080

trigger warning: sexual harassment,violence, anxiety

Friday

The longest day of your life.

The air at school feels thick, heavy with a tension only the three of you seem to really feel.

Eddie’s knee has been bouncing since second period.

Robin keeps clicking her pen open and closed.

You’ve chewed your bottom lip so raw it stings every time you speak.

And still, time crawls.

Billy's been watching you all day. Not constantly, not so much that it’s obvious, but enough. Enough to make your skin crawl. Enough to make you feel dirty again.

Every time you glance up, he’s somewhere nearby, leaning against lockers or lingering in a doorway, smirking like he already knows what choice you’ll make.

Like you’re already his again.

And Eddie? Eddie is holding it together by sheer will and the quiet desperation of needing to be your safe place right now. He hasn’t left your side all day. Every class you had together, he sat closer than usual. One hand resting on your knee under the desk. His pinky hooked through yours. Tugging your sleeve into his palm. He kissed your temple before every period like it might be the last time. Whispered "I love you" against your skin when no one could hear.

And he’s glaring at Billy with a fury that could tear the school in half.

You had to stop him twice already.

A gentle hand on his chest, a shake of your head when he started toward Billy in the hall.

He stopped. Barely.

Your touch was the only thing keeping his fists from flying. Because if he starts something now, Billy wins.

And Billy knows it.

His smirks have been extra smug today, like he’s already won. Like he knows you’ll choose to protect Eddie, even if it means breaking yourself. He’s banking on it.

The plan is set.

Steve's working an early shift today, and afterwards, he'll head for the motel. He'll take the key, the mic, the battery pack, the clunky tape recorder Eddie handed him yesterday. He’ll set up the room, test the sound again, and make sure nothing's suspicious. He said he’d park behind the place, leave the room unlocked, and wait for the three of you to arrive. You, Robin, and Eddie will go right after school ends.You’re supposed to look like you’re going home. Like it’s a normal Friday. Before you leave, you'll pin a note under the wiper of Billy’s Camaro once the lot clears.

6pm. The motel on Cornwallis. Meet me there so we can finally get this over with.- Sam

Eddie reads it one last time before you fold it. He’s sitting beside you in his van now, in the back lot of the school, parked where no one will notice. His jaw is tight. His fingers tap nervously against the steering wheel, his rings clicking softly. You watch him in profile. Watch the storm in his eyes. He’s trying to stay calm, for you. But he’s unraveling.

"He doesn’t get to touch you again", he rasps finally, voice hoarse, low. "I don’t care how close I gotta be. If I hear anything, anything, baby, I’ll make sure he never-"

You reach over and touch his face. "Eds."

He falls silent. His breath shudders out, and he leans into your palm.

"I won’t let it get that far", you mumble gently, "He won’t touch me. He’ll see me scared. He’ll think I’m caving. He’ll talk. That’s all we need."

Eddie nods. But his hand wraps around your wrist, like he’s not sure he believes it. Not sure he trusts himself to let you go.

Robin steps next to the van, throws you both a quick, tight-lipped smile through the window. No jokes today. No sass. Just nerves.

You nod at her, grab the note and open the door.

Eddie watches you with a sort of haunted awe as you get out of the van, walk across the lot to where Billy’s Camaro gleams like a predator, and wedge the note under the windshield wiper. You feel sick doing it. Like your hands aren’t even your own. Like your legs could give out from under you. But you do it anyway.

You don’t look up. Don’t glance around. Just turn and walk back fast, fists clenched, breathing shakily. No way back now.

Robin has climbed into the backseat of the van, looking at you as you get back into the passenger seat. "You okay?"

All you can do is nod, feeling the engine roar to life. Because in two hours, you’ll be standing in front of the motel you once called refuge, wearing a lie on your face, relying on an old recorder hidden closely, waiting for a guy you once mistook for a savior, and praying the man you love now doesn’t break the door down before the tape can catch Billy’s confession.

Two hours.

That’s all the time you’ve got left to stay sane.

The van ride is silent. Thick, tense, quiet in a way that hums with everything unsaid. The road stretches out in front of you like it’s leading straight into a storm, and you’re strapped in tight with no brakes.

Robin’s in the back, chewing on her thumbnail, leg bouncing. She hasn’t said a word since you left Hawkins High behind.

Neither has Eddie, but his hand’s been on your thigh since the engine started, gripping, steady. Like he’s anchoring himself to your body. Like he needs the feel of you to remind himself this isn’t a nightmare.

The closer you get, the tighter his fingers curl. You pass the rusted old gas station on the corner and your stomach flips. The motel sign flickers into view not long after, still the same dull buzz of neon VACANCY that you remember, like it’s never been turned off once in its life. 

Eddie exhales through his nose, hard. Steers the van around the building and into the narrow lane behind the main office, parking next to Steve’s car tucked away in the shadow of another small structure. Out of sight from the front.

No sign of Billy yet.

That buys you time. Not much, but enough.

R

obin hops out the second you park. "I’ll check the desk", she says quickly, "Stick to the plan. Don’t let anyone see you." She’s gone before either of you can answer, slipping through the side path toward the front office like she’s done this before. Like this is just another errand.

You and Eddie stay in the shade of the van. Not hiding, just… out of view. Safer here for now.

He’s too quiet.

You look up at him, his face unreadable, his mouth drawn tight, jaw twitching. So you slip your arms around his neck. Press your body close.

He lets out a long, shaky breath as he curls his arms around your waist. "This place", he mumbles, "This fucking place."

You nod against his shoulder, "I know, baby".

"You sure you can do this?"

"No", you whisper honestly, "But I will."

His grip tightens. "I hate that it has to be here. I hate that I can’t go in there with you. I hate that he--"

"Hey". You pull back just enough to see his eyes. "I love you".

His face softens at that. Just a little, "Yeah?"

You smile softly, "Yeah. So much. It’s not even a question anymore, Eds. You’re it. You’re home".

His mouth is on yours before the last word finishes, a kiss that’s all breath and urgency and aching restraint. Like he wants to lose himself in it, but can’t. Not yet. Not now.

But it still burns. Still means something.

Maybe everything.

When you part, his forehead stays pressed against yours. "You come straight back to me after, okay?", he murmurs, voice low and rough. "No bullshit. No waiting around".

"I promise." You thread your fingers into his curls. "We’re gonna get him. This is the last time I ever have to be near him like that."

He kisses your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the edge of your jaw. Like he’s trying to give you armor.

"Ahem"

Robin’s voice cuts through the moment like a scalpel.

You both turn to find her standing awkwardly near the stairs. "Room 101", she says softly, "Let’s go".

Eddie nods, and the three of you make your way up the concrete steps. The air smells like mildew and cigarettes and cheap aftershave. You walk past the faded doors of a few other rooms, most shut tight, one cracked open with TV noise leaking out.

Your stomach’s twisted in knots.

You stop in front of Room 101.

A soft knock.

A pause.

Then the door creaks open, Steve standing there, wide-eyed and serious for once, stepping aside without a word to let you in. "Everything’s ready", he states, "Mic’s set. Window cracked exactly how we planned. Tested it twice, should work. Long as you’re standing close."

You step inside.

And the door closes behind you.

The room smells like dust and old linen. Like something forgotten. But Steve’s tried to make it bearable. He brought sodas, a bag of chips, and, most importantly, another pack of Eddie’s cigarettes.

The moment the door shuts behind you, he tosses it over like he already knew Eddie was barely holding it together.

Eddie catches the pack mid-air with a nod, his jaw clenched. "Thanks, man."

Steve just shrugs. "Figured you’d need ‘em".

It’s the softest you’ve seen Eddie in hours, just for a blink, murmuring, "Yeah. I do". He offers Steve a crooked half-smile, tight, grateful, frayed around the edges, and it makes something in your chest ache.

You all get to work testing the recorder again.

You step out onto the narrow walkway outside the motel room, closing the door gently behind you.

The lot is mostly empty, three cars total, none of them Billy’s.

You try to keep your breath even as you move into position, just outside the cracked window. "Testing", you say, tone low but clear, natural, "I don’t know if this is going to work. He might not even show up. But I’m scared. And I want this over." You take three slow steps to the side, letting it feel casual, like maybe you're anxious and pacing. Then again, further - too far - and say a few more lines, things you might say to Billy. About being confused. Alone. About Eddie. About fear.

Inside, Steve listens with the small headphones plugged in, rewinding and replaying, giving Robin a little thumbs up every time something's audible. You stay out there for a good fifteen minutes, adjusting, shifting, trying to find the exact balance.

Until finally, Steve opens the door and leans out, nodding once. "That’s the spot", he points out, "You go any further and it fades. But until right there? Crystal clear."

You mark it in your head, the cracks in the floor, the cigarette burn on the railing, the faint rust stain on the door behind you. That's your stage. That’s where you’ll have to be.

You step back inside and help re-crack the window just enough to make it look like it wasn’t on purpose. Just enough to feel like maybe it drifted open in the breeze. The curtains are still drawn, but from outside, it looks like no one’s home.

And now, you wait.

The next ninety minutes stretch out in slow motion.

Robin and Steve sit cross-legged on the bed, sharing a bag of chips, murmuring low about absolutely nothing just to pass the time. Movie quotes, dumb theories, things that would normally make you smile.

But your head is buzzing too loudly for any of it to stick.

Eddie’s posted up at the window like he’s guarding a damn border. Chain-smoking, fingers trembling slightly as he taps ash into an empty plastic cup. His eyes don’t leave the parking lot once. He’s so tense he might snap in half.

You’ve never seen him like this, this strung out, this hollow with rage and worry all at once.

You’re not doing much better. You’ve gone over everything you want to say a thousand times. All the right things to get Billy talking. The guilt, the fear, the desperation you’ll have to fake, except it won’t all be fake.

You are desperate. You are scared.

Your hands won’t stop sweating. Your heartbeat’s a war drum in your chest. You’ve smoked three cigarettes in ten minutes and you don’t even remember lighting the last one.

You step closer to Eddie, unable to hold yourself back anymore. You need him near. Need something solid to hold on to.

