Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ppbbbbbbththtbbbhththtthhhhh.”

“Dude.”

“Dude yourself.” Eddy mutters, not caring if Kevin objects to his bored mouth noises. What else is he supposed to do? It’s Wednesday, five pm, and raining. No one's been in the candy store for hours, and ain’t no one gonna show up before they close at six. So he stands here bored out of his skull, full weight propped against the counter with his face squished in his hands, elbows velcroed to the permanently sticky wooden surface. He keeps his eyes where they’ve been glued for the last hour, which is directly on the nostalgic kitsch wall clock with plastic lollipops for hands and pounded sheet metal with a scene from some 50’s style soda shop superimposed on it for a face. It goes well with the completely non-functional jukebox in the corner, the rows of dusty, empty, retro soda bottles lining the shelves on the wall opposite the front door, and the 40 year old ice cream machine behind the counter that’s been out of order since last summer. Eddy had felt giddy when Kevin first got him a job here his freshman year, tickled by his younger self’s hypothetical jealousy over how easily he could pocket a jawbreaker here and there. The garish clashing of the puke green tiles and pastel pink walls had filled him with bittersweet memories of childhood, familiar and welcoming for a first time job.

Now he just finds the whole store ugly. 

“You could, ya know. Work.” Kevin suggests. “Clean something. Stock something. Anything other than standing there with your thumb up your ass.”

“Oh? And you can’t?” He asks while side eyeing Kevin, who is also currently standing around with his thumb up his ass. More specifically, he’s leaning backwards against the displays behind the counter, wide shoulders slouched as his arms dangle at his sides. The clean hairline of his crew cut frames his wide, blocky face with sharp angles. He’s been made up of solid, sturdy shapes since he started playing for the varsity team in his junior year, and his workout regimen has further defined his muscles in the years since. Eddy wouldn’t exactly describe him as beefy, but his build is athletic for sure. He’s also classically handsome, Eddy begrudgingly admits to himself, though he’s not really his type. Too much of a normie for his tastes, with his basic sense of style and outfit compiled of store brand athletic wear. Guy shops at Old Navy for sure. Well, more like his mom shops for him there.

“I’m the boss. I’ve got underlings to do that kind of stuff for me.” An annoyingly smug smile graces his shovel shaped chin, and Eddy can’t help but grind his teeth.

“For your information, bossman, ” he hisses the title, “shelves: dusted. Floors: mopped. Inventory: stocked. Windows: windexed. Hell, I even ordered the lollipops by color out of fucking boredom. There is truly not a single thing left to do.”

Kevin hums and scratches his ten acre chin. “Oh. Well. Pbth.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

‘ Come now, with your cleaning skills, surely you left something amiss. Did you wipe down the floor trim? Deep clean the register? I see plenty of snack crumbs wedged between those sticky keys. And you didn’t even mention the employee bathroom, for heaven’s sake. ’

“Shut up.” He mumbles under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Hey, how’s Nazz doing?” Kevin’s and Nazz’s shaky relationship isn’t exactly his favorite can of worms to open, but he’s starting to get bored enough to peel his eyelids off of his face, so he better strike up some kind of conversation. 

“ Man- ” Yup, here we go, “I don’t get what’s up with her. Ever since she moved to Buffalo she’s been acting all different and weird. Dunno what happened to the Nazz we used to know.”

‘ She grew up. Which is something you may want to look into yourself, Kevin. 19 years old and no interest in pursuing a higher education or a greater calling like our dear Nazz has. Tut tut.’

“Yeah, it’s almost like she cares about shit now or something.”

“Exactly,” Kevin bemoans, completely missing Eddy’s sardonic tone. “I don’t get all the polisci stuff she talks about. I’m just not a political guy, ya know? Why can’t things just go back to being simple between us? College wrecks people, man.”

On one hand, even Eddy can tell Kevin’s being pig-headed about this. On the other hand, he can relate on a very painful, squishy, sore, and tender level.

‘Well you are quite pig-headed yourself.’

“She just outgrew this small town shit. We all should. I know I’m getting out of here as soon as I graduate.”

“Speak for yourself. I like it here.” Kevin mutters while crossing his arms petulantly.

“Of course you do, mister former high school quarterback nepo baby. You already got shit made here. Doesn’t your dad own the candy factory now?”

“Vice president. But yeah, he’ll own it soon. And he’s thinking of expanding. But what are you complaining about? Aren’t you all set up to inherit your old man’s dealership? That place makes decent dosh.”

“I’d rather eat nails.” The words come grinding out of his mouth as if it were already full of sharp, pointy metal.

“What? No way, man, you used to brag about that place all the time. Said it was your legacy and that you were gonna make it the hottest place in the county to get a used car.”

“Times change.” That’s the only explanation he’s willing to offer.

Kevin just shrugs, much to Eddy’s gratitude. That’s probably the best thing about being friends with Kevin; guy doesn’t ask questions. Makes him a solid person to vent to.

‘Especially if you’re allergic to discussing your feelings.’

With a long suffering groan, Eddy literally peels himself off of the old counter to do another useless perimeter search of the shop. He knows he still won’t find anything to do, but at least it’ll get his body moving. His sneakers squeak against the freshly mopped floors (so bored he even got out the mop, for chrissake…) as he eyes the displays, watching his reflection warp and transform from one glass container to the next, an endless hall of funhouse mirrors mocking him with his own boredom, irritation, and overall misery. His fault for scrubbing them all until they were spotless. The hole punched cardboard pallet that holds a variety of different brands of lollipops is just as hue spectrum oriented as he left it, so this time he goes for ordering them by size and shape instead. Well, that killed two minutes. Walk by the freezers, rearrange  some mismatched soda bottles he missed before. 30 seconds. Scrape a fleck of taffy off of one of the sliding door handles. 20 seconds. Stare at the wall for five seconds. Bang his head against it. Another second. Bang. Another second. Bang. Another second. Bang.

“I’m taking a smoke break!” He calls loudly over the shelves in the direction of the front counter, not waiting for Kevin to respond before frantically scrambling towards the backroom. He nearly trips over a broom as he bursts into the cramped space, swearing at it uselessly as he stumbles over to his locker. It gets jammed as usual, the damn thing, Eddy jiggling the handle with a growl before he finally tears it open. The hood of his windbreaker catches on one of the locker’s internal hooks, causing Eddy to shout obscenities until he finally shakes it loose and shoves his arms into the sleeves. He stomps towards the back door and bumps it open with his hip as he wrestles with the zipper, getting himself encased once he steps outside into the muggy July evening air.

The door slams shut behind him as he huddles under the small overhang of the dirty green awning adorned above the back door, fishing his pack of camel menthols out of the pocket of his windbreaker. The hush of rain against the pavement and rhythmic pounding of droplets plunking against the rusty metal of the awning harmonize well together, creating a nice soundscape to back up the click click click of his lighter. He mutters swears under his breath like a prayer, internally praising glory hallelujah once the cig balanced between his lips lights and he can breath in deep and slow, the mint flavoring tickling his nose hairs and soothing the burn of hot smoke in his windpipe. Smoke billows from his mouth and nose after he’s held in his lungful for as long as he can, his exhale audible and pointed heavenward, smoke catching and lingering on the underside of the sheet metal above. 

‘Those will kill you.’

“The sooner the better.” Eddy mumbles, letting gravity pull his loosening body down against the wooden door behind him, desperate for a paint job. He takes another grateful drag as he watches the rain bounce and slide off of trashbags, forming muddied puddles in the potholes below. The hit of nicotine puts a fuzzy blanket over the constantly firing nerve endings in his brain, making his eyes droop as he fights back a yawn. Double D doesn’t know what he’s talking about, calling nicotine a stimulant. Smokes practically put him to sleep. 

He sneers down at the ground. What’s he got to even do these days other than work, smoke, sleep, repeat? The only thing he has to look forward to are the occasional phone calls he makes to Ed at the military school his shithead mom shipped him off to last summer before they all started their junior year. Double D and Ed were inconsolable that day, clinging to each other and sobbing as Ed’s dad silently packed his red commodore with sparse necessities, the rest of Ed’s belongings in boxes marked for the salvation army. The memory still makes Eddy’s eyes burn, the same way they did that day as he blinked to hold back his tears, repeating to the other two that they’d call, they’d write, they’d visit, and once senior year was done in two years, the three of them would be out of here. Double D would definitely get accepted to some fancy shmancy school on a fancy shmancy scholarship, and the two of them would follow along, working whatever jobs available so that their combined income with Double D’s scholarship funds could net them a nice apartment in whatever fancy shmancy city Double D went to for school. They’d be free of this pimple on the map of America called Peach Creek, free from their families, free from public school, free to be themselves. There’d be a queer scene, he told Double D. They’d be accepted there, he told him. It wouldn’t be like it is out here in the boonies. They wouldn’t have to hide.

Well, his plan may have less people in it now, but he’s sticking to it. He can’t stand the boredom anymore, can’t stand the confinement. If he spends one more summer afternoon staring at his bedroom ceiling, has one more shift during the dead hours of the candy store, has to give his dad one more excuse as to why he’s not dating anyone now that he’s got a paycheck, he’s going to burst out of his own skin like some kind of insectoid, brain sucking monster from one of Ed’s B-rated black and white horror flicks and suck the noggins of everyone in a five mile radius. He’ll get out of this shithole come hell or high water. He has to get out.

‘And go where, exactly?’

‘Anywhere but here.’

‘To do what?’

‘Live. Breathe. Stretch out and run around and scream and cry and shout and kick and hit and go and go and go.’

‘With who?’

‘Ed. Or no one. Who cares.’

‘You’d be alone.’

‘I’ve always been alone.’

‘That’s not true. You know that’s not true.’

Water streams from the corners of the awning, creating a puddle dangerously close to his Air Force 1s. An errant raindrop lands right on top of the toe of his left sneaker, and he grumbles as he bends over to swipe it away, cursing himself for not looking at the weather report before putting these on. He curses louder when a chunk of ash falls from his cig and takes up residence where the water droplet just vacated, grabbing it from his mouth to hold it out to the side as he frantically brushes off his shoe.

‘Please, Eddy, be careful! Think of how much money your mother spent on such a frivolous purchase.’

Eddy snarls, sick to death of this incessant nagging. “Just shut uuUGHH!”

The smack of the wooden door against his ass throws him completely off balance, staring down at his shoes one second then catching himself on his hands and gazing at a puddle inches from his face the next. Adrenaline rushes through his body, making his lungs seize up and his eyes go wide, the rain falling on the back of his head feeling far colder than it should be on a warm July evening. He keeps himself propped up on one hand as he swivels around to identify his attacker, blinking owlishly when he sees Kevin standing in the lit doorway, giving Eddy the same, wide eyed look.

“Dude. You okay?”

Anger quickly intermingles with his gut-dropping fear, gritting his teeth as he pushes himself back onto his feet. “Watch where you’re going, shovel chin!”

Kevin places one hand on his hip while he holds the door open with the other, expression blasé. “Doors are for opening, man. Anyway, we’re closing up. Just wasting money at this point.”

He finally catches his breath, raising his cigarette to take another calming drag, only to feel something unpleasantly cold and soggy touching his lips. Damn it. His hand must have landed in a puddle. He groans and pushes his now wet hair out of his face.

“These ain’t fucking cheap.” He grumbles, flicking the unlit stub to the ground.

“Did you even hear me, man?”

“Huh? Oh.” Calmer and less distracted now, his brain finally catches up with what Kevin said. “Yeah, great idea, bossman!” The title is used in a much more jolly manner than before, giving Kevin a pat on the back and leaving a stubby, wet handprint behind as he pushes past him and back into the backroom to grab the rest of his stuff. He kicks off his nice sneakers to trade them for the ratty back ups he keeps in his locker, stepping into the worn pair as he puts his multi-colored Nikes into his water proof backpack for safe keeping.

Kevin sneers and murmurs something Eddy is sure was insulting as he looks behind himself and at the back of his shirt. “I’ve got to count money and lock up if you wanna stick around to help-”

Eddy’s locker slams abruptly, echoing loudly in the small space as he slings his drawstring bag over his shoulders and puts his hood up in quick, jerky motions. “Bye, seeya later, hasta la vista, sayonara, annyeong.” He half-jogs out of the back room before finishing his goodbyes, ignoring Kevin’s jeering as he slips through the door to the front room. He continues his half jog past the candy displays, snagging a jawbreaker and shoving it into his pocket next to his smokes before heading out the door and back out into the rain.

He breathes in a deep breath of freedom as he stretches his arms out to his sides and then over his head, making his way back to the cul de sac with a skip in his step. The world is his oyster now that he’s off of work. Now he can… he can… well.

The skip turns into a slow trudge as Eddy remembers he doesn’t actually have anything post work to look forward to, mood sinking further and further with each dark and empty store he passes by. Looks like Kevin wasn’t the only one who decided to close up early; all of downtown is dead. And it’s just not the cafe, the butcher shop, and the shoe store that are dark. It’s too early for the street lights to come on, but the sky is thick with heavy rain clouds, keeping the sunlight prisoner behind the bubbling veil of black and gray. His eyes turn down to the wet cement of the sidewalk with its divots and potholes, floating cigarette butts in the puddles that formed within them, scowling at his feet as they pointlessly move beneath him. What’s he even going home to? Another evening zoning out in front of the TV? Maybe lying upside down on his bed and listening to saccharine sweet slow dance songs? Then whatever he does will just be followed by chain smoking in the backyard until he’s tired enough to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, welcoming oblivion as an alternative to being left alone with his thoughts. It’s the same damn thing every day. And it’ll keep being the same damn thing every day until he gets out of here or dies. Dying may be the more convenient option at this point. It’d be a lot easier than having to finish high school before he beats it. All he has to do is wait for a car to come by and then jump out in front of it.

But no cars come. No one coming, no one leaving, a town stuck in stasis, the white noise enough to deafen him. His shoes are getting soaked. He’s gonna get cold feet.

Christ, he needs to quiet his fucking mind before he ends up as roadkill. He reaches into his pocket, fingertips brushing against the cool metal of his lighter before he finds his pack of camels, grasping onto it like a lifeline. He takes out the light with it, shaking a cig loose from the pack and into his waiting hand. He balances it between his pointer and middle finger, bringing it up to press it between his lips and under his hood so he can attempt to light it-

Only to immediately pull his hand away when he tastes blood on his tongue.

“The fuck?” He squeaks out, high pitched and startled. He looks at the cig and finds fresh red blood smeared on the paper and filter, but that’s not what’s most alarming; what has him wince and hiss under his breath is the sight of his hand, dark, slimy globules clotted together in the center with dried and flaky trails of blood running down between his fingers, some of it gathered under his nails, in his nail beds, and around the gold band on his ring finger. Rain splashes down into his open palm, the droplets saturating themselves with blood before they roll down the sides of Eddy’s hand and down his wrist, leaving trails of pink behind. He swipes his thumb gingerly over his palm and squints, scowl deepening when he discovers the cut beneath, small but deep. 

Damn it. Must have happened when he fell. Probably glass from a broken bottle. How did he not feel it? Stupid Kevin. Stupid door. He clicks his tongue and keeps walking, placing the cig back between his lips; he’s not gonna waste another one of these. It brings him minimal relief once it’s lit, his frayed nerves further agitated by the site, smell, and taste of his own blood. He’s had e-fucking-nough of that for one life time. Thankfully the shops start to become far and few between, with residential houses looming on the horizon. He’ll walk in through the back door to his room before his mom gets a chance to see his hand and starts freaking out. He’ll clean his hand, dry off his feet, and get out of this fucking rain. That’s something to sort of look forward to. Isn’t it?

