Archive of Our Own

How the fuck could something be so right and so wrong?
All the wrong words but all the right parts

Gator Tillman’s car rattled faintly as it rolled over the uneven stretch of road leading into town, the heater struggling against the early morning chill. He kept both hands on the wheel, eyes forward, jaw set-, as if his posture alone could prepare him for what waited at the end of the drive.

His first shift as deputy.

No, not that kind of deputy, his mind supplied automatically. He supposed this position would be nothing like the shit he had gotten into back home.

The memories crept in anyway: the weight of a badge that never felt earned, the way every order came sharp and loud when it came from his father’s mouth. Sheriff Roy Tillman hadn’t believed in easing anyone into the job-, especially not his own son.

Gator had learned fast back then, but not because he’d wanted to. He’d learned because hesitation was punished, because mistakes were remembered, because working beneath Roy Tillman meant never being allowed to forget who held the power.

Hawkins was different. Smaller. More quiet. No one here knew his last name meant anything at all, and part of him was grateful for that.

The only name out of the Hawkins police department that mattered was Hopper.

Sheriff Hopper was the kind of man small towns trusted instinctively-, the gruff familiarity, the sense that he belonged here in a way Gator never would. Hopper didn’t have to prove himself every morning he put on the uniform. He just showed up and often times he didn’t even need to be sober to do it.

Jim went to school in Hawkins. He’d grown up there like everyone else in the department other than Gator.

He exhaled slowly, fingers tightening on the steering wheel before he caught himself. He needed to remember that he wouldn’t be working under Hopper the same way he’d worked under his father.

He very much doubted Jim would ever ask him to do something illegal. In every sense the job was kind of boring. The most excitement Gator had ever had was breaking up bar fights. Normally he just took reports from local farmers about kids on their property doing dumb kid shit-, vandalism, petty theft. And none of the reports ever really went anywhere.

Whenever he would get down about how dull it all was, Gator would remember some awful thing Roy sent him out to do and how lucky he had been to avoid prison.

Suddenly, listening to old men bitch about kids smashing their pumpkins didn’t seem so bad.

The police station came into view, squat and unassuming against the gray morning sky. Gator slowed, pulling into the lot and cutting the engine. For a moment, he stayed seated, listening to the hum of the car fade and the quiet settle in around him.

Moving to Indiana had been Gator’s one and only second chance. He didn’t believe he had done jack shit to earn a promotion, and Hopper had confirmed this assumption when he had called Gator into his office to let him know he only made the cut because Callahan failed his drug test. But seeing as the title also awarded Gator his own office and a little raise, he wasn’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth.

He would sit down and shut up. His early police training back home had taught him that at least.

“Ah Deputy Tillman-, I don’t mean to shit your parade first thing in the morning but there’s a whole stack of reports on that fancy new desk of yours,”

Florence was the department’s one and only secretary. Her no nonsense personality and obvious soft spot for Jim had made Gator assume she didn’t like him, but compared to how everyone else in the office behaved Florence was almost like a friend.

For the last year and a half all of Gator’s coworkers pretended he didn’t exist, only ever addressing him when absolutely necessary. He rode alone on his beats, took reports by himself. Considering he also lived alone in a dinky little house on the edge of town, Gator often felt like a recluse. A recluse whose minimal social skills were slowly eroding over time from disuse.

Although now that he was technically their supervisor, Gator knew that soon they would no longer be able to avoid him. He could only hope that wouldn’t end up being a bad thing.

“Of course there are. Thanks Flo-, is Jim here?”

Florence shook her head, looking amused.

“You know he’s never here till noon on Mondays.”

Gator could tell that she desperately wanted to add on ‘because of the hangover’ to the end of her sentence. It was an unspoken, unaddressed fact that the chief of police had a bit of a drinking problem. He got around too, if local rumors were to be believed. Although, Gator was open to accepting that as the truth-, Jim was handsome in a rugged sort of way. Plus the fact that he’d left Hawkins for years to run some department in the city was a big tipping point when it came to perusing and flirting with the local female population.

Jim was exciting to them, it seemed. He had pissed off a fair few husbands and boyfriends. A small number of them had actually shown up to the station to start something only to back off when they realized who they were actually looking to challenge.

Hopper might have been a hands off, borderline lazy cop but his size was intimidating enough. Gator had seen the man fight and wouldn’t have wanted to be on the receiving end of a punch from the son of a bitch.

Gator walked off to his closet sized office at the back of the station. Hopper’s office was at the front of the building near Florence’s desk. The idea was that the deputy could keep an eye on everything from the rear whilst the chief over saw everything at the front, but Jim’s tardiness often didn’t allow that. Considering this wasn’t Gator’s actual first day and just his first shift as deputy, he was well aware that a lot of them slacked off until Jim actually came in for the day.

That morning was no different. Gator walked past the handful of desks scattered around the middle of the station, mumbling hellos that didn’t get much response other than a few halfhearted grunts.

Gator shut the door to his office behind him, the hollow click sounding louder than it should have in a room that small.

Calling it an office was generous. It was barely wider than the desk itself; a metal rectangle with chipped corners and a drawer that only opened if you yanked it just right. A single filing cabinet squatted against the wall like it had been punished into the corner, its top bowed from years of being used as extra storage. Someone, probably Glenn, back when it had still been his, had tacked up a curling Hawkins High football schedule that was two years out of date.

The window was the best and worst part of the room.

It looked out over the side of the parking lot and the tree line beyond, branches thin and skeletal against the sky. Gator shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, the fabric brushing against his knuckles in a way that made his wrist ache, faint and phantom. He ignored it like he always did and sat down in his stiff new chair.

Outside, the sky started to change as the morning staggered on.

At first there were only a few flakes, drifting down slow and indecisive, melting as soon as they touched the pavement. Then more followed. Soft, steady, quiet. Snow always did that. It slipped in without asking, without fanfare, until suddenly the world had changed around you.

Nearly Christmas already, Gator thought absently.


It was hard to believe he had been in Hawkins for nearly two years already.

He leaned back in his chair, listening to the muffled sounds of the station through the walls. Phones ringing, a laugh cut short, boots crossing linoleum. The stack of reports Florence had mentioned sat untouched on his desk. For once, no one was asking him to do anything. No one was watching.

That was when a memory slipped its way in.

It always started the same: the crackle of the radio, Roy’s voice sharp and impatient on the other end. The orders he had given Gator had been vague. Nothing illegal, not exactly-, just morally wrong. The kind of wrong that sat heavy in Gator’s gut even then, when he’d still been trying to convince himself his father knew best.

Daddy always knew best back then.

But then he hesitated. He had the balls to ask a question.

Roy hadn’t liked that.

The office back home had been bigger than this one, louder too. Roy Tillman had filled every inch of it, his presence impossible to escape. Gator remembered the way his father’s face had hardened just at the sight of him-, when they both had the sudden understanding that this little meeting wasn’t about the call or about the mistakes Gator had made. Not this time.

It was about defiance.

The pain came back in flashes rather than details. Pressure, the sickening sense of something giving where it shouldn’t. The sound he’d made, half gasp, half shout, before he could stop himself. Roy’s grip iron-hard, voice low and furious as he reminded Gator who he worked for.

Who he belonged to.

When Gator came back to himself, he was staring at his desk, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His right hand had curled into a fist without him realizing it. He loosened it slowly, flexing his fingers.

That had been the moment he’d known.

Not when the bone healed wrong. Not when the whispers started. But right there, standing in his father’s office with his arm shattered and his badge feeling heavier than it ever had before. He wasn’t going to survive staying there.

Not as a cop. Not as a son. He couldn’t be a Tillman after that.

Indiana had been a lifeline he hadn’t fully trusted until he took it. And however bad it could get, it was never going to be anything like home.

Outside, the snow was coming down harder now, blanketing the lot, softening the edges of everything. Hawkins looked smaller through the glass. Quieter. Like it might actually let a man disappear if he needed to.

Gator reached forward and finally pulled one of the reports toward him, grounding himself in the mundane reality of the job. Property damage. A few drunk and disorderly cases. Complaints that would lead nowhere.

Boring.

Good, he thought. Boring was good.

He glanced once more out the window at the falling snow, then squared his shoulders and got to work-, determined, if nothing else, to make this place the opposite of what he’d left behind.

Jim Hopper showed up just after noon, exactly like Florence had said he would.

Gator heard him before he saw him. He had heavy footsteps, and saw no issue with hollering at his subordinates as they walked by or uttering curses under his breath whenever his key jammed in the lock on his office door.

A minute later, Florence’s voice floated down the hall to where Gator stood pouring himself a cup of cheap coffee. She sounded amused. Whatever she said was followed by Hopper’s rough grunt of a reply.

“Tillman,” Hopper called out as he passed by Gator standing in the hallway, his voice hoarse. “My office. Now.”

Gator nodded jerkily, smoothing a hand over the front of his uniform more out of habit than need, and made his way down the hall.

Hopper’s office was the opposite of his own in every way-, bigger, brighter, cluttered but lived-in. An old coffee mug from Benny’s sat on the desk beside a stack of folders, and the faint smell of stale alcohol lingered beneath the burnt coffee.

Hopper looked rough.

His eyes were bloodshot, skin sallow, dark stubble creeping up his jaw like he’d lost a fight with a razor. He leaned back in his chair, hand pressed briefly to his temple before he dropped it, as if daring the headache to challenge him.

“So,” Hopper said, squinting at Gator. “First shift as deputy. You hate it yet?”

Gator hesitated, measuring his words the way he always did around authority. “It’s… fine, sir. Quiet.”

Hopper snorted. “That’s small towns for you. Should be used to it, eh?”

There was a pause. Hopper studied him for a second too long, eyes sharp even through whatever fog he was fighting. Gator shifted his weight, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“Uh,” Gator said, then winced internally. He tried again. “Guess it’s a good thing it’s quiet today. Wouldn’t want anything too… festive, considering.”

Hopper’s brow furrowed. “Considering what?”

Gator gestured vaguely. “You know. You seem kinda-, I mean…nevermind.”

The look Hopper gave him was flat, unimpressed, and distinctly unamused.

“Christ, Tillman,” Hopper said. “If you’ve got something to say, say it. If you don’t, don’t waste my time.”

Heat crept up Gator’s neck. “Yes, sir.”

Hopper sighed, rubbing his face with both hands like he was trying to reset himself.

“We’re short today. Glenn called in sick, and Callahan…well.” He waved a hand like the explanation spoke for itself. “I need you out on patrol.”

