A/N: One, I aged Chrissy up a year. Two, Kenneth is the guy in Hellfire that the Duffers never named. I felt bad, so he's Kenneth (or Kenny, if you're his friend). Welcome to the gang, Kenny.


Caoimhe Brennan spent her formative years living on a school bus. She grew up traveling across the United States surrounded by people like her parents. She called five different women "mom" until she realized otherwise and protested the meat industry as a baby strapped to her dad's chest. Her parents let her run wild wherever she wanted. She brought stray cats to live on the bus. She learned how to dye yarn with natural juices from things she had grown herself and left colored fingerprints on the paperbacks that raised her.

Her parents were hippies; she'd learned the word later after they settled down in Hawkins. Hippies. The people of Indiana said it scornfully, like it was something to be ashamed of. Hippies, they muttered behind their hands, shaking their heads when Caoimhe's parents refused to get rid of their magic bus. Dirty hippie, their children jeered when she came to school in a prairie dress and handmade moccasins she'd gotten as a gift for her seventh birthday. She tucked both away in her closet after she got home. She was determined to fit in, which lasted until the sixth grade when she discovered punk rock music, Doc Martens, and the inescapable fact that she liked being a hippie. She had something to prove then- she was angry and craving revenge on a world that saw her (as one shrewd and vaguely villainous eighth-grade girl said) "as a freaky tree hugger who smelled like she didn't shower since 1976." No one responded to peace and love anymore. That was outdated. What they did respond to, though, was punching. And Caoimhe was scrappy as hell.

"Uh, Caoimhe? Could you hand me the d20 by your elbow?"

Caoimhe, doodling on scrap paper, didn't even look up.

"No," she said.

"What?"

"No. You're rolling to escape or flee or whatever, right? That's stupid. Take the fucker down."

"But I don't have enough hit points to survive if I lose."

"Jeff." Caoimhe fixed him with an unwavering look. "Remember what I told you when you wanted to try out for Bye Bye Birdie but were too afraid?"

("Jeff, you were in Bye Bye Birdie?" Mike Wheeler asked.

"He's always in drama productions," Gareth replied.)

"You said don't panic," Jeff said, looking confused.

At the other end of the table, Eddie snorted. Caoimhe ignored him.

"Christ, Jeff," she said, pointing her pencil in his general direction, "Okay, yeah, I said that, but I also said it's better to risk it all for a chance to win than to tap out before you even put your ball into play. Or something to that effect. Who cares if you die? You'll still have gone down swinging."

"You should go for it, Jeff," Dustin Henderson piped up.

"You don't even know how to play D&D, Caoimhe. It's a strategy game."

That was Kenneth. Caoimhe didn't know him well, but when Eddie had tugged her into the room they used for Hellfire Club, he was the most vocal about not wanting her to sit in.

"Yeah, Ken, I know. But one strategy is fighting until you fucking choke on your own blood," Caoimhe snapped. "Besides, you die and what? You make a new character. No skin off your nose."

"The point is to win," Kenneth explained like she was stupid.

Caoimhe ignored him even though she wanted to throw her pencil at his head and hoped she got the pointy end right in his eye.

"Jeff, you were a freshman and still tried out even though you were shaking in your boots. And you got a singing part! What other freshman in the history of Hawkins High hasn't ended up in the background?"

"Uh, you?"

"Point taken. Do you want to know why, though? Because I have known that I wanted to go to Tisch and be on Broadway since I was four and had been taking lessons for years. Do you know what you learn that they don't teach you? That you have to take risks, Jeff. You have to; I don't know, break a few bones. Blood, sweat, tears. Do whatever the fuck it takes to get the part of your dreams. You have to prove to the casting directors that you'd kill and die for the part. You know?"

"Hear, hear," said Dustin heartily.

Caoimhe liked this kid. She pointed her pencil at him and gave him a high five when he held his hand out.

Astonishingly, even though she was pulling this entire rousing speech out of her ass, it worked. Jeff turned to Eddie and said something about attacking whoever he had to attack. Eddie met her eyes across the table and grinned. She knew him. He liked to win his campaigns but wasn't upset when he lost. That was just the kind of kid he had been since they met in middle school. Caoimhe wondered if he remembered.

