Chapter Text
Eddie’s got the speakers cranked up so loud the entire van is shaking. The kind of volume that makes Uncle Wayne remind him, “You’ll regret that when you’re old.”
Eddie always just grins at him and tells him, “Nah. Technology will have taken over the world by then.”
To which, Uncle Wayne usually just ruffles his hair and doesn’t bother engaging in the long drawn out conversation and theorizing that will inevitably take place.
Tonight, he’s not worried about what Uncle Wayne will say when he pulls in the trailer park. He’s on night shift, so he won’t even know unless a neighbor tattles on him. Eddie doubts that’ll happen either, since he’s got half the park hooked up with their high of choice. The only wild card is old lady Perkins. If she rats him out, well then he won’t bother climbing the tree to get her damn cat down next time. Bastard pissed on him last time anyway.
The gig at the Hideout was pretty bland tonight, but Eddie’s still riding high on stage adrenaline anyway. Their whole audience consisted of a few of the band’s relatives and maybe three friends. The bar’s usuals who would be sitting there nursing their beers and hitting on the bartender, or talking about the good old days when music had doo-wap. Eddie’s heard it all by now.
Driving with his knees, he reaches down under the passenger seat to remove his lunchbox. Digging around for the right weed, keeping one eye on the road. Mostly on the road. The tires mostly between the lines. But it’s not like anything is out here in the middle of the night, other than deer. Dumbasses like to hang out in the middle of the road, then it’s their fault if they get creamed.
“That’s the stuff,” Eddie tells the dash as he exhales his first hit. Burning through about half the joint by the time he’s got a film of smoke swirling through the air in here. Drumming on the wheel, keeping his eyes on the road. Totally keeping his eyes on the road. The tires stir up some gravel a few times. Oh well. That gravel needed to be stirred.
A car that sits low to the ground comes around a curve. Fast. Headlights recognizable as a muscle car, Eddie slows down and gives them the majority of the road. Might as well. He’s not in a rush. Apparently they are. And are having a hard time staying in the lines too.
He watches the car swerve by, can’t see a driver. Good for them, probably messing around, getting frisky.
Eddie laughs when he realizes he’s not even moving forward anymore. He probably shouldn’t have smoked that much but at least weed only slows him down. Only thing he’ll get pulled over for is driving twenty under the speed limit.
When Ace of Spades kicks out of the deck, Eddie reaches behind his seat for his box of tapes. Digging around until he finds The Number of the Beast, he looks up at the road and slams on the brakes. Well, more like eases on them and comes to a slow stop on the shoulder well aways from the object he's stopping for.
The problem with being the new kid in a small town is, it makes a person instantly recognizable. Of course, it helps that Billy Hargrove wears his entire self like a prize. The strut, the peacocking, the loud mouth. It all screams look at me. It’s hard not to, really. The thing that strikes Eddie about him though, it’s not any of that shit, it’s the handful of times they’ve been alone, or mostly alone. First time he met him was when Ms Linklater assigned Billy as Eddie’s tutor in Study Hall. Which, at first glimpse, all Eddie could do was snicker to himself and wonder what the hell possessed her to think they’d be a good match. Or to think Billy should be tutoring anyone. Ever. But as it turns out, he’s super smart. And quiet about it, like it’s a secret that only a few people are allowed in on. From appearance and attitude, Eddie thought he’d at the very least be the kind of guy who would get answers wrong on purpose to fluster the teacher and make the class laugh. He was wrong. Billy is a weird contradiction that Eddie cannot figure out and it kind of pisses him off. Eddie’s good at reading people. Billy Hargrove seems to be his exception.
Either way, he’s physically recognizable even in the dark. Walking down the shoulder of the road. Staggering a little. Whatever, it’s a weekend, he’s allowed to be tipsy. Eddie rolls up beside him, throws it in reverse and keeps pace with him, turning the music down, rolling the window down to release his hard earned smoke cloud.
He grins out the window and wonders, “Get bucked off your horse, or what?”
Billy barely looks his direction, grunts, and keeps moving.
“Your car,” Eddie clarifies. “It was headed that way,” he jerks his thumb in the direction he just came from.
