[ when it happened to chrissy, late at night in the middle of his living room - it was awful. it was more than awful, but there aren't many words that properly explain or encompass the sheer horrific terror eddie felt when he watched a teenage girl get pinned to his ceiling by some unknown force, her bones twisting and snapping in unnatural directions, eyes pulled into her skull.
when it happened to patrick, out in the middle of lover's lake - when he watched some kid he barely knew rise up out of the water like some kind of god, eyes wide and frightened by something no one could see - eddie was more prepared. but it didn't feel any different, watching someone's limbs crack and their body contort. the familiarity, or lack thereof in his and patrick's case, changed nothing. it did not lessen the trauma, the terror. the guilt.
eventually, they were able to give it a name - vecna's curse. a childish label, stolen from a fantasy game, but not a name that was unfitting for the ailment or the person responsible for it. eventually, they came up with a plan to fight it, to end it. end him, and when eddie lay bleeding out in the middle of some phantom copy of his own street, he thought maybe they'd done it. maybe they'd beat him. maybe he was dying, but maybe no one else would have to, and that seemed worth it.
the fog seemed like an unfair trade for sacrificing his life. finding some of his friends here felt like a blessing and a curse at the same time, comforting and nauseating, depending on the hour, but if there's anything that helped him keep his shit at least somewhat together, it was the lack of anything vecna. no vine hivemind, no clocks, no fucking demon bats. crows and a whole bunch of twisted psychopaths, sure - but no vecna.
and then it happened to leon. in the middle of a trial, pursued by what appeared to be a tiny girl, the air crackling with static - it happened again, almost exactly the same way. no warning, none of the same signs, but the lifting, the snapping bones, the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground - it was all too close, too familiar.
eddie survived that trial, somehow. but that's how it goes, doesn't it - chrissy, patrick. they both died in front of him, like he was meant to witness them. like he was meant to be punished for - something. fred died in the middle of the street right behind eddie's house, for christ's sake. and max - eddie doesn't want to think about max. he doesn't want to know.
the anxiety is still festering when he makes it back to the campfire. it builds in his chest, starts to make him feel like he's suffocating. starts to make him feel a little crazy, honestly, to have to sit here and listen and watch while everyone else acts like nothing happened. like people getting folded up like paper cranes is just an every day occurrence - and maybe it is, maybe eddie shouldn't be as messed up about it as he is, but - it turns out trauma doesn't work that way. most of them weren't even there in the trial, so he can't fault them for being able to relax, but it feels isolating.
he goes for a walk. gets up and murmurs something about being right back to no one in particular, and wanders off into the woods to get some space, some air, some distance. eddie's gotten better at navigating through the fog, but this time, he doesn't really think about anything. no place in mind, but eventually the air starts to feel a little crisper, colder, and the ground underneath his sneakers starts to crunch a little differently.
when he comes back to himself, he's surrounded by white. snow, a disabled ski lift creaking quietly above his head as a biting breeze blows through. eddie blinks. he's been to ormond before, but never outside of a trial. never uninvited, and there's a reason for it - he might be cool with julie, but there's at least one of threegion that has made it clear they're not really a fan of him, and no telling how the others feel, but eddie could probably guess that they're not as nice ("nice") as julie.
but it seems quiet, and that's enough to tempt eddie forward. he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and heads toward the lodge, jaw clenched loosely. inside, he's cautious. he takes his hands out of his pockets, takes quiet, wary steps and swivels his head as he looks around. he's never really taken the time before to take anything in inside, rushed by adrenaline and the need to survive, but he takes a second now. notes the mural on the wall that he's somehow never noticed before, the ski rack. the silence should be unsettling, but for eddie - something tight begins to unwind his chest very slowly.
satisfied that he's not about to be ambushed, eddie practically collapses onto the couch near the fireplace. he hunches forward a little, rests his elbows on his knees, and drops his face into his hands, fingers pushing up into his fringe just slightly. he exhales, long and heavy, breathing out the words more than speaking them clearly. ]
sry not sry this is long for no reason
when it happened to patrick, out in the middle of lover's lake - when he watched some kid he barely knew rise up out of the water like some kind of god, eyes wide and frightened by something no one could see - eddie was more prepared. but it didn't feel any different, watching someone's limbs crack and their body contort. the familiarity, or lack thereof in his and patrick's case, changed nothing. it did not lessen the trauma, the terror. the guilt.
eventually, they were able to give it a name - vecna's curse. a childish label, stolen from a fantasy game, but not a name that was unfitting for the ailment or the person responsible for it. eventually, they came up with a plan to fight it, to end it. end him, and when eddie lay bleeding out in the middle of some phantom copy of his own street, he thought maybe they'd done it. maybe they'd beat him. maybe he was dying, but maybe no one else would have to, and that seemed worth it.
the fog seemed like an unfair trade for sacrificing his life. finding some of his friends here felt like a blessing and a curse at the same time, comforting and nauseating, depending on the hour, but if there's anything that helped him keep his shit at least somewhat together, it was the lack of anything vecna. no vine hivemind, no clocks, no fucking demon bats. crows and a whole bunch of twisted psychopaths, sure - but no vecna.
and then it happened to leon. in the middle of a trial, pursued by what appeared to be a tiny girl, the air crackling with static - it happened again, almost exactly the same way. no warning, none of the same signs, but the lifting, the snapping bones, the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground - it was all too close, too familiar.
eddie survived that trial, somehow. but that's how it goes, doesn't it - chrissy, patrick. they both died in front of him, like he was meant to witness them. like he was meant to be punished for - something. fred died in the middle of the street right behind eddie's house, for christ's sake. and max - eddie doesn't want to think about max. he doesn't want to know.
the anxiety is still festering when he makes it back to the campfire. it builds in his chest, starts to make him feel like he's suffocating. starts to make him feel a little crazy, honestly, to have to sit here and listen and watch while everyone else acts like nothing happened. like people getting folded up like paper cranes is just an every day occurrence - and maybe it is, maybe eddie shouldn't be as messed up about it as he is, but - it turns out trauma doesn't work that way. most of them weren't even there in the trial, so he can't fault them for being able to relax, but it feels isolating.
he goes for a walk. gets up and murmurs something about being right back to no one in particular, and wanders off into the woods to get some space, some air, some distance. eddie's gotten better at navigating through the fog, but this time, he doesn't really think about anything. no place in mind, but eventually the air starts to feel a little crisper, colder, and the ground underneath his sneakers starts to crunch a little differently.
when he comes back to himself, he's surrounded by white. snow, a disabled ski lift creaking quietly above his head as a biting breeze blows through. eddie blinks. he's been to ormond before, but never outside of a trial. never uninvited, and there's a reason for it - he might be cool with julie, but there's at least one of threegion that has made it clear they're not really a fan of him, and no telling how the others feel, but eddie could probably guess that they're not as nice ("nice") as julie.
but it seems quiet, and that's enough to tempt eddie forward. he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and heads toward the lodge, jaw clenched loosely. inside, he's cautious. he takes his hands out of his pockets, takes quiet, wary steps and swivels his head as he looks around. he's never really taken the time before to take anything in inside, rushed by adrenaline and the need to survive, but he takes a second now. notes the mural on the wall that he's somehow never noticed before, the ski rack. the silence should be unsettling, but for eddie - something tight begins to unwind his chest very slowly.
satisfied that he's not about to be ambushed, eddie practically collapses onto the couch near the fireplace. he hunches forward a little, rests his elbows on his knees, and drops his face into his hands, fingers pushing up into his fringe just slightly. he exhales, long and heavy, breathing out the words more than speaking them clearly. ]
Oh, Jesus Christ...