It went like this. She'd started going by her middle name Nicole a few months after they moved to Hawkins. On her first day, the teacher looked at her name and said, "Cow-im-he' Brennan?" That was the end of that. No matter how many times Caoimhe spent correcting everyone, they still laughed and called her "Cow-im-he ." Nicole was more straightforward, easier on her. Kids thought she didn't shower and smoked weed all day, so having an unpronounceable name was like adding fuel to the fire. Then sixth grade came around, and Caoimhe discovered punk, her fists, Doc Martens, and the simple truth that no one in Hawkins Middle School could out-sing her. She became popular in that weird way that people who inspire fear in others are. But she still went by Nikki. That is until she was assigned to tutor a fifth-grade Eddie Munson, who was failing science.

She'd been late to the library, which was entirely her fault; she'd been preparing an audition for next year's school play and nearly broke down the door in her haste not to be late for once. (Living on a school bus for the first seven years of her life had its downsides. Mainly, Caoimhe didn't know how time worked until she was fourteen.) Eddie had buzzed hair when they met, and he kept rubbing a self-conscious hand over it like it wasn't his idea. She introduced herself as Nikki, watched as he fumbled with the paper in his hand, and then perfectly pronounced her name. How was she not supposed to fall in love with the kid after that?

Jesus, but he liked Chrissy Cunningham as soon as she walked through the door of Hawkins Middle School.

Caoimhe didn't blame him; Chrissy was her friend, and Caoimhe knew how great she was. They met in dance class. Chrissy was younger by two years, painfully shy, with a mother more interested in her older son than her young daughter. They grew up together; Chrissy was always two years behind but willing to spend time on a magic bus with a girl who grew to love the music that her mother hated. Chrissy eventually traded her pointe shoes for a cheerleading uniform and a peppy smile; Caoimhe, for a pair of Doc Martens and a flair for the dramatic. Through it all, they stayed friends, always together and sheltered by the magic bus in Caoimhe's backyard.

Eddie? Oh, Caoimhe wanted him. But she was loyal and wanted everyone in her life to be happy, even if that meant she'd never get Eddie to love her back. She took it upon herself to get him and Chrissy together, optimistic that they were destined for marriage and everything. But Eddie was a chicken and never went along with it. Chrissy didn't either, though she had once admitted that she thought he was cute. That was enough to work with. Eddie had said he'd ask Chrissy out in high school sometime, but then Caoimhe graduated, went off to college, panicked, and took a gap year, and Eddie still hadn't done the stupid thing. Worse, Chrissy was dating a basketball player. Okay, fine, they looked in love and cute when they visited Lucky Charms. But Caoimhe knew Chrissy and Eddie were bound to be together one day. Jason was just a blip in the road. Caoimhe would get her friends together in the end; she was sure of it.

"Roll on the attack," Eddie was saying.

Caoimhe looked up from her paper as Jeff rolled the die. It landed on a number she couldn't see.

"Hit," Eddie said. "Roll again."

She looked at Jeff, who gave her a thumbs up before rolling a second time. That one was a hit, too, as was the third. (Was D&D fascinating? Was Caoimhe going soft?)

"Roll for damage," Eddie said.

Jeff did and got a decent amount of it. He shot Caoimhe another thumbs up even though she had no idea what was happening.

"If he rolls a number higher than the boss's, his attack lands," Mike Wheeler whispered helpfully. "The damage roll is how many hit points the boss loses."

"Oh," Caoimhe whispered back. "Thanks."

The game continued. Unfortunately, Jeff died or fainted or whatever in the next round, but he looked less upset than Caoimhe thought he would. She started zoning out again, yawning behind her hand. She and Chrissy were having another sleepover because Chrissy's mom had been extra terrible lately. Caoimhe needed to be back by 11:00. She flipped her scrap paper over. She continued to doodle as Eddie started narrating something or other. God, that kid was in his element, wasn't he? Eddie sat on a throne, which what the hell? Where did he get it? Did he drag it into the school without anyone catching him? And what was up with that voice he was doing? Caoimhe needed to get laid if listening to Eddie Munson talk like a corny D&D villain was doing it for her. She concentrated harder on her sketch of... whatever it was. She wasn't an artist; shut up.

Time dragged and dragged and dragged. Caoimhe was drooling on her sleeve when someone dropped something on the table next to her head. She yelped and hit the person right in the gut. They wheezed.

"Wakey wakey," Eddie said, sounding strained.

"Don't slam things next to my fucking head, dude," Caoimhe replied. Then: "Sorry. You good?"

"Yeah, yep. You alive?"

Caoimhe cracked her neck as she stood up. Everyone else had left the room, but she could hear voices chattering in the hallway.

"That went on for decades. I think I've gone grey," she informed Eddie.

"Nope, still looking young," Eddie replied cheerfully.

"So, how'd it go?"

