Chapter Four
Bananadrama

Betty had forgotten how fucking terrible at driving Eddie was; speeding recklessly around corners, heavy breaking, zipping through amber lights as they changed to red. She had one hand curled around her seatbelt and the other clutching onto the roof handle as if her life depended on it.

Instead of fully concentrating on the road, Eddie was enthusiastically nodding his head to the heavy metal music blasting from the stereo. Betty had to raise her voice to be heard above the guitar instrumental. "You really can't drive like this when my dad's in here!"

Eddie gasped in mock offence, a hand flying to his chest. "What's wrong with my driving?"

"Everything!" She proclaimed exasperatedly. Proving her point, Eddie sharply turned the next corner, making the wheels screech loudly. "Seriously?!"

"What?"

"Slow down!" Betty shouted. "And for the love of God, will you turn this shit off?! Have you not got any Springsteen or something actually decent?"

Eddie's fingers hovered over the round, silver volume button. Betty was about to sigh in relief until he twisted it to the right. The music blared so loud that the speakers crackled.

"Sorry, can't hear you!"

Betty jerked back, hands clutching at her ears. The thumping of the bass was making the entire van vibrate. "Eddie!"

Grinning at her amusedly, he reached out and turned the volume down. Betty would have preferred that he shut off completely, but at least she could actually hear herself think now.

"So," Eddie began, setting both hands on the wheel. She folded her arms, glowering at him. "You're telling me that you, Betty Angel, actively listen to Bruce Springsteen?"

She shrugged. "He's dad's favourite artist. We play his album a lot in the car." Eddie cast a disbelieving glance at her, but it was entirely true; every Thursday evening, for almost two months now, Springsteen had become a regular part of the father-daughter duo's drive home from the hospital. "Why do you look so surprised?"

"Because isn't your favourite song, like, Cruel Summer by that girly pop group? What are they called now?" Eddie clicked his fingers. "Come on, you know the one." Betty did, but she enjoyed seeing him struggle. "Aha!" He pointed at her. "Bananadrama."

Betty desperately fought back a smile. "Bananarama," she corrected with a slight giggle. "How do you even remember that?"

Eddie shrugged in response. He assumed it wasn't the ideal time to bring up that he had memorised practically every tiny detail about her. "Well, do you know my favourite song?"

Shit.

"Uh..."

"Wow. You wound me, Angel. All that time and you never cared enough to remember my favourite song."

"No, no," Betty scrambled. "It...oh! It's something about rainbows." Her eyes darted around the van for inspiration. Maybe he had the cassette tape lying around somewhere? "The one...the one by–by Dio!" she suddenly remembered. "Yes, Dio. You love that band!" Betty drummed her hands excitedly in her lap, leaning forwards to look at him. "I'm right, aren't I?" Eddie pressed his lips together, biting back a smile. "I knew it! In your face, Munson!"

"Fine, fine," Eddie surrendered. "Yes, I like Dio."

Betty sat back with a satisfied smile. Eddie glanced at her when she wasn't looking, shaking his head fondly.

"You know, uh, my dad likes Dio too actually," Betty spoke up. "Maybe, um...maybe we could put them on when he's in here?"

Eddie nodded. "Yeah, sounds good."

"Cool."

Betty looked down at her lap and started to fiddle with the gold rings on her fingers. Eddie glanced at her. He was desperate to ask. The question had been itching at his tongue for the past twenty minutes. Eddie didn't want to pry, or overstep, but he was curious. And concerned.

"Hey, uh, is everything like..." he hesitated. "Is everything okay with your dad and all?"

Betty remained quiet. She slid a ring from her index finger and then twisted it back on. He watched her until he remembered he was driving and had to focus on the road.

"He, um..." Betty paused. Her mouth felt dry. "He's sick. Like, really sick."

Eddie looked at her so tenderly that he was glad she didn't see. Betty was staring down at the floor, hands squeezed in her lap. Eddie didn't know what to say, but he knew what he wanted to do; reach out, hold her. "I'm sorry."

Betty nodded in acknowledgment, but she didn't say anything for a short while. Eddie tried to concentrate on the road, but he caught sight of a stray tear tumbling down her cheek. She brushed it away hastily. "You, uh, you can't tell anyone this," she said. "But he...he's got cancer."

Fuck.

Eddie wanted stop the van. Pull over to the side of the road, bring her into his arms, wipe away every single tear. Because fuck. Fuck.

"Betty, I–"

"No, no, don't. Honestly. I just– I thought you should know because he..." Her bottom lip trembled. She drew in a shaky breath. "He might not be in a good way when he comes out because the chemo is really rough and–"

Eddie reached for her hand.

Betty stilled.

Relaxed.

Breathed.

She looked down. Then slowly, Betty curled her fingers around his. Eddie's knuckles were resting against her thigh, warmth pressing into her skin. He squeezed. She squeezed back.