He doesn’t even look at you at first. Just passes you the cigarette silently, like you two are speaking in some coded language only the truly terrified understand. You take a drag, lean your shoulder against his arm. He exhales through his nose. "I fucking hate this", he mutters, "Hate every part of it."

You nod, pressing into him a little. "Me too".

He turns then. Just slightly. Just enough to see your face. His eyes are dark, desperate, "If I hear him say one thing... just one thing-"

"You won’t". You place your hand flat on his chest. His heartbeat is just as wild as yours. "You won’t have to. We’ll get the tape. And then we’re done."

He stares at you for another second, then drags you into him, burying his face into your neck. "You better come back inside the second it’s over", he mumbles into your skin, "I can’t... don’t make me wait longer than I have to".

"I won’t", you whisper, "Promise".

He holds you tighter. Neither of you say it, but you can both feel it.

Ninety minutes.

Then he’ll be here.

Then it begins.

One hour later

Steve’s been watching Eddie for the last fifteen minutes, jaw tight, like he’s been holding something back. But now, with just fifteen minutes to go, he finally pushes off the wall and walks over, stopping a few feet from the two of you.

"Alright", he sighs, voice low but firm, "Munson, listen up".

Eddie doesn’t lift his head from where it's pressed into your hair. His arms are still wrapped around you like a vise. You feel every breath shake through him.

"I know this is hard", Steve continues, "I know watching her go out there, alone, to talk to him, is probably the worst thing you’ve ever had to do. And I know every instinct in your body is gonna scream at you to go out there the second you hear him get close. Or raise his voice. Or even look at her wrong."

Eddie tenses, but doesn’t speak.

Steve steps closer. "But you can’t. Not until we get what we need. Not until we hear it. If you blow this, if you go off before she gets him on tape, everything we’ve done, everything she’s risked, it’s all for nothing."

Eddie finally lifts his head, eyes dark, bloodshot, burning. "You think I don’t know that?" he mutters, voice rough, "You think I haven’t been fighting the urge to kill him with my bare hands every second of every day?"

Steve doesn’t flinch. "No, I know you have. That’s why I’m saying this now".

There’s a beat of silence.

Steve looks him dead in the eye. "If you go out there before it’s time, I’ll hurt you, man."

Eddie scoffs, a bitter, humorless sound, "Yeah, okay Harrington".

But Steve doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t smile. "I’m serious. I will. I don’t care how pissed you are. I will put you down if I have to. Don’t fuck this up".

That finally seems to pierce Eddie’s armor a little. His jaw flexes, but his arms just pull you tighter against him. His chin drops to your head again.

"She’s strong", Steve goes on, gentler now, "Look at what she’s already made it through. Look at what she’s doing right now, for you. She can do this. You just have to let her."

Eddie says nothing. Just breathes, ragged, against your hair.

You tilt your head back, slowly, gently. Your eyes meet his. They’re full of something aching, pleading. "Promise me", you whisper, "Even if he gets close. As long as he hasn’t said it yet - don’t. Don’t step in. Don’t make this worse".

He doesn’t speak at first. You see the war in his eyes. But finally, after what feels like a full minute of silence, he gives a slow, reluctant nod.

"Say it", you murmur.

Eddie swallows hard. His hands tremble slightly against your back. "I promise".

You lean into him again, relief washing through you like a tide. You hold him tight, tighter than before. The two of you locked around each other like a lifeline. His scent everywhere. His warmth, his breath. Like he’s trying to memorize you in case something goes wrong. Then you feel the hard edge of something cold against your side. Familiar. You reach down, subtle, and your fingers wrap around the jackknife in his pocket. You pull it free and look at him. "No", you whisper, shaking your head, "I am not doing this for you to fucking stab him". You hand it to Steve. "Don’t let him out", you say quietly, "Not for anything".

Steve nods, catching the knife and pocketing it without a word.

Eddie looks like he’s about to argue, his jaw clenches, breath catches, but Steve’s look shuts him down before he can speak.

Then the clock ticks forward. 5:50.

Ten minutes.

Time to go outside. Alone.

You take one last breath. Press your lips to Eddie’s. It’s slow. Long. His hand cradles the back of your head like he’s scared you’ll shatter. Like maybe you already are and this is the only thing holding you together.

When you finally pull back, there’s a tremble in his lower lip, but he doesn’t say anything. Just watches you like he’s counting every second you’re still standing there.

"Good luck", Robin whispers, barely audible behind you.

You nod. Then you turn, walk to the door, open it, and step out into the evening light.

The air is cooler than before, heavy with the scent of distant rain and gasoline from the nearby highway. A faint pink bleeds into the horizon, but there’s no beauty in it. Just tension. It wraps around you like a noose, tightens with every tick of the clock.

You light a cigarette with shaking fingers. Drag deep. Try not to look at the cracked window behind you. Try not to think about Eddie watching from behind it, his eyes burning holes into your back through the flimsy curtains. You can feel him. The way he must be chewing his lip, pacing like a caged animal.

Another motel door opens somewhere to your left. You tense, but it’s not him. Just a middle-aged man with a bag of takeout and dead eyes. He doesn’t even glance at you as he shuffles down the stairs and out of sight. You lean against the railing and scan the lot. Three parked cars. None of them his. Your fingers tremble around the cigarette. You exhale slow, watching the smoke curl away like it's trying to escape before you can.

It feels like ages until it's finally time.

6:00pm

Your heartbeat is deafening. It shouldn't feel like this. You knew this would suck, but the silence? The waiting? It's like torture. Your mind reels with what-if scenarios.

What if he doesn’t show? What if he knows? What if he saw through it?

You close your eyes. Try to slow your breathing. Remind yourself.

I am not the girl he tried to break.

I'm stronger now.

This is my story.

My body.

My fucking life.

And tonight, Billy Hargrove learns he doesn't own a single piece of it.

6:05pm

You hear the Camaro before you spot it. That familiar rumble that once used to make your stomach flip now feels like acid in your veins.

Billy pulls into the lot. Slow. Deliberate. Creeping. Like he knows he’s being watched, but sees no threat.

His eyes catch on you immediately.

You flick your cigarette away, watching his figure climbing out of the vehicle.

He steps out like he’s walking onto a movie set. Cocky, predatory. That smug half-smile playing on his lips as he eyes you up and down, like he's picturing you on your knees already.

You don’t say anything at first. You just watch him climb the stairs, slow and sure, smugness dripping off of him like sweat.

His keys jingle lazily in his hand.

The second his boots hit the last step, your stomach coils. Tight.

But you stand your ground.

Showtime.

Billy Hargrove. Golden boy gone rancid.

"Look who it is", he drawls, voice soaked in that sleazy charm he wears like aftershave, "And look what place you picked. How touching". He glances over his shoulder at the motel sign behind him. "Didn’t think you’d wanna come back to our little love shack, sweetheart. Thought it might be too…" He licks his teeth, eyes skating over your body. "Sentimental."

Your fingers twitch. You feel Eddie behind the curtain, feel the weight of his stare like a tether, like a hand on your back.

Billy takes another step closer, eyes glinting with something dark and ugly. "Gotta say… I’m surprised. Thought I’d have to drag you kicking and screaming. But this?" He gestures at the motel. "This tells me you’ve been thinking about it. Wanting it." He lets his gaze dip slow, like he’s peeling you. "And I gotta admit, babe, it’s kind of a turn-on. You reaching out. You remembering what this place meant. All the fun we used to have…"He lets out a low whistle. "Gets me in the mood already."

Your jaw tightens. Something cold settles in your chest. Then, finally, your voice comes. Quiet. Calm. Sharp. "I didn’t come here for that, Billy."

He laughs, amused. "No? Could’ve fooled me. Thought maybe you finally remembered who made you scream loudest."

You just look at him, staying right where you are, needing him closer to the recorder.

Billy’s expression shifts, like a mask slipping just slightly out of place. You see the flicker of irritation behind the cocky charm when he sees your straight face. He wasn’t expecting that kind of answer. Not from you. Not here.

"Jesus", he mutters, eyes narrowing, "you’re serious."

You don’t respond. Just stare. Wait.

He steps in close, just a breath away now. His voice drops, all slick and quiet. Poison disguised as sugar. "Alright, fine. Let’s skip the foreplay then," he drawls, "You know what I want. What I’ve always wanted." His eyes roam, linger. You feel your skin crawl, but you stand your ground. "I want you, like before. No excuses. No pretending you didn’t like it." He tilts his head, smirking again. "You give me one night. Just one. That’s the deal." Your throat feels tight. The world around you shrinks to just this moment. Just his voice. "You crawl back, let me remind you what it’s like when someone actually knows how to deal with you, and I keep my mouth shut about your little lover".

You feel the words slam into you, but you don’t move.

He said it, but it's too vague.

"I won’t tell anyone about the little incident", he sneers, "your little metalhead boyfriend losing control like a rabid fucking dog. No cops. No statements. Nothing. Clean slate." He leans in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. "I know you don’t want to", he whispers, "Don’t care. Never did. You’ll do it anyway. You have to".

He whispered. What if he was too quiet?

You swallow. Hard. The air feels heavy in your lungs. But you don’t break eye contact.

There’s silence. Thick. The kind that stretches and presses and threatens to snap as you try to think of a way of having him repeat his threat, but loud and clear.

Unmistakeably clear.

You stand still as stone, body stiff, the railing digging into your lower back. You’ve never felt more exposed.

The quiet hum of cars passing out on the highway below makes the moment feel strangely still, like the world’s holding its breath, too.

Billy’s smirk hasn’t faded, but he’s not giving you what you need. Not exactly.

"I'm... not sure if I understand you correctly", you finally say, "You want me to, what, sleep with you?"

Billy's brows rise. Something flickers in them as he looks down at you, his gaze flicking behind you for just a second, checking if you're really alone, as if he can't believe you actually asked him that after he made himself so clear.

"You came all the way out here, you chose this place", he rasps, "The same shithole motel we used to hook up in. And now you’re acting like you don’t know what this is about? You fucking kidding me?" He chuckles, low and smooth, then turns to lean his hip against the railing next to you, looking out over the lot like you're just two people catching up.

Your heart is racing in your chest as you glare at him, smelling his cologne everywhere around you.