"Apparently, it was so boring you fell asleep. Granted, you lasted longer than I thought you would."

"Okay, but, like, did they kill you or not?" Caoimhe asked, poking Eddie in the chest.

"Hey, whose side are you on?"

"Not yours. You're so full of yourself. And where did you even get that chair? Who let you drag it in here?"

"It's a throne for the DM, King of Hellfire Club," Eddie corrected, lifting his box of stuff. "C'mon, we gotta get you home, sleeping beauty."

"Uh-huh. Make sure not to tip sideways from the weight of that big head of yours, O Great King," Caoimhe replied, opening the door and gesturing for him to go first.

The rest of the club was still hanging around. The freshmen kept looking at Eddie all starry-eyed, which, yeah. Caoimhe looked at him like that, too, so she understood. She'd just gotten better at hiding it as the years went on.

"Gentlemen, we are in the presence of royalty," Eddie announced. "Meet Fanny Brice over here. She's a really funny girl."

"Did you make a reference unrelated to D&D? I'm going to cry. I'm so proud," Caoimhe said.

Jeff offered her a handkerchief, and Caoimhe wiped an imaginary tear off her cheek. Bless him; he was committed.

"I'll have you know I contain multitudes," Eddie said. "Dustin, tell Caoimhe how witty I am."

"He is," Dustin answered like a good little soldier.

Caoimhe whispered conspiratorially, "You haven't known him as long as I have."

"Blasphemy!" Eddie cried.

"Jeff, back me up. We did many school productions together."

"Jeff, as your Dungeon Master, back me up. Unless you want to die permanently before the next campaign even starts."

"Call me Switzerland," Jeff said.

"Ha!" Eddie shouted.

"Jeff, you died in my arms, you traitor," Caoimhe hissed.

"Uh, context, please?" Lucas Sinclair asked.

"Antony and Cleopatra," Jeff explained. "We killed it."

"We wanted to use fake blood so it'd look real, but we were shot down," Caoimhe added. "And the snake bite wasn't scientifically accurate. They wouldn't let me act paralyzed. I just monologued, then fell over like a dead fish. Do you know how hard I practiced acting paralyzed?"

"You were into it," Eddie said. "You held your breath for so long I thought you died."

"I'm glad someone appreciated my creative vision," Caoimhe told him happily.

The conversation dwindled and turned back to; naturally, D&D. Eddie started grandstanding about the newest campaign. Caoimhe tuned them out. She thought instead of Chrissy, hoped she hadn't been waiting long, and checked her watch. Christ. No wonder Eddie was failing classes if he kept everyone up this late. Caoimhe yawned, dropping her head against the brick behind her. Her eyes were closing. Eddie's voice was soothing even when he talked in his Dungeon Master voice. He was a sweetheart. Chrissy was, too. They'd be good together if only Caoimhe got off her ass and got it done. She wouldn't let Chrissy end up married to a man exactly like her father. She wouldn't let Eddie be married to anyone less than the love of his life. Caoimhe's feelings didn't matter. Eddie didn't love her and never would, full stop. But if she could make him get the girl of his dreams, that would be just as good, wouldn't it?

"So, it's a cult?" Mike Wheeler was asking.

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you just say that?"

"What kind of cult? You're not Jonestown-ing it, are you?" Caoimhe asked.

"Nah, it's more Lovecraftian," Eddie explained.

"Ah, cool."

"You're playing, right?" Dustin asked her.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you convinced Jeff to keep going. We need that kind of tenacity."

"Yeah, like we need a hole in the head," Kenneth muttered.

"Kenny, baby, I'll get to you in a second," Caoimhe said. "Look, Dustin. Can I call you Dustin?"

"Uh, yeah, it's my name?"

"Right. Look, no offense, but I'd rather take a knife to the throat than play D&D."

"I'm a little offended, yeah."

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just not my thing, kid. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"You're barking up the wrong tree, Henderson," Eddie said, throwing an arm over Caoimhe's shoulder. "Been trying to get this one to play for years to no avail."

"Why not?" Dustin pressed. "You like beating people up, right?"

"I have no idea how you know that unless these seniors have been gossiping about me, but yeah. Literally, not metaphorically, though."

"So, this might be a good alternative. Otherwise, you could wind up in prison."

"...Fair point. Continue."

"You'd need to create a character. It'd be fun," Dustin said.

He caught Eddie's eye, something passing between them that Caoimhe couldn't figure out. She saw Eddie's jaw tick and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"I'll help you create a character if you want," Lucas said. "She'd be a fighter, right?"

"Or I could help," Mike said.

