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just-a-kiss-away-from-reality · 14 hours

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ao3

Eddie falls asleep in the back of the RV. Steve watches it happen in stages, after the stop at The War Zone—driving a little further out for a food shop, away from prying eyes.

He announces that the coast is clear when the roads become reassuringly empty. For the first time in days, he relaxes into the rhythm of driving: he’s triple-checked that no-one’s tailing them, and if it weren’t for the hastily bought weapons, he could almost pretend that…

He glances at the rearview mirror, sensing movement. It’s Eddie, standing up from where he’d been huddled against the back of Steve’s seat. He looks like he’s relishing the freedom to stretch his legs—Steve thinks, with a pang, that he’s probably sick of hiding—and takes his time on his way to the back seat.

Keeps his balance for the most part, only stumbles once, briefly latches onto Robin’s shoulder with a sheepish smile, says something like, “Role reversal, Buckley,” and she laughs.

He settles with the kids in the back. Clearly tries to give them the most space, folding his legs awkwardly in the corner almost like he’s already back to hiding again, but they won’t let him; Dustin wiggles along to create more room, and Erica pins Eddie with a look—the most Steve can make out is, “You look like a…”, but whatever she says makes Eddie snort, then smile with obvious affection.

The next time Steve looks to find Eddie’s reflection, he’s relaxed into his seat, legs stretched out in front, the edge of one sneaker bouncing up and down absent-mindedly—but growing slower and slower.

He’s talking to Lucas, the speech drowned out by the RV engine; Steve can still see how it makes Lucas relax in turn, even giggle, which has been an all too rare occurrence lately. How Max, despite carrying the heaviness of the Walkman, looks on with a spark in her eyes.

If Steve had to guess, he’d say that Eddie doesn’t mean to fall asleep. Maybe it’s the motion of the RV or the angle of the sun through the windows. Maybe it’s just that he finally feels safe.

Either way, his blinks get longer and longer, and then he’s drifted off, out completely, and Steve watches with something close to pride as the kids all get off the bench in silent agreement—Max confidently lifting Eddie’s legs and swinging them up onto the cushions like it’s second nature. He barely stirs, head nodding a little until he’s lying down properly.

Steve splits the last of his cash with Nancy on the food. They make a trio with Robin for heading to the store, the kids on what they’ve dubbed ‘Eddie watch’ and what Steve has dubbed, “Yeah, I’ve left it running—that still means no driving unless, like—actually no, I’m not even gonna—yeah, Dustin, I’ll get you more Pringles, Jesus Christ.”

And because he’s weak, he still ends up caving to Max’s loophole that yes, if demodogs and/or bats and/or people that just look at them funny show up, she’s got permission to floor it; he’s not gonna tell her he’d scoped the place out well before he’d parked.

Ten minutes later, laden with bags, Nancy says, “We could use somewhere with more space. For…”

She indicates the supplies of a more grim variety than snacks.

Steve thinks about it, then exhales with a little laugh. “Yeah, I’ve got somewhere.”

Robin eyes him curiously. It’s like she’s heard through the laugh, can somehow feel the thing that wells up in the back of his throat—only for a second; he’s used to pushing it back.

She squeezes his shoulder. He pats the back of her hand before driving away. Sometimes words spill out between them, ever flowing. Sometimes they don’t need words at all.

There’s a strange kind of thrill in feeling the tires go right over the grass. Feels bigger than what it is—like something’s finally been unearthed.

They’re all quiet as the group starts to filter outside. Steve looks over his shoulder: Eddie is still fast asleep. His lips move every so often, drowsy half-formed words.

Steve wonders what he’s dreaming about. He hopes it’s something good.

He lets everyone go in front of him—Robin snatches a bag of food out of Dustin’s hands, whispering fondly, “That one’s mine, you animal.”

Nancy hesitates just outside, then turns back into the RV to sit on the step.

“It’s just…” She tilts her head to the side with meaning. “I don’t think he should wake up alone, you know?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, me too.”

And that’s how they end up sat together, half in the RV and half outside. Nancy dangles her feet above the grass—she could reach it, of course, but it seems deliberate, like she’s enjoying the breeze.

Or trying to, at any rate: there’s still a restlessness to her, an anxious pinch to her face, like she’s one step away from jumping to her feet and—

Steve squeezes her knee—hears the way she exhales, like she’s finally caught her breath.

“Food first,” Steve says gently.

She nods belatedly, like the words take a little while longer to reach her. “Food first.” She rustles through one of the bags, brings out something wrapped in foil. “Robin said this is for you…?”

