(dear billy pt. ii)

｡･:*˚:✧｡EDDIE AND RAYMOND are three joints in. It's been two whole hours, yet the room is silent, except for occasional hums that come from Eddie.

And when he does speak, it's to complain. He complains about his graduation and how he's planning on skipping town once his name's cleared, how the teachers did him dirty and the kids did him dirty and this fucking town did him fucking dirty and Raymond is just tired and hopes not to fall asleep before their usual 9pm check-in with the kids. Can't they do something fun for a change?

As though the thought never crossed his mind, as though he wasn't just moping to himself how Eddie was no fun, he poses the question he's been thinking about ever since earlier which will obviously make this situation even less amusing.

"Not to fuel the fire or anything, but... What you said back there about having a similar experience with your family, it made me wonder. I kinda thought you and your uncle were inseparable. What happened?"

Eddie laughs. The sound is empty. His eyes don't crinkle with the familiar warmth as he brings a hand to Raymond's lips and plucks the joint from in between them. "We are, yeah. It's not him I'm talking about. It's, uh... my biological parents."

"You don't have to---" Raymond pauses. His tongue is clumsy. Numb. Words come out too slowly, so slowly he can't keep his sentences short enough and get his point across. "Unless you want to---"

"I want to."

Nodding, Raymond turns to look at him. To fully look at him, at the joint between his lips, unfocused eyes, his hands, already trembling, his ringed fingers playing with the hole in his jeans, his knee bouncing until Raymond places a hand on it and it ceases into nothing.

"It's okay," he catches himself saying before he can fully think it through. Eddie gives him a smile, a weak, crooked smile that screams, I wish it were.

"Not that much to say. My old man was just... loud. Bad influence. His father-son bonding time included teaching me how to do shit he could profit from. Anything he could use me for." He chuckles and passes the joint to Raymond. "No one suspects a little kid, you know. And when I protested, he would... you know..." Raymond finds himself nodding along, just like Eddie did when he talked. Eddie seems to appreciate it, being heard, followed. It encourages him to continue. "While my mother was around, she kept him in check. Then, uh... after she had my little brother, she got, like, really sick and couldn't defend me from dad anymore."

Eddie closes his eyes. His voice remains flat throughout it all, calm, yet it breaks at certain points, as though the very words cut his throat like glass and force him to a pause. Raymond realises his hand still hasn't moved away and decides he doesn't mind it.

"He made me pretend nothing was happening. That everything was okay." Raymond can't do anything but wait as Eddie's eyes stare at the ceiling emptily. Were he completely clean, this would be even harder for him to talk about. "Made me pretend that he wasn't--- that I wasn't being tortured every day for being queer."

The first tear falls and Eddie finally lowers his eyes to Raymond. "It's already fucking obvious now, but I'm queer."

He isn't sure what he should say. Jason never bothered to say anything, muttering confused embarrassed strings of, 'I wanna make sure,' and 'I don't think that's me, but still...' while Billy never bothered. He made being attracted to Raymond pretty fucking obvious to Raymond himself, with no need to clarify anything.

The only person he's had come out to him was Robin Buckley. A wasted, giggly Robin Buckley complaining about dumb, annoying Steve Harrington and how he treated her crush and catching herself halfway through the sentence, bursting into tears before Raymond wrapped his arms around her. She fell asleep in his embrace, then proceeded to throw up all over his couch in the morning.

So hearing something like this throws him off guard completely and all he can repeat is it's alright because it really is.

He isn't surprised. With the way Eddie never uses a specific pronoun when talking about someone he is interested in, the way Raymond would sometimes catch him glance at his lips, the handkerchief he always has on him or the posters in his room. None of those are dead giveaways, but they're signs.

Eddie has never said it directly, never bothered using a name for it, a label, yet he's made it perfectly clear in the years Raymond has known him.

And he's never really showed any kind of shame for it, either. Until now.

"I did know it already." Raymond nods once again. "One queer to another, we are able to kind of... find each other, I suppose. Plus, you've made it pretty obvious a few times over the years. But I'm sorry." He swallows. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. To live like that. I suppose that's how you ended up with Wayne, isn't it?"

The smile on Eddie's face is weak as he nods. There's something in it that Raymond can't unpack, isn't ready to face. He is quick to label it as gratitude and focus on hearing Eddie out completely.

"He's all I have." His voice drops to a whisper. There's a finality to his tone, to the way he straightens up and moves his leg out of Raymond's reach. Raymond knows this conversation is over. Eddie isn't saying anything else. He was thinking and then he was telling and fuck, Raymond didn't actually help at all. He made it worse.

