A/N: I couldn't find an official name for Chrissy's brother, so I have unofficially named him Cody here.


1985

Chrissy pulled the plug from the kitchen sink and watched dirty water swirl down the drain, gurgling as it went. Peeling rubber gloves from her hands, she shook her bangs out of her eyes and wiped the thin layer of sweat off of her forehead. It was hot in the kitchen. The collar of her dress was itchy, and the waist of her nylons felt too tight. She wanted to put on her pajamas and crawl into bed, but it was too early in the day for that. At the sound of footsteps in the doorway, she straightened her shoulders.

"Hey, Chrissy-cat." Her dad walked in with two empty wine glasses that he set on the counter. "What are you still doing in here? You're missing pumpkin pie."

"I'm finishing up the dishes."

"Don't we have a machine for that?"

"You can't put nice plates in the dishwasher, Daddy."

"Oh, of course. What was I thinking?"

Chrissy gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes and tsk-ed at him. He laughed gently and put an arm around her. She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You're awfully warm, Chris." Dad pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, it's just that I've been around the oven all day."

"Honey, couldn't you find the wine?" Mom swept into the kitchen holding a stack of small plates and silverware. "Oh, there you are." She placed the plates in the sink.

Chrissy reached for her rubber gloves, but Dad grabbed them first.

"I'll do those, sweetie," he said. "Why don't you take a break?"

"What's wrong?" Mom asked as she uncorked a bottle of wine.

"Nothing," Dad answered. "Chrissy is just going to sit down for a while."

"Oh, alright," Mom shrugged. "If she feels like she needs to."

"I'll wash these dishes," Dad nudged her with his elbow as he pulled on the gloves. "You go relax, Chris."

Rubbing at the muscles in her neck, Chrissy walked past the dining table and into the living room. It was invitingly cool and quiet, but she wanted to put her feet up, and feet weren't allowed on the nice furniture. She moved to the den and found Cody there. Even though the TV was on, he still had his nose in a book as he lay on his stomach, sprawled over the couch. Somehow his spindly arms and legs had claimed every cushion.

"Make room, squirt," she said, poking at his feet. Without comment, he rolled onto his back and lifted his legs in the air. Sighing, Chrissy dropped into the newly empty spot. As soon as she sat down, Cody lowered his feet to the arm of the couch so that his legs stretched in front of her like the safety bar on a carnival ride.

"Ugh. Do I have to sit right next to your stinky feet?"

"Happy Thanksgiving," Cody said from behind his book, and wiggled his toes.

Chrissy suppressed a laugh as she put her own feet on an ottoman and leaned her head to rest on the back of the couch. Just as she closed her eyes, the doorbell rang.

"Chris-sy, guess who's he-re," Cody pitched his voice into a high sing-song.

"Very funny," she said, pushing his legs away from her. Just as she stood up, Mom appeared in the doorway with Jason.

"Chrisy-sy, guess who's he-re," she crooned.

Ignoring the snorting noise that came from under the book, Chrissy smiled and hurried over to greet Jason with a kiss, gathering one of his hands in both of hers.

"Now, you two behave," Mom giggled like she was the teenager. "How long can you stay, Jason?"

"Not too long, Mrs. Cunningham." He answered with a deferential duck of his head. "The guys and I have tickets to the game, so we're heading out to Indianapolis soon. But I wanted to come by to say happy Thanksgiving, and to see everyone, if that's okay."

"Of course it is! You know you are welcome any time. Chrissy, why don't you help me put a tray together for the boys?"

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that Mrs. Cunningham. I just finished eating."

"Nonsense, boys your age are always hungry. Come on, angel."

Chrissy reluctantly let go of Jason's hand and followed her mother to the kitchen. Dad stood at the sink with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"Back already?" He called over his shoulder.

"I'm just here for dessert," she said, pulling a plastic tray from a cupboard.

"Dessert for Jason and Cody," Mom added as she loaded one plate with cookies, and a second with slices of pumpkin bread. "Remember, sweetie," Mom continued, placing the plates on the tray in Chrissy's hands, "boys can get away with eating treats like this, but for us it's a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips!"

"I know, Mom," Chrissy answered, keeping her eyes off of the plates, and feeling a familiar knot tighten inside of her chest.

"Do you?" Mom landed a light swat on Chrissy's rear.

