Chapter Text
When Eddie switched off the van, dropping the two of them into sudden silence, he hesitated just slightly, cutting his eyes over to her in a way that almost seemed frantic. Chrissy wondered if it was just that he still felt like he couldn't possibly be about to sell drugs to the 'Queen' of Hawkins High or if there was something else he was worrying about. Maybe he still thought she might turn out to be the mean and scary one of the two of them. She gave him a little smile, even though he wasn't actually looking at her anymore; she hoped it came across as reassuring.
"This, uh, this is my castle," he said with a little flourish as he led her up the steps and held open the door for her, and her smile grew of its own accord, no longer a performance but an actual sign of enjoyment.
She hadn't expected the theatricality, or maybe she just hadn't expected it to be like this. From what Jason had told her (or, complained about to his team in her presence) of Eddie's frequent lunch time antics she'd expected... She'd expected it to be annoying, at best. Instead, she was having the best time she'd had in months, and she hadn't even gotten any drugs yet. ...Not that the drugs were for a good time.
As he snatched up crumpled wrappers from the table against the wall, she took the chance to look around the main room of the trailer. There were a truly astonishing number of mugs against the walls. It wasn't what she pictured when she imagined Eddie doing his own decorating, but lately she had gained a better appreciation for the saying 'never judge a book by its cover'. "You live here by yourself?" she asked, feeling a little jealous at the idea.
"No, with my Uncle... Works nights at the plant, making the big bucks," he said, a little distracted as he opened cabinets and looked through containers.
There was a dog barking somewhere close by. Chrissy turned to look in the direction she thought it was coming from and caught sight of a clock on the wall, second hand ticking diligently away, unstoppable. She swallowed hard and looked away, in case this one also began spewing spiders from its face. "How long does it take?" She asked, trying not to sound desperate and knowing that she wasn't succeeding.
"Uh, depends," he said, tossing another apparently empty container back into the cabinet. "If you snort it, yeah." He opened a round tin and peered inside, a wide grin growing over his face. "Peaceful bliss will soon be yours, O Queen of Hawkins High," he said, affecting a chivalrous tone and topping the sentence off with another flourish of his hand. "But to be honest with you, Cunningham, snorting's kinda rough on the first time, and it'll only really save you like," he screwed up his face in thought and shook his hand side to side, "fifteen minutes, maybe? So -"
"Ok," she said quickly, "I'll snort it."
Eddie paused where he had turned towards the kitchen and rocked back on his heels. He looked at her the same as he had in the woods, after she'd asked if he ever felt like he was losing his mind, like he was trying to get a look at whoever she was underneath the person she was supposed to be, the person she worked so hard to be, hoping with every bone in her body that someday something would snap into place and being that person would be as effortless and easy as she was supposed to make it look.
She swallowed nervously when he continued to look at her, like there was something he needed to see before this could go on, and Chrissy put on her best ditzy smile, the one that always made people let it go when she slipped up and said something that made them look at her strange. "What?" she asked, tilting her head just so, so that her ponytail would swing behind her in a way that somehow always made people assume she was as shallow as her cheer skirt was short.
"What's your hurry?" He asked, eyes narrowed, voice considering, but worst of all, somehow, honest. He honestly wanted to know. "I know for a fact you don't have plans, Miss Cheer Captain, because you asked to stick with me for a while after you get high," he said, not like he was annoyed or angry but like he was putting pieces of a puzzle together. "What difference does fifteen minutes make?"
She needed him to stop, before he put all the pieces together and got the whole ugly picture, but she couldn't think of anything. She bit her lip, looking at the floor as she shifted, knowing the longer it took to come up with something the less he would believe her, and somehow finding her mind all the more blank for knowing she had a time limit.
"Chrissy," he said, slowly, warily like she might spook at the slightest movement, "what's going on?"
"I don't know what you mean," Chrissy said, painfully aware that her voice was too high and she wasn't making enough eye contact for him to possibly believe her, but she couldn't seem to drag everything back into herself, back under control. She could hear the clock hand marking the passing seconds to her left and refused to look at it, like not seeing it would be enough to save her.
Eddie let a out a big sigh. "Look," he said, putting the lid back on the tin, and Chrissy's heart jerked painfully in her chest.