When he turns the corner of rethink avenue several minutes later, all thoughts of the creature comforts of home disperse like a warren of rabbits intruded on by a fox. His cig, burned down to a stub at this point, dangles from his parted lips, eyes frozen on the looming portend of the past come to haunt him currently parked in his own fucking driveway. He’s freezing suddenly, all heat sapped out of him like someone pulled the plug, lungs becoming a vacuum as cosmic background radiation burns within them, singed by his only source of heat. It’s like he’s falling again, shoved from behind and just barely managing to protect his face from scraping the pavement. An unknown attacker from behind, the familiar sound of him breathing through his teeth.

He tastes blood on his tongue.

The cigarette butt falls from his lips as he turns away from the sight of the whale shaped trailer in front of his house, breaking out into a jog to the only other house he can think to go to, nestled right on the corner he just turned. His bedroom lights are on. His parents, as usual, aren’t home. He misses him with an ache deeper than anything else he’s felt in a long time.

He hopes Double D actually lets him in.

Chapter Text

120 days, 14 hours, 32 minutes.

120 days, 14 hours, 33 minutes.

Deep breath. He rubs his eyes.

120 days, 14 hours, and 34 minutes.

Edd finally tears his eyes away from the digital clock on his bedside table, staring up at the ceiling instead; a marginal improvement, he’ll be more motivated to actually get out of bed if he’s not being held captive by the slow march of time. Now he just has to keep his eyes off the clock and focus on building momentum. Curse Newton’s first law of motion. 

His eyes burn. His fingers twitch. He glances to the side.

120 days, 14 hours, 36 minutes.

“Gah!” Edd lets out an exasperated cry, spurring himself into motion and raising off the bed, keeping the kinetic energy flowing until his feet hit the floor and he can stand. Once he’s up on his feet, he quickly tucks himself back into his pants and places his dirty tissue into his trash bin, then fast walks out the door of his bedroom and into the hallway. He keeps his eyes trained straight ahead, staunchly refusing to look at the layers of unexcavated sticky notes lining the walls, marching through his own home like a horse with blinders on. He keeps those blinders on in the bathroom as well, ignoring not just the sticky notes within, but also the mirror, unwilling to see his own reflection. It gave him quite the fright last time.

Turn on faucet with elbow. Wet hands first. Dispense soap. Scrub for 20 seconds.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…” He mumbles the lyrics under his breath as he scrubs his palms and then cleans each digit, gets under each nail, brings the soapy water all the way up to his elbows. He’s gone through the song twice now.

Satisfied, but not really, but almost, he rinses and dries, then quickly absconds back to the safety of his bedroom. Predictably, irritably, his eyes immediately turn to the clock.

120 days, 14 hours, and 39 minutes since he last saw either of his parents.

Not that they haven’t been home—they clearly have if the ever thickening layer of sticky notes clinging to every surface of his house is anything to go by. Edd assumes they must come home during the night, maybe grab a nap or something to eat before rushing off to their next destination. No reason to wake up their only child to say hello. Places to be, things to do. All very important. Far more important than him, in any case.

‘Their work truly is important ,’ Edd reminds himself. His father is an anthropologist, and a renowned one at that. The work he’s done to research and preserve cultures on the brink of extinction under the hands of imperialism is admirable and necessary, and Edd often imagines himself doing something similar. His last published research on the Gamilaraay language of Australian Aboriginals was an enlightening read, and he couldn’t help but feel jealous of his father’s freedom to travel the world and meet people from different cultures. His mother travels, too, often as a guest speaker on her years of medical research into Lou Gehrig’s disease. Sometimes her talks get uploaded online, and he watches each one with rapt attention.He’s proud of the work his parents’ do. He’s proud to be their son. And soon, he’s going to use the financial support they’ve graciously blessed him with to educate himself in a field of equal import, willing and eager to stand alongside his parents in their quest to better the world. 

It would just also be nice if they had any interest in having a relationship with him at all. 

It would also be nice of him to obey his parental sticky notes and keep the house they let him live in tidy, but tit for tat and all that. 

He still cleans his bedroom, the upstairs bathroom, and the kitchen , but the rest of the house can go to rot for all he cares. This place has been rotten for a long time, anyway. He feels a fool for never noticing it before. Especially when Eddy tried so hard to convince him of it.

Loneliness creeps up his spine like a winter chill, and he hugs himself tightly in an ineffective effort to stave off the cold.  Desperate for some form of connection to the outside world, he walks over to the warm glow of his computer monitor and takes a seat in the same small wooden chair he’s had since he was a kid. Most of his bedroom hasn’t changed much since then, though a few modernizations have been made. Everything still has its neatly labeled place, from his socks to his Legos to his chemistry set; an old salve on the ever fraying nerves within his skull. The one major change he made was moving his drafting table under the window and putting his steel pedal guitar in the garage to make room for the desk he borrowed from the auxiliary bedroom. That’s where he and his computer sit now, under his cork bulletin board and butterfly collection, pressed neatly behind the glass, dead and dry and stuck through with pins. The only other change of note is the empty plant pot labeled ‘Jim’ whose resident died months ago once he outgrew the confines of his small soil home and had nowhere else to go.

Looking up, he sees the acceptance letters he pinned to his cork board. Cornell, Columbia, and the University of Pennsylvania have all sent praise for his grades and SAT scores. Using excessive flowery prose about how their own school will be the best to assist him in making an impact on the world. Offering full rides in a bid to snag him first. He supposes he should feel happy about all this adult and academic approval; it used to be what kept him sane, after all. But now he just feels paralyzed with indecision, worrying his lip as he clicks through the folders on his desktop, neatly aligned and organized and labeled and filled with .html files leading him to relevant web pages of the different programs offered by each school. He’s torn between the humanities, sciences, and a pre med track. Re-reading all the same course offerings he’s been reading for the past few months. Etymology, climatology, biology, archeology, geology, and all the other ologies rattle around in his head, pinging mercilessly against the bruised sides of his skull. What would best allow him to join his generation’s greatest minds in saving our dying world? What would take him the farthest away from home? What would carry him a few rungs higher on the always unraveling ladder between him and his parents?

He exits all applications and pinches his eyes shut, holding the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep, frustrated breath; like could blow that last thought out of his head if he filled his lungs deeply enough. After some irritated mumbling and pinching the skin of his nose tighter between his fingers, he allows his eyes to drop towards the top desk drawer, leering at it wearily. Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he reaches forward to open it, pulling out the opened envelope within, taking out the letter and letting his eyes settle on the header at the top.

UB interlocked together in giant blue text. Neatly typed next to it in the same shade of blue, University at Buffalo.

He still remembers just how morose he had started to feel when the three of them started their freshman year in high school. Adulthood was fast approaching, and with it decisions that he couldn't see not fracturing their friendship, considering the very different paths they all were on. It wasn’t until fall break that Eddy was able to pry out what his ‘pissy mood’ was about . He can recall the smell of decaying leaves mixed with Eddy’s cologne and Ed’s joint easily, as if he were still there under the oak tree, sweating and tearing up and trembling in the tight grip of Eddy’s fists. It came out of him mixed with choked sobs, panic finally reaching its peak as he blubbered about the inevitable dismemberment of their found family once it came time for higher education. His cardigan sleeves soaked through with the salty deposits of his lamentations. Once he had calmed enough to show his snotty face again, all he found was his two best friends giving him equally bewildered looks.

‘What the hell are ya talkin’ about? Me n’ Ed are just gonna come with you, ain’t we?’

The relief was so powerful, it took all of his strength to prevent himself from grabbing his straight best friend’s square face and smashing it into his own.

Well. Presumed straight. It’s one of the few things he was thrilled to be wrong about. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have been. Just look where pursuing a relationship got them.

Before his and Eddy’s break-up, SUNY Buffalo had been his top choice. It’s not Ivy League , but it is an R1 research school. Besides, these are his undergraduate studies. As long as he's in the Ivy League for his graduate studies, an undergraduate degree at a state university is perfectly adequate. The real advantage is that it’s only an hour drive away from Peach Creek. It seemed the easiest location for the three of them to move into together out of high school. Even if Ed and Eddy couldn't come right away, the short ride to and from made it ripe for weekend visits.

SUNY Buffalo holds no allure now. If anything, its close proximity to Peach Creek has become a disadvantage. He tastes something sour at the very idea of staying in a place where people he knows might see him.

A bell chime rings from his speakers, the sudden sound combined with the red flash he sees on his monitor startling him into dropping the letter and choke on nothing, throat closing in panic. He relaxes marginally when he realizes he just got a notification, moving his mouse down to the trillian application in his taskbar and clicking on it. Relaxing even further, a small smile graces his lips when he sees who is messaging him.

sn@zzyn@zzy: hey dd! can u help me w/ smth?

Edd.Mar.Eid: Certainly, Nazz. What do you require assistance with?

sn@zzyn@azzy: cool ty dude! my final paper for this smmer course is kiiiiiiiillin me

sn@zzyn@azzy: can i email it 2 u 4 editing

sn@zzyn@zy: i ttly kno what i wanna say but figurin out HOW 2 say it is bleh

sn@zzyn@zzy: u kno how it uslly is w/ me -_-

Edd.Mar.Eid: I do indeed. Not a problem, Nazz. Attach it to an email and send it to my hotmail account and I will get to it as soon as I am able. :) 

sn@zzyn@zzy: ur da best!

sn@zzyn@zzy: hey hav u picked a school yet?

Edd.Mar.Eid: Not officially. I am getting closer to making a decision, however. 

sn@zzyn@zzy: awsum :D hooooow aboouuut SUNY buffalo??? :D :D :D

Edd.Mar.Eid: The State University of New York at Buffalo is still one of my top considerations, I assure you.

sn@zzyn@zzy: gud! i miss havin u as a study buddy lyk bad

sn@zzyn@zzy: alot of freshmen here r soooo immature

sn@zzyn@zzy: its not all that diff from PC high

sn@zzyn@zzy: PLUS ill b a junior next year and ill be ur cool junior friend and then ull be the coolest freshman on campus B)

Edd.Mar.Eid: All very good points in favor of me attending the same university as you, Nazz. Don’t forget, I still have my senior year to get through. Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch, shall we?

sn@zzyn@zzy: pssht as if itll be a prob 4 u

sn@zzyn@zzy: ull breeze thru senior year lyk u did evry other year

Edd.Mar.Eid: Your continued faith in me is invigorating and much appreciated.

sn@zzyn@zzy: just picture me followin u around school w/ a pair of pompoms ^_^

sn@zzyn@zzy: hows evry1 doin btw? gotta admit 1 of the reasons ive been pesterin u bout comin here is that im a lil homesick

sn@zzyn@zzy: could use a familiar face round here @_@

Edd.Mar.Eid: I am delighted to inform you that everything is peachy keen over here in Peach Creek. Kevin and Eddy still work at the candy store together. Last I heard from Ed, he was adjusting well at his new school. He misses home, but is “soldiering on” one might say. Sarah and Jimmy are still tight bedfellows, and recently went to some extravagant event called “Aaron Carter’s Jukebox Tour” in Michigan. They’ve been in quite the tizzy about it since. Rolf is the same as always, reliably working away on his family’s farm. Him, Kevin, and Eddy gallivant about on occasion. No one’s moved into Jonny’s old house yet, but the neighboring cul-de-sac is almost finished being constructed and has quite a few new families. The Turner twins miss you and ask about you quite frequently. You had quite the impact on them as their babysitter.

sn@zzyn@zzy:awww

sn@zzyn@zzy: gr8 glad evry1s doin gud

sn@zzyn@zzy: wbu? i hope ur not just in ur room mumbling 2 urself about school all teh time

sn@zzyn@zzy: the*

Edd.Mar.Eid: I am touched by your concern as always, Nazz. Not to worry, though. Eddy would never let me fall too far behind in my “social cred” as he puts it.

sn@zzyn@zzy: gud im glad the 2 of u have each other

sn@zzyn@zzy: NE way ive got debate club

sn@zzyn@zzy: l8er!

Edd.Mar.Eid: Adieu, Nazz. Just picture me there with a pair of pom poms, cheering you on. Laughing out loud.

sn@zzyn@zzy: XD

“Filthy, filthy, filthy.” The smile on his face has long since been replaced by a scowl, blunt nails digging deep as he scratches the top of his hand. Filthy liar. Cowardly cur. What did dear, sweet Nazz ever do to deserve his mouthful of empty words? Empty like him. Emptied out then filled with filth. He reaches for his bottle of hand sanitizer, squirting some in his palm in what he knows is an irrational attempt to kill the deceit on his guilty hands, rubbing to distribute it evenly over them. Air hisses sharply through his teeth when he feels a sharp pain, looking down to find that the scratching had broken his skin, stinging alcohol and small specks of blood mixing together in a pink hue. He swallows and looks up at the ceiling, eyes closing as he rubs his hands together through the pain.

“Filthy, filthy, filthy…”

He doesn’t stop until his hands are bone dry, his scaly, over-washed skin rubbing together unpleasantly.  After taking a deep breath and clearing his throat one, two times, he bends over to collect the letter and envelope he dropped earlier. It brings him to eye level with the bottom drawer of his desk, squinting his eyes and frowning when he notices it’s crooked. 

“Oh for goodness sake.” He complains, tucking his acceptance letter away in the appropriate drawer before getting down onto the floor (the floor where his feet go and now his knees are there where his feet usually are but he’s trying not to think about that) to better assess the problem. After uselessly jiggling the hunk of wood, he gives a frustrated grunt and opens it, full pill bottles rattling inside as he lifts the drawer off of the rails and removes it completely from the desk. He mumbles a ‘darn it’ to himself when it’s too dark inside for him to see the problem, getting up and returning quickly with the small flashlight he keeps in his toolbox. Neither track is bent or blocked, so hoping the drawer simply fell off the track at some point, he carefully places it back in, making sure everything is aligned. He sighs in relief once he’s able to slide it in and out smoothly a few times. He does it a few more times for good measure, listening to the wheels glide along the metal track. Frown carved deep into his face, he lifts up one of the orange plastic pill bottles and reads it.

EDDWARD EID

215 RETHINK AVE PEACH CREEK, NY 14273 (716) 7491736

TAKE 1 TABLET BY MOUTH DAILY

SERTRALINE 25MG TABS

Jaw set, he puts the bottle back in its place, neatly lined up with all the other unopened bottles in the drawer. ‘Sedatives. That’s all they are,’ he thinks to himself sourly as he slides the drawer shut. 

DING DONG.

He jumps, forever easily startled as he clutches his chest and lets out a garbled squeak. He doesn't move from his place on the floor, breathing shallowly as he waits to see if he was just hearing things or not.

BANG BANG BANG. DING DING DING DONG.

There’s only one person Edd knows who tries to enter other people’s homes that rudely. 

He’s up on his feet and out his bedroom door in a matter of seconds, tunnel vision guiding him to the stairs and the front door. He glances at the phone in the hallway, confirming it's there and plugged in, just in case it’s not who he thinks it is and he has to call the police. He’s sure, though. He’s so sure. With a twist of his gut, he realizes he’s been waiting for this.