"You want me to spell it out?", he finally asks, eyes sliding to you again, "You give me what I want, I give you what you want. Simple. You fucking know what I want, pretty."

Not enough.

You blink fast. Your voice shakes a little as you finally give him a straight answer. "I don’t wanna have sex with you, Billy".

He exhales sharply, laughing like that’s rich. Like you told a joke. "You think this is about what you want?"

Your chest tightens. "There’s no other way?", you ask, trying to sound casual, but your voice breaks, "Please... I'll do anything else. Anything. You want money? A public apology? Anything else, please"

Billy turns toward you fully now, tilting his head, watching with amusement as your tears start to fall.

You don’t fake them. You couldn’t even if you tried.

"You’re really gonna cry now?", he drawls, eyebrows raising in mock sympathy, "God, I missed this. And I fucking missed hearing you beg for something".

You take a shaky breath, hands curled at your sides. "I just want Eddie to be safe", you sob, "That’s all I want. Please, Billy".

He licks his lips slowly, his eyes heavy, like he's drinking it all in. "And you think you get to save him without giving me what I want?" he mutters, stepping in closer, "No. No deal, sweetheart. You’re not in charge here. I am".

"But I don’t want it", you repeat again, more broken this time, "I don’t want to do this, Billy. Please don't force me to do this. Don't force me into having sex with you".

He shrugs, grinning wider. "Fake it, I don't give a fuck if you don't want it. I want it. I want you back, Sam. Back in my bed, back beneath me, back with me. And if you're not enjoying it, I don't give a flying fuck".

The words slice through you like ice.

There it is.

The thing you needed him to say.

"That’s fucking blackmail", you reply, wiping some tears away and glaring at him.

"I know", he says, no shame in his voice, nothing but twisted satisfaction.

You let it spill out now, all the desperation, all the rage that’s been brewing beneath your ribs.

"You’re doing this to punish me", you continue, sobbing again, "Because I left. Because I chose Eddie. Because he protected me from you, you fucking bastard. He only broke your fucking nose because you waited for me in my apartment and fucking threatened me, forcefully kissed me, fucking groped me. And now you want me to let you fucking rape me just so you won't tell the police about it? You're the fucking devil, Billy Hargrove. Eddie didn't even do anything to you! And all I did was leaving you!"

Billy’s face twists. "He stole you", he snaps, voice sharp for the first time, "He took what was mine. He made you forget who you really are."

"I didn’t forget anything", you hiss, "I finally saw who you really are. You fucking hurt me, Billy. I just ended it, and you harassed me, blackmailed me, threatened me. I finally saw what fucking monster you are".

He doesn’t flinch. Just smiles. "You’re still here, though. And you’ll do it. Just like before. Be a good girl, Sam. I know you want to". His hand suddenly falls on your arm, pulling you into him, hard, lips crashing on yours before you even realize what's going on.

You try to pull away, trembling, sobbing, "Don’t touch me, I don’t want this!" over and over.

But he doesn’t care.

He’s laughing against your mouth. "I know you don’t", he breathes, almost proudly. "That’s what makes it so fucking good".

Behind the cracked window, Steve’s already holding Eddie back with everything he has.

But you’re not done.

You press your palms weakly against Billy’s chest, whispering, "Stop... stop, please…"

"You’re mine, Sam", he snarls, his hand sliding around your waist, "No one gets to take you away from me."

Inside, Robin’s already snatched the recorder, hand shaking as she presses stop.

You're still out there, crying, shaking, heart breaking, but with your head held just high enough.

Because you got it. All of it. Every word. Every threat. Every twisted justification.

Your body snaps into action before your brain even catches up. You twist hard, shoving against his chest with every ounce of strength you’ve got.

"Get the fuck off me!", you scream, voice raw and cracking, full of fury and fear and something else entirely. Power.

Billy stumbles back a step, blinking in surprise like he never thought you’d actually fight him. Like he still believed you were the girl who’d let him get away with this.

But you’re not.

Not anymore.

The door swings open so fast it bangs against the outer wall, but Billy doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t have time to.

He barely processes what’s happening before Eddie bursts out of the room beside you like a cannonball, all fury and desperation.

Billy blinks, confused, caught mid-smirk. "What the fuc-"

He doesn’t get to finish.

Eddie lunges, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles have gone bloodless, his face twisted in something feral.

Something not even anger can cover. It’s betrayal. Hurt. Rage. The kind that builds when you love someone so much, and someone else tries to fucking own them.

Billy barely has time to turn before Eddie crashes into him.

It’s not a fight. It’s an explosion.

Billy goes down hard, back smacking against the railing with a clang, Eddie's left hand fisting his shirt, his right one already clenching, ready to break his face again.

Steve’s there in a heartbeat, grabbing Eddie from behind and pulling with everything he’s got. "Enough! We got him, man, we got him! It’s all on tape, it’s done!"

Eddie’s breathing like he just ran ten miles straight, chest heaving, arms shaking, nostrils flaring. He’s still trying to get to Billy, but Steve’s holding him back like a human anchor, practically wrestling him away. "He touched her, he fucking-'

"I know", Steve grits out, both arms locked around Eddie's rigid torso, "I know. But it’s over. It's over, man! Don't ruin this, we fucking got him, man. We got him".

Billy groans, slumped against the railing, still dazed, still processing - until his eyes land on Robin. On the little black recorder in her shaking hand.

Everything feels like in slow motion as you watch him, his brain rattling, his eyes darting from the recorder, to you, to Eddie, who's still held back by Steve. Then back to the recorder.

And that's when he understands.

You taped him. Everything he said.

Within the split of a second, his broad body lunges, trying to grab it from her hands to immediately destroy whatever you have against him.

Steve lets go of Eddie in an instant, shifting in front of Robin like a shield, shoving Billy back so hard he stumbles. "Don’t you fucking touch her!"

Steve's voice isn’t calm anymore. It’s unhinged.

He’s done.

Billy halts for a half-second, glaring at Steve like a feral animal cornered, teeth bared and nostrils flaring. His chest rises and falls rapidly. There’s no more calm, no smugness left. Just rage and loss.

He knows he’s lost.

But then, just as quickly as it showed up, it’s gone. He smooths it over with that smug, mocking smirk. His favorite mask.

"Oh, cute", he sneers, brushing himself off, glancing at Robin, "You really think some shitty motel tape’s gonna hold up? No one’s gonna believe any of this. Especially not from a group of fucked-up, codependent freaks like you."

Eddie's still frozen, breathing like he's been running for miles, every fiber of him trembling.

"Don't fucking talk to her", Steve hisses, but you barely hear whatever's being said afterwards.

You're shaking, gasping for air as your adrenaline level suddenly falls, your face wet from your tears as you just stare at whatever's happening in front of you.

Eddie finally shakes out of his fury just long enough to see you. Your arms wrapped around yourself. Your body shaking. Your face streaked with tears. You look like you’re barely holding yourself up. Like a stiff breeze could knock you over.

Everything in him just shatters. He blinks, like surfacing from underwater, breaks from whatever was holding him still and stumbles to you, fast, his arms wrapping around your shaking body. "Baby", he breathes, pulling you into his chest, cradling you tight, one hand cradling your head, the other shaking against your back, "I’m here. I’m here. You did so good. I’m here. I got you".

You cling to him, sobbing into his shirt, and Billy watches. Staring.

Something snaps.

The smirk slips.

"Oh look at that. The little whore runs to her junkie boyfriend", he sneers, venom in every word, "You think this is over? Think anyone’ll believe you over me? You think people won’t laugh you outta the room? You think you’re heroes?"

Steve’s jaw tenses, a dangerous silence following that word.

Billy keeps going, snarling now, unraveling fast. "You’re a fucking joke, Munson. You and your music and your little high school fans? Pathetic. Harrington's a washed-up prom king playing bodyguard. And Buckley, what, she recording from behind her corner like a coward?"

Robin flinches but doesn’t move, eyes locked on him. And still, she doesn’t drop the recorder.

Eddie tears away from you again, furious, but now you hold him back. You press yourself between them, sobbing, gripping his shirt, yelling, "No, Eddie, please. Don’t give him what he wants".

Billy’s laughing now. A sick, broken sound. "She still tastes the same, doesn’t she? You ever wonder how many times she begged just like that for me to finally fuck her? You’re just leftovers, freak".

"Stop fucking talking", Eddie growls, his grip tight around you, every muscle inside him coiled  to its max.

But Billy just smirks at you, your tears, your red-rimmed eyes. "Look at you, pretty. Fucking poor little Eddie the town freak?" He laughs, mean and ugly. "You ever miss what a real man felt like?" 

You flinch.

Robin winces and steps further behind Steve, clutching the recorder like it’s her child.

Eddie stiffens even more.

Billy steps forward again. "You know what? You were nothing before me. And you...", he points at Robin, "little sidekick bitch? Stay out of this or I’ll make you fucking regret ever talking to her".

"Say one more fucking word about her", Steve growls, pointing a finger right in Billy’s face, "and I swear to god, I will end you before the fucking trial even starts."

But Billy’s not stopping. He’s unraveling now.

He lost, he knows it, and he’s panicking.

His eyes dart back to you.

"You tricked me, you fucking bitch. I will end you, you hear me? You're gonna wish you would've just spread your fucking legs for me like the fucking whore you are, Sam".

"You fucking piece of shit!" Eddie snaps, tearing out of your arms this time, and that’s it.

Billy swings first.

A wild, unhinged punch that cracks against Eddie’s cheekbone as he tackles Billy so hard they both slam into the wall behind them, fists flying.

They collide like magnets.

Billy throws another punch. Eddie returns it harder. Steve tries to pull them apart again, yelling at them both, but it's too late. They’re past the edge.

You scream for Eddie as the two of them crash to the ground in front of the motel door, fists flying, elbows scraping against the pavement, the sound of fists hitting skin sickening and sharp.

Robin gasps, backing up against the wall with the recorder clutched to her chest.

Steve throws himself into the middle of it again, but they’re rolling, yelling, kicking too fast for him to get a grip.

You scream Eddie’s name as they drown in a flurry of limbs and snarls, fists and blood, slamming into the floor of the walkway, nearly rolling toward the stairs.

Robin’s screaming something behind you, backing up into the room.