"What does it matter to you?" she demanded, the words bursting out of her all on their own, violent on her tongue and loaded with feelings that had been building long before this moment. "You're getting paid, why do you care why I want to take drugs? It's none of your business!"
The silence that followed was painfully solid, clogging her airways when she took a shuddery breath in. She couldn't get her eyes to open. Why was this always what happened? That girl in bathroom earlier had been honest, too, honestly worried, honestly wanting to help, and Chrissy had ruined that as well. It was her fault she couldn't keep herself from throwing up before the other girl left, her fault that Eddie had seen as much as he had. Her fault that the comfortable, easy energy she'd felt with him was now shattered beyond repair.
"Sorry," she blurted, and then couldn't stop, "Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean - I'm sorry, I - that was so rude," she said, dropping almost to a whisper. She glanced up, only to find he was even more focused on her now, brows furrowed and eyes wide, and she felt panic flare through her veins. "Sorry, I'll - I'll go, I -"
"Whoa!" he said, jerking back into motion and stepping towards her before suddenly freezing again like he thought she might bolt, "Whoa, no, no, I don't - want you to go," he said slowly, eyes flicking to the side as he repeated her own words from earlier, "I just. Um."
They were staring at each other, almost by accident, and it felt simultaneously unbreakable and fragile.
"I'm just... Really stressed," Chrissy whispered, hoping the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes wouldn't become more than that but feeling a familiar ache in her throat and ears that often heralded a fit of sobbing.
Eddie nodded slowly, looking somewhat alarmed. "I'm beginning to see that," he said, one finger tapping on the lid of the tin.
A tear escaped her and she swiped it away as quick as she could. "I really didn't mean to snap at you," she added. "I just. I can't - " She took a deep breath in, hoping to steady herself, but the air came into her lungs as shakily as her voice was coming out.
"You can't relax?" Eddie offered, and she nodded. "You're sure you don't want to give the weed a try first?" he asked, surprisingly gentle for someone who'd just been yelled at in his own home by a virtual stranger.
"I really don't think it would be enough to help me," Chrissy told him.
"Okay," Eddie said, nodding to himself. "Alright, let me just get this all crushed up for you and we'll get you feeling better." He smiled at her, but it was forced, and Chrissy felt her heart sink. That was her doing. She always ended up hurting people.
He went into the kitchen and pulled a knife out of one of the drawers. Chrissy felt confused for a split second - hadn't he said he was going to crush the pills? - until he dropped the pills into a small, shallow dish and held the knife upright over it to use the butt end as makeshift pestle, grinding it down against the pills forcefully. She found her mind locked in on the motion of his hands, the flash of the blade above them, mesmerizing and nearly hypnotic. "You can sit on the couch, if you want," he said after a moment, keeping his own gaze focused on what he was doing.
"Thanks," Chrissy said quickly, startling out of the trance she'd fallen into with a flush of embarrassment. He probably didn't love having the cheerleader who had actually turned out to be just as mean as he'd suspected staring at him like he might do something wrong, she thought, perching on the edge of the well worn cushion, trying to sit straight and keep still, keep her eyes to herself, even though she was sure Eddie wouldn't give a shit if she slumped or shook her leg.
She saw him nodding in the kitchen out of the corner of her eye, moving around, presumably getting whatever other things they might need, and then he paused, facing away from her. She heard him drumming his fingers on the counter, shoulders up around his ears, and then, suddenly, "Hey, uh, Chrissy?"
"Yes?" she asked, when it seemed he was waiting on her.
"Um, can you - " Eddie rolled his head back, facing the ceiling with his eyes screwed shut and nose scrunched up in an expression that looked pained but was somehow almost endearing. "This is going to sound. Dumb, I guess, but uh, please don't ever go to anyone else for drugs?"
Chrissy blinked, staring at him uncertainly. "What?" she said, feeling like she'd missed a step somewhere that would have made the abrupt request make sense.
"Not that I'm claiming to be a saint, or anything," he said hurriedly, "I'm - definitely not, but." He shrugged, not meeting her eyes even as he turned his entire body towards her, "there are plenty of dealers who wouldn't hesitate to uh," he sucked in a breath, reluctant, "to take advantage." His eyes finally locked with hers, big and dark and serious. "I just - I would hate to see you get hurt."