Now he gets Billy’s focus. His eyes, even in the dark, piercing. “Who was driving?”
“Looked like no one” Eddie wiggles his fingers in an oh so scary kind of way.
“Little fucking shit.”
“Hey now,” Eddie chastises. “I may be a shit, but I’m not little.”
He winks when Billy glares at him, and takes note of the crusted blood at his nostril. Looking at Eddie instead of what’s under foot, he lurches a little, rights himself and then staggers a few steps. Okay, so he’s under the influence of something for sure. His speech seems fine though. And whatever it is, he’s fighting it.
“So seriously, what’s up with the car?” Eddie asks.
Billy shrugs, “Guess it got stolen.”
He reaches up to his pocket, pats it, finds it empty. He comes to a sudden stop, rubs his eyes, looks up at the sky while he blinks. Biting his lip, fists clenching at his sides. Eddie notices the darker spots on his knuckles. Blood. Well, it’s not weird to see Billy’s knuckles having gone through the meat grinder. Or his face, really, for that matter.
Eddie stops the van and waits Billy out. The first time they met outside of class was for a deal. Billy started out the meet with his attitude and his I’m better than you strut. He was using Eddie’s trade like Billy was the one who knew his shit, using every chance he could to show Eddie he was smarter than him, knew more, had an edgier edge to him that was hard earned on the streets of LA. Sure, Eddie believes the guy has some experiences that would make any Midwesterner small town hick wilt. Eddie decided that afternoon to wait him out, let him inhale his cig, get angry at inanimate objects and prove his he-man status or whatever, on top of his knowledge of street names. When he realized Eddie wasn’t taking the bait, he leaned against a tree, finished off his cig and looked at him like he was lost. Eddie had simply taken off his jacket, and his vest, sat down at the table and wondered, “You want my shit or you gonna lace your own?”
Billy had studied Eddie for a long moment, took another drag of his smoke, looked beyond him when he smiled. An actual smile. It’s still the most beautiful expression Eddie has ever seen on his face, this hidden thing that he’s pretty sure is rare and hard to dig out of Billy. It dawned on Eddie that he’d gained a tiny piece of Billy Hargrove’s trust that day. Just by waiting him out. By not taking the bait to fight him or argue with him or call him out on any bullshit. It was that simple.
So now, he waits him out too. He’s clearly distressed. And very unlikely to say anything about why. No way in hell he’s going to share the events that have led to him walking down the side of the road after his car, bloodied knuckles and a bruise starting to form on his cheek that looks older than the dried blood under his nose. Billy seems to be a lot of things, but the number one thing that Eddie can decipher is: He’s a fucking mess. All the time. Even when he’s completely put together. Like he had been earlier in the night judging by the tight jeans, the unbuttoned shirt, the styled hair that looked better maybe an hour or two ago.
Billy’s head finally tilts back down from the sky, his eyes suddenly on Eddie. He feels on the spot under that gaze, for an instant like he’s meant to have the answers. When he opens his mouth to offer a ride, he doesn’t get a chance to get a single word out before Billy is reaching for the handle, yanking the door open and shoving his way in.
Despite plenty of vocal protests, a lot of shoving and uncoordinated pushing, tugging and self-defense; Eddie ends up in the passenger side. Of his own van. He’d be more offended if he wasn’t so high.
Billy jams it into gear, whips it around so fast in the middle of the road, that Eddie is forced to remind him, “It’s a van. Not a Mustang.”
“Mustang?” Billy grunts, “The fuck you take me for, Munson? Fucking Mustang? Fuck Ford.”
Eddie growls, and parrots, “Fuck Ford.”
When Billy snaps his head to look over at him, he grins. It catches Billy off guard and he probably has no idea how to respond, so he doesn’t. Until he asks, “You got any smokes?”
“Sure. What do ya got for me if I give ya one?”
“I’ll refrain from punching your fucking dimples off.”
“Hmm,” Eddie taps his chin for a moment, turns up the volume, sings along with The Prisoner, “Not a prisoner, I’m a free man and my blood is my own now, don’t care where the past was, I know where I’m going.”