"Eddie, stop!", you scream.

Blood is everywhere. On Eddie’s face, down Billy’s chin, hands locked in shirts and hair.

They crash down the stairs, grunting, tumbling, landing in the gravel lot with a thud that steals the breath from your lungs.

"STOP IT!" you scream again, your voice hoarse, panic stealing your oxygen.

Dust kicks up as they roll over the gravel lot below. Billy’s on top one second, Eddie the next. Grabbing, punching, shouting, both screaming so loud it echoes off the motel walls.

Steve’s right behind them, trying to drag them apart again, trying not to get hit.

Billy’s yelling, "You don’t get to take her!"

Eddie’s snarling, "You never fucking had her!"

You can barely breathe, running down the stairs, tears pouring down your face as you reach the last step, voice gone raw. "Stop! Please! LET GO!".

But they don’t stop.

You’re screaming Eddie’s name so loud, so raw, you feel it rip straight through your lungs.

But nothing stops.

Billy’s got Eddie pinned, driving a fist into his ribs, again, again, and all you can hear are the grunts, the wet thuds, and the gasped curses from Eddie beneath him, the slap of skin and bone, blood hitting the gravel like rain.

Something in you snaps.

You throw yourself forward with everything you have left. "GET OFF OF HIM!" you scream, hands clawing at Billy’s shirt, trying to drag him back, eyes wild, fingers trembling,  "FUCKING GET OFF!"

Billy doesn’t even pause, he throws you off like you weigh nothing, and you hit the gravel hard, pain shooting up your spine as your knees scrape raw against the ground.

He turns to you with blood on his teeth and something feral in his eyes. "Fucking STAY DOWN," he growls, voice guttural, spitting blood and rage as he lurches toward you like a predator who’s finally found the one thing it wants to destroy.

You scramble back, gravel cutting into your hands, too winded to scream now.

You can’t even breathe.

Eddie's already on his feet. Covered in dust, in blood, his face split open at the brow, and eyes blazing. "Don’t. You. Fucking. Touch her!" he bellows, voice hoarse and cracked, and slams into Billy’s side like a freight train.

The impact lifts Billy off the ground and sends both of them crashing to the pavement. They hit hard, bodies skidding through gravel and dirt, tangled, snarling, fists flying again, but now it’s Eddie on top.

You’re on your feet in a second, running to them, screaming Eddie’s name, sobbing, begging, "Please stop, Eddie, please! Stop it! He’s done, he’s done!"

But neither of them hear you.

They’re too far gone.

Eddie’s shouting, slamming his fists into Billy’s shoulder, his ribs, everything shaking with the violence of it all. "You think you can scare her?!" he screams, blood pouring down his face, "Touch her?! You think you can take her?!"

Billy punches back, even while pinned. "You don’t deserve her, freak!"

"She’s NOT YOURS!"

Steve's voice thunders behind you, "Enough!" as he reaches them, trying to wedge his arms between the two, trying to pull them apart, but their limbs are locked in rage.

Robin’s still at the top of the stairs, wide-eyed, clutching the recorder with both hands like it’s her own heart beating inside it.

You cry out as Eddie’s head jerks back from another blow, scream when Billy grabs a fistful of his hair. And you can’t watch anymore. You throw yourself between them again, arms out, blocking, pushing, screaming. "STOP IT! PLEASE!"

Suddenly, the evening is lit by red and blue flashes. A scream of tires. Doors slam.

"POLICE! STEP AWAY! GET OFF HIM NOW!"

Spotlights explode across the parking lot as the cruisers skid into view. Officers pour out, guns drawn, voices barking commands over the chaos.

"On the ground!"

"Hands where we can see them!"

"NOW!"

Eddie stumbles back, breathing like a broken engine, hands lifting slowly, every muscle still twitching with rage. His chest is rising and falling in shudders, eyes fixed on you.

Billy just freezes, eyes wide and bloody, chest heaving, face twisted in hate and loss.

The motel parking lot is chaos, dust in the air, blood on the gravel, sirens still blaring.

In the middle of it all, you and Eddie are finally still. You drop to your knees in the gravel beside him, wrapping your arms around him as he collapses into you, breathing hard, trembling all over."I’m here", you pant, voice raw, pressing your face into his shoulder, "I’m here. It’s over."

Billy’s still screaming when they yank his arms behind his back. "I didn’t do anything! He attacked me! You saw it, he came at me, that fucking freak! This is bullshit!" His face is flushed, wild with panic and fury, blood slick down his jaw, dried and fresh across his knuckles. He thrashes once when the first cuff clicks around his wrist, muscles flexing, spit flying as he shouts again, "Get off me! You’re arresting the wrong fucking guy, he’s the psycho!"

But the officers are already forcing him toward the nearest cruiser. His boots scrape across the pavement. Dust kicks up from the gravel. His chest is heaving, hair sticking to the blood and sweat on his forehead, but no one’s listening to his noise anymore.

"You don’t even know what this is about!" Billy screams as they shove him into the back of the squad car, his voice cracked and fraying at the edges, "That bitch set me up, she fucking started this!"

You flinch, every muscle locking tight.

Eddie grunts, spits out some blood, still panting heavily.

"She’s fucking lying!" Billy tries again, eyes darting wildly through the chaos, still searching for control, "You think this is over? I will get out. You hear me? I will get out, and when I do-!"

"Shut your goddamn mouth!" one of the officers barks, slamming the door shut.

The cruiser rocks from the force.

Billy pounds once, hard, on the inside of the window, but it’s useless. The glass doesn’t give.

No one looks at him. Not even you. Your head falls to Eddie's shoulder, your arms around his shaking torso, sniffling, panting, clutching.

The red-and-blue lights blur against the tears in your eyes, sirens still wailing like the world’s ending.

Guns are pointed in your direction now, voices are yelling - loud, too loud - but all you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"Hands where we can see ‘em!"

"Put your hands behind your head!"

"Let go of him!"

You’re feeling his hand finding yours, bloodied, trembling, but before you can even hold on tighter, someone shouts again.

And you finally realize it's you two they're screaming at.

"Hands up! Get your fucking hands UP!"

A cop barrels toward Eddie, gun drawn, finger twitching on the trigger.

You let go like your skin’s on fire, hands flying into the air, your voice cracking, "No! Please, stop! He’s not doing anything, he was protecting me!"

The cop doesn’t care.

Another set of hands yanks Eddie off the ground, dragging him back, away from you, shouting at him to "get the fuck down!" again, like he’s still a threat.

You reach out instinctively, sobbing, "Don’t hurt him, please!" but you’re grabbed too.

"On your feet!"

You stumble as rough hands pull you up. Your knees buckle. Someone twists your arms back, and you cry out in pain, struggling, gasping, "Wait, I didn’t do anything!"

"You can explain at the station", the officer barks, tightening the cuffs until your shoulders ache.

You hear Robin’s voice pierce through the chaos. "She didn’t do anything! She’s the victim! We have the whole thing on tape!"

"Back up!", a cop snaps, pushing Robin back toward the stairs.

You catch a glimpse of her, pale and wide-eyed, clutching the recorder to her chest like her life depends on it. Steve is beside her now, both of them shouting, pleading, but no one’s listening.

They haul you backward, shoving you toward the cruiser. Your eyes search desperately for Eddie. He’s on his knees again, chest rising and falling in deep, broken breaths, blood running down his cheek, arms up over his head, still trembling. "SAM!" he shouts, stumbling back on his feet, trying to push past the officer still barking in his face, "Get your fucking hands OFF HER! Don’t touch her, don’t fucking touch her!"

"Back off or I’ll fucking shoot!" the cop yells, gun aimed dead center at Eddie’s chest now.

"NO!", you scream, struggling in the grip of the officer dragging you toward the car, "Stop, please! He didn’t do anything! Eddie!"

He stares at you like you’re the only thing left in the world. His whole body jerks toward you again, but a knee slams into his back and the cop finally gets his wrists behind him, wrenching his arms hard, twisting them until Eddie groans in pain and sinks back down to the gravel.

"You're hurting him!" you cry, voice cracked and broken, "Let me go! Let me fucking GO!"

But the officer just shoves you into the backseat of the cruiser like trash.

The door slams shut behind you. The lock clicks.

You're caged. Glass between you and Eddie now.

"EDDIE!"

He lifts his head just enough to look at you. Eyes glassy, bloodied, scared, and still furious.

But there’s nothing either of you can do.

They haul him up and drag him toward the third car, and all you can do is sob his name until your breath gives out and you fold forward, pressed to the glass, hands cuffed on your back, eyes never leaving him.

Not even when they shove him inside and slam the door.

Not even when the cruiser pulls away.

Your whole body’s trembling, pressed into the backseat like it’s shrinking around you.

The blood on your hands feels sticky, even though it’s not yours.

The cuffs dig into your wrists, unforgiving.

You can’t breathe.

You’re trying to, God, you’re trying, but your chest won’t open, your lungs won’t fill, and every gasp comes out thinner than the last.

The air in the car is too hot, too sharp, like it’s burning the inside of your throat.

You can feel the tears soaking your cheeks, your jaw locked so tight it aches.

You're choking on sobs, panic tightening every inch of your body until your vision tunnels.

The cop driving you frowns his brows in the rearview mirror, watches you losing control, how your face turns pale, how your eyes fill with panic as you can't get enough oxygen.

The cruiser jolts slightly as it slows down, pulls onto a shoulder next to the Highway leading back to Hawkins.

You hear the crunch of gravel as the car comes to a stop.

Then, silence.

You barely register the door opening until a rush of cold air hits you, and suddenly the officer is crouched next to you, voice low, not kind, exactly, but not cruel.

"Breathe", he says, steady and firm, "You need to breathe, alright? Come on. Look at me. You seem to be having a panic attack, just breathe through it"

You flinch as he reaches in, gently tugging you upright by the arm. The cuffs stay on, metal biting into your skin as you stumble out of the car. Your knees almost buckle when your boots hit the pavement, but the officer holds you steady. "Look up", he instructs, gesturing at the sky, "Deep breath in through your nose. That’s it. Again. You’re okay. Just breathe".

You try. Eyes wide and glassy as you stare up at the darkening sky, gulping air like water, still crying so hard it’s making your whole body quake.

