#more come through callin shtuff

[nagdabbit]

Come through callin’ (3/3) Chapter 1, Chapter 2

words: 6k

rating: teen+ (temporary character death [because it’s a time loop], referenced & on-screen suicide [because time loop])

jon moxley/eddie kingston, jon moxley/renee

(time loop au, pre-exploding barbed wire death match) He ached. There was a gaping crater in his chest, empty and cold, that kept getting patched over with each small bit of refuge he was able to find. Never repaired, never truly fixed, no matter how much care anyone chose to give him. Like a bomb had gone off inside his ribcage, leaving nothing but rubble and dust. A pit so wide and jagged and perilous that nothing could hope to survive there.

Each time he shattered, it got harder and harder to glue the pieces back together. Shards no longer fit together, cracks widened to the point that they'd never truly close.

(reposted from ao3)

.

When it finally hit, it hit like a wrecking ball the the chest. He could see, could feel it, coming on like a countdown. The clock winding down, 5 4 3. 

Once time had started working right, everything had been a blur. 

The packing, the flight, the motions of checking in and just—moving forward. Waking up exactly where he'd fallen asleep. The day finally being the right one, no longer resetting the moment his head hit the pillow each night. It was a fucking novelty, and one he had no real way to explain to anyone who'd care to listen.

Time moved so fast when he wasn't stuck standing still. Moved past him so goddamn whip-fast that he could hardly keep it all straight. Like standing on the edge of a racetrack while cars flew by. He wasn't in the stands, he didn't have any distance anymore. He could no longer just sit back and watch the race, he was in it.

He could feel it slowing down, though. Or—maybe he could feel himself speeding up. He'd spent so long standing still, rooted in place, left so completely out of sorts that he didn't even remember how to move with it. With life. He was still sprinting, trying to catch up to where and when he was supposed to be. This time, though, the finish line actually got closer.

He'd tried to explain it. Stayed up late with Renee, night after night, trying to figure out how in the fuck to explain what had happened. Where he'd been, what he'd done, how absolutely fucked up his head still was, despite the relief of being free. But his words felt heavy and unwieldy on his tongue, like trying to speak through molasses. Like trying to speak through a mouthful of blood.

Renee'd listened though. Listened to all of it. She'd cried. He'd cried. She'd asked questions, and didn't once seem to care that his answers didn't always make sense. She picked up the threads of his damage, his frayed edges. Filled in the blanks and patched up his tattered psyche, all without judgment. She was pretty fucking cool like that.

When he spoke about Eddie—every single bit of him—she nodded with all that understanding she'd given him before. She didn't tease him quite as much, though, tucked down against him in the crisp, creaky hotel bed. Her words were the same, her thoughts and ideas about them were the same, but they carried more weight, and she knew it, too. They wouldn't erase into nothingness when he woke in the morning, they actually would actually stay. These moments would take.

For the first time, in a long fucking time, he had something to work toward. And the knowledge that he'd actually fucking get there.

He just thought he'd settle back into time with a little more dignity and fucking grace.

That endless sprint toward his place, exhausting and invigorating, too loud and fuzzy quiet, everything all at once; it all fell away in an instant as it all snapped back into place. The world stopped wobbling, and time slowed back down, came into focus. That hole in the puzzle he'd spent a week trying to piece himself back into finally, finally clicked back into place. Settled back over his shoulders, where it should have been all along.

Didn't even get the chance to enjoy it, to savor the feeling. It hit him like a truck, knocked all the breath and the strength and the fight out of him, in one single blow. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime spent looking for it, he was right where—right when—he needed to be, and he wasn't the only fucking one.

Eddie was there , and he shouldn't have been, because they were about to be set on fire. And Eddie wouldn't be able to break the cuffs, and Jon certainly didn't have the strength for it. He didn't have the strength to push himself up when Eddie begged him to. 

Mighta just been more of that shock, honestly, that kept his limbs from working right. 

Didn't really matter, though, in the end.

He was tired of the rules getting changed on him. 

He knew what was supposed to happen, what Eddie was trying to protect him from. It was supposed to be big and scary and painful and spectacular, and a small part of him figured that Omega wanted to actually kill him.

And Eddie was there, and he was panicking and the whole world kind of came back into focus. Right on time, finally. Not frozen in place, not whipping by in a blur as he struggled to catch up. 

Everything was still, and settled. 

Except that he was beat up and handcuffed, and Eddie was starting to really fucking panic where he was braced protectively over Jon. Breath picking up, stuttering in his chest, until he passed out.

And then the damn thing had the audacity to not even fucking blow up.

Everything after was another blur—but, for once, the cause was pretty fucking normal, all things considered. Time wasn't whipping by at breakneck speed, he was just wrapped in cotton. Locked away, watching from behind that grimy screen again, all static and white noise.

He was crashing, and he knew he was crashing, and there was nothing he could do but wait it out. He was floundering again, and he didn't know what to fucking do , but it was just because the docs wouldn't let him near Eddie yet. He felt fuzzy, knocked right back off balance by the normalcy of it all. He was so used to his world ending, it was such a strange feeling when it finally fucking didn't. Someone shoved a mic into his hand, and he was sure he said something to the confused crowd, but he'd be fucked if he could remember what. 

When they got Eddie roused enough to roll him out of the ring, Jon followed along blindly until someone—fuck if he even registered who—shoved him toward his own locker room. Even then, with a clear idea of what he needed to do and pack and change into, it took a few long minutes before he could even think about moving forward once the door had clicked closed behind him. 

He'd expected to find Renee there, waiting for him, but she wasn't. The room was silent and empty, save for his bags and a neat pile of clean clothes set out and waiting for him. There were a few texts from her, once he had a chance to calm down and take a few breaths, and stumble himself away from the doorway.

Got an cab back to the hotel

He needs you right now

Simple as that, matter of fact, completely fucking calm and casual. So fucking certain. It was pretty inconvenient that she'd left already, because all he really wanted to do was fucking kiss her.

You good?

I'm good. You?

Good. Only a little charred

Sure youre alright tonight?

I'll be fine. Take care of your boy

Kiss him 

But no tongue until I can watch

Spoilsport

I like a good show

Send me the room number, I'll bring breakfast

Youre a saint

And she fucking well was a goddamn saint, too. Wasn't even there and she was still taking care of him, taking care of both of them.

He pocketed his phone and finished throwing all his shit into his bag, before he dragged it all down the hallway. The locker room was empty and cleared out, save for the pile of Eddie's things. It was late and everything was quiet, everyone already gone. Jon sighed and set his own shit down next to Eddie's things. It looked a little less lonely like that, the two of them right back where they should've been all along.

He stepped back out into the deserted maze of hallways and stumbled blindly forward. He needed to find Eddie and get them both out of there, get them somewhere a little less clinical and barren. 

Thankfully, he didn't need to stumble all that far to find him.

He was stood outside of medical, eyes unfocused and far away. Cleared to leave, but still fuzzy enough he probably couldn't do it on his own. Not for a while yet, anyway. 

He was adrift. Looked the way Jon had felt all those long Sundays. Stranded. Jon knew that feeling all too fucking well. All locked up inside his own head with nowhere to go. No one to pick up the pieces now that his big, scary buddies had been abandoned, and abandoned him in return.

But Jon was there, finally. 

Jon could see him. Finally.

And he sure as shit wouldn't leave Eddie behind again. 

"C'mon. We're getting outta here," he grumbled, hauling Eddie along by the scruff of his neck. "It's late."

Eddie didn't fight him.

He talked like he would. Snapped and grumbled and growled his way through the process of packing up and heading out. Reminded him of those feral kittens, the kind in all those stupid animal videos he always saw people watching. Little, scrappy things with their backs arched and their tails twitching, fur puffed up like it made them look like a danger and not a dandelion. Hissing and whining while they licked at a treat some well-meaning hand held up for them.

Eddie was hissing and spitting, but he let Jon take some of his weight as they walked.

He didn't even flinch out from beneath the gentle hand Jon had placed on his back, steadying him as he slumped into the rental. He gave a half hearted grumble, of course he did, but he settled. He looked like hell. Jon was the one flinging himself into barbed wire and firecrackers, but Eddie was the one who looked it. Slumped against the door, eyes unfocused and brow hard. 

He stayed silent for the first six or seven minutes of the drive. Jon would have thought he was asleep, if he hadn't been glancing over every few seconds just to check. He was slumped in defeat, expression dark. Eventually, though, he looked like he was done chewing on his thoughts.

"Doc said it was just a panic attack," he muttered, forehead pressed to the window. 

Jon nodded, staying quiet. He didn't want to spook Eddie, make him clam up. He'd only just managed to get some bit of him back—for real, for keeps, this time—he didn't want to lose him again so soon. 

"How fuckin' stupid is that?" He didn't move, didn't turn to glower at Jon. Just kept staring down his reflection, brow low and furrowed, lip trying to find the strength to lift up into a snarl. "A fuckin' panic attack over a fart of smoke and a handful of roman candles. Fuckin' pathetic."

"S'not stupid and it's not pathetic. And you know that , too, so stop givin' a voice to all that mean shit you got rollin' around up there," he snapped, and reached over to flick Eddie's temple. He rolled his eyes, "You okay, though? Just a panic attack, nothing bad bad?"

Eddie was quiet for a moment, Jon watched him relax a hair. Not much, barely even noticeable if Jon hadn't been looking for it, but enough. "Yeah, just—just that. M'fine."

"Good. Know how those things can sneak up on you. Know those fuckin' suck, feel like the worst thing in the fuckin' world while you're in them, but it means you're alive . Hate to think there'd be any other fuckin' disasters after that shitshow." He got a small chuckle from Eddie. Not much, just enough. Just a start. "Where's your head at after all that?"

" Mad."

"Yeah, yeah, I can imagine. Wanna fuck 'em up?"

"More than anything."

He smiled to himself, watching the steady crawl of traffic around them. "We will."

He let Eddie go quiet for the rest of the drive, let him fiddle with the radio and the AC to his heart's content. It was different from the last time, and different even from the last real time. Before Florida and hell and the long years of Sundays he'd had to live. Familiar, but not easy. Quiet, but there was no companionable silence, no idea what to say to fill the yawning space between them.

The ride to the hotel wasn't particularly short, but it wasn't long enough for Eddie to get any kind of rest. He was still bleary and wobbly by the time they pulled into the parking garage.

Jon followed Eddie to his room, ignoring his grumbling. He didn't put up much of a fight, though. Not even a half-hearted protest when Jon followed him in. Just gave a petulant grumble and went where he was directed. Wash his face, brush his teeth, change into something comfortable. He did it all with heavy sighs and snapping quips, but he still did it.

"Don't you have a wife?" 

"Yeah, but I gotta take care of you."

He wrestled Eddie down into bed, his protests still half-hearted at best. He looked tired, more than Jon had seen for a long while. He looked the way Jon had felt for so, so long; just beaten down and defeated.

But he didn't argue when Jon took the other side of the bed. For a moment, just a split second, he looked relieved. Grateful, maybe. But then he wiped it away and schooled his expression back into that perpetually annoyed and inconvenienced scowl he liked to wear. 

"Why'd you call?" Eddie asked in the quiet dark.

Jon traced out constellations in the speckled ceiling with his tired eyes, thought about how to even begin to explain it. Where to start, what to say, how to make Eddie listen and, more than that, just fucking trust him. Didn't have to believe him, that didn't matter. Just need Eddie to trust him.

He'd spent what felt like a lifetime trapped in a single, terrible day. A moment so fucking lonely and empty that it still terrified him to think about. Sent that cold, icy ripple of anxiety up his spine and down his arms, settling into his gut with a heavy weight he didn't think he'd ever fully be rid of. What if this was a dream? What if he hadn't escaped? What if this—this soft, quiet moment—was truly hell? 

Jon didn't know how to tell him that he was shit scared that they'd get this, and only this, only for him to wake up back in Vegas. Wake up at 5, on the dot. The dog snoring, the blinds drawn, Renee fast asleep with an arm thrown up over her head.

He was shit scared that he'd fuck up and be right back where he'd started. Alone and so fucking afraid, no idea what to do or say to get out of it. No idea what he'd done to fuck it all up in the first place, no idea what he'd done to set it right.

He could start with the start. Waking up, like usual. Thinking it was Monday, thinking they needed to get on the road to go blow up Kenny. How he could have sworn he'd packed his bags before bed, set them right next to Renee's. He could tell Eddie how fucking crazy he felt with Renee's confused, questioning expression.

Jon could tell him about how concerned she looked, telling him it was still fucking Sunday. How it didn't really register at the time. Like deja vu. Just an inkling of a problem, but not glaringly obvious enough to worry about yet. Not until he woke on another Sunday morning, how he'd had to contend with another of Renee's confused expressions. How it happened three more times before he started to lose his mind. That was when he started trying things. Anything, everything he could think of.

He managed to stay awake all night, actually made it to Monday morning. Made it to the airport, made it onto the plane, made it to their seats without any trouble. He fell asleep somewhere over Texas. He could tell Eddie how he'd gone to sleep, hand wrapped around Renee's and his forehead tilted against the window—only to wake back in Vegas, confused and scared out of his goddamn mind.

Then he'd wondered if it was the plane, if he was supposed to stop them from flying out. Some kind of Final Destination shit, or whatever. So he'd hopped in his truck and hit the interstate. He'd gone to sleep face first in a hotel bed, in some shithole in Tucumcari. He'd fallen into bed with his jeans and jacket still on, boots leaving dirty scuffs on the scratchy white sheets. He woke up next to Renee, again, and something in him started to crack open.

Could tell Eddie how it felt like the world was closing in on him, blacking out the edges of his vision as he tripped his way down the stairs. How he'd thought he was having a heart attack, couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the rush of blood in his ears. How he'd stumbled to his knees right there in his own living room, a day's fucking drive away from where he'd been, with nothing and no one to explain how he'd got there. The pain in his lungs, in his gut, in every inch of him as his muscles cramped and throat tried to close up on him. How he'd thought he was dying , the panic attack so sudden and all-consuming that it felt like it was all that was left of himself.

How, somehow, it only got worse .

It didn't fucking matter , though. Which may have been the whole stupid fucking point. It happened, it was over, and it didn't fucking matter why or how, not when he was finally, finally right where he needed to fucking be. The road there sucked ass , and he was probably traumatized, and almost definitely needed therapy, but—it was over. He didn't have to spend each day fighting anymore, he could maybe, finally , start healing.

"I just missed you," he said, eventually. Because it was true. It was the only part that mattered, out of all of it. The only part that stuck. The only part that had endured. The only part that had given him any hope . "Life was weighing on me real bad, and I just felt—alone. So fucking alone. I could talk to Renee about shit all day long, but it's just something she wouldn't understand. Not entirely. Not without having to fuckin' experience it all herself, and I wouldn't fuckin' wish that on anyone."

"You even try?"

"'Course I did," he scoffed, "and she did her best, because she's a saint and fuckin' perfect. But she doesn't know what it's like to…" He broke off with a sigh, and shifted onto his side. Eddie was watching him, expression guarded and carefully blank. He fought down the urge to reach out, touch him, drag him close. Tried, instead, to concentrate on the way his eyes kinda glittered in the dim light that snuck in through the shitty curtains. Been so long since he'd been that close without it being a fight. "I was trapped. Again, but it was so much worse than before. Bein' trapped in a job ain't the same as bein' trapped in your own fuckin' head. And she helped, fuck did she ever. Kept me going, kept me from losing my entire mind. But she just didn't understand, and I couldn't ever find the right words for it all."

Eddie nodded. He understood, of fucking course he did. "Maybe shoulda called me sooner."

That startled a bark of a laugh out of Jon, because fucking yeah. Yeah, he really should've. He'd been going it alone for so long, it was hard to see what needed to be done when stranded in the middle of it all. Hindsight, though, was a cruel bitch. He could have saved himself years of fucking trauma if he'd just sucked it up and dialed.

"You good?"

"Getting there. I—yeah. You're right, I should've called so much sooner," he agreed. "Didn't think you'd answer, though. And, maybe I was bein' a little petty, too. Thinking I could fix everything without help."

"Without my help."

"Yeah. Dumb of me, really. You usually have the answers."

He snorted, eyes rolling. "Bullshit I do."

"Fine, you got all the answers that matter," Jon corrected, fighting down that urge again. He just wanted to reach out. Just wanted to touch. Feel the warmth in his skin, the steady beat of his pulse a grounding rhythm to keep him steady. Remind him where he was, who he was with, that it was over. Please, fuck, let it be over. "I'm sorry it took so long. I didn't let myself think about you the way I wanted. Not for a long time. All my memories got warped and tarnished. It took callin' you, finally, to let myself—" He broke off with a shake of his head. "I was a coward. I'm sorry."

Eddie frowned a little, brows furrowing. "Let yourself what?"

"Let myself remember how to love you," he said, mouth moving before his brain could catch up. But it was true, and it was honest. He mustered up half a smile, "I'd kinda forgotten just how much."

Eddie stared back at him, face going slack with shock. Then terror, then anger.

Fucker could be quick when he wanted.

Jon scrambled across the bed as Eddie flung himself out of it. Managed to catch one of his wrists, managed to hold tight enough to stop Eddie from running right out the door. 

"Wait, wait," he begged, trying not to yank the man back. Better chance moving a goddamn mountain, for how stubborn Eddie could be. All he could do was hold on. 

"Don't you fuckin' dare play me like this," Eddie ground out, voice soft and rough, and not even half as fierce as the dark expression on his face. "Don't you dare."

"I wouldn't. You know I wouldn't," he promised, hoping to hell Eddie could still read him. He didn't tug on the man's wrist, didn't try and force him, just held on so he didn't run. "I don't wanna pressure you, or needle, or none of that shit. But you should know. Not fair to keep that from you."

"Fair?" He ground his teeth, lip lifting in half a snarl. "You're fuckin' married, and you're talkin' about fair? To me? The fuck am I s'posed to do with that, huh?"

"I dunno, but we can figure it out," he promised. "You an' me can solve any fuckin' thing, and Renee is smarter than the both'a us combined. Could be we don't do anything, right? But we're gonna talk and figure it the fuck out."

"You hate talkin' 'bout shit," Eddie muttered, shifting just a little bit closer to the bed. 

"Yeah, but you don't, so it evens out," Jon joked, and got to watch Eddie's shoulders lower as he began to relax. "C'mon and get some sleep."

"No, I'm not just gonna sleep on this, Mox—Jon. I'm not gonna let this settle 'til fuckin' morning," he snapped and wrenched himself out of Jon's hold. But he didn't leave. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest and glowered, but he didn't run. "You can't just spring this on me and expect me t'be chill about it."

"You're right, m'sorry, I coulda done that better. I was planning to do that better." He raised his hands in surrender and sat himself up against the headboard. He thought about flicking on the lamp, but he kinda liked being able to hide in the dim room. "Just been eating me up."

"Oh, boo hoo. Real sorry about that, sounds like a real chore," Eddie grumbled and began to pace a little. 

"Not a fuckin' chore , don't be mean. Loving you was never a chore, and it isn't now , either," Jon snapped, glowering in the darkness. "I don't like keeping things from you, Eddie. Never have."

"You left me."

"Yeah, maybe," he agreed, squeezing his eyes shut. Fuck , he'd become such a fucking hair trigger. Didn't think he could be blamed for that, but it still fucking sucked. "But I never meant to leave you behind. You were supposed to come with me. Even if you couldn't be there , physically, with me, I never wanted to let go. And that was my fault, I'm not gonna act like it ain't."

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath, but didn't start screaming at him. Didn't say anything for a few long moments. Just paced back and forth, footsteps loud in the quiet room.

He wasn't brave enough to open his eyes and watch. 

"You're married, Jon," Eddie whispered, in that kind of broken rasp. "You got a fuckin' kid coming. You got a fuckin' family, you got no reason t'be pickin' up strays like me."

"You're not a fuckin' dog, Eddie. You're not clutter, not some fuckin' thing I picked up on a whim. You're not a piece of furniture in my life, and I don't fuckin' want you t'be," he snapped, torn somewhere between crying and fighting. "You're you. You're my best friend, you're my family."

"But I ain't a part of your pickett fuckin' fence."

"But you could be."

"That ain't enough."

"You've always been enough."

Eddie's mouth snapped shut with a click. When Jon finally managed to look up at him, he was staring, eyes wide and jaw clenched. He was trembling, just barely visible in the darkness, torn between fight and flight. 

"Don't fucking play me," he snapped, giving a minute shake of his head.

"I'm not, I wouldn't."

"So you're just playin' Renee, then," he snipped right back, fierce and mad and just as scared as Jon was. 

"Renee already knows because I told her, and because she's not a fuckin' idiot," he ground out, trying to cling to any shreds of composure he had left. "Babe, we are so fuckin' obvious that its stupid how long we just missed it. She's known for years . And she wants to meet you, and know you like I do. She wants you around, no matter what decision we might all fuckin' come to."

"An' how can you fuckin' put that on her? That pretty little wife you fuckin' abandoned tonight?" Eddie threw his hands in the air, not in any rush to pick an emotion and stick to it. Like usual. "You just gonna shoehorn me into your fuckin' marriage? Fuck you. And fuck Vegas, too. Fuckin' idiots, livin' in a fuckin' desert."