As he's singing, he’s lighting a cig, taking a drag and then reaching over to hand it to Billy. Billy’s careful not to touch his fingers when he takes the smoke from him. Doesn’t bother thanking Eddie, just keeps on driving until Eddie asks, “Know where you’re going, Goldie?”
Billy puffs out a dragon’s cloud of smoke, looking over at Eddie like he’s asking him something deep, like he requires a real answer. Maybe an, “anywhere but here,” or, “home”. So Eddie clarifies, with his finger arced in the direction he’s spotted it, “‘Cause your car’s over there.”
In a field where the crop has been harvested or died and the mud has taken over. Billy huffs, half anger, half resignation. Slams on the brakes, whips a U-y, once again making Eddie remind him, “It’s a van. Not a Firebird.”
“A fucking Pontiac, Munson?” Billy responds, not giving him the chance to say, “Fuck Pontiac,” before Eddie can too, they end up saying it together. Eddie grins and Billy huffs, takes a long drag, flicks the butt out the open window and bumps, jolts, and rolls up next to the Camaro. He’s out the door as he’s jamming the van into park, letting it roll back harshly as he jumps out and rushes over to his car.
Eddie’s grumbling to himself about the harsh treatment of his van when he reaches over to tug the keys, gets out his side to round the hood. Billy has already taken inventory of his car if his stance is anything to go by. He seems to sway a little when he comes to a halt next to the trunk, hands on his hips, chewing on his lip and blinking hard.
“So,” Eddie wonders as he stops next to him, “what’d you take?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but kinda seems like you’re fightin’ the buzz, man.”
Billy’s knuckles come up to rub at his nose, apparently having forgotten about the blood, wincing when he makes contact and then spitting on the ground. He slams the trunk shut, curses, kicks the dirt, and clenches his fist. There’s a large part of Eddie that thinks he should run. That part he likes to call his brain. Thing is, he’s the only living creature here with a pissed off Billy Hargrove. It doesn’t seem like a winning scenario. But, Eddie’s just a little too curious about everything at the moment to run from it. The biggest curiosity being: Who the hell took Billy’s car for a joy ride and had the damn gall to leave it out here in the middle of a field with a bunch of scratches on it, missing half the contents of the trunk?
“Took some heavy chutzpa to pull that stunt.” Eddie whistles, then sort of wants to duck when Billy’s eyes land on him.
Billy’s pushing into his own sternum with one hand, his knuckles on bone as he rolls them back and forth like he’s checking his own pain reflex. Lips pressed together, eyes lit up like Hell’s own furnace. He laughs. Actual, unhinged and hysterical laughter as he looks at Eddie.
Eddie shrugs, tugs another cig out and lights it. If he wasn’t so high, he’d probably be shitting his pants and running for the hills.
There are tears in Billy’s eyes, sparkling in the light of the moon and Eddie has the insane urge to reach over and stroke his cheek. It’s the dumbest goddamn urge he’s ever had in his life. He manages to tamp it down, hand over his smoke and light up another.
He watches Billy’s cheeks hollow as he sucks in, watches his eyes as he blinks away the tears of laughter that seem to have pitched their way toward frustrated tears that he pushes away with the heel of his hand. Looking anywhere but Eddie, his focus gets caught on something up the hill. It stays there long enough that Eddie follows his gaze over to a hole in the ground.
“Huh,” Eddie is eloquently saying, “wonder who…” as Billy is charging off towards it “…did that. Sure as hell isn’t a groundhog hole.”
Eddie saunters after him, not wanting to follow too close to his heels. Hell, he doesn’t even want to know what’s in the hole, or what dug it. He really doesn’t want to be here to know who stole Billy’s car and what Billy’s gonna do when he gets his hands on them. But there’s also the knowledge Eddie has of Billy that he’s pretty damn sure not many, if any at all, people in this town do. Maybe Eddie can play buffer if it comes to that.
Billy’s down on his knees, leaning into the hole, his entire head and shoulders disappearing into the ground. Ass up. Eddie takes a moment to admire it. Because even if he stands zero chance with Billy Hargrove, it never hurts to admire something so fine.