You finally manage a breath that feels full, like your ribs can expand again. And then another. And another.

That’s when the other cruiser flies past.

You turn your head just in time to see Eddie.

His eyes find you through the window like he sensed you, his face pressed to the glass, bloodied, wild, frantic. His mouth moves. He’s shouting something, but the car doesn’t stop.

It’s gone before you can read his lips.

"Eddie…" you sob, your voice so small, so broken.

The panic threatens to spike again, but the officer steadies you with a hand on your shoulder.

"Good", he mutters, ignoring your heartbreak like it’s just noise, "Better. C’mon." He helps you back into the car, just a little gentler this time. Slams the door shut. Pulls back onto the road.

You’re quieter now. Still shaking. Still crying. But you’re breathing again. Barely.

They all converge at the Hawkins station.

The moment the cruiser door opens, you’re scanning the lot, desperate, your whole body turning in the direction they took Eddie. You can’t see him. Just another car pulling in.

Billy’s in that one. Head thrown back against the seat, blood still drying on his face. Laughing to himself.

The sight makes you sick.

You’re pulled out of the car. Still cuffed. Your feet trip over themselves, body heavy with exhaustion and panic. You call Eddie’s name as you're dragged toward the front doors, eyes darting everywhere.

"Sam!"

Robin.

You twist toward her voice instantly, just in time to see her and Steve sprinting up to the front entrance. They immediately raced after you. Robin’s hands are out in front of her, the recorder still clutched in one fist.

"She didn’t do anything!" she’s shouting, "She’s the victim, you idiots! Check the tape, check the fucking tape!"

Steve’s beside her, face red, chest heaving, "Where the fuck is Munson? Where is he? Where’s Eddie?!"

But the front desk officers are already holding them back. "Not until processing’s done. Back up".

"She’s not a goddamn criminal!" Steve roars.

"I’m fine!", you shout, breath hitching again, turning back toward the inside of the station, "Just find Eddie".

But the cuffs are still tight on your wrists.

The cop at your side doesn’t loosen them, doesn’t speak, just keeps guiding you forward through the sliding doors into the fluorescent hell of Hawkins PD, where the only thing louder than the buzz of overhead lights is your own heartbeat.

You’re still crying. Still searching while being led into procession.

The processing room is cold. Too bright. The kind of bright that makes your head pound and your blood feel thin.

Everything is sterile and gray. Walls, floor, chairs, people.

The buzzing of fluorescent lights is the only thing louder than your heartbeat, and even that sounds like it’s inside your ears.

Your cuffs stay on through most of it.

They take your photo, your face still wet, smeared with tears and blood, your eyes red and swollen.

You hear a camera click. The flash stings.

Then ink on your fingertips. Cold wipes.

A female officer barely glances at you as she presses them down onto the paper.

Left hand. Right hand.

"Turn", someone barks. You do.

Your mouth’s too dry to speak, too heavy to move.

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until a hand on your shoulder makes you flinch.

Then you’re in a chair again.

Cuffed to it.

Alone.

A hallway, some kind of waiting area. No window. No clock. Just that damn buzzing above you.

The floor feels like it’s swaying.

You can't tell how much time is passing.

Minutes? Hours?

Your hands burn, but you barely feel them.

Somewhere down the hall, you hear Billy’s fucking laugh. It echoes, unhinged and sharp.

The kind that makes your stomach churn.

You curl in on yourself, chest heaving, nails biting into your palms. You want to scream. To rip through the walls.

To find Eddie. To know he’s okay.

"Please", you say to the next officer that walks past the room, "Please, just... where is Eddie? Is he okay?"

No response. Not even a glance.

You’re losing it. Eyes darting around the room. You’re crying again, fists clenched in your lap.

Everything’s too loud and too silent all at once.

You’re just about to start screaming when a door opens somewhere down the hall.

Footsteps. Fast ones.

"Where is she? I need to see her, please, I just wanna see if she’s okay. Where the fuck is she?! Sam!"

You sit up, then try to stand.

But the cuffs hold you back.

Your legs give out. You fall back into the chair with a thud.

"Eddie!" you cry, voice cracking like it’s the first word you’ve said in hours.

And then, he’s there.

Bloodied. Bruised. His curls a mess, shirt torn, eyes wide and desperate. His wrists are cuffed, he's still bleeding from several cuts.

But the moment he sees you, his whole body breaks.

"Baby", he pants, fighting the cop’s grip as he’s dragged down the hall, "You’re okay? You’re okay?!"

You nod through your sobs, reaching for him instinctively, even though you can’t get close. "Yes", you whimper, "Are you okay?"

He tries to twist toward you, his eyes locked on yours. "They won’t tell me anything, I didn’t know if... I love you, okay? Just tell them everything. Stay strong, baby, for me, alright? Just... stay-"

The cop yanks him forward.

"Eddie!" you scream, trying to get up again, "Don’t take him, please! Don't take him away, oh God, please don't take him from me!"

"I love you!" he shouts, already down the hall, still trying to look at you, "I love y--"

And then he’s gone.

A door closes behind him.

The silence that follows is worse than anything Billy ever said.

You curl forward, breaking again, choking on sobs until your throat burns, your hands trembling so violently it feels like your bones might crack.

You don't know how long you cry.

At one point, an officer leads you into an interrogation room where you're cuffed to the table, and told to wait again.

The next time the door opens, it’s slower. Controlled.

Heavy boots cross the floor.

A chair creaks across from you.

You look up through blurry eyes.

It’s Hopper. The towns chief of police. Hat off. Shirt wrinkled. Sleeves rolled. A cigarette already burning between his fingers, the ash dangerously close to falling.

His eyes scan you slowly, your swollen face, the dried blood, the trembling hands in cuffs. He lets out a low sigh, tapping ash into a tray on the table between you.

"You want to tell me what the hell happened", he mutters, voice gravelly but even, "or you want me to piece it together from that chaos outside?"

You blink at him, heart hammering. "Where’s Eddie?" you whisper, hoarse.

"He’s alive", Hopper says. "For now. But if you want him to stay that way, you need to talk".

"I am talking", you snap, voice rising without meaning to, "I’m the fucking victim, I didn't do anything! And so did Eddie!"

His eyes flicker at that, something changes, subtle. His gaze softens. Just slightly. "I know", he replies to your surprise, "But I need it from you. Start from the beginning".

You nod, opening your mouth to take a shaky breath, but before you can even start, Hopper glances down at the intake sheet in front of him, tapping the eraser-end of his pencil against the paper.

His brows furrow when he reads your full name.

"Samantha Carter", he mutters. Then looks up at you. "Carter? You got family in Hawkins?"

You hesitate for a second, still clutching the frayed edge of your sleeve between your cuffed fingers, then sigh. "My family’s name here is Moore".

His eyes narrow. "Like... Scott Moore? That bar owner?"

You nod, looking down at your lap. "My father."

That stops him. Hopper leans back slightly, blinking like he’s trying to process something that doesn’t quite click. "Well, shit", he mutters under his breath, sitting back in his chair, "Didn’t peg you as one of his".

"I’m not", you snap, "Not like that. We’re not close. Barely talk. I only moved here this summer. My mom’s side is Carter. I left with her name."

That seems to land. Hopper nods once. Then leans forward again, cigarette burning low in his fingers. "Alright", he states, voice low and quiet, "Why don’t you start from there?"

You swallow. Your throat’s raw from crying, but somehow your voice still works. You pull in a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself as your eyes dart around the gray room, looking anywhere but his face.

You start to speak.

And once you do, you can’t stop.

You tell him about moving to Hawkins. About being the new girl, the way Billy found you too fast. You tell him about the fling, the carelessness between Billy and you. No strings attached. How you met Eddie.

Your voice cracks when you say his name.

You try to explain the chaos between Billy, Lauren, Eddie and you. How you eventually chose Eddie, because you couldn't resist the feelings you had for him and longer. How you ended things with Billy, publicly, because he wouldn't stop being pushy. How that probably embarrassed him.

And how Billy made sure you paid for that. Paid for leaving him like that.

You talk about the threats, how he cornered you at school, how Eddie and he fought multiple times already. The manipulation. The letter in your locker. The mind games.

How Billy paired up with Lauren, how he waited in your old apartment to threaten you, to kiss you, to grope you without your consent.

How you had to pull a knife to finally get him to leave.

The way things got too far, how Eddie just wanted to protect you, every single time they fought.

You don’t say every detail, but the words are just bubbling out or you, mixed with shaky breaths and quiet sobs.

Hopper doesn't interrupt once. Just watches. Listens. Smokes another cigarette.

Eventually, you talk about the motel. The blackmail, the plan you and your friends came up with to finally stop Billy. To finally stop this torture. The recorder. How you taped everything he said about wanting you back in his bed, whether you want to or not. Or he'll talk.

Hopper lets out a long breath and reaches down, opening a desk drawer. From inside, he pulls out the exact little black recorder Robin handed over earlier and holds it up with two fingers. "This recorder?"

You nod. Your fingers twitch. "It’s all on there. Everything."

Hopper says nothing at first. He just puts the recorder down, sighs deeply and eventually presses play.

You lean back, letting the poison plays back in your ears. You hear Billy’s voice. The insults. The threats. The malice. The pure venom. You shake, bite your lip until you taste blood, try to hold it together as your own voice plays back, the way you begged him to stop. The way your voice trembled.

Hopper watches you, not the recorder. Watches the way your shoulders curl in. The way you crumble again.

A few minutes later, the tape clicks.

Silence fills the room.

"Eddie didn’t do anything wrong", you finally whisper, voice raw, thick with tears, "He just protected me. That’s all he’s ever done. Please… you have to believe me."

Hopper leans back, sighs, rubs a hand over his mouth.

"I know Eddie’s got a reputation", you go on, desperate now, "I know what people say about him. But he’s not a monster. He’s not violent. He never even raised his voice at me. He just... he loves me. And Billy, Billy couldn’t stand that". You sniff hard.

Hopper sighs deeply, scratches his stubbly chin. "Yeah, the Munson boy's got a reputation, you're right with that one. And when we arrested you, things didn't look good for him. But…" He holds up the recorder. "This? This changes everything."