"No, I'll do it," Dustin said.

They were conspiring; Caoimhe could tell. She just had no idea what their game was. Her brother Eamon, who was the same age as these three, was not this devious. He couldn't lie or keep a secret to save his life. Someone could read everything on his face before he even spoke. She opened her mouth to ask, hey, yeah, what the hell are you conniving children up to? But Jeff rescued her.

"I'd help you. In exchange for running lines," Jeff said.

The three freshmen turned toward him slowly at the same time like zombies who shared a hive mind and were looking for brains. It was eerie. Dustin was even glaring at the poor guy. What was going on? Caoimhe hated feeling like she was missing something big. She looked at Eddie, but his eyes were darting between the freshmen and Jeff. Caoimhe realized that everyone knew something she didn't. Even Gareth and Kenneth were watching the scene play out.

"I can help-" Eddie began.

"Sorry, Eds, one second. What musical are they putting on this year?" Caoimhe asked Jeff before Dustin launched himself in his direction.

"Little Shop of Horrors," Jeff said and grinned at her. "I got the lead."

"You're ruining it," Dustin said lowly.

("Shut up," Mike hissed at the same time.)

Eddie rubbed a hand over his face, looking exasperated even as he tugged her tighter against his side.

"Oh, you asshole!" Caoimhe cried, ignoring everyone. "I begged Ebeling for two years to do that show! Congratulations. I'm so in."

"Cool," said Jeff.

"Just swing by Lucky Charms or whatever; I should be there. Otherwise, I'm in the magic bus."

"That's the old bus in your backyard, right?"

Caoimhe nodded, distracted now. From down the hallway, a lone figure hesitantly approached like they were afraid the Hellfire Club would jump them. She squinted, trying to make them out.

"Nik?" a familiar voice called.

"Chris, hey!" Caoimhe cried. "I'll be right there!"

"Okay."

"Is that-" Gareth asked.

"Chrissy Cunningham? " Kenneth said.

"Eddie's dream girl," Caoimhe said, elbowing him. "I gotta go."

"I thought I was taking you home?" Eddie whined, giving her that hangdog look he'd perfected when he was twelve.

"I told Chrissy I'd be home by eleven at the latest. It's now, uh, 11:15. No wonder you're failing senior year for the third time if you keep everyone this late all the time. When do you even sleep?"

"During physics."

"No wonder O'Donnell's failing you, Eds. I'll see you all later."

Caoimhe didn't wait for anyone to say anything. She waved and ran down the hall, her open coat flying behind her. She met Chrissy, who smiled and took her arm.

"Sorry," Caoimhe said. "The storyline or campaign or whatever took longer than I thought."

"That's okay. It's Friday, anyway."

They stepped outside. It was snowing, and Caoimhe offered her gloves to Chrissy before tugging her winter hat firmly over her ears.

"Did you eat yet?" she asked Chrissy once they were in Chrissy's car, and Caoimhe had offered to drive them home.

"Uh, no, not really," Chrissy mumbled, chewing her lip. "My mom, she, um, she stretched my cheer skirt."

"Fuching bitch," Caoimhe snarled.

This was the thing. Caoimhe's mother wasn't perfect- she was so spacey. She put keys in the refrigerator and eggs in the cupboard. She once turned the oven on without realizing that was where she had left a baking tray of dinner rolls. She also hated living in suburbia and left Caoimhe to raise her younger brothers on her own. She'd leave Hawkins frequently to go on what she called "excursions," but that really meant she was going somewhere to meet up with other hippies, make soap, and reminisce about the good old days. She wouldn't let her children use deodorant because of the aluminum and packed their school lunches full of healthy things like bread with the word "sprouted" in it. Sharon Brennan was a space cadet with a penchant for making her kids look and smell like weirdos, but she wasn't purposely cruel. Chrissy's mother, on the other hand, was.

She'd adjust Chrissy's clothing with a snide remark about how much weight she was gaining. Caoimhe had eaten dinner at the Cunningham house many times, and Mrs. Cunningham would watch her daughter like a hawk whenever Chrissy took a bite of food. She put Chrissy on the grapefruit diet when she was eleven. And when Caoimhe hit her growth spurt, Mrs. Cunningham looked at her and suggested that maybe she needed to go on a diet now that she had a "woman's figure." It was sickening. Half the time, Caoimhe wanted to kidnap Chrissy and take her away from her hateful mother.

"She just wants what's best for me," Chrissy said meekly.

"Christ, Chrissy."

"I keep telling myself there's a little over three months until graduation, then I'm gone. But she's in my head. You know what I do."