Relief mixed with nerves in Gator’s chest. “Of course.”

“Take the cruiser,” Hopper added. “Roads are gonna get ugly.”

Gator nodded and turned to leave, already halfway out the door when Hopper spoke again, his voice a little softer this time.

“And Tillman?”

“Yes, sir?”

Hopper met his eyes. “You’re doing fine. Don’t overthink it, and don’t let any of those jackasses out there walk all over you.”

Gator gave a stiff nod and left before he could say something else stupid.

Outside, the snowfall had progressed from steady to aggressive.

By the time he pulled the cruiser onto the road, the flakes were coming down thick and fast, swirling sideways in a sudden squall that turned the world into a blur of white and gray. The radio crackled softly in the background of an otherwise silent ride.

Gator adjusted his grip on the wheel and eased forward, tires crunching over fresh snow. Visibility was basically nonexistent. It was the kind of weather that made people careless, or scared, or both.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at the station disappearing behind him, then back to the road ahead.

Taking the title of deputy didn’t exactly change much. He was still on his own. He was still making an ass out of himself in front of Hopper.

Had he been foolish to think anything would be different?

Gator kept his focus on the roads in front of him, as he was rather accustomed to being on high alert in bad weather. He dug around in his jacket for his smokes and a lighter, finally finding both as he reached a four way intersection. It was probably for the best that he seemed to be the only idiot out on the roads.

Most afternoons were pretty dull until people left work for the day and the schools let out.

As Gator flicked open his old zippo, flame shielded behind his palm, an old white Chevy van sped straight through the intersection without even attempting to stop.

“Motherfuck-,” Gator hissed, nearly dropping the lighter and burning his fingers in the process.

He shoved the cigarette back into his pocket and slammed on his lights and sirens in one quick movement. The tires of the squad car slid in the mixture of sleet and snow covering the roads, nearly failing to find traction as Gator followed the van.

For a brief couple of seconds the deputy wondered whether or not the jerk was even going to stop. The prospect of having to chase after somebody in the middle of a damn blizzard was daunting. But eventually the old van slowed to a crawl before pulling over to the side of the road.

Gator sighed as he collected his things and shouldered open his door. The lights above the cruiser beat a red and blue reflection off the sheets of bright white snow covering the nearby hillside.

The deputy let the door slam shut behind him as he took a second to orient himself, boots crunching into the snow as a gust of wind cut through his jacket. The squall had thickened, flakes stinging his face and clinging to his lashes. He adjusted his hat, then started toward the van.

Up close, it appeared to be in even rougher shape than he had thought. Panels of rust bloomed along the seams, one cracked and taped over, the whole thing idling noisily like it might give up and break down right then and there. Music thumped faintly from inside, distorted by the wind.

Gator stopped at the driver’s window and rapped his knuckles against the glass.

The music cut off abruptly. The window rolled down with a tired whine, and a cloud of warm air spilled out, thick with cigarette smoke and something sweet and herbal.

The guy sat behind the wheel looked exactly like the kind of trouble Hawkins loved to complain about.

Long dark curls shoved back with little care, pale face sharp and expressive, eyes already glittering with something between defiance and amusement. He grinned like this was all a private joke Gator hadn’t been let in on yet.

“Hey, man,” the driver said. “Something I can help you with?”

Gator kept his voice even. Neutral. “You blew through a four-way stop back there. I need to see your license and registration.”

The guy blinked, exaggeratedly innocent. “I did?”

“Yes,” Gator said flatly. “You did.”

A short few seconds of silence passed and then the driver laughed, soft and incredulous. “Huh. Guess I missed the stop sign…must be all this crazy snow.”

Gator didn’t react. He just held out his hand.

The other man’s grin faltered, just a little.

“Alright, alright,” the driver said, rummaging through the cluttered cab and seat beside him. Papers slid around, something metal clinked. Junk clattered to the floor. “No need to get all serious. Roads are basically a skating rink at this point-,”

“And that’s why stop signs exist,” Gator replied.

The driver finally handed over a worn license, edges bent like it had lived in a back pocket for years. Gator glanced down at it, the name ringing a bell for him immediately.

Eddie Munson.

He looked back up. Eddie was watching him closely now, chin tipped up, eyes sharp beneath the humor.

“Munson,” Gator said. “You from around here?”

Eddie snorted. “Born and raised, actually.”

Gator kept his face neutral. He was fairly certain he had heard of the name Munson before. It would have been during his training days, when Powell and Callahan were driving him around. They’d gone past a trailer court, and warned Gator that even though he might be tempted to patrol there, he shouldn’t waste his time.

Something about how the Munson family didn’t take kindly to cops showing up unannounced, and that if Gator valued his own life he would find something better to do than head up there without a warrant.

But this was different-, he’d clearly seen Eddie blow through the intersection. He had more than enough cause to pull him over.

“You aware of how fast you were going?” he asked.

Eddie shrugged. “Fast enough to stay warm?”

Gator exhaled slowly through his nose, reminding himself that despite the bad reputation, this was just another idiot in a car making bad decisions in bad weather. He wasn’t banging on the door of some hardened criminal in the middle of the day.

“Is this a joke to you, man? You could’ve gotten someone killed,” Gator said, firmer now. “Or killed yourself.”

Eddie tilted his head, studying him. “You new around here?”

The question caught Gator off guard.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean…” Eddie gestured vaguely with one ringed hand. “I am, unfortunately, on a first name basis with most of your coworkers. But…I don’t know you-,” he practically leered at Gator over the open window, his grin less than friendly as he eyed him up and down. “And I’d like to. What a charming little accent you have. Officer.”

“Deputy, actually.” Gator straightened a fraction. “And is that supposed to matter? Whether or not you know me?”

Eddie smiled again, slow and knowing. “In Hawkins? Yeah. It kinda does.”

Something tight settled in Gator’s chest at that. He ignored it, glancing back at the license.

“Sit tight,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

He turned toward the cruiser and walked away with Eddie’s gaze burning into his back. As he reached for the door, Gator had the sudden, unwelcome sense that this wasn’t going to end the way he wanted it to.

Gator slid into the cruiser and shut the door, the noise of the wind dulling immediately. He set Eddie’s license on the dash and keyed the radio, forcing his tone into something calm and professional.

“Hawkins dispatch, this is Deputy Tillman,” he said. “I’ve got a vehicle stopped off County Road Six. Need to run a license and check for any outstanding warrants. And…he hesitated, then added, “can we ping Hopper and get his say on this one?”

Static crackled, followed by a familiar voice.

“Yeah, uh, Hopper’s tied up right now,” Powell said. “You’ve got me.”

Gator frowned. “That’s fine. Just run the name. And the plate too.”

A pause. There was a lot of shuffling in the background.

“Eddie Munson,” Powell repeated slowly. Then another pause, although this one went on for a lot longer.

Gator’s jaw tightened. “Powell?”

“Yeah I’m here,” Powell said, voice lower now. “Listen, Tillman… you’re gonna need to just give him a warning and send him on his way.”

Gator blinked. “Excuse me?”

Calvin cleared his throat. “You heard me.”

“He blew through a stop sign,” Gator said, keeping his voice even. “In a snow squall. Going probably seventy in a twenty five. That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, well,” Powell replied, “The name Eddie Munson isn’t nothing either. Kid’s got a history.”

Gator glanced up through the windshield at the van, Eddie’s silhouette was visible through the snow. “A history? What the fuck does that mean? If he’s got a warrant you are obligated to inform me-,”

Another pause. Longer still.

“…Yeah. There’s a few. Little things. Possession, mostly.”

Gator straightened in his seat. “Then why the hell are you telling me to let him go?”

“Because it’s in your best interest,” Powell said firmly. “And his. And frankly, the department’s.”

“What are the warrants for?” Gator pressed. “I need specifics from you Calvin-,”

Some of his familiar attitude blistered through the surface as he spat out his subordinate’s name like a curse word.

“Don’t,” Powell cut in. “Just…don’t do this to yourself during your first week as deputy, alright?”

The words hit harder than Gator expected.

“What kind of warrants, Powell?” he asked again.

“It’s on a need to know basis, Till-, sir. If you want to check in with someone about it, I suggest Hopper.”

Gator stared at the radio, knuckles whitening around the mic. For a split second, he felt his father with him in the cruiser. He could hear the sound of Roy’s voice, sharp and final, telling him when to stop asking questions. When to just follow orders and shut the hell up.

He swallowed. Bad habits sure were hard to break sometimes.

“So I’m supposed to ignore outstanding warrants,” Gator said. “And just let him drive off in a blizzard with a have a nice day.”

“Give him a warning,” Powell replied. “Write it up if you want. Just don’t make this a thing.”

“And you’re sure Hopper knows about this?”

He could tell he was making Calvin uncomfortable.

“You aren’t going to get heat for it.”

That settled it, whether Gator liked it or not.

“…Copy that,” he said finally, each word tasting sour.

He set the receiver down harder than necessary and stared at Eddie’s license again on the dashboard. Eddie Munson. Local troublemaker. Untouchable, apparently.

In Hawkins? Yeah. It kinda does.

Gator exhaled, then shoved the door open and stepped back into the snow.

Eddie perked up when he saw him approaching, grin already in place. “That was fast, deputy. Everything go alright?”

Gator stopped at the window. “You ran a stop sign in hazardous conditions,” he said flatly. “I’m issuing you a warning.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Just a warning?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Gator replied. “Have some respect and drive more mindfully...especially in weather like this.”

For a moment, Eddie just stared at him with cold, emotionless eyes. But then his grin softened, turning almost genuine.

“Well damn,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is about you deputy, but I like you.”

Gator handed back the license. “You’re free to go.”

Eddie took it, then hesitated. “Hey-, hold on a sec.”

Gator tensed. “What?”

“You should really come by the Hideout sometime,” Eddie said casually, as if Gator hadn’t just tried to get him arrested. “It’s kind of far out on the edge of town, but it’s a fun little joint. My band always plays on Christmas Eve.”

Gator’s immediate reaction was a sharp, internal absolutely not. The Hideout had a reputation-, it was frequented by criminals, burnouts, people who didn’t like cops and liked trouble even less. The exact kind of place Roy Tillman would’ve sent him into just to see what happened.

Still, Eddie was watching him closely.

“…I’ll think about it,” Gator said, already knowing he wouldn’t.

Eddie beamed. “Great. Wouldn’t miss it if I were you.”