You stare at him, blinking through your tears.

"I believe you, Samantha", Hopper continues, "That was very reckless, you know. Taping him like that. Putting yourself in danger. But I'm sure this recording can be used as evidence against William Hargrove".

You slowly nod, watching how Hopper himself is marking the recorder, tagging it and slipping it into a sealed evidence bag, not even blinking as he signs it in with heavy hands and a clipped jaw.

"This stays here", he explains, "Stand up. You’re the victim here. We’re done treating you like anything else".

You do as he says, get up from your chair, your legs feeling wobbly as you hold out your wrists.

Finally, after what feels like hours of drowning, your hands are uncuffed.

But there’s no relief. Not really. Not yet.

Hopper gives you a sign to come with him, back through the room and into the hallway you waited at, your hands rubbing the cut skin of your wrists as you slowly follow him down the hallway.

Right before the door leading back into the front, he stops and points you toward a dingy station bathroom. "Maybe you wanna clean up in there before leaving. You're free to go. We'll contact you if we need another statement. For now, there won't be any charges pressed".

You nod, looking up at the tall chief. "Thank you. But I'm not leaving without him".

Hopper sighs, nods. "You can wait outside. But he'll be in interrogation for a while longer".

"I'll wait".

He doesn't argue, turns and leaves you with heavy steps. "Take care, Samantha", he mumbles before heading around a corner and leaving you to yourself. "We'll stay in touch."

You step into the small bathroom, wincing at your reflection. Your face looks horrible, swollen and red from all your violent crying, your mascara smeared under your rimmed, swollen eyes, dried blood on your forehead, your temple, your chin.

Eddie's, probably. Or Billy's, smeared from Eddie's hands.

Your hair's a mess, your clothes dirty from gravel dust and more blood, your jeans ripped over your knees, the skin cut open and bloody from when Billy pushed you away and made you fall right on the gravel.

Your palms don't look any better. Blood, cuts, dirt. Half-moon prints from your fingernails when you digged them into your skin. Red marks from too tight handcuffs on your wrists.

"My god", you whisper, trying to realize what happened.

You've been arrested. Actually arrested.

Your shaking hand reaches for the faucet, turns on the cold water. You pump some soap into your palm, wash away the dirt and blood from your hands, clean up your cuts before washing your face, sighing at the feeling of cold water hitting your overheated skin. You splash more and more water into your face, rub away the blood stains, wash away the dried tears.

You realize how thirsty you are, how your throat hurts from sobbing, screaming, begging, talking. You bend down, hands gripping the sink as you drink from the faucet until that burn in your throat finally vanishes.

Almost two hours after your arrest, you're finally heading back to the front of the station. The moment the doors swing open, your eyes land on your friends, who are still here, still waiting.

Robin is curled up awkwardly on one of those stiff plastic waiting chairs, her head tilted onto Steve’s shoulder, fast asleep.

Steve’s hunched forward, elbows on knees, clutching a coffee cup like it’s the only thing keeping him awake. He’s pale. Wrung out. Then he sees you. His eyes snap wide, and he gently shakes Robin awake before he stands. "Sam".

Robin blinks confusedly and lifts her head. The second she sees you, she’s up too.

They both stumble toward you, voices overlapping.

"Are you okay?"

"Jesus, Sam"

"What the hell happened?"

"We tried to get them to let us in"

"Are you hurt? Are you-?"

"I'm okay", you whisper.

It’s all you can do.

You bite down hard on another sob building in your throat and you press your face into Steve’s shirt when he hugs you, and Robin’s arms circle you from behind.

You let them hold you, even though everything inside you is still locked in that room. Still in that hallway. Still hearing Eddie scream your name.

When you finally pull away, you whisper hoarsely, "He’s still in there. I will wait for him".

Robin sighs and glances at you, carefully sliding some hair behind your ear, so obviuosy worrying about you. Her tired eyes wander over your face. You're still in shock, that's clear.

Steve pulls you in again, his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he steadies you. "We all will wait for him".

You nod, move to the closest chair, sink into it, and stare at the door you just came through. The interrogation room is somewhere behind it. And he's in there.

Robin asks if you wanna eat something, drink something, need anything, but you shake your head.

"I just wanna see him", you whisper, your hands trembling as you put them in your lap, not taking your eyes off the door you just came out of, sinking into some kind of trance. Or shock paralysis.

Your friends sit down with you, one to your left, on to your right. Robin gently asks you again if there's really nothing she can do for you. But you don't answer any more. You don’t respond when Steve gently offers you his coffee, or when Robin rubs your back to get your attention, when she asks what happened in there.

You just stare at that damn door like if you stop, he’ll disappear forever.

Another hour ticks by.

Finally, the door opens.

You jerk upright, sobbing again the second you finally see him.

Eddie’s limping slightly, his hair a mess, blood dried down the side of his face, a fresh bandage over his eyebrow. His hands are free now, but he looks just as tense, just as wrecked as an officer leads him out. His eyes dart around the lobby, and the second they land on you, it’s like gravity breaks.

"Baby", he breathes.

You’re already on your feet, running to him.

He catches you with a grunt as you crash into him, arms locked around his neck, his face buried in your shoulder, breathing like he’s finally alive again.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you taste the salt. "I thought they were gonna take you", you choke out.

"I thought they’d never let me see you again", he rasps, holding you tighter.

Neither of you speak for a moment after that.

You just stand there, bruised and exhausted, shaking together in the middle of a shitty police station lobby like the world stopped and let you catch up.

You’re clinging to him like the world might fall apart again the second you let go, your arms locked tight around Eddie’s battered frame, your face buried in his chest, tears soaking the collar of his shirt. He lets you hold him. Lets you cry.

Unril you shift, press against his rib, and a jolt shoots through his body.

"Shit", he grunts quietly, wincing, and you freeze.

You stumble back with a gasp, "Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- did I--"

"It’s okay", he says fast, but you’re already grabbing his face, tilting it toward the light, scanning his features, his bruises, the blood dried under his nose, the bandage someone halfheartedly put there that’s already turning red.

"Are you in pain? Feel nauseous? Dizzy? Headache?"

He groans a little, sways on his feet. "I feel like complete shit", he admits, "But I’m still standing."

You sniff, your breath catching again, but before you can say anything, his hand lifts, trembling, and cradles your cheek. The other follows, cupping your face so gently it makes your heart hurt. His thumb brushes the edge of your swollen eye, the dried streaks of blood and tears.

"Please tell me you’re okay", he whispers.

You nod, blinking up at him. "I’m okay", you rasp, "Now that you’re here."

Something breaks in his eyes.

Before either of you can stop it, his lips meet yours. It's a kiss that shakes you to your core, desperate and trembling and messy with blood and tears. You melt into him again, one hand clutching the back of his neck, the other still trembling as it settles on his chest.

You feel everything in that kiss. The terror, the fight, the pain, the love.

Your body trembles as your tears return, hot and unstoppable.

Behind you, Robin covers her mouth, holding back a sob. She’s pale, shaken, leaning into Steve’s side with both arms wrapped around his. Steve just stares, jaw tight, eyes wet, looking like he aged five years tonight.

There’s something so fragile in the way they look at you both, like they’ve never seen either of you like this before. Like none of you will ever be the same again.

You kiss him again, not wanting to let him go ever again, your hands falling up to his face, gently holding him, realizing how his skin feels like he’s burning under your hands. Feverish. His breath shallow, his skin sweaty, his arms not holding quite as steady as they should. You pull away, searching his face again, alarmed. "You’re burning up".

"I’m fine", he mutters, leaning into you again.

"No, you’re not. You’re shaking. We should get you checked up at the hospital", you reply, your voice sharper now. You turn, eyes locking with Steve, already reading the look on his face.

He nods before you even speak, pulling his keys from his pocket. "She’s right, man. You look like hell. You should see a doctor just to be sure it's nothing bad".

"I just wanna go home", Eddie rasps, eyes pleading, but weaker now, "I just wanna get you home, baby".

You shake your head. "No. I'm not risking anything. We're going to the hospital. And then, we'll go home, okay?"

"I hate hospitals", he mumbles, but his body is already sagging into yours. Tired. Hurt. Not fighting like he normally would.

"I know you do", you whisper, squeezing his hand tighter, "But I’m not losing you, Eds. I won’t take the chance. I just wanna make sure you're okay".

He doesn’t argue, for once, just nods and lets you guide him toward the doors.

You barely make it out of the station before Eddie starts to stumble again, his arm tightening around your shoulder. You throw your other arm around his waist, helping him walk even though you can feel the way he’s trying to keep the weight off his right side.

He’s still not letting go of your hand. Not for a second.

Steve opens the back door of his car without a word. Robin climbs into the passenger seat, and you help Eddie into the back, crawling in beside him. He groans low as he sinks into the seat, his body slumped against yours, face buried in your shoulder.

You don’t say anything. You just curl into him, your hand pressed to his chest.

Steve doesn’t waste time. The second the doors are shut, he pulls away from the station, the tires kicking up gravel as he heads straight toward Hawkins General.

The streets are dark and quiet, the town already asleep, unaware of the hell that just happened under its nose. You rest your forehead against Eddie’s as the car rocks gently, your hand still clutched in his. His skin is damp with fever sweat, his breathing uneven, and every time you shift, he flinches.

Still, he tries to be the tough one. Your anchor.

But you feel how his breathing is getting shallow, how his body twitches every time he shifts.

"Eds?", you whisper, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.

"I’m good", he mumbles, not even opening his eyes.

You're not convinced.

Robin keeps glancing at you both from the passenger seat, biting her nails until Steve gently takes her hand to calm her down.

He’s driving too fast, but neither of them care. They’re just as scared as you.

By the time you pull up to the hospital, Eddie’s entire weight is leaning into you.

You have to shake him gently just to get him to stir. "C’mon, baby. We’re here."

He grunts something under his breath, but he stands, slowly, with your help.

You're half-carrying him into the bright lights of the emergency room, your hand wrapped tightly around his.

The receptionist at the front desk looks up immediately. Her face twists with concern at the sight of Eddie, his state, the blood, the bruises, the way he’s barely keeping himself upright. "What happened?", she asks, already standing.