It didn't hurt, but the corners of Chrissy's eyes pricked as if it had. She turned quickly and walked away, hoping that Dad hadn't heard anything over the sound of the running faucet. The plates of cookies and bread slid back and forth as she tried to balance their uneven weights. As soon as she stepped into the den, Jason jumped to his feet and took the tray from her hands, setting it on the ottoman.

"Thanks, babe." Jason grabbed two cookies before sitting down again. "Hey, Cody," he said, "do you want anything?"

"No thanks, old sport." Cody, who had abandoned the couch and was now sprawled on the floor like a bear rug, didn't raise his head from his book when he answered. Jason gave Chrissy a quizzical look.

"Ignore him," she said with a dismissive shake of her head as she sat down. Snuggling into his side, she took one of Jason's hands in hers again. "Tell me about your day."

Jason smiled, brushed a kiss to the top of her head, and between bites of cookie he started talking about all the relatives who had stopped by his house for Thanksgiving and all the old family stories they told every year. Pressing herself against his warmth and breathing in his clean, fresh scent, Chrissy felt the knot in her chest begin to loosen. Jason always made her feel comfortable. He was easy to talk to - whatever he said was exactly what he meant - and he had never been mean to her, not even once. She knew she was lucky to have a boyfriend who was so good to her, who always made her feel safe. Some of her girlfriends had come to her with broken-hearted tears, or even screams of anger, telling stories of the ugly things their boyfriends had said to them, or of the unfair things they had done. And as Chrissy held and tried to soothe her weeping, shaking friends, she always thanked her lucky stars that Jason wasn't like those other boyfriends. He would never do anything to hurt her. He was perfect.

Chrissy caught Jason's eyes and tilted her head back. After a brief glance towards Cody, Jason leaned in and covered her lips with his own. As the kiss ended, he moved his mouth next to her ear.

"I love you," he whispered.

As always, Chrissy gave him a kiss in return. She had told him she wasn't ready to say that yet, and he had answered that it was alright, so long as he could say it to her. Chrissy knew this was true. Jason always meant what he said. If she kept trying, kept kissing him and hearing how much he loved her, eventually she would be able to say it, too. Eventually, she would feel it.

"How is everyone doing in here?" Mom swayed into the den, glass of wine in hand.

"Great, Mrs. Cunningham," Jason replied.

"You boys ate hardly any of your desserts. Let me put those in a Tupperware container, and, Jason, you can take them with you to Indianapolis as car snacks."

"Oh, you don't have to, Mrs. C-" Jason started, but Cody interrupted.

"Chrissy didn't get any dessert."

An awkward silence followed until Chrissy piped up, her voice a little more shrill than she intended.

"I thought you were reading."

"Chrissy didn't get any dessert," Cody repeated with a shrug.

"Babe, you didn't say anything," Jason said as he grabbed the plate of cookies. "Here you-"

"Don't you worry about Chrissy, she's had plenty." This time Mom was the one who interrupted Jason as she grabbed the plate out of his hand. "Just a minute," she trilled over her shoulder as she trotted off to the kitchen.

"You'd better get on the road," Chrissy said, willing the flush in her cheeks to cool down as she stood up and moved towards the door. She heard Jason following on her heels.

"Oh, okay. You're probably right. Bye, Cody!"

"Bye, old sport."

Jason chuckled as he put his arms into the sleeves of his coat that Chrissy held up for him.

"I do not understand that kid."

"No one does." Chrissy buttoned up his coat and then pulled him down by his lapels for one more kiss. "Have fun. Will you call me when you get home?"

"Of course," he replied, and wrapped her in a hug.

Chrissy fought the urge to grimace as Mom's voice and footsteps approached the door.

"Here are your cookies, sweetie. Now, you enjoy them!"

"I will, Mrs. Cunningham, thank you." Jason let Chrissy go, and took the Tupperware. "Happy Thanksgiving!"

Chrissy lingered in the doorway as Jason jogged to his car and her mother went back to the kitchen. With one last wave at Jason, she closed the door and leaned against it. She was lucky to have so much to be thankful for. She lived in a nice house with parents who cared for her. She had never gone without clothes or supplies or even presents. She went to a good school where she got good grades. She had fun friends and a perfect boyfriend. She had working legs and arms and eyes. Lots of people didn't have half of those things. Lots of people didn't have any of those things. Only a horribly ungrateful, selfish girl who had all of those things would be unhappy. She was so, so lucky, she reminded herself, as tears rolled down her face and dripped onto her collar.