Then Billy disappears. Just gone.
Eddie takes a few jogging steps towards the hole, thinks better of it and stops about five feet away, shouts, “Hargrove?!”
Maybe the ground gave way and swallowed Billy. Could be a sinkhole. Not likely, but maybe. Could be an old mineshaft not closed in properly. Again, not likely, but maybe.
Eddie rocks back and forth on his feet a few times, his heart thudding heavy in his chest as he waits. If he wasn’t high, fuck, he’d not even be standing here still. He really should just leave. It's not like he owes Billy anything. But since when has general compassion for human beings been about owing an individual person something?
“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks some more, and waits. He won’t leave, but he’s going to wait. For what? A fucking scream? So he knows it’s too late? Fuck. “Shit, shit, shit. Hargrove?! Billy Hargrove?!”
He cups his hands around his mouth this time to throw the sound. He’s absolutely not getting closer to that hole. Nope. Never. In fact, he’s going to take a step back. Very carefully take a lot of steps back. If he gets all the way to his van without hearing anything, he’ll just head back to the nearest payphone and call the cops. Leave an anonymous tip. That, actually, sounds a lot more helpful than anything else Eddie could do.
He’s made it five steps back without tripping over anything, still calling out for Billy with every step. Waiting for his response. On Eddie’s sixth step, he feels the ground shake. Do sinkholes shake? Did some kind of small earthquake just happen? Did they somehow miss the first one? Did Karma come for the car thief in the form of Mother Nature before they even rolled up? Shit. That’s deep. Literally.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” Eddie falters on the seventh step because the ground shakes harder, and he’s sure he hears a scream. It’s not the scream of a teenage boy. It sounds very pre-pubescent. The shaking ground is accompanied by a thundering rhythm like a herd of horses.
Eddie’s eighth step is a lot faster than the previous seven but of course, that’s the one that chooses to fuck him over and he lands on his ass in the mud. The next scream in the field comes out of his own damn mouth because something is emerging from the hole and it sure ain’t Billy Hargrove!
Eddie scrambles to grab something, anything, play whack a mole with whatever is rising and shove them back to the bowels of Earth where they came from. His fingers close around a rock, as he’s raising it over his head the urchin lifts their face, tugs off a mask. Revealing… A human. A boring old human child. Thank fuck.
“Fuck, Kid, what the fuck?” Eddie breathes out, too quiet and choked up to even be reprimanding.
“Help me!” the kid shouts and Eddie has the urge to fuck off before he gets tangled up in this shit, but the urgency in the kid’s voice makes him move towards him even as another scream is sounding from the core of the Earth and echoing its way up here to the flattened corn field.
Eddie dives to his belly and slides right over the hole like its first base. Reaching down without knowing what the fuck he’s reaching for, he’s met with a hand. And he yanks. And out pops another kid. And then another. And now there are three moles that Eddie didn’t whack and they’re all yelling and shouting and leaning over the hole making so much commotion that Eddie can’t understand a single fucking word. But he’s pretty sure he hears someone scream, “Steve!” from somewhere down below.
Between the goggles and hankies and general disguises, Eddie has to wonder, “Are you using these tunnels to rob banks?”
A redhead tugs off her gear and gives him a death glare that rivals Billy’s. It’s impressive, and then another set of hands is appearing from the depths of Mordor. The sounds are just, they’re so much. Eddie can’t make sense of any of it. Not the noise these humans up here are making. Not the noises the things down below are making.
This last one out of the hole is shouting, “Steve!” over and over again. Lurching towards the opening as soon as they're on the surface, leaning so far into it that one of the other kids grabs their leg and hollers, “Dustin, get back!”
All the hysteria and sheer pitchiness of all of this, is really doing things to Eddie’s buzz. It’s quickly slipping from the good high to the bad high and he’s not prepared for that and neither are these strange children. If this kid yells, “Steve!” one more time, Eddie’s pretty sure he’s going to shove him back down the hole. That is really a voice that kid has on him.