Chrissy didn't know what to say to that. She couldn't make herself look away. He kept seeing her, when no one else seemed to even be looking, beyond a quick glance to make sure that not a hair was out of place, and it was - unexpected. Reassuring? Terrifying. "Okay," she managed eventually, "I won't."
Eddie gave her a little mock salute and flashed her a smile that bordered on a grimace. "Great!" he said forcefully, spinning away from her before she could analyze the expression further, "That's great." He shook his head, almost as if he still had leaves in his hair he needed to dislodge. She thought she heard him muttering to himself, and she looked away again, gripping her knees and watching how the skin flashed between red and white when she dug her nails in and then let them go.
"Ok," Eddie said, startling her again when she looked up to find him suddenly standing right in front of her, "here's how this works."
Snorting the special K was as unpleasant as Eddie had warned her it would be, and she couldn't hold back the tears that escaped her eyes, or hide them from him by swiping them away. "You good?" he asked, even as his dark eyes looked her over carefully, clearly making his own assessment already.
"Mhm," she said, nodding quickly. "How long until I feel it?"
He stared at her again, and she had the thought that it shouldn't have felt so comforting to be looked at so closely by anyone, let alone Eddie Munson. "You've really had a rough time lately, huh," he said, half to himself, half like he was surprised that was even possible.
Chrissy looked away, but still shrugged and nodded. She couldn't explain why things had suddenly gotten worse, kicked up another level, but they had, and she couldn't imagine continuing on if they stayed at that level, or, impossibly, got worse.
"Tell you what," Eddie said, slapping his knees and making her jump, "How about a talent show encore while we wait for that special K to get you feeling special?"
"You want me to do a cheer routine?" she asked him quizzically.
"No, Cunningham, don't you know cheering under the influence is illegal? Do I seem like the sort of person who would encourage breaking the law?" She couldn't help giggling at the scandalized expression on his face. "No," he said again, more serious but still pleasant, "I meant I could play some of Corroded Coffin's new music for you. I promise, not only am I better at guitar now," he said, eyebrows raised conspiratorially, "our songs are now only thirty percent shit, instead of eighty."
"Oh, come on," she said, feeling a little sorry for 8th grade Eddie, "you guys were good!"
"Ahh," Eddie said, shaking his head ruefully, "I never should have told you my weakness for flattery." He stood up and stretched, tall enough that his knuckles scraped the ceiling when his arms were over his head. "I'll be right back with Betty. That's my guitar," he told her with a wink, "before you go getting jealous."
She laughed, forgetting, same as she had in the woods, to pay attention to how wide her mouth was opened, or how loud she was, and she felt... safe, as she watched Eddie walking backwards towards the short hall that must have led to the bedrooms. "You know," he said, raising an eyebrow, "you might have an easier time relaxing if you, I dunno, weren't sitting right on the edge of the couch? You look like you're going to fall off," he said apologetically, shrugging before he turned fully to look where he was going. "Just food for thought."
Chrissy looked down at her knees and scooted back further onto the couch, easing herself into a comfortable slump against the plush back. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, not wanting to see the clock on the wall across from her.
Then she heard a different, older clock chime, and her eyes snapped open.
"Alright," Eddie said, striding back into the living room and projecting more confidence than he actually felt about playing a solo concert for Chrissy Cunningham, "I figure we can start with something a little softer, ease into..." The words left him, gone like he'd never even thought to say them, and the confident smile went with them.
"Chrissy?"
He hadn't even been out of the room more than a minute, three, tops, but Chrissy was sitting... wrong, blank faced with her eyes fluttering rapidly under her bangs. Eddie pulled his guitar strap back over his head and settled Betty in his uncle's arm chair before kneeling in front of the couch. "Hey, Chrissy? Chrissy, can you hear me?"
He snapped his fingers in her face and nothing happened. "Chrissy, wake up." He tried not to panic, to keep his head on his shoulders. Was it the ketamine? He had never heard of anyone having this kind of reaction to special K. "Chrissy Cunningham, do you hear me?" The lights all around the room were flickering, he realized suddenly, but it wasn't the normal, shitty trailer wiring kind of flickering.
