𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕

[Sunday, March 24th, 1986. NOW.]

"NO! NO!", you screamed, fists pounding against the wooden door, "LET ME OUT! DON'T HURT HIM! DON'T HURT HIM!"

Your voice was breaking with the force of your screams – but it was futile.

They'd locked you up. In another fucking supply closet, in the townhall, deserted after the assembly.

You'd screamed, thrashed, but you hadn't stood a chance against Andy Warren as he'd dragged you in here, slamming the door shut and locking you in the dark. Like Stacy had done all these years ago. Like the Mind Flayer had done last summer in your own mind.

And now they were coming for Eddie.

Which fighting chance would he stand against the whole pack of Jason and his friends, with their bats and crowbars and their fists and their mad, self-righteous hatred?

Eddie, sweet, kind, gentle Eddie who could never hurt a fly. Who was alone at the boathouse, scared and scarred by what he'd been forced to witness, hunted by a town which had never been kind to him, by people who'd always met him with wariness and derision and scorn and taunts simply because he was different, branded a freak long before Vecna had been part of the equation.

"LET ME OUT! PLEASE! SOMEONE!"

You didn't care about the pain as the skin over your knuckles tore when you hailed your fists onto the wood as if that would make a fucking difference, as if, if only you screamed loud enough, thrashed violently enough, the wood would magically give in and you'd be free, to race to your car and the boathouse, to stop Jason before he could hurt Eddie.

And hurt him, he would.

The tears, of fury and this utter, all-consuming despair, were falling faster as you threw yourself against the door, vision blurring and mind racing and voice shattering before you sank to the ground.

"Anyone," you whispered into the darkness. Prayed, to whatever higher power might listen. "Please, let me save him. Let me save him."

[Saturday, November 2nd, 1985. THEN.]

It hadn't been the best of days so far.

It was Saturday, the day of the next game, and your car's engine had refused to sputter to life when you'd wanted to hit the road for Hawkins High that evening, forcing you to take your bike through the freezing November darkness which had settled over the town already, the cold air biting the bare skin on your legs beneath the short skirt of your cheerleader uniform. You'd already been late and didn't have time to dress up in something warmer for the way.

The only thing holding you upright right now was the prospect of seeing Eddie later tonight for whatever horror movie he'd picked, and the thought about seeing him again in a few hours made your heart sing in your chest as you biked through the winter air. You just had to get the game over with first.

Your limbs felt numb by the time you burst through the gym's back entrance, just in time to join the formation of your fellow cheerleaders as you marched towards the basketball field for the first dance, your breathing still labored from the exertion of your little bike race against time, muscles burning from the freezing cold, and you were pretty sure your hair was a mess despite the green scrunchie holding it in place.

The green silk ribbon you'd always used to wear on game days, your lucky charm – the one Jason had pulled out of your hair when he'd followed you into the woods all those weeks ago – was gone; another reminder of what had happened. Of what would have happened, hadn't Eddie been there to intervene.

Thundering applause erupted in the gym as the cheer squad entered the field, the bleachers a sea of Hawkins High's orange and green on the left, and the white and blue of Aurora High on the right. The wide smile you'd plastered to your face felt empty and out of place, like a mismatching accessory, as you waved your pompoms in the air towards the crowd, your fingertips still numb with the cold.