There’s no sense of smug satisfaction at being right when he sees who is on the other side of the peephole; just deep seated pain from seasons of yearning coiling in his chest like thick thorny vines, wrapped tight around his heart and lungs. His sweaty palm slides uselessly against the doorknob before he’s able to get a decent grip and pull the door open, calling the name that hasn’t touched his tongue in months out into the muggy evening air.

Chapter Text

My story takes place in the ancient Kingdom of Penumbra, a land teetering between the blessing of the sun’s light and the dark abyss of earth’s many evils. It was thought of as only a myth until I was discovered by scientists of the modern age. My discovery proved once and for all the existence of this kingdom powered by the elements of magicks. My body, broken down and long left without the mana that once fueled me, could offer little in the way of information about the history of the once great kingdom. What my shell did provide was an answer to the question scientists had been hoping to discover for centuries: is the manatech of old a possibility, or just a far flung fairy tale? Now armed with a crucial key to the puzzle, they begin to repair my antiquated body with plans to delve through my memory banks and see just what happened in the distant past. Did monsters truly roam the land? Were there still living Gods among us? Did sorceresses and black devils actually doom our land to permanent darkness? Finally, these questions could be answered.

“Ed.”

My memories start the first time I am activated.

“State your name and purpose.” Mumbles the skeptical royal technician, distrusting the effectiveness of an android not made by his own hands.

I take my first step forward and hear my own voice for the first time.

“Ed.”

“I am unit G V V 3 N. My purpose is the protection of Princess Penelope.”

I turn to face the princess and take my first glance at my reason for living.

“If it pleases the Princess, she may call me Gwen.” I close my fist over the center of my chest and click my heels together, the salute of The Penumbra Kingdom already programmed into me. 

“I will protect you with my life.”

“Edward.”

The princess crosses her arms at me, the distrust in her eyes even more apparent than the technician’s.

“Great. A new babysitter.”

“Edward Horace Sempill!”

Ed’s head jerks up away from his notebook, pencil stilling at the end of the incomplete line of his doodle. He had been stuck on this one for a while, eyes straining as he erased, redrew, and erased the features of the princess’s face again and again, trying to get everything just right. After a moment of staring blankly in the direction of the front of the classroom, he rises to his feet, jostling his desk in the process and causing his pens and pencils to drop and scatter along the tiled classroom floor.

“Yes Sergeant Captain Major Colonel Lieutenant Ma'am Sir!” He shouts as he flings his palm up to his forehead, smacking himself audibly. He’s been yelled at for forgetting someone’s title far too many times, so now he just just says all of them to cover his bases.

The teacher up by the chalkboard sighs while surrounding students snicker behind their hands. “Sit down, Ed. And Ma’am is fine.”

‘Oh good, I’m in Miss Bouvette’s class. She’s a nice lady,’ he thinks in relief while sitting back down with a wide grin on his face. 

The entire class falls silent, everyone turning to look at Ed’s tall frame. He glances between the different sets of eyes aimed at him, his smile falling as confusion fogs up his brain.

“... Ed?”

“Huh?” He looks back at Miss Bouvette.

“It’s your turn, Ed. Read the next passage.”

“Oh. Right.” He moves his notebook under his book, looking down at the page to find where the previous classmate left off. Wait, what page are they even on? Dread lays heavy in his sinking gut, forehead breaking out with sweat at the looming threat of his teacher realizing he hasn’t been following along. He tries to look at his neighbor’s page, but he covers the page number with his hand while giving Ed a not so friendly smile. With a sullen pout, he looks back to his own book, chewing dead skin off of his lips as he tries and fails to come up with a solution.

“Chapter three, Ed. Paragraph ten.” Comes Miss Bouvette’s patient voice.

“Oh. Right.” Ed repeats, slowly flipping to the correct page before carefully counting the paragraphs. “Cuhm ill oovrate la bowhch…”

“Next paragraph.”

“Oh. Uh… Voikee. Jeh mapple Jeen Valjeen. Jeh, ah, soos uhn galereen. Jay pace… dicks… uh, knee oof ans awoo bagnee.”

Laughter breaks out again, a little louder than before, distracting Ed and making him lose his spot. He worries at the inside of his cheek, scanning the page in an attempt to figure out where he was.

“That’s enough, Ed. Thank you. It’s your turn, Jack.” Miss Bouvette dismisses him from finishing and Ed sighs in relief. The shorter boy in front of him clears his throat and sits up straight, picking up from where Ed left off.

“Je suis libéré depuis quatre jours et en route pour Pontarlier qui est ma destination. Quatre…”

Ed sulks in his seat, sinking down until his eyeline meets the middle of Jack’s back. He tries to follow along with him, honest he does, but it’s not long before his thoughts start to drift. When he snaps back to, a new classmate is reading, and he’s completely lost where they are in the book. Defeated, he goes to pick up his pencil and continue drawing; except it’s not where he left it. His monobrow scrunches together as he searches for it, but no amount of patting his desk or glancing under his chair shows any sign of it. Defeated once more. There’s no finding something he's lost. He turns to biting his hang nails instead, his usual backup when he’s run out of ways to entertain himself. Fresh blood wells up from his sore and scab covered nail beds, the taste of iron familiar and soothing. He frees his finger of one particularly large flap of skin, chewing it between his teeth before swallowing it down. When he feels the burn of eyes on him, he turns to look at the guy sitting next to him. His face is twisted up as if he’s making a concentrated effort not to barf, meeting Ed’s eyes with a disapproving glare before mumbling to himself and looking away.

“Fucking gross, dude.”

Red hot shame burns straight to Ed’s core, and he stares down at his lap to avoid looking at anyone else. He pulls at his sleeves until his mangled fingers are hidden in his uniform, rubbing the rough fabric between his fingertips as the radiating embarrassment causes him to sweat more. He’s gonna end up with pit stains. He always does.

When the bell rings he waits for everyone else to be finished packing up and almost out the door before he starts putting his own things away into his ratty backpack. The clicking of heels approaches, and Ed packs up faster in response, hoping to avoid a lecture. 

“Ed.”

Oh. Right. He’s in Miss Bouvette’s class. She doesn’t yell at him. Maybe ‘cuz she’s not military. He flashes her a cheerful smile as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “Afternoon, Miss Bouvette, Ma’am.”

She smiles back at him, leaving Ed mesmerized by how her red lipstick glistens under the fluorescent lights of the classroom. “Good afternoon, Ed. How is your day going?”

“Goin’ alright. This is my last class of the day so now I get to go back to my room.” He smiles wider at the very thought of it. Thank golly gee it’s summer and today’s only a half day.

She smiles back, but not big and happy like Ed is. Her eyes actually look kinda sad. “Most of the students are going out to the field with their friends or doing homework in the library together. You won’t join them?”

“Can't join ‘em.” Ed answers honestly. He’s tried and failed too many times to get any of the guys to want to be pals with him.

“I see. I also see that our extra tutoring sessions don’t seem to be helping much.”

Ed winces and looks down at the floor, shoulders slouching in an attempt to make himself smaller. “Aw… I’m real sorry ‘bout that, Miss Bouvette, Ma’am. Learning a whole new language is hard.”

The feeling of her small hand and well manicured nails against his shoulder signals him to look back up, and he is rewarded for doing so with a sweet smile. “It is hard, Ed. And that’s not your fault.”

Her smile is an infectious disease, and Ed’s happy to have caught it. “Thanks for saying so.”

“I say it because it’s true. I just wish our school had more resources for students like you.”

“Ya mean the stupid ones?” Ed asks, then gives his teacher a worried look when red spreads across her face. Maybe she has a disease for real.

“I- no. I didn’t mean that. And anyone who told you you’re stupid is wrong, Ed.”

Ed has to take a moment to think on that, finger tapping his chin as he stares up at his brain.

“Hm… no, I think they’re right about that.” Ed finally answers with a proud grin, satisfied that he got the answer right.

Miss Bouvette just looks sad again. Must be diseased and not feeling well. Because of her disease.

“You have challenges, Ed. Challenges that other people don’t have to overcome. But I have full faith that you could with the right support.”

That’s gotta be his favorite thing about Miss Bouvette, even more than the not yelling; sometimes, she sounds just like Double D. He has to restrain himself from reaching out to hug her.

“Can we still do tutoring together?” He asks hopefully, hugging himself instead of her.

“Of course, Ed. My door’s always open.”

“Oh boy!” His self-restraint fails, arms flinging open and out towards his teacher. She knows him well, though, and is able to step back just in time to dodge the incoming hug, holding her hand out for a handshake instead. Ed takes her hand in both of his, gleefully and wildly wiggling her arm up and down as if he’s attempting to dislocate her shoulder.

“Okay, see ya later Miss Bouvette, Ma’am,” he calls out as he exits the classroom into the squeaky clean halls of the school. Lockers line the walls just as they would in any other high school, but the lack of decorated doors makes Ed feel like they all must be empty inside. Same old fluorescent lights, at least, the buzzing of which reminds him of the insidious insectoid ladies from that one comic where the mad scientist releases fly pheromones into the vents and causes slimy, translucent wings to sprout from the prom queen’s back while bone crunching noises herold the growth of four new arms, segmented black toothpicks coated in fine, oily hairs. Her eyes are the next to change, splitting and multiplying like the cells of new life, spreading across her face as she screams in terror, jaw stretching into fanged manables before she closes them around the prom king’s head, swallowing it crown and all. The rest of the female student body soon follows suit, morphing and screaming before biting off the heads of their own dates as they try to get away, slipping and falling on the blood-slicked dance floor, cries and shouts mingling with the blaring rockabilly music they had all been joyfully dancing to moments before. This is one mess old janitor Rusty will remember cleaning for the rest of his life, and the first time the chess club is glad to be without dates.

Ed is halted in his tracks as he trips over something and slams his face into the door to his dorm room, letting out a weak “ow,” as he slides down to the floor. 

“What just happened?” he asks aloud, sitting up from the floor and rubbing the red mark on his forehead. He’s already at his dorm room somehow, so that’s good; if nothing else, at least his brain has a great autopilot mode. But he fell for some reason. Reason, reason, reason… raison. Season for raison reasons. For what reason did he fall? Finally, his newly bruised brain catches up with his eyes, processing the strewn mail under his legs that he slipped on.

“Mail!” He shouts excitedly, rocketing up to his feet and scooping it all into his arms before rushing inside his room. After dumping the mail on his neatly made, almost too small for him, bed, he sorts through it, grabbing everything addressed to his roommate and dumping it on the bed against the opposite wall. His boots get kicked off and shoved under the mattress as he hurriedly scrambles up onto it, grinning maniacally as he clutches his pink envelope, his overstuffed manilla envelope, and a thin cardboard box in his hands. Chuckling to himself in giddy anticipation, he tears into his first letter.

🝮

Lughead,

Jimmy says hi and he wants me to tell you the big news. We saw Aaron Carter LIVE on STAGE. It was so cool! It was hard to keep Jimmy hydrated and on his feet. I thought he’d definitely pass out, especially with how woozy he got once AC came onstage. Don’t worry, I kept him on his feet. He can't afford another concussion. 

Dad didn’t feel like driving to Michigan, so he bought me and Jimmy airplane tickets! We flew over Canada. It was my first time on an airplane. Have you ever been on an airplane? Before I was born? Jimmy was really scared, but I wasn’t. He threw up like three times. Mom never would’ve let me on a plane without an adult if she was home. We’re all keeping this a secret, k? She’d go double crazy and have to stay at the hospital even longer. Speaking of mom, the doctors said she’s making good progress. They think she should be ready to come home by the end of summer.

I wish you were coming home too. Things have been too quiet around here without you. There’s stuff I wanna talk to you about that I don’t want to do through a letter. Stuff I don’t know how Dad would feel about. I know how mom would feel about it so no way I’m telling her. So stay outta trouble and keep your nose clean mister! That’s the only way you’re gonna get back home.

Miss you dummy,

Sarah

Dearest Ed,

Greetings and salutations! My, how the time flies. A whole year already since you departed from our carefree cul-de-sac. You’re halfway home, my durable friend. Every day passed is another grain of sand through the hourglass, bringing our reunion ever closer. The sooner the better; our quaint little neighborhood just isn’t the same without you and your incredulous imagination. 

My lamentations aside, I hope you are doing well. I was delighted to hear in our last correspondence that you are receiving tutoring from your French teacher. Language has always been your strong suit when it comes to academics, what with your voracious reading habits. Speaking of which, did you enjoy the last Stephen King book I sent you? I know you’re particularly fond of short stories, and Nightmares and Dreamscapes is overflowing with your most beloved genre; horror. A harrowing assemblage to be sure! Please let me know, as I’d love to send you his most recently released collection, Everything’s Eventual. It’s similarly startling. 

As per your letter, I am pleased to answer that I am doing well myself. Senior year is just around the corner, and I anticipate it being the most illuminating year thus far in my academic career. I dearly wish you were here too so we could experience it together. I’m sure Eddy feels similarly; classroom settings have become even more deliriously deranging for his psyche without you here to entertain him. We’re both counting the days until you’re able to return home. Stay safe, stay out of trouble, and focus on your school work, mister!

Sincerely,

Eddward

Hey Lumpy

Here are the comics you asked for. You better be enjoying these cuz they aint cheap. Theres some magazine clippings about those movies you wanted to see the reviews of too. Everythings boring and sucks as usual. All the shit thats fun to do with you is lame as hell without you and god knows mr stick up his ass cant manage any proper entertainment. Kevin and Rolf are ok to hang with but all they ever wanna do is drink beers in the lane or fish in the creek. I dunno how they can stand all the sitting around doing nothing. Speaking of sitting around doing nothing I still have the candy store job. Made enough money to finish paying dad back for the car and I have plenty saved up. When you get outta that shithole you and me are gonna live it up. First thing Im gonna do is take you wherever you wanna go in MY car. Then Im gonna buy us the best time money can buy. I’ll getcha drunk on gravy somehow. Theres gotta be some way to make boozy gravy that doesnt taste gross. Who knows though youd probably like the taste of vodka and gravy together. Or anything with gravy. Your sick like that. Anyway were both gonna be done with school forever and thats worth celebrating. I hope they aint changing you too much monobrow. Tell me youre still a wild animal. I need that energy back in my life. Miss you like a hernia big guy. Enough to almost make me wanna hug you and get a whiff of those stinky pits of yours. I might even shed a manly tear.

Come home already!

From Eddy

🝮

Sarah’s handwriting is neat and easy to get through, whereas Double D’s cursive and Eddy’s chicken scratch take a bit more time. It’s all worth it, though, and Ed lovingly hugs the letters to his chest when he’s done reading them. His best pals and baby sister love him and miss him! Who cares if he can’t make friends here? His heart is already so full with love and kittens and rainbows and bunnies just thinking about his fellas and baby sister back home. There’s no room left for new people in there anyway.

He spends the next couple of hours devouring the comic books Eddy sent as well as the first few short stories in his new book at his desk, a goofy grin plastered to his face long enough to make his cheeks hurt. As absorbed in his reading as he is, he doesn’t even notice the sky starting to darken outside the window between his and his roomie’s bed until his eyes start to hurt. Once he realizes why, he turns on the light that’s attached to the underhead of the top shelf of his school-issued wooden desk. That, and the school-issued bed and school-issued dresser are the only furniture items on his side of the room, not having come here originally with anything other than his backpack full of toiletries and school supplies. The only things he’s received since are gifts from Eddy and Double D, all small enough to fit in a mailbox: there’s Jim Jr., the tiny plastic cactus Double D sent that he keeps atop the top shelf of his desk, a row of novellas and short stories also sent from Double D packed tightly together next to Jim Jr., various comic books from Eddy stacked on the bottom shelf, newspaper and magazine clippings of things Ed likes tacked to the small cork board leaning against the wall behind his desk, and drawers stuffed full with a range of art supplies that Eddy and Double D sent together. His cluttered desk is the only splash of personality on his side of the room, school code demanding the walls be kept barren and the floors be kept clean. 