His hands gripped her shoulders almost of their own accord, desperate to get through. "Chrissy, wake up!" Eddie knew his voice was cracking, getting high and frantic and embarrassing but he felt separate from all of those concerns, unattached to everything except the all encompassing need to get Chrissy Cunningham to say something, anything. "Chrissy, I don't like this, you need to wake up now please!"
Then she started to rise off of the couch, like a puppet being lifted by an invisible hand, and he jerked away from her so hard he fell backwards. Her feet left the floor and his jaw dropped open, and somewhere distant he thought someone was chanting "what the fuck" at double speed through panting breaths, but he couldn't tell from where, was someone screaming? He couldn't do anything, he couldn't move, what the hell was happening -
There was a noise like joints popping, a sound he had become much more familiar with since meeting Dustin Henderson, and Chrissy crumpled to the floor like her strings had been cut.
The normal sounds of the trailer park buzzed in his ears, strangely hollow under the sound of hyperventilation and heavy, thudding, heartbeats.
His, Eddie suddenly realized. He was the one who had screamed. It was his heartbeat drowning out everything else.
A heartbeat. He needed to - he had to get up and check for a heartbeat, see if Chrissy was still... alive. She wasn't moving, still laying exactly like she'd fallen, and it was all ...wrong. She wasn't supposed to be still like that, she was a cheerleader, she was supposed to ... what, jump up and start waving pompoms? he thought hysterically. Obviously even Chrissy Cunningham had to be still sometimes, but he couldn't picture it.
Eddie took a deep breath, then another, and tried to find a shred of the confidence he'd been playing at owning earlier. He found a pinch, and leaned forwards on his knees to press his fingers against Chrissy's throat.
Her skin was cold, but he felt the steady thud of her heartbeat underneath it, and some tiny, hidden part of him relaxed.
The rest of him knew better.
"Chrissy?" he whispered, rolling her onto her back as gently as he could manage. As before, there was no response, but her eyes were closed, now, moving restlessly under her painted blue lids, and her breathing, while shallow, reminded him more of sleep than of the way she'd been before.
Eddie let himself stare at her a few more moments, allowed the relief that she wasn't dead to sink through his muscles and into his bones, and then hugged his knees to his chest, pressing his eyes down against his kneecaps, as though he could press reset on his brain. "Fuck," he whispered against his jeans, as first one hand and then the other found its way into his hair.
His nails scraped against his scalp and his rings caught loose strands, pulling them free with little stinging pains that weren't quite enough for what he needed. He looked up, peeking out from the safety of his curled up hunch to check that Chrissy was still there.
She hadn't moved. Hadn't started floating again, but hadn't conveniently woken up while he wasn't looking, either.
He couldn't leave her there. He wouldn't. Even though... He knew how it would look. He knew. He pressed his head against his knees again and took a deep, deep breath. "Okay, Munson," he muttered to himself, "let's do this."
Another moment passed before Eddie was able to make himself move, and it was another two minutes before he could get Chrissy in his arms to carry her out to the van. He had to keep checking her heartbeat to confirm and re-confirm that she wasn't dead, despite her nearly ice cold skin and barely-there breaths.
As he drove to Hawkins Memorial on mostly deserted roads, Eddie couldn't stop himself from glancing over at her again and again, hoping that the next time he looked, she'd be looking back.
When he finally pulled into the Hospital parking lot, close to the Emergency entrance, he drummed his fingers nervously against the steering wheel and glanced away from the glowing red cross on the side of the building and back to Chrissy's face. He thought about her sitting across from him in the woods, telling him not to go, asking him for drugs even though what she probably needed to ask for was help. Why would she need to come to him, Eddie Munson, Freak of Hawkins High, for help? Why hadn't she gone to her perfect jock boyfriend, or her perfect rich family in their nice big house?
It shouldn't have mattered. It shouldn't have mattered whether he was her first or last resort, but he couldn't help wondering. She could have gone to anyone for help. Who in Hawkins would turn her away? But she had come to him. No part of Eddie wanted to walk into the hospital with an unconscious girl in his arms, with the way people always made assumptions about the type of person he was, but he was going to do it anyways. She had come to him for help, when she could have gone to anyone, anyone other than him.
Eddie wanted that to mean something, even though he didn't know what.