You see, physically, at present, Betty did not feel entirely safe with Eddie Munson driving like the maniac he was. She'd had gruesome visions of her flying through a shattered windscreen and ending up in a crumpled heap of broken bones and scarred flesh on the road. Betty had decided that if she lived, she would sue him. And if she died, well, she would just haunt the shit out of him for the rest of his miserable life.

Anyway. Physically, no. But emotionally, Betty had always felt so...secure with him. Like she could tell him absolutely anything – her deepest secrets buried in the darkest crevices of her brain, all her fears and insecurities, her wildest dreams and unrealistic fantasies – and never once be judged.

Eddie saw her for who she truly was. Knew almost everything somebody possibly could about her. Perhaps he was even the person who knew her best. That was why Betty had always confided in him about things she'd never shared with anyone else, not even her closest friends. It was why he was the first person outside of her family that she told about her father's diagnosis. And god, was it a relief to finally alleviate that weight in her chest. Eddie had a special way of making things feel easier.

He was forced to release her hand to change gears, making the turn into the hospital parking lot. Betty's brief moment of comfort evaporated. Dread started to built in the pit of her stomach as the building loomed ahead. She felt nauseous every time she saw it. Betty had been inside on countless occasions, but it never got any easier.

The worst part was the not knowing. Not knowing what condition her dad would be in when she picked him up. Because each time was different. Sometimes he greeted her with a big smile, acting like he could take on the world. But other times he couldn't even walk on his own.

Eddie parked as close to the front entrance as possible. He shut off the engine and turned to her. The colour had drained from Betty's face. She picked at a loose thread from her skirt.

"You okay?" He asked, then hated himself for it. Stupid question. Idiot.

Betty nodded, albeit unconvincingly. "Yeah."

She wrapped the thread around her finger and pulled. There was a snap as the material disconnected. She went to rest the stray on her leg, but it floated to the floor. Betty leaned down to catch it.

"Want me to come in with you?"

"No, I got it," Betty assured. "Thanks."

She pushed open the door and stepped out of the van, careful not to misjudge the height of the drop. Eddie watched out the window as she followed the concrete path that led to the building.

His whole body ached for her. And not in the burning desire way he was used to. Instead, it felt like the shattering in his heart when they parted ways that rainy night in September; When he'd held her face as she'd pleaded with him. When he'd tried so hard to resist wiping away her tears and folding her in his arms. When he'd walked away with heavy limbs, a nauseating feeling in his gut and an unbearable tightness in his chest that was hell-bent on squeezing all the air from his lungs.

It was similar to that, but worse in some ways. As if he'd been punched in the face. With a brick. Twice. And, at the same time, his chest was being mauled wide open, heart thrown on the ground and stomped on repeatedly until there was nothing left.

Because as much as Eddie cared, as desperately as he wanted to comfort her, it just wasn't his place anymore. There was nothing he could offer Betty except reassuring words and sparse touches that he hoped would convey I'm here. And that hurt. Seeing her in pain when he could do nothing to help or make it go away – it was the worst feeling he'd ever had in his life.

Eddie let out a sigh and tilted his head back. He considered lighting a cigarette but decided against it. His attention fell on the stereo. He leaned forwards and opened the glovebox, reaching his hand inside to search for the Dio tape. Eddie filed through the cassettes. Metallica, Black Sabbath, ABBA – shit better hide that one – Iron Maiden, Mötley Crüe, Madonna...Wait. Madonna?

Eddie frowned and picked up the tape. It definitely wasn't his. Which meant the only person it could possibly belong to was Betty. Oh. He'd just remembered – she'd been obsessed with that annoying Material Girl song. He turned it over and found Angel ♡ scrawled in her handwriting.

Eddie swallowed, set Madonna aside and continued rifling through the rest of his collection until he loacted Dio. He ejected the Def Leppard cassette from the stereo and switched them over. Eddie shoved the tapes back into the glovebox (keeping ABBA far at the back) and closed it shut.

Eddie turned his head as two figures emerged from the hospital double doors. He cast his mind back to when George Angel became unwell last summer. Eddie had been around, so he remembered the first time the man had collapsed. He and Betty had looked after her younger siblings that night whilst her parents were at the hospital.

There were countless tests. Trips back and forth to see doctors. But, naively, Eddie had always assumed the man would be okay. He would be fine because the Angel family always got through everything. And if he wasn't, then he would still have great medical care because he was town Mayor.

It simply hadn't crossed Eddie's mind that it could be anything so drastically serious. He'd seen George on television campaigns since, spotted him on newspapers, caught a few fleeting glimpses around Hawkins – he always seemed okay. The whole family seemed okay. Christ, Betty's younger brother was part of the Hellfire club. He hadn't said or even hinted towards anything being wrong. So never in a million years had Eddie imagined George's illness would turn out to be cancer. It just didn't seem right. Didn't make sense.