He rolled the window up, the van sputtering briefly before lurching forward. Snow kicked up behind it as Eddie pulled back onto the road and disappeared into the whiteout.

Gator stood there for a long moment, watching the tracks fade.

Then he turned back toward his cruiser, a warning slip in his pocket, and the uneasy realization settling deep in his gut:

Hawkins had rules, just like home. Rules that weren’t written anywhere, regulations that existed only by word of mouth and public opinion.

And he knew that he better learn quick what rules were okay to enforce, unless he wanted to start all over again a second time.

Gator didn’t head back out after the stop he’d made at the intersection.

The rest of the patrol passed in a blur of white roads and radio silence, but Eddie Munson lingered in his thoughts like grit under a fingernail. By the time the snow eased into something manageable and the cruiser rolled back into the lot, Gator’s jaw ached from how hard he’d been clenching it.

Hopper’s truck was still there, parked right out front.

Gator shut off the engine and sat for a second, just staring at the steering wheel. He told himself he was tired. That he was overthinking it. That Powell had been right when he told him not to get involved.

But that itch in his gut didn’t go away.

Inside, the station felt too warm and loud for a Monday. Someone had turned on a radio somewhere, letting Christmas music crackle through bad speakers. Florence was on the phone, twisting the cord around her finger.

Hopper’s office door stood open nearby.

This time Gator didn’t bother to knock.

Hopper looked up from his desk as Gator stepped inside, brows knitting together almost immediately.

“What’s wrong,” Hopper asked. It wasn’t a question.

There was no way Powell hadn’t shared the events of the afternoon with someone the very first second he could.

Gator shut the door behind him. “I pulled Eddie Munson over this afternoon.”

Hopper leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking. His expression flattened, like a switch had been flipped. “And?”

“And Powell told me to let him go,” Gator said. “Said you knew why that would be okay.”

Hopper’s eyes flicked away for half a second, toward the window, and the gray light outside.

“I do.”

Gator swallowed. “He has active warrants.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re telling me it was okay to just pretend they didn’t exist?”

Hopper sighed, long and heavy, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m telling you to leave it alone.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Gator said carefully, “that’s not how this is supposed to work.”

Hopper barked out a humorless laugh.

“I feel like a broken record at this point, but Welcome to Hawkins, deputy. We do shit different here.”

Gator’s hands curled at his sides. “He could’ve killed someone. He was flying through that intersection.”

“But he didn’t,” Hopper snapped, sharper now. “Which is why this ends with a warning.”

“That’s not the point.”

Hopper’s eyes hardened. “It is the point.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. The radio outside the door warbled out a rendition of the Little Drummer Boy.

But Gator held his ground despite the worry gnawing at his backbone.

“Why?” he asked finally. “Why does everyone bend over backwards for him?”

Hopper studied him for a long moment, like he was weighing how much truth Gator could handle. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the window, looking out at the falling snow.

“You ever hear of an Alan Munson?” Hopper asked.

Gator frowned. “Nope.”

Hopper nodded once, like he expected ignorance. “He was Eddie’s father. Al ran with a fairly interesting crowd back in the day. Indianapolis, Chicago. Nothing flashy, we’re not talking the mob. Not exactly. But courier work, distribution. The kind of stuff that doesn’t make headlines but still ruins lives.”

Gator felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. “Is he still…”

“Not exactly,” Hopper said. “But ties like that don’t just disappear. And Al didn’t exactly make friends when he left.”

Gator pieced it together slowly. “So Eddie…”

“Isn’t like his father,” Hopper cut in. “And he hates the man for it. But blood’s blood, Tillman. Doesn’t matter how much distance Eddie puts between himself and Al. To the wrong people, he’s still leverage.”

Gator stared at him. “So we just…what? Pretend he’s harmless?”

“We pretend he’s not worth the paperwork,” Hopper said bluntly. “We keep him in Hawkins. We keep him bored. And we don’t give anyone a reason to come sniffing around this town looking for him.”

“That’s not justice,” Gator said quietly.

Hopper turned back to him, eyes tired but steady. “No. It’s damage control.”

The words sat heavy between them.

“So everyone knows,” Gator said. “The department, I mean.”

Hopper nodded. “Enough of us.”

“And if I hadn’t called it in to check?”

Hopper didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low. “Then you’d have made one hell of a mess for yourself on day one.”

Gator stiffened. “Is that a threat?”

Hopper’s mouth twitched. “It’s a warning.”

They held each other’s gaze. They were just two men in uniform, both shaped by places that expected loyalty over rules.

Finally, Hopper sighed again, sounding older than he looked. “You did fine today,” he said. “But you need to learn when to let things go.”

Suddenly, Gator was brought back to his father's office for the second time that day. It forced him to remember what happened behind closed doors there, and how Al Munson sounded like the type of man who would earn the respect of his father. The only difference was that Roy had a badge and a title.

“I left a place where ‘letting things go’ got people hurt,” he said evenly.

Hopper’s expression softened, just a fraction. “Hawkins isn’t Stark County.”

“No,” Gator agreed. “But it’s sure as hell startin’ to feel like home.”

Hopper studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. “You’re not wrong to care,” he said. “Just don’t confuse that with doing your job.”

Gator didn’t respond. There was nothing to say.

“Get some rest,” Hopper added. “We’ll deal with Munson if and when that becomes necessary.”

Gator turned toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.

“And if it does?” he asked.

Hopper met his eyes. “Then we deal with it together.”

Gator left without another word.

Out in the hall, the Christmas music felt louder, making him feel like he was trapped in a bad holiday episode of some lame sitcom. He pulled on his coat, the fabric brushing his wrist, causing the ghost of pain to travel down his forearm. He headed for the door as snow swirled in glittering loops across the parking lot.

In a way snow was the perfect metaphor for the day. It covered everything the same way small towns loved to cover their sins.

The rest of the week passed without incident.

Gator’s days blurred together into a monotonous rhythm of patrol routes and paperwork, the kind of quiet a small police station seemed proud of. A noise complaint here. A broken window there. One stolen bike that turned up three streets over, abandoned in a ditch like the kid had gotten bored halfway through the crime.

No mention of the name Munson.

No follow-ups. No warnings from Hopper.

No lectures from Powell.

It should have been a relief.

Instead, the name stayed lodged in his head, popping up when he least expected it.

There was a strange energy about him that was hard forget. The casual way he leaned out of the driver’s side window. The easy grin. The way he’d clocked Gator as new before Gator had even realized he was being sized up. The fact that he had invited Gator to a dive bar, the suggestion tossed out like it didn’t mean anything at all.

Wouldn’t miss it if I were you.

On Friday afternoon, Florence handed Gator his schedule with an offhand smile.

“You’re off tomorrow,” she informed him. “Merry Christmas.”

Gator stared down at the paper. “Off? Really?”

She nodded. “Hopper’s orders. Whole department’s rotating. Figure you’ve earned something for being the only one willing to take the job.”

He almost laughed. Instead, he nodded and thanked her, folding the paper carefully before slipping it into his pocket like it might vanish if he didn’t.

Gator hadn’t been free on Christmas in a long time. That sort of thing didn’t matter much anymore, considering he didn’t have a family to celebrate with or anywhere to go other than his place.

His apartment was basic. Plain and unassuming. Nothing at all like the home he had grown up in.

It was the one feature about it that he did like.

He never turned on the overhead light. In the dimness, he kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his coat, draping it over the chair. The air carried the stale scent of old coffee and radiator heat. There were no decorations, no Christmas tree, only bare walls and furniture that felt provisional, as if he’d already decided this place wasn’t meant to last.

He sank into the armchair in the living room, exhaustion settling into his bones now that he didn’t have to outrun it.

Outside, the sky dimmed earlier than it should have, winter stealing the light without apology.

He must have dozed off while he sat there thinking about what to do with his free evening.

The dream came on soft and strange, the way the best and worst ones always did.

The falling snow gave way to flashing red and blue lights. The quiet hum of the cruiser idled behind him.

Eddie was there again, leaning out the window, curls catching the lights from the cruiser. He wore the same shit eating grin, but he was a lot closer this time. Too close.

Tension crackled in the space between them.

“You should come by some time, deputy.”

Gator opened his mouth to speak, to inform the dream Eddie Munson that suggesting to an officer that he check out a dive bar full of other lowlifes was probably not the best idea, especially when it was presented like Eddie was asking him to do more than just show up-, but he never got to say a single word.

Eddie reached out instead.

There was a hand on Gator’s collar. A sudden rush as he was pulled forward.

The kiss wasn’t rough or frantic. It was brief, startling, warm in the cold. Eddie smiled into it as if he had planned to do this the entire time.

Relax, a voice murmured, amused and intimate all at once.

It was almost as if Eddie were speaking to him inside his skull and not just out loud within the dream. There was suggestion there, a hint of flirtation that Gator hadn’t wanted to acknowledge during the traffic stop.

Why should he acknowledge that the idea of Eddie hitting on him made him think of things he shouldn’t?

Eddie Munson. Son of somebody who sounded like he’d make great pals with Roy Tillman.

In the dream, fingers carded messily at his shirt collar, cold skin slipping beneath the fabric. The press of silver rings against his neck made him gasp, inadvertently inviting Eddie to slip his tongue between Gator’s trembling lips.

Gator jolted awake with a sharp inhale, heart hammering against his ribs.

The living room was completely dark.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, disoriented, his pulse still racing. For a moment, he swore he could still feel it…the ghost of pressure at his collar, the closeness. Eddie’s taste on his tongue.

He stood abruptly, moving toward the window like it might anchor him back in reality.

While he had been napping Hawkins had illuminated itself.

Christmas lights blinked along rooftops and fences, warm yellows and reds cutting through the snow. A neighbor across the way had gone all out. Their yard was littered with plastic reindeer and a full sized sleigh covered in multicolored lights. A full sized glowing Santa stood sentry on their porch.

Gator stared around at it all, his chest tight.

It made him wish he hadn’t decided to keep his apartment so empty, as if he were scared of growing roots within it.

Although not even the holiday could distract him from the dream. Rudolph’s glowing red nose didn’t scrub out the sound of Eddie’s voice in his head, casual and confident, like he’d known exactly what kind of chaos he was inviting.

Wouldn’t miss it if I were you.

Gator stood there for a long time.

Then he turned away from the window and reached for his coat on the back of the chair.

“God help me,” he muttered to the empty room.

