and could write an entire paper on the complexities of Darth Vader's character or the cinematic excellence of A Nightmare on Elm Street." She laughed at the mention and the way her face instantly brightened made Eddie's heart swell. "You're still you, Irene...Nothing'll ever change that, I swear, I'll never stop seeing you."

Sincerity swam in those enchanting brown eyes of his and she couldn't help but lean forward, a hopeful glint in her stare, "You really mean that?"

He smiled gently, "Hell yeah, cross my heart." They nestled into each other with an embrace and there was a collective exhale they shared; feeling the soft beat of their hearts. It's calming — something they've been needing for a while.

For a moment they forget that so much uncertainty lies ahead – that the reaper's scythe is clasped tightly in its hand and is waiting, patiently, to strike.

For a moment they just get to be two kids in love.