Jon huffed a laugh, and asked, dryly, "Are you mad at Vegas or me?"

Eddie growled and threw a pillow at him, bouncing it off Jon's chest. "Don't fuckin' joke right now, you're asking me—"

"I ain't asking you anything." He sat up and threw the pillow right back, nailing Eddie square in the face. "I didn't mean to ask you anything. I didn't mean to push, okay? We aren't gonna make a decision tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow. There's not fuckin' time limit on this. I'm not going anywhere, I fuckin' promise. Not this time."

"Yeah, sure, come about May, you're gonna be gone plannin' hospital visits and nursery colors. Where the fuck m'I s'posed to be in all'a that, huh?"

"Wherever the fuck you wanna be." 

Eddie stared at him, visibly trembling, even in the dim light. "Don't you fuckin' play me, Jon."

"M'not. I will call and wake up my extremely pregnant wife so she can tell you her own damn self," Jon growled out. And he would, too. Renee would understand. She was cool like that. "I would do fucking anything, as long as it gets you to lie down and go to fuckin' sleep."

He huffed out a whisp of a laugh, weak and far too fuckin' quiet beneath the rattling hum of the hotel AC. 

"I would never play you, Eddie. You know me. That ain't my style," he promised, hoping to hell Eddie could hear it in his voice. He'd always been so goddamn good at that. "I didn't abandon Renee tonight. If anything, it's the other way around. She was already on her way back to the hotel by the time we crawled our sorry asses outta that goddamn ring. She told me to stay with you tonight. There was a text already waiting for me, tellin' me to stay and take care'a you , without me even having to ask. So don't go taking away her fuckin' agency in all this. She's not just some fuckin' bystander."

Eddie deflated a little bit more, fight leaving him in a rush. 

"You're still my best friend, Eddie. Above everything else." He waited the long few moments it took for Eddie to finally look up at him, meet his gaze as best he could in the darkness. "No matter what, that ain't changing. So please, for the love of god, will you lay down and go to sleep?"

That earned him another laugh, a real one, that familiar wheezing thing. 

But then he did, finally. He shook his head a little, but slowly, carefully, dropped back down onto the bed. Sat silently on the edge for a few seconds, then laid himself down at Jon's side. He buried his face back into the crisp, scratchy hotel pillow and kept his back to Jon.

But he was still a little uneasy. Relaxed, but not quite relaxed enough. Still waiting for that other shoe to drop. He was quiet. He'd taken up all the silence in the room, and that was usually Jon's whole thing.

That wouldn't do at all. If there was anything Jon had learned in all his years—learned from Eddie, no less—it was that a helluva lot could be solved just by making someone laugh. And that even if it couldn't, it never hurt to try.

"You wanna kiss?"

Eddie snorted, loud and sudden in the quiet room. But he didn't move. "Sleep, Mox."

"Renee said we could," he pushed, wheedling just the way Eddie usually would. Just to wrangle another laugh out of him. "I got permission and everything."

That got him a chuckle, one muffled against the pillow Eddie had buried his face in. But the stubborn ass still didn't move.

"I'll make it good," he promised, digging a finger into Eddie's ribs. 

Blindly, he reached back to swat at Jon, but didn't roll over to look at him. "M'tryin' to sleep, b."

"Just a kiss goodnight?"

"You're the one who wanted me to sleep, Moxie."

"Yeah, but I forgot to ask while we were arguing."

Eddie's shoulders shook silently, but he didn't turn. " Sleep."

"C'mon, gimme a kiss." He shuffled a couple inches closer, making sure to jostle the mattress as annoyingly as possible. "Please?"

"Mox, I swear to god."

"He said it's okay, too."

Those shoulders shook again, curling further into his pillow to try and hide it. No real tension to them, anymore. None of that defeat he'd kept trying to wear all night. He was relaxed and comfortable and laughing, and it felt like the biggest thing Jon had ever done. 

"Please? I won't even slip you any tongue."

That earned him a snort and a little bit of that rough, smoker's wheeze. 

"Renee said no tongue, anyway," he added, grinning to himself. Eddie was waiting for the punchline, knew there was always one coming. "Not unless she got to watch."

Eddie was quick as shit when he wanted to be. He threw himself at Jon with a growl—made all the less threatening as it shook with a barely contained laugh—and tried to smother him with a pillow. 

He gave just as good as he got, twining their legs and getting a few cheapshots into Eddie's ribs. Rolled them around the lumpy hotel mattress like they were grappling in a ring. Except the stakes were so much higher. He wasn't trying to win, though. Hell, far as he was concerned, he already fucking had.

Jon let himself be pinned, content to let Eddie do whatever the hell he wanted. As long as he was there. Long as he stayed. He just relaxed back into the mattress, grinning his shit eating-est grin up at the man. 

They were both panting a little. It was hard to catch a breath when he was laughing and teasing. 

Eddie had him wrangled down onto his back, wrists pinned above his head. He was straddling one of Jon's thighs, the other splayed out to the side, no longer pretending to even try to cinch around Eddie's waist. He felt secure, no longer flapping in the breeze like some tattered scrap of cloth. It was comfortable and so goddamn familiar that it ached in the best way.

"Bein' cute ain't gonna make me kiss you." Eddie tried to look stern, but he was smiling, too. His hold on Jon's wrists wasn't firm, wasn't enough to really keep him down, but his goddamn eyes sure were. Still so goddamn intense, even if they were warm. Enough to keep Jon right where he wanted.

"Not even a little bit?"

He laughed and shook his head. "You are a fuckin' menace, b."

"I learned from the best," he agreed, and just kept grinning up at Eddie. 

Even in the darkness, he could see Eddie's expression. The warmth in it. Something he hadn't seen in a fucking lifetime. Something he'd been missing for so goddamn long. 

"Will you just shut up?"

He shrugged, as innocently as he could. "You know what you have to do."

Eddie chuckled and rolled his eyes, all fond and shit, in a way that Jon hadn't even realized he missed until he caught a glimpse of it again. Until he picked up his phone, on a sad fuckin' whim. "I still gotta do everythin' 'round here?"

Jon would have nodded, all smarmy and teasing. Would've made another joke, needled a little more. Tugged his wrists just so Eddie would tighten his hold. Would've pushed, just because he'd always fucking loved it when Eddie pushed back. 

But, finally, Eddie moved.  

And it wasn't a long kiss, was over much too quick, but it was well worth all the shit Jon had put himself through to get it. Tasted like cigarettes and sweat, and settled some terrible, twisting thing that had been growing in Jon's chest for longer than he even knew.

He didn't even protest when Eddie pulled away, those soft, familiar lips scuffing across his cheek and down to the hinge of his jaw. Didn't even realize his wrists were free, until Eddie got an arm beneath his neck, stretched the other over across his chest and wormed a hand beneath him to clutch at his shoulder blade. 

Jon held him back just as tight, pulling Eddie's weight down atop him like he always used to. God fucking damn, he'd missed this. He said it, too. Tucked his face tight into the crook of Eddie's neck and whispered it against his skin. 

His eyes stung. 

But he felt good. Felt alive. Like he could breathe again.

And god fuck, he was still afraid. That this would be it, all he'd ever get again. He'd wake up all alone again, without any of these precious things he'd clawed back for himself. He fought his way out of hell for just a chance, and he was shit scared that he'd be right back where he'd started.

But Eddie smelled kinda like fireworks. Like the fourth of July, all heat and fire and fight. A whisp of spice, that familiar body wash he still used. Familiar and comforting, even after all their years apart. He was strong, arms curled around Jon just as tight and immovable as his own. 

He was saying something, silent where he was tucked down against Jon's throat. His mouth moved around words he wasn't ready for Jon to hear, yet—and that was alright. They had time. 

He pressed a kiss there, against Eddie's pulse. Some kind of promise, maybe. A brand. A prayer.

No matter what happened, he'd wake up and keep fighting. It didn't really matter what the morning looked like, not really. He'd keep fucking going. It wouldn't matter if all his fears came true, it wouldn't matter a damn bit if worse came to worst. No matter fucking what, they had time.

[mercswercs]

Bloody-enough work that the sun rose pink, ay.

Big white ball a' hot air, kinda like Auntie. The locals call the sun "Momma Out-There," on account of a rough translation from an ol' native language what called her somethin' more like, "The Matron in the Heavens." On account of the life she offers, even despite the harshness of the summers.

The last cult o' Simeaus that was operatin' in contact with their local temple had a bigger grip on Zaneada than I would've ever figured. Three different shops in a town wit' four of em, an all of em had tunnels leadin' to an ol' catacomb. It's against several local treaties an' taboos to be messin' around in native architecture, especially in the Crags where there's less settler's descendants to push the first folks out.

Sure enough, though, they've rigged it into all sorts of shtuff. Most of the slots in the catacombs've been de-bodied, an' the ones that had bones in em look like they been de-marrowed, ay. De-marrowed by mouths.

I left a callin' card, in case someone comes to inspect the smoke risin' both outside of Zaneada an' up through the trap doors in down at once.

[nagdabbit]

Come through callin’ (1/3) Chapter 2, Chapter 3

words: 10.5k

rating: teen+ (temporary character death [because it’s a time loop], referenced & on-screen suicide [because time loop])

jon moxley/eddie kingston, jon moxley/renee

(time loop au, pre-exploding barbed wire death match) He ached. There was a gaping crater in his chest, empty and cold, that kept getting patched over with each small bit of refuge he was able to find. Never repaired, never truly fixed, no matter how much care anyone chose to give him. Like a bomb had gone off inside his ribcage, leaving nothing but rubble and dust. A pit so wide and jagged and perilous that nothing could hope to survive there.

Each time he shattered, it got harder and harder to glue the pieces back together. Shards no longer fit together, cracks widened to the point that they'd never truly close.

(reposted from ao3)

.

Days stretched on and on, too many of them to count. It felt like years he'd been stuck. Like a lifetime gone and wasted. He'd stopped even getting out of bed months ago. Days? Just woke up, laid there and let the world go on around him until he fell asleep and it started all over again.

Renee had said, once, that he was good at suffering. And that was just about the truest thing anyone had ever said about him, honestly. He could withstand tortures. Hell could rain down on him, and he'd still be standing by the end of it. He could endure. It took a lot to truly beat him down, but even he had his breaking point, and he had passed it ages ago.

It felt like years since he'd rolled out of bed for anything. He stopped even thinking, really. Locked himself down tight, made himself smaller and smaller inside his own head until he wasn't even in control, not in a way that mattered. It was like watching everything from behind a grimy, scratched up TV screen. Like watching some sad, boring movie.

Kept him out of trouble, though. Passed the time, not that time even really worked right anymore. He couldn't slice himself open if he couldn't even find the strength to get out of bed. He’d done that a couple times. Helluva is a lot more than a couple, actually. He’d lost his mind there for a bit. He’d have taken death without a protest if it was all just finally fucking over.

That felt like years ago, though. Since then, it had been nothing but a slow, steady slide into giving up entirely. He’d lost count of the number of days he’d spent holed up in bed. He hadn’t really even counted them to begin with. Would've been pretty fucking pointless to even try. He’d awoken on the whatever-thousandth cycle and simply—couldn’t. Couldn’t muster up the strength to rise and try and fight his way out of the fucking nightmare one more goddamn time.

So he hadn’t.

Ordinarily, if he ever managed to actually get to sleep, he usually woke early, whether he liked it or not. He was usually up and about, putzing around the house long before the sun was up. Now it was five in the fucking morning, on the dot, every fucking Sunday after fucking Sunday. Renee always smiled at him when she woke, two hours later, surprised to find him still laid out at her side. When he didn't move or smile back, she'd get a little crease between her eyebrows. Concern, worry, sadness, fear. Never judgment, though, never that. She'd touch his cheek. Brush gentle fingers through his last scraps of hair. Ask him quiet, simple questions. Sometimes he'd answer. He hadn't the last fifty-few cycles, hadn’t even managed a shake of his head.

She would wait with him as long as she could, usually another hour or so, before hunger and work or those sharp, persistent baby kicks would pull her out of bed. She wouldn't leave him for long, though, not unless he asked her to. It was the only thing he'd said to her in weeks—when he could muster up the strength to, anyway. She’d return to him with snacks, a new book, a dog to watch over him. Sometimes she'd just snuggle in against his back and hold him tight.

And then he'd fall asleep, usually before the sun was even all that high in the sky. And then he would wake up, and she'd be fast asleep next to him, arm thrown up over her head, and the whole thing would begin all over again.

He'd been awake for a little while, maybe twenty minutes, but Renee was still asleep. He had another couple two hours before she would begin to stir.

He could convince her, if he wanted, when he wanted. It wasn't hard. She trusted him, after all. She knew what he sounded like when he wanted to play a joke, and when he was dead serious. But it got old when it didn't even fucking matter. When it didn't take. He kept waking up same fucking day after same fucking day, with not a damn thing to show for it.

He sighed and carefully rolled out of bed. He'd perfected it, getting out of bed without waking her or startling a dog into barking. He had a lifetime worth of practice, after all.

In the bathroom mirror, he looked like shit. Not physically, but he could see the weight of exhaustion in his own face. He hadn't felt rested in longer than he could even remember. Felt like he’d stayed up all night. Had tried that a few times, made it straight on through to morning. Then he’d stupidly tripped over something, knocked himself out, he gave up trying. Once, he’d stayed up and carried on with the life he was supposed to be living. They made it all the way onto the plane, flying off to blow himself up, right on schedule. Must have fallen asleep, reset the whole damnable experiment one more godforsaken time. 

He sighed, pushed away from the sink and followed the familiar path out of their bedroom and down the stairs.

He fed the dogs, even though it wouldn't matter. Let them outside before the sun baked down on 'em. Set out a mug and a sachet of tea that would never get brewed. He left a note, short and sweet. A simple Hiking to keep Renee from getting worried when she woke. Just because she wouldn't remember didn't mean he had to be a dick about it all.

He grabbed a knife. His phone. His keys.

Sky was still dark when he walked outside, would be for a while still. Always fucking was, everything fucking morning. He could make it pretty far up the canyon trail before the heat became completely unbearable, if he hurried.

For a while there, during his darker days, he'd hike into the canyon as far as he could. Get as high into the rocks as he could manage, until all his muscles were screaming at him to stop and he couldn't get any higher. The sun would be pretty well above the horizon, bright and hot.

He'd find a spot, somewhere to sit and watch. Call up somebody, anybody. His mom, a couple times. His dad. His sister. He wondered if Omega had anything to do with it. Called him up, just to see if he'd answer, let him snark and spit and grandstand as Jon silently bled out. They were supposed to blow each other up soon, but he never made it that far. He didn't come away from that cycle thinking the guy had any hand in his hell. If Kenny had had anything to do with it, he'd have made sure Jon knew. 

But he didn't want to give the crazy fucker that much credit, anyway.

He called people he hadn't heard from in years, just to hear them talk like it was old times. Old friends, enemies. Called up Gage, once. He'd known somethin' was wrong immediately, got Jon to say what was happening, what he'd done. Stayed on the line, just quiet and calm and steady. Wasn't anything he could do that far away, anyway, but he'd stayed. Didn't let Jon sit there alone. That was the last time he'd offed himself. Felt like years since then. Probably fuckin’ was. Could it even really be years if every day was the same fucking day?

Renee had cried when he finally got brave enough to tell her, a couple cycles later. He had, too, if he was being honest. One of the worst fuckin’ things he’d ever had to do. He’d never told her about that before, never had the fucking balls. She'd accidentally—he'd timed it wrong, once. Dropped himself off their balcony with a rope around his neck, thinking she'd been asleep. She hadn't been.

He hadn't told her about that time. Hadn’t been able to. He’d woken up next to her, her scream still echoing in his ears, and just gathered her close, buried his nose in her hair and didn’t let go until he'd cried himself back to sleep, what felt like only minutes later.

There was a number he'd avoided, though, in all his cycles. Maybe just to be petty. Maybe just because he didn't think Eddie would answer.

And in all fairness to him, he didn't. Not the first time, anyway. Usually, if no one answered, Jon gave up and watched the sun bake down on the desert all alone. He decided to call a second time, for some reason, his own blood slicking up the screen. He fumbled more than a little as he turned the phone on speaker and set it down, so he didn't have to worry about dropping it.

"Thought I told you t'forget this number." It was raspier than usual. Like he'd just woken up, maybe, and Jon felt a little bad about waking him.

"Couldn't if I tried," he mumbled, looking down at Vegas, glittering in the morning light far below. 

Eddie scoffed at him. "What d'you want?"

"Just t'talk, that's all." He could feel blood pooling beneath him, hot and thick. He must have cut deeper than usual. "Miss you, ya know?"

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?"

"I wanted you t'come with me," he muttered, thinking back to years before, when they were both younger and dumber.

They'd had some kind of something, almost a relationship, for a long time. Deeper than friendship, a little too sexual to be brotherhood. He'd been in love with Eddie, completely fucking stupid for the man. Hell, he'd been stupid enough to believe it was returned. But when the call came in, Eddie had said congrats and pushed him out the door, no matter what Jon had tried to say. 

He didn't know if Eddie counted as an ex, exactly, but that was a good enough title, he supposed. "Didn't ever wanna go to Florida without you."

"And I was just s'posed to read your mind? Pfft, I ain't fuckin' magic, Mox." 

"I asked, you said no." 

"Ya didn't ask shit, Mox," Eddie grumbled under his breath, and that fucking hurt. That the man didn't even care enough to remember . "The fuck are you, anyway? Sounds fuckin' windy." 

"Jus' a little breezy. Went for a hike."

"You drunk?" A scoff, an unamused laugh, "Bit fuckin' early for that."

"Not drunk, I'm dying." He hadn't said that before, exactly. Not out loud, anyway—save for owning up to Gage's gentle, persistent questions. It wasn't ever about that, he just didn't want to be alone. 

There was a moment of silence, a long beat where Jon couldn't even hear him breathing. "What?"

"Cut my wrists, before I called. Pretty deep this time," he sighed, staring right into the sun. Going blind wouldn't matter in a couple minutes. "Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't— what?! Mox, where are you?"

"It's fine, I'll still wake up tomorrow. Today. Whatever," he huffed a laugh, a sad, thick sound. "S'some Groundhog Day shit, but sadder."

"Mox," he sounded kinda shaky, kinda weak. "Jon, where are you?"

"Too far away," he said, dismissively. "Just wanted to hear your voice this time. That's all."

"This time?! What are you talkin' about?" He was fumbling with something, getting someone's attention, maybe.

"I killed myself hundreds’a times by now," Jon muttered, eyes going unfocused. He laid back on the rock, stared up at the sky. He'd watched it so many times that he had it memorized, but it was still fuckin' beautiful. A wide ocean of blue, big puffs of clouds, still tinged kind of pink and gold from the warm morning light. "Won't be the last."

He could hear Eddie panicking, breaths coming fast. Jon knew that sound. That was fear and panic. That was walls closing in and several hundred baseball bats to the chest.

Fuck. He did that.

"Fuck, sorry. I—sorry." He could barely even lift a hand to wipe at sweat and fuck else dripping down his cheeks, let alone do a damn thing to fix what he'd just broken. "Shit, Eddie. Please, just—trust me. Please. It'll be okay."

"F-fuckin' trust you?! " There was a hiccup, what could have been a scoff or a sob. "You tryin' t'hurt me? That what this is?"

"Never wanted t'do that," he promised, trying to think of something to say to make it better, only to come up blank. "M'sorry. Never usually goes like this."

Eddie really did scoff then, and Jon could picture him rolling his eyes. Could picture those angry baby blues, turned glassy and red, thick lashes clumped together. "Oh, yeah, right. Groundhog Day. What'd you say last time you ruined my fuckin' day?"

"Nothing. Never called you before. Wondered if it'd change things," he muttered, letting his head loll back against the rough, rocky earth. It was too hard to keep his eyes open anymore. 

"What if it does? What then? You ain't gonna wake up if you're fuckin' dead, you fuckin' dumbass." He sounded far away, weak and desperate. There was that hitch in his breath, and it made Jon ache. "Fuck—Jon, you can't do this t'me. You can't." 

"M'sorry. I won't do it again."

“You won’t—are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie's voice shook, and it fucking broke Jon's heart. "You fuckin' asshole. You can't fuckin' d-do this t'me you dumb sonuva bitch."

"Sorry, Eddie. M'sorry."

"This—f'this is real, and you wake up tomorrow, you fuckin' call me," Eddie said, breath still loud and pained and far too fucking quick. "Apologize to me for this, you fucking asshole."

"You gonna listen?" he asked. Any second, he'd be waking up back in bed. The room would be dark and the dog would be snoring and Renee would be tucked against his side, an arm thrown over her head. "F'I try and explain."

"Does it fuckin’ matter?" 

He huffed out a laugh, much of one as he had the strength for. “Pro’lly not.”

"And if-if this doesn't—Mox— Jon—if this don't work," he ground out, trying his damnedest to hold on to whatever semblance of composure he'd clawed back for himself. "F'you kill yourself, all for n-nothing, you better sit your dumb ass down at the gates'a fuckin' hell and wait for me to get down there and kill you again my goddamn self."