Steve chuckles. It’s a sesame bagel: bacon, egg, and cheese.

He gives half to Nancy.

They eat in companionable silence—just listening to the breeze and the occasional shout of laughter: Robin’s formed a circle with everyone up ahead, a chaotic game of duck, duck, goose, which is a ridiculous choice because her run is ridiculous, and Steve feels his cheeks ache with a smile at the grass stains already on her shirt, as Dustin and Lucas pull her down in some kind of duck-goose uprising, and Max gets Erica up on her shoulders, joining the fray; and underneath it all, he can hear Eddie hum slightly in his sleep, but it’s not a noise of distress—like he knows subconsciously that he isn’t alone.

“Here,” Nancy says.

When Steve turns to her, she’s got a packet of chips open between them. Salt and vinegar.

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but—

“You remembered,” he says through a rush of affection; it hits him square in the chest.

Nancy smiles. “Can never forget you and Mike fighting for the last packet.”

Steve knocks their knees together. “Yeah, he fought dirty.”

They laugh together, hushed but heartfelt.

There’s a streak of ketchup across Nancy’s face that she hasn’t bothered wiping away. She looks years younger somehow—looks lighter, like the food in her stomach has settled something intangible.

Her smile turns even softer, thoughtful, and warmth settles behind Steve’s eyes.

I’m sorry, he thinks. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what…

You never deserved to hurt.

“Did you get changed in the dark?” Nancy says, eyes bright with mirth.

It’s so sudden that it startles Steve right out of his thoughts, a welling emotion halted.

“Excuse me, Nancy Wheeler?” he says with a faint grin.

“Steve Harrington,” Nancy returns teasingly. She ruffles a hand through the back of his hair with easy affection, “There. That’s more like it.”

“Am I presentable now?”

“Oh, you’ll do.”

She rests her chin in her hand, just considers him—but it’s a gentle kind of look. Almost like they’re back in English class, and he’s just answered a question without stumbling over his interpretation, and he glances across to her desk, finds her watching him with pride.

“You suited the denim,” she says sincerely. Mimes how he’d shrugged into Eddie’s vest.

Steve feels touched in a way that he can’t fully place, like she’s said something else. Maybe she has.

“Thanks,” he says.

They both look over to the field at a cry of victory. Dustin’s found the stash of 3 Musketeers, holding it aloft like he’s just won a science trophy.

“Hey,” Nancy calls, laughing, “at least one of those is mine!”

Steve can feel her shift, about to stand, and impulsively, he says, “Nance, wait.”

She’s stood already in the split second it took for him to speak, but she turns back.

Steve stands up. Hugs her.

He tries to put all he doesn’t know how to say into it; he does his best, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. Thinks of how he swept her into an embrace next to the school lockers, her surprised shout of laughter, if you can be this for her, she’ll be happy, you’ll be…

And maybe she’s heard some of it, because her hold tightens around him, like she’s saying, you never deserved any of it, either.

She pulls back. Claps his shoulders to make him sit back down, and they both giggle slightly, both vulnerable. Nancy’s eyes are shining at the corners. But Steve knows they’re the good kind of tears.

He feels them, too.

Nancy nods, smiling wide, blinking in quick succession before the moment’s gone.

He nods back.

And then she’s running over to Dustin, and it almost looks like she’s flying, like she’s sixteen years old again, and nothing ever…

Steve has to close his eyes for just a second. Breathes through it.

Minutes pass before he catches a change in Eddie’s breathing—hears him shift and sigh as he stretches.

Steve tilts backwards, just enough to see Eddie slowly drifting awake on the bench.

“Hey,” Steve says as soft as he can, so Eddie can go back to sleep if he wants; so it can just be part of a dream.

For a moment, it looks like that’s exactly what Eddie will do. But then his eyes find Steve’s, and they light up in recognition.

And he smiles. Sits up.

“Shit, did I really…?” The rest of the question’s lost to a yawn, and he stretches again, rubs a hand across his face to wake himself up.

“Yup,” Steve says. There’s one last bag by his feet, which he picks up to put in Eddie’s view. “This has got your name on it, man.”

Eddie sits down next to him. Steve shifts closer as he hands the bag over, feels the gentle press of Eddie against his side, the warmth left over from sleep.

Eddie whistles at the assortment of food. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Yeah, no—like, thank Dustin, not me.”

Dustin had rattled off a list of Eddie’s favourites—“Actual food this time, Dustin, he’s not surviving on just cereal, it’s depressing,”—which Steve had written hastily on the back of his hand.