Caoimhe did, unfortunately. It was a terrible meal at the Cunningham house before a football game. It was Chrissy's first time cheering in high school, and she'd been so excited. Her mother ruined it as she always did. Later, Caoimhe found Chrissy curled around a locker room toilet, sobbing. She'd wiped Chrissy's mouth off, offered her a water bottle, and then led her back to her car. They never put a name to it, what Chrissy was doing, but they both knew- a secret that bonded them together in the worst way. Caoimhe didn't know how to help. She couldn't punch her way out of it.

They arrived at Caoimhe's house, and she took Chrissy's hand as they headed toward the backyard. Caoimhe opened the door to the magic bus. Chrissy had been there earlier and had set up their sleeping situation. Caoimhe sprawled on the one remaining sofa, Chrissy next to her, and threw a blanket over their legs.

"Have you, you know, thought about seeing someone who can help?" she asked as both girls made themselves comfortable. "I told you I was seeing someone, right? You're eighteen, you know, so I don't think your parents have any right to know about anything. At least, they shouldn't."

Chrissy nodded. "I remember you saying that. I looked into it. If they knew I was going, they could find out about everything. I can't risk it. It's only three more months; then I'll be states away."

"Okay. Let me know if there's anything I can do. Seriously, Chris."

"I believe you. I'm glad you're back."

"Me too. Now, onto happier things. Why didn't I get many letters about this Jason kid?"

"I did!" Chrissy said, perking up and smiling as Caoimhe had never seen before. "A few got returned to sender!"

"I must have given you the wrong address. I was wandering a lot. Tell me about him."

"He's really sweet. We've been together for almost nine months. He's good for me. He told my mom to lay off when she was mean at dinner the other night. I do love him, and he loves me."

Caoimhe smiled. "I'm happy for you, Chrissy. Though, Eddie's probably heartbroken."

"Oh, Eddie. How is he doing?" Chrissy asked deliberately because she was devious as hell behind that whole "innocent, miss Americana" act she had going on.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"He's still desperately in love with you and upset that you're dating a basketball player."

"Uh-huh. All these years, he has never told me this himself. I always hear it from you, Nik."

"He's shy."

"Eddie Munson is the exact opposite of shy," Chrissy said.

"He just doesn't like basketball players."

"No, I'll give you that. Jason isn't exactly nice to him."

"I bet if it were just you and him, he'd ask you out," Caoimhe pressed.

"I don't want to date Eddie. Actually, I never have. And he hasn't either."

"How do you know?"

"Because of the way Jason looks at me." Chrissy smiled briefly. "Eddie has never looked at me like that. But do you know who he has looked at like that?"

"That girl Victoria he dated for like a year and a half?"

"No, you, dummy. God, do you want to know about Eddie? When you left, he walked around school like someone had killed his dog. He never takes off that creepy pig head ring you gave him. He's looked at you like you hung the moon for ten years. You've got it in your head that we're meant to be together, but I don't want Eddie Munson. And, again, he's never wanted me, either. Do you remember the talent show in middle school? The one where I cheered, you sang, and Eddie played with his band? The first one where we didn't do a routine together? You were upset because your voice had gotten a little lower, and you were having trouble doing "Goodnight My Someone," so you changed it to "What Makes Me Love Him'."

"Yeah, I remember that."

"Eddie missed his on-deck cue. He was just standing there holding his guitar and watching you like he wanted to be the one you were singing about. He still looks at you like that. He would follow you anywhere. He was sad when you went off to college. He didn't climb on the table in the cafeteria for months."

Caoimhe was silent.

"Don't I get a say in my future? The guy that I end up with?" Chrissy asked.

"Of course you do, Chris; I wasn't trying to make you think otherwise. I just want you to be happy."

"I know. And it's okay. I know once you get something in your head, it'll take ages to convince you otherwise. But seriously, Nikki, it's been ten years. Tell him you like him already."

"You know I haven't had good luck with guys, Chris."

"Eddie's one of the good ones."

"What happened to you? All of a sudden, you're all wise," Caoimhe said.

"I've always been wise. And you've been gone for almost two and a half years. I grew up, I suppose."

"I'm just sad I missed it. But I'm back now, and you have two people to protect you from your mom."

Chrissy smiled. "Just three more months, then I'm gone- off on grand adventures wherever the wind takes me."

Caoimhe picked up Chrissy's hand. "Your life starts soon."

"Yeah." Chrissy squeezed Caoimhe's hand and laid her head on her shoulder. "My life starts soon."