He mustered up the strength for half a laugh, small and weak and fading. “Anything you fuckin’ want," he promised.

“Couldn’a fuckin’ started with that?” 

"Next time," Jon muttered. "I love you. Still do. Never fuckin’ stopped. You gotta know that."

"You goddamn son of a bitch," Eddie wheezed out, voice breaking all over again.

Guilt was already heavy in his chest when he woke. He'd drifted off on the sound of Eddie sobbing, muffled, like he was trying to hide it. And there it was again. Shades drawn, dog snoring, Renee fast asleep, arm thrown over her head.

He could still feel the sun on his face, hot and blinding. Could still hear Eddie's heaving breaths in his ear.

He didn't lounge around getting restless, not when he had his marching orders. Not that it even really mattered, Eddie wouldn't even remember, but he'd fucking promised . 

As far as motivations went, it wasn't nothing.

He made it much further up the trail than he had the day before, the earlier start giving him time to think—not that he actually used it. He'd set himself on autopilot, silently watched through a grimy screen while he followed the familiar motions of his hike.

He settled himself onto a new perch, higher than he usually reached on his excursions. Hesitated for as long as he could.

Eddie answered on the third ring, and Jon had a bright pang of hope that he wasn't alone. But he'd waited until the sun was a fair bit higher in the sky before calling. Let Eddie wake up a little bit more before ruining his day again. Gave himself a little time he didn't use to psych himself up.

"Thought I told you to forget this number."

"Been sitting on that line awhile?" he asked, crossing his legs on the warm rock. 

"What?"

"Nothin' important, you just said that yesterday."

A scoff, he could practically hear the eye roll. "Bullshit. You ain't called in years, Moxley."

“Sure would be easier if that were true. You told me to call again and apologize," he muttered, watching the sky light up. “So this is me apologizing. So, m’sorry.”

Eddie snorted, rifling through cupboards on the other end of the line. “‘Kay, I’ll bite. What’re you sorry for?”

"Know Groundhog Day?"

Another scoff. "'Course I do. Everybody does. Kinda fuckin' question even is that?"

"M'livin' in one of those," he muttered. "Time loop. Been stuck here for a long fuckin’ while."

There was a moment of silence. Then a long sigh. Jon remembered that one. He only sighed like that when somebody was bein' too stupid for words. "Fuck did you take, Mox?"

"Didn't take anything. And I'm not drunk, either. Promise."

"I don't believe you."

"You said you might not. Shoulda expected it, honestly. This shit is pretty unbelievable."

"Oh yeah? What else did I say?" He scoffed, slammed something closed, clanged around on the countertop, made angry noises. But he didn't hang up. "What else d'you gotta apologize for?"

"I slit my wrists yesterday," he said, wincing as Eddie fumbled something on the other end of the line. "Before I called. For some reason, I decided to tell you about it, and did it in a real shitty way. Sent you into a panic attack. I'm sorry for that. Kinda forget sometimes that you're all livin' the same fuckin' day over and over, too. M'just the one who has t'remember it all. That ain't your fault."

It was silent on the other end. For a long time. Just Eddie's quick breaths and the hot, dry wind scraping against his cheeks. "What are you doin', Jon?" he asked, weakly.

"Watchin' the sunrise. Don't have a knife this time," he muttered. "Promise. Just—keepin' my word. I threw a lot of shit at you, and you didn't deserve it. Got plenty more'a these days comin' to fuck up in, figured I'd at least get one of 'em right." But then he thought about what he’d already said, and winced. He no longer remembered how to talk to people , kept sticking his entire foot in his mouth. Though, Eddie was good at that, at wrangling the dumbass out of him. “Not that right, I guess. Kinda just threw everything at you all over again.”

"This is insane."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"How long?" 

"Dunno. Stopped counting what feels like years ago." He sighed, and laid back, feet dangling from his perch. He'd jumped more than a few times. The pain, while it lasted, was something else . But he'd done it often enough to lose his fear of it, the pain. Might've traumatized himself into a greater fear of heights than he'd had before, but that was the cost of experimentation, he supposed. "Probably been at least a couple years’ worth. I'd bet a whole lot longer. About day, oh, 500 or so, it got really dark. There are months worth of days I just don't even remember."

"How many times?" It was a little strained and tight. Barely controlled.

"More than I cared to count. Least a hundred," he muttered. "Probably a lot more."

"Christ." It was under his breath, a weak exhale. "But you haven't? 'Til yesterday, you haven't since those—those dark days?"

"No, I—the guilt gets to you, after awhile." He closed his eyes against the prickling, stinging burn the memory always brought on. "I, uh, called Gage. That final time 'fore this, before yesterday. He knew somethin' was up, almost immediately. He stayed on the line, talkin' t'me through it all. Just—just sat on the phone with me so I wouldn't feel quite so alone. Shoulda never put him through that, even if he wouldn't remember."

"Goddamn right you shouldn't, jesus." 

"Told Renee everything, once a couple cycles passed and I built up the courage," he sighed, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight.

"She believe you?"

"Every single time.” And it was true, without fail. Would never just humor him, knew him far too well for that. “Sure as shit don't fuckin' deserve her, lemme fuckin' tell you."

"What have you tried?"

"Everything I can think of," Jon sighed. "Not that that's a lot. I thought it might be Omega, for a bit there. But he's too keyed up to plan somethin' like this, even if he wasn't a fuckin' idiot."

"And everything just—resets? Every single day?"

"Yeah. Soon as I die or go to sleep." He laughed to himself, a little. "Never thought I'd fuckin' miss taking naps , but here I am. F'I just stop getting tired, I might actually make it to Dynamite this week."

Eddie made a little sound, like a helpless little laugh. "Jesus christ, Mox."

"Don't think he's listenin' right now." There was a little annoying chime in his ear, a buzz against his cheek, signaling a dying battery. He rolled his eyes at his own stupid self. Countless fucking days, one after another, and he still couldn't remember to charge the fucking thing. 

"How are you so calm?"

"I got nothing else left," he said, simply. 

"That's—what can you do?"

"Just try again tomorrow."

"Yeah, and how's that plan goin' for ya?"

"I'm sure it'll work one of these days," he joked, weakly. The phone made another sad, plaintive buzz against his cheek, and he sighed. "I gotta go. You take care'a yourself."

"You're not—"

"No, no. Not this time," Jon promised. "Phones the one dying, today. Don't always remember to plug it in on the drive out of the city."

"Call me tomorrow," Eddie said, firmly. "Today, whateva. Call me."

"I will. I'll charge my phone and everything."

He got a huff of a laugh, weak and sad—and more than a little surprised—but it was there. "Please. You're scaring me, Jon."

"I know. Sorry. Gotta remember how to actually talk to people again."

"Just—when you call, tell me… fuck, I dunno." He sighed, loudly. There was a rustle or movement, and Jon pictured him scrubbing a hand over his face. "I dunno what t'tell me. How to get me to believe you. This is all too fuckin' crazy."

“I’ll figure it out,” he promised, and got another of those scoffing sort of laughs for his trouble. "I'll talk t'you soon." 

"You better."

He would. Didn't know how long it would take, but he fucking well had to, now.

Renee was awake when he got home, once he'd climbed himself back down the trail. 

Shouldn't have been noteworthy, but he so rarely actually returned from his trips. Didn't usually let himself enjoy a quiet Sunday at home. He'd holed himself up in bed for so long that he'd damn near forgotten all her rhythms and routines. 

She had her back to him while she prepped some kind of something on the counter. Chopping vegetables it sounded like. There was music playing somewhere, sounded kinda like Bowie. Labyrinth, that was right. She always put on the Labyrinth soundtrack on her Sunday afternoon.

She greeted him with a casual, familiar, "Hey, babe. Hungry?"

He was, probably. But food had kind of just begun to taste like ash in his mouth. He could ignore his hunger pretty easy. He'd grown pretty goddamn good at it, in fact. He could suffer, after all.

He sighed and stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around to press his hands to her round belly. He hadn't been thinking about it, not really, not until he actually said it out loud: they were trapped with him, too.

Renee was stuck in the same exact moment, living the same day over and over and over. Only she got to forget. She got to live. She didn't have to remember. But she was still stuck . Life wasn't moving on for her, the way it should have. It was a Sunday, one they had been living for a long, long while. And not one single cycle was getting them any closer to Monday.

June was an eternity away. 

They were having a baby. Jon couldn't wait to meet the damn thing, but every single day that passed just pushed June further and further away. Every single day that kept him from meeting his little girl was another knife to his chest. It was unreachable. It was hell. 

"M'havin' trouble with something," he muttered, sighing again. He pressed a kiss into her hair. She smelled like strawberries and roses. Sweet and powdery, rich with the scent of her. "Need some advice."

"Oh, that sounds fun." She chuckled and leaned back against his chest, all comfort and warmth, "Alright, hit me with it."

He loved her. Fucking hell, did he. Of all the endless hell he'd been subjected to, it never ceased to fucking amaze that she could get his guard down so fast. Calm him, make him smile even when he felt like he couldn't. Even those days he couldn't muster up a smile for her, couldn't propel himself out of bed, couldn't do much more than lay there and let the cycle continue to drag him along for the ride, she was what made it all bearable. What made it all feel survivable. Pulled him, just a little bit, out of that hole in his head that he'd tucked himself into.

But it grew harder each day to actually let her.

He pressed another kiss to the crown of her head, and moved away, slinking around to slump down into one of the stools lining the breakfast bar. "I'm having myself a bit of a Groundhog Day," he sighed. He wanted to bang his head on the counter a few times, but he'd sat facing her for a reason: so he couldn't fucking hide. "Time loop thing. Stuck living this today over and over again."

She snorted a laugh and gave him one of those expectant sort of smiles, waiting for a punchline. He always had one. She'd always liked that about him, for some reason.

When nothing came, though, her smile dimmed. It slowly slipped off her face as she studied him, like each new thing she noticed in his own expression was what was killing hers. That little furrow in her brow, one he loved just as much as he hated, was back. "You're serious."

He nodded. "Yeah. Fuckin' hate it."

She laughed a little in disbelief, a sad fucking sound. It wasn't pity, not really. Just sadness. Like his despair was just that obvious and visible. It probably was. "How long have you been stuck?"

"Years."

"Are you—babe, this isn't possible," she said, carefully setting down her knife. "Are you sure?"

He got it, he did. She usually asked a question like that. Can you trust yourself? She suggested some illnesses he'd spent multiple cycles researching as best he could. She hinted at injuries, the kinda things that could sneak up on a wrestler like him. Poison, gas leaks, parasites. Things that could cause hallucinations. Delusions. She had all kinds of ideas, and each one would've been more fucking plausible than 'I'm stuck in a time loop.' 

But that was the problem. It didn’t make sense. It wasn't plausible. It wasn’t a logical fucking problem, it didn’t follow rules—if there even were any rules governing his personal hell. 

He nodded. "M'sure. There's only so many times you can hallucinate a suicide before one of 'em sticks. Before it's not a hallucination anymore."

She sucked in a sharp breath, her whole body giving a sudden, violent flinch. God, and he fucking hated himself for it, too. He'd done nothing but accidentally hurt the only ones getting him through the whole terrible mess. Nothing but bad timing and careless words.

"I killed myself yesterday," he muttered, looking away. He had to keep going, keep pushing through the explanation, but he couldn't even muster up the balls to look her in the eye as he said it. "Been a long time since I did that. Just fuckin'... Lost it. Went for a hike, found a nice rock to watch the sunrise. Slit my wrists and—called Eddie. Uh, Eddie Kingston."

"Jon…" She sounded so heartbroken. She'd abandoned her work and reached across the counter to grip at his hand.

"Yeah, I know. I, uh, he made me promise to call him and apologize. So that's where I was this morning," he said, glancing down. Her hand always looked delicate against his own, even when he knew she wasn't. She was gentle, not weak.

"How'd that go?"

"Surprisingly well. Told me to call him tomorrow. Today. Whatever." He shrugged, trying his damnedest not to break down again. It wasn't working, never really did, but he needed to get through as much as he could.

She laughed, sadly. It wasn't a nice sound, it was hopeless and helpless and wet. She wasn't the one who was supposed to be heartbroken. Not ever, not if he had any say.

"Why him?" she asked, softly, squeezing his hand tight for a moment. "Why Eddie?"

He shrugged a little, watching her thumb gently soothe over his scarred knuckles. "He's not the only one. Just—I missed him, I guess, and finally gave into it. Called a lot of other people, before, I just never…" He sighed and scrubbed his free hand over his face, trying to sort through the fractured moments in his head. "I did that too many times to count. Wandered out, cut my wrists, called somebody up. I think just to… Just so I didn't have to be alone, maybe. So if it was the last time, if it was the one that stuck, I wouldn't have to go out listening to silence."

Renee's grip tightened to the point of pain, her hand trembling. He knew that part of her, the determined part. The part that was made of steel and fire. She was hanging on with everything she had, just to be some kind of steady. Hanging on tight enough to keep him standing.

He wished he could do the same. Wished to fucking hell he could get free, get back to his feet, get some bit of himself back. Wished he could piece himself back together and return every ounce of strength she'd given him.

"I didn't usually tell any of 'em, though. 'Cept Gage, called him up once and he just fuckin' knew immediately that something was up. That was the last time, 'fore yesterday." He shrugged again, uselessly. Everything felt useless, anymore. "Talked me through it. Guilt was too much to do that again, after."

"So why did you tell Eddie?"

"He's kinda like you. Knows how to wrangle the truth outta me," he admitted. 

At least she managed a half a laugh at that, her grip relaxing just a little. "Yeah, I know. You got a type."

He snorted, "Yeah. Stubborn has always been a real turn on."

"Yeah, you've said you like a pretty smile, too," she teased.

"I like 'em crazy."

"And loud."

"Bull-headed."

"Determined," she corrected, airily. 

Wasn't that the fucking truth? The ones he'd always loved the most, the ones he'd never let go of, not truly, they both had that in common. Strong wills and steel spines, big smiles and bright eyes.

He had a fucking type alright. 

"I dunno what to do," he said, before he could chicken out. "I've exhausted all your ideas, through all of this. Figured if anyone was smart enough to solve this shit, it'd be you. But it never worked. No fuckin' logic to any of this. You're too fuckin' smart for a stupid fuckin' problem like this."

Renee sniffled a little, trying to compose herself. She'd always do that, too. Try and put on a brave face, especially when he couldn't even imagine doing so himself. "Well," she began, voice shaking just a little, "let's see what I haven't come up with yet."

He managed a smile for her, finally meeting her eyes again. "I don't think it's gonna be that easy," he murmured, with a shake of his head.

"I think we're well past easy, babe." She wasn't crying, but she wanted to. Tears were threatening to spill down her cheek, and she still had a smile for him. 

He turned his hand in hers, grasping at her in return. Clung to her, trying to hold onto all that strength in her. "I'm scared," he said, before he could talk himself out of his honesty. "And I dunno how to keep holding onto any scrap of hope that I'll ever make it outta this." 

"You gotta meet our daughter," he said, firmly. Her chin wobbled, just a little, but she held on. She held on for him, so he didn't have to. Even for just a few moments. And fuck, it was enough to shatter him open. "She's so close, Jon. She's almost here, you gotta meet her."

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, a few drops of moisture slipping down his cheeks. "I can't fucking wait," he whispered, wiping at his face with his free hand. “She’s keepin’ me going.”

"She's gonna be amazing." He could hear the smile in her voice, but he could hear the sadness, too. The helplessness. "Can't wait to take her to preschool, one day. Can you imagine? Your kid?"

She'd be a little firecracker. He'd raise her right, teach her how to throw a punch and talk her way out of trouble. A little bit of a laugh, almost a sob, bubbled up out of him. "They won't know what hit 'em."

"She's gonna give 'em hell, babe." Renee squeezed his hand tight, "You have to teach her how to drive, one day. Scare her first date. See her off to college. Walk her down the aisle."

He nodded, eyes stinging. His breath hitched, stuttered in his lungs. It had been building for so long, waiting for him to let his guard down. 

"Cant wait 'til we get to be grandparents. Can you imagine it? We're gonna get old and wrinkly," she chuckled, voice going thick and shaky. "You gotta get old with me, babe. You're going to. So hold on to that."

He hiccuped out a sob, broken and crusty and unused for so long that it hurt when the sound left his lips. He'd been holding on for so goddamn long that the bits of him that shattered apart just cut up everything else along the way. 

Renee was on him before he even knew she'd moved, arms going tight around his neck. One delicate hand splayed over his shoulder blade, running a soothing up and down motion over his heaving back, while the other gently—always so fucking gently—cupped his head. 

He collapsed into her, breaths nothing but stutters and broken glass. 

She tucked his face down against her shoulder without a care about him making a mess. Whispered promises and assurances against his temple. She smelled like strawberries and roses. 

He knew that scent like he knew his own name. It was ingrained in him. A piece of him. Like the fluffy, golden clouds outside, the ones he'd looked at so many thousands of times he could draw them from memory. He'd never tire of it.

No matter how damnably long his hell lasted, he'd always have strawberries and roses.

Eventually, once his tank had run dry, he carefully released his grip on her. Smoothing down her ratty shirt where he'd gripped it. 

Her hands were on his face, so gentle that it nearly shattered him all over again. She didn't say anything, didn't really have to. Just kept looking up at him with that concerned expression, thumbs gently smoothing away the errant tears still wetting his cheeks.

He wanted to sleep, but he wasn't ready to let go of her yet. It always felt like she was slipping through his fingers, those cycles when he told her everything. As sleep started to take him, it always felt like trying to grip a fistful of sand. 

"I'm not ready to start this cycle over, yet," he muttered, then offered her as much of a shit eating grin as he could muster. It wasn't much, what with his cheeks wet and his nose running, but she returned it just the same. "What d'you say you teach me how to cook?"

She snorted and sputtered out a disbelieving laugh, and it patched up a crack or two running through Jon's chest. "An eternity wouldn't be enough time for that," she joked.

"Yeah, but I'm kinda starin' down the barrel of one of those," he countered, and his chest ached for a long moment. "May as well give it a go, right?"

She could see his attempt at deflection for what it was, but she was a saint. She wiped off as much of her concerned expression as she could, blinked away as many tears as she was able, and gave Jon a playful sigh. "Fine, come make lunch with me."

He didn't burn anything, if only by the grace of Renee refusing to let him anywhere near the actual stove. But it was good, and it settled another little piece of the shattered bones in his chest. Something about getting to be a trouble making menace to someone who inexplicably found that part of him charming was enough to ease a little of his troubles. Not much, maybe not even enough, but it was a start.

When he woke in the morning, he watched her sleep for as long as he could stand. Until he grew restless, something he hadn't even remembered he could feel, and rolled himself out of bed. 

Down the stairs, to his truck, out to the desert where it was supposed to be quiet and still. Maybe that was why he'd found so much solace there, through his endless cycles: with everything around him at a forced standstill, he needed something meant to be that way. Something meant to be still and peaceful. The quiet was better than the forced silence.

He settled in and pressed his phone to his ear, just as he'd promised.

"Thought I told you to forget this number."

"Can't."

Eddie snorted, continued to rummage around his cupboards. "I got shit t'do, what d'you want?"

He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I was hoping you remembered our talk yesterday and I wouldn't have to explain it all again. No such luck."

"Fuck off, we didn't talk yesterday. The fuck're you on about?"

"Yeah, you didn't believe me yesterday, either. It's some stupid Groundhog Day shit," he sighed. "You made me promise to call again. Dunno why."

There was a pause, and a sigh, and an unimpressed, "You gotta be kidding me."

"Nah, too fuckin' tired . Never liked tryin'a pull one over on you, anyway," he sighed. "Can we just, like, call a truce? Just today, just until my phone dies. I miss you, I'd like a moment to just—have you back in my corner. Even if it's just an hour."

"Yeah? What about what I want?" Eddie sounded unhappy, impatient. Aloof . That kinda tone he used when he wanted to sound indifferent. Didn't want to let on how much of a shit he was actually giving. "Ever think about that?"

"Yeah, that's fair. I'll hang up if you want me to," he said, carefully, cold fear gripping his lungs. He would, if Eddie told him to. He would. And it would probably fucking break him. God , already off to a bang fucking start.

"This is insane."

He huffed a laugh. "Tell me about it."

"Why are you doin' this, Jon?"

"Just needed to hear your voice," he murmured, realizing it was true . Now that he had some bit of Eddie back, temporary as it was, he found he needed their calls. If ever Eddie didn't tell Jon to call again, he would. It was a fucking addiction. He always had been. Far too fucking easy to fall in love with, just like Renee. "It's been fuckin' years of this. More than you realize. Definitely more'n I even realize. You're one of my three constants, now." 

"What about the other two?"

"Renee, obviously—"

"Obviously."

"And this endless fuckin' slog of Sundays," he finished, sighing. "It's a fuckin' nightmare, waking up every goddamn morning with not enough time to get a damn thing done, and too much fuckin' time to look forward to."

"This is fuckin' heavy."

