[ somehow that answer both makes eddie let out a sob and then follow it up with a laugh, not quite bitter but a sound that points to the ridiculousness of it all. he rubs at his eyes, doesn't manage to do any good stopping all that. ] Every damn day. Shit, well, birds of a feather aren't we?

[ and isn't that the fucking worst thing in the world, to feel that way and know they're both not immune to it.

he tilts his head up to the sky, wills the clouds to open up and let a downpour swallow them whole so he can stop fucking bawling in front of robin buckley. there's so much brewing in his chest, trying to escape into the world and eddie doesn't know what to do with it. doesn't want it to spill out but he never really has a choice, does it? the world just fucking shoves, punches, and pulls it out of him. ] You mean between the fucking wanted for ritualistic murders part or the saw Chrissy get Vecna'd part? [ eddie's voice shakes. ] Or all the shit before?

Because I've got mountains of baggage and bullshit, Buckley. Shit with my old man, shit with Carver and his fucking maniacal jock cult. [ so much shit just weighing him down. ] So much shit with my old man-- Fuck. You know, I was trying so fucking damn hard to not-- [ he hiccups. doesn't know why he can't fucking stop. ] To not follow in Old Man Munson's footsteps. To not be that fucking piece of shit with a fucking crime record and a fucking murder charge on the list and then fucking Vecna.