Minutes later, the engine of his car turned over, headlights cutting through the falling snow as he pulled out of the lot and onto the road. Gator only ever went to work or down to Bradley’s for his groceries.

Occasionally for fun he hit up the local tavern during the Colts games.

But instead of heading into town, towards familiarity and common sense, Gator headed left in the direction of the Hideout.

The road that stretched towards the opposite edge of town narrowed the farther Gator drove, streetlights thinning until they disappeared altogether. Snow clung stubbornly to the asphalt, packed down into dull gray ruts by the handful of vehicles that had already made the trip ahead of him. The radio hummed with static and a half-caught Christmas song before he shut it off entirely.

Quiet suited him better in that moment.

The Hideout wasn’t marked by any sign he could see at first. Just trees, skeletal and dark, pressing in close on either side of the road like they were conspiring to keep whatever waited up ahead a secret. Gator slowed instinctively, scanning the tree line, the ditches, the unlit stretch beyond his headlights.

Then he saw it.

The building squatted back from the road, half-hidden behind a mess of snow-dusted brush and bare branches. At a glance, it looked abandoned. It was much too dark to hold a bar of all things-, but the lot out front told a different story.

Cars lined the uneven gravel, parked at odd angles like no one had bothered pretending there were rules here. Old sedans, pickup trucks with rusted fenders, and a couple of vans that looked like they were straight out of the 70s. Their windows were fogged from the inside, bass-heavy music bleeding faintly through cracked doors and rolled-down windows.

Gator eased his car into an open spot near the edge of the lot and cut the engine.

For a second, he just sat there.

The building itself had unmistakably been a church once upon a time. The bones of it were still there and visible. From the sloped roof to the narrow shape of the walls, to the suggestion of a steeple long since removed. But time and neglect had stripped away anything holy. Every window was boarded over, the wood darkened and warped. The exterior walls had been painted black at some point, the color uneven and peeling in places, like the building had shed its past on purpose.

It didn’t look like any bar Gator had ever been to before.

And yet, the low thrum of voices and music vibrated through the cold air, proof that it was very much alive.

Gator exhaled through his nose, fingers tightening briefly on the steering wheel. He was off duty. He reminded himself of that like it was a mantra. He had brought his badge, but just out of habit. It sat pinned beneath his jacket like always. Although tonight he knew he needed to remember that he had come here as just a man who clearly wanted to make a questionable decision and was now committed to seeing it through.

He shoved the door open and stepped out into the snow.

Cold bit immediately through his boots, gravel crunching underfoot as he crossed the parking lot. The closer he got, the more details emerged, like the burn marks along the siding, and the graffiti that had been half-scrubbed off and painted over. There was a string of mismatched Christmas lights tacked crookedly along the roofline. They blinked in uneven intervals, casting red and green shadows across the black walls.

Paper flyers had been stapled to the front door and the boards beside it, their edges curled and damp.

ONE NIGHT ONLY! CHRISTMAS EVE

CORRODED COFFIN
LIVE AT THE HIDEOUT

He reached out and touched the edge of one of the flyers. At the bottom of the announcement was some kind of crude, hand drawn visage. A demon’s face, horns and all.

Music thumped from inside the thin walls. It was a lot clearer up close, vibrating through the soles of his boots. Laughter spilled out when the door opened briefly, followed by a gust of warm air thick with cigarette smoke and something metallic and sharp.

Gator paused from where he stood in his hiding spot. He felt like a baby waiting out there. What was his plan? Just stand outside the bar until he got so cold he froze to death?

From here, he could still turn around. Get back in his car. Drive home. He could try and forget about Eddie Munson. He didn’t want to be associated with someone like him anyway. Wasn’t the whole point of moving here to avoid trouble? Now he was running straight towards it with his arms open to its embrace.

Like a fool.

The door handle was heavy and cold beneath his palm.

Whatever waited on the other side-, cheap beer, bad music, or something far worse, he sensed it would complicate things beyond his control.

He pushed the door open anyway and let the noise hit him first.

Body heat, the unmistakable vibrations of live music- everything crashed together the second Gator stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind him and the cold vanished, replaced by a wall of sweat, smoke, and bass that rattled straight through his ribs. The Hideout was packed shoulder to shoulder, people pressed so tight together that movement was more suggestion than action.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

What had once been a church had been hollowed out and repurposed with zero reverence. The pews were gone, replaced with battered tables and a long, scarred bar that ran along one wall. Candles dripped wax onto every flat surface. The ceiling soared overhead, revealing exposed beams that were blackened with age and smoke.

Like outside, every available surface had been wrapped in red and green string lights. The support beams holding up the rickety old church, the low counter of the bar itself, and even the stage.

It was a tiny wooden square shoved up against what must have once been the altar.

Corroded Coffin was already mid-song when Gator entered.

The crowd surged toward the front, a mass of leather jackets and denim and raised fists. Gator could just barely make out Eddie from the doorway, his dark curls bouncing as he moved, guitar slung low, body loose and electric like the music itself lived under his skin. Every now and then, Eddie disappeared entirely behind someone’s shoulder or a raised arm, then reappeared again, mouth open as he sang into the mic.

His voice cut through the noise of the crowd.

He sang the way he spoke- controlled and deliberate. It was more pleasant than Gator had expected, even through the distortion and pounding drums. There was something grounded in it, something almost steady despite the chaos.

Gator warily eyed the crowd, finding not one face that was familiar, not that he really expected to see one. His nerves made going further into the bar feel difficult. He drank all the time back home, but those were places where he not only knew everyone, but could expect his drink of choice to be waiting for him without having to ask.

Don’t be such a pussy, he told himself. You chose to come here.

He forced his feet to move, angling toward the bar instead of standing there like a statue. It took some effort. He muttered a few apologies as he squeezed past people, earning more than one irritated look and a spilled drink splashing cold against his jeans.

The bar itself was a disaster. The wooden counter top was covered in a sticky film and full ashtrays. It was crowded with patrons waving cash and shouting orders at a bartender who looked one bad night away from crawling over the counter and throwing a punch. Bottles lined the shelves behind him, mismatched and half-empty.

Gator waited his turn, shoulders hunched slightly, eyes flicking back toward the stage despite his own brain constantly telling him not to look.

Eddie leaned into the mic again, curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. For just a second, one that was brief enough that Gator might’ve imagined it, he thought he felt Eddie’s gaze cut through the crowd and land on him.

Then the moment was gone, swallowed by movement and the roar of the room.

“Yeah?” the bartender barked, finally turning to him.

Gator startled, then cleared his throat. It was hard to focus on anything other than the tattoo he had spotted on the older man’s arm. It looked like a mermaid, or maybe a siren. She was posed on a rock, her head turned over her shoulder as if she were hunting for her next victim.

Pretty, but terrifying. She seemed to dance as he moved around the bar mixing drinks.

“Uh…a beer, I guess. Whatever’s cheapest. And a shot of whiskey.”

The bartender snorted like that was the most predictable order in the world and slid away. Gator leaned his forearms against the bar, fingers curling into the wood as the music surged again behind him.

He told himself he was just here to have a drink. To prove something, maybe, to himself-, that he wasn’t his father, or that he didn’t have to avoid places like this just because they made him uncomfortable.

Perhaps both.

The beer landed in front of him first, sloshing dangerously close to the rim. The shot followed a second later.

Gator stared at them for a moment before picking up the whiskey and knocking it back in one go. The burn was immediate and grounding, spreading heat through his chest. He chased it with a long pull of the beer, foam clinging briefly to his lip.

It both looked and tasted like piss- not that he had a reference to back up that particular claim.

Behind him, the song ended in a crash of cymbals and cheers. The crowd roared, bodies pressing forward as Eddie stepped back from the mic, laughing breathlessly as someone shouted his name.

Gator didn’t turn around right away, choosing to pretend he hadn’t even cared to see the band.

He took another drink, ordered another shot, and let the noise wash over him. Slowly the unease settled into something manageable. It wasn’t gone, but it had definitely dulled significantly.

Then a voice cut in close to his ear, too near to be coincidence.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

Gator stiffened. His fingers tightened painfully around his nearly empty glass.

He turned his head slowly to see Eddie stood beside him at the bar, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Up close he looked flushed and electric. His eyes shone a little too bright, and there was a smear of something dark at the corner of his mouth that might’ve been makeup or just sweat and shadow. His guitar was gone, replaced by an already half empty beer in his hand.

The grin he wore wasn’t cocky this time-, it was pleased.

“Told you I’d think about it,” Gator said, keeping his voice steady even as his pulse kicked up.

Eddie’s eyes flicked over him briefly, assessing his plain black winter jacket and slightly damp jeans. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess you did.”

The music started up again behind them, another band member testing an amp. The Hideout roared on, loud and alive and full of people who didn’t care who Gator Tillman was or where he came from.

For better or worse, he’d stepped into Eddie Munson’s world now.

Eddie looked like he was very happy about that. He ordered himself another beer before his first was even empty, and then asked what Gator had ordered, only to grab another shot and beer for him as well.

“You can put his drinks on my tab, Wayne-,”

“Alrighty.”

Gator grabbed Eddie by the arm, drawing both Eddie’s and Wayne’s eyes in his direction.

Immediately Gator let go, his ears turning hot. Damn it…why was he acting so weird?

“Uh, you don’t need to cover my drinks. I brought cash-,”

“I’m sure ole Wayne would appreciate a tip, if you’d like. But I got it.”

Wayne grumbled something behind them while Eddie’s warm smile proceeded to burn through Gator.

Their drinks were sat down on the bar in mere seconds, a far cry to when Gator had ordered on his own.

“Thanks uncle Wayne,”

The older man, who had seemed so standoffish and annoyed earlier, matched Eddie’s tone and warmth.

“Sure, Eds. You sounded great tonight m’boy…”

Eddie leaned over the counter to whisper something to Wayne, something that made the bartender laugh. Eddie then knocked a shoulder into Gator, nearly sending him spiraling backwards into the bar.

“Grab your drinks. I know where we can sit that’s not so loud.”

Eddie didn’t wait for an answer. He threaded through the crowd with practiced ease, hand firm around Gator’s wrist just long enough to make sure he followed. It wasn’t rough, wasn’t possessive, but it was confident, like Eddie had already decided this was happening and the rest would catch up later.

Gator grabbed his beer and shot before they were swept away from the bar, careful not to spill as Eddie guided them past bodies and noise. The farther they got from the stage, the more the sound softened, distorted by walls and distance until it became a dull, constant thrum instead of a physical force.