He shrugged, even though he knew Eddie couldn't see it. "I'm sorry. But at least you don't have to remember this tomorrow."

"Like I could forget this shit," Eddie scoffed.

"Wish it was that easy." He did, wished someone, anyone would just hang onto an ounce of their conversations so he didn't have to rehash everything every day. "I've been stuck here, in this shit, for far too fucking long. Alone, so goddamn alone."

"What have you tried?"

"Everything I could think of. Do you know how many fuckin' time loop movies I've watched?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood, just a little. 

Eddie chuckled, which was a start. "What, didn't learn astro-whatever and blow up a fuckin' cave?"

"Eh, once or twice," he joked, relaxing against the rock wall at his back. "Surprisingly easy to get ahold of explosives, turns out. They can't put you on a watch list if you're in a time loop."

"I wanna believe you," Eddie murmured. "I do. But you gotta know how fuckin' insane you sound, Mox."

"Oh, believe me , I fuckin' know." He snorted and shook his head, thinking back. He'd tried some shit , threw anything and everything he could get his grubby mits on at the wall, in the hopes something would fuckin' stick. "Renee has some good ideas. Or, they would be, I guess. If this made sense. She's too smart to fix a stupid fuckin' problem like this. Feel like I'm gonna stumble head first into a fix, and have no fuckin' idea what I even did."

"Yeah, that sounds like somethin' you'd do." Eddie sighed, and there was a rustle of fabric and the creak of wood, like he'd just sat down. Like Mox had his undivided attention. Like he wanted to help . "What's your girl been tellin' you?"

"Everything she can think of, really. All of it would make fuckin' sense if this whole time loop shit weren't actually happening." Chapped his fucking ass, actually. That he couldn't just get a brain scan and script and fix the whole damn thing in one go. "D'you wanna guess how many times I accidentally got my ass institutionalized 'cause of how goddamn batshit this all sounds?"

"My instinct is to say none, but you don't sound like you're lying t'me."

He felt himself deflate, felt his own shoulders slump. "I'm not. I promise, I'm not."

"How the fuck am I s'posed to know that, b?"

"You're doin' the same thing Renee does; you're tryin' to see all this shit through logic . You want it to make sense, and it fucking doesn't." He leaned his head back against the rocks, let his eyes fall closed. Let himself breathe, memorize all that dry sage and cedar. The scent of sunlight and heat. "I won't ask you to believe me. That's too much, m'getting that. But please, please, just for today—trust me. Trust that I'm experiencing something fuckin' wild, even if you don't understand it."

Eddie was silent for a long moment, just sitting with him, just breathing. It wasn't half as strained as Jon had expected. "You never used to talk this much," he said, so quiet Jon had to strain to hear it. "Not even t'me."

"Didn't used to need to." He winced, shook his head, felt a pang of guilt in his gut. "I think I took for granted how well you knew me. Understood me. Didn't have to talk, 'cause you could always read my mind."

"At the start, maybe."

"No, no. At the end, too," Jon promised. "You always got me. And I thought I got you, too. But sometimes I didn't—I didn't always pay attention. You were hurting, but you talked. About everything, all the time. 'Cept when you were hurting. And I just took your word that you were okay, even when all the signs said I shouldn't."

He heard a little intake of breath, like Eddie wanted to say something, but he stayed quiet. And that hurt, too.

"I gotta figure out how to apologize for that, too. When this is over, and you'll remember it. You deserve that much." He smiled to himself, bitter and rueful. "Seems like cheating to do it when it won't even matter."

"It matters," Eddie whispered. "It still fuckin' matters."

"Maybe. I also don't wanna start a conversation we can't even finish," Jon reasoned. "But you gotta know I never wanted to leave you behind. But I did, and I'm still so fucking sorry for that, too. I shoulda pushed harder. Should have picked up the fuckin' slack and just talked to you."

Eddie made a small, wounded kind of sound. A little hitch of breath. When he spoke again, his voice was thick and carefully controlled. Hanging on by a thread. "I, ah, gotta go, b. Got places t'be."

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the sting. "Yeah, okay. Stay outta trouble."

Eddie huffed out half a laugh, that familiar rasp Jon loved so goddamn much. "Call me tonight. Or before you reset, or whatever."

"It resets when I sleep. Or—yeah."

"Or what?"

"I told you, it's been years of this," Jon said, quietly. "You really think anyone could survive years of the same fucking day, over and fucking over, without throwin' themselves off a building once or twice?"

Eddie made another wounded sort of sound, caught off guard, and Jon felt like shit all over again. "Mox, fuck…"

"Sorry. I was gonna be—I dunno. Gentle this time. I keep fucking up with you. Keep just pushing on ahead without a fuckin' care," he muttered, and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'll do better tomorrow."

"Yeah, you fuckin' better, christ. You're gonna give me a goddamn heart attack at the rate you're going." Eddie sighed out deeply and cursed under his breath. "Call me tonight. Before you sleep. I'll stay on the line." 

"Why?"

He hesitated for a long moment, then said, simply, "I wanna believe you."

"If m'right, then it won't matter. You won't remember tomorrow."

"Just—call me later, asshole. I don't hear from you by midnight, m'callin' you my own damn self," Eddie snapped, and Jon could picture his face. The scowl, the pursed lips, the tilt of his head so he was always looking up through his lashes. Kinda scary, kinda sexy, mostly cute.

He chuckled, "Yeah, alright. I'll call. Promise."

It was a struggle and a half not to just dial Eddie's number right back. Eddie would answer, call him a dumbass—maybe he'd even say it kinda fondly—and then probably hang up on him. He could be patient, though. Maybe.

He kinda wondered what Eddie's plan was, actually. If he even had one. Didn't really matter if he did or not.

He didn't think he had it in him to just go through the motions of waiting around to find out. Having something to look forward to—something he would actually get—made him kinda jittery. Didn't think he could sit still.

He'd gone home and kissed Renee goodbye, told her not to worry, that he'd be back in time for their flight. He hated himself for the lie, but she was good at reading him. She'd known something was bothering him, he'd seen the concern in her expression, but she trusted him enough to know what he needed to do. She was kinda fucking great like that.

Then he'd driven as far as he could, 'til it got harder to keep his eyes open. He wasn't exactly sure where he'd made it to, but he'd seen a sign for BLM land a few hours before and pulled off the highway.

If he hadn't been having such a miserable fucking time of it, he might've enjoyed it more. It was beautiful. Scrubbier than he was used to, no dedicated hikes, no milling people clogging up the trails. Just a single lane track winding out into the desert and miles and miles of open sky. If he could even remember where in the fuck he even was, he might've liked to return when the sun was higher. When he had time to actually fucking enjoy it.

He pulled off the narrow road and into one of the scenic pullouts, even though it was a bit late for anyone to really be out there. No one woulda been bothered if he'd parked himself in the middle of the road. He decided to be nice, anyway.

It was cool out, all that sunshine warmth sapped away as the night fell. None of that pesky humidity to hang onto the sticky heat, leave it weighing down on him. Might've been most of a reason he liked Vegas as much as he did. No real weather to speak of, just dry heat, but no fucking weather. 

He kinda missed snow, though. Just a little bit.

"Finally."

Jon rolled his eyes and hopped up to sit on the tailgate of his truck, phone pressed to his ear. "Calm down, I said I would."

"Spoutin' shit about time loops doesn't really scream reliability, ya know," Eddie grumbled. 

Jon could hear the click of a lighter, that telltale first drag off a cigarette. He must've been outside too. Wondered, absently, if Eddie could see the same stars as him.

"So what now? What d'you usually do?"

"Fall asleep somewhere, usually. Couple'a car accidents from tryin' to stay up all night, couple times I just tripped over my own feet and ate it." He winced, "More than a couple nights, I downed a handful of pills. Weighed myself down in the pool. Hanged myself once. Never again doin' that one again."

"Hurt that bad?" He had that tight, strangled tone again. He couldn't hide it, no matter how calm and casual he wanted to sound. 

"No, wasn't that. I tried to wait for Renee to go to bed. Wasn't quiet enough. She, uh, saw. Had to watch." He grimaced, bile pushing at his throat. He still felt that one, heard it in his ears whenever he felt his lowest and wanted to feel even worse. "Never gonna forget that scream."

"Christ, I don't—how are you this calm?"

"The fuck else am I s'posed to be? Got nothin' left." He shook his head and laid back against the truck bed. Stars were bright and glittery, way out in the dry, lonesome desert. Nothing and no one for miles. Just him and Eddie and the starlight. "You dunno how long it's been. Far as the seven stages of grief goes, I've entered and remained pretty well entrenched in stage four."

They stayed quiet for a long while, just breathing in each other's ear. It was nice. So goddamn familiar that it made Jon ache. There was so much distance between them now. His shoulder was cold without Eddie there at his side, had been for years. A whole entire lifetime.

"Think you're in hell, or somethin'? Purgatory?" Eddie asked, after a while. His voice was soft and low. He must've been outside, too. There was the occasional sound of cars, the static of a gentle breeze across the receiver. "Think you're bein' punished for somethin'?"

"For a while I did. But I couldn't think of anything I'd done to warrant this ." He shook his head, night air cool against his skin. 

"Not for offin' yourself?" More of that cold, fake indifference.

"This started long before that idea ever crossed my mind." And it was true. He hoped Eddie knew that.

"I dunno that I really believe all this, but I know you must be goin' through some shit, if you're willing to spend so much time talkin' to me like this," Eddie muttered, taking a long drag off his cigarette. "Talkin' t'somebody you hate."

The breath stuttered in Jon's lungs. "You think I hate you?"

"Don't you?" he asked, with a derisive snort. "After everything?"

"And you call me a dumbass." It was Jon's turn to scoff, "Of course I don't. Couldn't fuckin' possibly. Not ever, not for anything."

"That's what makes you a fuckin' dumbass."

"Eddie, you gotta know I still love you. After everything I put myself through just to get you to fuckin' look at me again, you gotta," Jon said, eyes getting fuzzy. "Think Renee'd be jealous if she knew just how much."

"You can't just say that, Mox! Not now, not after everything," Eddie hissed. 

"S'not gonna matter in the morning. You won't remember."

"And that still ain't fuckin' fair to just throw at me outta the fuckin' blue like this. Tomorrow doesn't matter when you're making me fuckin' sit with this right here and now," he snapped, and he was right, and it sucked, and Jon just didn't know what to do about it. "And what if I do? What if, by the grace a'fuckin god, I remember?" 

"Honestly, I'd probably start cryin' on the spot," he admitted, and got a tiny, helpless laugh out of Eddie for his trouble. "You have no idea how alone I've been through all'a this. Renee doesn't take long to convince, but it doesn't stick. You can't know what that's like. Gettin' kicked in the fuckin' face like that, every single morning. To have to start over. To know someone cares enough to listen and believe and want to help, and know that no matter fuckin' what, she won't even be able to."

"What kinda dumb shit you gotten up to?" Eddie asked, moving on from Jon's confession. He had that same, strangled tone. Pained, and trying so hard to hide it beneath some kinda half-assed bravado. He couldn't think about it, and Jon didn't blame him, honestly. It was too heavy to carry with everything else Jon had thrown at him. "No consequences for you, right? You pull a Gage and rob a bank? Kill somebody? High speed chase?"

"Nah, nothin' like that. Wasn't ever my style, you know that."

"Desperation makes people do stupid shit."

"Maybe. The only stupid shit I did was t'me, though." 

Eddie was quiet, another of those long pauses. "Call me," he said, eventually. "Tomorrow morning, call me."

"Okay. I will.”

He hesitated again. "You still want me to stay on the line?"

It hit Jon like a dropkick to his lungs, punching all the breath out of him. He nodded, words sticking in his throat, but Eddie must've heard. Probably just read his mind, like usual, he had always been good at that. There was the rustle of clothing as Eddie moved.

"Gimme a sec, gotta lock up, b," he murmured.

"I'll be here," he managed to croak out, vision going blurry. He let his eyes fall closed, dampening the sting. Let himself drift and get lost in the quiet, muffled sounds of Eddie going through the motions of getting ready for bed. 

It was soothing and familiar. It settled something in his gut. 

He usually fell asleep long before Renee went to bed, or didn't even bother trying to go to bed at all. He thought the normalcy of it all would end up hurting him far worse than he already was.

Maybe he was wrong about that.

He fell asleep to the sound of Eddie brushing his teeth. Woke at five, on the dot, Renee next to him, an arm thrown up over her head.

He didn't feel quite so weighed down as usual, though.

As the days went on, Eddie always took awhile to convince, no matter what Jon tried. That remained the same through every single cycle. He always made Jon promise to call again the next day. Every time. Even when it went south, even when there was nothing but curses and insults from the man. When Jon said the wrong thing, poked the wrong bruise, and they just sat yelling insults at each other.

Even the days that Jon didn't even make it to the whole stuck in a time loop thing. It was strange. Like maybe Eddie missed him, too. Or, maybe he could just tell how tough a time Jon was having, how much he needed a distraction. How much he needed help. He'd always been good at that, hearing whatever Jon tried to hide. Saw through bullshit better than anyone he'd ever met.

But sometimes Jon wanted to scream . He knew it wasn't Eddie's fault, he really did. But fuck, it was frustrating as hell. Every single morning, a fresh fucking break, just as painful as a broken fucking bone.

"Thought I— "

"Told me to forget your number, yeah, yeah, I heard that enough," Jon snapped. "I need your help."

A scoff, he could practically hear Eddie roll his eyes. "Oh, my help, huh?"

"If I needed you t'believe something, no questions asked, what would I need to fuckin' say?" he ground out, pacing. The sun was high, beating down on him. There weren't many people out on the trails anymore, not many people to give him weird looks. "'Cause I'm damn fuckin' tired of jumpin' through hoops with you."

Another scoff. "I dunno what the fuck you're on, Mox."

"I'm on a fuckin' hike and I'm fuckin' mad," he growled, kicking at the rocks littering the trail. 

"Sounds like a you problem."

"Yeah, it is, and I need some fucking help."

"What is this?"

"Desperation."

Eddie was quiet for a long moment. His breaths were barely audible, no kitchen cupboards slamming or utensils clattering together. Just silence.

"Okay, I'll bite. Why?" he asked, tone far more determined than he'd heard in a long while. "What d'you need me to believe?"

"Will you listen before you run your mouth?" Jon asked, because he just wanted help. Usually, it didn't actually matter all that much, whether or not he waited long enough for Jon to ground out some kind of explanation. He'd argue about anything under the sun with Eddie, if he could just fucking escape, but this was a fuck and a half of a cycle already. He just wanted it over.

Eddie must have heard the desperation and fear in Jon's voice, because he didn't snarl back at him. Didn't snap or scoff or any of his usual tricks. "I'll listen," Eddie promised, tone serious as he'd ever heard.

"I'm stuck. Some of that time loop bullshit that's only supposed to happen in fuckin' movies. And I can't figure out how to fuckin' get out of it, I've been trying for so goddamn long." He squeezed his eyes shut tight against the sudden, salty sting. God fucking damn it , he was so tired. "I've lived this day for years , Eddie. For a fuckin' lifetime by now. Can't stop it, can't escape it."

"Then what the fuck are you callin' me for?" he demanded in that tone that said he though Jon was a fucking moron . "The fuck d'you think m'gonna do about it?"

"I dunno. But you keep tellin' me to call you again." He let himself sink down onto a rock, fight gone. All of it, just gone right out of him. "Took a long time to build up the courage to even call you, outta everyone. Now that I have, you just—even when you don't believe me, you tell me to call you tomorrow. Today. Whatever it is."

"And you have?"

"Every single time."

"How many times?"

"Stopped counting. Counting almost makes it worse, when it doesn't even matter."

"How many times have I believed you?"

"Fewer than I think you want me to realize. None at all, I'd bet, probably. You always knew when to lie t'me, make me feel better." He shrugged a little, swiping uselessly at his cheek. "Time hasn't changed that."

Eddie hummed, thoughtfully. "Don't call me tomorrow."

Jon's chest ached. He couldn't stop the catch in his breath, knew Eddie heard it loud and clear. "Okay."

"Maybe try callin' an actual fuckin' scientist, or some shit. Somebody who'd know what t'fuckin' do about this. Get you unstuck, " Eddie said, so fucking gentle that it hurt. He didn't have to be, he must've known Jon would listen no matter what, but he still kept his voice soft and calm. "If that don't work, call a fuckin' psychic or a medium or a witch, or some of that spooky shit. You love a fuckin' library, go read about fuckin' physics or whatever. Do literally anything other than ask me what you should do, 'cause I ain't any smarter than you are."

"If that doesn't work?"

"Fuck, I dunno. See if someone smarter has a better idea," he grumbled, quietly. "See how much Tony'll shell out to fix you. See how many CIA watch lists you can get put on by callin’ people you shouldn’t. Break into Area 51 or some shit. I dunno, just try something fuckin' useful for once. Try literally anythin' else."

Jon wanted to say it, but his throat was tight and his chin was trembling. Because he'd spent years stuck, and the dread he felt was paralyzing and so goddamn terrifying . Because if he said it, if he gave a voice to it, it would be real .

Eddie must have known, heard it in his silence. Usually did, in all fairness. He was real perceptive like that. "If none of that works, then you can call me back," he said, soft and as gentle as Jon had ever heard. "Nothin' I can do but keep you company, but—least you won't be completely alone."

"Okay."

"I don't wanna say that I understand what's happening, 'cause jesus fuckin' christ, I really don't," he murmured, "but I get feelin' like you're dealin' with more than you can carry. I get feelin' so alone that you start to lose your mind. I get that. So I know what I'm asking of you."

Jon nodded, "Yeah, okay."

"I'll still be here."

"I know. Thanks." He smiled ruefully to himself, and it felt weak and shaky. "I'll talk t'you later, I guess."

"Yeah, b. You take care'a yourself." 

"You, too." He gnawed on his lip a little, trying to think of something else to say to keep the call from ending. Keep Eddie from leaving. There was nothing, though. "Bye, Eddie."

"Bye, Jon."

The silence was deafening.

He never thought of silence as having a physical sensation, but it felt like his ears closing up. Like taking off on a flight, the air pressure leaving him dizzy and his world muffled. It felt almost claustrophobic, like his world getting a little bit smaller, everything tightening in around him. Pushing at him from all sides. It was crushing.

[nagdabbit]

Come through callin’ (2/3) Chapter 1, Chapter 3

words: 16.3k

rating: teen+ (temporary character death [because it’s a time loop], referenced & on-screen suicide [because time loop])

jon moxley/eddie kingston, jon moxley/renee

(time loop au, pre-exploding barbed wire death match) He ached. There was a gaping crater in his chest, empty and cold, that kept getting patched over with each small bit of refuge he was able to find. Never repaired, never truly fixed, no matter how much care anyone chose to give him. Like a bomb had gone off inside his ribcage, leaving nothing but rubble and dust. A pit so wide and jagged and perilous that nothing could hope to survive there.

Each time he shattered, it got harder and harder to glue the pieces back together. Shards no longer fit together, cracks widened to the point that they'd never truly close.

(reposted from ao3)

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The thing about trying to solve a question that didn't have an answer, was that there were countless possible ways to fucking go about it. It felt like there were thousands of books to read, experiments to try, people to talk to. So many different ways to get arrested, especially for asking the right questions of the wrong people. It was amazing how far up the government-funded phone tree a guy could get if he was good at memorizing numbers. 

By the time he figured out what to say, and to who, science offered him nothing useful. He'd been stuck long enough that every question they asked was answerable and every task they wanted to set him on had been tried. The textbooks they recommended had been read, and hadn't helped a damn bit.

He'd exhausted every single brain scan he could get the results for on short notice. Talked to every brain doctor that would see him without an appointment—for a pretty big stack of cash, but he supposed that was understandable. He'd exhausted all the therapists and psychologists and psychiatrists, in the immediate area, willing to see him on a Sunday. Tried every technique and treatment he could get on short notice. The hypnosis had been weird as shit, and he wouldn't fucking try that again if he could help it.

He tried all the witchy shit that Eddie had suggested, his last ditch effort at finding an answer. Somebody had come out and burned rosemary all around the house, but it had just made him cough a lot.

They'd gone to some guy who laid a handful of cards out in front of him, flipped over a couple, and said he was emotionally constipated. He didn't know about that, thought he was pretty in touch with his emotions lately, but the pictures were kinda pretty.

There were crystals and candles and the only thing he'd really figured out was which oils and incense sticks and herbs gave him headaches. Useful, admittedly, but not exactly pertinent to his current problem. 

It took so fucking long, and all of it felt like a waste, but it cemented an earlier idea of his: that there was no fucking logic to it. There was no expert who would science up an answer for him. No drug that would put his head back on right. No spell that would magically fix everything. No prayer of his that would be heard, let alone answered. 

He was on his own. And it sucked and it hurt and it ached, but at least it meant that he had been right about something. Small wins, and all that.

He'd really only come away from it all with one useful answer. One actionable thing he could hang onto, and he wasn't even the one to figure it out.

Renee figured it out before he did. She was pretty fucking smart like that. 