Now it's his job to fix it.

"Pretty sure Henderson would disagree." He fakes a smile and Eddie glances at him with a weak chuckle of his own.

Raymond pities him. It's there, somewhere between his mind and his heart, that pity, as a knowledge or a feeling. He isn't entirely sure. The knowledge that Eddie Munson has gone through so much. The feeling that that's too fucking much for one human to handle.

Yet, amidst all the hardships, the tough childhood, the bullying, Chrissy's murder, Eddie Munson breathes. He breathes, smiles, laughs. He looks at it all in a way Raymond could never, had such a thing happened to him. Raymond admires him and it's definitely a feeling, that admiration.

"He's kind of trying to get through to you, though, isn't he?" Eddie questions. His tone is light, lacking the seriousness that was there minutes ago. Raymond is relieved. "I mean, I heard him the other day. He seems, uh, desperate to befriend you."

Raymond smirks. He notices how everything around him is kind of a blur, furniture blending together, smudging like paint. Everything except for Eddie.

"That kinda sounds like you, mate. You're desperate to befriend me, too," he finally says. Eddie ruffles his hair a little too roughly this time, probably to get him to shut the fuck up. "Seriously, though. He can try all he wants. He thinks translating the code to some... secret Russian operation is gonna make us best friends."

"Man, can't believe how much I missed out on. But if I saw a giant spider made of human and rat insides, I'd probably throw up from disgust and then shit my pants."

Raymond grimaces at the very thought of Heather Halloway and every other person he'd known melting into flesh jelly to form a monster as big as that spider. "Can we drop the subject, please? Do something else?"

"We could always busy ourselves with that puzzle Buckley brought."

The glare Raymond sends his way is enough for Eddie to sigh in defeat before standing up. Raymond misses the warmth of him close. "Where to, Munson?"

"Music. You got a player?"

When Raymond directs Eddie to the bedroom, he witnesses another tiny breakdown before Eddie returns with a cassette player and a pile of cassettes Raymond keeps on his shelf. He shuffles through the pile, examining each title, each cover. He takes so much time Raymond assumes Eddie doesn't exactly know how to read.

He takes a hit before placing the joint on the edge of the table, feeling guilty for smoking almost the entirety of this one himself. No wonder he feels like this already.

Leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling --- which seems to be moving, but is completely still when he focuses his eyes too hard --- he allows himself to sigh as Eddie mumbles stuff to himself.

"Metallica, nice." Raymond hears the grin in his voice before he sees it. "Favourite song?"

"Master of Puppets," he replies, not bothering to think about it. He doesn't have to. It's the song.

Eddie chuckles. Raymond hears more cluttering on his end, knowing he surprisingly skips past the cassette and moves onto the others.

"'To Baby, April, 1985'," he reads the words scribbled over the cassette in rounded, wide letters Raymond's imprinted into his memory forever. "Jesus Christ, this is either for actual children or extremely romantic."

The words, spoken so casually they physically hurt, wipe that huge smile of Raymond's right off his face. The gentle numbness is replaced by the freezing cold all over again and he hears all of it. The sirens, the shouts. The smoke in the air is heavy, the smell of burnt flesh---

"It's Billy's," he clarifies despite the lack of proof of Eddie's curiosity. He knows him well enough to expect the awaiting gaze before he even sees it, to guess Eddie wants to know. "Or mine, actually. He made it for me."

Eddie, apparently, knows who Billy is. He seems to have been able to connect the dots between that night last summer when they talked about grief and the reaction Raymond had to Max talking about the fire. Raymond's grateful he doesn't have to explain it. He can't.

"Shit, man. Sorry." Eddie pauses. "We can find something else---"

"Can you play it?" Raymond asks. He can feel his hands trembling, cold seeping into the room like it does when December starts and Raymond is all alone or when he thinks about it too hard. About losing him. "Please."

Raymond has played the mixtape two times in his life.

The first time, he wasn't even listening to the music. It was in the background, completely tuned out and distant as he lay in that familiar embrace of a man poisonous in so many ways, to anything and anyone except to Raymond himself.

The second time he played it, it was after the fire happened. He wasn't listening then, either. He used it to muffle the pain leaving his heart in sobs and screams, not bothering to actually concentrate on the melody, the beat, the lyrics.

Now, as the sound fills the silence of the small house and Eddie sits down beside him, Raymond finally hears it.