She needed a few minutes of quiet, she thought as she wiped her sleeve over her cheeks. Just a few minutes to pull herself together. She started up the stairs, then stopped at the landing. Cody sat on the top step. He raised one finger to his mouth, then held out the plate of pumpkin bread. Chrissy stared at her little brother who never failed to puzzle her. She stepped lightly up the stairs, pushed his gangly body to the side, and sat beside him. She picked up a slice. He did the same. They ate their pumpkin bread in silence. It was delicious. When she finished hers, she brushed the crumbs on her fingers over the plate on Cody's knees.

"Thanks, squirt," she said softly, and got to her feet.

"Hey, Chrissy," Cody said, looking at the stairs.

"Hmm?" She paused.

"Are you okay?" He blinked up at her with his big, deep eyes. When had he started to look so old? It must be all the reading he did. Chrissy hesitated, but only for a moment.

"Of course I am," she answered, tweaking his nose affectionately, and ruffling his hair for good measure as she walked away. "Everything is fine," she said, smiling, and closed herself in the bathroom.

1986

Eddie slept without dreaming, and even though every part of his body ached when he woke up in the bottom of the boat, he felt something like his old self again. That wasn't a good thing, exactly, but he had gained a sense of being tethered to reality after Henderson's odd crew had found him. It was an awful reality, but at least he wasn't alone in it. Still, he had to be careful. Eddie kept the broken bottle in his hand as he heaved himself out of the boat and moved to the window. Had it been a noise that woke him? A car? He looked back and forth, trying to see movement in the trees and cursing from both relief and frustration when he didn't see anything.

The boathouse door burst open. Eddie choked on a shout and whirled around, only to see Henderson and his band stumbling inside, grocery bags in hand. At the sight of food, hunger eclipsed everything else. He grabbed, not very graciously, the bags, sat down, and tore into the first box he got his hands on, intent on stuffing his face. A Wayne-sounding voice in his mind told him to slow down – if he kept eating that fast he would make himself sick again – but there was an urgency to his hunger that he had to indulge. It was a new day, he was alive in it, and he was hungry. Those were all good, normal things, so he was going to eat as much as he could as fast as he could while they lasted. Everything outside was quiet. Even the lake was still, its surface reflecting the bright morning sky. Eddie, with surprise, realized that it was a beautiful morning. The sensation pricked at him. It didn't seem right that it should be a beautiful morning.

His visitors took turns talking at him. Bad news after bad news. Only about forty-percent of what they said made sense – that statistic was even lower when Robin and Steve talked about little girls with psychic powers – but he got the gist of it.

"Hunt the freak."

Eddie almost laughed. How many hours after reading that Newsweek piece had he actually been accused of murder? It had to be less than twenty-four. And to think he had found that article funny, even kind of enjoyed it. Mixed in with his righteous indignation was more than a hint of pleasure, not only at the idea of being considered dangerous, but at the superior feeling of knowing that other people were so phenomenally stupid. They were all so dumb, those men in gray flannel suits who "investigated" stories just so they could sermonize about them like prophets. Even dumber were the masses lapping them up, always hungry for someone to hate. Eddie had reveled in his superiority to their idiocy. And look where it had got him.

He flinched as sirens wailed nearby, then dove under the tarp. As the noise grew louder, Eddie's already stiff muscles tensed, sending jolts of pain across his back and up his neck. As the sirens faded, they were replaced by the thumping footsteps of everyone else rushing to the door.

"Stay put, Eddie, we'll find out what's going on!" A car revved, gravel skittered, and it was quiet again.

Another day alone, hiding under a tarp in a boathouse. Fantastic. What he wouldn't give to just be in class on a normal Tuesday right now. Eddie never thought he'd see the day when he would miss Hawkins High. He'd spent so much time wanting, trying to get out of there. Now that he'd probably never go back, something almost like regret was worming its way through his chest. It had been pretty bad, but it wasn't all terrible all the time. There had been a few good days sprinkled through the drudging misery of it all. Friday - the last day - was one of the rare good ones. Maybe that's why he was feeling so sentimental.