He got into the habit of talking through each of his endless fucking trials with her. See if she could pinpoint what he'd done wrong, how he could fix it on the next try, whether he'd exhausted all his options and needed to move on to the next idea. It helped. She helped. Things were well beyond bleak, but she always eased his burden. She did so without even trying, really. Did it simply by existing within reach.

It happened late into the evening, when he'd finally come to peace with exhausting every single expert opinion he could think to seek out. Lying on the couch, tangled together, just talking through things. Talking about the why of it all, the mess he'd slogged through, his reasons for sticking with it. All those fears twisting about in his head. He was starting to find the right words for it all, how to describe the pain and terror in ways that made sense to someone outside it all.

Somehow, he'd never managed to tell her about that last call with Eddie. Not completely, anyway. Oh, he'd talked about Eddie plenty through the cycles, practically every chance he got—just not the details of what he'd said. Eddie said things to comfort him, and nothing more. Jon hadn't really thought that one detail would make much of a difference. 

But when he got on a roll, he could talk for hours. The end of his damned experiment seemed as good a time as any to recount the details for her. But instead of just listening to him blather on the way he usually did, she'd said something that dropped the floor right out from under him. Left him reeling, chest going hot and cold and itchy all at once. And he felt dumb as shit for not even seeing it, even with it staring him right in the fucking face the whole goddamn time.

Hell, she'd been the one to roll her eyes, drop his phone into his hand and shove him toward the patio door.

God, he fucking loved her.

"Thought I told you to forget this number."

"Impossible."

A scoff. "Fuck d'you want? It's late."

"Can we call a truce?" he asked, sighing. "Just until we hang up."

"Why?" Eddie asked, impatient and unimpressed. " Gimme one good reason ."

"Because you still love me."

Eddie was silent for a long moment, long enough that Jon was afraid he'd hung up. When he spoke again, his voice was tight and cold and rough and Jon hated it. "What are you playin' at?"

"Not playin' at anything," he promised, hoping to hell she'd been right. "I'm still in love with you, too. Ain't some one-sided thing. Not just callin' to give you shit." 

"Renee know?" 

"'Course she does. She's a goddamn treasure, couldn't lie to her. Not about this, not about somethin' that matters." He shrugged, "Hell, she was the one who had to clue my dumb ass in."

Eddie cursed under his breath, and Jon felt like an asshole all over again. One of these times, he'd get it right with Eddie. Wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't force that same horrible tone—the one that sounded cold and dead—out of him.

"This ain't one of those conversations we should be having over the phone, I don't think." 

"Well tough fuckin' tits, 'cause I'm here and I'm not puttin' a fuckin' pin in it," Eddie snapped. "You're the one who called outta the fuckin' blue, coulda fuckin' thought about it before you ruined my entire night."

"I will. Next time."

Eddie scoffed. Jon could picture his emphatic eye roll, the annoyed toss of his head. "Right, sure. Next time. Get through this time first, champ, before you start makin' a gameplan."

"So far, the gameplan is 'talk about it in person,' so I haven't really made it far," he joked. He hated it, really. The nebulous date of once this godforsaken shit is over was kinda like June. Kinda like Revolution. Kinda like fuckin' Monday. Everything was so far the fuck away, he didn't know how to fucking plan for it. He'd keep fucking trying, though. "What would it look like? Next time, I mean. When I try and start this conversation right. What does that look like to you?"

"Not behind your wife's back, for one " Eddie grumbled. "Not over the fuckin' phone, either."

"Eddie, I am sitting on my own fucking patio, ten fuckin' minutes after having a conversation with Renee about calling you," Jon listed off, rolling his eyes. "The only reason this could even be considered behind her back is 'cause she's literally facing the stove right now. She knows. I love her, too, ya know."

"So what the fuck d'you need me for?" 

"You're you."

"That ain't enough, Jon."

"You've always been enough."

The tiny hitch in Eddie's breath was the only clue that he was even still on the line. Unintentional and obvious, and probably not anything Eddie had wanted to give away. It made Jon feel a little guilty, the way most of his calls with Eddie did. Like he was using him for a scratch sheet, taking notes on all his failures in the hopes that one day he'd finally get it right.

He just wanted so fucking hope, though. Something to build toward, to work for. He wanted a future.

"If I bought you a plane ticket, flew you out here, would you get to know her?" he asked, an idea sparking in his head. It wasn't useful , but it was a thought. A plan. A hope for a someday , when he could get out of his hell and move on. Build something new, maybe. A dry run for some future conversation, for when it would matter, for when it would stick. "Would you take that chance?"

"I don't—Jon, why the fuck are you doin' this?"

"Three ain't a bad number, right?"

"Jon…"

"You say no, I'll listen," he promised, heart going wild in his chest. "But I don't think you will."

Eddie stayed silent. He liked his long, dramatic pauses, whether he even noticed or not. "You buy me a ticket, I'll take a chance. That's all you're getting outta me."

"That's all I wanted," he promised. "Hell, you even considering this was more than I thought I could hope for."

"That's fuckin' sad, Mox," Eddie muttered, dryly, and it startled a laugh out of him. 

"Yeah, maybe. But it's enough for now."

"The fuck is goin' on wit' you?" 

"A whole fuckin' lot, and you wouldn't believe a damn bit of it."

"Try me."

"If I needed to convince you to trust me," Jon began, trying to order the words in his head. "Not about this, not about us , about somethin' even wilder. If I needed you to believe somethin' straight outta some dumb fuckin' movie, what would I need t'say?"

"Why?"

"Because some shit is goin' down, and I need to be able to convince you."

"Jesus, we're passed that. Just fuckin' spill it."

"I'm in some Groundhog Day shit. Usually takes a long time to convince you," Jon sighed. "Not actually sure I really ever did convince you, to be honest."

"So why the fuck are you callin' me?"

"You keep tellin' me to. Even when I can't convince you." He shrugged, slowly kicking his feet in the warm pool water.

"You mean you called me about all this before?"

He laughed, a little, trying to stifle the sound so Eddie didn't get any madder at him. "Babe, I call you about this all the time."

"Hold up, just—okay, let's say you're stuck in a fuckin' time loop or whatever." Eddie sounded positively done with his shit. "Lets just say. You're having a Palm Springs over there and you called me up t'night to ask if I wanted be you an' Renee's third. That sound right t'you?"

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"Jon."

"I'm makin' plans for, ya know, after. When I can get outta this. Seein' if this thing I been wantin' is even possible." He shrugged, "I'll do it right, when I get out of this. Do it all slow and shit. M'just tryin' t'have a little hope for once."

"Hope, huh?" Eddie sighed out, loudly, and Jon could practically see his eye roll. "You are, without a fuckin' doubt, the most frustrating fuckin' man I ever fuckin' met, Jon." 

"Yeah, but I keep you on your toes," he joked. 

Eddie snorted, "You're a menace."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just… Just—if you need me to believe you, do what you did this time." He sounded quiet, Jon didn't like it. "You know I still—you know, now. Up until you said that, I had been pretty fuckin' sure you ain't even noticed. That'll at least shut me up long enough for you t'start talking."

"Don't wanna shut you up. Never wanna do that. I don't like it when you're quiet."

"And I don't like that you took that secret from me."

"I didn't. Not really. Just finally figured it out, is all." He shook his head, even if Eddie couldn't see it. "I swear I wouldn't have tried to wheedle this kinda thing outta you, used it against you like this. That's—cheating. It's cheating, and I might be a fuckin' dumbass, but even I'm not stupid enough to do that to you."

"How the fuck else did you figure it out?"

"There was a bit there when you told me not to call. Take a few cycles and actually do somethin' useful. Find scientists and psychics, or whatever." It had fucking sucked , but he could follow orders when he felt like it. "And I did. Called up every person I could fuckin' think of, and then whoever they could think of."

"So why're you callin' back? If you're so into listenin' t'me?"

"You said to. Once I'd exhausted every single thing I could do to get out of this, you said to start calling you again."

A huff of a laugh, small and unimpressed. "I'll bite. Why'd I say something like that?"

"You said it because you couldn't help me, but you could keep me company." He listened to another of those small hitches of breath. Could picture Eddie biting his lip, looking to the side, trying not to give himself away. "That—even though you couldn't do anything, at the very least, you wouldn't let me be completely alone. That in all this fuckin' mess, I could at least rely on you to answer.

"Couldn't figure out why you'd say somethin' like that. Why you'd ever even tell me to keep callin' you to begin with. Hell, couple times I never even got to the whole time loop thing, and you still told me to keep callin' you back. Even those times when I said something wrong, and we just yelled at each other." He chuckled a little to himself, pressed his fingertips against the ache in his chest. "Never been quick on the uptake. Took me a year or so to get to the answer, and even then it was Renee who said it. I was telling her about you, just a little bit ago. About that , about what you said. And she just said it so fuckin' casually. She said, 'Oh, he loves you, too.' And lookin' back, it was so fuckin' obvious." 

"Took you that long?" Eddie scoffed. A little over exaggerated, like he had to put on a show. Couldn't let on how much Jon's words affected him, couldn't show weakness. Hide, deny, distract.

"Wondered if I was projecting, or whatever. Just seein' what I wanted to see. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Big word."

"Hey, I read."

Eddie chuckled a little. Not much, just enough. "Yeah, yeah. I know."

"You won't remember this tomorrow, but I love you."

"Love you, too." He said it soft, just a raspy whisper. Then it was followed by a small, annoyed grumble. "If you're lying t'me, I will kill you."

He laughed. For the first time in a long, long time, it felt real. "Wouldn't have it any other way. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Fuckin' better call me. Takes, what, six hours to fly out there?"

"I'll text you the details. Order you a car and everything."

"First class?"

It was Jon's turn to give a teasing scoff. "You doubtin' my love for you?"

"No, I s'pose not." Another huff of a laugh, all that smoke and steel he'd once known so well. "Want me to stay on the line?"

It hit Jon like a chair to the face, and he had to close his eyes against the sudden sting. He'd called Eddie in the evenings on more than a few occasions, and each time the man asked it fucking hurt. The kind of warmth in his chest that scalded and burned and branded itself on his shattered ribcage. "Please."

"I will," Eddie promised. There was a rustle of clothes, a rasp of air moving across the receiver as Eddie rose from wherever he'd been sitting and smoking. "Lemme lock up. S'late."

"Not goin' anywhere," Jon promised. He laid back on the still sun-warm patio and closed his eyes, listening to the soothing sound of Eddie puttering around. It was just as nice as usual, felt all soft and domestic and shit.

Through the endless slog of throwing shit at the wall, he'd found he'd kinda liked that, falling asleep on the couch while he listened to Renee putter around the kitchen. Listening to Eddie go through the motions of getting ready for bed was just the same. Just as calming. It felt real, where the rest of Jon's surroundings had begun to feel like some inescapable nightmare, like some kind of movie set. Having Eddie in his ear felt like a life, and not just an existence.

It was always a disappointment that it was over, but it instilled a little hope that he could find it again. The small hopes were all he really had left, really.

He always felt rested after those cycles. At ease in a way that he hadn't remembered being for a long, long time. Didn't need to linger in bed like usual, just to build up the strength to get up and face another day. Refreshed, maybe, was the right word. Flicked the switch, reset the whole system.

This time, though, it left him antsy and jittery. Not uneasy, just ready. Something was coming, something was happening, finally, and he could scarcely sit still long enough to wait for it. He had half a plan and a good idea, and it didn't take long to book a couple of flights and schedule a cab to show up outside Eddie's place an hour or so after he'd eventually wake up. 

It was kind of a rush, actually. It had been too damn long since he'd allowed himself to be excited about something. About anything. It was hard to be enthusiastic about much of anything when he wouldn't even get to keep it.

But, it was Eddie. 

Eddie made him giddy and stupid and carefree. Made him careless, too, because he kind of forgot every single thing he'd learned about getting out of bed without waking Renee. Or, more accurately, without making a dog bark.

He was already wincing by the time he turned around to find her sitting up in bed. She was bleary eyed and sleep mussed, more than confused by the loud alarm dog still barking at Jon's heels.

"Uh. Good morning?"

She blinked at him, still half asleep. "Why's Blue so loud?"

"Does he usually need a reason?"

She snorted and stifled a yawn. "Fair 'nough," he murmured, and scrubbed at her cheek. "S'early. Couldn't sleep?"

"Nah, not really," he admitted, sheepishly. "Sorry. In a better mood than usual, wasn't paying attention. You can go back t'sleep."

She gave a jaw cracking yawn and waved him off. "I'm up now, it's fine. Gimme a few minutes to finish wakin' up, and I'll make breakfast."

"I'll start the kettle," he promised, and herded the loud, fuzzy wrecking ball of a bulldog out of the room and down the stairs. It was strange how such a small change to his routine could make him feel like a normal person again. 

He went through the motions of taking care of the dogs, starting the kettle for Renee's tea, dropping bread into the toaster—the one part of breakfast he'd ever been trusted to take care of. He'd taken a few of his cycles to genuinely see if Renee could teach him how to cook, just to know if it was possible. Turned out, it really wasn't. 

But he still liked the motions of putzing around the kitchen when she worked. Pretending to help and getting in the way was always more fun, anyway. Besides, for some reason, she found that kind of thing charming.

"Remember Eddie?" he asked, once their plates were cleared and Renee's eyes were a little more alert.

"Ex-boyfriend, current enemy, occasionally tries to kill you, amazing eyebrows?" She gave him a bland look over the rim of her mug, "Or is there a different Eddie, than the one you've been complaining about for weeks on end?"

It felt like something short-circuited in his brain. Like something just fuzzed out of power, stopped working entirely, 404 blue screened, completely out of order.

"Weeks?" he asked, voice faint to his own ears.

"Yeah? More like months," she added, taking another casual bite of her toast, and Jon felt sick. 

What if she remembered ? Did she? Could she? How much did she know? How long had she— 

"You haven't really shut up about him since—well you kind of never shut up about him. But in, like, an endearing way."

Oh. Yeah. Right.

Renee's yesterday was fucking Saturday.

He didn't even remember what he'd said Saturday, but he knew it had to be about Eddie. Wistful, whiny, angry, she heard all of it.

For Renee, she'd had to put up with countless hours of him whining and complaining. Ever since his arrival, since the moment someone put a mic in his hand and let him do what he did best, Renee had had an earful. Good, bad, all of it. Even before that, those nights when they were camped out in a hotel room in some new city, still kinda gross after a house show. Jon would have her laptop balanced on his knees, watching Eddie's matches. He'd tell funny stories, reminisce about what and who they used to be.

That was decades ago for Jon. She had a whole different vantage point of the fucking mess.

"Huh. I guess that's true."

"It's cute, once you get used to it," she said with a laugh and an easy shrug. "So, Eddie."

"I'm still in love with him," Jon said, already wincing. She knew, in some part. Hadn't even batted an eye the cycle before, but he'd never actually said it out loud to her, not in so many words. She didn't look angry, though. She didn't even really look phased , and he didn't know why he expected her to. "Not in a—I don't want to leave you for him. S'not what I mean," he said, hoping she'd fill in the blanks. She was always better with words than he was. "And I know you know that, but it feels wrong to not, ya know, tell you."

She laughed, and gave him a sarcastic, "You don't say." She feigned shock and pressed a hand to her mouth, "Your own ex-boyfriend that you've never once, not ever, shut up about? Still love him? No."

He rolled his eyes, tension easing out of his shoulders. "Alright, alright, that's enough."

"Babe, you got it bad," she teased. "And I mean bad. I can't believe you're only noticing now."

"I didn't just notice," he groused.

"Uh huh, yeah. If you'd noticed earlier, you'd have said so," she pointed out, still wearing that soft, gentle smile. "It's okay, really. If it had bothered me, I would have said so."

"Call me crazy, but wives don't usually like their husbands waxing poetical about their exes," he groused, and gave her shoulder a playful nudge.

"That's literally never stopped you before. Remember how Seth was on our first date? Eddie wasn't even there, and he was more present than Seth was," she laughed, eyes bright and sparkling and teasing. No ounce of anger in her expression. "Eddie has been third wheeling our entire relationship, babe. He hasn't been here and he's been with you every step of the way."

"That wasn't a date," he argued, just for the sake of it.

Renee rolled her eyes, "Agree to disagree."

And fuck he felt pretty fucking dumb. And like an asshole, even if she wasn't calling him that. Mostly, he just felt stupid.

Renee seemed to read the expression on his face, and chuckled. She gave his arm a gentle, consoling pat, "You really are gone on him."

"I'm gone on you," he grumbled and tugged her against his side. It was infuriating, being the last to know something.

"I know." She said it so easily, so truthfully, so sure and certain. 

He couldn't have stopped himself from kissing her if he'd tried. She was just the best, absolutely wonderful in every possible way. Hair messy, sleep shirt wrinkled and stained, a toast crumb on her cheek, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever fucking known.

She chuckled against his mouth, one gentle hand coming up to scratch at the scruff on his cheek. "Love you, too, babe," she murmured, and pecked another small kiss to his lips.

"You're really okay with this?"

She shrugged easily, like he hadn't just asked her for the world. "Yeah. I think you two would be cute, honestly."

"What about us? The three of us," he clarified, the question tumbling out of him before he could think better of it. He'd never been able to stop while he was ahead. He glanced away, unable to look her in the eye as he asked, "Could that ever happen?"

She made a surprised little noise, but looked thoughtful and considering when he snuck a small look at her. 

And then Jon realized how much of a dick move it was to game the fucking system like that. He waved a hand at her, "Nevermind, that's cheating, forget I said any'a that. One thing at a fuckin' time. I wanna—I'll ask it right, later."

She laughed at him, expression more bemused than anything. "Alright. You and Eddie."

"Me and Eddie," he agreed. 

"And you wanna…" She gave him an expectant look. "What? Fuck him? Hold his hand? Ignore the whole thing and keep pretending it's all fine?"

Jon shrugged, "Hadn't actually made it much past, 'oh, shit, I still love him,' and 'I should probably tell Renee about this.'"

"Huh. Well, I'd have to meet him. I only talked to him that one time, forever ago, when you kinda just shoved a phone at me and expected us to have a conversation." She shrugged, thoughtfully. "Seems like this would work better if we were all on the same page. Set boundaries, you know? That's an in-person conversation for all of us."

"Which is why I mighta already booked him a ticket out here this morning," Jon said, wincing a little. Maybe should've talked about that kind of boundary before doing so, but she just snorted out a laugh.

"Of course you did." She shook her head, all fond and amused in a way that he never thought someone could be about him. "Do I need to worry about the structural integrity of the house?"

"No, no. If we gotta fight, we'll do it outside," he joked. "He's polite like that."

"Maybe just start with getting him to stop trying to kill you," she said, chuckling a little. "I won't stop you from pursuing him, as long as you just—if it ever starts to feel like I'm standing in your way, you gotta tell me. Deal?"

She said it like it was fucking reasonable. Like there was ever going to be a day where he didn't want her. "Why are you so calm about this?"

"Because I love you, and I trust you. Duh." She shrugged, easy as pie, "It might be different if… if you didn't love him, I guess. If it was just some pretty stranger? Someone you don't even know? Absolutely the fuck not. But, you know, this is your Eddie. I don't mind if it's Eddie."

Well fuck him.

His eyes stung a bit, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her tight against his side. "I fucking love you," he murmured, and dipped to press a kiss into her messy hair. Strawberries and fucking roses. 

"I fucking love you, too," she promised, and then gently smacked his chest. "But that also means you gotta pack and clean up before he gets here, so hop to it."

And it didn't matter, but it kind of did, actually. So he sighed , like it was the worst news in the world, just to get her to laugh, because that had to be one of his favorite sounds in the world.

His second favorite, in that single moment, was the sound of his phone rattling across the counter. Eddie's name blinked up at him, and he was probably angry and confused about waking up to plane tickets, and Jon felt a little bad about it. 

"Be gentle with him," Renee murmured, still smiling.

"I'm always gentle," he teased back, just to get another of those laughs out of her. He didn't get the chance to prove it, though, Eddie already growling into his ear.

"The fuck is this." 

"Ticket to Vegas," he said, trying not to grin at Renee as she muffled snickers into her palm. Eddie would take the bait, he absolutely would. He just fucking knew it, regardless of whatever assurances Eddie had given him. "Leaves in like two hours, so put on a clean shirt, get in the car when it arrives, and come to Vegas."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"No. I already booked you a flight for tomorrow, also on my dime, so you got nothin' to fucking lose," Jon pressed, hopefully. "Come to Vegas."

"No, no, absolutely the fuckin' fuck not," Eddie snapped, and Jon could hear him pacing and stomping. He could throw a fit with the best of them. "I dunno what you're gonna do to me, or trick me into, or fuckin' what, and I sure as shit don't want to find out. No, absolutely not."

"Please?" 

Eddie didn't speak for a long few moments, audibly seething and mad. But then he growled and cursed and smacked something loudly with his hand. "Christ. Fine, fine! But you better fuckin' come pick me up."

"I will," he promised, chuckling to himself. "I'll be there."

"Most annoying man I ever fuckin' met, Mox," he grumbled, and ended the call before Jon could get in any more teasing.