The feeling is strange. He expects himself to burst into tears, to have the familiarity of the sound bring it all back, bring him back to the time of happiness, of hoping for something that would never come true, of falling for someone who would never be truly his. Yet, it doesn't happen.

Whatever brought the cold in has now disappeared. Somehow, all sinks back into place, slowly and gently. Raymond doesn't notice the difference until his heart is no longer racing and he can actually breathe.

Eddie watches him, completely silent, and Raymond deems it appropriate to speak up, say anything to show he won't break down at any second.

"He listened to soft rock," he mutters in something he can only describe as puzzlement. "Unbelievable."

"Yeah, he didn't exactly... strike me as someone who listened to this," Eddie says. His voice is low and every word comes out with a wariness Raymond isn't used to. He's on foreign territory and is trying not to fuck this up. "Whenever I passed his house, he'd be blasting this... punk rock thing, it was crazy. This is... unexpected, to say the least." He falls silent, as though letting the soft sounds surround them again, before speaking up. "Are you okay?"

Raymond finds himself nodding. He lights a new joint and takes a hit before passing it to Eddie, who gladly accepts it. "Yes. Surprisingly, I'm completely fine. I suppose he... counted on calming me down when he picked the songs. It's working."

Eddie is quiet for a moment, only listening to the song playing. Then he speaks up and he sounds careful again, as though Raymond would break if he spoke any louder, firmer. "What was he like?"

"Hot," he blurts out right away and Eddie snorts. "He was hot as fuck. His best trait: being hot. Everything else sucked."

"Jesus." Eddie shakes his head in disbelief. "He couldn't have been that bad."

"Oh, he could have. He was a dick," Raymond confesses. He isn't completely certain whether it's a question or a reality check for himself alone. "I knew it then, still do. The thing is, he wanted me. I guess that can be one hell of a turn-on for someone... desperate for attention."

Eddie straightens up, sitting a bit closer to Raymond. He feels Eddie's knee knock against one of his thighs.

"Damn, okay. We're doing that today, got it," Eddie mutters, somewhat awkwardly.

"I'm just being realistic."

"I would call that self-critical."

"Doesn't make it unrealistic." Raymond clears his throat. "Anyway, yeah. I was... pretty lonely. With Harrington out of the picture and everyone else just... not constant, I guess I just wanted to mess around for a while."

"But it became more than that, didn't it?"

Raymond nods. "Kind of. We never discussed it. Never even bloody addressed it, you know. Hooking up, sleeping over, talking about anything that we had going on, about my parents, about his parents, about Mayfield... It was without commitment. We never called it anything. I know he wasn't really... all the way in, I know he had other people in mind, women, mostly. He probably slept with them, whatever... But it didn't matter to me. I just know... it was meaningful to me."

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He should not have said that. He should not have said anything to begin with. Now Eddie thinks he's easy or stupid or delusional or miserable---

"You loved him."

It could be a question. Maybe it's an observation. Maybe Eddie exclaims it like bloody eureka, but Raymond doesn't know. He hears it distant and muffled, not even in Eddie's voice. It's in a voice that's been telling him things all these years, a mixture of his mother's soft whispers and his father's harsh orders, a mixture of Steve's and Robin's, of Mr Clarke's and Chrissy's, of Billy's and now Eddie's. It's a voice bringing together all the people he's ever known, all the people who matter something to him.

"I think so."

He's fucking miserable. He fell in love with a monster of a man, with someone harsh and rude and evil and managed to see the way he talked to himself in the mirror, the way he stole all the blankets when he slept, the way he wore sunglasses as a fashion statement instead of as something actually useful, the birthmark on his shoulder, the same annoying pose he took every photograph in.

He fell in love with the idea. Ignoring everything that was wrong, he let himself love his own dream and the illusion of being wanted, of being cared for by someone who cared about no one else.

"Raymond, hey." A hand comes to rest on Raymond's wrist and he looks up at Eddie, sees him smiling, just a little, with that one dimple in his cheek and the crinkles by his warm eyes, and wonders what changed. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"But he was horrible." He shakes his head. "I hated everything he stood for."

"So what?"

"So wh--- How can you say that?"

"Because it's true." Eddie squeezes his wrist. "We can't choose it. When it comes to love, we have absolutely no control over it. If we had," he lowers his voice, eyes softening, "I believe we'd all choose someone easy to love."

His eyes are big and round. Strands of curly hair fall into his face and he struggles not to grimace as they tickle his nose. His hand holds Raymond's wrist and right there, he seems easy to love. Raymond wishes he could love him.