Ed tries to go back to reading, but alas, he already looked away from his book, and now he has no idea where on the page he was. With a shrug, he puts the book away with the others and grabs Nightmares and Dreamscapes before pulling his reason for not yet writing to Double D about the book out of his top drawer; an unfinished comic book adaptation of ‘The Moving Finger’ starring Double D as the quiz show obsessed protagonist. Ed spreads the page he was last working on out in front of him, wanting to finish the comic and send it with his review of the book as a surprise. He smiles just thinking about Double D’s reaction. He’ll be so grossed out by the multi-jointed finger wiggling out of the sink drain in Ed’s perfect recreation of his bathroom. Happy to be back in the zone, he puts all his attention into inking the last lines of the page before moving on to sketch out the next one.

The thwap to the back of his buzzed head is sudden and unexpected.

“Ow.” He states neutrally before turning around to identify his assaulter. When he sees his roommate Ron, he forces a smile. He didn’t see or hear him come into the room.

“Oh, hiya roomie!”

“Why is there a boot print on my mail?” He asks without greeting, holding up a large envelope in front of Ed’s face. Ed squints at the dirty boot treads pattern, puzzled himself before smiling wide in delight that he actually remembers why and has an answer.

“‘Cuz I stepped on it.” He states proudly.

Ron sneers at him. “Why?”

Ed’s smile falters, but not completely. “Aw, it was just an accident, Ronnie.”

“Told ya not to call me that.” He huffs, taking his mail with him as he stomps out of the room. “And watch where you’re going, retard.”

That’s when his smile fully falls.

He remembers a time he wouldn’t have cared about that; a time when Eddy would threaten to wallop whoever threw that word at him while Double D would scold and scold and scold while wagging his finger until his whole face looked like a ripe tomato. Ed would just chuckle and shake his head. He already knows he’s stupid, so it’s not news to him. But that was back when he had his pals who knew him and accepted him as is. Back when some of the most popular kids in school were cul-de-sac buddies who expected his oddities and took them in stride. Back when people liked him. Back when he was home. Back when he wasn’t alone.

His face feels hot as he struggles to remember what he was doing, tummy twisting inside of him like a maggot ready to pupate. He was reading… no, he put that away. Drawing? Yeah. But this is a new page. What was he sketching? What part of the story was he at again? And what story was it?

His lower lip juts out in a pout when he gives up, putting everything away back in its place. The last thing he wants is to get scolded tomorrow morning during room inspections. Once his desk is tidy, he grabs his new book and trudges off to bed and cracks it open to flip to a story he hasn’t read yet. He can’t actually read it though, not really, eyes scanning and taking in the words without processing them as his mind races with thoughts about home and his friends.

‘Just one more year.’

Chapter Text

“Eddy!”

Explanations die on his lips as his reason for running over here like a lunatic gets firmly shoved onto his mental backburner. Double D looks like shit. He always looked like he’d weigh ten pounds soaking wet, but the hollow cheeked skeleton of a man before him looks like he’d collapse under the weight of a feather. Eddy’s surprised the heft of his eye bags alone aren’t enough to bring him crashing to the ground, a deep and sickly purple that makes him think of one of Rolf’s radioactive looking fish dishes from the old country. But Eddy’s not the only one getting distracted by appearances here.

“Is that blood on your mouth?!” Double D freaks, grabbing Eddy’s face in both of his cool hands, tugging his blocky head closer while leaning down to get a better look. It makes Eddy’s breath catch in his throat, feeling all at once like it’s the first time he’s been touched this tenderly in his life and as if Double D had never stopped touching him in the first place. Months of distance churn in his gut before rising to his face in a heated blush, his eyes locked onto Double D’s. What did Double D call it that one time? Fight, flight, or freeze?

“Good lord, you’re bleeding.” 

“Huh? Oh.” Eddy follows Double D’s worried gaze down to his own hand, lifting it up to look at the still slowly oozing wound. With the shock of seeing his brother’s trailer followed by the fright Double D’s frail form gave him, he had completely forgotten about it. 

“Yeah. Fell on some broken glass, I think,” he explains hollowly.

“Outside?!” Double D hisses the latter half of the word like the world’s most offended garter snake, breath whistling through the gap between his two front teeth. “Quick, quick, get in, get in, we can’t have you standing in the cold precipitation and weakening your immune system when your protective epidermis has been breached by litter.”

He tries to summon up their typical banter, maybe tell Double D not to have a cow or blow a gasket, but his tongue sits heavy and useless in his rapidly drying mouth. He’s too dialed into the feeling of Double D’s grip on his wrist as he tugs Eddy across the threshold and deeper into his house. His eyes stay glued to Double D’s slender fingers wrapped around his fat wrist, the tips unable to meet on the other side. Once they start climbing stairs, he has to switch his gaze from Double D’s irritated cuticles to the steps underneath, finding it harder to keep his footing when he’s got Double D dragging him along. Then it’s a short walk to the upstairs bathroom, Eddy finally tearing his eyes away from Double D’s grip on him to look around once the lights flick on (had the rest of the house been dark?) And… wow. Okay. That’s a lot more sticky notes than usual. There’s cascades of little yellow squares on every wall, some stacked on each other where Double D’s parents ran out of space. He’d be proud of Double D for finally sticking it to the man if it didn’t further display just how out of character Double D’s appearance and home are. Out of breath from the hurried climb up the stairs, he finds himself still wordless as Double D escorts him to his squeaky clean bathtub, sitting him down on the edge of it. He’s still rambling about bacteria and tendons while he looks through the cabinet behind his mirror, steadily accumulating a large pile of first aid supplies. Eddy can’t hear any of it, transfixed on Double D’s thin wrists, the way his shirt hangs off of him, how blood shot his eyes are.

“You look like shit, Dee.” The words finally find a way out through his tightening throat, blurting out and interrupting him mid sentence.

Double D falls quiet for the first time since he answered the door, stopping what he’s doing to glare at Eddy, frantic nervous energy hardening into something cold and slicing.

“Astute observation, Eddy,” he replies as if just remembering he’s supposed to be mad at him.

Shit. “That’s not what I— agh.” He slaps the palm of his uninjured hand against his forehead, groaning in frustration as he rakes his fingers through his hair. Why do his words always come out wrong?

“I just… when was the last time you ate?” He tries to insinuate that his ‘astute observation’ came from a place of concern, not mockery.

Double D looks away from him, rearranging his tower of bandages and antiseptics on the counter. “Why do you care?”

Okay, yeah, that gets him an eye roll. Stupid question for such a smart guy.

“Uh, for the same reason you’re getting your panties in a twist over my paper cut?” he answers in a questioning tone, wiggling his sluggishly bleeding hand in front of him.

Double D’s shoulders slouch, the collar of his shirt slipping lower to reveal the deep dip between his collar bones. “Paper cut, he says. Get over here.”

Eddy complies, walking over to the sink and placing his hand in Double D’s waiting palm, showing no resistance as he maneuvers his hand under the running water in the sink. It’s silent again for a while, Eddy flinching and trying to keep his pained noises trapped in his chest as Double D pokes and prods and looks at the cut from all angles, water running pink down the drain.

“No debris,” he mutters in what sounds like relief, taking Eddy’s hand out from under the water and gently dabbing it dry with something from behind his mirror. “And not deep enough to need stitches.”

Eddy braces himself for the stinging assault he knows is coming as Double D slathers the cut with sprays and ointments, standing valiantly still while he winds a bandage around the wound. Double D gives his work a once over before nodding to himself and letting go. Eddy keeps his hand hovering in the air between them for a stupid, bereft moment before lowering it back to his side.

“You’ll need to change the bandage and clean the wound at least once a day. Use soap and water, even if it stings. A bit of petroleum jelly over the wound will help keep it clean.” He delivers his instructions while packing everything away as neatly as it was stored before he took it out. 

Once everything’s put away and clean, he stands there with his arms laying limp at his sides, staring at something just to the left of Eddy’s head. Eddy clenches his jaw, teeth aching from all the unresolved animosity in the air, tension pulling him taught and clamping around his lungs like a vice. Something thick and vile wants to climb out of his gut and splatter on the ground, make a mess of the clean titles and leave him feeling purged. He wonders if Double D feels the same thing.

“Eddy—”

“Come on,” he demands in his usual commanding tone, brushing past Double D and out into the hallway.

“Wha— where?”

“To your kitchen. C’mon already.”

He doesn’t make sure Double D is following him, just marches on ahead as if he owns the place. He may as well, he’s spent enough of his life in the sticky note covered halls for it to feel like home. And yeah, yeesh, he was right, the rest of the house is dark, the hallways just as full of sticky notes as the bathroom is. That’s not the only alarming thing, though, face twisting in concern as he looks down at carpet that badly needs to be vacuumed. It’s the same story in the staircase and downstairs, and God he wishes the lights were on so he could see into the other rooms and check the state of them. Every dust bunny he passes makes his gut sink further and further, bottoming out somewhere around the core of the earth. It’s not until he’s heading into the kitchen that he turns to see if Double D is following him, letting out a small sigh through his nose when he spots him just a few feet behind. He looks so small, like some kind of starving ghost floating silently down the dark hallways of a haunted house. Yeah, haunted. That’s what this fucking place is. The three of them have always lived in haunted homes.

He says nothing, just turns the corner and flicks the lights on before beelining it for the fridge. The kitchen isn’t too bad, at least, but not up to Double D’s standards. The soft scrape of rubber chair feet against linoleum reaches his ears as he scowls at the lit and empty shelves, nothing but some jarred goods and condiments pushed back into the corners. Well that’s a bad fucking sign.

‘ Don’t think about it, ’ he thinks to himself before moving onto the cupboards, standing on his tiptoes to peer up at the non-perishables. It only takes a little bit of hunting before he finds some pasta and unopened prego sauce, pulling them down onto the counter before grabbing a pot, just as familiar with Double D’s kitchen as he is his own. He peruses Double D’s spice rack as he waits for the water to boil, feigning being deep in thought about his choices so he can avoid choosing between standing around awkwardly or, God forbid, talking to Double D.

Fuck, what would he even say? Hey Dee, sorry for being a hostile and cruel bastard. You know how I am, with the emotional constipation and stunted empathy and bullheadedness. Okay, now it’s your turn to apologize for being a shithead to me because you wouldn’t do something as easy as take your damn meds, which you’re clearly still not taking, and look where that’s gotten you, idiot, I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, why won’t you just fucking listen to me you stubborn fucking—

He grips the edge of the counter and squeezes his eyes shut, taking a deep breath in through his nose and letting it out through his mouth. Unhelpful thought patterns. Stay in the present moment. Find your fucking center or whatever.

“Eddy.”

He whips around to look at the sudden break in silence, flaring his nostrils at Double D before he forces himself to neutralize his expression into something less like a caged animal.

“What?” Yeesh. That was louder than he meant it to be.

Double D says nothing in return, just points at the stove. Eddy turns back around to find the water almost boiling up and over the pot.

“Shit.” He turns down the heat as panic washes over him, opening the box of pasta with jittery hands to put in several servings worth of spaghetti. Breathing deeply repeatedly through his nose, he dumps the prego into a separate pot and puts it on low heat, eyeballing half a tablespoon each of nutmeg, cinnamon, and red pepper flakes into the sauce. By the time he’s draining the water and adding the sauce to the spaghetti, he’s finally quieted his nerves enough to look like a somewhat normal human being. He fetches a plate and a few tupperware containers, scooping a serving onto the plate and sliding it towards Double D before separating the rest into equal portions to be covered and put away in the fridge, still steaming. Once that’s done, he turns to find Double D just staring at the plate, hands folded tightly in his lap.

“Do I have to do everything around here?” he mutters impatiently, grabbing the fork and napkin that Double D was too lazy to get for himself, placing them on the table next to the plate.

Still he sits unmoving, staring into his graciously served homemade meal. Eddy waits at the other end of the table, one hand on his hip while the fingers on his other drum loudly against the table, muffled slightly by the tablecloth.

“... Eat! Manja, for chrissakes,” he demands, finally losing his patience. Double D startles a bit before doing as he’s told, getting a forkful of warm food and blowing on it carefully and eating at a snail’s pace. Eddy can feel his face twist in concern at his slow speed before he decides to distract himself with cleaning up. The sound of running water and clanging pots at least fills the silent air, bringing some life into a house that feels as though it’s been long dead. Unlike the rush job he usually does, he takes his time to scrub and scour, letting the soap in the sink foam up into stiff peaks. He’s more than used to playing things by ear, but this shit is on a whole other level. He needs a plan. A plan to… um… ah, fuck. The gears in his brain jam completely, thoughts struggling and failing to eke through. What is even the end goal here? To talk about what happened? To get out of here as soon as possible? To interrogate him on why the fuck he looks like a halloween decoration? To shove his tongue down his throat and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and—

“Ah!” He damn near jumps out of his skin when he feels something brush up against his shoulder, dropping the saucepan back into the soapy water and causing it to nearly slosh over the edge of the sink and onto the floor. When he looks to see what touched him, it’s just Double D, staring at him with two wide, slowly blinking eyes, looking plenty startled himself.

“I was just gonna offer to help,” he explains softly, hands held up in surrender. 

Blushing furiously, Eddy looks back into the sink to thoroughly rinse the saucepan before handing it to Double D.

“Here. Dry,” he mumbles under his breath, still not looking at him. 

When he feels the weight of it lift from his hand, he dives back into the water to clean the pot he boiled the pasta in. They’re quiet as they work together, shoulder to shoulder, just like they used to. Well, back then there was more bickering, laughing, and soapy water fights, so not really just like. More like a shadow of what used to be, a fading bruise leaving an impression on both of them. To Eddy’s further dismay, once everything is dry and put away, Double D puts plastic wrap over his half eaten meal before putting it in the fridge. He wants to pester him to finish his dinner in the same nagging tone his mom uses, but restrains himself, knowing it wouldn’t help. Before he can even start to alight his already agitated nerves with the question of what now, Double D is turning towards him with his brows drawn and his jaw set.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

Well that’s not what he was expecting. Unable to look at him while he answers, he looks down and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“You know why.”

“I really don’t.”

Eddy shrugs. He hears Double D sigh before trying again.

“Okay. Let’s try this. Why are you here?”

Déjà vu settles thickly on the floor of his skull just as the reminder of his current predicament seizes around his chest, his breathing becoming a conscious effort. Right. Fucking yeah. How did he manage to stop thinking about his brother’s trailer in his driveway? Was Double D always such a distraction to him?

“Eddy?”

Double D’s voice graces his eardrums with gentle timidness, the interrogative tone from before leaving the building. Christ, he must look like a wild animal or something, wary prey that Double D is trying not to spook. He hates him for that gentleness. He misses it even more.

“Chuck’s back.” No use playing coy. Despite everything that’s happened between them, there’s no one Eddy trusts more with his weaknesses than Double D. Also, he’s just not in a good headspace to quickly think up a convincing lie.