He shot Renee a grin, anticipation settling into his gut, "Easier than I thought it'd be."

"Oh yeah, he's absolutely gone on you, too, babe," she laughed, and shook her head. "Go pack, make sure the spare has clean sheets, and try not to overthink. 'Kay? Sound like a solid plan?"

As far as plans went, it felt like the best one he'd ever had—felt that way for a little while, anyway. He'd started off the day feeling giddy, couldn't keep himself still if he'd tried. Had to keep himself busy, so he'd kinda cleaned everything in the goddamn house. Anything Renee needed, he was up and doing, needing something to keep his hands steady. Messed around outside, helped Renee organize the pantry, built some flat pack shelves they'd had sitting in the garage that he'd been putting off thinking about.

It only kind of worked. He still had a few endless hours to overthink every single possibility, every single way their conversation could go. Good, bad, all of it. What he would say, if he would say anything at all, if he would listen, if he would even show up. He had only a short time and an endless supply of bad outcomes and guilt to bury himself in. The closer the plane got to landing, the worse he felt.

Because he was cheating. He'd said it himself, told Renee he hadn't wanted to do that, even if he hadn't remembered to tell her why. He'd kind of just forgotten. Been so wrapped up in seeing Eddie, feeling normal, pretending it was okay, that nothing else had mattered. 

He couldn't bring Eddie home and just shove him at Renee and hope. That wasn't fair to either of them, to keep using them as tests. Dry running relationships like he'd one day find the right combination of words to say to get them right where he wanted them.

Renee had on that sad, scared expression she always wore, when he finally sat down and explained it all to her. Given him a helpless laugh when he admitted that, despite the endless everything, he'd simply forgotten—because that was the kind of thing he'd do, wasn't it? He'd wanted so badly to have a normal fucking day, that he'd managed to forget everything else.

She'd gripped his hand, and promised she wouldn't have blamed him, had he not said anything at all. About the cycles or Eddie or anything in between. She was kind of perfect, like that. Understood where he was coming from, even if she didn't fully understand what was happening. 

Maybe one day something actually normal would happen to him, for once.

She had a handle on him well enough to know what he needed, when he needed it. Like he was a language she'd learned how to speak. She didn't cry for him, at least not while he was looking. Even though he'd made an effort to tamp it down, she could see through to just how eager and excited he was, and matched him with a grin.

She was the one to shove Jon out the door, a couple foil wrapped sandwiches in hand. Made him promise to be gentle. Made him promise not to come home until they'd hiked the fight out of themselves, until they could spend time together without battling like they usually did—which really hadn't been a bad idea, actually.

She didn't kiss him like it was a goodbye, though he could see that she wanted to. 

Just in case he didn't make it home before the cycle reset.

Didn't mean he couldn't give that to her, though. She spent so long, so much time, taking care of him. Being what he needed, when he needed her to, without even having to be asked. The least he could do was offer a little of that consideration in return. Besides, he liked kissing her.

He fidgeted the entire drive to the airport, that excitement growing in his gut. A little anxiety, that Eddie wouldn't actually show, but he had to have faith in something. Faith in Eddie always paid off.

He'd managed to time it right, pulling into the pick up lane as he spotted Eddie trudging through the doors. The kind of timing that only happened in movies.

Eddie's eyes found him the moment he stepped outside, brow heavy and eyes alert. Jon could picture his mouth beneath his mask, drawn in a tight line. He looked more cautious than confused, as he waded through the crowds, toward Jon's loitering truck. But he didn't stop moving forward, didn't once look away.

By the time he reached the curb, Jon was bouncing on the balls of his feet. So fucking eager, he reached out before he'd really though his plan through. In front of him, Eddie was tense, his hackles raised and his expression tight. Ready for a fight, and expecting one. He didn't seem to expect the hug, though.

If he hadn't already set his bags down, he'd have almost probably dropped them, the way he went stiff and startled in Jon's grasp. But in a couple of slow increments, he relaxed into the hold. Even settled his hands on Jon's back, tentatively returning the hug.

"How was the flight?" he asked, pulling back to pick up Eddie's bags. He could be cool, he could be chill, he could pretend like his heart didn't start thundering away in his chest the moment Eddie stepped out of the airport doors. 

"Fine, yeah. It was fine." Eddie slowly followed along behind him toward the idling truck. Jon could feel eyes staring holes into the back of his head. "Boring."

"Better'n exciting, I suppose."

"I dunno, coulda used a distraction," Eddie muttered, hauling himself into the passenger's seat as Jon loaded bags into the back.

He could hear Eddie muttering to himself, tone angry and annoyed. When he made it around to the driver's side, Eddie was already unmasked and slouched down in his seat, carefully not looking over at Jon. His lips were pursed, but twisted down to the side. A subtle difference, but Jon liked to think he learned something from his years of knowing Eddie so well.

That wasn't anger, not exactly. That was nerves, and trying hard not to show it. That was—right, Eddie had said, forever and a day before, while Jon stared up at a glittering night sky. He thought Jon hated him. 

Now he just had to figure out how to fix that.

He carefully pulled back into traffic watching cars weave carelessly in and out of lanes around him. Just because he could navigate his way out of the damn place with his eyes closed, didn't mean he was stupid enough to. Blindly, he tossed the foil wrapped sandwich toward Eddie, "Renee made a late lunch."

"Lunch." He felt Eddie's eyes on him, boring into the side of his face, but he wasn't brave enough to glance over.

"Yeah, plane food always sucks," he shrugged, trying to be casual enough that Eddie would let himself relax. "You can throw it out if you don't want it."

"I didn't say that," he grumbled. Carefully, judging by the slow crinkle of tin foil, Eddie unwrapped the sandwich like he thought it would jump out and bite him. Which, well, Jon did have a soft spot for pranks, so he supposed that was fair. But he liked Renee more, and wouldn't be caught dead ruining her hard work.

"What are you in the mood for?" He asked, absently, eyeing the Lexus tailgating him in the rear view mirror. "Head to the house? Nap? Or you restless from bein' cooped up all day and need somethin' t'do?"

"W'kinda somthin'?" he asked, mouth full. 

"Can I show you my favorite place?" he asked, casual as he could manage. 

"S'it good?"

"Well, I think so."

Eddie hummed, tilting his head a little in thought. For a moment, Jon was sure he'd say no, just to be contrary. But then he shrugged, "Sure."

He took back his agreement, pretty quickly, once they'd made out of the city proper. Once he'd been faced with endless stretches of scrub and dust and wide, blue skies. Had looked between Jon and the red desert a few times before asking if his favorite place was Eddie's unmarked grave.

It had been enough to startle a laugh out of him, and then a couple more as Eddie needled at him like he'd never stopped. Almost like he just couldn't help but slip back into old routines, no matter what he thought of Jon and his motives. 

It kept up like that, the whole drive. Their silences maybe weren't as easy as they once were, but there wasn't any real turmoil simmering beneath the surface. It was almost familiar, just on the edge of it, ready to spill over. Trying to balance on solid land after spending too long at sea.

Eddie gave him a dark, unimpressed look, once Jon had pulled into the parking area. But it wasn't bad , it wasn't the look of someone genuinely angry with him. It was—almost, almost—fond. Amused and playful, maybe, but never truly angry. 

It was almost normal. 

It was also the most difficult hisnhike had ever fucking been. It was hard to climb and clamber up rocks when he couldn't catch a breath, too busy laughing at Eddie's whining and complaining. He used to do that a lot, just to get a rise out of Jon. It was a favorite pastime of his, always had been.

By the time they made it to Jon's spot, he was more winded than usual. The day was hotter, and the air drier, and he had to keep stopping to throw his head back and laugh at Eddie's many loud, petulant quips. Just like old times. 

Behind him, Eddie was panting, hands on his hips, "Did you fucking fly me all-all the fuckin' way here t-to fuckin' hike?"

"In my defense, no."

He barked out a laugh, loud and echoing in the rocks. He stumbled a little and braced his hands on his knees, and kept laughing. His boots were scuffed from the trail, jeans dusty, shirt clinging to his back from sweat and heat, but he was laughing. "Yo-you fuckin' asshole, m'gonna f-fuckin' kill you. Swear t'fuckin' god."

"Oh, c'mon, you got a free vacation outta this," Jon laughed, wiping sweat off his brow.

"Vacation my ass." He pushed himself back up, hands on his hips and he panted and squinted at Jon. "It's hot as fuckin' balls, I've seen like three fuckin' things in the last five minutes that could kill me, it's so bright that my eyes're sunburned, and m'fuckin' tired from bein' on a goddamn plane all day. This ain't a fuckin' vacation."

"Yeah, but you're having a little fun, right?"

"F'you don't find me shade in the next thirty fuckin' seconds, m'gonna strangle you," Eddie growled, but his lips were twitching like he wanted to grin.

He waved Eddie to follow him off the trail, toward his usual spot, "C'mon, there's a little spot I like to sit."

"You try an' push me off, m'gonna haunt your ass," Eddie muttered, following along.

He really had found the perfect spot to hide away on his worse days. It was off the trail, and he should have felt bad about that, but any damage he was doing got erased, so he supposed it didn't really matter. There was a little secluded ledge, tucked away between a couple boulders. That was where he usually liked to hide away from prying eyes, just far enough off the trail that he would be noticed unless he raised his voice.

It was nice. One of those little crevices that breeze liked to whip through, just enough to offer a little respite from the heat.

Eddie collapsed down onto the rocky ledge with a tired groan. "I hate you."

Jon snorted, eyes rolling without his approval. "No you don't."

"Yes I do," he argued, petulant and whining.

"Nah. You wouldn'a followed me out here if you did," Jon argued, grinning when Eddie did nothing but narrow his eyes.

"So why am I here?"

He shrugged. "I had an idea. But it felt too much like cheating. Felt like stealing somethin' from you."

"Kinda idea?"

"A scary idea. But a good idea, too."

Eddie snorted, "Helpful."

"Like I said, felt like cheating. I kinda did cheat a little bit already. And that ain't fair to you." He shrugged again, shook his head. "By the time I went back on my plan, your plane was already in the sky."

"So, hiking?"

"Hiking," he agreed.

"You are, without a doubt, the most frustrating fuckin' man I've ever fuckin' met," Eddie laughed, laying back on the rocky ledge, feet dangling. "I got a phone, Jon. You don't gotta walk me up a fuckin' cliff just to start a fuckin' conversation."

"Yeah, but some conversations are s'posed to happen in person."

"Yeah. Like the one you decided we ain't having," Eddie grumbled, but it was, inexplicably, kinda fond.

"Yeah, and if you knew what I was planning to talk to you about, you'd be pretty fuckin' glad that I decided to fuckin' wait for a better moment." He shook his head, chuckling to himself. "Besides, there's other shit goin' on with me. Gotta just… gotta take care of that, first. Then we can revisit the rest."

Eddie gave a low whistle, eyes slipping closed for a few moments. "Look at you , Moxie. Actin' all responsible and shit."

"Still too impulsive to save you the fuckin' trip, but I'm getting there," he joked, watching the rise and fall of Eddie chest. 

In the real world, the one he was trying so hard to get back to, he saw Eddie all the time. In passing, on TV, in the ring, everywhere. Jon couldn't have escaped him if he wanted to. In the real world, he didn't have to memorize the lines and angles of Eddie's face. He was always there, always close enough to look at or run through.

But Jon wasn't in the real world anymore. Yet. He was stranded far from everything he'd ever known, and he thought he could feel himself drifting up and out and away from himself with each passing cycle. He felt like he was losing himself, and it was starting with his mind. His memories .

In the real world, Jon knew each and every single curve and dip and angle and line of Eddie's face. Knew the exact shade of stormy blue of his eyes. Those thick lashes, that heavy brow, that beautiful, crooked grin. Knew every scar and mark across his body, and all the stories behind them.

Stuck and stranded and scared, Jon felt like he was seeing Eddie for the first time all over again. 

He was so fucking beautiful, and it made Jon ache.

"That ain't the only thing bouncing around in that skull a'yours, is it?" Eddie asked, and sat himself up. He didn't look back at Jon for a long moment, kept his eyes toward the horizon.

Truthfully, Jon didn't really know what he'd do if Eddie had been looking at him when he said that. Might've broken immediately.

He might've shattered.

"S'beautiful out here," Eddie murmured, scooting back to lean against the rock next to Jon's shoulder. "Kinda don't ever notice how much when you're in the middle'a all of that. Lights and people and noise. All that clutter and movement. Never thought Vegas'd have quiet."

"You gotta look for it, but it's there. Everywhere is kinda like that. Got those calm, quiet places hidden away until you need 'em." He gently nudged Eddie's arm, just for the familiarity of it, "Not like New York ain't also like that."

Eddie snorted, softly, and nudged him right back. "People are like that, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He sighed, chewing on his lip for a few moments. But then he leaned his shoulder against Jon's and stayed and didn't pull away.

Such a gentle touch. Some soft, quiet thing. 

He looked back at the pretty sky, late afternoon settling in around them. He had it memorized, the motions of it all. The colors of a desert, from dawn to nightfall. He'd seen it all so much that it was practically a part of him, he wondered what it would be like to see it through new eyes. Wondered just what all Eddie was seeing.

"You gonna tell me what's goin' on wit' you?" His voice was soft and quiet, that dry, smoker's rasp. Had all that warmth to it that Jon had been searching for for what felt like years.

And goddamn it, it was enough to fucking to crack him open.

His cheeks were wet before he even noticed the sting.

"It's, uh, it doesn't make a lot of sense," he muttered, feeling his throat begin to close on him. "S'gonna sound fuckin' crazy . And you're not gonna believe me. You never do, I don't think."

"Well, I'll just have to humor you, then," Eddie offered, and leaned a little heavier into Jon's shoulder. "I'm here. 'Kay? I'm here. So start talking."

"Will you—can you just pretend?" Jon asked, hands starting to shake and tremble. "Just for now, just for t-tonight. Can you just pretend to believe me?"

"I already said I would," Eddie promised, in that quiet, intense way of his. "Wasn't just talkin' outta my ass. So break it down for me. What's goin' on?"

Jon pressed his hands to his face for a few moments, trying to claw back some measure of composure. Saying it all to someone's face was different than over a phone. If Renee ever remembered the endless fucking cycles, she'd probably be embarrassed by him and all his breakdowns. 

She wouldn't actually, of course she wouldn't, but that small little sliver of doubt sparked off a bloom of guilt in his gut, which didn't help a damn bit. 

"It's Sunday," he muttered into his hands. He took a long breath, then a couple more, trying to get ahold of himself. He swiped his palms over his cheeks, steeled himself as much as he could.

"Yeah, it is. Gonna be for a few more hours yet," Eddie murmured, gently prompting him to continue.

"And the fuckin' kicker is, when I get up in the morning, it's still gonna fuckin' be Sunday."

Eddie was quiet for a long moment, like usual. "That's…"

"Yeah. It's fucking insane , and I fucking wish I was just going crazy, 'stead of just being fully fucking trapped here." He tilted his head back against the rocks, eyes falling closed so he didn't have to risk glancing over at Eddie. "I hoped I was, honestly. Found every doc willin' to see me on short notice, hoping a brain scan and a strong prescription would fix it."

"And I'm guessin' it didn't."

"Nope, not once." 

"What else you tried?"

"Everything I can think of. Everythin' Renee can think of," he listed off. "Spent helluva lot of time following your suggestions and tryin' t'find, like, some scientist with theories and shit. Went to a psychic or five. This friend of Renee's, she's got some reiki person out in LA that she insists is the real deal. You ever done that shit?"

Eddie huffed out a bit of a laugh. "No, I haven't."

"Whole thing was fuckin' weird as hell."

"Did it help?"

"Not a fucking bit."

"Not even just t'keep you going?" Eddie asked, and Jon could hear the frown in his voice.

"Nope." He swallowed down the lump trying to squirm up his throat, squeezed his eyes shut tight. "You and Renee are the only ones givin' me any kinda hope. Any reason to keep going and pushin' on."

Eddie scoffed, "Me? Christ, the fuck have I done?"

"You keep picking up the phone," Jon murmured. "And you keep tellin' me to call again. I don't think you've ever believed me, believed this, but you keep tellin' me to call."

"That don't sound like me."

It startled a laugh out of Jon, one that quickly turned into a painful, wracking sob. He pressed his hands to his face, pressed at his eyes 'til he saw sparks, tried to muffle the broken sounds rattling out of him. 

Immediately, like it was instinct, Eddie gathered Jon tight against his chest, and every last bit of control he had been clinging to shattered. He curled toward Eddie, face pressed tight against his clavicle, trying to make himself small. As if it would hurt less that way. As if it would mean less of him for Eddie to have to try and carry.

"I got you," he whispered against the crown of Jon's head. He squeezed the back on Jon's neck, fisted the other in the fabric of his shirt, right between his heaving shoulders. "It's alright, b, I got you."

He was so gentle, too. It had been ages since he'd been that close to Eddie, he'd forgotten how those hands felt when they weren't trying to hurt him. 

He ached. There was a gaping crater in his chest, empty and cold, that kept getting patched over with each small bit of refuge he was able to find. Never repaired, never truly fixed, no matter how much care anyone chose to give him. Like a bomb had gone off inside his ribcage, leaving nothing but rubble and dust. A pit so wide and jagged and perilous that nothing could hope to survive there.

Each time he shattered, it got harder and harder to glue the pieces back together. Shards no longer fit together, cracks widened to the point that they'd never truly close. 

He felt like the broken pieces of him would slip through Eddie's fingers. Like there wasn't enough of him left to hang onto, let alone rebuild.

Eddie didn't seem to care though. He kept Jon cradled against his chest, holding him tight and secure. Like he could just force all the pieces back together through sheer force of will. 

Maybe he could. Jon liked them stubborn like that.

He didn't know how long they sat like that, how long Jon spent falling apart in Eddie's arms. By the time he had settled into quiet hiccups, all the strength had been sapped out of his limbs and he was nothing but a heavy, useless lump in Eddie's arms.

He didn't even try to move from where he was still cradled against Eddie's chest, just shifted enough to wriggle and arm free, so he could wrap around him in return, fit his fingers against the notches of Eddie's spine.

Eddie's grip on him had loosened, but he didn't once try to push Jon away. Just stroked over the back of Jon's neck and head with slow, soothing movements. Eddie's other hand was a warm brand between his shoulder blades, a soothing kind of heat, one that settled into his bones.

"I'm scared I won't make it outta this," he mumbled, face still pressed to Eddie's shoulder.

"How long you been stuck?"

"Feels like decades."

He cursed, a sad little noise, and pressed a kiss to the top of Jon's head. Been awhile since anyone had done that, let alone Eddie. It was almost enough to shatter him again. "Fuckin' hell, Jon. How are you still sane?"

He spit out as much of a laugh as he could manage, a broken and unhappy sound. "Not so sure I am."

Eddie gave the back of his head a sharp smack, "None'a that. We ain't doin' hopelessness t'night."

Jon poked him in the ribs in retaliation, but otherwise refused to move from his spot. He was hot and gross, cheeks chafed and nose running, sweat sticking him to Eddie's chest. It was too fucking hot to cuddle up to another body, but he wasn't about to let go. Not now. Not with Eddie finally within his fucking reach.

"Talk me through it, c'mon," Eddie pressed, resting his cheek against the top of Jon's head. "Got nowhere else t'be, alright? We got time, b. Talk to me."

He snorted before he could stop himself and slumped a little harder into Eddie's side. "I don't, though. I don't have time. I wake up at 5, every fuckin' Sunday morning, and I got until I fall asleep or kill myself. That's it."

Eddie went stiff for a moment, hands tightening their hold. "Do a lotta that?"

"Yeah. More'n I ever cared to count," he admitted, thankful that he didn't have to look Eddie in the eye as he spoke. "I'd've taken it, too. If it had ended this."

Eddie squeezed him tight for a long moment, before he forcefully relaxed. He cursed under his breath and nestled his face down against Jon's hair. "You shoulda never had to do that," he whispered, his hold tightening again. "Never shoulda had to go through that."

"Didn't really get a choice."

"Doesn't mean I won't kill whoever fuckin' threw you into this mess," he muttered, darkly. He turned just enough to press another kiss into his hair. 

"I don't think anyone did, that's the fuckin' problem. If anyone caused this, it's me, and I'll be damned if I've ever managed to narrow down what I even did." He sighed against Eddie's clavicle, "There's something today that I gotta fix. Something today that set this whole thing off. And I've tried everything. Did each and every single thing different, and nothing changed this."

"And it all just starts over? Exactly the same?"

"Every single morning. Five am, on the dot."

"What happens to me when today restarts?"

"You're just gonna wake up back at home, no fuckin' memory of this. You won't remember this morning. The flight, the hike, this conversation, all the snot I just got on your shirt, none of it," he muttered, relishing in the small laugh he'd managed to wrangle out of Eddie. "You getta start over with a clean slate. I'm the one who gets to remember all this shit."

Eddie made a mournful sort of sound, "Fuckin' hell."

"About sums it up," he agreed. "Can we just… pretend for tonight? Can we go home and have dinner with Renee and shoot the shit and pretend we'll all get up and get on a plane tomorrow? I'm so fuckin' tired of trying and trying, and always ending up with nothin' t'fuckin show for it. I need a break."

