Everything hurt. Each breath in felt like there was a concrete slab on his chest that had a piece of white hot rebar imbedded in his chest. He was fairly certain he should be dead but he was also fairly certain that being dead shouldn't hurt this much. Maybe he was in hell? He'd sure as fuck deserve it after what he did; Heather, her parents, Max and her friends. Yeah, he's definitely in hell and this is his punishment for all those people he'd killed.
It's the beeping, somewhat steady but maybe... slower than it should be? And the weird hissing sound beside him that make him question if this is really hell. And, as if focusing on it was the key, he's suddenly thrust into consciousness and the pain seems to increase tenfold and he gasps for breath. He can't move his arms properly and the rest of his body doesn't seem to want to cooperate either.
Panic sets in and Billy hears the beeping beside him speed up as he feels his heart jackrabbit in his chest.
He wrenches his eyes open and is met with a white ceiling and immediately recognises it as a hospital and holy shit, not hell then but maybe hell wouldn't be so awful. His eyes burn with tears and a sob tears out of him, causing his throat to burn with the intensity of it. He tries to call for help but words won't form and holy fuck, is he going to die here? Did he survive the monster only to die in a hospital? That's some bullshit.
Billy feels a hand on his own where it's laid out on the bed and he grasps for it with all the desperation of a dying man.
It feels like it's been forever when Hargrove finally opens his eyes.
This whole damn thing is fucked up, Eddie had made sure to tell everybody who would listen, not that he even understands a third of it. First Hargrove practically loses his damn mind, or at least goes radio silent enough to actually make him worry, which, considering the source, is pretty damn impressive in itself. He's used to the asshole's moods, to the game of hot and cold that he gets, at least. Eddie might not have much of a reputation to salvage trying to pretend, but he gets that Hargrove feels otherwise. He hasn't had the 'luxury' of a whole town writing him off almost before he could read just because of who he was related to. Eddie stopped giving a shit what people thought somewhere between getting his head shaved when he was twelve because of a lice outbreak at school and his first black eye at fourteen (well, the first one he hadn't actually instigated, anyway) because he hadn't quite caught on that it wasn't 'normal' for a guy to want to kiss other guys in Hawkins.
Hargrove's still figuring his place out. Still hasn't caught up to the shitshow, which is fine. Mostly.
Except then the mall caught fucking fire, or whatever they were saying happened, and Max called, and pretty much everything dropped out from under him after that.
Eddie's not an angry guy, usually. He's mostly figured out that anger doesn't actually solve anything, that you can do a lot more damage with a few well-placed words anyway. Sure, he puts on a good show, shouts and mocks at the top of his lungs, but it's not anger. It's the jester mocking the kings and queens because he's the only one that can get away with it because nobody takes him seriously anyway. Cheap entertainment with a little truth thrown in. But this. It seethes and twists in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar, because Hargrove's just lying there, pathetic and broken, and nobody will tell him a damn thing about why. About what the hell even happened, because a fire doesn't poke giant holes in people big enough they have to wire their damn chest closed.
But then the beeping starts up, not the plodding slow thing but something more rushed, and Eddie sits up, leans over the bed as Billy comes to.
"Hey. Hey. It's okay, man. You're... I've got you." He squeezes his hand reassuringly, his own eyes wet in relief, trying to soothe some of the blatant panic he can see in Hargrove's eyes, and shit if that's not a new one.
Billy grips the hand in his as hard as he can manage -which isn't a lot but it's fuelled by desperation and it's all he's got- and he mouths the word help over and over in the hopes that the word will form itself and tell Eddie what he needs.
Because everything hurts and he desperately needs something to make it stop. He doesn't even care what it is in that moment as long as it stops. He begs with his eyes, focussed solely on the stupid, big, brown doe eyes above him that belong to the guy he'd pushed away as soon as that thing had taken over his mind so that he didn't hurt him.
As if the world decides to grant him some kindness, he finds his words, though they're barely more than a croaky whisper, "Eddie, hurts."
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It's the beeping, somewhat steady but maybe... slower than it should be? And the weird hissing sound beside him that make him question if this is really hell. And, as if focusing on it was the key, he's suddenly thrust into consciousness and the pain seems to increase tenfold and he gasps for breath. He can't move his arms properly and the rest of his body doesn't seem to want to cooperate either.
Panic sets in and Billy hears the beeping beside him speed up as he feels his heart jackrabbit in his chest.
He wrenches his eyes open and is met with a white ceiling and immediately recognises it as a hospital and holy shit, not hell then but maybe hell wouldn't be so awful. His eyes burn with tears and a sob tears out of him, causing his throat to burn with the intensity of it. He tries to call for help but words won't form and holy fuck, is he going to die here? Did he survive the monster only to die in a hospital? That's some bullshit.
Billy feels a hand on his own where it's laid out on the bed and he grasps for it with all the desperation of a dying man.
no subject
This whole damn thing is fucked up, Eddie had made sure to tell everybody who would listen, not that he even understands a third of it. First Hargrove practically loses his damn mind, or at least goes radio silent enough to actually make him worry, which, considering the source, is pretty damn impressive in itself. He's used to the asshole's moods, to the game of hot and cold that he gets, at least. Eddie might not have much of a reputation to salvage trying to pretend, but he gets that Hargrove feels otherwise. He hasn't had the 'luxury' of a whole town writing him off almost before he could read just because of who he was related to. Eddie stopped giving a shit what people thought somewhere between getting his head shaved when he was twelve because of a lice outbreak at school and his first black eye at fourteen (well, the first one he hadn't actually instigated, anyway) because he hadn't quite caught on that it wasn't 'normal' for a guy to want to kiss other guys in Hawkins.
Hargrove's still figuring his place out. Still hasn't caught up to the shitshow, which is fine. Mostly.
Except then the mall caught fucking fire, or whatever they were saying happened, and Max called, and pretty much everything dropped out from under him after that.
Eddie's not an angry guy, usually. He's mostly figured out that anger doesn't actually solve anything, that you can do a lot more damage with a few well-placed words anyway. Sure, he puts on a good show, shouts and mocks at the top of his lungs, but it's not anger. It's the jester mocking the kings and queens because he's the only one that can get away with it because nobody takes him seriously anyway. Cheap entertainment with a little truth thrown in. But this. It seethes and twists in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar, because Hargrove's just lying there, pathetic and broken, and nobody will tell him a damn thing about why. About what the hell even happened, because a fire doesn't poke giant holes in people big enough they have to wire their damn chest closed.
But then the beeping starts up, not the plodding slow thing but something more rushed, and Eddie sits up, leans over the bed as Billy comes to.
"Hey. Hey. It's okay, man. You're... I've got you." He squeezes his hand reassuringly, his own eyes wet in relief, trying to soothe some of the blatant panic he can see in Hargrove's eyes, and shit if that's not a new one.
no subject
Because everything hurts and he desperately needs something to make it stop. He doesn't even care what it is in that moment as long as it stops. He begs with his eyes, focussed solely on the stupid, big, brown doe eyes above him that belong to the guy he'd pushed away as soon as that thing had taken over his mind so that he didn't hurt him.
As if the world decides to grant him some kindness, he finds his words, though they're barely more than a croaky whisper, "Eddie, hurts."