They stopped near a narrow hallway half-hidden behind a curtain of hanging bead chains and old flyers. Eddie pushed through it and tugged open a door that looked like it led nowhere important.

“After you, deputy,” Eddie said lightly.

Gator briefly hesitated before stepping inside.

The room behind the bar was dark, cramped, and clearly not meant for guests. Boxes were stacked haphazardly against the walls, some labeled with faded marker: CLEANING, GLASSWARE, DON’T TOUCH. A mop bucket sat crooked in one corner, and an ancient, sagging sofa was wedged against the back wall like it had been dragged in and forgotten about at some point in the last twenty years.

The door shut behind them with a dull click.

The noise from the bar dropped instantly, muted to a distant echo. The sudden quiet hit Gator harder than the music had. His shoulders loosened without him telling them to. His jaw unclenched for the first time since he’d walked into the Hideout, maybe even since he’d pulled into the lot.

He exhaled slowly, surprised by how much tension left with it.

“Wow,” Eddie said softly, glancing around. “Always smells like bleach and cheap sex back here.”

Gator huffed despite himself. “Charming.”

Eddie grinned and dropped onto the couch, which protested with an alarming creak.

“Hey, it’s prime real estate. Best seats in the house if you don’t wanna go deaf.”

Gator hovered for a moment, then leaned back against a stack of boxes. The space felt too close for comfort. Eddie’s knee was barely a foot away. A single bulb over the door cast shadows across Eddie’s face, softening the sharpness he’d worn onstage.

“I really didn’t think you would show,” Eddie admitted, taking a drink. “Most cops don’t exactly make a habit of slumming it out here.”

“I’m off duty,” Gator said automatically.

Eddie lifted an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Yes?”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie tipped his head, clearly amused. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a cop that was truly off the clock before.”

Gator took a swallow of his beer, buying himself time. The quiet made it harder to hide behind professionalism. Harder to pretend he wasn’t acutely aware of Eddie’s presence or of how isolated they were in the little storage room.

“You always invite people who pull you over to your shows?” Gator asked.

Eddie laughed. “Only the cute ones.”

Gator shot him a look. “You flirting with a law enforcement officer?”

“I’m flirting with a guy who showed up to my sketchy bar on Christmas Eve,” Eddie corrected. “Big difference.”

Gator opened his mouth to argue- then stopped. Because Eddie wasn’t wrong, and that bothered him more than it should’ve. He could practically feel his father whispering directly into his ear, voice hot with malice-, ‘Queer.’

He shook it off with a roll of his shoulders.

“You were good,” Gator said instead, nodding toward the door. “I mean-, the band. Your band sounded really great.”

Eddie’s grin softened at that, the bravado easing just enough to look genuine.

“Thanks,” he said. “Means more comin’ from you than most.”

Gator frowned slightly. “Why’s that?”

Eddie shrugged, tipping his beer back.

“Most folks out there already decided what they think about me before I ever hit a chord. You at least listened before stating the obvious,”

He nudged the couch with his boot, like he was considering something, then added, casual as anything, “Band’s nothin’ fancy, by the way. Just me and my buddies from high school. We’ve been makin’ noise together since we were fifteen and annoying the hell outta teachers and parents.”

Gator blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, smiling to himself.

“Gareth on drums, Kev on bass. Jeff does backup guitar and vocals. Corroded Coffin sounds way more impressive than ‘four idiots who never moved out of Hawkins,’ but that’s the truth of it.”

That sat strangely well with Gator. He’d half-expected Eddie to spin some grand story about rebellion and destiny. Instead, it was almost familiar. Gator hadn’t started any bands, but half the station back home had been filled with people he had known his whole life.

Although, Eddie’s situation and company seemed a lot more ideal. Perhaps that was why he was still living in Hawkins.

His eyes flicked back toward Eddie. “And the bartender with the crazy mermaid tattoo? You called him uncle.”

“Crazy? You better respect Miss Lu or he’ll start watering down your drinks,” Eddie told him, laughing. “Yeah, he’s my real uncle. He’s the only family I still have around here. Trailer park legend. Drinks like a fish, complains like it’s a full-time job, but he’s the one who keeps this place from burning down most nights.”

Gator shook his head once, incredulous. “He just kept looking around like he hated everyone out there.”

“He does,” Eddie agreed cheerfully. “But he loves me. Has to, or he would never stick around.”

There was a pause, comfortable and strange. The music outside swelled again, muffled through the walls.

Eddie studied him for a second, eyes sharp in a way that made Gator brace for something without knowing why.

“So,” Eddie started with a fake sounding casualness, “when you pulled me over the other day.”

Gator stiffened. “What about it?”

Eddie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You asked dispatch to get Hopper, right? I heard you say his name.”

Gator bit the inside of his cheek before he nodded. “Yeah. Or I tried to anyway.”

“Tried,” Eddie echoed. “So you didn’t talk to him?”

“Not at first,” Gator admitted. “Powell answered. Said Hopper was tied up.”

Eddie barked out a laugh, loud and unrestrained, slapping a hand against his thigh. “Oh my god. Calvin fuckin’ Powell.”

Gator scowled. “What’s so funny?”

While he wasn’t particularly fond of any of his coworkers, Gator was their deputy now. He wasn’t going to let people trash talk his officers.

Eddie wiped at his eyes which were actually wet with tears from laughing so hard. “No wonder you didn’t search my van.”

Something in his tone made Gator’s stomach tighten. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie’s grin turned knowing, almost fond. He lifted his beer in a lazy little toast.

“Powell is scared of me. Well, he’s scared of my daddy even though I’ve made it clear we don’t talk.”

Gator shifted uncomfortably in place. He knocked back the warm shot in his hand and wished there was anywhere else in the little room to sit down other than right beside Eddie.

“Powell took my call, but Hopper pulled me into his office after. He said the same shit Powell did about how they don’t fuck with you.”

Eddie’s smile faded fast. His dark eyes practically glittered in the dim light of the singular bulb.

“That so?”

Gator nodded, full now of liquid courage.

“Why would he say that if you don’t speak to your old man?”

Eddie seemed to consider the question before answering. He leaned back against the old sofa cushions, dust motes drifting around his head like a halo.

Eventually, he let out a slow breath through his nose, as if he’d been holding it for too long.

“Because Hopper knows better,” he said finally. “He knows I don’t talk to him, he just lets the other bootlickers think I could if I wanted to.”

Gator watched his profile as Eddie spoke, the way his jaw tightened like he was bracing himself against the words.

“And most of the people in this town?” Eddie continued. “They think the same way. It’s easy to believe I’ve still got some kind of line to Al Munson, especially when they see me. Especially when I wound up with a bad rep in school just because I used to sell weed here and there…that’s how I knew you didn’t talk to Hopper,” Eddie paused to take a sip of his beer. “He always makes a show of searching my van. Asshole loves to nail me with tickets and misdemeanors-, the kind of shit that won’t put me in lockup.”

“Because if you went in…your dad might do somethin’?”

Gator didn’t need to explain himself further- they both knew what he meant by that question.

Eddie nodded once. “Yeah. It probably wouldn’t go too well for me.”

He took a drink of his own beer, then another, like he needed something solid in his hand. The bravado he wore so easily on stage didn’t quite fit back here, not with this subject between them.

“He’s been in prison for years,” Eddie said. “Long before you ever set foot in Hawkins. He managed to get himself a life sentence.”

Gator’s brow furrowed. “For…?”

Eddie hesitated.

It was subtle, but Gator caught it, the way Eddie’s fingers tightened around the neck of the beer bottle, knuckles whitening, the way his shoulders drew in just a fraction.

“Some of the worst shit you can think of, probably.”

The words landed heavy in the cramped room.

“Someone he knew ended up dead,” Eddie added, quieter. His voice wavered, just barely, like it surprised him too. “Someone I knew.”

Gator’s stomach dropped.

Eddie stared at the floor now, curls falling forward to shadow his eyes. “People like to tell it like I’m cut from the same cloth. Like my blood’s my destiny. Like I’m just waitin’ for my time to turn into him.” He laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “Funny thing is, Al never gave a shit about Hawkins. Or me-, he didn’t turn up in my life until after my mama died even though he made her give me his last name. And it stuck,” Eddie tapped two fingers against his chest. “That’s the part everyone remembers. The part that makes people look at me funny when I go into a store, the part that had my teachers on high alert all during school.”

Gator found himself moving without fully deciding to. He crossed the small space and sat down on the couch beside Eddie. The cushion dipped, the sofa groaning in protest, but Eddie didn’t pull away.

Gator lifted his beer and finished it, the last swallow bitter and warm, grounding him.

He thought of his own father’s name. Of how it had opened doors back home, how it had closed others just as fast. Of how people had looked at him and seen Roy Tillman before they ever saw Gator.

He could recall Nadine-, or Dot now as she preferred, all wound up with hate as she told him the reason why he was Gator Tillman and not Roy junior.

“…your name's supposed to be Roy, but your dad said he took one look at you in the hospital, this pale, puny lizard, and he knew you'd be a loser for life. Said he'd rather have his name die out than have you to carry it."

The memory echoed in his head now, forcing him to draw comparisons to Eddie’s story.

“Back where I’m from,” Gator said slowly, eyes fixed on the opposite wall, “my old man’s name carried weight too. People assumed a lot about me because of it. Things I didn’t earn. Things I didn’t want.”

Eddie glanced at him then, something fragile flickering behind his eyes.

“Guess we’re both livin’ in the shadows of assholes,” Eddie said.

“Seems that way,” Gator replied.

They sat in silence for a moment, the muffled music bleeding through the walls, the Hideout alive and oblivious just beyond the door. Eddie tipped his head back against the couch and let his eyes close briefly, like he was steadying himself.

“Hopper knows I keep my distance,” Eddie said. “That I’ve spent my whole damn life doin’ the opposite of whatever Al Munson would do. But he also knows this town runs on stories. And the story everyone likes is that I’m dangerous.”

“So they let you be,” Gator murmured. “Rather than throw your ass into lockup and risk causing heat with your old man.”

Eddie opened his eyes and looked at him, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “Look at you, deputy. You catch on quick.”

Gator didn’t smile back. “That kind of story gets people hurt.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said softly. “It already has.”

His voice shook again, just for a second, and then he swallowed it down. The mask Gator was becoming all too familiar with slid back into place like muscle memory.