With the other three kids hanging onto this Dustin, his chest and arms in the hole, eventually, he hollers, “Pull me back up!” and they all do. Attached to his arms is another human. Bigger one. Long and lean and owning the hair of Steve Harrington.
Eddie leans back, releasing his hold on whoever he had a hold on to help drag creatures out of the bank-robbing tunnels. That how Harringtons have so much money? They hire a ragtag bunch of mini humans to rob banks through a series of tunnels? After stealing a muscle car? Not likely. Could be entertaining though.
Muscle car! Shit! Billy! Eddie scrambles back over to the hole in the ground, leans down to see as far in as he can, only to be tugged back by his belt loops.
“What the hell?” he wonders, rolling to his back to look up at the looming figure of Steve Harrington. Go figure, his fucking middle school crush who was such a fucking dick from puberty forward, is standing over him in the middle of a crisis that could maybe be world-ending? He should grab him and kiss him. Just in case. Instead, Eddie does the mature thing and asks, “You see a grumpy blonde bombshell down there? I seem to have lost mine. You know the one? Tits out, strutting, angry.”
Steve is yanking off his disguise while Eddie is talking. The more of him becomes exposed, the slower Eddie’s brain starts working. His dialogue just kind of stalls out completely and then he’s saying, “Your face is fucked, Harrington.”
Steve tosses his face coverings aside, makes like he’s about to reach for Eddie to pull him to his feet? To yank him up and threaten him not to expose their bank robbing criminal ring of children? To tug him just far enough to punch his lights out? Or maybe use that nail laden bat on him?
“Wow, what the fuck is that thing?” Eddie eyes it just long enough for Steve to drop it to the dirt.
Then someone is shouting, “Billy!” and Eddie’s body is moving before he can tell it not to. He’s leaning into the hole again, this time with Steve right next to him. Reaching his hands in, instantly being clasped by a strong - yet slimy - grip.
“Pull,” Steve orders and Eddie just does it. There’s some kid grabbing his legs like they actually think that’ll stop him from toppling into the hole right on top of Billy if Steve decides to let go. One hand grasped in Billy’s, the other reaching down further to his elbow, he tugs and feels Billy coming up and out like he’s using their hands as a pull up bar.
“Strutting for sure,” Eddie decides is important to reiterate because Billy might as well just wear peacock feathers. The instant he’s on solid ground though, he’s pushing himself backwards on hands and feet along the muddy earth. His chest is heaving, but he doesn’t look angry. He’s covered in all kind of fluids. Lord only knows what kind. Probably blood. Maybe it’s the Earth’s afterbirth, kinda looks that way all along his arms. Shirt ripped to shreds up to his armpits, a few gashes out of his chest. His hand flies up touch along his breastbone, fingers fluttering along his wounds, searching for something.
“How ‘bout we wash those hands before we go jabbing into bleeding wounds?” Eddie wonders, watching Billy with some sort of morbid curiosity fully kicking in. He seems completely unaware of the fact that he’s hurt, and should be really hurting judging by the steady trickle of blood on his chest and arms. His fingers look like he shoved them in the teeth of a chainsaw just to see what would happen. Maybe it’s shock. But the thing that makes him respond is whatever he’s looking for that’s missing. His hand is still empty as he searches along his shirt collar. His necklace, Eddie remembers, as Billy’s empty hand exits his shirt and he lifts it to his eye level.
The bank robbing horde of children are still chattering, the whisper-shouts are really not at all smooth. Or quiet. If Eddie was paying attention to them instead of Billy, he’d be able to hear every word.
Billy rolls his fingers around in front of his face for a second like he’s testing his feeling, pressing them against each other. The expression on his face is more amused than it should be. Which is fucked up.
Suddenly, he tips over on his back, and just laughs. Laughs. Everyone goes quiet, staring at him. Eddie looks over his shoulder to see Steve reaching for the funky bat and taking a step to position himself between his group of criminals and Billy. It’s smart, really, if you’re going to pay anyone to rob banks, might as well be someone under eighteen so they don’t expect big money, and don’t go to the big house when they get arrested. Then with the amount of money the Harringtons have, they could easily hire a good enough lawyer to get them sprung and their records expunged. If they wanted to, but what kind of crime boss actually cares about the well being of their child laborers?