He knows that Eddie’s seen the evidence of the list on his skin, faded as it is from the dying pen he’d used, because he smiles when he says, “Mm-hmm, I will,” like they’re sharing a secret; and then he looks off into the distance, squinting against the sun with a hand over his eyes, barks a laugh. “Besides, he looks kinda busy, uh… I don’t actually know what he’s doing. Killing Buckley, maybe?”

Robin’s joking yell punctuates Eddie’s words; it looks like she’s somehow recruited Lucas over to her side, because Dustin’s trying to flatten the pair of them; Erica’s got Dustin’s thinking cap on backwards, while Max shouts, “That’s a foul!”; Nancy’s sat crosslegged, eating candy and throwing out words of amused encouragement.

Eddie chuckles so fondly. He eats some of his share, then sighs with contentment. He stands but doesn’t go far at all, drifts over to a patch of ground like he’s drawn to it. Sits down. Runs his hands through the blades of grass and flowers, even the weeds; it makes Steve smile.

He follows.

They sit close to each other almost like they’re still sharing the step, even though there’s more than enough room to…

Eddie keeps watching the roughhousing. His eyes crinkle at the corners. He looks… happy.

He sighs again, leaning back a little, “This is nice. Who’s idea was it to come here?”

“Nancy’s, really,” Steve says.

But he can tell that Eddie notices the evasion—there’s a barely perceptible twitch of his eyebrow as he listens. He’s getting almost scarily good at it, Steve thinks, but it’s not done in an intimidating way; it’s not like Eddie wants to catch him out in something. It’s more like he… just wants to know. Like he cares.

“But you knew a spot?” Eddie prompts.

“Yeah, I…”

Steve could still avoid it—could just say carelessly, ‘cause we drove past it, duh, and Eddie would let it drop, he knows he would. But…

“I came here when I was a kid. Like, years ago. It was summer, and I think the car broke down or something? So we had to wait for…” Steve shrugs, but it’s just movement for the sake of it, trying to conceal the way his throat’s tightening in slow increments. “It was… I liked it,” he adds. Nods towards the kids. “I thought they might like it, too.” He tries to laugh, “Guess that’s kinda stupid to—”

“I think it’s sweet,” Eddie interrupts firmly. “This place, it’s…” He smiles at Max’s squeal, Lucas lifting her up in a bridal carry. “It’s perfect, Steve.”

Steve tries to smile, because it is perfect, but that suddenly makes it hurt all the more. He’s gripped by a fierce, desperate urge to seize the weapons and burn them, to just let everyone fucking rest, to tell them they don’t have to do it anymore, they never have to—

“Steve,” Eddie says, soft, dismayed—sitting up and touching Steve’s hand where it rests in the grass, so delicately, so kind—

Steve swallows; he must not have pushed it all back in time. He doesn’t want to know what his face looks like, but he can guess, can feel the telltale burn in his eyes—and wavers on the brink. Almost falls. But he catches himself, only just, and when he’s forced to quickly swipe at his eyes with the back of his hand, he reasons that it’s okay. Only Eddie can see.

Still, he should—

“Sorry,” he waves a hand, tries to laugh at himself again, “just ignore me.”

When Eddie smiles, it looks as if he’s only doing it because he’s taking his lead from Steve. His eyes speak for him—like he’s thinking, you’re breaking my heart.

“Ignore you? Shit, man, that’s hard. Have you seen you?”

It’s said with a ridiculous amount of theatrics—so obviously done to lift Steve’s mood. But there’s a note of sincerity that Steve can hear above everything; Eddie isn’t hiding it.

Perhaps he doesn’t need to, either.

“I’m more than just a pretty face, Munson.”

He expects Eddie to laugh. And though he does, it’s quieter than he’d expected, and he says, “Oh, I know. Trust me.” He’s looking at the kids as he speaks. “They’ll be okay, you know.” He doesn’t say it like a platitude. He says it like a promise. “Wheeler, Buckley… me. We have them, too.”

And Steve doesn’t know how Eddie could ever accuse himself of cowardice. God, if you could only hear yourself, he thinks.

“I don’t want—I know. I know you do. I just—just wish—”

His voice fails him.

Eddie tilts his hand, palm up. Steve could act like he’d never seen it all. It’d be easy.

He takes Eddie’s hand. Breathes, and tries again.

“I just wish we didn’t have to—”

It’s as far as he can manage.

Eddie squeezes his hand. Murmurs, very gently, like a memory, “And so do all who live to see such times.”

Steve doesn’t need to ask. He can feel the weight of it through the words alone. Focuses on Eddie’s touch, the way his fingertips brush against Steve’s knuckles, over and over.