“But now you know,” Eddie added, turning toward him fully. “And I’d appreciate it if you would help hold up the facade.”

Gator met his gaze, firm and unflinching. “Fine. But for what it’s worth,” he said, “you don’t seem anything like him.”

Eddie’s grin returned, slower this time, less performative. “Careful. If you keep sayin’ nice things, I might start believin’ you.”

Outside, the band struck up another song. The tempo rolled through the walls, low and steady, like a second heartbeat. Gator felt it more than he heard it.

He stayed quiet, eyes forward, but his awareness kept drifting sideways despite himself. Eddie lounged against the couch cushions, one knee angled toward Gator, shoulders loose now that the story was out in the open. The hard edge he carried in public had softened into something easier, almost gentle, when he wasn’t performing for a room full of strangers.

Gator hated that he noticed.

He caught Eddie in his peripherals. He noticed how the string lights bleeding through the doorway caught in his curls, how his mouth curved when he smiled to himself at something only he could hear in the music. It was hard not to acknowledge their close proximity, and how it made the deputy’s stomach start doing back flips. Gator could smell beer and sweat and something distinctly Eddie that he didn’t have a name for yet.

And worse than noticing these things was the realization that came with it.

He found Eddie attractive.

The thought hit him sharp and unwelcome, like stepping on ice he hadn’t seen. His father’s voice reared up instinctively, cruel and sneering, dragging old, ugly words along with it. The kind of words that had been weaponized back home. The kind meant to shame, to correct, to crush anything that didn’t fit Roy Tillman’s narrow idea of what a man should be.

Gator swallowed hard and forced his jaw to unclench.

This wasn’t like that. Eddie wasn’t like that, at least he was pretty sure. And Gator wasn’t a scared kid standing in front of his father anymore.

Eddie shifted beside him-, a subtle bit of movement but enough to snap Gator’s attention back. He took a quick swallow of his beer and tucked the bottle into the crook of his leg, letting it rest against his thigh like he’d suddenly become aware of his hands and didn’t know what to do with them.

He glanced at Gator, eyes curious rather than sharp this time.

“So,” Eddie said, tone lighter, almost casual. “Can I ask you somethin’ kinda weird?”

Gator raised an eyebrow. “Given the setting, I feel like that’s a loaded question.”

Eddie snorted. “Fair.” He nodded toward Gator’s chest, where the faint outline of his badge showed beneath his jacket. “That your badge?”

Gator stiffened out of habit, then relaxed again. “Yeah. Why?”

Eddie hesitated for just a second, an unusual pause for him, then shrugged. “I always wanted to hold one. Could I…”

That surprised him enough that Gator actually turned to look at him.

“You’re serious.”

Eddie met his eyes, expression open. “Yeah. I know it sounds dumb.”

“It doesn’t,” Gator said automatically, before he could stop himself.

Eddie’s lips twitched. “You don’t gotta lie to make me feel better, deputy.”

“I’m not,” Gator replied. He then reached into his jacket, fingers brushing up against the familiar metal. He unclipped the badge from where it was pinned and turned it over in his palm, feeling its weight. Old reflexes screamed at him not give it to Eddie. Handing over such a symbol of authority into the wrong hands would look bad for him. It was something his father had never let anyone touch without explicit permission.

But this wasn’t Roy’s badge.

Gator held it out.

Eddie stared at it for a moment like it might vanish if he moved too fast. Then he took it carefully, reverently even, as if it were something fragile instead of cold steel.

“Huh,” Eddie murmured, turning it over between his fingers. “Heavier than I thought.”

“Feels heavier some days than others,” Gator said quietly.

Eddie traced the engraved letters with his thumb. HAWKINS POLICE DEPARTMENT, DEPUTY. His gaze drifted up to Gator’s face.

“You actually like your job,” he said. “Don’t you?”

The words hit deeper than Gator expected. It felt like an accusation.

“I…it’s something I know how to do. It’s where I fit in,” he replied. “If I wasn’t a cop I don’t know what else I’d do with my life. When I was growing up, I wasn’t aware there were other options.”

Eddie nodded, like that made sense. He didn’t joke, didn’t rile Gator up over his choices. He just held the badge a moment longer, then handed it back.

“Thanks,” he said. “For trustin’ me.”

Gator closed his fingers around the badge, the metal warm now from Eddie’s hands. “You didn’t try to run off with it. That’s something.”

Eddie grinned. “Give me some credit. I’d at least wait till you weren’t right beside me.”

Despite himself, Gator huffed out a quiet laugh.

They sat there like that for awhile, shoulders almost touching while the noise of the Hideout vibrated against the walls. Something unspoken settled into place between them.

An understanding of one another.

For the first time in a long while, Gator didn’t feel the urge to pull away. The connection felt fragile, almost dangerous in its rarity. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself be this open-, if he ever had. Some pieces of his past were already slipping, disappearing into corners of his mind he didn’t want to revisit.

There was probably a reason for that.

But that wasn’t something he was willing to face tonight, not while he was tipsy, not while he was letting himself feel something close to good.

He flinched when Eddie’s hand touched his shoulder. It wasn’t intentional, and he was happy to see that his reaction hadn’t made Eddie let go.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, frowning.

Gator nodded quickly, a little too quickly even. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Eddie studied him like he didn’t entirely believe that, but he didn’t push. Instead, he let his hand rest there, thumb absentmindedly brushing the seam of Gator’s jacket once before moving away. It felt casual, unassuming.

That somehow made it worse.

The couch shifted as Eddie moved closer, an inch at first, then another. Not enough to crowd him, but just enough that their shoulders brushed when Eddie leaned back into the cushions. Gator’s spine went rigid on instinct. Every nerve in his body lit up like it had been waiting for this exact moment to panic.

Eddie kept talking, either oblivious or pretending to be.

“So,” he said, tipping his head toward Gator, voice easy, “North Dakota, huh? That’s where you grew up, right?”

Gator let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if anyone else were listening. “Yeah. Small town. Smaller than Hawkins, if you can believe it.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up with interest. “No shit? What’s that like?”

“Boring,” Gator said immediately. Then, after a beat, “Cold. Not much to do except drink or drive around.”

Eddie snorted. “Sounds like Hawkins to me.”

Gator’s mouth twitched, his thoughts coming up short when he tried to think of something positive to say about his hometown. “We didn’t have bars like…this,” he added, gesturing vaguely toward the door. “Closest thing was a VFW hall that doubled as a bingo night spot for old folks and little hole in the wall places that would water down your drink if they could tell you weren’t a local. No live music at em’ neither, at least nothing like your band.”

Eddie laughed, warm and bright. His knee bumped Gator’s thigh and stayed there.

“Oh man,” Eddie said. “You were deprived.”

“I survived,” Gator replied dryly. “Barely.”

Eddie grinned at him, clearly enjoying the direction the conversation had taken them in.

“So what’d you do for fun? Besides getting down at the bingo hall.”

Gator shrugged. “Hunting. Fishing. I restored an old truck once. Watched a lot of bad TV.”

“Rock and roll lifestyle,” Eddie teased.

Gator huffed. “Cause Hawkins is so glamorous.”

Eddie shifted again, closer now, and this time his arm slid along the back of the couch. Gator noticed it immediately. Not because it was obvious, but because it wasn’t. Eddie didn’t look at him. Didn’t make a show of it. His arm just…ended up there, resting behind Gator’s shoulders like Eddie had always planned to do it.

Gator’s thoughts short-circuited.

Eddie kept talking, blissfully unaware of the internal crisis happening inches away from him. “Bet you saw some wild shit out there, though.”

Gator’s memory flashed back a few years, briefly reliving the stream of bullshit he had gotten himself involved with- it made him wonder if Eddie would even want to touch him if he knew exactly the kind of cop he used to be. How close he had once been to becoming somebody like their fathers. It made him feel disgusting, like maybe he didn’t deserve to have Eddie show him this level of acceptance, this level of kindness.

Even if he selfishly coveted it- desperately.

“Sometimes. Mostly was just the regular boring stuff like it is here,” Gator said automatically.

Eddie hummed in agreement. His arm shifted just a little and his forearm brushed the back of Gator’s neck.

For whatever reason that made the deputy freeze.

The words Eddie had been saying faded into a dull blur as Gator’s pulse roared in his ears. His skin felt too tight. Too hot. His father’s voice crept in uninvited, sharp and vicious, dragging shame along with it like a blade.

Always knew you were a fuckin’ queer.

Eddie finally noticed.

He stopped mid-sentence, brow furrowing as he looked at Gator properly. “Hey. You alright? You just…went somewhere.”

Gator swallowed hard, his mouth felt dry. He glanced down at Eddie’s arm, still draped behind him, then back up to his face.

“What…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What are you doing?”

The question came out sharper than he intended. The sudden sense of exposure left him unable to explain, even to himself, why a simple touch could draw such a strong reaction from him.

Eddie blinked, clearly startled. His arm stilled instantly.

“Oh shit,” Eddie said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

He moved to pull his arm back, but Gator’s shoulder tensed instinctively, like he didn’t quite know whether he wanted that or not.

“I just…” Eddie hesitated, searching Gator’s face. “I do that sometimes, I’m a touchy feely kind of dude, especially when I’ve had a few drinks. I didn’t think about it.”

Gator shook his head, trying and failing to ignore the tight feeling in his chest. “No, it’s…I just…” He struggled for the words. Admitting the truth felt dangerous. Saying too much felt even worse. “I’m not used to people…doing that,” he finished lamely.

Eddie paused, then nodded slowly, understanding settling in without judgment. He didn’t pull away completely. Instead, he shifted so his arm rested more on the back of the couch again so that he was still there, but not touching Gator.

“Okay,” Eddie said softly. “Thanks for tellin’ me.”

The room felt quiet in a new way. Not awkward, but uncertain.

Gator stared at his hands, clenched together in his lap. His heart was still racing, but it was starting to slow.

After a moment, Eddie spoke again, gentler this time.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I wasn’t tryin’ to make a move or anything. Just…felt nice, sittin’ here with you.”

His honesty hit harder than any flirtation could’ve.

Gator finally looked up at him. It was obvious that he was being sincere. The fact that he hadn’t totally moved away left things open- and for whatever reason, that felt dangerous.

Dangerous in the way that it left Gator to feel an aching need to get close to Eddie again.

“…Yeah,” Gator said quietly. “It does.”

They had sat there in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the music playing out in the bar, when Eddie huffed out a quiet laugh.

