&&. Chrissy + Eddie 002 - Blog Posts
thequeenofhawkins·:
𝐖𝐇𝐎: Chrissy Cunningham & @eddiemcnson··
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: Chrissy and Eddie are just friends, oh no! sound off the homophobes :/
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: Junkyard bus
This was not normal. None of the last month was normal. It hadn’t been easy, accepting that she had died years ago. In fact, she hadn’t fully processed it. It defied everything that she had been taught. Science said it wasn’t possible, even religion said it wasn’t possible (except in very specific cases and Chrissy was sure that she, along with all the other commune people, were not messiah’s of any sort). Yet, she was somehow brought out of the soil and was now breathing heavily, her back pressed against the cold steel of the bus, legs outstretched on the seat after what could only be described as hellish. From rabid undead dogs to Max Mayfield backhanding her, she was, for once, ready to be back at home in her own bed.
She felt so useless the entire time. When people started asking her questions, she tensed up and barely said anything, choosing to lie to protect herself more than anything and when it came time to fight, Chrissy had to stay back with Jack so no one got hurt. Even if she had knocked over one of those dogs, she didn’t feel good about it. It just made her feel queasy, regardless of the circumstance. Once they had gotten out of the junkyard and Dustin’s driving steadied, Chrissy peeled herself from the seat and attempted to make herself useful by finding Lucas Sinclair’s backpack and grabbing his first aid kit. Growing up, Chrissy had always been taught practical skills that were deemed ladylike. First aid happened to just fall under that.
She walked back down the aisle, first aid kit in hand as she sat next to Eddie, making herself known. The last time she had seen him she had all but stomped into his trailer demanding to know what happened to her. Since then, she had gotten pieces, but never a concise story. She remembered being at his trailer last and even Chance said that he thought it had been Eddie who murdered her. It sat in the back of her head that maybe there was truth to that. “You probably want to get something on that soon,” she pointed out, looking down at his ankle where the rabid dog had attacked him. It didn’t look bad, per se, but it seemed like an injury that shouldn’t be left out to breathe either. She popped open the first aid kit and pulled out a tube of ointment, holding it out in his direction. “How’s it feel?”
+++
his vision was a little blurry, thoughts hazy, but one thing was for certain - whomever had taught dustin henderson how to drive was a threat to society who thrived on chaos. eddie had gripped the backrest, holding on for dear life. eyes screwed shut, lips tighthly pressed together, making way for the occasional curse, as he tried to fight off the oncoming wave of nausea. breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth - or the other way around?
whatever. at least he was breathing, he thought with a weak scoff, and the sickly, bittersweet sensation returned to the pit of his stomach. eddie placed a hand over his belly button, as if that would help anything. the spotty, dark visual of his eyes squeezed shut proved to be a perfect projection space as his mind forced him to replay the events past - the bickering about who to sacrifice to lure out the doppelganger, how max hadn’t hesitated to throw a punch chrissy’s way, earning the blow herself. how he’d approached the dog, how it had multiplied, how it had something to do with the fucking diner - and how they’d made it out miraculously, by the skin of their teeth. not completely unharmed, but out, at least.
in time, dustin’s driving had steadied and eddie had exhaled shakily, shifting to make himself more comfortable, only to be reminded of how he counted as part of the ‘not completely unharmed’. a sharp hiss, a curse, eddie didn’t managed to fight the urge to reach out, roll up his pant leg and inspect the injury, touch it, even. his face twisted into a grimace, he was almost annoyed at how fast the nausea managed to resurface. not that it looked that bad - just ... not good, either.
and another hit to his stomach as he looked up to find chrissy cunningham with a first-aid kit in hand. immediately, involuntarily, an aimge of her with her bones snapped and eyes rolled back floating on the ceiling of his trailer came into his mind and he had to look away, squeeze his eyes shut to force it to stop. chrissy was back now, she was alive. and eddie couldn’t go and panic at the sight of her face forever. so, reluctantly, he met her eyes, if only a for a few seconds, gave her a weak smile. “uh. well - not ideal but, uh, i’ll live.” he gave a nod. not too convinced with his own words. “uhm, how - how are you feeling?”
eddie looked between her and the ointment, then held up his hands. “i’ve got, like, demon-dog goo and grime on my hands, not really sure i should be rubbing anything into anything.” a little chuckle, he craned his neck to peek at the first aid kit. “you got any, like, bandages in there? gauge, maybe?”