Double D tilts his head and squints his eyes, which Eddy recognizes as his rifling-through-the-neatly-organized-files-in-my-brain look. It occurs to Eddy with a mixture of surprise and concern that he’s never said his brother’s name in front of Double D before. Yeah, he can psychoanalyze why that is never.

“My brother.”

The lights flip on in Double D’s brain, eyes widening and breath catching.

“What?! Do your parents know?”

“They must, seein’ as his trailer is parked in their driveway.”

He’s gone in a flash, Eddy left to stand alone as he blinks away the after image of Double D’s quick departure. A cursory scan of his surroundings confirms that Double D is at the window, pulling back the curtains to peer outside in the direction of Eddy’s house. His bony hand claps over his thin lips, his other hand nervously fiddling with frilly trim. 

“Why?!” he asks, whirling around to look at Eddy with large, searching eyes. Eddy shrinks in on himself under the scrutiny.

“I dunno.”

“Well didn’t you ask?”

“I haven’t been home yet!” His explosion only lasts for a moment, fizzling out as he shrinks back down even further, shoulders hunched up on both sides of his head. “I was coming home from work when I saw the trailer.”

The part about him immediately running to Double D and pounding on his door like a dying man seeking sanctuary is left unsaid, but judging by the look on Double D’s face, he didn’t need to say it. Eddy watches him lick his lips and tap his fingers together in front of his chest, can almost hear a robotic voice saying ‘recalibrating.’ When he realizes Double D is waiting for him to say more, he just clams up even tighter.

He’s not surprised by Double D’s resigned sigh, but it still ticks him off.

“If you need a waypoint to gather your wits before reuniting with your brother, I offer my abode to you temporarily.”

“Gee, thanks Shakespeare.”

Eddy winces at the dry look Double D gives him. “... Really though, thank you.”

Seemingly satisfied by Eddy’s more sincere gratitude, he heads back to the kitchen table, sitting down heavily. Eddy follows suit like a lost puppy, opposite him and staring down at the table cloth. How many times did they sit at this same table together, sometimes just them, sometimes with Ed, laughing over shared food and gross-out competitions? The oppressive silence laying over them feels wrong.

So he breaks it.

“So, what gives?”

Double D doesn’t meet his eyes, staring at his nails as he picks at the skin around them. “You’ll have to be more specific, Eddy.”

He specifically rolls his eyes, knowing damn well Mr. Smart Guy knows what he’s talking about. “Okay, fine. Let’s start with why you look like something I could buy at Spirit of Halloween.”

Still not looking at him, Double D replies. “The trek to the kitchen is… arduous.”

Confused by that cryptic as hell answer, Eddy waits for further explanation. When he receives none, he rolls his eyes and moves on.

“Okay. Here’s another specific. Not that I ever thought you should be listening to those stupid notes, but why haven’t you been cleaning?”

The following silence is long enough that he considers grabbing Double D by his scrawny shoulders and yelling the question again in his ear. Just as he starts to jiggle his leg impatiently, Double D glances at the clock on the oven and opens his mouth.

“120 days, 15 hours, and 12 minutes.”

“Huh?”

Double D pulls his feet up onto the chair, wrapping his arms around his knees, face contorting like a pissed off pug. “120 days, 15 hours, and 12 minutes since I last saw my parents.”

“Shit…” The swear comes out on a breath, airy and quiet and diffusing into the tense atmosphere around them. “But— the notes.”

“They come in the night, while I’m sleeping.” A pause, Double D’s hands holding each other tighter and tighter until the bony knuckles turn white. “They are clearly avoiding me.”

Eddy’s brows crease, pursing his lips as they curl down into a frown. “But why?”

Double D’s expression sharpens, cold as steel as opposed to the heated and pressurized anger being forged just moments ago. “You’d know better than I would, Eddy.”

The blow lands as intended, slicing him open and forcing him to desperately attempt to hold his guts close, trying not to let them spill. “Dee—”

“Don’t.”

“No. I’m gonna.” He holds his ground, shoulders square and jaw set. “I shouldn’t’ve said what I said. It was— I was being shitty. But don’t act like you were innocent in that mess.”

‘ I fucking hate it when you act innocent. ’ He keeps that last bit in his own thoughts, not in the mood to open that can of worms.

Double D wars with himself, face twisting and turning as his hands clench and unclench, looking everywhere but at Eddy. Finally he settles on one expression, slumping in defeat and letting go of his hands to lay them against his knees.

“... I know. I’m the farthest thing from innocent.” He sighs. “There are a lot of things I said to you I wish I didn’t say. Things I wish I didn’t do.”

Eddy’s own tension eases at that, body slumping along with Double D’s. The thick and vile thing in his gut isn’t completely cleared out, not by a longshot, but damn does he feel like he just hacked up a lot of it. He’s so relieved that he gets mad at himself, at both of them, because shit, was that really all it took? Six or so fucking sentences? What a couple of stubborn assholes they are, waiting over almost a year to say what they shoulda said right away.

“This has been such a shit year,” he grouses, rubbing tiredly at his face.

“Unnecessarily so,” Double D empathizes, looking as exhausted as Eddy feels.

“We’re unbelievable,” Eddy continues, exasperated to the point of laughter now.

“Horrendously.” A small smile graces Double D’s face, and damn if that doesn’t smack Eddy right in the jaw. He can already feel the bruise forming.

“I—” He stops himself, tension returning with a vengeance as his entire being clenches around the words he wants to get out, emotionally and verbally constipated.

“I’ve missed you too, Eddy.”

He snaps his head up to look at Double D, at the small smile still planted on his lips and the patience in his eyes. Damn him for being so smart. And thank God he’s so smart.

“And I’m still angry with you.” Double D tacks that part on, holding his knees a little tighter.

Yeah, okay. Eddy would be living in dream land if he thought it’d really be that easy.

“Well, I’m still pissed too,” he retorts, not one to be outdone in the holding grudges department.

For a moment, Double D looks like he wants to argue back at him. Whatever wall he’s trying to push through to get the words out finally collapses on top of him, expression falling and feet dropping back down to the floor.

“Maybe we don’t have to forgive each other. Lord knows our friendship is rife with buried transgressions. Maybe this is one we just… move on from.”

Eddy’s breath catches in his throat, unsure of what to say to that. Could it really be that simple? Fuck, he wants it to be. And who is he if not the type of guy to always go after what he wants?

“Yeah. Maybe,” he responds, feeling like he’s run a damn marathon. Just as he starts to feel like he’s crossed the finish line, Double D moves the goalpost.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Huh?” Eddy can feel the blush rise to his face like a fever. Is Double D expecting him to do something? The hell is he supposed to do? Take his hand? Proclaim his undying love for him? Kiss him? Eddy’s really not in the headspace for coming up with grand romantic gestures at the moment. At Double D’s concerned head tilt at his lack of an answer, Eddy realizes that’s not what he was asking about.

“Oh. About Chuck.” He feels himself deflate like a balloon. “Shit. I don’t fucking know.

“You? The man with the plan?” And that’s a teasing smile Double D gives him this time, and fuck, maybe he should kiss him.

“The man with the plan that always lands me in deep shit,” he scoffs.

The smile vanishes, and Eddy thinks he might scream. “I’ve never heard you have such a defeatist attitude before.”

“Yeah, well. Guess we’ve both changed.”

Double D nods solemnly at his assessment. “Indeed.”

Silence stretches on after that, nerves bouncing around inside of him. He wants to just… blah! Blah and blab and yammer like he used to, tell Double D everything that’s been happening in his life. Except nothing has been happening. Usually Eddy has a knack for making the boring sound interesting, but his creative energy is pretty damn tapped with all the stress he’s currently under.

“I think I gotta just… do it,” he decides, standing up from his chair and planting his hands on the table. “Rip the bandaid off. Jump into the deep end. Slam my balls in the door.” Slamming his balls sounds just about as pleasant as facing his brother will be, but he can’t hide here forever.

Apparently Double D agrees, because he stands with his own look of determination, as if he’s going to march over there with Eddy. “Right. And I’m sure your parents have a sound explanation and that they’ll be sending him on his way shortly.”

“Right.” Eddy parrots him. Right, right, right, everything’s all right.

Right?

Double D escorts him back to the front door, where they both end up lingering with awkward glances shared between them. Shit. His palms start to sweat at a rate that makes him worry about his bandage. He doesn’t want Double D to have to wrap him up again, he’s already put up with Eddy and his horseshit enough for one day. Damn, wait, he should thank him somehow, right? Fuck, he’s shit at that. Gifts are always easier than words for him, and he pats his jacket pockets when he remembers what he pilfered from the candy store. Locating his loot, he pulls it out of his pocket and offers it to Double D.

“Here.”

Double D stares at the jawbreaker, gobsmacked and speechless. He takes the jawbreaker as if it’s some fragile family heirloom being handed to him before his face starts to split into a smile. Out of the smile seeps laughter, just some quiet giggling at first before the guffaws avalanche out of him, whole body shaking with the laughing fit. It’s not long before Eddy follows suit, laughing to the point of tears as he grips onto Double D’s forearm to keep them both balanced. Light headed and a little wheezy, he eventually stands back up to his full height, watching Double D wipe tears from his smile-crinkled eyes.

“Thank you, Eddy,” Double D says once he’s caught his breath, his whole being radiating a warmth that Eddy hasn’t gotten to bask in the glow of for a long time. He feels pretty warm himself, scratching the rolls on the back of his neck as he smiles sheepishly.

“Ah, well. You know.”

“I do.” He shakes his head. “Make sure to message me tonight. I want to know how everything goes.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” Eddy answers, feeling warmer still.

“Good. Talk to you soon.”

“Yeah.” Back to lingering. Eddy shakes his head and sighs in exasperation, being the first to turn away. It’s not until he’s at the shrubs lining Double D’s front lawn that he hears the door close behind him. Double D’s ‘ talk to you soon ’ echoing in his head is the only thing that keeps him marching forward.

Chapter Text

‘ Least the rain finally let up,’ Eddy thinks to himself, needing to shed some sort of positive light on the situation if he’s gonna be able to face what’s on the other side of his front door. He had considered entering his bedroom through the back door to hide out a bit longer, but that would just be delaying the inedible, as Double D would put it. Besides, he can’t keep being a bitch about this; showing weakness in front of Chuck is never a good idea. After taking a final deep breath of soupy, post summer rain air, he wraps his stubby digits around the door knob and lets himself in.

“Eddy!” He startles, hand frozen on the knob at the sudden approach of his mom. Once he relaxes and lets the breath he’d been holding out, he closes the door fully behind him and opens his arms, his mom’s thick and hairy arms already open for a hug. He receives her easily, standing on his tiptoes so he can hook his chin over her shoulder instead of losing his face in her chest. The always present smell of cigarette smoke in her curled and towering hair and the hint of garlic on her breath starts smoothing over his frazzled nerves, same as how her hand smoothes the wrinkles out of the back of his shirt.

“Your brother’s here.” She whispers in his ear after giving him a tight squeeze, slowly departing from the hug to rest her hands on his shoulders. The look she gives him makes Eddy frown, loathe to see his mom worrying over him. It’s not surprising, though; he ended up having more than a few tearful conversations with her after he ran away to Chuck's trailer all those summers ago. Things were pretty touch and go for a while there once the pedestal he held his older brother up on had been thoroughly desecrated. 

“I figured.” He murmurs back, patting his mom’s hand before she backs away fully.

“You’re just in time for dinner.” She says as she starts walking towards the kitchen, gravelly voice louder than before. He follows her through the pink halls of his house, past the garish crosses hanging on the walls, side eyeing one of the tiny, pinned down Jesuses.

‘ You’ve never done shit for me before. Maybe do me a solid this time and I’ll pay attention in church next Sunday.’

After steeling his nerves and attempting to wipe all emotion from his face, he turns the corner into the kitchen, shoulders square and jaw set. The table is set with all sorts of foodstuffs, a large plate full of chicken cutlets in the middle of it all. It’s way more food than his mom would normally make on a Wednesday night, but it is her typical tactic of peace keeping. The smell of frying grease makes him more nauseous than anything else right now. At one end of the dinner table, with a deep scowl etched into his weathered face, sits his father. Disgruntlement and disapproval roll off him in waves, knuckles white where he grips his bottle of beer.

On the other end sits his brother, sending Eddy a smirk that makes his stomach flip and his pits sweat.

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

🝮

Eddy had kept his eyes on his plate throughout the entire meal, only just barely listening to his mom explain the situation. Something something financial difficulties, something something getting back on his feet. He can read between the lines of his mother’s vague niceties; Chuck got fired, again, for showing up to work drunk, again, and is broke, again. His brother must really be in the shitter this time for his parents to let him move back home, especially if his dad is allowing Chuck in his presence at all. The news that his brother is staying, not visiting, felt like a sucker punch to his gut.

‘Thanks for nothing, Jeezy Creezy,’ he thinks to himself as he pushes the scraps of dinner’s remains around his plate, only just barely listening to his mom and brother talk about having coffee for dessert.

“Oh shoot.” His mom mutters from the fridge, frowning into it. “Outta cream.”

“I’ll go get it.” He answers before shooting out of his seat like a bullet from a fully cocked gun, wooden chair legs scraping harshly against the old linoleum. Him and his brother haven’t said a single word to each other since his initial greeting and he already can't bear to spend another moment around him.

“Take your brother with you. Me and your mother need to talk.”

Eddy swivels his head in alarm at the direction of his dad’s deep voice. It’s the first time he’s spoken since Eddy came home, and judging by the look on his brother’s face, possibly the first time he’s spoken since Chuck arrived. It’s a tone of voice that makes both him and Chuck flinch. Eddy admires the way his mom squares up in response, brows lowered in disapproval with her hands on her hips. After a beat of awkward silence, Chuck lets out a long, low whistle, looking between their mother and father with an unimpressed glare.

“A’ight. You're the boss, pops.” He places his hands on the table to leverage himself up to his full height, grabbing his flat cap from next to his plate and fitting it snugly around his thick skull. Eddy’s eyes follow him around the table carefully, still trying to keep his expression neutral, but he can't help the slight sneer that forms on his lips. Chuck passes close enough to bump his elbow against Eddy’s shoulder, smirking down at him under the shadow of his cap brim before passing by completely and out of the kitchen. Once he’s out of sight, Eddy untenses a bit and brings his plate over to the kitchen sink, grabbing Chuck's on his way as well. His mom turns away from his dad’s glaring to shoot him a frown and reach out to touch his arm. Eddy stops her before she makes contact, giving her hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

“I’ll be alright, Ma.”

She doesn’t seem to have heard him, eyes now laser focused on the bandage wrapped around his hand. “Eddy, baby, what happened?”

“Oh, uh—”

“What’s takin’ ya?” Chuck calls out from the front door, voice painted with irritation.

“Keep your pants on!” He calls back before stomping his way.

“Oh, Charlie, grab me some smokes, too!”

“Okay, Ma!”

“Why’s everyone in this family gotta yell so goddamn much!?”

“Look who’s talkin’!”