“Okay,” Eddie pushes himself up off the ground, announcing, “I don’t wanna know. I’ve just decided that I want no part in this. I don’t wanna know. I was never here. I didn’t see, hear, or smell a thing. I’m leaving now. Billy,” Eddie raises his voice to be sure he’s heard over the rushing that’s for sure happening in Billy’s ears, “I suggest you do the same.”
“Not so fast, Munson,” Steve tells him. Still with the bat in his hand, so of course Eddie pauses. Weighs his options. Does he outrun Harrington? Steve’s an athlete but Eddie has years of running from cops and adults and higher up the ladder drug dealers. So, yep, he’s pretty sure he’s going to run. But then again, there’s Billy sitting in the dirt bleeding and laughing, and probably no one else is going to make sure he lives through the night. If Eddie just leaves him here, he’d be easy to take out with that bat.
“You do that with your bat?” Eddie takes a step back so he’s out of Steve’s reach, jerks a thumb towards Billy. “‘Cause that’s like, that is really fucked up Harrington. A nail bat against bare fists.”
Steve’s face screws up and he huffs out, “No, but I should take a swing.”
Which seals that, Eddie will not be running until he can get Billy out of here. As he’s distracting Steve, he notices the redhead taking slow steps towards Billy.
“And why would you wanna do that, huh? He’s not a threat,” Eddie tells him.
“He nearly killed us!” one of the kids yells, the one with the voice that makes Eddie’s head hurt. And then all three of the boys are shouting too, it’s all jumbled up, but what Eddie gets out of it is that Billy did that to Steve’s face.
It’s Steve that says, “Shut up. Jesus,” and rubs his eyes with his free hand only to wince and tug them back, stare at his fingers like they’ve betrayed him and turn his focus on the kids. “It wasn’t exactly unprovoked, alright? I took the first swing. And honestly, it did look a little shady when he rolled up. Like, what would you think if your sister was alone in a strange house with a bunch of strange boys, one of which is way too old for this shit.”
Eddie’s eyes skim over to Billy again, trying to be discreet, not wanting to call attention to him. He’s sitting now, his arms hooked over his knees that are drawn up towards his chest. He’s staring at the hole in the ground, anguish in his eyes, but the rest of his face a carefully blank mask. The redhead has crept closer, hasn’t said anything to him yet.
“I mean, she does call us stalkers, so…” the curly haired kid says, and gets cut off when another kid punches him in the arm. “Ow, Lucas, what the hell? It’s true, she calls us stalkers and if she says that in front of her brother, then Steve’s right, it did look fucked up when he pulled up to Will’s. What if that was Erica and you’d been out looking for her for hours?”
“That wouldn’t be Erica because Erica is a monster. And I wouldn’t go in fists blazing. I’d use my slingshot,” the kid responds.
Steve’s hand rises to his face again, only for his head to rear back and away from it, like his head remembered not to touch before his hand did. Then he sighs and orders, “Shut up. All of you. Let’s just get the hell out of here. Please.”
He doesn’t sound like someone in charge of a criminal ring of prepubescents, he sounds more like an exasperated mother.
Eddie has been taking this opportunity to put some ground between him and them. Small steps diagonally so he’s getting closer to Billy and the van at the same time, but not directly headed towards either of them. He hears Billy say, “Don’t touch me, Maxine. Just get in the car and come up with a good goddamn excuse that he’s gonna believe.”
His voice started out broken and resigned, and then it’s get threatening towards the end but it feels false. It feels like he already knows that whoever this guy they have to explain themselves to (dad probably) won’t believe a word and they’re already in a shitpile of trouble.
“Can we, like, regroup somewhere?” Eddie wonders loudly enough for the entire troupe to hear him. “Somewhere that is not next to a sinkhole? Before another earthquake happens or mineshaft collapses? That’d be great, actually, so let's get the hell away from the hole before it gets bigger.”