"You know, the last time I talked to him on the phone, he sounded terrified." He remembers the moment clearly. One warm night in July, before everything went to shit. The ringing of his phone and Billy's trembling voice. "I thought the chick he went to see had her husband chase him off with a Kalashnikov or something." He chuckles to himself, bitterly remembering all the ramblings about Mrs Lewis here and Mrs Wheeler there, remembering how he used to suffer through it all, sitting there and listening while Billy spoke about other people. "Turns out, that's when it started. If the timeline Mayfield gave me is right, that's the night he disappeared. After that, he changed completely."

"What did he tell you?"

Raymond feels the lump in his throat, already familiar and welcomed without resistance. "He said something was wrong, asked me to come get him. Then the line went dead."

He doesn't need to say it in detail. The details are his and his only, engraved into the numbness of his brain, sounding a lot like, "Baby, please. Y-you gotta come get me. Something's not right, something's here. It's--- it wants me to--- please. I'm right---"

He doubts he'll ever forget the way the voice sounded over the phone. It fuels his nightmares even today, only in them, Billy now explains what it is, Raymond drives all the way to the haunted warehouse and watches with his own two eyes as the monster pierces through Billy's chest, hears the screams, the thud of the body and smells the fucking smoke and yes. He'll always remember.

"You're not... thinking about the what-ifs, are you?" Eddie raises his eyebrows, hand letting go of Raymond's. "If you are, let me tell you you're better off here and alive than... not alive. It's for a reason."

He chuckles. "You keep saying that. That it's all for a reason. That people suffer and die and leave and that there's always a reason. That I should fight through it." He raises his arms and forces a grin, letting Eddie see the joint between his lips, the scars lining his wrists. "This is me fighting through it, Eds. And it's shit."

They don't talk about it again.

Another joint is burned down as Eddie insists upon painting Raymond's nails. Adding little smiley faces and hearts in neon green is also his thing, apparently. They're painfully imprecise, all messy, thick lines, but Raymond only smiles and says he likes them.

Then another one goes as he takes Eddie to the bedroom (which totally freaks him out again) and does his make-up. It turns out that today, he's not very precise either. There's eyeshadow residue all over Eddie's cheeks and he keeps wiping it with the back of his hand. The eyeliner is too thick around the left eye, but it still somehow looks good. At least, Eddie says so.

One last joint as Eddie slowly drifts off. When his head falls against Raymond's shoulder this time, he lets it.

Minutes pass. Hours. Eddie's hair tickles the skin on the side of Raymond's neck. His hand is on Raymond's knee, fingers loosely hooked into the hole in his jeans. His even breathing turns into snoring and Raymond elbows him.

That seems to be a bad idea because Eddie only winces and scoots closer, head now basically on Raymond's chest, one arm over him innocently. Cluelessly.

"Motherfucker," Raymond mutters.

He's fully conscious. That's how he feels, at least. Wide awake in the silence of the night, shattered only by the barely audible music coming from the living room through the closed door. Billy's playlist.

Eyes flickering down to Eddie, he remembers their little talk from earlier. What changed, he'd asked himself during the conversation.

What changed about Raymond over those few months? Something must have. It shifted as subtly as Raymond's fingers trace random shapes on Eddie's arm, silently and slowly, with guilt seeping through every movement, and now Raymond feels it being replaced.

Ice cold eyes and rough hands, sharp tongues and silent stares, replaced by the warmth of a friendly face, a snarky remark, a ruffle of his hair and a burned breakfast.

Maybe there needs to be something over the bare minimum. Something that's not just traces of attention here and there, that's not him accepting everything as long as he's seen, heard, loved. Was he even loved?

He sees it now.

Billy was poisonous to him, too.

As his housemate sleeps soundly, afraid of the world finding him, but safe in Raymond's arms, he decides he's going to fight for Eddie Munson, whatever it takes. He's going to fight for all of them.

Shit.

It's 2am. That's way past 9pm. Way past their daily check-up call.

No one called.

"Fuck." He all but pushes Eddie off of himself and throws a random blanket over him before rushing over to the living room. The walkie is sitting on the kitchen table and he almost slips on his way to grab it.

Thank God for that Henderson kid and his overly detailed tutorial because Raymond returns to the bedroom and does his thing, pressing the little buttons just like he was taught.

"You little shits, tell me you're not bloody dead."

Okay, maybe not exactly like he was taught.

"If you're dead," he starts out, eyeing the man sleeping in his bed, "I'm throwing Munson into the lake. I'm not doing this shit alone with him. No Bonnie and Clyde for me."