Eddy grabs his keys from the glass bowl on the table next to the door, breezing his way past Chuck and outside to get as far away from his parents’ bickering as quickly as he can. His nerves are way too high strung right now for that shit. The rain clouds have finally started to clear, with all the heat and humidity from earlier getting sucked up into the holes of clear sky above. The previously dark gray blanket of clouds is gaining an orange hue, signifying the start of sunset. Puddles are still gathered in the many dips and divots of the cul-de-sac, reflecting back some of that faint, orange glow from above. His neighbor’s porch lights have started coming on, moths gathering at the pinpoints of bright light under the roofs of the squat homes lining the road, driveways and open garages full of cars now that the work day is over. He can already hear the familiar evening sounds of the creek coming to life, the chorus of peepers and droning of crickets audible all the way to the cul-de-sac, mixing with the sound of a mosquito flying by his ear. The neighborhood is quiet other than that, devoid of the squeals and peeling laughter of playing children that used to harmonize with the tune of nature. Peaceful. Pretty. Empty.

“Dad get a new car? Looks like a hunk of junk.” Chuck remarks, kicking one of the tires of his boxy, turd brown Dodge Omni. Eddy wants to be pissed at the insult, but, well… it is a hunk of junk. The odometer had already capped at 99,999 when it ended up on his dad’s lot.

“Dad’s car is in the garage. This is my car.” He mumbles as he unlocks it, grabbing the slightly rusted handle of the driver’s door and getting in. 

“You bought a car?” Chuck asks in a skeptical tone, getting in on the other side.

“It’s from dad’s dealership. I finished paying him back for it so now it’s mine.” It’s a struggle to keep his voice calm and stop his hands from shaking as he tries to buckle up, missing the buckle more than a couple times. His brother scoffs at him.

“‘Course dad gave you a car. Anything for precious Eddy.” He snarks as Eddy catches him pulling a cigarette out of a carton in the front pocket of his shirt in his peripheral.

“Not in the car.” He warns as he pulls out into the street, twisting his body around to make sure he doesn’t hit anything. When he looks back at Chuck, he sees him narrow his eyes at him until they’re nothing but thin slits, defiantly placing the filter between his lips and grabbing his lighter from his jean pocket. With a vicious snarl, Eddy’s arm strikes out like a cobra, snatching the lighter from him and holding it out of reach.

“Not in the car. I don’t want it to smell like an ashtray in here.” He seethes through his grit teeth, heart hammering in his chest. Fuck. Him and his big mouth and short fuse. That’s gotta get him a beating, don’t it? He’s not some helpless kid anymore, though. He’ll fucking square up if he has to. Sure he’s still smaller than Chuck, and more fat than muscle, and has no idea how to fight, but… um… 

‘Ah, shit.’

Chuck glares at him like a mastiff staring down a kitten who just swatted him, more disbelieving than angry. Before Eddy can flinch, or take it back, or beg for mercy, he clicks his tongue and shrugs, placing the cig back in its carton.

“Whatever, pipsqueak. Just gimme back my lighter.”

It takes Eddy a bit to realize that, no, he does not currently have a fist in his eye or foot up his ass. There’s no wedgie, no wet willy, and no loogie dangling over his face, either. After a brief frozen moment, he drops the lighter into his brother’s open palm and puts both hands back on the wheel, driving off towards downtown. Chuck says something about tunes, but Eddy ignores him, letting his brother fiddle with his radio. His frozen body starts to melt, ice cold blood flushing through his veins and making him shiver.

‘ The fuck was that?’ he thinks to himself, staying silent and stock-still with his eyes on the road. Past experience tells him he absolutely should not have gotten away with that scot free. His head’s too clogged up now to come up with an explanation, one painful memory after another playing in his mind’s eye, film stock skipping around and singing at the edges. His palms are sweating again. The road is getting blurry. He can’t drive like this.

‘Breathe, Eddy.’

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, the kind of breathing he used to guide Double D through during his panic attacks. He blinks hard once, again, one last time until the images clear from his head. He braves another look at Chuck, unperturbed with his head resting in his thick hand, elbow propped on the car door. One more breath and Eddy turns back towards the road, finally able to relax his death grip on the wheel.

Panic quelled, he remembers why Chuck is here. The bastard’s S.O.L. and had to come crawling back to the people who booted him from his childhood home. Beating Eddy to a pulp wouldn’t do a whole lot to keep him in their parent’s good graces, especially if he doesn’t want to get his own ass beat by Dad. With his chest lightening and shoulders relaxing, Eddy realizes he has immunity. 

“Look,” he starts, confidence building. “I’ll play nice if you do, alright? All I ask is that you leave me the fuck alone and put our zero contact back in place once you find a new job. Capiche?”

Silence. That’s fine. Eddy doesn’t need an answer. All he needs is for Chuck to follow the rules. His breathing comes to him easily now, rolling down his window to get some fresh air as he pulls up to the traffic light. The sound of his tires slicing through puddles ceases when he presses down on the brake, car stilling under the bright red light. He grunts in frustration, fingers tapping rapidly against the wheel. There’s no damn cars out. With his luck, there is probably a cop lurking around somewhere, so he does his least favorite thing in the world; he waits.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

‘Oh, Christ.’

Back to the death grip. That question from Chuck never preceded anything good.

“What?”

“Can you pull that massive stick out of your ass?” Chuck looks up. “Light’s green.”

Eddy’s mouth hangs open, but before he can say anything, the light changes, and he forces his eyes back on the road as he accelerates into Peach Creek’s dead downtown just as the street lights start to flick on.

“ What?” Eddy repeats himself, voice thin as if his lungs sprung a leak.

“You’ve been acting like a wet cat ever since I got here. Whatsa matter with you? I’m your brother, for chrissakes, not a serial killer.”

‘Oh that’s rich.’

“Oh that’s rich.” Yeah, he’s not even gonna attempt to apply his filter right now. “‘Cause you got the whole vibe down. All you're missing is a big white van with tinted windows.” He’s starting to feel manic, something in him tightening like a dog tugging on its leash.

“Hey, pipsqueak! I’m moving back home for a while. Oh gee, big bro, isn’t that swell. I sure did miss you. Missed you too, Eddy. Let’s go downtown together and catch up.” His brother plays out both roles of the imaginary conversation by himself, using an insultingly high pitched impersonation and plastering a big smile on his face. “See? That would have been the normal way for this to play out. So try being fucking normal.”

The leather on the steering wheel squeaks in Eddy’s tightening grip. “ I need to be normal? Me?”

“Yeah, you. Who the fuck else would I be talking to?” Chuck's blasé tone makes his toes curl, teeth grinding together as the street lights start to pass quicker on either side of them, their light phasing in and out of the scant raindrops still on Eddy’s windshield.

“I think I’m acting pretty damn normal about a dickweed like you showing up at my house!” He argues, unfocused eyes blurring the painted lines in the road together; or maybe it’s the speed Eddy’s picking up that makes them blur.

“Watch it, pipsqueak. I’m still your big brother.” Chuck’s voice gets dangerously low, but Eddy’s too fired up to heed the warning, foot pressing further down on the gas pedal.

“Some big brother! All you ever did was treat me like shit!” He has to yell louder to hear himself over the sound of wind whipping past his open window, the fast food receipts he throws into his back seat starting to swirl around in a frantic dance. It’s enough to make the inside of his car almost down right cold, a random, localized tundra forming in the space between him and his brother. The revving of the engine grinds against his eardrums, store fronts and gas stations blinking in and out of his peripheral like the quickly fading light of fireflies. 

“Whoa, slow the fuck down-” Chuck’s plea falls on deaf ears, the way he suddenly grips the handle above the passenger side door only spurring Eddy on. Chuck should be the one who’s scared for once in their goddamn shitstain of a relationship. Fuck him. Fuck him.

“You really thought everything would be cool between us after what happened that summer? Did you think I’d just forget and keep worshiping you?!” He’s straight up shouting now, hands shaking with how hard they grip the steering wheel. All these streetlights. The guard rails. Sturdy buildings. He could swerve so quickly, make everything crash and burn, snuff it all out.

“What the hell are you talking about?! What summer?!”

The leash snaps and leaves rope burns across his neck.

His tires squeal as he whips into the entrance to the 7/11 parking lot, slamming his foot down on the break and coming to a lurching stop with the back half of his car still in the road. He hears a thunk and a shout, whipping around to see his brother clutching the top of his head and wincing, breath hissing through his teeth. He never put his seat belt on, and now there’s a goddamn crack in Eddy’s windshield.

“What the hell, Eddy?!” Chuck roars, turning to face him with watery eyes and a bright red face.

“The summer I ran away!” Too loud, way too loud now that the car isn’t running and the wind isn’t whooshing in his ears. “The summer I trekked halfway across Erie county to get your help! The summer you beat the crap outta me in front of every kid I knew! THAT SUMMER!”

Confusion seems to distract Chuck from his anger, still rubbing at his head. In the moment of silence, Eddy realizes the radio is still playing.

“ I’m through with it, over it. Not having it, crazy shit. Not feeling this, can't deal, I quit.”

Sugababes’ pop tune is the wrong kinda sound for the tone of the scene. He reaches over and turns the radio knob, silencing it along with everything else in the car.

“That’s what you’re so hung up on?”

“What?” If he has to ask what one more time, he’s gonna freakin’ lose it. “Of course I’m hung up on it! What’d you think I’d be?”

“I dunno, I was just messing around!” Chuck takes his cap off and runs his fingers through his blue-black hair before pulling them back out to inspect them. “We always roughhoused, what’s the big deal? I mean, shit, I’m the one who got knocked out cold in the ordeal. Woke up to those three ugly chicks tryna play house with me. If anything, I’m the real victim here.”

His shoulders start to shake. That’s what his brother thinks about that summer? How fucking infuriating is that? He should be livid. He should be out for blood. He should slam his foot back onto the gas and drive straight through the side wall of the 7/11, hopefully killing them both in the process.

Instead, he finally let’s out the laugh that was making his shoulders shiver, forced out of him as a sharp bark followed by an asthmatic, deflating balloon, thumping his head against the top rim of the steering wheel and staying there. The realization creeps over him like dawn over an old building, spider webs and dust swirls shining bright in the sunlight. His brother won’t—no can’t —understand why that summer was the most goddamn traumatic thing to ever happen to him in his life. 

‘It’s trauma, Eddy. The psychological kind.’ He remembers Double D explaining patiently to him during the first sleepover they were allowed to have after running away, the two of them framed together in the block of moonlight shining through his window. ‘Wounds heal, but sometimes they scar. Scar tissue is damaged, less flexible. I wish I had known what your brutish brother was truly like before this farcical fiasco. It explains so much.’

“It’s Rolf’s fishball all over again.” He mutters back in the present, laughter dying out.

“... Uh.” Chuck sounds uncharacteristically concerned, voice low. “Should I run into the store and call Ma? You got any medications you’re supposed to be on that I don’t know about?”

He can't be pissed off at the slight towards his sanity, not when he just nearly vehicular manslaughtered the both of them before laughing like a mad man and mumbling about fish balls.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He has to convince himself before convincing Chuck, easing his foot off the brake and onto the gas to slowly roll the car into a parking spot. All the manic energy from before disperses, seeping out of his pores and getting sucked out the open window as he shifts the gear to park. Now he’s just fucking tired, in a rung out and boneless kinda way.

“Do I have a bump?” His brother asks, pulling down the vanity mirror to check the large and flat surface of his dome piece.

“Quit yer belly achin’. C‘mon, they’ll card me if I try to buy mom’s smokes.”

“Yeah, no. If we both get outta the car right now, I’m gonna pound you into the pavement, and I don’t need the fucking drama. Stay put.” He commands, all previous concerns easily forgotten. After putting his hat back on, he gets out, slamming the car door shut behind him.

‘Ah. There’s the Chuck I know and love.’ He internally snarks as he turns in his seat to watch him walk into the fluorescent lit eye sore of a store. Once Chuck’s out of sight, he pulls the handle and shoves the car door open, kicking it shut behind himself as he reaches into his pocket for his camels. He sees the bandage on his hand when he pulls his lit cig up to his mouth, frowning at it as he takes his first puff. What a crazy fucking day. Feels like it’s been going on for eight months. And yet, this is the most normal he’s felt since him and Dee had their big fight. At least he actually has plenty of reason to be a nervous wreck today, instead of the nothing he’s been tying himself in knots over for months now.

Christ, Dee. Did they actually talk today? It feels like a fever dream, just like the whole damn day. He was only over there for about half an hour, and it felt even shorter than that. Sucking on his cig with the desperation of a drowning man sucking in water, he tries to piece together the events of his visit. Almost a year of bitter anger and zero contact, and now they’re just good? Just like that? Here’s a bandage for your boo boo, Eddy, okay, here’s some pasghetti for your tummy, Double D. Now let’s just forget all the bad stuff that happened and we can be best fwiends again forever and ever. Yeah fucking right.

Knowing how messed up it is doesn’t stop the nervous excitement that churns in his stomach when he thinks about messaging Dee tonight. If there’s one thing he’s gonna need after spending time with Chuck, it’s someone to bitch and moan to, and Double D’s always been his favorite target for that. Sure, his concern comes off as fake sometimes, and he lets snide remarks and condescending comments slip through his filter here and there, but when Eddy really needs it, he’s all empathy. Double D knows him, knows what to say, knows how to level him out. He’s been running on high and dipping into dangerous lows for too long now; what he’d give for one evening of getting off the roller coaster and plateauing for once. 

‘ There’s so much more we need to talk about. We can’t just forget what happened. ’

Great. Now the Edd in his head is making more sense than the Edd in real life. That can’t be good.

“But what if we can? Can’t we at least try to forget?”

“Forget what?”

Eddy yelps, nearly dropping his cigarette as his free hand rises up to clutch at his shirt over his frantically beating heart. When he turns to yell at whoever just scared the bejeebus out of him, he realizes it’s just Chuck, a plastic bag in one hand and a case of Guinness in the other.

“Nothing, just talking to myself,” is his muttered explanation, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe before flicking it onto the pavement. 

“Yeah, about that,” Chuck starts, a grimace etched deeply into his blocky face, “maybe I should drive this time.”

“I’m fine,” Eddy growls in irritation, swinging his car door open and slamming it once he’s inside. Chuck shrugs and follows suit, putting his purchases in the back seat before getting back into his own. 

True to his word, Eddy drives much more carefully on the way back to the cul-de-sac. He lets one arm hang out the open window, body lax and frown a gentle slope in opposition to the tension and fury he felt on the way here. The crisp evening breeze from the darkening woods and freshly rain filled creek further cools and dries the summer air, the gentle caress of it over his arm and face helping him unwind. The orange and pink sky above reflects in the puddles below, the whole world seeming muted and pastel. Bro makes no moves for the radio this time, and Eddy is grateful for the silence, listening to nothing but the peepers, his engine, and his wheels bisecting puddles. The road is largely empty, long past the afternoon rush hour. Usually Eddy is bored to tears by the peaceful living of the suburbs, but today, it’s more welcome than it’s ever been.

He manages to not even startle too bad when Chuck interrupts it.

“Hey, take a left at the cul-de-sac.”

“What? Why?” He side eyes his brother, hands starting to tighten on the wheel.

“‘Cuz I wanna stop somewhere to drink this beer before Dad gets his hands on it. This left, here.”

Eddy looks towards where he’s pointing and slows down, considering his options. Option A, he turns left. Possible outcomes: getting lured into seclusion and murdered, or drinking beer. Option B, he heads straight home. Guaranteed outcome: he can get the fuck away from Chuck, but then be faced with either his Mom’s worrying, his Dad’s piss poor mood, or both.