It hadn't been a promising start. A soon as he'd set foot through the school doors, he'd been summoned to the vice principal's office. It was while he sat, sulking, by the secretary's desk that he'd spotted the Dungeons & Dragons headline among the magazines heaped on a cheap coffee table. Eddie started to read the article, realized its comedic value, and stuffed the magazine into his bag when no one was looking. He had to live up to his reputation as a deviant, after all. The meeting went unexpectedly well, because even though the news was delivered with obvious disdain, the fact was that if he stayed on course for just a few more weeks, didn't tank or get in trouble, he would finally have enough credits to earn his degree. This semester was his last chance before he got the boot with only a pamphlet about the GED in hand, but he was so close now, he could taste it. That diploma was as good as his.

He'd left the office with unusual optimism and merged into the busy, buzzing hallway. Homeroom had been replaced with a pep rally (bonus: he'd missed that pointless circus), and now everyone was rushing to their first period classes. Eddie bent his head over his locker dial, hiding a smile behind his hair. He didn't want anyone to think he was full of school pride or anything. He was just glad that soon he'd be rid off all this. As the metal door clanged open, a compact paper square fluttered out. Catching it out of the air on instinct, Eddie stared at his own name written in loopy letters across one side. Puzzled and slightly worried, Eddie opened the tightly folded paper, and read.

Eddie,

Sorry to bother you, but I heard Jana talking about the earrings you gave her. I have been looking for earrings like that - could you help me find some? It's a surprise, so I won't tell anyone. Maybe you can let me know in History?

Thank you,

Chrissy

Eddie stared, dumbfounded, at the note. There was really only one way to interpret its meaning, but the conclusion that Chrissy Cunningham wanted to buy from him felt incredibly unlikely. What else could it be, though? Of course, he'd never given Jana any earrings. He did regularly sell her pot, and she was known for showing up at parties with joints tucked behind her ears. There was only one Chrissy in his history class – only one Chrissy in any of his classes – and it was Cunningham. So, there it was.

The bell rang. Eddie hurriedly stuffed the note in his pocket, grabbed his books, and strode off to class. He had about an hour to think about it before second period history. And he did think about it. Obsessively. He lined up a dozen scenarios in his head, like he was designing a side-quest for the Hellfire board. What to do if she told him it was a mistake, if it was a joke, if it was a trick…and if it was for real? Well, that opened a lot more possibilities. First things first, though.

He got to history early, prepared with his own, less-elaborately folded note with details on where and when to meet him later. As everyone filtered in and took their seats, Eddie stood against the wall and used the pencil-sharpener screwed to the windowsill. He watched her come in and sweep her gaze across the room as she made her way to her desk. After catching her eyes, he nodded briefly, then dropped the note between the sharpener and the window. She didn't respond, only took her seat without another look or gesture at him. Maybe it was a mistake, after all, he thought while walking to his desk and fighting the rising burn of humiliation creeping up his neck.

As he sat down, something snapped near the front of the room. Chrissy stood up, broken pencil in hand, and made her way over to the window. She leaned over the sharpener for a second before turning it. Not once while she ground her pencil into a point or went back to her seat did she glance at him, but when he looked at the window, the note was gone.

A meeting with the vice principal that didn't end in punishment, and now he was exchanging notes with Chrissy Cunningham. What a morning. And he would see her later, probably. Alone. Sometimes he'd hoped that somehow he'd get the opportunity to talk with her, away from everyone and everything else. Just the two of them, like that time in middle school. Did she remember? This was his chance to finally ask. A happy buzz zipped through his system and stayed there, making his voice loud and gestures big. By lunch, surrounded by his club who laughed at his every joke and agreed with everything he said, he'd worked himself into one of his uncontrollable moods and had to vent it. So what if he made a scene and everyone thought he was weird? He would be out of there in half a semester. So what if the homecoming king stood up and called him a freak? Eddie had a note from that guy's girlfriend in his pocket. For once, things were going his way.

Eddie's laughter echoed unpleasantly around the inside of the boat. He'd thought that was his lucky day. He should have known better. He should have listened to Wayne and kept his head down, stayed clear of other people's business. He should have kept himself out of trouble. But it was too late for that now. He'd survived trouble before, though. He could survive it again.