The thrumming in his chest suddenly feels a lot more like crumbling. Like with every beat of silence, a part of him crushes into dust as no reply comes from the other side.

It's a lot more than just an alliance, he realises. These people have found their ways, each at their own pace, to the heart beating against his ribs, struggling to fill in the silence. He's seconds away from waking Eddie up and running off to the closest of their houses to see if they're alright.

"Henderson, come in," he says finally, giving up on the curses and rambling, relying on the simplicity of the expression. "Anyone, you guys alright? Does anyone copy?" His hold on the walkie tightens as he grits his teeth. "Fucking hell, just tell me you're not dead!"

"Ray, what's going on?"

The raspy voice is familiar and for once after all these years, he's delighted to hear it.

"Harrington, you motherfucker," he hisses out. "You guys didn't call. You were supposed to call and you didn't and fuck, I'm gonna rip your stupid little heads off."

"Yeah, yeah, listen, if you're just gonna lecture me like you always do, we should just stop talking right now." Steve sighs and Raymond is prepared to spill more curses. "I've had one hell of a day, we all have, and I don't need your nagging at all, Ray."

He forces himself to ignore the first part of that statement. "What happened? You all alive?"

"We are. Barely."

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, uh... Let's just say Vecna is after traumatized teens, like we suspected. Apparently, seeing your brother die is pretty traumatizing."

Raymond freezes. "Mayfield? Is she---"

"She's alright. Shaken up, but alright." Another sigh comes from Steve's end, then a pause. Raymond almost calls out, the thought of losing signal looming over his head, when Steve speaks up again, voice weak. "We almost lost her, Ray. It was... terrifying. Turns out, I'm not that good of a babysitter. Nance and Robin left me with those little shits and one of them almost died on my watch."

"I'd say it's not your fault," Raymond confesses quietly. If he raises his voice any more, it will feel too real, the attempt to comfort someone who was once a friend. "This seems bigger than any of us. I think it just depends on luck."

"Then I'd say I'm extremely lucky to have my eyes on all of them now, wouldn't you agree?"

Raymond snorts. "They're with you? You're taking your job too seriously."

"I'm not letting them out of my sight. We're stuck in Nancy's basement, it's... quite cozy--- ow!" Raymond frowns. There's shuffling and then Steve chuckles. "Sinclair's knee is counting my ribs right now, give me a sec."

Relaxing at the explanation that no, no one just died, Raymond leans back until his head hits Eddie's calves.

"You're ridiculous," he accuses.

"And you're high as hell, aren't you?"

"Touché."

"Hope you had something to eat beforehand. You know it kicks in slower---"

"On a full stomach, I know." Raymond nods to himself. "I had... something, I think. I wasn't hungry, that's all that matters. Took my time and a few joints... all good."

"As long as you didn't snort it." Steve's voice is strained. Testing. As though he's scared any moment now he'd go too far, get too personal, piss Raymond off and go back to how things were. Raymond is in no mood to fight, not even with Steve Harrington.

So he simply replies, "I didn't."

"Good, uh... That's good. I should probably go back to sleep before I wake someone up and get myself kicked out."

"If you do get kicked out, don't count on me. Not taking in any more fugitives, fuck off." Raymond sighs and shuffles over to lie beside Eddie. "Just... come in regularly. If you try and make me think you're all dead, I'll go out there by myself and find you and then you'll be dead for real. Got it?"

A quiet minute or ten and Raymond's eyelids grow heavier. The pillow beneath his head is soft. The walkie in his hand is cold. Eddie's arm wraps around him. At some point, the voice of his best friend comes through one last time.

"Good to hear you, too, buddy."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
yes this is my 'i want this to be a slow burn so i'm updating less regularly to make it feel like it's slowing down' era, thank you very much.

nah jkjk school is hell so that's why i'm kinda slow. to make up for it tho, it's a double update!!! the next chapter is something a bit different so i hope you'll like it :D

just a little piece of information just to clear things up: raymond's "revelation" when eddie falls asleep isn't (necessarily) about him falling in love with eddie. it's him realising he deserves better than what jason and billy had given him, that not everyone who shows the least bit of interest is worth his time. it's him seeing that eddie is a friend, someone who truly cares and listens and that he's way more comfortable with him than with any of his exes. so yeah

also eddie with eyeliner!!!!!! i imagine it in a kind of a roderick heffley style, just an emo 80s vibe but you can honestly imagine it however you like!

p.s. maxident felix says hi~
this is kinda how i imagine raymond, except his hair is blond in the book. bUT i'm considering having him dye it black, just because