It slipped out of him like something he hadn’t meant to show, warm and a little breathless, like he’d just realized something he found funny. He scrubbed a hand over his face, curls bouncing as he shook his head.

Gator stiffened again. “What?” he asked, guarded. “What’s so damn funny?”

Eddie looked at him, eyes bright in the low light, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.

“It’s just…” He exhaled, still smiling. “Y’know, I happen to know exactly why I asked you to come here tonight…and yet I still don’t understand why you showed up.”

Gator frowned slightly. “That so?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie said easily. “But things are crystal clear on my end.”

That made Gator’s chest tighten. “I know why I came here,” he said, a little defensive, like he needed to stake that claim before Eddie could take it from him.

Eddie’s smile softened, curiosity sparking.

“Yeah?” he asked. “I’d actually really like to know, then.”

Gator’s gaze dropped immediately, not to look at Eddie, but straight ahead, fixed on the stained wall across from them like it might give him answers if he stared hard enough. His jaw worked as he swallowed.

“Then you tell me first,” Gator said quietly. “Tell me why you invited me.”

Eddie blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Well damn,” he said under his breath. “Turnin’ the tables on me, huh?”

Gator didn’t respond. He stayed stubbornly still, shoulders squared, eyes locked forward. If he looked at Eddie now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to say anything at all.

Eddie watched him for a long second.

The silence stretched in a way that wasn’t tense or uncomfortable and yet it still made Gator’s heart pound between his ribs.

“Alright,” Eddie said softly. “Fair’s fair.”

He shifted closer, slow enough that Gator had time to pull away if he wanted to.

But he knew he didn’t want to. He sat as still as a marble statue.

Eddie reached out, fingers gentle as they hooked under Gator’s chin. There was just enough pressure to tilt his head a fraction; still not forcing him to look, just guiding him into place.

Gator’s breath hitched. The wall in front of him rippled like the surface of a pond someone had tossed a rock into.

Before his mind could catch up, Eddie leaned in and pressed a kiss just below Gator’s jaw.

It sent a shock straight through him. Eddie’s mouth was warm. He had to of licked his lips before he’d pressed them against Gator’s skin, he could feel a dampness that wasn’t unpleasant. Warm breath washed over his jaw as Eddie exhaled. The rough pad of his thumb smoothed over the sharp line of Gator’s face, delicately driving down to the point of his chin.

Eddie pulled back almost immediately, hand dropping away like he was careful not to take more than he was given. His voice was low when he spoke again.

“That’s why, deputy.”

Gator swallowed so hard he could hear it. He didn’t dare turn his head to look at Eddie, not when he could feel the other man’s eyes burning into the side of his face.

The space between them felt charged with static electricity, like the air right before a storm breaks.

Gator finally turned his head just enough to speak, still not quite looking at Eddie. “So…you invited me out here,” he said slowly, voice rough around the edges, “just to kiss me?”

There it was, the question he’d been circling since the moment Eddie’s mouth left his jaw.

Eddie let out a soft chuckle at that. He sounded amused in a fond, almost relieved sort of way. “Just to kiss you?” he echoed. “No.”

He shifted slightly on the couch, angling his body toward Gator without closing the distance entirely, giving him space. A choice.

“But,” Eddie added, smile turning a little more serious, “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t part of the reason.”

Gator’s hands tightened into fists in his lap.

Eddie went on, careful now. “Truth is, I wanted to see if what I felt the other day wasn’t just…a random, one off thing. I teased you a little, if you remember and you seemed more flattered than pissed off about it. And if you were open to more than a kiss…” He shrugged lightly. “I’d be more than happy to entertain that idea.”

Then his expression changed, the humor softening into something earnest.

“But if I’ve read you wrong,” Eddie said quietly, “if this is too much, or not what you want, tell me now. I mean it. I’ll back off. No hard feelings.”

Gator turned his head fully then to finally look at Eddie beside him.

Their eyes met and immediately dropped, not to each other’s faces, but to each other’s mouths. Eddie’s lips were still a little damp, still slightly parted. Gator became painfully aware of his own breathing, of how close they were and of how easy it would be to close that gap.

He thought of all the reasons he shouldn’t.

And then he thought of how tired he was of listening to the voices.

He was so fucking tired of hearing Roy inside his head. Gator had left Stark County, traveled hundreds of miles to escape the man and yet his father was still haunting him. He imagined shutting his father behind a door, pictured locking him away and tossing the key into a dark abyss.

Slowly, deliberately, Gator leaned in towards the man that was practically in his lap.

Eddie didn’t move, his stillness mimicked that of a hunter who was suddenly being approached by their prey on their own free will.

Their lips met, careful at first, like both of them needed to confirm that this was real. Gator’s hand came up on instinct, fingers curling into the fabric of Eddie’s shirt like he needed something solid to hold onto.

The kiss deepened just a fraction, still unhurried, still gentle. There was less shock value now that Gator was in control. He could enjoy the feeling of Eddie pressed up against him more.

When he pulled back, his forehead hovered close to Eddie’s, breathing uneven and shallow.

“That’s why I came here,” he said quietly.

Eddie smiled something soft, stunned, and undeniably pleased.

“Well,” he murmured, “good. I was really hopin’ you’d say that.”

“You…really?” Gator nearly whispered, his brain still not quite understanding how any of this could be reality. He recalled the dream he had earlier about Eddie kissing him through the window- although that was nothing in comparison to the real deal.

Eddie nodded, his dark eyes glistened in the dim lighting as his hands found Gator’s shoulders. With a practiced gentleness he guided the deputy backwards, pressing him into the soft couch cushions and molding his own body over top of Gator’s. His mouth located the same spot on Gator’s jaw that it had found earlier and nipped a mark into his skin.

“Always wanted to fool around with a cop, I won’t lie to you-, and when I saw you…” Eddie shakily exhaled against the side of Gator’s neck, making his whole body shiver. “All…bitchy. So into your job too, and then you barked at me to stop driving like an asshole, as if you gave a fuck if I hurt myself out there? God you’re perfect do you even realize that?”

Gator had absolutely no idea what Eddie could mean by any of it, he only knew he heard Eddie call him perfect, and of course he hadn’t missed what had been said at the start of his sentence either.

“Bitchy?” Gator huffed, shocked he could feel annoyed by that with Eddie pressed over nearly every inch of his body. “Did you just say I was bitchy?”

Eddie laughed into his neck, low and warm, breath ghosting over skin.

”That would be the part you focus on wouldn’t it?”

Before Gator could respond-, before he could defend himself against an allegation he absolutely disagreed with, Eddie kissed him again. This time he took Gator’s bottom lip between his teeth, nipping it the same way he’d bitten the deputy’s jaw. Only this time his tongue emerged to soothe what he had done, drawing a line across Gator’s lip before it slipped inside his mouth.

Gator felt his extremities spasm involuntarily, as if Eddie kissing him had sent actual goddamn electricity shooting around in his system. There was suddenly one hand on the back of his neck, fingers pressed against his nape, while another appeared on his chest, skirting down his sternum to tease a bit of skin that became exposed after his shirt had ridden up.

Eddie kissed in a way that felt all encompassing. He wasn’t exactly dainty, nothing like girls Gator had been in similar positions with. His boots were heavy and awkward trapped between their intertwined legs, his knee was bony and uncomfortable to have pressed up against the inside of Gator’s thigh. But he didn’t want to move, feeling pleasantly surprised by how much he liked having Eddie exactly where he was-, especially after several moments of kissing.

The four walls around them seemed to fade out of existence. The ever present hum coming from the bar, the din of loud music and even louder conversations-, it felt farther away than ever before. All Gator could hear was his own heart beating in his ears, loud as all hell as if Eddie were trying to drown him. The more he squirmed beneath him, the more soft whimpers that escaped his lips-, it only encouraged Eddie. The hand on Gator’s stomach lowered to tease the fly of his jeans, one finger tugging on his zipper. It wasn’t enough to actually pull it down, but it was just the right amount of pressure so that Gator couldn’t forget Eddie was there.

When he finally separated from the deputy, breaking their kiss, a rush of cold air sped between them that made Gator shiver. He hadn’t realized how warm he’d become trapped under Eddie’s weight, nor the amount of sweat that had developed beneath his heavy winter clothing.

The curls lining Eddie’s forehead and temples looked damp with a similar perspiration. Gator’s thoughts were spinning around in his head like a dryer left on a heavy duty cycle. His hips rolled of their own accord as Eddie leaned up on his side, giving Gator the view of his hand popping the button open on the deputy’s jeans.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart-,” Eddie commanded, his voice hoarse and somehow even hotter than it had been even when he was on stage. “Want me to blow you? Ride you?” Teeth grazed the front of Gator’s neck, biting down into the skin stretched across his Adam’s apple. “God would you let me fuck you? Anything-,”

But Gator couldn’t seem to make his mouth move in coordination with his brain. He moaned weakly as Eddie marked his neck with a collection of bites and kisses, whining as his skin bruised between the other man’s teeth. Everything Eddie did sent small pulses straight down into his dick, to the point where it had started to strain against the confines of his jeans. He felt helpless, slow, as Eddie undid his belt and let it flap open against his lap.

“Cat got your tongue? Or are you actually as scared shitless as you look, officer?”

Eddie was teasing him, but it didn’t feel mean. He yanked Gator’s shirt up, exposing his torso to the chill in the room. Eddie’s mouth left his neck, now a minefield of spit wet kisses and bite marks, to continue the trail down the center of his chest.

His jeans grew uncomfortably tight following the descent of Eddie’s mouth, his own body betraying him by whimpering when he felt a tongue lap up the sweat that had pooled between his pecs.

“You still with me?” Eddie whispered against his chest. “I know parts of you are hearing me, huh?”

Gator gasped as Eddie’s hand suddenly slipped inside his underwear, wrapping tight around the base of his dick.

“Jesus Christ-,” Gator moaned under his breath, trying and failing to stagger his reaction by throwing his arm over his face, muffling his own mouth. “…do you always talk so much?”

The look Eddie shot him was sinful, all half lidded eyes and long dark lashes. His hand moved painfully slowly, as if he were enjoying prolonging his teasing.

“Hey I got you to answer me, didn’t I?” Eddie looked satisfied as he reached over to yank Gator’s underwear down. Eddie kept his hand around the deputy, eyes widening just a little at the sight of him.

“Holy shit-, aren’t you pretty?” Eddie asked huskily, working Gator’s length in his hand, watching almost reverently as the wet tip drooled between his fingers.