With Billy still staring at the ground, and the children paying him seemingly no mind, all of them looking to Harrington for direction; Eddie peers at him too. Steve’s looking right at him, looking at him like he’s seeing him for something other than The Freak for the first time in their orbits around each other. He studies Eddie for long enough that Eddie wants to rock on his feet and adjust his jacket, twist his hair around his finger and give away all the tells that he’s nervous under the gaze of King Steve. He fights it, stays still and waits until Steve finally nods, reaches out to pat a kid’s head, then another’s shoulder, then the last one’s back like he’s making sure they’re all there and whole and moving towards the vehicles before he can move himself.
“Go,” he tells them, “get in the van but don’t touch anything. And I mean anything!”
Eddie shrugs at him when he looks his way, says, “If they smoke it, snort it, or shoot it, it’s on you.”
“They won’t,” Steve says, but hollers again, “I mean it!”
“You, um,” Eddie gestures over his entire face towards Steve, “should probably do something about that.”
“I’ve had… I’ve not had worse, actually. You’re probably right.” Then he gestures towards Billy and his apparent sister, wonders, “You doing something about that, or am I?”
“I'd appreciate it if you went nowhere near him with your bat,” Eddie responds, grasping his hands behind his back and tipping his head towards the weapon still in Steve’s hand.
“I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to go anywhere near him. With or without my bat.”
Eddie bows mockingly, says, “Then your chariot awaits King Steve,” as he sweeps a hand out towards the van.
A tiny fire ignites in Steve’s eye in the darkness and Eddie lets the smug feeling of having ruffled his feathers settle in his chest. Keeping his eye contact as he straightens up from his bow, as Steve walks towards the van. Holding his focus until Steve is the one that has to break it.
Eddie takes a deep breath, listens to the van door close and lights a smoke. The voices beside him are just murmurs in his ears. Nothing that stands out, nothing that seems like it’s any of his business. The only thing he can decipher is the amount of defeat in Billy’s tone when he says again, “Don’t touch me, Maxine.”
Twice is more than enough for that statement. Eddie turns on the balls of his feet, paces over to them and tells the kid, “Pretty sure you should stop trying to touch him.”
The girl glares up at him with a force that’s nearly physical. That’s the second time and he’s just met her. So yeah, they are siblings. When Eddie keeps looking at her without blinking, she throws her hands down with a scoff and stomps away.
Billy’s eyes track her but Eddie doesn’t bother turning to see which way she went. He plops down next to Billy in the damp dirt, passes over his cigarette, careful not to touch Billy. Billy’s hands are steady but he sucks down about half the cig in one inhale.
Eddie lights another, smokes his first half slowly, listening to Billy breathe beside him. Eventually he says, “We’ll find it. Your necklace. We’ll come back in the daylight tomorrow and find it.”
Billy’s head snaps towards him, his gaze narrowed, lips pursed. The most expression he’s seen on that face since he came out of the tunnel. The expression shifts and his eyes dart over to the hole, he huffs, “Yeah, sure, Munson.”
It’s laced with disbelief. Either he thinks they’ll never find it. Or he thinks Eddie won’t be here. Billy drags himself to his feet, doesn’t bother dusting himself off and announces, “I’m going home.”
Aimed at him or aimed at his sister, Eddie’s not sure, but he calls out, “I’m serious, Shirley Temple. I’ll be here by noon.”
Billy flips him off over his shoulder as he yanks the Camaro’s door open. Eddie breathes out a sigh of relief, thinking he must be alright if he’s got his attitude back. He spins the tires just long enough to kick up rocks and leave ruts in his wake when he pulls out.
Eddie stays on the cool ground for a moment, finishing his smoke while he eyes the field. Trying to make sense of anything that just happened in the last twenty minutes. Trying to find that nice easy buzz he was floating on. Hoping the moonlight will ping off a gold medallion and he’ll find it right now instead of having to get himself out of bed before two in the afternoon on a Saturday.
He doesn’t move until some asshole lays on the horn of his own goddamn van, hollers out the window, “Let’s go!” like Eddie is the one who created this entire mess.
“Well,” Eddie sighs as he stubs out his smoke, “fuck.”