"Yeah, we can do that," Eddie murmured, gently squeezing the back of his neck. "Anything you need, b."

He nodded, still not ready to move from the spot he'd tucked himself into. Eddie had other ideas, though. Usually did, anyway. He slipped a hand down to pat Jon's belly, just a small nudge for him to sit back. He didn't want to, but he did it anyway, just because Eddie wanted him to.

Eddie gently—fucking hell, like he was handling something precious—cupped Jon's face. He gently swiped tears away with the pads of his thumbs, cleared away the evidence of his breakdown. "There you go," he whispered, offering a crooked smile. His eyes were still sad, still cloudy and stormy, but he held on, just as he promised. "Good as new."

He ducked his head, breaking his gaze away before the look in Eddie's eyes broke him all over again. 

He let Eddie haul him up and tug him back down the trail. He was quieter on their trek back to the truck. Wasn't joking and teasing as loudly, but he was no less warm with Jon. Always within reach, always touching him; a hand on his back, tugging at his wrist, their shoulders brushing as they moved. He didn't once let Jon out of his sight.

He used to do that a lot, when they were younger. Wasn't ever dangerous, or territorial, or nothing like that. Just the need to touch , to be close. Like a moth to a flame, like all those pretty metaphors. Wasn't like Jon didn't do the same, always leaning himself into Eddie's space, tapping out rhythms and notes on the closest bit of him he could reach. 

Always drawn to each other, like they couldn't help it. 

Eddie settled back into the truck with a weary sigh, like he'd just climbed down a whole mountain, a complaint on his lips and his arms stretched out across the space between them. He rested his hand on the back of Jon's seat, tip of his thumb just gently resting on the sunburnt skin of his neck. There, close, touching, like he just couldn't stand to be doing anything else.

He let Eddie's stream of chatter wash over him, let the drive kind of drift away. He could make it home without having to put much thought into it, so used to the flow of cars on that long stretch of road. 

He knew Eddie would love Renee, there was no way he wouldn't, whatever ended up happening between them all. That wasn't really a concern of Jon's. Mostly he just wondered what Eddie would see once they got to the house, once he got to walk inside and take a look around. What he'd see when he looked at the life Jon had made, the home he'd built. If he would even recognize Jon in it. 

That worried him the most, honestly. He might not ever really know the answer. Eddie could pretend all day long, well enough to convince Jon of just about anything if he really wanted. Could probably even convince himself. Could put on a happy face, do a little song and dance, pretend that everything was fine. Jon was afraid of that. Afraid of the pain Eddie would hide away if he walked in and didn't like what he saw.

He'd let Eddie do that once before, as he was walking out the door. It was one of his biggest regrets. Eddie was a talker, after all. He was loud and brash, but he was open, too, and forthcoming. Hadn't ever been one to lie, either, not truly. 

Except when it came to Jon. 

He had locked himself down, let Jon go, and kept talking all through it like he could distract himself and everyone else from how much it hurt. Like he could change it through sheer force of will alone. Like it wouldn't sit in his chest for years and rot and fester.

Jon knew a little something about that, he supposed. Only his was cold, not the fires of anger and rage. His was a hard frost that never quite thawed, only creeping deeper into the dirt as the dark of winter wore on. Killing anything not hearty enough to withstand the isolation and the loneliness and the fear. 

In the end, it didn't really matter what Eddie thought or didn't, he didn't give Jon any time to even think on it. As soon as he pulled into the driveway, Eddie busied himself complaining and whining. His clothes were gross and sweaty, they smelled bad and needed showers, he was tired and hungry.

It was all for Jon's benefit, keep his mind from running, he was sure of it. Maybe a little bit to hide how nervous Eddie felt, one of those distractions techniques. He didn't ever like feeling out of place, and Jon didn't once think he even was , but he knew how Eddie's mind worked. 

He didn't show it, though, and didn't give Jon a chance to really go looking for it. Just shoved one of his bags into Jon's hands and herded him toward the door. "Go, I've been stuck in that thing wit' your smelly ass for, like, an hour."

"Oh, like you're any better," Jon grumbled and gave Eddie a firm shove. He just laughed.

He didn't give Jon even a moment to overthink, jostling and shoving him into the house like he had somewhere to be. "Man, move, sooner you clean off the sooner I'll know peace."

"Pot, kettle," Jon grumbled, and lightly shoved him in return, setting Eddie's bag down. Everything smelled like thyme and tomatoes, hearty and warm. "Watch out for Blue, he likes to attack feet."

"Who does what now?"

"Oh, don't worry, I put the dogs outside," Renee called out, and started down the hall toward them. She looked a little nervous herself. But excited, too. "You've got a few minutes of quiet before the attack starts."

"Eh, what's a little slobber when m'already covered in sweat and desert?" Eddie brought out his biggest grin, bright and crooked. He dropped his suitcase to the floor and thrust a hand toward Renee. Her hand looked small and delicate in Eddie's, but not out of place. "M'Eddie. Nice t'meet you, finally."

"Yeah, you, too," she said, before her smile turned a little dangerous. If it were a movie, one of those cops shows that always played in the evening, she'd have used her grip on Eddie's hand to yank him close. If it was a movie, her smile would turn into something a little darker, a little dangerous. As it was, she didn't even need to. Her smile was sharp, but her voice was sugar-sweet. "No fighting in my house, or you and I are going to have a problem."

Eddie's eyes widened a little, just enough. "Uh, yep, nope, loud and clear. No fighting."

"Good." Her smile went soft again, and she released Eddie's hand back to him. "You can keep bickering, though. It's kinda cute."

"Only kinda?" Jon found himself asking, tension draining out of his shoulders. 

"Change into something not gross, and we'll see if that changes," Renee countered. 

"See?" Eddie laughed and gave Jon a shove, "Told you. You stink."

"Fuck off, like you're any better," he grumbled, and swatted at Eddie's shoulder. He gave Renee a helpless look, "Can you believe this guy?"

"Like you're any better," she said, sweetly. 

Eddie cackled, head thrown back and hand to his chest. "Oh, I like you."

Her smile got wider, one of those great big, pretty ones that made her nose wrinkle a little. 

He needed to kiss her. Immediately.

As he leaned in, Renee playfully made a face and pulled back out of his reach about the same moment a hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, yanking him backward toward the stairs. "You sure you wanna let this smelly thing in your house? Or should I take 'im out back and hose 'im off first?"

Renee laughed, delighted as she watched Jon stumble helplessly back into Eddie's grip. "Seems like more work for you," she joked, eyes all glittery and her smile bright. Jon wanted to move in and kiss her, for real, but he didn't want Eddie to let go. 

"You want I should jus' shove him in the shower?"

Renee tilted her head and gave Eddie a slow, appraising once over, "Better make it a double. You're looking a little worse for wear, yourself there."

"Oo, Mox she's mean!" Eddie laughed and shoved Jon toward the stairs, "You didn't tell me she was mean."

"Like he'd have it any other way," Renee teased.

Helplessly, Jon let himself get pushed around. "I didn't come here t'get bullied."

"Yeah, but I came here to bully, so tough fuckin' tits, Moxie." 

"Why are you like this?"

"Why're you like this?" 

"Me?!" he demanded, just to be contrary. He could hear Renee laughing at him, below.

"Dinner is ready in twenty, boys," she called, and disappeared back into the kitchen. "Try not to break anything."

"Yes, ma'am," Eddie called back, and Jon knew he was done for. "You heard the lady, move your ass, Mox."

"Suck up," Jon accused, and let himself get herded up the stairs. 

"Hey, I know which side my bread is buttered." He gave Jon a final shove, "Point me to the spare."

"Yeah, yeah." He shoved the door open, before stumbling toward his and Renee's room. "There's clean towels, soap, all that shit, all ready for you."

"Thank christ. Never take me hiking ever again, you pick the worst spots," Eddie snarked out, and practically ran into the room. 

Jon laughed to himself, easing into the comforting familiarity of it all. It felt good having them both there, already trading jokes and barbs like they'd known each other for years. He wanted to sink into it, that space between them, and pretend like he'd still have it when he woke in the morning. Pretend like that was all he had to worry about, his two favorite people getting along a little too well.

He stayed beneath the spray for a little too long, letting the heat of it sink into his skin, wash away the dirt and grime. Wash away the years and years of pain and fear, that cold loneliness. Slough off that slog of Sundays. If he could concentrate on it, he could maybe brand that warmth into his bones. Take it with him. 

He closed his eyes and bowed his head beneath the warm spray, let it beat down on his shoulders. He pressed his forehead to the cool tile wall, said a quiet prayer. He didn't even know to who anymore. Whoever was listening, he supposed, if anyone even was.

Almost the moment he stepped back out of the shower, he could hear laughter. Loud and bright, echoing up the stairs toward him. That was odd, too. His Sundays were usually so quiet and still.

Downstairs, Eddie and Renee were already joking and laughing with each other, breathing a little color into the place. If he was honest with himself, it scared him, just a little. He didn't remember what to do with it, the noise and the life. He hadn't even realized how drained his world had been, the color slowly leached out with every passing day. 

He hesitated, for as long as he could. Dressing slowly to settle the nerves that had started to flare up in his gut. He'd been so afraid of what would happen if they didn't work, he hadn't thought about what would happen if they did. Where that would leave him. Hope could only do so much when there was no anchor for it, nothing solid to hold fast to. Hope couldn't keep him from drowning.

When he finally wandered do into the kitchen, he found them already so at ease with each other. They moved around each other like they'd done so a million times before, a well-oiled machine. Eddie was carefully lifting the Dutch oven onto the countertop, while Renee was busy slicing a loaf of bread. They were chatting at each other, joking like it was old times.

Eddie noticed him first, grinning as he started setting out bowls and silver, without even having to be asked. Like he already knew where shit was in their kitchen. "Finally, startin' t'wonder if you slipped in there, or some shit."

"Oh, believe me, if he'd fallen, you'd have heard him," Renee teased, shooting Jon another of those bright grins. It reached her eyes, lit them up like a summer bonfire, all comfort and warmth in the darkness. 

Eddie cackled, "Oh, I remember. Sounds like a water buffalo fallin' down the stairs."

It was Renee's turn laugh, head thrown back like it was the funniest thing she'd heard. She turned and pointed at Eddie with her knife, "That's exactly what he sounds like!"

Fuck it.

Fuck Sunday, fuck Monday. Fuck the dread, the contant worry that he'd never escape. Fuck whatever splinter of pain and fear had lodged itself so deep in his gut he didn't know if he'd ever dig it out. Fuck all of it. 

Even if his sudden surge of bravado only lasted the night, it didn't matter. He was home, his favorite people laughing and joking together. He was warm and safe, he was something close to happy , he was so fucking deliriously in love that he didn't know what to do with it all. So, fuck it.

"I changed my mind, I don't want you to be friends." He feigned annoyance as he rounded the counter, softening just a little under Renee's knowing look. "You're just gonna bully me."

"Yeah. Obviously," Eddie quipped. 

Renee nodded her agreement. "Obviously."

Goddamn it, he loved them. 

He crowded up behind Renee, held her tight for a long moment. Pressed his nose against the top of her head, buried himself in the scent of strawberries and roses. She leaned back against him for a long, happy moment. Made a pleased little sound when he nosed down to press a kiss to her temple, before she shooed him away to help set the table.

Eddie was carefully not looking at them. Like he was embarrassed, maybe. Caught wanting. His head was bowed, eyes on his task, ladling out bowls of rich, warm stew. That wouldn't do.

Jon took the spoon from his hand and nudged him back from the counter, just far enough to slot himself into the space. He gently cupped Eddie's face in his hands, tilting him down just enough for Jon to press a kiss to his forehead. He stayed there, for a long moment, and then pulled back just enough to tilt his own head against Eddie's.

He stayed there for another long moment, just breathing with him, until the other man began to relax. Eddie gave a little nod, raised a hand up to gently clasp Jon's wrist for a moment, and leaned back. His smile, when he offered Jon one, was easy and sweet. Not brittle, not nervous.

It wasn't the time to say it. It wouldn't be fair . But he hoped Eddie understood, anyway.

He let his hands be filled, let himself be pushed into action. Let himself glide through the motions, let himself move around his two people like it was some kind of dance they all knew the steps to. 

He didn't think about morning. Flat fucking refused. It had taken up so much of his life already, he didn't want to let it have any more. Not when he had his two favorite people so close.

He sank into their warmth, into that little sliver of solace they had carved out for him. Slouched down into his seat, spine going loose and liquid as they laughed together. It was perfect. Renee tucked beneath one arm, Eddie slouched against the other, dogs under foot and begging for scraps. 

He didnt think about it ending, only that it would be interrupted. As he relaxed further into his little moment of heaven, and sleep began to settle over him like a warm blanket, he thought only about seeing them together again. He filed away plans like grocery lists, necessary and normal. Not a hope, not a wish that would go unanswered. No point in hoping for something he already had, after all.

He basked in their gentle glow for as long as he could manage, until his eyes started drooping and he could no longer hide his stifled yawns. He wasn't much more than a lump between them, too comfortable to bother even trying to keep himself upright.

"Alright, babe, I think it's time for bed," Renee chuckled, reaching up to gently scratch at his cheek. 

"Nah, m'fine," he lied, tightening his arm around her shoulders. "Not even tired."

At his other shoulder, Eddie snorted. "Sure, you don't even look like you could get up the stairs before fallin' asleep." He gave Jon a fond shake of his head and stood, beginning to clear the table. "C'mon. Five minutes of clean up, an' off t'bed wit' you both."

"Leave it." It made even Jon pause, surprised. She wasn't ever one to leave dirty shit out overnight. Her smile tinged a little sad, just for a moment, before it brightened again. "I've got a better idea, anyway."

"Better than fly prevention?" Eddie asked, dryly. But he was smiling, too.

"Put the leftovers in the fridge, leave the rest," she instructed, rising from her spot. She dropped her own kiss to Jon's cheek, gently rubbed a hand over Eddie's shoulder as she passed. "I'll be right back."

Right back turned out to be standing on the landing and tossing down a few blankets, not even carrying that they sent a few letters on the counter flying. Then followed the pillows off their bed, and the pillows off the spare after that. Like she was planning a sleepover, like she wanted to build a—

"Pillow fort?" Eddie asked, chuckling to himself as he set to the task of sorting the heap she'd thrown down. 

"Close, but not quite." She was grinning, Jon didn't think she'd stopped since he and Eddie had got home earlier that evening. She carefully hopped herself back down the stairs, edged around the mess she'd made, marched herself right up to Jon where he remained at the dining table. She held out an expectant hand, "Come with me."

Well, who was he to deny her? He chuckled and took her hand, let himself be tugged along into the living room.

She pushed Jon down into the bend of the couch, impatiently kicking at his foot until he stretched his legs out along the cushions. She gave him an expectant, determined look, hands on her hips. "Get comfy."

"I am?" Of all the things he expected her to say, that wasn't really on the list. "Can I ask why?"

"You can." She didn't offer anything more than a grin, though, as she set to work. She pressed a fluffy pillow beneath his arm, up against his ribs, and then began to turn his lap into a pile of pillows and blankets. 

Eddie snickered at him from his spot, leaning against the fireplace.

"Uh, help?"

"Nah, you're on your own, b," he laughed, eyes all sparkly and his grin soft. 

"No, he's not," Renee said, all sweet and teasing, and marched right up into Eddie's space. She was a force of nature when she wanted to be, and not even Eddie could hope to stand up to her. She grabbed a handful of Eddie's shirt and pulled, "C'mon."

And just like Jon, just drawn to her, he helplessly stumbled after her.

Renee pushed him firmly down onto the couch as well. She hummed to herself as she arranged Eddie right where she seemed to want him; back pressed up against Jon's side, head pillowed against Jon's shoulder, feet stretched out over the cushions. She tucked a blanket up over his legs, even went so far as to curl Jon's arm across his chest, tangling them up even further. She had a plan, and she wouldn't be deterred from it, clearly. She pointed a threatening finger in both their faces, expression deadly serious, despite the smile twitching at her lips. "Stay."

Jon's cheeks ached before he even noticed himself grinning. "Better'n a pillow fort."

"Told you," she said, all smug and sweet, and if Jon hadn't been afraid to disrupt all her hard work, he'd have swept her up in a kiss.

Instead, he sank back into the cushions, any ounce of tension draining out of him, as he watched her putter off, locking up and shutting off lights for the night. That was his job—probably supposed to be, anyway—but he'd been given his orders. Stay . He hoped to hell he could.

"She's a firecracker," Eddie murmured. He was stiff, still, but was relaxing in slow increments. 

"Yeah, but I'm into that kinda thing." He rested his cheek against the top of Eddie's head, closing his eyes against the sting. "This is nice."

"This is weird."

"Only if you make it weird," he countered, and reached up to flick Eddie's ear. "This is nice."

"Yeah." He sighed out, reached up to wrap a hand around the one Jon had splayed over his chest, and finally began to relax. "Yeah."

Jon turned just enough to press a kiss to the top of Eddie's head, short bristles of hair tickling at his lips, before he settled back into place. It had been a long, long time since he'd been that close, that comfortable within Eddie's reach. Since it had felt normal between them. 

They'd been volatile, there at the start, when they were younger and dumber. Nothing but fire and fight, kissing each other bloody. For a while there, they were just as bad to each other as they were for each other. Scrappy kids looking for a fight.

Until one day they started patching each other up after. Started holding, instead of gripping. Stopped tearing at each other. Became a respite for one another. And then a refuge.

If Eddie had asked him to stay, Jon would have. In a heartbeat.

He wouldn't have put that on Eddie, though, not ever. Just as sure as he would've stayed, he knew with certainty that Eddie never would have asked him to. If their roles were reversed, Jon never would've kept Eddie from going off on his own, even if he knew—with just as much certainty—that Eddie would have stayed for him, too. 

Eddie hadn't released his hand. His touch was light, almost like he was ready to let go at any moment. Like he thought it was fleeting, maybe.

It was , Jon supposed. This moment wouldn't exist in the morning. This moment wouldn't have happened. He wouldn't get to keep it. In the morning, Eddie wouldn't remember.

Perhaps it was worse to be towed along. 

For a long time—hell, for all of it—he thought it would've been better to be like Renee. Like Eddie. Like Nick. Like everyone around him. To not have to remember, to not have to carry the burden of cycling over and over, endlessly. He'd always thought the ignorance would be comforting.

Eddie's hand was warm. 

Eddie wasn't letting go.

In the morning, Jon would get to remember this . The pressed of calloused fingertips against his palm, the gentle sweep of a thumb against the back of his hand. He could feel Eddie's breath against his shoulder, feel that steady heartbeat beneath his hand. He could hear Renee further off in the house, and knew with certainty that she would settle down in the v of his legs, lounging in the throne of pillows she'd built on his lap. He knew he would fall asleep there, tucked safely between his two favorite people. For the first time, in all his endless hell, Jon wouldn't trade places. Not with anyone, not for anything.

Come morning, the rest of the world would forget, restart, reset. But Jon would get to keep this.

Slowly, trying not to spook him, Jon shifted his hand beneath Eddie's. Didn't move out from under the touch, didn't even try to pull away. He shifted just enough to push his fingers up between Eddie's, locking them together.

Against his side, Eddie froze for a moment. Startled, maybe. But then he wordlessly relaxed again, turned his face a little further into Jon's shoulder, squeezed their linked hands. 

Eddie didn't once try to let go, not even when Renee returned to their little nest. Not when she dropped a goodnight kiss to his forehead, or gently scuffed her thumb over his stubbled cheek.

Jon felt heat welling in his eyes, but that stinging pain was different, for the first time in a long time. It was cleansing, like a summer rain, fresh and clean and comforting. Not mourning because he felt cold and empty, but spilling over because he was full.

Renee kissed him, soft and gentle and chaste, her own eyes glittering in the darkness. She didn't say anything, didn't really have to. Just kissed him again, and then again, her hands gentle on his cheeks. 

When she carefully laid herself down, warmer than any blanket he'd ever known, another little piece fell back into place. Another crack running through his chest got patched up.

He squeezed Eddie fingers, reached his other hand down to tangle with Renee's, let himself settle and sink back into the soft cushions. He was tired, could already feel himself drifting and his eyes getting heavy. He didn't have long left to enjoy the warmth of them, but he felt too goddamn good to mourn yet.

Eddie drifted off first, going heavy against Jon's side, his hand going loose and lax where he was still tangled Jon's. Comfortable enough— safe enough—to sleep at their side. A fucking marvel.

Renee was next, drifting off not long after Eddie. She had been a little restless, the trying to get comfortable sleeping on a couch, rather than their extremely nice bed. But she was stubborn as anything, had to be to put up with Jon, and didn't once hint about moving their pile somewhere more comfortable.

But then she surprised him. She reached out into the darkness with her free hand, and grabbed a handful of Eddie's shirt. Only then did she finally settle and peacefully drift off to sleep, once they were all fully tangled up together.