Betty walked slowly, an arm looped around her father's. George had aged considerably. He was thin and frail, skin hanging almost as loose as his clothes. His eyes were sunken in, face a sickly colour. The hair on his head was gone, as was his usually well trimmed beard. Eddie wasn't sure he'd ever seen him without it.

George shuffled feebly on his feet, clutching his daughter. He squinted into the distance. "Is that...Eddie Munson's van?"

Betty had been absolutely dreading this part. "Um, it's kind of a long story." George cast a sideways glance at her. Betty figured she should probably elaborate. "The short version is that my car broke down."

Her father sighed. "Betty, I told you to get it serviced."

"She's booked in next Monday," Betty defended. "Just...couldn't quite hold out until then. Anyway, don't worry about it. Eddie's gonna give us a lift home."

Betty almost laughed at her own words. Don't worry about it? There were plenty of worries where Eddie's driving was concerned. Or just him generally.

Yeah, this was a catastrophically bad idea.

Too late now though.

George peered at the van once more. "Oh. That's nice of him."

Betty panicked a little. She was always paranoid about what her parents knew, or suspected. Betty hoped he would be too tired to find anything suspicious about the situation.

They watched as Eddie climbed out the van and strolled to the passenger side, opening the door for them.

"I thought you two weren't friends anymore," George said.

"We..." Betty trailed off. Christ, she had no idea what they were. "It's complicated."

Eddie waved as they neared closer. "Mr Angel," he greeted with a smile, gesturing an arm towards the van. "Your chariot awaits."

George cracked the first grin Betty had seen all week. Unbelievable.

See, it had always baffled her, but her parents genuinely liked Eddie. She supposed someone had to. And it did make sense – their mom's had been best friends at school and her dad got along with his uncle, so Betty and Eddie growing up together had been a-given. But even when their friendship first fell apart in middle school, her parents regularly asked about him. It continued all the way into high school and right the way through their summer project last year – which was even worse because Eddie somehow managed to befriend both her siblings too.

Like, Betty's whole family were enamoured with him. Even through his troubles and arrests (that her father often ended up helping to bail him out of)...which was, like, a huge what the fuck? because, if anything, her dad should absolutely hate him. It should be like the books, like Romeo and Juliet, where the families completely despised one another. Not whatever the fuck this was!

Betty just couldn't make sense of it. Maybe the rumours were true. Maybe Eddie was a harbinger of the devil and had put everyone under some evil spell.

She studied him for a moment, then had no choice but to dispel the theory. That scraggly thing with his tatty leather jacket, big brown eyes and goofy grin? Surely not.

"Eddie," George greeted as he reached him, placing an unsteady hand on his shoulder. "Good to see you again, son."

"And you, sir." Eddie stepped aside, keeping hold of the door as he moved behind it. "Might be a bit of a squeeze, but we should be okay."

George faced his daughter. "Betty, will you go in the middle? I want to sit by a window, helps with the nausea."

Fucks sake.

She smiled falsely. "Sure."

Begrudgingly, Betty climbed inside the van. Of course she'd be one squished up against Eddie, how could she ever have expected anything different?

"Do you need some help?" Eddie asked as George attempted to reach the step. "It's a bit of a–"

"Here," Betty leaned across, holding out her hand.

George batted them both away. "I'm perfectly capable."

Betty and Eddie glanced at one another over the man's shoulder, but promptly backed off. George gripped onto the back of the seat, grunting as he pulled himself in. Betty wished he would just let them help. But that was her dad – stubborn. Probably where she got it from.

Eddie waited until George was safely inside before shutting the door. He strolled around the vehicle to the driver's side.

"Strap yourself in, dad," Betty told him. "Eddie's not renowned for his driving skills."

"Heard that," Eddie quipped as he hopped onto the step.

"Good," Betty replied sternly.

Eddie flashed her a teasing grin and slid into the drivers seat. "I'll be on my best behaviour, Scout's honour."

Betty scoffed. Eddie as a Boy Scout was a laughable thought.

"Budge up," George instructed his daughter. "I can't get my belt in." Betty shuffled approximately an inch to the left. George flapped his hand at her impatiently. "More, more. I know I've lost weight but how skinny do you think I am?"

Eddie disguised a grin as Betty huffed, shuffling further across the seat. Her arm ended up pressed against his, making the hairs stand. She trailed a hand from her elbow to her wrist in attempt to disguise the goosebumps. He smirked at her. Betty narrowed her eyes into the harshest glare she could muster in response.

"Alright," Eddie faced the front, pressing play on the stereo. "Dio's on. We ready to go?"

"Hang on." Betty leaned over, checking either side of her for the seatbelt.

"Oh, there isn't one in the middle," Eddie told her. She looked up at him wide eyed. "You'll be fine though."

Fuck.

Betty was going to die.

A/N

Eddie Munson secretly loves and listens to ABBA because Betty used to be obsessed with them when they were little. I take no criticism.