Gator opened his mouth, made a non descriptive grunting noise and promptly closed it again. Every inch of his flesh seemed to either be sweating or burning up under his remaining clothes. He wasn’t sure how to respond to Eddie’s words, he hadn’t heard anyone direct those kinds of compliments his way before. He did know one thing and that was that the Roy in him was screaming; absolutely hollering about how he should beat the shit out of Eddie for calling him pretty.

But he had no actual urges to harm Eddie. He wanted Eddie to call him more nice things, he would even beg him for it if he had to.

So he did what he knew. Gator moaned and thrust himself down into Eddie’s hand, his thoughts scrambling as the delicious friction tightened around his length. It had been practically forever since anything other than his own hand had touched his dick.

“Someone likes that,” Eddie’s hot breath washed over one of Gator’s nipples. He felt the flesh around it pebble. “Are you ever going to tell me what you want? Pretty sure I can get you to come just like this anyway-,”

Gator arched back into the lumpy sofa, shuddering underneath Eddie’s grip and his weight pinning him into the cushions.

“Hell, I don’t know…I can’t even think-,”

Seeing him unravel apparently did quite a bit for Eddie. There was no denying the meaning behind the smirk left on his face as he picked up the speed in the movement of his wrist.

“All from a little touching? Been awhile for you or something?”

“Years.” Gator croaked without thinking. He never would have said that out loud normally.

“Then you’re practically a virgin all over again deputy,” Eddie announced, his thumb sweeping through the mess of pre leaking out of the tip of Gator’s dick. “That’s so hot. Hey, d’you think your daddy would hate how much you like kissing boys now?”

At the mere mention of Roy Gator’s thighs quivered. It would get him killed-, if somehow his old man ever found out what he’d been doing, and where he had been doing it. For whatever reason the idea made Eddie’s hand feel even better which was something Gator wouldn’t have thought was possible.

“He’d fuckin’ kill me.” Gator said bluntly. “And you too just because.”

To his surprise Eddie laughed before his tongue flicked against Gator’s nipple, sending a rush of fresh arousal down the length of his body.

“My daddy would shoot us both dead, deputy. Me especially-, if he knew how bad I want to suck that massive cock of yours. I’ve never rode one that big before…or would you rather I flip you over and strip you of that born again virginity?”

Gator choked on his own moan as Eddie dug his teeth into one of his nipples.

“I don’t…I don’t know. Just wanna feel you-, m’not going to last-,”

Eddie hummed around the pert bud pinched between his teeth. He finally let it go, sitting up just enough so he could reach down and unzip his own jeans.

“I think I can give you that, sweetheart. Hold on-,”

There was movement on the couch and an utter lack of a hand fucking his cock. The absence of attention only fueled the fire in Gator’s belly. When Eddie finally touched him again he nearly came just from relief.

Only this time it wasn’t just Eddie’s hand on him.

He hovered over Gator stretched out on the couch, his palm full of his dick and the deputy’s. It was nearly impossible for him to truly close a good grip around them both, but the sensation of Eddie’s bare cock lined up along his reignited the sparks he’d come to enjoy, the ones that made his entire body tingle.

“Now you can feel me with you,” Eddie purred against Gator’s earlobe. “How’s that?”

Gator’s head tipped back against the couch’s armrest.

“It’s fucking perfect.”

Eddie’s teeth dug back into his neck, this time sucking a mark just under his chin until Gator tilted his head back down. He could see their cocks in Eddie’s hand, his fingers barely closing around either one of them with every blunt stroke. The sound of him moaning in Gator’s ear might as well have been a symphony for the way it clawed into his own orgasm and threatened to toss it off the edge.

“You want to come for me, don’t you pretty boy?” Eddie cooed into his ear, voice deep and slightly broken. “Tell me how bad you need to come-,”

“Please-,” Gator whispered, begging. Fully devoted to begging, pleading with Eddie, whatever he had to do to get more nice words whispered in his ear and more of that deliriously warm friction on his neglected cock. “Please, I wanna come so bad, please let me have it-,”

Eddie chuckled knowingly against his jaw, licking a stripe across it and up to his lips before he kissed them again too. The bitter tang of beer stung the back of Gator’s throat and he drank it in like a man dying of thirst.

He came while Eddie was still kissing him.

Gator whined right into Eddie’s mouth, all while struggling not to do something mortifying like start crying. He’d never come so hard in his whole damn life. Eddie finished maybe a minute or so later, catching and cleaning up half their mess with some old towel he’d grabbed up off the floor.

The deputy didn’t even want to ask where it came from or where it had been. Some things were better left a mystery.

Eddie boldly planted a kiss right on Gator’s open mouth after he’d ditched the towel.

“Did you get what you came for-, officer?”

It was so flirtatious that Gator found himself blushing despite the fact that they both still had their dicks out on full display.

“And then some.”

Eddie laughed, pressing his face in against the side of Gator’s neck just as the door to the tiny storage room burst open.

“Jesus FUCK-!” Eddie yelped in Gator’s ear while pure panic struck the deputy mute.

At the same time Eddie cursed, whoever had intruded on them began yelling out half mumbled apologies. Gator thought he heard them laugh too as the door slammed shut again.

“By the way, your whole bands lookin’ for you. Hope you find some damn pants…”

Gator heard Eddie snort in his ear as he slowly sat up. He hadn’t even realized Eddie had kicked his jeans off. Gator watched in slow motion as he dressed himself, his hands moving on their own to tuck himself back into his underwear.

As his level of anxiety reached its tipping point in silence, Eddie took one look at him and exhaled hard.

“It was just my uncle. He’s seen my ass before, it’ll be okay.”

Gator sat back against the couch, his entire body aching with the weight of fear that had dropped on him the very moment the door opened. He shook his head, wincing at the stiffness that had developed in his neck.

He could feel the marks Eddie had left all over him. A strange bitterness rose up the back of his throat as he wondered about whether or not he’d hate the sight of them on his neck once he got home. He didn’t want to.

Then Eddie’s arm slung around his shoulders and pulled him into a half assed hug. His jeans were still open, but he was covered for the most part. His nose brushed up against Gator’s temple.

The deputy’s first instinct was to push Eddie away. Maybe even hit him-, but he knew that was wrong. That was the Tillman in him speaking. The real Gator felt that weight in his stomach dissolve as he leaned in to Eddie’s arm around him, accepting the reassurance that had been so readily offered.

“I mean it. He wouldn’t ever sell you out, you’re safe here even if you don’t think it seems like it…no one at this nasty old place gives a fuck if you’re queer. Hell the only issue I think they’d take up with you is the whole cop thing and even then it’s not so bad, as long as you promise them you aren’t a narc.”

Eddie spoke directly up against Gator’s temple, his soft lips felt soothing as they moved around his words. What he was selling was something Gator would’ve killed to believe, but knowing he’d have to just trust Eddie blindly didn’t completely numb that all encompassing anxiety.

“Wayne probably didn’t even see you under me anyways. His eyes are going.”

It was a weak lie, but Gator appreciated it all the same.

“You think?”

Eddie grinned at him, slowly relaxing enough to let Gator sit up on his own.

“Yeah, definitely. But we should probably go before he sends the guys in here.”

Gator nodded and went to stand up, his legs buckling briefly as the room around him started to spin. Eddie jumped up and steadied Gator by gripping both of his forearms.

“Easy does it deputy,” Eddie said gently. As he let go, he grabbed the pen sticking out of Gator’s pants pocket.

“Hey,” Gator complained with a pout. “That’s my good pen-,”

“Shush,” Eddie demanded, sounding cross despite the corner of his mouth twitching. “Hold on, baby.”

Hearing Eddie address him like that was nearly enough to make the room spin again, but Gator managed to keep himself upright. A second later Eddie had slipped his pen back into the correct pocket along with a slip of paper.

“What did you-,”

Eddie caught him off guard with a brief, chaste kiss on the mouth.

“I got to get out there for the last set-, I’ll see you around.”

It wasn’t a question. Eddie headed for the same door Wayne had left through minutes before, waving goodbye as he vanished behind it.

For several minutes Gator just stood there alone in the storage room as his heart rate slowed to something less intense, something that allowed for movement. He then dug in his pocket to find the scrap of paper that Eddie had shoved in there along with his pen.

It was a phone number. The sight of it brought an actual, genuine smile to the deputy’s face for what had to be the first time in a long time. Beneath it Eddie had scribbled a very messy merry Christmas pretty boy.

Gator pocketed the piece of paper carefully, not wanting to tear it.

As he zipped his jacket back up, the roar of the crowd became audible once more.

The music crept back into the walls slowly-, first the low hum of amps, then the familiar rattle of drums being counted in. The sound grounded him in a way he hadn’t expected.

It gave him something to move toward instead of away from.

He smoothed down his jeans, took one last breath in the cramped storage room, and stepped out into the bar.

The place had shifted while he’d been gone.

The crowd was looser now, warmer, bodies packed closer together as Eddie’s band launched back into their set. Someone whooped when the first riff tore through the speakers. Clouds of smoke obscured the burnt black color of the church’s old rafters. No one looked twice at Gator as he made his way toward the bar.

But Wayne spotted him almost immediately.

“Well I’ll be damned,” the older man muttered, already reaching for a beer. He slid it across the bar without asking. “On the house.”

Gator hesitated just long enough to clock the way Wayne’s mouth twitched-, not quite a smile, but close enough that it made something in the deputy’s chest unclench. He took the bottle and dropped a few dollar bills in the tip jar on the counter.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice still low and slightly shaky.

Wayne grunted, eyes flicking back toward the stage. “Sure thing. Band’s on fire tonight.”

Gator turned with his drink, resting his elbows against the bar. From here he had a clear view of the stage, of Eddie under the lights, his guitar slung low, his grin sharp and wild as he leaned into the mic. He looked so at home up there.

And the longer Gator watched Eddie play, the more that feeling bled over into him.

The noise wasn’t too much anymore. The crowd didn’t feel like a threat. The beer was cold in his hand, the music loud in his chest, and Eddie’s laugh cut through the chaos like it was meant just for him.

Gator took a slow sip and let himself linger in the moment.

A strange, unfamiliar calm settled over him as he watched the band play on, the weight he carried every day eased up just enough to breathe around. For once, he didn’t feel like he was hiding or waiting to be found out. He didn’t hear Roy’s voice hissing hateful rhetoric in the back of his head.

For once in his life, Gator Tillman felt like he belonged.