Jon fell asleep with his eyes stinging, cheeks aching where they stretched around a smile, his chest full and bursting. He fell asleep so warm and safe that, when he woke up—five o'clock, on the dot—he didn't even hurt. He'd seen those walls, that sky, that canyon a thousand times before, and it didn't leave him cold.

He climbed out onto his favorite rock, looking out on the quiet desert before him, and he didn't despair. He should've, oh hell he should've. He'd had a taste of a could be, a future, a normal life. Had a glimpse of something good, and it had been taken from him—he should've been burning the place to the ground. He'd found himself something that could've been a forever, and woke up with that same too-short sliver of time. 

The same amount of time he'd had the day before, and just look what he had done with it. He had started something kind of incredible. Barely any time at all and he had done something amazing with it. 

He bet he could do more.

"Thought I told you to forget this number."

"Couldn't, even if I wanted to."

Eddie snorted, dismissive and mean. "What d'you want? I got places t'be."

"Can we just talk? Please?" he asked, aching to get back what he'd had. The taste of it the night before, of what had been, what could be, was more than enough to spur him on. He was giddy for it. "Forget about all this posturin' and fightin' for awhile?"

There was a huff of a laugh, unimpressed and mean. "What, worried about all the barbed wire? Need a fuckin' pep talk, or what?"

"Honestly, I'd forgotten. Had other things on my mind," he chuckled. Aside from a few cycles thinking Omega might've been the one responsible, he'd stopped thinking about the match almost all together. He knew it was coming, obviously he did, but it was hard to imagine a thing that was so goddamn far out of reach. He'd gotten distracted by Eddie, too. Still was, always had been. "'Sides, I don't like thinkin' about Kenny when I don't have to, anyway."

There was a grunt, as much of an agreement as Eddie was likely to allow. "So I'm s'posed to be a distraction?"

"No. Well, kinda, but not really. Don't need a distraction from something I'm not even thinkin' about," he chuckled again, shook his head. "You just been on my mind a lot lately, that's all."

"Real glad t'hear that, Mox, but I got shit to do. Places to be," Eddie lied. He did that, sometimes, during their calls. "You know how it is."

"Yeah, you're Mr. Popular, alright."

"Exactly. Gettin' pulled left n'right," Eddie joked, absently. "My times valuable."

"Yeah? Well what's on the docket t'day, hot shot?" 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Eddie snorted, and there was the scrape of ceramic against the counter, distant and fuzzy. 

"S'why I asked."

"Fuck outta here." He made a grumpy sort of noise, "The fuck did you call for? Just to look at my fuckin' calendar?"

"No, but if that's all that's on offer, I'll take it," Jon countered. "So tell me."

"Mox, you don't wanna hear—"

"I do. I always do. Tell me." He pushed a little more, "We used to talk all the damn time. Even after—everything. Before I let you drift away from me. I miss knowin' what's goin' on with you."

"Why?"

"You're you. You're Eddie," he shrugged, helplessly. "You're my best friend. I miss you."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?"

"It's mine. Obviously. I know it is," he promised. It had taken far too long to admit it, but he owed Eddie some kind of apology. There was so much time he needed to make up for, and he didn't have near enough of it. "I didn't wanna leave you behind, didn't ever mean to. Shoulda tried harder. Shoulda called more, talked to you more, and I'm so fuckin' sorry that I didn't. I'm sorry I let you down like that."

"Oh, you fucking—you didn't let me down, Mox," Eddie snapped, and audibly rolled his eyes. Jon hoped he'd be able to learn that trick one day, even if he'd never perfect it the way Eddie had. "Watchin' you go off and do—that was never a let down."

"You're allowed to be proud of me and mad at me at the same time."

"Oh, fuck off. Don't try an' therapy me."

"M'not, just trying to apologize. That's all."

Eddie hesitated for a long moment. Long enough Jon knew what was coming. "You dyin'?"

He laughed. It was dark, and sad, but it made him laugh each time Eddie jumped to that conclusion. "No, no. Just… depressed, I guess. Finally narrowed down that feelin' for what it was. Burnt out, drained, empty. It all hit different, this time, than it did before. Feels different."

"Different how?"

"Like there's less of a chance of getting out alive."

Eddie cursed under his breath, "Mox, I swear to fuckin' god if you're—"

"I'm not. I won't," he promised. "Doesn't help the feelin'a being smack in the middle of it, but… but I won't."

"Fucking hell, you call me outta the fuckin' blue talkin' like—" He bit off his words with a loud exhale, and then another, then another. Breathing exercises, he realized, and felt all that stupid guilt all over again. 

"I didn't call to use you as a therapist or a hotline or any of that shit. I called because I missed you, and I'm tired of pretending like I don't," he promised. Because it was true. He had years of conversations and plans and all manner of talking about Jon's shit. Not until that night did he really realize that, thought all his cycles, he didn't have Eddie, no matter how it felt at the end of those calls, it wasn't the same. "I miss hearing about you. Miss just hearing you. Miss knowing what's goin' on with you."

"What's there to know?" Eddie scoffed, slamming a cupboard closed, "You know it. It's all in the fuckin' ring. That's all I got, there's nothin' else left to see."

"That ain't true and you know it."

"Well, what if it fuckin' is? What then?" He sounded the way Jon felt. Wrung dry and bone tired. "What d'you want from me?"

"Just—talk to me. That's all I want. Just for today, just for this moment. That's all," he murmured, dangerously close to begging. "Tomorrow, when it gets here, we can go back to normal. You can hate me all you damn want. I'll leave you alone and never try and talk t'you again. I'll give you whatever you want. But please, for right now, just talk to me."

"'Bout what?"

"Anything. Whatever's on your mind today." The dry air was getting hot, sun starting to beat down. He'd have to head down, soon. Charge his phone. "I like havin' your voice in my ear. Miss it more'n I can say."

Eddie was quiet for a long moment, just breathing on the other end. That was nice, too, in its own way.

But then he started talking. About nothing, really. Little observations. About some of the other guys on the roster, people on the street outside his window. About his family, about his nephew. Talked about Dee, and Jon felt another pang in his chest. He'd called Dee up only once in his endless cycles, shoulda done it more. Should have called everyone more. Just to talk, not for—no other reason. Probably would have helped keep his head on straight, honestly.

The sun was burning down on him, but Eddie kept talking. Even started joking, after a while. Just like old times. Eased into something almost comfortable, so familiar that—just for a little while—Jon forgot. The pain, the loneliness, the endless fucking despair. Forgot to be afraid of what was coming and just be. 

Eddie even sounded a little disappointed when they hung up, like he wanted to keep going, fuck Jon's phone battery. It wasn't much, but Jon was going to hang onto that scrap for all he was fucking worth.

He sat for awhile, sat with the ball of warmth the conversation had left in his chest.

He sat for a little while longer, just because he felt like it.

It was nice, for a change, to do shit by choice.

By the time he made it home, a little sunburnt on his shoulders, something had eased in his chest. It still felt daunting, an endless nothing stretched out in front of him, but it didn't feel so hopeless anymore.

It was nice to feel normal. To pick up and pack when Renee asked him to, like everything was fine. Take out the garbage, pick up this or that. Go through the motions of being a fucking person again. Like he was going to get up and head to the airport like it was any other fucking week.

It was nice to not feel so fucking heavy. He didn't realize it, until the weight was gone. How it had felt like cinder blocks in his limbs, making him sink and stand still, anchoring him into the hot, desert dirt. 

In the middle of it all, he'd felt like he was drifting. Like he was floating away from himself, unmoored and out of his own control. Like he wasn't even in his body. Like he was spinning and floating while his body was stuck in place. It was how he imagined it would feel to be a corpse at the bottom of a lake, thrown by currents while being anchored in place by concrete shoes.

He thought that was called dissociation, or something. He'd learned that word on one of his many doctor visits, hadn't really thought much of it at the time.

Like a lot of things, he didn't really notice until he was on the outside of it.

He left Renee in the kitchen, phone against her ear as she spoke with her mom, something sizzling on the stove. Took the dogs out onto the golf course behind the house, like all the other neighbors.

He sat himself down on the thin, coarse grass, a ways off from the other dog owners of the neighborhood. Threw the ball, watched Blue bounce after it. Let little Benny settle into the space between his legs, a tiny, nervous little thing.

It felt normal for once. 

He didn't feel so broken and shattered anymore. He didn't feel the unbearable weight of dread in his limbs, like weakness, like atrophy. He could do this, could face this fucking problem and get through it alive.

By god, he was going to. He felt it in his bones.

Turned out the problem was that he didn't fucking even have to.

When he woke, he didn't bother loitering in bed. He was up and quietly down the stairs before he noticed the differences.

The stove blinked at him, green, glowing numbers spelling out the time. 

6:12.

When it hit, it hit all at once. 

No subtle clues, paced out and measured. It was a million things, all at once. The morning clouds looked unfamiliar through the patio door. He'd seen them so much he could draw them from memory, and suddenly they looked different. No bills on the counter, because they'd been sorted and dealt with the night before. No dishes in the sink, because they'd been cleaned and put away already. The salt shaker was sat on the counter next to the stove, when it was supposed to be tucked away in the corner. There was no chew toy by the pantry door. The piece of kibble he kept stepping had been cleaned up. 

The dining room chairs were all pushed in and neat. He'd left a glass on the far corner of it, a few swallows of water left in the bottom, but it was missing. Because he'd picked it up before bed, when Renee had asked him to.

Upstairs, he could hear her alarm, here her rising out of bed. The sound of her footsteps. The faucet running.

Sunday morning was quiet and cold. It was silence and loneliness and pain. It stood still and stagnant.

This was different.

When he stumbled back up the stairs, he saw the packed bags sitting in front of the closet doors, ready to be carted down to the waiting car. The ones they'd prepped before bed. He didn't think he'd end up needing them yet, but Renee had asked him to, so he packed his fucking bags like a good fucking husband. And, miraculously, they'd stayed. They never fucking stayed, no matter how many times he fucking packed them.

He'd didn't know what to fucking do .

The easiest thing was just to fucking go with it. Act like he hadn't just spent years forced to a stall. Put on something clean, something comfortable, for his hours of sitting—so he at least looked like he had his shit together. Brushed his teeth, threw on deodorant. Ran through the motions of being a goddamn human again, like he wasn't completely floundering. 

Renee's instructions helped. He could sit inside his skull and try to make sense of it all, while she gave him various tasks. Carry this, take out that, call a car, grab extra masks. Simple enough he didn't have to think, following familiar motions that he could run through on autopilot.

He knew which terminal they needed, knew how to get through security without much trouble. Make it all the way to their gate with plenty of time to spare. He could make enough conversation to seem normal, if tired. Could act like himself well enough to not give Renee more of a reason to worry.

He wanted to scream, but it wouldn't help. 

It was a strange thing to be mad about. A strange emotion to be struggling with. He didn't want to go back . Fuck him, no, he didn't want that. He just wanted to fucking know the rules. He thought he'd had it, and then they got changed on him without any kind of warning. Without even a hint that what he'd done, or hadn't done, had mattered. 

He just wanted to know. But no one had any answers for him. 

He slumped into his seat, folded Renee's hand into his own when she reached for him, slouched down to look calm and casual—instead of fat fucking shocked. 

Maybe it was more than just being shocked, maybe he was experiencing actual shock. Maybe he needed one of those crinkly, silver blankets and some orange juice. Someone to sit him down and tell him it was okay to feel like that. To be afraid or angry or whatever cocktail of emotions he was trying to wade through.

He felt wild. Like he could feel his heartbeat filling his chest again, after it had been empty and quiet for so long.

It was over. It was just beginning.

He lifted her hand to his mouth. Pressed a small kiss there. Took a deep breath of strawberries and roses.

[nagdabbit]

I can't get over you comparing Eddie Kingston to a goddamn kitten

yeah, but a feral kitten so it checks out

[nagdabbit]

✄ for "Come through callin" of course.

✄: something i deleted before the final draft

ooo okay okay, so, like, interestingly, come through callin' had the least amount cut from it. not even just by, like, volume cut to length of fic ratio, but by the staggeringly small amount cut of everything i've written.

its one that, when i got the idea last year, i wrote most of what ended up being the first chapter and then wrote the barest of bare bones of how the rest of the fic would go, and then abandoned it for a year. usually when i start futzing with an idea, there's a lot of spaghetti thrown at walls that needs trimmed, but this one was just filling in the spaces i'd left for myself.

the only, only thing that ended up getting fully cut was right at the start of chapter 2. in the going through the things that he'd tried, there's that paragraph about someone cleansing their house with rosemary.

the part that got cut, and it got cut at the wire, as i was getting ready to post it, was a tiny rant that happened because i have a new neighbor. i haven't met her husband, but she it very much a former stick it to the man hippie who married a suit, became extremely upper middle class and votes conservative, retired to taos, nm and immediately tried to forget that her entire family tree is whole milk english. anyway, she introduced herself and offered to smudge our house. yes, with white sage, a protected species that she shouldn't be buying in the first place.

so, like, the one part that got cut cut was a whole paragraph of me bitching about people like her that was wildly out of left field 😅 like, mox wouldn't immediately clock this, and i am snow white swedish born and raised in missouri, i have no business grandstanding about this

[nagdabbit]

Okay has enough time passed that you can explain why the time loop broke in Come Through Callin because I've been trying to figure it out

oh absolutely i can do that! i have just one question (and i guess anyone can weigh in on this vote, it's yalls dash you're gonna see this on)

do you want the long, rambling therapy answer? or the short answer? cuz, like, i am long winded as fuck, so i get it if you don't wanna learn more about me than ive already willingly spilled into the internet

[nagdabbit]

LONG ANSWER, PLEASE. Come through callin' broke me and put me back together, I want to know EVERYTHING

yall are fast this morning! 💜

im sorry for how long and overshary this is gonna be

so, like, i really haven't been shy about talking about my mental health and shit, and especially how writing this fic kinda became part of my therapy, right? like it really became "how do i talk about burnout, this thing that i have no fucking words for because at no point in time have i ever let myself recover from it and have spent literal decades of my life letting it compound to the point that i have no idea whether or not ill ever be able to really heal?"

so this kinda came about in talking with my therapist about, like, how to move on and forward and start actually healing. and the fic definitely didn't end up a 1:1, cuz i still had to translate therapy into science fiction and romance. and obviously this is in no way a universal experience, this is just how my brain works. kay? kay.

the thing is i just get absolutely bogged down in the "this is whats happening and i need to stop it," not "this is what's happening to me and i need to start recovering from it." ive got a brain that likes to get extremely bogged down in the thing (burnout, depression, anxiety, etc) and not the broad causes of the thing (overworking, trauma, etc). i fixate on an unsolvable problem and don't allow myself enough room to actually think about myself as a person experiencing said problem—and therefore tend to ignore the limits of what i can actually take before i fall apart. i am absolutely the type to see a massive crack in the side of a dam and put a batman bandaid on it, thinking that'll fix it and it's safe to carry on business as usual.

preserving kayfabe and all that, in the lead up to revolution mox is getting terrorized by kenny, still missing his best friend who he's gone to war with, got betrayed by the bucks mid-match, oh were about to put on one of the most iconic gimmick matches of all time i hope it lives up to the unreasonable hype, etc. like, if wrestling were real life, i would need to lie down for a long time after all that. the start of the fic, we find mox in "i cannot fix this singular thing, so i have stopped trying" instead of "i am going to try and heal the things that caused this." cuz moxs life is now just sunday. saturday doesn't matter, only sunday. he's fixating on the thing, and not thinking about fixing what caused it.

cuz jeezy, and i cannot stress this enough, chreezy, it is nigh impossible to see the problem when you're in the middle of it. especially when you're isolated, by choice or circumstance.

i also struggle with asking for help in any kind of normal way. like, i with either bottle things up until they overflow, or i put way too much on another person with no real regard for what they can actually carry. and when that support system that i have piled on top of fails, i get angry a blame myself and everyone within reach and then cycle back around to the not talking about it with anyone, ever part. i am all for being selfish, humans need to be selfish, but not at the detriment of the health of the people they care about. it's a real fine line that i often forget exists until i cross it.

mox spends the fic placing too much on people who have no way to carry it all. once again, not exactly 1:1. there's a lot that he does, and conversations that are had, that would be so much healthier if the fic weren't, you know, a time loop. it's the "i am going to hang absolutely everything i have left on this sliver of hope that you have provided me" thats fucking him over. none of these people, no matter how well he explains it, are going to be able to fully understand what hes experiencing. and through no fault of their—or his—own are going to let him down. whether he admits it, or not. see: the final conversation with eddie at the end of chapter one. every conversation pervious has yielded no change in his circumstances (because he's not analyzing himself, so much as the space he's occupying) so he goes into that conversation angry and frustrated that eddie can't fix or fully understand this impossible thing.

a thing my therapist has tried very, very hard get me to understand in a very practical sense is that doing something that feels good is still healing. that thing that makes my bandaid-on-the-hoover-dam coping mechanisms not work is the amount of guilt ill throw at myself at the idea that im just ignoring the problem—which just adds more pressure trying to break through the dam.

mox spends this entire fic finding ways to feel better and heal emotionally, and then writing them off because they aren't the Big Bad. he noticeably feels better after talking to eddie and cooking with renee, but because those don't fix the issue, they don't matter. he chases those moments, and then feels guilty that he's found these moments of respite because he thinks he's not fixing the actual time loop part—even tho he very clearly is. he gets bogged down going after science and brain scans, not realizing that talking through those trials with renee is the part that's actually helping.

so the time loop finally breaks the day he gets up and says "i have decided to feel good today" and doesn't try and punish himself for it. the previous cycle to that, he still gets in his head about that guilt. another not 1:1 part, he has guilt of realizing that he's using this to break the cycle, and not because he wants his two people together.

that bit in the sessions where he was like, "i make a point to have my fake beer, and make it specifically a part of my routine, so i don't just accidentally forget and have a regular beer." that is, objectively, an extremely adhd fucking thing to say. do you know how often i accidentally buy grapefruit juice even tho i am on zoloft, and have been for years? that's also not a thing that simply happens in a physical sense, it can happen in an emotional one, too. to get back to the personal oversharing bit, decemeber of 2020, i got so excited to get a care package from my brother that for like ten minutes i forgot i had covid and that both my parents had died of it just weeks before. brains are stupid.

so, like, "i got so caught up in the euphoria of loving these people that i forgot i was trapped in an unknowable hellscape." it wasn't so much that he remembered that kept the cycle from breaking that day, it's the guilt of thinking he's ignoring his problem and then taking two steps backward. again. because thats kinda the theme of the fic.

the loops well and truly start to unravel when he sees them together in the kitchen and just goes fuck it. im gonna enjoy tonight and not punish myself for it. but it breaks when he gets up the next cycle and let's himself have it. the shadow of these loops is still there, and he knows it, and he acknowledges it to himself, but he's not feeling feeling guilty for letting go himself have a nice day.

and going back to the putting too much on people, it's that final conversation with eddie that really fixed it. there's a thing i kinda started to examine in an earlier fic i wrote, lamp-bright rind, about healing as a person so there's room for the people you care about, and not building yourself around those people. that people are people, not scaffolding, i guess. you can rely on people, but you can't build yourself in an image that will make them love you, cuz you're a person not a painting that's going to hang in the house of someone's life.

that last morning, he realizes that every conversation he's had, outside of renee (and even a couple of those), has been for his own gain in a way. like, he's spent so long talking about himself and his problems and what he needs, that he forgot that eddie is also living a life and that he always wants to hear about it. "i got so fucked up by groundhog day that i forgot that i care more about who you are than what you can do for me." brains. it happens. hell, speaking from experience here, i am old fucking hat at this revelation.

the "oh, hey, i love you and i love knowing about you, and i am extremely tired of not actually indulging this thing that i love, which is just having a no-strings conversation with you."

so, long therapy short, the thing that broke the loops was mox just letting himself have a healing moment without the guilt of doing so. letting himself go "hey, this feels nice and i am going to let it feel nice and accept this, and not feel bad about it." because that is recovery. that really is healing, and it's small and it can feel insignificant, but it is actually extremely fucking huge.

so.

i have no idea if that all is coherent or makes as much sense laid out as it did in the scrambled mess of my brain. but. that's the logic i kinda built this fic around.

anyway, my best friend refers to mox as their "emotional support wrestler" and i really have started to feel that. especially after reading his book and that most recent episode of renees pod.

is this healthy? i do not know or care, but my therapist gave me a gold star sticker, so it doesn't fucking matter.

thank you for letting me overshare my thought process

[nagdabbit]

I just finished Come Through Callin and I have a question. Do you delight if ripping people's hearts out? Is that fun for you? Do you enjoy making me CRY? My face fucking hurts from crying. Well done please write more that was amazing

i mean. yeah, kinda. a little bit, yeah.

[nagdabbit]

psst chapter 2, who is dee, is that someone I'm supposed to know

oh dang, sorry, that's homicide

[nagdabbit]

OMG THE FINAL CHAPTER T.T I can't read it I don't want it to be overrr

don't rush yourself, it'll still be there when you're ready 💜

[nagdabbit]

How the fuck did you turn "I still gotta do everythin' 'round here?" into some romantic declaration?

i dunno my hand slipped