And then Steve lets go, but not before squeezing Eddie’s hand in return. Twice. He doesn’t know Morse code, but he hopes he’s understood.

He watches the kids play again. Glances over to the side when he feels another touch, Eddie’s shoulder briefly skimming his. This time he can tell it’s accidental; Eddie’s swaying a little where he sits.

“Shit, sorry. It’s the sun, it’s,” he yawns, “it’s making me…”

Steve’s reminded of the boathouse; of Eddie’s sunken face at Skull Rock.

“You’re just exhausted, Eddie,” he says.

He stands, briefly places his hands on Eddie’s forearms, tries to shield him from the worst of the vertigo. He feels Eddie jump beneath his touch, a forcible jolt back from the edge of sleep. Visceral.

Steve’s chest hurts.

“Wait there,” he says. “I’ll be right back. Hey, try to not fall asleep just yet, ‘kay?”

“M’not,” Eddie says, not very convincingly.

When Steve returns with a pillow from the RV, Eddie is lying in the grass, flat on his back. One hand floats in front of his face, fingers curling like he’s playing guitar chords—like he’s doing it to keep himself awake.

“Dude, that can’t be comfortable,” Steve says. He bends down, taps Eddie on the forehead, which makes Eddie blink slowly, looking at him upside down. “Can I…?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie says softly. It sounds like I trust you.

Gently, Steve cups the back of Eddie’s head, moves it up ever so slightly and puts the pillow in between him and the ground. Eddie settles onto it with a sigh.

Steve moves away, sits back down; Eddie turns to lie on his side, facing him. His cheek presses into the pillow, one leg bending a little, like this is how he lies in bed; there’s a fragile vulnerability to the sight.

The sun draws attention to the grass in his hair. The slightest trace of freckles underneath his eyes; they’ll come out more in summer, Steve finds himself thinking. He wants to be there to see it.

It was summer when he first thought a boy was pretty. That day the car broke down, but his dad was laughing, making the most of it; he’d walked and walked to buy ice-cream and returned victorious to the field, where Steve was waiting with his mom.

They weren’t the only families there—the spot had been much busier years ago: people using it as a pit stop on road trips, Hawkins locals mixed in with folks from out of town, so it felt like the whole world was to be found here, stretching out before them in the grass.

Steve had seen the boy playing tag—it was over in barely a flash, but he still remembers how he held his breath when their eyes met, without understanding why.

He’s pretty, he’d thought, it was the only word he had for it—an instinct from his mom teaching him words, bouncing him on her hip, oh, Steve, look at the pretty flowers.

He’d known even then it was a thought he couldn’t share—like how a child comes to know that they’re not to touch a hot stove.

He’s pretty.

Steve could tell himself that he doesn’t know why he’s remembering it now. But it would be a lie.

Eddie’s tugging idly at the grass, but his hand keeps going slack, twitching with oncoming sleep.

“You know how t’whistle with ‘em?” he asks clumsily.

His eyes are closed. Steve stills his hand, slips a blade of grass out from his loose hold.

“No,” he says, drags it through his teeth like he’ll miraculously make it whistle just by doing that.

Nothing happens, of course; the grass tastes just a little sweet on his tongue. He takes it out from in between his lips and lets it go, to be lost on the wind.

When the taste dissipates, he misses it.

“Yeah, me neither,” Eddie says, amused. His voice is lilting with exhaustion. “My uncle tried to teach me once, but I couldn’t… maybe ‘cause… still had some of my baby teeth… maybe that makes it harder?”

“Maybe,” Steve agrees quietly. He picks some grass out of Eddie’s hair, as lightly as he can. “I’ll ask him for some tips.”

Eddie smiles at that. “He’ll like you,” he says.

He’s half-asleep, Steve reminds himself. He hardly knows what he’s saying.

But he can’t help feeling pleased at the thought.

“Oh, yeah? You think so?”

“Mm-hmm. He likes…” Eddie yawns. “Likes everyone I like. And I… I really like you.”

It’s said so easily. Like it’s simple.

Maybe it could be. Just this once.

Steve feels emotion creeping up his throat, resting heavy on his tongue. This time, he doesn’t push it back; he speaks through it.

“I really like you, too,” he whispers.

Eddie hums sweetly, like he’s heard even when almost all the way to dreaming. “Think there’s a trick to it,” he mumbles, and Steve realises he’s talking about whistling again, lost to a childhood memory.

Stay there, Eddie. Rest.

“A trick?” Steve says in hushed tones.

“Yeah, I… remember he’d… he’d say…”

Eddie falls asleep mid-sentence.

