the shire is burning [eddie munson x OC]

chapter thirty five

WARNINGS: mentions of death, grief and loss of a sibling, description of an overdose. If any of these are triggering to you and you have to skip, please do so. I'll include an author's note at the end with a quick summary of the chapter so you're still up to date. 

Robin had gone home an hour ago, but not without taking home a tupperware container of an extra slice of lasagna.

For about the first thirty minutes, Eddie and Willow had taken to lounging in her living room. Eddie had insisted upon it to be respectful of her mother, now that she clearly knew that he'd been sneaking in and out, and he wouldn't let Willow fight him on it. Something about 'having to make a good impression' now.

If only he knew that he already had her mother's praises.

But then the clock struck ten, and like Cinderella, Eddie insisted he had to go home.

"Since when do you care about curfews?" Willow had whined when he moved her legs out of his lap, standing and stretching dramatically.

"Since I met your mom. That's serious business," he teased back.

Willow dropped her voice to a whisper, "What if you spent the night?" He gave her a look of disbelief, but Willow carried on, not caring if she was sounding clingy, "She obviously doesn't care, Eddie, or else she would have said something sooner."

It had only taken a few more minutes of convincing before Eddie had agreed that yes, he would spend the night, but he still needed to swing back by his trailer to get clothes for the next day. They still had school, after all.

Which left Willow in her current position, sitting criss-cross on the floor of her room, digging through her box of mixtapes. She had long since changed into comfortable pajamas after Eddie's departure, and had taken on the task of finding something to listen to when Eddie returned.

She'd tossed a few cassettes to the side, including Fleetwood Mac and Queen, but she had yet to find anything she thought Eddie would also enjoy. She had warned him, to be fair - she wasn't a metalhead like him. Sure, he had caved and listened to quite a bit of her music taste, but she felt bad for not returning the favor.

Maybe I should make a trip to the shops soon, buy something he'd like.

That's when the idea hit her.

She did have something closer to what Eddie might enjoy, buried in the back of her closet, sealed away in a box she'd allowed to gather dust for years. The moment she considered it, she froze.

He probably doesn't even like Blue Oyster Cult. Would it even be worth it?

As it turns out, she didn't really care if it was worth it - her body moved to its own accord as she shuffled to the closet and shifted around until she found the box.

It's large and heavy, and she struggles to tug it out into the open. There's a shoebox on top as well, barely sealed shut with wasted tape, that she places to the side. When they'd first moved, she'd used an entire roll between the two boxes, pretending that if she sealed them shut so vehemently, it would not only keep the memories inside safe from moths and such but her own pain and loss.

The shoebox has her own messy scrawl over a piece of tape placed on the top, PVJ , but the larger cardboard box has its own sharpie label directly on the surface.

Parker's shit.

It wasn't her handwriting, or her mother's, or even her father's.

It was Parker's handwriting.