"He- he got into a fight", you explain, guiding him closer to the desk, "He took some hits to the head. And ribs. I think. He's been in pain for hours, he's burning up".

"Was he unconscious at any point?"

"No. Not yet", you answer quickly, but your voice cracks, "But he’s not okay. He’s barely talking now. Please, someone needs to have a look at him".

The receptionist steps out from behind the desk, her eyes narrowing on him. "Sir? Are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous? Tell me exactly how you feel".

"I’m fine", Eddie croaks. He doesn’t even look up. His eyes are bloodshot, half-lidded. He sways.

You glance up at him, terrified. "Eddie…"

"Just a scratch, baby", he mutters again.

And then he drops.

It happens so fast. One moment he’s standing. The next, his legs buckle, his body gives in.

You gasp as you try to catch him, arms wrapping around his middle, but he’s heavy, limp. "Oh my god!", you cry, lowering with him as he hits the ground, cradling his head so it doesn’t slam against the tile. "Oh my god, oh my god, what's happening? Eds, wake up!"

The nurse is already shouting for help. "Code Blue at reception! We’ve got a collapse - head trauma!"

Another nurse appears out of nowhere, already kneeling beside you. "Step back", she says gently but firmly, "Let us help him".

You freeze. You don’t want to let go. You can’t. "I- I can’t- he--"

"We need to roll him on his side", the nurse insists, already working, "So he doesn’t choke if he seizes".

Seizes?

Two more nurses rush over with a stretcher.

You’re trembling as you back away, hands still stained with his blood, watching as they lift him, as his body lolls, unconscious, onto the gurney. "Eddie", you sob, stumbling forward.

"Ma’am, please", one of the nurses says, holding out an arm as they wheel him toward the emergency hallway, "We’ve got him. We’ll take care of him".

"But I--" Your knees go weak. "Please let me come".

"You can’t. Not yet".

The doors swing closed.

You’re left standing there, breathless, empty, tears running down your cheeks. Steve is suddenly there, his hands on your shoulders. Robin behind you, holding your arm. You're swaying, like you might fall too.

"He’s gonna be okay", Steve mumbles, but his voice cracks halfway through.

"He’s strong", Robin whispers, "He’s made it through worse".

You nod. But all you can see is the way he dropped in your arms.

The waiting is unbearable. The too-bright hospital lights, the beeping monitors in the distance, the sterile smell, it all presses into your head like static.

You sit curled in a stiff plastic chair, fingers knotted together in your lap, still stained with dried blood and shaking faintly from exhaustion and panic.

Steve returns from the vending machine with three lukewarm coffees, way too much sugar dumped in, stirring with plastic straws. He sets one in front of you without a word. "Drink up", he mumbles gently, kneeling in front of you, "You need this. You’re gonna pass out if you don’t".

You take it with trembling hands, sip it even though the taste turns your stomach.

Robin is beside you again, silent, her knee bouncing with nerves, staring straight ahead at the doors Eddie disappeared behind.

You can’t stop replaying what the nurse said.

So he doesn’t choke if he seizes.

That word keeps looping in your mind.

Seizure. Head trauma.

You clutch the coffee tighter, knuckles white.

Finally, after an eternity, nearly an hour, the nurse reappears.

You’re on your feet before she even says a word. "Is he okay?"

She gives you a small, warm smile, though her eyes are tired. "He’s awake now. Stable. He's asking for you".

Your friends exhale behind you. "Thank God".

Your chest nearly caves in with relief, "Can I see him?"

"Soon", she says carefully, and then her gaze drops to your palms, your cut open knees, the dried blood on your shirt, "But I’d really like to take care of you first."

You shake your head immediately, "I’m fine, I just want to-"

"You’re not fine", she interrupts, softly but firmly, "Your knees are cut open, your hands are bleeding, and you look like you’re about to fall over. Let us help you, then I’ll take you straight to him. I promise".

You hesitate. Then finally, you nod. Before she leads you away, you glance over your shoulder at Steve and Robin. "You don't have to wait up, guys. Go home, try to sleep, we'll-"

Robin raises a brow, deadpan, "Yeah, no. Not happening".

Steve just sits back down and crosses his arms. "We’ll wait."

You don’t argue.

The nurse takes you to a smaller treatment room, cleans the gravel and blood from your knees, disinfects the cuts on your hands, gently wraps gauze around your palms and wrists. The sting is sharp, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest.

When you're finally patched up, she keeps her word and leads you back through the emergency wing, toward a curtained-off room. "He has two fractured ribs", she explains as you walk, her voice low, kind, "A pretty heavy concussion, a few deep cuts and what we think is a bruised kidney from the impact. He passed out because of the head trauma and exhaustion. We’ll keep him overnight for observation".

You swallow thickly. "But he’s okay?"

She nods. "He’s okay. He’s tough."

You blink quickly, trying not to cry again.

The nurse opens the curtain and nods you in. "He’s in pain. Be gentle, alright?"

You nod, step in, and there he is.

Propped up slightly in the hospital bed, shirt off, bandages wrapped around his ribs and shoulder, a butterfly bandage above his eyebrow, IV in his arm, and a heart monitor beeping slow and steady behind him. His head turns the second the curtain moves. His eyes catch yours like a magnet.

You rush to him, carefully, curling into his uninjured side.

His arm is already outstretched, waiting for you. "I’m okay", he murmurs as you tuck yourself close to him, "I’m okay, baby. You don’t have to cry anymore".

But you do. Quietly. Into his shoulder, as his shaky fingers stroke your hair and his lips press to your forehead.

"You scared me", you whisper.

"I know", he rasps, eyes damp, voice raw, "I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry".

"You better never do that again"

"Scout’s honor". He smiles weakly. "Though, I was never a scout".

You laugh into his chest, your tears wetting his skin, your hand laid gently across the gauze on his ribs.

He winces slightly, but doesn’t move. He needs the contact just as much as you do. "Told you I was fine", he mumbles, causing you to lift your head from him.

"You’re not fine", you whisper, shaking your head, more tears slipping down your face, "I thought I fucking lost you".

"I'm right here, baby, you won't get rid of me".

You stare at him, at his bruised face, at the pain lines around his eyes, and you just break again. You lean in, lips brushing against his gently at first, like you’re scared you’ll hurt him. But he kisses you back, slow and careful, like it’s the only way he knows how to say I love you anymore.Your hands are in his hair. His good arm wraps around your waist. His thumb brushes your jaw, your cheek, your throat, anywhere he can reach. And then his forehead drops against yours.

"Thank you", he whispers, "For doing all that today. For protecting me".

"Stop", you whisper, your voice trembling again, "You’re the one who protected me".

"I’d do it again", he rasps, without hesitation.

You just nod, a tear falling down your cheek and landing on his chest. "You scared me so much, Eddie."

"You scare me all the time", he jokes with a soft smile, "You’re terrifying when you’re mad".

You laugh again, wet and broken, and he smiles more just because he made you do that.

That's when Robin peeks through the curtain. "Can we come in?"

Eddie nods immediately, eyes not leaving yours. "Yeah. Get in here".

Your friends step in slowly, both clearly trying not to fall apart too. They take in the sight of Eddie, banged up but alive, and relief crashes through all of you like a wave. The IV drip has finally kicked in by the time they both settle into the chairs beside his bed, the strain in his face easing just slightly, his shoulders no longer as tense.

You sit carefully beside him on the bed, his fingers laced tightly through yours, holding on like he’s still afraid someone might drag you away again.

Everyone speaks quietly, voices heavy with exhaustion, still a little stunned by how fast the night spiraled.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, the bags under his eyes more visible than ever. "You both scared the shit out of us, you know that?"

"Yeah", Robin mutters, resting her elbow on the armrest, leaning her cheek against her hand, "When you were both put in cuffs, screaming for each other? Fucking hell, I don’t think I’ll forget that sound for the rest of my life".

You glance down, swallowing thickly, thumb brushing Eddie’s bruised knuckles. "Don't think I'll ever forget it, too. How they dragged me away from him. I was so fucking scared, I had no idea what's going on. Even had a panic attack in the car. The officer had to stop driving. I couldn’t breathe. I was gasping and crying and... I thought I was gonna die in that backseat, actually".

"Oh, babe", Robin sighs, looking at you with terrified eyes.

Eddie’s grip tightens. "I saw her", he picks up your story, his voice hoarse, "They drove me past while her car was pulled over. She was folded in on herself, crying so hard, I screamed at the driver to stop, to let me out. But they didn’t even look at me. They didn’t care. I couldn’t get to you". His voice cracks, "That was the worst part".

Your hand grabs his tighter. "I'm okay, Eds, it wasn't a bad one. I was just worrying so much about you, it was all just... too much".

Steve watches you two, leans forward. "So, what happened inside that station? You guys had interrogations?"

You nod, and so does Eddie. He sighs, "They didn’t believe me. Not at first. I told them everything. Every damn thing Billy did. But they thought I was just covering for myself. Treated me like shit, honestly. I kept on asking about Sam, but no one gave me a fucking answer. I felt like a fucking murderer in there. They even made me wait in a fucking cell between interrogations. A cell. Because apparently, just because I got loud when no one fucking answered my questions about where the fuck my girlfriend is, I was 'aggressive'. Bullshit".

You stare at him. You had no idea it went this bad.

He sighs again, deeper this time, "Then, during the second interrogation, Hopper came in, showed me the recorder, said it's official evidence now, how he talked to the victim. To you. And he finally told me you were waiting outside. You were okay. Things turned after they listened to the tape again. And an hour later, I was allowed to go. Finally".

"They’re not pressing charges against you?", Robin asks carefully.

"No", you answer, "Not against me. After the tape, Hopper said I was the victim. That he’s sorry they treated me otherwise. And he let me go". You glance at Eddie, who carefully scratches his chin.

"Yeah, they basically told me the same. Said there’s a good chance I won’t be charged either. That it looks like I just... protected her. Protected myself. That it’ll all come down to Billy. And from what it sounded like..." he looks at you, "they’ve got enough on him to bury him."

You nod silently, eyes glossy, fingers locked through his again.

Steve shakes his head slowly. "Damn. That whole night felt like a nightmare. Like we were watching everything unravel and couldn’t do anything to stop it".

