Eddie Munson Headcanons & More *+=

Twerknouns

Eddie was outside a bar in downtown Hawkins, a cigarette pinched between his lips. He happily smoked into the dark air, feeling himself become more and more at ease. Lungs became tighter, eyes became hazier. He invited the feeling, and up he looked at the few stars that shone in the sky.

He took another inhale. Tried to forget the years of endless bullying he suffered at the hands of preps and jocks, their spitting and their hitting, and they never did get in trouble, because their rich daddies defended them with the dollar and their girlfriends cried out that they were so sweet.

He exhaled. Drummed his foot into the parking lot's ground. Watched as cars drove on off and became only a trail of smoke.

"Shit." He said, to nothing and no one in particular.

He stood from where he had sat, a crumbling step up to the back entrance of the bar. Took one last drag from his dying cigarette. Smashed the butt with his foot. He was just about to walk on home, the trailer park wasn't far at all from this sleazy bar, but he was met with black silhouettes.

For a minute, he thought they were shadows born from the upside down here to whisk him away back into that hellhole. Back into the cold darkness, the snowfall, the vines, the screams.

Then Jason Carver's face came illuminated by a flickering light. Smug. "Munson, long time, no see."

"Jason. Always a pleasure." Eddie smiled, trying to keep it cool. If he had to, he'd run like hell, and if he and his goonies caught him, he'd just brave the kicking and the punching and the bleeding. Just get through it, like he always did.

"Still twerking?" One of the guys smiled from the shadows. Teeth dark and wide grey behind Jason.

"Did you like your cigarette that much, Munson, that you started to twerk in the middle of the bar?" Another of Jason's guys laughed.

"Fuck you." Eddie scoffed.

"No one will ever use your twerknouns, Munson. No one cares about that pronoun shit," Jason hissed, and he and his guys came closer, walked further and further into the light, their faces swells of yellow and black. Twisted smiles. "It's the eighties, pronouns weren't even invented yet." He spat into his face. Words hit Eddie like a sharp blade. Or one of Vecna's vines.

"You can't even twerk right!" One hollered.

"Go twerk at home, you freak!" One hooted.

"The only reason you graduated was because you won that twerk off with Wheeler's dad!" Jason shouted, and landed a punch into his nose. Eddie, as he crashed into the ground, as he scraped his knee, as he bled from his nose, as he teared up in the eyes, thought it was over.

Then their bodies folded into themselves, eyes popped out and gouged, knees buckled in all the wrong ways, chins snapped, bones shattered. Eddie thought, with a shaking body, everything shaking, head to toe, that Vecna had come back.

Then, as their bodies slammed into the ground, he looked to see his savior.

"Friends don't let friends have their twerknouns disrespected." Eleven said, eyes surprisingly calm for what she had just done. She wiped her nose. Casually. "Come on, twerk, let's get out of here."