The prospect of drinking beer in the summer evening peace and staying out of his house a little longer wins him over, letting out a resigned sigh as he turns left towards the junior high and high schools. There’s not much down this road other than the schools so he heads straight there, passing the ‘Go Cobblers!’ sign, the old wood cracked by years of rain and snow making the wood posts swell. It’s not long until the baseball field comes into view, followed by the soccer field, then the football field, the empty and silent stands evoking a sense of peace in Eddy. The parking lot shared between the schools is just as empty, and seeing as there’s nowhere else to go, he turns into it and parks. Chuck doesn’t say a word, just gets out of the car with the case of beer in hand and starts making his way towards the high school. Eddy grumbles at the assumption that he’ll just follow, but does so anyway, hands in his pockets as he side steps the school’s many rain filled potholes. His curiosity grows the closer they get to the main building, unsure this is really the best spot for public drinking, even if school’s out for the summer. It’s a squat brick building, only one story high and smaller than the junior high, which houses the kindergarten and elementary students’ as well. Small ass, crap ass town.

There’s no fence to keep them out, and Chuck shows no signs of stopping, making his way along the wall with purpose. The back of the building is in need of some serious tlc, brick walls coated in graffiti and covered with climbing vines and weeds. The tall grass is making him paranoid of ticks, a familiar sounding nasally voice in his head reminding him to check his legs later. When Chuck does finally stop, Eddy nearly walks right into him, having been too focused on looking at the ground and on the look out for blood sucking insects. He keeps his mouth shut as he watches Chuck inspect the wall, reaching out to wiggle a loose brick sticking halfway out of the wall. Which… okay? What, is he gonna pull a brick loose and open up a secret passageway? Before he can ask, Chuck shoves the case of beer into Eddy’s hands, then hoists himself upwards, feet and hands each finding their own loose brick to get purchase on. Eddy backs up with raised eyebrows, not wanting to get crushed by his brick shit house of a brother if the guy falls. Chuck continues his ascent with what looks like practiced ease, and Eddy realizes that the pattern of loose, half sticking out bricks looks purposeful, and not just like random effects of aging. Another old secret hang out spot, then. Chuck has so many of those damn things, Eddy knows that he hasn’t seen all of them. He scowls when Chuck reaches the roof and disappears from sight, beers heavy in his hands.

“How the hell am I supposed to climb up there with the beer?”

His answer comes from the heavens, an ancient looking milk crate crashing down to the ground with a dull thud. There’s a rope attached to it, and Eddy’s eyes follow it up to find Chuck on the other end, smirking down at him. As if his past method of getting drunk during the school day is something to be smug about. With an eye roll, Eddy places the beer in the milk crate and starts his ascent, reminding himself repeatedly that it’s a short way down if a brick gives way. Thankfully, he makes it up without incident, as does the beer, which was clearly Chuck’s priority since he doesn't reach a hand to help Eddy up over the lip of the roof. Whatever. Asshole.

Other than some random open pipes, something covered in a tarp, and small scattered chimneys, the roof is flat and empty, giving a 360 view of the surrounding area and a clear look at the sky above. The sunset is fully underway, a sherbert-esque mix of colors giving the world a dream-like appearance. He may as well be in a dream, this excursion with Chuck feeling more unreal by the second. Him even being here is unreal enough as it is. Maybe he’ll wake up soon, with no Chuck, not cut on his hand, and no bandage wrapped around it with care.

He turns when he hears rustling, watching in amazement as Chuck grabs the tarp to reveal a beat up old couch underneath. Even four years of his brother’s fat ass shouldn’t be enough to make it look that shit, so he assumes it originally came from the dump. More importantly, though, he scans the roof for a door and staircase he may have missed, confusion growing when he finds none.

“How—”

“Genius and ingenuity.” Chuck cuts him off before plopping down on the couch and getting comfortable, unfazed by the cloud of god knows what that shoots up from the cushion under his ass.

‘ Please don’t sit on that filthy, infested upholstery .’

Eddy does it anyway, ass perched on the arm and feet planted on the cushion, body facing his brother and the sunset, half of the sun still peeking up over the horizon. Chuck’s body is faced towards the parking lot, bending down to grab a beer and pull the clip on bottle opener loose from his wallet chain.

“Dad give you your first beer yet?” he asks as he hands the first bottle to Eddy along with the  bottle opener.

He huffs through his nose and gives his brother a tired look before taking the offered items. “You gave me my first beer. I was five.”

He narrows his eyes at Eddy before turning them up towards the sky, features twisted in concentration. Eventually, a smile spreads over his face. “Ooooh yeah. Ha, Ma and Dad were so pissed at me when you upchucked all over that white rug.”

“I think they were more pissed about the beer part, not so much the upchucking part,” he corrects him dryly, bottle hissing at him once he pops the cap off.

“Eh, it was a bit of both. Don’t know why they overreacted so much. I was only a couple years older than you when Dad gave me my first beer.”

‘ That’s exactly why they reacted the way they did.’

“Just asking so I know if you’ve started drinking yet. I don’t want you upchucking this beer, too. Be a waste of my money.”

Eddy scowls at him, handing him back the bottle opener. “I ain’t gonna, don’t worry.”

It’s not until Eddy takes his first sip that Chuck looks away with a satisfied nod, uncapping his own beer and chugging almost half of it in one go. Silence falls after that, awkward and uncomfortable. Well, it is on Eddy’s end, anyway. Chuck doesn’t seem to mind it, expression and body lax as he sinks further into the couch. It makes Eddy squirm, apprehensive of what could be bouncing around in that hollow skull of his.

“So pipsqueak, what have you been up to? Where you getting that paycheck from?”

It’s a friendly enough question, asked in a friendly enough tone. Finding no reason to be cagey about it, Eddy answers honestly.

“Getting that paycheck is pretty much the only thing I’ve been up to. I work at the candy store.”

Chuck barks out a sharp laugh. “No shit? Man, you used to beg me to take you there. I guess it was only fair, seeing as you were always helping me pawn allowances off of the ankle biters in the neighborhood. Pigeons.”

“I don’t know if I’d call your bullying pawning. You were the oldest and biggest kid in the cul-de-sac by a lot. Didn’t take much to get the chin wonder and slim to fork over the dough.” Eddy used to miss those days, the way the older kids feared his brother, and him by extension. Now thinking back to how Rolf and Kevin used to squirm makes him feel sick.

“Eh, whatever. I wasn’t hurtin’ nobody. Just scaring ‘em. Well, I might have hurt that foreign kids' chickens some. Or a lot. Hah.”

“You’re all heart, Chuck.” Eddy mumbles, sipping more of his beer. He’d be slamming them back if he didn’t still have to drive them home. Chuck has no such worries, already grabbing at his second bottle.

“You know it. So how’s the job? Exciting? Glamorous? Horizon expanding?”

It’s Eddy’s turn to laugh. “Miserable. We barely get any business. My shift is spent thinking of new ways to off myself.”

“Sounds right. Honest work is shit work. At least you get to fleece people when you’re a carnie.”

“You like it, then?” Eddy asks.

“Pfft. Fuck no. I just prefer it to any other above the board job.”

“Yeah? And what about under the board work?”

Chuck pulls an unpleasant face, hawking up something globular and spitting it over the side of the couch. “Hasn’t paid off yet. And it’s what keeps getting me canned.”

“Uh huh.” Since Eddy values having a symmetrical face, he doesn’t mention how Chuck’s drinking factors into that. “Well the candy store ain’t all bad. I get free candy when Kevin isn’t looking.”

Chuck’s eyes wrinkle at the corners. “You and your sweet tooth. Just like when I was a kid. Wait, Kevin? Ha, you work for shovel chin?”

Eddy gives him a nod. “Yeah, he’s the one who got me the job. We’re sort of friends now. Well, friend ly .”

“Imagine that. The guy who used to piss his pants at the mention of my name now has to deal with trouble making Eddy as an employee. Bet you make his life hell.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have been able to pay Dad off for the car,” he notes, jerking his head in the direction of his rusted pride and joy.

“Well God bless you for being able to keep your nose down and stay out of trouble at a boring ass job. If I was capable of doing that, I wouldn’t have to come back to this shit hole.” He takes a pause to sip from his bear, waiting a beat before opening his mouth again.

“Too bad you blew all the dough on that garbage heap. Right?”

Eddy bristles, cheeks turning a faint pink as his ego demands to be defended.

“Hey, I didn’t blow all of it. I’ve had that job for three years, I pick up as many shifts as possible, and other than the car, I’ve barely spent a penny of it!”

Chuck’s mouth twitches, eyes flicking towards Eddy to side eye him. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I’m good with my money now. Had to become a penny pincher like Dad, but hey, it works.” He huffs, chest puffing out.

Chuck turns to face him fully, blinding Eddy with a wide and toothy grin, big enough to turn his eyes into thin slits. “Nice! Look at this guy, being fiscally responsible. Wish I could be more like that. You’ve grown up right, Eddy.”

Warmth fills Eddy’s body from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes, trying and failing to fight off the smile that splits his face. He gives a breathy, shaky laugh, chest vibrating with it. “I did?”

“Well sure. Doesn’t Dad tell ya that himself?”

Eddy rolls his eyes. “As if.”

“Ass.” Chuck spits again, grabbing a third bottle of beer. “Fuck that guy. Here’s to you, big man.” 

Chucks turns his smile back towards Eddy, holding his fresh bottle out for a toast. Eddy’s own smile widens, clinking his bottle against his bro’s. “Big man, huh?”

“Hey, you don’t need height to be big. Big wallets count.” He caps off his compliment with a wink.

Eddy snorts in response, shaking his head and bringing his bottle towards his lips.

“Speakin’ of big wallets. Little Eddy here has a car and a paycheck. That’s gotta drive the chicks in this hick town wild.”

The sudden change in topic makes his heart drop like a rock. He hates how quickly the heat rises to his cheeks, turning away from his brother until he’s got just one foot left on the couch, the other dangling off the edge of the arm rest.

“Pickings are slim,” he grumbles, the walls that had been lowering around him shooting back up.

“Come on, Peach Creek high’s gotta have some cuties. I know there were a few good’uns when I was around,” Chuck needles, and it prickles against Eddy’s skin like an Indian burn.

“Not really.” He brings his foot off the couch cushion and up onto the arm rest, hiding the lower half of his face behind his bent knee.

Chuck ‘pffts’ at him. “What are ya, a fag? Uggos or not, puss is puss and you’re past old enough to be getting some.”

The heat blazes across Eddy’s face, turning to glare at Chuck as he grips his bottle tighter, nearly empty now and easily chuckable. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Chuck just smiles and laughs, the prick. “Aw, you always were sensitive. Frilly little Eddy.”

Eddy snarls, flinching and batting away the hand that Chuck reaches out to tousle his hair with. “Fuck you. Obviously I’ve fooled around some, alright? There’s just no one who’s relationship material.”

“Who said anything about relationships? Sure, a persuasive date or two hasta happen sometimes, but dating dames long term is a waste of time and money. If there’s only one piece of advice you remember from me, I want it to be that one. Don’t let those leeches get a hold of you, pipsqueak.” He takes his hand back with a smile still on his face, but Eddy can tell it’s not there with the same ease it was before.

“Fine, whatever. Just don’t call me a fag.” He drinks down the rest of his beer in one go, scowl firmly in place as he stares at the roof.

“Jeez, okay. Sorry.” Chuck relents, and out of the corner of his eye, Eddy can see the smile fall from his face. Silence falls, as well, smothering them like a heavy blanket. Seconds turn to minutes, Eddy’s foul mood rising like dough. He just needs to calm down enough to open his mouth without sounding any more defensive than he already has. Then he can suggest they go back.

He nearly falls off the arm rest when Chuck opens his mouth first.

“Our folks ever tell you why they kicked me out?

Well that’s not what he was expecting. His eyebrows shoot up as he looks from the roof to Chuck, unsure where he’s going with this.

“I just kinda figured it had to do with your rap sheet and beating on me. I dunno exactly what tipped them over into giving you the boot, though.” Eddy may have been only six at the time, but if he had been privy to why Chuck was evicted from the family’s home and lives, he’d remember it. He remembers everything else about his brother’s sudden absence with crystal clarity: his questions being met with silence, the multitude of locks and chains suddenly appearing on his brother’s bedroom door, the quiet unease in the house interspersed with his mother crying when she thought Eddy was out playing. Eddy spent his days feeling like a shadow was haunting him, a feeling he first assumed meant he missed his brother. It wasn’t until years later that he realized what he actually missed was knowing where his brother was. Knowing what mood he was in. Knowing for sure where he wasn’t.

“I got a girl pregnant.”

Eddy nearly chokes on his own saliva at the sudden interruption of his trip down memory lane, swallowing roughly as he stares at Chuck with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Whoa. Seriously?”

Chuck nods, taking his pack of cigs out and lighting a lucky strike for him to suck on. “Yep. Well. Okay, it wasn’t that exactly. I mean, that definitely didn’t help, and neither did the stuff you mentioned. But they didn’t kick me out until I told them I convinced her to get an abortion.” Smoke pours out of his mouth like fog, eyes clouded over like a rainy day. “Dad’s only Catholic when it’s convenient.”

Eddy agrees with a wince, nodding solemnly. “You got that right.”

More questions ping against the walls of his skull, unsure where to start. Most prominent, though, and one question he can’t ask outright, is why the hell did Chuck just tell him that? He can’t have actually taken him out here for a heart to heart, could he have? Eddy can’t think of any other reason for Chuck to spill his guts. No jokes, either, no irony or sarcasm. He’s just telling Eddy like it is. As if he sees Eddy as an adult. As an equal.

“Who was the girl?” He finally settles on a question, suddenly desperate to satisfy a thirst he hasn’t felt since Chuck first left.

“Dandie. Flower child from the Park n’ Flush, her parents were bohemians or something.”

Eddy’s empty bottle hangs from his loose grip, head heavy as it floods with half forgotten memories. There’s a girl. He can’t make out what her face looks like, but her frizzy blond hair floods his vision like a field of wheat he can’t see over the top of. She’s nice, too, her laugh kind sounding. She held his hand sometimes, he thinks, and he can smell her, a skunky odor clinging to her clothes.

“I remember her…” he murmurs, eyes squinting as he stares off into the distance.

“You oughtta, she fucking loved you. Thought you were the cutest damn thing. Got real pissed at me if I wasn’t nice to you,” he complains, though he doesn’t actually sound annoyed by it. 

“Dad hated her. Said her family was a bunch of lazy, drugged up hippies.” Chuck takes another drag from his smoke, letting it out slowly. “He was right, but he didn’t have to be such a dick about it.”

“You’d think he’d want her to get an abortion, then,” Eddy comments in confusion.

“That’s what I thought. As fucking always, I ended up being wrong.” He sneers, voice caked in bitterness.

Eddy clutches the neck of his bottle, scowling at the stained cushion beneath his feet. Dad always had it out for Chuck, laid into him way worse than he ever did to Eddy. Beneath Eddy’s hurt, and betrayal, and shame, and blind rage, all directed at his brother, a small part of him knows that it takes a bully to make a bully. He’d know that better than anyone. 

“Anyway. Like I said. Dames ain’t nothing but trouble. Never get too attached.”

Eddy doesn’t know what to say to that, conflicted feelings swirling inside of him. He wants to ask if Dandie was nothing but trouble, but thinks better of it.

“Trust me, a pregnancy scare is the last thing I have to worry about. I’m real careful.” It’s true, too, except by real careful, what he actually means is real gay. 

Chuck nods approvingly. “Good. Be smart, Eddy. Smarter than me.”

It’s the most sound brotherly advice he’s ever gotten from Chuck, and Eddy holds it in cupped hands like something precious.