Robin glances over at you, voice soft, "But... guys. The plan worked, didn't it?"

You blink at her, "Mh?"

She sits up straighter, "The recorder. Everything you did. It worked. You got it on tape. We stopped him, Sam. You stopped him. You were so brave, and it worked".

You glance at Eddie, who looks back at you with eyes that have never held more love or pride. You nod slowly, a shaky breath leaving your chest. "I think we did", you whisper.

Eddie doesn’t say anything. Just presses his lips to your knuckles.

Then, the curtain flutters again. A nurse pokes her head in, clipboard in hand. Her face is polite, but stern. "I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over."

Your friends get up slowly, Robin stretching her back, Steve rolling his neck.

You stay put, fingers still tangled in Eddie’s. "I’m not leaving him", you mutter quietly.

The nurse frowns. "Are you family?"

"She is", Eddie answers instantly, "She’s my g-... my wife".

Your heart jumps at that, but you try your best to look as casual as possible.

The nurse gives him a skeptical look. "Even so, no one’s allowed to stay in the room overnight unless cleared by the doctor or hospital staff. You’ll have to go".

You shake your head, "No. I’m not leaving him".

"Ma’am, if you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to call security".

"Go ahead", you dare her, suddenly cold, lifting your sleeves to reveal the raw, angry red marks left by the handcuffs, noticing how Robin winces behind the nurse at the sight of it, "Fucking call them. Wouldn’t be my first arrest today".

The nurse blinks.

"I’m not leaving this man", you repeat, voice trembling with exhaustion and steel at the same time, "There is no fucking chance I’m leaving him alone. Not tonight. Not ever again."

Eddie tries to sit up straighter, grimacing as he holds his side. "She’s staying. She’s not going anywhere."

The nurse looks at you both, clearly weighing her options, then sighs dramatically, muttering something under her breath before turning on her heel. "Fine. Don’t touch anything. If anyone asks, I didn’t see you."

You collapse slightly against his uninjured side, watching the nurse leave.

Your friends poke their heads back inside.

"Wife, mh?", Robin mumbles, smirking at you two, "Thought I'd be maid of honor at that one, clearly wasn't invited".

You smile faintly, and Steve just shakes his head, amused, running a hand through his hair again. "We’ll be back in the morning to pick you guys up, alright?"

You nod, thanking them for everything they did today and watching them as they walk out of the room, Robin waving gently at you over her shoulder.

Then it’s just the two of you.

Alone. Finally.

Eddie shifts, letting out a quiet grunt as he tries to get more comfortable. You scoot closer, laying your head carefully on his good shoulder. He breathes in deep, eyes fluttering closed as he whispers, "I love you".

You press a kiss to his collarbone, then another one to his jaw, his cheek, his neck, whispering, "I love you too. So much, Eds. So much". Your fingertips start to gently caress his chest as you feel the mix of meds and exhaustion already pulling him in. "Rest, my love", you murmur, feeling his arm relaxing against your back, "I'm right here".

He falls into a deep, merciful sleep, his breaths slow and steady, the monitor behind him echoing every one.

You don’t sleep. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. You lie curled against him, careful not to shift too much, not to wake him or brush against the bandages around his ribs. His hand is limp in yours now, fingers relaxed where they’d been gripping you earlier, and you just hold it tighter. Your eyes are fixed on his face, on the flutter of his lashes every time he dreams, on the faint bruising blooming beneath his cheekbone.

In your mind, everything replays.

Billy’s smirk. 

His voice. 

The way he said your name like it was a threat. 

The weight of his fingers digging into your arm. 

The way your stomach turned when he leaned too close.

When he... kissed you.

How you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. 

Then the door slamming open, Eddie’s voice like a shot. 

The sound of fists. Bone hitting bone. Flesh tearing. 

Your scream. 

Billy’s blood. 

Eddie's blood.

Your own hands shaking as you tried pulling Billy off of him, only to be shoved away, landing hard on the ground.

Billy's teeth, red from his blood when he laughed like a maniac, aiming for you.

The sirens. 

The red and blue lights flashing against the windows like the end of the world.

You blink, swallow hard, hand pressing gently to your chest, trying to calm the way your heart still jumps at the thought of it.

The way the cops tore you away from him. 

His voice, God, his voice, screaming your name like he could drag you back with just the sound. 

"Don’t fucking touch her!"

"Let her go!"

"Sam!"

You couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything.  You were shoved into the car, your wrists in cuffs, your face streaked with tears, and you couldn’t breathe. 

You remember slamming your forehead against the window, gasping. The officer’s hand reaching back to try and calm you down. 

You remember the car pausing on the street. 

Eddie’s face in another cruiser, lips bloody, pressed to the glass as he watched you. 

He screamed.  You saw it.  You couldn’t hear it, but you saw it, his mouth shaping your name, his palm against the window, the horror in his eyes.

Your body shudders just remembering it.

At the station, the processing room.

The fear, not knowing where Eddie was.

The way they brought you out and sat you on that chair in that cold hallway.  

Eddie. His eyes finally finding you, how he fought to get closer, but got dragged away. Shouting your name.

Billy's laugh, somewhere down the hall.

Now, in the quiet of this hospital room, those moments replay like a horror film on loop.

You can’t stop them. They rattle around your chest like broken glass.

Eddie murmurs something in his sleep and shifts slightly, a small wince flickering across his brow. You freeze, afraid he’s waking, but he settles again. You exhale slowly. Reach up and brush your fingers through his curls, careful not to disturb the bandage at his temple. You just need to feel him. To know he’s really here. You blink, and tears slip down your cheeks again before you can stop them.

He’s okay.  He’s here.  You made it. But you still feel like you’re in that hallway. 

Still hear Billy’s laugh.  Still feel the handcuffs.  Still see the blood.

And so you watch him. Watch the only thing that’s ever truly made you feel safe. And swear, silently, with every beat of your still-shaking heart, you’ll never let anyone take him from you again.

The hours go on.

It’s sometime past three in the morning now.

The hospital has that strange, humming quiet, the kind that only exists in places where too many people suffer at once. You can hear it, the beep of distant monitors, nurses murmuring at the desk beyond the curtain, the soft squeak of sneakers against tile as night shift weaves between rooms.

But here, it’s just the two of you. Eddie’s still asleep, but you haven’t even tried. Not once. You can’t.

You’ve just been sitting there, curled carefully against his good side, his hand still wrapped in yours. His chest rises and falls in that slow, uneven rhythm. Sometimes a little too fast. Sometimes with a pained hitch. You’ve watched the IV drip dry. Watched the line go slack.

And now, you’re watching the edges of his expression start to shift, his eyebrows twitching, his mouth pulling in a grimace.

The painkillers are wearing off.

You shift closer, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. "Hey," you whisper, instantly there, already brushing his curls from his forehead, "It's okay".

He stirs, his fingers tightening around yours with surprising strength, like he’s falling again and you’re the only solid thing nearby. He inhales sharply through his nose, then again, this time sharper, chest hitching. You see it before he even opens his eyes, the pain blooming beneath his ribs, flaring up now that the medicine is gone. His eyes flutter open, hazy, dark, and struggling to focus until they find you.

Still awake. Still beside him. Still here.

His lips part, but no words come out yet. Just a raw, shallow breath and the look on his face that kills you all over again - confused, hurting, but grateful.

"Hi", you whisper, your voice soft and aching, "It’s okay. You’re okay. I'm right here". 

"You’re still awake", he rasps, voice a cracked whisper, like sandpaper dragged over velvet.

You nod, your thumb sweeping just under his eye, "Didn’t want to leave you alone".

"Could’ve… could’ve just slept." He tries a small smirk, but it fades quick when his ribs protest.

You frown, hand instinctively pressing to the blanket over his side. "Your IV ran out. You're hurting?"

"S'fine." His eyes fall closed again, lashes trembling. "Just… caught up with me, s’all."

"I’ll get the nurse."

"No." His voice is firmer now, one eye opening. "Don’t leave. Just wanna see you."

You stay. You press your forehead to his for a beat, your nose brushing his, just breathing with him.

"Y'should sleep too", he murmurs, lashes fluttering, "Gotta take care of you, baby".

You smile at that, watery and tired. “"I will. Just… later, okay?"

He tries to protest, but you’re already soothing him back into sleep. One hand stroking gently over his curls. Down the curve of his uninjured shoulder. Your fingers trail along his collarbone, barely grazing the tape and gauze. You trace his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch, the little cuts you’re careful to avoid. "I’m sorry", you whisper, throat thick.

He cracks an eye open again. Confused. "For what?" he rasps.

"For all of it. For tonight. For you getting hurt again. Because of me".

"Don’t", he murmurs, voice sluggish but steady, "You didn’t do this. He did".

You nod, but the guilt doesn't budge. So you keep touching him, soothing the only way you can. Soft strokes behind his ear. Across his chest. Little scratches to his scalp the way he likes. His body begins to soften under your touch, the tension bleeding out bit by bit. "You were so brave", you whisper, "So stupid, but so fucking brave".

He huffs a sleepy chuckle, "That’s my brand".

You smile. "I love you".

He opens his eyes again, slower this time. There’s so much in them. Exhaustion, pain, adoration. "Say it again," he breathes.

"I love you," you whisper, leaning down.

He tilts his chin up, just barely. "Wanna kiss".

"You just want me to do all the work," you tease softly, your voice catching.

"Always", he mumbles with a grin, but it’s tired, and fading.

You kiss him. Soft. Careful. Just lips against lips, a moment that tastes like blood and tears and home. You feel him try to deepen it, feel the way he pulls ever so slightly with his good arm, but a wince slices through him. His whole body flinches. "Shhh." You pull back just a breath, "Don't move", before kissing him again.

But he doesn’t answer. Because he’s already asleep.

You blink, realizing he’s gone completely still, his breathing evening out beneath your palm. His lips are still parted slightly, like he’s waiting for the next kiss. His hand is still curled around yours. His face has smoothed, just a little.

You press your lips to his again. Softer this time. Like a promise. "I’m not going anywhere," you whisper.

And then you lay your head on his chest, listening to his heart, until your own finally begins to slow down too.