Steve watches him. Angles his shoulder to create shade, shielding him from the sun.

He looks over at the kids: they’re playing tag with Robin now, Nancy joining in—a little quieter, like maybe they’d seen…

If he unfocuses his eyes just slightly, he can almost see his dad coming over the hill with the tubs of ice-cream. His mom smiling, sunburn on her shoulder, and Steve hit with a wave of inexplicable sadness, like he already knew, she’ll never be this happy again.

Eddie sighs in his sleep.

Steve feels a subtle change in the sun on his skin, the afternoon dying.

Stay, he thinks. Mouths it with childish hope, stay, like he’s still the boy who fell asleep right here, in between his parents, wanting the day to stretch on and on—the one who couldn’t outrun the feeling, even then, that he was coming to the end of something.

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just-a-kiss-away-from-reality · 7 days

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Slipping on my evil author gloves and cracking my knuckles before diving in!

It's post-season 4 (with the canon divergence of Eddie living) and Steve and Eddie are falling in love while they figure out how to destroy Vecna for good.

But there are moments when it's quiet at night Steve will hear someone shouting his name.

"--TEVE!"

But it's always garbled like static over the walkie or shouts underwater. And every time Eddie pulls him close and whispers that it's just a nightmare. No one is calling him, everyone is safe.

They defeat Vecna and Eddie and Steve make plans to leave Hawkins together.

But when Steve arrives a little early at the trailer, he finds that Eddie was just going to slip away without telling him.

Eddie laughs. Tells him that no one wants him around. The kids will get driver's licenses and won't need rides anymore. Robin will run off with Nancy to Emerson and he'll be left all alone. Like he deserves to be.

But as Eddie starts laughing, Steve can hear the yelling again.

"Get the tape out his tape deck in his car!"

Steve is frowning. Who's tape deck?

Eddie notices the little confused frown and mockingly tells him that he was just too dim to notice that everyone secretly hated him.

Suddenly the air is filled with music.

Soldier boy, made of clay Now an empty shell Twenty one, only son But he served us well Bred to kill, not to care Do just as we say Finished here, greetings death He's yours to take away

Eddie's face transforms from mocking to enraged. His body starts shaking and convulsing. There is a strange after image and Steve takes a step back.

Vecna appears and Steve turns around. In the doorway of the trailer is the real Eddie and behind him is Steve's bedroom. He doesn't even look back, he starts running.

His back erupts in pain multiple lines burning all the way down.

****

Eddie walks into the Harrington mansion cautiously. He's never just strolled right in without Steve calling out to him.

But his car is here and none of the kids have heard from in 24 hours and even Robin is freaking out. Steve was supposed to work that morning, but never showed.

Two things that Steve would never do.

He starts searching the house but comes up empty. He's standing in the main hallway rubbing his chin when he hears it. Whimpering.

Eddie storms up the stairs and throws open the bedroom door. Steve is on the bed, complete asleep but clutching the sheets as he tosses and turns.

Eddie grabs the walkie and screams code red! And tells everyone to get their asses to Steve's ASAP.

Everyone who could get there arrives within minutes.

"I can't wake him!" Eddie screams as everyone stumbles into the bedroom.

Everyone tries what they can to wake him, but nothing.

Then El comes bursting through the door. "It's Vecna!"

"Why would Vecna target Steve?" Dustin asks and everyone glares at him. "What? I'm not saying he's not important or whatever, but..." he waves at El, Nancy, and Will. "Like."

Eddie growls and screams. "Get the tape out his tape deck in his car!" He turns to Robin. "Where does he keep his Walkman?"

Robin ran for his top drawer and handed it to him.

Dustin wasn't back yet.

"Dustin!" Robin screams as everyone else watches in silent vigil.

Dustin comes scrambling up the stairs and hands it to Eddie.

"Why is it a Metallica tape?" he says softly.

Eddie jams it into the Walkman and hits play. He places the headphones over Steve's ears and holds his hand as he waits. He was about to say he didn't care what the tape was when the song starts playing. The volume up as loud as it could be.

"Shit."

"Eddie?" El asks, tilting her head to the side.

Eddie and Dustin share a glance of just shattered emotions.

"It's called Disposable Heroes, El," Mike whispers.

Suddenly the air is still and growing stale with each passing moment as they all take in the meaning of that.

Then Steve comes to, gasping and crying. Suddenly he's covered in bodies as they all desperately try to hug him all at once.

Eddie gets close and whispers, "You are loved, Steve Harrington and tell Vecna he made a mistake targeting you. We will come for him with a fierceness like the of a fire storm."

El grins. "Done."

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