The air around them feels delicate, like paper tissue he could tear if he’s not careful. He feels wrung out, suddenly, emotionally drained in a way that makes him long for bedroom solitude, despite the small part of him that wants to keep his hang out with Chuck going. Which is fucking weird. But he does. Chuck’s never been like this around him. He wants to analyze the moment more, turn it around in his hands and look at it from every angle, but he fears dropping it and making it shatter.

“Ma’s gonna start to wonder where her cream is.”

Chuck slaps at a mosquito sucking on his neck, grimacing at the splatter of blood on his hand. “Yeah. Let’s get.”

The sun sets on their impromptu hang out. Chuck covers the couch back up and they take off, leaving their empty beer bottles behind (one Eddy’s, four Chuck’s.) The sounds of the creek are louder than ever, sounding out like a tornado siren, but Eddy barely hears it, too lost in his thoughts. He doesn’t know what to make of their little talk, and looks forward to telling Double D about it. Maybe he can make better sense of it after talking it out and getting his smart guy take on it. His increasingly strange day is almost ending, and there’s a slight sliver of hope that maybe it’s been strange in a good way.

Chapter Text

Friends and family come and go, but cleaning is forever. 

Edd starts with the dusty living room, feeling lighter and lighter as he continues to make progress. Dusting every surface has him breathing easier, vacuuming the carpet makes him feel light on his feet, and wiping down the floorboards takes the weight of the world off his shoulders. It’s so stupid that he avoided cleaning for so long, and for what? A juvenile attempt at getting back at his parents? Works in theory, but in practice, they’re never actually here, making himself the only person Edd was torturing with his abstaining from one of his biggest coping mechanisms.

‘Maybe I always knew that. Maybe that was the point. ’

Edd shakes the thought from his head like the cobwebs he takes down by shaking his hand towel, stepping away to examine his progress. The room still needs a deep clean, as does the rest of the house, but not being able to spot any obvious filth has Edd letting out a breath he feels like he’s been holding for months.One of the handful of good things that’s come out of this bizarre day is finally getting the kick in the pants he needed to clean; having Eddy in his house while in this state was mortifying.

Speaking of Eddy.

Edd goes to check the humpback mantle clock above his fireplace, clicking his tongue in annoyance when he realizes it stopped ticking at some point. After making a mental note to fix that later, he finds his way back to his bedroom, head turning towards his digital clock as soon as he enters through the doorway.

0 days, 2 hours, and 16 minutes since he last talked to Eddy.

Goodness! He completely lost track of time, poor Eddy probably sitting in his room wondering why Edd hasn’t responded to him yet. He rushes straight for his desk, taking a seat and opening his trillian with rising anxiety, only to realize he has no new notifications.

Oh.

He deflates immediately, his panic not having lasted long enough to put down roots. Feeling silly, he reminds himself that this is no normal family conversation; who knows what sort of extended discussion Eddy is suffering through right now? Oh, if only Edd could be a fly on the wall. What are Eddy’s parents saying? What is his brother doing? Is he leering at him with his predatory glare? Making threatening hand gestures behind their parents’ backs? Using his roguish smile and charm to sink his teeth back into Eddy?

Maybe Eddy sent a message and trillian just didn’t alert him for some reason; computers can be very unpredictable at times. Edd opens up his chat room with Eddy, hoping to see a sign that he’s still alive, but instead coming face to face with the end of the second to last conversation he had with Eddy before they both cut contact.

Throat tight and mouth dry, Double D swallows down nothing as the ever present pit in his stomach starts to make him feel queasy. He had to ban himself through sheer willpower alone from opening this chatroom and going back to reread old conversations and fights, like a scab he kept picking over and over until he was left with an angry red sore that wouldn’t heal. His willpower seems to have taken a sudden vacation, however, Edd scrolling up to the beginning of the conversation like a moth to the flame.

reddyeddy: hey

Edd.Mar.Eid: Hello Eddy.

reddyeddy: how u doin

Edd.Mar.Eid: Fine.

reddyeddy: u sure

Edd.Mar.Eid: Yes.

reddyeddy: then y am i only gettin 1 word ansers

Edd.Mar.Eid: I didn’t realize there was a minimum requirement of words needed when I message you. Hopefully you don’t dock my grade.

reddyeddy: im tryin to b nice here

reddyeddy: tryin being the key word.

reddyeddy: i rlly am tryin wat more do u want from me

Edd.Mar.Eid: For you to actually be nice to me, Eddy.

reddyeddy: wat???????

reddyeddy: so makin u dinners 

reddyeddy: and letting u cry on me all the time 

reddyeddy: and leaving work early and losing money every time u call the candy store in a panic 

reddyeddy: isnt nice enough for u???????

Edd.Mar.Eid: Yes, yes, I know, I’m a horrible burden on you and everyone around me. It’s a good thing I have you around to keep reminding me and guilt tripping me.

reddyeddy: i wasnt tryin to guilt trip u

Edd.Mar.Eid: Then what were you trying to do?

reddyeddy: defend myself!

Edd.Mar.Eid: I’m not attacking you!

reddyeddy: u said im not nice!

Edd.Mar.Eid: Because you aren’t!

reddyeddy: christ dee

reddyeddy: can u fuckin relax for once in ur life and just lissen to wat im sayin

reddyeddy: instead of jumpin 2 worst case senarios and putin words in my mouth

Edd.Mar.Eid: I’m afraid that’s impossible, Eddy. I’ve been informed that I am incapable of being anything other than a high strung, tightly puckered asshole who refuses to pinch off the stick that’s been lodged inside of me.

reddyeddy: ye and im sure u were told that out of nowhere for no good reason

Edd.Mar.Eid: Oh really? Tell me then, Eddy, what good reason exists that makes it okay to insult and degrade your partner when they’re in the middle of a panic attack?

reddyeddy: well mayb if you stopped using ur panic attacks as an excuse 2 b a bitch 2 me then i wouldnt a said that!

The words still hit Double D right where it hurts most, shackled to his rib cage along with all his other most painful memories, sometimes washing up and over his insides like heartburn. He’d like to pretend the hurt comes purely from the cruelty in Eddy’s words, but he knows that isn’t true. The guilt over now knowing that Eddy wasn’t entirely wrong pays a large contribution to the ache in his chest—a guilt that worsens when he reads the next message, which was sent several hours after the previous one.

reddyeddy: im srry i didnt mean that

Edd.Mar.Eid: Then why did you type it?

reddyeddy: cuz i feel like im goin crazy

Edd.Mar.Eid: Don’t use that word. You know I hate that word.

reddyeddy: i no srry

reddyeddy: ugh

reddyeddy: i dont wanna fight again

Edd.Mar.Eid: I don’t either.

reddyeddy: then we wont

reddyeddy: lemme come over tmrrw and we can talk it out in person

Edd.Mar.Eid: That’s probably for the best. We always seem to fall into the same miscommunication traps when we try to discuss our arguments online. 

Edd.Mar.Eid: Are you sure you actually want to come over?

reddyeddy: ofc i do

Edd.Mar.Eid: It won’t be a burden? I know you’re tired after work.

reddyeddy: ur not a burden

Edd.Mar.Eid: I feel like I am. I feel like you’re right. I’m an awful person, aren’t I?

reddyeddy: quit talkin like that

reddyeddy: i was just bein an ass as usual

reddyeddy: how about i come over now

reddyeddy: ill make that veggie soup u like

Edd.Mar.Eid: I don’t deserve that. Or you. You should just break up with me already.

reddyeddy: no

reddyeddy: look u didnt do nething wrong its all my fault ok

reddyeddy: noones breakin up with ne1

reddyeddy: im gonna log off and come over ok?

reddyeddy: ok?

Edd.Mar.Eid: Okay.

reddyeddy: ill b rite there

Edd.Mar.Eid: Okay. Thank you, Eddy.

As soon as he finishes reading the last message, his computer trills, making him jump and choke on air as the entire conversation shifts upwards to make room for brand new communication. Edd dedicates himself to ignoring how badly his head is spinning as he puts finger tips to keys.

reddyeddy: hey 

Edd.Mar.Eid: A fine evening to you, chum. I hope you are well. Tell me, pal, how are you this summer’s night?

reddyeddy: lol wtf

reddyeddy: im grate how is the evening finding u deerest buddy

Edd.Mar.Eid: Sorry. I'm a touch nervous.

reddyeddy: me 2 a lil

reddyeddy: dont scroll up

Edd.Mar.Eid: I already made that mistake, unfortunately.

reddyeddy: yeah yeesh

reddyeddy: ne way i survived

reddyeddy: hurray  

Edd.Mar.Eid: I’m glad to hear it. I imagine the discussion was an awkward affair.

reddyeddy: under statement of the 21st century

reddyeddy: hes staying

Edd.Mar.Eid: Oh Lord.

reddyeddy: dont bother asking that guy for help i already tried

Edd.Mar.Eid: How could your parents allow this?

reddyeddy: motherly guilt is my best guess

Edd.Mar.Eid: Guilty of what? It’s not your mother’s fault your brother is a brutal barbarian. 

reddyeddy: its more complicated than that

reddyeddy: alot of shit about my family is

Edd.Mar.Eid: Sigh. What family isn’t complicated, I suppose.

Edd.Mar.Eid: Why did he return to Peach Creek, anyway?

reddyeddy: canned and broke

Edd.Mar.Eid: And now you are being made to pay for his poor choices. Is there no justice in this world?

reddyeddy: did u ever think there was

Edd.Mar.Eid: I naively hoped.

reddyeddy: thats your whole shtick I guess

Edd.Mar.Eid: Unfortunately. 

reddyeddy: we had a weird talk

Edd.Mar.Eid: Is it possible to have a normal talk with that fiend?

reddyeddy: lol

Edd.Mar.Eid: Tell me what happened.

reddyeddy: ok so we went to the store cuz ma needed cream and smokes

reddyeddy: and then he got some beer 2

Edd.Mar.Eid: Oh goodness, Eddy, please tell me you didn’t drink and drive.

reddyeddy: y u always gotta assume the worst of me???

Edd.Mar.Eid: Worrying is also my “schtick.”

reddyeddy: well u can relax cuz i only had 1 beer at the high school and then went strate home

Edd.Mar.Eid: Peach Creek High? What on earth for?

reddyeddy: 1 of his dumb secret hang out spots is on the roof

reddyeddy: guy scaled the wall like fuckin spider man

reddyeddy: complicated and mysterius for no good goddamn reason

reddyeddy: ne way thats not the point

reddyeddy: the point is the talking that happened

reddyeddy: guy spilled his guts out to me???

reddyeddy: aparently he got kicked out of home cuz he got some girl pregnent then told her to get an abortion

Edd.Mar.Eid: Well that’s certainly unexpected.

reddyeddy: it gets weirder

reddyeddy: he was all girls are nothing but trouble dont let those leeches get u be smarter then me

reddyeddy: like he was looking out for me or sumthin

reddyeddy: and before that he was being all smiley at me and calling me big man cuz I have a big wallet

reddyeddy: told me I grew up right

reddyeddy: dee

reddyeddy: he was being NICE 2 me

reddyeddy: chuck! nice!

Edd.Mar.Eid: That is concerning. Normally I would have said that sarcastically, but from your brother, it truly is a concern.

reddyeddy: i no rite

reddyeddy: he sounded like he likes me or sumthin

reddyeddy: like im an adult he can have a real conversation w/

reddyeddy: what gives

Edd.Mar.Eid: Did he apologize? 

reddyeddy: for knocking up that chik?

Edd.Mar.Eid: No, Eddy, for his past actions. For everything he did to you.

reddyeddy: oh

reddyeddy: no

Edd.Mar.Eid: Then he’s not truly being all that nice.

reddyeddy: he doesnt get it dee

reddyeddy: its like rolfs fishballs

Edd.Mar.Eid: Pardon?

reddyeddy: u remember

reddyeddy: when i threw rolfs fish ball and didnt get why every1 was so upset

Edd.Mar.Eid: Oh, right, I do recall that incident.

reddyeddy: i think its like that

reddyeddy: he doesnt even no he did ne thing wrong

reddyeddy: wich pissed me the fuck off at first

reddyeddy: but now im like

reddyeddy: i dunno

reddyeddy: it feels dumb to be mad at him for not being sorry when i wasnt sorry to rolf

Edd.Mar.Eid: Eddy, when you lacked the emotional maturity to be empathetic towards Rolf and sorry for your cultural misstep, you were a 12 year old child who threw an item of food. Your brother is an adult man who spent years physically, mentally, and emotionally tormenting you, then after six years of separation, assaulted you in front of every child from the cul-de-sac.

reddyeddy: yeah i guess

Edd.Mar.Eid: You don’t guess, you know. You more than anyone are intimately aware of what a cruel and selfish narcissist your brother is. He’s an antisocial bully who derives amusement from walloping children. If this were a fair and just world, your brother would be locked up and away for the protection of others.

reddyeddy: jeez ok i get it

reddyeddy: this is weird

reddyeddy: usually u try to calm me down

reddyeddy: now its like u want me to be mad

Edd.Mar.Eid: I want you to keep yourself safe. Your brother is not to be trusted, Eddy.

reddyeddy: no shit im not stupid

reddyeddy: not gonna go back to hero worship after 1 talk

reddyeddy: i no hes still an ass

reddyeddy: hes a piece of shit failure child beater not a cool big bro

Edd.Mar.Eid: Especially if he isn’t going to apologize for how he treated you. Don’t give him an inch until he utters a sincere sorry. How long do you think he’ll be staying?

reddyeddy: either until he gets back on his feet or until my dad gets sick enough of him to kick him back out

reddyeddy: who nos what will happen first

Edd.Mar.Eid: Whichever it is, let’s hope it happens soon. What is the plan until then?

reddyeddy: man i havent had any sort of plan for ne thing in forever

reddyeddy: i think im in the clear tho

reddyeddy: he cant do shit to me w/o getting his ass booted onto the street

Edd.Mar.Eid: Still, I imagine sharing a living space with him will be emotionally and mentally taxing. I want to offer my family’s abode to you as a place of refuge whenever you are in need.

Edd.Mar.Eid: Or even if you just want to hang out.

Edd.Mar.Eid: For fun.

reddyeddy: yeah sure

reddyeddy: that could be fun

Edd.Mar.Eid: Please let me know of any other ways I can be of assistance. You don’t have to deal with him alone this time.

reddyeddy: yeah i no thx dee

reddyeddy: mayb ill come over tmrrw

Edd.Mar.Eid: I would like that.

Edd.Mar.Eid: Actually, no, let’s convene elsewhere. The playground, perhaps? At our usual time.

reddyeddy: sounds good

reddyeddy: booze? smoke?

Edd.Mar.Eid: Feel free to indulge, but I will not partake.

reddyeddy: i could buy gummies from kev

Edd.Mar.Eid: Then perhaps.

reddyeddy: ey look at this party animal

Edd.Mar.Eid: Har har.

reddyeddy: im bringing pizza 2

reddyeddy: half meat lovers half vegetarian

Edd.Mar.Eid: There’s no need for that, I still have your leftovers to eat.

reddyeddy: whatev more za for me

reddyeddy: ill still get half veg tho those gummies give u the munchies

Edd.Mar.Eid: Sounds like a plan, Eddy.

reddyeddy: first gud 1 in a while

reddyeddy: cya

Edd.Mar.Eid: Good night, Eddy. Sleep well.